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shirtlesssammy · 4 years ago

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4x02: Are You There God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester

Then:

Dean Winchester is saved

Now:

Olivia, a hunter, wakes to cold air and flickering lights. She runs for her shotgun just as Bobby leaves a message on her answering machine.

Her EMF is going nuts as she patrols her house. Suddenly ghosts that she recognizes give her the one two punch and she’s a goner.

At Bobby’s, Dean is vehemently denying that he was “groped by an angel.” Bobby’s got lots of lore on angels, though. It seems they’re the only thing that could pull a human soul from Hell.

Sam thinks it’s a good thing that Dean was saved “by one of the good guys.” And Dean wonders if there is a God. BABIES. Dean’s having a hard time believing there’s a god out there that personally believes in him. Oh, buddy, he cares just a little too much, I’d say. Dean’s self-loathing is off the charts though. And this is getting way ahead of myself here, but even though Chuck cares in the sense that Dean is a fun little puppet for him, it’s Cas that really cared all along. He believed in Dean so much, he gave up everything for this man. BIG SIGH.

Dean demands pie before digging into the angel lore.

Sam runs off to forget get the pie, when he sees Ruby lurking. She wants to know if the angel stuff is real. Ruby’s scared for her demon life and takes off.

Sam gets back to Bobby’s in time for all three of them to take off to investigate why Olivia isn’t answering Bobby’s calls. Also, he forgot the pie.

They find Olivia disemboweled on her bedroom floor. And Bobby can’t get a hold of any nearby hunters. They check them out to find everyone dead.

They need to get back to Bobby’s to regroup.

Sam’s getting gas for the Impala while Dean sleeps. He makes a pitstop in the gas station restroom. The room suddenly gets cold and Victor Henrickson appears!

He blames Sam for his death. He starts to attack Sam but Dean comes in with a save and a shotgun.

Bobby meanwhile is haunted by a couple giggling raggedy twin girls. Fun!

Sam and Dean race back to Bobby’s. They can’t get a hold of him so they enter his house with shotguns ready. The boys separate and while Dean checks out the upstairs, Sam heads outside.

Dean runs into the ghost of the woman who was once Meg Masters.

She blames Dean for her possession...and Dean hates himself enough to actually believe it all. It wasn’t your fault, dude. Also, as much as they’ve learned about demon possession and all, if they would have met Meg at any point in the future, they would have just stabbed her with Ruby’s knife and she’d be dead anyway. Idk, saving people is good in theory, but hard in practice for these guys. I also know this is a manipulation. “Do you know what it’s like to be ridden for a month by pure evil?” HE DOES! Leave him alone!

Meanwhile, Sam’s trying to find Bobby outside. He’s currently being held down by a couple scary ghost twins.

Ghost of Meg continues to taunt Dean, and pins her sister’s suicide on him as well. MEG. NO.

Outside, Sam finds Bobby trapped in an old scrap car. He helps break him out and together they swing iron through the ghost girls.

Dean drags himself away from Meg, and aims his gun at the iron chandelier up above. DAMN BOBBY that’s some fancy light fixture work! The chandelier smokes Meg out...for now.

Back in Bobby’s living room, they realize that all the ghosts had a brand on their hands. Bobby hauls out the lore and leads the Winchesters down to...dun dun DUN...his safe room.

We get the grand tour because this is the FIRST TIME WE’VE SEEN IT. This safe room has everything! Iron! Salt! Devil’s traps! Lore! Racy posters! Booze! Weapons! The vanished hopes and dreams of Dean Winchester! A cot complete with restraints! The Winchesters are impressed.

Later, Dean breaks into a theological monologue while making salt bullets. My sweet sunshine! How dare you speak my love language! “If [God] doesn't exist...fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason - just random, horrible, evil. I get it, okay? I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?” (Because, sweetie, freedom is a length of rope and God LITERALLY wants you to hang yourself with it.)

Bobby finds the brand - it’s the “mark of the witness.” They’re ghosts forced to rise and destroy people. In fact, the Rising of the Witnesses is part of an ancient prophecy. A prophecy of...DOOM. It’s a sign of the apocalypse. Dean suggests coping with a series of wish-fulfillment trips including: Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience, and the Bunny Ranch. Somebody please write me that fic. Instead of Dean’s plan, Bobby suggests running an ancient ritual to shut down the witnesses. To do so, they first have to race out of the panic room to gather ingredients before the ghosts have a chance to yank their insides outside.

Ronald from the bank heist greets them at the stairs. Bobby blasts away Dean’s guilt ghost for him, and we cut to a montage of spell preparation. The three of them split up to fetch supplies. Ghosts appear to torment them.

Meg appears to Sam, only she KNOWS more than she should. She knows about Sam’s fraternization with Ruby.

In the kitchen, Victor appears to Dean. He reveals that after the Winchesters left, Lilith gruesomely tortured those left in the station for almost an hour before blowing up the place. While Dean absorbs this fun fact, Victor makes his move, plunging his hand into Dean’s chest.

Sam saves Dean just in time with a well-aimed salt round. They start the ritual, Bobby’s living room teeming with ghosts. Bobby chants while the Winchesters play shotgun whack-a-mole with the ghosts. Meg jabs a hand into Bobby’s chest. Bobby drops the bowl and Dean dives for it like it’s a football, then tosses the spell into the fire to finish the job.

That night, Dean wakes from his slumber.

Castiel stands waiting for him (watching him sleep??) in the kitchen. He congratulates Dean on their triumph over the witnesses, and announces that he has already started doodling Mister Castiel Winchester in his notebooks!

Dean feels a little raw about nearly dying (again) and wonders why angels are total dicks. “Read the bible,” Cas advises. “Angels are warriors of God.” Oh, and also? He’s not here to PERCH ON DEAN’S SHOULDER. Oh honey sweetie baby.

Dean tries to read Cas the riot act and rails against God’s shitty parenting.

Cas: The lord works…

Dean: If you say "mysterious ways" so help me, I will kick your ass

Cas warns Dean that big...no, cosmic things are afoot.

The Rising of the Witnesses is one of sixty-six seals that Lilith is busily unlocking. Each seal is a lock holding Lucifer in his cage. Dean has trouble believing that Lucifer is even REAL. Sassy Cas smiles. “Three days ago you thought there was no such thing as me.”

Cas tells Dean that Heaven isn’t infinite. Angels have died in the battle so far, and more may be at risk. (Excuse me while I weep for the next twelve seasons. There have been 0 days since the last angel mishap.)

“You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?” Cas asks, telegraphing his series story arc. “You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.” Cas flaps out.

Dean wakes up for realsies. WAS IT ALL A DREAM? He asks Sam if he believes in the Devil…

You Should Show Me Some Quotes:

All I know is I was not groped by an angel

If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?

When have I ever forgotten the pie?

Where’s the pie?

I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #bobby singer #spn 4x02 #Are you there God It's me Dean Winchester #Victor Henriksen #ronald reznick #meg masters #supernatural season 4

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outlaw-f · 5 years ago

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Some backstory,

Fletcher was born in the summer of 1876 to Herbert and Molly Fitzgerald in a small cabin nestled in the forests of the Appalachian mountains. They considered her a miracle, Molly had miscarried two babies before her, making Fletcher their miracle child. Like many others taking refuge in the hills and valleys of the Appalachians, Herbert and Molly were shiners through and through. Fletcher doesn’t remember this, or much else about her life with her family as her parents were killed by rival shiners when she was 10. She was taken to a local orphanage by a family friend, but ran away not long after arriving. She caught rides on the back of wagons, fell in with various groups, and traveled the eastern coast for five years.

At 15, Fletcher could provide for herself and no longer required the assistance of others. She had no plans of settling on the western side of the Lannahechee River when she took the boat across all those years ago, but the landscape was so different from her old home. She traveled far west, passed the roaming hills of the Heartlands and the Great Plains. She settled in Tumbleweed and that’s where her story begins.

Tumbleweed was a craggy old town, not much besides dust and dirt which made it the perfect hunting grounds for an up and coming outlaw. She never intended to be a criminal- nor did she intend to grow into her looming bounty but outlaws rarely do. It started small- a hand in the pocket here, the pocket watch of a drunkard at the saloon there, nothing too bad- certainly nothing to be hung for. By 18, she had gone from picking pockets to holding victims to gun point, from pocket watches to stage coaches, her hunger was growing and nothing could fill it- that is, until she met her.

Sable was a tiny little thing, straw colored hair and bright emerald eyes. Her family had just bought a ranch south of town, Fletcher never forgot the first time she saw her. She was leaving the saloon when she caught eye of Sable waiting patiently outside the store for her parents. She looked like a flower lost in a sea of sand and for the first time since she arrived, Tumbleweed finally had a little bit of color. She seemed to be the exact opposite of Fletcher- quiet and shy, hands soft and smooth from a life indoors, and the sweetest smile she had ever seen. Fletcher’s usual bold nature was reduced to ash when those big doe eyes turned to her, but she fought through her nerves to talk to the beautiful girl at the store. From then, the rest was history. Sable was enchanted by Fletcher’s stories of a life of solitude. Secretly she was a little envious of Fletcher, her own parents being so strict, a constant looming shadow over her every action. But with Fletcher, that ever looming shadow shrunk little by little. They trusted Fletcher- not that they knew of their daughter’s true relation to her. They saw Fletcher as a close friend to their daughter, and eventually allowed her to leave their watchful sight every once in a blue moon to ride off with her dear friend. Together they would watch the stars, holding hands and talking over a future they could see clear as day: a small house in the rolling hills of the prairie, Sable insisted on adopting a whole gaggle of babies, Fletcher never wanted kids, but the way Sable lit up when discussing children made her want one, maybe two, just for her.

Not a year later, Sable’s parents passed of Chollera. It was a hard time, she had such a close relationship to them. Fletcher never was good at talking, but she was a shoulder to cry on for her partner. Sable was fortunate, her father had willed her the land in the event of their passing and Fletcher promptly moved in. After a few months, Sable’s mourning ended and she was like herself again. Together they lived happily on their small plot of land.

That is until two years later, just two months before Fletcher’s 21st birthday. Fletcher had all but given up the outlaw life, taking (mostly) legal jobs to pay off her bounty. She was out hunting, a three day trip to load up on supplies and food. When she returned, the door was kicked in and her stomach dropped. There, tied to a chair beaten and bloodied, was Sable. She was already cold, the stench of death filled the cabin. Choking on her own sobs and the smell of decay, she searched the ransacked cabin for clues. Everything was gone- the money stash, food, even some of hers and Sable’s clothes were missing. Trash was littered throughout the floor. Fletcher rode to town to investigate, not knowing that would be the last time she ever saw the little ranch south of Tumbleweed.

The barkeep had all the answers she needed, which wasn’t much- bounty hunters. Savages, the lot of them. Fletcher drank herself into a coma, she repeated this cycle for months.

When she finally made her way out of the bottom of the bottle, she couldn’t stand it anymore. Tumbleweed was full of nothing but memories and she couldn’t bring herself to return to the cabin. She did not look at the small trail off the main road that led to her old home.

She made her way to Strawberry, where she met an eccentric old man named Cripps. He made quite the bargain- you make the money, he supplies the camp. How he convinced her, she still isn’t sure but they’ve been traveling together ever since. With Sable gone, her inspiration to be better went out the window- if anything it fueled a fire within her, fueled her to go even farther. By 23, she had robbed her first train with a rag tag group, they split ways after the job.

Now at 25, she had a wanted poster in every sheriff’s office from Rhodes to Blackwater and a ten thousand dollar bounty on her head. She has informants all across the map, constantly on the lookout for another job and more money.

