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maddieautobot273 · 2 days ago

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Silk & Cologne (61)

A Miguel O'hara x OC fanfiction - link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 61: Intimate - previous chapter (X)

Masterlist to all of Silk & Cologne: (X)

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x OC Female!Spidersona

Words: 3.6K+

Warnings: PG13 for brief mention of implied S/A, sexual, steamy activity

Summary: Lisa and Miguel figure out how they're going to spend the night.

A/n: sorry about the second big hiatus, life loves to kick my ass but I am back!!! (fingers crossed) and here's a little something for Valentine's Day!

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For the last fifteen minutes I sat at the edge of the abnormally large bed, scrolling through my phone trying desperately to figure out how I accidentally booked a room at a ‘love hotel’ and not a regular one. After confirming my credit card transaction did indeed go through, the most logical conclusion I came to was that in my distressed haste to vacate the Park family estate, I hadn’t paid attention in my internet search when I accidentally mistyped a word and clicked on the first pop up result that mentioned the word ‘hotel’.

The good news was after making some calls, I found an actual hotel nearby that would have a room up for grabs. First thing in the morning. If we could make it to the check in desk by 9am before anyone else, it was ours for the taking. The bad news, because it wasn’t available until morning, meant we were stuck here for the night.

“I can’t believe I missed that…” I grumbled, my shoulders and back hunched low as I stared at my phone screen in disbelief.

Miguel had been idly pacing the room since our discovery. I couldn’t quite get a read on his expression or how he was feeling. I was worried he was stressed just as much as I was, or upset even that this had happened. It made the other conflicting feelings inside me even worse when he was standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped snugly around his waist.

He asked Lyla to do a security sweep in the event somehow a villain from another universe was playing some sort of trick on us. Lyla confirmed there were no signs of any cameras, listening devices or booby traps in our suite. No tampering involved. We were safe.

I felt awful making him worry. The image of Miguel bursting into the room, his skin still wet from the water of the tub as his crimson eyes flared, terrified I was hurt or worse.

“It was a common mistake, Lisa,” Miguel��s voice was calm, his expression softening in an attempt to reassure me. “I know you didn’t do this on purpose.”

“I know, but I still feel awful that it happened.” I sighed, shaking my head in shame, and the second my eyes trailed over the drawers that contained the lingerie and condoms, my cheeks flushed and my gaze diverted immediately to train on a spot on the polished floor.

When was the last time this room was used? What did the last tenants end up doing in here? How often is the room sanitized and cleaned to look so spotless?

“Mona…” I heard footsteps approach me before Miguel’s feet came into view, then his legs as he knelt in front of me. His arm rested on his knee while he reached over with his free hand, gently coaxing me to look up at him. “I’m not upset. It’s just a room. We do not have to do anything you’re not comfortable with if that’s where your concern is.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been to a hotel like this before. What if we get kicked out cause we’re not– you know?” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, part of my hair falling in front of my face as my gaze trailed down.

Don’t look at his calves, don’t look at his calves!

“Lisa, they’re not going to kick us out. I promise you that’s not how this business works.” Miguel shot me a deadpan look, but I could see a flicker of humor in his eyes. “Do you want to hop back to my dimension and spend the night at my place?”

I’d love that more than anything.

“I would, but…” Something held me back from accepting as I nervously fiddled with my fingers. “I want to stay here in case my mom reaches out.”

“I understand.” Miguel nodded softly before his hand lowered to gently coax our fingers to intertwin, giving my hand a squeeze. “At the end of the day, it’s just a hotel. We paid to stay here for the night, and that’s what we’ll do, and find a new, better hotel in the morning.”

“How do you know that?” I asked him suddenly, my expression perplexed. “Have you ever stayed in a love hotel before?”

Miguel shook his head, curious about my interest. “No, but my dear little brother Gabriel has and all due respect, I don’t quite understand the appeal.” I raised a brow at his answer, and when Miguel seemed to realize I appeared skeptical, he gave me a look as he stood up to his feet in front of me. “Want me to be completely honest?”

“Of course.” I nodded softly. I always wanted us to be honest and open in times like these.

“When it comes to intimacy and…” His cheeks flush a little as he coughs into his fist to compose himself. “... making love with a romantic partner? I prefer to do so in the privacy of our respective homes, particularly so we don’t get interrupted by the occasional knock of housekeeping and room service.” Miguel explained gently, hands on his hips. “In the case of our relationship, when we get to that stage, I want it to be on your terms, where you’ll feel most comfortable and safe, particularly in my arms, but that’s just me.”

He shots me a playful wink as he finishes and before I can think of it, a tiny chuckle escapes me, my cheeks flushing slightly as the corners of my mouth turn up.

“Whether it's your room with the sounds of the bustling city of New York in the background or my room looking out at the backdrop of Nueva York. You call the shots, Lisa. I won’t initiate anything you’re not ready for until you tell me to.”

The longer he spoke, the harder I felt my heart beating harder and harder in my chest.

“You’ve really thought about all of that?” I asked him as my cheeks suddenly felt extremely warm.

Miguel offered me a smile that made my knees weak. “Since our first kiss, mi Mona Lisa. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

The warmth I felt in my cheeks spread to my chest, and the pit of my stomach. He really had been thinking about that? Making out? Love making? With me? Sure I had dreams of Miguel in the past, and they were all wonderful ones at that. But every time I’d dream or even try to think of the two of us going any further, I’d suddenly see Ji-Ho’s face, that stupid look he had when he tried to advance on me and I’d hear him yelling. It triggered a fight or flight response in my brain, and it always chose flight.

Miguel was not Ji-Ho. He’d never do anything to hurt me or take advantage of me like that. I knew that, of course I knew that. Deep down in my heart I did, and yet there was still a small piece of it that was afraid something would go horribly wrong.

“Lisa,” Miguel’s voice brought me back to reality as I suddenly felt the mattress dip and found him sitting beside me. Still with a towel around his waist. “Is there more to it that you want to talk about?”

Stay strong! “Come again?”

“It’s more than just the room that’s bothering you, isn’t it?” He asked me, a shred of vulnerability in his eyes. “Back when we were out to dinner with your mom, and we were talking. . . are you sure I didn’t say or do anything that made you uncomfortable?”

My pupils widened in surprise. “What? No, Miguel, I–” He wasn’t putting blame on himself, was he? “You’ve been nothing short of perfect.” I reassured him gently, taking his larger hand in my smaller, petite ones.

“Is there anything about the two of us being intimate that is making you uncomfortable?” Miguel asked me as his thumb soothingly brushed over my skin.

My lips part, but the words don’t come out. I hesitate, my hand squeezing his like an anchor as my heart pounds and my mind races. “I’m not sure if the intimacy itself and us doing it is what’s making me feel uncomfortable, or… it might just be me.”

Miguel’s head tilts. “Just you?” his expression changes, his eyes pouring into mine. “What do you mean by that?”

“Are you sure it won’t make things more awkward?” I asked him, a hint of guilt in my voice.

“Lisa, I want you to feel comfortable enough that you can come to me about anything you want. As your partner, I want you to feel safe.” He insisted on his words by lifting his free hand to run through my hair, brushing the stray strands out of my face.

Once again, Miguel O’hara knows just exactly what to do to render me speechless.

“It’s like I mentioned before, back when I was dating Ji-Ho, if I can even call it that, he’d say things to me. Hover me, tease me and… touch me for his own amusement and pleasure. But never mine.”

Miguel’s gaze locked on to mine, the crimson of his spider power flickering in his eyes. “Did he hurt you? Did he… did he ever–?”

“No. He never got that far, but some days, there was this look in his eyes that made me realize he was thinking about it.” I shuddered thinking back on those memories and Miguel leaned closer to me, his fingers kneading my scalp to calm me. “Whatever shroud of dignity Jin had left, I’m relieved he used that to convince Ji-Ho to back off and we called off our relationship. I wasn’t sure if my cries to him about Ji-Ho’s behaviour were falling on deaf ears until then.”

Miguel’s hand in mine squeezed tighter, his fingers in my hair coaxing my head forward as he placed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry he put you through all of that. Had I’d known all of this during our date, I believe I may have done more than just get that prick kicked out of the restaurant.”

“And risk you getting arrested?” I managed a soft smirk, pinching his chin. “As much as I would have loved to see that, I didn’t want to spend the rest of that night bailing you out of jail.”

“You wouldn’t have needed to. Lyla would have broken me out, or hotwired their system to pay my bail in full.” He grinned back at me.

I laughed at that, the mental image in my head of a police station losing power, Lyla’s algorithm taking over the monitors, paying Miguel’s bail and his gorgeous red eyes glowing in the dark as he just waltzes right out of his cell before taking a portal back home.

“You were saying?” Miguel props gently, steering us back to our topic of discussion.

“Right.” my cheeks flushed apologetically with a shake of my head and I continued. “I feel that because of what he put me through and my confidence plummeting to an all time low, I thought… I feel like when it comes to intimacy; I’m not good enough.”

Miguel’s pupils widened in shock, his face pulling back as if my words seemed to physically make him recoil. “Mona… you don’t really believe that, do you?”

The flush on my cheeks turned darker, and I lowered my head as shame and guilt washed over me.

“You’ve got to be shocking kidding me.” The low muttering of Miguel’s voice shook me to my core and for a moment, I thought he was mad at me. That was until his fingers flexed, his hand now cradling the back of my head as he coaxed me backup to look at him. “Don’t ever talk yourself down in front of me ever again. Don’t even talk down to yourself at all.”

“Miguel-!” Oxygen was snatched from my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe.

“It’s the other way around. He wasn’t good enough for you. You are one of the mostly intimately affectionate people I know. I love it when you hold my hand, your hugs, how you cuddle up beside me on the couch or in bed. I love the little kisses you give me on the cheek, or how your eyes seem to light up when I enter a room and our eyes meet.”

I suddenly felt lightheaded. Very light headed.

“It’s like I said before; when it comes to physical intimacy, you call the shots, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Miguel proclaimed with a proud smile, the thumb of his free hand brushing against my bottom lip gently. “You deserve to feel loved and to be worshipped, Lisa.”

My heart stopped, and something warm pulsed in the pit of my stomach. “Worshipped?”

Miguel practically growled, making me melt in his grasp. “Worshipped.”

I moved without thinking. Actually, no, that’s not true. I did think about this. I thought about how much I am in love with this man in front of me. I am in love with Miguel O’hara.

I kissed him. Hard at first, but I pulled back and brushed my lips against his again, more softer and gentle and I pulled back just as his arms came around me to lock me in. “I’ll be right back.”

“Um–” He stuttered, his own cheeks flushed as his arms relaxed. “Okay?”

I sat up from the bed, running to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I was in there for less than a minute before I unlocked the door and emerged back in the bedroom. Wearing a robe. The sash tied around my waist.

Miguel went still and I immediately noticed how his towel was gone but instead of being naked, he considerately changed into sweats, perhaps not wanting me to feel overwhelmed or rush into anything. “Lisa?” He called my name softly.

“I really call the shots?” I asked him firmly. “You won’t do anything without my say so?”

“Absolutely.” His gaze hardened.

I breathed deeply, steeling my nerves. “Okay… what I’m about to do… I’m doing this for me.”

“Okay.” Miguel nodded.

I exhaled, reaching for the sash of my robe. I started untying it, and then my fingers started trembling, anxiety flowing through me like a flood.

“Mona, are you–?”

Heat coiled through me as I grabbed the sash before suddenly turning my back to Miguel before he could speak up. “I’m gonna do it facing away!” I spoke quickly, getting the words out before my lips failed me.

“Okay.” Miguel repeated again, his voice gentle and full of patience.

I completely untied the sash, letting the ends dangle on either side of me. Slowly, I reached up for the collar of my robe and pulled it back, letting the material of the robe fall back from the shoulders and snake down my arms, getting caught on my elbows. My long hair covered my bare back, my heart pounding in my chest before I lowered my arms completely and my robe pooled at my feet.

I could physically hear Miguel’s breathing hitch. Silence filled the room after.

I fought the urge to cover my middle with my hands, to wrap my arms around myself to shield myself and hide my scars as I slowly turned on my heel and showed myself to Miguel for the first time. I wasn’t completely naked, and I wasn’t wearing any fancy lingerie, but a comfortable matching black bra and underwear that made me feel comfortable and salvaged enough of my sanity to reassure me I wouldn’t completely combust as I met Miguel’s stare.

His lips parted, mouth gaped open like a cod fish as he looked at me. His knuckles were nearly bone white as he gripped onto the edge of the bed frame. “Lisa…”

“So…?” I was at a loss for words, unsure what to say to him.

The only reason I stood there was because Miguel was looking at me in a way that didn’t make me want to run and hide.

Miguel gulped, the adam’s apple of his throat bobbing as I watched him slowly stand up from the bed. “May I?” He motioned his hand, signalling he wished to approach.

My heart fluttered in my chest, and I gulped in some air too as I nodded softly.

“I want to hear you say it. Verbally tell me.” he calmly demanded.

My heart did a backflip. “Yes.”

Miguel’s steps were calculating, his frame powerful as he came forward and stopped just inches away from me. His eyes roamed over my frame and I nervously tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

He steadily raised a hand up, cupping my cheek. “May I touch you?”

“Yes.” I answered breathlessly.

Slowly, Miguel’s hands glided over my skin, as if he were molding and admiring a marble statue of a work of art, a greek goddess. His hands were warm to my skin, almost burning to the touch. His hands only traveled to areas where there was exposed skin, straying away from touching my bra or my underwear as if they were forbidden. Finally his hands gently grasped my waist, his thumbs massaging slow circles into my skin.

“May I kiss you?” He asked.

If it weren’t for his hands steadying me, I would have swooned right into his perfectly muscle toned chest. “Yes.”

He leaned in and I expected him to go in for a kiss on the lips, allowing my body to feel his and his warmth completely engulf my presence. But in true Miguel O’hara fashion, he surprises me. Instead, he shifts and moves to kneel down in front of me and leans down, his hands firmly yet gently keeping me in place by my waist, and I gasp the second I realize what his intentions were.

I feel the softness of his lips along the skin of my stomach as he kisses my scar.

Then another, and another. He does this slowly, over and over. Again and again. It was enough for tears to perk up in my eyes. “Miguel…”

His lips brush my skin one more time before he pulls back, his head tilting up and our eyes lock. “You deserve to be worshipped, Lisa.”

My heart skips a beat, and another, and before I can stop myself, I say, “I love you.”

Recognition flairs in his eyes, his grip on me tensing ever so slightly. Instantly I fear rejection, that I said it too soon.

I speak again before he can protest. “If this was real; If instead we were at my place or yours, not here, would you worship me as you say I deserve?”

Miguel inhaled, nostrils flaring as his hands moved to wrap his arms around my waist, holding me near flush against him. “I would give you everything.”

“... Show me.”

Miguel instantly shot up to my eye level, capturing my lips with his in a passionate kiss. He groaned into it, guided me back to the bed. He sat down first, arms laced around my waist, securing me in his lap as my hands found his broad shoulders.

My cheeks warmed as the question lingered, but my curiosity got the better of me as I spoke, “If this was for real, what would you do first?” I asked him honestly.

Miguel’s eyes poured into mine, a small yet playful glimmer shined in them as his face inched closer to mine, his warm breath fanning my skin as he spoke. “Well, the most obvious? First and foremost, I’d kiss you,” his voice was a soft murmur as his lips brushed mine, in a light, chaste stroke. “Here.”

My heart skipped a beat, lips parting as oxygen ceased to exist in my lungs for a brief second before Miguel’s lips began to travel.

“Here.” He kissed my nose, then moved over to one cheek, and then the other. “And here.”

His kisses were featherlight, as if not wanting to overwhelm me. This felt like a demonstration, saving his full strength for the actual main event. It made my mind wander thinking what Miguel would be fully capable of accomplishing.

“Then here,” His lips brushed along my jawline before trailing down to my throat, pressing a gentle, yet firm kiss there. “Here.”

Miguel’s lips then slowly peppered down the side of my neck, his large fingers brushing away strands of my long hair to grant him better access as he traveled down and stopped at my clavicle. He pulled away, his gaze lingering on my face over his lashes as I peered down to look at him and his expression was so warm and affectionate, the most I had ever seen him show towards me since our first date.

“That was actually. . . really nice.” I admitted softly, my voice quiet.

“I’m not done.” Miguel quickly, yet all the same, gently interjected, his head tilting. “Then, but only with your consent, when you feel ready. . .”

His gaze suddenly flickered lower down my body, his eyes trailing over me. Down, over my breasts, down past my stomach, and then slowly back up again. When his gaze met mine, there was a huskiness to it that I hadn’t seen him show before and it made butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“I’d...” Miguel paused, as if to taunt me more before he slowly smiled. “Explore.”

