#my boy bryan is INNOCENT

[inchidentalmeowmeow]

Charles in the post race debrief probably 😭

Poor bryan caught in the crossfire

[spicywhenspeaking]

Fic request! Don’t know if you write fics for everyone’s favorite BO tour manager or not. If not ignore this! If you do want to give a try - then here we go!

Reader or OC is a member of the crew, maybe works on the photo team with Bryan or is one of the instrument techs. Her and Matt can’t stand each other for some reason. They just got off on the wrong foot somehow but she is good at her job so she keeps touring with them. The rest of the guys pull pranks on them or tease them to try and get them to admit they have feelings for each other and one of the pranks goes a little sideways. Basically enemies to lovers with some fun thrown in. Happy writing!

Hiii!!!! I have started working on your request and wanted to show you what I have been working on !

This is the moodboard

And below is a snippet of the one shot I’m writing!

the final fic will contain smut so minors DNI

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I screech after opening my hotel room door to find it completely filled with balloons. “How did you even have time for this?!” I turn to the group of snickering boys and then point an angry finger at Noah, my friend since the fourth grade. “You’re a real piece of work Davis, you know that?” He laughs and shrugs his shoulders, “wow, that’s crazy! Who could have done that?” He fakes innocence and I feel the angry heat rising to my face, “I mean if you don’t have the energy to pop them all you could always room with Matt? He doesn’t have a roomie.”

“You’re a dick” I say as I roll my eyes and pull out the four inch pocket knife I have clipped into my back pocket. “Oh it’s no problem, I’ll get these cleared out pretty quick, just need to pretend they’re all your stupid face” I say, giving him a sarcastic smile as I flip the blade open. He just holds up his hands in surrender but the stupid smirk doesn’t leave his face.

Noah and I have always had a relationship more like siblings the way we’re constantly bickering, lately it’s been almost always about his tour manager Matt Dierkes. The man has hated me since the day we met. For no reason I’ll add. He’s a jerk so, whatever I don’t even care. Even if he is handsome and smart and plays the drums.

I get to work popping the hundreds of balloons Noah and I’m sure the other guys filled my room with. I try to finish as fast as possible but every pop is like a shot going off. After a few minutes of work there is a loud pounding at my door so I rush to open it thinking it’s probably the hotel staff trying to find out if someone has been shot.

Swinging the door open I’m faced with the previously mentioned handsome jerk, “Will you please for the love of God shut up!!?” Matt barks out at me and I must look like a lunatic standing there with a knife in one hand covered in bits of exploded balloon latex.

His eyes widened when he saw the knife, “what the Hell are you doing??” He questions while pushing the door open behind me stepping in to see the remaining balloons. “Why are there balloons all over your room? And why are you popping them with a knife?” I give him an exasperated look, “well Noah thought it would be funny to fill my room up with balloons while I was gone restringing guitars and the knife was just the closest thing I had that was sharp.”

He eyes the rest of the room with a judgmental stare, “well if you could just keep it down? Some of us care about the reputation of the band and the last thing we need is complaints about how unruly we are in hotels.”

I scoff and let out a short groan, “are you seriously trying to blame me for this? Noah is the one that filled my room with them? And how am I responsible for the band’s reputation?! You know what?! Fuck off Matt, just let me finish this so I can get some sleep before we head out tomorrow.” I say pushing him out the door and slamming it shut before he can get another word in.

“Asshole” I grumble behind the shut door.

“I heard that” Matt says from the other side of the door. I hear his footsteps retreated back to his room as I start popping the remaining balloons.

Tags are open if you’d like to get notified when it comes out! 🤍

Tags: @cookiesupplier

[alicewonderao3]

Jealousy and Pie

Pairing: Dean Winchester and reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, reader, Sam Winchester

Summary: You, Sam, and Dean are at a local street festival in some small town working a case when you notice Dean flirting with a girl. This shouldn't bother you, but it does even if it's just for information purposes. So when the opportunity strikes to show Dean how you felt, you take it and damn the consequences.

Warnings: none, just fluff and some mild angst, my usual things.

word count: 1,420

Author's note: I had such a hard time with this one, as I started three different versions of this challenge for @the-slumberparty's June challenge. This is the one I'm happy with. My choices were: sundress and festival. I tried to write a version that has Bucky in it, but as usual, Dean decided it needed to be about him again. I might finish and post that one too, I'm not sure yet. I have no beta, so all spelling and grammar mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

There was no reason to be jealous. Dean flirted with girls all the time, I told myself, watching him as he spoke to her. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, gazing up at him and I rolled my eyes, turning away. It was too hot to be working cases anyway, I thought, scanning the street festival for Sam's tall frame. 

I spotted him as he walked over with water for me and I smiled as I took it from him. He stood there with me and watched as Dean kept flirting with her. I frowned again and he nudged me, "It's just for information, you know that." I met his gaze, and my eyes narrowed. "What are you implying, Sam?" 

Sam held his hands up in mock surrender. "I know that look. You're jealous." I kept staring at him through narrowed eyes as Dean walked back up. When the girl came running back, slipping her number into Dean's hand, I turned and stalked away, a frustrated growl slipping through my lips. 

I was still frustrated as we tried to follow that lead the girl gave us, muttering under my breath as I sat in the back of the Impala. When we arrived in a residential neighborhood, and I spotted her seated on a porch, Sam and I both groaned. "Dean," I said, frustration leaking into my tone. "She didn't have any information for us. She was just hitting on you." I let my head fall back on the headrest as Sam groaned too, punching his brother on the shoulder. 

We went back to the street festival and I adjusted the pink sundress I wore as we scanned people, asking around when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face whoever it was, smiling at his blue eyes, asking about the case in a way that was friendly until I felt eyes watching me. I turned, seeing Dean standing there with Sam, watching us. 

Sam had a large smirk on his face, and he raised an eyebrow as my eyes landed on Dean, who looked murderous as he watched us. Remembering how he made me feel earlier, I turned back to the guy, Brad, I think his name was, and upped my game, laughing and placing a hand on his arm as he spoke to me. 

I brushed my curls back, exposing the side of my neck as he told me more about the mysterious disappearances in the area, and when I reached for the gold necklace Dean had given me for my birthday two weeks ago, gently playing with the chain, I could feel Dean's eyes burning a hole into my head as the boy's eyes darted down to the chain in my hands.

I felt his arm reach out, tugging on my waist and before I knew it, Dean was right there, yanking me away with a murderous look sent in his direction. Brad? Bryan? Had stumbled back and walked away as Dean steered me over to a more private section of the festival. Dean had me backed up against a wall, looming over me as he stared down at me, his green eyes full of jealousy. 

I looked up at him and innocently asked, "What's wrong, Dean? I was just getting information from him." I said, watching as his nostrils flared at my choice of words. Dean stared down at me, his voice rough. "You were doing that on purpose." I continued to give him that innocent look as the music from the band playing at the end of the field drifted around us. "I don't know what you're talking about, Dean." 

