#and like i would be beyond fulfilled if i did my stupid little design things or video editing things for them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

Welllp These Are Books: the March 2021 Edition

There aren’t even any pictures! Except in that one book where there were pictures! It was weird! This was a weird book month! Back at it again with thoughts and opinions about a whole mess of books that no one explicitly asked for, but I’ve got lots of thoughts and opinions and they only count if I share them on the internet. Seriously, someone let me go to a baseball game soon. Obligatory warning for spoilers and vaguely unhinged rants under the cut. As always, feel free to come tell me what else I should be reading at literally any time ever.

Best Book of the Month Honors Goes to This Book, Even Though They Called It Halftime at a Hockey Game. A Hockey Game!

The Dating Plan by Sara Desai

Daisy Patel is a software engineer who understands lists and logic better than bosses and boyfriends. With her life all planned out, and no interest in love, the one thing she can't give her family is the marriage they expect. Left with few options, she asks her childhood crush to be her decoy fiancé. Liam Murphy is a venture capitalist with something to prove. When he learns that his inheritance is contingent on being married, he realizes his best friend's little sister has the perfect solution to his problem. A marriage of convenience will get Daisy's matchmaking relatives off her back and fulfill the terms of his late grandfather's will. If only he hadn’t broken her tender teenage heart nine years ago… Sparks fly when Daisy and Liam go on a series of dates to legitimize their fake relationship. Too late, they realize that very little is convenient about their arrangement. History and chemistry aren't about to follow the rules of this engagement.

— Ok, it’s important to know that I really did love this book. It hit all my trope-wants. Childhood friends, incredibly stupid misunderstandings, pining, seriously God the pining, fake engagement, BANTER. It was all going great. I was occasionally swooning. They kept making out! And then! THEN. They went to a hockey game. On a date. A fake date. Cool, cool, cool. All tropes, all the time right? Not so fast, internet! Because these self-proclaimed Sharks SUPER FANS referred to intermission as “halftime was coming up.” Halftime! At a hockey game! That’s—that’s not how hockey works! If this hadn’t been “traditionally” published, I probably could have let it slide. But that was not the case. This was a “real” book with, I can only assume, real editors. All of whom saw the words halftime and hockey near each other and we’re like YEAH, PRINT THAT SHIT. I read that at nearly one in the morning and seriously considered waking Justin up to be like CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS IS IN A REAL BOOK? Anyway, it was still real cute. Everyone lived happily ever after. It made want to eat samosas.

This Book Had Pictures, It Was Weird

Clean Sweep by Ilona Andrews

On the outside, Dina Demille is the epitome of normal. She runs a quaint Victorian Bed and Breakfast in a small Texas town, owns a Shih Tzu named Beast, and is a perfect neighbor, whose biggest problem should be what to serve her guests for breakfast. But Dina is...different: Her broom is a deadly weapon; her Inn is magic and thinks for itself. Meant to be a lodging for otherworldly visitors, the only permanent guest is a retired Galactic aristocrat who can’t leave the grounds because she’s responsible for the deaths of millions and someone might shoot her on sight. Under the circumstances, "normal" is a bit of a stretch for Dina.

And now, something with wicked claws and deepwater teeth has begun to hunt at night...Feeling responsible for her neighbors, Dina decides to get involved. Before long, she has to juggle dealing with the annoyingly attractive, ex-military, new neighbor, Sean Evans—an alpha-strain werewolf—and the equally arresting cosmic vampire soldier, Arland, while trying to keep her inn and its guests safe. But the enemy she’s facing is unlike anything she’s ever encountered before. It’s smart, vicious, and lethal, and putting herself between this creature and her neighbors might just cost her everything.

— So, Ilona Andrews is a name that keeps coming up because when I borrow a book from the library I have to go through Kindle and Amazon is like...here are some other absurd fantasy romances you’d enjoy. Also, one of her other series had been recc’ed to me. Only problem? The first book in that series is the only book in that series not available at my library. So, I was like, ok, I’ll start this one instead. It was...weird. Honestly, it felt like I’d been dropped in the middle of the story and the narrator was like, well why don’t you already know what’s going on? In theory the world building was cool. (I was not expecting alien werewolves, lemme tell you that!) But also it all felt very rushed and the end just sorta happened.

In Which I Continue to Love “Same Verse” Books & No One Else Had Sex in the Port Jeff High School Dugout. For Which I Was Grateful

Love Her or Lose Her by Tessa Bailey

Rosie and Dominic Vega are the perfect couple: high school sweethearts, best friends, madly in love. Well, they used to be anyway. Now Rosie’s lucky to get a caveman grunt from the ex-soldier every time she walks in the door. Dom is faithful and a great provider, but the man she fell in love with ten years ago is nowhere to be found. When her girlfriends encourage Rosie to demand more out of life and pursue her dream of opening a restaurant, she decides to demand more out of love, too. Three words: marriage boot camp.

Never in a million years did Rosie believe her stoic, too-manly-to-emote husband would actually agree to relationship rehab with a weed-smoking hippie. Dom talking about feelings? Sitting on pillows? Communing with nature? Learning love languages? Nope. But to her surprise, he’s all in, and it forces her to admit her own role in their cracked foundation. As they complete one ridiculous—yet surprisingly helpful—assignment after another, their remodeled relationship gets stronger than ever. Except just as they’re getting back on track, Rosie discovers Dom has a secret... and it could demolish everything.

— Listen, one of my absolutely favorite tropes that I do not think gets enough love in the world is COMMITTED LONG-LASTING RELATIONSHIPS. And, like, ok, sure the premise of this was that they were separating in that long-lasting relationship. But no one really believed that, did they? Rosie and Dominic were real cute and their banter was good and I wasn’t totally skeeved out when they literally fucked on the kitchen floor. So, I think that’s saying something. Also, also! I seriously appreciated the realism of this book because no one on Long Island would ever call Manhattan Manhattan. It’s the city. Every other borough gets a name, but Manhattan is just the city and I nearly cheered when they said that. But also, no one’s taking a cab from Port Jeff to the Meatpacking District. You know what that would cost? God.

Tools of Engagement by Tessa Bailey

Hair, makeup, clothing, decor... everything in Bethany Castle's world is organized, planned, and styled to perfection. Which is why the homes she designs for her family's real estate business are the most coveted in town. The only thing not perfect? Her track record with men. She's on a dating hiatus and after helping her friends achieve their dreams, Bethany finally has time to focus on her own: flip a house, from framework to furnishings, all by herself. Except her older brother runs the company and refuses to take her seriously.

When a television producer gets wind of the Castle sibling rivalry, they’re invited on Flip Off, a competition to see who can do the best renovation. Bethany wants bragging rights, but she needs a crew and the only member of her brother's construction team willing to jump ship is Wes Daniels, the new guy in town. His Texas drawl and handsome face got under Bethany's skin on day one, and the last thing she needs is some cocky young cowboy in her way.

As the race to renovate heats up, Wes and Bethany are forced into close quarters, trading barbs and biting banter as they remodel the ugliest house on the block. It's a labor of love, hate, and everything in between, and soon sparks are flying. But Bethany's perfectly structured life is one kiss away from going up in smoke and she knows falling for a guy like Wes would be a flipping disaster.

— It should first be noted that in the three books of this series, I could not and cannot understand why Bethany’s brother was such a monumental dick. He was just...he was a dick. His marriage was awful. How long was his wife pregnant without him knowing???? I digress. This continued to be cute, Bethany was a legit heroine as far as those rom-com things go, Wes was very Texas and that got a little over the top, but they had sex in a bed like normal people so that helped. Oh, except that one time on the construction site. Whatever, this book was cute. This whole series was cute, really, and I was a big fan of the happy little wrap-everything-up with a bow ending.

Romance That Happens In Point Two Seconds Is...Unbelievable

Too Hot to Handle by Tessa Bailey

The road trip was definitely a bad idea. Having already flambéed her culinary career beyond recognition, Rita Clarkson is now stranded in God-Knows-Where, New Mexico, with a busted-ass car and her three temperamental siblings, who she hasn't seen in years. When rescue shows up---six-feet-plus of hot, charming sex on a motorcycle---Rita's pretty certain she's gone from the frying pan right into the fire . . . Jasper Ellis has a bad boy reputation in this town, and he loathes it. The moment he sees Rita, though, Jasper knows he's about to be sorely tempted. There's something real between them. Something raw. And Jasper has only a few days to show Rita that he isn't just for tonight---he's forever.

— For as much as I loved the Port Jeff series by my new pal Tessa, this one was...oof. Too much, guys. Too much. Fucking in trucks. Fucking in back offices. The whole book lasted, like, three days. And keep in mind this is coming from someone who has written like two million words about Killian Jones, self-loathing champ 250 years running, but Jasper’s self-loathing was a little over the top. Like, let’s not objectify dudes, but also...I don’t know guys. Maybe the other books in the series are better? I was mostly just annoyed by Rita.

What the Hell Happened at the End of This Book?? Seriously, I Have No Idea

The Queen’s Assassin by Melissa de la Cruz

Caledon Holt is the kingdom's deadliest weapon. No one alive can best him in speed, strength, or brains, which is why he's the Hearthstone Guild's most dangerous member. Cal is also the Queen's Assassin, bound to her by magic and unable to leave her service until the task she's set for him is fulfilled. Shadow of the Honey Glade has been training all her life to join the Guild, hoping that one day she'll become an assassin as feared and revered as Cal. But Shadow's mother and aunts expect her to serve the crown as a lady of the Renovian Court. When a surprise attack brings Shadow and Cal together, they're forced to team up as assassin and apprentice. Even though Shadow's life belongs to the court and Cal's belongs to the queen, they cannot deny their attraction to each other. But now, with war on the horizon and true love at risk, Shadow and Cal will uncover a shocking web of lies that will change their paths forever.

—WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED AT THE END OF THIS BOOK??? I figured out the so-called twist like...two chapters in. Fine, ok, whatever. It’s YA, this is not rocket science and I was interested enough in Cale and Shadow to see how it all played out. Only it didn’t really play out! Because the whole end was just this like four chapter retcon of basically EVERYTHING ELSE THAT HAPPENED and I genuinely could not believe it was happening. It didn’t make sense?!? Like with the plot? Also, spoiler, good thing Shadow and the other king haven’t consummated their marriage yet since she and Cale totally fucked after her wedding? What is YA? Why is Amazon telling me this is a Teacher’s Pick? Why hasn’t my hold come through on the sequel yet so I know what happens next?

Low-Stakes Romance Was Real Boring and All The People Were Boring In It

The Ten Rules for Faking It by Sophie Sullivan

As birthdays go, this year’s for radio producer Everly Dean hit rock-bottom. Worse than the “tonsillectomy birthday.” Worse than the birthday her parents decided to split (the first time). But catching your boyfriend cheating on you with his assistant? Even clichés sting. But this is Everly’s year! She won’t let her anxiety hold her back. She’ll pitch her podcast idea to her boss. There’s just one problem. Her boss, Chris, is very cute. (Of course). Also, he's extremely distant (which means he hates her, right? Or is that the anxiety talking)? And, Stacey the DJ didn’t mute the mic during Everly’s rant about Simon the Snake (syn: Cheating Ex). That’s three problems. Suddenly, people are lining up to date her, Bachelorette-style, fans are voting (Reminder: never leave house again), and her interest in Chris might be a two-way street. It’s a lot for a woman who could gold medal in people-avoidance. She’s going to have to fake it ‘till she makes it to get through all of this. Perhaps she’ll make a list: The Ten Rules for Faking It.

— I am a broken record. Shouting. From the highest hilltop. Just because you think someone is cute when you’re technically not supposed to be dating them does not mean you get to be anything less than nice around them! It’s not cute! And part two, which often goes with part one: rom com dudes have GOT to stop lying or hiding or otherwise avoiding telling people who they really are. It’s a convoluted, passably lazy way of writing and dropping a third-act bomb on the story. Don’t do it. Stop doing it. We’ve moved past the need for hidden identities. Unless he’s, like, a spy or something. Um...this was a weird book. I know Everly had anxiety and that became a PLOT POINT, patent pending, but she was also not super relatable? Which is crazy considering my very real, rather undiagnosed anxiety. Chris was boring. The whole plot, as this title suggests, was very low stakes and no one actually seemed to remember that their jobs were ever on the line? Did Everly and Chris have a conversation before they decided they liked each other? Who can say, really.

Shipped by Angie Hockman

Between taking night classes for her MBA and her demanding day job at a cruise line, marketing manager Henley Evans barely has time for herself, let alone family, friends, or dating. But when she’s shortlisted for the promotion of her dreams, all her sacrifices finally seem worth it. The only problem? Graeme Crawford-Collins, the remote social media manager and the bane of her existence, is also up for the position. Although they’ve never met in person, their epic email battles are the stuff of office legend. Their boss tasks each of them with drafting a proposal on how to boost bookings in the Galápagos—best proposal wins the promotion. There’s just one catch: they have to go on a company cruise to the Galápagos Islands...together. But when the two meet on the ship, Henley is shocked to discover that the real Graeme is nothing like she imagined. As they explore the Islands together, she soon finds the line between loathing and liking thinner than a postcard. With her career dreams in her sights and a growing attraction to the competition, Henley begins questioning her life choices. Because what’s the point of working all the time if you never actually live?

— YOU NEED TO HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH SOMEONE TO DECIDE YOU LIKE THEM. AUTHORS REALLY REALLY NEED TO LEARN HOW TO BUILD ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS. IF THEY ONLY LIKE EACH OTHER BECAUSE THEY KISS WELL IT’S NOT A GOOD RELATIONSHIP. AND THIS IS COMING FROM ME. Back at it again with the annoying so-called heroine who was just...occasionally real mean to Graem for no reason at all? Also her name was Henley. Which is not a great reason to dislike her, but here we are.

Apparently I Read These Books Out Of Order. Who Knew?

Pride, Prejudice and Other Flavors by Sonali Dev

It is a truth universally acknowledged that only in an overachieving Indian American family can a genius daughter be considered a black sheep.

Dr. Trisha Raje is San Francisco’s most acclaimed neurosurgeon. But that’s not enough for the Rajes, her influential immigrant family who’s achieved power by making its own non-negotiable rules:

· Never trust an outsider

· Never do anything to jeopardize your brother’s political aspirations

· And never, ever, defy your family

Trisha is guilty of breaking all three rules. But now she has a chance to redeem herself. So long as she doesn’t repeat old mistakes.

Up-and-coming chef DJ Caine has known people like Trisha before, people who judge him by his rough beginnings and place pedigree above character. He needs the lucrative job the Rajes offer, but he values his pride too much to indulge Trisha’s arrogance. And then he discovers that she’s the only surgeon who can save his sister’s life.

As the two clash, their assumptions crumble like the spun sugar on one of DJ’s stunning desserts. But before a future can be savored there’s a past to be reckoned with...

A family trying to build home in a new land.

A man who has never felt at home anywhere.

And a choice to be made between the two.

— Surprise, apparently this was the first book in the series. I did not know. It didn’t affect my enjoyment of the Persuasion version in this same ‘verse, which is also strange because I liked the Persuasion one way better. There was a lot of medical in this. And not super uplifting medical, either. This was like...oh the Jane character (I guess???) has cancer and either she’s going to go blind after having a surgery (also she was an artist, so you see how this was a problem) or she’s just going to decide to die. Wait, what? That came out of left field, really. Also DJ and Trisha were not nice to each other. Like, I know this is Pride and Prejudice so there has to be some of that at the start, but it wasn’t like Trisha ever really went through the Darcy-required time at Pemberly. She just decided she liked DJ and told him and it was as awkward as Jane Austen intended it, but then we got more medical and everything was cool. It felt very rushed and shoehorned into a modern setting and the Persuasion one was better. You can’t have Darcy’s growth without the Pemberly stuff. You just can’t.

In Which I Didn’t Like a Nickname??? Is the World Ending??

Crazy Stupid Bromance by Lyssa Kay Adams

Alexis Carlisle and her cat café, ToeBeans, have shot to fame after she came forward as a victim of a celebrity chef’s sexual harassment. When a new customer approaches to confide in her, the last thing Alexis expects is for the woman to claim they’re sisters. Unsure what to do, Alexis turns to the only man she trusts—her best friend, Noah Logan. Computer genius Noah left his rebellious teenage hacker past behind to become a computer security expert. Now he only uses his old skills for the right cause. But Noah’s got a secret: He’s madly in love with Alexis. When she asks for his help, he wonders if the timing will ever be right to confess his crush. Noah’s pals in The Bromance Book Club are more than willing to share their beloved “manuals” to help him go from bud to boyfriend. But he must decide if telling the truth is worth risking the best friendship he’s ever had.

— If Noah was going to call her Lexa, then her name should have been Alexa and not Alexis. That’s it and that’s all. Also, the story was n u t s. Estranged dads and kidney failure and they got together so fast in this book. Which usually is cool by me, but I really could not get over the nickname and the estranged family was mean to Alexis. Lexa. HER NAME SHOULD HAVE BEEN ALEXA, IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. Also Noah was a former hacker? The estranged family accused him corporate espionage or something? A lot happened in this book, guys. Her name should have been Alexa.

Dumb Brother Was Dumb™ Everyone Else Was Real Cute

The Off Limits Rule by Sarah Adams

I have found rock bottom. It's here, moving in with my older brother because I'm too broke to afford to live on my own. It's okay though, because we've always been close and I think I'm going to have fun living with him again.   That is until I meet Cooper...   Turns out, my brother has very strong opinions on the idea of me dating his best friend and is dead set against it. According to him, Cooper is everything I should stay away from: flirtatious, adventurous, non-committal, and freaking hot. (I added that last part because I feel like you need the whole picture.) My brother is right--I should stay away from Cooper James and his pretty blue eyes. He's the opposite of what I need right now.   Nah--who am I kidding? I'm going for it.

— This was cute, mostly mindless fluff. Hit some trope high points, including, obviously, best friends sister. Only the brother in question was a Neanderthal and I really thought people were going to make out more while said brother was on his business trip. I got it for free off Amazon. Which I think should explain a lot. Like, story-wise. Sorry, free Amazon books. Don’t be insulted.

Prose, Prose, Prose, Please Someone Have a Conversation

Trick by Natalia Jaster

In the Kingdom of Spring, Poet is renowned. He's young and pretty, a lover of men and women. He performs for the court, kisses like a scoundrel, and mocks with a silver tongue. Yet allow him this: It's only the most cunning and manipulative soul who can play the fool. For beyond the castle walls, Poet guards a secret. One the Crown would shackle him for. One that he'll risk everything to protect. Alas, it will take more than clever words to deceive Princess Briar. Convinced that he's juggling lies as well as verse, this righteous nuisance of a girl is determined to expose him. But not all falsehoods are fiendish. Poet's secret is delicate, binding the jester and princess in an unlikely alliance—and kindling a breathless attraction, as alluring as it is forbidden.

— The purplest of prose. Mauve prose. Royal purple prose. Lavender prose. There was so much writing here. So much. Too much, some might say. I say. Actually. If we want to get specific. And that was a shame, really, because when Briar and Poet actually had a conversation, they were interesting to read about. Also, the world building here? Yeeeesh. The so-called, wait for it, FOOL TRADE played a prominent role and that was...super cringe. Super Cringe. That being said, I asked Justin what I should read next and he thought it was funny that a book was just called...

Dare by Natalia Jaster

In the Kingdom of Summer, they say she's wild. Locked in a cage by the sea, Flare dreams of escape. She dreams of a lost world, known only in legends. The island is calling to her. And she won't let anyone keep her from it. Especially not him. They say he's cruel. Jeryn has crossed the ocean for the Trade, to bargain for those fierce, imprisoned creatures that make his skin crawl. By law, they're subjects meant for experimentation. And easy to despise. One girl in particular. But on the cusp of transport, the tide rages. That hidden island awaits. Stranded, the prince and prisoner must fight to survive. In a mysterious rainforest, they must band together...if they don't slay one another first. Or become something more to each other. Something just as dangerous.

— This was Justin’s fault. He could not believe this book was just called Dare. It should have been called “We’re going to weirdly force what is basically slavery into this story and then a prince is going to fall in love with an escaped slave and we’re also going to call that ROMANCE.” y i k e s. Remember that one story that took place over three days? This was the complete opposite. Years! They were shipwrecked for years! They got saved, spoilers, the DAY they started having sex. What are the odds, right?? And then MORE YEARS passed. Multiple years! Five years! They couldn’t actually be together because of that aforementioned slave trade. What the shit, man? Natalia, ya gotta be kidding me with this. The internet claimed Trick was good and a solid follow to reading ACOTAR and that there was this whole verse and it was also good. The internet was wrong.

Nothing Happened, Everything Happened, I...Hated It

Graceling by Kristin Cashore

Kristin Cashore’s bestselling, award-winning fantasy Graceling tells the story of the vulnerable-yet-strong Katsa, a smart, beautiful teenager who lives in a world where selected people are given a Grace, a special talent that can be anything from dancing to swimming. Katsa’s is killing. As the king’s niece, she is forced to use her extreme skills as his thug. Along the way, Katsa must learn to decipher the true nature of her Grace… and how to put it to good use. A thrilling, action-packed fantasy adventure (and steamy romance!) that will resonate deeply with adolescents trying to find their way in the world.

— I can’t believe this was a book. Katsa was so annoying! Like, listen, I know her life was sad. And she was a pawn being used against her will. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. The tone of the whole book was so strangely formal and Poe was strangely in love with Katsa? Who obviously didn’t want to get married because she was WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR. Or kill people, as the case may be. Only she wanted to make out with Poe? Only ONLY they didn’t even really get together at the end? I could not believe the end of this book. I nearly threw my Kindle across the room. Once again, no apologies for spoilers because do not read this book, but HE WAS BLIND? Katsa had to leave him behind to save his cousin and he just ENDED UP BEING BLIND? AND THEY NEVER GOT TOGETHER REALLY?? What the fuck? Seriously. Steamy romance, my ass. Nothing happened. The villain got defeated in point two seconds. There are other books in this universe? No, thanks.

#book recommendations #book rec #fantasy recommendations #book recs #laura reads books #this was longer than i realized it was going to be #documentation of a very weird book month #but we're almost back on track now because i am LOVING a darker shade of magic #welllp these are books

10 notes · View notes

howdoyousayghibli · 5 years ago

Text

Tales from Earthsea Can’t Survive Broken Promises

I really didn’t think it would come to this, folks, but Tales from Earthsea (2006) is not a good movie.

There have been a couple movies I’ve reviewed so far that weren’t my cup of tea — I didn’t find Only Yesterday or My Neighbors the Yamadas to be very satisfying, for example. This movie goes far beyond that; I can confidently say that this isn’t a matter of my personal taste. Tales from Earthsea has its moments, but they are totally outweighed by its failings.

Now that you know what you’re in for, let’s back up a bit. Tales from Earthsea was the first of two movies directed by Hayao Miyazaki’s son, Gorō. It is (very) loosely based on the Earthsea series of novels by acclaimed sci-fi/fantasy author Ursula K. Le Guin. Le Guin’s novels often trade in the same kind of subversion of typical Western storytelling that Studio Ghibli’s movies do, which makes this movie all the more tragic.

Taking place in the magical world of Earthsea, the plot concerns a young prince on the run and a seasoned wizard searching for the cause of a series of worldwide calamities. The plot is also the source of this movie’s troubles. The casting, animation, and writing are all much less problematic, so let’s start with those.

