#art is a truly human thing. i think he would find some solace in it bc of that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imaginariumpod · 4 years ago

Text

Studio Ghibli; and the aesthetic of comfort and the mundane.

When it comes to animation movies, Studio Ghibli movies are still some of the long standing staples of the genre, and for a good reason. A lot has been said about these films, their thematics, their characters, their stories and the studio that made them, as well as one of their elusive and yet most well known creators : Hayao Miyazaki. I will try to focus on the ways Studio Ghibli views comfort as well the coziness in these little slower moments that fill the universe of Ghibli films. These movies are generally universally loved by the public, despite the fact that they are aimed toward a younger audience. These movies are definitely created with the goal of showing it to a public of children and families, and yet they still are very complex and layered pieces of art and animation that all audiences can appreciate. These movies also do not look down on their audiences, they do not shy away from touching upon more difficult themes such as war, loss, and fear, in a manner that’s adequate for the public it is targeting. With this article, I want to write an extension on the article I have already written on the subject of slowness in cinema and that has been asked by one of my subscribers on patreon. If you haven’t read that article yet, you can read it HERE on my blog.

The films that have been created by Studio Ghibli, are, and with reason, a cornerstone of the animated movie industry. Despite the fact that these movies are definitely intended and made for a younger audience, I think we can all agree that these particular movies can be appreciated by everyone, at any age, and that anyone can find meaning and solace within these movies. Studio Ghibli movies are truly an excellent example of filmmaking that manages to capture a slower pace in media, slowing down the action to just offer a moment to breathe. Between all of the grand adventures and events that are happening in those movies, there are always moments of slowness to be found. Of calm. Of quietness. The characters of the Ghibli universe are permitted to simply exist sometimes.

The concept of slowing down in media is one that I deeply appreciate for the way it brings depth and serenity in stories. This is a very personal point of view of course, I find the modern pace of capitalist life deeply alienating at times, and sometimes I think we just need a moment to slow down and enjoy simply being. Doing nothing is a very anti-capitalist thing, in my opinion, and I greatly appreciate seeing this concept in books and movies. While being productive is always a nice feeling, and god knows I always enjoy being busy and having things to do, it is always in these moments where I feel submerged by everything I have to do that I yearn for some peace and quiet. While it is not always possible to have this, it is always possible for me to simply … start a movie, and try to escape a bit the weight of the world.

I personally think having these moments to be able to just breathe and be truly enriches a movie. Those moments of simple mundanity and ordinariness ground the story in reality even when the story is about a wizard living in a moving castle. Studio Ghibli movies are the epitome of films that can focus on fantasy and the imaginary and telling incredibly original stories, while also including this measure of the mundane, the routine and the ordinary in between the louder and more action-packed parts of the film. This way of constructing these films, makes it so that the universe feels more lived-in, real and comforting, the characters feel more grounded and rooted in reality.

Studio Ghibli: a brief history

Even though Hayao Miyazaki started working as an animator in the 1960s, working in TOEI animation and learning the tricks of the trade, it is only later in 1985 that he established Studio Ghibli as we now know it, with the partnership of Isao Takahata and Toshio Suzuki. It is with that previous working experience that he got to truly construct an identity as the type of animator he wanted to become, and the type of movies he wanted to produce. Before Ghibli, Miyazaki got involved with different animation projects such as Heidi (1974) , and Anne of Green Gables (1979) and a project that would never see the day : Pippi Longstocking. This project is quite interesting in how it simply … never got made, its a bit like a lost part of history, a what-if. Despite the fact that Hayao Miyazaki had drawn a lot of concept arts as well as storyboards for this project, they never got the green light from the swedish author Astrid Lindgren.

Nonetheless, it is obvious how all of these projects forecast how Miyazaki and his business partner Isao Takahata will more often than not try to center young girls as the main protagonists of their movies. A trend that will continue on for the most of their careers to this day. They will continue to focus on young girls and women as the main characters of the stories they are telling in such a complex and intricate way, all of their female characters are different from each other, with their own complicated inner lives, dreams and goals. It seems like such a basic requirement to request from our media, and yet even now, it is still not something that… will be guaranteed in the stories we consume. It is not to say that ghibli’s portrayals of women is perfect, but I do appreciate their very complex heroines and their adventures.

I will not try to pretend that I can totally understand the type of person that Miyazaki is, he’s a complicated figure at the helm of Studio Ghibli, the man behind the curtain. He is definitely a hardworking and self-critical person, but also deeply critical of others as well, wanting to set up very high standards of work that can be extremely difficult to achieve in a very high pressure environment. Thus is the complex personality of Miyazaki. I do not want to pretend he is a perfect man, and I do think some of his choices are things i don't quite agree with. There are some very valid and legitimate criticisms to be made about him, some by the closest people he works with as well as his own sons, especially Goro Miyazaki, who say that his father was always very distant, working long hours even by the era’s standards, and whose heart was obviously more into his work than his home life. Hayao Miyazaki valued work and putting in the time and effort into his art and job, pushing for very unhealthy job practices and work culture.

He is far from perfect, and seek perfection in his work, both from himself and the people he works with. There’s a lot to be said on that aspect, and yet I still very much think that he is that he is still a very fascinating person to reckon with, someone who brought very important and beautiful stories and revolutionized the world of animation in a really significant way. The universes he created are some I keep coming back to times and times again. I also highly recommend the documentary A Kingdom of Dreams and Madness (2013) if you have not seen it, as to have a glimpse of the way this animation studio functions on a daily basis. I find it always so very inspiring personally, each time I watch this documentary, I feel hugely motivated to create and to make something, no matter how small. Sometimes, it is simple about the sheer act of creating something, of spending some time away on the roof, looking at the skies while a cat is sleeping next to you.

His involvement with the Union during his early animator years left him with a leftist tendency that will continue on during his career and seep through the themes of his movies.From the very firmly anti-war stances to the pro-environmentalist and anti-capitalist and anti-consumerist themes, Ghibli movies are a proof that you can tackle these subject matters in a very conscientious way even in children’s media. It can be seen in the movie Grave of the Fireflies (1988), a heart-wrenching movie about two children trying to survive the last months of World War II. Even though Isao Takahata, who directed this movie, says the movie was not made out to be an anti-war movie, this stance is still very much woven in the very fabric of the movie, from its beginning to its ending.

This specific theme is very important here in terms of the experience of the mundane and the ordinary in Ghibli movies. Even within the most devastating of events, smaller moments of slowness can be found, and appreciated. Quiet moments of peace that feel even more poignant in the midst of struggle. Despite everything, I think we have all come to the conclusion that even when world-shattering events are happening, life truly must go on. And it does find a way to go on, and it feels mind-boggling that we all have to do our groceries, cook dinner, wash our laundry while terrible events keep happening, and yet, these mundane moments still occur. It is still possible to find a moment of respite and peace in the midst of uncertain times and terrible events.

But also, as Marco says it in Porco Rosso, « I’d much rather be a pig than a fascist » and I think this really does say it all.

The aesthetic of comfort

Despite being usually an animated movie set in a very obviously fantastical universe, Studio Ghibli movies tend to be very realistic in the way they portray the characters, their complexity, and also what are the real underlying conflicts. For example, in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) «The primary conflict isn’t about magic—it’s internal and invisible and wholly human: Kiki’s brief period of lost motivation and artist’s block. She gets it back when she wants to help Tombo, whom she loves. Simple as that. She doesn’t have to wage an epic battle to prove her worth» The stakes might seem lower in this movie compared to other stories, very mundane and ordinary, there is no war, there is no significant conflict, but I think this is what makes it so special in the end.

One of the particularities of Ghibli movies is how they deal with the notion of childhood, a notion that few animation movies have approached with such delicateness and seriousness. One of the things I really appreciate from Ghibli movies is that it does not shy away from treating children as complex beings. It does acknowledge the fact that children are also able of complexities and of understanding more than we think they do, and yet creating media that is easy for them to comprehend and appreciate, which I think is no small feat.

There is definitely also a definite focus on working class characters instead of the more “prestigious” ones in Ghibli movies, there is a desire to center normal people, whatever that means, in their stories. Most of the characters have to work for a living, earn their lives, and the value of hard work is definitely something that is highlighted in the Ghibli universe. In Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), the baker’s wife tells the young witch that work is work no matter how small and insignificant you might think it is, and all work should be paid, and it is a truth that should be remembered.

In that movie, here is no world shattering events, no wars or massive destruction, only a young witch trying to make something out of herself, losing her will and creativity and gaining it again. That particular theme is one that resonates a lot with people on a very basic level, especially in this current day and age where so many of us are trying to monetize our creative work. So often, trying to capitalize off a hobby and enduring the bone deep dreary weight of capitalism is what will make artists lose their original inspiration and will to create, when a hobby turns into labor, and this is, at its core, the journey that Kiki went through.

As Robert Ebert told Miyazaki, during an interview with him « I told Miyazaki I love the "gratuitous motion" in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.»

And he was right, Ghibli movies have these moments where the action is not something that is strictly essential to the plot of the movie, and yet it is essential to the essence of what Ghibli movies do. Miyazaki then explained what this concept for him meant for him :

«"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It's called ma. Emptiness. It's there intentionally."»

Those slow moments between the actions are thus very deliberate, they mean to slow down the story and to slow down the pace. Unlike the generally accepted school of thought in modern Hollywood cinema, where every single scene and dialogue needs to move the story forward, Miyazaki lets his story and movies breathe and exist. This way of building a story does give it an added sense of calm and soothingness, but also it gives it a sense of realism. Instead of following a strict narrative outline, this fluidity makes the story feel more real and relatable.

These quiet moments and details that might seem innocuous and useless at first glance, and maybe look like they would slow and hinder the pace of the movie in itself, are ultimately what gives it this feeling of genuineness, of sincerity. It lets the characters as well as the plot have the space to breathe, evolve and grow.

« Although these scenes may seem slow or unimportant, they give space to develop the characters and to heighten dreams or feelings the characters are having such as feelings of isolation, wonder, or anxiety. It is in these moments of stillness that the audience can contemplate with the characters and feel what the characters are feeling. These moments remind the audience the importance of stillness in such a fast paced world and highlights the beauty of a slower paced life»

Studio Ghibli movies insert those slo

wer moments in between their more faster paced and action packed scenes, but also in the midst of world-changing events such as wars, as shown in Howl’s Moving Castle (2004). This demonstrates how people still live on during those crises, even with the danger looming over their heads. This kind of media gives me hope that we can live through this, that moments of happiness and peace are still to be found even within the madness of our very fast capitalistic and hyper consumerist life.

From visibly established routines to a focus on the mundane, the daily. the ordinary, Ghibli movies will definitely bring these seemingly unimportant acts and integrate them as essential to the general experience of the movie. You see the characters inhabiting the Ghibli universe working, studying, sleeping, eating, in a way, you see them being alive. In a manner of speaking, of course, these are fictional characters in fictional universes, but it is obvious that the universe and the lives these characters lead extend beyond what we’re seeing on the screen. They have whole lives and experiences that we might not be privy to, as the audience, but it is apparent that these characters are fully formed. They are going on and about with their lives, and it is this emphasis on the ordinary that makes them appear so realistic.

Falling and getting up again. Jumping and stumbling. So often, Ghibli’s characters are not perfectly graceful beacons of dexterity and elegance, quite the opposite even, their demeanor and posture will inform the character and their place in that world, and yet it is not always perfect and flawless. Sometimes, the characters will run and stumble and trip and fall and this mundanity of being.

This representation of the realness of what it is to be a person, that sometimes we trip and stumble, that we fall and get up again and yet, we continue to walk or run. It’s also a way of defining the different characters, of imbuing them with their own personality and mannerisms and be able to distinguish them even with such small details as the way they walk and carry themselves. This is definitely not exclusive to Studio Ghibli, animation as a whole uses movement and mannerisms as an essential tenet of character, but it is still very rare to see this sort of flailing included voluntarily in the films. Since the medium that these movies are created in is two-dimensional animation, it means that every single frame had to be carefully planned and executed, before being drawn and painted frame by frame. These movements could have been easily not included in the final cut of the movie, they could have been considered superfluous to the film, and yet they were. These imperfect moments are what ultimately makes it better.

Ghibli movies do that, not only in terms of physicality and concrete elements, but also when it comes to feelings and emotions. Emotions that we all feel and experience, from the feeling of restlessness to loss and fear, to love and courage. Ghibli movies really do showcase all of these feelings that we all feel, even though in a manner that is easy to understand for all audiences.

“Only Yesterday does not hit the dramatic highs of Miyazaki’s work, but that’s partly the point. It’s less concerned with presenting a grand thesis about the nature of being human than it is navigating the heartbreaks, triumphs and regrets that make us. But it’s still comforting for a film about the relentless march of time, the title even invoking both the speed with which childhood can pass us by and how close those memories stay with us.

It’s immensely relatable in how it evokes these little tragedies: the feeling of being a fraud; of missing out’ of wondering if you’ve left your childhood self behind; idealism; dreams and all. It asks us not to mourn what might or might not have happened, but to keep those memories close, and use them to move forward. That Only Yesterday makes this feel as wondrous as a castle in the sky or a land of spirits is nothing short of miraculous, and why it ranks among Ghibli’s best.”

The act of eating is one that is heavily emphasized in Ghibli movies, one only needs to read all of the articles dedicated to the mouth-watering food that fills its universe to understand that this simple act, of eating and of preparing food, is one that is very important. Countless of people have made videos on how to recreate some of the most iconic dishes and meals of the Ghibli universe, from Howl’s Moving Castle’s tempting breakfast to Spirited Away’s feasts, both the one that Chihiro’s parents eat at the beginning of the movie and the ones served to the bathhouse’s guests, and the simple snacks that are eaten throughout the movie, from the onigiri Haku gives Chihiro or the food she shares with Lin. Ghibli movies are very well known for how pretty and appealing its food looks, and simply taking the time to showcase the act of preparing and eating food, thus slowing down the pace and creating a break during the plot of the movie. There’s a certain type of media that does put a lot of importance on the act of slowing down, taking the time to cook, such movies such as Little Forest : Summer & Autumn and Little forest : winter and spring, for example. A lot of media that’s just about not doing much and preparing some food, which somehow has a very soothing effect. The act of eating and cooking is part of the greater character narrative and storyline when it comes to Ghibli movies, but also the act of sharing a meal and of eating together.