He continued to stare down at me, shaking his head. "Uh-huh, I was watching you, I know all the signs of flirting." I chuckled, "Of course you do, you are the expert at that, aren't you?" Dean's eyes narrowed, and I could tell he was getting more frustrated by the second. "Don't try and turn this around on me," He growled, "You knew exactly what you were doing." 

I sighed, feeling a sense of frustration, "Oh, and you weren't doing the same thing with that girl earlier in the day? Flirting with her to make me jealous, Dean?" Dean's expression softened as he stared down at me. "I'm sorry," He said, his eyes meeting mine. I sigh, "We've never actually discussed if we are dating or not, Dean." I say, meeting his gaze. "Are we?" I ask, looking at him. "Do you want to date me? Am I going to be the woman who finally gets Dean Winchester to commit?" 

Dean's eyes met mine, and I could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You already have me making commitments, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and husky. "But to answer your question, yes, I want to date you. I want you to be my girlfriend."

I felt a surge of happiness wash over me as I heard his words. It was something that I had been hoping for, but I wasn't sure if he felt the same way. "Really?" I said, unable to keep the smile off my face.

Dean nodded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Really," he said. "I know I haven't been the easiest guy to figure out, but I want to make things official with you." I threw my arms around him, feeling a sense of joy and relief wash over me. "Yes," I said, my voice muffled against his chest. "I want that too." 

I felt Dean's hands gently lift my chin, his eyes looking down into mine. He leaned down and kissed me, soft and sweet, his lips gentle on mine. When he pulled away, he said, "I am sorry you know, about before." I nodded, whispering, "Me too." As he pulled away from the kiss, I could see the sincerity in his eyes, and I knew he meant it. The sounds of the street festival went around us, but I only had eyes for Dean. 

Dean smiled at me and I said, "Let's go enjoy this festival before we run off." I said, my eyes meeting his. "I saw a pie stand earlier this morning with Sam." We weaved our way through the crowd, taking in the sights and sounds of the street festival. There were food stands, games, and live music playing in the background. It was a lively and festive atmosphere, and I couldn't help but feel happy as I walked alongside Dean.

Dean ordered a slice of apple pie, while I went for the classic cherry. As we sat down at a nearby table, I took a bite of my pie and closed my eyes in bliss. It was everything I had hoped for and more - sweet, tangy, and perfectly baked."This is amazing," I said, looking over at Dean. "You have to try it." Dean took a bite of his pie, and I could see the look of satisfaction on his face. "You're right," he said. "This is good."

As we walked with Sam back to the Impala, ready to make some headway on the case, I glanced over at him as he held my hand in his. "I love you," Dean said, his eyes meeting mine. "I love you too," I said, feeling a sense of happiness and gratitude for the man in front of me.

Sam pretended to gag, but I could see the smile on his face. "Gross, you guys," he said, rolling his eyes. Dean chuckled, but he didn't let go of my hand. "What can I say? I'm a romantic at heart." I smiled up at him, feeling a sense of warmth and affection for him. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," I said.

As we reached the Impala, I climbed into the backseat while Sam took the passenger seat. Dean got behind the wheel, and soon we were on our way, ready to face whatever challenges came our way. With Dean by my side, I knew that we could face anything that came our way. As we pulled up to the motel, I turned to Dean and gave him a quick kiss. "Thank you," I said, my eyes meeting his. "For what?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. "For everything," I said, smiling up at him. "For being there for me, for loving me, for being my partner in crime."Dean grinned at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Anytime, sweetheart," he said. "Anytime."

[dalekofchaos]

You can't separate the art from the artist with Chris Benoit

Once again Chris Benoit's cultist fans on Twitter are once again trying to pull the "what he did was horrible, but we can separate what he did and admire his in ring work"

He put xanax in his seven year old son before smothering him to death. He broke his wife's spine while strangling her to death. that's how i remember Chris Benoit.

See, this is what going to far with your fandom will get you. Glorifying a murderer because he has "good workrate"

If you can ignore someone MURDERING THEIR WIFE AND CHILD because you liked their fucking in ring work, you don’t have any humanity or morals at all.

Imagine doing the “separate the art from the artist” thing with a guy who murdered his wife and son.

I don’t CHOOSE to remember Chris Benoit. I don’t think about Chris Benoit until weirdos get on Twitter and start saying “but but but in-ring technician”.

And I don't want to hear about CTE, roid rage or alcohol.

Benoit was sane enough to call lying to friends and coworkers on where he was. He was sane enough to sedate his innocent son before murdering him. He was sane enough to Google airline flights to still travel to the PPV AFTER HE MURDERED HIS WIFE AND SON. He was sane enough to Google ways to snap a neck. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Benoit is burning in hell for what he did and anyone who makes excuses for what he did or downright ignores what he did because of "workrate" can burn in hell with him.

I promise that there are plenty of living and dead wrestlers you can choose to build a personality around who didn't kill their wife, son, and then themself. Y'all want so desperately to just pretend the giant elephant isn't in the room when it murdered it's entire family.

If you desperately want to admire someone's workrate so much, Bryan Danielson and Bret Hart are literally right there.

I will leave you what Austin and Paul Heyman said about the murderer.

"Speaking for myself, Chris Benoit as the person I knew, loved him. Chris Benoit as a wrestler, loved him. Chris Benoit as the person who did what he did, unforgivable. Bottom line.”

��Yeah you can admire his work all you want, but I’ll give you my take on it since you keep on yelling out ‘my boy’—three people died in that house that night, three. Three people died in that house that night, only one person had the choice behind it. The other two didn’t have a choice to die. So if that’s your boy, fuck you. So a talent? Remarkable. As a human being? I don’t care about CTE, I don’t care what the reasons are Nancy and Daniel had no option, he did. Fuck him.”

[inglourious-imagines]

Through Trouble and Iraq (Walt Hasser x GN!Corpsman!Reader)

Requested by: @order-of-river-phoenix (hi!! love to see you back, first of all. i’d love to see you write a little something for my boy Walt Hasser with prompt 30, if you could. thank you <3) - anything for you ;))

Prompt: 30 – I was so stupid to make the mistake of falling in love with my best friend.

Summary: You are a Corpsman with the Marines and Walt just seems to go out of his way to find trouble so you could find him. Not that you mind. (Reader is part of Brad’s team and is in the seat instead of Reporter.)

Warnings: some f words, implied sex

A/N: First Gen Kill fic yaaay, so insecure but hope u like it.

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You did not mean to fall in love with Walt Hasser. But like many things, it has slowly crept on you, until one day, when you were laughing your ass off with him somewhere in the middle of the Iraqi dessert and he put his hand on your shoulder like he’s done so many times before, something changed.

You did not mean to fall in love with your best friend. Until you just did.

***

Ever since that little incident you’ve been a little too nervous around Walt and the fact that he’s been running to you with even the most ridiculous (non)injuries, really doesn’t help your cause. Because when he looks up at you with those eyes, with that innocent look of his, you would do anything he asked you to do.