According to something I read somewhere, Goro Miyazaki was hired to write and direct Earthsea based on the strength of the storyboards he’d drawn for it; while the decision to have him in those particular roles didn’t pan out, it’s easy to see how his storyboards could’ve instilled such confidence. The opening sequence, set on boats amidst a storm, is especially memorable and striking, and the designs for the dragons, alien and metallic, set them apart from the dragons of many other fantasy worlds.

The casting is also well done. As Sparrowhawk, the wizard searching for the source of the world’s troubles, Timothy Dalton brings a sense of wisdom and experience that is easy to believe in. It’s crucial to the thrust of this story that Sparrowhawk be a much more down-to-earth wizard than your standard Dumbledores or Merlins, and Dalton gets that across.

Equally up to her task is Mariska Hargitay — from Law & Order: SVU — as Tenar, Sparrowhawk’s … important … person? The nature of their relationship is left vague, but the important thing is that Tenar delivers several lines that efficiently hint at a lot of unspoken backstory, which does wonders for the film’s worldbuilding. Hargitay makes these lines sound natural when they could’ve easily come of as stilted, and she and Dalton bring great chemistry and history that makes the second act of Tales from Earthsea its best. The rest of the cast is less effective, but they get the job done.

Almost disappointingly, there’s some good writing hidden in this movie as well. Before it goes completely off the rails, and even a little after, there are interesting conversations about death, and how it gives meaning to life. For a moment, you’re willing to forgive a few oddities and believe that this movie really understood the books it adapted, with its deliberate pace, meditative feel, and pragmatic wizards.

Then the climax kicks into motion, and everything falls apart.

If, against my recommendation, you plan on watching this movie, here’s the no-spoilers version. The movie sets up a lot of questions in the first two acts, and even in the third — what is the shadow person plaguing Prince Arren? Why did Prince Arren murder his father? Where did Therru get her scar? Who even is Therru? What’s up with Arren’s sword? What was up with those two dragons fighting in the opening scene? Why does Cob want Arren’s true name? What does knowing someone’s true name even mean, in a practical sense?

Dear reader, literally none of these questions are answered in any kind of coherent fashion. I want to make it clear that I’m not complaining about not getting answers; answers come, but they are the ravings of madmen. Answers and revelations and problems and solutions either come completely out of the blue, or else fly in the face of things we were just told minutes ago.

As I watched, I continued to hold out hope that soon, something would happen to elucidate the madness I was watching. Surely, soon there would be a revelation that would snap everything into place, justifying my investment in this film and its story. Instead, the nonsense continues right up until the credits.

In his excellent Movies with Mikey episode on The Lost World, Mikey Neumann asks if one utterly stupid moment can ruin an otherwise good movie. Maybe one moment can’t, but an utterly stupid ending can. Whatever talent or joy exists in the first hour and change of Tales from Earthsea is completely tainted by its disastrous ending. The beginning of any story is a promise, and the middle prepares us for the fulfillment of that promise. A movie can survive a botched beginning or middle if it makes good on its promises — Rogue One is a great example of this. But no movie can survive a failure, on the most basic level, to keep the promises it made.

If you’ve experienced the frustration and betrayal of watching Tales from Earthsea, you might enjoy commiserating with my very spoiler-y and not particularly coherent notes on the ending:

The opening scenes are very cool! Dragon fights, magic not working, plagues etc., a king’s demand to get to the bottom of it, his assassination! Exciting!

Then ………… Patricide Lad and a Very Boring Wizard go for a very long walk

Bad Decisions are made

Oh hey, things are getting interesting! A plot is happening! Dastardly schemes and getting to know our characters! The villain is pretty creepy actually!

But then …. everything stops even trying to make sense

Nothing about Cob needing prince’s true name makes sense (the drug callback is nice though)

True name gives Cob power over Princeling until it doesn’t

Sword stops Cob’s power, until it doesn’t

Actually cutting off Cob’s hand unleashes his True Power, you idiot, duh

Girl Zuko was a dragon?????

Sparrowhawk is freed! Except …. he’s just gonna watch, i guess

Oh, now dragon girl is a human girl again, i guess

Why did Arren kill his dad??? Where did the shadow boy come from????? Why was the shadow good at the end????????

Arren talks about his inner darkness or whatever but like, why?? What made you so sad/mad/existential that you spawned Shadow Arren?

There’s definitely some interesting stuff in here about how death is what gives meaning to life, no shadow without light etc., but it just throws it all in the garbage with that ending

Just …………………. Dumb.

Alternate Titles:

Patricide Lad and the Very Boring Wizard

More like FAILS from Earthsea, GOT EM

Tales from Earthsea: Good, then Boring, then Good, then Very, Very Bad

Up Next:

Technically, the next film Studio Ghibli made was the adorable Ponyo, but that was actually the first movie I reviewed in this series. So instead, I’ll be watching Arrietty — I know literally nothing about it, but it can’t possibly be worse than Tales from Earthsea was! See you then!

#tales from earthsea #earthsea #studio ghibli #ghibli

31 notes · View notes

wordswithkittywitch · 5 years ago

Text

Barbie: A Fairy Secret

Well, it’s finally happening. I’ve lowered my standards enough to start posting my thoughts on Barbie movies. Well, my in-depth analysis so I can give all 37 (I’m counting both Barbie and the Rockers half-hour shorts as one movie. It was a continuing plot.) Barbie movies a rank based on my own arbitrary standards. And because it’s arbitrary, they are being scored out of 110 and I starting more or less randomly with the one I watched earlier this afternoon.

Barbie A Fairy Secret: Overall Score: 54/110 Why is it a score out of 110 instead of 100? Because Barbie gives 110%. Also because there are twelve categories, and only one of them is negative. Why is this score so low? Simply put, I’ve seen all the Barbie films and this isn’t the best one. I still enjoy it, and let’s find out why that is...

High points: 6/10 This is a genuinely funny movie, even if sometimes the jokes are so stupid you’re a little ashamed of laughing at them. Even if you’re watching as an adult, you have to accept this is fundamentally a kids’ movie and it’s going to be silly. Now, of course there are some kids’ movies that don’t have this problem, and some of them are even in the Barbie series. But this is a film where Ken Matrix-dodges a puff of glitter.

The architecture of Gloss Angeles and in particular the palace really steals the show; even if a lot of the floating platforms look like gold chocolate kisses hovering upside down. Beyond the gleaming gold and jewel-bright colours, we see a streaked pastel sky extending forever in all directions. Really. All directions. Raquelle asks how far away the ground is, and is quickly informed there is no ground.

Low points: -4/-10 The animation style wasn’t as polished as some of the later Barbie movies, and usually I can just ignore that, but it also lacked the pastel charm of some of the earlier ones. It was kind of in an awkward middle ground. The faces are a little stiffer than other films, and a lot of the emoting needs to be done with the body language.

And on a far more petty note, I don’t think that the name “Zane” sounds as much like a fairy as “Graciellla”. Or “Graylen”. Or even “Crystal”. “Taylor” is on about the same level of sounding like a fairy as “Zane” though.

WLW appeal: 6/10

I’m not saying that two women admitting that they both wanted to be closer but thought that the other one didn’t like them, hugging and then a rainbow of light transforms into fairies, shattering the cage they were in is necessarily lesbian subtext, but it’s really easy to read it that way. Especially since right after it happens Taylor says love is more powerful than a Passion Fairy’s anger.

However, Barbie and Raquelle’s moment of understanding each other pales in comparison to Taylor and Carrie’s relationship. The two are unquestionably close, never out of the other’s sight. However, the thing that made them read as most romantically involved to me wasn’t anything they did on screen: it was Princess Gracellia’s past history with them. When three people are close friends and two of them become so close they cut the third person out without realising they’ve upset them at all, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re dating, but any time I personally can say that I really lost a friend, it was a variation on that story. I’ve seen it in other people, and much to my disgust almost any time someone brings up that this is a problem, the blame falls on the “third wheel” for not realising that romantic love is obviously more important than any of their previous friendships, and suggesting that if they were emotionally mature they would just go off and fine someone to snog themselves, thus becoming a fully realised romantic being.

Okay, none of the romantic part of the last paragraph was textual, and I am definitely projecting at least a little bit; but this is a recurring theme across media, and it sucks, and I enjoy the fact I can avoid it. Yet another reason I have watched all the Barbie movies.

Ace Appeal: 4/10 I suppose this needs to be said at least once, and since this one is getting posted first, it’s a natural choice to get this disclaimer out of the way. No, I don’t think that anyone in Mattel offices ever stops and says, “Hang on. Does the plot of this children’s movie appeal to the sensibilities of adult asexuals?” However, I’m pretty sure there is some variation on “Not all kids like romance, and most parents want to keep the romance their kids see in media to be on the tame side, so we’ll have to pay attention to how much romance we put in and how it’s handled.” However, as an adult asexual, it is always freaking refreshing to have characters interested in something besides The Sex™, and the best place I have found to seek that is in children’s media.

In a movie aimed at adults, one would usually establish the main romantic couple with kissing, steamy stares, and other things that make your friends not want your partner hang out with the rest of the group. Or, in the case of The Airzone Solution, goosing your partner while she’s having a conversation with someone else, making her voice go up so high I finally recognise Nicola Bryant without her fake American accent. (by the way, if you’re looking for movies with asexual appeal, The Airzone Solution is not one of them.)

This is the face of a man who cannot unwatch The Airzone Solution.

Also, in a movie aimed at adults, no one can end in the same romantic relationship that they started in, which Barbie can avoid because the character of Ken cannot exist in a vacuum: Ken is Barbie’s boyfriend (the Barbie Vlogs/Dreamhouse Adventures timeline notwithstanding; especially given that there really is no question that in that particular timeline “Karbie is endgame” as the kids say.), all personality traits are related to this. If Ken appears in a Barbie movie, we know he already is Barbie’s boyfriend because Barbie is a wish fulfilment fantasy for young girls: As many rewarding careers as they like, a steady relationship with someone who adores them, a large group of friends, pretty much any material goods they can think of at their fingertips, and of course, magical powers. This, quite frankly, is why Barbie works as a woman somewhere in her twenties or thirties and why she doesn’t make as much sense when people try to age her down into a teenager. Seriously. That’s what Skipper is for. How can Barbie have a sixteen-year-old little sister if she herself is sixteen? It doesn’t make sense. But I’m getting off-topic.

This is a kids’ movie, so we establish that Ken and Barbie are dating by having them being adorable duelling with spoons over ice cream sundaes. And that’s why I’ve watched every Barbie movie ever made.

As I mentioned before, the subplot with Gracellia feeling cut out of Taylor and Carrie’s relationship feels very familiar to anyone whose friends distanced themselves for their all-important romance. And while this could happen to anyone, being dropped out of your alloromantic/allosexual friends’ lives when they discover dating is one of the most recognisable and most terrible parts of the asexual/aromantic experience. Does this mean that any of the characters present as asexual or aromantic? As usual, not necessarily. Gracellia clearly isn’t aromantic. But, also as usual, “I’ve been there! It sucks!” is a common step in headcanoning a character as ace. And even if they aren’t, it’s still relatable. We also see a happily married middle-aged couple, Reena and Graylen. Narratively, they exist to show that a marriage between a fairy and a human can work, but I could have seen way more of them being cute. But I like cute old married couples. Which may be weird for someone desperately looking for characters in any form of media who actually like their love interests and stay with them through the entire story instead of breaking up to add more drama. Anyone who has had their friends start dating knows that couples do not need to be breaking up to cause drama.

Graylen’s character design is almost exactly like the advisor in the Fairytopia series. You might not expect “older black fairy with gray muttonchops and friendly advice” to be a stock character in Barbie films, but there he is. Often, Barbie movies do not have a full mouth kiss in them. If there is, that is often because there’s a wedding ceremony. This is an example of the latter. The couple who isn’t married at the end, however, express their love by trying not to be married against their will. Still, no matter how relatable all of this is to an asexual, it does end in a very Midsummer Night’s Dream everyone paired off sort of way.

Entourage: 6/10

Raquelle- Those familiar with Life in the Dreamhouse already know Raquelle as Barbie’s self-proclaimed rival and a twisty bitch who lives for drama, making her one of the most enjoyable characters to watch. She has a different voice actress here, which can throw you a little. Especially if you’re trying to remember which My Little Pony voice actress has replaced her Life in the Dreamhouse voice actress.

Taylor- Ginger shoe fairy with a pink dress and a posh accent. Mostly responsible for the “tell Barbie the truth, go to Gloss Angeles, and rescue Ken” plan.

Carrie- Brunette purse fairy with a purple dress. Probably the slower of the two. That said, even though she supplies much of the comic relief, it doesn’t stem from her being stupid, it stems from her never-emptying purse of visual gags. By the end, Carrie’s jokes have started to grate on Raquelle:

“I think this time I’ve got a home run!”

“Enough! It’s going to be a baseball bat, right?”

Art Style: 5/10 I’ll admit this isn’t my favourite era of Barbie movies as far as animation is concerned. The faces aren’t as emotive as some of the other styles of animation. Raquelle for one makes up for this with full-body sarcasm. The architecture in Gloss Angeles is really the highlight of the film’s visuals: with large amounts of sparkling crystal and gold curlicues putting one in mind of a jewellery box with it’s contents spilling out. Particularly in the fight scene between Ken and Zane, where they recreate the “Duel” bit from that 90s Gladiators show where the contenders sand on an elevated platform and hit each other with what appear to be large fancy cotton buds. The only difference is that the contenders have wings. The architecture is shown off nicely in the “welcome to Gloss Angeles” montage. Unlike films like a Mermaid Tale, they did not feel the need to put dozens of puns in this sequence, they just put wings on everything they could think of—dogs, cats, handbags, coffee cups, shopping bags…

Plot: 7/10 The plot takes place within the “Life in the Dreamhouse” continuity: Barbara Roberts is a highly successful celebrity who lives in Malibu with her three younger sisters, is dating her longtime boyfriend Kenneth Carson, and has a close group of friends, including Rochelle who openly hates all of them (barring Ken) but remains part of the social circle.

A jealous fairy named Crystal feeds Princess Graciella, ruler of the fairies, a love potion which makes he fall in love with Ken. Graciella kidnaps Ken and declares she will marry him that very day. Zane, Graciella’s previous boyfriend and also a fairy, challenges Ken to three successive duels as Ken tries to back out of this. Barbie and Rochelle, rival film stars, come to Ken’s rescue, aided by two fairies who have been living in the human world disguised as humans and working as Barbie’s personal stylists.

The whole thing feels a lot like Barbie does Comedia del Arte, which I love. A love square that is resolved with two couples at the end, a love potion, over the top comedic figures, a lovesick woman declaring she will marry someone she just met, the upper class characters being saved by the complex planning of their clever servants; if you accept personal stylists as the modern equivalent of a tiring maid.

Zane is probably the main reason I keep thinking Comedia del Arte when I’m watching this. And it’s not just that he has the same accent as el Captaino (a stock figure in Comedia del Arte. The foreign captain who is usually a comedic rival for the young lover). In his first scene, he challenges Ken to three successive duels: “So, you think I am not bold enough for two duels? For that, I challenge you to a third duel!” “Why not? I wasn’t doing anything after the second one anyway.”

I can’t help but think about how the plot would have been different if princess Graciella had drunk the love potion three seconds earlier and fallen in love with Rochelle instead of Ken. “I have to save my frienemy who has just graduated from pain in the ass to total bitch.” would have been a very different story to “I need to save my boyfriend.”

The whole thing is a mess of consent and lack thereof. Crystal puts a spell on Graciella so she becomes obsessed with Ken, Graciella puts a spell on Ken so that a marriage proposal comes out of his mouth, much to his horror. And, if the whole “Comedia del Arte” thing hadn’t been running through my head the entire time, the fact that it pretty much starts and ends like A Midsummer Night’s Dream would have done it: Someone gives the queen of the fairies a love potion. She falls in love with the worst possible option. Humans get involved. The two romantic couples are sorted back into their ideal combination, the fairies convince the humans it was all really a dream. Even Carrie and Taylor reminding the audience of the secret at the end puts me in mind of Puck’s final speech.

The plot would have gotten a higher score if it hadn’t been for one plothole that seems to grow and shrink the more I examine it: Crystal was in love with Zane, but he was in love with Graciella. So she gets her hands on a love potion and uses it on… not Zane. I guess thought if he wasn’t in a relationship he would pick her on his own. Perhaps she wanted “real love” and was prepared to give her princess a chemically assisted version. We will never know.

Character design: 6/10

It’s not unusual for the cast to be wearing their best costumes in the final act of a Barbie film, but in this case this was achieved by putting most of them in fairly ugly outfits for most of the action.

The costuming was quite up to standards in the last fifteen minutes, but that leaves us with fifty seven minutes of unnecessary peplum to account for.

Raquelle and Barbie appear in formal gowns for the red carpet premiere:

Raquelle wears a one-shoulder purple and blue gown with a lettuce edged wrap skirt with a high-low hem, simple blue teardrop earrings, and some excellent shoes.

As usual, Raquelle is quickly upstaged by Barbie, who wears a ruby pink bodice with a peplum hem over a bright violet mermaid skirt. These are accessorised with rhinestone rose jewellery and silver pumps, although the shoes are only revealed when Raquelle rips the back of her dress up to her thighs.

While these gowns only show up in the first scene, they are easily the best looks they wear in the film, which is understandable as they are the dresses worn by the dolls. The doll look sort of reappears at the start of the final act, where Barbie and Raquelle transform into their winged form from the dolls, which is the tops from their red carpet gowns on cocktail dresses.

Barbie’s rose peplum top melts much more pleasingly into the three flounces of her miniskirt, while Raquelle has a flounced A-line miniskirt with the slightest edge of silver and pink petticoats peeking out the bottom. A silver ruffle accents her neckline and compliments her wide silver belt. The looks are finished in both cases with those curling vine heels that Mattel was putting on all the fairy dolls in the early aughts. This is such a breath of good taste after their “normal” outfits from the main part of the film.

After the premiere, the human characters really get the short end of the stick as far as costumes are concerned, and while I can see how it was important to make the humans visually distinct from the fairies, even when everyone is wearing “clip on” wings.

Raquelle spends most the movie in cobalt blue knee-length trumpet dress and a pink polka dot mini sweatshirt; which frankly should never have happened. The effect is completed with strappy silver heels which barely do not reach the end of leatherette black leggings. Sadly, the effect is “I dressed Barbie first and these are all the doll clothes I have left over”.

Barbie’s main look seems to be doing everything it can to keep a knee-length jean trumpet skirt with pink stitching from ruining the rest of the outfit. This is done with a pink and white striped tee and a half-sleeve black jacket. I don’t want to be too hard on this look, I’ll admit, because I can see my sister wearing something like that, but hopefully a more flattering cut of skirt.

But then again, I’ve always hated trumpet miniskirts; I hated them when they were in style, I hate them now that they aren’t, and I hate the fact I owned two because that’s what was for sale at Walmart in the mid 2000s and I hadn’t taken to making most of my own clothing yet. I called them “crotch ruffle skirts”. I was a bitch in high school.

Miss Roxelle appears very briefly in a tasteful white and gold two piece pencil skirt suit. As a fashion designer and the older fairy who they come to for help, it makes sense that she has a classy, mature vibe.

For the wedding, Ken gets a fashion upgrade from “we put him in a plaid shirt to make him look more heterosexual” (which was kind of ruined by the teal and metallic gold palette) to “one of those really tacky heterosexual wedding toppers” for the wedding scene. The horror of someone tied up and being forced to marry someone they barely know is somewhat diminished by the image of groomsmen elbowing each other and chuckling, “As usual, am I right, men?” That said, matching the pattern on his lapels to the pattern on his wings was a nice touch.

Crystal takes the purple/green slightly alternative route in villain costume design: fingerless gloves, cropped vest, stripy skirt, asymmetrical bob, purple leggings and black ankle boots.

And interestingly, she is the only fairy who presents as a girl who has dragonfly wings. I’m not going to say that this means Crystal is transgender, but I am definitely going to be thinking about that for a while. Part of me thinks, “Sure, why not, that’s probably going to happen in fairy society as much as human”, and part of me thinks, “Usually it’s the heroes or sidekicks in Barbie movies that get queercoded.” So let’s just move past Crystal’s boyish wings.

I spend a lot of time Graciellla is on screen trying to figure out how her hair is accomplished. Like most Barbie characters, it looks physically possible so that it can be recreated on a doll. It looks as if two French braids were started on her head, then the loose hair was tucked under itself, a little bit like a rolled chingon.

It probably is related to the fact her standard outfit is pretty basic: a petal pink strapless cocktail dress with a rose pink sash. It’s accessorised with a mess of pink rhinestone jewellery to set off her tiara.

Zane starts off in a fantasy style purple vest and striped jeans in a desaturated purple palette: The gold trim and collar pushes it towards the high fantasy fairies were meant to be, but it appears that halfway down the design they realised that they wanted it to be reflective of modern fashion and gave him pinstriped jeans. Don’t get me wrong, I love purple pinstriped jeans, I own purple pinstripe jeans, but they don’t go with his top. High fantasy and mid-2000s fashion are hard looks to marry, and I’m objecting to this example. Now, I could have forgiven him for wearing knee-high boots and cuffing his trousers to show them off, if they weren’t striped jeans and black combat boots. He’s half pirate and a half “I just came from a Green Day concert”. And he tries so hard to make it work. Wearing the exact same outfit in white and gold to his wedding was a choice. Once of several stupid choices made by Zane over the course of this movie.

Zane goes full Star Trek Next Gen for his combat jumpsuit: And honestly, I kind of love it. The gold and cobalt blue set each other off beautifully, the wide gold stripes down Zane’s legs, the elegantly tooled golden breastplate, the spirals of gold coming up his boots to the wide gold edging.

We actually see the slits the back of Zane’s jacket when he gets on his knees to propose to Graciella, and all of the feminine fairies (except for Crystal, as mentioned before) are wearing tube tops and off-the shoulder dresses so that they can dress without damaging their wings. But it appears that his wings are emerging from narrow slits in the back of his vest. Which might account for why the masculine fairies have smaller, narrower wings; more like a dragonfly than a butterfly. And it might also account for why Crystal has dragonfly wings and a cropped vest.

Finally, we have Taylor and Carrie, who ride the line between fantasy fashion and human fashion by wearing some fairly simple, “this looks like a doll” dresses. They also look far more like a “set” than any other characters because while their outfits look different, they are comprised out of the same basic elements: A dress with a fitted satin bodice, capped sleeves, and a flounced circle skirt accessorised with a short bead necklace, simple earrings, a headband and a side ponytail. The only real difference between them is their magical focuses:

Carrie, being a purse fairy, has a glittery doctor-style handbag; so called because the frame opens out like an old doctor’s visiting bag, not because like the Tardis it is bigger on the inside. Though both are true. Taylor has magenta glitter peek-toe platforms with knee-high laces with wings on the heel and rosettes on the toe. Raquelle admits, “If I had to trust my life to one pair of shoes, it would be those.” as Taylor chirps: “The more fabulous my shoes, the stronger my magic!” Me too, buddy, me too.

Music: 3/10

There is really only the main theme, Can You Keep a Secret? which plays over the opening and closing credits. It’s peppy, it’s happy, it’s not so stupid you’re grating your teeth, but ultimately it’s pretty forgettable. It serves its purpose and allows the story to move on. It plays again during the “welcome to Gloss Angeles” montage.