#fletcher #oc #rdo oc #oc backstory #tw death #rdo #rdr oc

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nail-bat-butch · 1 year ago

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{transcript 1: ‘god i miss the days when you could show up to a stranger’s farm and he’d say “what’s your name, boy?” and you’d take off your hat and put it to your chest to better let him see your face and reply “why i ain’t got none, sir, on account of my mama passed on before she could give me one” and he’d tell you he’s real damn sorry to hear that and ask what he can do you for and you’d tell him that you can’t read nor even write neither but you’re mighty good with horses and can mend them fallen fence posts what you saw on your way in and won’t ask for nothing much more than a hot meal and a warm barn to sleep in and he’d keep his wife and daughters away but send his boy who ain’t got married yet even though his mama tells him he needs a woman out with a lantern and some stew at night and the two of you’d get to talkin’ and he’d throw you his flask to take a swig from and watch you drinking from it while he leant against the door frame and when he finally got back to the house again he’d take a sip from it too real slow-like like it weren’t the whiskey what he were tryna savor.”/end transcript}

{transcript 2: “you know i couldn’t be a cowboy because i’d be stuck with my partner in the dead cold prairie night and our horses would be tied up and we’d be huddlin’ around a crudely made fire because it was too far to go back to the ranch and he’d play the sweetest song on his harmonica, the kind you felt in your bones and your heart and that the hymns had nothin’ on, and then he’d finish and we’d both lean in a little too close and my hand would be on his bandana and his whiskey-breath would be hot on my lips and i’d realize maybe it wasn’t the touch of a woman i’d been hankerin’ for.” the original poster’s comment bellow that post reads “yeah i’ll be honest i don’t know what the fuck possessed me here.”/end transcript} {transcript 3: “the preacher may never marry us and my mama may never know you but i can kiss you over a glass of whiskey and dance with you under the stars and if that isn’t marriage i’m not sure what else god is looking for.”/end transcript}

the ghost of one specific homosexual cowboy regularly possesses Tumblr gays

#gay cowboys

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wotnahq · 4 years ago

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Kaspar Ildstrom • 45 • Male (he/him) • Metahuman • Omnikinesis • Civilian

BIOGRAPHY

Kaspar Sigurd Ildstrom was born December 4, 2000 to Ilse and Christopher, Danish immigrants to South Africa, the first of five sons and one daughter. Ilse would die in 2014, taking with her almost all that was soft and trusting in the already frigid disposition of the military tactician that was her husband, founder of Velentr Industries (Private Military Corporation & Security Consultancy).

Kas did not inherit his father’s iron temperament, rather his mother’s fiery temper and a restless energy that longed for change, challenge. As eldest, he cared for his younger siblings with warm affinity and playful mischief as they grew, delighting in the uniqueness of each accomplishment, of each gift that needed to be secreted away from the world. All of the siblings manifested powers young, the latest at sixteen, and Kaspar had been no different. It began with the recklessness and whims of early childhood, mashed broccoli flung in the fits of a tantrum, and only grew governed by focus, emotion, his father’s firm guiding hand…and his own whims.

The cattle ranch they grew up on was run with discipline and efficiency to curb the wildness each of the siblings had inherited to some extent, though perhaps none moreso than Kaspar. So many nights spent staring up at the stars and longing for them to change, to pull them closer, to pull himself anywhere - everywhere else - no matter how he loved his family, the unyielding winds of fortune and wanderlust called to him with the promise of stardust and adventure.

Having grown up hunting and in the home environment he did, it was not a surprise that at 18, he joined the South African Defense forces, at 21 he certified as a South African Special Forces Operator, specializing in Sniping, Parachute, and Urban Operations. Yet, he chafed against the limitations, the need to conceal the gift behind every ‘lucky shot’ and its honing, the ever present longing for something more after the thrill or terror of every deployment. After his 4 year contract ended, he enlisted with his father’s firm and thought this would be different.

The unveiling of metahuman abilities to the world had been a blessing and a curse for the soldiers of fortune of the Ildstrom family.

As violently prejudiced as many turned out to be, many more were eager to contract metahumans - perceived “super soldiers” - to intervene in the eruptions of violence that wracked countless countries across the continents. By now, Kaspar had been joined by most of his siblings in the family business, and business was booming. Enough that they were all stretched thin, breaks between deployment shortened, and pressure and opportunity to hone their skills through the trials of fire and blood never lacking. The constant movement eased the restless gnaw in his chest somewhat, the fate of a little girl in a small town in Afghanistan would do far more.

It had been a small operation, to suppress an uprising in the territory of a high paying Warlord. It was like stepping into the glutted stomach of war. Bodies hung from buildings or lay in the street, feral dogs the only ones unafraid to sate themselves on the feast of carnage. But what caught his attention, hidden in an alley were the soft sobs and strange bioluminescent glow of a small child. She likely didn’t even know how to control it, only knew the danger it presented. As he knelt to comfort her four sounds happened in rapid succession: The enraged scream of a militant anti-meta insurgent, the sound of rapid gun fire, his own hoarse shout…and the interrupted scream of terror from the girl.

Instinct pulled her close against him, flung the shooter against rough brick of building wall.

She still died.

Wrath and grief poured through him, potent and vengeful, and the bloody, indistinguishable and impaled body of the man responsible told a story of ruthlessness and calculated anguish. That smoke filled hell had taught him something he should have realized long ago - it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to do the job, to have powers if he couldn’t even protect a scared child. Even hidden beneath the smog of war, he willed the stars to change, to come crashing down into this maw of desolation…but they wouldn’t. They left it to him.

When he was 40, in an unsanctioned operation, after 22 years of deployment after deployment, unflinching in his use of his powers now under the agent name Valkyr… the world turned. A cornered meta, a terrorist group, and an unstable parking garage walk into a bar. Or, more accurately, fall onto a Dane. A stray bullet, the other meta’s powers raging out of control, the strain of his own stubborn attempts to keep the whole thing from collapse - tons of metal and steel and concrete…and it all came crashing down. His powers raged, an orbit of decimation indiscriminate in radius and degree, and yet…

It took his left lung, spleen, kidney. It left spiderweb cracks and chasms in his ribs, fractures in his arm that jutted through skin where jagged shards of metal tried to sink their way beneath. It would gift him titanium rods and bolts to guide and hold shattered bone and torn ligament, as if the rebar piping pinning him to concrete desired so much to stay. It traced lines where only sutures would be able to follow over freckled skin, organ, and muscle. It left caresses in the form of blooming scar tissue over his hammering heart, fluttering so fast with fear and will. .

There were no stars to be seen beneath the rubble and ash; only the cold and one thought: Stay.

Four years of reconstruction, transplant, repair. Four years feeling the crush of all that metal and concrete in the limitations of concepts like ‘recovery’ and ‘functionality’. More haunting than the shrapnel and scalpel scars that lingered over his left flank was the ghost that perched in those words - the ache for the life before, the reality of what it was now. Even among the specialists in Copenhagen, in Johannesburg, in Berlin, Oslo…there was the final line of ‘learn to manage expectations’. Managing expectations looked like a sad shard of what his powers once were, day by day, working from the ground up through the pain. Managing expectations looked like settling in Danmark, obtaining a degree in early childhood education. Managing expectations meant learning to accept pity often, to hide the shame of the scars that hid his failure, to accept his body failing him now, to accept its slowness as the waves of kinetic energy passed him by. Unpulling. Adrift in the memories of everything lost.

There was no discussion of his powers, of how they might interact with any previous interventions to save his life, if they were mentioned at all it was with an awkward glance to the tattoo over his wrist and the soft chagrin of ‘we don’t know much about how meta physiology will react to this’. That restless wind tugged at him once more. Time for a change.

Pansaw had once been the poster child for civil unrest and metasuppression, a distant war zone he’d only glimpsed on the news. In 2044, things had moved on - he knew better than to expect utopia in the rebuild, but the small spark of nearly extinguished hope for something better, for recovery alongside his gifts…It was enough to leave behind the sanctuary of Denmark, the thought of returning to the once home of South Africa.

He would find his hopes overturned not by anti-meta feeling in the halls of C.A.R.M.A., but ironically the very reason he had come. Pre-existing conditions which made him unsuitable for field work - this was not said, but underpinned the implications of ‘risk analysis’.

For the past year he’s fallen back on old skills (mercenary work and the occasional fight at the Madhouse) to pay for private treatment alongside the limited benefits of his day job working as a childcare provider for a metahuman daycare.

POWERS

OMNIKINESIS: The power to influence, control, and manipulate all matter and energy with the user’s mind. Kaspar’s specialization lies in five subset categories, the primary being telekinetic applications of this power, though extends to the subpowers of energy manipulation, matter manipulation, weather manipulation, and the manipulation of fundamental forces.

WEAKNESSES

Kaspar’s powers are governed by a combination of focus, emotion, and will. Flares of strong emotion may cause them to become uncontrollable whereas disbelief and self doubt have a dampening effect. Traumatic experiences may seal powers off from use. Distraction is disruptive to use.

Use of powers exacts a tremendous physical toll, particularly on transplanted organs that are not compatible with his channeling of kinetic energy. May result in anything from mild exhaustion to collapse, tremors, coma, organ failure, migraines, major fatigue, illness, coughing up blood, up to death. Repercussions increase depending on level of mastery required for feat, general health (stamina, illness, injury), number feats being simultaneously performed, and any environmental effects (e.g. other users’ powers).

PERSONALITY

+ Compassionate + Charismatic + Quick Witted

– Overly Tenacious – Hot Tempered – Unpredictable

#lsrp #superpower rp #mutant rp #oc rp #michael fassbender #character #kaspar ildstrom

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otomechuchu · 5 years ago

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My Horse Prince - Personal walkthrough, all the answers per chapter

I don’t know if you remember this game, but My Horse Prince was released back in Dec 2016.

I wrote this down back then, but never really posted it (like with lots of walkthroughs I’ve made, most of them I just keep to myself).

When the game first launched, there were only 10 chapters. And then in 2017, they added a few more chapters!

NOTE: Do tell me if I missed some questions!

Want to support the blog? Feel free to Become a Patron for as little as $1/month~ Or Buy me a coffee ~

Check out my other walkthroughs here

PLEASE DON’T STEAL, COPY OR POST ELSEWHERE.

Some tips:

Bad answers = 0 Good answers = 15 Excellent answers = 30

80-100% gives the “best” animation. Afterwards the animations are showing how tired he is.

Energy % will determine how many points you get per “item”. (like carrot, leek, treadmill, etc).

Each chapter has its own set of questions, related to what happened in the story chapter, so you won’t get the same questions throughout the whole game.

Album - Re-read all the chapters whenever you want. However you can not do the “training”, so you won’t be able to see those animations (which are very funny).

Shop - buy items, like Golden Carrot or remove ads.

The answers below are the ones that are Excellent. You cna try out the other ones if you want to see his reaction, but they will give less points.

Episode 1 – The First Gallop

What’s the weather going to be like tomorrow?

I think it’s going to rain.

Do you like ranches?

I do!

Do you want to rain with me?

I’ll cheer you on!

I like your hair like that

Thanks!

I feel so relaxed when I’m with you.

Thanks!

Do you like dogs or cats?

Cats

What do you think about carrots?

I like their orange color

Episode 2 – Treadmill Training

What color horse do you like?

White

How did you get to the ranch?

Bicycle

Do you want to train with me?

I’ll cheer you on!

I like your hair like that

Thanks!

Episode 3 – The Morning Feed

What do you like in miso soup?

Carrots

That reminds me… the light bulb in the hallway has burnt out.

I think we have another one somewhere…

Do you know what happened to the pudding in the fridge?

It was really good! You picked a good one!

Wanna go somewhere together today?

Theme park

How about bread for breakfast tomorrow?

I like both bread and rice

What kind of fruit do you want this morning?

Carrot

Episode 4 – Street Corner Steed

Having to work is really hard.

It is really hard.

Have your clothes gotten dirty?

I’ve been christened!

“If a man will not work, he shall not eat.” Right?

Yeah, you have to make your own way!

Do you think doing radio calisthenics at work is important?

I used to do that when I was younger.

I want to take you to my favorite store

Somewhere that sells horseshoes?

What do you do after work?

Work late

Ow! I think I but my hoof!

Want me to kiss it better?

Sweat is a medal of honor.

Guys who work are really hot

Episode 5 – Wave Jumps

I can see a boat on the horizon.

That’s Poseidon

The sun is really strong today.

It feels like summer!

What reminds you of summer?

Fireworks

I can hear the waves

That’s the sound of the tide.

If you could take one thing with you to a deserted island, what would it be?