For example, one time you were chatting about possible medical aid to the locals with doc Bryan and your team, more specifically Ray and Walt, was brewing some coffee as Ray more than excitedly announced to every single person, including probably even the Iraqis on the other side of the town. Bryan seemed more at ease that day and you love talking medical stuff with him, when suddenly you heard your name being called. You rolled your eyes, but smiled nonetheless because you would recognize that voice anytime and anywhere.

And when Bryan said: “I believe you got this one.” with a wink, you were blushing like a teenager as well. You still have no idea when Doc figured out you have it bad for Walt – and you intended for the matter to remain unknown to everyone for at least till the war is over, but Bryan found out despite your best efforts to hide your feelings.

To everyone else, Walt Hasser is your best friend, he’s always been and that’s what you have always said (to everyone, yourself included) but lately the word ‘friend’ has been more like a nightmare than a comfort to you.

You ran to your Humvee where Ray seconds ago had been brewing the espresso. Walt could be seen sitting just next to, holding his hand, looking at nothing in particular, and all red in face.

You smiled, as you kneeled in front of him. “What do we have here this time?”

“Oh, you know,” he started, avoiding your gaze, clearly a bit embarrassed by the whole situation, “I burnt my hand.”

You bit your lip to prevent yourself from laughing, but Ray laughing in the driver's seat certainly wasn’t helping. “C’mon, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He extended his hand to you to show you the damage done and this time you let out an amused chuckle. “Walt,” you laughed softly, “there’s barely anything on your skin. It’s just a bit red.”

He blushed at your words, looking you in the eye for the first time. “Alright, just wanted it get it checked by you, that’s all."

“That’s not the only thing he wanted checked out.” Ray laughed in the Humvee that made the man in front of you blush even harder than before and downright disappear from your sight.

That wasn’t the first time Ray has made a comment about Walt and you with a certain subtext but every single time when you pushed him about it, he just laughed it off. Of course, there was a time when you let yourself believe that perhaps, you might be the luckiest person on this entire planet because the person you are in love with is also in love with you, but then you let your intrusive thoughts won again and threw the whole ridiculous notion behind.

***

It is a hot day, not that any day in the dessert hasn’t been hot, but you somehow manage to ignore the weather. Your hands are sweating nonetheless as you’re gripping your weapon, your eyes squinting, looking out into your sector. Ray is humming some melody you don’t recognize – he is not off tune as he normally is but you’re not in the mood today for his signing because you know once he starts humming, a solo is coming too.

“Hey Ray, if you could do one thing in the world, what would you do?” you say. It’s the most ridiculous save but it’s the only one you can think of so you’re going with it.

Ray doesn’t even need a second to ponder. “J.Lo.”

Trombley bursts out laughing, and you just know Brad is smiling.

“Should have seen that one coming,” you say, chuckling.

“And you?” Brad surprisingly joins on the hypothetical conversation, “who would you do?”

You’re only taking a breath when Ray casually, as if it’s a common knowledge, answers for you: “That’s fucking easy. Our Walt here.”

The laughter dies in your throat. His comment surprises you so much that your mind is left blank, and you have absolutely no comeback to shoot back at him. Only after a few seconds you manage to get out of yourself a poor “What the fuck, Person?”.

You’re very much aware how Walt is awfully quiet up on the roof but you don’t blame him.

“Oh, relax!” Ray says, his voice full of pure joy and excitement, “Walt would most definitely do you too.”

That finishes you off.

“I’ll be damned,” Brad chuckles in the front, shaking his head, “and I thought you’re one blind motherfucker. But look how they’re both quiet.”

“They should at least fucking thank me. I saved them a lot of time.”

You manage to lean into a position from which you can see Walt’s face and you find him already looking at you. His cheeks are bright red and he’s smiling and he’s beautiful. You can feel the smile forming on your lips.

“Thanks, Ray,” you hear yourself say without breaking eye contact and Walt laughs and you could swear it is the most precious thing in the world.

“No problem, but me and the band? We’re getting back together just for your fucking wedding!”

[iamveronica]

I'm so glad that you agree about Moz coming across so jealous of the Bryan Ferry collaboration. That is why Moz is so interesting, not only does he always speak his mind but he has no fear of looking "weak" or "pathetic" while other men tend to avoid that. Moz is always so sensitive to how people talk about him in the media but the fact that he very willingly confessed to disliking Johnny collaborating with others exactly like he had been accused before honestly blew my mind, you'd imagine he would want to disprove these rumours. Then comes Johnny's autobiography where he claims that the band had no problem with the collaboration so in a way Johnny is defending Moz from his own confession???? No matter who is lying Moz still comes out as crazy and jealous (which is how I like it).

Johnny's "The Smiths were very excited about my working with Bryan [Ferry]" (NO, JOHNNY, PAY ATTENTION) versus the way Morrissey launches into his paragraph criticizing everything about it - from what he interprets to be a surreptitious recording session to the final product and the music video - is quite comical. i always enjoy Morrissey's descriptions of Johnny - i don't know what he thinks drives Johnny but half (ALL) the time Moz makes him sound like he doesn't have free will??? it's interesting that even with the benefit of the years that have passed, the man still can't see straight (lol) when it comes to Johnny. i think this is his way of not holding Johnny responsible for anything and making peace with his little "transgressions".

Johnny splutters a few surprised compliments, but minus any deftness

Johnny as the always-innocent young cabin-boy

Johnny is there in the video looking lost, minus only a pair of slaves’ sandals, and he is evidently only important for the gifts that he brings

ALL in that one paragraph talking about the Ferry collaboration. The Smiths were very excited about my working with Bryan.

where is Moz to save Johnny from this most cruel subjugation?

and, of course, only Morrissey can truly appreciate Johnny's gifts AND MORE (mind, body, soul?). what else should his fellow musicians be considering besides his talent? i feel like this was Moz dipping into the "they don't understand him like i do (and vice versa)" territory. he overdramatized it and catastrophized it (likening it to the first whispers of mutiny).

Johnny was quite diplomatic in his book whereas Morrissey let emotions take hold of the pen. now, there's the question of whether Morrissey at the time had "kept [his] hidden". clearly, by 1987, their communication was frayed and there was avoidance on both of their parts rather than any attempt to address their issues head-on. perhaps because their relationship was founded on their intimate songwriting, Morrissey struggled to accept having to share Johnny with anyone else in the same way but just how I Won't Share You ends, i don't think Morrissey would ever stand in the way of Johnny's happiness and ambitions. i think he'd sooner suffer in silence (and well, he did) and forgive him again and again.

also, this is a stretch but Morrissey ends the scathing paragraph with Johnny, I hardly knew ye, which is an Irish anti-war/anti-recruiting folk song with humourous lyrics about a man who goes off to war and gets disfigured/loses limbs in combat but his sweetheart is nonetheless happy to see him home and "takes him back" (Your Peggy’ll still keep you on as her beau). My darling dear, you look so queer,  Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.

this is so Moz, isn't it?