Food, the preparing of food as well as the sharing of a meal, is a love language in itself, in my very humble opinion, taking the time to prepare all of the ingredients and then a dish for someone else or for one self is an act of care. And it is definitely one of the ways it is used in Ghibli movies, from My Neighbor Totoro (1988) in which the eldest daughter is often seen having to prepare lunch and food for her younger sister and her father, since her mother is sick and hospitalized. I will not be talking here about eldest daughter syndrome here, but it is very much a Real Thing™️. It is simply in this representation of the act of cooking, and the care she puts in it, that we can understand not only the love she has for her younger sister and father, but also the very real responsibilities that she has to shoulder as such a young age.

In every single Studio Ghibli movie, this pattern appears, someone will make food, and it will be obvious how much time, effort and love it takes to prepare this dish, or someone will simply take a break from whatever they were doing and take a bite of a small but tasty snack. Somehow, the usage of food in the Ghibli universe is central to the way the characters will experience and move through the world.

It is in these small moments of respite and calm that the characters, and by extension, us, are allowed to breathe. Moments that are quiet, where two people will share a meal and just be. I always terribly appreciate whenever a movie, or any piece of media really, simply takes the time to let the story expand and move at its own pace. Studio Ghibli movies are always ones I love to go back to whenever the world feels overwhelming and slightly unbearable. I hope that we can all have more moments of peace and quiet, that things can slow down enough for us to catch our breath.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

Hayao Miyazaki interview | Interviews

The Magic and Artistry of Studio Ghibli's Films

The Low-Stakes Pleasure of KIKI’S DELIVERY SERVICE

Wings and Freedom, Spirit and Self: How the Filmography of Hayao Miyazaki Subverts Nation Branding and Soft Power Shadow

Miyazaki’s Magical Food: An Ode to Anime’s Best Cooking Scenes

Food in Spirited Away: Consuming with Intent

Grave of the Fireflies: The haunting relevance of Studio Ghibli's darkest film

NAPIER, Susan. Miyazakiworld : a life in art. Yale University Press, 2018.

#text

76 notes · View notes

dingoat · 3 years ago

Text

The Boy in the Temple

[Guess I’m in some sort of writing zone? This came out of absolutely nowhere and features a whole lot of Sithy business that I don’t normally go anywhere near and a character that’s still waiting to be properly defined and backstory for the worst boy rather than the best girl, hahaha. Sometimes when the plot bunnies strike you’ve just gotta run with it, and apparently I just did for nearly 2k words.]

---

It was the last thing the Sith expected to encounter scurrying about the edges of the Dark Temple, a furious little presence of cold rage and purpose completely untainted by the madness that otherwise permeated the area. Even more surprising to discover was that the being was not only a perfectly ordinary human, but young and Force-blind to boot.

Immediately curious, he shifted the focus of his hunt to the boy instead, a wave of his hand directing his bogwing to tighten her wings and wheel higher into the soft drizzle of the sky, a perfectly unassuming silhouette against the Temple’s stone peaks. Dropping back a comfortable distance, the Sith allowed the Force to do all his work for him, observing the boy’s passage under arches and over jutting walls, stealthy as a hunting cat. He was… very plainly here for a reason, driven by something that ran deep and swirled passionately at his core. Intensely focused, but with a sort of callous disregard for his own self; the boy didn’t know if he would come away from this excursion alive, and didn’t quite seem to care.

He carried things, things that no regular human boy should be carrying, a scroll and a blade that glittered so brightly through the Force with ancient energy and carefully honed power that the Sith could read the engravings on the knife and almost make out the strokes of ink on the carefully rolled parchment. The boy treated them with care; unrolling the map only for brief consultations and guarding it against the rain with his body. He picked his way around a curved section of wall, textured with glyphs carved in glossy obsidian, ran his fingers along the scored stone until he found what he was after.

Then he uttered words that no regular human boy should know, and the stone shifted.

The Sith’s curiosity deepend exponentially.

He raised his hand and seized the stone, forcing the doorway to remain open even after the boy had slipped inside. He sensed the way the boy waited, first impatient, clearly expecting it to close, then no longer caring as he pressed on inside. The Sith followed, summoning his pet down to ground level to perch by the carved wall, swiftly weaving threads of the Force between the bogwing and the doorway and forming an easy anchor that he could access to let himself out again from the inside.

If it proved necessary. You never really could tell, with places like this.

The boy moved on, down a winding passageway with only a small handful of forks, pausing only once to consult his map, and being very sparing with his use of a small electronic torch to light his way. All the while, anger flowed from him, cold white anger stemming from a whorl of grief that filled the whole of him, making plain the shape of his body through the Force. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen years, lean and fit but still gangly with youth, and yet there was so much tension in his shoulders, in the clench of his jaw. If the boy knew anything of what slithered along the walls or crawled over his head, he gave no indication that he was bothered; he was either not remotely squeamish, or utterly oblivious.

The Sith was certainly not bothered, as he felt something with far too many legs crawl across his chest and carry on its way as he took a moment to lean against the wall, waiting for the boy to fuss his way over a selection of doorways.

The Sith didn’t bother to follow him into the chamber that eventually yawned in front of him; his vision through the Force let him know all he needed about the ancient text inscribed across the walls, the smooth stone chalice that sat on an ornate pedestal in front of the towering altar that took up most of the room, crowned with a shimmering obelisk. He also knew, plain as day, that the boy now trembled with something new. Nerves. Anticipation. And was that… a delicious little glimmer of hope?

He had wondered, at one point, if this were some new Intelligence recruit, set on some impossible training task. But that thought was cast aside as he realised this boy’s mission was intensely personal, and terribly private.

He judged that the boy must be a terribly resourceful individual, to have gained possession of the artifacts he held. Particularly the knife, which he now brandished, brimming with tension, over his outstretched left hand.

The Sith tipped his head thoughtfully, listening as the boy spoke, his lips and tongue rapidly forming unfamiliar words, a little clunky with his lack of true grasp of the language, but still… impressive. Very impressive, for such a superficially ordinary little being.

The Sith decided he’d seen enough, and pulled himself to his feet, stepping forward while clearing his throat before the blade managed to nick the boy’s skin.

The boy startled with a shout, and the ancient blade clattered to the ground. Yet his shock was rapidly replaced with blind fury, and after a split second of sizing up the Sith he launched, recklessly, ferociously, fists raised.

The Sith let him come almost within arm’s reach before twitching his fingers and catching up the boy around the throat, lifting him into the air without actually laying a hand on him.

“Who are you?” The boy shouted through his struggles, deliciously furious. “You’re not meant to be here, what are you doing here?”

The Sith couldn’t help but laugh. “I think of the two of us, it’s the one with his legs dangling in the air that has less claim to any right to be here. Who are you, skulking about a cursed temple with stolen items? I have to assume you have some idea of what you were about to do, but truly, do you have any idea what you were about to do?”

The indignation that soared through the boy was delightful.

“Leave me alone! I don’t care what you think, just leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.”

The Sith sifted gently through the Force and tutted softly. “You don’t care, do you? You’re not afraid of me. You’re not afraid of losing your own life here, are you?”

The boy glowered, and somehow came across decades older than he aught. But his silence stretched long, simmering with grief.

The Sith observed him thoughtfully. “You won’t succeed. Whoever it is you’re trying to bring back…”

The boy shouted again, something that was almost a wild animal snarl, and thrashed savagely in the constricting grip of the Force. He twisted and bucked, utterly heedless of the pressure around his throat, he kicked out and so very, very nearly clipped the Sith across the chin.

“A more volatile being than I might choose to kill you know, just for that. Or perhaps for your trespass, or your blatant theft.”

“So do it then,” the boy spat back with an acid tone, flushed with absolute disregard for his precarious situation, and an impressive wall guarding his thoughts, for one unable to manipulate the Force.

But it did little to protect against someone as skilled as the Sith. Pressing through that barrier was as easy as drawing breath, and the image that the boy held in his mind was breathtaking in its contrast to the ferocity and willfulness he projected outward. “She’s young, isn’t she? Younger than you. Or is that… oh, I see. That’s as old as she ever reached, isn’t it?”

The boy shrieked a wordless rage, jolting so savagely against the Sith’s grasp that he almost considered letting go just to see how far the boy would go. It seemed a pity, almost, that such a vibrant being should have to suffer a complete inability to perceive the lifeblood of the universe. That a boy filled with such passion and fury should be blind to his true shape in the world.

He waited until the tantrum died down before speaking again. He was in no hurry.

“Your little ritual would have attracted the attention of spirits quite happy to claim you and use you, with no intention of delivering what you seek.”

“So why don’t you help me instead? Why don’t you do something decent with your stupid magic, what the kriff is even the point of being able to do what you people can do if you don’t-” his words were cut short with a sharp choking sound and a gasp for air.

The Sith saw little value in even entertaining the boy’s sad little fantasy. But what he did enjoy was the boy’s spirit. His fury and his cunning, his resourcefulness and courage. What a useful life, this boy could have. What a career.

He summoned the blade to his free hand, pocketing it before gently prying the scroll from the boy’s belt. “You will leave this temple, and you will turn your thoughts away from this absurd ritual. You want nothing to do with the stuffy old dead beings that would rather turn your mind than deliver a glimpse of your lost sister.” He spoke the words with a sliver of influential pressure, but the boy’s manner remained fierce; no fog came to his mind to absorb the suggestion. It was unsurprising, really, that the boy was far too strong willed for a simple mind trick; so be it. The words would be offered as plain advice. “And one day, you’ll be grateful that I spared your life, and gave you the opportunity to find a way to seek out true compensation for those who brought her to harm. There is a great deal of solace to be found in artful vengeance. Death comes to us all, boy, there’s no need to invite it early.”

The boy seemed to be taking in what he said, and had calmed his struggles somewhat. But the moment the Sith let his feet touch the ground again, he launched once more, utterly foolish but still, in his own way, admirable.

The Sith flicked his hand and sent the boy crashing against the far wall of the chamber. “You possess the sort of tenacity and ruthlessness that could get you far in the Empire. I’m curious to see where this will take you in life.”

And what you might be able to deliver when I decide to cash in on the debt you now owe me.

He smiled to himself as he turned and left the boy to find his own way out. If he was truly resourceful, he’d find a way, and if not… then perhaps the loss would not be so great after all.

---

Some decades later, Keeper took in the caller ID on his buzzing comm, and permitted himself a long sigh before responding.

“Intelligence headquarters, how are we able to serve?”

The voice on the other end was young, fresh, and a little bit nervous. An assistant of some sort, then, or an apprentice? “My Lord requests the presence of your Watcher Five at his earliest convenience, sir.”

“Watcher Five is currently on a rather well deserved leave of absence. I can arrange a meeting for him on his return, unless the matter is of some urgency? Might I request the nature of the appointment?”

A pause. “My Lord wishes to collect on a debt owed to him.”

Keeper drew his lips tight. He had a bad feeling about this. “I will be sure to inform the Watcher. If there is anything else we may be able to do…?”

“That is all. My Lord looks forward to the Watcher’s return.”

Keeper stared at his comm for a short while after the call ended, feeling an uncomfortable coldness in his guts. And then he began to dial out, suspecting that this might just be a matter that Five would appreciate some time to prepare for.

#dingoat writes #swtor fic #sith #MYSTERY SITH that is hahaha #and a wee little #watcher five #guest appearance by #keeper

13 notes · View notes

empyreanwritings · 4 years ago

Text

To Be Lonely

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral!Reader (College AU)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mentions of alcoholism, feelings of loneliness and anxiety

Summary: On a late night run, Bucky meets someone who actually understands how he feels.

A/N: hello friends! it has been awhile since i have posted an actual one shot, so i decided a good comeback would be my entry for @captainscanadian ‘s 1k writing challenge! i picked the College AU for our Buck Boi and idk where this came from, but it came from a deep place i guess aldskfjdsl i hope y’all like it!

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated (: x

Bucky was fortunate because he never truly knew what it meant to be alone. Growing up, he always had Steve by his side. Sometimes that meant getting his ass kicked behind the school dumpsters, but at least they did that together, too. Everyone in the city knew who Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were - two teens with charming smiles and blue eyes that could convince the older crowd into giving them just about anything. Free ice cream. Clothing that fit Bucky just right but could swallow Steve whole when he was still half his friend's size. Fresh produce to bring back to their mothers. It was always different but still a welcome perk of being the iconic duo.

When they separated for college - Steve choosing to go to an art school in California, and Bucky finding himself in the halls of Stanford - they still kept in touch, but he found solace in the friendship of his roommates.

Sam was full of sarcasm and toothy grins that made anyone around him smile too. He and Bucky had a habit of butting heads over small stuff like who left a spoon in the sink or whose turn it was to buy more milk, but they both knew they'd do anything for each other. Peter, or Quill as he preferred to be called, wasn't in their dorm often, but when he was, they always had a good time. Bucky wouldn't trust Quill to wake him up for an exam, but he knew there was no one better to go to if he was looking for a place to party for the night. The three of them were incredibly different, yet they got along just fine.

He made friends in different classes too; Wanda in his environmental biology class; Gamora, Quill's girlfriend, in his mythology class; and Scott, who he met sleeping in the stairwell behind the library one day.

Wherever Bucky went, he always had someone with him. He was never alone.

But, on nights when he felt his chest tighten and the breath catch in his throat, he couldn't understand why he always felt lonely. His mother used to remind him that being alone and being lonely were two different things, but he didn't understand how it was possible - how he could feel like he was missing something despite sitting in a room full of people.

It was another one of those nights for him. Sleep never came, and the more he tossed and turned in bed, the more frustrated he became. The only thing he could think of to get his mind off of the loneliness he felt was to go on a run, so he quickly changed into appropriate workout attire and dashed out of his apartment.