A pillow

Do you prefer mountains or beaches?

Mountains.

Let’s go somewhere together.

How embarrassing…

I heard some guys are trying to pick up on the other side of the beach

I like guys like that

Episode 6 – Trial Fanfare

What do you think of how I run?

You run well

I can’t… go on…

Just one more lap!

I like racing with obstacles.

It looks really hard to race like that

Do you think I can win?

Of course you can win!

Do you prefer dirt or grass?

Grass

Would you go on a date to a racecourse?

Yes

This is my first race, so I'm pretty nervous

Me too!

I didn't sleep last night so I'm really run down today...

You can't sleep now

Episode 7 – Wild Whinny

Do you think music can change the world?

My world has changed!

Which member do you like the best?

OJISAN

Let’s sing a duet on stage?

OK, let’s do it!

What kind of music do you normally listen to!?

Fanfare

I'll show everyone mt sweet guitar skills

You can play guitar?

And the next song is…

Midnight Cowboy

You feeling this?

Wooo!

I'll never stop singing!

Yeah, keep going!

What's most important to you!?

Myself

Episode 8 – Street Corner Cavalletti

We must fight against evil.

We have to fight one thing at a time.

The stars look nice tonight.

They’re really pretty

You shouldn’t come to these kinds of places alone, they’re dangerous!

Sorry

I actually don't like fighting

Just kick him for me!

The city is so busy

It’s actually a pretty good place

It’s dangerous here. I’ll take you home

Can I ride you?

What are you doing here?

Playing on my phone

Call me if you’re ever in trouble, OK?

OK, I will

Episode 9 – Riding Rivals

What if I lose to Ryouma…”

Stop being such a sissy!

I feel a storm coming.

Sounds like fun

What do you want to do in the future?

I like things the way they are now

I feel like something bad will happen here…

Yeah, it’s scary!

I'd protect you form a meteorite, you know

You can't do that

Do you think Ryouma is good-looking?

He’s not as handsome as you

What would you do it I went away…?

Wait for you to come back

I want to give you a ride

I'd be afraid of falling off

Episode 10 – Stakes of Glory

What’s the track condition like today?

Focus on the race!

I won’t let that suspicious horse anywhere near you, [NAME]!

Please keep me safe!

Have you ridden a horse before?

I’ll just use my intuition

Are you used to the feel to riding now?

I could fall asleep

It’s fun racing with you on board

I’m having fun too!

Your weight…

I-I lost weight

I wouldn’t mind coming in last because I got to ride with you…

We have to come in first

NEW CHAPTERS!

Episode 11 – Leisurely Amble

Do you want to go anywhere?

The Arc de Triomphe

Did the race tire you out?

It was fun!

Want to come to mine?

If you win the next race.

There aren’t many female jockeys so I think you’ll be popular.

Let’s become popular together

Let me know if you ever need help, okay?

Alright, I will

I just saw a bug!

Eeeek!

You’re pretty cute, you know.

Th- thank you…

Do you feel ready to be a jockey?

I’ve always felt ready

Episode 12 – White Turf

The snow melting makes me want to…

Love you

This snowscape is beautiful…

I’m prettier

I guess it is a little cold here…

I’m cold, too

I have to keep practicing

Yeah, you do

I’d like some warm soup after I finish training

Carrot potage?

Make sure you don’t fall down

Should I grab onto you?

Skiing’s fun!

I can ski a little

I love seeing snow

Me too!

Episode 13 – Lone Sprinter

Is [NAME] waiting for me…?

It doesn’t’ matter either way

What should I do so that [NAME ] will forgive me?

Find her

I can hear [NAME]’s voice…

“Run faster!”

If I give up now…

No… I can’t give up

I’m running out of energy…

Keep running

I wonder if she’s still angry…

She’s still angry

I can’t see because of the blizzard…

Close your eyes

I feel tired…

Sleep is for the weak!

Episode X – Endless Circling

Extra chapter with both old and new questions.

What would you do if we couldn’t leave?

That would be terrible

[NAME], do you get a lot of attention?

I’m the poster girl for the unpopular kid

I have a spare key to my stable… Do you want it?

You really trust me!

Want to support the blog? Feel free to Become a Patron for as little as $1/month~ Or Buy me a coffee ~

Check out my other walkthroughs here

#otome #game #personal #walkthrough #guide #my horse prince #USAYA Co #USAYA

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dommedolores-blog · 6 years ago

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Prairie Tempera, Ch. 1

[sfw][fluff and angst][a Dolores Abernathy x fem!reader fic][’off screen’ violence][tw: blood & death]

With cupped hands, river water meets your face, washing away the grime from hours of walking. If only it could clear away the clouds in your mind. Maybe then the tears would cease.

Out of sorts, wandering away from Sweetwater to be alone had seemed like another good idea. The blisters on your feet beg to differ. Stripping down to your bloomers, you submerge your feet and lean back in the grass, braiding together black eyed susans and baby's breath to pass the time.

“You've chosen a mighty fine spot for introspection, friend. I was fixin' to do a bit o' that myself, if you don't mind me joinin' you?”

Introspection, indeed. You're startled by the sudden noise of company, but that passes in a blink. The voice of the approaching rider flows like honey from a smiling face, her hair much the same. Unlike you, she's unafraid to be straddling a horse in a full length dress.

That accent, you wonder. A host?

“I'm sorry,” you say, a bit unsure, “I can go.”

“Nonsense, it'd be a delight to have a bit o' company for once. It's real peaceful here.” She dismounts, setting up an easel after tying the reins to a nearby tree. She spares you another quick glance before going about situating her palette and brushes, grinning. Blushing? “Sun's bearin' down today. I reckon you have the right idea.”

You realize you've been staring once she unbuttons her bodice and folds it, averting your eyes to your legs. Bloomers. Of course she's a host. To her, you've been lounging about in your underwear for all the true world to see. A real, modern woman wouldn't think twice about your lack of layers.

Yet her embarrassment seems so real. Charming, even. She goes about locking her half finished painting in place.

“Judgin' by the get up you've strewn about, you seem like a well off girl,” she comments, keeping her focus on the landscape. “What brings you all the way out to these parts without a horse? I'd be glad to escort you back to town.”

“No, no thank you. There's no one waiting for me there.” Your voice quivers.

“No family? Husband?” You hear her set down her brush, grass rustling beneath her skirts. She squats down next to you, and you can't help but feel breathless at the perfection of her face. Her eyes flit across your own, slight smile disappearing. “You know, my daddy could find some work for you on the ranch, if money's what yer needin'.” She places a gentle hand on your shoulder. Her empathy feels as genuine as her flesh. “Ain't no sense in a sweet thing like you lookin' for work in town.”

Dear lord, she thinks I've run away from the brothel, the Mariposa.

“My so called family took off on a bounty hunt without me,” you correct quickly. “I think they thought I'd slow them down. Told me to go 'get my face painted or go for a hay ride' 'til they got back. Maybe you've seen them? They rode off together, all in black hats.” Your family had cared enough to bring you along on their decadent vacation to play cowboy, but not enough to give you the few moments needed to change into appropriate riding clothes. The elaborate dress you had chosen, complete with a feathered hat, had been a poor choice for adventuring.

She lights up. “Can't say I have. Bet they're just tryin' to keep you safe is all.” She tilts her head towards the tree. “Come sit in the shade before you fry up. If a face full o' paint is what yer lookin' to find, well, maybe our paths were meant to cross, yours and mine.” Standing, she offers her hand.

You take it, toppling into her on legs of jelly, making her giggle before she leads you to the shade, fingers locked. Opening her paints, she considers them while studying your face.

“Now then, how shall we inspire yer folks? What would you like?”

Speechless, you're lost admiring her sculpted features. “Well,” you say, filling up time.

“Don't be shy, it won't hurt,” she reassures you, taking your hand yet again and testing the bristles on your palm. “At worst it might tickle a bit,” she whispers, leaning in and running the brush along your jaw to your lips.

“That's fine,” you tell her, in awe of this sudden situation, one that's far beyond fine. You hope she's not programmed to mind the feel of your veins thudding in your wrist. “Surprise me. Please.”

“Alright, then. I can do that, friend.”

“I'm (y/n), by the way,” you mention, a bit unsettled by how natural it feels to introduce yourself to someone who may as well be no one.

“(y/n). That suits you. I'm Dolores.” She sets about mixing her paints, giving you a chance to observe her freely before she brings a full brush to your cheek. “Is this fine?”

“Very much. I'm all yours,” you say, cheek burning beneath the cold paint. A faint trace of mischief passes across her face.

“Careful now, you may regret sayin' that.”

“I doubt it.”

Relaxing under the birdsong, you allow your lids and shoulders to drop. A breeze rustles her waves, and she's so close that they reach you with every gust, stirring up a sweet fragrance. Either hers or the flowers', you're unsure.

Soon, drying paint is slathered over half your face, and her strokes are starting to dance down your neck, giving you goose bumps. As she reaches your collar bone, she asks, “May I?” while tugging at the strap of your chemise. You nod, allowing her to slip it over your shoulder, nearly exposing your chest. She continues to use your body as a canvas, drawing who-knows-what across your shoulder and far closer to the edge of your chemise than you had anticipated. She takes her time scrawling across your right breast, carefully resting her hand on the left. Your breath hitches when she blows her own across your skin. You shudder.

“Got carried away a bit,” she admits, stirring you enough to open your eyes. “Yer too good of a muse. Lemme go wash up, and I'll escort you back to town. Don't want yer rowdy bunch a missin' you fer too long. Might have my poster outside the sheriff's office next.”

In her absence, you finish your chain of flowers, glancing up at her every opportunity. She notices.

“Water's clear! Come have a look at your reflection!”

You wade into the river bank, bending down to catch a glimpse in the ripples. It's hard to see. You lean down further. Flowers. Your face mirrors the field of black eyed susans, and for the first time, you fall a bit in love with yourself.

In an instant, you're drenched, Dolores' laughter echoing through the valley. You want to be angry at the trick, but one look at her smile has you suppressing your own.

“You're asking for it,” you warn, kicking water in her direction.

“I might be!” She removes the powder blue skirt and tosses it to the grass as fast as she can, never taking her eyes off of you as she backs away.

Before long, you're both knee deep, hair soaked and clinging to shimmering skin. When you notice her hard work start to run, you surrender, hands in the air.

“You win!” you pant.

“Always do,” she replies, wading closer. “I can patch it up sometime, if you like,” she references her handiwork, running a finger along your neckline as she pulls you closer to get a look, droplets sparkling in her hair, caught in her web just as you are.

“I'd like that,” you take her offer, closing the gap between you, corset against corset. Green paint bleeds into the white fabric of her chemise, and you instinctively pull away. “Don't worry over that, it'll wash. C'mon, let's catch our breath.”

She laces her fingers in yours and leads you back to dry land, underclothes translucent and clinging. You both collapse beneath the artificial star, connected in silence until you've air dried.

“Sun's goin' down,” she interrupts after a long period of silence. “We best be gettin' back.”

You don't argue, dressing yourself as she does the same.

“Dolores,” you draw her attention as she packs up her easel and readies her horse. She turns. “Would you accept this? You won, after all.”

She lights up and tilts her head down, accepting the flower crown with a wide smile. “I'll treasure it all my days.”

Dolores helps you up onto the saddle before mounting it herself, urging you to hold on. Resting your blank cheek on her shoulder, you slip your arms around her waist and pull yourself close. She gives you little lessons on how to ride a horse throughout the journey, and the closer you get to Sweetwater, the more you hang on her every word.

“Will I see you again?” she asks.

“If you'd like to,” you reply.

“O' course!” She points off in the distance. “Our ranch is that way, just beyond the hill. You're always welcome to come callin', (y/n). Daddy'd love you, I know it. If you'd rather stay with us...”

Your heart twists. “Tomorrow, I will. I promised my family I'd be here when they got back.” You dismount, already regretting your choice.

“Lookin' forward to it,” she tells you, winking.

“Me too.” Taking a chance, you kiss her knuckles before letting her go. “'Til then.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun has long since set, and you're still alone, sitting by yourself in the saloon. It's been so long, you're noticing dialogue loops in the hosts. None of them feel quite like Dolores had. You've had enough. You down your drink and head outside, looking for a horse of your own.