Animal companion: 4/10 Halfway through the movie, Pegaponies show up and help the humans with their difficulty in flying with clip-on wings. The pegaponies show up, transport the main characters to the palace, and are never heard from again. They do not talk or exhibit greater than animal intelligence, but however they do greatly advance the Rochelle and Barbie friendship plot by allowing the two of them to discuss how their relationship, and their animosity, formed. All pegaponies are recolours of the same mesh: a stocky, small horse with a striped mane and sparkly lace-like wings. The heroes all ride sidesaddle, partially because they’re all in dresses and partially because they all have wings themselves. While I usually subscribe to the less-is-more approach to pets in Barbie movies, in this case more might have been more.

Antagonists: 7/10 Zane- Since Barbie has Raquelle, it only makes sense that Ken gets someone who declares himself his rival as Ken protests that they aren’t actually pursuing the same goal. And like Raquelle, Zane is over the top and hilarious. He’s probably my favourite part of the movie. Graciellla – Crown Princess of Gloss Angeles, because “queen” sounds evil unless you’ve got a kid. While she isn’t exactly a bad person, she spends most of the film trying to force someone who isn’t in love with her to marry her. Actually, that is in fact pretty bad, but it is slightly mitigated by the fact she’s under a love spell. Remember kids, love spells aren’t consent! She spreads the awful cycle of “fairies don’t need no consent” by magicing a proposal out of Ken’s mouth inbetween his protestations to let him go. So, even though she changes her plan as soon as she’s not under a spell, she still has the whole “I’m an immoral fairy who really doesn’t care how much I mess up human lives” thing going on, which I also enjoy. Kids have to learn to fear the fey sooner or later. Crystal- From her arm-warmers to her stripes, here’s the soft grunge girl here to punish the preps for existing. Well, to punish everyone around her for the sorry state of her love life. Unrequited love stinks. Of course, what makes her a villain instead a tragic hero is that she is perfect content to ruin as many lives as it takes to get what she wants. Again, fairies tend to be amoral. Raquelle- Only an antagonist in that she remains Barbie’s self-proclaimed rival, and pain in the rear, even as she joins her quest to save Ken. To be fair, at no point does Raquelle stop thinking of herself as Ken’s friend. Partnering with a rival to save a mutual friend is probably Raquelle’s most antihero moment across all media she appears in. So while there’s a lot of antagonists, ranging from rivals to villains to “manic force of nature” I would have a difficult time saying, “You know what movie has some great antagonists? A Fairy Secret.” Although it definitely gets points for variety.

Doll Tie-in: 4/10

Comparing the doll commercial to the movie, I get the feeling that the people making the commercial hadn’t been given the plot to the movie before writing the script for the advertisement.

youtube

Personally, as someone who just genuinely likes dolls, I don’t like the moulded on bodices, since they limit the number of dresses you can put over them. I get the idea that the moulded on swimsuits are to give the dolls some vestige of dignity when the girls are leaving them undressed.

As for “transforming dresses”, the Fairy Secret dolls all have variations on the “skirt folds out into wings” gimmick.

This was also the period where the doll designers decided that plastic moulded curlicue laces going all up a doll’s shins said “fairy fashion”, and that, I’ll admit, I like.

At least the faces have better moulds than the characters in the films.

#Kittywitch has watched every Barbie film #Barbie #reviews #meta #Barbie: a Fairy Secret

17 notes · View notes

katlyn1948 · 6 years ago

Text

An Unexpected Journey Part 13 “Fury is Coming”

So...I finally finished the chapter! There is a lot that goes on in this chapter and I apologize if it ends up a bit choppy towards the end. I really wanted to get this out before tomorrow and I had some downtime here at work, so I finished it during that. I did enjoy writing most of this chapter, but what I am really looking forward to is the next chapter. It is the last one and then after that is the epilogue. I do want to warn you that there is a mention of rape in this chapter, so trigger for anyone. I will also be editing the tags to reflect that. Don't worry, thought all will reveal it self in this chapter. I want to fully let all of you know that the last chapter may not be posted until the end of July or beginning of August. I work the next 17 days straight and will have little to no time to write. I will try to get drabbles up for my other collection of fics to pass the time, but as far as a long chapter, don't expect it anytime soon. I tried not to leave this on a cliff hanger...I may have subconsciously have done so idk. Anyway, I really hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!! As always, happy reading...maybe?

Fury Is Coming

Arya slipped out of Stonehelm without being seen. She had her satchel filled with a dress, shoes, and a pretty little face. She hated that she had to kill Jeyne Swann, but her family came first and if it meant disposing of an evil wench, then she wouldn’t hesitate. But she still couldn’t shake the feelings that had returned when she slit her throat. It was almost as if she missed the feeling; like it was an extension of her being that had repaired itself. The worst part was that she liked it. She liked how it felt and how it made her feel. She liked that she had taken a life again and some part of her couldn’t wait to do it again.

This feeling reminded her of her list that she so many years ago. Although fulfilled, she could remember each and every name upon it. There were a few names that had been removed in light of certain circumstances, but it still remained as such: a list of people that she would kill. She had new list now, and Lord Swann was at the top. She couldn’t believe the audacity that the man had! To plan the heist and to willingly kill your high lord. He was a stupid man to think that Bran would let him live after such things. The worst of it was that he decided to bring his children into the scheme, endangering not only himself, but his entire family.

Arya would make the man pay even if it meant the death of her.

As promised, she reached the camp before sunup. Her horse was beyond exhausted and even her own body ached. She had bandaged her stab wound on her arm during the ride back, so the ties were not as tight as she had wanted them. She was no stranger to stab wounds, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like seven hells. She knew Jon would reprimand her, but they didn’t have time silly squabbles. She had to get back to her tent and turn into Jeyne Swann.

Once she reached the edge of camp, Jon came bursting out of his own tent ready to greet her. He gave one glance in her direction and immediately called for a maester to treat her arm and her swollen eye that she hadn’t realized was injured.

“What happened?” He asked her as they were seated in his tent.

The maester was stitching her arm and she had a wet cloth pressed to her upper right eye.

“She fought back.”

Jon chuckled, “Yeah, I can see. Did you…get it?”

She knew what he was asking. She pulled her satchel from the chair beside her and threw it over to her brother. Jon caught it with ease and carefully lifted the opening, revealing a freshly carved face with light blonde hair. His face went pale and he tried to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat. It was hard to hear Arya’s story when she told him, and he knew that she had to do those things to survive. He just never believed that she could be capable of something like this. Jon still believed Arya to be his sweet little sister that didn’t like to do lady things, not some killer assassin capable of becoming someone else.

He placed the satchel down and returned his gaze to his sister. The maester was nearly complete and the swelling around her eye had gone down to it normal size. He could see the tiredness across her face and half a mind to tell her to rest when he remembered that, not even he could make Arya do something she didn’t want to do.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asked her.

Arya removed the wet cloth from her face and pulled her shirt over her head once the maester had finished with his handiwork. She knew what the plan had to be. She was a master at deception and would use what the faceless men of Braavos had taught her.

“I’m using Jeyne’s face to get into Storm’s End. I need two of the gold cloaks to shed their armor and wear the Swann’s armor to accompany me. I was able to grab a few before I left Stonehelm. I must admit that their soldiers aren’t as well trained as ours and could be easily over taken…if I can get in. The sun is coming up and I can make up some excuse that Stonehelm was taken by Gold Cloaks. I’ll say that I only managed to get away. They have no choice to let me in, especially if I look like Jeyne. Then night will come, and I will sneak passed the guards and open the gates. The Swann men and who ever else that conspired with them will have no choice but to lay down their weapons. Jon, I want as little blood shed as possible. These men are only taking orders from a fat pompous pig with no moral code and don’t deserve to die.” Arya laid out the plan before her brother and she could see the wheels in his head turning.

He took in every word she said and couldn’t deny that it was a bloody good plan. Even better than the one they originally planned. Her way would prevent unnecessary death and give the men following Swann time to surrender. But Jon still felt cautious. He didn’t want to risk the life of his little sister and this plan put her at the very center of the chaos.

With a reluctant sigh he nodded his head in total agreement.

“I will let the men know while you…change.”

Jon left the tent and left Arya to her own devices. She began to pace the large tent studying the situation at hand. All she had to do was wear Jeyne’s face and pretend to be her for a short while. This would be easier that imitating the guard she had killed. Arya had known Jeyne. She knew how she walked and talked and could easily become her. But she wasn’t sure if wanted to become her. With Jeyne’s revelation that Arya may be pregnant, she didn’t want to run any risk of harming the babe. But there was a possibility that Jeyne could have been lying about Arya’s condition in order to distract her. She wanted to ask the maester then and there, but Jon had been present and if he knew that she may be carrying he would have put a stop to the plan altogether. Arya couldn’t have that. If she was indeed pregnant than her child would know who their father is. She had to save Gendry because the thought of raising another child without him was unbearable.

Arya grabbed the satchel from where Jon had left it and reached into the bag, pulling out her new identity for the next full day.

Putting on Jeyne’s face had proven more difficult than what Arya had suspected. She never put on a face of someone who she personally had known. Sure, the other faces she stole, she had to observe the person and their mannerism. She had to see what they did and how they talked and how they walked. But she never knew them. Arya had known Jeyne. She had carried conversations with the woman and had threatened her from time to time. It was at that moment, when she put on Jeyne’s face, that she truly understood why the faceless men became No One. You weren’t supposed to have feelings about the one you kill. It is supposed to be emotionless and void of relation. Putting on the face of someone she knew had felt different than those she didn’t know. Walder Frey or even a lowly house maid was easy to pretend, but Jeyne Swann without a doubt in Arya’s mind was her most difficult face yet. It took her a few tries to get Jeyne’s mannerism exactly right and imitating her voice was a test in it of itself. With only a few more hours until the sun hit the horizon, Arya became Lady Jeyne Swann.

She was dressed in one of the dresses Arya had seen Jeyne wear numerous of times. It was a long silk dress with long sleeves that flared at the bottom. The neck line was shaped like an V and stop just above the breast bone. Her waist was cinched with a large leather belt and the floral design had given the dress a light-hearted feel. Arya felt too exposed in the dress but had to wipe the feeling away. She wasn’t Arya Stark anymore, she was Lady Jeyne Swann and Lady Swann never felt exposed.

Arya tussled her hair, letting the long blond curls cascade down her back. She gave herself a small cut above her lip to make it look like she was hit with a fist. She had to play the part of escaped hostage and couldn’t show up to the gate without a scratch on her. She gave the dress she was wearing a few tears and pulls to make it look like it was nearly pulled off of her. Once satisfied with her look, she exited the tent.

Jon was waiting right outside with the two guards she had requested.

His face when he saw her was nothing short of disbelief. He knew it was sister standing before him, but if he hadn’t known it was her he would never be able to guess that real Jeyne Swann was dead.

“Arya? Is that you?” He asked her as he got closer to where she was standing.

“My name is Jeyne Swann and I am your captor. I escaped the raid at Stonehelm and made my way here with two of my guards to meet my father.” Arya said calmly.

Jon pursed his lips, “Right. Jeyne Swann.”

He pushed passed Arya and followed the path leading down to Storm’s End. Arya mounted her horse and followed the two guards, slowly trotting behind them. Before they reach the castle gates, Jon stopped the party and moved his horse to ride next to Arya.

“I have to leave you here now. Be safe and give ‘em seven hells.”

Arya couldn’t help but smile. She gave him a small nod and watched as he galloped back towards the woods. She was surprised at how well Jon had taken her face stealing. She had expected a bigger blow up from him; instead she was greeted with the same old Jon concerned about her wellbeing.

She turned back to the guards and motioned them forward.

The trek up to the castle gates didn’t take long. As she got closer she began to observe the outside of the castle. There were three soldiers standing guard and four patrolling the wall above. All were dressed in the Swann armor that the two Gold Cloaks were dress in now.

“Halt! Who approaches Swann Manor?” One of the soldiers standing before the gates yell.

Arya mentally laughs at the deluded name Lord Swann had given Storm’s End. As if a castle as mighty as this one would even be named something so puny. It was no more than a mockery for the castle and Arya could feel her blood boil at the name.

“We’ve come from Stonehelm with Lord Swann’s daughter!” The gold cloak on the right responds.

“Please ser, I wish to see my father! Stonehelm was attacked! I hardly made it out alive!” Arya whined. She did her best to imitate Jeyne, thinking of the many times she had whined to her father.

There were small whispers being exchanged between the soldiers and for a moment Arya was beginning to get nervous. She was sure these men had no idea what Lady Jeyne Swann looked like, thus allowing them to enter. If they were smart, they would bring someone out to greet them; to make certain that it was indeed Lady Jeyne Swann.

“Stay there! We will bring someone out to you to confirm your identity.” The same soldier stated.

They aren’t as stupid as they look. Arya mentally noted.

They waited for several minutes before the large iron gate opened. A small figure emerged from the entrance and Arya recognized the auburn hair immediately. Rena had looked beaten and broken. Her hands were bound with chains and her Arya could see the raw skin where the shackles chaffed against her wrists. Rena’s left eye was swollen and bruised, and her bottom lip was busted open. She was dressed in no more than a thin cotton sham; her nipples protruding through the thin fabric as the wind swept passed them.

Arya wanted to scream. She wanted to run to Rena and shield her from any more harm. It took every ounce of self-control in her body to not jump off her horse and slay every single soldier in that castle. She hated seeing her friend in such a manner and could only imagine what they did to her. But if it is one thing that Arya knew about Rena is that she was unbreakable. They could beat her and burse her, but she would not break.

“Is it her? Is that Lady Jeyne Swann?” The solider asked Rena as he pushed her forward.

Rena lifter her head and looked Arya in the eyes. She studied her face for a moment and Arya was hoping she couldn’t see through the façade. After several minutes of observation, Rena said, “Aye, that’s her.”

The soldier grabbed Rena’s arm and threw her to another patrolling soldiers. “Take her back with the others.”

The soldier nodded and began escorting Rena back into the castle. Arya saw her figure retreat and wanted nothing more than to follow her to where she was going.

“Come on, your father is waiting for you inside.” The soldier motioned them to enter. Without a beat, Arya urged her horse forward through the castle gates. Aside from a few burnt canopies and an empty forge, the inside looked unscathed. Arya recognized several of the castle workers. The looks on their faces were that of fear and dread. It would be no surprise if they had complied to Lord Swann’s demands. They were just trying to survive.

They led Arya to the stables and docked her horse into an empty pin. It wasn’t until she stepped down from her horse that she noticed the dead one it the corner of the stables. It was Windbreaker, Lyra’s horse. No doubt the coup had scared the poor creature and instead of calming the beast, they shot her dead with arrows.

“What happened?” She asked one of the soldiers as she passed the dead horse to exit the stable.

“It tried to run over your father. We had to shoot her down. It’s a shame, really. I heard she was a fast one.”

The soldier led her to the grand hall situated in the middle of the castle. There were scarcely any workers; not like it had been one a week ago. It was a strange sensation to Arya; being in a familiar castle, yet having it feel so foreign. It was Storm’s End, there was no denying that, but it didn’t feel like Storm’s End. To Arya, it just felt like on big cage trapping her inside.

They entered the grand hall and the first thing Arya noticed was Lord Swann along with his two sons seated at the main long table in the front of the hall. It made Arya sick to even look at the pompous man sitting where Gendry sat. It took everything in her to keep down what little food she had eaten on the journey here.

At first, Lord Swann was oblivious to her presence. He was preoccupied with shoving his fat face with whatever meat pie the cooks had scrounged up for him to eat. He was talking with his sons, going over some battle plan, and Arya could see his half-chewed pie spew out of his wide mouth. This man was truly grotesque, and the more Arya stared at him the more she struggled to keep the bile in her mouth.

“My Lord, your daughter Lady Jeyne, has arrived.” The soldier swiftly interrupted.

Lord Swann suddenly stopped from his conversation and looked up at them both. His eyes went wide with shock and he was suddenly descending from the high table. Arya had no inclination that that man could walk as fast as he did. Every time she meet the man he would swaddle back and forth like a woman heavily pregnant with a babe. He couldn’t take two steps without huffing for air, yet the moment he saw his daughter he had gotten over to her position in record time.

“My sweet Jeyne, what happened.” His voice was soft as he spoke to her.

Arya had to swallow her illness and pretend to be a distraught lady.

“Oh father! It was horrible! They raided the castle, the kings men, and began killing everyone they saw! I tried to escape, but not without being caught. A man grabbed me and hit me across my face. I didn’t know what was happening! If it weren’t for the two guards I rode with here, I would surly be dead.” Arya sobbed. She ran to Lord Swann and buried her face into his chest. She had to restrain herself from gagging as she smelt the stench of sweat and stale ale on his clothes.

“My sweet girl! Why was no raven sent? How did they even know we had taken Storm’s End?” He questioned as he rubbed her head.

“It seems as if a letter was sent from here before the raid had ceased. And the worst part is that they have that treacherous Arya Stark with them. Oh father, it happened so fast! They killed everyone!” Arya rolled her eyes as Lord Swann continued to sooth her.

“Hush now. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and get you some food to break your fast. Then you can rest.” He reassured her.

Arya shook her head in agreement.

Lord Swann beckoned for a chamber maid to be brought to the grand hall. After several minutes, a girl Arya knew had entered. She was one of the chambermaids for little Lyra and was a sweet girl. Now, she looked terrified and fragile.

“My name is Desa, my lady.” She said to Arya was she curtsied.

“I don’t care who you are, just take me to my rooms.” Arya spoke. She hated that she had to be so mean to the girl, but she had to be believable.

“Of course, my lady. Right this way.” She motioned for Arya to follow her.

Before exiting the grand hall, Arya turned to ask Lord Swann a question, “Father? Perhaps after some rest I can be taken to where the prisoners are. I would like to laugh upon them at their failure.”

Lord Swann’s mouth turned into a wide grin, “Yes, my sweet, I would love to give you that pleasure.”

Arya gave a small curtsy and followed the chamber maid to her rooms. She scoffed when she had been escorted to her old chambers from when she first arrived at Storm’s End. She had never slept in them, of course, but she did go in there a couple of times for new clothing when her and Gendry were sneaking about their relationship.

“Here you are, my lady. Is there anything else I can assist you with before I leave you?” Desa asked her in a small voice.

“You can tell me where the prisoners are.” She stated.

Desa’s face paled, “Your lord father stated that he will take you to the prisoners after you’ve gotten rest. Besides, you really should have the maester take a look at that lip of yours.”

“I know what my father said! But I am asking you a question that I expect you to answer.” Arya’s voice was stern and hard.

Desa swallowed, “They are being held in the Round Hall, below the Lord’s chambers.”

“Why there? Why not the cells below the castle?” She asked.

Desa shrugged, “From what I’ve heard, they want to be able to keep an eye on all of the prisoners at once. But that is all I know, my lady, I swear it to the old Gods and new.”

“Oh, stop rambling like an idiot. That will be all.” Arya shooed the chamber maid away.

Desa gave a quick curtsy and left her in her chambers.

Arya let out a sigh as soon as the door closed. She was relieved to finally be alone. Keep up this charade was proving difficult and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend to be Jeyne Swann. As every hour passed, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to pull of her face was increasing. She had to last until night fall. Once the stars were above head she would be able to shed Jeyne’s face and slay the soldiers guarding the front gate, allowing her brother and the troops to take the castle back. Arya had reminded her bother to inform Brienne and the Tarth men to enter the castle through the secret entrance when they heard the fighting. All she could do was hope the message was relayed in time.

Arya couldn’t waste time. She had to set the plan in motion and that started with getting a message to the prisoners letting them know help was on the way. After she had gathered herself in her cambers, Arya exited the room and began ascending the stairs to the Round Hall. She couldn’t wait until supper time to see them and she had to warn them to the impending raid.

As she reached the Round Hall doors she spotted two soldiers guarding the entrance. She had no doubt that there were probably more inside.

“Good day, sers. I’ve come to see the prisoners.” She said calmly.

“And who are you?” One of the soldiers asked.

“How dare you?! I am Lady Jeyne Swann, Lord Swann’s daughter! My father said that I could come see the prisoners and that is what I am doing.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but no one comes in or out without the permission of the lord.” He replied.

Arya pursed her lips. She remembered the scowl Jeyne used to give her and etched it across her face.

“You question me? Once my father hears about this, he will have your heads.” She said as she began to turn on her heel.

The soldier quickly raised his hands, “No! I apologize, my lady. Of course, you may go in.”

A sly smile formed on Arya’s face and she thanked the young soldiers as they opened the door to the Round Hall.

Her heart sank as she saw the people she loved huddled in a corner of the Round Hall looking defeated and beaten. Everyone she cared about was in that hall. Rena and Archie along with their children were shackled together. Arya saw the tear streaked face of little Ginger clutching onto her father’s arm. Their babe, no more than ten moons was cradled in his mother’s arms. Joanna and Aster were holding onto one another for dear life. Arya could tell that Joanna wasn’t the same Joanna she had left a week ago. She was bloodied and bruised and looked so frail. Arya noticed that she was in same thin sham as Rena had been in. It did little to cover their bodies, leaving the women vulnerable to prying eyes. Arya also noticed the blood stain situated between Joanna’s legs. That sight nearly made Arya faint with pure anger. She vowed that she would find the man that took her maidenhead and flay him for all to see. Arya racked the room and noticed that Ser Davos and the head cook were also shackled together. They didn’t have many cuts or wounds on their body, but they could have looked better. It wasn’t until her eyes landed on Gendry that Arya nearly reeled the contents of her empty stomach. He was beaten so badly that his left eye was swollen shut. His nose was bent in an odd direction and he was clutching his side from what was no doubt several broken ribs. His wrists were bound together, like everyone else in the room.

Arya made her way to the group of prisoners despite the warnings coming from the guards. She shouldn’t have been thinking like Arya Stark, but she couldn’t help it. Her instincts were telling her to save the people she loved, but her mind was telling her to stay put. She had a job to do and if she blew it now, then they would all be dead before sun down.

“My lady, please do not get to close to the prisoners.” A guard warned.

“Shut your mouth! I will do as I please.” She scolded.

This elicited a reaction from Gendry. He had recognized that voice and it wasn’t Jeyne Swann’s. It sounded similar to the Swann girl, but there was no denying that there was a hint of a northern accent in there too.

“Lord Gendry. Look at the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into now.” Arya teased. She tried to make it sound as if it would be something Jeyne would say, but she was finding that it was something she would say.

“What do you want, Jeyne? Come to torment me? Do your worst.” He casually spoke.

“No, I came to see my father’s prizes. I told you we would get Storm’s End, one way or another.”

Gendry scoffed. He was becoming annoyed with the Jeyne look alike. He wasn’t positive if it was indeed Arya, or if his mind was playing a cruel game. Perhaps the blows to his head had finally caught up.

“What do you want, Jeyne? Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be back at Stonehelm?” He questioned her.

“Thanks to that whore Arya Stark and her bastard brother, Stonehelm is gone! They attacked us in the dead of night a swarmed the castle. They came from both ends, they did. I barely escaped with my life!”

“And you expect me to feel sorry for you?”

“You stupid bull! Of course, you should!”

Gendry’s eyes snapped to hers. She gave a small wink and a small smile made its way to Gendry’s lips. He knows! Arya thought. She was relieved that Gendry was able to pick up on the subtle clues. She just hoped that he understood the plan from the elaborate story.

“Well, I do apologize, Lady Swann, but I have no ounce of sympathy for you.” Gendry spat. He tried to make his voice sound harsh, but failed at doing so. Arya tried to suppress a chuckle, not wanting to blow her well-guarded cover.

“Guard, I think I am done with seeing the prisoners for today. Please escort me to my room.” Arya said to the nearby solider. She tried to sound as spoiled and whiney as Jeyne had been. It was difficult, but she believed she pulled it off.

