#how many posts have I made about buggy and the complicated relationship he has with his devil fruit???

[aimbutmiss]

another snippet from the shuggy fic I'm writing:

“You’re doing great, Buggy.”

Rayleigh nodded proudly with a smile and crossed arms as he watched the detached hand fly back to its owner, seamlessly reconnecting to Buggy’s wrist.

“It still feels weird.”

“That’s only natural. There’s nothing normal about it.”

Neither Rayleigh nor Roger had devil fruit powers, so even if they helped with his training, neither could help Buggy to a full extent.

“It’s in your own hands to figure this out and get through it. It’s scary, I know. But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

That’s what Roger had said, but Buggy wasn’t so sure. He didn’t feel like he had what it takes to figure this mess out on his own.

His breathing still got jagged whenever he detached any part of his body, his mind recreating the pain that should have been there but wasn’t. It worked similarly to phantom limb ache; your eyes see your hand get ripped clean off and it fills in the gap. It’s not like Buggy was actually in pain, but it felt very uncomfortable. It was getting better though, the more he used his powers. His mind was starting to catch up to his body. But that didn’t make him feel better. His own body felt alien to him. Nothing felt like it used to. He was sweating a lot more, and while Roger joked it was puberty, they both knew that was not the case. His overall body temperature felt much higher than usual. Crocus did checkups on him regularly, which showed that while he was indeed warmer, it was not to a dangerous extent. But he was still under the doctor’s careful watch, just in case.

Buggy didn’t let any of that stop his training. He put on a brave face because he didn’t want to look weak, to disappoint Roger and Rayleigh. He couldn’t let a minor inconvenience break him, not when Shanks was still training, getting stronger every day. Buggy might not have conqueror’s haki, but he could still be strong like his friend. At least he got the other boy beat in the smarts department.

Buggy could get through this.

He started sneaking out at night, when most of the crew was asleep, to find a quiet corner and practice. And while Shanks usually slept like a rock, he was weirdly susceptive to Buggy’s absence. It didn’t take long for him to realize what his friend was up to.

“Rayleigh would be angry if he caught you. You’re cutting up on your precious sleep time.”

Buggy rolled his eyes. “Sleeping one hour less is not gonna kill me. And Rayleigh can shove the worried father act up his ass.”

Shanks chuckled at the foul words. “Don’t let him hear that.”

The red head settled down on the wooden floor of the ship, making himself comfortable as if he was going to watch a show.

Buggy turned to Shanks with furrowed brows. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Watching you.”

“Why? Just leave.”

“Nope.”

Buggy felt like punching his friend to the other side of the Grand Line but managed to keep calm. He couldn’t let the boy waste his precious training time any longer. “Ugh. Fine, whatever.”

He started by detaching his fingers first, quickly pulling them back. Then he worked his way up, doing the same with his hand, his forearm, and eventually his whole arm. Then he detached them all at once. That still felt the worse. He could handle doing it one at a time, but cutting himself up too much made him nauseous. He went on to do the same with his legs, the foot first and working his way upward… Shanks, who had been weirdly silent up until then, finally spoke up:

“Have you tried detaching both feet at once?”

Buggy looked at him with wide eyes, shutting the idea down quickly. “Of course not! I’d just smack to the ground.”

Shanks rubbed his chin with curiosity. “Hm, maybe. But you can make your parts fly, can’t you?”

“…” Buggy stared at his feet in apprehension. He hated to admit it, but Red’s logic was sound. If he could make his limbs float, he could technically do the same with his whole body, right?

Shanks walked closer, holding his arms out like a safety net around him. “How about this? I’ll catch you if it doesn’t work.”

“… You better.”

“I’d never let anything happen to you.”

Buggy’s ears got red at the blunt confession. It confused him, how easy honesty came to the other. It was as if he could never feel ashamed of how he felt. Buggy would have felt envious if embarrassment didn’t overwhelm his other emotions.

“… Shut up.” He simply deflected because he didn’t know what to say. He turned his attention back to his feet and reluctantly raised one, detaching it from his foot. He stayed like that for a few seconds, not knowing how to go about this. It’s not like he’d be hurt badly, but losing your footing was not a pleasant thought. Everything in his brain screamed “Don’t do it!” but it all quieted down as Shanks’ hand sneaked its way into his, squeezing in reassurance. Buggy didn’t even realize it, but his other foot slowly detached from the ankle, skipping away from his body. He opened his squeezed-shut eyes one after the other, looking down at his lack of feet. But he wasn’t touching the ground.