[byneddiedingo]

Asteroid City (Wes Anderson, 2023)

Cast: Jason Schwartzman, Scarlett Johansson, Tom Hanks, Jeffrey Wright, Tilda Swinton, Bryan Cranston, Edward Norton, Adrien Brody, Liev Schreiber, Hope Davis, Stephen Park, Rupert Friend, Maya Hawke, Steve Carell, Matt Dillon, Hong Chau, Margot Robbie, Tony Revolori, Jake Ryan. Grace Edwards. Screenplay: Wes Anderson, Roman Coppola. Cinematography: Robert D. Yeoman. Production design: Adam Stockhausen. Film editing: Barney Pilling. Music: Alexandre Desplat.

On the Netflix series Heartstopper, a teenage boy works up the courage to ask a girl he likes (and who secretly likes him) to go on their first date. He takes her to a movie that he likes and she doesn't, and the date is a disaster. The key fact here is that the movie is Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom (2012). In my day, a comparable move would have been to take a date to see Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964). Like Demy, Anderson makes movies that display an uncompromising sense of style. The only question is whether that style works for you or not, whether you think it betrays a lack of substance or opens vistas of meaning. In Anderson's case it's certainly a consistent style: an absence of closeups, long takes with characters artfully placed, actors who deliver their lines deadpan facing front, tricks like switching the screen from standard Academy ratio to widescreen and from monochrome to color. Sometimes Anderson's style works for me and sometimes it doesn't -- I love The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) and The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), but I could barely sit through The French Dispatch (2021). In the case of Asteroid City, I still haven't made up my mind completely, but I'm leaning toward the favorable view. I think it captures something essential about the brutal innocence of 1950's America -- the film is set in 1955 -- and does it without clichés. There's an acidity of tone to the film that keeps it from becoming twee -- an adjective frequently applied to Anderson's movies. The performances of its all-star cast are often delightful: I particularly liked Bryan Cranston's performance as the TV host who serves as the narrator in the frame story. Cranston somehow manages to walk a line between Rod Serling and Walter Cronkite in his delivery. Scarlett Johansson and a bearded, pipe-smoking Jason Schwartzman manage to transcend the limitations of deadpan delivery as the film's romantic leads. Jeffrey Wright doesn't overplay the role of the pompous General Gibson, and there's a brief starry cameo by Margot Robbie. Asteroid City may be one of those films it's more rewarding to think about after you watch it, but watching it is fairly painless.

[universalcas]

🌻 tagged by @castiel (thanks darling <3) like a decade ago to talk about 8 shows as a way to get to know me better (in no particular order) 🌻

1. Sherlock BBC:

yeah, i know what you are going to say: "that explains a lot about your mental state" and I will answer: "you are absolutely right, my love". I joined tumblr because of this show, right in the middle of the hiatus between season 2 and 3 when I was happy and innocent and the world was beautiful and bright and full of possibilities. I become obsessed with London because of it for a short period of time.

2. Hannibal:

"Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to bring them down"

Bryan Fuller owns me, as a human being. This show changed my DNA to the point that I haven't been able to write horror stories without having some scenes from the show in my mind. It's darks, and twisted and incredibly poetic. It has some heavy dose of art (s2 my beloved) and the relationship between Hannibal and Will Graham it's one of the most beautiful and erotic things I've seen portrayed on tv.

3. Good Omens:

I was terrified when Amazon announced that one of my favourite books was going to be adapted to tv. I didn't wanted anyone to touch it because I didn't want anything that had Terry Pratchett's (I miss him everyday) name on it to be tainted by the greedy hands of capitalism but oh boy how incredibly mistaken I was. Good Omens is my happy place, the show I always come back when I'm not feeling my best (and I'm actually excited for a completely made up season 2). It has the story, the funny characters (John Hamm as Gabriel my beloved) Tennant and Sheen are the perfect Crowley and Aziraphale and their chemistry it's just insane in every sense of the word.

4. Black Sails:

"A story is true, a story is untrue. As time extends, it matters less and less. The stories we want to believe, those are the ones that survive"

I don't know what to say about this show without risking a spoiler and I really doesn't want to spoil it to you if you haven't watched the show. If this is the case, go make yourself a favor. It's full of pirates, love, violence and righteous fury. And probably the most iconic characters I've seen in a while.

5. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell:

A one season show from a +1000 pages book. And it couldn't have been done better in my opinion. Highly recommended if (like me) you love dark fantasy, magic and History.

6. Fleabag:

I laughed so much and I cried so much and I didn't expect any of it but I had to let it happen. It's funny and thoughful at the same time and I really liked the way they depicted complex themes like love, loss and self-esteem.

7. American Gods:

And then it happened. Gaiman-Fuller, the match that was meant to be. The book was in need of an adaptation and the show did an incredibly service to it. It's powerfully visual and beautiful and onirical in all the right places. Watching it I feel like I'm walking on a dream.

8. Supernatural:

oh, god, oh, fuck

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

Bonus (these shows make me happy for different reasons, you can ask me more about them if you want):

Ted Lasso

The Office US

Hawaii 5-0

X-files

Law & Order

Tagging: If you see this, consider youself tagged. I'm honestly curious about what shows made you, well, you.

[safflowerseason]

Funny thing is I remember the bb creator saying they wanted Paul for the role but the problem was that he was too handsome. yet the other contenders were like penn and reid…

I must admit, I don't get the hype around Penn Badgley, but yeah, obviously those are all three conventionally attractive men who ended up on the final list. I do think it's interesting that Paul seems to be the only blond among the group...I honestly can't imagine what it would like having tall, dark, and handsome Reid Scott working alongside Bryan Cranston....so much of what works about Aaron Paul as Jesse is that wide-eyed, baby-faced innocence he brought to the role. Then again, this would have been RS's My Boys era, so I don't know, maybe they thought all that hair made him look younger.

look at this mid-00's doofus

[nagdabbit]

3, 13, and 17!

3. Do you prefer canonverse or AUs?

im an au bitch, thru and thru! reading, writing, all of it. i love it when my lil guys are in situations, but even better when they're in situations they wouldn't normally be in. especially when it's softer than the characters would ever really let themselves be, if you couldn't tell by my love of coffeeshop/bakery aus.

13. Exes or established relationship?

i like writing established relationships, but i love reading exes! i havent written bitter exes, i think the closest ive gotten is mox and eddie in come through callin', but i want to one day. just a real fun dynamic

17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.

i think, of all the ones im like actively working on, beauty and the beast is the least developed. it's just vibes and a couple key scenes ive visualized in my brain. i think i described it the other day as "midwestern gothic curses and consequences"

i looked up the oldest versions of batb for inspiration, and it's burn season right now so everything is just dead and desolate outside, and bryan is prone to fucking up, and sometimes the wind changes and a fire gets bigger than you want and takes out innocents, and boy howdy bryan sure leaves a lot of victims in his wake doesn't he, and the good thing about curses with time limits is that they end which seems like a counterintuitive thing for a curse to do if you really want it to hurt

i know this started as like a silly billy fic idea, but it just set off like a wildfire! i have so many ideas! all of them hurt!

[avatarvyakara]

Shameless plugging, I believe this is called…

6. Rectitude

“It was an odd time,” muses Bobby, reclining on his chair. “Can’t say I’ve ever understood the whole of it. How a country known for its drink from birth to death managed to pretend it wanted nothing more to do with it.”