The solider led her to her chambers where she stayed until the dinner bell rang, indicating supper was now being served.

She made her way to the great hall and took her seat next to one of Jeyne’s brothers. Arya noticed the Great Hall fill with guards and soldiers alike. Most donned the Swann banner, but there were a few with banners that Arya had yet to learn. For the last three moons, she had been trying to learn all of the House Banners of those under House Baratheon. She was able to remember all but three and the one banner that had just walked in was unfamiliar.

“Lord Storm! So good of you to join us! We do appreciate lending a few men to fight in the heist.” Lord Swann’s voice boomed as he entered the Great Hall, taking his seat at the head of the main table.

“You are welcome, my lord. House Caron will help in any way possible.” The man answered.

Arya finally realized that the man standing in front of them was Rolland Storm, Lord of House Caron. It was surprising to say the least, considering House Swann and House Caron despised each other just a few short moons ago. Each had laid claim to being the oldest of the marcher lords, causing some unresolved conflict over the last decade.

“As promised, Stonehelm will be yours once we rid of the world of the last Baratheons. Although, I must regret to inform you that Stonehelm was taken the night before by the King’s men. Among them, the bastard Jon Snow and his wench of a sister, Arya Stark. My poor daughter hardly escaped with her life.” Lord Swann announced.

There were hush whispers that sounded the Great Hall. Many were surprised by the false information given to them. They hadn’t heard of an incoming army and were no way prepared to fight a crowd that large.

“I do beg your pardon, my lord? Stonehelm was taken? Should we have concern that they will attack Storm’s End next?” Questioned Lord Storm.

The whispers now turned to frantic conversation and Arya began to see the gaps in the already crumbling armor of what was Swann’s men. They weren’t well trained and most seemed genuinely terrified to fight an army of that of the Gold Cloaks and Unsullied.

“Silence! There is no cause for panic! Even if they march here to Swann Manor, they have no way of taking the castle. We can last a siege for years. If Arya Stark wants her bastard boy, then she will have to come and get him directly.” Lord Swann’s voiced echoed across the hall.

The very sound of his voice made Arya’s skin tingle with disgust. She couldn’t wait to gut him like the pig he is.

The chatter began to quiet and Swann’s men along with those of House Caron continued eating their meals.

Arya turned to her own plate and suddenly felt sick to her stomach. It was filled with foods like grapes, sweet apples, and chicken. A piece of brown bread sat on the edge of her plate while a large chunk of what looked like boar sat in the center. It was fine food, but the very thought of consuming any of it made her insides churn. Not even the mild ale would tame her grumbling stomach.

“Are you going to eat that?” The man sitting beside her asked.

She turned and was greeted with the male resemblance of Lady Jeyne. One of her brothers, no doubt, and perhaps the younger of the two. Arya did not know much about the Swann family, but she knew that Lord Swann had three children. His oldest and heir, Donnel Swann was married to a fair lady from the Stormlands. They have three children and from what Arya can remember, a forth on the way. Manfred Swann was the younger son and the middle child. Just from observation, he seemed to be the dimwitted one with no couth.

“Uh…no, I’m not.” Arya stated.

Manfred reached over and plucked the plate from in front of Arya and settled it before him. She was surprised by his gesture, but grateful that the smells of the food were no longer wafting into her nose.

The dinner seemed to last for hours and waiting made Arya tick. She hated the waiting and the staying still. If her hands weren’t doing anything to occupy the time, she would become impatient and fidgety. She was lucky that no one seemed to care that Lady Jeyne Swann was in their company, leaving Arya to her own thoughts and devices. It wasn’t long before she grabbed a large piece of brown bread and began tearing off chunks to pass the time.

After several hours of men eating and drinking their bellies full, most began to retire for the night. Some would go back on patrol while a few others would roll into whatever cot was available and sleep on their wine.

Arya was hoping that most would sleep, giving her brother and his men the advantage. Of course, they wouldn’t even be able to get into the bloody castle if Arya didn’t escape from this dreaded dinner soon. She glanced over towards the end of the table and saw Lord Swann falling into his cup. She gave a sly smile and lifted from her chair, making her way towards to the stout man.

“Father, perhaps it is time for you to rest?” She encouraged.

Lord Swann looked up at her and gave a short nod, “Of course, my dear.”

He lifted from his own chair and stumbled over his feet, causing a few of the maids to catch is falling body. Arya could hear a frustrated sigh come from behind her. She turned to see that Manfred had lifted from his seat to help his intoxicated father.

“I’ll get him to his chambers.” He stated. He began to guide his father out of the Great Hall and down a corridor that Arya knew led to the nearby chambers.

Arya turned on her own feet and began to walk out of the Great Hall herself when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Mother would be proud.” It was Donnel, there was no doubt.

She turn to face him; her body half outside of the Great Hall doors.

“I beg your pardon?” She asked in an innocent voice.

“Mother would be proud that you are taking care of him in her absence. You really have grown from your childish ways, Jeyne.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. She better than to press a conversation that had clearly ended, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Would mother be proud of you? Chaining women and children together?” She pressed.

Donnel’s eyes widened.

“You saw them? When?”

“This morning, shortly after I arrived. I understand that they are the enemy, but was it necessary to do that of small children?” Arya’s voice cracked ever so slightly, but she quickly reeled in her emotions.

“It was father’s idea. All of it was. I never wanted any part of this, if I am being honest. And why do you care so suddenly? You loved the fact that father had arranged this heist! What changed?” He began questioning her.

Arya remained calm and answered him with ease. “I only wanted Storm’s End and Gendry, I never wanted children to be harmed, even if they are brats. And you really didn’t want to do this? Any of this?”

He grunted in frustration, “No Jeyne! I was content living with my wife and children. I didn’t want to be dragged into this mess. I only went along with it because it was father! I actually like our High Lord and think he’s done a splendid job.” He paused and took a deep sigh, “I left Stonehelm after I married for a reason, Jeyne. I didn’t want to be a part of politics. Yet, here I am caught up in a heist that will surly get me killed, all because I can’t seem to shake our father’s demands.”

Arya’s face went soft. She understood Donnel’s predicament. She knew what it felt like to be caught between family duty and doing the right thing. It was a hard thing to choose between.

“You’ll live. I know it.” She gave him a small smile before turning and making her way up to her chambers.

Once safely inside, she latches the door behind her. She quickly tears off Jeyne’s face and tosses it into her satchel. She shed her dress and quickly jumped into her breeches and jerkin, securing Needle and Cat’s Paw on her waist belt. She reached under the bed and pulled out a bow and arrows, fastening the bow across her chest, while hooking the arrows around her waist. She tied her hair into a bun atop her head. It had grown out considerable and was more practical up then the normal half up half down style she preferred to wear. She slipped on her leather gloves and gave herself a once over in the large mirror situated in the corner of the chamber she was in. It was her simple get up and reminded her of her garments she had worn during the Battle of Winterfell.

She studied her reflection longer than normal. She looked the same, but there were features that had noticeable changed. Her face was rounder and her hips seemed wider. Her normal cloth to lay down her breasts felt more unconfutable than usual and her breeches seemed tighter around her waist. She turned to her side and noticed, just barley peeking, was a small swell curving on her lower abdomen.

She had ignored all the signs and chalked it off as stress, but now, as she looked at herself she realized that she was in fact with a babe. The thought terrified her but she also couldn’t shake the slight excitement she felt as well. She thought it impossible for her the carry children, yet there she was cradling the small bump. This was all the more reason for her to save the people she loved. To save the man she loved. She couldn’t stand the thought of having her child grow up without their father. It was a horrible experience that she had the misfortune of going through.

Once satisfied with her look and final realization that she was pregnant, Arya slipped out of her chambers and scurried through the dark corridors of Storm’s End.

She was quiet as a mouse and swift as a cat. Not a single soul would know that Arya Stark was inside of Storm’s End, aside from Gendry.

Arya made her down to the holding cells below the castle. Surprisingly there was not a single soldier or guard watching over the place. She slipped past several cells and made her way to a small passage that led straight to the beach. The tunnel was small, but she knew that wouldn’t stop someone like Ser Brienne of Tarth or her men. Arya was out of tunnel in minutes and was greeted by the warm salty air of the Stormlands. She looked off into the distance and notice a band of men gathered around a small campfire. By the looks of it, there were at least 50 men ready to fight. It hadn’t been the number Arya had hoped for, but it was sure to be more than enough to help take back the castle.

“Ser Brienne.” Arya spoke, startling some of the Tarth men. She had come upon them in silence, no one noticing she had even arrived.

“Lady Stark, a pleasure to see you again.” Brienne greeted with a bow.

“Likewise. I see you revived my brother’s letter?” Arya inquired.

Ser Brienne nodded grabbing the scroll from her satchel. She handed it to Arya and Arya took it gladly, giving the contents a quick read.

“Perfect. If you and your men are ready, then I can lead you back to the castle. We must hurry. I still have to let my brother in.” Arya motioned for them to follow her.

Brienne gathered her men and marched forward to the tunnel entrance. Just before entering, Arya turned to Brienne.

“I will go forward. You’ll know when to join?”

Brienne gave a short nod and Arya turned, running through the tunnel. She smoothly glided over rock and stone, making sure to not catch her foot on one. Once back inside Storm’s End, Arya ascended the stairs and like before, moved through the castle without making any sound. She made her way to the empty forge and observed the soldiers guarding the main gate. The forge gave a good vantage point where she could see all without being seen herself.

There were two soldiers along the tower above the gate and two standing right outside. With a shaky breath she docked an arrow into her bow and pulled it tight. She exhaled slowly and let the arrow fly, striking one of the soldiers taking guard by the gates, right in the neck. He slumped down in his place and before the other solider could react, Arya let another arrow fly, striking him square in the eye.

The guards above were oblivious to the dead ones below. There weren’t able to see them due to the angle of the tower. Arya discarded her bow and swiftly made her way up the tower stairs. She released Cat’s Paw from its hold and gripped the handle tight. Just like at Stonehelm, Arya sunk her dagger into the guards next, causing him to gurgle his own blood. The other guard saw the encounter and was about to ring the warning bell when Arya took the dagger and threw it, causing it to stab the guard in his hand. He yelled in pain and struggled to unsheathe his sword. Before the guard had time to realize what exactly was happening, Arya stabbed him in the heart with Needle. The guard stumbled to the floor clutching his chest.

Arya turned and made her way down the stair to open the gate for her brother and his men. It gave a loud groan as the hinges sung open. Arya looked off into the distance and could hardly see the figure approaching her. There, riding in on his horse, was Jon.

“What took you so long?” He questioned as he dismounted.

“I had to kill four guards. Thank the Gods they didn’t know how to fight.” She said with a soft chuckle.

Jon pulled Arya into a warm embrace and gave her a soft kiss atop her head.

“I’m glad you’re okay. Now, let’s go save a stag.”

Arya nodded and they made their way into the castle. Grey worm and the unsullied along with several Gold Cloaks were close behind. She led them to the Round Hall where her family was being held. There were several guards at the door, but the moment they saw Jon and Grey Worm, they laid down their weapons and let them pass with ease.

Arya burst into the room but immediately stopped in her tracks. Lord Swann was in the Round Hall with a knife held to Gendry’s throat.

“You must think me stupid, girl! I received a letter from Stonehelm shortly after my son took me to bed. There never was a siege! And now they can’t seem to find my daughter! Have you turned her? Where is she?” He yelled. His spit spraying everywhere.

“Lord Swann, it is over. Lay your weapon down. You men will not survive what is to come.” Jon spoke.

Lord Swann’s face went red with anger. “Not until you tell me where my daughter is. Or by the Gods, I will slit his throat!”

Arya could feel the bile rise in her throat. She wanted nothing more than to run to Gendry and save him from the pigs clutches. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath before answering.

“Your daughter is dead, Lord Swann. She has been for nearly a day.” Arya’s voice was shaky as she spoke. She was terrified of what Lord Swann would do at the news.

“Liar! I sat with just a few hours ago. Now tell me where she is!” He yelled. The knife in his hand began to dig into Gendry’s skin and Arya could see a tiny drop of blood appear.

“That was me, Lord Swann! I killed your daughter, I stole her face and I wore it to get inside the castle! She is dead and if you don’t release Gendry, you’ll be next.” Her voice was calm and icy, sending chills down Lord Swann’s spine.

Arya’s hand rested on her dagger. In one easy move she could throw it and have it pierce Lord Swann’s eye. Gendry noticed the gesture and gave a look to Arya that screamed no.

“I-I don’t believe you! It was my daughter, I know it.” Lord Swann’s voice began to quiver causing his grip to loosen on the knife. This gave Gendry the opportunity to break free from his grasp. In one swift motion, he brought up his chained hands and pushed the knife from his neck. The movement surprised Lord Swann, causing him to stumble back. Gendry was able to pry the knife from Lord Swann’s hand and plunged it into his fat belly. The lord grumble in pain, clutching the gaping wound left by the bloody knife still in Gendry’s hands.

Arya moved to where Gendry was standing and grabbed the knife out of his shaking hands. She passed it to Jon and returned her attention to Gendry.

“Arya, I-” She quickly cut him off by crashing her lips to his. She could taste the stale blood from his healing lip but at that moment she didn’t care. She was so close to losing him; so close to never seeing his face again that nothing, not even the uncomfortable stares from the surrounding people, could tear her apart from him.

They pulled apart after a few minutes in each other’s arms. Jon and Grey Worm had unchained the other prisoners and a maester had been summoned to assess their wounds. Arya knew the physical wounds that they endured would heal, but the mental wounds would forever stay imprinted.

Lord Swann had succumbed to his wound, passing nearly instantly.

When the rest of them exited the Round Hall and made their way to the courtyard they saw all of the Swann men with their weapons on the ground with the Tarth men with their weapons raised against them. Brienne had a man half her size in a head lock, trying to keep him from escaping. Arya recognized the man instantly. It was Lord Rolland Strom of House Caron and he was whimpering like a baby.

“Take him along with any other man not willing to surrender to the holding cells. We will deal with them accordingly come the morn.” Gendry instructed.

Ser Brienne nodded and instructed one of her men to escort Lord Storm into the holding cells beneath the castle.

There was much to do in the night. Most of Lord Swann’s men had surrendered and agreed to swear their allegiance to Storm’s End. The men with Lord Storm were stubborn and agreed to stand by their lord, earning them a stay in the holding cells. The few bodies that dropped were put in the stables until a proper pyre could be built.

The maester finally attended to Gendry after he insisted that everyone else that was in the Round Hall with him were treated first. It was late in the night, with the sun just a few hours from rising. The maester stitched his open lip and applied a salve to his swollen eye. He gave him milk of the poppy for his broken ribs and instructed him to sleep. Of course, being the stubborn bull he is, he insisted on not taking the dreaded concoction and promised he would rest once the usurpers were dealt with.

“I will make him rest, thank you, maester.” Arya smiled.

“Of course, my lady.” The maester turned to exit the chambers they were staying in, but Arya stopped him before he could leave.

“Tell me, how are the other? The children?” Her eyes were pleading.

“They had minor injuries. The children are doing just fine.” He said with a small smile.

Arya nodded, “And what of Joanna? When I saw her she-she…”

Arya’s voice trembled as she remembered the blood stain on her white sham.

“Her moon blood. They hadn’t given her the proper materials to clean herself. She has assured me that her maidenhead is intact. They did nothing to her but give her a broken nose.” He assured Arya.

Arya let out a sigh of relief and escorted the maester out. She latched the door and turned to climb into the bed beside her sleeping bull.

She studied his face for some time. She wanted to remember every inch of it, even if she had seen his face a thousand times over. She truly loved this man and couldn’t imagine another day without him in it.

Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll tell him.

And she drifted off to sleep.

#Arya Stark #Gendry Baratheon #gendry/arya #gendry x arya #arya/gendry #fanfiction #got #got s8 #non canon #baby #pregnant #shit goes down #omg i cant believe i wrote that

11 notes · View notes

hilarymp · 6 years ago

Text

PET SEMATARY (2019) REVIEW

SPOILER WARNING! This review contains spoilers for Pet Sematary (2019), Pet Sematary (1989) and the novel.

I’ll admit straight out of the gate that I went into Pet Sematary (2019) with a negative attitude. For whatever reason (one that I am still struggling to comprehend) the studio decided not only to make a rather large divergence from the source material’s plot, but to also spoil this “twist” in the trailer and promotional material. That alone was enough to convince me that this remake/reboot/reimagining/whatever the fuck you want to call it probably wasn’t going to win me over. So let’s discuss that first and foremost.

I am not at all opposed to film adaptations making changes. Case in point, 2017’s new IT. IT and it’s miniseries predecessor are among some of my favorite horror films of all time, despite the fact that they were not 100% faithful to the novel, especially the more recent installment. For me changes are totally fine as long as they a.) maintain the spirit, themes, and tone of the original story and b.) make the film more frightening.

With those rules in mind the change prominently displayed in the trailer for 2019’s Pet Sematary, the fact the Creed’s eldest child Ellie is the one who is killed and brought back from the dead instead of toddler Gage, already failed at rule b. Don’t get me wrong, any reanimated evil corpse is going to be scary, but why on earth would you deny us an evil murderous baby just to give us yet another creepy little girl. The ‘creepy little girl’ trope in horror is so tired and overused it makes my head hurt. The Ring, Orphan, The Exorcist, Silent Hill, The Shining, Alice Sweet Alice, The Bad Seed, Let the Right One In, Hereditary, Sinister, I could go on and on and on. The use of the trope isn’t inherently terrible, but why would you go out of your way to use it when something less used and much scarier (a straight up homicidal TODDLER) is an option? The simplest and most likely reason, in my opinion, was for convenience. Is directing a 2 year old more difficult to direct than an 11 year old? Yes, of course, obviously. But it’s definitely possible, as Mary Lambert proved while directing Miko Hughes as Gage in 1989. (Honestly, to this day I can not believe the performance she got out of that little boy.) So to me the change is not only a disservice to the film, but also an indication that the filmmakers were unabashedly lazy.

So now that you know why I had set myself up for disappointment to begin with, let’s break down what the film succeeded at and how it failed.

Whatever problems I have with the film, at least I can say that I loved the cast. John Lithgow was extremely endearing and likable. His performance as Jud was a refreshingly grounded and heartfelt departure from Fred Gwynne’s high camp in ‘89. Jason Clarke was as engrossing as ever. I always enjoy Clarke’s performances, and he often brings extra depth to characters that would have otherwise fallen flat (Dr. Price in ‘Winchester’ being a prime example). And Jete Laurance was nothing short of incredible. You would never expect that this little girl could transform into something to sinister so effortlessly. Her performance in the first half of the film is filled with such sweet sincerity, that her turn into undead Ellie is all the more frightening. Not as frightening as being terrorized by a little ankle biting toddler, mind you, but enjoyable nonetheless. ESPECIALLY compared to Ellie in the 89 film. Do you remember her? My God, she was so annoying.

Speaking of annoying, Amy Seimetz as Rachel was the only weak link in the cast. Instead of being deeply troubled and complex as Stephen King wrote her, Seimetz’s Rachel is so one dimensional that by the third or fourth time we see her crying, I wasn’t just unmoved, I was borderline irritated. ‘The weepy mother’ role in horror films are never especially fulfilling, but in this instance Rachel was meant to be much more than that. And the cheapening of the Zelda subplot doesn’t help matters either.

To me Zelda, Rachel’s late sister who suffered from spinal meningitis, was hands down the scariest part of the book and original film, so I was extra disappointed here. I’m fully aware that the character of Zelda is extremely problematic and portraying her as a monster is ableist as fuck. (Let’s be real, 99% of all Stephen King’s works are problematic but if we pull on that thread we’ll be here all day.) But the in the new film she is completely under utilized. Her appearances have been shrunk down to generic Conjuring-like jumpscares. Like most horror movies these days, the film relies on quick cuts, loud bangs, and obnoxious music cues to startle us instead of showing us anything particularly alarming. There is one prolonged sequence of incredible suspense, as Louis slowly walks through his basement in search of his daughters reanimated corpse, that filled me with so much dread that I was finally genuinely scared. Alas, *sad trombone*, it was undercut with a cheap jumpscare just like all the rest.

On top of uninspired jumpscares, the filmmaking as a whole was ‘meh’ at best, especially the production design. The houses nearly hidden among the picturesque dense woods are definitely more visually interesting than the ones presented to us in ‘89. It also makes the danger of the nearby highway much more palpable, with the road being both closer to the house and more believably prone to accidents, with the thick foliage hindering the drivers’ ability to see. And the ‘pet sematary’ itself is serviceable enough, not much different from what we’ve seen before. But once we are taken beyond the dead fall to the cursed burial ground, the scope of the film shrinks drastically, making everything feel cramped and cheap like a paper mache Haunted house, even with cheap smoke machine effects to match.

There are a lot of loose ends in the film as well, though it’s hard to tell if they were caused by the script or the editing. For instance, when Jud is explaining the burial ground to Louis, he mentions the wendigo that is suspected to be the source of the land’s power. But… that’s all he says about it. He doesn’t explain what a Wendigo is, what it does, or why it does it. If you’ve never read the book, or have never heard of a wendigo before, the word means nothing. Why bring up the Wendigo at all if you’re not even going to tie it into the lore properly. They could just have easily just said ‘cursed Indian burial ground’ (it in and of itself a tired trope, but still) and we would have just went with it. Another example is when undead Ellie is terrorizing Jud, she turns herself into Jud’s dead wife, and mentions that says something along the lines of “Your wife is “n hell for what you did to her before she died”. What? What the hell did he do? Why the fuck would you even put that out there with zero follow up?!

Oh and let’s talk about Pascow. His role in the film is minimized so much, they might as well have left him out entirely. If I’m remembering correctly, late in the novel Pascow appears to Rachel urging her to come home. In the first film he appears to Rachel instead, who tells Rachel they need to come home. But in this film he appears to Gage. A toddler. Who can barely speak. Now as disturbing of a notion it is to have a very small child being haunted by such a gruesome image (and you all know how much I love disturbing shit), it’s also kind of pointless and dumb. If Pascow wanted to get Rachel to come home, why would he appear to Gage who, again, can’t talk, instead of just appearing to Rachel? One could argue that Gage’s crying and saying the name Pascow freaks Rachel out so much that it makes her want to go back, but you could just as easily say she left to get away from her memories of Zelda in her parents house, or the fact that Louis wouldn’t answer his goddamn phone

We’re also missing out on some crucial motivations to explain Louis’ terrible decision making. No scene of Louis and the grandfather fighting at the funeral, no Louis being blamed for his child’s death, no knocking over of the casket. I might be biased since, for me, that sequence is one of the most upsetting moments of the 89 film. But on top of a missed opportunity to shock, it also takes away the debilitating guilt that motivates Louis to resurrect his child, despite knowing it won’t go well. The guilt is still vaguely implicit, but sometimes horror films need to explicitly illustrate cause and effect, if for no other reason than to keep the audience from screaming “Why the fuck would you do that!?” at the screen for 2 hours.

Speaking of motivations, what are Ellie’s? What even is Ellie for that matter? The film can’t seem to make up its mind. Undead Ellie has Ellie’s memories, remembers how she died, and holds grudges against her parents for both her death and her resurrection. So there must be some part of the real Ellie in there, right? But when Rachel says “You’re not my daughter” undead Ellie agrees with her! So if it’s not really Ellie why does she keep trying to guilt and punish her parents? If she’s just an evil demon or spirit possessing Ellie’s corpse, you’d think it’d be glad that Louis was stupid enough to bury her up there. Free meat suit, hurray! The spirit clearly wants more bodies buried up there, seeing as it takes out the entire family just to bring them back like she was. Surely she just wanted to kill them all for funsies, right? Who the fuck knows. The screenwriter sure doesn’t appear to.