Hooves pounding earth distract you, and you stop in your tracks.

“Dolores?” you ask beneath your breath, catching sight of her hair and dress flying in the wind as she thunders through town. “Dolores!” you yell out to her. You notice the tears streaming down her face, and then the dark streak down her front. Her eyes meet yours, and she manages to stop, falling from her horse more than sliding.

You do your best to catch her, cradling her head. Her tresses are pink and sticky, and you can hear her lungs rattle as she tries to speak. You shush her, choking up. Her crown is still clinging, though most of the petals have fallen, no doubt in a trail behind her, as scattered as your hopes of spending another day with the sweet rancher's daughter you'd met just a few hours previous. There's no way she'd be herself before another narrative loop. This was your goodbye.

“Who did this to you?” you ask, hand hovering above the bullet hole in her rib cage.

Unable to speak, blood streaming from the corner of her mouth as she coughs, she instead runs a trembling hand around the brim of your hat. Your black hat.

You pull her close, giving in to sobs of anger and frustration. You shouldn't feel this way over a thing, a doll to play with, but you've left logic in the saloon. The soluble tempera flows with your tears, washing away what you hadn't been willing to. Dolores clings to you with her remaining strength, as though she had spent all of it to reach you. The thought gives you a lump to swallow as you cradle her face, prints of green and yellow left from your touch. As softly as a true rainbow, she fades, taking her memory of you to a temporary grave.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoy my writing, please consider sending Dolores (me) an ask! She’d love to play with you.

#westworld #dolores abernathy #westworld fanfiction #dolores abernathy fanfiction #dolores abernathy x reader #fluff #angst #tw death #tw blood

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hofer29 · 5 years ago

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Hello 2020

Its here! The year 2020. Holy cow, that’s crazy to say out loud (or type)! I don’t know why, but for some reason this one seems more significant than the last few new years. Maybe its because its the start of a new decade? Goodbye, twenty-teens, hello twenty-twenties! Or maybe its because this has been a good year, but also a hard year in many aspects. I think 2020 is appealing on a number of levels... maybe it will be a year of new beginnings which I think is pretty exciting.

I wanted to do a little recap of 2019 so that later on I can look back and see a list of some of the significant things that happened, you know, for posterity sake!

January 25th - hiked to the Goat Canyon Trestle Bridge, finally! After a failing attempt a few years back, we conquered this one in the winter months. Went with Brandon and Nick and had a ton of fun.

March - Leo started to crawl! Six months old and he was moving and grooving like a champ!

April 1st - Went skiing with my brother and his in-laws in Colorado for a few days. We skied Keystone and the weather was great!

April 2nd - Drove to Kansas for my Grandmother’s funeral. She passed away in late March and I was able to attend the funeral in Newton, KS.

April 13th - hiked to the Three Sisters Waterfalls in East County, San Diego. Well worth it!

May 4th - Graduated from PLNU with my Master’s of Ministry Degree. It was a long journey but well worth it in the end. We also got to eat at Cowboy Star to celebrate. Hands down the best meal in SD.

May 27th - Took Leo on his first hike in the Laguna Mts of East County, San Diego. It was cold for Memorial Day but he loved it, which makes his Daddy proud!

June 1st - Simmon’s days with us came to an end. We sent him off to live with a friend who lives on a horse ranch above Temecula. He was getting old and we put him out to pasture :(

June 6th - 13th - Took the boys to South Dakota for a week of fun with the cousins. Had a blast riding the gator, dirt bikes, and four wheelers.

July 4th-11th - Went on our third trip to Lake Powell with the Anderson family. Stayed in Arizona on the way up and the way back. Found the oldest geocache in Arizona!

July - we moved to Flex Housing from Goodwin Hall

July 22nd - Road tripped up to Nevada to climb Boundary Peak, the highest point in NV. Also snagged the oldest geocache in NV and drove down the E.T. Highway to Vegas.

August 26th - Hiked Langley Peak, a 14er in the Sierras, with Marc, Brandon, and Nick. Long hike but the views were killer!

September 20th - Leo turned one-year-old! Party on Shelter Island!

September 27th - Disneyland trip with the boys, so much fun! Abel’s second time and Leo’s first. Able appreciated it much more this time!

October 7-9th - Hiked Mt. Williamson and had an adventure of a lifetime. We found a dead body! Brandon and myself conquered the mountain in a three day jaunt that was the most physically demanding thing I have ever done.

October 30th - Lost my job at TPC. That sucked.

November 11-18th - Went to the Big Island of Hawaii to celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary. Hawaii is one of my favorite places in the world! We ate a lot of burgers!

November 24-30th - drove up the coast of California, Oregon, and Washington to get to Megan’s for Thanksgiving. Had a blast driving back 21 hours straight with the babies!

December 12th - Got my Wolf-Man tattoo at Chapter One Tattoos in Ocean Beach. Its rad!

December 22-January 2nd - Went to Ohio for the holidays and everyone got sick, except for me! PTL

So there it is, 2019 in a wrap. Some really great things, and some really hard things, but overall, a year of growth. Looking forward to what 2020 is going to hold. New memories, epic hikes, and who knows, maybe a change of scenery.

Let’s go!

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segafunk · 7 years ago

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Teddy Roosevelt, Eggman, and the Message of Classical Sonic

The origin of both Sonic the Hedgehog and Eggman was a character design contest for a mascot held by Sega of Japan, with the designs submitted to the approval of Sega of America on the perception that a game to compete with Mario on the new Sega Genesis would need to do well in the ‘States. Many of the characters resemble American more than Japanese animation influences from Max Fleischer to The Simpsons (images @ The Cutting Room Floor). One design is even a wolf in an American flag shirt brandishing his fists, a rather backhanded compliment to a country that emerged as the predominant global superpower while both the Japanese economy crashed and the Soviet Union collapsed not long before in 1991. In any of the possible characters selected for a mascot, there’s a kind of commentary to Americans about American culture, not least in its edginess and rebellion. Commentary on the selection of Sonic himself will have to wait for another day. But it’s important to note that among the entries is a character in his pajamas who impeccably resembles Eggman. Or put another way, both characters physically resemble the iconic 26th President of the United States of America, Theodore Roosevelt.

It’s important to realize in this context that if Sega of America had favored his design, there would probably have been a side-scroller starring the Roosevelt character given the adorable Teddy Bear treatment as the heroic lead. Roosevelt is indeed often regarded as a heroic figure American history, confronting the monopoly capitalism of robber barons in the Gilded Age with the avowed intention to give Americans a Square Deal. His design more resembled the features of Mario himself, while trying to sell kids and their parents on a blue punk rocker was a riskier decision. But what happened rather was that a very deliberate decision was made to take the same character, and make him the bad guy. In other words, why might one make the exercise seeing Roosevelt as emblematic of the bad guy in a narrative the Nostalgia Critic rightly observes has “an environmental message that’s… subtle”? Wasn’t it Teddy Roosevelt who enacted landmark conservation legislation like the Antiquities Act of 1906 to designate National Monuments protected for posterity from extraction and development by industrialists?

Roosevelt exemplifies the paradox of the hunter and taxonomist who was very prolific in gunning down hundreds of animals, but within those experiences became interested in the politics of conservation to institute limits against relentless industrial extraction of resources. If Sonic and his friends are wild animals, it’s easy to see how they could become threatened by someone in his likeness. For Roosevelt, the experience of joining in the Westward expansion of America was pivotal both to his sense of identity and his political persona. Among other things, Roosevelt went to the Dakota Territory to participate in the massive boom in cattle ranching seeking fortune and solitude. The obverse of an enterprise ultimately linked to the industrialized slaughterhouses of Chicago was the mass extermination of the buffalo and corresponding mass starvation of indigenous peoples. Here at the 21st century, American cattle culture is often regarded as a major factor in global climate change because of the methane emissions they produce.

Roosevelt ultimately conceived of an America to become a massive expansionist imperial and industrial power, and acted toward what would come to be called the “American Century”. But in seeking to place limits upon this power, combined with his nephew Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal, he engendered a powerful enduring hatred among political interests who sought no restrictions and no protections from its exercise. Among other things, this expresses itself in the continual efforts to scale back and repeal the elements of the New Deal and any remaining economic and ecological safety net in America, and in books with a conservative or libertarian bent sincerely arguing that both Roosevelts were fascist or communist dictators. In terms of “communism”, the actual belief of the Roosevelt Presidents was that only political reform could stave off radical revolution, so they are more accurately identified with the politics of progressivism or a noblesse oblige sensibility.

In terms of “fascism” in a broad sense, it was rather the case that the imperial expansionism of Italy, Germany and Austria, and Japan drew on precedents in American society and culture in seeking to have what Americans had, their understanding of what Made America Great. Consequently, when common themes can be found between the writings and declarations of Roosevelt with those of Hitler and the Nazi Party, this was not because the former was an exceptional figure, but because for better and for worse he articulated views common to American culture in the Gilded Age. Where Americans, Europeans, and Japanese invested in competitive cultural projects of imperialism and industrialization sound retrospectively like Nazis when they spoke on themes like Social Darwinism and eugenics prior to World War I, that is because the Nazis were steeped in such ideology and influences. Fascist movements flourished most in nations where there was a widespread feeling of being slighted or scapegoated by the new world order effected by the Treaty of Versailles, sufficient to build mass support to defy the League of Nations, and launch massive projects of empire building and effect systematic war crimes against colonized populations. Fascism as such did not arise until 1919, the very year Teddy Roosevelt died without achieving his ambition for a third term as President.

A more fruitful consideration would be the extent to which American democracy, with all its violence and injustice, whether codified into law or exerted in lawlessness lent de-facto toleration, has lent the scripts and justification for oppressive regimes. To look on America from the outside must be very disconcerting. The polarized two-party system routinely alternates Presidents, typically every 4-8 years, and with them national policy becomes most opposed to the things it most supported. Or else, continuities between parties where there should not be, such as building up a massive military-industrial complex from the Cold War onward in the teeth of the older conception that America should not maintain a standing army because the presence of such a force was a sure road to tyrannizing absolute monarchy. Still more blatant, the contradiction between a society that simultaneously declares an aim to make the world “safe for democracy”, as Woodrow Wilson said of America entering World War I and shaping the ensuing balance of power, and a society that has overthrown democratically elected leaders, installed fascist or military dictatorships, and supported the systematic atrocities they have carried out. The culture of Japan, having undergone radical transformations following American military interventions in 1853-1854 and from 1945-1952, has developed an acute sense of this Jekyll-and-Hyde conundrum constantly effecing their position of the world. It’s not unreasonable to assume that the Sonic Team under Yuji Naka, collaborating first with Sega of Japan on Sonic the Hedgehog and then with Sega of America on future sequels for the Sega Genesis, would want to include implicit commentary on this state of affairs in communicating to Americans and an Americanized international audience.

I propose that the link between Teddy Roosevelt and Eggman is that the face of the famous American President as the game antagonist is included because he symbolizes the cultural project of the American Century. Because the faces behind the office change so frequently, one face must be chosen who exemplifies the traits of a wider paradigm spanning between them. To show the first face in such a lineage can be particularly effective. When exactly the “American Century” began is a matter of historical debate, although most agree it to have been fully in effect after World War II when America assumed many of the roles that had been carried out by the British Empire in the “British Century.” However, as early as the turn of the 20th century, America had already made cultural decisions toward facilitating such a world-historic shift under the Presidency and punditry of Roosevelt.

The Westward expansionism of America after its Civil War not only brought a considerable number of European immigrants, but also aroused considerable envy contributing to the volatizing Scramble for Africa as the empires of Europe sought to claim their own frontiers at the expense of a stolen continent. Roosevelt not only participated in settler colonialism and its economic frontier, he also promoted it as a paradigm and way of life. It’s fair to say that if Buffalo Bill’s carnivalesque Wild West shows popularized Manifest Destiny to the masses in the field of entertainment, Roosevelt’s writings did the same in the field of intellect. Roosevelt’s “Rough Riders” in the 1st United States Voluntary Cavalry were meant to give the impression of the extension of this paradigm into the Caribbean in the fight against the Spanish Empire, creating the impression of chivalric modern warfare waged by manly rugged Americans.