He was floating.

He panicked at the sight and fell on his butt, or at least he should have but he just gently landed on it. He looked back at Shanks, who had held him from his arms to slow his fall, with grateful eyes. His feet skipped back over to him, reattaching themselves. He took the hand Shanks was offering and the boy pulled him up to his feet once again.

Shanks looked at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile, the picture of pure amazement. “Buggy, that was amazing!”

He looked away in embarrassment, unsure of how to feel of his accomplishment. “More like creepy.”

“But you can fly now! Imagine getting the hang of that… This is so cool!”

Buggy was still apprehensive about the absurdity of his powers, but he had to admit that this was pretty exciting news. He was still mourning the loss of his ability to swim, but he could fly now... sort of. Maybe it was true that you win some, and you lose some.

Still, floating felt terrifying, even when he was only a few inches off the ground. He was certain that nothing could ever fill the void the comfort of the sea had left behind.

“I think we should go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, probably. You did great today.”

Buggy smiled brightly at him. “Thanks to you.”

Shanks looked away, rubbing his nape as his face grew red. “W-well it’s what friends are for…”

Buggy slept like a baby for the first time in a long time, but Shanks kept staring at the ceiling till the first rays of sunlight filled the room.

[beanghostprincess]

Sanji has helped me in so many ways. I will forever be grateful for the creation of this character. He quite literally means the world to me right now.

(TW: ED/Depression/Suicide attempt mention)

I've always struggled with food. Well, not always. But at the end of middle school (more or less. Give or take. Age 12/13) I became obsessed with what I ate. I still don't know exactly how it started, but I think it has always been a mix of my need to control my life when it's crumbling down and the necessity to look skinny (both things are my mother's fault, mostly. And also lots of things going on at the moment). So I started skipping meals constantly and throwing away food and throwing up. Not gonna get into details, but it ruined my life without anybody knowing until a huge depressive episode came and then I tried to off myself, yadda yadda yadda. Then I just stopped eating food and my meals every day were basically a monster and gum and maybe a piece of fruit. I couldn't even drink milk without crying. Then it got a bit better. Then a bit worse. It wasn't very consistent. And then I started doing exercise but that only made me even more obsessed with calorie intake and healthy food and I still can't drink milk or bread without at least feeling awful about it.

And then I watched One Piece.

I know it sounds extremely silly and dumb, but it has helped me in so many ways. I'm not gonna get into all the things it has done for me, because then I'd have to talk about Robin, Nami, Luffy, Pudding and Buggy which are, like, the characters that have helped me the most next to Sanji, and I would not finish this post.

But Sanji is just so, so important to me.

He speaks about food with such passion. His whole thing about not wasting food literally comes from an experience of starvation and because of the sacrifice his father made for him. He keeps saying he refuses to let people go hungry, no matter what. That we all deserve to eat. He relates food to love and cooking is his whole life. It kind of started as a joke when my brother said "nooo, now you can't waste food because Sanji would be sad" and I- That day I literally ate wayyy more than usual with that thought in mind. And I didn't feel bad afterward for once. And he's just- He just makes me feel so comfortable around food. Which is the normal amount of comfort somebody should have and sometimes it's not even that, but it helps. It helps so much.

Then his whole thing with Germa and the Vinsmokes. It killed me. My relationship with my mother is, uh, you can call it complicated but I fucking hate her so. Yeah. And Sanji's story about rejecting his blood relatives and finding better people who will love him hit so close to home. Him being different. Weak. More emotional. A good person. Sanji refusing to use the name Vinsmoke. It's my whole life. Sanji self-sabotaging himself all the time and constantly sacrificing himself, too? I just can't do it, man, he means the world to me. And then Wano happens and he turns out to have the same body as his siblings but he's still himself. He's still Sanji no matter how much in common he has with the Vinsmokes. And as somebody who's constantly dealing with people telling them that they look like their mom? I fucking love it. I know I look like her and I even act like her sometimes but that doesn't mean I am her. And it doesn't mean she deserves to be part of my family, because she isn't and I can't wait to get rid of her in my life.

It's not only food and family, though. Sanji has helped me accept myself in so many ways too. In the way I perceive others and in the way I act. He has helped me eat. He has helped me realize you don't have to consider your blood relatives family if you don't love them. He has helped me see that my kindness is a strength and not a weak spot.

