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mccumbersalecsander93 · 4 years ago

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flightyrock · 7 years ago

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Ectober Day 6: Ghost Hunger

I owe everyone a bit of an explanation before we dive into this fever dream. Yes, I know exactly what ghost hunger refers to, but it just isn’t my thing. It’s a neat concept, but I don’t really find it fun to write for, or even read, except in the rarest of cases. I can stand it if it advances an innovative plotline, but just for its own sake…meh.

So I didn’t have any idea what I was going to do for day 6. I considered skipping it, but that felt like admitting defeat. With this in the back of my mind, I was scrolling through tumblr, as one does, and found this lovely piece by @schnivel.

One of my favorite things about schnivel’s style is the dynamic quality all of his characters have. I don’t know how to explain it, but it draws the viewer in, and sells that these characters are real. Complex emotions are portrayed and conveyed with such ease, I get that creative itch every time. I love everything in your art tag, it makes me so happy. Thank you for sharing!

But anyway. In this particular piece, I love the angle of the external light and the ambient light radiating from the suspiciously viscous fluid clinging to his hands. I think it was the combination of the fluid consistency, color choice, and blood connection that did it.

So as my mind tends to do when I’m tired and see something emotionally charged, it took a running nosedive off the deep end into absurdist territory.

So here is a fic inspired by color choice, texture, and my traumatic experiences with product promotion as a child of the 90s and early 2000s. I am so sorry but also kind of not. Please forgive me, schnivel. Thank you so much for letting me ruin the mood. And seriously, check out schnivel’s blog!

(Sorry for all the notes. Commentary at the end.)

Summary: When a popular variety of novelty ketchup is discontinued, the ghost population of Amity Park clashes over who will claim the last box.

Warnings: Customer service feels, light innuendo

Word Count: ~1700

“You do realize that’s disgusting,” Sam deadpanned, looking on with a mixture of mild horror and disgust as Danny smothered his hotdog in a quantity of green slime that could only be defined as excessive. Somehow it was impossible to turn away. Tucker didn’t seem to share the sentiment, busying himself with his PDA.

Spurred on by the attention, Danny looked Sam dead in the eyes, staring unflinchingly into their icy, amethyst depths while cramming as much of the sandwich into his mouth as possible.

Only to aim a tad low, bumping into his lower lip. Time seemed to slow down as blue eyes widened comically in surprise, hand contracting around the bun reflexively, coaxing gobs of the novelty ketchup to ooze out the back and coat the front of his favorite t-shirt, soaking into white fabric with karmatic vengeance.

Sam and Tucker witnessed the following shift from shock to sudden horror at the state of his shirt became clear. They glanced at each other, unprompted, then lost it completely, howling with laughter as Danny dropped his ‘dog to scrub frantically at his chest with a wad of the worse-than-useless paper napkins the school provided that screamed government subsidy. His response time was impressive, but the damage was done: a prominent, verdant dribble trail clearly illustrated the tragedy that unfolded at lunch that day.

“Are you kidding me? I still have half the day to go,” Danny moaned, hands running anxiously through already messy hair.

“Just phase it off!” Tucker pointed out helpfully, returning to his PDA as chuckles died down into amused sympathy.

“Tuck, intangibility doesn’t remove stains. It’s set too far in the fabric. Otherwise laundry would be so much easier. Hmm.” Danny took a moment to consider the potential, wondering if that was how Vlad managed to keep his ghostwear so pristine. Maybe if he could concentrate his focus…

“You had it coming. I don’t understand why you insist on consuming that promotional garbage.” Sam rolled her eyes derisively.

“Because it’s the best!” Danny insisted. Sam and Tucker shared a look, resigned to their friend’s strange obsession.

Danny didn’t know what it was, but ever since that popular condiment brand out of Pittsburgh developed a line of novelty ketchup, he was hooked. It came in all sorts of unappetizing colors, like green and purple, and the cringe-worthy ad campaign made Danny wonder if the whole thing was an elaborate prank. But it eventually showed up at the discount food distributer his family frequented, and he bought it himself, despite Jazz’s teasing. Funny. He swears he’s caught her using it more than once when she thought he wasn’t around.

While Jazz was exasperated by the blatant exploitation of the mindset of the lower middle working class, Sam objected to the artificial dyes and preservatives, and Tucker insisted it was nothing less than an insult to the integrity of meat, whatever that was supposed to mean. Maybe the dye makes it taste a bit different. Maybe he just gets a kick out of eating food in weird colors and watching his friends squirm. Heck, maybe he’s just been desensitized by enough mutant, home-cooked meals that something so harmless but strange fills him with nostalgia. Whatever the case, Danny couldn’t seem to get enough of the stuff. He even started taking it to school with him as a fun way to avoid looking too closely at what was on his tray.

“Uh oh, dude,” Tucker chuckled, bringing up a specific news article on his PDA. “Looks like your days of ruining hot dogs are numbered.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding,” Danny begged.

“Afraid not,” Tucker grinned, sliding his tech across the table to deliver the news firsthand.

Blue eyes widened in horror, before the teenager collapsed onto the table dramatically with a moan. “Why is it that as soon as I discover something awesome, it’s gone?”

“Honestly, that’s probably why it appeared on the shelves at Hubert’s in the first place,” Sam remarked flippantly, preferring to pick at chipping nail polish than acknowledge the lump of pouting teenager currently occupying half the table.

“Yeah, brand names are always too good to be true in places like that,” Tucker nodded sagely, patting Danny on the shoulder in mock sympathy.

Danny hauled himself upright with a sigh. “Nothing else for it. I’ll just have to go after school and stockpile all the bottles I can. They can’t be out yet.”

“How are you out?! It was just here less than a week ago!”

But the dramatics of a ketchup-crazed teenager were no match for the practiced apathy projected by the young but seasoned customer service guru manning the register, six hours into a ten hour shift.

“Look, man, I just work here. There’s plenty of purple,” she sighed, glazed eyes carelessly roaming to glace at the condiments section, poking at her monitor screen.

“It doesn’t taste the same,” Danny moaned, prompting a significant look to pass between the duo accompanying him. They had no idea why they thought it would be a good to tag along on this juvenile side quest. This was just embarrassing.

“Huh,” the cashier remarked offhandedly. “Looks like we might have one more box in the back. I’ll go check, if you want…” she trailed off unenthusiastically, distracted by the hopefully bobbing shock of black hair that wouldn’t leave her alone unless she made a show of effort. With a long-suffering sigh, the underpaid civil servant shuffled off to the back, teenagers at her heels until she ducked behind a wildly swinging door, a scuffed sheet of plastic shoved haphazardly into the gateway in a pathetic effort to separate customer-friendly space from the chaos of the warehouse.

The friends waited attentively, then with growing annoyance, Sam scuffing the chipping tile with heavy boots as the minutes ticked by. Around fifteen minutes in, Tucker decided to call it.

“I think she just blew you off, dude.”

“No way,” Danny insisted. “She’s just being thorough.”

At that moment, a familiar figure slouched out from behind the off-white mockery of a barrier. Danny drooped visibly at the lack of bottles in her arms.

“Welp, I found it.” Danny perked up. “Where is it?”

“In the back.” She continued to amble through the aisles, not even bothering to glance at the irritating customer as she returned to the front. Danny followed her, confused.

“And?” he ventured.

“What?” she asked, uncapping a company pen to doodle on a scrap of receipt paper, pointedly ignoring the nuisance in the vain hope it would leave her in peace.

Danny barely restrained himself in time to prevent throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Can I have some?” he dared to ask. The girl acted like she didn’t hear him, outlining a cartoonish face with care, allowing him to stew for a while.

She finally raised hazel orbs full of resignation to meet his. “You somehow manage to get it down, you can just have it.” The just leave me alone was implied. Heavily.

Danny lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved him away, returning to her receipt sketch.

“Thanks!” Danny called over his shoulder, already on his way to claim his prize.

“That was kind of weird,” Sam observed.

“Oh, come on Sam, why do you have to be so pessimistic all the time? She probably couldn’t reach it. All Danny has to do is float up to the shelf, and we’re out of here,” Tucker said, confidently leading the way into the dark space, the main light coming from a desk equipped with a dated microwave and littered with the remains of hurried lunches.

It was kind of weird being behind the scenes. The air felt heavy, stale. It was difficult to shake the uneasy feeling that they dismissed, at first, with being in a restricted area, but that quickly faded into the background.

A puff of cold air suddenly expanded, forcing its way up a certain ghostly throat and expelling in a bluish cloud as it forced vapor in the surrounding air to condense.

“Nice going, Tuck,” Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Danny ignored the exchange, quickly “going ghost” and floating up to investigate. And was not at all surprised to find the Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost playing a less-than-friendly game of tug-of-war with the box of sauce. Okay, maybe he was surprised; he didn’t know either of them had a subtle bone in their bodies…if they had bones. Or bodies. Gah.

He was honestly kind of impressed that they had avoided detection for so long, and wondered if the cashier’s composure spoke to her merit, or to the horrors of customer service. Danny resolved to be nicer to customer service associates.

From there, it was “doom” this and “beware” that. Danny threw some ectoblasts, repelled some processed meat products, brushed off some boxes. It was amazing how much more annoying the two of them were working together. But, still, not even really a challenge, so the half ghost made short work of the duo, while trying not to think too hard about the implications of this team up. A certain young ghost from an alternate future came to mind…

Danny chased the pair off, trying not to think about the two of them sharing a thermos. He was all too glad to claim his prize and head home. It had been an interesting afternoon.

Despite the strange start, the pair of friends thought that the day was pretty successful. As a result, neither Tucker nor Sam were expecting the caricature of despair that greeted them on the front steps of Fenton Works come morning.

“Dare we ask?” Sam muttered.

Tucker sighed, shaking his head. “He’ll let us know soon enough.”

Somewhere in Wisconsin, a certain blue-skinned half ghost emerged from his portal, shiftily checking the entrance before ducking through with his prize.

What am I doing? I live alone.

Still, one could never be too careful. It wouldn’t do to have Daniel catch wind of this. He certainly would never admit it, but he couldn’t help the strange nostalgia it inspired; the off-putting color instilled him with a strange longing for cheap meals of questionable quality cooked with a certain pair of paranormal science students. He still had his dignity after all.

A/N: Anyone who’s ever worked retail knows the best way to get rid of a persistent customer and score an extra break in the process is to “check” the back. Seriously, most places know what they have in the back due to the magic of inventory, but for some reason, that middle-aged woman with too much makeup will not leave us alone, insisting we check the back because she thinks we’re idiots (you know the type). And how dare we come back without checking thoroughly. The cashier probably found the ketchup in less than a minute, determined retrieval was impossible, then spent the rest of the time on her phone. Of course, like 10% of the time, there really is extra in the back so I can’t exactly fault them, but we could do without the condescension.