In this context, a major cultural rift opened among Americans in terms of whether America should define itself as an imperialist power or an anti-imperialist power facilitating decolonized self-determining nations. Roosevelt, along with his processor William McKinley, were distinctly on the side of American imperialism. This created certain cultural contradictions; how could Americans have been so outraged by reports of atrocities and concentration camps by the Spanish in Cuba, and then go on to carry out atrocities and institute concentration camps to claim the Philippines as a U.S. colony? It was this contradiction that brought Roosevelt to power, insofar as the radicalized steel worker Leon Czolgosz, who assassinated President McKinley at the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo in 1901 spoke of “outrages committed by the American government in the Philippine islands.” (Oliver Stone and Peter Kuznick, The Untold History of the United States p. xxviii)

The ensuing policies effected by Roosevelt involved both outright colonialism to assert naval dominance over the Pacific (even as he realized a catastrophic war with Japan became a virtual inevitability), and of neo-colonial military and economic presence in Latin America and the Caribbean, most famously in the political intrigue surrounding the creation of the Panama Canal. America was already asserting themselves as a diplomatic superpower, brokering the treaty in the Russo-Japanese War under Roosevelt, and then playing a major role in the Treaty of Versailles under Wilson. Teddy Roosevelt can also be seen as an early phenomenon of modern American pop culture, including the teddy bears prototypical of Sonic himself. By the 1920s, America became a cultural superpower, as people internationally consumed American pop culture like cinema and jazz records to assert a cosmopolitan sense of modernity against the stagnation and entrenchment of old world powers. The parallel sense of Japan as a cultural superpower around the turn of the 21st century involves a complex relationship to a hybridization of American forms and Japanese content, a globalized phenomenon in which Sega was a major player.

If the question is posed what the world looks like to Eggman, it must be said that the world looks like an unending number of frontiers, with living and dead carbon-based lifeforms to be extracted and exploited for his personal aggrandizement in the empire he is building. In effect, classical Sonic games position the player on the receiving end of Manifest Destiny, contrasting with the many computer games to relish in the ego-trip of empire-building. Even without conscious associations to any U.S. President, it’s easy to identify a certain anti-intellectualism wherein players as Sonic, embodying the nineties “cool pose” in his hip sneakers, revel in blowing up the arrogant ‘egghead’ in his hover ship time after time. There’s something familiar about him in a bad way. Blake J. Harris identifies Sonic with political and cultural shifts in the nineties away from the 12-year Reagan and Bush era (which also included a shift away from climate change denialism in policy):

Sonic wouldn’t just become the face of the company but also would represent their spirit: the tiny underdog moved with manic speed, and no matter what obstacles stood in his way, he never ever stopped going. Sonic embodied not only the spirit of Sega of America’s employees but also the cultural zeitgeist of the early nineties. He had captured Kurt Cobain’s “whatever” attitude, Michael Jordan’s graceful arrogance, and Bill Clinton’s get-it-done demeanor. (Blake J. Harris, Console Wars: Sega, Nintendo, and the Battle that Defined a Nation p. 76)

In terms of the message of classical Sonic games, it’s helpful to consider the almost wordless story told by the level design, and the sequence of levels. Sonic the Hedgehog, Sonic 2, Sonic 3, and Sonic & Knuckles all begin with an opening level filled with resplendent natural beauty encroached upon by a cyborg army that constitute an imminent threat to the homeland of Sonic and later Knuckles. Sonic 3 later evocatively has the lush tropical landscape Angel Island Zone set ablaze by a combat drone as an ecologically disastrous act of scorched earth warfare. Sonic the Hedgehog then brings players into the Marble Zone, another instance of Sega’s fascination with classical ruins, culture, and mythology that stand as a counterpoint to the way the game company aesthetically defined themselves with the public image of a hip nineties urbanism. In terms of these levels appearing throughout the four classical Sonic games that take the player through areas resembling Greek, Roman, and Egyptian ruins, the idea is a kind of gothic contemplation on the frailty of civilizations that would define themselves as eternal, what courses of actions might prolong or accelerate the collapse of a civilization. By repeatingly alternating these levels with chaotic metropolises filled with high-tech mad science emphasized by the jazz-funk music and weaponized cyborg animals, Sonic the Hedgehog applies this lesson to the present and near-future. Both the ecological and civilizational zones are threatened with collapse by Eggman’s aggressive Manifest Destiny paradigm.

Sonic 2 makes this subtext more explicit as it brings the player through levels suggestive of extractive enterprises devastating to the ecosystem inhabited by Sonic and his friends. Chemical Plant Zone is filled with massive pools of deadly toxic chemicals. Mystic Cave Zone has become the site of a large mine prone to collapses and hazards. Oil Ocean Zone and its music has a certain Middle Eastern feel in its music evocative of massive petro-states and the politics of hydrocarbon consumption so culturally contentious then as now. If the slogan “no blood for oil” appeared in the Gulf War just as it did in the Iraq War under two Bush presidencies, Sonic Mania evocatively has the oceans of oil burning like the huge oil fires in Kuwait during the former conflict when it remixes this level. This can’t be good in terms of carbon emissions and climate change, which is much the point. Sonic 2 introduces sites of Eggman’s military-industrial complex in zones like Wing Fortress Zone and Death Egg Zone, a weaponized space program akin to Reagan’s “Star Wars” initiatives to rain death from above. Takashi Murakami’s book Little Boy: The Arts of Japan’s Exploding Subculture explores how Japanese pop culture has been haunted by the shadow of the nuclear bomb after World War II (itself a product of the nuclear arms race between Franklin Roosevelt and Adolf Hitler). So it is for the scramble for the chaos emeralds in the Sonic games, as collecting them all will grant either Eggman or Sonic with invincible power. The metaphor isn’t terribly subtle.

Sonic 3 and Sonic & Knuckles (originally intended to be one game) introduce a colonial dimension on the Caribbean-like floating island, inhabited by the dreadlock-headed Knuckles the Echidna as he is manipulated into battling Sonic before eventually realizing Eggman is the true enemy to all he holds dear. There’s a great deal of lush tropical beauty here interspersed with the ruins of a mystical civilization from the bygone past constructed on the immense power of the Master Emerald that keeps the island flying (i.e. the sequence from Lava Reef Zone to Sky Sanctuary Zone). It’s quite easy to draw comparisons to Hayao Miyazaki’s anime film Castle in the Sky where a European-styled imperialist and his army receive their comeuppance on the floating ruins of a similar island. The environmentalism of Studio Ghibli films is widely acknowledged, but that of Sonic games is less so.

Sonic 3 and Sonic & Knuckles continues many of the tendencies in level design discussed hitherto, now including the transformation of environments for worse or for better. The stage Carnival Night Zone, like Casino Night Zone in Sonic 2, imply a certain neon-drenched conspicuous consumption in tandem with the extractive enterprises shown, evocative of two Gilded Ages around the turn of the 20th and 21st century. America and Japan alike would recall the lavish décor of the yuppies exemplified by the architectural design of Donald Trump’s casinos, hotels, and resorts. The Trump Taj Mahal could easily fit in here. By the time of Sonic CD on the ill-fated Sega CD, the designers introduced the innovation of multidimensional time travel to show what the levels used to be, what Eggman has turned them into in the present, and two divergent possible futures in terms of their destruction or rejuvenation. This is, I think, an important imaginative exercise in an era of what Naomi Klein terms “disaster capitalism.”

In the context of the counterprotests to the Unite the Right rally in Charleston, Virginia, where so many torch-carrying Neo-Nazis and armed paramilitaries where in evidence, a young Asian man was photographed in a Sonic cap with a spraypainted shirt in which the blue hedgehog extends the middle finger as the text declares “Sonic Says NO To fascism and racism”. The image has since become a t-shirt sold on Redbubble. That interpretation is both plausible, and humorously riffs off the old “Sonic Says” segments on the cartoon Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog. I have here tried to argue that what “Sonic Says NO” to is not only a neo-fascist politics to “Make America Great Again” by rejecting the international order effected after World War II in terms of paranoid ravings about other countries “laughing at us”, but also to institutionalized practices of systematic destruction rationalized more than a century ago in terms of Making America Great. On this view, Sonic would also get behind politics of environmentalism, antimilitarism, anticolonialism, and indigenous rights in the sense that we should too. Insofar as Teddy Roosevelt is implicated in a model of the American presidency that sustains ecological and economic devastation internationally to the peril of all, his face has been lent to Eggman as a video game antagonist exemplifying these qualities.

#sega #sega genesis #sonic the hedghog #theodore roosevelt #video games #politics #eggman #dr. robotnik #nineties #american century

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travelworldnetwork · 6 years ago

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By Shafik Meghji

7 January 2019

“The company claimed it used every part of the cow except for the moo,” said Diana Cerilla, guiding me into the heart of what she calls the ‘killing room’. In the 1930s, as many as 1,600 cows a day – plus thousands of sheep, pigs, chickens and other animals – met their end in this slaughterhouse, before being processed, packaged and exported around the world. I scanned the grisly array of hooks, pulleys, wheels, chains, conveyors and scales, immobile but ominous, and started to shiver.

On the surface, a long-abandoned meat processing plant on the edge of a sleepy town in the Uruguayan countryside does not sound like the most obvious tourist destination, let alone a Unesco World Heritage site. But the Paisaje Industrial Fray Bentos (Fray Bentos Industrial Landscape) had a profound impact on the way the world eats, creating one of the best-known British brands of the 20th Century, transforming the Uruguayan economy and helping to move global food production into the industrial age. Moreover, the site is an impressive display of once cutting-edge, now slowly rusting Edwardian- and Victorian-era technology. It even, in certain lights, has an eerie beauty, at least for someone with a passion for industrial archaeology.

View image of The Paisaje Industrial Fray Bentos in Uruguay had a profound impact on the way the world eats (Credit: Credit: Shafik Meghji)

You may also be interested in: • The ingenious story of Michelin stars • The city that lit the world • The shipyard that changed humanity

The complex dates to 1863 when the Liebig Extract of Meat Company founded a factory on the banks of the Uruguay River and started churning out ‘beef extract’ using a technique patented by pioneering German chemist Justus von Liebig. Cheap cuts of meat – widely available here, thanks to Uruguay’s burgeoning cattle ranches – were boiled down to produce a nutritious stock that was originally aimed at convalescing patients. The process was subsequently refined, the liquid solidified, and Oxo – small crumbly cubes of stock – came into being.

The company used every part of the cow except for the moo

A town grew up alongside the German-run, British-financed factory, as workers flocked here from across Uruguay and around 60 other countries. Originally called Villa Independencia, the town was later renamed after a 17th-Century Uruguayan hermit, called Fray Bentos (Friar Benedict in English), who reputedly lived in a nearby cave. Soon Liebig was producing another popular product from off-cuts of meat: tinned corned beef. Oxo and corned beef became staples for working-class people across Europe for whom meat had previously been a luxury item. They also provided inexpensive, long-lasting and easy-to-carry rations for British soldiers during the Boer War and British and German troops in World War One, as well as for polar explorers like Robert Falcon Scott and Ernest Shackleton.

In 1924, the company was bought by the British Vestey Group and renamed Frigorífico Anglo del Uruguay. Taking advantage of fast-developing refrigeration technology, ‘El Anglo’ started exporting frozen meat around the world, alongside Oxo, corned beef and more than 200 other products, from leather to soap, sausages to jams. In 1943 alone, 16 million tins of corned beef were shipped out from Fray Bentos, the vast majority used to power the Allied war effort. The products even earned a royal following: “I remember eating corned beef until it came out of my ears,” Prince Charles told reporters when he visited Uruguay in 1999.

View image of The town that grew up alongside the factory was renamed Fray Bentos after a 17th-Century Uruguayan hermit (Credit: Credit: Global_Pics/Getty Images)

Today the plant is open to the public. The office buildings have been renovated and now house a museum with exhibits from the plant’s heyday, including vintage typewriters, classic posters, rudimentary firefighting equipment and rickety delivery trucks. Another section has been taken over by a local university, keeping alive the plant’s technological traditions. But most of the rambling complex has been left as it was, and wandering through these vast, silent, low-lit buildings is a haunting experience.

