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tedesquire · 3 years ago

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im begging for more ray x reader content 😭

A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

Warning: poison/poisoning, ghost!reader, slight horror.

A/N: A New Years prompt!!! 18 days later!!! I was inspired partially by “The Shining” which I watched for the first time in December. Sorry to all the Kubrick fans but I just didn’t find it super enjoyable, especially knowing all Shelley Duvall went through on set. I was also inspired by Harry James’ “It’s been a long, long time.” I love you Ray, I want to be your ghostess with the mostess. I’ll check grammer and spelling later.

Description: Another dreaded New Year’s Eve. The music was loud, the drinks watered down and expensive, and the couples absolutely unbearable. But perhaps it isn’t all bad. Ray’s gotten the attention of the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the world, yours.

New Year's Eve, 1984.

The term “Ghostbusters” was everywhere, plastered on t-shirts, watches, bottle openers, patches, metal lunch boxes and thermoses. There were action figures of the team and even an animated television show (Peter had fooled the rest of the gang into signing over the rights). So, needless to say, the team was doing pretty well.

Their name was a household one, their faces graced the covers of magazines and late night television shows. Halloween stores were prepping to sell costumes of their likeness.

So it was no surprise when they received invitations from the Sedgewick Hotel for their annual “Countdown Celebration Gala.”

“Do we have to do this?” Ray shyly mumbled as he exited Ecto-1 and joined the rest of the team, along with Dana and Janine, outside the hotel. All four men were dressed in tuxedos, Janine even managing to get some gel in Egon’s unruly hair.

“Oh, Ray,” Peter sighed, patting the aformentioned’s shoulder. “We work too hard. The city is telling us, practically begging us to relax. Besides, it’s a great promotional opportunity. You don’t hear Egon complaining.”

“Only because I would be wasting my breath.” The tall man muttered, conveying his true annoyance with a scowl on his face. Winston chuckled, handing the keys over to the hotel’s valet.

“C’mon Stantz, you look great! I bet you’ll have women throwing themselves at you for a chance to be your New Year’s Kiss!” He slung his arm around Ray’s frame, and though the thought was there, his words did little to soothe Ray’s nerves.

Ray could handle himself in most social situations as long as he had a buffer. Normally that would be Egon, but lately Ray had started to notice the grouping within the gang. Obviously Dana and Peter were in a relationship so that was already one man out. Moreover, Ray wasn’t sure but he had his suspicions that Janine had been flirting with Egon, so he wanted to give them space. Lord knows he didn’t need to be the third wheel.

Perhaps it would just be him and Winston for the night. Ever since the drive in the car before the whole Gozer incident, they had come to be friends. But even Ray had to admit, Winston was way cooler than he would ever be.

The group entered the ballroom, thankfully remodeled after they had destroyed it. Large chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling, carpet replaced with hardwood. There was a wrap-around bar against one wall and a stage near the other. On the stage was a live band, dulcet tones of jazz echoing throughout the room.

Flashes from random cameras went off every few minutes, the whole room basked in a warm glow.

Before Ray even knew what was happening he felt Winston’s hands leave him, watching aimlessly as his friend headed to the bar, striking up a conversation with an unknown woman. Peter had grabbed Dana and immediately led her to the dancefloor, Janine picking up a drink from a tray and standing against the wall to observe. Egon was nowhere to be found.

So much for the buffer.

Ray surveyed the entirety of the ballroom several times in order to preoccupy himself, finally deciding on heading to the bar and ordering a nice vodka martini to calm his worries.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts as he ordered he went to slide into a barstool, not realizing that someone was occupying it until he had bumped into them, sending their drink flying against their silk dress.

“I’m awfully sorry!” His voice caught in his throat as your head came to face his. You were the most beautiful woman he had laid eyes on. Your silk ensemble rested against your soft skin, your features highlighted by the makeup you wore. You smelled of lilac and another scent he couldn’t put his finger on in the moment.

“Oh please, it’s not a party if you don’t smell like you’ve had a good time, nevermind if you’ve had one or not.” You laughed, taking a few napkins and patting your dress down, putting Ray at ease. “Why don’t you join me, Mr…?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Stantz. Raymond Stantz.” His nose crinkled as he gave you his full name, slightly confused by his own behavior. Hardly anyone ever used his full name but as you repeated it, he momentarily forgot why he preferred it shortened. He let out an embarrassed chuckle, moving to sit on the barstool next to you. “Please, let me buy you another. It’s the absolute least I can do.”

“So, Raymond, what do you do?” He seemed to give you a genuine smile, making you raise a brow.

“I’m a Ghostbuster.” Your expression stayed the same, causing him to chuckle. “People call about a ghost and my friends and I capture it, place the entity in a storage facility.” He started to grow flustered at your lack of a response. “We saved the world from a demonic entity named Gozer?” He let a few moments of silence pass before he panicked, blurting out the first thing he could think of.

“You’re not from around here?”

“I was…” Your brows furrowed, and Ray had to stop himself from fawning over how cute you were out loud. “I just got back and I’m only in town for just a little bit.”

“So you were on a trip?” You chuckled, taking another sip of your cocktail.

“You could say that.” The conversation fell into a natural silence and while you seemed undisturbed by it’s arrival, Ray was freaking out. Say something interesting!

“You spend your living catching ghosts.” You beat him to the punch. “Do you think all ghosts are evil?” You set your drink down, fully facing him. He was intrigued by your question, taking a minute to carefully decide.

“No.” He decided. “I mean, I haven’t met a good ghost yet, a “Casper”-type, but the last time the gang and I were here we caught a ghost that liked to eat other guests’ food and project slime on them. He wasn’t so much evil as he was annoying, so I’m sure there are nicer spirits out there. Those who perhaps don’t realize they were dead or maybe those looking out for their families.” His answer seemed to amuse you, your painted lips pursing into a smirk.

You asked him all sorts of questions relating to his work, genuinely interested and impressed. Ray was so busy enjoying your company he hardly noticed the minutes pass by. Had he been talking to you for five minutes or five hours?

“Do you know you have the most lovely set of eyes?” You purred after he finished telling you about his work in the private sector. You swore you had never seen a man’s face more red as he tried to stutter out a response. “They’re like gemstones… one emerald and one jasper. They light up when you talk about your passions.”

As you compliment him you notice the hands of the clock, and a bold thought strikes you.

“Be my New Year’s kiss, won’t you?” Your finger traced the rim of your glass, peeking up at those marbled eyes through your lashes. Ray’s jaw had dropped at your boldness, his ears flushing a bright pink.

“You’re gonna catch flies.” You laughed, placing a single finger under his chin to shut his mouth for him. “You’re not going to make a girl beg, are you?” Ray seemed to find his voice then, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, uh, I- I mean yes! I’ll be your New Year's kiss.” Ray could hardly believe his luck. A beautiful, stunning woman in front of him who made him laugh and was interested in him? Perhaps 1985 wouldn’t be such a bad year after all.

“Well, you better get to puckering lover-boy, looks like the countdown is starting.” You nodded to a patron who stood on the table, staring at his watch and starting to countdown the seconds until midnight.

“Why don’t we make sure this year ends on a good note, huh, Ray?” You cooed, placing a hand on his knee to lean forward and plant your lips on his, soft and warm compared to your chilly lonesome ones.

10….9….8….

Ray felt his head swim, from the kiss or from the alcohol, he didn’t quite know. You seemed so cold, why hadn’t you asked for his jacket? Should he give you his jacket? No, okay, wait, first thing he would do as soon as everyone cried “Happy New Year” is ask for your number, then ask if you would want to let him take you out sometime, then he would offer you his jacket and cozy you up for the rest of the night.

7….6….5…

“Raymond…” You softly mumbled as you separated, allowing him to catch a quick breath before grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him back towards you, practically pulling him off of the barstool.

Your teeth nibbled on his bottom lip, pulling the muscle and letting it snap back before sneaking your tongue into his mouth, much to Ray’s surprise.

Did every woman kiss like this? Had he been missing out? Or did he choke on his drink and die? That would explain it, you were an angel leading him to heaven, doing such a good job that Ray didn’t even mind that he was dead.

3...2...1…

“Thank you.” You whispered against his lips. “For making me feel so alive.”

Ray felt your hands leaving his jacket, waiting for a moment before blinking his eyes open, only to find you nowhere in sight.

After almost an hour of looking for you and coming up unsuccessful, a sulking Ray left the bar for the final time, aimlessly wandering around the ballroom until bumping into Janine and Dana, balancing an almost comatose Peter between them.

“We’ve got to get Peter home. Do you mind finding Winston and Egon? We’re going to have the car brought out front.” Janine instructed, grumbling a few curses as she adjusted her grip on the heavy man. Ray nodded, watching the trio leave before scanning the room.

Egon was staring at a wall filled with past photographs, his hand on his chin.

“Ray.” Egon beckoned him over once he caught sight of his dear friend, turning back to staring at the portraits that hung along the ballroom walls. “I did a bit of research before the party. The twelfth floor isn’t the only place in the hotel in which apparitions have been sighted.”

“Ever since we caught Slimer here I’ve been wondering more about the history of certain spectos that haunt the hotel. I found a newspaper article from January 1, 1946 while using the microfiche. Strangely enough I couldn’t find a paper copy anywhere, I bet the hotel paid for all the copies they could get their hands on, and I don’t blame them.”

“Apparently, almost 39 years ago, this building, known as the Hotel Caratoc, hosted a New Years’ party and the next day found all the partygoers dead…” He pointed to a specific portrait, the year reading 1946. “I guess they kept the old photos…”

“The autopsies showed large amounts of aconite ingested through what detectives concluded was the punch. It caused all the guests' organs to fail and they died within the hour. Staff alerted the police immediately, the building was emptied and eventually abandoned until it was bought 12 years ago and turned into the Sedgewick.”

“They never found the culprit but some staff members report men and women dressed from the 40’s walking and moaning around in the ballroom after hours.” Ray wasn’t paying much attention to Egon, his attention fully devoted to a lovely figure near the edge of the frame, your figure.

He couldn’t believe it. There you were, same outfit, same beautiful smile, the same cocktail in your hand from earlier, staring at the camera with a twinkle in your eye. Ray turned back to the dancefloor, hoping he could find your face and convince himself that he was going crazy. There was no way you could.. That you were… a ghost?

Turning back to the portrait he blinked, rubbing his eyes before looking back at your face. Your innocent smile had shifted into a coy one and he could have sworn he saw you- the picture, rather- wink at him.

“Ray!” He seemed to snap out of his trance, turning to face Winston’s and Egon’s matching concerned expressions. It took him a second to recognize that Winston had his hands on his shoulders. “Geez man, I think it’s time to get you to bed.”

“Uh-” Ray spared one more glance at the photograph, breath hitching at the absence of your figure. Perhaps Winston was right, he had too much to drink. But how could that explain the softness of your lips and touches, the way your laugh itched his brain in the most delightful way.

Your words from earlier echoed in his head, and he almost felt nauseous.

“Thank you… for making me feel so alive.”’

He hoped, selfishly, that this night wouldn’t be the last night he would ever see you. The whole ride home consisted of creating plans to get him inside the Sedgewick alone to try and see you again.

He supposed there were good ghosts after all, as you were the nicest entity, living or dead, that he had ever met. And not even living on a different plane of existence would stop him from pursuing you.

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters fanfiction #ghostbusters fanfic #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters imagines #Ray Stantz #ray stantz fanfiction #ray stantz imagine #ray stantz imagines #ray stantz x reader #Ray stantz fanfic #fluff #tw: poison #tw: poisioning #tw: ghost #tw: ghosts #tw: slight horror #reader insert #mod olivia

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lucienballard · 3 years ago

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The Velvet Underground’s 30 greatest songs – ranked!

30. Ride Into the Sun (1969)The Velvets recorded two versions of Ride Into the Sun: a fabulous 1969 instrumental laden with fuzz guitar and a hushed 1970 vocal take backed by organ. Somewhere between the two lies one of their great lost songs; Lou Reed’s disappointingly flat 1972 solo version doesn’t do it justice at all.

29. Run Run Run (1967)For all the shock engendered by the lyrics of Heroin and I’m Waiting for My Man, the most malevolent-sounding track on the debut album might be Run Run Run, a powerful R&B groove lent a gripping darkness by Reed’s noisy guitar playing and the screw-you-I-take-drugs sneer of his vocals.

28. Beginning to See the Light (1969)The title suggests awakening, the melody is bright, but the lyrics are dark and bitter. They may have been directed at John Cale, who played on an initial version of the song, which was subsequently re-recorded after Reed sacked him, against the wishes of his bandmates. A ferocious 1969 live version amps up the tension.

27. Foggy Notion (1969)Reed was a lifelong doo-wop fan. His passion usually found its expression when the Velvet Underground recorded backing vocals for their ballads – as on Candy Says – but the tough, rocking Foggy Notion went a stage further, gleefully stealing a chunk of the Solitaires’ 1955 single Later for You Baby.

26. The Gift (1968)In which the band set a two-chord grind that may, or may not, have been based on their instrumental Booker T in one channel and a blackly comic Reed short story read by Cale in the other. “If you’re a mad fiend like we are, you’ll listen to them both together,” offered the producer, Tom Wilson.

25. Guess I’m Falling in Love (1967)Recorded at the White Light/White Heat sessions, but never completed, the April 1967 live recording of Guess I’m Falling in Love – taped at the Gymnasium in New York – will more than suffice. It boasts three chords, a distinct rhythm and blues influence, Reed in streetwise, so-what punk mode and explosive guitar solos somehow potentiated by the rough sound quality.

24. Temptation Inside Your Heart (1968)“It was not Mein Kampf – my struggle,” the guitarist Sterling Morrison once reflected of the Velvet Underground’s career. “It was fun.” A delightful late Cale-era outtake that inadvertently captured Morrison, Cale and Reed’s giggly backchat as they recorded the backing vocals, Temptation Inside Your Heart bears that assessment out.