Not to mention that his whole thing with gender and sexuality, how the fandom portrays him, and how I personally write him has been of so much help in understanding myself. I recently discovered I was a lesbian, and also being genderfluid I just- I just love Sanji so much I be projecting my gender issues and internalized stuff with comphet on him. And let me tell you, it helps.

This whole thing is just something short and sweet I wanted to say because media affects people. In the best of ways. One Piece in general has saved my life in many ways, but Sanji in particular is still helping me every day.

[redantsunderneath]

Marlene Dietrich/Josef von Sternberg marathon: The Blue Angel, Morocco (1930), Dishonored, and Shanghai Express (1931)

I watched all of these films, the Blue Angel in German (which surprisingly didn’t hurt, though I might have missed some puns), so I could be prepped for the great movie podcast “There’s Sometimes a Buggy” that is covering the collaboration that made Marlene Deitrich as we know her. I don’t have a lot of exposure (more on my movie history later) to the early talkie years so these movies were a bit surprising to me on a lot of fronts, not the least reason for which was that I wasn’t brought up in rape culture, I guess (is this what people mean when they say that? cause, jeesh! every movie, the threat is just there). Funny enough, I felt that The Blue Angel was the only one that was really political to me along axes that felt vital, which is peculiar as the other three were about political conflict of factions/nations and make statements about war, nationalism, and the other, but I guess they don’t seem political in a sense that fits with current discourse. I didn’t see the CPC officer in Shanghai Express as pro communist but as a tentative stab at ambivalent nuance of the other’s perspective, a tipping of the hand that there’s a western-centracism in his absurd rape code (this is a common feature through the films of a “first claim” that a certain type of man has on a woman that has nothing to do with what she wants), and as ultimately an example of the brutality of violent conflict (more pointed because he’s been fleshed out).  But I admit, by the films' equalizing the other side (the Russians, the CPC and even the Tunisian rebels if only by making the French Foreign Legion look so terrible) that is in itself a statement.  Kubrick’s Paths of Glory seems to pick up where this leaves off.

The Blue Angel is the film I have the most to say about, and was the most interesting conceptually, but was hard to sync with for technical reasons (me not speaking German maybe being one of them).  Through the films, we watch Dietrich get better at being a talkie actress and the Blue Angel doesn’t push her that hard, but this may be more a function of the camerawork and editing than anything else.  Jannings somehow works better with her as a leading man than anyone but Dishonored’s McLaglen because he can fill the space created by her silent movie style of encapsulated performative moments then stasis/posing, though the let it breathe editing doesn’t help (I almost think her hand on ribcage pose starts as a need for her to have something to do when reacting that seems like a reaction).  Morocco’s Gary Cooper sometimes seems like he’s in a different space than her and Shanghai’s Brook is super clipped (though she’s better adapted by then).

In Blue Angel, the effort to create composite Mise-en-scène with the ominous foreground frames is terrific (those anchors hanging down! the professor’s approach to the club!) and we have some of that German expressionist inner state stuff going on, especially at the end (the shadow of the chandelier!) but the cameraman doesn’t seem to know where to be and maybe that explains the ostensibly crappy blocking.  The cinematography on the others is much better – the superimposed tracking shots in Morocco are phenomenal – and have just as many knockout myth buildingly shot scenes (too many to mention but her in a tux in Morocco,  the final escape in Dishonored, the prayer in Shanghai Express).  All the movies have enough differences in approach that you could think they were done by a different team (were the external shots in Morocco the ones shot by Peckinpah’s eventual AD, Lucien Ballard?).

There are all sorts of motifs running through the films: clocks (and calendars), racially insensitive dolls, men’s hats on women, skein-like drapes sometimes burned by irons vs drawn opaque shades, a man eavesdropping to get mood altering information from behind a louvered door, clowns/harlequins, throwing stuff that will need to be cleaned up on the floor/wall, makeup application in a number of functions (e.g. highlighting her performative nature, emasculation of men), sitting/sprawling on things as an act of feminine claiming of the space, guttural and animal noises as announcement we’re in a libidinal space positive or negative, the stockings, the kept animals, and all sorts of recurring human archetypes.   But it’s The Blue Angel, with its full bore usage of these things plus more (eggs, nautical detritus, clock figurines, etc, that the subliminal story is the most present (though Dishonored is pretty potent).