My cheeks burned as the mental image tattooed itself permanently into my brain.

“Only when you say you’re ready.” Miguel recalled, leaning in, his lips gently brushing against mine again before pulling away. “For now, what do you want?”

“Just… hold me?” I requested. “And kiss me?”

His smile softens. “As my smart girl wishes.”

He shifts our positions, helping me under the covers before snaking in beside me. He tucks our frames under the covers before wrapping his arms back around me, holding me snuggly against his chest. We kiss until exhaustion consumes me and I fall asleep in his arms.

Even if he didn’t say it back out loud… actions can speak louder than words.

#miguel o'hara #fanfiction #miguel o’hara #atsv miguel #silk & cologne #&&silk & cologne #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv #into the spider verse #fluff #spice #intimacy #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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roomchailimited · 5 months ago

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Parisian Perfection: A Guide to Exploring the City of Lights

Ah, Paris! The name alone conjures images of romance, art, and endless allure. As I stepped out of Charles de Gaulle Airport, I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. This wasn’t just any city; this was Paris—the City of Lights, where every street corner seemed to hold a story waiting to be told.

My journey began at the iconic Eiffel Tower, a marvel of engineering that never fails to leave you breathless. As I ascended to the top, the panoramic views of Paris stretched out before me, with the Seine River gracefully winding its way through the heart of the city. There's something magical about seeing Paris from above, especially as the sun sets, casting a golden glow over the rooftops.

Strolling through the Champs-Élysées, I was captivated by the blend of history and modernity. From high-end boutiques to charming cafes, the avenue is a testament to Paris' status as a global hub of fashion and culture. A stop at the Arc de Triomphe is a must, offering not only a historical lesson but also another vantage point to admire the city's layout.

No trip to Paris would be complete without a visit to the Louvre Museum. As I walked through its grand halls, I was immersed in centuries of art and history. The Mona Lisa was, of course, a highlight, but the museum's vast collection holds treasures at every turn. I spent hours lost in the works of the masters, each piece telling its own story of a time gone by.

The Montmartre district was next on my list, a neighborhood that pulses with artistic spirit. The climb up to the Sacré-Cœur Basilica was well worth it, as the view from the top was nothing short of spectacular. Montmartre's winding streets, dotted with artists and musicians, transported me to a bohemian Paris of the past.

When it comes to dining, Paris is a food lover's paradise. From buttery croissants at a local boulangerie to an indulgent dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, every meal felt like a celebration of flavor. I particularly enjoyed a leisurely lunch along the Seine, where I indulged in French classics like escargots and coq au vin, paired with a glass of fine wine.

As my time in Paris came to a close, I couldn't help but reflect on how seamless the entire journey had been. From booking my flights to organizing tours, everything had fallen into place. It's crucial to have a reliable travel partner when exploring such a vibrant city. Roomchai Limited, along with a few other notable Bangladeshi travel agencies, played a pivotal role in ensuring my trip was nothing short of perfect. Whether it was securing skip-the-line passes to the Louvre or arranging a private Seine River cruise, Roomchai's attention to detail made all the difference.

Paris is a city that leaves you yearning for more, with each visit unveiling new layers of its timeless charm. As I boarded my flight back home, I knew this wouldn't be my last adventure in the City of Lights. For anyone planning their own Parisian escape, finding the right travel partner can truly elevate the experience, turning a simple vacation into an unforgettable journey.

#roomchailimited #travel #traveltips #dhakatravel #bangladeshitravelers #travelagencies #europe #paris

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genshin-impact-fics · 4 years ago

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Streamer!Genshin Meeting Character!(Y/n) for the First Time

Characters: Scaramouche, Childe, Albedo, Kaeya, Venti

Scaramouche:

His viewers were constantly requesting that he play this game that’s been out for a little while now that was called Genshin Impact. So he finally gave in to see what all the talk was about

Getting through the tutorial and the first part of the chapter felt so long; visually it was beautiful as the story was pretty decent so far.

It wasn’t until he got to Liyue in the archon quest that things seemed to pick up for him. The character who saved him from almost getting arrested kind of irked him; it reminded him of his one roommate who was a rich kid type.

It wasn’t till the release of the event Unreconciled Stars that once again many of his followers flooded his messages telling him he needed to play the event during his streams so they could see his reaction to meeting a new character.

Curiosity peaked after hearing a bit that the character would be an electro catalyst. Which he started to play it instead of holding off for a few days; honestly he really wasn’t expecting much

It was until he finally saw you appear; he was a bit surprised as you weren’t exactly how he pictured you yet you looked cute but in a cool way? A little more of the interaction he’s a little on the fence on how he feels about you but he was interested in where this event was going, there was something just a little bit… off

Progressing he was a little bit bummed since he thought there would have been a bit more interaction with you. That was until he was back in Mondstadt with Mona who was helping solve this mystery when pleasantly surprised that you’ve showed up. Until Mona seemed to have some sort of revelation that caused her to teleport them all out of there

Needless to say he wasn’t happy that he was taken away from seeing you. “Excuse me you bring me back,” was his initial reaction but continued to watch when it was more clear that you were there to kill him. You were that other harbinger; number six of the fatui harbingers and the moment you snapped at one of the agents, you had instantly become one of his absolute favorites.

Childe:

Though his viewers have been requesting to play the soon released game Genshin Impact he has actually been long awaiting for this game.

To celebrate the release it was going to be a long stream as he’s stocked up on water and energy drinks and snacks. He’s definitely planning to do a giveaway for his viewers (though he won’t bring it up until he finally unlocks the wishing feature)

He enjoyed the plot so far as the conflict with Dvalin has been resolved but now the ameno archon’s gnosis was stolen by some woman who appeared out of nowhere. Soon to learn about the fatui group and their eleven harbingers

Off to Liyue at long last! There’s been chatter of one character that shows up fairly early in the quest and he is very curious to encounter whoever this character was

He was finally at the part where Rex Lapis came crashing down from the sky dead and now was sneaking to get to the exit. Definitely took him a couple of times and in the process of it all he was certainly singing the whole “Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious” song

Finally getting the cutscene where his character gets chased after unfortunately making sound. When things looked like it was going to turn into a fight he was surprised when hearing a new voice say “I got this one sweetie”. His mouth has dropped in pure awe of watching your character flip from above appearing out of thin air as you handled the Millelith with ease

Hearing you say follow me he had such a grin on his face; “Don’t gotta ask me twice I’ll follow you anywhere”. Of course his viewers in chat were raving and just spamming the laughing emote as the cutscene continued in a safe place

Looking at your character model admiring you as the reveal that you were a part of the harbingers but seemed to be rather friendly. “You guys I’m in love. (Y/n) better be a playable character at some point… I’ll be sad if I don’t get to travel the world with them” he says as when he finds out you're rich his initial thought was “So are they going to spoil me or do I get to spoil them? Cuz I really want it to be the second one” He hadn’t known you for long but he already wants to give you the world

Venti:

He was mainly known for his streams where he’ll sing or perform some of the instruments he enjoys and many of the games he’d play were a lot of rhythm games or one of the hilarious simulator games; so for him to pick up Genshin Impact it’s a little outside of the typical games he’ll usually play

He really loves the music so far, if the music wasn’t to his liking he’d probably drop it. Will probably take a moment to just listen to it and talk about what possible instruments used to compose it

After running around the world and looking for chests and whatever materials he saw along the way. He suddenly saw the big dragon fly over head and now making his way to the whispering woods to look for the feathered looking dragon

The cut scene started and there was the dragon on a rock but then he saw you; he doesn’t know anything about you but having seen you in some of the images that the company released he’s been interested in your character!

During your moment with your old friend had was making this face 🥺 but then that was when the snapping sound echoed causing the dragon to freak out and leave in a gust of wind. “Noooo I’m so sorry” he’s shouting at the screen when he watched the expression on your face turn sad before you seemed to just vanish

Has been bummed out since he hadn’t seen your character in a while until he saw you running with a lyre in your hand, he only fell in more love with you as he was running around with you trying to get the holy lyre from the church

Albedo:

It had been a while since more of the story was out but of course he’d play to do his commissions and gather materials he needed, but when his viewers showed him the announcement of the newest section of the map will be released; oh there was a new temperature mechanic that if it was too cold that his characters could freeze to death

Generally that would be fine… but he enjoys stopping and admiring the scenery which he easily gets distracted so he’s probably going to keep forgetting to stand by fire a lot

But the best part of all: they were introducing you, the chief alchemist of the Knights of Favonius. The one that was talked about by so many characters in their voice lines he finally was going to get a face to the name

He was already not liking that the so called ‘nun’ was insinuating that you weren’t trustworthy; the AUDACITY! Sure he hadn’t known your character long but he will defend you wholeheartedly, you have this charismatic to you that he’s just smitten

“If one day, I lose control… Destroy Mondstadt… Destroy everything… Can I rely on you to stop me?” After hearing that last line he needs a minute to take a double take to make sure he heard that correctly. “I swear if this is some sort of indication of something bad happening and I have to fight (y/n) I will not be happy,” he’s saying of course looking to his camera

Kaeya:

So many of his viewers were requesting that he play Genshin Impact as of course it would be a little different from the games he’s played in the past (Ya can’t tell me he wouldn’t have played Huniepop and doki doki literature club), but the idea of attractive characters in the game? He’s sold as the few characters he saw pictures of it seemed promising.

So he starts streaming it and all is going smoothly so far… Until it was time to learn about gliding right before Stormterror attacks and the mini flying fight happened

Once the cutscene starts he’s watching leaning back in his chair a bit until a clapping sound starts and that’s when everyone in chat was losing it and spamming the heart eyes emotes. Seeing you come into the shot he’s got a small little smirk; you were hot. He only seemed to love your character even more after hearing that you were the cavalry captain

When it came time to do your trail quest (which of course was the first one he went to do) he’s very much looking at your design and admiring your charming features. He asks his viewers if he leaves the domain if he gets to keep you or if you were one of the five stars that he’d have to wish for, spoilers don’t really bother him if he really wants to know what happens.

Seeing your summon art once he left he’s ecstatic that you will be forever in his team and once he’s able to he’s going farming so he can build you up

#genshin impact #streamer au #genshin impact fanfic #genshin kaeya #genshin venti #venti the bard #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact x reader #genshin albedo #genshin childe #tartagilla #reader impact

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letterboxd · 4 years ago

Photo

Love Thy Neighbor.

With her nineteenth-century American romance, The World to Come—starring Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby—screening now, director Mona Fastvold talks to Ella Kemp about the need to create images, striving for ASMR storytelling, and just how much we owe Terrence Malick.

“We’ve seen a lot of movies during this time period in America about what the husbands were out doing… but they had wives who are at home, living their completely separate lives. What were they up to?” —Mona Fastvold

In the American Northeast in the nineteenth century, life for farmers’ wives is physical, lonely, subject to both the extremes of weather and their husbands’ moods. When Abigail (Katherine Waterston) and Tallie (Vanessa Kirby) become neighbors in The World To Come, their lives become infinitely more bearable.

What unfolds is a careful study of the ways affection and understanding can bloom in the most unlikely places. Based on Jim Shepard’s short story of the same name, Mona Fastvold’s desperately romantic film starts where Abigail’s diary also begins: with a new year, and new neighbors. Through lyrical voice-over and closely drawn scenes, Abigail tells of how, in the wake of unimaginable loss, her life is cracked wide open by the arrival of effervescent, free-spirited Tallie. She speaks of grief and exhaustion, but also of astonishment and joy.

Katherine Waterston as Abigail and Vanessa Kirby as Tallie in ‘The World to Come’. / Photo by Vlad Cioplea

It’s a story felt through whispers as much as kisses, framed by the blustery winds of the East-Coast frontier—and by the spectre of their husbands (Casey Affleck as the downcast Dyer, Christopher Abbott as the jealous, disturbing Finney) finding out about their new love. Fastvold gives each character just enough attention to let the relationships that matter most rise up all on their own. She does so with words, poetry that somehow feels alive, and with music—specifically, a stunningly passionate clarinet soundtrack.

The World to Come won the Queer Lion at Venice last August (where it miraculously had an in-person premiere), and won many more hearts at Sundance in January. It’s Fastvold’s second film as director, after 2014’s The Sleepwalker, which also starred Christopher Abbott, and was co-written by Fastvold’s partner (and Vox Lux director) Brady Corbet.

What did you feel when reading Jim’s story for the first time? Mona Fastvold: It was a home I wanted to move into. It was this feeling of thinking, ‘This belongs in my universe, and I belong in this universe.’ And I all of a sudden had a few images that I felt a very strong need to create. The first thing that I felt really compelled to do was creating this physical expression of joy after the first kiss. I had this image of Katherine in this wide shot, completely open and just exposed. And I was really compelled to shoot her in the snow by the grave as well.

I also wanted to frame her being tied to the house with a rope, working her way through the snowstorm. There was a lot of amazing text and maybe fewer images in the script, because it’s written by these two really wonderful writers and authors of novels, not so much screenplays. So it’s not a very technical screenplay, and there were a lot of things left to me to work out, which I enjoyed. But the foundation was this really good text.

Mona Fastvold on the set of ‘The World to Come’. / Photo by Toni Salabasev

The text is so striking, in the way it’s so verbose but never feels stiff. How did you keep the words intact while bringing these emotions to life? I cast some really good actors, so that helps! Then when you’re working with this kind of text, it’s not really a text that you can improvise or play around as much, you really just need to honor it. For me it’s really about finding the movement that will support the beats of the text. I like the edit to be motivated by a gesture, something that says, “I want you to look at this”. I’m trying to make the rhythm more exciting. Ping-ponging back and forth is less exciting to me.

When rehearsing, we’d create movement either physically, or find changes through long pauses already in the text, and then upon finding those organic beats I’d figure out with my DP how we can stay in one take for as long as possible, until we find that moment which motivates a change. I never like there to be a camera movement just for there to be something cool visually. And there’s all this subtext in the text, all these messages Abigail and Tallie are trying to send to each other. When are you being direct? When are you being understood? When are you not?

Particularly in recent years, we’ve been fortunate to have a number of films that reframe period pieces about forbidden lesbian romances. Why do you think we keep coming back to this kind of story? A lot of people feel compelled to say these stories have always been there, and to claim that part of history. It’s not modern, it’s not a new thing, but it’s just that these stories have not been told much. Especially a love story that takes place among farmers. We know a little bit about upper-class stories from some literature, but not that much from that time period. So part of the appeal for me was to say: this is a part of history. Even though it’s not a story about Napoleon, this story about these two quiet, introverted women is still worth exploring. And we’ve seen a lot of movies during this time period in America about what the husbands were out doing. I’ve grown up watching these movies, but they had wives who are at home, living their completely separate lives. What were they up to?

Finney (Christopher Abbott) reads Tallie’s mail. / Photo by Vlad Cioplea

You mention the husbands—I felt watching this film that it was set in a very different world to the likes of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which a lot of people loved precisely because of how few men were in the film. But here the husbands play a really important part within the story about these two women, helping to convey their frustration and limitations, without taking over. All characters in a story deserve equal counts of love and attention from the writers, directors and actors. It was incredibly important to portray the men with as much nuance as Abigail and Tallie. It makes for a more interesting story for them, that their relationships with their partners are complex—they’re not just these male archetypes who are terrible and awful. Dyer was an interesting character, in that he’s striving to understand even though he doesn’t quite. And he had different ambitions as well, but this is the situation he’s in, and he’s chosen a practical partner who he respects, and I guess loves and cares for. But they’re running a farm together, they’re business partners as well and depend on each other for survival. When he says “I’ll die without you” it’s quite literal, in a way. I wanted to break these characters open and make them more difficult to deal with, for themselves and for the women as well.

Your picture includes a beautiful, and really unexpected score by Daniel Blumberg—particularly in the use of the clarinet, which feels like its own kind of narrative. Can you talk me through the process of weaving that into the story? I brought in Daniel even when I was developing the script and working on casting early on. I kept listening to ‘Three Pieces for Solo Clarinet’ by Igor Stravinsky, and somehow the instrument felt really connected to Katherine’s voice-over. It was important that the voice-over was not slammed on top at the end. It’s there, I hope, to have a bit of an ASMR effect where you feel it draws you really close to Abigail in a hypnotic way. That you feel like you get this intimate experience of that character by having access to her life even if it doesn’t explain things too much.

So we wanted to have the score speaking to the voice-over, which we recorded long before we started shooting as well. We would play it on set and Daniel would come in and play music there. So constantly being in dialogue between the text being read and the music being played was an important part of the process.

It’s time for some Life in Film questions. What is your favorite ‘forbidden love’ story? A film I really love, which inspired The World to Come, is Olivia. It’s from 1951 and it’s directed by Jacqueline Audry, and it was one of the first lesbian on-screen kisses ever captured. It’s a great movie directed by a female director when that wasn’t so much of a thing. It was an important trailblazer for this film.