23. New Age (1970)New Age comes in two varieties. Take your pick from the world-weary, small-hours rumination found on 1969: The Velvet Underground Live, or the more epic studio version that the Velvets biographer Victor Bockris suggested was “an attempt to present some encouraging statements to a confused audience as the 70s began”. Both are superb.

22. After Hours (1969)The Velvets’ eponymous 1969 album ends, improbably, with the drummer, Moe Tucker, singing a song that could have dated from the pre-rock era. The twist is that her childlike voice and the cute melody conceals an almost unbearably sad song, ostensibly a celebration of small-hours boozing, but filled with longing and regret.

21. I Can’t Stand It (1969)Amid the Velvets’ songs about drugs and drag queens lurked the plaintive sound of Reed pining for his college sweetheart, Shelley Albin, the subject of Pale Blue Eyes, I Found a Reason and I Can’t Stand It. The latter’s cocky strut is disrupted by a desperate lyrical plea: “If Shelley would just come back, it’d be all right.”

20. The Black Angel’s Death Song (1967)There is something folky and vaguely Dylan-esque at the heart of The Black Angel’s Death Song, but by the time Cale had finished with it – alternately strafing it with screeching, insistent viola and hissing into the microphone in lieu of a chorus – it sounded, and still sounds, unique.

19. I Found a Reason (1970)It is one of the ironies of the Velvet Underground that the most forward-thinking, groundbreaking band of their era could occasionally sound like old-fashioned rock’n’roll revivalists. Buried on side two of Loaded was one of the loveliest of Lou Reed’s loving homages to doo-wop, complete with spoken-word section.

18. Some Kinda Love (1969)Musically straightforward, sensual in tone, Some Kinda Love is a complex business, part seduction soundtrack, part refusal to be hemmed in by standard categories of sexuality – “no kinds of love are better than others … the possibilities are endless / and for me to miss one / would seem to be groundless”. Killer line: “Between thought and expression lies a lifetime.”

17. European Son (1967)European Son isn’t a song so much as an eruption. It sounds like a band overturning the established order of rock’n’roll, almost literally: after two brief verses, it bursts into thrilling frantic chaos with a verbatim crash, like the contents of an upended table hitting the floor.

16. Rock & Roll (1970)It is hard to see Loaded’s driving, joyous hymn to music’s redemptive power – “her life was saved by rock and roll” – as anything other than disguised autobiography on the part of Reed. The suggestion that music will endure “despite all the amputations”, meanwhile, seems to look forward to his departure from the Velvet Underground.

15. Candy Says (1969)No one else in 1969 was writing songs remotely like Candy Says, a stunning, tender pen portrait of the transgender Warhol superstar Candy Darling set to a gentle doo-wop inspired backing. Its melancholy seems to presage the note Darling wrote on her deathbed in 1974: “I had no desire for life left … I am just so bored by everything.”

14. Sunday Morning (1967)Sunday Morning was written at the behest of Wilson. He wanted a single that might conceivably get on the radio; he got a haunting, melancholy sigh of a song, its battered wistfulness and undercurrent of paranoia – “watch out, the world’s behind you” – the perfect encapsulation of morning-after regret.

13. What Goes On (1969)Morrison maintained that the studio incarnation of What Goes On wasn’t a patch on the live versions the band performed with Cale on organ. Maybe, but the studio incarnation featuring Cale’s replacement, Doug Yule, is great. It prickles with nervous energy, Reed’s guitar playing is amazing, its churning coda takes up half the song and it still feels too short.

12. Femme Fatale (1967)Apparently provoked by the damaged, doomed Warhol superstar Edie Sedgwick – with whom Cale had a brief affair – Femme Fatale is as beautiful and fragile as its inspiration. The story of a wary, ruined former suitor warning others off the titular anti-heroine is lent a chilly edge by Nico’s delivery.

11. I Heard Her Call My Name (1968)In the Velvets’ early days, Reed purported to be “the fastest guitarist alive”. A berserk claim, but his Ornette Coleman-inspired solos on I Heard Her Call My Name are some of the most extraordinary and viscerally exciting in rock history, frequently atonal, spiked with ear-splitting feedback and pregnant pauses.

10. Ocean (1969)The Velvet Underground recorded Ocean several times – one version is supposed to feature the return of Cale on organ – but never released it in their lifetime, which seems extraordinary. It is among the greatest of their later songs, its atmosphere beautiful, the epic ebb and flow of its sound completely immersive.

9. I’m Waiting for the Man (1967)An unvarnished lyrical depiction of scoring drugs tied to music on which Reed’s rock’n’roll smarts and Cale’s background in minimalist classical music – the pounding, one-chord piano part – meld in a kind of relentless perfection. Amusingly, there is now a pharmacy at the song’s fabled location of Lexington 125.

8. I’ll Be Your Mirror (1967)A song about Reed’s affair with Nico that could just as easily be about Andy Warhol’s approach to art, I’ll Be Your Mirror is one of those Velvet Underground tracks that makes their initial commercial failure seem baffling. How could a pop song as wonderful as this fail to attract attention? Nico and Morrison on stage at the New York Society for Clinical Psychiatry annual dinner in 1966.

7. White Light/White Heat (1968)A delirious paean to amphetamine, its subject reflected in the lyrics – “I surely do love to watch that stuff tip itself in” – and the turbulent, distorted rush of its sound. The band appear to be barely in control as it careers along; the chaotic finale, where Cale finally loses his grip on the bass line, is just fantastic.

6. Heroin (1967)Heroin was the deal-breaker at early Velvets gigs, provoking a “howl of bewilderment and outrage”. The shock of its subject matter has dulled with time, but its surges from folky lament to sonic riot still sound breathtaking. Oddly sweet moment: Reed’s chuckle as Tucker loses her place amid the maelstrom and suddenly stops playing.

5. Pale Blue Eyes (1969)“High energy does not necessarily mean fast,” Reed once argued. “High energy has to do with heart.” Hushed, limpidly beautiful and almost unbearably sad, Pale Blue Eyes’ depiction of a strained, adulterous relationship proves his point. In its own vulnerable way, it is as powerful as anything the Velvet Underground recorded.

4. Sweet Jane (1970)Sweet Jane started life as a ballad – see the versions recorded live at the Matrix in San Francisco in 1969 – but, sped and toughened up, it became as succinct and perfect a rock’n’roll song as has ever been written, based around one of the greatest riffs of all time.

3. Venus in Furs (1967)For a band who inspired so much other music, the Velvet Underground’s catalogue is remarkably rich with songs that still sound like nothing else; they were as inimitable as they were influential. Venus in Furs is a case in point: umpteen artists were galvanised by its dark, austere atmosphere; none succeeded in replicating it.

2. Sister Ray (1968)A monumental journey into hitherto-uncharted musical territory, where a primitive garage-rock riff meets Hubert Selby-inspired lyrics and improvisation that sounds like a psychological drama playing out between Reed and Cale, all at skull-splitting volume. Fifty-three years later, it is without peer for white-knuckle intensity.

1. All Tomorrow’s Parties (1967)Ninety per cent of the Velvet Underground’s oeuvre consists of no-further-questions classics. The astonishingly high standard of almost everything they did makes picking their “best” song a matter of personal preference, rather than qualitative judgment. So let’s go for Warhol’s favourite, on which the sour and sweet aspects of their debut album entwine faultlessly. The melody is exquisite; the music monolithic and unrelenting, powered by Cale’s hammering piano and Tucker’s stately drums; Nico’s performance perfectly inhabits the lyrics, which turn a depiction of a woman choosing what dress to wear into a meditation on emptiness and regret. It is original and utterly masterly: the Velvet Underground in a nutshell.

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#the velvet underground

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littlemissblogger · 3 years ago

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“Frankenstein” Book Review

Frankenstein...what an interesting way to begin a story. Absolutely loved the beginning of the novel. In fact, Victor Frankenstein’s name was mentioned in a very unique way. The whole novel was written beautifully and Mary Shelley’s writing style is total chef’s kiss! I have a lot of thoughts and things to share which I have gotten throughout this novel.

We all know that a little learning is a dangerous thing. But Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein teaches us that sometimes knowing beyond the limit can be dangerous too. In my opinion, that is more fatal. We don’t have to acquire all of our nerdy dreams. Sometimes, giving up makes us more successful. Frankenstein indeed was a brilliant man but to me he still couldn’t cross the boundaries of ignorance. He is a total stupid and bad decision maker.

Less knowing people can lead their lives simply and without much worries. But as we get to know more, more thoughts keep peeping in our minds and some of them keep making us uncomfortable and unstable. We can’t bide ourselves to anything particular, we become so shaky then which is sometimes really tormenting. Sometimes, without thinking even with profound knowledge, we do something that can later on leave such consequences which can be unbearable. Such was the situation of Frankenstein. He suffered soo much after creating the creature and it was really despairing.

This book keeps reminding me again and again that we should not judge someone by their appearances. And also that people usually don’t become just a bad person. It is actually the treatment of the society that cause it. This case happened with the poor creature. Even Frankenstein treatment wasn’t kin at all. I felt really sorry for him.

Besides all of the horror and gothic scenarios, “Frankenstein” also has created some peaceful scenarios. The beauty of Switzerland was represented all through the novel. I enjoyed it a lot. Highly recommend it to everyone.

#frankenstein #frankenstiensmonster #mary shelley #mary shelly's frankenstein #books #book review #books reading #books & libraries #bookblr #Aestheitcs #gothic #dark academia #literature #gothic literature

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tcm · 5 years ago

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The Romance of Murder...The Murder of Romance by Theresa Brown

George Stevens— director of SHANE (‘53), GIANT (‘56), GUNGA DIN (‘39) and WOMAN OF THE YEAR (‘42)—won the first of his two Best Director Academy Awards for A PLACE IN THE SUN (‘51), one of the iconic screen classics that started off the 1950’s. (His second Oscar was for the epic GIANT). A PLACE IN THE SUN is truly textbook filmmaking at its finest. The movie has six Academy Awards to its credit. Stevens takes us by the hand and masterfully lays down bread crumbs for us to follow. His filmmaking here is romantic with scenes flowing seamlessly from one into the next, using a few wipes and many super slow dissolves. Superimpositions linger onto the next scene like ghosts. His slow dissolves make me swoon.

A PLACE IN THE SUN is based on a Theodore Dreiser novel and is a remake of the 1931 film directed by Josef von Sternberg. Stevens’ version stars Montgomery Clift, Elizabeth Taylor and Shelley Winters, all three acquitting themselves very nicely in a morally ambiguous triangle. Frankly, I’m torn. I want to be a good and ethical audience member of society...but I’m swept up by the romance of the film.

Montgomery Clift gets an utterly fantastic intro into the movie. Underneath the film’s credits with great musical fanfare, the movie starts with a young man hitchhiking on a highway. Thumbing for a ride, he backs up into the camera and after George Stevens’ director title card disappears, Monty (if I may be so informal) turns to face the camera. Stevens slowly dollies into a close-up of him. My God! That beautiful face of Clift’s fills up the entire screen. Man or woman, if you’re not a goner by that point, then you need more vitamins.

And that’s just the first five minutes of the movie! Maybe THAT’s the lure...and the danger of this film – the beauty of Montgomery Clift’s face. (Or maybe it’s just my moral code that’s a bit askew.) His character seems like an unassuming young man. He’s in town to get a promised job from his rich uncle. He’s shown to be the type to work for what he wants; willing to start at the bottom. He’s not looking for something on a silver platter. He doesn’t seem manipulative or calculating. When he meets his rich relatives, they barely hide their condescension. At one point, he’s at the front gate of the “big house” during a party of arriving guests. He wants but has no entry into this world.

It’s kind of amazing through Stevens’ direction how unseen Clift’s George Eastman is. At one point, when he is invited to a big party, in his best blue suit, the camera follows him into the mansion. The butler doesn’t acknowledge him. He’s not greeted by his cousins. No one talks to him. He wafts through conversations with nary a person turning their head. The hoi polloi doesn’t see him. He is alone amidst a crowd of people. He goes off to play pool by himself. He’s unseen until...

Look who does see him when he goes to work at the family business; all the gals on the assembly line. They make with the wolf whistles. Working class women see him. Here, Stevens introduces us to another leg in this triangle: Alice Tripp. Let me give a hand to the great Shelley Winters, who didn’t shy away from unflattering roles. Here, in a nowhere job, she lives alone in a rooming house, goes to the movies alone. A cog in the wheel of life. She’s a nice girl...a nice enough girl. She eases into a relationship, of sorts, with George. They drift together, keeping company.

Stevens does something interesting when trouble begins for George. He keeps him in the dark: keeps him hidden. He keeps us from seeing him. When George makes his “Valentino” moves on Alice with the help of a loud radio and her living on the ground floor (easy access?), they’re both hidden in the dark and slightly out of frame when he takes her to bed. We see this motif again when George comes over to Alice’s place (finally) to celebrate his birthday after his dizzying night in the arms of an angel. We don’t see either of their faces when she has to tell him she’s in ‘trouble.’ Interesting set-up the way Stevens blocks the scene – he has Shelley’s back to the camera AND her body obscures Monty from our view. Another time he’s in darkness is when Winters goes for that god-awkward doctor’s visit (“I... cannot...help...you”). George waits in the car’s darkness to find out what the doctor can “do” for her. Why is he not seen?

Alice’s desperation is palpable. She demands he marry her. That’s understandable. So why am I not sympathetic to her? I’ve tried several viewings to suss “why” from my psyche. They would have gone on to have a pleasant and unremarkable life together. He would never know what he’d missed out on. But there is that nail in his coffin...and a most beautiful nail it is.

When George is fully and finally SEEN, it’s by an Angel.