So…yeah. I think my mind kind of mashed together the fact that the show took place in the 2000s with the fact that ketchup looks vaguely like blood, and the drawing used the two major colors of Heinz’s horrendous EZ Squirt line. As a child who begged for this ketchup, then refused to eat it, I can understand the initial appeal, but it got gross fast, and I didn’t finish the bottle. What can I say, it tasted off to me. I feel like I read about some human instinct regarding food safety contributing to that at some point. But I still remember this product, especially the commercials, with horror.

Thank you so much to @schnivel for the inspiration! Hope everyone enjoyed it!

#danny phantom fanfiction #flightyfiction #schnivel #danny phantom #danny fenton #ooc #maybe

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temporary-ss · 5 years ago

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@birkastan2018 Hi! First of all, I’m not really here on tumblr anymore, I’ve deactivated a long time ago. I wanted to chip in on this because it’s spreading like wild fire, it’s the mere reason I’ve made this account.

I admire and understand what you have been doing, I really do. There’s nothing wrong with wanting reviews and recognition from your readers. Writers deserve it through and through! It’s okay to enjoy what you do at the same time ask for feedbacks, IT’S OKAY! No to shaming writers.

Now, let’s go to a more delicate subject which is the main reason I am here now. We want to encourage readers to interact with authors, that’s it that’s the advoacy here. Now, I came to see for myself what the fuss was all about, with some intensive backreading. So what I have noticed there was a “shift,” the one thing you were trying to build destroyed itself. I don’t know if you are aware of this. Instead of encouraging silent readers, name calling happened. Words like “shame,” “selfish,” “sociopath,” “parasites,” etc., all of which lead into this = WORTHLESS. I was shocked! I thought you want readers’ involvement so why? Those were not exactly confidence booster which I think one of the things silent readers lack. I thought you were the adult one. I’ll treat you the way you treat me, yeah do that but on a different account because you are destroying the purpose of this blog by applying this principle. Again, remember your advocacy: encouraging feedback. We are bridging gaps not widening it. Do not pit them against each other. No to reader shaming.

Mental issues is a very sensitive topic which you have adressed also. This has left a bitter taste in my mouth honestly. We don’t know what is happening behind everyone, be it authors or readers. You cannot compare how one handles his/her issues to others. We were always told this during my pre-med: Every person is unique. Everyone have different experiences, coping mechanism, signs and symptoms, etc. You cannot compare how a writer handles it from a reader and vice versa. I think you’ve said something along the lines: If an author with mental issue can manage to write something, readers have no excuse. This is exactly the problem of our society and how they approach mental health. It does not work like that. Patient A and Patient B both have the same diagnosis but present different sets of signs and symptoms - this happens, I’m not gonna go technical and bore you with medical stuffs. Both are important and valid, that’s the bottomline. Yes, it could be an excuse. Don’t undermine mental health. #MentalHealthAdvocacy

I’m not here for a debate. I’ve read some of your responses, all of which have same points. (they were all long fyi you could easily condense it to one short paragraph. As someone who read thick medical books everyday, just a sight of long posts in the internet makes me puke. But here I am making one, oh the irony...ANYWAY). I am aware of the sacrifices our writers make. Yes, they deserve reaction from readers. It’s okay to feel sad if reviews are vast, its okay to seek it out. But you birk cannot simply force readers or guilt-trip them into leaving one (I haven’t seen writers guilt trip their readers, so this is on you birk, it is not good for the author community so please refrain from doing this). Isn’t it more satisfying to receive a heartfelt genuine review? I’ll choose that over thousands of guilt-tripped/pity/forced/don’t-leave/i-owe-you comments anytime of the day, it’s so fake don’t insult our writers like that. Let’s forget about statistics: Quality>Quantity.(Edit: Literally, the most reviewed naruto fic on ffnet right now is full of spam (70k), let that sink in) I am in no way encouraging silent readers to be silent readers forever. One by one they’ll come around, it may take days, weeks, months, or even years, but they will. Little by little, it may first start with a kudos, a like, a favorite, a follow, a reblog and by the time they left a review they are ready and they mean every word of it and it’s gonna be worth it. It’s very disheartening to hear, your kudos is just a slap in my face, do you think if you said those words it’s gonna make them magically leave a review? No. Instead, you’ve instilled fear and intimidation upon them, making any possible interaction from a genuine reader in the future impossible. Again, the goal is encourage readers not eat them. I know that is what you want, but your sudden deviation on a different yet same path (idk if you were influenced by someone im kinda observant that way...maybe choose your friends wisely) became a trigger for this to spun out of control. You can go back!

Lastly, the “fandom.” Everyone has their own definition of it. But what I can confidently say is that the backbone of the fandom is not you, not me, not the content creators, not the readers. It’s kishi, naruto, the anime, the manga, the characters, the ships. It’s those little canon moments. Isn’t that the reason why we create and built this fandom in the first place? We love them. I’m gonna give you a leeway for this because you’re still pretty new in the fandom. I can see how a person who had been here longer than you get mad at your sentiments. We make contents based of the canon. Many are still here because we cling on those canon moments. We take something and give it a different universe, giving rise to beautiful fan arts and fics, cosplays, conventions, dojinshi, etc. At the end of the day, we go back to those canon moments that we love. It had been so long since naruto ended, but you still see gifs, manga caps of the anime and manga, respectively, you still see analysis of moments, you still see people fighting how the story should have ended (let’s not forget the time when someone made a petition to change the ending like 🙄) or who is better. That is our backbone, our roots.

Additionally, the anon that said something like I will go down with this fandom even if I’m the only one left. I think it wasn’t at all meant to shame anyone. That’s a popular slang(?) in fandom culture: I will go down with this ship, I will go down with [insert anyone here]. That’s passion. That person love naruto and nothing will make it go away, he/she will enjoy naruto despite everything that’s a fan mentality. What do you expect some of us here have been fans since we were children, it had been a part of our lives for more than a decade.

And seriously? “Consumers”? Do it in another place, it is so inappropriate to use this in fandom culture. People are here to enjoy you make it sound so corporate, it is such a kill joy word. Maybe it’s an age thing? We’re not consumers, we are “fans.” Makes me think you see fandom superficially not capturing it’s entire essence.

Birk - do not reduce yourself to name calling, you are bigger than that. learn to see things with an open and clear mind. if you’re not gonna leave your bubble where silent readers are worthless & [insert the words you used to call them], you are not gonna get through with them. remember your goal always. Readers - your opinions and excuses matter and your self-worth can’t and shouldn’t be dictated by anyone. Writers - your’s also matter. its okay to want feedback. its okay to create patreons/kofi, ignore those who said otherwise. keep doing what you love, if passion gets too overwhelming take a breath and relax. if you want to quit doing it, it’s also okay you don’t have to keep doing if you’re unhappy anymore. self care first.

This had been said already but I wanna reiterate. Let’s not forget the real devils here: REPOSTERS, TRACERS, PLAGIARIZERS, ENTITLED PERSONS.

I hope you finish reading this and take it with an open-mind. You gonna meet me half-way here. Otherwise, this will not end. Thank you! P.S. I said I am not here for debate bec I understand your point. It’s okay not to answer me (if you will, don’t make it long, straight to the point but you do you) but let me know if you’ve already read this.

#one thing I learned as a future doctor = Patience is a virtue #you can get your point across without calling people useless #it will come a long way #gonna get back on my reading materials #one step forward two steps backward #oh my ive read some another response from you #i hope you don’t do that to your children in the future #saying “shame on you” if they dont abide to your ideals #Dont relay on google for your “medical research”#please please please don’t do that im speaking on behalf of every doctor you’ll encounter through out your life

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onestowatch · 5 years ago

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Arlo Parks Wants to Be for Others What She Did Not Have for Herself [Q&A]

Photo: Chris Almeida

At just 19, Arlo Parks has already awed audiences and music industry professionals alike with her silky vocals and jazz-infused lo-fi bedroom pop that is simultaneously melancholic and uplifting. Her music is where real-life struggles intertwine with poetry. It’s the soundtrack for a “Super Sad Generation.”

After releasing her first single, “Cola,” to massive success in November last year, she released her debut EP, Super Sad Generation, in January, played her very first gig at The Great Escape Festival in Brighton in May, and has since gone on to play Glastonbury and Latitude.

2019 has already been a massive year for the London native but there are no signs of slowing down. She is currently set to support Loyle Carner on his sold-out UK tour and released “Second Guessing” earlier this fall–a gorgeous tune about existential misery, strength, and the possibility of self-fulfillment. The new single doubled as the announcement for her much-anticipated EP, Sophie, which will be out November 29 via Transgressive.

We sat down with the rising star on a sunny September Saturday in Hamburg, Germany, a few hours before her first of three shows at Reeperbahn Festival, for a chat about role models, expectations, influences, and not overthinking things.

youtube

OTW: If you were to describe your music to someone who has never heard it, what would you say?

Arlo Parks: I guess I would say it’s a fusion of a lot of different genres: R&B, soul, pop, rock. But mainly it’s emotional, confessional music. Have a listen, see what you think. It’s quite difficult to put it in a box, I find. I want them to make up their own mind.

OTW: Your dad played a lot of jazz around the house when you were growing up and that’s what inspired you to make your own music, right? But from that to actually making music what happened?

Parks: The jazz around the house laid the foundations. That was my first contact with music and where I started to fall in love with it. I guess it was that paired with my love of writing. I’d been writing a lot of stories and stuff when I was younger and that evolved into poetry and then that evolved into music. But jazz was my roots; it was the first thing I was in touch with.

OTW: When you released “Cola” in November last year you had quite a lot of success and it seems like you hadn’t really expected that. And since then you’ve released an EP and you’ve played festivals like Great Escape and Glastonbury. Is the success easier to handle now?

Parks: It’s all still overwhelming. I’m at the beginning of my journey, so it’s still a recent thing and everything that happens is just “wow,” so I’m still processing it as I go along. It’s still crazy.

OTW: You’ve talked about how you were struggling with your identity when you were younger and you are very open about your sexuality as well. Do you feel like there was a lack of role models for you when you were growing up?

Parks: Yes, I guess I would say so. When I was growing up, the music I would listen to was made by people who didn’t resemble me at all. But, in a way, the fact that I didn’t have that many creative role models made me feel like it was okay for me to… if I can’t find anyone that’s like me, then I’m just going to have to keep being me and I guess it inspired me in a way to try to be that for other people, I guess.

OTW: Yeah, that was my next question. Do you see yourself as a role model?

Parks: I don’t think I am yet, but I am working towards it. It’s a work in progress. I’m still quite young, but I hope that in the future people can look at me and be inspired.

OTW: So that motivates you as well?

Parks: Definitely. That someone can connect to it and feel represented and safe when they come to my shows. That’s really important to me.