Another super obnoxious thing about this film is it’s cheap fake-outs. It’s one thing to change iconic moments from the first adaptation, but constantly calling attention to it is another. Like the ominous close ups of Jud’s heel and him kicking the bed before Ellie gets him on the stairs. Yeah we get it. ‘The old movie had Gage under the bed, but watch out, we’re mixing stuff up in this one!’ Yup. Got it. Thanks for the reminder. Or the whole ‘Gage almost being hit by the truck’ fake out before Ellie is actually hit. This one is especially stupid since you already fucking showed us in the trailer that Gage isn’t going to die. Why even try to fake us out like that when we already know you’ve changed that too? You have successfully irritated and underwhelmed me, movie, no reason to draw more attention to it.

Here’s a quick list of some other petty little things that bugged me. These aren’t even necessarily the movie’s fault, some just come from the book itself.

If Rachel is so traumatized and adverse to talking about death, why the fuck did she marry an ER doctor?

You expect me to believe that Louis, pragmatic Louis who doesn’t even believe in an afterlife, would just follow Jud over the deadfall, through the woods, across a swamp and up a bunch of mysterious stone stairs, with zero explanation? No questions asked? I’d be asking “What the fuck are we doing?” about every couple of yards.

Why in god’s name would Rachel’s parents not only still live in the house where their daughter suffered and died, but also KEEP THE DUMB WAITER SHE DIED IN?

Why don’t movies ever address the fact that when you’re buried your eyes and lips are sewn or glued shut beforehand? And the scene where Louis is bathing Ellie and he sees the staples in her head and is all freaked out - wouldn’t she have huge fucking staples all across her chest and down her abdomen from the funeral home too??

Despite my complaints, Pet Sematary isn’t completely devoid of entertainment value, not by a long shot. It’s not bad, it just could have been so so much better. Pet Sematary is riddled with missed opportunities, and if you‘re an overly analytical jaded horror fan with a devotion to Stephen King like I am, they are much more obvious. I’m not mad, Pet Sematary, I’m just disappointed. To quote Tyra Banks, we were rooting for you, we were all rooting for you! You had so much potential, you just dropped the ball. Just like losing a loved one, there’s a mourning period that must be observed. Time to cope with the loss of what could have been. But rest assured, by the time you come out on blu-ray, I’ll be ready to try again.

#Pet Sematary #pet semetary 2019 #pet semetary spoilers #movie review #stephen king #horror #horror films

6 notes · View notes

brothermouzongaming · 6 years ago

Text

E3 2019 overview

I wanted to take the time to look at and talk about some of the games we’re more than likely seeing at the conference. E3 is...dying and it’s misleading trailers don’t help, but despite this, the show is still important and at least gives us a little insight into what may come in games/tech. So let’s cross our fingers and dive in. I’ll be focussing more on main titles and not DLC and updates. Available footage will be linked in the corresponding title.

Avengers project (Crystal Dynamics/ Square Enix)

It feels like ages since the teaser for the Avengers project dropped. Since then I have been trying to keep my hopes high, I even thought it was canceled for a time when we heard literally nothing since that trailer. I know nothing about this game, but I just hope Crystal Dynamics and Square are treating something this big with the care it needs. The last thing Marvel, more importantly Disney, want is another Battlefront 2 situation on their hands. If Square can incorporate their over the top combat style to the Marvel universe, it could be amazing, incredible, invinci- okay I’ll stop.

Borderlands 3

Getting back into Borderlands just before the big press release was very serendipitous. Something about this made me even more excited for some of the additions coming like loot instancing, slide/mantle (finally), secondary fire weapons, more diverse and varied play spaces, and a lot more. So many of BL2 and the Pre-Sequel’s flaws are glaring with me having played them recently and to see the long-awaited title addressing these exact issues so comforting when I get to thinking about this next adventure into the wastes. It isn’t some massive leap forward or anything, it’s more Borderlands and there’s nothing wrong with that to me. Finally, an online optional looter shooter that isn’t some strange mmo lite, long live the king. Randy Pitchford is a weirdo but I’m not gonna hold that against the devs lol.

Cyberpunk 2077

This is more than likely going to be my game of the show. E3 is typically full of surprises and anything can happen but in all honesty, I just can’t see much coming close especially since we aren’t seeing Death Stranding (thattrailertho). I was literally giddy when they released the gameplay trailer that they showed press and influencers and the FPS RPG looked very good but not unrealistic. Recently it’s come out that the game is “pretty different” from that showcase and that statement interests me as much as it gives me pause. Regardless, we are going to be seeing more of this game with CDPR claiming they’ll have an even bigger presence than last year. I just hope that we get solid gameplay footage and not buzzwords and theatrical trailers.

CoD 2019

Black Ops 4 came out guns drawn and it really impressed at first. Since that time Activision has found a way to completely reverse the conversation around BO4 and where the franchise is headed/ is as a whole. Activision needs a win, and with this being their main and essentially only franchise it has to be big. The rumor is that it’s Modern Warfare 4 which would be a “soft reboot” if that is the case. If not this year then next, I’m surprised it’s even taken them this long so hopefully all this time will lead to something good. Honestly, I’m shocked we’re still getting annual releases of this game. I don’t forsee CoD lasting much longer and this tug at our nostalgia may be a sign of that.

Destroy All Humans (THQ Nordic)

I spent so many hours with my friend Walter terrorizing the meat bags between the tools the game devs gave us and some gamer creativity that was a relatively new aspect of gaming compared to nowadays where player creativity is often an aspect of gameplay. THQ has reported something insane like 50+ games in development which...sounds like a stupid choice but if this is one of them it’s definitely going to get people’s heads turning. Can you imagine what they’ll be able to do with today’s tech? They don’t have to go crazy but then again for the sake of a concise vision but...maybe they should?

Dino Crisis (Capcom)

Let’s talk more about old ass games I’m completely shocked could be coming back. So in light of Capcom bringing back past titles and breathing new life into them, it is reported that Capcom is looking to bring back...Dino Crisis? I swear to god if they make Dino Crisis before Viewtiful Joe and Onimusha? POWER STONE ANYONE?? I’m more than willing to suspend my meh-ness because Capcom has proved that not only can they bring back an old game we love, but they can do it damn well. If this is true, then maybe there is hope for some of my favorite Capcom titles from the past but mother of god why Dino Crisis?

Doom Eternal

Doom 2016 was one of the best first-person shooters I’ve ever played. “Smooth as butter” isn’t something I would use to describe most games but god damn if that game wasn’t lubed up before they packaged it because it’s damn slick. So imagine the stiffy I got when that gameplay was dropped and mobility was increased. Can we talk about the grappling hook shotgun? The new demons and takedowns to dispatch said demons? God knows what else is under the hood for us to find out when it releases let alone when they talk about it during the conference. A more open level design in tandem with the conventional “kill room” here and there is gonna really spice up the combat especially if exploration is properly rewarded. Rage 2 was a disappointment but I do have hope this is gonna live up to the hype the way it did the first time.

Gears of War 5

Lawd Microsoft needs a win. This is quite clearly their attempt at a blockbuster event like God of War was for Sony. Everything about the trailer screams “Oscar bait but for games” and I hope they do the damn thing. Make me sad I don’t have an Xbox dammit! This could be a big step for Gears and could even lead it down a more character focussed design. The world of Gears of War is rich for a deeper explanation, and I know that isn’t what Gears is known for but I won’t be told that they can’t do both. It appears to be heavily cinematic though gameplay can be seen in the trailer above. It seems interesting and I hope they really make something worth owning an Xbox for. The fans deserve it.

Halo: Infinite

Did I say Microsoft needs a win from the software perspective? Cause they do. The Xbox One is fine, the One X is a huge step up and is the most powerful console but there are next to no exclusives for this console. Ya know, the reason why you buy a certain console outside of interface and services. What better way than to bring back the most successful franchise Microsoft has associated with. There’s talk of it having an open world which is jarring initially especially when the history of Halo is rich with environments that tell stories alongside the mid-range combat. If they can properly expand that baseline to fit an open world format, it’ll be amazing. Whether or not they can is the question.

Harry Potter: Magic Awakened

Warner Brothers does a great job of shooting themselves square in the foot. They just put on the finest shoes money can buy and BAM queue the red kool-aid fountain. Shadow of War is the pinnacle of such stupidity with the way the monetization completely bankrupted the integrity of the game. The brief footage that was up involved a third-person real-time action reminiscent of the original games. Warner Bros. jumped on the trailer takedown but it’s safe to say the cat is out of the bag and casting spells in the kitchen. This could be a unique adventure involving a custom character, it could involve something more directly related to the books. Anything is possible but if we heard about it this year it wouldn’t entirely surprise me.

My Friend Pedro

A twin stick shooter of a different kind. Imagine stranglehold but cartoony, John Wick but even more comic book like. It looks like the entire game is going to be centered around ballerina jumping through levels and enemies leaving every enemy in your wake riddled with bullets. It seems light, fun, and self-aware in it’s silliness which can lead to the most fun type of games.

Session

Oh boy, SKATE was my jam back in high school and if you’re anything like me you’ve been waiting for the next game/ literally anything like it to come along. Session appears to be that game, we weren’t told a lot when it was revealed so I’m hoping that E3 will lead to some more information on gameplay and ya know, a release date.

Star Wars: Jedi Fallen Order

Anthem is in shambles and in my opinion, it’s this year’s No Man’s Sky. Between the games they put out, and the Star Wars games they put out (or don’t put out depending on your perspective); this does not bode well at all. Respawn is working on the project and their track record is very good, but I can’t help but worry about what EA is planning. They always find a way to put their hand directly into a project and do exactly what needs to be done to ruin it. Sometimes that’s on the front end in development and planning or lack thereof, and sometimes it’s on the back end with moving devs to other projects/ not hold their devs to the post-launch promises they tend to make and not fulfill. This story of a padawan in hiding after Order 66 is ripe for gameplay development and storytelling. So long as Respawn has the vision and can execute, all we need is for EA to stay the fuck away and let them work. We’ll see.

honorable mentions: Ori and the Will of the Wisps, Vampire Bloodlines 2, From Soft and George R. R. Martin collab, Fable remake, Rocksteady’s Suicide Squad, Wolfenstein Young Blood, Afterparty, Beyond Good and Evil 2, Bleeding Edge (Ninja Theory’s new game), Last of Us 3 (v hype just not a lot of info)

#Avengers project #Borderlands 3 #Cyberpunk 2077 #Call of Duty #Destroy All Humans #Dino Crisis #Doom Eternal #Gears of War 5 #Halo Infinite #Harry Potter Magic Awakened #My Friend Pedro #Session #Star Wars Jedi Fallen Order #e3 #E3 2019 #video games #gaming

1 note · View note

synthaphone · 6 years ago

Text

thinkin about stuff

i’m very glad that people are exposing abusive people in music, that is always the highest priority

but dear god its so emotionally taxing to have to, every three weeks or so, go through my music library and delete a different artist’s music because i can’t listen to them anymore without the specter of whatever awful fuckin shit they did looming over it

like, i only had two songs by grimes, and she’s technically not a sexual predator as far as we know, but i can’t fuckin listen to those anymore!!! like, its not a matter of ‘if i listen to these, i will be doing a morally bankrupt thing’, its a matter of ‘i can’t fucking hear these without thinking about how much of a stupid asshole grimes turned out to be’

said goodbye to fall out boy ages ago because of their pedophile bassist

in an incredibly ironic twist, i had just watched that feature length video essay about parasocial relationships, which reminded me that i hadn’t listened to the rest of The Mountain Goats’ Beat the Champ, was enjoying that, and then 5 days later it turns out that the dude emotionally preys upon his young queer fans- cool!!!! i liked a lot of their music for like, a couple years, but now listening to it feels like i’m listening to some creep’s carefully curated trauma in order to garner sympathy and approval from people a third his age!!!! fuck!!!

also i briefly was enjoying that new carseat headrest album, but then there was

the whole shit that went down regarding 4l*ng and discovering that the cr*wcillers person, who Mr. Carseatheadrest is a big fan of, is ALSO a b*byfur

i kept listening to his music after that like ‘well maybe he doesn’t approve??’ but i know that was bullshit- when i found out two weeks later or so that he was an ass about how sufjan stevens’ album about his mother’s death was ‘trying too hard to be sad’, i finally just gave up on his music. the second thing is much smaller than the first, but convinced me that if he’s a dick he probably doesn’t give a shit about the first thing and so now i can’t listen to that album either

i still listen to paul simon/simon & garfunkel occasionally, because the dude is dead, i’ve listened to it since i was very little, and it reminds me of good times i’ve spent with my dad, but he definitely got into physical altercations with at least one of his partners.

my dad also played a lot of moby in the car when he drove me to school as a kid, and i loved that dude’s boring electronic music for a very long time as a result (a few songs in particular i listened to when i went to japan for a week in 9th grade, and listening to them can remind me vividly about that trip), but moby’s an absolute fucking dumbass and i know that his music is widely regarded to be terrible, so that’s hard to listen to as well.

i dunno, i guess it just feels like... i mean, with artists like falloutboy or whatever, i’m REALLY glad that they were called out for what they did, and they deserve to be buried from public consciousness. their songs were often about the subject of that dude’s abuse, its super fucked up, and i’m really glad that we know now. but man, for some of the smaller stuff, i can’t say there isn’t a part of me that envies people who listened to music before the internet, and didn’t have to know every dumbass thing about the stupid people who make it, and when the musicians didn’t have a massive platform that allows them so many opportunities to fuck up publically

anyway, that’s a pretty selfish envy when it comes down to it. a lot of the artists that my brain reacts to like ‘well, if john darnielle and grimes and carseat headrest didn’t have the internet, they maybe never would have had the opportunity to do anything shitty’, are like... people who maybe wouldn’t even be making music or famous in the first place without the internet. or people who would have done shitty things anyway, but we wouldn’t know about it, and then their victims would have maybe never found a way to expose their abusers.

i think i’m just tired, like emotionally. a huge part of me kind of just doesn’t trust musicians (especially dudes) who make ‘deeply personal’ music anymore- like, when does it cross the line from creating media to help yourself and other people who experienced similar things cope, into exploiting other people who are hurting into worshipping and validating you and your pain?

i have a renewed appreciation in TMBG for making mostly character or conceptual songs and keeping a personal distance from their fanbase- i mean, i know they’re not beyond fucking up too, but i’m just so tired. i was so paranoid that when the aquabats made their kickstarter, as much as i’ve loved that band in the past, part of me doesn’t trust them not to fuck up so badly in the future that i’d have to trash all of their music?? i still haven’t donated, either to the first failed one or the relaunch- i’m tempted to, especially since they broke down where they planned to spend all the money they were looking for, but between the fear of betrayal and the fact that i probably shouldn’t be spending much money frivolously right now, its hard to justify it. i want the stickers, especially if any of them feature lil bat, but again: what if they turn out to be awful people?? does the fact that i’m so paranoid about it with the aquabats but not with a lot of other bands i listen to mean i’m on to something, or is that extremely unfair of me??

i need to open commissions and don’t have any excuse for not doing it anymore- i’m honest to god just scared. i’m scared that i’ll either price my artwork too low, or too high, or that i’ll get a commission and discover that i can’t draw what the commissioner wants, or that i’ll mess up the payment process or the taxes involved with doing freelance...

i’ll be honest, i keep doing those centibyte colors because there’s like, a clear end goal. finish all the colors! very simple. don’t know what to do? work on another color!! nothing to worry about, i can zone out and listen to music... but shit like, buying a new laptop, finding a job, opening commissions, personal projects... changing my residency to georgia (i think i missed the driver’s license transfer window and now i’m just... trying not to think about that. denial, heyy)

and i’d be lying if i said a big part of my incentive for making artwork isn’t for validation. one of the problems i have when i consider applying for a job is that i can’t sell myself- i simultaneously KNOW i’m qualified for jobs, like, i’m a fairly talented animator, if inexperienced, and i can draw appealing illustrations and creatures- but my insecurities kind of prevent me from being able to say ‘i’m an illustrator’ or ‘i would be a good fit for your company’. like, i’ve broken down and cried in college on multiple occassions- i really don’t want that to happen at a job??? plus, there aren’t a lot of positions open near me that i’m interested in, or that fit the criteria of what i can do, and combined with my fear to check for new ones...

so posting neopets fanart (or any fanart, really) on the internet is easy validation- i’m obsessed with seeing people enjoy my work, and that’s one of the other reasons i haven’t started my personal project. i want to tell a story, but i really want to tell it for me, without obsessing over how other people will react to it or if other people will like it. i kind of know that it isn’t a very good story?? i just want to put it into physical form, as a sort of emotional fulfillment to myself. i feel like i can only do that if i promise never to post it, but then in the back of my mind, there’s always a voice saying shit like “but if it turns out good... you could eventually post it”, sort of poisoning the whole thing. i haven’t even started.

i improved so much at art after i started posting my art to the internet in high school, but i do miss how i would just draw and make stuff up for myself and my sisters when i was in middle school. some of my incentive WAS for people to eventually see it and enjoy it, in the case of when i was obsessed with designing toys, or writing a fantasy novel, but that kind of feedback was set in the distant future, and some of it was just for me, or for games i was playing with my sisters and friends. i want to figure out how to make stuff for me again

#SUPER personal please do not reblog #also some potentially triggering stuff in here- only briefly mentioned #mostly just about 'shit music artists did' mentioned in passing #this went off on an extreme tangent around halfway through

7 notes · View notes

amplesalty · 3 years ago

Text

Halloween 2021 - Day 23 - V/H/S 2 (2013)

I’d make a joke saying VHS 2 would make it S-VHS or something but apparently they did nearly call it that...

Random tangential storytime that I don’t really think I’ll be able to fit in anywhere else, a video store opened in my town recently. Well, not exactly, the video store part is just a front. See, in this instance VHS stands for Very Hidden Speakeasy. I was just really confused at first, I always tempted to go in and ask what the hell their deal was but that felt like it would kinda be a dick move. “Oh, I’m not here to buy anything, I just wanted to ask how you guys actually make any money.” I guess you’d get the occasional person who’d maybe rent a VHS machine and a movie or two but that’s not going to sustain you.

Anyway, we’re getting toward the end of the month and I’ve realised there are certain obligations I have not yet fulfilled, one of them being looking at an anthology film. I’m sure there’s plenty to choose from out there, even if I’ve already hit on the biggest ones like Creepshow or Twilight Zone, why not head back to the world of V/H/S? After all, I have been looking at a lot of sequels this month. Plus they did just do their reboot/sequel type thing with V/H/S 94 so it’s timely.

Looks like my original viewing of V/H/S was back in *checks notes* 2017, albeit after I’d kinda given up for that month. I remember it being..okay? That one segment where those guys find an exorcism and try to escape the house, only for the house to start changing around them, walls closing over doors and stuff like that, that one was cool. Other such gems you missed my thoughts on were Leprechaun, Pumpkinhead and Ernest Scared Stupid. Maybe I should do a Halloween Hangover for that last one, between that and the Christmas movie, I kinda like Ernest.

As mentioned, V/H/S is an anthology film and, as the name might suggest, old video tapes are the medium through which these stories are told. It’s a pretty neat and simple way to do it, you don’t have to go into some grand story or have a convoluted way to tie all the stories together, you just need a reason why someone would be watching these tapes and then you can jump right in. Like, I think in the first one a bunch of people broke into someone’s house and they found this tape collection. Here it’s a private investigator looking for a missing college student who finds all these cassettes in his house.

The first of which, ‘Phase I Clinical Trials’ involves a guy who has received some sort of bionic eye implant following an accident. The footage we’re seeing is explained away as being a recording chip in the implant that the team behind it are using to help test the unit. Sort of a trade off for this guy getting to use it, he gets to see again and they get to help work out any of the kinks in their design by watching him take a shit. It’s also a little bit a red herring, I wondered if these guys might play into the actual threat of the episode but they don’t. That’s maybe more of a Black Mirror thing to do. What does happen is the guy starts seeing all sorts of weird shit which is hand waved away by his doctor as ‘glitches’ with the implant, but a lady who had a similar implant for her hearing thinks otherwise and suspects the enhanced power of these implants let them see and hear beyond mere human comprehension and into the supernatural realm. Which is unfortunate for him for he starts seeing dead bodies or her fat, naked Uncle.

The design of this is pretty cool, like usually with these found footage things everything is from a camera but here’s it’s meant to be from the guys POV so that’s an interesting change to have it more of this first person view. But the story surrounding it is pretty bare bones and the guy himself is a bit goofy even when he seems to be in immediate danger. Like, he sees this dead person in his room so he runs into the bathroom and locks himself in. Then, when there’s a threatening pounding on the bathroom door, he’s all “Hello? Erm...not today, thank you! You can leave now!” as if he’s bargaining with them.

The second tape, ‘A Ride in the Park’ sees a guy riding through the woods on his bike and we get to see through a pair of Go Pros on his helmet and handlebars. He has to stop suddenly when a lady races out in front of him screaming about her boyfriend. He turns around to see a bunch of zombies shuffiling toward him, then when he looks back, the lady is vomiting up blood before she pounces on him and bites his neck. He’s able to fight her off but shortly after succumbs to his injuries and dies.

So we’re left with this eerie 10 seconds or so of little more than ambient noise, the woodland floor and the guys bloody hand in frame. That is until another pair of cyclists ride by and find his body. They’re naturally very shocked by this, but even moreso when the guy appears to come back to life before attacking them. It’s kinda interesting seeing this guy almost learn how to become a zombie, like he tries to eat his own arm and this other guys wallet before he starts tearing into the other guys stomach. Then that guy’s girlfriend turns around and tucks in too. Gee, thanks honey!

I really liked this one actually, it’s super simple but, like Warm Bodies last year, I dig the twist on the whole zombie premise and telling it from the zombie’s point of view. Plus, it just feels a little more natural for this to have been footage from an everyday guy riding his bike. I mean, usually these things already have some notion of the supernatural behind them that people were trying to record, like in The Blair Witch. Speaking of which, this segment was directed by the same team as that movie so there’s some redemption for you, lads.

Now, segment 3 ‘Safe Haven’ is where things really kick up a notch. Clearly the more subdued nature of the first two stories was to lull you into a false sense of security, it even bleeds into this one at the very start because a lot of it is in Indonesian so you don’t really know what’s going on. I don’t know if there’s meant to be subtitles or if it’s just their technique to build suspense. Kinda of a risky one as it was starting to trigger my instinct to stop caring and just look at my phone instead. I wonder if this is like The Thing, apparently in that the Norwegian team at the base gives the whole movie away when they’re trying to warn the Americans. Maybe if you speak Indonesian this makes a lot more sense.

And hey, that Blair Witch thing keeps coming up huh? Isn’t that near enough the same symbol? This documentary team visits this school type place where everyone is dressed in white robes, they have these grass idols hung on the wall and even give one out in necklace form to the lady in the group. Yeah, nothing suspicious going on here at all...

There is this eerie vibe going on where everything feels kinda off but not in any major way. That is until this head teacher type guy starts going into some monologue over the intercom, rips his shirt off and reveals he’s been taking a box cutter to his stomach. Would’ve been fun to know what this guy was talking about the whole time as he was giving off some real Renfield energy.