To say Elizabeth Taylor is beautiful is quite an understatement. She plays Angela and she is absolutely a ravishing thing of beauty. We see her when George sees her earlier in the movie. He is not registering on her radar, even though she was on his. And since there’s none so blind as those who cannot see, she has not seen him, though he has seen her several times during the movie. It’s him making that pool shot that finally catches her attention. (“Wow!”) She is quite a vision floating into that billiard room in a stunning Edith Head dress (who won an Academy Award for Costume Design), as though she’s on a white chiffon cloud. It’s love at first sight. Instantaneous, magic.

We can see they’re right for each other. She’s his passport to getting recognized. No no, he’s not using her. His own idea for a cost proposal for his uncle gets him kicked upstairs into an office and out of the factory line. Angela adores him, gives him entree into her world. She takes him by the hand and pulls him out of that lonely room into the party. As they’re embraced in a dance, Angela notes the intrusion of us, the audience in the dark: “Are they watching?” They are dreamy. They are beautiful.

But there IS an intrusion, a very real one, when Alice confronts George with her pregnancy. She stands between him and paradise. Is it murder if you merely wish someone dead? Yes, Monty should do the right thing. Make a clean breast of things. Would he be forgiven? Would he lose everything? The thought of paradise lost is unbearable. I’ve tried to put myself in Alice’s shoes. But it’s heart over head; emotion over logic. Who doesn’t want what they want? Perhaps I struggle because I wonder, how COULD I give up the thing I want most in the world, the thing just within my grasp. Could you?

A PLACE IN THE SUN is a masterpiece of filmmaking, acting and checks all the boxes. But we were set up! I think the movie is a set up for George and for us. Sound is used effectively in this. The loons...the dog’s bark permeating...the radio news of a drowning is itself drowned out by the roar of a speedboat. Franz Waxman’s Academy Award-winning music in this does me in, whether it’s romantic, foreboding or narrating Monty’s inner dilemma. Waxman’s love theme puts me in a trance. William C. Mellor’s cinematography wins him an Academy Award with breathtaking scenes. In the movie, there is a moment in the woods between Monty and a Ranger that stops me as dead in my tracks as it stops George. I can’t even describe HOW it’s lit, but it looks unlike anything else in the movie. I wait for it. William Hornbeck won an Academy Award for Film Editing and the screenplay by Michael Wilson and Harry Brown also won an Oscar.

But I put the onus and blame on George Stevens for breaking my moral code. He set us up for failure by putting the beauty of Monty and Elizabeth in our path. I’m not a bad person...I want to do the right thing by society...one should face consequences for their action. But Monty and Elizabeth together; she holds out all one can dream for and paints a picture of a loving paradise he fears will slip through his fingers.

Now I ask you: is that fair?

#A Place in the Sun #George Stevens #Montgomery Clift #Elizabeth Taylor #edith head #romance #classic film #TCM #Turner Classic Movies #Theresa Brown

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sparksinthenight · 4 years ago

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Rant about Frankenstein

Because honestly what the fuck else would I do? Elizabeth, Justine, and Caroline are my favourite characters and Adam’s misunderstood but not in an owo sad boi way. Because honestly what the fuck else would I say? Y’all know me by now.

Hey did anybody else have to read Frankenstein for gradeschool? Because Jesus Christ, that book was unbelievably horrible. Victor is irredemable in so many ways, he gets a twelve-year-old girl killed because he doesn’t want to take responsibility for his own crimes, and also he marries his sister. 🤢

....... And this is the guy whose pain we’re supposed to be sympathizing with???? Like NO THANKS??!!!

His whole family is horrible by the way? His dad married a woman young enough to be his daughter who, more importantly, was almost wholly financially dependent on him at the time when he proposed and therefore could not properly consent? Like ... she had to choose between abject poverty and him and that’s not a real choice at all? They pretty much kidnapped Elizabeth who had her own family and it’s implied that she never got to see her real parents again. Do you know how unbelievably traumatizing that would be? They pretty much kidnapped Justine too though they let her see her family occasionally which doesn’t change the fact that she had to go so long without them when she was just an elementary school-aged child. And also they made her do child labour. While letting their teenaged son just lie around in a boat for no reason. And Victor pretty much kills her later to save himself. If you read between the lines you can see that they groomed Elizabeth and arguably even Victor from a disturbingly young age to marry each other (despite the fact that they grow up in the same house with the same adults and are therefore siblings). Neither child really has another option for people to marry it what to do with their lives and they both grow up knowing they’d inevitably end up married to each other as their father wants. Which is disturbing. That’s incredibly disturbing. Unbelievably disturbing. The way young-child-Elizabeth is described is too womanlike fo be describing a child? The same thing happens when describing Victor’s youngest brother? Who dates a five-year-old when he’s like eight or nine? Like I’m aware that kids date but that’s a fucked up age difference for two people so young and it’s described so creepily.

And honestly Victor’s whole family is so disturbing? But the worst part of it is that his family isn’t described as disturbing. They’re described as such good people and such a sweet, loving, perfect family. They’re painted as do benevolent and kind and generous. And like ... they’re not? At all? They’re abusive, exploitative, and predatory? I mean except the women but the women are all the victims of the men. And it’s painted as this pure, innocent, loving thing. We even talked in class about how perfect and loving his family is.

And I want to talk about the female characters. Caroline, who got coerced into marrying a “good, honest, benevolent” man under the implicit threat of destitution, sacrificed her life to save Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who gets kidnapped a groomed, is the only one who truly feels sorrow for Justine’s death. Sure the other members of the family mourn, but it’s just for show. There never is the deep, caring, vulnerable, emotional aspect to it. They go through the motions of mourning because it’s what’s right. You can tell because Victor had ample chance to save Justice but didn’t even try whatsoever at all because he wanted to save his reputation. Despite the fact that he’s much older than Justine. And the way he mourns is the same hollow way the other men in the family mourn. But Elizabeth’s mourning is so much more raw and agonized and real. Because they understand each other. They share each other’s pain. And Justine herself, from the little we see of her, is also shown to be a deeply loving girl. She holds a picture of her real/birth family close to her at all times. Her displays of love are not grand, ornate, and ultimately hollow like the men. They’re simple, and humble, and genuine, and pure. The women understand what live us, and what emotions are, while the men don’t.

I don’t believe this is intentional though, despite the book being written by a female author, because every single time the men are described they’re described as perfect and flawless while the women are described as pretty and beautiful and “oh they love the men so much” and that’s it. But their actions betray the truth of the profound deep ness and wisdom of their characters. And given how you know how like, what we see in the world informs how we write about it, subconsciously, right. Well Mary Shelley probably unconsciously write about the strength, camaraderie, compassion, and empathy she has seen but hasn’t consciously noticed, without even noticing it.

You might tell me, oh wow Mary is a female author why would she be misogynistic?

You need to remember that internalized misogyny is one hell of a beast. Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey, After, Dark, and so many more misogynistic trash books were all written by female authors. And also the difference between Mary and her female characters is that Mary was from a rich family whereas every single one of her female characters in this book were from a poor background and class is an even more impactful praxis than gender and multiple axis often intersect in very strange and horrible ways.

Back to the story.

And obviously everything that goes on when Victor goes off to university is horrible. And so many people talk about how it’s horrible for Adam but they never truly realize the pain that Adam is in. Apart from being Victor’s son and being thoroughly abandoned, and feared, and even hated by his father Adam is forced to live in a world that shuns him and sees him as a monster.

Adam is, in my opinion, the only redeemable male character in the book. Despite having no control over his emotions, his emotions are real. Adam is alone. Justine is alone. Elizabeth is alone. Caroline is arguably alone. The violence the Frankenstein family inflicts upon the members it considers lesser is unimaginable. Adam is alone, is lesser, is pretty much forced to grow up on his own because he failed to meet expectations. Victor is so full of hubris and ego. And honestly, at least this gets addressed but he never is truly held accountable by the narrative. He has such a goddamn high opinion of himself and thinks he can do everything. He never thinks of the fact that the guy he creates will be their own person. Victor views Adam as an extension of himself and his glory. And when Adam commits the “crime” of not living up to Victor’s expectations Victor abandons him immediately. Because Adam was supposed to be a monument to Victor’s glory, to Victor’s artistry, to Victor’s intelligence, Victor’s power. And he wasn’t that. He was a young, flawed child in need of guidance and support, guidance and support he never received.

So this all begs the question. Why did Victor feel the need to create Adam? Because truly, as messed up as Victor’s family, they are messed up in a different way. Victor, growing up his family, was always the darling. Always the centre of attention. Always adored and fired and called genus. For existing. When he went off to university, this was not the case. He was a bright student but he was one student of many. He was not special just because. Whatever position he had he had to gain somehow. And I’m not saying meritocracy is good, it isn’t. But it was a different system than what he grew up in and for the first time he wasn’t so close to the very top. Of course that would deeply “hurt” a man as coddled as Victor was. Of course that would drive him to need to “prove himself.” It would drive him to need to show that he was glorious. And he needed Adam to prove his worth to them and gain his position.

Everyone talks about how Adam’s actions were irrational, borne of over-emotional passion and disregard for the morals of polite society. They don’t see that in the face of extreme, unbearable psychological and even sometimes physical trauma m violence the only way forwards is with violence if your own. Think of it as do-it-yourself Karma.

Adam was alone. Justine was alone. Elizabeth was alone. Caroline was alone. But Adam had so much privilege - and yes it is privilege - that the others don’t have. Adam is free. Adam does not fit into the society and all its class-divides, gender-divides, race-divides, religion-divides, and other divides. He doesn’t have a place on the hierarchy. Or in society. He exists in his own sphere. And is beholden to none of the rules if said polite society. He doesn’t have to surround himself with people who want to exploit, abuse, and control him. He doesn’t have to do what they say. He doesn’t have to fake gratitude. He had the type of freedom that Justine, Elizabeth, and Caroline deserve but do not have.

I’m being rejected by society Adam retreated into the wilderness and lived in nature. I believe there is something deeply poetic about that. Because the wilderness is the origin and the end.

But anyways, Adam didn’t know how corrupt the Frankenstein family was. He didn’t know many things. But he knew rage, and he knew violence.

And he knew how to kill.

And it was so cathartic in a strange, subconscious way to see the Frankenstein family’s downfall. I mourned Elizabeth and Justine’s deaths. I seriously mourned them. But they were the only ones. And I still felt a sense of peace and calm at their deaths. Because now they’re free from their nightmare lives, right? Elizabeth, especially. Because she was getting so close to her wedding night. She was getting so close to the time when she would have to sleep with the child of her kidnappers, who she grew up with, who she was raised to be a wife for. That’s not good. So it was actually a relief that he died before she could consummate that sham of a marriage. Elizabeth and Justine were beautiful, radiant souls that deserved to be in the world. But at least they’re free. They deserved to live. Big they also deserved freedom. Not either/or. Both. But still. If you ask me freedom is worth more than life. If humans had not been so neurobiologically wired to stay alive I would have happily died years ago.

And the Frankenstein men. Their deaths are viewed as such tragedy. They are so deeply mourned. We are made to feel heir loss so deeply. And we are meant to feel grief and terror for them. But I don’t. It feels so deeply, morbidly satisfying to see them finally be the ones that suffer, to see them finally be the ones that grieve.

Especially if you consider the class issues that pervade the whole book. They live in early Industrial Revolution Switzerland, a place drowning in poverty, death, and misery that the comfortably wealthy are shielded from. It’s good to finally see the iron bars if destiny bent in a shape they’re not supposed to be in. It’s good. Cathartic. Not terrible and unholy as the narrative would have you believe.

And that family is finally smites from the Earth. Gone. Rooted out. Along with all their festering corruption. And in his last grand, holy, martyric act Adam Frankenstein let’s the cold winds of the Arctic wilderness carry his spirit into death.

And though Victor is portrayed as a tragic, sensitive genius from a respectable family with a fatal flaw that destroyed him in the end, he was truly a rich, male, coddled, spoiled man-baby from an overprivileged and corrupt family who raised him to be who he was. And the men of the family, including the youngest and estranged son Adam, were all destroyed by their corruption.

But what else do you expect in a novel written by a rich lady of upstanding background from Georgian England of all places and times?

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laemony · 5 years ago

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What I’ve read in 2019!

2017 2018

Hello! Welcome back to the appointment I’m sure every one of you was waiting since last year (heavy sarcasm)! Fasten your seat belts, it’s gonna be a long ride..