Photo: Charlie Cummings

OTW: Along the same line, we’re at the Reeperbahn Festival. The festival is part of an initiative called Keychange, which empowers women to transform the future of music whilst encouraging festivals to achieve a 50:50 gender balance by 2022. I’m just curious to hear your thoughts on that?

Parks: If you have a set quota… I don’t know. There are so many super talented women, and men, out there but right now the ratio is totally skewed. But you also don’t want to feel like you’ve gotten somewhere just because you had to fill a quota. It’s a complicated one but at least gender equality is starting to be a bigger conversation. I feel like that’s progressing and that’s very positive.

OTW: It is a tough one. And there are so many amazing female musicians out there. How do you feel as a fairly young woman going into this industry?

Parks: To be honest, I don’t really think about it. I feel like I try not to overthink those things too much. I’m just working on my art and trying to achieve a vision and so far it’s been really positive, I haven’t had any bad experiences. But at the same time, I know that, especially in music, there are loads of problems and people get taken advantage of, but personally, I haven’t experienced that.

OTW: So you’re optimistic. You’ve already touched upon this a little but you’ve listed lots of different musical references–Earl Sweatshirt, Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, King Princess, and even emo rock bands. Then there are also literary icons, such as Sylvia Plath. How does that all find its way into your music?

Parks: When I write songs, I like to use a lot of imagery and that definitely comes from the literary element. When I read a book, it conjures up a lot of mental imagery for me and I’m immersed in that world and that’s something I try to apply to my songs. Sonically, all my influences are… I don’t really know, I just listen to them all and use tiny little bits of each thing, even if they sound nothing like the music I make. It assimilates somehow.

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OTW: So when you’re writing songs, what comes first?

Parks: The lyrics are usually first. I write a lot of poetry so usually the lyrics dictate the mood of the song. But it depends, sometimes I have a chord progression and then it comes from there. I’ve got quite a fluid process.

OTW: Do you write alone?

Parks: Sometimes I write with producers and obviously when you’re working with someone else you have to match their vibe and energy. When I’m by myself, I have my specific way of doing things, but when you’re with someone else you have to let go of control a little bit. It’s quite freeing actually, because it’s nice to see how other people work, and even if it doesn’t work out, then at least you know what you don’t like. I am quite specific though.

OTW: You’re not going to let anyone boss you around.

Parks: (laughter) No.

OTW: That’s probably a good thing.

Parks: And all the lyrics are my own.

OTW: Have you even had time to process this past year?

Parks: No! I’m constantly moving. Maybe it will sink in at some point and then I’ll just have a little cry. (laughing)

OTW: And you’re working on an album?

Parks: It’ll be an EP. And then late next year maybe there’ll be an album. Nothing’s set in stone though, I want to take my time with that. I love the album format so much, so I really want it to be good.

OTW: I love that you say that. So many artists seem to be just thinking in singles and EPs, and the fact that you need to feed your fans content all the time to stay relevant.

Parks: I definitely feel like that you need to keep in touch with your fans and give them things. But at the same time, it’s definitely quality over quantity. You want to be putting out your best work, not just five million songs for the sake of it. It’s a balance between keeping that mystery or intrigue and keeping people engaged.

OTW: I totally agree, and I also don’t believe that the album is a dying format.

Parks: The album is immortal and that’s my favorite way of consuming music. it’s a complete body.

OTW: Who are your Ones To Watch?

Parks: I would say Biig Piig. She’s from a collective called Nine8, which is based in West London. It’s a bunch of creatives–graphic designers, musicians, producers–making really cool stuff together. Hers is low-fi hip-hop, really gentle and lovely. And I’d definitely also say Celeste who’s playing here [Reeperbahn] as well.

OTW: I saw her the other night and I almost cried.

Parks: She is amazing, her voice is unparalleled. There’s also an American artist I recently discovered called Choker. He’s self-produced and mixes and masters everything himself. It gives me sort of Frank Ocean vibes but it’s also experimental. It’s really lovely.

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#arlo parks #interview #R&B #soul

0 notes

cjihve · 7 years ago

Photo

❝ maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. maybe it’s about unbecoming everything that isn’t really you, so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.

GENERAL INFO

full name: choi jihye.

nickname(s): jinnie. jiji.

gender & pronouns: cisfemale - she/her/hers

sexual & romantic orientation: pansexual, panromantic.

age & dob: 22. september 9th

birthplace/hometown: seoul

parents/siblings: choi jaehwan ( father | living ) , kim hyejin ( mother | deceased )

astrological sign: virgo.

dominant hand: left.

handwriting style: everything is very neatly spaced, petite and clean cut. ( HERE is a visual aid )

language(s) known/spoken: korean, french, spanish, english, portuguese, japanese ( fluent ), and she’s currently trying to learn cantonese.

religion: she believes in a higher power, but she’s more spiritual than religious because she doesn’t like the labels that come with religion.

current living arrangements: she lives in a small officetel. ( HERE is a visual aid )

occupation/major: she’s a kindergarten teacher !! also, a freelance photographer & painter when she needs a little extra money on the side.

APPEARANCES

picture reference: JIHYE with light hair. JIHYE with dark hair ( current )

blood type: B

nationality: korean.

skin tone/color: she’s a little on the tanner side currently, but not quite golden. she says she’s more like a fish fry sort of tan. during the winter, tho, she gets more on the milky side.

birthmarks & scars: she has a patch of skin on her left shoulder that’s a little darker than her skintone in the shape of a diamond, about the size of a quarter. she has a lot of small scars from growing up because she was quite the explorer, but nothing major.

height: ~168cm ( 5′ 6″ )

build: lean, slim.

hair color: she’s got black hair currently, with some hint of silver. she goes back and forth between light and dark shades, though.

hair length: it’s long, a little more than halfway down her back. she doesn’t want to cut any off, beside trim, until it gets to her butt.

eye color: honey brown ( those are because of her contacts, tho ... think like a lion, but just a shade or two deeper ), but they’re a darker brown naturally.

eye shape: HERE.

diet: what she want, when she want ??

exercise & level of fitness: her only exercise is running around with her kids ( and some bedroom stuff ). she’s actually pretty weak, but she does a fairly good job and opening jars by herself at home. and when she can’t, she’ll run over to taehyun like “please open this jar of pickles for me thank u ilysm~”

how’s their posture ( or lack thereof )?: she preaches about good posture at school, so it’s only right that she practice it. at home, however, her posture is pretty non-existent.

typical style of dress: her teacher style: x | x | x | x | x her street style: x | x | x | x | x

body modifications: she has (1) piercing per lobe and an industrial in her left ear, which she hides with her hair for school, even if it’s just baby strands when she wears it up.

BODY LANGUAGE AND MANNERISMS

how does your muse walk?: normally, very carefree and airy, almost like a gentle summer’s breeze. she doesn’t have much confidence, but her head is held high just so she can smile at everyone who passes by.

how does your muse talk?: she’s very clear and concise with her words and pronunciation, especially when speaking with her students. she’s also very animated ( makes a great story-teller ).

what accent/dialect does your muse talk with?: she speaks with a “seoul” accent, aka she doesn’t have one. thanks to all the places she’s live, tho, she’s learned/picked up a lot of different ones, so she can speak with a few if she wants to.

how high (or low) is the tone of their voice? are they loud or quiet?: her vocal levels range, going high and low thanks to her need to be animated, but when she’s speaking normally, she’s a little on the higher side.

what is their laugh like?: she laughs with her whole body and constantly covers her face. her laugh is more like a giggle, but when she laughs uber hard, there’s no sound except her occasional wheezing.

how does your muse typically smell?: vanilla and cherry blossoms. she alternates between the two fragrances, sometimes mixing the two when she’s feeling a little … bold.

what kind of air do they carry? are they intimidating?: she’s very warm and polite. most find her welcoming and veRY far from intimidating.

PSYCHOLOGY

what makes your muse happiest?: cherry blossoms. photography. art. taehyun !!!! walking around museums with tristan. also, tristan’s voice. food. spending time with minkyo. hanging with laon; watching him interact with her students. rainy days. warm showers. seyeon. sleeping late. long train rides & walks. coffee with sehyun. her job !! scolding taemin after listening to his radio show. reading. learning. growing. smiles. surprises. sunflowers. banana milk. ice cream. ace. basically everything, tbh ??

what upsets them the most?: herself. impatient people / lack of manners. being forgetful. nightmares.

does your muse have any quirks?: licking her lips/chewing her lips and cheek. shaking her left leg. cracking her neck. clicking her tongue and sometimes sticking it out when she’s focused or thinking about something.

what are their hobbies? how frequent do/can they do them?: photography and painting. she does them every chance she gets, which is usually fairly often.

do they have any guilty pleasures?: when she’s not having the best day or she’s kind of stressed out, she’ll scream out a pokemon name and their “battle cry” before she goes back to doing what she’s doing. ( … don’t ask; just know her neighbors really don’t like her for it )

is your muse an extrovert? an introvert? neither?: she’s a mix of the two, tbh. she’s more open with kids, tho.

do they have high or low self-esteem? what about confidence?: she falls on the lower side of the scale for self-esteem and she doesn’t have much confidence. at all.

are they easily stressed? how do they respond to stress?: she gets overwhelmed sort of easily, but she normally tries to plow straight through the issues until she gets to a solution, but that doesn’t always work. and when she finds that it’s not working, she’ll do that habit she has of screaming and then get back to it.

what is your muses worst fear?: losing people. never finding a love that lasts.

what is your muses biggest dream?: finding a love that’ll last.

is your muse an early riser? a night owl?: she’s both.

how intelligent is your muse? do they acknowledge it?: her intelligence level is above average, but she doesn’t speak on it too much. she thinks she’s dumb.

what is their sense of humour like?: she finds almost everything funny and very rarely will you find her not giggling. and the more she’s NOT supposed to laugh, the harder she actually laughs. it’s terrible.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES

what’s their sexual orientation? what about romantic?: pan errthang !! pls let her lov u ://

are they currently in any sexual or romantic relationships?: she’s in one ongoing/regular sexual relationship with minkyo. she’ll gladly get into a sexual relationship with almost everyone. she’s not in any romantic relationships yet, tho.

what is their experience with relationships?: she has some, but none of them have worked out that great ( mainly bc she’s a sack of jealous :// so :// )

how does your muse view the idea of friends with benefits? have they ever had one, or would they ever?: she doesn’t mind the idea. so long as the people you’re hooking up with don’t have significant others. she’s very much against cheating. she’s currently in a fwb relationship

sex, is it important to your muse?: of course, but it’s not everything.

what are their biggest turn on and turn offs?: in her own words ?? turn ons : everything but the nasty stuff :/// turn offs: the nasty stuff :///

does your muse find it easy to make friends?: she personally doesn’t find it very easy; not making actual friends, anyway.

how important is friendship to them?: very,very, very important.

quantity or quality of friends?: quality always beats quantity, obviously !!

how important is family?: to her, the most important.

are they close to their family? why or why not ?: she’s not the closest with her dad, not the way she used to be as a child, anyway. and she feels like she’s close with her mother … well, as close as she can be.