Elsa wonders how to begin.

“I suppose it all really started with the smaller things,” she says at last. “Early temperance societies, those brave women praying in taverns and saloons…but then the government got mixed up in it. The Northern states were worried about immigrants from elsewhere, I know that—Ireland, Germany, Eastern Europe…”

“Surprised we Limeys got missed in that.”

Elsa cracks a rare smile. “Not everyone has met you specifically, Bobby.”

“Well, I suppose.”

“Anyway, it got complicated. Turns out the Brewers’ Association was doing some awful things, like trying to get children addicted to beer and buying votes from the…less respected people down in the Southern States. I remember reading in school about all the awful things alcohol could do to you—things like how if both parents were alcoholics then one in seven of their children would be horribly deformed, things like that. The Brewers created a lot of revenue for the country, so the government passed an income tax bill to show how their money wasn’t needed. And then came the War…and suddenly all the government enforcement that everyone had fussed about was everywhere and everyone needed and wanted it somehow. And it didn’t help that most of the major brewers were German.”

Bobby huffs. “No, I imagine it didn’t. Mind you, you lot weren’t the only ones. We had a touch of temperance on my side of the Pond, too. Even the Czar tried to ban vodka, back in, oh, 1916 I think.”

Elsa hasn’t heard this one. “Really? What happened?”

“…I think people got a little upset, if Mr. Lenin is anything to go by.”

“…ah.”

Bobby snorts.

“So that’s what it was? A small-town concern that turned into a massive political fuss?”

“Forget ye not the speakers!”

“Oh no…”

But her brother is through the door and, apparently, with patience too. “Such speakers as you could never imagine, taking to the work of the Lord! Billy Sunday, speaking before the masses in clear and perfect English, so as to be understood by the common man and fill his heart with the holy flame! The bright and brilliant clarity of faith in Carry Nation, armed with defiance and a hatchet of terrible repute! Master Bryan, taking to the Senate and charging ahead in the holy tradition of the prophets themselves! Pontifications from all manner of the best this country has to offer, seeking equality and virtue for all who should come before them, repair the lives of people and families! And it turned a ‘small-town concern’ outward, into a question of fundamental virtue and the truth of the American Way. It was the greatest fervour that ever did beset this great nation—greater, even, than our independence from the cowardly redcoats who would deny us our democracy (no offence meant, Robert), for now we chose not merely liberty, but morality! A denial of the craven vice and the corrupt providers that plagued us for generations—”

“How were the boys from Marigold, Abelard?” asks Bobby, apparently innocently.

Abelard glares at him for a good ten seconds.

“Could be worse. Although why Heller is suddenly tagging along with them I’ll never know.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

[slut4sway]

Anywherebound / Chapter V : drowning in our fiery river

If I had a chance, babe To go back in time, maybe I'd try a time or two This life took you in, babe The same life that reminds me I could never love me like you do

•

The best things in life are free and need to be let go

So take one last good look Let's share one last cigarette I'll be gone by the time you're ashin' it Stop askin' things you know the answers to There ain't no world in which I am good for you

And we're layin' on the roof of my car Feelin' young, feelin' numb, feelin' starved Of all the things a moment can be This one's best kept a memory How the kindest parts of my mind are you and me

•

❤️‍🩹•••••••••••••••••••🏜️

Trevor's journal entry: i don't necessarily miss the old you. more of the way you made me feel. the old you wouldn't have been able to keep up with this. the old you were too innocent, hardly jaded. i kind of miss being like that too. ill savor every last burning glow until we are man enough to set this alight.

notes : remastered version of zach bryan's this road i know poem in here!

6/3/23

10:07am

One week since the interaction after the party that had happened.

7 days. 8 hours. 24 minutes; and the seconds counting down at abnormal haste. The days have just been wasting away, and empty promises were broken despite not having anything to be broken. Since the draft year, everything has just been numb. Sure, being able to play together again which they always dreamed of as a kid was nice, but there was always some unexplainable void missing.

History with Trevor and Jamie is like a giant fucking rollercoaster. One night they were the average boy duo, and the next Jamie was in Trevor's bed and vice-versa. Doing stupid shit never changed, though. Whether it be running around abandoned buildings, doing drugs laced with a ton of dangerous substances Trevor found off the street that should've killed them, or in general just fucking around; nothing ever seemed to change. Just an endless cycle of ups and downs that deceived and ruined them to the point trusting anything good was impossible since it would be so unpredictable where it would end up. Juxtaposition is a way to describe it, not knowing where the road leads but knowing exactly where it ends.

It's like a premonition that someone would get late at night lying in their bed endlessly pondering the purpose of their souls being on this fucking floating rock. These fever dreams, a vision of sorts were hard to figure out; not knowing why but knowing exactly why. When not knowing where the hell someone could be but knowing exactly where. Feeling the gravel underneath the tires. Where it's pitch black, and the car is warm but still able to feel the cold November night air, and the presence of someone who isn't there. Driving for the longest time and all that's visible are the high beams burning down the highway, for what seems like growing perpetuity. Where everything is empty and hopeless and desolate and nothing is around for miles beside the particles of dust swirling around in the headlights like moths drawn to a light. Where being lost and knowing exactly where the destination is; is just custom. The nothingness keeps the car and that someone safe, warm, and driving until they see a small porch light glowing in the distance; a low one burning dim that grows closer and slightly stronger while it flickers. The closer that someone gets the more they see, enough to make out a house with fairy lights strewn inside. Several familiar cars with windshields frosted over that looked like they hadn't been disturbed for days until a faint song that someone can't make out the name but they know every lyric. They start to feel, noticing their disassociation dissipating away and the feeling in their feet coming back. It's cold and they're crunching on the thin layer of snow blanketing the area that stretched for miles and miles and miles, just letting their feet take them from muscle memory. The wind takes the sound of their breath with it, and they make it up to the door and they knock when they feel they don't have to. Not knowing where they are but knowing exactly where they are. The crack of fairy lights inside widens on the doormat laid on the porch that just seems to welcome them without needing any design on it; just the dusted footprints smudged across the scraggly fur of it being lit up by the lights. A boy opens the door, with the biggest smile the world ever could have witnessed if they were there. Some boy that someone could not know yet know so well, with the warmest and most approachable home they'd ever seen. It's warm-toned and comfortable-looking, with a fire and the bulb-lit living room.

''Where have you been? I've been waiting for you all night? I missed you?'' He says, tapering off the sentence with a peaceful sound that a boy his age makes; finding peace in whatever post-adolescent and mature rage he had. Grabbing them by the forearms and pulling them into the living room; there are people. They're content, and they're happy; people someone who has no idea who they are but know exactly who they are, laughing at a joke they'll never hear again. He tucks his head between his collar and jaw, but there's no weight at all. It's laughter and grins and no tomorrow to fight for since it will be waiting for them. Where someone doesn't know where they are but knows exactly where they are.