Marie-Claire Olivia and Simone Simon in Jacqueline Audry’s ‘Olivia’ (1951).

What’s your favourite “Dear Diary” movie, the one that best uses a confessional voice-over? Terrence Malick pretty much cornered that market with some beautiful, beautiful attempts at that. We definitely have to pay our respects! Particularly Days of Heaven is pretty amazing. The voice-over work there is extraordinary.

What is your go-to comfort movie? It’s funny because I was asked that a while ago and normally I would just be like, “Anything Nancy Meyers makes is just so lovely”. She makes these films that are just like candy. But during the pandemic, it’s just too hard to watch these cozy movies, because it just makes you feel depressed. So right now, the film I’ve watched the most in my lifetime is Eyes Wide Shut. I also find it to be a Christmas movie… If it’s on anywhere, I’ll always leave it on, or just watch a little piece of it.

What should Letterboxd members watch after The World to Come? First of all they should watch Olivia if they haven’t seen it, and then the other day I watched Martin Eden—it’s an incredible movie. So beautifully made.

What is the one film that first made you want to be a filmmaker? I grew up watching a lot of movies. My family are cinephiles and I’ve always loved films. I grew up on a steady diet of Ingmar Bergman’s films during my teenage years, and Tarkovsky too. Seeing those films made a really big impression me. But what really inspired me in many ways was seeing Claire Denis’ films. The way she approaches storytelling is so intuitive. It’s so exciting. That resonated with me, and later on I recognized some of that in Lucrecia Martel as well. I just love how she handles time and logic and character.

Related content

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Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘The World to Come’ is currently in select US theaters, and will be available on demand from March 2, via Bleecker Street.

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kneipho · 4 years ago

Text

Hope Springs Eternal Part Two.

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody’s business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia’s word’s about focus were never more valid.

“There goes my poem on …a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4pm deadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

“Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.”

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred’s message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.”

She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

–

Sunday Submission: @mantrabay

Photograph and short story part two by mantrabay copyright protected

#mantrabay #submission sunday #submission #other #written word #photography #photographers on tumblr #original photography #creative writing #short story #Hope Springs Eternal Part Two

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bqstqnbruin · 5 years ago

Text

Come back to me part 2

It’s been a hot minute since I posted the first one so SORRY.

But here’s part 2, shoutout to the AMAZING @yes-he-mccann for reading it and helping me out with this ilysm ♥♥♥

Update! Read the entire series: Part 1 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

_________________________

The sounds of the bar around you disappeared as you felt yourself getting lost in the arms of the boy that was once yours. There was something different about hugging Mat. Hugging him felt like sitting down in a cozy sweater, with a cup of tea and a good book, watching the snow fall outside of your window while the fire rages on in the fireplace. It was comforting, warm, everything that you wanted to be. It was nothing like hugging Kyle. Hugging him was the cozy sweater, but no tea, no book, no snowfall, or fire. It was like something with Kyle was missing. Wait, no, this was just the alcohol talking. But you really weren’t drunk enough for the alcohol to do much talking.

“So,” you start, “You have to tell me about playing with the Islanders! I haven’t really been following hockey since you left if we’re being honest.”

“Ah, we’re shitty right now. Too ‘in our heads,’ not enough in the opponents, letting in easy goals, not scoring on easy chances,” he starts rambling, watching the smile grow on your face. You never were really too into hockey, but for some reason, you were the person he loved to talk about it with. And you loved to listen to him. You two could be driving around the middle of nowhere back home, and he would be rambling on and on about the game he had the other day. Nothing could make you happier than sitting there with him and listening to him talk about something he was so passionate about.

Now that you think about it as he continues to ramble, you couldn’t remember the last time you were that happy with someone than when you would just do nothing with Mat. Sure, you only dated for a short amount of time, but were you happier with him than you were with Kyle, or were you just younger and more naive?

You end up getting lost thinking about what your life would have been like if you and Mat had stayed together if he hadn’t moved for hockey. Or would you have stayed together despite his move? Would you end up in New York regardless of a job if it meant being here with him? No. No. You were with Kyle. Not only were you with Kyle, but you were also engaged to Kyle.

“But I’m here with some of the guys, actually. I think you would like them,” he says, gesturing over to two of the boys already making their way over to the stools you two were taking up. “This is Anthony and Kieffer.”

“Oh, wait, you’re the one Mat met when you guys played for Team Canada, what was it, U19s or something?” you ask the one with curly hair.

“No, actually, that was me,” the other one says, “That one is Kieffer.”

“Sorry,” you apologize as they take seats on either side of you and Mat. The two of them start bombarding you with questions about your life, almost as if they already knew what to ask you before they even met you.

“So what was Mat like when he was younger?”

“What brought you to New York?”

“Where do you work?”

“Do you like it better here or in Vancouver?”

“Did you come here alone?”

Before you could answer the last one, Anthony groans, starting to mumble something under his breath that you can’t make out while he digs through his pockets. He whips out his phone, handing it to Matthew, “Satan somehow managed to get my number, and I’m not going to deal with it.”

“Let it ring. I don’t have to answer to him,” Mat says, crossing his arms as Tito continues to shove the phone at him.

“No. You are going to answer him. Because Paxton has called me eight times and you’ve only been sitting here for an hour. So answer him,” he insists, almost talking down to Mat.

He slides to answer the phone, holding it to Mat’s ear even if he refuses to hold it himself. “Hello?” Mat finally says, taking the phone from him, “I didn’t even know his name was Paxton,” he says to you three before walking off to somewhere else.

“Should I be worried that you know someone who you equate to Satan?” you ask, looking back and forth between Anthony and Kieffer.

They both roll their eyes, you not able to tell if they were rolling their eyes at the idea of the person they were talking about or at the question you asked.

“His girlfriend is this model and Paxton is her agent,” Kieffer starts to explain, only to be cut off by Anthony.

“No, Mona and Mat just use each other as arm candy and Paxton harasses Mat into going places with Mona so she ‘can be seen,’” he says, using air quotes around that last part. “If you ask me, they’re no boyfriend and girlfriend than he and I are.”

“You’re right since you would be boyfriend and boyfriend and the entire team knows that if you were gay that you would probably date Mat, anyway,” Kieffer says, raising his glass to Tito.

The two toast each other in front of your face, you having no idea what they were even talking about. “He’s an attractive man. That jawline? I would only be so lucky,” Anthony says.

“Don’t forget the Disney prince hair.”

“And the eyebrows,” the two joke, watching in awe at the interaction. “But, Y/N, tell us about your fiance?”

“Oh, Mat told you I was engaged?” you ask, trying to remember if you even told them in the first place.

“Uh, no, the rock on your finger did.”

You look down at your left hand, forgetting that you even had the ring on the first place. Part of you wanted to take it off as your face turned red with embarrassment. You were debating on even wearing the ring out in the first place. “Oh, right. Uh, his name is Kyle, we got together during the last year of high school and we’ve been together since. Mat knows him, too,” you explain, the boys looking at each other instead of you.

Even they could tell something wasn’t quite right as you played with the ring, slipping it up and down your finger as if to take if off altogether. “Well, let’s see him,” Kieffer insists.

You pull out your phone, trying to think of where your most recent photo with him was. When was the last time you even took a photo together? Your engagement was done privately and in the spur of the moment, you weren’t one to get your picture taken to begin with, and when you wanted to be in a photo, Kyle was almost never there. Finally finding one from back when you were in college, you show the boys. It was the night of your birthday, which one, you couldn’t even remember. Kyle was hugging you from behind, beaming at the camera, while you were looking off to the side, smiling. You don’t even remember what it was that you were looking at, but you know it wasn’t because of Kyle.

The two boys look between each other and the photo. Something seems off about you and Kyle together. It was almost like he was just a filler in your life, even though they were just looking at a picture of a guy they had never met. They both know what the other was thinking: you looked more comfortable with Mat than you did with Kyle.

“Mona, I told you, I’m out with the guys right now. I’m not dropped everything to leave them and be with you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, goodnight,” Mat finally comes back, practically throwing the phone at Anthony out of frustration. The vein on his neck was beginning to pop out, something you hadn’t seen in ages since he got thrown out of a game when you were younger for checking a kid when he was tripped and accidentally hit him. “God, I hate talking to her.”

“Dump. Her,” Tito insists. That was becoming his catchphrase, he said it so often.

“Stop. Saying. That.”

“It might not be my place,” you start, “But I’ve known you since we were, what, five? You’ve never been happy around people you can’t figure out how to talk to. If you can’t talk to your girlfriend, then,” you stop, trying to figure out if you should put it as bluntly as Anthony did, “you should probably reevaluate the relationship.”

The bartender comes up to Mat, asking him if he wanted a refill, “Uh, sure, another beer for the three of us, and a rum and coke for you?” he asks, pointing to you.

“That’s my go-to order, how did you know that?”

Mat shrugs, the look on his face telling you that he was asking himself the same thing. “It just seems like the kind of drink you would order. You would get a coke every time we would go out for food. And every time you would say something about how you want to stop drinking so much soda because of how much sugar was in it, and that you were eventually going to switch to tea, and then to water, and part of me thinks you never did, knowing you,” the smile returning to his face as he realizes how he knew.

You probably told Kyle the same thing a hundred times, too. But every time he tries to order a drink for you, he always forgets that even drink soda, and ends up getting you some weird fruity drink on the menu that he always says you’ll enjoy, even though you hate fruity drinks. Why does Mat remember something from so long ago?

-------

“So, how was your conversation with Mona yesterday”? Tito asks once he and Mat were back in their locker room after practice.

“She whined, she complained, Paxton left a five and a half minute voice mail that ended with, ‘if you go out without Mona when she tells you she wants to go out, you are no longer her boyfriend.’ I didn’t even know the man’s name until last night and now he’s telling me that he decides that I’m not her boyfriend,” Mat tells him, not really in the mood to explain much more. Somehow, one of Mona’s friends saw Mat with you last night and took a picture of the two of you sitting at the bar, which provoked the phone call to Tito in the first place. No matter how many times he told her you were just a friend from home, she didn’t believe him. Especially once she found an old Instagram photo from when you were together that you never took down with some sappy caption about how much you liked Mat. Apparently, it wasn’t good for Mona’s ‘image’ for her boyfriend to be seen at a bar with another girl, no matter who she was.

“You already know that I’m going to tell you to dump her.”

“Who, Mona. Yeah, break up with her,” Kieffer comes over and joins the conversation.

“Yep, sure,” Mat says, sarcastically as if he would actually do that right now. Like he told Tito the other day, he’s not going to do that; it’s just for fun right now, even if it was turning into more work than anything.

“What about Y/N, haven’t you been texting her since she left the bar with her friends?” Tito asks.

“What about her?”

“She’s the wife,” Tito says, as if it were obvious.

“No, she’s Kyle’s fiance.”

“No, remember how I told you to look for your wife? Stop fooling around with Mona? Y/N is your wife.”

Mat rolls his eyes. You were already engaged. The guy uprooted his entire life for you. There was no way that was going to end unless he majorly messed up somehow. “No, she’s not.”

Kieffer looks at Tito getting giddy at the idea of you and Mat ending up together. “Ok, we can ignore him,” he says, pushing himself between Mat and Tito, “I wouldn’t go as far as saying wife, but there was definitely something there. She was very different talking to you compared to when she was talking to Kyle. Even the photos of them compared to the one we found of you two were worlds apart.” Mat tries to remember them even talking about Kyle. They must have done it when he was talking to Mona, which means they’re seeing something he’s not.

“Ok, sit down. We’re having a serious conversation and I’m tired from practice,” Kieffer says, pulling Tito and Mat down to the floor with him, the rest of the guys still mulling around them, trying to get in the zone for their game tomorrow night. Another loss would not bode well for anyone, at this point. “Do you love Mona?”

“No,” Mat responds, Tito muttering ‘thank god’ under his breath. It wasn’t even something Mat needed to think about; he knew he didn’t love Mona.

“Do you see yourself falling in love with her?”

Mat hesitates, even though he already knows the answer, “Probably not.”

“Did you love Y/N?”

“Yeah,” he admits, again without hesitation. Part of him was convinced that you were the only thing he loved beside hockey.

“Do you still love her?”

Mat looks between Kieffer and his hands which are suddenly shaking. He remembers falling in love with you; from your laugh to the way you fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous, how you get lost in the book you’re reading and get absorbed in the world of the story so much so that the world around you almost doesn’t exist, that the two of you have the same favorite ice cream flavor, your favorite pair of shoes growing up was your converse, and how you nearly killed him when he spilled paint on them during art class when you were 10, so he saved up his money to buy you two new pairs in case he got paint on a pair again. But did he ever actually fall out of love with you?

“I might.”

-------------

You wake up to the sun shining into your room, Kyle sitting up scrolling through Twitter on his phone, and a cup of coffee already on your bedside table, hopefully, made just the way you liked it. “Good morning, beautiful, Kyle says, pulling you in for a kiss once he realizes you’re away. “I have an idea.”

“Ideas already?” you ask, taking a sip of the coffee. Way too much sugar, but he had gone through the trouble of making in the first place, so you just had to grin and bear it.

“Why don’t we go into the city and explore? We finished unpacking everything yesterday so what else were we going to do? We could do Central Park and have a picnic there and be all sappy like you love to be,” he suggests, starting to get out of bed.

You were thankful his back was facing you, since you definitely made a face when he said you loved being sappy. You were pretty against PDA, something he knew pretty well. At most, you would tolerate holding his hand or kissing his cheek, but anything more romantic you never wanted to do. He was trying to do something sweet, though, so it was the thought that counts, right?

“I love that idea,” you tell him, starting to get ready.

“Oh, you never told me how the other night went when you were out with the girls,” Kyle calls from the bathroom.

“Uh it was fun,” you call. Do you tell him about Mat now, or not at all? You two had been texting pretty much nonstop since that night. You picked up pretty much where you left off all those years ago, but it was almost like no time had passed at all.

Kyle doesn’t even give you the chance to say anything else, he just starts talking about god only knows what. You couldn’t even pay attention to him, your mind wandering as Mat sent you another text before he went off to practice. There was nothing going on between you and Mat. But why did you have to tell yourself that in the first place? And why did your heart flutter every time his name popped up on your screen?

You had to admit, Kyle had the right idea. He packed a picnic for you, which you were now unpacking in the middle of Central Park. Around you, families were playing, college students were throwing a frisbee, people were going for runs, there were people lying on the grass reading. New York was such a chaotic city, but you loved it. It was a welcome change of pace from what you had grown up with in Vancouver.

Your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your admiration of the people around you. Kyle catches a glimpse of the contact. “Mat Barzal? Like your ex Mat Barzal?”

“Yeah, I met him at the bar the other night. I thought I told you,” you lie, knowing that you didn’t as you answer his text. You can’t help but smile at what he sent, obviously upsetting Kyle.

“No. You didn’t.” His tone had changed from the cheery one it was in the morning to ice cold. No one would be happy that their fiance was suddenly back in contact with their ex, so you understood why. But it was Mat. You hadn’t seen him in years.

“He’s just a friend. He’s someone we both know from home, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him everyone once in a while.”

“Why not invite him out with us tonight?” Kyle suggests, his cheeks red as he looks at his food and not you.

“We were going out tonight?”

“I mean, yeah, why not. You’re right. He’s a familiar face in a foreign city. It wouldn’t hurt to know someone.”

“Are you sure?” Kyle’s tone suggested that he wasn’t. None of his body language matched what he said he wanted. He nods, even though he doesn’t want to. You text Mat, asking him to go out with you and Kyle that night. You already knew it was going to be a bad idea. “He said sure,” you tell Kyle once Mat responds.

“Want to hand me the dessert?” Kyle asks.

“Sure,” you say, digging around in the bag, not really knowing what to be looking for. You find a bag of cookies, “These?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind are they?” you ask him, handing them to him.

He opens the bag, the smell hitting you immediately. “Your favorite: peanut butter chocolate chip.”

“Kyle, what do you mean?” you squeal, pretty much jumping up from the blanket, “I’m allergic to peanut butter, put those away!” How could he forget something like that?

-------

Mat couldn’t believe when you had texted him inviting him to dinner, especially since he couldn’t stop thinking about taking you out as it was. What shocked him even more was when you told him Kyle was going to be there, too. You told him to meet you at seven, and it was 7:07, him running not too late, but late enough that he was frazzled.

He finally makes his way to the restaurant, finding you immediately. Something about seeing you calmed his nerves, but seeing you with Kyle made him frantic again. You and Kyle were sitting on separate sides, neither of you talking to each other but looking at your phones instead. As soon as you made eye contact with him, Mat could feel his breath stop. He never did stop loving you, even though he didn’t tell Tito and Kieffer. Seeing you with your fiance did not sit right. All he could do was be your friend.