HEADCANONS

001. her relationship with her dad started to go downhill as jihye grew older and she noticed the difference the day after her father had told her that she was beginning to look, and act, more like her mother.

002. continuing on the same topic as the above headcanon, she doesn’t dislike her father, nor is she angry with him. she understands his issue isn’t with her, it’s just that he’s still having a hard time over the loss … that doesn’t stop her from blaming herself for his broken heart and the death of her mother.

003. she suffers from insomnia, she thinks, because she’s forced herself to stay awake for so many years. she’s suffered from a reoccurring nightmare, specifically of her mother, so to stop it from happening … she’s done what she could to stop herself from sleeping. now, it’s just a habit. she seems to get tired when she’s not meant to sleep.

004. flowers & nature are her favorite things to photograph, and paint. she also gets enjoyment out of painting portraits of her friends, with flowers ( which she associates with that specific friend ) as the backdrop.

005. she makes a lot of the clothes she wears for school. her students even help her out sometimes by creating the stencils or giving her patterns.

006. she also has a habit of bringing it a white maxi dress at the end of the school year and has her students put their handprints / draw small pictures and write their name underneath said handprint and/or picture. then she stores them so nothing happens to them.

007. she makes it a POINT to stay in contact with the parents of her past students, along with the students themselves. she’s very invested in them and their education, and she likes to watch as they grow.

008. there are only two things in this world that jihye would literally throw fists for … that is taehyun and her students. ( in case you couldn’t tell … she rly lovs her kids :/// & her pooh bear )

009. she’s a nickname person. she adores them and if you scroll through her contacts list, it’s literally made up of ALL nicknames. and if you want her to love you even more than she already does ?? give her a nickname.

010. touching on the accent thing ... she’s got a very good ear for them. if you speak to her in ( or she listens to ) an accent for a total of, at least, three minutes, she’s able to mimic it. which is partly why, when she goes on any sort of trip, she likes to speak in a different accent the whole time. you know, pretend to be someone she’s not.

011. she’s uber light handed when it comes to her handwriting, so she’s always writing with a pen !! and she prefers ballpoint ( whereas she’ll only sketch with a mechanical pencil ) she’s also an avid collector of stationary. and all of her cards for birthdays and/or holidays are all handmade because she’s disgustingly sentimental :///

#seoultask #did i do the second one before i even completed the first one for her ........... nO WYM #dont @ me pls ://///#also this is rly gross & i got lazy hence the disgusting graphic n 2938575 possible spelling errors

7 notes · View notes

adapted-batteries · 7 years ago

Note

Hey friend! For the shipathon, I was wondering if you would be willing to write some Flynn/Ezekiel/Jake? Maybe something where they are all on a mission and Ezekiel gets taken and Flynn and Jake are so worried about him they start fighting, but Ezekiel's already escaped?

I kind of went more straight up feels sharing then fighting, but there’s some snappy moments there. Hope you like it!

There are some events Stone mentions but doesn’t go into much detail on. If you would like to know more about them, I conveniently wrote “Whatever You Need” because my brain decided I needed to flush those out. It’s not necessary to read that fic before you read this one, but it will probably add a nice depth to it.

—

“Don’t have too much fun without us,” Eve said as she and Cassandra headed for their girls’ day out. Flynn decided to escort them to the door; they were staying local in Portland today.

Ezekiel rolled his eyes lightheartedly of course, then settled at an open desk to brush up on his hacking. Stone, who had been somewhere in the Library, walked into the Annex with a load of books in hand. “Is that what you’re gonna do with your day off? Even Jenkins went off on an errand,” Ezekiel said, glancing up from his phone.

“Yeah man, I do this all the time,” Stone replied with a grunt as he heaved his books onto the desk he’d claimed over the years. “Just because I gave up my pen name doesn’t mean I quit putting work out there. And speak for yourself, you’re still here.”

Flynn returned, eyeing Stone’s desk. “Working on Aztec art I see, on your day off. A man after my own heart,” he said, giving a passing glance to Ezekiel.

“What? I’m working too. Gotta stay sharp to keep on top of game,” Ezekiel said, waving his phone which had a lot of code on it.

“Don’t hack into anythin’ important,” Stone cautioned, narrowing his eyes at Ezekiel.

“Heh, that’s how you keep them on their toes, keep toying with the big boys,” Ezekiel chuckled, going back to typing away on his phone. Flynn and Stone glanced at each other, both mildly annoyed, concerned, and a bit in awe of what Ezekiel could do with just his phone.

“Uh, well after we ended up findin’ all that pottery and carvings last week, I couldn’t just let that sit unknown, ya know?” Stone replied, sifting through the books, looking for a specific title.

“I don’t know if they’ll find ‘pot that magically provides any liquid you desire’ very credible,” Flynn said, picking up a book and thumbing through it absentmindedly.

“This ain’t my first paper I’ve written since I came here. I know to leave out stuff like that,” Stone chided, plucking the book out of Flynn’s hands. “I’d like to spend my off day writin’ in peace…”

“Alright, fine. I’ll be doing my own study on…um…farming techniques…in 15th century Japan,” Flynn quipped, looking mildly confused at the words he just said.

Stone gave him a confused look as well. “If that suits your fancy, go right ahead.”

“Well, you have to know more than just art…and history…” Flynn started, heading for the stairs.

“Farming techniques that happened in the 15th century is history,” Stone called after him. Flynn just made an exasperated noise in his defeat at the top of the stairs.

—

Flynn was halfway into a very detailed book on terrace farming and irrigation methods, Stone was a third of the way into his analysis reworking what was a previously unknown style of clay making in Aztec history, and Ezekiel was almost finished digitally breaking into the NSA servers again when the clippings book fluttered on its stand.

Ezekiel was the first to notice, his desk being the closest, and you probably could’ve drove a train through the Annex before Stone would focus on anything outside his little research bubble.

“Uh guys?” Ezekiel said, voice echoing. No one responded. “Guys, I think the clippings book has something for us…STONE!”

Stone jumped in his seat, glaring at Ezekiel. “What?! I’m work-” His eyes caught the clippings book’s movement. “Flynn, we got somethin’ comin’ in,” he called up to the balcony. He waited a moment, listening to just paper shifting, realizing that Flynn was probably just as entranced by his reading. “FLYNN!” Stone shouted, much louder than Ezekiel had been anticipating, making the thief jump a little.

A soft thud, not unlike that of someone accidentally smacking their head on a bookshelf, first answered. “What?!” Flynn shouted back, followed promptly by a solid thud of a hefty book falling on something before hitting the floor. “Ow, what?” Flynn scrambled up to his feet, shoes squeaking under the sudden stress as he practically launched himself at the balcony to see what was happening.

“Clippings book,” Stone said plainly, gesturing to the book.

“Oh, um, alright,” Flynn replied, attempting to look not so flustered by fiddling with his jacket. He spun on his heels, not quite sprinting down the stairs. “What’s it say?”

“Looks like break ins at several museums in Argentina…Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, Juan Carlos Castagnino Municipal Museum of Art, Tigre Municipal Museum of Fine Art, Museum of Latin American Art of Buenos Aires, and Mueso de Arqueologia de Alta Montana de Salta, all hit within two weeks,” Stone said.

“But they weren’t taking any good stuff,” Ezekiel added, looking at the clippings book over Stone’s shoulder. “I’ve been to the ones in Buenos Aires…there’s loads better stuff to get, worth a lot more than the minor works they grabbed.” Stone eyed him, long past arguing about the other values of art besides monetary.

“Sounds like someone’s acquiring inventory to sell on the black market,” Flynn decided.

Ezekiel was unconvinced. “Apparently they don’t intend to break the bank.”

“For one of those, maybe, but all of them together? They’re playin’ the quantity game, not quality. And who knows how much they have already,” Stone explained.

“We need to investigate the break ins. Which was most recently hit?” Flynn asked.

“Looks like Tigre, hit yesterday evening,” Ezekiel said. “What would stealing art have to do with us though?”

“Who knows…maybe the stole something with magical properties, or they already acquired something and this was the Library’s way to get us on their tail…thus why we should investigate in person,” Flynn said, already fiddling with the back door controls.

“Don’t we wanna get Eve and Cassandra?” Stone asked.

Flynn looked up at him, thought about it for a moment, then went back to fiddling with the back door. “We’ll be fine. They deserve a day off…a full day off.”

Ezekiel and Stone glanced at each other; Ezekiel shrugged, not sure if they should or not, so Stone found a clean piece of paper and wrote a note.

Eve, Cassandra, and Jenkins,

Something is going on in Argentina. In case the clippings book changes, someone has been stealing art from several museums, various minor works. We’re going to investigate the most recent burglary at the Tigre Museum. Flynn said you two deserved your day off, and I don’t think anything will happen while we collect information. We’ll probably be back before any of you return.

-Stone

“Come on, door’s ready,” Ezekiel said just as Stone signed his name.

“Alright alright, I’m not gonna leave them completely in the dark of where we went,” Stone quipped, placing the letter in a clear spot on the table. He gave a look to Flynn as he walked to the door; the Librarian knew exactly what the look meant and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Okay, off to Argentina we go,” Flynn said, opening the door and stepping through. The others followed after him.

In Portland, it had been shaping up to be a sunny day, but as they stepped out of the front door of a house next to the museum, they were greeted by a chilly rain. Despite the weather, Stone was like a kid at a candy shop when he saw the ornate architecture on the waterfront. The cold, and their lack of rain gear, didn’t let them linger and admire the columns at the front of the building for long.

Ezekiel started typing on his phone once they stepped inside. He let the two nerd out while he searched the digital inventory of the museum. Once he found useful information, he placed himself in front of the painting the two historians had been geeking out on to get their attention. “Lucky for the thieves, the small sculpture apparently had been taken down to the archive so a grad student could do research,” Ezekiel said, secretly amused by the annoyed looks from Stone and Flynn (Stone was actively trying to look around him without being too obvious).

“Alright, find a staff entrance, and we’ll head down,” Flynn said, mildly distracted again by the painting.

Ezekiel started walking to the door he remembered seeing in the previous room they’d been in, but neither Stone nor Flynn budged. Ezekiel shook his head and sighed, deciding he needed to physically drag them away from the art. “Guys, we need to do this before I turn thirty,” he patronized, feeling like a parent with two obnoxious kids. Flynn and Stone both mumbled something about wanting just a bit more time, not even looking at Ezekiel, so he hooked his arms around each of theirs and forcefully trudged to the hallway.