The someone is Trevor. He knows exactly where he'd end up if he kept up with these habits, and kept up with Jamie.

Jamie was crushed cans of IPA's and Coors Light. He was a liquor-soaked, smoke-choked jacket a boy would give someone after running from the cops after a party and hiding out in the woods behind their house. He was a scratchy cheek stubble and ''Oh, Trev..'' when Trevor would do something dumb. He was days of not leaving his house, hotboxing his old bedroom in his childhood home, and laughing off his high with Trevor by his side, following suit. He was months of not taking care of himself and letting himself get pale and skinny. Sometimes a silence, and sometimes too much noise. A strange laughter that could make him laugh while trying to be the tough guy, until there was no more laughing and he was walking away as the door slams for the 17th, 18th, 19th, time. He was fighting Trevor every night, and he was the guilt and responsibility every time he relapsed because Jamie couldn't control his emotions and mood swings. Jamie is the need to help but then lands himself in another shitty situation. He was the boy that Trevor's mom loved and said he talked about 24/7, and that he was a keeper. He was told by Trevor he was worth it, and he is the constant thought of: ''Do you still think that?".

Trevor was 3am, climbing through his window, ounces of weed, and blowing smoke out into the chilly northern air. He was the truth in his words when he promised he wouldn't leave him, because no matter what Jamie would do or how many times he left him; he couldn't stand living without him, since that dark-haired shy Canadian boy was a piece of him he needed to function. He was bottles of emptied liquor. He was pouring out both Jamie's and his alcohol every time they tried to detox and attempt to quit. Trevor was the loud-mouthed boy who came running back to Jamie, smirking with a busted lip because he was so damn cocky and annoying. He was the boy Jamie's mother would hear about for hours on end, about how much he loved but hated him. He was the one Jamie always had under him. He was the one Jamie loved, but the one they grew sideways and into each other, and instead of growing healthy and strong as they should; their worlds collided and the gates of hell seemed to bust open. But most of all, he was the boy who wore the jacket that Jamie was.

They used to work. The same cycle of ''I'm sorry's'' and ''I love you's'' and ''We'll do it for real, this time's'' always seemed to cut it. Same goddamn cycle.

Wash, rinse, fucking repeat.

•

''Sorry for um.. everything really.''

sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

Jamie tried to cut that word out. He was never really sorry enough to break the pattern. It just came back; tougher, meaner, and stronger with the apathy his false apologies held and released.

Trevor's fiery, slowly dimming hair and unruly curls curtained over his eyes. Jamie's voice clouded over in his head until he could make out his face that was tattooed in his brain. Disassociation, everyone calls it; feeling light and heavy at the same time, where nothing feels natural but they feel too real to exist.

The younger boy reached out his hands to touch Trevor's, as he lay next to him in the bed of the truck. His big hands; so chapped and methodical with speckles of coke in his fingernails reached out to stroke Trevor's soft, bitchboy hands. Trevor was a bitch. An annoying little bitch. Jamie's bitch.

He made eye contact with Jamie, as the summer Californian sun beat down on them. The dark-haired boy's face was like a picture or a polaroid photograph plated in gold around the edges. Trevor stared at him, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. It was so hot out, Jamie's idea to hang out on the foothills was such a shitty idea. Hot enough that they were wishing they had a river to jump into and get rid of all their worries

A river that would hurt so much to make; the pain was nagging and constantly following them around like a lost puppy. All at once, breathing like a bull in a rodeo chute, the pain would rush in and pull them under fiercely until all they could do was drown.

''You aren't. Stop bullshitting me.'' Trevor said with an unkind, rough rasp. Because when someone loves someone else, they shouldn't need to say sorry, right? They shouldn't have to even do anything worth apologizing for. But hey, newsflash boys; not everything is so happy-go-fucking-lucky like the movies. It was all a goddamn blur. Every night blended together with the hangovers caused by each other's mistakes. Where might someone put a person who apologizes to them for wrongdoing? The dead, the alive, the ones that hover like ghosts. Trevor is alive after giving Jamie every last piece of him; staying with him thick and thin even if that meant piercing the veil he wore to protect himself. He's alive, but more like a soulless corpse that walks around acting and looking like a zombie. With his sunken, dark-circled eyes and watching the world from a distance. Even with Jamie where the world seemed like it was coated in gold, it was just a glimpse of what could've been. Some people just don't work.

''I try to be. I want..'' Jamie trails off, gazing at Trevor with a longing look.

''Us. Do you want us...?'' The kindest parts of Jamie's heart is with Trevor and Trevor only. Nobody reads him the way Trevor does. Nobody has stuck with him the way he does. He's the part of his mind he keeps wrapped tightly together with layers and layers of protection around. If he had the chance, he would somehow change the road that lead to the shape they were in, in a heartbeat. He's so starved for Trevor. So. Fucking. Starved. There is no world they are good for each other, and the hope they could create one is long gone by now.

''Quit asking questions you know the answers to.'' Trevor wants them. More than anything. Nothing can change the past and how much they broke each other, and trying to pick up the pieces just cut their hands to shreds.

''Yeah. Sorry.''

sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

Jamie and his sorry attempts. He wishes he could just brush the hair from Trevor's face and tell him: sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry.

Trevor hasn't left yet, but there's still a distance between them. A void where everything has been lost, and fed back into the blur.

''...I don't wanna leave. I don't. I fucking don't. But you made me realize we aren't good for each other. We just don't.'' The breeze of the foothills swayed Trevor's hair, and took his choking voice with it.

''I know, but I don't know if this will be the last time cause-''

''Just shut up. I don't wanna hear it. Just wanna spend what time I have left with you before my clock runs out and I have to get my ass up and bring myself back home; and god.. sort out shit with the league and all this..'' His words were endearing yet aggressive because he wanted to stay with Jamie, even though he had a deadline with him. God knows Jamie hates deadlines. Trevor interlaced his fingers with Jamie, breathing in the scent of booze and weed as he tucked his head between the younger boy's collar and jaw. Trevor felt electric for the first time in a while, like the same electric blue in Jamie's dead eyes.

''What even happened? I wanna know what the fuck happened.'' Jamie blurted out, trying to close the dam and keep the river of words from flowing out over Trevor and drowning him.

''I know, but I don't. My guess is we got too fucked up somewhere on the road, maybe when our first season started. I think we might have just gotten a little too buzzed to the point where nothing was fun anymore. Yeah, we fucked a ton and whatever, but we stopped having fun a long time ago. I kind of miss getting mad at you over stupid shit, like pokemon cards or something the way we used to as kids. When we were simple, ya know? How we wouldn't be getting eaten alive by the question of why? Now I kind of feel better, cause I know why. Life was stressful when we first started, and my depression spiraled with yours and we just got so filled with anger and emotions we couldn't explain where we pushed each other away then came back, drank a little, smoked a little, was toxic cause we could never love each other if we didn't love ourselves. Life is just full of random shit nobody can explain. Ain't it funny?'' Instead of the world caving in above them, it seemed to open up. Trevor opened the locked door that hid what their problems really were, and this could be huge if they didn't fuck it up.