THE MASTER AND MARGARITA, Michail Bulgakov - one of the greatest books I’ve ever read, it has become one of my favourites in a few chapters; I loved the characters, out of their minds the lot of them, I loved this Devil, so nice and generous; I mostly loved the completely natural way with which Bulgakov tells absurd facts; a comedy, but much more than that too. 9.5/10

HEART OF A DOG, Michail Bulgakov - I’m in awe at his style, he’s different from other russian authors; it’s problavly the irony, the grotesque characters, the unusual portrait of life in Moscow after the revolution; I don’t know, but I love it; this book was one weird experience, but I wasn’t really surprised. 8.5/10

THE WAVES, Virginia Woolf - is it a dialogue? is it a pure flow of thoughts? sometimes it seems they’re talking to each other, sometimes it seems everyone’s just thinking by themselves, sometimes it seems both and neither; one moment everything is beautiful, the next life is a horrible mess; is it a novel? I don’t know, it all felt like one big poem and I loved every minute of it. 10/10

NORTHANGER ABBEY, Jane Austen - one of the most frustrating books I've ever read, but I really really liked it; the characters are some various degrees of DRAMA and it’s honestly hilarious to watch; for me, it had the bonus of an unexpected final, idk why really, but I thought it would end differently; cute and so aesthetically pleasing as usual. 7/10

THE BOOK OF DISQUIET, Fernando Pessoa - very well written, I love how each sentence is built and the rhytm of it all, but there’s a hopelessness in the background and maybe I was relating overly, but I don’t want to think too much about what this book says. 8/10

THE BELL JAR, Sylvia Plath - I felt angry with every single character and I don’t like feeling so much while I read a book. I liked it tho, even if I honestly don’t know why. It almost feels wrong to like this book. It got me out of the slump I found myself in during summer screaming and kicking, and I can’t forget that. 8/10

FRANKENSTEIN, Mary Shelley - I’m in awe at the fact that she wrote this book when she was 19; it was everything I thought it’d be, and more. I could find no sympathy for the creature, nor for Viktor (he is so stupid); the atmosphere was heavy, dark, and as miserable as every character (except Henry, poor baby boy I love him), it felt absolutely perfect. 9/10

DRACULA, Bram Stoker - where to begin.. the first 12 or so chapters were very, very, slow, and the style was a bit tiring to me, with all those diaries and notes. BUT, except for that and the vague misogyny that comes out at times, IT IS a great book, a great horror. I loved the Count, finally a villain who’s evil just because, and Mina too, when she wasn’t occupied wondering at how amazing men are and how little women deserve them. She’s never the damsel in distress waiting to be saved, she’s almost more the knight in shining armour.. I’ll shut up, I loved it. 8/10

MADAME BOVARY, Gustave Flaubert - I thought only Wuthering Heights could have had characters so unbearable, but turns out I was wrong. There isn’t a single good person in this book, everyone is either an asshole or a hopeless idiot.. it’s a tragedy, it actually reminded me of Shakespeare, in a sense; everything could be easily solved if people would just talk to eachother. I honestly don’t know if I liked it, it had potential but was a bit boring, it mostly made me angry. 6/10

PARADISE LOST, John Milton - I was probabli in the wrong mood for this, it was November after all, and I must say, it bored me to no end. Really, it didn’t leave me anything except a great relief when I read the last words. I liked a lot the parts where the author spoke, I recoiled every time the others had a dialogue (except, maybe, surprisingly or not, for Satan)... growing up as a woman in a christian family does this to one I guess. 5/10

THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV, Fëdor Dostoevskij - to be honest, I’m posting this without having finished the book, I still have five chapters or so to read, but I don’t have a doubt when I say: I love it. Idk if it’s the AMAZING, INCREDIBLE job the translator(s?) have done but this story goes on so smoothly, not once I felt bored, not once I felt uncomfortable with the style, not once I felt like I wasn’t fully understanding what was going on. It’s so well written that at times I had the impression of being inside the head of the characters, like I was the characters. Idk I haven’t felt like this in a very long time, I knew how he wrote, I’ve read others of his books, but it still caught me by surprise and I can’t say I’m not delighted by it. 10/10

Theatre & Short Stories

THE WINTER’S TALE, William Shakespeare - it was weird, it put me in such an anxious state, at some point I thought everything was going to end in tragedy; my man never cease to surprise me. 8/10

TITUS ANDRONICUS, William Shakespeare - ok..so... I was angry with everyone, I couldn’t feel any sympathy for anyone, except for Lavinia; I honestly don’t know what William was thinking, I don’t know if I should love it or be horrified by it... complete madness it is. 9/10

MEASURE FOR MEASURE, William Shakespeare - let’s say, I’ve always preferred the tragedies, but, as Ju once wisely said, women in Billy’s comedies are simply great; that’s true even in this, Isabella is amazing while everyone else is just.. meh... I can’t shake off the feeling that mr.Duke was bored and decided to cause some useless drama, it’s all very shakesperean. 7/10

THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH, Edgar Allan Poe - do you need a short tale to tell at sleepovers? Do you need a horror story for Halloween night? This is perfect. Short, to the point, fast and terrifying.. or maybe that’s just me and my fear of pendulum clocks lol. 7/10

Poetry

Emily Dickinson - at some points it bored me, at some others I had to stop reading to take a few steading breaths; lovely and so powerful. 8/10

Edgar Allan Poe - not a fan of the man himself, but his poetry is just my kind, you know? it’s so full of love and darkness; I love the rhymes, I love the rhythm. idk, I liked it a lot. 8,5/10

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metvmorqhoses · 6 years ago

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i just came across your blog from your amazing art taste. how did you come to get into such classical striking styles? from your love of donna tartt i assume it carried through to other art forms. what are some of your favourite artists or themes (could be visual, musical, literary etc)?

first of all, thank you from the bottom of my heart because this ask really made my day, you’re a sweetheart.

actually, i think if i have to track down a literary origin point for my art taste (even if it’s not entirely true it all originated in that specific way, it’s truer to state i was born with it, i would roam around the louvre or versailles at six and already feel so in awe and in my element, or i would arrive in rome at nine and feel home), but the real turning point of my artistic taste was the art for art’s sake movement, walter pater and oscar wilde. only ten years later i discovered donna tartt, and i had already graduated from my classics high school and in general studied the classics for ten years - yes, donna tartt added a great deal of beauty in my life, but i was already completely part of that world, so to speak.

it’s so difficult to list all the artists, and styles, and in general all the beauty that daily inspires my life, the right answer would be, “everything that strikes me within and that i find beautiful”, and that can be literally anything, but i can try, for art’s sake :)

art genres and movements:

mythology, classicism, neoclassicism, medioeval art, romanticism, gothic, surrealism, baroque, high renaissance art, impressionism, pop-art, street art, urban art, and photorealism.

aesthetics:

dark magic, classicism, dark and soft mythology, dark academia, pretentiousness and dandyism

authors:

sophocles, euripides, sappho, homer, ovid, oprheus, plato, saint john, catullus, seneca, lucanus, héloïse, petrarch, dante, boccaccio, machiavelli, kyd, marlowe, shakespeare, keats, hölderlin, goethe, byron, mary shelley, shelley, the bronte sisters, walter pater, oscar wilde, baudelaire, de saint-exupéry, hugo, dumas, woolf, joyce, d’annunzio, ungaretti, montale, quasimodo, lewis, talkien, fizgerald, pessoa, saramago, kundera, nietzsche, tartt, pullman, rowling, carey, weis, hickman, bulgakov, nabokov, rushdie, salinger, colli, baricco, pirandello, calasso, kerenyi, proust, my dead poets and, obviously, myself.

books:

the greek myths, the poetic edda, the orphic hymns, the bacchae, iphigenia in aulis, the iliad, the metamorphosis, the letters of abelard and héloïse, the divine comedy, the prince, the spanish tragedy, tamerlaine the great, marlowe’s doctror fausts and goethe’s doctor faustus, macbeth, romeo and juliet, the tempest, a midsummer night’s dream, julius caesar, the modern prometeous, jane eyre, wuthering heights, walter pater’s the reinassaince, the picture of dorian gray, the profundis, the importance of being earnest, the flowers of evil, the little prince, la esmeralda, the count of montecristo, the three musketeers, mr dallaway, the waves, orlando, paradise lost, the dubliners, the pleasure, the chronicles of narnia, the lord of the rings, the silmarillion, the great gatsby, the book of disquiet, blindness, the unbearable lightness of being, the greek tragedy, thus spoke zarathustra, his dark materials, harry potter, the kushiel’s legacy, the dragonlance saga, the secret history, the goldfinch, the little friend, the name of the rose, lolita, the master and margarita, the satanic verses, the greek sapience, oceansea, silk, remembrance of things past, the wedding of cadmus and armonia, the catcher in the rye, the elegance of the hedgehog, dracula, the phantom of the opera, elective affinities, the sorrows of young werther, venus in furs.

painters, sculptors and artists:

caravaggio, botticelli, da vinci, michelangelo, canova, dalì, klimt (who is my absolute favorite), fontana, de chirico, marina abramovich, waterhouse, dicksee.

directors:

lars von trier, baz luhrmann, wes anderson, michael gondry, the wachowski sisters, sorrentino.

movies:

only lovers left alive, her, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, mood indigo, nymphomaniac, dogville, manderlay, melancholia, antichrist, breaking the waves, moulin rouge!, the great gatsby, birdman, beginners, as good as it gets, trainspotting, fight club, amelie, breakfast at tyffany’s, submarine, seeking a friend for the end of the world, frank, american beauty, dead poets society, kill your darlings, the book thief, the importance of being earnest, joan of arc, elizabeth: the golden age, the name of the rose, the best offer, the great beauty, the trials of oscar wilde, the hours, the phantom of the opera, the mask of zorro, thelma, gone with the wind, troy, la haine, orlando, lord of the rings, dragonheart, ladyhawke, interview with the vampire, bram stocker’s dracula, last tango in paris, dangerous liasons, this beautiful fantastic, the dreamers, band a part.

tv series:

sherlock, the young pope, penny dreadful, sense8, kidding, westworld, peaky blinders, the man in the high castle, genius, the tudors, versailles, vikings, the 100, the handmaid’s tale, poldark, outlander, game of thrones, da vinci’s demons, dracula, the originals, the count of montecristo.

musicals:

the phantom of the opera, love never dies, notredame de paris, the lion king, les miserables, anastasia, le moulin rouge,

music:

leonard cohen, medieval organ music, tom waits, lana del rey, helsey, lou reed, bright eyes, all disney honestly, chopin, laura marling, natalie merchant, bjork, roberto vecchioni, the phantom of the opera: 25th anniversary soundtrack, love never dies: london soundtrack, fabrizio de andrè, nick cave, placebo, kamelot, adele, 30 seconds to mars, elton john, ramazzotti, bocelli, evanescence, zucchero, sinatra, garbage, hans zimmer, jeff buckley, david bowie, mina, pink floyd, mumford & sons, oasis, nostalghia, queen, notre-dame the paris italian soundtrack, sia, the cure, the phantom of the opera italian sound track, lucifer’s sound track, U2, wagner.

those are just a few off the top of my head, but i’m sure i forgot thousands. hope you’ll enjoy them tho, and being inspired by them as i am!

#dark academia #cinema #books #lit #books recs #movies recs #donna tartt #oscar wilde #leonard cohen #asks/replies #one and one thousands stories lis told #about me #my aesthetic #happy tag #lovely ppl

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keelime-xiv · 5 years ago

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LFRP: Keelah Se’lai - Balmung ♥

♥ The Basics ––– –

Nickname(s): Kee, Mistress Kee Age: Thirty-two Birthday: 5th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon (5th of August) Race: Keeper of the Moon, Miqo’te Gender: Female Sexuality: Bisexual Marital Status: Adamantly Single Alignment: Chaotic Evil

♥ What I’m looking For ––– –

Adventure Friends Potential Victims Murder Happy Partners in Crime Sworn Enemies

♥ What I’m NOT looking For ––– –

Possessive/rude/pushy/impatient partners

♥ Additional information (OOC) ––– –

Keelah may seem intimidating, but I assure you she is an awkward fucker. She’s easy to get along with and I would love to do more with her. Please don’t hesitate to message me if you’d like to try her out, I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised how well she can fit into any scenario ♥

I’m Australian so my time online will be different, but I can be rather flexible. I can become distracted easily, but please don’t assume that I’ve become bored with you. I have simply forgotten and need a little poke~!

[IC Tag] [Answered Asks Tag] [Aesthetic Tag] [Reference Sheet Page]

♥ Contact Information ––– –

You can message me here for my contact information or catch me in game! I only RP through XIV as I found it to be a far less stressful medium for me. However, I would be delighted to discuss any potential RP plots through Discord.

(Continued under the cut ♥)

♥ Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Keelah’s hair is a dark purple, almost black, colour that hangs down past her shoulders in wild and sometimes unmanageable curls. She will usually wear it loose or coil it up into a tight bun for when she needs to work. [Visual Reference]

Eyes: Keelah’s left eye is a soft pastel pink and her right eye is a pale, sickly blue.

Height: 148 cm / 4′8

Build: Keelah is all hips and chest with an hourglass frame and lovely long legs. She works hard every day to keep herself toned.

Eyebrows: After first noticing her wild and curly hair, attention will often switch down to Keelah’s thick trademark eyebrows. The bushy brows are usually plucked and tapered back into a presentable style. [Visual Reference]

Scars: Keelah has a vertical scar through her right eye which caused its discolouration. There are two scars running across her right cheek on an angle through the first scar, they stop close to the ridge of her nose. On her left cheek there is a single scar, once again on an angle, that spans towards her nose. She has a vertical cut through her dark lips on her right side and a small horizontal cut across her brow that hides behind her fringe. [Visual Reference] Her facial scars she wears with pride, on her back however, there are scars she’s not so pleased to talk about. Such as the brand imprinted on the back of her neck that she keeps hidden at all times.

Tattoos: Keelah has a small collection of tattoos. She has Azeyma’s ward on her right hip, a pair of lace garter tattoos around her lower thighs, a pair of horns above her pelvic region, and a crescent moon surrounded by pink blossoms on her back.

Piercings: Tongue, nipples and down south are all pierced with a silver barbell, but her ears remain unpierced and she refuses to disclose as to why.

Common Accessories: Keelah often wears a collar around her neck to hide her brand mark, but the style of the collar will change on a regular basis to match her outfit. Keelah occasionally sports a pair of dark shades, sometimes for fashion, but mostly to hide her hangover. Beware of pointy things, Keelah also carries an array of knives on her person at all times. Where does she keep them all? It’s best not to think about it.

Usual Attire: Keelah can often be found wearing tight, black leather or latex, regardless of the weather conditions. Her favoured attire is comprised of a pastel pink latex corset with black trim, a fur trimmed, black latex, quarter cut coat, a pair of black latex booty shorts, thigh high black latex stockings held up by garters and a pair of black stiletto heels. [Visual Reference]

♥ Professional ––– -

Languages: Common tongue and some basic sign language.

Profession: - Informant/Saboteur: Keelah is a skilled freelance informant/saboteur. If you have the money (and care not for what methods she uses) then she’ll have the information you need. - Dominatrix: Keelah’s front for her informant/saboteur work is her high-end Dominatrix business, which she took up as a simple hobby only to have it explode into a full time career. Her skills are incredibly popular among the wealthy, and so her calendar is constantly booked solid.