“Wh-I can walk on my own,” Flynn yelped, his focus finally shattered. He quickly pulled his arm out from Ezekiel’s and strode quickly in the direction he assumed Ezekiel had been going…which was opposite from where Ezekiel was taking them.

Stone took longer to simply extricate his arm, pointedly not looking at Ezekiel. “He does know that the main door was the other way, right?”

“Give him a second,” Ezekiel said, casually leaning against the entryway.

Flynn’s footsteps stopped, turned around with a small squeak on the tile floor, and started back up towards them. “Stairwell is near the entrance.” He walked past them without waiting on them to catch up. Ezekiel gave Stone an amused and knowing glance before following after Flynn.

The simple keypad lock was no match for Ezekiel Jones of course. The three descended the stairs to a lower ceiling-ed hallway with a few doors on each side before it turned right, but they didn’t get much farther than the bottom of the stairs when a lady in a navy pantsuit rounded the corner. Her relaxed posture went managerial when she saw them.

“Who are you and how did you get down here?” she asked in Spanish. Remembering the plane from Venezuela, Stone was going to respond, but Flynn beat him to it.

“We are librarians,” Flynn said, or thought he said with the right inflection to be an incantation. In reality he said something close to “we are the esteemed keepers of books.” The lady looked at him in confusion.

Stone knew he said way too many words for the simple phrase, so he stepped in front of Flynn a bit and said, “Apologies, we are the Librarians.” He’d been practicing saying that phrase in a variety of languages ever since Flynn told him he was using magic; that little skill was a priceless tool they needed when he wasn’t around.

The lady nodded in understanding, relaxing from intimidating to professional. “You must be the visiting librarians from the University of Texas. Come, the archive is this way.” She motioned with her hand for them to walk into the hallway. “Your friend speaks my language like the classics I used to study,” she said to Stone, who mostly understood what she said. Thankfully she went on before he could fumble a response. “You’re early, but that isn’t a problem. You may familiarize yourself with the facilities you will use while here. Dr. Ramos will return in a couple hours.”

She led them around the corner. The hallway didn’t go farther than twenty feet before ending in another door with a keypad. She stopped in front of the first door on their left, opening the unlocked door to reveal a standard looking research room for the items that came to the museum. “The interns must be on their lunch break, but they will be back soon. If you need anything, just ask the front desk upstairs. You can dial 0 on the phone and ask for Ms. Ruiz,” the lady explained, putting a hand to her chest when she said her name.

Stone gave her a warm smile. “Gracias,” he said, trying to sound as genuine as possible. Apparently it was enough to prompt Ms. Ruiz to go back to whatever she’d been doing a moment before; she left the trio in the room with a little wave. “Ok you really need to learn modern Spanish Flynn.”

Flynn held his hands up in defense. “What? Just because my Spanish is more poetic-”

“It’s five hundred years old. You’re talkin’ to them with the Spanish equivalent of Shakespearean English,” Stone quipped. “She may have understood you and thought it was odd, but most people are going to be clueless.”

“Duly noted. Next time I have a few months to my disposal I’ll do an online learning course,” Flynn spat, particularly annoyed.

“Guys. No time to argue about language skills,” Ezekiel said, sighing. Stone looked like he was about to go at it, but visibly restrained himself. “The sculpture was taken from this room, with one exit unless you count the vents. There’s the door at the end of the hall that could go somewhere.”

Flynn switched his focus to the problem at hand. “Considering it happened during hours, they couldn’t just walk out with it.”

“Maybe they disguised themselves as museum employees,” Stone offered as he looked around the room.

“For a large museum, plausible, but for anything with less than fifty or so-” Ezekiel felt something prick the back of his neck. Immediately his hand went to source of the stabbing pain, finding something that felt a whole lot like a dart. It was his fault for having his back to the door. He spun around to find the attacker, but that spin emphasized the fact that they were sedative darts; he careened into a workbench as the world decided to be slanted.

A man in dark clothing filled the doorway, mini crossbow in hand and aimed at the now uncovered Flynn. “Ezekiel? Hey, who are you?” Flynn said, eyes glancing from the wobbly Ezekiel to the intruder.

Stone turned around to see who Flynn was talking to just in time to see Ezekiel collapse and Flynn get a dart square in the forehead. “Not this again…you’re dead meat!” Stone yelled, charging at the man. He had ten foot worth of floor to cover, and he did his best to do it quickly, ducking down to make it harder to hit skin. He took the intruder in a solid tackle, tumbling out into the corridor.

Stone didn’t take into account that darts work just as good in melee range as stabbing weapons. Pain shot up Stone’s arm as the body underneath him stuck a dart into his forearm. “Heh, you gotta do better then that,” Stone growled, socking the man in the jaw.

The man didn’t seem that deterred by the punch. He hooked his leg around Stone’s and flipped them, throwing Stone not very gently into the concrete floor with a thud. “Playin’ dirty now are we?” Stone rumbled, starting to feel a little fuzzy. He fought it off as best as he could to get out of the pinned position he was in, pulling a trick he learned at Shangri-la. Admittedly, a prehensile tail would’ve made it easier, but Stone got his legs bent and twisted his torso as quick as he could, knocking the man’s knees out from underneath him so Stone could give him a taste of his own medicine.

Now free of the extra weight, Stone scrambled to his feet, leaning on the wall for support while he squared up again. Despite knowing how it felt to be sedated via dart, Stone’s vision started blurring as he tried to fight it. “Come and get it,” Stone taunted, except it sounded more like “Cmmmm n ge’ ‘t.”

The man chuckled at Stone, simply lifting the crossbow at him once more and firing a dart straight at his forehead. Stone looked up at the metal cylinder sticking out of his forehead, pulled it out with a grunt, and let it clatter to the floor. “Yynnn…hgnn…” Stone attempted to communicate, but the ground suddenly came up at him in disconcerting speed. Stone made a mental note to ask Jenkins if there was a way to deal with sedatives better before everything went black.

—

Flynn woke up first. The floor was hard, but he was leaned up against something that smelled like musty wood. At the moment his eyes were useless. Wherever they were, it was pitch black, but small, based off the reverb of him clearing his throat. Flynn knew where he was at least; this wasn’t his first time locked in a closet.

Duct tape bound his hands and legs, but they didn’t put him in a position to keep him from undoing his bonds. Having his arms in front of him made it loads easier to stand up using the wall and the crate he’d been leaned against. Finding the door, and subsequently the lightswitch, was the next step.

Said step was hindered when Flynn’s shuffling found something that felt a lot like a body. He kept shuffling around, judging whoever it was to be laying on the concrete floor. A noise, a grunt, that sounded a lot like Stone came from the ground.

“Stone?” he called out to the dark as he continued to feel the wall.

“Hnngh,” Stone replied. Seeing…well hearing that Stone wasn’t quite able to help yet, Flynn focused on his task, finally shuffling enough to feel the rough cinder block change to a wooden doorframe. He ran his bound hands up and down, then went to the other side of the door, finally whacking a little metal box with a switch.

Harsh, bright light from the fluorescent light in the ceiling made them both groan. “Stone? You alright?” Flynn asked, shaking his head while his eyes adjusted.

“I’ll make it,” Stone said, voice croaky. He sat up slowly, using the wall for support. “What is it with closets?” Flynn looked at him; he had to repress the urge to ruffle Stone’s messed up hair while he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Heh, maybe I can bake my way out of this one too,” Flynn chuckled. He kneeled down in front of Stone and started peeling away the tape, making quick work of Stone’s wrist binds.

Stone was not so cheery about their predicament. “Where do ya think they put Ezekiel?” he asked as he undid Flynn’s wrists.

“Well we’re still at the museum, I think, so either they took him someplace else or he’s also locked up somewhere,” Flynn said. They both went about undoing the tape around their legs. “He’ll be fine, he’s Ezekiel Jones.”

Stone freed his legs first and gave Flynn a wary look, but Flynn didn’t seem to pick it up. Once he got the tape off his legs he immediately went to searching the room for anything useful. The small room didn’t have a whole lot to work with: there was the crate Flynn had been against, some collapsed cardboard boxes and crates against the back wall, cobwebs, and dust. Flynn hadn’t been too concerned about getting out until now.

He didn’t even notice he was pacing the small space until Stone called him out. “Would ya quit? You’re kickin’ up dust and wastin’ energy. It’s not gonna keep Ezekiel any safer.”

“I can’t. I need to keep moving,” Flynn explained, pacing for a few moments before he registered the words. He stopped, giving Stone a curious look.

“Well…I mean, it’s not. What? I can have concern about his well-being,” Stone said, defensive under Flynn’s relentless gaze.

“You haven’t voiced it before…” Flynn started, watching him.

“‘Cuz he’s not been alone, like this, since…” Stone trailed off.

“Why can’t he be alone? He’s capable of handling himself,” Flynn countered, confused by Stone’s sudden wariness.

“You didn’t think he was actin’ weird at the super collider facility?” Stone asked.

“I thought he finally decided to show that he cares about us,” Flynn said, not sure why it was significant.

Stone rubbed his face with a hand. “He was terrified of losing us. He thought he was being a hero.”

“He was a hero…” Flynn said.

“He thought he had to be otherwise he’d be reliving his nightmares,” Stone added.

Flynn was further confused. “Nightmares?”

“From the loop when we were at the DARPA facility. He didn’t remember anything until after we returned from Prospero’s dream world he put us in, for whatever reason, and it’s not been easy for him,” Stone explained.

“So he’s got ptsd…and I threw him in danger’s way on a theory,” Flynn sunk down against the wall next across from Stone, color draining from his face.

“That’s not on you, you didn’t know,” Stone attempted to console, knowing it wasn’t going to do much to help.

“How do you know all this? Ezekiel doesn’t talk about stuff like that,” Flynn said, pointedly staring at the concrete floor.

“He…um…told me…” Stone stammered. Flynn looked up at that, waiting for him to continue. “I, after the whole love potion thing with Cindy, I assumed he wasn’t affected because he’d been in love with her, and told him that. He didn’t say anything, but I realized I totally read his body language wrong, and went to apologize, except we got into an argument, and he let something slip.”

“He must trust you, to tell you what he’s experiencing,” Flynn said, not really meaning to insinuate anything, but also trying to test the waters.

“We’re just friends, he doesn’t…he isn’t…well I dunno what he is anyway,” Stone said, trying to say anything revealing but failing. “It’s not like we need to have a thing to be trusting. You’d know that if you didn’t keep running off all the time. You gotta be with people to build trust with them.”

“I was doing important work that had to be done while you all did yours,” Flynn spat back, suddenly defensive again.

“It was sure hard to see you cared when you’d just boss us around or ignore us while you were here,” Stone said, narrowing his eyes at Flynn.