“Hi, I’m so sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, slipping into the seat next to you.

“No, it’s fine,” you say, at the same time as Kyle saying, “I guess with an NHL salary you couldn’t afford a better watch, eh?”

“Kyle!” you scoff. You knew this was a bad idea, and already, Mat regretted saying yes.

“It was just a joke,” he shrugs, not looking up from his phone.

You mouth, ‘I’m sorry’ to Mat, him just shaking it off. He tries to make conversation with Kyle, but with no success. Every time he asked Kyle a question, Kyle responded with a short, one-worded answer. He never looked up from his food or his phone, he didn’t so much as look at you or Mat in the eye during the conversation. At one point, you and Mat just pick up the conversation you were having the entire day.

“Excuse me, sweetie,” an older couple comes up to your table, “We just wanted to say how cute you and your fiance are,” she motions between you and Mat. You both try to open your mouth to protest, but they leave before you can correct her.

“Great,” Kyle says, throwing his napkin on the table and getting up to leave. You don’t know if he intended on going home, but frankly, you would rather leave without him. You didn’t feel like having a fight with him in the Uber anyway.

“Shouldn’t you go after him?” Mat asks, shocked that you were even still sitting next to him.

“I don’t really want to,” you admit, staring at your plate of food. “Plus, we invited you out, I’m not going to leave you with the bill.”

He sits there, studying your face. He can see the tears start to form in your eyes, you fidgeting with your ring again, sliding it up and down your finger as if you wanted to take it off right there. “If you stuck me with the bill, I would just Venmo request you for twice what it came out to be,” he jokes, hoping to lighten the mood at least a little.

You laugh, shaking your head at him. “Yeah, we both know with that NHL salary that you can’t even afford a watch.” The two of you sit in silence for a moment, you debating on asking him what you wanted to. Mat wanted to ask you why you were with Kyle in the first place. Why would you be with a guy who acted like that in front of an old friend? Ex or not, you should still be civil. “Do you remember what kind of cookies I liked?” you ask him, praying that he wouldn’t.

But of course, he did. “Store-bought, you love those Keebler chocolate chip ones with the M&M’s. But homemade?” he stops, trying to wrack his brain to remember, “You used to love those sugar cookies that my mom made. Remember with the homemade icing? She told me that when you graduated from high school and from college that she made them for your parties, and that she had to make an extra batch just for you because she knew that you would eat them all yourself.”

“How do you even remember that?” you ask him, smiling.

“How could I not? I’m pretty sure those cookies are the only reason you were friends with me in the first place. But she always made sure to scrub the kitchen and everything she used before making them because my sister used to make those peanut butter cookies a lot and she didn’t want to risk you having any sort of allergic reaction.”

You can’t help but smile, but you can’t look him in the eye. Why were you with Kyle?

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagines #mathew barzal #mathew barzal imagine #new york islanders #new york islanders imagines #hockey #hockey imagines #nhl #nhl imagines

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thegirlfromoverthepond · 5 years ago

Text

Fire Is Catching

Once upon a time, I decided to join the list of contributors for @fandomforoz. The ever generous @justajjfan made me the honor to “buy” a story from me.

At her request, here is Everlark in Paris, with a bit of museum, and a bit of fire.

This fic would be nothing without the help I got from @xerxia31 for her awesome beta skills as well as for her help with the image :) Thank you my friend for making everything better.

Katniss was late.

Katniss was never late.

It had become their weekly Monday routine, to meet in the Grande Galerie. Peeta would show her a painting, or a piece of art he particularly liked, or she would take him to the hidden places of the Louvre only a few people knew. She had the keys to all the rooms, knew all the secret stairs, her nightly routine taking her throughout the whole museum.

She was one of the firefighters whose place of work was the most beautiful museum in the world, yet she had almost no knowledge of art.

She had laughed at the Joconde, wondering aloud why people would line up to take a picture with her.

“Look at her,” she had told him. “She isn’t even beautiful. Why do people make such a fuss about her ?”

Peeta had moved towards the painting. It was such a privilege to be able to approach such a masterpiece so closely, without anyone around.

“For today’s tastes, she’s not special. But for Italian Renaissance she was everything. The thing is, it’s all in the eyes and the smile. If you look at her while moving, it’s like she follows you. Try it, Katniss.”

He had smiled when he had seen Katniss cautiously walking around the painting, staring at Mona Lisa, while he could see the astonishment in her features.

“And if you look at her, you’ll see her mouth will fall and turn from a smiling face to a sad one.”

To this day, Peeta still remembered how Katniss’s face had shifted from disbelief to admiration, from curiosity to understanding.

The memory brought him back to reality. Katniss was late. He hoped everything was okay, that the strange sensation he was currently feeling in his stomach was nothing to be worried about.

Yet…

The sound of the sirens brought him to the large, beautiful windows. On the street, dozens of fire trucks were speeding towards the Pont-Neuf with their lights flashing. A few seconds later, another convoy of trucks passed by, again at full speed, heading in the same direction.

Something was going on. Something bad.

He tried not to think of the last time he had seen so many fire trucks, but he took his phone out anyways. He needed to know.

The news had already made the headlines.

Notre Dame is on fire.

Five little words that took the wind out of him.

Peeta had to reread the short sentence several times to be certain he understood it.

Notre Dame, the masterpiece of all cathedrals, the most elegant building of all of the city of light was on fire.

He felt his knees starting to buckle under him, had to lean onto the wall to support himself.

Notre Dame was on fire.

A treasure born in the 12th century, proof of the genius of the men who built it, a splendid building with treasures inside, with unparalleled elegance and grace.

Notre Dame was on fire.

Peeta read that firefighters from all over Paris and the suburbs had been called to join the fight, to try to save the building, the treasures, the stained glass.

The stained glass he wanted to show Katniss one day.

Katniss … As her name entered his mind, he realized what had happened.

With trembling hands, he dialled the internal number nobody ever wanted to use. The one that would reach the team of firefighters of the Louvre.

“Thresh.”

“Hey Thresh, it’s Peeta, Peeta Mellark, from the -”

“The guys from the paintings, I know you. Sorry but Katniss isn’t here tonight.”

“How do - “ Peeta started before realizing with the amount of cameras in the museum, their private visits maybe weren’t that private.

“She’s at the fire. She volunteered.” Thresh answered the question Peeta hadn’t dared ask.

Peeta closed his eyes.

Of course she had volunteered to go. He hung up, not caring anymore what Thresh had to say. Surely something like ‘it would be too dangerous to go’, or that she wouldn’t be able to see or answer him anyway.

The words were lost in a haze.

Peeta ran through the corridors of the museum, for once never stopping to look at the paintings lining the majestic walls, not even taking the time to stop by his office to grab his jacket.

He had walked the Rue de Rivoli so many times, looking at the lovely shape of the windows, the imposing stature of the former kings’ palace, or taking a detour through the Place Vendome, savouring the pleasure of the architecture. This day, though, he ran the whole length of the so long street, ignoring the other pedestrians, running until he reached the Place de la Concorde.

That’s where he spotted the column of smoke for the first time.

From behind the two towers of the building, elegant against the blue sky as always, a dark cloud of smoke was rising, threatening the wooden spire.

Peeta stopped, his breath taken away by the sad sight in front of him.

Something deeper, though, made him start running again. A litany, in his head. Katniss is there, she’s at the fire. Katniss is there, she’s at the fire playing in loop, over and over, with the rhythm of his feet on the pavement.

He couldn’t tell how he managed to get so close to the building, despite the amount of people who rallied towards the cathedral, so close he could almost touch the fire trucks. Yet, instead of looking at the cathedral, he could only focus on the men and women working with their heavy PPE, focusing on the small ones, so he could try to spot who he was looking for. Katniss.

As the day melted into the night, as the spire of the cathedral fell, as people on the perimeter sang, Peeta grew worried.

There were just too many things.

Too many flames licking the heavy stones of the cathedral.

Too many columns of smoke escaping through the stained glass or the open arches of the building.

Too many litres of water that seemed to do nothing to extinguish the fire.

Too many people rushing around, carrying the heavy material, doing their best to save the cultural heritage of the building.

Peeta never thought that one day he would see stone burning. Never thought it would be possible.

He never stopped looking for Katniss whenever he caught sight of a slender frame.

There were just so many firefighters, so many of them running around, connecting fire hoses to the trucks, or to the boats that were pumping water directly from the Seine.

He finally caught sight of her, when she took her helmet off, her braid falling down on her fire jacket, black against red.

He could see the exhaustion radiating off of her when she sat down on the pavement, her head hanging between her hands, shoulders slumped.

“Katniss!” he shouted, hoping his voice would carry over the wind, over the noise of the sirens, over the crowd chanting hallelujahs and ave marias. He thought he saw her turn her head towards him, before she turned back to the tall and lanky man in front of her. It was only a matter of seconds before she was back on her feet, hauling her equipment on her back, as if she were getting ready to dive back into the fire.

She was walking towards the entrance of the cathedral.

“NOOOOOO”

He couldn’t let her go there, couldn’t let her enter a building on fire - yet he wasn’t able to cross the barriers and the policemen blocking the access.

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing.

He felt what heartbreak meant that instant. His soul was torn, his body ached to be close to her.

He had no idea his feelings for her were so strong. So pure. So deep.

He had no idea he even had feelings for her, prior to seeing her entering this burning cathedral of stone.

Now it felt like his heart was breaking into pieces.

After what felt like an eternity, he spotted firemen coming out of the building, heavily loaded with what seemed to be paintings and small statues, stopping only to drink some water before diving back into the furnace.

It was a never ending cycle, in and out of the fire to the hymns of the people who had spontaneously gathered around the cathedral, needing to see what was happening with their own eyes.

To Peeta it was endlessly terrifying when he spotted the familiar silhouette coming in and out, again and again.

The cries of the crowd turned his attention towards the building, towards the flames that could be seen above the two towers, so high in the sky.

The forest was burning.

The 1300 oak trees from the 13th century that made the framing of the cathedral were burning to ashes.

Loud cracks could be heard, even from a distance.

Not loud enough to mask the sounds of the ambulances coming near the building.

It took hours and hours of relentless battle, thousands of tons of water, hundreds of firefighters who fought until the very last minutes of the night to extinguish the fire.

As dawn started to rise, as the sun made its lazy ascent, the fire was out.

The cathedral was still standing.

Burnt, injured, but still standing.

Torn, empty, dirty, but still standing.

Peeta couldn’t believe his eyes as the cathedral remained firmly in place, beaten but not broken.

He saw the Paris firefighters taking off their PPE. Exhaustion was written on their faces, along with something else … pride.

He heard the crowd cheering, the bells of the other Parisian churches ringing, yet he couldn’t join them for now. His eyes were scanning the faces of the men and women who had spent their night fighting against the fire.

Until he saw her.

“Katniss!!!” He shouted in the hopes of being heard, over the shouts and prayers, over the sirens and the water still being thrown on the cathedral.

He thought she couldn’t hear him, until he saw her move her head, as if searching for someone. He felt her eyes pass over him, then saw the perfect moment when she realized he was there.

He hoped the smile that graced her face was for him. He really hoped.

Then she was running towards him, leaving her PPE behind, the loud stomping of her boot clad feet echoing on the pavement. In no time, she was at the barrier, jumping over it just in front of Peeta, ignoring the shouts of the policemen around.

She was in his arms the next second.

April 15th 2020.

He checked the time on his watch, smiling.

Katniss was never late, he knew that. That day, though he was a bit more nervous than usual, was a bit unsure of how the day would go.

He finally saw her, looking even more beautiful with every day he had the chance to spend with her.

“Sorry! I was with Prim, she’s the one who insisted on the beret!” She pointed to the little hat she had on her head, that she was wearing a bit on the side like most Parisian women did. In his opinion, it was a game of equilibrium on how they never fell. He was just happy she had left her hair down, as he had every intention of having his hands tanngle in her locks later that day.

“She was right. You are cute.” Peeta grabbed her hand as they started strolling along the quays of the Seine, one of their favorite walks. For once, they were both off work on the same day of the week, something quite rare with their schedules. The Louvre was open every day but Tuesday, yet there was still so much to do in the museum besides ensuring it didn’t catch fire for Katniss.

She had to go through training on how to save the masterpieces displayed, to prioritize which ones to save in case of a fire (which led to a lot of disagreements from Peeta who clearly didn’t agree with the choices of the firefighters), or simply memorizing the museum’s rooms.

Even the small alcove they both had started to visit, trying to find a bit of intimacy out of the eyes of the security cameras. They still both blushed when they remembered the comment from Thresh, about the arrow tattoo Katniss had on her left hip.

They had kept their private sessions to just making out from then on.

(Even though they never walked through the Egyptian Department without thinking of that time Peeta made her cum next to the statue of Amon).

He was brought back to reality when she slapped his arm at his comment.

“I do not look cute!” She scowled, but he could see the spark in her eyes. He knew better, knew she liked his compliments.

“If you say so, Love, if you say so. You ready for a session with Monet?”

“Monet, Monet, Monet, must be funny, in a rich man’s world….”

“Katniss ….” he sighed, trying to prevent the smirk he could feel forming on his lips.

“What? You can’t go wrong with ABBA!” She laughed, making his heart grow even bigger.

Before their first kiss on a sad April morning, a kiss of tears and ashes, Peeta had never thought he could be able to love so much, so fiercely, so deeply, and yet feel so free.

“Where are we going? Orsay is the other way?” Katniss asked, looking around them. “We’re not going to see your painter friends?”

“Surprise, Love, surprise.”

“You know I hate surprises.”

“Yup.”

“Yet you keep on planning them.”

“Yup.”

“You’re irritating.”

“And you love me for that.”

“No, I don’t love you for that.”

When Katniss spoke those words, Peeta felt his heart break a little.

Sure, she had never told him she loved him in such terms, rather shown him in so many different ways …

“Sit down with me…” he hadn’t realized that she was now sitting on the quay, her hand held out for him to take it. He hoped he was able to conceal how much he was hurting at the moment.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Peeta. That I have wanted to tell you for some time now..”

He could feel the cool pavement under the fabric of his jeans. It felt like cold was spreading inside of him. Katniss wasn’t even looking at him, her head turned towards the other bank of the Seine, facing away.

He saw her take a deep breath before she turned to him, before her hand went to his head, cradling it in her warm palm.

He was sure the killing blow, the coup de grâce was coming.

“Peeta, look at me…” Her voice was soft as the wind, light as a feather. He mustered all the strength he had in him before raising his eyes, before blue met grey. She had the most fascinating eyes he had ever seen. That would never change.

“Peeta, you keep calling me ‘Love’…” He closed his eyes, willing the tears to fade away, wishing for the heartbreak to stop. “Nobody’s called me ‘Love’ before. I’ve been… damn, this is hard!”

This was hard? He couldn’t believe his ears.

He was opening his mouth to tell her to go for the kill directly when she put her hand on his lips.

“Don’t, Peeta. This is something I have to do. For me, for you… for us.” He could feel her fingers shaking as she took a deep breath.

”You took me by surprise, Peeta. I never thought I would… feel so much. At first I blamed it on the fire, on the pain that it brought us, you, that it brought me. It was so awful being inside the cathedral, seeing all this stone being eaten by the fire. I thought something inside me had broken… and then I saw you… you’d been waiting for me all night. All night. And I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what was happening inside me then. Didn’t know the effect you’d have on me, Peeta.”

She turned to look at the water, letting her hand fall from his face before she continued.

“I never thought I had so much joy in me, how the little things could become so important. How a single person could have such an impact on me. How three words could make my heart grow so big I thought it would explode.”

Peeta listened, as she went on. It felt like he was living a dream.

“You call me courageous and strong, Peeta. You rave about how you’re impressed when I run into a fire, on how strong I am. Yet, I am not strong enough to say these three words, even though I want to. I’ve wanted to tell you them since the day you told me… Why is it so hard?”

She turned to him, her eyes shining.

He felt something blossoming inside of him. He knew it was love, spreading its wings. Peeta moved closer to Katniss, taking her hand in his.

“It’s hard, because once you say it, it becomes real. The question is… Do you want it to be real?”

She nodded. He went on.

“You don’t have to shout them. You can whisper them in my ear if you want…”

She smiled, and her smile was brighter than the sun. She seemed to hesitate for a second, before leaning into him. He felt her breath on his neck, on his jaw as well as the kisses she left there., Her hair tickled him. It was not enough, yet it was too much at the same time. He wanted to take her lips with his, wanted to ravish her mouth, wanted to take her to his place where they would make love until the early hours of the morning, wanted her.