He ignored the fact that it was two in the morning and Sam, who happened to still be up studying, knew better than to ask where he was going. Sometimes the guy just needed to clear his head, and there was nothing wrong with that.

Bucky ran until his lungs burned. Every breath he took felt like glass shards in his chest, but he relished in the feeling because it distracted him from the thoughts racing through his mind. He only stopped to take a breather when black spots started to dance in the corner of his eyes, and he had the campus fountain to lean back on. The moment he sat down, he could feel his muscles practically sigh in relief, and he had to laugh. For being as fit as he was, he still had limits. What a way to remember he was human after all.

The cool spray of the fountain hit his face, and he leaned back ever so slightly to get a little bit more of it. It was incredibly refreshing; he wasn't against sitting there for hours, but he knew someone would come out and think he was high on something. High on adrenaline, maybe, but certainly not high on anything he wanted to be high on.

"I wouldn't fall asleep in that position."

Your sudden presence made Bucky jump and nearly fall into the fountain. You weren't there when he first ran up, which meant you must have stumbled upon him sitting there while he was enjoying the cool mist. The fact that he didn't hear you coming worried him. Clearly, he needed to work on becoming more aware of his surroundings.

"Speaking from experience?" He chuckled and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He tried to will himself to get up, but his muscles refused.

"Actually, yes," you replied with a smile. "I was so exhausted after a lab one day, I fell asleep sitting up and tumbled straight into the water. I'm pretty sure my picture is still plastered all over Twitter somewhere."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was hilarious."

You gestured towards the spot next to him, silently asking if you could sit there. Bucky wasn't sure why you wanted to spend time with him when you didn't know him, but he wasn't going to say no. As weird as it sounded, your presence was comforting. Made him feel like he wasn't running from something but running towards you instead.

A small smile spread across your face as you sat down. You dipped your fingers into the fountain for a moment, quietly watching the ripples grow bigger and bigger until they finally disappeared. You did this a few times before turning your attention back to Bucky. He wondered if this was something you liked to do - something that calmed you on your worst nights. He even started to feel bad because he might have stumbled on your private spot. Not that a fountain in middle of campus was entirely private, but it must be nicer at this time of night.

"Can I ask you something?" Bucky felt the heat rise in his cheeks when you turned to look at him. He wasn't sure if he should have just enjoyed the comfortable silence, but there was so much he wanted to know about you.

"Make it good," you hummed. "Cause if it's lame, I might not answer it."

He chuckled. "I just wanted to know why you were out here."

"You want an honest answer or one that makes you feel comfortable?"

"Honest."

You sighed and started to pick at the frayed edges of the hole in your jeans. It looked like you were debating on telling the truth. It wasn't as if you really owed him an honest answer. Bucky was a stranger, someone you only met because he was about to pass out. He offered you no information about himself, so why would you?

He was about to tell you to forget about it, but you started to talk and cut him off.

"My roommates are throwing a party, and they brought a lot booze. The smell was starting to get to me, and I knew I needed to get out before I relapsed," you confessed softly. "I know it sounds ridiculous given that I'm not that old, but I'm an alcoholic."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not ridiculous. And the fact that you could assess the situation and walk away means you're doing better than you probably think you are."

"I appreciate that, but it's not that impressive. I've only been sober for a few months, which my sponsor says is a good thing but sometimes it doesn't really feel like it." You ran your hands down your face and quickly gave yourself a little shake. He didn't say anything; he figured you were trying to push out all the bad thoughts. "Well. That was depressing! So, tell me, why are you out here?"

"Honest?" You nodded, and Bucky chuckled. It wasn't going to get cheerier from here. "I was running from my thoughts. Sometimes I think my brain is out to get me. Always making me feel lonelier than I should, which doesn't always seem fair. I have great friends and a supportive family, so why do I feel lonely? Why can I never go to bed feeling happy?"

Another silence fell between you two. His confession didn't seem to faze you. You respected the fact that he was as honest with you as you were with him, especially when he didn't have to be. He could have lied - told you some bullshit story about how his roommates were hooking up with each other, and he couldn't handle hearing it anymore. But he didn't. He told you his truth, and you liked that about him. You liked that you could trust him despite meeting him less than thirty minutes ago.

"Do you feel lonely right now?" You asked after a beat.

Bucky exhaled, a quick breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "Now that I think about it, no. I don't."

You smiled over at him, a genuine smile that made his entire chest feel warm.. "Neither do I."

#cbc1kwc #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x gn!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #college!bucky #college au #gender neutral reader

194 notes · View notes

sooibian · 4 years ago

Text

Freed

image from Pinterest, edited by me

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader

A/N: Dedicated to smol bby @vampwrrr ’s magnificent mistresspiece Sweet Lies

Inspired by: I’m sorry about the blood in your mouth, I wish it was mine - Richard Siken +

Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations - Margaret Atwood

Description: A headcanon exploring SL OC’s thoughts after Baekhyun’s confession.

Genre/Warnings: Dark themes, destructive thoughts, Ambiguous AU

Word count: ~ 1.3k

Mollycoddling a murderer.

This isn’t how you thought you’d react. Not in your wildest dreams. In your wildest dreams, you’d probably strike him with a vase or a glass bottle like they do in the movies: out of horror or hurt or both. His head was supposed to be on the floor, completely drained off of blood, not solaced in the comfort of your lap.

This isn’t how you were raised to react. It went against everything you ever believed to be true - the bits and pieces that made you you. The rationalization of the black and white and the in-between. But you know now that the in-between isn’t what they say it is. The in-between isn’t grey. It’s technicolour. It’s the red of passion, the blue of stability, the yellow of happiness.

They say it’s grey because they’re so terrified of their own sentiments - resisting them so vehemently. Desensitizing themselves to being almost human.

Perhaps they’ve never been in a love this…grave. Grave. You swish the word in your mouth like an ice cube, the insides of your cheeks feeling unpleasantly cold. Grave. Like it’s going to be the death of you.

This love.

You thought you had a choice in the matter. Whatever it may be, you always had a choice. The sheer ridiculousness of this thought makes you chuckle - your yeses and noes never mattered. You’ve been nothing more than a dry leaf caught in the wind. Drifting. Dancing to the whims of the air current.

Decisions, decisions.

So much wasted time on the events you had no control over: it had been one giant, extensive freefall. The happiness, the suffering. It was all beyond you. You weren’t required to piece the puzzle, only make sense of it.

Or not.

Baekhyun’s asleep, his breathing is levelled. Scarily soft. This is the calm after the storm. He’s come clean. Is this supposed to purge him of his sins?

Questions. So many questions.

Is he worthy of your trust? But, do you still hold him accountable for it? Accountable for his own actions? Maybe. Accountable for you? Questions…questions…

Dangling, devoid of control, perhaps to him you were a puppet. A plaything. Maybe his favourite plaything. Yet, just that. But does this negate his feelings? Even if it was all just an act: to lure you in, to keep you forever. Doesn’t mean it was untrue. It couldn’t have been. Not all of it.

There’s a gossamer-thin line between surreal and untrue.

You’ve always wondered, much to your detriment, if you were ever worthy of his love. Would you be able to carry the weight of this question or sink underneath it. But this question still stands: very valid in its own right. It often sprouts prickly seeds of negativity in your heart and mind. So you shove down the deepest darkest corner of your subconscious: hacking it off every time it rears its ugly head.

So, are you worthy? Have you ever been worthy? For a moment, even?

Baekhyun is the embodiment of for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…

‘til death do us part.

Maybe he’d be better qualified to gauge your worthiness. Maybe he’d even think of it as futile. Maybe none of this ever mattered to him for as long as you’d let him love you.

Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations.

….as long as you’d let him love you. You find a juvenile sense of comfort in this idea of having some semblance of control.

So, what now? You think, stroking his pretty little head that holds secrets so profoundly tragic. How does this earthen vessel, entirely made up of milk and honey and one trauma, not disintegrate by the sheer impact of its choices?

Would anybody actually believe this? Your ever so sweet and puppy-like Baekhyun was actually capable of acts this despicable? Your saviour was also a destroyer because of the one heinous thing he witnessed. The one thing that so terribly skewed the chemical balance of his brilliant brain. But aren’t we all bent out of shape? In our own way? Who’s to be the judge of these imbalances? How much is too much? At what point do the scales tip?

If you were to turn him in, who’s to say he’d come out a changed man?

If they ever let him out, that is.

He’s not the absolute worst of the lot. He’s not a wife-beater, a cheater, or a rapist. Maybe you’re rationalizing. But some would even argue that The Reaper is actually scrubbing the earth off its scum. Is this supposed to make him a hero?

He’s no hero, he’s no vigilante.

He’s your husband.

Who’s loved you unequivocally, albeit in his own twisted way. He is your husband. And you are going to protect him. You’re not going to turn him in. You’re not losing the one person that’s loved you this catastrophically.

It all boils to one question.

“Baekhyun? Sweetheart?”

You’re as gentle as you’d be with a newborn. But he awakens with a shudder and sits across from you: hunched, cross legged, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, brows pinched together, lips protruding in a pout. The seam of your trousers had imprinted a reddish dent across his right cheek.

“It’s alright, puppy. It’s alright”, the tips of your fingers tenderly travel the stretch of his face: relearning, tracing his eyelashes, the curve of his lips, his jaw, his cute little nose.

“Little doe, don’t leave”, he pulls away and begins to cry, sobs muffled as he presses his face into his hands.

“I’m here, Baekhyunie. I’m here”, you grip his wrist, tugging, urging him to look at you.

“Always?”

His gaze shoots up to meet yours. Steady. Challenging.

“Baekhyun…”

“Always?”

Testing.

“Baekhyun, please…”

“Sorry, I’m sorry…I’m not right for you..I never have been. You deserve better, you deserve more! If you want to leave, I understand…”

Your skin is raw, it’s sensitive. Like you’re reborn out of red hot flames. Pure. Clean. Carrying no cuts and bruises of the past. Maybe this is what it feels like.

Being in control.

Finally.

“Baekhyun, can you stop?”

His eyes bore into yours, journeying the bottomless pit of your soul. You catch his molten chocolate irises darken in a flash. Jaw clenched, hands hardened into fists, he rasps through gritted teeth -

“No.”

You take his fists and bring them up to your lips, peppering them with soft kisses, soothing them open. Then, the tips of his fingers. Slow, deliberate pecks. His eyes, although calculating and unsure, soften again, lips ease into a mellow smile.

You make your way into his lap, cup his face, his lips barely an inch from yours. The nearly domineering grip of his arms around your waist steadying you. Inside and out.

He’s truly a work of art. Deeply unsettling, thought-provoking. An enigma. The pain that runs so deep in his blood, you wish to tear it away from him. However ruinous it may end up being. For him.

For you.

You run your thumb across his lower lip, his eyes flutter shut almost involuntarily at the contact. Blood rushes to your head as your lips crash into his and a breath escapes him in a throaty groan.

He tastes like iron.

Leisurely at first, he’s quick to match your fervour then just like that, he outpaces you, leaving you gasping for each breath. His fingers dig deep into the skin of your back. Craving, yet carrying the potential to crush your bones to dust.

You’d let him.

A/N: Thank you @changshapatrol and @vampwrrr for being my friends *pouts* i love you both very much 💕

#exosnet #exowritersnet #bbh-net #exo angst #baekhyun angst #exo smut #baekhyun smut #exo #baekhyun

105 notes · View notes

anthrotographer · 4 years ago

Text

Cleo from 5 to 7 (1962)

Directed by: Agnès Varda

Daises (1966)

Directed by: Věra Chytilová

Sorry for the long scroll. This is an essay I did for a class about a year ago. It was on two women directed foreign films Cleo from 5 to 7 and Daises. In the paper I get into a lot of the similarities between the films and what they do well, but I don’t get to really give my opinion on them. Both the Czech Daises and French Cleo are wonderfully unique. Daises was chaotic, fun, and plotless. I really had to work to eek out some meaning from that one. Cleo from 5 to 7 caught me by surprise of how much I loved it. It’s one of the best films I’ve ever watched. I don’t always judge films objectively like I ought to. Usually if there is an extremely stuck up, narcissistic lead character in a movie it turns me off. I’m not really interested in seeing personality types like that. Cleo from 5 to 7 breaks through for me though. The evolution of Cleo’s character is based so much on real experiences that I find it to be such a truthful story, with layers of weighty symbolism.

———————————————————————

The Timid Cleo and the Bold Daises

Through the Nineteen-sixties feminist movements could be seen sprouting all across the globe. The art, music, and filmmaking alike from these periods captured and spread these feminist ideals. Agnes Varda in France and Vera Chytilová in Czechoslovakia were women film directors who made films with women’s issues in mind. Varda’s Cleo from 5 to 7 is a slow, plot driven drama that follows, as David Cook puts it, “the life of a young pop singer who is waiting for a lab report that will tell her whether she has cancer” (Cook 370). Vera Chytilová ’s Daises appears to be a plot-less comedy headed by an anarchic female duo. Both films were made in patriarchal societies and appear to take place in them. The two films explore how their women protagonists deal with being seen as objects of beauty in these male dominated worlds. Cleo struggles with finding her self-worth outside of her superficiality and feels like maintaining her beauty is tied to that self-worth. Marie I and Marie II in Daises inversely have no questions about their self-worth and use their objectivity to their advantage. The Maries thus have less evolving to do in comparison to Cleo who’s journey it is to detach her pride from her beauty.