“I’ve changed…I’m working on it, okay? I know now that I was being an ass, and I had my reasons, but it was no excuse,” Flynn exclaimed throwing his hands up. “I’ve always cared, especially for Ezekiel, I just suck at actually conveying it. He trusted me with his life, and I really hadn’t done anything for him to warrant it.”

Stone looked at Flynn, surprised. “He does trust you…he just sucks at showing it too,” Stone said, biting his lip as he thought about what he was going to say. “The nightmares were only of us, at first, but after you about died defeating Apep, he started having them of you too. Really shook him up.”

“He’s actually telling you all this?” Flynn asked, mildly taken aback.

“I…well I kind of made him tell me when he showed up at my door in the middle of the night in a paranoid, half awake state. That’s when I first found out how bad it was,” Stone explained with a shrug. “I had him over, just in case, the night we defeated Apep, which was a good call, ‘cuz that’s when the nightmares involving you started.”

Stone was trying to not show much, but Flynn could easily see how much he cared for Ezekiel. “I’m glad you can be there for him.”

“You can too…I mean it’d mean a lot for him to know that from you,” Stone said.

“I can’t be there for him, not like I’d like,” Flynn said, slumping more against the wall.

Stone looked at him, confused for a moment before realization dawned on his face. “What’d ya mean….oh.” Stone gave Flynn a sympathetic look. “Didn’t know you…”

“That I’m bi? Well there’s a lot we don’t know about each other, that we probably would’ve learned if I hadn’t been running on my own. Besides, it wouldn’t work anyway. I’m too old, too independent and such. There was a whole intervention and all,” Flynn said, waving a hand in front of him while he talked.

“To be fair, I don’t think he cares about age too much,” Stone added with a smirk before he realized what he said. “Uh, I mean, well he’s done some things that make me think, but he’s never explicitly said anythin’ about it-”

“So you are…a thing?” Flynn asked, trying to get Stone to be clear about it.

“No…well…maybe. He’s never said exactly, but it’s more than just being there for him when he needs it,” Stone said. Flynn gave him a look, eyebrows raised. “No…not like that, God Flynn I’m not taking advantage of him.”

Flynn put his hands up in defense. “I wasn’t, I didn’t mean, I was just trying to figure out what you meant,” Flynn stammered. “I mean the age remark made me think you were attempting to hint at me to go for it and I wasn’t sure because that’d be a horrible thing to screw up over miscommunication and I wouldn’t want to ruin whatever you two have going on-”

“Flynn, it’s alright, I just overreacted a bit,” Stone interjected, looking at Flynn with a mix of pity and affection. “I guess, I kinda was? I dunno, I’m not the one to be suggestin’ anythin’ like that for him, it didn’t come out right.”

“Okay, makes sense. Though for you to imply that I should, uh, see what’s there, while you at least are definitely doing something anyway…not that there’s anything wrong with relationships like that, but it’d make more sense if it was mutual all around, and I can only speak for myself,” Flynn sort of explained, attempting to stick his toe in the water.

Stone bit his lip again, this time not a look of contemplation. “Well…”

The door suddenly swung open, startling the two out of their conversation. Ezekiel stood in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear with some cuts and bruises, but was keeping it together. “You didn’t even try to escape? What were you doing, having a heart to heart before you died?” Ezekiel joked, completely oblivious.

“Um, n…no,” Stone sputtered, scrambling to his feet. “We didn’t have anythin’ to get us out with. ‘S Not like we could break out with crate pieces.” Ezekiel gave him a look, mainly curious, before stepping out of the way to let the two leave.

Flynn looked mildly guilty for a moment, though why Ezekiel had no clue. “When it comes to escaping, you take the hat,” Flynn said to Ezekiel, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here, before they realize we’re gone.”

The three sprinted down the hallway and back up the stairs, no dangerous looking people around. The main museum floor had groups and individuals here and there, staff members giving tours, and thankfully a lack of anyone in all black with considerable muscle mass armed with mini crossbows or other unfriendly weapons.

Outside had more people than before; the rain had stopped, the cloud blanket broken into chunks floating lazily through the sky. Flynn bent down and felt the concrete. “How long were we in there?”

Ezekiel patted his pockets uselessly. “They knew enough to clean me out…only had my phone and wallet on me, not that any of it would do them good,” he said, mildly annoyed.

Stone searched the sky for the sun, waiting until it peaked through a break in the clouds. “I’m no Cassandra, but I think it’s a little past noon, give or take an hour, which means we were out for at least an hour down there.”

“Okay, not too much time lost. We need to find wherever they’re keeping the items they’ve stolen,” Flynn decided, looking around for inspiration of where to go next. “The street behind the museum, perfect place to keep a car.”

“Are you suggesting we tail them on foot?” Ezekiel said, looking at Flynn like he thought he was insane.

“Well…no…but we need to follow them,” Flynn said, walking to the street anyway.

Stone and Ezekiel followed after him. “I can’t exactly call a car, so what do you intend to do?” Ezekiel asked.

“I don’t know yet-” Flynn started, cutting himself off as they rounded the corner of the building.

A commercial van was parked down the road, complete with not so nice looking muscle, including the one who had attacked them earlier. Apparently they were not happy with the attacker’s poor job of containing the Librarians; a more imposing man was berating him, based on body language, but they were too far away to hear what was being said. Someone in the van must have said something to draw the larger man’s attention to inside the vehicle for a moment. He then looked back at the attacker, said some final comment, then got into the passenger seat while the attacker fumbled with the back door of the van and climbed in.

Flynn looked behind himself at Ezekiel. “You can hotwire a car, right?”

“Uh, duh, of course I can,” Ezekiel said in a mocking tone, as the van started to drive off. Ezekiel immediately went for the closest car, trying the handle.

“I don’t think we should…” Stone started, but Ezekiel was already behind the wheel of the conveniently unlocked car, fiddling with wires.

“No time Stone, this is our only shot,” Flynn explained, getting in the passenger seat. “Plus, we’ll return it, we’re not horrible people. Come on, get in!” With a huff, Stone got in the back seat, and the trio sped off after the van.

Turns out Ezekiel driving is a terrifying experience. Oh sure, they caught up to the van alright, following it straight to an industrial park in a not so safe part of Buenos Aires. They just happened to do it at horribly unsafe speeds in congested traffic, and somehow came out of it completely unscathed.

The worn down wearhouse wasn’t heavily guarded. Besides the van that just arrived, only two other people in the facility. Being the sneaky thief he was, Ezekiel got them in a locked back door. Being a good distraction, Flynn spooked the muscle, did some running, while Stone and Ezekiel found their stash and searched for anything magical. On a hunch, Stone picked the likely objects and had Ezekiel get them all out while he assisted Flynn in distracting (it involved getting revenge for being sedated with a lot of painful moves he picked up in Shangri-La, and some good old punching). With another stomach churning drive a la Ezekiel, the trio returned the car to its spot on the street outside the museum. Transporting the items proved mildly difficult, making Stone the packhorse so they didn’t have to make multiple trips.

Once they returned to the Annex, thankfully still empty, Stone carefully placed the various sculptures, old tools, and earthenware down on the ever-cluttered main table. Flynn and Ezekiel placed their items down as well.

“So…which one is it?” Ezekiel said, looking at the table with eyebrows raised.

“I’m not sure, but it won’t take me long to find out,” Flynn said, already starting to look over the nearest item, a little painted pot.

Stone was completely ignoring the mass of artifacts on the table, his eyes solely on Ezekiel. The thief had been a bit on edge after Stone and Flynn jumped in the car. Though he’d been hiding it well, Stone learned how to pick it up. He walked over to Ezekiel, tapping him on the elbow to get his attention, then nodded towards the doors that led off into the other parts of the Library.

“I’m gonna clean up,” Stone announced, heading out the doors. “You probably should too, Ezekiel, just to be safe.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ezekiel said, attempting to not be too fussed about the somewhat battered state of his body, but he dropped it once he saw that Flynn was solely focused on the items in front of him.

Stone waited until they got to the bathroom before he said anything. “How ya holdin’ up?”

Ezekiel glanced at him in the mirror as he washed the cuts on his face. “Oh, could be worse. No breakdown or anything. They, uh, knew me, or my old reputation anyway. Got cocky when they ‘captured’ me, being overly forceful, but that also meant I lifted the cuff keys off them easy.”

“How rough?” Stone asked, putting antibiotic cream on the scrapes he got from the first fight.

Ezekiel shrugged, a tell he was trying to keep it together. “They had their fun. It worked out in the end, that’s what matters.” Stone eyed him, waiting for him to open up. Ezekiel caught Stone’s eyes, and after a few moments he half sighed in defeat, hissing a bit when pain flared up. “They might have kicked me a few times in the side, or slammed me against something, while I was out. That’s what hurts most.”

“Okay. Shirt off then,” Stone said. Ezekiel gawked at him a bit. “I’m not gonna let ya have a broken rib heal wrong because you didn’t think it was important to tell me.”

“Fine. Don’t go getting any ideas, cowboy,” Ezekiel teased, trying to joke. He pulled his shirt over his head fairly gingerly, turning to see the side that hurt in the mirror. A bruise was forming at his bottom rib, about the size of his hand. “Oh…”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing to hide,” Stone said, lightly touching the skin above the bruise. Ezekiel hissed in pain, but didn’t say anything while Stone surveyed the injury.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it. I just didn’t feel it for awhile,” Ezekiel explained. He gave a little bitter chuckle that almost turned into a sob. “Perks of going into combat mode I guess.”

“Well I don’t think it’s broken, just bruised. Definitely should ice it though, and take some painkillers if it’s botherin’ you,” Stone decided, still keeping a watchful eye on Ezekiel. “Anythin’ ya need to talk about?”

Ezekiel inhaled slowly, biting his lip. Stone waited patiently, for him to speak. “When I first woke up, and you and Flynn weren’t there…for a second I thought they killed you-” Ezekiel’s voice faltered.

Stone’s hand went to the side of Ezekiel’s face on impulse. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here, alive,” Stone soothed.

Ezekiel’s eyes widened a bit, his breath catching in his throat. Without warning he flung himself at Stone, hissing at the contact but hugging him tightly. Stone made sure to avoid his tender side, using that arm to stroke the back of Ezekiel’s head. Stone felt his neck grow wet, but Ezekiel made no noise, and was probably trying not to breathe too erratically.

“I know…it’s just the ptsd, but it…really sucks,” Ezekiel said into the crook of Stone’s neck.

“You made it through, that’s what matters. And we got the artifact, probably,” Stone said.

Ezekiel savored the hug a bit more then pulled away, not quite releasing his grip on Stone. “Why’d you two look so startled when I found you?”

Stone looked away, face flushing of its own accord. “We were, uh, talking, about a lot of things,” he mumbled.

“Did you tell him…that’s why he looked guilty,” Ezekiel said rather calmly, realization on his face.