''Mhm... guess it is.'' Jamie's apathy never was so fucking fake. Inside, he knows what he could've done to prevent those problems. Fixing himself instead of leaving Trevor the responsibility until the weights cracked his collarbones and made him relapse.

Not fucking up starts with what Trevor said; loving themselves first. That would mean leaving each other for a while, at least enough time to glue themselves back together. It's hard to pay attention to oneself when someone they love is out there dying because they couldn't bare the thought of being alone, much less the unexplainable emotions.

Maybe it would hurt a little less when they left, but for now, they had to stick to remembering the good times. The hickeys were in only places they could see. The cute dates they would go on when they were young and simple. Trevor settled into Jamie's space even more, breathing in his scent as they laid in the back of their truck. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Go ahead and share a bottle, boys.

They'll both be packed and ready to leave by the time it's drained.

[codamarine475]

things to listen to eventually (from other soyurces)

whatever's on my rateyourmusic recommended/challenges

Eye in the Sky - Alan Parsons Project

Even In The Quietest Moments - Supertramp

Tales Of Mystery And Imagination - Alan Parsons Project

A Place In The Sun - Lit

14:59 - Sugar Ray

15 - Buckcherry

19 - WHOKILLEDXIX

Mad Valentines - Bryan Scary

Flight of the Knife - Bryan Scary

Fetch The Bolt Cutters - Fionna Apple (relisten)

When The Pawn... - Fionna Apple

Armchair Apocrypha - Andrew Bird

My Finest Work Yet - Andrew Bird

The Mysterious Production of Eggs - Andrew Bird

Fear of Music, Little Creatures, More Songs About Buildings and Food, Remain in Light, Speaking in Tongues, Talking Heads '77 - Talking Heads (mostly relistens)

Music For The Masses, Violator, Black Celebration - Depeche Mode (relisten)

Rumours - Fleetwood Mac

Heaven or Las Vegas, The Pink Opaque, Treasure - Cocteau Twins

Drums And Wires, English Settlement, Skylarking - XTC

Let's Dance, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars - David Bowie

VS4 - Jack Conte

Pet Sounds - The Beach Boys

Demon Days, Gorillaz, Humanz, Plastic Beach - Gorillaz (relisten)

No. 1 in Heaven - Sparks

Philharmony - Haruomi Hosono

Die Mensch-Maschine - Kraftwerk

Architecture & Morality - Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

Songs From the Big Chair - Tears for Fears

Low-Life - New Order

Solid State Survivor - Yellow Magic Orchestra

Byakkoya - Susumi Hirasawa

Electronic Tragedy/ENOLA - P-Model

Replicas - Tubeway Army

Deep Cuts - The Knife

A Flock Of Seagulls, Listen - A Flock Of Seagulls

Upstairs at Eric's - Yazoo

Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret - Soft Cell

The Innocents, Chorus - Erasure

Dare! - The Human League

The Pleasure Principle - Gary Numan

Into The Gap - Thompson Twins

Naked Eyes - Naked Eyes

Business As Usual - Men At Work

The Cars, Heartbeat City - The Cars

Power, Corruption & Lies - New Order

This Year's Model - Elvis Costello

Bridge City Sinners - Bridge City Sinners

A History Of Public Relations Dilemmae - Petrojvic Blasting Company

He Has Left Us Alone But Shafts Of Light Sometimes Grace The Corners Of Our Rooms - Silver Mt. Zion

Grow Your Garden - ANIMA!

Weird Revolution - Butthole Surfers

Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? - of Montreal

As Good As Dead - Local H

Ganging Up On The Sun - Guster

Apostrophe(') - Zappa

[azbookblog2023]

Scritch Scratch

Scritch Scratch is a juvenile ghost story written by Lindsay Currie. It falls under the genre of Horror/Mystery suspense, and the target age group for this book is children 9-12 years.

The story follows a young girl named Claire, an aspiring scientist and skeptic of the paranormal who is required to help her father with his ghost tour in Chicago. While on the tour she catches a glimpse of a little boy who she doesn’t recall seeing at the beginning of the tour. Claire brushes this off and figures she must have overlooked him. However, she begins to feel on edge when she doesn’t see him at the end of the tour and even more uneasy when strange occurrences start to happen to her at home. Claire can’t quite understand what she saw, and can’t find an explanation for the mysterious scratching on the wall and whispers she’s been hearing. She’s worried that she is being haunted by the boy from the bus and she’s on a mission to find out why. 

As a lover of all things spooky, I chose this title because it incorporates aspects of the paranormal with real life historical events in Chicago, and a hint of investigative work. Scritch Scratch has memorable characters, and the dynamic relationships and bonds between Claire, her family, and new friends give young readers the message that supporting one another is important. Even though Claire was a skeptic, her determination to help the ghost boy who is haunting her demonstrates that there is value in helping those in need. I also chose to evaluate this book because it gives representation to the challenges that young adults face during their middle school years, such as working through friendships and feeling anxious about asking for help. Navigating through emotions can be difficult for young adults, and I believe that young readers who enjoy spooky stories can find comfort in Claire’s story.

For this review I will be evaluating: Style & Language, Tension, and Mood.

Style & Language: Because this is a horror story I believe that style and language are crucial to the story itself. According to Young et al., "style is the way a writer manipulates all the facets of language such as word choice, syntax, and sentence length". Beginning with the title "Scritch Scratch", Lindsay Currie strategically used words that a young reader might find spooky. This alone was used to guide the rest of the story. Readers were already aware that this book would be scary, and the language and tone used by the protagonist shifted as she realized she was being haunted. I think the author did a good job of using style & language to set up this story. As I read along I felt like my attitude was parallel to that of Claire's throughout the story as she searched for answers.

Tension: Every horror story needs to have tension that will keep the reader engaged. I believe Currie was successful in using this element from the beginning to end. I believe creating Claire's character to be a scientist who is a skeptic contributed to that tension as her attitude began to shift when she felt fear. At first I was curious about what was happening with Claire and then my focus changed to the ghost boy she had seen and what he wanted. I was determined to keep reading until I found out what had happened to him.

Mood: According to Young et al., "The mood is the atmosphere evoked in the writing". For this particular story, the mood consisted of spooky and innocent. Lindsay Currie was also successful in this area. After reading this book I was reminded of the characters in other horror books and horror films who are nonchalant and skeptic about paranormal encounters. Once the protagonist begins to feel fear the audience does so as well. In this case, when Claire see's the boy and does not recognize him and then does a double take to only see that he is gone the reader is involved in the story and feels the same fear as Claire.

References:

Currie, L. (2021). Scritch scratch. Sourcebooks Young Readers.

Young, T. A., Bryan, G., Jacobs, J. S., & Tunnell, M. O. (2020). Children’s literature, briefly. Pearson.