The engine room looks like a scene from a steampunk comic, with rusted diesel-powered generators, huge turbines and steam compressors festooned with levers, valves and wheels connected by a multitude of winding pipes and chimneys. On the walls next door are marble-panelled units covered with the dials and switches that controlled the plant’s electricity production: in 1883, this became the first place in Uruguay to generate electricity. “The factory reminds me of the Charlie Chaplin film Modern Times,” said Cerilla, the museum manager, as she showed me round.

I remember eating corned beef until it came out of my ears

Outside, a soaring water tower looms over a crowd of interlinked brick, concrete, glass and corrugated iron buildings. Many are off-limits for safety reasons, including the monolithic cold store, which once held up to 18,000 tonnes of frozen meat. But it is possible to poke round the Casa Grande, the manager’s house, an opulent mansion with stained glass windows, two pianos, hardwood floors and a gong to signal the start of a meal.

“This was the industrial revolution in Uruguay,” said guide Nicolás Cremella. “Fray Bentos was really important to Uruguay – it was the country’s real capital, not Montevideo. It was the only industrial meat company, and provided jobs throughout the country.” But while the company may have provided employment locally, the profits headed overseas.

View image of Workers flocked to Uruguay from more than 60 countries, drawn by job opportunities at Fray Bentos' meat processing factory (Credit: Credit: Shafik Meghji)

Fray Bentos products remained popular in post-war Europe, but slowly fell out of favour as food technology developed and eating habits changed. The Anglo plant passed on to the Uruguayan government in the late 1960s, and eventually closed in 1979.

“It was a company town, and it was terrible for people when it finally shut down,” said Cerilla, whose father and grandfather worked at the plant. “Lots of people left, and many emigrated.”

Despite the initial gloom, Fray Bentos town recovered. Today it has a flourishing paper pulp industry, and in 2015 it received a further boost when Unesco granted the Anglo plant World Heritage Site status. (The Fray Bentos brand, incidentally, is now owned in the UK by Baxters, which still uses it for a range of tinned pies, puddings and meatballs.)

View image of In 1943 alone, 16 million tins of corned beef were shipped out from Fray Bentos (Credit: Credit: David Forster/Alamy)

In the late afternoon, I headed back into town via Barrio Anglo, a suburb of around 300 homes built for the company’s senior staff. The smell of mowed grass, tree blossoms and barbeque smoke hung in the air as I wandered past clusters of simple bungalows with corrugated iron roofs and luxuriant gardens. Nearby were the golf, tennis, football and rowing clubs that once formed the focal point of expat life.

This was the industrial revolution in Uruguay

An insight into this period is provided by S W Johnson, a British manager at the plant in the 1930s. “We had the ‘Anglo Social and Athletic Club’, with its hall for dances, a snooker/billiards room, bridge room, library which only carried English books and magazines… and a bar (the Uruguayan attendant also accepted bets on the then illegal quiniela or numbers game)… As we were not then blessed or cursed with television, and the radio [was] mainly used for listening to the BBC, which brought news from ‘home’, we led a very active life,” he wrote in an account featured in Andrew Graham-Yooll’s Uruguay: A Travel and Literary Companion.

By the time I reached the town centre, it was early evening and life was returning as locals rose from their afternoon siestas. A group of children played hide-and-seek in the main square, Plaza Constitución, ducking down in the cast-iron bandstand, donated by the company to the town in 1902 and a replica of one that once stood at the Crystal Palace in London. Parents gathered on benches to sip mate, the local caffeine-rich herbal tea, while monk parakeets cawed from their perches in the many palm, willow and palo borracho trees.

View image of The Paisaje Industrial Fray Bentos became a Unesco World Heritage site in 2015 (Credit: Credit: MIGUEL ROJO/Getty Images)

For dinner, it seemed fitting to sample the product that, above all others, put the town on the map. Uruguayans eat more beef than anyone else in the world – around 56kg per person a year – and the cattle industry is a key part of the economy. But though Fray Bentos remains synonymous with corned beef, few locals eat it today. “We don’t like eating meat from tins, we like fresh meat,” Cremella told me. “People in Fray Bentos may have tins of corned beef at home, perhaps on the shelf as a [trinket or] souvenir, but not to eat.”

Sure enough, none of the restaurants I visited had corned beef on the menu, nor did the first three supermarkets I stopped in. Eventually, as I was on the verge of giving up, I found a small store with a couple of tins for sale: ‘Marca Uruguay – Industria Brazil’, the labels read: ‘Uruguay Brand – Made in Brazil’.

Places That Changed the World is a BBC Travel series looking into how a destination has made a significant impact on the entire planet.

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parintinsnoticias · 6 years ago

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Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner Visit the Famous Ranches of California

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Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner Visit the Famous Ranches of California

Thousands of fans have begun to prepare for Oscars parties to find out which actors, actresses, and movies of the 88th Academy Awards will win a gold statue. As part of the celebration, Shutterstock’s company designers have worked again this year to create fascinating pop art-inspired posters for popular films nominated by the Academy.

Like the many of the different types of movies nominated for the Best Picture award, Shutterstock says its posters share a theme of endurance and testing how far you can stretch the lengths of human nature.

“On the surface his work simply looks cool, but this shallow analysis misses the irony behind his cultural representations”

When you think of many of this year’s Best Picture nominees, movies like The Revenant, The Martian, and Mad Max share a common theme of strength, resilience, determination, and power. These themes are stunningly carried over into Shutterstock’s pop-art posters this year. Posters featured include Jordan Roland’s Warhol-inspired Mad Max: Fury Road, which offer a take on Warhol’s “subversive dictator portraits to shape this poster of Immortan Joe,” says the artist. In Cristin Burton’s Flirst-inspired Oscar Pop 2016 The Revenant, the poster includes assembled pieces the artist used to “create a vast, sinister, and lonely landscape.”

People Happily Await the Begining of the Show

The pop-art posters include a fun view of movies but also of topics that aren’t so fun. In Flo Lau’s The Big Short, inspired by Keith Haring, the artist chose a comedic approach to the dark subject of the bursting of the 2008 housing bubble.

Flirst is a collage artist who assembles disparate pieces to explore how he can change the harmony of the whole. For my poster, a homage to The Revenant, I assembled pieces to create a vast, sinister, and lonely landscape. The poster features a figure with very few people on his side; this represents the film’s main character, Hugh Glass, who was brutally attacked by a bear and left for dead in the winter wilderness.

“I wanted to portray the same witty chaotic vibe in my poster”

In his “Barcelona” series, Mario Corea Aiello forms a grungy collage of newspaper and magazine cutouts and heavy paint strokes. I felt this style would parallel the vicious storm that left Mark Watney for dead on Mars in The Martian. For the color scheme, I deferred to Eric White’s cover art from the original novel by Andy Weir to capture the characteristics of an otherworldly storm.

On Set with the Crew

My inspiration for this poster is one part Roy Lichtenstein and one part Stefan Sagmeister. Spotlight is about journalists uncovering a massive scandal in one of Boston’s oldest institutions, and I found that the perfectly contradictory homophone “pray/prey” encapsulates the shock and horror felt by the community when this scandal was made public.

To illustrate this, I pixelated an image of a priest, then tore off his head and replaced it with an image of a wolf. I looked to Warhol’s subversive dictator portraits to shape this poster of Immortan Joe.Warhol had a remarkable ability to distract from the meaning of his art. On the surface his work simply looks “cool”.

Mad Max: Fury Road has the same effect: The stylized nature of the film gets more attention than the meaning behind it.

I chose to feature Immortan Joe because he is a terrible person, but his iconic look makes him instantly recognizable. When I first read the plot summary for Room, I envisioned lonely, sterile characters, who had been institutionalized by their secluded environment.

Of course, when I saw the movie that perception quickly changed; the characters are full of life, love, and joy, and the audience instantly empathizes with them on a raw, human level. KAWS’ statues play on a similar deceit. Initially they have a sterile, robotic feel, but when you view them in their human-scale sizes and see their playful aesthetic, you experience an unexpected sense of connection.

“Welcome to the Oscars, Or as some people like to call it, the white people’s choice awards”

The Big Short takes a comedic approach to a dark subject, and I wanted to portray the same witty, chaotic vibe in my poster. Keith Haring was my inspiration because his high-contrast, brightly colored political work, which touches on grim subjects like rape, death, and war, hinges on the same contrast as the film. The poster is based on the film’s alligator-in-an-abandoned-pool scene; the alligator represents the main characters in the movie, who took advantage of the 2008 housing bubble and left the world in desperation when it burst.

Getting Ready for the Big Night

I chose to focus on the muddy gray areas and loopholes within Bridge of Spies. The Cold War was fueled by each side’s increasingly dire hypotheticals, causing mass paranoia among citizens and governments alike.

A large part of the film’s narrative focuses on the extent of protection under the law, especially for a Soviet spy. I reimagined Lady Justice, mixing her blindfold with the American and Soviet flags to represent how both countries were tied to their individuals’ principles of justice even while locked in an unending battle for the upper hand. Set in the eponymous 1950s borough, Brooklyn features then-contemporary imagery that now exemplifies the commodification of Brooklyn as a global brand.

Just as the Pop Art movement utilized mass advertising and irony to re-contextualize commercial art, I drew from today’s vintage, artisanal design trends, which are inspired by that era and setting.

Telephone Booth Shooting

In that vein, I applied the animated footage and vector elements to illustrate how the contrasting settings of Brooklyn and Ireland re-contextualized the protagonist’s identity through a fluctuating sense of “home.”

The 88th annual Academy Awards are underway, and viewers are anxiously awaiting the ceremony to find out if their favorite flicks and actors win, which categories will see big “upsets,” and which speeches and performances will stand out. Not to mention how host Chris Rock will approach the “Oscars So White” controversy, and who he will target during the opening monologue. Did Leo finally take home a golden statue? The buzz began during the red carpet events prior to the official event.

Jennifer Jason Leigh, nominated for Best Actress in a Supporting Role for The Hateful Eight, seemed slightly out of it during her interview with Ryan Seacrest on E!’s special. But arguably the biggest surprise was Best Actor nominee Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant) and Best Actress in a Supporting Role nominee Kate Winslet (Steve Jobs) playing to their nostalgic fans by walking the red carpet together. Can you believe it’s been nearly two decades since they starred together in the 1997 blockbuster film Titanic (which took home Best Picture)?

“If hosts were nominated, I wouldn’t be here; instead, you’d have Neil Patrick Harris.”

Rock, who addressed the issues with ease and expected humor, added that he did seriously consider quitting after so many people spoke out and pressured him to do so. “But the last thing I need is to lose another job to Kevin Hart,” he said, as the crowd erupted in laughter (including Hart himself, who was in the audience).

Arguably, the best part of Rock’s monologue was his blatant dig at Jada Pinkett-Smith and her vocal “boycott” of the Oscars. “Isn’t she on a TV show? Jada boycotting the Oscars is like me boycotting Rihanna’s panties,” he said.

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blurppy · 7 years ago

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Still scrambling to get some great gifts for those special folks in your life? Last week we gave you a list of books worth wrapping and today we have some more ideas to make your quest for the perfect gift just a bit easier.

Superhero MacBook Keyboard Sticker Set – PURCHASE HERE – $18

Star Wars DIY Laser Cut 3-D Models by Metal Earth – PURCHASE HERE – $15

Assembled Size: 3″L x 0.95″W x 2.75″H

Pizza Night Light – PURCHASE HERE – $5

If you are like us, we grew up reading and loving everything by Stephen King. His stories have scared us countless times and most likely, scarred us for life. There is a company called Suntup Editions who share our love of all things King related and more directly, the book covers of his classics.

Suntup Editions is pleased to announce the release of The Covers Collection. Experience your favorite Stephen King classics like never before. Suntup Editions is collaborating with ten original book cover artists, representing fifteen of Stephen King’s most iconic trade edition hardcovers. Now, for the first time, Stephen King collectors will be able to showcase the classic artwork in the way it was intended to be viewed.