From here, pretty much all hell breaks loose. There’s zombies, blood orgies, mass suicides, unholy incarnations...you name it.

Isn’t that an amazing still?

The last tape is ‘Slumber Party Alien Abduction’ which is...yeah, pretty much what it says on the tin. A bunch of kids are goofing around, playing pranks on their sister before what sounds like a bunch of train crashes take place but we find out is actually aliens invading, or something. You get the whole stereotypical ‘grey man’ invasion, although there’s one part where they’re crawling on their hands and knees for some reason.

It’s another bare bones segment, just a lot of loud noises and commotion. It feels pretty realistic though in so much as this is probably what a bunch of kids that age would put together on tape if they were just spending the day shooting the shit. Like when they interrupt their sister having sex by having some sort of impromptu dance party with strobe lights and inflatable Santas. It’s like something Phil Margera would do to his Dad in Jackass.

The biggest sin this segment commits is killing the dog at the end. BOO!

What I will say for this movie is that it completely bucks the trend for these anthology films and it has its best segments in the middle. Normally it’s like these things focus on the first and last segments and just rush everything else. If we could piece some of these together we’d have the perfect movie.

#Halloween 2021 #V/H/S #V/H/S 2

0 notes

the-eternal-captain-harlock · 7 years ago

Text

Captain Harlock & Miime: Musings on Isolation, Loneliness and Grief

(For the scope of the analysis I will be focusing solely on the Harlock/Miime relationship as it is portrayed in the 1978 Space Pirate Captain Harlock TV series. If you haven’t watched this anime yet, you really need to.)

“I am Miime; I am the woman who has given her life to Harlock.” - Miime, SPCH

It did not take me long into my sojourn into the 42-episode long self-contained Space Pirate series (and my first Matsumoto anime) to discover just how much I loved Miime, the tall willowy, mouthless, alcohol-swilling, harp-playing, soft-voiced alien woman whose relationship with Harlock is almost as meaningful and touching (in this series) as the relationship between Harlock and Tochiro.

Miime quickly became an exemplar of everything I wanted to see in a supporting female character. I already knew what I didn’t like: female characters who nagged, female characters who made the primary male characters awkwardly uncomfortable, who made them stammer, blush and act like idiots (if they were of high-school age) or forced them to supplant their ideals and opinions with their own, either through sheer bitchy determination or the pervasive ‘power of love’ angle (if they were older and *allegedly* mature). I didn’t know what I hated more: the female characters who ruthlessly and annoying imposed either their emotions, ideals or bodies onto their male counterparts, or, conversely, the male characters who allowed them to do so and conceded to the woman’s wills. I’ve always been more interested in fictional male protagonists then in female ones, and I always view the arrival of a new female character – be they hero or villain – into a novel or show with a certain amount of trepidation, owing to the drama they ineffably inflict upon that particular fictional universe, whether this is intentional on their part or not.

Miime was blessedly free of all of the above behaviors. Everything about her, from her simplistic yet elegant character design, to her voice, mannerisms and hobbies, spoke of maturity, of refinement, and, most important to me at least, the desire to be true to her own person, to remain herself, as she is the last living remnant of her race. Perhaps if she had been a human woman her relationship with Harlock would have been radically (an unsurprisingly) different, but as she is a Juraian, an alien, a literal ‘Other,’ she abides by her own codes of conduct and not once does Harlock ever request or demand that she alter her behavior towards him, just as she never tries to ‘change’ him, as most human woman would try to do.Thus she remains unique, mysterious and ultimately unknowable - much like Harlock himself.

And the relationship the two of them share is unique indeed. Harlock makes no demands upon Miime whatsoever. She has no specific duty as a crew-member of the Arcadia and is free to move about the ship as she pleases. She pours Harlock his wine, but not because she is his serving girl and it is her duty to do so; she plays the harp for him, but not because she is his court musician and it is expected of her. Everything she does for Harlock is for their mutual enjoyment. They do not ask or demand anything from one another, they simply do things together, organically and naturally, in complete emotional and physical freedom. They are perfectly at ease with each other, displaying no awkwardness or stress when together. Miime does not bicker with, fight with, flirt with, nag, challenge or impose on Harlock’s freedom in any way. She has pledged her life to him, even stating she would follow him into hell if he ever asked her to. Her devotion is total. Her loyalty is beyond reproach (1). Her relationship with the Arcadia’s brooding Captain puts her in the unique position of possessing true knowledge of his personality, allowing her to share her insights as to what kind of man he is with the other crew-mates, who are often confused by Harlock’s decisions and actions. She becomes his unofficial spokesmen and advocate and never doubts that he will accomplish his goals.

Likewise, Harlock confides in Miime, telling her his plans, expressing his occasional doubts and frustrations or simply reminiscing about the past, often over drinks. But Miime is not a merely passive character Harlock keeps around as a drinking companion. Miime proves her worth as a fighter, displaying competent shooting-skills and reveling hidden depths of power when Harlock is threatened. Unlike Tadashi Diaba, however, she is not learning how to become a warrior or out for revenge against the Mazone invaders. Like Harlock, much of her story has already taken place and she has already reached the pinnacle of her character development. To remain at Harlock’s side is enough; she has no set goals or plans like Tadashi, no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. Whatever else is happening to the galaxy at large is inconsequential as long as Harlock continues to wander the stars under his ‘flag of freedom.’ Calm, quiet and thoughtful, Miime stands unobtrusively by Harlock on the command-bridge, ready to give advice or make pointed observations, or fills his cabin with the soothing melodious music that relaxes him while the rest of the crew revels in the Arcadia’s corridors, living for the moment while their haunted Captain broods on the fate of humanity, vowing to fight to the end to protect the earth even as he bemoans the hedonistic apathetic state of mankind. Miime is the only one he truly confides in, and Miime repays his trust by simply being there and supporting him (sometimes even saving him), regardless of the circumstances.

But what truly bonds them? Why do they enjoy one another’s company so thoroughly? Why do they understand and respect each other so fully? What lies behind the simple dignified tenderness they display towards each other? They are not lovers; they display virtually no hint of romantic infatuation or physical attraction. Yet despite retaining their autonomy and personal freedom they still share a certain bond, an intimate relationship which seems to transcend both love and friendship. But this bond is, sadly, rooted in tragedy and grounded by the threefold components of isolation, loneliness and grief.

I: Isolation

One sad reality of Harlock’s existence is that he is an extremely isolated individual. Although the entire universe is essentially his sandbox and the Arcadia possess enough firepower to level cities and hold off entire alien fleets, Harlock never takes advantage of his considerable power and fearful reputation to make the rest of humanity do his bidding or live according his higher standards. Planet Earth is not a sheltering or welcoming place for the self-exiled space-pirate. Harlock has no wish to dominate, but he will not suffer himself to be dominated, so he endures the derision and scorn of Earth’s rulers and the constant harassment of the planet’s Defense Force with little genuine retaliation, preferring to roam the stars in hopes of finding his ‘final resting place.’ Despite having a homeworld and a people, Harlock, both by choice and circumstance, lives out a solitary and confined existence, with only those few chosen comrades who remain with him in order to fight for their own beliefs and carve out their own paths.

Miime shares in this isolation; for although planet Jura still exists her race has been completely destroyed in nuclear warfare and the following environmental retaliation brought on by the planet’s sentient plant-life. In a brief flash-back, a younger Harlock visits Jura and rescues Miime, now the last Jurian, from the plants and offers her refuge aboard his ship. Not only does Miime owe her life to Harlock, she also is allowed to live on his ship seemingly condition-free. Harlock has no utilitarian motives - neither practical or personal - for keeping her around. Miime does not cook or clean or fly Space Wolves or man any of the Arcadia’s guns; she is not a doctor, a scientist or a navigator. The bulk of Harlock’s otherwise human crew seem mostly indifferent to her presence; they do not compete for her attention or affection, nor do they make advances on her. Even aboard the Arcadia Miime remains in isolation and because Harlock also lives in voluntary isolation, spending most of his time in his elegant sterncastle drinking, brooding and playing his ocarina, their mutual situations and circumstances draw them closer together in a relationship built upon what is missing in their lives rather than what they have in common. They are both unique one-of-a-kind individuals, alone in a cold inhospitable galaxy that has little to offer them in terms of meaning and fulfillment. Even when together, isolation still dominates, for although Miime and Harlock spend a great deal of time alone behind closed doors there is always a significant physical distance between them. Both are heavy drinkers (Miime requires alcohol to survive, as it it is a natural part of her diet; Harlock is an alcoholic), but we never see them genuinely intoxicated and acting stupid, flirty or inappropriate with each other. In their isolation is also their liberty, for being who they are - free, above all things - they are under no obligations or expectations to behave in certain ways. Harlock and Miime have nothing to prove to each other or to anyone else. Their relationship remains fixed and unchanging amid a universe full of chaos, danger and constant strife. They can always rely on one another - their isolation is their safeguard and shield; perhaps it is not such a tragic state after all.

II: Loneliness

There is - or should be - a distinction drawn between someone who is physically alone and someone who is feeling lonely. For most people, the two aspects are one and the same. If there is no one around you, no one to talk to or interact with in some manner, this will be perceived by most as a negative state, one which they quickly rectify by either calling or visiting friends, chatting online or making plans for family gatherings and meaningful dates with significant others. To be alone with oneself, with ones’s own feelings, thoughts and memories without any distractions for an extended period of time, is hard for most people to handle - for most, but not all. I myself am an unapologetic loner. This is not due to shyness or social ineptness; I am merely extremely introverted. As I write this part of the article I am alone in the house (except for a sleepy old pit-bull) and I love it. This is the main reason I became so attached to Harlock and Emeraldas - they are both loners living according to their own codes and beliefs, following their own paths and perusing their own destinies (2). The Arcadia - which serves the duel purpose of being Harlock’s fortress, safe-haven and tomb - enables him to remain free and unattached to the rest of humanity, liberating him from the confines of mankind’s apathetic degenerate social state and allowing him to remain true to his own self and goals.

But although Harlock is a true loner and possesses a solitary nature, he still suffers from genuine loneliness from time to time, although the only other human he intentionally seeks out to spend quality time with is Tochiro’s seven-year-old orphaned daughter, Mayu, which he does at his own peril. Miime, on the other hand, suffers loneliness even more keenly. Harlock, at least, can draw comfort (however sparse), in that he actually has a home-planet and a race to protect (even if he wants nothing to do with them), while Miime is the last of her kind - the last Jurian. Her planet still survives but the Jurian civilization is now nothing but ruins overrun by hostile plant-life. There is no going home for her. Her family and friends are all dead. She is a dispossessed being, without home or people, adrift in a hostile universe. In order to alleviate her loneliness she cleaves to Harlock with a single-minded vengeance, offering him her life, going were he goes, aiding him in all the ways she can, never once standing in his way or making demands of him. “It is better to be with people you hate then to be alone,” she tells Harlock, after lamenting how she had hated her people for the destruction they had wrought, only realizing after they were all dead how much she missed them now that she is truly and utterly alone. Her loneliness is made all the more potent in that she cannot truly leave the Arcadia. Harlock’s human crew-mates can leave and return to Earth if they wish but there is nowhere for Miime to go and no reason for her to leave. But she does not view Harlock’s ship has a prison - she learns about its secrets, about Tochiro, and this draws her and Harlock even closer together. Both Harlock and Miime are alone (one mostly by choice, one entirely by circumstance.) but their shared emotional experiences (and their mutual love of wine and music) allow for them to form and maintain a relationship that dulls the pain caused by loneliness (and the isolation) and gives Harlock the space to engage in meaningful interactions with another that brings them both happiness. Loneliness is the driving force that keeps their relationship stable and constant for the entirety of the series. Neither Miime or Harlock take each other for granted. Both remain grateful for what the one does for the other. Loneliness has gifted them to one another, and, because of its overhanging spectre, their bond is further strengthened by the knowledge that what they have is something unique, something valuable, and ultimately, something that neither one dares to compromise - for if that should happen the loneliness would become unbearable and the isolation truly complete.

III: Grief

The entire Space Pirate Captain Harlock series is overshadowed by an atmosphere of quiet unshakable melancholy. It rests upon Harlock like a second cape, infusing all his actions and choices, unweakening in its hold on him from the first episode to the last. He is never freed from it, for this is a melancholy born of grief, of loss, and of a seemingly-futile yearning for what can never again be. Harlock is in a perpetual state of unending mourning – he mourns for an Earth whose natural beauty and splendor is fading with each passing year, he mourns for a humanity who has forfeited its dreams and visions of the future so as to live in a state of continuous apathy and sloth; but, above all, he mourns for the loss of his best friend, the man who never gave up hope either in humanity, the future, or even Harlock himself. Tochiro Oyama is dead (except in two flash-back episodes), and without that that spunky, optimistic genius-engineer at his side, Harlock’s natural inclinations towards pessimism and depression must be battled at every turn if he is to remain an effective apposing force in the fight against the Mazone. Harlock speaks in passing about ‘looking for a final resting place’ and about spending ‘a life wandering space, looking for a place to die.’ Harlock is a less hopeful and forgiving man then Tochiro, and is tempted often to abandon mankind and the Earth to its fate. But to abandon either of these things is, in effect, to abandon Tochiro himself, especially as his only child, Mayu, lives in an orphanage on Earth. To turn his back upon the planet and its people is to turn his back on Tochiro and his heirs and to scorn his friend’s dream of a better future. Almost against his will, Harlock denies Mazone Queen Lafresia the earth for Tochiro and Mayu’s sake, if nothing else, though he does wish to prove to humanity (who view him as a disruptive, peace-threatening menace to society) that he can and will protect them, regardless of his own negative feelings (or theirs). Prior to the Mazone’s arrival, Harlock lived a listless, goalless life of petty piracy, protected and entombed in a semi-haunted Arcadia infused with the soul and living brain-cells of Tochiro himself. His war with Queen Lafresia gives him a purpose again and rekindles his fighting spirit, but even when victory is achieved Harlock refuses to remain on earth; instead he self-exiles himself once more, leaving his entire crew behind, to continue wandering the stars - but this time, only Miime is allowed to accompany him.

If Miime is dominated by her loneliness (and her literal ‘alone-ness’) then Harlock is ruled by his grief; no-one, not Miime, Tadashi or even Mayu, can take the place Tochiro holds in his heart. Harlock does not desire wealth, fame, acclamation, status as a hero or even to be respected and appreciated. He fights successfully to secure a future for the Earth but he cannot be apart of that future – for Harlock desires only the Arcadia of his youth, his past life with Tochiro, the long-ago days when it was just two carefree young men seeking to live free and pursue their dreams. But those times of youth and adventure cannot be reclaimed. Tochiro is dead (though still present) and Harlock can do nothing but carry on without him. He keeps Miime at his side, and she follows him willingly into the dark and to whatever fate awaits them. Earth may have been saved and mankind given a second chance, but for Harlock, Miime and Tochiro there is no going back home. Home does not exist for them anymore. Their only true home now is the Sea of Stars, their only banner the Jolly-Roger, and a life lived in freedom their only sustenance. Miime vanishes with Harlock into the vastness of space, remaining loyal to him to the last, even as Harlock remained loyal to Tochiro’s dream, the three of them uplifting and sustaining one another in their long exile. It is not necessarily a happy ending, but it is certainly a fitting one, appropriate to the nature of its characters and in keeping with the series’ overall mood and tone.

Thus wherever Harlock may go, Miime will always be at his side, a true companion he can rely upon for comfort and advice. For Miime, Harlock will always remain her savior and provider, and her comfort and advice are gladly given, since they both retain their freedom - which is, ultimately, all they ask for and in the end, as long as they remain within the confines of the Arcadia, is all they are allowed to have.

(1) You can only imagine how pissed-off I was when in the 2013 Space Pirate Captain Harlock CGI film, after Yama replaces Harlock as captain, Space-Elf!Miime declares that her loyalty is to the ship rather than Harlock himself. Boy that made me mad - that among so many other things.

(2) Harlock’s, Emeraldas’s and my own personality traits in a nutshell.

#Captain Harlock #Miime #Harlock article #Space Pirate Captain Harlock #screenshots #leiji matsumoto #leijiverse

53 notes · View notes

dointoomuchsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Only Home

To put it bluntly, and to jump right in, climate change is quite possibly the most boring subject the science world has ever had to present to the public. Most attempts to narrativize the crisis are either science fiction or dismissed as science fiction.

Award-winning author Jonathan Sofran Foer writes, “It seems fundamentally impossible to pull the catastrophe from over there in our contemplations to right here in our hearts.”

History not only makes a good story in retrospect, but good stories become history.

For this topic, I’ve chosen to apply the Uses and Gratification theory in my discussion pertaining to political science, mass communication, and pro-environment/interdependence with nature. By definition, the Uses and Gratification theory discusses the effects of the media on people; it explains how people use the media for their own needs and get satisfied when their needs are fulfilled (communicationtheory.org). There are several needs and gratifications for people: cognitive needs, affective needs, personal integrative needs, social integrative needs, and tension free needs.

People refer to the media for the topics to discuss among themselves. By referring to the media, they gain more knowledge and exposure to the world beyond their limited eyesight. Now, media studies have begun to take environmental topics into discussion. American culture influences the world through media. Depending on social and psychological circumstances, people have certain needs and expectations which propel them to seek out, read, and engage with certain media and content (Nerlich). This leads to differential patterns of media exposure, which results in the gratification of the initial needs but also has other consequences, perhaps mostly unintended ones.

We can consider the other hand, or the possible consequences wondered above. For many people, electronic connection is metastasizing into electronic “over”connection-- overwhelming our capacity for patience, interrupting the focus required to build real-time relationships, and herding people into unforgiving political tribes (Louv). In 1802, the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth composed a sonnet in which he blames the Industrial Revolution for substituting our connections with nature with the dissipations of materialism; never mind the consideration of the Internet yet in those times.

As writer Amitav Ghosh says in his piece, The Great Derangement, “The climate crisis is also a crisis of culture, and thus of the imagination.” We might call it a crisis of belief.

When I think about it, I’m not too sure how many versions of the climate change story that kindergarteners can re-create, and likewise there are not many versions that can move these childrens’ parents to tears. Our minds and hearts are well built to perform certain tasks, and poorly designed for others.

Making science public involves things such as writing articles, speaking with people, commenting on articles, and much more. If none of us can figure out a way to make the climate crisis an interesting topic, or influential for that matter, how are we going to heighten it to the level that it needs? People, as consumers, want things that will make them feel satisfied or impactful, via the media.

I’ve recently stumbled upon a quote, also written by Jonathan Sofran Foer, that reads, “We are good at things like calculating the path of a hurricane, and bad at things like deciding to get out of its way.”

Funny enough, (funny to me), after reading this quote I found myself leaning back in my chair, eyes and mouth like a fish, just saying -- Wow. Wow, wow, wow. Over and over. The endless… symbolism. And also, the absolute truth.

In 2017 I took a family vacation to Disney World. Myself, my husband, my child, my two parents, my little sister. My other sister and her boyfriend did not join us, a last minute decision. Hurricane Irma was days away from landfall in Miami, and we knew this from where we stood in our kitchen in Ohio. We deliberated, and determined that after Disney, who cares? We will take shelter in our condominium in Manasota Key, the bottom left corner of the state of Florida, on the Gulf of Mexico and just about right atop the Caribbean. Irma will hit the Atlantic side, so sorry for you Miami, but we will be OK.

A concrete fortress, my dad had called our condo located on the fifth floor. Indestructible. In those exact words.

The largest evacuation in American history. The largest mass exodus with nearly seven million people instructed to leave their homes.

“Imminent deaths from coast to coast,” the media headlines began alerting, in those exact words. This is a Category Five hurricane, “we’re going to have to create a new category,” the experts advised whole-heartedly. There was an idea that at least 145-mile-per-hours winds were going to sweep across Florida, and this was going to be something America has never seen before.

The storm is no longer heading for Miami, it’s going up toward Jacksonville, now, the Carolinas. No, it’s going to obliterate the Caribbean and the Keys, rip up the gulf coast, and hit Tampa Bay. It’s going to annihilate the entire state of Florida, and you are going to die. The entire country had their eyes on us now.

As I stood in the living room of the condo, and the air and electricity of the island shut off-- an unsuspected occurrence to us-- I looked out our sliding glass doors and all I could see was water. The blue, tropical turquoise hues rippling in the outer rings of the incoming destruction. We hadn’t even filled the bathtub with clean water as a precaution.

The ocean, swaying, with the motion of Irma coming down. The skies hadn’t changed yet, but I felt her. I turned to look at my four-year-old daughter. Would the glass shatter onto her perfect skin? Would the enormous coffee table be thrown and crush her? Should I muster herculean strength and push said coffee table, uselessly, in front of the sliding glass doors? Would the decision to move or not move the table affect whether or not the toddler is crushed? Would we hunker in the closet and be unable to see one another in the blackness until one of us is struck by a fatal shard of debris? Would it take weeks to find our bodies? Were all of these questions perfectly logical or illogical? I leaned over and tried not to vomit. I dialed the 1-800 Disaster Distress helpline, and was so blank in thought-process that I do not even remember what I sputtered. It was something, so flatly stupid, along the lines of, what should I do? But we were too late. We were supposed to evacuate, but we decided to press on southbound, despite the standstill traffic opposite in direction from us, and the island we were now on was cut off. But wait, one bridge was left open. A concrete fortress that we were supposed to be in, I didn’t think so. What about the fallen power lines, or fallen trees? If we survived the storm, how long would we be trapped on the island?

I pulled armfulls of laundry mid-cycle from the washing machine, smashed it wet into my suitcase, and through the hottest, blurriest tears I told my daughter we were getting back in the car. I’d have to get Daddy, he had just stomped out of the condo and onto the beach, to smoke an emergently prepared blunt and accompany it with two Budweisers. As if in his last moments, this was what he decided he’d do. I shoved my suitcase down the stairwell, because of course the elevators were turned off, and in this moment, I had dialed my boss, informing her that I will most realistically not survive and return to Ohio for my job.

Airlines shut down on our last day of Disney and still we stayed. In the grand scheme of it all, we ended up fleeing from Orlando, to Tampa, to Mannasota, back to Tampa, to Georgia, and finally found gasoline and a price-gouged hotel room in Chattanooga, Tennessee. We had tried to run, but this was it, and we had not even a powerless condo over our heads anymore. I turned around and looked at my darling child, full of patience in her car seat. We waited in line at a gas station that I cannot remember the name of, right before crossing into Georgia. What luck! We filled up. Both of our cars, as the rest of my family were following behind us.

Cars drove overnight through the mountains for hours on the shoulder of the highway, creating a fourth lane. State troopers allowed it, stopping only for those who needed assistance with a tire change. Strings of ambulances evacuated hospitals and headed northbound, while federal emergency response vehicles bravely pressed on back southward to Irma.

Nearly two thousand dollars over our budget spent on emergent nonsense, and we made it home to Ohio. For months, my family was torn apart. I wanted to quit my job, move far away, never allow them to babysit ever again. Who was responsible for us being closer to the feeling of death than I have ever been in my life, all of us together like some mass extinction?

There are many ways we can provide a feeling of engagement at the expense of engagement, in many ways that selfies make us feel present at the expense of being present, in ways that joining a cancer-support group does not shrink a tumor, but these things do make us feel better. But, it can be dangerous to feel better when things are not getting better. The feeling of making a difference doesn’t correspond to the difference made, and does create an inflated sense of accomplishment to relieve the burden of whatever obstacle we may be facing. The feeling of escaping the most powerful Atlantic hurricane in recorded history, but waiting for the next record-breaker to destroy someone else's lives. The feeling of posting a viral “Pray for Florida” statement on your Instagram, while being thousands of miles away from the site of disaster.