The reason why I say Blue Angel is the most socio-political is that as a 2019 person on the internet who sees the culture war, is aware of the history of Weimar imagery as handled post Nazi, and knows what’s coming (spoilers for Hitler), the statement being made looks really complicated with a first pass of: the intelligencia’s embrace of the subaltern as primarily an instrument-possession both losses them cultural power and leaves them outside of the outgroup too, which is how, maybe, regressive populism (the students as rabble) wins. Granted this is an Iser-type hermeneutical hot take and it is complicated by the possibility that Jannings codes as pre-Hitler German populace’s growing conflation of left wing and Jewish as “dark other” (problematic, hard to bring the 1930 and 2019 horizons together on this, mileage may vary, but a case can be made) which would almost make this an anti-radical (on both sides) statement that meshes with the other movies’ anti-violence, anti group/idea allegiance, pro-people take. This is just the "bad decision" version. As for Jannings, the lumpen here is fine with him as long as he performs correctly.  Maybe this is an artifact of Dietrich not being the protagonist by a director who wants her to be.  The thing that really overlays this from a now standpoint, though, is the rhyming with a kind of 4chan framing where he has lost his “rightful” power, is “cucked,” and has an entitled-male rage tm (i.e. this can be read as an anti incel-ideology movie). The other movies don’t have this kind of congruence for the most part.

But the way the symbols work is pretty neat.  His descent from prominent social capital to internationally renowned cock-a-doodle-do jester is marked by the change in the relationship with eggs as sexual enticement vs humiliation (and the humiliation was there from the beginning to be sure).  The clown is there as a warning/future self.  The special clocks that eerily suggests his/society’s demons are coming and no one can stop the forward mechanism of time. The caged bird is as you would expect.  The dolls are a sort of self possession that she does test runs giving away.  There’s too much to talk about.

Morocco has Cooper’s charisma going for it (which works best with Dietrich’s when they cut back and forth), the best non-closeup camerawork (the exteriors are great), large scale staging, and that cool woman in a tux mythmaking performance piece.  It contains Cooper’s great non-verbal performance in the scene where he eventually writes “changed my mind” on the mirror (you can see him decide).   The last scene of her trudging across the desert and throwing away her heals is great, and there is so much motion in the frame so often – the superimposition of movement that turns a dissolve into a long transitional double shot, the scene where she looks for him in the marching parade, etc. The relief map was hinky, though.  

Dishonored was my favorite of the four. I liked all these films but, broken down, it had a couple of “bests” in it, but was #2 for everything else.  It had the best-functioning male lead (the always in a mask non-naturalistic thing was perfect as that how she is and it balanced the space well) and a greater share of my very favorite scenes: the final escape scene, the party, the firing squad, and any any fucking piano playing (the first shot of her playing piano is my favorite shot of all the films).  It’s the second best as a subliminal story (after Blue Angel), was the only one other than Shanghai Express that seemed like it had a screenplay - a story story rather than a loose idea, the idea of certain shots, the actors types, and dialogue. It had the most convincing sweep other than Morocco. The cat was a nice setting free of agency, progressing the doll as totem of self/other possession but with a mind of its own, with the power to ruin everything.  This movie really vibed with me perfectly.  

For Shanghai Express, see above, but I have to say I love the Disney villainess (before there were Disney villainesses) dress.  The multi note secondary characters with actual performances and arcs was unique... the pastor who changes his mind on what is morally good is terrific, as are the exchanges between two fully fleshed out prostitutes and an old prude.  My list is close, but If I had to order it would be Dishonored, Blue Angel, Shanghai, then Morocco, but it’s tough because the great things about each vary so much (I kept dithering on the bottom three more than #1, I considered putting Morocco 2nd).

It’s odd I’ve written this much and I haven’t broached the gender archetype pushing and pulling here, mainly because this seems pretty well mined territory.  I’m under-read on this and feel like my take would be super cold -- cross dressing, Gary Cooper with a flower behind his ear, the unflinching depiction of how tough a time women have it while still depicting a kind of unique female cruelty to men, and the constant sexist statements undermined by the POV and what actually happened.  Hopefully my naive viewpoint, coming at this fresh eyes will be valuable. So, like, are all these movies from this time period about class?  It kind of reminds me of Impro, the Keith Johnstone book, which basically boils all theatrical character interaction to being about status.  

Anyway, I’ve ignored my exegesis of Taylor Swift’s Lover to write this, so I must be back to work.  

[butterychocolateballoon-blog]

99 Typical Photography Problems (And also How you can Deal with Them).

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