[tangiblejournal56]

10/18/11

There it is, like a breath of fresh air, that feeling, that sensation, what has been missing from my experience here these last five months.  That smell the city emits in the fall, that airy, earthy smell, like bare trees & cement, the way the air is chilly but smells warm.  The city aroma versus the country scent of Des Moines, which is a city but always still smells of a field anyway.  I am unsure why this particular scent always makes me feel better.  Perhaps the memories tied so strongly to this city, my first three months in Austin, my first dive into independence.  It evokes cigarette breaks at 7/11, driving around for hours aimlessly with Annie, meeting Ryan & hanging out at the party house where he’d lived at the time.  When everything had the shine & nervous excitement of a new adventure.  Paths never before explored.

Sitting outside on my break from work, the wind whipping the trails of my cigarette smoke into dissipation, I sank back into that old feeling like going back to sleep, giving me a renewed (if false) optimism.  

I told the Italian I was a lost boy, raised to crow, that I believed life is a series of badventures separated by periods of stagnation; I told him this was my philosophy on life (a half-truth), “So go ahead & shred it as I know you will, you pirate.”  This was amid a joking conversation I am having with him, the first one since I told him I wasn’t his “someday girl” he’s been waiting for.  I am curious as to his response, as I know he thinks of me as a flighty, silly girl of little substance, because I tried to keep the mood light between us when we’d hang out.  He is far too consistently serious, even Max has a great deal of silliness within him.

Though I was half-joking with the Italian, it made me realize, how often have I felt like Wendy Darling, elected mother to all lost boys, to take care of them & fill their various vast wants, needs, whims.  Shawn, Bert, Posi Thom, Jacob, Nich, Daryl, JLove, Eric, even Max.  My brothers, their friends, my friends.  So rarely does a boy happen across my path who needs nothing from me.  Ryan, Bryan, Rabbit.  I love or have once loved them all, as my children, & in return these children of mine have time & again devoured me.  I receive affection in return, but so rarely loyalty (Max, my brothers, yes, even Shawn in his own way when you consider how few are in his life whom he makes the effort to keep in touch; from Nich I received the hateful words of a child when I rebelled at saving his ass once again; from JLove an unbending selfishness; Bert’s abdication incited by the Ginger; Ryan’s emotional abandonment).  Even rarer, a reciprocation of this giving of the self, this protection (Max alone).  And yet I step into this role willingly, again & again, setting myself up to be devoured, to be met with other Pans who will take what they wish, their shrill crowing, & then they abscond, ascension into the air.

Sometimes I think there might be something to the pirate’s life for me, growing up & all.  Then I recall what it is that attracts me to these lost boys in the first place.  That wonder, that innocence, idealism, sense of adventure, the possibility of magic.  Childlike but with children you receive purity, guileless & genuine, a love short-lived but sweeter than the distilled, self-loathing, ironic love of an adult, full of suspicion & doubt, so distorted it can hardly be recognized as love.

This is what threw me off guard with the Italian.  He didn’t reveal himself to me as a lost boy.  He seems not to need anything, or most certainly not anything from me.  A sense that he forces himself to be an adult, forcing out any childlike impulses or whims, no sense of adventure (excepting durations of sex, which he sees as a playground for fun & reciprocations of pleasure).  This first intrigued me, but now I’ve come to see it as tedious, his unwillingness to crow because of these restrictions he’s placed on himself.  An ill-fitting suit he is stubborn to remove, though its constriction will leave him unhappy & unfulfilled.  It is no wonder he turns to sex for his relief, his recess from life.  That is the only place I’ve seen him crow, & he is very good at it.  Such potential there for life, for exaltation.  But he will not allow himself to take off that suit.  This is disturbing, disappointing.  Soon he will be all hard, unmalleable.  He is a month older than me but we are centuries apart.  Soon that condescending, “I’ve caught onto you before you will ever know me” act will be a trait & not an error.  Then no one will know him, which perhaps is what he wants.  I hope he does happen upon his someday girl, & isn’t too far gone to realize her significance.

After this short-lived drift into the life of a pirate I am eager & relieved to return to my lost boys.  Though they may hurt & devour me at times, I know at least that it is an innocent act of devouring, they are not intending me harm but have grown too used to my acquiescing to their every endless appetites.  In a way I am only asking to be used, but I cannot bear to deny these children whatever it is they want, the way I cannot bear to leave my niece in her crib to cry when I know she will cease crying the moment I hold her.  I don’t want her to have to toughen her hide to the cold indifference of the world, just as I hate the thought of these boys to lose that innocence & idealism in the overwhelming apathy.  If filling whatever role they need keeps them young for a bit longer, then I will revel in my role of Wendy Darling.

I do have Racha, so I am not alone.  For each other we fill both the mother & child roles, as well as keeping each other from being alone.  Keeping each other from breaking, keeping each other young & idealistic.  I am lucky to have her, my Cherry Valance.

[byneddiedingo]

Cast: Jason Schwartzman, Scarlett Johansson, Tom Hanks, Jeffrey Wright, Tilda Swinton, Bryan Cranston, Edward Norton, Adrien Brody, Liev Schreiber, Hope Davis, Stephen Park, Rupert Friend, Maya Hawke, Steve Carell, Matt Dillon, Hong Chau, Margot Robbie, Tony Revolori, Jake Ryan. Grace Edwards. Screenplay: Wes Anderson, Roman Coppola. Cinematography: Robert D. Yeoman. Production design: Adam Stockhausen. Film editing: Barney Pilling. Music: Alexandre Desplat.

On the Netflix series Heartstopper, a teenage boy works up the courage to ask a girl he likes (and who secretly likes him) to go on their first date. He takes her to a movie that he likes and she doesn’t, and the date is a disaster. The key fact here is that the movie is Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom (2012). In my day, a comparable move would have been to take a date to see Jacques Demy’s The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964). Like Demy, Anderson makes movies that display an uncompromising sense of style. The only question is whether that style works for you or not, whether you think it betrays a lack of substance or opens vistas of meaning. In Anderson’s case it’s certainly a consistent style: an absence of closeups, long takes with characters artfully placed, actors who deliver their lines deadpan facing front, tricks like switching the screen from standard Academy ratio to widescreen and from monochrome to color. Sometimes Anderson’s style works for me and sometimes it doesn’t – I love The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) and The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), but I could barely sit through The French Dispatch (2021). In the case of Asteroid City, I still haven’t made up my mind completely, but I’m leaning toward the favorable view. I think it captures something essential about the brutal innocence of 1950’s America – the film is set in 1955 – and does it without clichés. There’s an acidity of tone to the film that keeps it from becoming twee – an adjective frequently applied to Anderson’s movies. The performances of its all-star cast are often delightful: I particularly liked Bryan Cranston’s performance as the TV host who serves as the narrator in the frame story. Cranston somehow manages to walk a line between Rod Serling and Walter Cronkite in his delivery. Scarlett Johansson and a bearded, pipe-smoking Jason Schwartzman manage to transcend the limitations of deadpan delivery as the film’s romantic leads. Jeffrey Wright doesn’t overplay the role of the pompous General Gibson, and there’s a brief starry cameo by Margot Robbie. Asteroid City may be one of those films it’s more rewarding to think about after you watch it, but watching it is fairly painless.

Asteroid City (2023) | dir. Wes Anderson