Cleo wallows in fear as she awaits the results of her biopsy. Everyone she would consider “close” to her, like her assistant, her boyfriend, and her pianist seem uninterested in her troubles or are unwilling to give her a comforting ear. That is until Cleo meets up with her old friend from art school, Dorothee. After a stressful day Cleo heads to the sculpting studio where Dorothee works as a nude model. As Cleo walks into the studio the camera appears to give us a first person shot from Cleo’s perspective. It’s a slow, apprehensive moving shot into the room where the sculpting is happening, giving us the feeling that Cleo is uncomfortable with what’s happening. Then we see Dorothee posing naked still in the middle of the class and she meets eyes with Cleo. She does not appear embarrassed in the slightest, on the contrary she is excited to see her friend. Cleo waits for Dorothee to finish her shift and get changed so they can walk out together. We learn as they talk that Cleo was in fact uncomfortable in the studio as she tells Dorothee that she would be “afraid people would find a fault” if that was her. Dorothee responds with one of the most profound quotes of the film and one that seems to stick with Cleo. Dorothee says “my body makes me happy, not proud” meaning that she can be happy about the way she looks without having her self-esteem or pride being affected by it. Through the first half of the film Cleo had been overtly concerned about her disease possibly affecting her appearance. This is exemplified by her constantly checking in mirrors to see if she is still pretty. It appears that to Cleo her beauty and fame are all she is good for. She sees herself through the patriarchal lens. For example, Cleo’s never present boyfriend shows up to her apartment for a quick chat in which he avoids the topic of her sickness and extols upon her beauty for five minutes until he leaves. Also, a few minutes later Bob, her pianist shows up and jokes about how he’s attracted to her because of her money. The possibility of a cancer diagnosis forces Cleo to start thinking the way Dorothee thinks. Allison Smith writes about Cleo’s cancer that “Her knowledge of its existence therefore obliges her to see herself differently, to take account of her own awareness” (Smith 97). This focus on the world outside of herself helps her find someone who actually cares about her and not just her good looks. That person is the soldier Antoine. Even though he finds her beautiful that is not the only aspect of Cleo that he is invested in. He cares about her health; the only other character in the film besides her longtime friend Dorothee that truly worries about her diagnosis. Cleo ultimately finds solace in the fact that she has made a real, non-superficial relationship with another human being. The protagonists in Daises also are involved in superficial relations, yet they do not perceive them as negative the way Cleo does.

The two young woman named Marie who headline the film Daises have no qualms about being objectified. Like Cleo, everywhere they go, they capture the gaze of men. The Maries are comfortable within themselves enough to use their beauty as a tool for their own benefit. From the outset of the film the girls exclaim that they intend to spoil themselves, so using men for free dinners and then dropping them like used napkins afterwards naturally follows. One such occurrence happens in a scene where the red headed Marie is over at the apartment of some butterfly collecting pianist. The man creepily exclaims his love to her through a poem while Marie poses nude for him. He calls her Julie, giving us the impression that Marie gave him a false name, just like the Maries do with all the men they meet. Handing out false names shows the lack of commitment and respect they have for the men they toy with. Once Marie starts to put her bra back on, the pianist gets angry and says, “I wish you’d never come into my life!” Marie knows exactly how to play him though and the next thing he sees is Marie holding two framed butterflies over her exposed chest. The man completely reverts back to exclaiming his love for “Julie”. Marie uses this opportunity to ask for the one thing that the Maries always want, food. Women overeating is just one of the patriarchal taboos that Daises flips on its head.

The characters of this film go against the traditional patriarchal ideals of what women should be. Women are used to having their beauty be used against them and for the pleasure of men, but in Vera Chytilová ’s film the Maries use their beauty against men and for the pleasure of themselves. Traditionally women also have been forced into the submissive role in society, where they have to keep themselves composed and presentable constantly. To the Maries that is not even a thought that crosses their minds. They do not adhere to being the submissive ones, in fact they control the dialogue and direction of every interaction with men in the film. Laurel Harris seems to agree with me when he writes “…the Maries’ hysterical excess is a calculated response to inadequate roles in their society for individuals of their age and gender” (Harris 4). The duo also does not worry about seeming composed or mannerly when scoffing down pastries and appetizers in crowded restaurants. In antiquated gender roles women are made to watch how much they eat so they can maintain their figure, but at dinner with one of their suckers, one Marie asks the man “Are you on a diet?” I agree with Peter Hames assessment of Daises’ conception when he writes “Since women have been excluded from productive behavior, they have turned to art and play” (Hames 87). Hames is saying that Vera Chytilová ’s film is a reaction to woman being controlled for far too long. Whether Chytilová set out to make a feminist film or not the end result for Daises is a film that does not judge its non-conformist female characters.

Cleo from 5 to 7 is more explicitly set in a male run society. Agnes Varda created a character in Cleo that starts off fully invested in that societal structure. Her happiness is tied up into her superficial being, but because of the cancer she is forced to take account of what truly is meaningful in her life. She starts to crave caring relationships with people who recognize her for more than just being a pretty pop star. Cleo finds the power within herself to break out of the caged existence of women in a male dominated society. Cleo at one point in the film rips off her wig and gives away her fashionable hat; two symbols of conventional female beauty. Cleo from 5 to 7 and Daises both represent women’s lives in these feministic ways.

The two women filmmakers Agnes Varda and Vera Chytilová end up making similar films in that they have themes of women empowerment. Yet, the way in which its illustrated in each film is drastically different. Chytilová’s Daises wastes no time in showing the viewer that women can be unapologetic anarchists. There is no preconception of womanhood that the Maries have to fight to overcome. They just are empowered women. Cleo from 5 to 7 shows the evolution that a particular woman has to make to escape from seeing herself as just an object. These films helped inspire a generation of women in not conforming to typical patriarchal standards.

Works Cited

Cook, David A. “Chapter 13.” A History of Narrative Film. W.W. Norton, 2016.

Hames, Peter. “The Golden Sixties: The Czechoslovak New Wave revisited.” Studies in

Eastern European Cinema, 2013.

Harris, Laurel. “Czech New Wave Cinema: The Children of Marx and Kafka.” PopMatters, PopMatters, 30 Mar. 2002.

Smith, Alison. “Agnes Varda.” Manchester and New York, Manchester University Press, 1998.

122 notes · View notes

fandomtransmandom · 4 years ago

Text

2020 Wrapped:

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5-8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

Okay, so as you know, ya boi is verbose af, so apologies, but I could only whittle it down to a top 10 (and one honorable mention.) I like to think my work has improved with time, so the older ones may be a bit rough, but here are my favs from 2020 and why (from most recent to oldest.)

1.) Southern Comfort-Bill Hader, Teddy Redbones (Doc Now)/OFC

Synopsis: Teddy Redbones viciously despises his political opponent Savannah Harrison...by day. At night, the two tear into each other madly, hiding their secret affair from the world and their feelings from one another.

Why I Love: Honestly when @martymcdie88mph sent me a request that just asked for ‘Teddy Redbones laying down pipe’ I never expected the first fic about him to get the response it did, much less for it to lead to two more requests. It’s provided me with immeasurable laughter and I’m so glad there are others out there down to bone this angry southern dom.

2.) Frozen Dreams-Conan O’Brien/OFC

Synopsis: Receiving bad news while on their Christmas vacation at the height of ‘The Tonight Show’ upset, Conan deals with his grief, assisted by his partner, Molly.

Why I Love: Writing some Conan super angst was so cathartic and beautiful. Thank you @stunninconan for making this request and giving me the opportunity to do so. Just want to cherish our ginger smokeshow and let him know how deeply he’s loved.

3.) Flickering Beauty-Bill Hader, Little Vivvy (Doc Now)/Partners of Multiple Genders

Synopsis: Little Vivvy is away from her family, and her wealth, for the first time in 1970’s New York. As she tries to make it as a dancer, Vivvy undergoes the early stages of her transition and stumbles upon the accepting Ball scene, as well as some struggles of being a trans woman trying to live an authentic life.

Why I Love: I wrote this piece for NaNoWriMo 2020 and I knew going into it I would largely be composing it for myself. Beforehand I considered doing something that might draw in more readers, Reddie perhaps, but I'm so glad I went with my heart because this story is incredibly meaningful to me and I will love Vivvy until the end of my days.

4.) Breathe Me-Bill Hader, Barry/OFC

Synopsis: Barry is back in Cleveland after his discharge, working for Fuches, deeply depressed and feeling hopeless. After running into his childhood friend Annie, he discovers she’s doing sex work and offers to help her financially. But Annie refuses, saying there’s only one way she’ll accept payment from Barry.

Why I Love: One of many ideas I’ve worked on this year with @martymcdie88mph, though arguably our best. I received a lot of positive feedback on this piece that made me feel good about myself, and I simply love the dynamic between these two hurting characters.

5.) Lost and Found-Bill Hader, Reddie

Synopsis: When Richie loses the engagement ring he bought for Eddie, he panics, searching everywhere but finding nothing. Coming across the ring while cleaning, Eddie devises a plan to surprise Richie.

Why I Love: This one was based on a prompt from @halefirewarrior and I just think it’s cute and sweet. And it’s resulted in a dozen or so strangers on the internet telling me to ‘shut the fuck up,’ which is always amusing.

6.) Harmonious Monsters-Bill Hader, Vince Blight/OFC

Synopsis: Sociopathic power couple Vince and Stacy Blight live a hedonistic, extravagant existence based on kinky sex and a mutual disregard for humanity. As their ten year anniversary approaches, Vince reflects on the saga of their relationship.

Why I Love: Pretty sure this one appeals just to me, ha. I had a ball writing it. Getting into the heads of these characters was ridiculously fun and smut-wise it includes some of my favorite things.

7.) In The Midnight Hour-Bill Hader RPF, Priest AU

Synopsis: When Father Bill Hader sees a struggling trans man named Troy attending the weekly free meal offered by the church, he discovers Troy is homeless, offering him a place to stay in the basement. As they get to know one another, Troy tempts Bill and tests his faith in ways he never thought possible.

Why I Love: Writing this one for @phantomofthegallifreyanopera was cathartic for me. As a queer trans man who was trapped in a fundamental Christian community for a time, it felt like sweet vengeance to be able to flex my Biblical Studies degree for the sake of gay p*rn (trust me, it’s completely useless otherwise) and it was fun to see Father Bill teased into sin 😈

8.) Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger-Bill Hader, The Alan (SNL)/OFC

Synopsis: When Lily comes home to find The Alan on her doorstep, she can’t imagine why her friend got her such a silly, extravagant gift. That is, until she discovers the Adult Expansion Pack.

Why I Love: I was nervous about publishing this one and almost didn’t. I truly didn’t think y’all would be on board. But thank fuck everyone in this fandom is kinky as shit and this became one of the fics for which I get praised the most. I loved writing it and I’m so here for cranking out more weird shit all day every day.

9.) If The World Was Ending-Bill Hader, Barry/OFC

Synopsis: Barry knows that tomorrow he is likely to die, the Chechens seeking vengeance for the massacre at the monastery. For his last night, he wants nothing more than to spend it with Valerie. The problem: Valerie and Barry broke up months before when she discovered his true profession. Barry begs Valerie to see him, and for one final time, he finds solace in her arms.

Why I Love: When @erdankely gave me their concept for this request, I was unreasonably excited. So damn cool. And I just sobbed while I wrote it. Such a sl*t for Barry super angst any day of the week. Love this one and I’m pretty proud of how it turned out, actually.

10.) Miles Apart Inside-Bill Hader, Robbie Wheadlan (Doc Now)/OFC

Synopsis: While he’s awaiting trial for murder, Robbie Wheadlan and his lover Abbi reflect on the saga of their relationship.

Why I Love: Not only was this a piece that made me fall hardcore in love with a murderer who was on screen for maybe 15 minutes and has no redeemable attributes, but it strengthened my friendship with @stunninconan and for that I am grateful.

Honorable Mention: Later That Night- Conan O’Brien/OFC

Synopsis: Conan meets author Gwendolyn who comes on his show to promote her book.

Why I Love: This is the first fic I published back in July. I’m sure I would cringe like crazy if I tried to read it now at all the edits it needs, but I’m so, so happy I decided to post it and kept writing and sharing. Without this almost 48k monster about my orange pompadoured beloved and all the kind feedback from everyone, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Thank you all!

And I spend my days doing nothing other than hammering out alphabet p*rn of my own, so I apologize that I don't know who to tag to keep this going because I shamefully never take time to read. But feel free to do your own if you have creations you would like to share!i

31 notes · View notes

resinatingbeauty · 4 years ago

Text

In Memory of The Best Friend I Ever Had - RIP Shadow (assumed)- 4/30/2021

Shadow showed up at my parents house where I lived at the time, one night back in 2016. I had just gotten home from working at a local country club late in the evening, tired, and physically burnt out from working 40+ hours a week on top of going to college for my associates degree. I saw something pass by the driveway out of the corner of my eye. Something massively fluffy, tail straight up in the air, trotting along. There are many feral cat colonies in this town and many cat owners that lived on that street. Needless to say, I didn't expect this one to whip back around and start chirping at me, rubbing my legs after I called to her.

My mother was adamant when my last two cats had past 8 or so years prior that she wasn't looking for any more pets. My mom loves animals, but she also loves her home and was thinking about doing renovations before adopting any new companions. I knew I was in trouble when this cat came to me with nothing but affection, clearly malnourished, but strangely well groomed. I knew she had to be owned by someone, I had no idea who.

That night I went inside after spending some time enjoying her company. At the time, I was calling 'Charlemange'' as a play on 'Charlemagne'. I had been taking a medieval humanities course at the time and the name seemed fitting enough considering how much scraggly fur she had. Huge paws. Big, fluffy tail and mane. I had never seen a cat so gorgeous around the area. All the feral cats are short hairs, reinforcing my notion that she had to be someone's pet.

I watched through the window slit of the front door as Charlemange played with the moths and other bugs that were attracted to the lamp post my parents have at the end of the driveway and regretted leaving her out there.

I simply thought that Charlemange would return home where she belonged. When I went out to my back screened in patio, whom do you think was waiting for me? Meowing? Charlemange. To my mother's horror, she would launch herself at the screen and hang there to get our attention. Imagine this big ass cat hanging from your screened in porch you've been trying to renovate by all her claws.

She was persistent and Charlemange NEVER returned home, wherever home was.

Eventually, I sealed the deal, low key giving her a can of tuna. Now you see how Shadow went from Charlemange to Shadow.

For about a month, all I had to do was make a high pitched noise and Shadow would come out of wherever brush she was stalking, running and talking until she found me. One evening, I went to give her her dinner, and she shot in the front door.