These Collector Grade 1st Edition, original cover art prints are exclusively available through Suntup Editions and are limited to only 100 copies worldwide, and 20 copies with an original remarque. Printed on our finest quality paper, in the highest detail imaginable, you can appreciate every brush stroke and pencil line of the original artwork from your favorite classics.

These prints are exquisite and if you are a fan of King’s work, these will take you right back to the first time you read each story and slept with the lights on.

If you love pizza, (check) and are scared of the dark, (check) then this is the PERFECT gift

This has to be the creepiest phone case we have ever seen which makes it the PERFECT gift this holiday season – PURCHASE HERE – $20

Exploding Battle Station Lamp – PURCHASE HERE – $400

This is a hand painted lamp inspired by the Death Star! It opens to look like the battle station is exploding. It measures 20 inch in diameter. The copper paint inside reflects the light to really make it look like it is exploding! Each ceiling mount lamp is made to order, hand painted and will be unique!

If music is your thing, here are a few suggestions to liven up your holidays. First up, the new album from The Murderers Of Love

Upon hearing it we instantly got a Lloyd Cole, Chris Isaak, Bodeans vibe. We spoke to lead singer and guitarist Jaimie Muehlhausen and asked him to describe the album and here is what he had to say.

The Murderers of Love’s new album is what might be best described as “music for grown-ups.” People always need to label things, and sometimes there are such a variety of influences and sounds that it becomes hard to put a single label on something. This album has rock, pop, country, blues and folk…and yet all the songs still seem cohesive within the wide variety. There’s a straight up country rock tune, complete with fiddle, that sits equally at home next to a harder rock song that has little hints of fiddle mixed in.

https://soundcloud.com/rob-quillen/girlfriend-in-tacoma

There is a great pure pop song, “Girlfriend in Tacoma,” that is an obvious nod to The Smiths/Morrissey that shares elements with the folky rock stuff. So…while the album blends a lot of styles and influences, it always still seems cohesive and recognizable as The Murderers of Love. Hopefully the key to the whole thing is good songwriting and letting the songs become what they are.

Each song started out as just a vocal and an acoustic guitar. I live in a guest house on a ranch a couple of miles from the Pacific Ocean, and I have a little art and music studio space behind my house. Every night I would record a few tracks in my bare bones music space, and eventually started inviting other musician friends to add parts and pieces. Luckily I know a lot of great musicians who were willing and even excited to contribute. Like a lot of creative projects, it was just something that had to happen, with no thought of commercial success or becoming a rock star. Just pure creative energy finding its place. Eventually it started sounding like a real album and we transferred everything to a friend’s studio for mixing and mastering. And now the album is complete two years later and it’s like one of your kids or something. Very proud of how it came out and extremely happy with the songs themselves.

Need something a little more aggressive? Try the new album from Girl Tears, “Woke Against the Tide.” PURCHASE HERE

The Los Angeles/Orange County punk trio Girl Tears has mastered the art of the three-chord attack, delivering volatile blasts to the point of fury. Four tours and 100+ shows later, playing art spaces, houses, DIY venues, bars, barns, backyards, basements, and everything in between, Girl Tears has delivered a natural, confident progression from their debut.

https://soundcloud.com/sinderlyn/sedated

Woke Against The Tide wrestles with themes of Love/Hate, Good/Evil – and in particular – the space between these polarizing ideas. “Cold Thoughts” and “Uneasy” personify the album’s conflict. There are hooks, melody and structure, but also a bit of chaos built on a more complex arrangement that’s constantly shifting and evolving, much like the band themselves.

Whereas their debut Tension was more a discovery, Woke Against The Tide is more abstract. It creates a dense and unforgiving experience, really challenging the listener to keep up.

We collect everything, alternative movie posters, “The art of…” books, steelbooks and of course, Funkos. So imagine our glee when they revealed a new figure from one of our favorite shows. Yep, we’re talking about “Rick and Morty” and yes…we are talking about Funko’s incredible “Pickle Rick” figure.

Funko’s Rick and Morty “Pickle Rick” – PURCHASE HERE – $10 each

Feelin’ crafty? Want something uber-cool for your walls or floor? Try one of the many offerings from Papertrophy. This award winning papercraft company from Berlin has a little something for everyone.

“The complex yet simple polygon structure reflects the modern design-approach. Papertrophy animals feature a minimalistic cubic design. They represent simplicity while offering an astounding look through shadows and light on the trophies. Their bright and vibrant colors create depth and radiate and extravagant elegance.”

Whether you want a doberman, a squirrel, the mythical unicorn or our personal favorite, T-Rex, you can find all kinds of great “trophies” for your home or office. The good news is no animals were killed in the making of this pure awesomeness.

PAPERTROPHY – PURCHASE HERE

Earlier we told you that we collect everything and one of the things we mentioned were posters. You may know the art collective, The Poster Posse, from their official studio work including Justice League, Star Wars, Kong: Skull Island, Deadpool and countless others.

What you may not realize is that their 40+ artists also have original art for sale and it’s quite fantastic. Here is but a smattering of that they have to offer so be sure to check out all their original art over in the Poster Posse’s Store.

Hopefully these suggestions will give you a bit more to consider and make your plight for finding something cool, that much easier.

Blurppy’s 2017 Holiday Gift Guide Geek Fest Still scrambling to get some great gifts for those special folks in your life? Last week we gave you…

#Funko #Girl Tears #Holiday Gift Guide #Papertrophy #Pickle Rick #Pizza #Poster Posse #posters #Rick and Morty #Star Wars #Stephen King #Suntup Editions #The Murderers of Love

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jinyingkellyli · 8 years ago

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My Happy Ending

I wrung my excessively sweaty hands. The few blonde wisps that were hair sprayed stark and stiff were now limp and stuck to my forehead. Pain soared through my spine, extending upward, vertebrae by vertebrae, until it reached my head, where it threatened to send me to the hospital. My left hand was gripping tightly onto my right wrist, in a failed attempt to control the erratic shaking. It was beginning to get late and it would take over an hour to get home in the traffic. By the time I reach home, my daughter Sylvia would already be asleep like she always is. Despite my consistent efforts to expedite the filming time, it was incredibly difficult for me to get home before Sylvia goes to bed. While my thoughts strayed to home, Jack, the director, was jabbering excitedly about the next scene to me, pointing out props here and there, and exuding the same enthusiasm that I once held for acting.

After almost 12 years in the film industry, I am still trying to survive. Because that’s all I’m doing. I’m only surviving, just as I was when I was a penniless eighteen year old. I was a no- name budding actress when I was chosen to be the star of Hitchcock’s romance thriller, Stay. I was a young girl with doe eyes, willing and ready to act in whatever I was offered. It wasn’t exactly a shock that I received the part; what was surprising was the fame that I was able to garner from this one picture. My fantastical envisions of having my face plastered on blown up posters and bright lights and money were becoming real and tangible things. Grace Turner became a household name. I became an icon among adolescent girls and a paragon of the dream girl among the guys. I was immediately signed to a film company and more offers were practically thrown at me. I was the best of the best. I was the crème de la crème. I was America’s sweetheart. I was happy. Unfortunately, happiness fades. Or at least, the thing that once enticed it no longer produces the same effect. The present is a dull mark when compared with the past. I want to disappear. I want to erase my name and identity from the minds of the millions of people who watch these absurd movies. I want the screaming fanatics to stop hailing my name and hail someone else’s. I want the blinding spotlight to dim black so that I could put an end to those ceaseless, unresting eyes that scrutinize my every move.

I am on the edge of the cliff, hanging on by a single branch with an ever-growing splinter in the soft wood that deepens each year. My looming future stares at me dead below- laughing, cackling. If you blink, you would miss it. Squint your eyes and it’d become clear. The overwhelming laughter stems from a collective mass of people below. Their faces are devoid of human characteristics, and their only purpose is to satisfy an insatiable greed. I am tasked with the endless job of trying to satisfy these faceless hoards of people. This usually comes in the form of a press conference or a photo-shoot or another picture where I play the role of another hopeless blonde romantic with a happy ending (something Hollywood already has enough of). But, when I look up, something else stares at me. I see Sylvia, bright and shining with that beautiful brown glint in her hazel eyes. Her strawberry blonde hair frames her small face neatly and she seems to have an iridescent glow all around her. The small dash of freckles on her cheeks slowly moves upward as she smiles at me. If I concentrate on her face, the cruel taunts and jibes of all those below the cliff fade out until it is nothing more than a soft ringing.

While I was riveted in my thoughts and the lingering pain, Jack continued to explain the details of the next scene to me. It had something to do with me finally realizing I love this guy or whatever.

“Jack, my apologies, but I really must be getting home soon. We agreed to a set time for me to leave. My daughter is waiting at home and I really must go.”

Jack looked at me confused for a minute and opened his mouth to say something. Then, as if his thoughts had been filtered and adjusted, he stopped and closed his mouth immediately. He nodded slowly before saying, “Yeah, Grace. We’re almost done. It’s just I really want to finish this scene and use this momentum we have going on right now. So what you’re going to do after you say this line is...”

Once again, Jack began to ramble and fall back into his world- a world where he lives, breathes and thinks about films only. Suddenly, Jack’s high pitched voice was replaced by a familiar, low, husky one that caused me to look up. There, about fifteen feet away, stood my husband, Gregory Olivier. Correction: my ex-husband. Double Correction: my soon-to-be ex- husband. I stood there, dressed in this Renaissance pinafore, staring intently at the script in my hands, as if I could somehow yield it to make me disappear. From the corner of my eye, I watched him as others from the set began to recognize him; they pointed towards me, directing his attention to this girl who he was still, as of this moment, legally supposed to call “wife”. He walked with a swagger to each step, swaying one arm casually on his left side and pushing his dark hair back with his right hand. From the look of his tight, pursed lips, I could have seen that he was irritated. As he approached and the distance between the two of us slowly lessened, I felt the tension slowly build up inside of me. I knew he wanted to discuss the separation of our financial assets; In fact, that was why we were getting a divorce in the first place. I didn’t care about any of the unfaithful acts I know he committed; even before we were married, I was aware of the numerous, younger ladies he hung around. Admittedly, I, myself could not plead to be the most faithful of wives. There were affairs then and there are affairs now, but that has always been the common variable in my life, whether it was him cheating or me cheating. No, I was less concerned about infidelity than I was about his imprudent use of my money.

As a painter, he didn’t bring that much income home, but again, I wasn’t so concerned about that part either. It was the fact that he managed to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in a single week when he only made three thousand a month. It was his disgusting habit of getting overly inebriated every single night and waking up at the crack of midday. It was the luxurious parties that he threw for people who wouldn’t give him a second glance. When I finally confronted him about the accumulating bills, he blew up at me. The typical excuses were thrown around: I was never at home; I spent just as much money as he does; he’s “working” on a new piece. After arguing for five more hours and realizing the futility of continuing on, I ended the conversation by stating that I wanted a divorce. That was when he shut up- for the first day at least. The following day, he showed up onset with a lawyer. Let me rephrase that: he showed up at my work place, with his lawyer, flailing and red-eyed, to talk about why he should get the Ford Cortina and why I should get the Ford Granada instead. That was a pivotal moment in my decision to actually get the divorce. I was so exhausted of having to care for a man-child. He threw tantrums. He refused to admit any type of wrongdoing on his part- it was always my fault. I had to run behind him, constantly picking up his slack while trying to maintain my own sanity. Suddenly, in the middle of my own mental rant, I noticed that Gregory was standing in front me. His tall stature caused him to look down at me and any sort of remaining confidence I had left vaporized into thin air. His piercing, cold blue eyes dug into my skin and lingered there. I brushed my arms lightly, as if it could get rid of the crawling feeling, but to no avail.

“We need to talk,” he said reaching for my arm, ready to pull me into the nearest dressing room.

“Okay,” I said, dodging his outreaching arm and began striding towards my dressing room. He followed behind me; our footsteps moved in sync and the sound of our heels hitting the ceramic tile echoed throughout the hallway. Click clack. Click clack. With every step, I felt my heart speed up drastically. When we reached, I opened the door and let him in first before walking in and shutting it behind me.