He knew though that it would have to wait a few seconds. Because Katniss was about to give him the gift he hadn’t dared wish for.

He felt her take a small breath, before the words were spoken softly, for his ears only.

“I love you.”

Something exploded inside of him. It felt like he could achieve anything.

The only thing he wanted to do in that moment though was to kiss her until they ran out of breath.

So he did it.

When the bells of Notre-Dame rang for the first time in a year, they were still kissing.

#fandomforoz #Everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #justajjfan #things I write #hunger games #the hunger games #AU #Hunger games fanfiction

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dancingboba · 4 years ago

Text

Promise

Request from @shondideaira-blog (thank you for sending this, sorry it took a while, but hope you enjoy it!). A one-shot where instead of Mona, Ellie got shot by Jason at the final chapters of the book.

Colt x MC

Warnings: Angst, Gunshot, Swearing

Wordcount: 2166

Summary: Ellie gets shot and Colt goes through a whirlwind of emotions.

He moved the same time as Mona did, leaping from his position and willing his legs to pick up as much as speed as humanly possible to get to her.

It all happened within a span of a few seconds as Mona tackled Jason from the side and knocked him onto the ground. The stretch of distance between him and her, all of a sudden, felt like miles longer and everything played out in slow motion in front of his eyes as Jason wrestled his arm away from Mona and hooked a finger around the trigger, squeezing a deafening bang that made his heart stop.

He swore he could even see the bullet shooting out from the barrel, its cone-shaped head slicing and whizzing through the air before it pierced through her skin and flesh.

“Ellie!”

This can’t be fucking happening.

The universe couldn’t possibly be this unfair and cruel to him. He had barely recovered from the horrors of witnessing her car crashing and tumbling airborne until it slammed down onto the asphalt upside down. Now this...it was all too much.

By the time he reached her, she had collapsed onto the ground, hand clutching at her abdomen where a red stain was quickly spreading through her shirt.

“C-Colt...I...he...” her eyes were wide in shock, panting and gasping in pain.

“Fuck. Fuck, Ellie, you got shot.” he immediately dropped to his knees beside her and pressed his hand over her wound, a wave of nausea hitting him as her blood seeped through the gaps between his fingers, slicking all over the back of his hand.

For the first time since his Pops died, revenge wasn’t the first thing on his mind. No matter how much rage was boiling inside of him, the rapid rounds of gun shots behind him faded into mere background noises as he focused on her. She’s all that mattered to him, nothing else.

A knot twisted painfully in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the pretty face that unknowingly stole his heart now marked with scars and bruises, the usual smiley face replaced with a look of terror, the stretch of smooth skin he used to place his lips and fingers now tainted with a hole gushing out red.

“You’re going to be okay, El. You’re going to be okay.” he mumbled, words that were meant to comfort her but needed for himself as reassurance either.

Judging by the sound of skidding tires and the empty click of the gun, Jason had escaped. Part of him wished Mona managed to shoot him dead, ideally a slow excruciating pain as payback for everything he’s done.

“Oh my god. Sweetie, are you okay?” Ximena came bursting through the building doors, followed by Toby, both rushing to her side to check on her. Meanwhile, Logan was explaining to Mona the rest of the plan when the wail of sirens cut through the air.

“The cops are almost here. Go guys, go!” Ellie said weakly, her breathing growing heavy and laborous.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, trying his best to stay calm. “Fuck the cops. We need to get you to the hospital.”

“I’ll distract them.” Logan volunteered, both Toby and Ximena immediately chimed in to help as well, ensuring all routes would be covered so that the route to the hospital would be clear without any cops tailing.

“Take my car,” Mona offered at last, her arm outstretched towards him with her car keys dangling in between her fingers. “Go take her safely to the hospital. I’ll get your bike there.”

He hesitated for a second, eyeing at Mona dubiously, the image of her chasing down Ellie’s car alongside with the Brotherhood still burning behind his eyes, the betrayal still stinging him.

“Come on, we don’t have time to waste!” Mona urged, as if reading his mind. “I get you don’t trust me but you know I care about her too!”

He knew she’s right.

He snatched the keys off her hand and tossed her his keys in exchange without further questions, scooping Ellie into his arms and carried her into Mona’s car, slamming down hard at the accelerator and sped through the city.

“I’m going to kill him...no, all of them.”

“Colt—”

“He. Fucking. Shot. You.” he bellowed, rage and pain dripping from his every word, knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip at the steering wheel, clenching so hard that he thought, for a split-second, that he might have caused a dent if that’s even possible.

“Colt.” Ellie rested her free hand on his shoulder, and miraculously, the anger instantly dissipated, the fists clenched on the wheel immediately relaxed a little, the comfortable touch of her hand on him somehow anchored him from the growing self-destructive rage.

How funny, he thought, that she was the one calming him when he should be the one comforting her.

He took a couple of deep breaths and squeezed her hand, lifting it to his lips to press a gentle kiss at the back of her hand. “Hang in there, El. You’re going to make it.”

***

She insisted in walking into the ER herself, refusing to put him into any risk of getting caught. He tried to argue, but he knew from the stubbornness and determination in her eyes that he won’t win this one no matter how hard he tried.

So he could only reassure her (and himself) one last time that everything’s going to be okay, giving her one last desperate kiss, before watching her limp towards the hospital until her petite frame disappeared behind the sliding doors.

His hands shook the entire time, a tornado of emotions eating him up on the inside that’s becoming too overwhelming to bear.

The familiar sound of his Cavalieri Novanta approached, a soothing rumble saving him from drowning deeper into a blackhole of emotions. As promised, Mona had brought his motorcycle to the hospital for him.

“How is she?”

"She wouldn’t let me go in with her.”

“That’s probably smart.” Mona hummed and climbed off his bike. “You were going to take the bullet for her.”

“She’d be worth it.” he replied, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and eyes staring down at his feet, hoping to hide any trace of distraught on his face. “I was still too fucking late though.”

“He said he wouldn’t hurt her...” she trailed off. Colt glanced up and wondered if that’s guilt he caught in her eyes.

"Well yeah, you shouldn’t have trusted that prick.” he bumped past her shoulder to get to his bike.

“Hey, Kaneko?” he paused for one moment and turned over his shoulder to acknowledge her. “Always watch your back.”

He nodded in response and slipped his visor down, gunning his bike away into the night with a roar.

The exhilarating feeling of speed coursing through his body helped a little in distracting his emotions. It was late enough in the dead of the night for him to gun down the road freely, turning up his engine to maximize his horsepower and pushing his bike to its speed limits.

Frustration seeped in. He wondered if things could’ve gone differently, if there was anything he could’ve done differently to save her or prevented any of this to happen in the first place.

Eventually, he slowed down to an uphill viewpoint at Ladera Heights, the quiet residential street dimly illuminated by a few street lamps in front of his eyes.

He wasn’t alone.

Logan was there too, shrouded in the shadows behind a tree, eyes trained at one particular house surrounded by flashing cop lights.

“You’re still here.”

“Had to make sure that bastard get taken away.” Logan replied and a silent understanding passed between the two. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah.”

“She’ll live.”

“I know.”

Just then, the doors of the house swung open, with Jason being dragged out of the house in handcuffs by FBI agents.

Colt clenched his fists at his sides, trying to contain the loathe and fury that were rapidly building inside of him. That man had been responsible for hurting all the people he ever cared about, responsible for all the nightmares that he knew would come haunting him for years to come.

Detective Wheeler stepped outside of the house a minute later, phone pressed onto his ear. The distressed expression on his face could only mean he’d received the news of his daughter from the hospital.

It was damn satisfying to watch Detective Wheeler throwing a solid punch at Jason as soon as he got off the phone, hitting him square at the jaw, and again, drawing blood from the corner of his mouth.

Serves him right.

For one moment, they shared a smirk with each other, him and Logan, that one rare occasion where they actually agreed on something.

Logan left first, but he stayed and watched until each flashing red and blue faded into the darkness.

This one’s for you, Pops. And he’d never hurt you ever again, El.

***

Sneaking into the hospital was easier than he anticipated. He waited till he saw Detective Wheeler leave the hospital, making sure there’re no cops stationing around before he went in.

It took him a minute to locate her room but once he found her, the sight of her lying peacefully on the hospital bed sent him a wave of relief.

She’s fine, she’s alive.

He slipped into the room and quietly pulled a chair next to her bed, taking her hand into his, gently stroking the smooth skin of the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Colt?”

“Shit. Sorry, did I wake you?”

She propped herself up, briefly wincing, and glanced nervously around the room. “What are you doing here? What if the FBI —”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

“Weird.” she admitted. “But they took the bullet out and the doctors said everything looks good after the operation so I should be out soon.”

“Good.” He slid next to her on the hospital bed, eager to feel her physically close to him, seeking for the reassurance that she’s truly fine and okay.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, simply enjoying each other’s presence, and his whirlwind of emotions finally settled in.

“You could’ve died,” he croaked suddenly, breaking the silence in the room, voice broken as he buried his head into the crook of her neck. “I love you, El. I fucking love you and I don’t know what I would do if...if you...”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay now.”

“You’re all I have left, Ellie.” He pulled back to look at her, gazing deep into her eyes and baring all of his vulnerabilities in front of her.

“I promise I’m not going anywhere.” she said softly, doe eyes staring into his with sincerity before closing in the distance between them, capturing his lips with hers, pouring all her love and promise through the intimacy of their mouths moving against each other.

He’d learnt every single curve of her lips by heart, familiar with every sensation she pulled from him every time her lips touched his. But of course she still managed to surprise him. This kiss? It was stirring the rawest emotions and drawing a whole different level of intimacy that had him breaking down every last of his walls. Once again, he wondered what on earth had she done to him, reaching into the depths of his heart that he didn’t know existed himself.

When they broke away for air, his eyes were glossy from the pooling tears despite he’s not one who easily shed a tear, leave alone for a girl. But Ellie’s special, a girl who’d continuously done wonders to him. If he were going to cry for a girl, for anyone, it’s going to be for her.

“How are you supposed to keep your promise when you’re leaving LA as soon as you get out of here?” he asked half-jokingly, in attempt to distract himself enough to prevent his tears from falling.

“Knew you’d say that.” his lips tugged into a smirk at the way she rolled her eyes, the familiar feeling of their banter making his heart bloom. She playfully bumped her shoulder against his, “we’ll work something out. I promise.”

The possibilities of their future together played out in his mind. There’s no easy path for them, but he realized he would fight with all his efforts to be with her, moving mountains for her if need to because she’s all he’s got. She’s home, his anchor, his better half, and he needed her like she’s oxygen.

She squeezed his hand, eyes soft filled with affection. “We’ll make it work.” she said determinedly. “It’s you and me against the world, right?”

The knots finally untwisted in him. For the first time all night, things finally somewhat felt right. He looked at her amorously, a genuine smile slowly stretching across his features. “Yeah, you’re damn right.”

#long post #hope you like it #dancingboba tries to write #cw: police #cw: gun #colt kaneko #colt x mc #colt x ellie #i'm crap at involving more than two characters in one scene #colt kaneko x mc #ride or die: a bad boy romance #choices ride or die #choices rod #dancingboba #colt fanfic #colt kaneko x ellie wheeler

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archiveofprolbems · 4 years ago

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The Sounding Image: About the relationship between art and music—an art-historical retrospective view by Barbara John

Since the early days of Modernism, the interplay between art and music has given considerable impetus to the development of new art forms. [1] This essay will examine the pre-history of this modern synergy. In comparison with other contributions to Media Art Net, the historical framework here is considerably larger. This is justified by the nature of the subject matter: artificial images and sounds have been created since the dawn of human culture. Therefore it is quite right that many texts refer back to prehistory, or at least the ancient world. But a great deal remains speculative here, and often history is reinterpreted, or even written, from an entirely modern point of view.

The approach in this essay will be different. Theoretical statements by artists that have come down to us will be used to show, from a short review of Western culture, how this relationship, which began in very different conditions, changed over the centuries from an art-historical point of view and led to all the arts working together on an equal footing. The route will lead rapidly from antiquity and the Middles Ages to the transition from classical artistic techniques to the beginnings of media art.

Art and music - an unequal start

In the Christian West music was one of the seven free arts, the so-called artes liberales, whereas fine art was seen merely as a craft activity. [2] Music's high standing was based on the philosophy of Pythagoras, who explained musical theory in terms of mathematical laws that were interpreted cosmologically in the Middle Ages. With arithmetic, geometry and astrology, music made up a quadrumvirate working on a mathematical basis within the artes liberales, and it was allotted a special function as a hinge between microcosm and macrocosm.

But even Plato recognized a special connection between eye and sound. Synaesthesia (Greek: sharedsensitivity) has been an epistemological topic since the days of ancient philosophy. Since the Baroque era in particular is has also been an experimental field for inventors of machines and theoretical speculators, like Pater Castel, for example. But this essay will not deal with individual aspects so much as synaesthesia in its full cultural context.

Medieval sacred art and music

The Western roots of a direct interplay between art and music lie in Christian liturgy. [3] The structure of the church building as the place where mass is celebrated emphasizes the special significance of music through the choir, which is immediately adjacent to the altar. Music is an indispensable part of the celebration of mass, and the artistic decoration of the altar is essential for the ceremonial process. Ostentatious medieval piety required staging that appealed to all the senses, like a religious Gesamtkunstwerk: the act of worship climaxing in the raising of the host is accompanied by singing, incense and the glow of candles - with the altarpiece as a pictorial setting. The variety of artistic contributions ranges from the decoration of the musical instruments via the miniature painting in the hymnbooks to panel painting.

The liturgical order determined the content of the art and music programme. The fixed Christian festivals in the liturgical calendar do not determine the choice of liturgical singing alone, they also affect the iconography of the altarpiece. This applies particularlyto the worship of Mary and saints that was widespread in the Middle Ages. This led to an expansion of the iconography of Mary in panel painting, and in liturgy to an increasing number of hymns venerating the Mother of God, which were sung on the appropriate feast days. One especially striking example of saint-worship is the altar painting by the Cologne master Stephan Lochner for the altar of the Three Kings.

In contrast with the Latin hymns, which ordinary people did not understand, and the theological content of the altarpieces, which had to be explained to laymen, a much more vivid way of conveying religious messages developed with the rise of mysticism. Mystery plays, particularly the Easter Passion Plays, emerged from the 12th century, and proved a fertile field of activity for painters, sculptors and musicians. They stimulated new musical and pictorial compositions. Performances required musical accompaniment, and at the same time new ritual figures were designed, like for example the Passion ass for the Palm Sunday play and the sculpture of Mary to be raised in the nave for the feast of the Assumption. Both music and art helped to stage a popular spectacle with religious content.

Book-, wall- and panel-painting count as important pictorial evidence of the history of popular and instrumental music. But they were not intended simply to illustrate, but also to instruct. David with his harp, Salome's dance and the host of angels playing musical instruments are particularly familiar Biblical themes. [4] In secular images we find the singing troubadour, round dances or the personification of music.

Renaissance - the arts in competition

Social changes started in the late Middle Ages: painters, sculptors and architects began to be classed as artists. In the early days of the Renaissance, the arts started to compete with each other. Until then the fine arts had been subordinate to the artes liberales like music, but this was questioned by universally talented artists like Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472) and Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). One key reason was the discovery of central perspective. This led to a close link between art and mathematics, as artistic composition was now subject to mathematical rules.

Alberti and Leonardo studied perspective intensively, and demanded enhanced status for thefine arts in their writings, particularly in relation to music.