Mortified, I watched as she scooted right into the one place that I dreaded her to go. My parent's room. That night, as a 20 something, I received a lecture from my father about how my mother felt about pets. 'She isn't a kitten, you know,' he said, 'thats a grown cat. Someone else's cat.'

I just listened and acknowledged what he was saying. I knew there was no point trying to explain what exactly happened. When my dad got done going off on the back porch and went back in to bed, I heard a meow from the patio door. Shadow had been standing at the door, waiting for him to leave , almost like she was saying, 'Hey, I'm really sorry about that, sis,'

Shadow would go on to live in or around the property for nearly a month. I made an effort to find her owners and return her to no avail. Eventually, a single mom I had been working as a private tutor for as a side hustle agreed that she would take Shadow. This would only last for a few months. The family had another cat, Karma, whom had been declawed (I abhor this) and two little girls who had no respect for animals (especially cats) because of this. I knew how the oldest handled Karma and my only solace in handing Shadow over was that I knew she wouldn't be hit by a car, would be fed, loved to a degree, and would scratch the shit out of them if they fucked up.

Their mother ended up calling me, giving me money to bring Shadow in to the humane society, saying she was a wonderful cat, just not the best fit for the girls. I could only imagine what Shadow went through at that house, because the time there changed her. The collar I had on her was returned to me snapped in two. It looked like it had been pulled off. I cringed thinking about it and never put another collar back on that cat. At the time, a woman had been busted hoarding 100+ cats that had all been relinquished to the humane society and local rescues. The humane society's solution for most was euthanasia and I wasn't about that for Shadow. Back to my backyard she went.

Eventually, Shadow won over my mother and my father, especially my father, whom you would never think would love that cat so much. When my mother brought Shadow to the vet, we were surprised to find she had a chip in her ear registered to someone on our block. As per protocol, animal control was sent out to investigate. The woman told animal control that she didn't want the cat. All she did was run away. Shadow's real name was Holly, but she was still Shadow to me.

Shadow became the best friend I ever knew. Not a night went by where she wasn't under my covers sharing the pillow with me, laying stretched out on her back or side as the little spoon. If she wasn't in my bed, she would sit at the door to the bedroom, guarding me or in a chair next to me, always watching. I could do no wrong in that cat's eyes. She was the highlight of my day when I got home from every crappy job I had since. A furry coat to soak up the tears shed during long nights of insomnia and depression. An inspiration for my art and spirituality. My familiar and kindred spirit. If I would talk to her, she would respond with chirps and meows like she knew exactly what I was saying. If someone else was in the room giving her attention and I walked in, she would perk up and run toward me like they never existed. Shadow was the second cat that chose me. I have never chosen a cat from a shelter or adoption / rescue facility. This is how I acquired both my childhood furry friend and Shadow.

It all began when I noticed Shadow's fur was sticky and stiff, like she had been sitting in honey. Just the end of her tail at first. She always had this silly habit of sitting in her food tray, so I cleaned it and her and thought nothing of it until the drooling started.

Shadow had always been a drooler, but not to this extent. Drool bubbles would pop from her left lip. One night, when I came home from work before I started my leave to focus on my Etsy shop, I was horrified to find her sitting on the couch with a bloody chin. Now, there wasn't a large amount of blood, but this alarmed me significantly. It was time to see a vet, like, yesterday. Thankfully, my shop sales had been great and I didn't have to fret over the bill- I was ready to pay whatever it was to make her feel better.

The vet confirmed what I knew deep down and didn't want to acknowledge because the thought was just too painful. Cancer. No chance of survival even if I wanted to go through the hell of treatment, which involved removal of the tongue and jaw. I brought Shadow home and cried, hoping for the best -that the antibiotic would work. The vet said she had been wrong before, it could just be an abscess and it would heal. Shadow was still doing cat things. Shadow was still my best friend, she still loved me, she was still trying to cuddle me at night and surrounding me with the reminder of death in the odor of her breath.

Yesterday, I brought Shadow in to be put to sleep. The decision was made when I looked up from making a rune set and saw puddles of blood on the floor, a stream of it from her face as she was sitting in the window sill. I have never felt so heartbroken. Not even at a family member's funeral. I asked to bring her home, burying her under the tree where I buried my last cat and childhood familiar, Elmo. When I saw the standard biohazard bag peeking up through the dirt, I knew that was where she belonged. With her sister. Yesterday, my heart was buried with that cat. Eleven years was not long enough but each one filled with so much love and happiness. I stood with her until the end. The only peace I feel is that I know that she is no longer hurting. I know she knew I loved her.

I miss you Shadow. To those of you who have recently lost your best friend, your familiar or the love of your life, my heart goes out to you. I hope that someone else can read this and share my pain. I understand that there was nothing I could do but love her. Love your pets. Love them as long and as well as you can- nothing is immortal. We accept this when we commit to caring for our (mostly) furry (sometimes scaly or feathery) friends. This doesn't mean that it hurts any less when we lose them.

To my customers, who have been patiently and diligently awaiting orders while Etsy forced hiatus on my shop, preventing sales during this crisis in addition to my sister in law's wedding and me poking my own eye out back and February- you all are really the best turn of luck I've had. You do not know how much I appreciate you allowing me the time to spend these last few precious moments with her. It truly means the world to me and I hope at the end you receive something worth your time and patience. I have not forsaken fulfillment, and orders are still shipping. Unfortunately, I NEED to reopen and accept new orders, as Etsy is demanding payment for $600 worth of shipping labels. My shop is still appearing as in hiatus at the moment, but I ask for all the support my friends, supporters and followers can offer at this time as I essentially will be working for free when I reopen to pay these fees. Great, right?

If you are awaiting refunds, there is literally no money in the account associated with Etsy. However, as the funds become available, I will be processing refunds / cancellations. I'm sorry for the delays, I never thought I would say I found success at the worst possible time. I urge the rest of you- if you have a deadline for your order for the love of goddess TELL ME. I am getting a little frustrated with buyers (who are frustrated with me, understandably, but still, my item descriptions are clear about relaying deadlines) who are upset or complaining about meeting gift deadlines or other deadlines I literally had no idea about. I'm a decent psychic, but not perfect.

~ Samantha

(Owner/Designer/Creator blursedbaubles.etsy.com)

13 notes · View notes

starfighter10 · 4 years ago

Text

tlou2 opinion

So I really had to share my opinion(rant) on the last of us part 2 and boy I have a lot to say. I am gonna dwell deep into this one, so bear with me if you can and want to

But before that I have to share the feelings I hold for tlou1.Back when I finished tlou1, I knew I experienced something truly magical. I was pleasantly surprised by the beautifully crafted story, the execution of the characters, the music, the gameplay , and the effort that went into shaping the journey of the game,the character arcs and bonds. You could see and experience the uniqueness and passion that went into the first project. This game immediately became a favourite of mine.

When tlou2 was announced, my expectations were skyhigh,was elated to continue Joel and Ellie's journey and how it unfolds. The bar set by the first one was exceptionally high and probably impossible to achieve, but I had trust and faith in naughty dog, thought they couldn't go wrong with this one. After experiencing tlou2 , I am speechless.... not in a good way. I have no words to express my disappointment,frustration and anger I feel right now. I don't even know where to begin.... the absolute mess of a plot, the original characters being blatantly ignored, retconned and disrespected in favour of new bland characters, the plotholes in the story, the false advertising and marketing, naughty dog's hubris, making a complete mockery of your fans who are paying money to play something but getting baited for something else. I am utterly heartbroken and angry.

The plot - the driving force of the game is over ambitious, lazy,sloppy and nihilistic. It felt forced. Naughty dog bit off more then they could chew with this one. Tlou2 could have gone several ways in terms of plot with the existing characters, yet we get the cliche revenge plotline with the character abandoning the quest altogether to realise revenge isn't the answer. This trope has been done several times before, with more finesse and better execution. The writers aim for the " Ellie breaks the cycle of the revenge" but it really fails to achieve this as she blatanly annihilates several characters,npcs along the way in quest of her revenge. The damage has been done practically speaking. According to naughty dog's logic , I should expect Nora's sister or a random npc's friend/relatives in tlou3 hunting down Ellie in their revenge quest. Also Abby's quest literally does nothing for me. This character was so poorly written, executed and shoved down our throats, I didn't have any sort of attachment or empathy for her. I simply don't care about this character.

The circumstances that lead to Joel's death was out of character as well. Since the trailer drop in 2016, I was prepared for his inevitable death. Thought he would probably go out like the badass he is, maybe sacrificing himself for Ellie/tommy. The Joel I know from tlou1, a hardened survivor who has fought tooth and nail to survive the past 20 years would NEVER end up in a situation like that. Joel was intensely alert, critical,clever and intuitive. The argument here may be that he has softened in Jackson, but I feel at this point this should be 2nd nature to him. Something that is automatic. Yet the writer's now want you to believe he is a dumbass who would trust a group of strangers, make small talk and introductions and end up in a situation like that. One of the bigger issues was the constant reinforcing that Joel wiped down the fireflies in cold blood and doomed humanity for death by robbing them of their cure for survival,Ellie believing the cure would have been a guaranteed sure shot success ..... WHY? This retcons the first one completely. The beauty of the tlou1 was it's moral ambiguity and uncertainty. We were constantly hinted that fireflies is a mess of a group whose agendas weren't clearly known, whose actions caused the sacrifice of many people for the sake of a slight possibility of a cure.They were power hungry and were cruel enough to send a 14 year old girl to her death with no remorse,consent or any proper investigation or medical research. Joel initially negotiates to find someone else, gets shut down immediately, gets his means of survival snatched and was practically marched to his death. He had no option but to wipe clean these people who planned on killing someone dear to him, for something that is uncertain or in vain. And yes this was a selfish decision on Joel's part, and that was the beauty of it. The moral ambiguity. He was right or wrong or both - open to your interpretation. BUT NOW NAUGHTY DOG WANTS TO TO ERASE ALL THAT DEVELOPMENT. The active reinforcement that Joel was a cold, ruthless murderer who killed fireflies and deprived humanity of its cure? Trying to erase the fact that he was surviving and trying to keep his dear ones safe in this cold, brutal and unforgiving postapocalyptic world. So that we sympathize with Abby and enjoy golfing the tf outa Joel?. Ellie seems like a different character in this one, but again this character is immediately pushed to a whirlwind of traumatic events right from the start of the game. I missed her spark of joy,humour and enthusiasm. The treatment of the main chatacter in her own game is utterly cruel and disappointing, and seemed unfair to me. By the end, Ellie is broken beyond repair. Though she thematically chooses to be the better person and gives up on her vengeance and hate, she still manages to be on the losing side as she ends up losing her father figure which was her closest bond, loses Dina and the kid , she doesn't have her community, her people, her fucking fingers as well. Why? So Ellie could suffer a little more and be unable to do most important thing that bonded her to Joel. Not to mention she loses her switchblade too, her mother's final memory. Surprised that ND spared her mother's letter . Feel her pain and despair. Why does Ellie get such a shitty,depressing, worthless, futile and a hopeless conclusion while Abby not only gets her revenge successfully, forms a close bond in Lev and gets to escape possibly to a fresh start. Ellie? Nah she gets to suffer alone. Her BIGGEST FEAR has become a reality by the end. The least they could do is let Ellie have some solace and calm, surrounded by her loved ones on that farm,her trying to recover from her trauma slowly but surely, it's what joel would have wished for. But no, she is left all alone, absolutely traumatized, all by herself with nothing to look forward to. Oh and tommy is whole new character in every scene. So keep your eyes peeled for various versions of tommy throughout. The character inconsistencies are ridiculous.

The gameplay, beautiful sceneries, and new characters like dina and jesse are few of the positives of game - leaning more towards Jesse. Dina felt perfect for Ellie and Jesse did manage to lighten up few of the moments. The space shuttle cutscene, the museum flashback sequence, ellie and joel's flashbacks were the only parts that remotely captures the magic and beauty of tlou1. I got emotional watching them. The space shuttle sequence hits you with the feels. Joel slaying a bloater with a machete was cinematic art. (Hot too)

Abby... the forced deuteragonist, is an utter failure of character execution. Her character was forced onto us, felt hasty and lacked real build up. She starts off on the wrong foot by killing one of the most popular characters. If ND really wanted this character to work, the only possible way would have been to play her point of view and backstory prior to her mercilessly killing and torturing a guy who just saved her life. What was ND thinking? That a few hours of her pov,forced out of the blue background story, her getting to play with dogs while ellie has no option but to attack the dogs, the abby-lev bond which is pretty much discount or the walmart version ellie and joel would be enough to side with her over ellie and joel???? The part where they force you to play as abby against ellie? It made me sick. I felt cheated and disgusted.

The false advertising to make us believe joel is alive and good? That this is an ellie and joel centric game?To tug at your heartstrings like this. A complete mockery of the fans who waited 7 years to see their favorite characters get horribly treated,retconned, disrespected and thrown under the bus in favour of new unlikable characters. Butchering the heart and soul of the last of us - Joel and Ellie's bond. The fact that these two don't even get a heart to heart before his death, that Joel dies uncertain of ellie's future, maybe thought he could not save Ellie in those final painful moments, that she had never forgiven him, Ellie never getting her closure with Joel, or really getting to tell him how much he meant to her.... all these thoughts legit made me shed tears. Broke my heart. This is how much ND wanted to honour and respect ellie and joel.

The game's conclusion is hollow, futile, worthless and depressing. And in my opinion, this is non canon. This is the only way I can cope with this unsastifying conclusion. It is immaturity I guess... but I will feel better about it.

Though I utterly despise tlou2, tlou1 will continue to remain one of my favorite pieces of work in fiction. JOEL FUCKING MILLER WILL ALWAYS BE THE BADDEST BITCH AND NOTHING WILL CHANGE THE LOVE I HAVE FOR HIM.

If someone actually read it all the way, thank you for your time and effort. Really needed to rant and let these negative emotions out.