“A “Mr. Smith” contacted me today. He said you wanted to keep the Malibu beach house and the ranch in Texas. Grace, you know that’s not what we had discussed. I either get the ranch or the beach house, and I chose the beach house, so you get the ranch. I thought this was sorted out. Because Mr. Smith seemed a bit dubious when I was explaining this to him over the phone for about two hours.”

“You’re getting both cars and the Beverly mansion. I think this change might make the scales a bit more balanced, Gregory.”

“But you’re also leaving me with less than half of the financial assets, Grace! Does my wellbeing not matter to you in the slightest bit? Divorce aside,” he said making a grand gesture with his arms, “can’t we at least be respectful, thoughtful individuals to each other?”

“It’s my money! I work for it! You used more than your deserved portion already!”

“God, Grace! This always has to boil down to that right? ‘I make the money! What are you doing all day?’”, he said, mocking my tone of voice. “At least I’m at home, okay? I think that’ll sound really nice to a judge when he decides who gets to keep Sylvia!”

That’s when it hit me. We had never actually discussed who gets to keep Sylvia. Nausea and dizziness suddenly came over me, and I sat down on my dressing chair. I took a deep breath in and shut my eyes, unable to process anything. I couldn’t lose Sylvia. Not sweet Sylvia. I couldn’t leave her with a monster like Gregory. I couldn’t leave her period. He must have seen the effect his words had on me because when I looked at him again, his rage was replaced with a smug smile.

“Yes, Grace. Sylvia. Our daughter. Our own flesh and blood. How do we divide one person when there’s two of us?” he asked sarcastically. “Maybe,” he said sitting down across from me and taking my shaking hands, “maybe we don’t have to.”

“But I...” I stuttered out. But that was all I could manage to say as his words began to set in. Of course, he was going to hold this against me. He knew she was my weakness. He knew, of all the things we were to divide during our divorce, I would not give her up. I sat stiffly in my seat, unwilling to concede, but also unwilling to give this man custody of the one thing in my life that made sense.

“C’mon, Grace, darling, do you really think you can get Sylvia and all that property. I’m afraid,” he leaned towards me, and with one finger, lifted my chin slowly, “you were just too irresponsible as a mother,” he spat out. “All those late nights on set, cavorting around, pretending to be a fictional character...now that’s no way for a proper mother to behave,” he stated deadpan.

Voices swarmed my head, and it was impossible to listen to a single one without the others drowning it out. I shut my eyes tightly. Just give the girl up. No, you can’t give up Sylvia! Why are you guys even divorcing? You need to get back to work. That money is yours. With my frail hands, I covered my ears, desperately trying to make them stop. I lifted my knees and wrapped my arms around them, curling into a ball of helplessness and vulnerability. The voices advanced around me, becoming louder and louder. My heart beat right against my rib cage. My blood pressure rose. My teeth clamped down on each other and my jaw locked. My breathing hitched and beads of sweat ran down the side of my neck. But as sudden as it had started, it stopped instantly as I felt something grab my trembling fist. On the other end of it, I saw Gregory. He gave it a soft squeeze then gently extended my fingers out, revealing my callous palm. With his other hand, he fumbled around in his coat pocket before snatching his fountain pen and placing it in my hand. Then from his briefcase, he produced a fifteen to twenty page document. It was somewhat creased in the middle and a small staple held on for dear life at the upper right corner of the dense stack.

“Gracious, you know what you gotta do,” he said softly.

“I need...I need some time to read this,” I said hardly above a whisper. My emotions were on the edge of my lips. If I increased my decibel any higher, I risked breaking down right here in front of someone who was ready to manipulate me. I also didn’t have the time to read through this document; it was as long as an entire script in one of my pictures. Besides, it was getting late and I needed to get home to Sylvia. It wasn’t a school night; she would be waiting up for me today.

“You will get full custody of Sylvia,” he said emphasizing his point by moving his hand in a straight line through the air. “You’re only a signature away from having that sweet, precious girl, Grace.”

Those few words seemed to control my next actions, because that’s all I heard. I would have Sylvia. She would be mine and I would be hers. We would be together. That’s all that mattered. I tightened my grip on the fountain pen, lifted it upright, and signed the dotted line on the last page of the document. ‘Grace A. Turner’, I wrote in my distinct, crooked cursive writing. I then handed to papers to Gregory who happily received it with a smirk.

“I knew you’d come around, Gracious. You always do,” he glanced down at his Omega watch before turning his gaze back to me, “You should head home now. I’ve gotta get going too.”

He got up and strode towards the entrance, but not before my voice called him back, “Will you be there for Sylvia’s birthday party next week?”

With his back still facing me, he cocked his head up, contemplating his response, “...Yes, I will be.”

“Did you get anything for her?”

Again, a thoughtful cock of the head before he stated, “Flowers. Carnations, specifically,” he turned to look at me before continuing, “They’re her favorite.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. He nodded back and turned on his heel before leaving the room. The door shut with a loud slam on his way out. I sat there on the edge of my seat, playing back the events of the evening once more as if it were a film. I began laughing. Finally, I thought, I’m finally in a picture where I don’t have a happy ending.

After I was done filming the rest of my scenes for the day, I drove home. I had brought a small box of chocolate donuts from set for Sylvia. They sat in the passenger’s seat to my right; I drove extra carefully to make sure they didn’t jostle around too much; she didn’t like it when the frosting stuck to the sides of the container. By the time I reached home, there was still time before Sylvia had to go to bed. I locked the car and headed up the driveway, purse in one hand, doughnuts in the other. Samantha, the nanny, had heard my footsteps and unlocked the door for me before I even reached for the keys. I thanked her with a small smile before heading towards the kitchen to set the things down.

“Sam, where’s Sylvia?” I asked while taking the milk out of the fridge. I walked towards the stove to turn it on. Samantha opened the cupboard in front of me and reached for the nearest pot. Opening the lid, I poured two cups of milk in and put it on the stove to heat.

Adjusting her glasses to the bridge of her nose, Samantha shook her head before replying, “I’m afraid she’s already asleep, ma’am. Maybe tomorrow night.”

I sighed sadly. I had really hoped to see her before bedtime. Between interviews and premieres and travelling, I hardly saw her. I decided to go check on her; she probably just laid there wide awake, waiting for the minute I got home. “Watch the milk, Sam. I’m going to go check on her really quick.”

“No! Just...wait. Let me go,” she burst out. “No, it’s okay. I can go,” I urged her slowly.

“No! Miss, please...,” she said cautiously, fumbling for words. She avoided eye contact with me as she pushed her bangs behind her ears. She began to walk out into the hallway, towards Sylvia’s room. Confused, I quickly followed behind.

She rapidly turned around to face me; I stopped abruptly, but I was still only inches away from clashing with her. “Miss, please, I shall go. You can stay in the kitchen.”

“Samantha, I want to see my daughter,” I pushed her out of the way and walked with staccato steps towards Sylvia’s room. I forcefully turned the knob to her door and looked in. She wasn’t in her bed. Frightened, I scanned the room from right to left, from top to bottom.

“Sylvia!” I yelled, sifting through the covers on the bed. “Sylvia, honey, come out!” I shouted again, tearing through the clothes in the wooden closet. “Sylvia!” I desperately called out again in the hallway. Samantha stood at the other end of the hallway, shifting from one foot to the next. She bit down on her lower lip and looked towards the ceiling, unsure of herself.

I ran towards her and grabbed her by the shoulders before demanding, “Where is my daughter?”

She blinked and a single tear cascaded down her painted red cheeks. That was when a thought hit me, “Samantha...Sylvia is allergic to make-up. Why would you be wearing that when you have to take care of her?”

She shook her head and opened her mouth, wanting to speak but was unable to form any sort of intelligible words. Finally though, she was able to croak out, “She’s not here.”

“I know she’s not here! Then tell me where she is!” I screamed in front of her face. She grimaced and continued to weep.

That was when it happened again. Voice began to fill my head, each one competing with the next to get my attention. I covered my ears violently and shouted, “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

Suddenly, one voice was able to stand out- she’s dead. All the other voices began to die out as this realization hit me again and again. Sylvia, sweet Sylvia, was gone. She had been forfive years already. I had been without her for a full five years. Samantha, who eventually gathered I understood what she meant, turned and bolted for the door. I leaned against the wall for support before I went crashing to the carpeted floor. I laid there, stiff and stoic, unable to confront the sad truth of it all. The sad truth of the fragility of our bodies. The sad truth of losing a child. The sad truth of loneliness.

I solemnly thought again, I’m in a picture...where I don’t have a happy ending.

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broceania · 1 year ago

Text

[ID: A Tumblr post by 's4mm4n'. The post reads: "God I miss the days when you could show up to a stranger’s farm and he’d say “What’s your name, boy?” and you’d take off your hat and hold it to your chest to better let him see your face and reply “Why I ain’t got none, sir, on account of my mammy passed on before she could give me one” and he’d tell you he’s real damn sorry to hear that and ask what he can do you for and you’d tell him that you can’t read nor even write neither but you’re mighty good with horses and can mend them fallen fence posts what you saw on your way in and won’t ask for nothing much more than a hot meal and a warm barn to sleep in and he’d keep his wife and daughters inside but send his boy who ain’t got married yet even though his mama tells him he needs a woman out with a lantern and some stew at night and the two of you’d get to talkin and he’d throw you his flask to take a swig from and watch you drinkin from it while he leant against the door frame and when he finally got called back on up to the house again he’d take a sip from it too real slow-like like it weren’t the whiskey what he were tryna savour". The original post has been deleted.]

[ID: A tumblr post by ‘thedialup’. The post reads: "you know I couldn’t be a cowboy because I’d be stuck with my partner in the dead cold prairie night and our horses would be tied up and we’d be huddlin around a crudely made fire because it was too far to go back to the ranch and he’d play the sweetest song on his harmonica, the kind that you felt in your bones and your heart and that the hymns had nothin on, and then he’d finish and we’d both lean in a little too close and my hand would be on his bandanna and his whiskey-breath would be hot on my lips and I’d realize that maybe it wasn’t the touch of a woman i’d been hankerin for". A reblog by the same author reads: "yeah I’ll be honest I don’t know wtf possessed me here".]

[ID: A tumblr post by ‘maybecowboycore’. The post reads: "The preacher may never marry us and my mama may never know you but I can kiss you over a flask of whiskey and dance with you under the stars and if that isn’t marriage I’m not sure what else God is looking for." The original poster’s handle has since changed to 'cowpokeprose', and then deleted.]

the ghost of one specific homosexual cowboy regularly possesses Tumblr gays

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travelworldnetwork · 6 years ago

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By Shafik Meghji

7 January 2019

View image of The Paisaje Industrial Fray Bentos in Uruguay had a profound impact on the way the world eats (Credit: Credit: Shafik Meghji)

You may also be interested in: • The ingenious story of Michelin stars • The city that lit the world • The shipyard that changed humanity

The company used every part of the cow except for the moo

View image of The town that grew up alongside the factory was renamed Fray Bentos after a 17th-Century Uruguayan hermit (Credit: Credit: Global_Pics/Getty Images)

I remember eating corned beef until it came out of my ears

View image of Workers flocked to Uruguay from more than 60 countries, drawn by job opportunities at Fray Bentos' meat processing factory (Credit: Credit: Shafik Meghji)

“It was a company town, and it was terrible for people when it finally shut down,” said Cerilla, whose father and grandfather worked at the plant. “Lots of people left, and many emigrated.”

View image of In 1943 alone, 16 million tins of corned beef were shipped out from Fray Bentos (Credit: Credit: David Forster/Alamy)

This was the industrial revolution in Uruguay

View image of The Paisaje Industrial Fray Bentos became a Unesco World Heritage site in 2015 (Credit: Credit: MIGUEL ROJO/Getty Images)

Places That Changed the World is a BBC Travel series looking into how a destination has made a significant impact on the entire planet.

Join more than three million BBC Travel fans by liking us on Facebook, or follow us on Twitter and Instagram.

BBC Travel – Adventure Experience

#Discover - Experience

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