Business Cards: If you meet up with Keelah ICly she is most likely to hand you a sleek black business card with the details for her Dominatrix business printed upon it in pale, metallic pink cursive. Upon the front it reads: ‘Keelah Se’lai - Dominatrix Extraordinaire’ Upon the back it reads: ‘Office 25 - Sapphire Avenue -Steps of Thal, Ul’dah - Consultation hours: 10 am - 5 pm, Monday - Friday’ (FC Room)

Skills: - Archery: Keelah is an adept marksman with a bow. It is her weapon of choice as she prefers to take down her targets from long range.

- Hand to Hand Combat: Though Keelah prefers to use her bow, when called upon she can put up a fierce fight. She’s quick, she’s feisty and despite her short stature she packs one hell of a punch, but watch out! She also bites!

- Alchemy: Keelah has a knack for alchemy. At first she dabbled in alchemy just to understand her brother’s ramblings. However, after a little idle study she fell in love with the science. Keelah now uses alchemy in every aspect of her work and day to day life. From creating various toxins to help her infiltrate a facility to mixing up some rather potent aphrodisiacs or lubricants to help spice up the lives of her clientele. She has plans to release her own line of sensual lifestyle products.

- Gardening: Keelah loves tending to the flowerbeds of her cottage and the small green house she has set up on the balcony of her apartment. She loves each sprout much like a mother loves her own child. Keelah simply adores the greenery and loves watching it flourish. Her pride and joy is her vast herb garden which helps with her alchemy work.

- Musical: Keelah has a beautiful singing voice, but not only that, she can also play the piano and has been teaching herself to play a wooden flute she found while on her travels to the East. While she has overcome her stage fright and now plays intermission piano for the Kiss Cabaret, she still refuses to sing for anyone save for belting out a few drunken pirate shanties when she’s completely wasted.

♥ Personal ––– –

Birthplace: Though Keelah’s origins have been rumored to lie somewhere within the Black Shroud, she was raised from an infant by her adoptive Mother in Eastern Thanalan.

Religion: Keelah is open to the idea of Religion and often prays to Azeyma for guidance.

Patron Deity: Azeyma.

Residence: - Public Residence: Keelah’s public address is that of a ritzy penthouse apartment located atop one of Ul’dah’s dazzling skyrise towers. Comprised of four bedrooms, five bathrooms, an enormous living room, a fully loaded kitchen, stunning dining room, a huge library/study, a balcony with a pool and a small greenhouse, it is outrageously decedent. It is here she takes most of her clientele and potential business partners. (FC Room)

- Private/Secret Residence: Keelah secretly lives in an old, stone cottage surrounded by a lush and overgrown garden of wildflowers. The location of this fairy tale esque home is unknown to the general public, but there have been a few who have stumbled upon her home by mistake. This home is far more humble than her apartment and Keelah finds herself running off to stay there as often as she can. (Lavender Beds, Private House)

Personality: Keelah’s personality can be best described as impulsive. She tends to jump into things head first without considering the consequences. Keelah is loud, obnoxious, a little bit crazy, incredibly flirty and a romantic.

Likes: Keelah loves alcohol, smoking, sex, burning things, cutting things, fighting things, gardening, reading, and down time with Martin.

Dislikes: Keelah loathes prudes, stuffed shirts, unbearably obnoxious people, boredom, paperwork, and heights.

Favourite Food: Starlight cake, seafood stew, finger sandwiches, sushi and pussy.

Least Favourite Food: Jerky or salted/dried meats.

Virtues: Protective, calm, loyal, optimistic, brave, empathetic, loving, compassionate and will do anything for the ones she has come to love.

Sins: Murderer, pyromaniac, lustful, over indulgent, greedy, obnoxious, jealous, vindictive, reckless, impatient, and has an odd fetish for blood.

Excitements: Keelah becomes excited from the smell of blood, Martin, the colour pink, acts of defiance, well oiled muscles and cute people.

Fears: Keelah fears heights, being left alone/abandoned, and Mandragoras.

Short Biography: Left abandoned after an Amalj'aa raid struck her family’s caravan, Keelah was found and raised by an orphan Seeker girl (her mother Shelley) and an orphan Xaela boy (her brother Jack). Together the three survived the harsh Thanalan desert by pickpocketing traveling merchants outside Camp Drybone. It was a meager existence and they often found themselves in trouble with the local authorities, but they were happy. However, shortly after Keelah turned six her brother disappeared without a trace. Distraught, Shelley and Keelah traveled across Thanalan in search of him, but their search was soon interrupted by the approaching Calamity. Caught amidst the destruction, Shelley sacrificed herself to protect Keelah from an oncoming blast, leaving Keelah to wander through the wastes alone. Frightened and very weak, Keelah fell into the hands of a traveling slaver and was then sold to a brothel in Ul’dah. There she remained in servitude for several long and painful years until her Master suddenly (and suspiciously) died. Keelah vanished that night.

♥ Relationships ––– -

Partner: None

Children: None

Parents: One adoptive mother, Shelley La’tra

Siblings: One adoptive brother, Ramza Wyvernjack

Best friend and confidant: Martin Freepaw

Current Employer: Vachir Qerel and the company of The Keeper’s Kiss

Drinking Companion: Captain Rezaria

Pets: A small collection of personal AI Drones who follow her around and assist with her lab work. They also perform minor security protocols to keep anyone from discovering the hidden laboratory.

NPC Relations: Nanako Nanko. A stern and elderly Lalafell, she is Keelah’s loyal secretary who keeps the wild dominatrix in check.

♥ RP Hooks ––– –

Keelah’s Client: You find Keelah’s business details on the back of a black business card. You’re not sure what you need from this illusive woman, but you feel as though you’ll know for certain once you meet and talk with her. At first she’s scary and intimidating, your inner voice screams to run from her presence and never look back, but after a long discussion you begin to see Keelah for who she really is. A woman with flaws and needs just like any other. This started out as a strictly professional acquaintance, but perhaps it might bloom into something more? A friendship? A murder mystery? Let’s play it by ear~!

Keelah’s Mark: You’ve fallen into trouble with the wrong people and unfortunately for you they’ve sent in the best to make sure you disappear. She has been a mere shadow tracking you for days, you’ve been able to keep her at arms length so far, but even you grow tired of holding back. At last you give in and face her head on, but what happens next might not be as you planned. Will they fight? Will you win or will you lose? Will Keelah concede and help you take down the bastards that sent her after you? Or will she simply kill you for the money?

Keelah’s Cottage: You’ve heard rumors about it, ghost stories, nothing consistent. A strange cottage hidden deep within the black shroud and surrounded by the most enchanting garden that is unlike any other. However, anyone who had been brave enough to try and find this fabled cottage never returned, their lost screams haunting the night to ward off any would be heroes who would try to save them. Bah! It’s an old wives tale to stop children from wandering out into the forest unsupervised! Or so you tell yourself as you seek out this mysterious cottage. What will you find out there in the wilds? Will Kee be receptive of your visit or will she silence you like she has all the others who wandered into her little garden?

Let’s make our own - These are simply suggestions, I would love to brainstorm with you and come up with something unique~!

Thank you for taking the time to read all this! ♥

#lfrp #LFRP contacts #role play #character profile #Keelah Se'lai IC #Come rp with me #♥

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verifiedaccount · 7 years ago

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Shelley Duvall won Best Actress at Cannes in 1977 for her part in Robert Altman’s 3 Women, but her performance as Wendy Torrance in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, three years later, was criticized so harshly that it would ultimately overshadow everything else she accomplished in her career — even as the film has been used to bolster the claim that Kubrick is one of cinema’s greatest artists. Duvall, playing opposite Jack Nicholson as a woman tormented by her husband’s mounting, murderous rage, was nominated for worst performance at that year’s Razzies; Stephen King, who wrote the original novel, once said, “Shelley Duvall as Wendy is really one of the most misogynistic characters ever put on film. She’s basically just there to scream and be stupid and that’s not the woman that I wrote about.”

But as she explained in her own words, Duvall’s acting wasn’t a mistake, but rather a performance precisely engineered by Kubrick, who intentionally created a horrific environment for her:

"Going through day after day of excruciating work was almost unbearable. ... I had to cry 12 hours a day, all day long, the last nine months straight, five or six days a week. ... After all that work, hardly anyone even criticized my performance in it, even to mention it, it seemed like. The reviews were all about Kubrick, like I wasn't there.”

Nicholson has corroborated this description, calling Duvall’s task on set “the toughest job [of] any actor that I’ve seen.” There is even visual proof of that torment in the documentary Making “The Shining,” which was directed by Kubrick’s daughter Vivian and shows the director asking others on set not to show Duvall sympathy. Yet, despite this clear evidence of verbal and emotional abuse, Stanley Kubrick’s reputation as an “auteur” has remained mostly untouched.

In fact, the Duvall incident — and the way in which Kubrick controlled his set — has been wrapped into the mythic aura surrounding him and his film, casually inserted into lists like “25 Things You Might Not Know About The Shining,” alongside trivia like its record-breaking number of takes. Director Saul Metzstein once said of Kubrick that “his films are amazing, and there’s something in them which you couldn’t get unless you were being unbelievably particular and methodical. You need some sort of obsessiveness to make that stuff.” Not only is Kubrick considered one of the most influential directors of all time, but The Shining, specifically, was named the 46th best-directed film ever by the Directors Guild of America.

The implication of all this acclaim is that there was a “method” to Kubrick tormenting Duvall, and that even if it hurt her, the ends justified the means. From von Trier, who once said that watching Nicole Kidman wear a dog collar with a bell on it while shooting Dogville gave him “personal pleasure,” to Hitchcock, who sexually harassed Tippi Hedren while making a film about sexual violence, a man directing can rationalize almost any behavior toward women if what emerges as a final product is something beautiful in the eyes of other men.

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kenzieam · 7 years ago

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Fire Fox - Chapter 10 (Eric X OC)

Rating: M (violence/swearing/smut:p)

Notes/Warnings: Upcoming Trigger Warnings (Fox’s past isn’t sunshine and flowers)

Genre: Drama/Angst

Thanks everyone for the reblogs and support!!! IT IS AWESOME!!!

Please enjoy more of Eric and Fox!

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85 @frecklefaceb @mom2reesie @elaacreditava

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Fox slunk along in the shadows of the corridor. Seeing Eric again had reignited Fox's need to see him and she'd snuck out of the dorms. Keeping to the shadows, she made her way towards the apartments. If she was caught, the game was up and Fox would be factionless, but right now she didn't care, so only wanted Eric to hold her, kiss her, groan into her hair and tell her he loved her. Partway there, she caught the muted roar of rushing water and detoured; deciding to go to the Chasm for just a minute before continuing to Eric's apartment. Rounding the corner, Fox scrambled backwards. Warily, she looked up but the figures on the walkway above her hadn't noticed her. Cautiously, she looked again and bit back a gasp, her heart beginning to thump with dread. Max stood on the walkway, facing Eric. Two guards restrained Eric, grasping his upper arms and Max and Eric appeared to be arguing. Fox desperately ran through her options, could she sneak up there unnoticed? She throw both Max and the guards into the chasm to save Eric if it came to that.

Before she had time to decide, Max suddenly reached out and, with help from the guards, threw Eric over the side.

Fox couldn't stop a scream. Eric managed to snag the walkway with one hand as he fell and swung wildly; his feet kicking empty air. Max looked up, met Fox's eyes squarely then looked back down and stomped hard on Eric's hand. With a yell of pain, Eric let go and fell. Fox watched in horror as he missed the water completely and hit the rocks to the side; his body making a horrible thud. Fox scrambled towards him, hysterical, screaming Eric's name. Reaching him she touched his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Eric's beautiful grey eyes were hazy, cloudy with pain. His limbs were twisted and broken. Blood streamed freely from his nose and ears. Blood frothed at his lips and Fox heard his breaths gurgling in his chest; could hear his broken ribs grinding against each other as he gasped.

"Eric." Fox cried, tears streaming down her face; pain cleaving her chest. She reached out and touched his cheek, knowing he was going fast, there was no time to find the doctor, Eric was leaving her and she couldn't follow, not yet.

Eric rasped, coughing blood, trying to speak. "F-Fox," he managed, his teeth nearly black with his lifeblood.

"Baby? Tell me." Fox whimpered.

"F-Fox...run." Eric gasped, his body going still, his last breath a bubbly rasp.

Arms like iron banded around Fox's forearms and she was yanked brutally away. "You're next, bitch!" A voice growled in her ear.

With a scream, Fox sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. Clutching her chest, she looked frantically around. She was in the dorm, in her narrow cot. Nearly hyperventilating, Fox clawed oxygen into her lungs, her breaths whistling in her throat. Fuck, a nightmare...it seemed so real.

Hands suddenly clasped her shoulder, and the mattress dipped. "Fox? Fox, are you okay? It was just a nightmare." Tris voice chased the last of the fog away and Fox reached up, grabbing Tris' wrists.

"Tris." She choked. "Oh, god Tris."

Tris pulled Fox towards her into a hug. "Shhh," she soothed. After a few moments, the worst of Fox's tremors were over and her heart began to slow down.

"Was it Eric?" Tris whispered lowly in Fox's ear, quiet enough that no one else could hear.

"Max threw him into the chasm." Fox murmured, the memory of Eric dying in front of her still too raw to tell.

"Jesus...Fox it was just a nightmare. He's safe, you're safe...just a bit longer."

Fox nodded against Tris' shoulder and sat back up, taking a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" Tris asked.

"She's fine. Jesus, Banjo it was just a nightmare! Shut up! Some of us are trying to sleep." Peter roared from across the dorm.

Fox bit back a grin as Tris turned her head and stuck her tongue out at Peter. Looking back at her, Tris smoothed her hair back from her forehead and looked into Fox's eyes.

"You're okay now?"

Fox nodded, her pulse was still racing, it would take hours to slow completely down; but she was doing okay now.

Tris offered a small smile before standing and returning to her own cot. Fox fell back down with sigh. Although utterly exhausted, Fox lay there for close to an hour before closing her eyes and falling asleep again.