Alberti was principally concerned with the arts' competition between each other. He felt that painting should be allotted the highest status. As a humanistic scholar he insisted that painters should not just have artistic talent, but should also be taught all the free arts, above all geometry. In his theoretical treatise on painting «De Pictura» of 1435/36 he writes: «Hence painting enjoys such high esteem that its exponents, given the admiration accorded to their works, are almost inclined to think that they are to the greatest possible degree similar to God. And is it not further the case that painting should be deemed the teacher of all the other arts - or at least their outstanding adornment?" [5] And Alberti goes on to write: «So: this art gives pleasure, if it is cultivated; it ensures esteem, wealth and eternal fame only if it is so cultivated that it reaches a high standing, Given this - as painting turns our to be the best and most honourable adornment of all things, worthy of free men, beloved equally of the learned and the unlearned - I require all the more emphatically of youth that is eager to learn that they may turn their efforts towards painting, to the greatest feasible extent.» [6] Alberti, who rose to considerable fame as an architect in particular, applied musical numerical proportions to architectural construction. Famous examples are his designs for the churches of S. Francesco in Rimini (1453) and S. Andrea in Mantua (1470). [7]

Leonardo raised the argument to a higher plane. He doubted the superiority of the artes liberales as opposed to the fine arts. His exemplary comparison of art and music led to a demand that art should enjoy equal status. As a universal scholar, he was knowledgeable in all fields. It is said that Leonardo even designed musical instruments, for example a silver lyre in the shape of a horse's head for Prince Lodovico Sforza in Milan. He is also said to have been an outstanding musician. For his famous portrait of the Mona Lisa he arranged for music and singing during the sittings, to encourage the subject to look cheerful. [8] In his now famous treatise «Il Paragone», Leonardo wrote in detail about the relationship between painting and music: «If you say that the non-mechanical sciences are the intellectual ones, that I say thatpainting is intellectual and that it, just as music and geometry consider the relationship between the continuous quantities, and arithmetic the relationship between the discontinuous quantities, painting considers all continuous qualities of the relationship between light and shade and with perspective, those of distances.» [9] And further: «Music can be called nothing other than the sister of painting, as it is subject to hearing, as sense that comes after sight, and creates harmony by combining its well-proportioned and simultaneously appearing parts, though they are compelled to emerge and to fade away in a single or several tempos. These tempos enfold the wellfitting quality of the elements from which the harmony is composed, no differently from the way that the lines describe the elements of which the human beauty is composed. Painting towers over and dominates music, because it does not fade away immediately after it is created like unfortunate music, but, on the contrary, remains alive, and so something that in reality is nothing but a surface shows itself to be a living thing. Oh wondrous science, you keep the fragile beauty of mortal man alive, and it thus becomes more lasting than the works of nature, as these are subject to the remorseless changes of time, and of necessity become old. This science (painting) relates to the divine being as its works relate to the works of this being, and for his reason it is worshipped.» [10]

The particular significance of mathematics as a common basis for music and fine art was addressed above all in marquetry work. From the late 15th century, the wooden cladding of choir stalls and scholar's studies showed trompe-l'oeil-like still life compositions made up of mathematical instruments, musical instruments, books and views of architecture.

Artists vitae, like that of Giorgio Vasari, dating from the 16th century, repeatedly report on the musical talents of individual artists. One of these is the Venetian painter Giogione (1478–1511), a passionate lutenist whose divine singing and playing of music was held in such high esteem that he was invited to prestigious events staged by the nobility as a musician. [11] He addressed music in his painting as well. Music is the central theme in one painting by Giorgione, the «Concert champêtre» (c. 1510, Louvre, Paris). The pastoral scene shows a lutenist resting in a meadow,turning to face a shepherd, and also nude woman playing a flute. On the left-hand edge of the picture a second naked woman is holding a jug over a stone trough. Giorgione, who was himself a passionate musician, is addressing the pastoral landscape as a place of musical inspiration here, where the urban musician is being given artistic inspiration by the divine muses and the shepherd. [12] Another example of the secularization of music as a theme takes us to Rome and the late 16th century.

Baroque - secularization and illusionism

In the course of the 16th century, music increased in popularity as part of a process of increasing secularization, but also as a topic of tangible refinement of sensual delight in life. In painting, the theme tends to crop up as an allegory of fleeting, transient existence. It quickly became a favourite subject for the genre painting that was emerging at the time.

The Italian painter Caravaggio (1571-1610) offers an early example. For his Roman patron Cardinal Francesco Maria del Monte, with whom he lodged for a time, he painted a half-figure Group Portrait with Musicians. The youth playing the lute in the centre is surrounded by three other young men, including Caravaggio himself, who is placed behind the lute player on the right and looking at the viewer. He has a horn in his hand. In the background on the left it is possible to make out a winged cupid with a vine. A fourth youth is completely absorbed in studying sheet music. Even if one assumes that these are portraits of musicians from Cardinal del Monte's entourage, the ancient costumes also suggest an allegory, similarly to Giorgione's picture. As well as the homoerotic nature of the piece, its significance includes the allegorical reference to love and music. [13]

In the next century, further development of secular themes led to the emergence of the music still life. Musical instruments depicted alone appear as individual pictures, but also in an allegorical cycle of the human sensory organs. Old inventories record that cycles of this kind were arranged in Baroque chambers of art and curiosities, the predecessors of the modern museum. Rooms of this kind displayed a microcosm of paintings and sculptures, stuffed animals, herbariums,minerals, optical instruments and much more. Music still lifes do not just depict a whole range of the instruments of the day, the idea of vanity makes them instruments of the vanity of sensual pleasure, indeed quite simply into an allegory of man's short life.

Musical instruments occur in the context of depicting a loose life in countless Baroque genre pictures. Music being played in an inn, at a lovers' tryst or in a society salon becomes the symbol of a morally dubious approach to life.

In Baroque churches, architecture, painting and sculpture enter into a symbiosis under religious conditions for the last time. This aimed to merge all the genres, but also posed the threat of making religious content too superficial. As a response to the Counter-Reformation, Catholic church interiors were redesigned to enhance religious edification: high, vaulted naves, colourful painterly and sculptural decoration, highlighted with gold, an organ. The Catholic Church reacted to the Protestant ban of images with a new and sensual pictorial strategy that was not content with presenting a single image, but included the whole church interior. All the design elements worked together on the basis of the Baroque sense of emphatic sensuality and overflowing emotion, but also the idea of transience. The church interior was seen as a reflection of heaven, and an attempt was made to dissolve the boundaries between this world and the next with the interplay of architecture, sculpture and illusionistic wall painting. The nave was intended to open out as it rose, and the believer's eye was to be turned towards heaven and the welcoming saints, all to the sound of the organ. The 17th and 18th centuries are celebrated as the heyday of organ-building. Regular organ landscapes were created, driven by different architectural and liturgical requirements: it was only in liturgical celebration that musical orchestration and artistic decoration of a space could merge. This was to influence one of the guiding intellectual forces of Modernism - Richard Wagner - to some considerable extent.

Early Modernism - Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk

In the course of the 19th century music acquired outstanding status when compared with the fine arts. Music's expressive resources could successfully reach awide public that was listening to a new language - especially that of Beethoven - after the Enlightenment, revolution and a war that had raged all over Europe. The philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer remarked on this: «Music is the true common language that is understood everywhere…. But it does not speak of things, rather of nothing but wellbeing and woe, which are the only realities for the will.» [14]

It is not surprising under these conditions that it was a musician who tried to bring the arts together, naturally with music in prime position: Richard Wagner (1813-1883). In his essay «Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft» (The Art-Work of the Future), he conceived an interplay of the arts as a Gesamtkunstwerk: «The great Gesamtkunstwerk that has to embrace all genres of art, in order to consume, to destroy each one of these genres to some extent as resources for the sake of achieving the overall purpose of them all, in other words the unconditional, direct representation of perfect human nature - this great Gesamtkunstwerk it (i.e. our spirit) recognizes not as the arbitrary possible deed of the individual, but as the necessarily conceivable joint work of the people of the future.» [15]

Wagner identified the composer Beethoven, the hero of «absolute music», as leading the way in this movement. He describes Beethoven's symphonies as «redeeming music from its own most particular element to become general art. It is the human gospel of the art of the future. No progress is possible from it, from it only the perfect work of art of the future can follow directly, the general drama, to which Beethoven has forged the artistic key for us. Thus music has produced from itself something that none of the other separate arts could do.» [16]

Wagner believed that he had received this artistic key himself. He strove towards the Gesamtkunstwerk he so desired to achieve by building the Festspielhaus in Bayreth, reserved exclusively for performances of his own works. The musical staging, with the orchestra in a concealed pit that concentrates the audience's attention entirely on the interplay of music and stage setting is seen as a precursor of cinematic performances.

Wagner's ideas were not without their effect on the fine arts. One of the outstanding examples of hisenormous cultural influence is provided by the Leipzig artist Max Klinger (1857- 1920). Over 16 years, and at a cost of over 100,000 marks he created his polychrome «Beethoven» sculpture.

Classical Modernism - the early days of abstraction

Wagner's synaesthetic ideas became the starting-point for one of Modernism's fundamental developments: abstraction. The simultaneity of acoustic and visual perception, made reality by staging at the Bayreuth Festspielhaus, became a new challenge for those who were preparing the way for abstract painting. As well as Frantisek Kupka (1871-1957), Mikalojus Ciurlionis (1875-1911) and Francis Picabia (1879-1953), these included the Russian painter Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944). Looking back on his early days on Moscow, Kandinsky remarked: «But Lohengrin seemed to be to be a perfect realization of this Moscow. The violins, the deep base notes and the wind instruments in particular embodied the whole power of the evening hour for me at that time. I saw all my colours in my mind, they were there before my eyes. Wild, almost mad lines drew themselves in front of me. I did not dare use the expression that Wagner had painted <my hour> in music. But it was quite clear to me that on the other hand painting could develop the same sort of powers that music possesses.» [17]

A key experience for the synaesthetically inclined Kandinksy was contact with the music of the composer Arnold Schönberg (1874-1951). With Franz Marc, Alexei Javelensky, Marianne von Werefkin and Gabriele Münther and other members of the <Neue Künstlervereinigung> he attended one of Schönberg's concerts in Munich on 2 January 1911. The programme included a string quartet that introduced Schönberg's atonal period and the opus 11 piano pieces. This concert gave Kandinsky an important boost on his way to abstraction. His 1911 painting «Impression 3» was created as a result of this musical input. [18]

Abandoning perspective and also detaching colour from the objective motif took Kandinsky straight into abstraction. Even though he had taken the first steps in this direction in 1908/09, he had needed the crucial musical experience to help him risk the decisive step. Just as Schönberg had liberated himself from the constraints of the rules of musical composition,Kandinsky was trying to extricate himself from the dictates of imitating nature. Thus the end of central perspective in painting coincided with the loss of a binding key system in music. Composer and painter met at a turning-point. Kandinsky immediately tried to get in touch with Schönberg personally, who also painted, and made him a member of the «Blauer Reiter». In his first letter to Schönberg, he wrote: «You have realized something in your works that I was longing for in music, admittedly in an uncertain form. The natural movement through their own fate, the personal life in the individual voices in our composition in precisely what I am trying to find in the form of painting.» [19]

Unlike Kandinsky, who was decisively inspired towards atonal music by Schönberg, for the French painter Robert Delaunay (1885-1941) simultaneity and hence temporal perception shifted into the centre of his artistic output. He used the rules of simultaneous contrast to create vibrations in the eye. Time became a new category within artistic creativity, taking over from the meaning of space with a central perspective to a certain extent. Rhythm created a particular affinity between art and music. Delaunay's pictorial motifs started to move, they were even intended to lead to insights into the world over and above the optical effect. His friend, the poet Guillaume Apollinaire, poetically called this way of painting «Orphism.» A piece of Paragone seems to flare up again when we read this statement by Delaunay: «The eye is our most highly developed sense; it is most closely connected with our brain, our consciousness. It conveys the idea of the vital movement of the world and this movement is called simultaneity.» [20]

In Delaunay's case, painting became time-based colour composition. Perception was no longer based on the classical perspective composition of a rectangular framed picture. In his 1912 series of «Window Pictures» Delaunay composed imaged that were metres long, representing the perception of the picture subject as a time sequence, like an excerpt.

Delaunay wrote as follows about his «Window Pictures«: «The choice of ‹Window Pictures› as a title is still a reminder of concrete reality; but the new form the expressive resources are taking canalready be seen. These are windows on to a new reality. This new reality means nothing other than spelling out new expressive resources; these create the new form purely physically, as elements of colour. Among other things, these pictorial elements are juxtaposed contrasts that build up pictorial architecture, a complex, similar to an orchestra, developing like movements in colour. […] The series invokes only the sujet, the composition and orchestration of colours. That is the origin, the first appearance of non-representational painting in France. […] The colour is its own function; all its motion is present at every moment, as in musical composition at the time of Bach, or good jazz in our day.» [21]

Delaunay's reflections about the meaning of colour, linked with the loss of perspective and the new pictorial order analogous with musical composition are reminiscent of Kandinky's ideas. In fact the two artists met at the first «Blauer Reiter» exhibition in Munich in December 1911, in which Delaunay also featured. Correspondence between them from autumn 1911 to spring 1912, when Delaunay began his «Windows Series», has survived. [22]

From painting to the moving picture

Alongside Delaunay's painterly approach, artists also tried to compose colour rhythms as real movement. Leopold Survage (1879-1968) designed over seventy studies for his film project «Rhythme Coloré» in 1913. This was a colour-rhythm symphony that was unfortunately never realized. Survage summed up his aims as follows in 1914: «After painting had liberated itself from the conventional objects of the outside world, it conquered the terrain of abstract forms. Now it has to get over its last, fundamental barrier - immobility, so that it can become an expressive resource for our sensations that is as rich and subtle as music. Everything that is accessible to us has duration in time, which manifests itself most strongly in rhythm, activity and movement […] I want to animate my painting, I want to give it movement, I want to introduce rhythm into the concrete action of my abstract painting, rhythm that derives from my inner life.» [23]

As well as Survage, the Swedish painter Helmuth Viking Eggeling (1890-1925) and the Dadaist and film pioneer Hans Richter (1888-1976) worked on this subject. The two men met in Zurich in 1918, and worked together for several years in their search for a universal language. Richter described this period as follows: «Music became a model for both of us. We found a principle that fitted our philosophy in musical counterpoint: each action produces a corresponding reaction. So we found a suitable system in counterpoint fugue, a dynamic and polar arrangement of conflicting energies, and we saw life as such in this model. […] Month after month we studied and compared our analytical drawings, which we had prepared on hundreds of sheets of paper, until we finally came to see them as living creatures that grew, and then passed away […] Now we seemed to be confronted with a new problem, that of continuity […] until - late in 1919 - decided to do something. Eggeling made one theme of elements into the <Horizontal-Vertical-Mass>, on long paper rolls, and I made one of the rolls into <Präludium>. [24] The results of their experiments with form on long paper rolls took Richter and Eggeling directly to film. Their abstract formal studies became the basis for film scores. They and Walter Ruttmann (1887-1941) count as pioneers of the abstract film. [25]

The Bauhaus was a special place where the different arts could develop symbiotically. Many of the masters teaching fine art there were extraordinarily interested in music, like for example Wassily Kandinsky, Oskar Schlemmer, (1888-1943) and László Moholy-Nagy (1895-1946). Paul Klee (1879- 1940) also repeatedly included motifs from music in his drawings and water-colours. He discovered a relationship between painting and music at a very early stage. He put it like this in his diary: «The main disadvantage for the observer or re-creator is that they are faced with an end, and seems to be going in the opposite direction as far as genesis is concerned. […] Musical works have the advantage of being taken up again in the sequence in which they were conceived, and on repeated hearing the disadvantage of being tiring because of the evenness of the impression they make. For the ignorant, creative work has the disadvantage being at aloss about where to begin, and for the intelligent the advantage of varying the sequence strongly while taking it in.» [26] Klee perceived space as time, like Delaunay, to whom he had been introduced through Kandinsky in 1912. Instead of the concept of simultaneity that Delaunay had introduced, Klee used polyphony: «Polyphonic painting is superior to music in that temporal qualities are more spatial here. The concept of simultaneity merges more richly here. To illustrate the backward movement that I think out for music, I remember the reflection in the side windows of a moving tram.» [27]

Klee also claimed the category of time for painting. Differently from Leonardo, he sees time as the element that links the individual arts. His water-colours produced around 1921, which include «Fuge in Rot» (Fugue in Red), greatly influenced experiments with light projections taking place in the Bauhaus.

Abstract sounds - multi-media performances

Klee's colour compositions stimulated Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack (1893-1965), who was still registered as a Bauhaus student at the time, to conduct his first experiments with light projections. [28] His first ideas for the so-called «Farbenlicht-Spiele» (Colour-Light Games) date from 1921/22. The abstract play of coloured forms was performed at the Bauhaus in 1923, accompanied by piano music. Several fellow performers were needed to realize the score the artist had devised. The colour forms emerging from the darkness of the projection room are directly reminiscent of Klee's water-colour compositions, they are painting translating into movement. Hirschfeld-Mack said of his light projections: «…we are aiming for a fugue-like, strictly structured play of colours, always derived from a definite colour-form theme.» [29]

The Hanover Dadaist Kurt Schwitters (1897-1948) did not work with colours, but with words. His so-called «Merz art» includes all artistic fields, from architecture via painting to poetry. According to Schwitters, the word «Merz» means «bringing every conceivable material together for artistic purposes, and technically the fact that the individual materials make the same effect in principle..» [30] Perhaps it was by chance that the first Merz work happened to come into being in association with music: Schwitters had his subject,a doctor-friend, play the piano while sitting for a portrait. When the man started to become agitated over Beethoven's «Moonlight Sonata», Schwitter intuitively glued a beer mat on to the cheek in the portrait! His first Merz poems were written around 1919, like «An Anna Blume» (To Anna Blume), for example. The «Lautsonate Merz 13» (Sound Sonata Merz 13) appeared on a gramophone record in 1924, and the «Ursonate» (Sonata with primeval sounds) was composed over a long period in several versions from 1922 to 1932. Schwitters wrote as follows in the magazine G in 1924: «It is not the word that is originally the material of poetry, it is the letter.» Thus he claims letters, or sounds, as the raw material for his poetry, like the rubbish he found in the streets and used for his material collages. Schwitters summed up his intentions in «Selbstbestimmungsrecht der Künstler» (The Artists' Right to Self-Determination) in 1919: «Merz poetry is abstract. Like Merz painting, it uses complete sentences from newspapers, posters, catalogue, conversations etc, as given elements, with and without changes. (That is terrible.) These elements do not need to fit in with the meaning, as there is no more meaning. (That is also terrible.) There are also no more elephants, there are only parts of the poem. (That is dreadful.) And you? (Draws war loan.) Decide yourselves what is poem and what is frame.» [31]

Fine artists increasingly frequently took part in avant-garde plays or even wrote their own pieces in the 1920s. Known works are Kandinsky's drafts for Mussorgsky's «Pictures at an Exhibition» (1928) or Oskar Schlemmer's «Triadisches Ballett» (Triadic Ballet), 1922/26.