Stone had been expecting him to be mad about talking about it; he met Ezekiel’s gaze with mild surprise. “It kinda slipped, after I woke up and you weren’t there I was worried.”

Ezekiel smiled at him endearingly. “You did tell him that I didn’t blame him for the werewolf thing, that I did it on my own.”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean he can’t feel bad though,” Stone replied. “You’re not mad I told him?”

The thief glanced away for a moment, thinking, before looking back to Stone. “I thought I would be, but I dunno, he didn’t treat me any different, which was what I was afraid of in the first place.”

“He cares a lot, ya know, they all do,” Stone said. It wasn’t the first time he’d said that to Ezekiel, but now it felt a little different, more like “here’s proof they’ll love you just the same.”

Ezekiel touched his forehead to Stone’s…not something he’d done before. “One person at a time, but hey, I’m getting there apparently.”

Stone chuckled at him, but stayed fairly still, letting Ezekiel be in control of the situation. For awhile they just stayed there, looking into each other’s eyes, the strong scent of the antibiotic ointment on Ezekiel’s cuts pungent, the soft sound of their forcefully steadied breathing, the background hum of the Library from whatever did that filling everything else. Then, after what felt like years debating if he should or not in his head, Ezekiel closed the distance between them.

Five minutes earlier…

Flynn barely registered them walking off. There were a lot of items to check on the table in front of him…and he had no clue what exactly he was looking for. Since it would take hours to search the Library’s information to find anything useful, he decided to just do it by feel.

“Old-fashioned way’s gonna have to work,” he said aloud, grabbing the next item, a small sculpture of a warrior. “Any object imbued with magic has a special feel, the magic that it gives off naturally like an odor.” He put the statue back down, unsatisfied, and reached for a pot. “If you know to look for it, you can pick it out, even if you don’t know what type of magic exactly. Of course over the past decade I’ve handled loads of magical objects, so I should be able to pick up on it easily.”

The pot didn’t do anything for him either, so he sat it back down and reached for the stone hilt of a dagger that someone had stuck in a pot to carry. Only then did he look up to see that he was not informing anyone. “I guess Stone was talking about going somewhere then. Oh well-” Flynn sucked in a breath when he pulled the dagger out of the pot. The hilt was a smooth, grey stone, but the blade was sharpened obsidian. “Well hello there, magical dagger with probably not great to think about properties. You need to come with me.” He looked to the pile of artifacts on the table, most untouched. “As for the rest of you, you’re free to go today. I’ll be right back.”

Flynn took the dagger to the first magical artifacts wing to find a spot for it. Sure, there was the whole new modern artifacts wing, but this wasn’t modern at all; though Stone could date it better by looking at it, Flynn guessed it had to be several hundred years old easily. Eventually he found a little nook just wide enough for the dagger to lay diagonally.

By now Flynn remembered the dirt and grime on his face and decided to go clean it off. Going to the artifacts wing actually put him closer to the bathroom than he was from the Annex. Something in the back of his mind told him that Stone and Ezekiel had gone there earlier, so he figured they were probably on their way back to the Annex now.

Flynn found out quite quickly that they had not left yet. His voice didn’t work at first, but after a second he managed an “Oh…”

Ezekiel pulled away much more violently than Stone did. “Uh, didn’t mean to hog the bathroom,” Stone said, voice a bit rougher than it had been just a moment ago.

“No it’s fine,” Flynn responded automatically, awkwardly blocking the doorway. A glance to the mirror explained why Ezekiel wasn’t wearing a shirt. Ezekiel swiped at his eyes, attempting to get his back against the wall it seemed. The sight twinged something in Flynn’s chest. “I’m…I’m really sorry.”

Ezekiel looked at him, his body language more defensive than he actually felt, not that Flynn knew how to read that. “You didn’t know, it’s fine,” Ezekiel mumbled.

“I know, but it wasn’t… I could’ve been a lot better, more understanding, more here. Um, I just wanted to say…I, well, you don’t have to be alone. I mean I know you have Stone, but I…I’m here for you too,” Flynn stammered, not really sure where he was going.

Relaxing slightly, Ezekiel forced himself off the wall. He was a little bit in shock, not that he hadn’t believed Stone earlier, but actually hearing Flynn say it was a whole different thing.

Flynn was apparently not done rambling. “I had an epiphany of sorts, realizing just how much I’d closed everyone off, though I didn’t get much of a chance to do anything about it till after you guys took down Apep. It wasn’t fair to any of you, but you all stuck around anyway, and I can’t thank you enough for that.” He started getting more animated, walking into the bathroom not really suited for three grown men, which put him quite close to Ezekiel. “And you, you went through a lot for all of us, and we didn’t even know how much you hurt, both before you joined the Library and after you saved them. I know you’re good at hiding it, but I’ll still kick myself for a long time because I wasn’t around long enough to learn how you express how you feel, and completely missed it at the super collider…”

Ezekiel had started crying again, not really of his own accord, mostly it was just a lot to process the words coming out of Flynn’s mouth. “Flynn…”

“…And knowing that me putting myself in harm’s way gave you nightmares, not that I had much of a choice, it…I’m so sorry…” Flynn paused, holding the side of Ezekiel’s face like Stone had earlier. Ezekiel’s eyes went wide, first at Flynn then at Stone. Flynn followed Ezekiel’s look, giving his own “should I?” look to Stone.

“It’s your call, you tell him,” Stone said with a shrug.

Flynn looked back to Ezekiel. “I care a lot, for you…though it might not have seemed like it. I didn’t want to say anything, I didn’t know how you…felt…which again was my fault for not being around enough to actually, really get to know you…or the others. Um, heh, I guess what I’m trying to say is…I don’t want you to be alone, not when I…we’re around-”

Ezekiel cut off Flynn’s rambling with a kiss. Stone had to restrain himself from laughing at Flynn’s shocked face. After listening to flynn ramble twice, it was a pretty satisfying sight to see. Once they pulled apart, Ezekiel looked pretty pleased with himself as he took in Flynn’s dazed face.

“So, you guys actually were having a heart to heart in the closet,” Ezekiel said with a satisfied laugh. Stone shrugged. “I mean it’s not like you were doing anything else in there…you weren’t, right?”

Flynn glanced over at Stone, finally out of his daze. “Should we tell him about all the wild, passionate lovemaking we did?” he suggested, somehow completely with a straight face.

Stone wasn’t so good at keeping a straight face, partially for the images that popped up in his head. “Oh yeah…uh, definitely wild for sure,” he tried to say normally, but his voice didn’t cooperate.

Before he could respond, Ezekiel’s stomach growled loudly. Stone and Flynn looked at him, mildly surprised by the volume. “What, it’s been awhile since breakfast,” Ezekiel said. “While watching you two do…whatever it is you’re doing is hilarious, I’m starving.”

“Food sounds good…though I think most restaurants have a required shirt and shoe policy,” Flynn said, not really being subtle about where his eyes were wandering. Ezekiel caught it, cheeks getting a little red.

“Yeah…well I’d rather eat with someone who didn’t look like he used his face to clean the floor,” Ezekiel quipped back, at little weaker than he intended. Flynn raised his eyebrows at him before he glanced at himself in the mirror.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I was coming here for, to fix that,” Flynn said, moving to the sink. “Okay so once we get cleaned up, then we go eat.”

“Works for me,” Stone replied, hooking his arm around Ezekiel’s. “Come on, let’s go get you a shirt that’s easier to put on.”

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” Flynn shouted from the bathroom as they left.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ezekiel replied, smirking at Stone as they walked into the Library. It wasn’t a day any of them had anticipated, but none of them would have traded it for the world.

—–

Post notes: Basically expect any fic involving Ezekiel in the canon universe to involve his ptsd from now on if it works in the story. Apparently I can’t get the theory out of my head or my writing.

As far as Evlynn, well we’ll just pretend it’s not there for now so my brain can quit worrying about making ships work perfectly. Maybe it’s Ceve instead, though Castrella tends to win out on that.

#ezekiel jones #flynn carsen #flynn writes #flynn/ezekiel/jake #jacob stone #librariansshipathon #ptsd #shipathon17 #the librarians #the librarians fic #the librarians shipathon #flytsweek

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boredout305 · 7 years ago

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George D. Henderson (The Puddle) Interview, Part Two

Cover of the 2017 And Band/Perfect Strangers reissue.

Ryan: How did the And Band/Perfect Strangers (1982) split EP come about?

George: We moved down to Christchurch. Bill Vosburgh was living down there and we were looking to get out of Wellington. We ended up living with a band called The Perfect Strangers in their practice room, which was Bill and his friends; they practiced at their house. We bought another tape recorder and started recording stuff. At some point, we thought, “Well, we could actually put a record out if we hired a good tape recorder like a Revox.” We found a place that could do that. Susan’s parents lent us some money to hire it. We made some recordings—one side from us (And Band), the other side from Perfect Strangers. It was a 33 1/3 RPM record. It just kind of worked out. We didn’t necessarily put our best material on it. It was what we were doing at the time. The Perfect Strangers stuff isn’t typical of them at all, I think. There was some exceptional stuff Bill was working on at that time. It was more of a freeform, free-jazz thing they wanted to do on the record.

Ryan: Didn’t Roger Shepherd and Roy Montgomery work at the EMI record shop in Christchurch? Did you take the EP to them to sell in the store?

George: No, I think we just gave it to our friends. I don’t think we could have gotten it into a record shop. It was just being sent around the country to people we knew who were asking for it. Some of them might have paid us, but I don’t think money had a lot to do with that. I don’t remember hearing it had been sold to any shops.

Ryan: I knew the original pressing was of a small quantity, but it’s rarer than I thought.

George: Yes. At that stage, we were part of some big underground network and we weren’t connected to anything official, and we didn’t trust those people.

Ryan: Stu Kawowski (Axemen, Above Ground) and Steve McCabe (Axemen) both told me how influential the And Band and Perfect Strangers Rotunda gig was to them and others in the Christchurch scene. Do you remember that show?

George: That show was later into our period in Christchurch. By this time, Mark was singing with Perfect Strangers which he hadn’t started out doing. He was singing with us too, and we had lost Richard Sedger. We were a three-piece then: Susan, me and Mark. Mark with the Perfect Strangers was more of a high-powered, rock-n-roll machine. He was a great rock ‘n’ roll singer. Their songs became more riff based. The Rotunda gig was just us looking for free shows. We were likely chucked out of the pubs we were playing at. The Art Center might have thrown us out as well. We were looking for any venue that would have us. The folks who showed up to the Rotunda gig—a lot of them we’re still friends with today.

Ryan: Did the And Band wind down when you and Susan had a child?