The grave again. Fox opened her eyes and looked tiredly over at Four. It had been nearly a week since her nightmare about Eric dying and Fox slept only in fits and starts, snapping awake often, afraid to be swept up in another horrible dream. Being able to work out at the gym was a godsend, the exertion taking her mind off her desperate loneliness, but Fox was still struggling, waking up more often than not with tears dried on her cheeks.

"Only three." Four murmured.

"What?"

Four took a deep breath and turned to Fox. "You're only experiencing three fears, Fox. The simulation keeps replaying the same three."

Fox waited, although she appreciated the practice this repetition was giving her, she saw that Four was deep troubled about it.

"I have no control over which fears the computer puts you through. Maybe you truly only have three fears, and that why they keep repeating."

"Only three? Is that even possible? I thought the average person had between ten and fifteen?"

"The average person, yes. Fox, you're anything but average. I only have four, it's entirely possible you only have three; I'll be a little jealous if that's true, 'cause you'll steal my thunder, but it's definitely feasible."

"Or?"

Four sighed. "Or for whatever reason, the computer isn't bringing your other fears out in the simulations, and in the final test, you're going to be faced with a bunch of fears that are new, that you haven't been able to see and practice getting through."

Fox's stomach dropped.

Four exhaled, ran his hand roughly through his hair. "I don't know which it is." He admitted. "Both are equally viable. Somehow, though, I think you just have three base fears."

"Just three?"

Four grinned at Fox. "Fox, you're epic. Of course it's possible. It wouldn't surprise me at all. We'll just have to decide if you want your new nickname to be 'Three' or 'Trio'."

Fox giggled. "I prefer Fox."

Four grinned back, reached out and slapped her shoulder. "Get outta here, Trio."

Fox laughed out loud, stood up with new energy, turned and left the simulation room.

Tris had managed to track down some books by speaking to Uriah. He'd borrowed some from his mom and Fox was partway through the stack she'd received. She was devouring Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Fox had wanted to read it forever, but Amity didn't have a copy and the lone school library copy had always been signed out.

Despite herself, Fox was becoming accustomed to staying in the dorm, to staying isolated from Eric. She hated every minute of, and every second of her solitude was nearly unbearable, but she was becoming used to the pain. Misery had become her most common emotion, and the fantasies she had about when she'd be able to be with Eric again had gone from grand and earth-shaking to simple and sweet. She just wanted him back, that was all. Anything else was icing on the cake. As long as she could feel Eric's arms around her, his breath warm on her neck and his voice deep and soft in her ear, she'd be happy.

The next two weeks passed frustratingly slow. Fox was ready for the final test, was more than ready for this whole bullshit situation to be over. Although she looked to only have a record low three fears, it still took Fox a while to get through them, and Four predicted that although Fox would definitely pass, she wouldn't be ranked first. Fox was completely okay with that, passing was what mattered. She was entertaining the idea of becoming a tattoo artist once she passed. Drawing had always been a stress release for her, and she was damn good at it, but had never given it much thought, had always only been concerned with getting away from Amity and passing Dauntless initiation.

Much to Fox's relief, Peter and his goons never seemed to notice or comment that Eric was conspicuously absent from training, and that Fox seemed to live in the dorms. She knew it was solely due to their own frightening experiences in the fear simulations being an overriding distraction, and not due to any censure or consideration on their part. Fox had told no one but Tris about her low number of fears, but she knew it would become public during the final test and soon become her defining characteristic here in Dauntless, she could only hope that it distracted everyone from the fact that she was going to cleave herself to Eric once the final was over, and never let go. People would figure out that they'd become involved during training, but Fox hoped that they'd realize he had nothing to do with her only having three fears and couldn't have doctored her ranking in any way.

Fox lay restless the morning of the final test. She'd come awake sometime earlier and simply lay there, tracing patterns in the ceiling above her with her eyes. Today was the day, either Fox had a record low number of fears, and would pass initiation and become a full-fledged member of Dauntless, with Eric at her side; or hidden fears would swoop into her test and derail everything. Fox was so exhausted, so tired of being alone, of not waking up in Eric's arms and hearing his sexy voice in her ear that on more than one occasion in the past few days, she'd almost chucked it all in and ran into Max's office; where she planned to tell him to go fuck himself, then find Eric and leave the entire faction behind. Tris had seen that wild look in Fox's eyes a few nights ago and sat with her on the cot, working to talk Fox off the figurative ledge. Fox had never had people care about her like this before; Eric, Four, Tris, even Will and Christina.

Fox had been completely alone in the peace, love and harmony faction called Amity, and had to defect to the warrior faction Dauntless to find friendship, love and compassion, the irony was not lost on her.

With a deep sigh Fox sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her cot. She was always one of the first up, but today everyone seemed to have woken up early and she was not the only one in the shower. Tris, Christina and Will joined her for breakfast, where the only one with an appetite seemed to be Will. Fox forced herself to eat, she couldn't afford to become light-headed and shaky today.

Without speaking beyond what was necessary, they filed into the fear simulation waiting area and sat down to wait. Everyone was solemn and introspective, even Peter, who was usually an ass just for the sake of it.

Names were called, and the crowd of initiates got smaller. Then Four called out Fox's name. Tris surprised her with a hug and Fox swallowed down unexpected tears. This was it, sink or swim. Notching her chin high, Fox walked towards Four, followed as he led her to a simulation chair in the centre of a large room. People watched, mostly leaders and important people from Dauntless, but others were there too, and Fox had to bite her tongue as she passed Jeanine Matthews. She looked around for Eric, but couldn't see him. Her eyes instead met Max's. When I pass, I'm going to see him, she said with her gaze.

If you pass, you will. Max returned.

Fox sat down in the chair and took a deep breath. Four would not be administering the serum or her test, but before he left her side he leaned down and said softly.

"Be brave, Fox."

The technician leaned forward and injected Fox in the neck.

Immediately Fox found herself surrounded by the hundreds of faceless beings. She'd thought about her fears while languishing in the dorms, and realized this particular fear was based on her home faction abandoning her, nobody helping her. She was afraid of being ignored. The eerie wail rose again, screaming in Fox's ears, the wind sucking the air from her lungs, but Fox found the breath to scream back.

"You can't hurt me anymore!" She cried, her voice booming like a thunderclap. Instantly, the moonlight appeared and Fox was in her second fear, the invisible stalkers. This fear was obvious when you thought about, she feared being attacked again. Fox refused to run, fisted her hands at her sides. Attacking her last fear head-on had worked, she would try the same.

"Leave me alone." She hissed, unable to stop a shiver when close to a thousand red eyes suddenly alighted on her, and a low growl she'd never heard in this before began. "Leave me alone, you don't scare me anymore. You can't touch me anymore."

The air was knocked out of Fox's lungs as she slammed down into the grave. The walls were higher than ever, and it was so cold Fox could almost see her breath. The face appeared at the top, leering down at her, his eyes glowed now. A shovelful of dirt landed on Fox's legs, it was larger than before, the dirt like cement. The next shovelful fell, it was larger still. Her fear had accelerated, Fox would be covered in suffocating grave dirt in a fraction of the time of her fear simulations. There wasn't time to control her breathing with slow exhalations, and Fox sensed that wouldn't be the way to get out of it this time anyway. This was the final, and she'd conquered her last two fears by challenging them. Fox set her jaw and took a deep breath. She welcomed the dirt that landed on her chest. More faces appeared, their laughter a shrill shriek in Fox's ears. The dirt that fell on her was suffocatingly heavy, crushing down on Fox's lungs. A shovelful hit her face, covered her eyes and trickled into her nostrils. Fox let herself go limp. If I am to die here, I will go bravely. I won't cry out, I won't panic. I welcome the next world, the next step in my journey.

Fox slammed back into the chair, gasping as a cheer rose from the crowd. Four was at her side, beaming.

"You did it, Fox." He grinned. He clasped her hand and pulled her to sit up.

"My time?"

"It was good, you did amazing. Listen to all of them cheering for you."

Fox looked around, all the spectators that she'd walked through, all the initiates clustered to one side; who'd had their turn and were waiting for the tests to finish, they were all cheering her, stomping their feet and whooping.

"Three fears, Fox. You're legend now." Four grinned. He pulled Fox gently off the chair and gently gripped her elbow, guiding her off the platform.

Fox was grateful for his help, a tremor was running through her. I passed. Everyone is cheering for me. I GET TO SEE ERIC AGAIN! Fox looked around for the closest set of stairs to sprint to, her only thoughts now to go find Eric. Max stepped in front of her, stopping her and Four. He looked at Four, who leaned down and said. "I have to go get the next initiate, see you later, Trio." before walking away. Fox looked steadily up into Max's face.

"Of course you'll be remaining here until the testing is finished. And then the rankings will be announced." Max said lightly, but his eyes burned.

Fox thought quickly. This wasn't a request, it was a demand. Max couldn't have his initiates running of during the final, it didn't look good to the other faction leaders. Fox caught sight of Jeanine eyeing them and thought quickly. There was a two day window after the final test, where the initiates that passed were free to let go and mingle with their new faction. It was generally a huge, two day party that never ended. It wasn't until the third day after the final test, known as Selection Day, that the initiates; most of them still hung-over, gathered with the leaders in a ceremony to choose their new jobs.

"Of course not, sir." Fox answered airily, as if the thought hadn't ever entered her mind. "I will stay with my class until rankings are announced, and will see you again at the Selection ceremony."

Max nodded, reading Fox's veiled answer, pride twinkled in his eyes. She would stay, put on a good show until dismissed with the rest of the initiates, and in return, Max would give her the next two days free to be with Eric. Her absence from the giant party would be excused. Max leaned forward and murmured. "You will be an asset to Dauntless, graduate."

Fox nodded in return. "Sir." Her voice held a new respect, she and Max had reached an understanding, and they both recognized that the other would be a valuable ally one day. Spinning sharply she turned and jogged to join her initiate class.

Fox stood at military rest, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind her. Four had brought Tris out after her and Fox watched on the large screen Tris' reactions to her fears. When Tris conquered the last one and opened her eyes on the simulation chair, Fox's voice joined the others in a cheer of victory. Four escorted her off the platform and partway over to Fox, then returned to fetch then next initiate.

Fox held out her hand to Tris and pulled her into a hug. They embraced tightly for a moment before parting.

"We did it." Fox grinned.

"We're Dauntless now." Tris grinned back.

We get to be with Four and Eric now, no more hiding. Fox's eyes said, and Tris beamed back.

Fox had to work hard to disguise her impatience as the testing progressed. She watched in surprise as Molly took a huge amount of time to work through her test and couldn't stop a small gasp when the technician was forced to pull Drew out of his. He failed, Drew is factionless...Molly might be too. Fox risked a glance at Peter, he had done well, was most likely going to pass, and he watched Drew with a mix of disgust and sadness.

Finally, the final initiate was tested and Max stepped up onto the platform. "The leaders will convene to discuss and finalize rankings. Initiates remain here."

Fox shifted from foot to foot. Tris, too, seemed similarly impatient. They both planned to spend the next two days uninterrupted with their lovers. Fox didn't miss the quick glances that passed between Four and Tris and smiled slightly. They were good together, fit together like two puzzle pieces. She and Eric were the same, completing each other, shoring up each other's weaknesses, complimenting each other's strengths. Fuck, Fox missed him.

Max and the other leaders reappeared, stood in formation on the platform. The rankings would be displayed one by one on the large screen behind him.

"Ranked first." Max boomed. Uriah appeared on the screen and the initiates exploded.

"Second." Fox.

"Oh my god, Fox!" Tris pulled Fox into a tight hug and Fox couldn't stop a gasp of surprise. Second? She'd expected to pass, no more. She turned back to the leaders to see Max smiling proudly at her.

"Third." Will.

"Fourth." Tris.

Now it was Fox's turn to pull Tris into a tight hug. Here they were, an Amity and an Abnegation transfer, absolutely kicking ass here in Dauntless.

The rest of the rankings were announced. Fox was unexpectedly saddened to see that both Molly and Drew had failed, they'd both be factionless. Tris too watched them with sympathy, her lips compressed. Christina, who'd ranked seventh, pulled herself away from Will long enough to sling an arm over Tris and Fox's shoulders and shriek in their ears. Laughing, the three girls hugged, pulling Uriah and Will into the fray. The initiates who failed were escorted away, to the dorm to pack their belongings and Max turned to the graduates.

"Congratulations on passing initiation. Welcome to Dauntless!" He bellowed and the crowd exploded. Jeanine and her minion, who'd been skulking close to her side to be safe from the Dauntless savages, quickly took their leave; they weren't waiting for the party to really get going, and a wave of Dauntless, new and old, began to flow into the Pit. Music was already playing, but was cranked up louder, and the drinks started flowing.

"I'm going to go." Fox murmured in Tris' ear. "See you at the Selection ceremony."

Tris sent her a wicked glance. "Come up for air long enough to come have a drink with us later, bring Eric."

"You too." Fox teased.

Tris grinned, her cheeks reddening. "Tomorrow." She replied and Fox threw back her head with a roar.

"Not a Stiff anymore." She teased.

"Definitely not a Banjo." Tris shot back.

With one last wink, Fox turned and weaved her way through the crowd, she was stopped a few times by well-wishers, but kept her forward motion and made it to the stairs. Sprinting up them two at a time, Fox reached Eric's floor and jogged down to his door. Breathlessly, she knocked.

Eric threw open the door, a huge grin splitting his face. He'd worked hard at the gym in the last two weeks, his muscle definition was back; and the lines of sorrow and pain on his face disappeared when he saw Fox. His eyes danced. Fox leapt into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Their lips crashed together and Eric slammed the door closed.

THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY, STAY TUNED!