There are so many people out there, troubled by the direction of our country, and we do like to be reminded that we’re not alone. So who can blame us, for taking selfies, for joining support groups. Being alone together is not an alternative direction, and what the world needs is the opposite of a selfie. How do we square our own gratitude for life with behavior that suggests an indifference to it?

Here are some facts: Cattle, goats, and sheep produce a significant amount of methane, mostly belched, exhaled, farted, and passed in waste. Nitrous oxide is emitted by livestock urine, manure, and fertilizers used for growing feed crops. If cows as a whole were a country, they would rank third in greenhouse gas emissions (GHGs), after China and the U.S. Brazil’s deforestation plan of protected areas of the Amazon is estimated to release 13.2 gigatons of carbon. Animal agriculture is responsible for 91% of Amazonian deforestation. Carbon is released upon the burning of trees during deforestation. The Worldwatch Institute estimates that livestock is responsible for 51% of global emissions, more than all cars, planes, buildings, power plants, and industry combined.

We cannot change the planet without changing how we eat.

Even if we begin today, assuming global cooperation, a global conversion to wind, water, and solar power would take more than twenty years and require a hundred-trillion-dollar investment.

When the animated feature film “Happy Feet” came out in 2006, I was in high school, and I was obsessed with the movie. Aside from a moment of a blatantly suggestive penguin dance move, there is a separate moment in the movie that may have perplexed some kids. Maybe lost their interest, maybe confused them as to where the storyline was heading, or just filled them with an eerie and dark sensation and left them confused as to why they felt this way.

The basic storyline of “Happy Feet” follows an outcast emperor penguin who cannot find his soulmate, because he cannot sing, therefore he has no Heart Song to match with anyone. All he can do is tap dance, which is catastrophic in his family’s eyes. However if we go deeper into the movie, our protagonist weaves eco-conscious warnings about pollution and climate crisis into his journey amidst the movie’s sing-song choreographed numbers.

Our loveable penguin star of “Happy Feet” is eventually thrown into a zoo exhibit, demonstrating the mush-brained behavior we often feel our zoo animals adapt to. He must then grab the humans’ attention and call to action to save his homeland. As he’s tapping, screeching, and hallucinating, he is giving the audience, specifically the children that the movie is targeted towards, a general sense of unease. The camera zooms out, out, out in three major hits- then we are looking at a silent and real image of our planet Earth. The shot that is shown to us in the movie is so famous that it is named “The Blue Marble.” This is not the first photograph of Earth, but it is the first of the fully illuminated whole.

When astronauts experienced the sight of The Blue Marble, given the fact that they must be 20,000 miles of distance away from Earth to see it as a globe, they were overcome by awe and vastness. So much so, that astronauts and space travelers have deemed the phenomenon of seeing our planet as the Overview Effect. The experience is so powerful and profoundly moving; the phenomenon of seeing our only home from space, framed by infinite black emptiness; so unsupported, suspended. From this vantage point, mindsets have been changed. The environment is no longer an environment, a concept, or context outside of us… it is everything, including us.

Astronaut Ron Garan said upon his experience of the Overview Effect, “I was flooded with both emotion and awareness. But as I looked down at the Earth-- this stunning, fragile oasis, this island that has been given to us-- a sadness came over me, and I was hit in the gut with an undeniable, sobering contradiction.”

We can speculate on what his contradiction might have been. That our planet protects us from the harshness of space but we don’t protect it from the harshness of us?

While everyone knows we live on Earth, we can believe it only by leaving.

Journalist Oliver Burkeman wrote for The Guardian, “If a cabal of evil psychologists had gathered in a secret undersea base to concoct a crisis humanity would be hopelessly ill-equipped to address, they couldn’t have done better than climate change.”

A species of fish, called cleaner wrasse, is perhaps merely a species of fish. These creatures have the ability to recognize their reflection, next to the only other species (other than ourselves) who can recognize their reflection, which are orcas, dolphins, great apes, and magpies. If the Earth’s temperature rises merely two degrees, the reefs that these cleaner wrasse inhabit will become extinct.

Right now, we are set amidst the great collectivity of a living and dying planet. We call for a restitution of the sacred—in its most inclusive form—so that we can face the climate crisis of our times with our finest remaining resources.

To ultimately recap, Uses and Gratification theory as developed by Elihu Bulmer and Jay Katz, American sociologists (1974), suggests that media users play an active role in choosing and using the media, and we can directly infuse this in the way we manage ourselves and the role we play in the connection of sustainable agriculture and climate change. I have not necessarily provided a comprehensive explanation of climate change, or provided a categorical case against eating animal products, but I do explore the decision that our planetary crisis requires us to make on the immediate platform of social media. Media has the power to rouse and urge, to overwhelm those who feed it. We rely on our future generations as much as our own selves to accept the reality of human-caused climate change and to change our lives in response. How can we get our human reluctance to sacrifice immediate comfort for the sake of the future, trending on our media outlets?

Everyone will eat a meal soon, and can immediately participate in the reversal of climate change. Self-recognition does not always indicate self-awareness, and as critical as we can be of someone else in charge, the blaming can also be a means of turning away from our own reflections.

For a quote to muse on, consider the following, “Waves do not require feeling; they generate feeling... I have never resisted a wave” (Sofran Foer).

Works Cited:

Buerkeman, Oliver. 2021 Guardian News & Media Limited. www.theguardian.com

Foer, Jonathan Sofran. We Are The Weather. First edition. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2019.

Garan, Ron. The Orbital Perspective: Lessons in Seeing the Big Picture from a Journey of 71 Million Miles. Oakland, CA: Berrett-Koehler, 2015.

Ghosh, Amitav. The Great Derangement. First edition. University of Chicago Press, 24 July 2017.

Louv, Richard. “Our Wild Calling.” Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2019. First edition. New York, New York.

Nerlich, Brigitte. “Science/climate communication: A view from reception theory.” 28 September 2017. University of Nottingham. www.blogs.nottingham.ac.uk

Reinert, Al. “Blue Marble Shot.” 1972, 2011.

ScienceDaily. “Bees, fruit, and money: Decline of pollinators will have severe impact on nature and humankind.” Pensoft Publishers. 4 September 2012. www.sciencedaily.com

“Uses and gratification theory in mass communication, psychology, behavioral and social science.” www.communicationtheory.org

0 notes

seunguacamole · 7 years ago

Text

The Composer’s Coffee

He had been intoxicated beyond drunk when he decided to agree to a coffee date with a stranger.

Lee Jihoon was always too buzzed to make practical decisions after being begged (and less than wholeheartedly turned on to the idea) to venture out on yet another Friday night with his ring of long-time friends. The night before, the location of choice (a personal choosing of no other than Boo Seungkwan) was an LGBTQ nightclub buried deep within the liveliness of out-skirted Gangnam. Jihoon, who claimed to be more practical than his fellow students, found it useless to throw himself in a room of other queer, drunk individuals just for nightly fun. He would have much rather been waist-deep in his newest composure class project that was much more extra-credit than required content, but that’s besides the point. With Seokmin’s puppy-dog face and Jisoo’s look of slight terror of going out with three overly flirtatious boys who would probably all flock off to the cutest male they could find without even being a couple of feet into the bar, he didn’t have much of a heart to decline.

That previous night out had fulfilled many, if not all of Jihoon’s expectations. Seokmin didn’t last a full round before finding a talkative date within the joint, and Jeonghan had brought along a taller, very masculine elder, for which they both were out of sight by drink number two. As for his other two friends, Jihoon was just glad the Jeju originate hadn’t vomited on his shoes for the third Friday in a row and unintentionally rendered Jisoo, their designated driver, victim instead.

For Jihoon himself, the producing major of the bunch, had stuck to himself in his usual choice of location. At the bar, last stool, faced at an angle that had the front door in eyeshot, a vodka-coke mixture in his hands. The simple drink was enough to wash him of any stress by the third glass, and his friends always knew where to find him by the end of the night.

He couldn’t recall much from that evening and how he had found himself in such a situation, but Jihoon guesses he was sipping on his third or so round of the liquor and soda combination when he was approached. Bright hair and a wide smile was all the boy could conjure up to memory of his date’s appearance, and that he mentioned his name began with an S. At least he hoped it began with an S.

Yes, the date. Apparently, as the story goes by telling of the always-reliable Jisoo, the basically stranger had got to talking with Jihoon, and there were enough clicks for the composer to agree to a casual date at a local cafe for mid-morning coffee after they had both been given time to sober up.

This all leaves Jihoon here and now, staring himself up and down in his hall mirror, wondering if a long-sleeved t-shirt and black skinnies were too casual for the event. He hadn’t been on a proper date in quite some time, honestly. Ever since Jihoon had come to university to throw himself even further into musical studies and creations than he had before, there was little time left for sleeping regularly, much less dating in general. Although as badly as he would have rather been in his studio, working the weekend away, he would have had too much guilt weighing his creative flow down if he had cancelled on somebody who as his friend had said, seemed very interested and ecstatic for their alcohol-free meet up.

Once he had deemed himself ready as he ever would be, Jihoon headed out into town and in direction of the shop they had talked about. He could only hope that the mystery boy remembered their meeting through one of his sober friends, who had pulled him out of the club shortly before his own friends had done the same for Jihoon himself. Since they hadn’t had the time to exchange numbers, a rather stupid move, Jihoon only hoped he wouldn’t be stood up, wasting a good chunk of time that could have been used working.

Jihoon located and entered the cafe just a couple of minutes passed the time he was told they had scheduled. Ordering a straight black coffee to soothe the fading, yet still apparent hangover pouncing within his poor forehead, Jihoon chose a table near the rear of the shop where he would have a perfect view of the entrance.

Only two sips in, it seemed too good to be true. The miniature bell above the swinging door chimed, cashing Jihoon to raise his eyes from the patterned tabletop, gazing at the newcomer. Alas, it was only a woman and her small child coming in for an early lunch of croissants.

Disappointment of wasted time was suddenly everything on Jihoon’s inpatient mind, throwing ideas of leaving his overly bitter beverage behind, heading straight for campus and giving up on the basically blind date. He really was contemplating such a thing, due to the boy being over fifteen minutes late, something that truly was a large pet-peeve to Jihoon. Moments passed of thinking over the idea, and the musical major was on board. He was a mere centimeter off of his seat when his thought process had been broken by what had seemed to be the barista calling his name.

“Jihoon?” An unfamiliar voice broke the silence in the calm store, causing the owner’s eyes to glance up. Jihoon was met with an older-seeming boy with fiery-hued hair with his head cocked to the side in question. To Jihoon’s relief, it hadn’t been the barista, who had chocolate-chip colored hair and stood much taller than this boy. Instead, the newcomer to the shop stood just above Jihoon himself, and seemed much more cheery than the grouch behind the counter.

“Ah,” Jihoon hummed, smiling slightly, awkwardly, at his supposed date, sitting back in his seat. “You must be...” He passed, thing for a moment. As irritating as it was not to recall his own date’s name, he would hope the high liquor content in his body from the night before would be a decent excuse to his forgetfulness. “Sungjae?” Jihoon finally spat out in full uncertainty.

The red-toned-haired boy laughed, his chuckle refreshing and genuine, shaking his head. “I’m Soonyoung, Kwon Soonyoung. It’s nice to soberly meet you.” The male introduced, bowing his head in a casual, respectful manner from across the small table.

Jihoon couldn’t remember the last time he had been so rich into conversation without zoning out every few sentences. Now known as Soonyoung, had a bubbly way of speaking, and spoke about many interesting and relatable topics that Jihoon could also put much word into. The banter was passed like the world’s most successful game of basketball, never a dull moment in their words. Eventually, Jihoon brought up a casual question. He asked Soonyoung where he was working or if he was a student and where after informing him of his own position in life.

“I’m a choreographer at a small entertainment company.” Soonyoung answered, going to part his lips for further speech on the subject. “The group I’m working with has a lot of dancing potential, but we’re having trouble with their original music. We can’t come up with much with what we have, but these kids really deserve a killer debut, you know?”

In fact, Jihoon did know. He had trapped himself within his studio, composing handfuls of songs which didn’t relate to his classwork due to which he couldn’t see being a solo. The assorted pieces were much more upbeat and the more he thought on it, could have dance numbers pieced to the melodies with enough time and effort. Those songs had much of Jihoon’s heart put into them to just sit in a flash-drive for nobody to hear.

“I think I might know how to help.” Jihoon cracked a genuine smile, eyes locked on Soonyoung’s. By now, he had completely forgotten about his hangover and was much more immersed in the conversation and his date himself. “Meet me here tomorrow, same time, and I’ll bring my laptop. I’ll even pay for your drink.”

It really was an offer Soonyoung couldn’t refuse, and Jihoon knew exactly this when he saw the spark glisten in his date’s eyes. He felt it too.

28 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 8 years ago

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 7 (NSFW)

Read it on AO3. Part 6 here. Part 8 here.

Summary: There's something in Commander Ren's eyes. You know that this isn't all there is.

Words: 3000

Warnings: choking, dubcon, dystopian universe, Handmaid AU,

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: AHHH! I am so sorry it took me so long to update, y'all! I've been really stressed out at home, so the only energy I've had is to upload pre-written projects or co-written ones. But! This is finally up. I thought it was funny that it happened to coincide with the release of The Handmaid's Tale on Hulu... almost like it was meant to be. <3 I don't have Hulu, though.

Anyway, I love y'all so, so much. Your support means so much to me and I can't thank you enough.

Perhaps the most unnerving thing about the night was the silence. In your tiny excuse for a room, the only occupation you kept during day-hours was listening to the twittering of the birds beyond your window. But the extinguishing of the sun took with it your only company--and now, you laid there, a mannequin without its master, as dead and empty as the air itself.

You weren’t sure what you had been thinking, to be quite honest. Years of suppression, oppression, repression, depression--they’d been a pressure cooker to your brain, granting you a brief moment of delicious insanity at the first indication of possible retribution. You’d needed that--needed some indicator that you were still a human, still something with a mind and a mouth and the ability to use them both. In the void of moonless darkness, you questioned yourself--how long could this go on? How long could you be a silent, reluctant vessel before it became too much?

“Too much” was an undefinable quantity, however. You’d thought losing your bank account had been “too much.” Being fired from your job had been “too much.” Disenfranchisement had been “too much.” The Red Center, with all of its indoctrination had been “too much.” Watching your friends and family hollow into shells, being stripped of your name, wearing that goddamn starchy red dress had been “too much.”

Every limit you laid down was pushed further and further towards the perimeter of Hell. If you caught fire, you weren’t sure you’d even be able to realize it.

A distant creak down the hall shattered the silence. Speaking of catching fire--

Metal jingled, squeaked, and the knob on your door spun. As it opened, your chest bound itself in ice, your fingers gripping the sheets. All you could do was watch, eyes straining to identify what you already knew.

Commander Ren looked far more casual than you’d expected. The crisp woven cotton of his dress shirt glowed under the starlight streaming through your window, and the fact that it failed to gleam off his shoes told you he was in loafers--something softer, more pliant than his leather Oxfords. He wore black slacks that clung to his thighs, the first few buttons of his top salaciously undone. It seemed so ridiculous to think, now. After all, you’d seen men naked, before. But something about your Commander--here, illegally, his hair skating his shoulders and his collarbones exposed--

You’d been wrong. You were on fire, now--and you were terrified.

“Commander--”

“Quiet.” His voice was low, darker than the sky. Without another word, he shut the door behind him, trapping you in his stare. A long, vacant pause. He adjusted the cuffs at his wrists, and stepped forward, turning his gaze toward the window. “I can’t decide if you’re stupid or suicidal.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Or both.”

“Commander--”

“I said quiet.” Ren didn’t even glance at you. “Disrespect for my Wife is as unacceptable as disrespect for myself.” Another pause. “Had I anything less than pity for you, you’d be slated to hang tomorrow.”

You didn’t dare move. But speech was a different story. “You speak to your Wife that way all the time.”

He frowned, turning his glare on you. “I am the Commander of this home,” he said. “I can speak to whomever however I please. That includes you.” His eye twitched. “Especially you.”

The notion hardened your stomach to a rock. “Why?” you asked. “Because I’m a Handmaid?”

“Yes.” Ren stepped toward you, rounding the end of your bed. “Precisely that reason.” The fury in his gaze was red steel. Like a naive or stupid child, you found yourself wanting to reach out and touch it.

The problem was, he’d already threatened to kill you. But he’d also said something peculiar--had I anything less than pity--and you wanted to pounce on it like an liferaft in a storm. Anything, anything at all to give you respite from the endless, howling winds.

“You shouldn’t let her talk to me that way, then.”

He raised a brow. “That’s not how it works.”

“Why not?” you asked. “We’re both basically your property. Shouldn’t you at least do your job and keep her from trying to kill me?”

“What she does is of no concern to me.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, and realized your voice had become far too loud. Tensing your jaw, you lowered the volume. “She doesn’t get to do whatever she wants--”

“You’re right.” Ren was closer, now. The restrained rage in his body radiated from him like heat. “She doesn’t. And neither do you.” His tone changed--as if he were reciting something. “Your roles are designed to fulfill different functions. Separate and equal--’

You wanted to snarl. He was reciting something. You’d heard it approximately five-thousand times before. “That’s bullshit!” you hissed. Whoops. Forgot about the volume control.

But your Commander hadn’t. “Watch your mouth, little bird,” he growled, from the depths of his chest. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t done?”

Perhaps he’d had a point when he’d first walked in. Perhaps you were a bit suicidal. In a way, all Handmaids were. Even in the Red Center, you didn’t know a single one who hadn’t found her own way to shirk the rules, fly under the figurative radar like a weightless shadow. A subconscious, passive death wish was the only real explanation as to why some of you hoarded butter, why others would harvest threads from gilded rugs for hidden hair decoration, and why the strangest--like you--would openly, willingly talk back to their Commanders, challenging not only them, but Gilead itself.

Even still, you sunk further into the bed, hoping the mattress might swallow you before you had an opportunity to finish your thoughts. “It is, though.” Nope. No swallowing yet. “I’m the one who can produce children. She’s pointless. If anything, I’m superior to her!”

Your Commander cleared the distance between you in two brusque steps, his strong hand darting out to snatch you by the collar of your night gown, tearing you up from the bed. When he did, your hair--grown out past your breasts now from years of being denied a trim, and straightened because it was demanded (“manageability”)--tumbled in a thick spiral over your shoulder, brushing over his knuckles as if to pacify him. And it did. Or, did something of the sort.

Ren had stopped, paralyzed, his lungs as empty as yours. His pupils, already blown wide in the darkness, swelled, sucking in light, consuming any hint of hazel left in his iris. Those black eyes wound around each follicle of hair as what little light there was shimmered over the exposed strands. Those same eyes followed the trail up to your scalp, inspecting the tufts of fine hair that stuck to your temples with sweat. His throat knocked. The fingers coiled in your gown tightened.

His gaze drifted to yours. He was helpless. Hypnotized. And then his mouth crashed into yours.

It was, at first, like kissing a wall of stone--he was hard and cold and unyielding, forcing his lips against yours. The shock of it left you just as limp, watching his lids flutter shut, his brow knit in confusion and lust. A Commander kissing his Handmaid? And not just kissing. No. The wall of stone warmed under your touch--his mouth moving, now, devouring you, his hand trembling at your sternum as he moved forward, easing you back onto the bed. He followed you, a reflection, a shadow, an elbow caging you under him as strong fingers sifted through your hair.

Skin on scalp sent a rush of tingles through your nerves, and your lips parted in a soft, unexpected moan. Ren took this as an invitation, his tongue slipping into your mouth, his knees straddling your thighs. You’d forgotten, you thought--forgotten how to kiss, forgotten what to feel or how to move. How strange that kissing now seemed more intimate than actual sex, like the rules had been reversed. Blood flooded your flesh, from your face to your toes, steamed with excitement. The laws didn’t apply to the feral desire of your body.

Part of you screamed to move, to writhe under him, to entice him with breathy, wanton gasps--the other part was frozen in confusion. This went beyond the obligation to reproduce, beyond empty, aggressive fucking. This was passion. This was need.You didn’t know how to respond to something like this--something real. At the very least, you might able to leverage it later. So you went along.

Color seeped into your greyscale skin, turning you bright against his body, and you groaned, finally, finally kissing him back. Ren grunted, his fingers catching in your hair, cradling your head while his tongue slid over yours, his breath hot--he moved closer, emboldened by your encouragement. You decided to encourage him further, defying every single minute of your education, and raised your shaking hands to his head, combing your fingers through the waves of his thick, black hair.

He gasped, tongue delving deeper, and you fought with him, moaning into his mouth. God, it felt incredible to touch him--to have your digits buried in his hair, to feel his body so huge and heavy over your own. You tilted your head, your hunger for him growing fangs, your hips bucking up to him, his erection painfully hard, even through the layers of fabric. Lust streaked through you--you wanted him. You needed him.

Ren’s hand--the one not tangled in your hair--pawed at the neckline of your nightgown, tugging it down, before giving up and fussing with the buttons. But his fingers were too slippery, his mind pre-occupied, and he snarled against your mouth, wrenching at the fabric--stopping at the sound of ripped stitches.

“Shit.” He sat back on his knees, to your honest dismay. You couldn’t imagine what you looked like--your white nightgown bathed in blue light, your hair askew, your chest heaving and nipples poking into the fabric--but you imagined it must have been pleasing. Ren fumbled at his belt, and then his pants, before pulling free his thick, long cock. “Shit…”

Your jaw dropped. There was no way to avoid it. He looked massive, even in his own hand--even as he teased himself, guiding his fist back and forth over his length. You whined, clenching, unable to close your mouth, your gaze darting between his eyes and his dick. He was watching you--his irises crackled with desire, a tiny smirk appearing while he stroked his cock faster. You were sapped of anything but breath, fingers dancing at the thought of touching him again, your brain spinning with possibility. If only you could touch it. If only you could--maybe you could--

Biting your lip, you raked your gaze over his body, over the swatches of exposed flesh near his thighs and stomach, over the broad, strong chest threatening to burst through his shirt, over those goddamn collarbones, now shiny with sweat, to meet his stare. The connection was lightning, singeing you at the seams, Ren’s gaze consuming you with more ferocity than his mouth. In fact, the staring contest only seemed to turn him on more--his chest swelled with broken breath, smirk curling as he jerked his cock.

You grinned, wetting your lips. “Please, Commander,” you murmured. “Let me suck your cock.”

Something snapped. Ren stopped, his hand stuck on his dick, his eyes aimed at you, his face falling while he dragged himself back into reality. His brow furrowed. He was unblinking. Every blood cell in your body screeched to a stop.

Fuck. You’d fucked up.

“Commander, I--”

“You slut.” His tone was edged in ire. “First, you disrespect my Wife…” He narrowed his eyes. “Now you want to waste my seed in that disgusting mouth of yours?”

Oh, shit. You hadn’t been thinking. Of course, you hadn’t been thinking.

“As I said when I stepped in here,” he said, tearing your skirt up above your waist. You shivered. “You have a role.” He hooked his fingers into the waist of your underwear, yanking them down over your hips, your ass, your thighs. You were dead weight in his hands, too nervous to move. “I suppose I need to remind you what that role is.” Warm fingers skimmed the sensitive folds of your pussy, spreading them as they passed. “Shit.”