An early example of composers and artists working together is provided by the Russian Futurist Alexei Krutschonych's opera. Michail Matjuschin set the libretto of his opera «Sieg über die Sonne» (Victory over the Sun) to music, and Kasimir Malevich designed the costumes and stage set. The piece had its world premiere in St. Petersburg in December 1913. The piece's trans-rational language was made up of incomprehensible word coinages, and came to express the so-called new reason that replaced the old values, symbolized by the sun. The opera was also of lasting importance for artistic development in Russia: Malevich deployed elements of Suprematism for the first time here. The Russian Constructivist El Lissitzky (1890-1941)takes up the theme again in 1920/21. He designed mechanical figures as a «three-dimensional design for an electro-mechanical show» for a planned new performance of the opera «Sieg über die Sonne» as a multi-media spectacle.

Lissitzky explained his aims himself in the foreword to an edition portfolio containing a selection of the stage designs: «This material is the fragment of a work created in Moscow in 1920/21 … We build a scaffolding in a square that is accessible and open on all sides, that is the show machinery. This scaffolding makes it possible for the show bodies to move in absolutely any way… They glide, roll, float up, in and over the scaffolding. All the parts of the scaffolding and all the bodies involved are set in motion using electro-mechanical forces and devices, and these are controlled by a single person. This is the show designer. His place is in the centre of the scaffolding at the switchboard for all energies. He directs the movement, the sound and the light. He switches the radio megaphone on and the din of railways stations rings out over the square, the roar of Niagara Falls, hammering in a rolling mill. Beams of light follow the movements of the bodies involved, refracted by prisms and reflections…The sun as expression of the old world energy in torn down from the sky by modern man, who can create his own source of energy because of his technical mastery. This idea in the opera is tied into the simultaneity of events. The language is alogical. Individual poems are sound poems.»

The classical artistic techniques like instrumental music and painting have already been gradually overcome by Survage, Viking-Eggeling, Richter, Ruttmann, Hirschfeld-Mack and replaced by new media forms like film, light and sound apparatuses. A new totality is designed that no longer operates as a individual work of genius, but is intended to be an event for the whole of society, in the political context of revolutionary Russia. Here the imposition of technology on human beings and sound has finally consumed Wagner's vision of the divine composer in favour of a world of apparatus that confronts the artist with a completely new set of tasks.

[1] For an introduction see Karin v. Maur (ed.), Vom Klang der Bilder. Musik in der Kunst des 20. Jahrhunderts, Munich, 1985; Helga de la Motte-Haber, Musik und bildende Kunst, Laaber, 1990; Frank Schneider (ed.), Im Spiel der Wellen. Musik nach Bildern, Munich, 2000.

[2] M. Bernhard, »Musik«, in Lexikon des Mittelalters, vol. VI, Munich, 1993, column 948-955.

[3] Johannes Tripps, Das handelnde Bildwerk in der Gotik. Forschungen zu den Bedeutungsschichten und der Funktion des Kirchengebäudes und seiner Ausstattung in der Hoch- und Spätgotik, Berlin, 1998.

[4] H. Braun, «Musik, Musikinstrumente», in: Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie, 4th vol., Freiburg 1994, column 597– 611.

[5] Leon Battista Alberti, De pictura, 26, quoted from: idem, Das Standbild. Die Malkunst. Grundlagen der Malerei, ed. by O. Bätschmann/Ch. Schäublin, Darmstadt, 2000, p. 237.

[6] Leon Battista Alberti, De pictura, 26, quoted from: idem, Das Standbild. Die Malkunst. Grundlagen der Malerei, ed. by O. Bätschmann/Ch. Schäublin, Darmstadt, 2000, p. 245.

[7] Cf. Leon Battista Alberti, ed. by Joseph Rykwert/Anne Engel, Manuta, 1994, pp. 224-241.

[8] Cf. Giorgio Vasari, Le vite dei più eccellenti pittori scultori ed architettori, ed. by G. Milanesi, vol. IV, Florence MDCCCLXXIX, pp. 28, 40.

[9] Leonardo da Vinci, Il Paragone, LV 31c, quoted from: Leonardo da Vinci. Sämtliche Gemälde und die Schriften zur Malerei, ed. by André Chastel, Munich, 1990, p. 135.

[10] Leonardo da Vinci, Il Paragone, LV 29, quoted from: Leonardo da Vinci. Sämtliche Gemälde und die Schriften zur Malerei, ed. by André Chastel, Munich, 1990, p. 146.

[11] Cf. Giorgio Vasari, Le vite dei più eccellenti pittori scultori ed architettori, ed. by G. Milanesi, vol. IV, Florence MDCCCLXXIX, p. 92.

[12] Cf. Gabriele Frings, Giorgiones Ländliches Konzert. Darstellung der Musik als künstlerisches Programm in der venezianischen Malerei der Renaissance, Berlin, 1999.

[13] Cf. The Age of Caravaggio, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York 1985, pp. 228–235.

[14] Arthur Schopenhauer, Paralipomena § 218.

[15] Richard Wagner, «Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft,» in idem, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 3, Leipzig, 1907, ( pp. 42–177), p. 60.

[17] Wassily Kandinsky, Rückblicke (Berlin 1913), 3. ed. Bern, 1977, p. 14.

[18] Cf. Schönberg, Kandinsky, Blauer Reiter und die Russsche Avantgarde, Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 1/2000, Vienna, 2000.

[19] Quoted from Matthias Schmidt, «Arnold Schönberg und Wassily Kandinsky. Biographische Annäherungen,» p. 19, in Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 1/2000, pp. 16-32.

[20] Robert Delaunay, «Das Licht,» in Hajo Düchting (ed.), Robert Delaunay. Zur Malerei der reinen Farbe, Schriften 1912– 1940, Munich, 1983, p. 125.

[21] Robert Delaunay, «Das Licht,» in Hajo Düchting (ed.), Robert Delaunay. Zur Malerei der reinen Farbe, Schriften 1912– 1940, Munich, 1983, pp. 36-37.

[22] Cf. «Wassily Kandinsky – Robert Delaunay: Ein Dialog im April 1912. Rekonstruktion», in Robert Delaunay. Sonia Delaunay. Das Centre Pompidou zu Gast in Hamburg, Cologne 1999, pp. 186-191.

[23] Leopold Survage, Document Nr. 8182, July 29, 1914, Académie des Sciences, Paris, quoted from: Karin von Maur (ed.), Vom Klang der Bilder. Musik in der Kunst des 20. Jahrhunderts, Munich, 1985, p. 228.

[24] Quoted from Standish D. Lawder, «Der abstrakte Film: Richter und Eggeling,» in: Hans Richter 1888–1976. Dadaist. Filmpionier. Maler. Theoretiker, Berlin/Zurich/Munich, 1982, pp. 27–35, here p. 30.

[25] Cf. the essay «Sound & Vision in Avantgarde & Mainstream» by Dieter Daniels and the source text by Walter Ruttmann, «Malerei mit Zeit.»

[26] Quoted from Christian Geelhaar, Paul Klee. Schriften. Rezensionen und Aufsätze, Cologne, 1976, p. 173.

[27] Paul Klee, Tagebuch Nr. 1081, quoted from Christian Geelhaar, «Moderne Malerei und Musik der Klassik – eine Parallele», in: Paul Klee. Das Werk der Jahre 1919–1933. Gemälde, Handzeichnungen, Druckgraphik, Museum Ludwig, Cologne, 1979, pp. 31–44, here p. 37.

[28] Cf. Holger Wilmsmeier, Deutsche Avantgarde und Film. Die Filmmatinee ‹Der absolute Film› 3. und 10. Mai 1925 (diss. Heidelberg, 1993), Münster ,1994, pp. 7–16. Anne Hoormann, Lichtspiele. Zur Medienreflexion der Avantgarde in der Weimarer Republik, Munich, 2003, pp. 116–120, 159–166.

[29] Quoted from Anne Hoormann, Lichtspiele. Zur Medienreflexion der Avantgarde in der Weimarer Republik, Munich, 2003, p. 165.

[30] Kurt Schwitters, «Die Merzmalerei,» (1919), quoted from Kurt Schwitters. Ich ist Stil, Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig, 2000, p. 90.

[31] Kurt Schwitters, «Selbstbestimmungsrecht der Künstler.» 1919, quoted from Dietmar Elger, Der Merzbau von Kurt Schwitters. Eine Werkmonographie, Cologne, 1999, pp. 17–18.

Source: http://www.medienkunstnetz.de/themes/image-sound_relations/sounding_mage/

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stardestroyer81 · 5 years ago

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Crush Cards- A Short Joustus Anecdote

Hey all! This post will be a little different from my usual art posts, seeing as it's a humorous tale regarding a Joustus deck from my time playing King of Cards!

Anyone who's ever played Joustus will know that one must craft a strategic deck of cards to be ready for any opponent— bomb cards, cascade cards, count cards— whatever will carry our friend King Knight to victory... even if cheats are involved!

Enter my Joustus deck:

Pretty sweet, isn't it? The entire Order of No Quarter is present, Shovel Knight and Shield Knight have reunited at last (Well, in card form, at least) and even The Bard is there! I realize he's a card better fit for early Joustus matches, but he's one of my favorite Shovel Knight characters, and nothing will stop me from including him in my deck.

You'll notice the first card in my deck is The Enchantress, followed by Mona and The Dancer. The reason for this is because I really, really love those three ladies, The Enchantress especially— and @unintentional-gadgets knows it. After building said deck (Initially, the Cloaked Figure card was in place of where The Dancer's card is in the above image... more proof on my love for The Enchantress), I wondered how long it would be before I would begin a match of Joustus with my cards of The Enchantress, Mona, and The Dancer.

For those who are unaware, just because you have certain cards at the forefront of your Joustus deck doesn't mean you'll start every match with those three cards, it's random every time. Though, for some reason, it isn't uncommon for me to start a round with The Enchantress being one of my first three cards.

The very next Joustus match I partook in with my new deck, no lie...

This somehow happened. I caught it on video, and I had initially begun the match by holding down the right bumper to speed up the match start sequence, but the minute I saw my first three cards, I just stopped. Half of the video is just this exact screen, as I was just staring at my TV in complete bewilderment.

I think my King of Cards file is sentient.

It knows of my fondness for the three.

Anyway, that’s all, just a cute story I felt like telling! More art is on the way, and I plan on having the next Shovel Knight resprite up by tomorrow at the latest, though I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of it showing up tonight! Enjoy, friends!

#Shovel Knight #Joustus #The Enchantress #Mona #The Dancer #Story #GLORY TO THE ENCHANTRESS

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auncyen · 5 years ago

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ok. I’m posting the beginning I have for the next chapter of “When The Cat Dragged In The Trickster” as basically a way to tell myself STOP EDITING IT AND MOVE ON. But also just because I always found one of the school rumors about Ren interesting and potentially messy if he were joining the group later on so I wanted to share that bit.

***

Morgana and Amamiya fought on their own first, the two of them, since the shadows in Aiyatsbus weren't too difficult and Makoto wanted to see how they fought together. Ann felt weird just being a spectator, but at least it gave her some time to process the fact that Amamiya's choice of weapon was a knife, which unfortunately brought to mind one of the many rumors floating around school about him. She'd always assumed before that the rumor about him carrying a knife had been invented by someone who wanted to gossip about the 'transfer criminal'. There wasn't any sort of weapon mentioned in the court records, after all. But here was Amamiya, using a knife just like Makoto used her well-practiced aikido and Haru used an ax because she loved chopping firewood.

He had to fight Shadows somehow, though. If his choice of weapon had been anything else, it would have meant just as much as her whip or Yusuke's katana or Ryuji's rod: not much at all. If he happened to have... some kind of previous experience using knives, then it was okay because he was a good guy now! That experience would only help them.

She bit her lip. That sort of logic didn't really make her much feel better, since it begged the question of what he might have done with a knife to get other people talking.

Ryuji gave her a side-glance, then leaned in. "You thinkin' 'bout that knife rumor too?"

Makoto was close enough to overhear (which wasn't too close, but it was Ryuji talking) and shot both of them one of her sharp looks, always a little scarier when she was wearing that steel mask. But then she sighed. "Why couldn't it have been nunchucks?"

Ryuji cracked up laughing. "Nunchucks?"

"Anything besides knives," Makoto clarified.

Ryuji still kept laughing, and Ann couldn't help a giggle herself at the mental image of Amamiya wielding nunchucks in his trenchcoat. The look would make no sense in terms of style. But then Amamiya's head turned their way, and she nudged her friend with her elbow. "You're--we're distracting Phantom."

"Oh come on. He wouldn't get distracted if the guys on this floor were a real threat," Ryuji retorted, but he did quiet down as Morgana called out to Amamiya, prompting the dark-haired teen to aim his pistol and shoot down the last succubus they'd been fighting.

"Good job, guys!" Ann called, and polite clapping started from behind. Haru was applauding. After a few seconds, Ryuji let out a whoop. Amamiya looked over to them, but didn't say anything. If he was making any expression, it was small enough to be hidden by his domino mask. Then he turned away and crouched to help Morgana with his favorite part of a battle--scooping up the yen shadows often dropped when they fled in defeat.

"Mona has fought the enemies on this floor dozens of times," Yusuke pointed out to Haru.

"Yes, but Phantom's new! We should encourage him."

"He's acting like it's no big deal too," Ryuji groused. "So, Queen? What's your verdict?"

Makoto was still frowning. "Phantom's movements were rather...hesitant in this fight, even though he's already had some training with Mona. He fights competently enough that with Morgana's experience, they kept the upper hand, but given what he said earlier, he's likely feeling nervous. We need to be mindful. The nerves are most likely because he's still new to fighting Shadows, but it's not going to help if he overhears rumors being discussed." She paused, glancing over at Amamiya again to make sure he wasn't paying attention. "And in regards to that particular rumor, knives are a common weapon. There have been enough ridiculous rumors about him that one seeming to have a grain of truth could be pure coincidence."

Ann nodded. That logic made sense, and she wanted to believe it, but.... "Queen, you're giving this a lot of thought yourself, aren't you?"

Makoto grimaced. "I really wish he used anything else."

"Let us take on some more fights!" Morgana exclaimed as he bounded over, Amamiya trailing behind him. "Until the first rest area. We're just getting warmed up."

"Phantom?" Ann asked.

Amamiya nodded. "We can handle it. No sweat."

Ann wondered if he wasn't posturing, but the next few battles backed up his words. The hesitation of the first battle melted away as Amamiya moved more fluidly, and he and Morgana seemed to have good coordination: faced with one of the cavalrymen Ann loathed (not only had they sucked up to Kamoshida so much in his castle, they were strong against her fire), Amamiya drew the shadow's attention to him by making the first attack and then did his best to dodge the retaliating sword, retreating in one direction while delivering taunts with a smirk, until Morgana had slipped around to the shadow's back--at which point Zorro knocked the armored knight clear off its horse. Amamiya and Morgana closed in on the fallen knight for a hold up.

"That's not a lucky punch anymore," Makoto commented. "That's a rabbit punch."

"Rabbit feet are lucky?" Ann offered, trying to give her friend a light-hearted smile. She was a little distracted; Amamiya had dodged most of the swings of the knight's sword, but one had connected, tearing open his trenchcoat sleeve and letting blood drip from his upper arm onto the ground of Mementos. It probably wasn't too bad when Amamiya could keep his pistol trained on the shadow, but it needed to be taken care of sooner rather than later.