#the last of us #the last of us part 2 #tlou spoilers #tlou #tlou2 #tlou joel #tlou ellie #my rants #ellie #joel miller #joel

73 notes · View notes

teacherintransition · 3 years ago

Text

IT’S STILL NOT FIXED? @#%&.$€£§?} Liberty Bell Take me Away!

"Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent”*

From me …”your time is your own when you retire.” Not exactly the case my friend, we will, all of us be captive to the throes of incompetence and being “shushed” by some in certain service business. The only thing you can do to maintain your sanity is to nestle up to your favorite barstool for the panacea when in pain and obtain sanctuary. This becomes problematic when your home away from home, the place where everyone knows your name, the place where the omniscient bartender has your required libation already poured when you cross the threshold … when this establishment has been closed for 1,193 days. Et omnis gloria eius…. The Liberty Bell.

The days since I announced my retirement in August 5, 2020; have for the most part, been pretty damn cool. I’ve started a website, a business, am a writing a book, am writing a blog that I plan to transfer into book form, I’m walking, I’m painting like crazy and have read around sixty books. All in all with honey do’s included, I’ve been a very good boy. Not everyday has been grand and nor should it. I can often find peaceful solace upon my lawn mower, lawn tractor, the throne of the most high to be the right balm for almost any emotionally taxing time; I’m pretty damned easy to please. For those that know me, I’m kind of Hank Hill about my lawn. Neatly cut on a weekly basis and verdant green, “I mean to tell ya!” OCD? You bet your ass I am… and I’ve got one of the best lawns on the block. My red, powerhouse mower had been “injured” for the last four weeks… scratch that SIX weeks which has reduced me to the bourgeoisie practice of paying some one to do my yard work. Not me, not ever… or at least not for long.

Without retreading over the bloody, battle ground of indignation, “the customer is always right,” “you need to understand sir,” blah, blah, blah yada, yada, yada, Yoda,” get over it you must?” I find my self like the French and the Germans at the Marne in World War I … at a stalemate. In times like these when a man, who realizes that deployment of WMD’S, would only escalate the matter beyond all reasonable proportion, he must know it’s time to lick his wounds, catch his breath and refresh himself at his neighborhood pub with tasty libations and good conversation. There was only one place in my town of Nacogdoches that could fully restore me with vim and vigor and had all the requisite charms to soothe the savage beast: The Liberty Bell Aug. 2013-May 2018.

As mentioned previously, I shall use pseudonyms to protect the identities of the people who were my superheroes. K opened the Liberty Bell in August of 2013. Kim and I thought we’d “try out the new spot,” and had dinner there the first weekend. K billed it as a wine bar with pub fare and live music. She underplayed her hand… pub fare? More like steaks, shrimp and grits, shepherds pie that transcended finger food pub fare. Over the years, we would enjoy countless bands and singer songwriters. But a wine bar? You sneaky little proprietor of manna and flowing nirvana… she had beer(s), bourbons, gins, vodkas, ….Scotch Whisky with names like Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Maccallan , Johnny Walker R,B, and B, the Balviene and others. K had prepared and provided an oasis from what St. Anthony Bourdain referred to as the sea of TG Mcfuckdies, Appledon’ts, and other prefabricated restaurant grill ideas that could be found at the end of every feeder road on any highway in the country. The Liberty Bell my friends was something completely different… at least for us small town folk in Nacogdoches. Our first waitress was KC who showed all the charm, wit, and politesse one would expect from an high end dining establishment. This it wasn’t, but it damn sure wasn’t an all you could eat food buffet and salad bar either. As we exited that balmy August evening through the doors, Kim and I looked at each other and, with the stars gleaming in the sky declared, “we really like this place.” In truth, I was holding something back, in my mind and in my heart, I was really thinking, “no, I fucking love this place!”

The decor was simple: dark wood flooring, a mid tone oak bar with the all important brass railings, multi colored earth toned brick that appeared subdued and solid with the look of being an older establishment that gave a feeling of reliability and solidity. A row of draft beers that provided the patron with an eclectic variety of artistic fermented malt beverages. K was presenting a true farm to table dining experience that filled out a fresh, fantastic menu. An eclectic mix of your American staples, southwestern fare, delicious steaks for we carnivores and a few surprises thrown in and expertly prepared.

H worked for K and was the kindest sweetest, fun, personable soul I may have ever met. It was a definite, “YES!” moment if you got her table. You were not only going to get wined and dined, but we’re guaranteed laughter and a hug. Choosing extraordinary personnel, was the magic intangible that made the Liberty Bell … my spot. H was also a fine arts major and ran the art gallery in the restaurant. There were many works from the university Art school, but H sought out local talent and even displayed my art. My paintings were hanging in a gallery! This local flair of coxing the locals to put their talents “out there,” was another draw to get you into this place…this wondrous place. We made friends there … that enjoyed you … not just because you were going to spend money. They would come and sit with you if things were slow and if they weren’t slow, they’d damn sure make the superhuman effort to let you know that they knew you were in house. The master of this service industry art form was J. He was genuinely happy to see you enter the door followed with a hand shake, a smile and a from the heart, “good to see you man!” J and later his protégée N, loved a challenge. You wanted a special nightcap to close out the evening? There was none of this, “duh, I’m sorry we don’t make that,” no, no my friend. J and N knew how to make it or would research right there or suggest a perfectly acceptable substitute. The next week you could safely bet the farm that your drink request was on the menu often being named after you. How could you expect anything better? They wanted you here and they damn sure wanted you back.

All of these niceties, these actions that you could never expect from the chain bar, grill and swill were what made The Liberty Bell transcendent.

“A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there's more conversation. ”

William Blake

This my friends is the money shot for a personal pub…. not the drinks, not the grub, not the large plant by the door… can the place that you’ve chosen really lift you up when your down? If the whole week has been filled with smart ass criticisms by some passive aggressive mid management flunky who hovers around 5’ 5”, wears shirt sleeves with a polyester tie can two hours spent within the confines of said pub wash away all the smatterings of the Napoleon complex supervisor and have you smiling and laughing and your not even drunk yet….this is the place to be mi compadres. If you congregate with others also beaten down by the soul crushing 9 to 5 and can find commonality in the struggles of your fellow proletariat and can see the good in SOME of the human race, well baby, you’ve found your sanctuary and hold on with all your strength, because one day it might be gone. For four years almost every Friday, Kim and I would meet at the Liberty Bell and commiserate, vent, fuss and heal. Going home, twisting open a beer and mindlessly watching Sports Center was not the ticket. An early afternoon at The Bell was truly good for what ails you. The pub, K, KC, H, J, N, C and the others are all gone… and The Liberty Bell has been replaced with … uh … something. All too many afternoons call out for that salve that soothes the savage beast. I’m reminded often when things just don’t turn out like you want….not to the degree of break down status, but just to the point that a familiar face, your comfortable bar stool and genuine conversation would make everything right with the world again … at least for awhile.

*Webb, Jack; Dragnet; Mark VII Productions; 1951-1970

https://youtube.com/channel/UClK_MAvZtDiLmlp-4HIN7NA

https://instagram.com/loveandwinemedia?utm_medium=copy_link

http://labibliotecacoffee.com/

1 note · View note

sunflowersunshinevol6 · 4 years ago

Text

Garden of Eden

Vampire!Harry x POC!OC

A/N: something I've worked on for a while. This will be a multi chapter fic. I really hope you guys enjoy the first chapter. I might just post the rest on Wattpad. Here's my link to that. Let me know your thoughts. Lots of love

-Shay

Warnings: racism, death, depression, alcoholism

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I've got promises to keep, and miles to go, before I sleep."

-Robert Frost

New Orleans, Louisiana 1894

"We can't keep meeting here," Charlotte whispered, back pressed to the large oak tree. Harry smiled down at her, brushing his fingers over her lips lightly and relishing in the way she leaned into his touch.

"It's the only place we can be darling," he whispered, lips brushing against her cheek. She leaned her head against his shoulder, pulling him closer to her by the lapels of his jacket.

"I mean it Harry." She pushes on his shoulders, looking into his eyes sadly. "This is the last time we meet like this." He takes a step back, creating space between them, an uneasy feeling building in his belly.

"You want to break this off? But I love you." He goes to hold her but she steps out of reach.

"Harry you're married....This can never go anywhere good. And if I end up pregnant." She shudders, tears welling in her eyes. "Harry I love you too. I do. Truly. But you know what will happen to me-"

"Nothing's going to happen-"

"How can you say that?" She snaps, eyes wild. "I work in your home. I work for your wife. Do you not think she'll find out you come to the servants quarters?" Harry feels the blood drain from his face. He knows she's right.

He takes in the beautiful girl he's fallen in love with. Her black curls pulled back into a bun, but her hair is too curly, some hair spills out over her forehead and by her ears, down the back of her neck. Her brown eyes shining with tears and her brown skin glowing in the sunset. He knew she was in danger everytime they met. And she still risked it all for him.

She can see his distress, softening she goes to him, letting him wrap his arms around her tightly, he buries his face in her shoulder as she wraps her own arms around him, not wanting to ever let go.

"You're all I've ever wanted Charlotte. You know this don't you?" She kisses the side of his face lightly before pulling away.

"I know."

Pretending to love Antoinette was easier than Harry had ever thought possible. The marriage, if you could call it that, had been arranged by her father and his mother back in England. It had been the right thing to do, to save his mother and sister from destitution. But to be in the same house with the one he truly loved and to not have her haunted him. They brushed by each other without a word, nothing spoken between them. It was like they were strangers and Harry felt empty.

"Harold? Are you listening?" Harry looked up across the dining table to his wife. She was beautiful. Fair skin, tosy cheeks, blonde hair, blue eyes. But he could never find it in himself to love her. Not the way he loved Charlotte.

"I'm sorry dear," he clears his throat, sitting straighter. "Do tell me again?" Her eyes narrow slightly before she continues. "Charlotte. She's pregnant." Harry feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, but he catches his jaw before it drops.

"Oh?" He cuts into his steak, seemingly uninterested. "I didn't know she was married."

"She's not. The child is a bastard." Harry couldn't help but flinch at those words. He knew it was his child. It would never be a bastard. Not to him.

"How did this come about?" He asked disinterestedly.

"She fainted making dinner. One of the other servants checked her over. She's about four months along. A bit of a belly on her. I noticed but thought she was just being greedy." Harry swallowed hard. He had noticed too but had thought nothing of it.

Antoinette stood, walking down the table and around to him. She sits on the edge of the table looking down at him. And it's in that moment that he knows, that she knows.

"Antoinette-" Harry starts.

"How could you." Her voice is full of accusation. "It all made sense when I put two and two together. The nights you slip from bed, why you wouldn't touch me." Harry reached out, but she slapped his hands away. She stands, taking a few steps back.

"Antoinette think about what-"

"I saw you!" She shouted. Harry felt the wind being knocked out of him as she spoke again in a whisper. "I saw you." She folds her arms across her chest.

"When?"

"Two weeks ago, coming back from the woods." The night they ended everything. Harry's speechless, he feels his cheeks turning red. He doesn't know what to say. She sighs. "I know this isn't the perfect marriage. But it is a marriage Harry. You're my husband. I can't have a colored child runnin' round here with your looks....so I did what I had to do." Horror begins to twist in Harry's stomach when her words seep in.

"Antoinette what have you done."

"You're going to make things right. You're going to give me a baby-" Harry bolts from the house, running down to the servants quarters. Already he can see commotion.

"Hey! Easy there!" He slams into Antoinette's brother Jack. Jack grips Harry tightly as they watch Charlotte be dragged from inside the house.

"Let me go!" Harry snarls, Jack only tightens his grip.

"Shoulda been fuckin' my sister. Not this wench!" Something hard hits the back of Harry's head. Everything fades to black as the ground rushes up to greet him.

It's dark when he comes too. Harry groans, grabbing the back of his head as he sits up. He doesn't realize where he is for a moment, but then, as memories come rushing forward he stands, turning to look at the servants quarters.

The scream he let's out is barely human.

Antoinette is in the living room when Harry finally comes in. His shoulder's slack in defeat. Antoinette walks up to him, reaching out to touch his cheek.

"It's for the best." Harry says nothing.

The days become a blur for Harry. He drinks his weight in whiskey and sleeps in the guest room. Antoinette harps, complaining to him about her needs but he doesn't care.

He wishes he was six foot under, buried with Charlotte and his baby.

He wishes for death the second he wakes, anger and hatred the only things he can feel, the numbness over takes him in a way love once did.

He's stumbling down the street. It's late, the bar closed and he wasn't ready to go home. He hoped someone would mug him maybe, or just straight up kill him. He was ready for it. At any time.

A hand reached out of the darkness, yanking him into an alley. He grunts as he's thrown into the brick wall, his head becoming warm and sticky.

"I can smell death on you. You long for it." The voice snarled. A hand snaked up around Harry's neck, pressing hard. "But revenge....what if I could make you strong enough for that?" Harry's drunken eyes widened, the man's words were hazy. But revenge. Revenge would be sweet.

"How?" He gasped. The stranger pulled his hand away. When Harry looked up he could see the eyes, red and glowing.

"I'll show you..."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

"No one knows what happened to Harold Styles. He went out for a night of drinking and never was seen again. It's speculated he was murdered, having been the wealthiest man in town...a few days later the entire plantation was in flames. His wife, Antoinette, and her brothers died in the fire. Servants called the grounds cursed and no one has rebuilt on the land since."

Charlotte Auste looked up at the portrait the plaque had sat under. It was a portrait of the man, Harry Styles. She couldn't help the sense of familiarity she felt. His green eyes boring into hers from the painting, almost like he was calling to her.

Charlotte always found solace in museums and art galleries. Especially being so far from home. College had taken her all over the world, but it was nice to come back to Louisiana. To come back home and start the rest of her life.

This portrait had always been a favorite of hers. She would come here often in high school and just sit, staring at the portrait, feeling something sad and familiar wash over her. And in a strange way, she knew he would have understood how she felt.