Ren leaned back over you, forearm framing your face, his other hand reaching to stroke his cock. His breath was shallow. The head of his dick pressed at you, pushing you apart, and you whimpered, clenching before he even entered you. You were quaking--and he hissed through his teeth before he sank into you, letting loose a low, deep groan as your wet cunt swallowed his cock. Pleasure smacked you--he stretched you so wide, filled every crevice--and a pathetic, mewling moan escaped.

“You are,” he said, rattled, “a vessel.” Another breath through his teeth before he pulled out and plunged in again, still unable to smother his groans. “Your only purpose is to take my cock and my cum.” His cock throbbed at the base, pulsing as he drove in deep. “Like the good little slut you are.”

Your chin quivered, your walls squeezing him when he started fucking you faster. There was a balance, at first, between the business-like sex you’d had during the Ceremony and the pounding you’d taken over a week earlier: he panted in an even rhythm, his hips connecting with yours, his eyes drilling you, taunting you.

But without his Wife to temper him, the faster he moved, the wilder he became, unable to resist the tight heat of your pussy, unable to fight the fire that drove him to kiss you in the first place. You were quiet, tiny noises squeaking from your chest, your hands burning to grab his hair and run it over your fingers. Ren growled, hammering your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself--you gripped his arms, throwing your hips into his, your jaw falling open in bliss.

This seemed to spur him further--his growl evolved into a snarl, and he snatched your wrists, pinning them above your head and baring his teeth while he pumped into you. “Slut,” he hissed. “Remember--” a vicious, painful thrust, “--your--” and another, “--place.” He rammed your cervix, and you dug into your lip, silencing a scream.

His thrusting was merciless, now, his breath ragged, and you--you were gone. The power of his hips numbed any input but pleasure, and you stared up at him, witless, writhing, unable to comprehend how good he was making you feel when his fingers weren’t even on your clit. A moan leaked out--but he hated this, too. Ren’s other hand clamped around your neck like a vice.

“Be.” He slammed into you. “Quiet.” And again.

You nodded, gulping under his palm, unwilling to point out that the force of his body was knocking the bed frame into the wall, creating a rapid, angry thunk-thunk-thunk as his dick pounded your pussy. Blood built in the tunnels of your ears, in your temples--the heat bringing tears to your eyes--and you gasped against him, swallowing hard, clenching and pulsing around his cock while he fucked you into the mattress.

“Fuck.” Ren buried his face in your neck, breathing sweat onto your skin, his grip on your wrists tightening, his thumb toying with your pulse. “You love taking this cock, don’t you?” He was talking himself toward cumming. “That needy little cunt begs to get fucked.” You nodded, walls contracting around his cock, and he choked. “It begs to be--shit--filled with my cum--fuck… fuck!”

Hips jerking, Ren’s lips crushed yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth when he came. Groans were snuffed, remnants escaping into you, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside of your pussy. He continued to kiss you, false-thrusting while his climax receded, and he released your neck and wrists.

As he pulled away, panting, sweat slid down a loose curl, a glint of light in the darkness, and dripped onto your skin. You thought it might sizzle--you tingled as if you’d cum, too, though you knew you hadn’t. The sheer weight of lust in the room had you dizzy and euphoric. Your lips buzzed.

He slipped out, easing back onto his heels, scrutinizing you with an emotion you couldn’t name. Frowning, he wiped his mouth and tucked himself away, tossing your skirt back over your legs, and standing. You could only watch him, elated he’d fucked you--elated that he’d revealed his weakness. Some awful, twisted part of him valued you.

Ren walked to the door, reached for the knob--and then faced you, spearing you with his stare. “Tell me what you are, little bird,” he whispered.

You couldn’t help it. You smirked. “A vessel, sir,” you replied.

His gaze fell to the floor. “Yes,” he said. “Good.” Then he opened the door, and he was gone.

The sound of his footsteps was soft, like leather crossing a bed of wet leaves. You listened to them, growing more and more distant, until there was only silence. Until the only sound was your quiet, triumphant breath.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #handmaid au #little bird #fanfiction problems #choking #dubcon

239 notes · View notes

lunamanar · 8 years ago

Text

All the Prime Numbers

Thanks, @what-hos-there, for making me math. Ugh!

1: Is it worse to fail at something or never attempt it in the first place? (not technically a prime number, but I wanted to answer this one)

While the obvious answer here is “well that depends on a lot of factors,” let’s just assume for the moment that the thing you are attempting is not...stupid. Let’s say there’s a chance of success and that said success will hurt no one.

Those things being given, I very strongly feel that, for me, making the attempt is everything. The end result is almost supplemental. I live in a state of mind where I’m very aware that I’ve got one life, one chance, and I don’t often have the energy to get up and do things, so when I have that opportunity, I jump on it like a tiger in the bush. Explosively, absolutely. I know I burn out fast and I only have limited time to enjoy the things I choose to do, so...yeah, those opportunities are precious to me. And if I fail, I fail, but good or bad I had an experience, and I try to always get something out of those experiences. I’m rarely bitter (there are pointed, rather awful exceptions, but I’ll not go into that). But, in general, I regret the things I didn’t do far more than the things I did. Even if the result was humiliating failure.

2: If you could choose just one thing to change about the world, what would it be?

I would enable every human being on earth to feel genuine empathy for their “enemies.”

3: To what extent do you shape your own destiny, and how much is down to fate?

I don’t really believe in “fate.” I believe the universe to be a beautiful, but completely random place, at least when it comes to forces outside my conscious control. One’s “destiny” is a mixture of those uncontrollable happenings and your responses to them. I further delineate between responses: there are reactions, which we don’t think about but simply act upon; decisions, in which we take a course of action given limited possibilities; and choices, which are proactive, things we do when we have power to generate our own possibilities irrespective of our surroundings. The last are preciously rare (most “choices” are in fact simply decisions; there is no real freedom involved, no reaching for an ideal future...you simply pick a path, and it takes you where it takes you. I hate it when people frame that as a choice. It’s not) and it is critical to recognize them if you hope to have any say in what your “destiny” is. Not everyone gets a choice. If you do, do not squander it. Learn to recognize what little power you are privileged to have, and make good with it. “Fate” is just letting life present you with a preset collection of forks in the road, and picking a direction. If you want to determine your destiny, you have to make your own paths when you can, and trust me, it’s better when they intersect with the self-made paths of others.

5: Should people care more about doing the right thing, or doing things right?

If I’m parsing this right, I think you’re asking if we should prioritize morality over practicality; what works, or what’s fair. In general, I don’t view these things as mutually exclusive, at least not when talking about systems. But when faced with a moral dilemma, I tend to default to taking the action that will ultimately do the least harm. Sometimes that’s the fair action, and sometimes that’s the practical one. But like many of these questions, the answer is basically “it depends.”

7: Where is the line between insanity and creativity?

Insanity is a word we use to dismiss the legitimacy of someone’s experiences and thoughts, without having to examine them critically. When someone does or says something that we find absurd, the deciding factor between labeling it “creative” and labeling it “insane” usually comes down to whether we like it or not. So, I’d say the line is “arbitrary personal preference.”

11: What is time?

Something I don’t have enough of. Ever.

More serious answer; time is how we perceive the progression of our existence through reality. It is measurable only through change; you cannot contain it, or hold onto it. No one moment can be repeated or recreated. So, largely, time as we tend to think of it is a subjective matter. Things get a little (but not much) more concrete when you start talking about time in mathematical terms, but it’s still a concept that confounds humanity for wont of a concrete definition. We see its effects on the universe, but we cannot capture it. The best definition we have is that time is the expansion of all existence into nothingness, and eventually, entropy.

Ultimecia loves that shit.

13: Do you make your own decisions, or let others make them for you?

I hate having other people make decisions for me. I have to be laid up in bed sick as all getout barely able to get up to go to the bathroom before I start to ask other people to make decisions on my behalf. I have words about the current trend of self-important machines setting things up for me, forcing me to retroactively fix all the crap they did wrong, rather than just letting me set things up myself, the way I liked them. I’m terribly spoiled in that regard. Blame my DOS upbringing.

17: What is the difference between living and being alive?

This question suggests its own answer by insinuating there is a difference between the two. Most people think of “living” as having some quality of life, whereby happiness can be felt and the future is something to look forward to. Whereas “being alive” typically refers to the simple act of survival, of thinking nothing about anything except taking your next breath and ensuring you wake up after you sleep. Being alive means your body and mind are functioning, but there is no space for anything more; living, on the other hand, implies relief from such basic concerns, and the possibility of personal fulfillment.

19: Who decides what morality is?

These questions are so poorly worded. Morality is determined by underlying social frameworks and depends heavily on which framework causes the least dissonance in any given person’s mind. There is no final arbiter of morality.

23: Is a family still relevant in the modern world?

Yes. ...Do I need to explain that? Family has a much broader meaning now than it used to, but it’s certainly not irrelevant because by and large, people still want it. It’s a feeling of kinship shared only between people who are emotionally intimate enough to recognize each other mutually as part of the same clan. Blood relations usually play a part but are less and less necessary as our collective need for tribalism gradually dissolves. This is a good thing, in my opinion.

My “family,” for instance, currently consists of myself, my husband, a second, long-distance relationship, and our live-in friend who we tell people is our tenant, for convenience’s sake. He does pay “rent,” but only in that he pays for what he uses up in resources. Otherwise, he’s just there and we all work together to keep up this odd little household of ours. We joke he’s our “adopted millennial,” but really we just get along really well with him. While there’s no romantic feelings there at all, it would be...sad and weird if suddenly our “tenant” were not there, anymore, and he is very happy to tag along wherever we go. Whatever we do, we’re all in it together, supporting and sacrificing for each other. That’s modern family.

29: What is infinity?

Mostly a mathematical concept. Technically, 99.999999~ is infinity, but trying to explain that there is no functional difference between an infinite decimal and infinity itself is very hard on most people’s brains.

31: What defines you?

“What” implies a thing that is tangible and measurable, so if I were honest, the answer to this question would be “nothing.” What defines me is a fluid, ever-changing state that encompasses various things and experiences and people as they phase in and out of my life. What defines me, ultimately, is a bit of a Venn diagram of objects, thoughts, individuals and experiences, and it’s never the same at any given point.

BUT that’s not the answer you want. You want something concrete, an allegory. Okay. I am defined by what I have left in me, by the stories I have not yet told. When I write, even when what I’m writing is happy, I’m bleeding onto that page, and when I’m done, a part of me is gone forever, stolen by the text. See, once you take a living part of yourself and set it in stone, place it in a static state, that part of you dies. It may gain new life of sorts in the minds of readers, but what it was to me is now gone forever. You see, that’s why I post so very little, here, even though I talk about writing a lot. Before I pour something onto a page, I have to be absolutely sure that I am ready to let go, to lose it. Far from immortalizing me, it is a sort of jubilant suicide--not born of despair, but of longing that’s just as powerful. I want someone to see these stories I live with. I want someone to know, and to understand. But to do that, I must inscribe The End. Writing, for me, is a sacrificial rite, and what defines “me” is all that you do not already know is still in here, waiting for its time.

37: Is trust more important than love?

I would say so. Some people don’t actually need or want love, at least not in the romantic sense (which is how I’m interpreting this question). On the other hand, a life without trust is a very stressful one, no matter how you slice it.

41: The structure of DNA appears to be intelligently designed, what are the implications?

No it doesn’t.

43: Is life all a dream?

If it is, it’s not ours. This reaches so far into speculative territory as to render itself beyond any “philosophy.”

47: How did the universe begin?

Oh good grief. I’m not going to write a report. There are many slightly different theories; do your own research and pick one.

#meme #long post #talk to me

6 notes · View notes

catholiccom-blog · 8 years ago

Photo

Catholic Publishing: A Game for Suckers

It’s a typical morning at Sophia Institute Press headquarters. Panting from my daily hike up the six flights of worn and uneven stairs that lead to our warehouse and office space—the penthouse suite of a semi-renovated nineteenth-century mill—I reach my desk and turn on the computer. Five new intra-office e-mails greet me, which can mean only one thing: publisher, marketing, and editorial (me) are still fighting over a book title. Past title wars are the stuff of legend around here, and this one has all the earmarks of becoming one for the annals. The author of this particular book, about Catholic family life, supplied his own title, but it never won any backers on our end. Now the manuscript is almost ready to go, but the lack of a title is holding up the works: copyright paperwork, cover art, prepublication promotion, all dependent on the final title. We thought we’d hit on a good one a few weeks ago, but it didn’t stick. After that we’d brainstorm sporadically—in impromptu meetings, via e-mail, over the water cooler. But we got no closer, and the latest messages on my computer don’t contain any breakthroughs. So this morning we gather in one room, close the door, and instruct warehouse staff not to let us out until we’ve picked a title or died trying. Publisher suggests a title that plays on the name of a fifties Beat Generation poem. "Wrong audience," replies marketing. "This book is written specifically for people who’ve never heard of Kerouac." He counters with a punchy two-worder taken from a theme in the book’s introduction. Now it’s publisher’s turn to object. "A short title would allow you to have nice big letters on the spine," he concedes, "but this one doesn’t really tell you what the book is about. It could be Catholic family life, or it could be Oprah’s latest diet book." I step into the breach with a particularly snappy title that came to me that morning as I was brushing my teeth. There’s a pause."That’s just stupid," publisher and marketing say together. And so it goes. Eventually we do break for lunch and attend to other matters. I wrestle with some editing for an hour. I send off another futile e-mail to a writer who took an advance from us then went incommunicado. I peck away at the mountain of proposals and unsolicited manuscripts on the desk behind me. The day is slipping away, and we still have this poor little book without a name. Then, later that afternoon, I wander past publisher’s desk. Why, I ask, couldn’t we pull a key adjective out of a subtitle that he’d tried unsuccessfully to mate with an early main-title prototype and add it to marketing’s short, punchy suggestion? That would sufficiently identify it for our readers, and the rest of the subtitle would slide in quite neatly—even euphoniously—behind it. He types it on the screen, and we both stare as if in a trance. The tumblers in our brains begin to click in unison. "I like it if you like it," publisher says finally. "Seriously, do you like it?" I say I do. We buzz over to marketing. He likes it if we like it. We have a title. Send up the white smoke. I get home that evening, and my wife asks me how I can look so ragged and beaten when all I do is read books all day. * * * The fact is that such contests of intellect and will aren’t the only.aspects of this business that gray the hairs and angry up the blood. Catholic publishing is a game for suckers. There’s no glamour in it. No wining and dining of authors, no junkets to exotic locales to scout new writing talent. My business card is not a ticket to free upgrades and courtside seats. Our sales goals are modest. Catholics do not read religious books in significant numbers anymore—excepting turgid novels about Vatican conspiracies or the end times. Five thousand copies of a title sold in a year is a successful run for us; this past summer The Da Vinci Code routinely would triple that number on a bad day. And yet, we wouldn’t publish the next Da Vinci even if it fell in our laps. Like many other Catholic publishers, we are a hybrid of business and apostolate, constantly striving to balance the twin goals of building up the kingdom of God and making enough money to pay the printers, the electric company, and the staff. Another Da Vinci might make us rich beyond dreams of avarice but at the cost of betraying the apostolate and its aims. But trying to sell large numbers of sound, orthodox Catholic books today is at best a dubious business proposition. We’re offering a product that few people want and most don’t realize they need. Not long ago, I helped man a table full of our best-selling books at a fundraising fair for my fairly active, solid, middle-class parish. We had a prominent location in "Ministry Alley" and a large sign announcing that 100 percent of the profits would go to the parish’s Respect Life group. After two days, thousands of passers-by, and hours of shameless hawking, we sold a grand total of two books. If this episode is by itself not proof of much, it is at least suitably iconic. Our market is a niche, and that niche comprises only a sliver of the millions of Catholics sitting in the pews—or for that matter, teaching CCD, attending Bible study, and baking muffins for the women’s sodality. Blame the many distractions of the modern media if you want, blame the catechetical vacuum of the last forty years, blame the Freemasons: Catholics aren’t reading. The market for good Catholic books of spirituality, apologetics, and popular theology—again, we’re not talking Andrew Greeley or The Prayer of Jabezhere—is by all comparisons tiny. (For the next fundraiser, the Respect Life group offered boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts as the Boy Scouts did. They sold out in two hours.) * * * Of course, a generation or three ago, when the Church in America had really come into its own, the English-speaking world enjoyed an unprecedented richness of Catholic books. It was love for those fine old books and a desire to re-introduce them to a modern audience that would lead former philosophy professor John Barger, in 1983, to set up Sophia Institute Press in his basement in Manchester, New Hampshire. Beginning with Dietrich von Hildebrand’s Marriage: The Mystery of Faithful Love, Barger and Sophia would go on to develop a reputation for resurrecting forgotten Catholic classics: hunting down forgotten works of theology, philosophy, and spirituality, and then, most importantly, editing them to modern standards of readability. New titles, contemporary fonts and layout design, and attractive covers typically complete the resurrection. In recent years, Sophia began adding to its catalogue new books by living authors, and today roughly a third of the twenty-four-some books we publish each year are new titles by current authors. In 1993, the company moved from the publisher’s basement to its current riverside offices in one of Manchester’s many converted textile mills. No longer a one-man operation, today we’d be considered a small-midsize publishing house, subsisting on just over $1 million in sales and another $150,000 in benefactor donations each year. As editor, I am primarily responsible for acquisitions and editing tasks: from evaluating proposals and manuscripts (and writing polite rejections to well-meaning folks who send us stuff like Thoughts and Meditations on God, Volume One) to working with authors to fine-tune their concepts and prettify their prose. During every stage of developing a manuscript for publication, I try to keep one question before me at all times: What about this book would compel someone to pick it up? In many ways, the evolution of a book works backwards: from the sale to marketing efforts to at least an initial vision of the cover and title and then finally to the concept and the text. Beginning with the end in mind keeps us ever-conscious of the needs and wishes of the members of our niche market. Staying true to our dual identity as business and apostolate—striving to give our audience what they want as consumers yet what they need as Catholics—sometimes calls for tricky balancing acts and strategic compromises. Although most members of our orthodox and socially conservative Catholic readership probably wouldn’t be too tempted by Greeley-style schlock or another Left Behind clone, in our market there are other types of books that might sell but nonetheless would be illicit for us to publish. We might be able, for instance, to sell large numbers of books harshly and uncharitably indicting certain bishops—say, the liberals or the homosexual/pedophile coddlers. With other readers we might have great success peddling sensationalistic accounts of the latest reported private revelations. But we couldn’t do these things while remaining faithful to our mission and principles. So when considering manuscripts our calculation doesn’t end (as it would for a strictly business publisher) with what the audience wants—that is, what would sell. We have to ask ourselves: What good will this do the Church? On the other hand, neither can the question of our readers’ spiritual needs be the sole criterion. Many an unsolicited manuscript has landed on my desk topped with a cover letter announcing that every Catholic in America needs to read this book! Embedded in each is some message guaranteed to make the reader happier, holier, and closer to God. They can be rich in Scripture, steeped in the wisdom of the early Church Fathers, and suffused with the piety and sincerity of the author. And we’d be lucky, in a year, to sell enough to pay the initial printing costs. If most people had the intellectual clarity to know just what they needed and then the supernatural integrity to want it, we wouldn’t have an out-of-print list filled with so many wise, edifying, and unsalable books. As it is, our business, like all others, is subject to the ravages of original sin. And so our challenge is to fulfill the mission of our apostolate by publishing books that Catholics need to read—books that will help them better to know, love, and serve God—packaged and presented in way that will make Catholics want to read them. This helps us sell enough books to support the business, and it also further serves the goals of the apostolate: If we publish good Catholic books that almost no one will buy and read, we’re just hiding our light under a bushel. But "spiritually beneficial" and "compelling to the buyer" still aren’t enough. In addition to these qualities, we look for manuscripts that are unique in some way. Until some enterprising author discovers a fourth person of the Trinity, there will be precious little new under the sun in Catholic publishing. Why should a Catholic bookstore browser buy this book on the rosary and not one of the hundred others that have come before it? How is this Defense of the Catholic Faith or that Learn How to Pray Better going to stand out on shelves and in catalogues stuffed with dozens of similar titles? Show an editor something really and truly different, and you will have caught his attention. (Although, sometimes we get proposals for books so different they border on—or cross over to—the downright bizarre.) Sophia founder and publisher John Barger is fond of reminding us that a new book is published every three minutes, around the clock. If our books can’t distinguish themselves in the overcrowded marketplace, if they can’t offer readers unique and compelling benefits, then both the business and the apostolate are likely to fail. * * * Of course, as editor you can pore over a manuscript and subject it to every test. You can deem it unique, compelling, and beneficial beyond question. You can read the market perfectly. You can slap on an inspired title and an arresting cover. You can publish it with fanfare—only to watch it flop spectacularly. In a couple of years, all those leftover copies of the book you thought would change the world will be turned into fireplace starter logs and blown insulation. In fact, some of our most notable failures have been books we were high on at printing time, books that I still consider among the best I’ve edited. A year and a half ago, for example, we published Adventures in Orthodoxy, a delightful Chestertonian waltz through the articles of the Creed, written by popular convert-apologist (and This Rock contributor) Dwight Longenecker. Never dull and at times brilliant, it was written with more stylistic flair than any manuscript that’s ever made its way out of my office. Beneficial spiritual insights galore. Unique? Show me another book like it. We gave it what we thought was a provocative cover—featuring an Indiana Jones-like explorer reaching to open the door of a church—and turned it loose on the masses. The masses shrugged. Why? Did we misjudge our modern Catholic audience’s appetite for the whimsical religious essays of a Chesterton-lite? Did we fail to promote it adequately? Or could it have been the title or the cover? In the past we’ve been able to turn some flops (or at least sleepy sellers) into hits by reprinting them with new looks and names. Perhaps a similar treatment someday will give Longenecker’s book the success it deserves. Conversely (and happily), sometimes the hundred-to-one shot gallops home; the stone that the builders rejected, as P. G. Wodehouse put it, becomes the main thing. That is, a book for which we had only modest hopes turns into a bona fide hit. Such has been the case just recently with A Mother’s Rule of Life by Holly Pierlot. We saw in it a fine little book that borrows from the wisdom of religious life to help Catholic moms organize their households and fulfill their vocations as wives and mothers. But we never reckoned on the rave responses it would receive from readers and the extensive word-of-mouth promotion among Catholic mothers’ groups and homeschoolers that would drive it to the top of our bestseller lists. It has opened our eyes to one of the hottest genres in our niche market: what one observer has dubbed "mom lit." Currently we are striking out for the first time in the direction of original children’s fiction. Children’s books are reliable sellers, and the word from bookstores is that Catholic parents continue to ask for kids’ books that are unambiguously Catholic and catechetical yet entertaining. We’ll take our first few tentative steps into this market later this year and next, and their success or failure will help guide future decisions. I for one am guardedly hopeful, if only because it would make my job easier. Half, if not more, of the proposals and manuscripts I receive are for children’s books! * * * Through all the unexpected hits and misses, notwithstanding every failure of our best-laid plans, we try to stay positive. Catholic publishing is a game for suckers, and that’s a relief—it means that our bottom line isn’t to be found on the sales sheet. It means we can hope for incalculable profits. We do work hard to focus our resources, talents, and experiences shrewdly and wisely; we do try all we can to jigger the game in a way that we believe will increase our odds for success. But in the end, it’s God’s work, and doing God’s work means recalibrating your measure of success. What began as one man’s labor of love has become an entire company’s daily act of faith.

#Catholic Answers #Todd Aglialoro #Sophia Institute Press #John Barger #Catholic Answers Press #Catholic Book Publishing

6 notes · View notes