#eric #jai courtney #eric coulter #divergent #eric divergent fanfiction #fanfiction #eric and fox

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Beauty Quotes

Official Website: Beauty Quotes

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• A little beauty is preferable to much wealth. – Saadi • A lovely lady, garmented in light From her own beauty. – Percy Bysshe Shelley • A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. – John Keats • A thing of beauty is a joy forever. – John Keats • A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness. – John Keats • A woman whose smile is open and whose expression is glad has a kind of beauty no matter what she wears. – Anne Roiphe • A woman’s beauty is one of her great missions. – Richard Le Gallienne • Accuracy is essential to beauty. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • All poetry and music, and art of every true sort, bears witness to man’s continual falling in love with beauty and his desperate attempt to induce beauty to live with him and enrich his common life. – John Bertram Phillips • Anything in any way beautiful derives its beauty from itself and asks nothing beyond itself. Praise is no part of it, for nothing is made worse or better by praise. – Marcus Aurelius • At some point in life, the world’s beauty becomes enough. – Toni Morrison

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Beauty', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_beauty').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_beauty img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Beauty always has something remote. – Elias Canetti • Beauty and folly are old companions. – Benjamin Franklin • Beauty and health are the chief sources of happiness. – Benjamin Disraeli • Beauty and sadness always go together. – George MacDonald • Beauty as we feel it is something indescribable; what it is or what it means can never be said. – George Santayana • Beauty awakens the soul to act. – Dante Alighieri • Beauty can inspire miracles. – Benjamin Disraeli • Beauty has no relation to price, rarity, or age. – John Cotton • Beauty in things exists in the mind which contemplates them. – David Hume • Beauty is a delightful prejudice. – Theocritus • Beauty is a frail good. – Ovid • Beauty is a fruit which we look at without trying to seize it. – Simone Weil • Beauty is a precious trace that eternity causes to appear to us and that it takes away from us. A manifestation of eternity, and a sign of death as well. – Eugene Ionesco • Beauty is a radiance that originates from within and comes from inner security and strong character. – Jane Seymour • Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all. – W. Somerset Maugham • Beauty is at once the ultimate principle and the highest aim of art. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • Beauty is everlasting And dust is for a time. – Marianne Moore • Beauty is excrescence, superabundance, random ebulience, and sheer delightful waste to be enjoyed in its own right. – Donald C. Peattie • Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It is not something physical.- Sophia Loren • Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder. – Kinky Friedman • Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye.- Jim Henson • Beauty is in the heart of the beholder. – H. G. Wells • Beauty is less important than quality. – Eugene Ormandy • Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of man. – Fyodor Dostoevsky • Beauty is no quality in things themselves: It exists merely in the mind which contemplates them; and each mind perceives a different beauty. – David Hume • Beauty is not caused. It is. – Emily Dickinson • Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart. – Khalil Gibran • Beauty is one of the rare things that do not lead to doubt of God. – Jean Anouilh • Beauty is only skin deep, and the world is full of thin skinned people. – Richard Armour • Beauty is only skin deep. If you go after someone just because she’s beautiful but don’t have anything to talk about, it’s going to get boring fast. You want to look beyond the surface and see if you can have fun or if you have anything in common with this person. – Amanda Peet • Beauty is our weapon against nature; by it we make objects, giving them limit, symmetry, proportion. Beauty halts and freezes the melting flux of nature. – Camille Paglia • Beauty is simply reality seen with the eyes of love – Rabindranath Tagore • Beauty is the gift of God – Aristotle • Beauty is the greatest seducer of man. – Paulo Coelho • Beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. – Oscar Wilde • Beauty is the promise of happiness. – Edmund Burke • Beauty is the purgation of superfluities. – Michelangelo • Beauty is the virtue of the body as virtue is the beauty of the soul – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Beauty is the vocation bestowed on the artist by the Creator in the gift of artistic talent. – Pope John Paul II • Beauty is truth, truth beauty – John Keats • Beauty is truth’s smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror. – Rabindranath Tagore • Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time. – Albert Camus • Beauty is variable, ugliness is constant. – Douglas Horton • Beauty is whatever gives joy. – Edna St. Vincent Millay • Beauty is when you can appreciate yourself. When you love yourself, that’s when you’re most beautiful. – Zoe Kravitz • Beauty is worse than wine, it intoxicates both the holder and beholder. – Aldous Huxley • Beauty isn’t about having a pretty face it’s about having a pretty mind, a pretty heart, and a pretty soul. – Unknown • Beauty isn’t about looking perfect. It’s about celebrating your individuality. – Bobbi Brown • Beauty may be skin deep, but ugly goes clear to the bone. – Redd Foxx • Beauty of form affects the mind, but then it must be understood that it is not the mere shell that we admire; we are attracted by the idea that this shell is only a beautiful case adjusted to the shape and value of a still more beautiful pearl within. The perfection of outward loveliness is the soul shining through its crystalline covering. – Jane Porter • Beauty only happens once. – Jacques Derrida

• Beauty stands In the admiration only of weak minds Led captive. – John Milton • beauty, like truth, never is so glorious as when it goes the plainest. – A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. – Albert Einstein • Beauty, n: the power by which a woman charms a lover and terrifies a husband. – Ambrose Bierce • Beauty, the smile of God, Music, His voice. – Robert Underwood Johnson • Beauty? To me it is a word without sense because I do not know where its meaning comes from nor where it leads to. – Pablo Picasso • Beauty’s of a fading nature. Has a season and is gone! – Robert Burns • Because you and I have the power to impute beauty on anything under the sun. Because you become the labels you give yourself. If you declare you’re beautiful – not despite your imperfections, but because of them – then you are. – Bo Sanchez • Character contributes to beauty. It fortifies a woman as her youth fades. A mode of conduct, a standard of courage, discipline, fortitude, and integrity can do a great deal to make a woman beautiful. – Jacqueline Bisset • Cherish your visions. Cherish your ideals. Cherish the music that stirs in your heart, the beauty that forms in your mind, the loveliness that drapes your purest thoughts. For out of them will grow all delightful conditions, all heavenly environment, of these, if you but remain true to them, your world will at last be built. – James Allen • Dear God! how beauty varies in nature and art. In a woman the flesh must be like marble; in a statue the marble must be like flesh. – Victor Hugo • Does not beauty confer a benefit upon us, even by the simple fact of being beautiful? – Victor Hugo • Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them. – Marcus Aurelius • Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. – John Muir • Everything in the universe is a pitcher brimming with wisdom and beauty.- Rumi • Exuberance is beauty. – William Blake • For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it. – Ivan Panin • For me the greatest beauty always lies in the greatest clarity. – Gotthold Ephraim Lessing • For such, Being made beautiful overmuch, Consider beauty a sufficient end, Lose natural kindness and maybe The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend. – William Butler Yeats • Girls of all kinds can be beautiful – from the thin, plus-sized, short, very tall, ebony to porcelain-skinned; the quirky, clumsy, shy, outgoing and all in between. It’s not easy though because many people still put beauty into a confining, narrow box…Think outside of the box…Pledge that you will look in the mirror and find the unique beauty in you. – Tyra Banks • Good nature will always supply the absence of beauty; but beauty cannot supply the absence of good nature.- Joseph Addison • He was afflicted by the thought that where Beauty was, nothing ever ran quite straight, which no doubt, was why so many people looked on it as immoral. – John Galsworthy • How goodness heightens beauty! – Milan Kundera I believe in manicures. I believe in overdressing. I believe in primping at leisure and wearing lipsitck. – Audrey Hepburn I believe that children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside. – Whitney Houston • I don’t like standard beauty – there is no beauty without strangeness. – Karl Lagerfeld • I gave my beauty and my youth to men. I am going to give my wisdom and experience to animals. – Brigitte Bardot • If eyes were made for seeing, then beauty is its own excuse for being. • If I hadn’t been told I was garbage, I wouldn’t have learned how to show people I’m talented. And if everyone had always laughed at my jokes, I wouldn’t have figured out how to be so funny. If they hadn’t told me I was ugly, I never would have searched for my beauty. And if they hadn’t tried to break me down, I wouldn’t know that I’m unbreakable. – Gabourey Sidibe • I’m tired of all this nonsense about beauty being skin deep. That’s deep enough. What do you want, an adorable pancreas? – Jean Kerr • In all things that live there are certain irregularities, and deficiencies which are not only signs of life, but sources of beauty. No human face is exactly the same in its lines on each side, no leaf perfect in its lobes, no branch in its symmetry. – John Ruskin • In every man’s heart there is a secret nerve that answers to the vibrations of beauty. – Christopher Morley • In the true mythology, Love is an immortal child, and Beauty leads him as a guide; nor can we express a deeper sense than when we say, Beauty is the pilot of the young soul. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • In youth and beauty, wisdom is but rare! – Homer • Inner beauty should be the most important part of improving one’s self. – Priscilla Presley • Is beauty beautiful, or is it only our eyes that make it so? – William Makepeace Thackeray • It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness. – Leo Tolstoy • It is not sufficient to see and to know the beauty of a work. We must feel and be affected by it. – Voltaire • It’s Hard to Stay Mad When There’s So Much Beauty in the World – Kevin Spacey • Knowledge is the key to survival, the real beauty of that is that it doesn’t weigh anything. – Ray Mears • Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground. – Rumi • Let us live for the beauty of our own reality. – Charles Lamb • Life is beauty, admire it. – Mother Teresa • Life is full of beauty. Notice it. – Ashley Smith • Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams. – Ashley Smith • Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies. – John Donne • Love is the beauty of the soul. – Saint Augustine • Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Natural beauty takes at least two hours in front of a mirror. – Pamela Anderson • Nature, like a loving mother, is ever trying to keep land and sea, mountain and valley, each in its place, to hush the angry winds and waves, balance the extremes of heat and cold, of rain and drought, that peace, harmony and beauty may reign supreme. – Elizabeth Cady Stanton • Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face. – John Donne • O, if so much beauty doth reveal Itself in every vein of life and nature, How beautiful must be the Source itself, The Ever Bright One. – Esaias Tegner • Of life’s two chief prizes, beauty and truth, I found the first in a loving heart and the second in a laborer’s hand. – Khalil Gibran • Of which beauty will you speak? There are many: there are a thousand: there is one for every look, for every spirit, adapted to each taste, to each particular constitution. – Eugene Delacroix • Oh, beauty, ever ancient and ever new. – Saint Augustine • Order is the shape upon which beauty depends. – Pearl S. Buck • People often say that ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ and I say that the most liberating thing about beauty is realizing that you are the beholder. This empowers us to find beauty in places where others have not dared to look, including inside ourselves. – Salma Hayek • Rare is the union of beauty and purity. – Juvenal • Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together. – Petrarch • Science will never be able to reduce the value of a sunset to arithmetic. Nor can it reduce friendship to formula. Laughter and love, pain and loneliness, the challenge of beauty and truth: these will always surpass the scientific mastery of nature. – Louis Orr • Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul. – Saint Augustine • Some people look for a beautiful place, others make a place beautiful. – Hazrat Inayat Khan • Sometimes, there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can’t take it. Like my heart’s going to cave in. – Wes Bentley • The absence of flaw in beauty is itself a flaw. – Havelock Ellis • The beauty of a lovely woman is like music. – George Eliot • The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mode but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives the passion that she shows. The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years. – Audrey Hepburn • The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries or the way she combs her hair. – Audrey Hepburn • The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. – Audrey Hepburn • The beauty of the world, which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder. – Virginia Woolf • The beauty that addresses itself to the eyes is only the spell of the moment; the eye of the body is not always that of the soul. – George Sand • The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart. – Helen Keller • The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed. – Ernest Hemingway • The contemplation of beauty in nature, in art, in literature, in human character, diffuses through our being a soothing and subtle joy, by which the heart’s anxious and aching cares are softly smiled away. – Edwin Percy Whipple • The essence of all beauty, I call love, The attribute, the evidence, and end, The consummation to the inward sense Of beauty apprehended from without, I still call love. – Elizabeth Barrett Browning • The fountain of beauty is the heart and every generous thought illustrates the walls of your chamber. – Francis Quarles • The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. – Eleanor Roosevelt • The human soul needs actual beauty even more than bread. – D. H. Lawrence • The ideal of beauty is simplicity and tranquility. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • The kind of beauty I want most is the hard-to-get kind that comes from within – strength, courage, dignity. – Ruby Dee • The lover knows much more about absolute good and universal beauty than any logician or theologian, unless the latter, too, be lovers in disguise. – George Santayana • The power of beauty at work in man, as the artist has always known, is severe and exacting, and once evoked, will never leave him alone, until he brings his work and life into some semblance of harmony with its spirit. – Lawren Harris • The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely. – Louisa May Alcott • The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. – Albert Einstein • The sign of a beautiful person is that they always see beauty in others. – Omar Suleiman • The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • The true beauty of a woman is her inherent ability to make better a man in every way. – Donald E. Williams, Jr. • The very first discovery of beauty strikes the mind with an inward joy, and spreads a cheerfulness and delight through all its faculties. – Joseph Addison • the voice of beauty speaks softly; it creeps only into the most fully awakened souls – Friedrich Nietzsche • There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness. – Charles Baudelaire • There is certainly no absolute standard of beauty. That precisely is what makes its pursuit so interesting. – John Kenneth Galbraith • There is hope and a kind of beauty in there somewhere, if you look for it. – H. R. Giger • There is more or less of pathos in all true beauty. The delight it awakens has an indefinable, and, as it were, luxurious sadness, which is perhaps one element of its might. – Henry Theodore Tuckerman • There is no cosmetic for beauty like happiness. – Maria Mitchell • There is no definition of beauty, but when you can see someone’s spirit coming through, something unexplainable, that’s beautiful to me. – Liv Tyler • There is nothing that makes its way more directly into the soul than beauty. – Joseph Addison • Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy. – Anne Frank • Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. – Rachel Carson • ‘Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all. – Alexander Pope • To love beauty is to see light. – Victor Hugo • To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey’d, Such seems your beauty still. – William Shakespeare • To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same fields, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Today I see beauty everywhere I go, in every face I see, in every single soul, and sometimes even in myself. – Kevyn Aucoin • We are learning, too, that the love of beauty is one of Nature’s greatest healers. – Ellsworth Huntington • We ascribe beauty to that which is simple; which has no superfluous parts; which exactly answers its end; which stands related to all things; which is the mean of many extremes. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures that we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open. – Jawaharlal Nehru • We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting – Khalil Gibran • What beauty is, I know not, though it adheres to many things. – Albrecht Durer • When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty. – John Muir • Where the mouth is sweet and the eyes intelligent, there is always the look of beauty, with a right heart. – Leigh Hunt • Wherever you go, man-made things are man-made, but you’ve got to get out and see God’s beauty of the world. – Michael Jackson • Women’s modesty generally increases with their beauty. – Friedrich Nietzsche • Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love. – Khalil Gibran • You can take no credit for beauty at sixteen. But if you are beautiful at sixty, it will be your soul’s own doing. – Marie Stopes • You may not, cannot, appropriate beauty. It is the wealth of the eye, and a cat may gaze upon a king. – Theodore Parker • Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.- Franz Kafka