"Hey!" Charlotte's best friend Libby, slung her arm over the girl's shoulder. She looked up at the portrait with Charlotte. "Mm mm. He is quite dreamy isn't he?" Charlotte rolled her eyes, tucking her curls behind her ear, only to have them spring forward again.

"I'm sure over a hundred years later he would still look fabulous." she said sarcastically. They laughed, walking from the art gallery arm in arm.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #solo harry #hs fandom #hs imagine #hs fanfic #hs2 #hs1

17 notes · View notes

angelfishreveal · 4 years ago

Text

FRANKFURT UPDATE / DISORGANIZED RANT ABOUT TRUTH AND ART AND FASSBINDER

by Camille Clair

I spent the strict quarantine following my arrival in Frankfurt studying German in the mornings, and watching Fassbinder in the evenings. The time between morning and evening was spent...nervously.

I watched so many Fassbinder films during my quarantine that I began to feel his cabinet of actors were my companions (quarpanions). We were all crying and grinning and swallowing our pills together.

I am one of those people that believes that pain/discomfort/anxiety is necessary, important, a catalyst. That is one of the reasons I left, have left in the past, will leave again. Sometimes the next best life move involves ripping your heart out! Sometimes it isn’t quite so abrupt, and your heart will sizzle in the pan for months. You may even grow to cherish the sensation because it means you are working toward something. You may recognize your true self in that pain. And in that truth, your mission, which may, or may not be, your art.

I do believe that, as an artist, you have to be a bit of a masochist. Your life is sustained via chopping yourself into bits, and, if you’re lucky, stowing those bits in the pockets of the wealthy, the devious. And though you may consider yourself an orthodox Marxist, this seems to be the only way to keep the axe swinging. I would never say aloud that I believe suffering produces great art, but I also must admit I understand the desire to drag oneself across shards of glass a la Chris Burden in Through The Night Softly. I relate to the impulse to bear it all. I want to be torn apart! For art.

I don’t always want this, but fresh out of my Frankfurt quarantine - following a confounding summer in Los Angeles - I want this. I really, truly want to exhaust myself.

Though Fassbinder himself may have been a bit amoral, he was, at the same time, so undeniably invested in all that is human. Many of Fassbinder’s characters seem to cave inward, unable to stand erect under the weight of the social, the political, the bureaucratic: the simultaneity, and responsibility of it all. Fassbinder’s characters give into their truth, or they parish. No time is wasted on the performance of goodness, because salvation was never in their cards to begin with.

What I desire and revere most in art is truth. I want my “self” and my “art” to be inseparable, the same. I want my body to vanish in the company of my art. I don’t really want to exist. I repeat variations of a line from Reena Spaulings in my head all day long: Where does my (boyish, jaunty, smooth, freckle-dusted, foxy, stiff, screen-like) body end and a real event begin, for once? I do a little dance in the mirror. I have never been this alone. Some days I feel stiff with sorrow, so I remind myself that I am a character, and the director expects a performance, and then I stretch.

Walking home in the rain, I envision Margit Carstensen waiting for me in my flat. I am her aloof lover. Or she is mine. I’ll fall through the door with a sigh, she’ll pour me a little glass of schnapps, and we’ll heartfully console one another. I sometimes play The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972), which starts Carstensen, in the background while I go about my tasks. I speak my favorite of Petra’s lines back to her as part of my daily Deutsche practice. Maybe by Spring, I’ll have the entirety of her central monologue memorized. I love to fantasize about the spring, it’s become one of my favorite pastimes. It is possible to imagine nearly anything happening in the spring because real life has become so severely abstracted.

I lament…

What is real? Now? And in hindsight, what was ever real? Is it, or was it, ever recognizable or is it just whatever you put into your head on a given day? I scroll through Contemporary Art Daily on acid and feel confused about what it is I am supposed to want. My eyes linger on words that used to resonate, and it stirs some sort of longing. I want it to be physical, I want to get dirty and injured in the process. I want to be so involved it’s disgusting. But for now, nearly everything I want is impossible. Maybe it's a symptom of the current situation, but I want to be overinvolved. I generally find most performance excruciating, but now I feel I would do anything for an audience. I desire an audience.

I envy Fassbinder’s overinvolvement. In Beware of a Holy Whore (1971), a film about making a film, Fassbinder seems to play himself. He doesn’t play the director, he plays Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Often fussing around or yelling in the background, it’s unclear exactly what his role is in the production, but as a viewer one is intensely aware of him at all times. Upon first watch, I felt envious. I want to be present in that way, shrieking for the sake of, and within, my art. The ringleader, and also, the eager participant. In the opening scene of Germany in Autumn (1978), Fassbinder, dials a call, and says “Ich bin es Fassbinder” into the receiver. We know of course, who the man on the screen is, though we aren’t immediately sure who we are meant to recognize him as.

In a 1997 eulogy for ArtForum, Gary Indiana writes, “what can you say about a fat, ugly sadomasochist who terrorized everyone around him, drove his lovers to suicide, drank two bottles of Rémy daily, popped innumerable pills while stuffing himself like a pig and died from an overdose at 37? [Fassbinder was] a faithful mirror of an uglier world that has grown uglier since his death”. Fassbinder knew truth, and truth is as beautiful and precious, as it is vile.

My sister, who is 17 and only just got drunk for the first time last week, told me she could never watch The Shining (1980) knowing how much Shelly Duval was tormented in the making of it. I felt I couldn’t argue with her but I also wanted to argue with her. “So you will never watch what is widely considered one of the greatest films of all time?”

“No,” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

Perhaps we are reaching an age in which you really cannot separate the art from the artist. Maybe it’s never actually been possible. But then again, there are so many things that seem to be art by mistake, and so many artists who die without recognition.

In the eulogy, Indiana goes on to say, “there is nothing you can say about Fassbinder that he hasn’t already said about himself”. This line again brings to mind Fassbinder in Beware of a Holy Whore, berating everyone in the vicinity, utterly repulsed by a multitude of things never made explicitly clear. Fassbinder lying dead in the train station after an overdose in Fox and his Friends (1975). Fassbinder lying dead, with a cigarette between his lips and notes for an upcoming film lying next to him, from an actual overdose. A parallel that reveals art is just as intertwined with death, as it is with life.

I realized this year that many of the artists I respect care a great deal about film, about drama. I have found solace in films, because I am alone nearly all of the time, and I don't know when I will see any of my cherished ones again. I am living vicariously through characters, beginning to think of myself as a character, which is admittedly therapeutic. I am the director. And I chose myself from a lineup of nervous red haired girls. I recognised myself at once, and thus, here I am.

Some artists, or people!, are overly concerned with their own narrative. It can be irritating, indulgent, abject, but it’s convenient, and it may save your life. Though you’re never really alone you may feel really alone. Allein. Alleine... Sometimes there is nowhere to turn but toward yourself. And, once you begin to think of yourself as a character, you no longer bear the full responsibility of your being. You have been put in place to carry out the artistic vision. So, in a sense, all characters are artists, just as they are products of art. It’s reflexive, and Frankensteinian, in that way.

Maybe as an experiment, try referring to your dismal flat as “the set”.

Are you at home?

I’m on set.

Complain aloud, but to no one, about the uninspired refreshments.

Stare longingly at everything.

There is a misanthropic edge to many of Fassbinder’s films. A bleakness. It is often said that his work is about the fascism at play in interpersonal relationships. The fascism that blooms in all of our hearts.There are instances across Fassbinder’s filmography of, not only an awareness, but a patience, for all that is despicable. Human beings are weak, impressionable, they want to be liked but if it doesn’t work out, they’ll settle for being hated or feared. Often, Fassbinder will have a character do or say something that completely skews, if not, obliterates your previous impression of them. For example, in Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974), Emmi who is, up until this point, mostly redeemable, chooses Hitler’s favorite restaurant to celebrate her and Ali’s wedding, stating upon entry that she has “always wanted to go”. In the scene that follows, she mispronounces the names of menu items, the server scoffs, and one can't help but feel a bit bad for her. Is her desire to eat at Hitler’s favorite spot purely aspirational, a misguided highbrow charade? Or is she a sympathetic fascist? This is another fault of the character, any character, their world view is often contrived, never holistic.

Fassbinder is the Postwar German filmmaker - generally considered the “catalyst of the New German Cinema movement”. In his films, World War II is often alluded to / background / partial context / a shadow, but it is never the subject, or the main event. A character’s idiosyncrasies, or disturbances, could be attributed to the wartimes, but often, their faults seem too deeply intertwined with their truths. But of course they’ve always had a tremor, a temper. Many of Fassbinder’s characters have a hard edge, or have suffered immense loss. They are either in, or narrowly escaping, crisis.

In Fassbinder’s Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980), Franz Bieberkopf, a rampant dilettante, oscillates between political affiliations. When we first meet Bieberkopf, fresh out of prison, he is a bit of an anarchist, sympathizing with soldiers and workers above all. As the series progresses, Bieberkopf is revealed to be immensely impressionable, confused, vindictive. He exhibits symptoms of several political philosophies, albeit meekly. Bieberkopf even briefly wears a Nazi armband, which, when questioned about, he is unable to defend, and from thereon, is never seen wearing it again. Franz Bieberkopf is similar to Tony Soprano in that way. Selfish, gruff, deeply flawed, indubitably human. Tony Soprano bites into a meatball sub and sauce dribbles onto his shirt and you forget, momentarily, that he's a bigot, because he’s the protagonist. And it is the job of the protagonist to represent a spectrum of human strength, and fallibility. It is arguably better, or more redeemable, to be overtly, rather than covertly, self-serving because then at least one is operating in defense of their own truth.

Truth is constructed daily and could easily be mistaken for anything but. Truth is nearly impossible to represent, and harder still to recognize. Truth is a fallacy, and thus, very lonely. Still, it must be guarded, I have been listening to The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe as I walk around Frankfurt which, in all honesty, fertilizes the melodrama blooming in my heart. Werther is bitterly alone, consoling himself via drawn out descriptions of his loneliness. “I am proud of my heart alone”, he says, “it is the sole source of everything, all our strength, happiness and misery. All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my own”.

I am alone in Frankfurt, but I have my heart.

2 notes · View notes

independentartistbuzz · 4 years ago

Text

Good News, Good Music 1.0

Here we are at the end of 2020. We don’t need to tell you that this has been a very hard year. We are feeling beaten down by the bad news and music is the one thing that lifted our spirits again and again and saw us through. We have partnered with our friends at Cyber PR Music to bring you a series of GOOD News from artists who carried on making music in spite of all of the insanity that was happening and continues to grip us. We have cried listening to some of the tracks, felt deeply inspired and yes we laughed as well. What we have seen is the Cyber PR artist community is rich and varied - there are artists from all across the USA included as well as Jamaica, Australia, South Africa, France, Sweden, The UK, Germany and Scotland.

So - we bring you part 1 of our 4 part series GOOD NEWS, GOOD MUSIC.

Please Follow the Spotify Playlist below to hear all of these amazing tracks.

Thanks to all of the artists who shared their music AND their good news.

JVMIE & Lionel Cohen | “We Will Rise Again”

Started A Collaboration From A Quarantine Hotel Room and Got Nominated For A Major Award

We had a crazy year but some great things came out of it! I was forced to leave LA and head back to Australia until things ‘calmed down’ but started a remote collaboration with LA based film composer Lionel Cohen - we received a grant from HOTA (Home Of The Arts Gold Coast) to create an album and we were just nominated for a HMMA Hollywood Music In Media Award :) The whole process of collaborating and talking every day was what helped me keep my sanity throughout this crazy year!

Perle Vybz | “Electric Dancefloor”

Almost Lost Her Partner To COVID And Took The Leap Of Faith To Release Music

My debut single 'Electric Dancefloor' was released on Dec 8th, against the odds. A few months ago , my partner almost lost his life (to COVID). He was hooked up on a ventilator and had a really rough time. At the same time, I lost my main source of income and so, during the pandemic lockdown I had more time on my hands to focus on my music. So I'm glad that in spite of what was happening around me I was able to take that leap of faith and get my music out there.

Arielle Silver | “What Really Matters”

Became Music Connection's Hot 100 Live Unsigned Artists and Bands and Top Prospects 2020 lists in their year-end issue

As COVID shut everything down in April, I leaned into my commitment to authentic connection and inspiring creative expression with the creation of two weekly livestreams: Tomes & Tunes, a weekly show where I interview songwriters about books, and Arielle's Acoustic Happy Hour, both of which are going strong. In June, I released a new album, A THOUSAND TINY TORCHES, along with two official music videos (one shot entirely during quarantine), which have been featured in American Songwriter, Music Connection, and more.And in September, in the wake of closing studios, my sweetheart and I launched a new online yoga studio, Bhavana Flow Yoga, with online classes, workshops, and retail.

Alongside my own sorrow at the pandemic, I have been living a year of creative expansion, and was recently featured in Music Connection's year-end issue on both their Hot 100 Live Unsigned Artists and Bands and Top Prospects 2020 lists.

Hannah Judson | “Deep Sea Diver”

Launched The Backwards Record Release Concept And It Worked!

The 2020 lockdown was an exploration of new ways of doing and connecting. Everything became an experiment as new processes were developed to replace the no longer actionable old ones. I launched the Backwards Record Release for "Stingray," a rock/folk collection of songs. The 8 week campaign started with a socially distanced concert in a chateau courtyard, was fueled by my new podcast the Hannah Judson Beat, conversations with women in music, and concluded with a capstone edition of MUSEfest Online, a music festival I normally produce in major cities that promotes women in music, film, art and culture. I stayed connected with colleagues and fans, envisioned future projects, and maintained momentum and enthusiasm for creative projects, present and future.

Evan Mazunik | “Comfort and Joy”

Funded, Recorded & Released A New Holiday Album

I’m grateful that I was able to successfully fund, record, release, and sell my new holiday album this year.

Eli Lev | “Anywhere We Can Go”

Released A Touching Global Fan Driven Music Video

youtube

I had a powerful experience this year when my music community from all across the world helped me create the music video for 'Anywhere We Can Go.' I was in happy tears editing it and seeing all these wonderful faces come together and make something truly special. Here it is and I hope it brings some joy to folks.