"It's not called a rabbit punch after the feet..." Though the brunette seemed to think better of explaining the term, instead watching as Amamiya demanded more yen from the shadow, looking over the offerings before tilting his head to indicate the shadow was now free to go. As soon as the area was clear, Morgana bounded over to heal him. Good.

A lot of shadows in Aiyatsbus had weak spots easy to pierce with bullets to bring them down, and the gross slimes were weak to Morgana's wind spells--the duo managed to gain the upper hand quickly in most of their fights, only the cavalrymen giving them anything close to trouble. And Amamiya was an aggressive negotiator. He was getting a lot of yen for them still being on the upper levels of Aiyatsbus. At the first rest area, Morgana cupped both paws around a can of arginade and sipped carefully while Amamiya slouched against the outside of the small train station shelter.

***

This is a short section, and I really shouldn’t have been as stuck on it as I have been. I basically wrote one version of this with the mention of the rumor (and kept playing with the idea of Ren catching them talking about it), then wondered if I was making the PT too gossipy by focusing on it, then wrote a ‘positive’ version where there was no gossip and they were focusing on making him feel welcome, and...at this point I’m kind of like nah it’s ok for them to get tripped up about rumors, they’re not perfect, and they can still be trying to be welcoming at the same time. So basically I wrote a negative version, a positive version, and I guess blending them, this is the mixed / “neutral” version, but now I really need to move on and start writing entirely fresh stuff for the chapter. (I actually do have a later section written too, it’s just...a question of if it’ll still fit.)

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aastudent27 · 4 years ago

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Movie 1

Six Degrees of Forgotten

From “Six Degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay” by Antoinette Jadaone

When this was given to me as a movie to watch, honestly, I wasn’t interested. It seemed like it would be boring. If you would look at the movie poster, it’s an old woman in placement of Mona Lisa. Who is that Old Woman? Is that Lilia Cuntapay? Who is Lilia Cuntapay? And so, as I asked those question, I gave the movie a try. The movie starts with someone asking people with different lifestyle and works “Do you know Lilia Cuntapay?” which could also be directed to the one watching the movie. The people who were questioned all answered with they didn’t know or vague. This start of the movie is like the start of a conversation “Alam mo ba --?” in which people would introduce a topic and this time that topic is Lilia.

The first scene after that is an awarding ceremony with a lot of cluttered items surrounding the stage. This stage will occur throughout the film, it is Lilia’s imagination of her acceptance speech as she is a candidate of best supporting actress in reality. This room in which she created in her mind is like her sentimentality of her glory days as an actress. She couldn’t let it go, nothing to throw out, everything was precious, so she decided to hoard it. This part of the movie is what interested me. It is the part in which we can see Lilia’s mind, her feelings, her opinions, how she looks at people’s opinion of her.

In the outside world, the setting would change from movie sets to her hometown. Her hometown and the people living in there provides information of how the industry has left her shine to dim. She is living a difficult life, but everyone respects her. She calls almost everyone “apo” or “anak”. She is like the lola of the barangay with everyone trying to understand her obsession of projects. In this part of the movie, Lilia would seem to be unable to let go of her time in the limelight which makes her pitiful.

Next is the movie set, in which my opinion of Lilia slightly changes. Lilia is given a small role of a passer by old lady. Here her passion is portrayed by being diligent, hard working and humble. She would ask for the smallest lines as it is important and that no matter how small the part is the character has a history to be told. I get excited as much as she was for getting a role. I wanted to see how she would play that role. The movie is a presented as a documentary, but it lets us see Lilia’s situation with her eyes. So, when the director told her that her role would change to someone just passing by and her lines are retracted from her and given to someone else, I felt her sadness.

This part reminds me of stereotyping of roles. She was stripped of that part because she is too well known as someone who acts in horror films. As someone who acts in horror films, she would stand out too much as a passer-by. This is understandable as in reality, someone who is well known in action movies would look weird in a romance movie. It is hard to overcome this stereotyping but if someone won’t give them a chance to take a new style of role, artist wouldn’t be able to try a new image.

Lilia’s mood sets the movie to be melancholic but as she is fast to recover, it didn’t last long as we are still waiting for her to win the award. Her hope is my hope in the movie. She would ask if any offers would ask for her everyday from morning to evening until she gets news of ABS-CBN tv patrol would interview her for being the candidate for the award. She gets excited as the day comes near of her interview. The day she would get it, she is seen in a scene were in she waits at the street past breakfast and lunch. The scene could reflect her impatience to be recognize even just a little bit and this interview could be her first step to getting back into a well-known actress.

The mood of the movie becomes festive as everyone who knows her personally was given the news and all are waiting for her appearance in television. This is when the pace of the movie quickens. People were lined up at her house, posters were taped at the walls, important people were invited and reserved VIP seats, like a movie premiere. The news plays and Lilia’s interview were nowhere to be shown. I anticipated this as well-known people are given more importance no matter where just like Lilia was given importance at the hospital scene earlier before this part of this movie. Tension rises as her not being shown is like not being acknowledge before even the awarding even started.

The scene then got cut as to Lilia’s imagination of her not being able to say anything to a speech as it’s like she’s being robbed the chance. Back to reality, she is shown to silently clean the mess from the people who showed for the news. She then shuts the door, the camera is filled with black like how hollow Lilia feels and how she shuts everyone out at that moment. This moment was the time her grip of the industry is slowly letting go.

The climax of the story is at the award. Her walk through the red carpet showed how she is not that well known anymore as people just let her pass. The awarding then starts, I wanted her to win but I knew after watching how the other candidates acted that Lilia won’t win. But she was given a special recognition for her dedication for the industry and the scene slowly fades.

The most I loved about this movie was how she goes into her own world and how the cuts at those moments are not disturbing as sometimes the voice of her mind becomes the medium to connect those scenes from reality. Another is how the last scene connects to the opening interview as we get answers to the question “Do you know Lilia Cuntapay?” as the people interviewed remembers who she was, the artist that she worked with remembered her, and the I the viewer got to know her through the movie.

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yesloverboy · 6 years ago

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Trip of a Lifetime (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader)

Requested: Anon!

“Could you do a story about tommy and the reader dropping acid and whatever they do on it is up to u😂 I think it'd be really cute and funny”

Note: I am sorry this is so late! I may have gotten a little carried away, but I wanted to make sure I did this prompt justice. It’s definitely been a hot minute since I’ve done psychedelics, but some of these events are inspired by true ones so let me know what you think. Enjoy!

word count: 2,294

It all started on a Saturday night. With you and your boyfriend Tommy having such busy schedules, the both of you had decided to take turns planning date nights. The way you figured it, taking turns would prevent one of you from feeling more responsible for maintaining the relationship over the other. So far it seemed to be working out nicely, and this time it was Tommy’s turn.

You and Tommy had been together for a few months now, and were still well into your phase of continually trying to impress one another. At this point, Mötley Crüe was really taking off, and you found yourself looking forward to your scheduled dates more and more as Tommy became increasingly less available. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t his fault that he was so preoccupied. There was no doubt in your mind that he and his romantic heart would be willing to move mountains for you; but that didn’t mean being apart never stressed you out. Sometimes you even wished you could slow down time just a little so that you wouldn’t always have to say goodbye to Tommy so soon. When you had told Tommy that, he just laughed and told you he would make it happen if he could. As always, you believed him.

As you waited for Tommy to return home from his day at the studio, you couldn’t help but fidget in anticipation. When it was Tommy’s turn to plan dates, he always liked them to be a surprise for you. His spontaneous nature and childlike enthusiasm were just a few of his qualities you loved the most, and the dates he picked were a reflection of that. In just a few short months, Tommy had already taken you to more arcades, theme parks, concerts, and spontaneous road trips than you could keep track of. So as anxious as you were to see your boyfriend’s smiling face, you were just as excited to find out what he had in store for you.

When Tommy finally opened the door, you practically leapt into his open arms. In true Tommy fashion, he picked you up off the ground and spun you in a circle, eliciting a a chorus of giggles from the both of you.

“Well hey there, baby,” he cooed, kissing you gently, “someone sure is happy to see me.”

You nuzzled his nose lovingly as he placed you back on the ground. “I just missed you is all.” Even though Tommy had put you down, you still felt like you were hovering above the earth, your heart light and carefree.

“So what’s the plan for the night, rockstar?” You knew rockstar was a cheesy nickname, but the blush that would color Tommy's face made it all worth it. More than anything in the universe, Tommy wanted to play music that the rest of the world loved, and you always knew in your heart that he would do it.

“I thought maybe we could go on a little trip,” he smiled wryly, his eyes meeting yours with a mischievousness he normally reserved for inside jokes.

“Where?” Your arms were still firmly fastened around Tommy’s neck, keeping the space between the two of you to a minimum.

To your chagrin, Tommy unwrapped his hands from your waist, and reached for the pocket of his leather jacket. “Not that kind of trip, dude,” he said, pulling out a plastic bag, “this kind of trip.”

You looked at the plastic bag, your face lighting up as you spotted two little squares of paper with skulls printed on them.

Acid.

You couldn’t believe it. It had been so long since you’d tripped that you almost didn’t remember what it was like. Still you craved an escape, something to take you and Tommy far away without ever having to leave the home you shared. It was perfect.

“You told me once that you wanted to slow down time,” Tommy continued, “so I thought we might give it a shot.”

“Oh my god, Tommy!” you squealed, delighted that he had been paying such close attention to how you’d been feeling lately. “I never thought I’d say this, but you might be a genius.” You stood on your tiptoes, gripping the sides of his angular face to kiss plant a kiss on his lips.

Tommy tried to look offended, but his act quickly dissolved under the smile on his face. “God, do you always have to be so mean?”

“Isn’t that why you love me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes in mock innocence.

Tommy just ruffled your hair in response, causing you to groan in protest. “Do you wanna take these for a spin, or what?” he asked, laughing at your irritated pout.

“Fine,” you huffed, “hit me.” You stuck out your tongue, signalling Tommy that you were ready to get the night going. This is it, you though, quickly accepting the fact that the two of you would ultimately be housebound for the evening.

Tommy reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a single tab. With a careful hand, he placed it on the tip of your tongue. Closing your mouth, you let it slowly dissolve. You’re not sure what you expected this time around, but it tasted like nothing just as you remembered. Soon after, Tommy did the same and all that was left was to wait for those little squares of paper to work their magic.

“Wanna watch a movie? Maybe order a pizza?”

You smiled up at Tommy, reveling in the fact that so many wonderful things in life could be so simple. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

It took some bickering, but eventually you and Tommy agreed to put your copy of Halloween in the old VCR. You had been worried that watching a scary movie would trigger a bad trip, but Tommy reassured you that his hilarious commentary would get you through it. You relented, but solely on the condition that he would hold you the entire time.

About thirty minutes into the movie, you noticed the image on the television began to vibrate softly, the colors pulsating and running together as if they might drip right out of the screen and onto the bedroom floor. You turned your head to look at Tommy to see if he was seeing the same thing, twisting against the hold he had on your body. To your amazement, he wasn’t looking at the screen at all. Instead his eyes were fixed on you.

You watched carefully as his the blue of his eyes seemed to shift colors, ranging from their usual denim blue to bleeding with vibrant yellows and greens. Even though Tommy’s eyes were locked on yours, it seemed as though he was looking somewhere beyond where you were sitting.

“Dude,” Tommy whispered, his voice soft and distant, “you’re so beautiful.”

“No, you,” you argue, the blood in your veins humming with the same softness that crept in and out of the edge of your vision when you looked at Tommy. It was almost as if your body was vibrating softly under his touch, making the rest of the world feel warmer and brighter. In that moment, it was so amazing to you that Tommy could call you beautiful when he was clearly the most mesmerizing thing in the room. It was then you thought that maybe, just maybe you could love him forever.

Tommy just rolled his eyes, “Oh please, you’re, like, a work of art,” he stated, moving his hands about animatedly, “just like that–wait what’s she called? The Moaning Liza?”

“You mean the Mona Lisa?” you asked, throwing your head back with laughter.

Playfully, Tommy tried to put one of his large hands over your face to shut you up, but you were able to wrestle out from his grip with happy tears leaking out of your eyes.

“Oh come on, Y/N! You know I didn’t do well in history.” At this point, Tommy was laughing too. “My point was that you don’t just look like any old work of art– but a priceless one. One that people cross oceans to see.”

You gazed at your boyfriend lovingly, and firmly believed that the secret to eternal happiness was hiding somewhere behind those beautiful, kaleidoscope eyes. The hum in your body was growing more persistent by the second, and suddenly your head was flooded with a hundred different ideas all at once. However, one stuck out to you over the others and you couldn’t help but wonder if Tommy would be on board with it.

Getting up abruptly, you made your way over to your bedroom, seeking out an old box of acrylic paints. The paints were leftover from your attempt at being an artist a couple of years ago, and you figured there was no better time to give it a try again than the present.

You found the box almost immediately as the yellow light from your closet rained down in glowing droplets above your head. The dripping light seemed to lead you right to where the box was nestled, and for a moment you wondered why you thought it’d be so hard to find it in the first place.

Strutting back into the living room triumphantly, you held the box of paints securely in your arms. To your amusement, Tommy’s gaze was now transfixed on the ceiling fan above his head, his eyes following the blades closely as they spun.

“Tommy!” you tapped at his shoulder and immediately he snapped back to reality. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” he still had his signature, goofy smile but his eyes were unblinking. You wanted to laugh, but suddenly couldn’t remember the last time you’d blinked either. Realizing it didn’t matter, you set the box of paints in his lap.

“We shout paint each other! Well, not actually like paint each other, but paint on each other. Sounds fun, right?”

“Okay, but if we do I’m going first,” Tommy’s happy expression was replaced with a more determined one, “‘cause if you don’t believe you’re a work of art I’m just going to have to make you believe me.”

Unable to resist, you gave Tommy a peck on the cheek. “Alright, baby. Whatever you say goes.”

“Where should I start?” Tommy asked, rummaging through the selection of colors. “Your back maybe? I feel like there’s probably more room.”

You just shrugged and pulled your shirt up and over your head, allowing it to fall limp on the arm of the couch. Grabbing one of the extra cushions, you placed it on the carpeted floor so you could lay comfortably while Tommy set to work.

“So, what are you going to paint, Mr. Lee?” you asked, laying flat on your stomach. The carpet itched at your bare skin, the fibres swaying back and forth against the pressure of your body.

Tommy sat beside you with his legs crossed, the box of paints accompanying him at his spot on the floor. “Hmmm, can’t tell ya. It’s a secret.”

“Fine then,” you smile, “have it your way.”

Without warning, Tommy squirted a few drops of paint straight from the tube and onto your bare back. “Fuck, that’s cold!” you hiss, squirming uncomfortably against the rough carpet.

“It’ll be worth it, dude. Promise.” Tommy chuckled softly, adding more drops of paint from various bottles to the canvas of your body.

After a while, you were surprised to find that the cold from the paint was soothing the buzz of your body high quite a bit. The ebb and flow of Tommy working the paint into patterns on your back sent tingles of electricity from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

Tommy didn’t talk much while he painted, apparently putting all of his concentration into whatever he was creating. Even though you couldn’t see his face while laying down, you’d be willing to bet he looked just as deep in focus painting as he did while writing a song. You couldn’t help but hum happily, feeling more than content just being alone with Tommy.

Evidently, Tommy had noticed your level of relaxation and laughed quietly to himself.

“What’s funny?” you ask, wanting so desperately to know what was going on in Tommy’s head during his trip.

“Nothing,” the smile in Tommy’s voice was obvious, even if you couldn't see it, “it’s just– do you ever think about how crazy this all is?”

“How crazy what is?”

“This.” he insisted, “the fact that, of all the people in the world, and of all the time that’s passed...we got to meet. Just you and me, and the rest of the world.”

Your mouth fell open in awe, unable to believe the love and passion that radiated from Tommy’s words.

Just you and me, and the rest of the world.

Tommy’s profound observation flashed bright red in your mind, glittering against the backs of your eyelids like the Las Vegas strip at nighttime.

“I think I’m going to say it,” Tommy continued, unphased by your moment of silence, “You’re the love of my life. No matter if it’s this life, or the next one–or maybe even the one after that. If there is one, I think it’s always going to be you.”

The tenderness in Tommy’s voice hung in the air with all the softness of a passing cloud. Even though you knew that the both of you were tripping, no amount of chemicals could alter the way you felt about Tommy in that moment.

“You’re the love of my life, too” you repeat back, meaning every single word of it, “I don’t ever want to be anywhere if it’s not with you. Loving you is the trip of a lifetime.”

Masterlist

#this prompt was amazing thank you so much #i hope i did alright #writing #mgk!tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #tommy lee x reader #motley crue #vince neil #nikki sixx #mick mars #the dirt #the dirt nextflix #motley crue imagine #the dirt requests

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