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Beauty Quotes

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limejuicer1862 · 5 years ago

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Wombwell Rainbow Interview

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Isabel del Rio

is a bilingual writer and linguist. She was born in Madrid but has spent most of her life in London. She has published fiction and poetry in both English and Spanish. Her books include La duda, shortlisted for two literary awards, and the bilingual Zero Negative–Cero negativo. Her latest collections of short stories are Paradise & Hell and Una muerte incidental. Among her poetry books are The Moon at the End of my Street and Ataraxy. Her novels include Dissent, part of the trilogy Planet in Peril and El tiempo que falta. She has worked as a full-time journalist and broadcaster for the BBC World Service, and as a full-time linguist for a UN agency in London. Her poems have appeared in printed and online magazines, and her short stories have been translated. She regularly takes part in poetry/prose readings and is an established performance and visual poet. She is the co-founder of a new independent publishing venture, Friends of Alice Publishing. Her website is: http://www.isabeldelrio.com (it includes a selection of stories and poems in English and Spanish under the dropdowns ‘Stories’ and ‘Poetry’)

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

I started reading and writing at an early age. I was especially encouraged when I realised what the purpose of writing was: to be read. My parents would read us all these wonderful tales when we were children −my father sometimes made stories up on the spot, something which I would later do with my own children. I was also good at drawing, so I would write little stories and illustrate them.

My first serious poem was dedicated to my mother after her death. I was barely an adolescent, and what I wrote was unbearably long and terribly sad. Love lost, nostalgia, remembrance, darkness, tragedy were my subjects back then… and I suppose they still are now.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I was exposed to poetry in two languages, English and Spanish, and I could not help but continuously compare the two. I was always trying to establish the difference between what was poetic in English and what was poetic in Spanish, and would think about the different rhythms, the distinctive subjects in each language, and so on. As children, our mother would make us recite poetry and plays (mostly from the Golden Age of Spanish literature, i.e. 17th century). Also, my grandmother knew many popular poems and songs and she would recite or sing them to us. And then there were nursery rhymes at school, as well as reciting and singing with friends.

But I also loved to listen to people’s stories, which I found to be even more impactful because they were for real. Most don’t realise that they sometimes say rather poetic things, and I was always on the look-out for an exciting line or a good story. I remember when I was a young child and we went to visit a beautiful lake. It was a group of parents and children. We were standing in front of the lake, contemplating its beauty, and it suddenly became very quiet. There was absolutely no sound coming from anywhere, the water was perfectly still, and no birds or insects could be heard. And one of parents said: “Can you hear the silence?” In my child’s mind I found that question to be both perplexing and beautiful, and I was entranced. That sense of wonderment is most probably the source of all poetry, and we must never lose that sense.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I do not consider older poets dominating literature so much as dominating language itself. If you are to write, start at the beginning −find out how language was used by those who had no other medium but the written page to give expression to their thoughts and ideas. In the case of contemporary poets, we have to be very familiar with the language of today: social media, online publications, blogs and wikis, as well as all the visual incentives to express our views. Technology has changed how we do it, yet we are not that different from poets and writers from long ago in what we do. The sentiments are the same as those from centuries back. Indeed, we have more words, more concepts, more innovations. But back then, the richness of language, the complexity of expressions, the long and detailed descriptions were all unique, and young writers should resort to the classics to find out how it was done. Recently I re-read two “classics” to refresh my memory (reading the classics truly puts you in your place!): Poe’s The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket, with descriptions that stir universes as nothing today can; and Frankenstein, in which despite its narrative flaws (let’s not forget that Mary Shelley was but 20 when she wrote it, though possibly aided by Shelley himself) the intricacies of the language are matchless.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

As a full-time writer, I normally work 3-4 hours in the morning and 4-5 hours in the afternoon. I have been known to write late into the night, but I avoid that sort of thing because I need regularity for my sleep. I wake up very early, at around 5 a.m., and read online papers (I am a news junkie!) and begin to get my ideas in order, or come up a few ideas for further development. If I am in the middle of a story (which is usually the case), I think of speech or descriptions that I will type into Notes on my iPhone, or simply write on a post-it.

When I was working full-time as a linguist (for decades and until only a few years ago), I only had evenings and weekends and holidays to write, and yet I managed to do it regularly and produce a considerable amount of work. Throughout the day I would send emails to my private email address if I had any ideas worth saving. Even with a full-time job I was able to write. You must want to write above all else!

But writing is not only about putting pen to paper. Writers are involved in so many activities nowadays: readings, performances, presentations, launches, keeping up with their social media presence, and so on. As a writer in two languages, I am also involved in Spanish-speaking literary groups, so I am extremely busy. I translate literature as well, mostly poetry. And I also run a small publishing company. And let’s not forget that certain hours of the day have to be dedicated to living!

5. What motivates you to write?

I am motivated by a love of words, and the feats you can achieve solely with words. But I am also pushed by the need to say what has to be said, especially at such volatile and uncertain times. In a way, my life has been dedicated to words, and I consider myself a language practitioner as I have worked in most language-related fields: broadcasting and journalism; writing, scriptwriting and screenwriting; literary and technical translation; lexicography and terminology; tutoring in writing and translation.

I certainly consider words to be sacred and they must not be taken lightly. I use them sparingly and carefully, both in my writing and in everyday life. There is also an element of plasticity in words: not only must words say exactly what you mean, but they must look good on the page. Words are ultimately an art form.

6. What is your work ethic?

Persistence, dedication, commitment, sacrifice, keeping at it and never looking back despite setbacks, defying adversity, dealing with rejection (it took me a year to recover from my first rejection!), coping with the lack of interest by others.

As a writer you are always an outsider, and even fellow poets and writers do not always provide the support you need. As to non-writers, many are not remotely interested in what poets have to go through nor in the sensitivity poets require in order to feel what is happening around them and not only see it.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

As both a poet and a fiction writer, my first serious fiction readings were of Guy de Maupassant’s stories, and in poetry I very much admired (and still do) Antonio Machado. The list of writers that influenced me when young would be too long to mention. When I write, I always have in my heart the first writers I ever read, and I must not forget that they were also my first teachers.

Also, I think one ultimately never changes. Or let’s rephrase that, your sensitivity, largely responsible for your poetry, never changes. As an example, I still consider my best poems to be those I wrote when very young.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

Again, it would be an endless list, and it would depend on the subject, genre, historical period and so on. Let me just mention one poet: Don Paterson. I find his aphorisms, for example, quite magnificent, the formal effortlessness concealing reflective complexity. And one fiction writer: Jorge Luis Borges, the master of short stories, as well as an exceptional poet. In both cases, the philosophical content of the writing is as fundamental as the stories or the poems themselves.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

It has chosen me, I suppose. Would I have chosen writing? I probably would, but that’s because I can somehow and stubbornly deal with the struggles that come with the job −at least most of the time!

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

You need a good toolkit. Words are your bricks, grammar is your mortar, you require a decent floor plan to know where you are going, and any embellishments will come from reading anything you can get your hands on. And of course, you need an idea to write about. And where do ideas come from? Well, that remains a mystery, for they can crop up any time from places unknown.

And remember that there is no such thing as inspiration, only hard work (and the sweat and tears that come with it!).

Writing is a simple enough recipe: sit and write; then get up and walk around; then sit again and read what you have written; do this twice, three times, or as many times as necessary until you get the required taste, look and feel; stir and serve especially cold.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I am working on an autobiographical book of poems. A bilingual memoir. A spy novella. And as always, lots and lots of short stories.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Isabel del Rio Wombwell Rainbow Interview I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

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billnewcottblog · 7 years ago

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10 Scary Good Halloween Flicks

The Shining

Stephen King didn't much like Stanley Kubrick's version of his novel about a haunted hotel, and I have to admit I found myself at first insufficiently terrorized by it when the film opened in 1980. But the older I get, the more I appreciate the movie's relentless creepiness, its steadily mounting atmosphere of dread, its uncanny sense of being buried alive in a wide open space. Jack Nicholson's normal-to-nutso transformation offers much more nuance than I gave it credit for, and Shelley Duvall's awful awakening to her hubby's case of stark raving crazies should have earned her an Oscar nomination. Cite virtually any scene from The Shining, and I'll show you a film that tries to copy it.

Psycho

Is there any director more rewardingly manipulative than Alfred Hitchcock? He spends the first 45 minutes of Psycho getting us invested in the story of a young woman who's on the run after having stolen money from her boss — then he abruptly kills her in the most shockingly stark murder scene ever filmed. And then what does he do? He introduces us to a whole new cast of characters, knowing full well we'll have a queasy suspicion that he could do away with any of them at any moment, as well. Even without that shower scene — which may have changed the direction of movies forever — Psycho would stand as a landmark horror movie. As it is, it borders on deliciously unbearable.

The Bride of Frankenstein

Director James Whale's original Frankenstein was a straightforward affair — you know, gather the body parts, stitch 'em together, pull down some lightning and, voila, "It's a-LIIIIIVE!", followed by peasants with pitchforks. The sequel, though, is quite something else, a masterful mix of horror and sentiment. Boris Karloff infuses his monster with an astonishing level of humanity — witness his sentiment-dripping scene with a blind hermit and his heartbroken reaction to the Bride's horrified scream. The film's unapologetic attempt to humanize the monster, and thus make all the more tragic his ultimate fate, hinges completely on Karloff's ability to convey emotion from beneath a mountain of makeup.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Maybe you had to live through the gnawing nationwide suspicion that communists were everywhere in the 1950s, trying to infiltrate American society, to appreciate the full impact of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. It's scary enough upon viewing today, as pods from outer space land in rural California, hatching aliens that become blank-faced, emotionless versions of the humans they kill. But in its day, the political subtext of director Don Siegel's masterpiece was equally disturbing for those who feared the communists and those who dismissed those fears as overwrought. Seldom have science fiction and real life found such chilling resonance.

The Exorcist

Sure, you can laugh about it now, but the night in 1973 when you slunk into that dark theater, informed only by the nervous rumors circulating among your friends, you were seized by a sense of chilly foreboding. Then came Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells theme, and before you knew it all Hell was literally breaking loose on screen, what with the turning head and the spewing pea soup and the unwelcome news regarding what one character's dead mother was doing at that very moment. The Exorcist still informs our vision of what close encounters of the satanic kind should look like, and if you dare to think about it, even now, you realize that those skittish friends of yours back in '73 didn't know the half of it.

Silence of the Lambs

The characters had already existed in book form, and indeed there'd already been a movie made about Hannibal (The Cannibal) Lecter. But when Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal and Jodie Foster as Clarice Starling, a student at the FBI Academy, squared off in director Jonathan Demme's twisted melding of horror flick and police procedural, all bets were off. After it was all over, the shaken audience not only felt they had barely escaped with their own lives; they were left with the sickening sense that the depths to which human evil can sink are, really, unfathomable.

Dressed to Kill

Director Brian De Palma had been cribbing off of Hitchcock for years, and he really hit his Hitchy stride with this story of a serial killer stalking beautiful women in New York City. As his first victim, Angie Dickinson meets an unfortunate end in an elevator. There's no shortage of suspects, including the victim's psychiatrist (Michael Caine), a cop and a high-priced call girl (Nancy Allen). Through it all, De Palma maintains the uneasy notion that anyone could be a killer, if you push just the right buttons.

The Devil's Advocate

Keanu Reeves is a hard-driving defense attorney and Al Pacino is Satan incarnate in this delicious little 1997 morality tale. Impressed with how Reeves' character got a child molester off in Florida, Pacino enlists him to join his unholy law firm in Manhattan. What follows is a devilishly delightful battle of wits as Satan skillfully manipulates the lawyer into deeper and deeper levels of decrepitude — all the while reminding him he's operating under his own free will. By the time he's too deep to dig himself out, the lawyer finds himself knocking on the gates of Hell in a very cool, hideously baroque finale.

Scream

Ingeniously, director Wes Craven resurrected the slasher movie genre by satirizing it in this supersmart 1996 tale of teenagers terrorized by a killer in a ghost mask. The kids, all well versed in the conventions of horror flicks — never tell people "I'll be right back" when you leave a room; never assume the killer is dead, etc. — discover in the course of the evening in question that those old saws are all too true. With a severed tongue firmly planted in its cheek, Scream earns its laughs, and its gasps, honestly.

Peeping Tom

Director Michael Powell was known for lush A-list movies such as The Red Shoes and The Tales of Hoffman, so when he unleashed this savage little film on unsuspecting British filmgoers in 1960, they never forgave him. It's the truly macabre tale of a handsome young filmmaker who focuses his little Bell and Howell movie camera on terrorized women while impaling them with a sharpened leg of his tripod. We do get to watch as the cops spend much of the film tracking down the killer, but the sheer cold-bloodedness of his crimes — he eventually mounts a mirror on his camera so the victims can watch themselves die — leaves the viewer with a sick sense of complicity. Ecchh.

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