Jeff Oster | “Five Great Mountains”

Found Solace (And Music) In Mother Nature

youtube

I was lucky to spend three months in the fall of 2020 up in Vermont. In the midst of all of the turmoil, Mother Nature just kept on shining. I was able to create this video on my iPhone, in an attempt to capture her beauty.

Beca Dreams | “Calm Before the Storm”

Had A Creative Burst That Resulted In Ad Campaigns & New Singles

It’s been a very challenging year, and yet I’ve somehow managed to have some awesome wins I am super grateful for.

Partnered with Bounty to write/perform Quicker Picker Upper, currently streaming on all major platforms and has gotten over 7M views on Tik Tok and 150K streams on Spotify so far. Composed/performed song for an ad campaign for fashion designer Asher Levine on launching his new groundbreaking LED outerwear line (who’s recently worked with Doja Cat, Lil Nas, Lady Gaga). I also released 2 singles “Calm Before The Storm” and “Taking Time For Myself” and most recently was featured on “Dance Party In The Living Room” by UK producer Fritz von Runte, about making the most of the quarantine.

I feel so lucky to be making music and doing what I love, which has been a huge silver lining during these dark times.

AfriCali | “The Struggle”

Turned An Eviction Into A Special Retreat & Healing Place

Our landlord lost her pilates practice and couldn’t afford her Oakland home so

Our family of four with a baby due any month now had to figure it out and find the humanity in moving out before the lease was up. In the magic of mother earth and without knowing we were blessed with a beautiful place to be away and seven thousand feet above the mountains where we could have this beautiful bundle of joy. Which would turn into a special retreat healing place after our departure this past October.

Akira AK | “Pearl”

Completed His New Release Remotely Over Zoom

My "good news, good music" story is simply how I was able to release 2 major projects this year despite everything that is going on: putting out my second EP and my first music video. The EP in particular had been in the works for 3 years and was SO CLOSE to being done when everything started to shut down, so with the work of my engineer, we set up remote sessions via zoom that helped put the last song over the line and get the release out there! From there I was able to promote it with it's adjacent merch.

As far as my first music video is concerned; I was able to safely show up in person in NYC and film it with the help of a great videographer. The conceptualizing of the video is very special and I think speaks to the experiences some of us have had about going to that special place inside your head where you feel most powerful/comfortable/fierce to deal with whatever is going on externally. The promo for the video was also a success in terms of being able to schedule it on time and put it out there to hype the video itself. And once it was out it was really (unexpectedly) well received!

Those are just my personal success stories and I'm excited to see others' as well!

Monsterboy | “Ain’t Worth the Dime”

Played 60 Livestreams That Reached 7,000 Households

When my husband and I found ourselves without gigs and our small business closed, we decided to go live with our music and stay in touch with our fans. We cobbled together equipment from our home studio and gigging rig, going live in that first week. We really didn't know what to expect. The messages we got from people were so heartwarming, we built a little community for them night after night, reconnecting with existing fans and finding new. In total, we did over 60 live streams during the shutdown and reached over 7k households on some streams. Entertaining and interacting with people was our way to do our part for our community. A podcast found us via the streams and started hiring us to produce music for their shows from it.

Artist: Crotona P., Producer: Pablo Brownbeats | “Silk”

Forged An International Collaboration South Africa and the USA via A Chance Facebook Meeting

I'm Pablo Brownbeats, a producer who has been producing since my youth and creating music for the last 12 years. I just released my new Ep with Crotona P from Rochester New York featuring Street Da Villain, Dj Shawn Touch, KING Flamez all from Rochester New York and SOLO MAJITA from Free State South Africa. The African Ep is available on digital stores and Bandcamp. I enjoyed making this project and it will be an honor to share the leading single Titled Silk.

This project was recorded during the early days of Covid19. Me and Crotona met over Facebook and exchanged some few words and he agreed to do the single (silk) then African EP was born.

Scott Whitfield | “A Bi-Coastal Christmas, Vol. 1, by Scott Whitfield & Friends”

Released A Christmas Album That Features Artists Who Have Passed That Started Recording in 2004.

Despite the challenges, I was able to release a Christmas album on Bandcamp! It's available as a digital download OR a physical CD. This is the culmination of MANY years of work (some tracks date back to 2004, and, sadly, a few of the artists who played on them are no longer with us).

John Maksym | “Drinkin’ & Thinkin’”

Worked With 22 Collaborators Spanning 7 Countries and 16 Cities

I kicked off this year as a solo recording artist for the first time in my life and had an ambitious goal of releasing music every 5 weeks. When the pandemic struck, I had just started recording my 4th single in the studio and everything got shut down. Within a couple of weeks I was able to pivot and invest money into building my own little home studio, to continue to create. With every musician in the world stuck at home, I was able to connect with a dream team of collaborators who helped me finish the song that I had started and go on to record 8 more songs through remote session recording from their own home studios. All in all I worked with 22 collaborators, spanning 7 countries and 16 cities, which I would never have thought of doing had the world not been in lockdown. It also allowed me time to revise my original release plan and build a more robust plan to release a number of singles and eventually an album throughout 2021.

Stay tuned ...There’s more Good News Coming!

#2020 #2021 #independent artist buzz #indie music #music blog #spotify #spotify playlist #positive vibes #good vibes #cyberpr #cyberprmusic

1 note · View note

lokiondisneyplus · 5 years ago

Link

Today I left the house wearing a face mask for the first time.

I had woken up to the sound of heavy rain, which is always surreal in Los Angeles, and when I look out of the window to the hauntingly dehumanising sight of bandana-clad dog walkers, an eerie weight settles as I remember: this is our reality now.

I’m standing in the supermarket queue, a line dotted by crosses taped on the floor of the underground car park to signify our designated 6ft distance. Easily 50 people long and snaking around the perimeter of the building, I make my way to the last available X-marks-the-spot and join the other masked Bandits. I haven’t food shopped for over a week and am in need of supplies.

There is an obnoxiously loud man two crosses ahead of me ranting into his phone with such a high energy, the surrounding Bandits have allowed an extended social distance of a cross on either side of him. I sigh, remembering I’ve left my headphones at home, so am unable to tune him out, I wait and exhale, wondering how I am going to get used to the claustrophobic sensation of hot air and fabric condensing on my face.

Loud Phone Man is not wearing a mask and it's clear we’ve passed the tipping point of mild judgement, at least here in LA, where Bandits exchange a raised eyebrow, (about the only non-verbal Bandit communication available) which somehow magnifies the annoyance of this shopper - not only loud, but breathing indiscriminately all over us in this confined space… what does he think this is? Last week??

It’s Monday on #Week4 of Covid-19 lockdown in La La Land and as I shuffle to the next X I reflect on the journey so far.

After a whirlwind press tour to promote the release of Misbehaviour in UK cinemas (sadly cinemas were shuttered just days after the film's theatrical release – but it's available to watch online at home from April 15th!) I returned to work in Atlanta for Loki, the Marvel limited series for Disney Plus I’ve been working on, so am on set when I get the news that we are going on hiatus as a precaution due to the accelerating coronavirus, initially for one week. Thinking it would be longer, but still unsure at that point, I book a flight to LA to sit things out there for the time being. The next day Trump imposes a travel ban on travelling in or out of the US for 30 days, and with my visa situation and the pace at which everything is moving, it feels risky to fly to the UK in case I cannot get back into the country when filming recommences, whenever that will be.

So, with my housemate and her dog for company, we embark on social distancing, self-isolation and Lady Macbeth-level hand-washing.

Managing a constant low-level anxiety about my parents and loved ones, and friends in New York, London, Johannesburg and all over the world, I become consumed by the news, glued to the BBC website and KCRW talk radio for the latest figures. Like families gathered around “the wireless” in wartime, everything is unfolding so rapidly and the news, never this dramatic in my lifetime, takes on disaster-movie proportions.

FaceTime and WhatsApp become my lifelines as the reality of the pandemic is tinged with a weird detachment… a numbness I later realise was a form of shock that lasts for nearly two weeks and puts me into a hyper-focused state as I race to keep up, stay informed and learn how to adapt to this new rhythm.

I am of course aware that I am so privileged to be safe and personally unaffected thus far, but grasping the truth from what is overblown, and fact from politics and propaganda, give everything an out-of-body zero gravity quality; a new normal we are all united in.

Things are kicking off in the food line as my attention is caught by an exasperated Valley Girl three Xs ahead who finally explodes at Loud Phone Man, “ OH MY GAAAAD, USE YOUR INSIDE VOICE, CANT YOU SEEEEE EVERYONE IS LOOKING AT YOU CAUSE YOU’RE TALKING SO LOUD… WE ALL HAVE TO STAND HERE, OHMYGAAAD!” As she stomps her Ugged feet to the next X the security guard and smiling store employee (no mask) approach and I can feel a repressed inside-voice-cheer emanate from the rest of the line in applause.

The Bandit Couple ahead of me raise another eyebrow in solidarity and Female Bandit begins to capture a video of Loud Phone Man on her iPhone. The air gets thin, the energy tightens, “Hey Man,” Smiling Store Employee intercepts, Security guard flanking, “You wanna keep it down a bit, people are stressed, y’know? Thanks Man.” Valley Girl scowls, Bandit couple exchange glances, while still filming, Loud Phone Man defends, “I WASN’T EVEN TALKING THAT LOUUUUUD!!!” (Collective Bandit eyeroll) “YESSSSS YOU WERE!!!” Hisses Valley Girl, “Yeah Man, sorry you were,” Store Employee placates. taking the referee stance. I notice Loud Phone Man is wearing flip-flops, on a rainy day. He continues his conversation into his device, phone held to his lips, like a dictaphone, barely any quieter. “We have to be prepared…”

I sigh and feel warm breath on my cheeks. Mouth drying I look at my phone for escape and see that Boris Johnson has been admitted into intensive care for persistent and worsening Covid-19 symptoms. I suddenly feel very far from home and very sad.

I remember the things I’ve been doing to keep grounded and my spirits up. One of the benefits of turning out old cupboards was rediscovering my long dormant art materials. Painting, such an absorbing and transporting activity for me in childhood, was once something I considered doing instead of acting, but found it a little socially isolating - so acting won because it felt more collaborative. Now, of course, painting in isolation is perfect and becomes the most comforting of pastimes and a creative channel as I make images of my family and feel like I am spending time with them.

Understanding how superfluous actors are in a crisis such as this, I come to terms with the fact that staying at home, as passive as it may seem, is my contribution for now. Having the luxury of not having to home-school any children and knowing my work is pretty much on pause until social distancing recedes, I try to reframe this time as a chance to rest and refill the creative well. I read novels for pleasure, something I rarely find time for beyond work-related reads. I take my first Zoom yoga class (alexdawsonyoga.com), I join a 21-day online meditation experience (chopracentermediation.com), I take local hikes for fresh air and make first ever batches of banana bread and chicken soup. I even buy a mini trampoline online which, after a mildly challenging self-assembly, I’ve been sweating it out on to streamed classes online (lekfit.com) with a friend in Toronto, followed by accountability FaceTime coffee dates to virtually high five!

By the end of week two, the adrenalin crash truly hits and I’m exhausted from the constant rhythm shifting, news consumption and uncertainty. I’m an eternal optimist and good at self-motivating, but even when you’re Keeping Calm and Carrying on, you need to crash at some point. I nearly cry when I get my mum an Ocado food delivery slot - nothing has been available for weeks - and the “what ifs” that I have been keeping at bay with all my other activities release with relief and gratitude.

That’s when I discover Brené Brown’s new podcast Unlocking Us and find such solace in her calm and thoroughly researched words and conversations. Since her TED talk fame as a charismatic shame and vulnerability researcher, I’ve read all of her books and there is always something practical and nourishing in her work, told with humour and in a deeply relatable way - which I’ve found comfort in while in the midst of folding laundry, cleaning the bath or chopping vegetables.

Back in the food line and things are moving; the tension of the Loud Phone Man Vs Valley Girl dispute still simmers but everyone relaxes as they get closer to the front-door finish line. Smiling Store Employee does his speech on the new system: no reusable bags allowed, sanitised trollies and a one-way system in the aisles inside marked by arrows on the floor, to minimise contact with other customers. It all feels so surreal and regimented, but the Bandits, already drained from the 30-minute wait, constant Loud Phone Man soundtrack, near car park fight and everything else they’re all adjusting to, nod wearily behind their moist makeshift masks. It’s a bizarre sight.

Still chatting, Loud Phone Man makes it in and there’s a collective “phew” eye-contact exchanged between Smiling Store Employee and the remaining Bandits. Then his smile drops and crinkles for a second. “Yeah, he’s been in every day this week. It’s kinda sad. There’s no one on the phone.” The Bandits' brows knot quizzically. “Yeah, I think he has mental health issues, he just talks but the phone’s not on and he has no ear pieces, he just talks into it… 'They’re coming, we have to be prepared.'… I don’t know what to do.”

The reality breaks my heart. It seems to highlight the collective insanity we’ve all been processing and in that moment I just feel so frustrated at the state of the world and how this pandemic has exposed so many cracks in our society - from mental health to healthcare to privilege and poverty, everything just feels so raw.

I try to look for the silver linings and, among all the fear and anxiety and loss, I’ve been so inspired by human resilience, adaptability and creativity. I’m hopeful this great pandemic leveller will bring a new era of authenticity. An opportunity to shift mentality from Me to We.

Week three in self-isolation felt almost normal, which feels weird to admit. I’m getting lots of sleep and take regular meditative baths, which I’ve renamed Home Spa. I’ve found ways to safely contribute in my local community. When the shelves were bare from panic buying, I chatted with the manager of our local grocery store, who seemed so overwhelmed, so my housemate and I volunteered to stack shelves after hours. Although not exactly the front lines, we have fun and it feels good to give something back in our small way.

We of course negotiated to be paid in baked beans and toilet paper.

#Gugu Mbatha-Raw #Loki #Disney+#coronavirus #Covid-19 #lockdown

11 notes · View notes