George: Yes. It was kind of winding down anyways. I didn’t feel like playing music as much. I didn’t really like Christchurch. Things hadn’t worked out the way I wanted them to. Susan and I went to Dunedin to have our child, Emmie. We ended up moving outside of town on the harbor. I remember recording some music out there, but I didn’t have any ambition with music at that stage. One night, I was listening to the radio and they started playing the Chills; songs off the Dunedin Double EP (June 1982). I thought, “This sounds like Syd Barrett. And they’re playing it on the radio. Maybe the time is right for me again.” Eventually, I started going into town and seeing these bands and getting to know the people in them. I especially got to know Peter Gutteridge and Ross Jackson. Ross had never played bass, but because we were hanging out a lot I taught him how to play so we could do some songs together. The Puddle slowly formed around me and Ross. The real coup was getting Lesley Paris in the band to drum, because she was a reliable, good drummer. She made the whole thing sound viable, so I started writing songs again.

The Puddle at Christchurch Technical College, 1985. Photo by Stuart Page.

Ryan: You always put together good bands, but that early version of the Puddle had some amazing members: Lesley Paris and Norma O’Malley from Look Blue Go Purple, Peter Gutteridge, Lindsay Maitland and Ross Jackson.

George: It was great. I’d like to think that they liked my songs which is why I was able to get them in the group. There were some other people involved early on before that lineup stabilized. For some early demos, Bill Vosburgh played drums. Later on, we did a one-off gig with Shayne Carter on drums and that was the first really good gig that we played. Ian (Henderson) played drums once as well early on.

Ryan: I really like Peter Gutteridge. You both seemed to have some things in common and similar sensibilities. What was working with Peter in the early Puddle like?

George: I think I met Peter through Ross. They had non-musical interests in common. We’d hang out with Peter a lot. He was interested in the same things we were—not having a job and going on long walks. Peter liked experimenting with sound as well as writing stuff. At one stage I kind of briefly joined the Great Unwashed. Before I started the Puddle, Pete had joined the Great Unwashed. He joined up with the Kilgour brothers again and Ross Humphries played bass. About the time they put out their EP, they played Christchurch and I sat in with them for one of their gigs. Then David left; he didn’t want to finish the tour. I think they were getting too big for him. The band wanted to finish the tour, so they asked me if I wanted to take over for David for a bit. Those were pretty big shoes to fill, but I gave it a go. I played the last couple of gigs with them. That was the first experience Peter and I had of playing music together. Pete was keen on playing keyboards. I couldn’t play the keyboards in my band because I was playing guitar. I got him to do it. Pete toured with us in early ’85. That’s the version of the band that got recorded (on Pop Lib). He played quite a few gigs with us. Later on, he started playing guitar. Pete actually played some of his future Snapper songs with us. They were sort of proto-Snapper songs. He was developing them before he left us to form the group. We would discuss experimental ways of making sounds and recording. Pete was frustrated because he was more into the sound of that. I’m the kind of guitarist that won’t even bother with an effects pedal if I think I can get by without one. I don’t even know what the settings on my amp are. As long as I can hear it properly, I don’t even want to mess with it. Pete was the exact opposite. He was more interested in the texture of sound. We drifted into two different camps eventually.

Ryan: You got the Puddle going in about ’83, correct?

George: We started the band in ’83, but it got going in ’84; we started playing live that year. We recorded (Pop Lib) in 1985. Lindsay died in either 1986 or 1987. We were taking too many drugs, the guys in the band anyway. We lost Lesley and Norma because we were so unreliable. By the end of the ‘80s, we ended up with a few different drummers. I went to prison for a short while around 1990. I was walking into labs and getting ether which I was really into; chemist shops as well. I got caught and it made me refocus my ambition on getting the Puddle together as a pop group. I wanted to make a focused, non-experimental album, if you know what I mean. Around this time, the start of the 1990s, you got dance culture in rock music. I could relate to that. I understood that stuff. I was listening to Prince before other folks in Dunedin were. I knew what needed to be done. I started up a band that had the old elements of the Puddle, but it had a relaxed feel around things. We got some good players in on that band. We released a single on Flying Nun and we recorded the album Songs for Emily Valentine that was released later (recorded in 1992, the album came out on Powertool Records in 2006). That was our most commercial period I would say.

Ryan: What was your relationship with Flying Nun like? Obviously, you had a connection with Lesley Paris. It seemed like she was the person responsible for singing all the good acts after the Mushroom buyout.

George: Thanks to having Lesley in the band we were able to get our albums released. I don’t think they would have been otherwise. They weren’t released on Flying Nun’s main catalog; if you look at our catalog numbers, they got their own set of numbers apart from the label’s main series. That was fine by us! God bless them, because we never would have had records out had they not pressed them. On the other hand, kind of dealing with them was really frustrating. They were an indie label; they really didn’t know how to make money or market stuff. So when we started doing material that was commercial, that would have been worth promoting, they didn’t have a clue what to do with it. It felt like we had something more commercial at the time than anything else they were doing, and I mean that in the right way, and Flying Nun did nothing with it. It’s the dilemma of the indie label.

Ryan: On that note, the “Thursday” single you released in 1993 was exceptional pop. It was your last Flying Nun release and I think one of your strongest songs from that period.

George: I think so. We had an album of that stuff, but we couldn’t get them interested in it.

Ryan: Into the Moon (1992) was great. I realize it has Pop Lib on it, but the new material, like “Everything Alright,” is exceptional.

George: That’s the best album from that period. What we’re doing there is a live set that we played a lot. We were very familiar with the songs. They were songs that worked well live that we recorded.

Ryan: Was it the lack of enthusiasm from Flying Nun that caused the Puddle to lay dormant for over a decade?

George: No. It was always hard keeping a band together when not enough people were coming to the gigs. People hadn’t heard the records. It was never a problem in Dunedin, but if we went on tour it would be a problem. People didn’t really know about us in the rest of the country. In Dunedin, we had a following and a reputation.

I got sick with Hep C. I had a drug habit. I didn’t feel particularly creative for years at a time again. It was typical of me. I do stuff in spurts. I’m motivated and enthusiastic about the possibilities of what I’m doing, and once I’ve done that I’m not going to keep repeating myself. It was a bit of all of that. It was a combination of being sick at the time, but I had also played out what I was trying to do.

In the mid-‘90s I was in a band called Mink. It was sort of a techno-pop group that would do maybe a third of their stuff with my songs. I had that outlet for my songs. I was writing stuff that wouldn’t necessarily fit in with a rock group. There were a variety of different musicians in Mink.

By the end of the ‘90s, I had fallen out of music. I wasn’t really well enough to play. In the early 2000s, I started getting my shit together. I was getting healthy. I started playing with Ross (Jackson) again and the drummer from Mink, Heath Te Au. We started playing live again, playing well I thought. One night we were playing at this place called Chick’s Hotel (in Dunedin) and a woman came up and introduced herself. I had known her earlier in the ‘90s. We clicked. She ended up doing the cover art for our next record. The very next day, I got a phone call from someone we played with back in the ‘80s, a guy named Richard Steele, who said, “I really want to make a record. Do you want to record an album for me?” Two life-changing things happened to me within a day of each other. We ended up making the album that became Playboys in the Bush (released in 2010). It was the first really proper studio recording that I had done. We recorded that in 2005.

Ryan: I noticed on Playboys in the Bush you recorded a song (“Purple Horse”) Lindsay Maitland wrote.

George: In the old days of the And Band and the Spies I wasn’t really a lyricist. I didn’t write many of my own lyrics and the ones that I did weren’t particularly great. I’d steal lyrics from whomever I could. The people around me were wittier than I was and I’d take their poems and put them to music. I might’ve chipped in with lines here and there. The gist of “Purple Horse” I wrote in the days of the And Band. Lindsay was in the room and he contributed those lines. I never finished the song until the Playboys in the Bush session. I liked the idea and I wanted to finish it. They’re Lindsay’s lyrics finished much later. Like a lot of musicians, I keep the old stuff locked into my memory. Some of the contributions are from people who have passed.

After working with Richard Steele, I started recording with Ian (Henderson) because he had a studio as well. That was the No Love, No Hate album (2007) and The Shakespeare Monkey (2009). We revived The Puddle in the 2000s.

Ryan: You got really productive.

The New Existentialists, 2015. Photo by Hayley Theyers.

George: I did. I felt like I had wasted all this time. There is a lot to catch up on. I felt younger and full of energy. I enjoy playing again. It’s something that always goes well now, but that wasn’t always the case. I was traveling down to Dunedin to play with the Puddle and the other guys were traveling up here to Auckland to tour. I just thought, “I really need a band in Auckland.” I met these two young guys, Nathan (Bycroft) and Jamey (Holloway). We formed the New Existentialists. We got a little help from Chris Heazlewood of King Loser on synthesizer. We recorded an album a couple of years ago, and you got your hands on part of that (2017’s “Elton John/Mysteries of the Worm” 7” on Spacecase).

Ryan: I was pleased to see Chris on the track. I really like Cash Guitar, King Loser and Olla. Of course, he played in Snapper as well.

George: That’s right. The circle remains unbroken. What we’ve got now is a power-trio and it sounds like a power-trio should. But I’m not a flash lead player. I wanted to hear other sounds. Chris has this random synthesizer sound to throw in there. It’s like an Eno touch. Some of the great ‘70s bands, like Hawkwind, Amon Duul II, and Pere Ubu, had synthesizer players that were not really musicians. They put this electronic sound into the music. It’s not necessarily going along with the arrangements at all. I was looking for something like that.

Ryan: You’ve got the Puddle and the New Existentialists going. What’s on the horizon, George?

George: I want to do some shows to promote the single and put out a full-length with the New Existentialists. I’ve got two records worth of material. The album you pulled some tracks from is a tribute to the music that I listened to in the ‘70s. It might sound that way only to me, but the idea was to put music on it that could’ve only been made in the mid-‘70s. It wasn’t to have any form of styling or sound that was new after punk hit. It was the theme for the record. It was about hard rock before funk got into it. The earliest reference in it is to the Beatles and the newest reference is to the New York Dolls.

Ryan: In a way, the record is a reference to all the left-of-the-dial music you were listening to in Invercargill when you formed your first band (Crazy Ole and the Panthers) with your brother. You mention “Detroit punks” in one of the songs.

George: It is. A lot of that came from just reading the NME. We didn’t even necessarily have the records they were writing about. I could really relate to the prose—the myth people like Charles Shaar Murray were creating about the records.

George D. Henderson, 2017. Photo by Hayley Theyers.

#george d henderson #the puddle #the great unwashed #the new existentialists #interviews #flying nun #peter gutteridge

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filmista · 8 years ago

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Pleasantville

Pleasantville is considered one of the most powerful and beautiful films of all time, I just happened to come across it recently as I was looking at some of Reese Witherspoon’s films.

After I had seen it, I could definitely see how it became one of the alleged most powerful films of all time, It’s message still resonates and speaks volumes about contemporary society. As it explores intolerance in different matters.

And while it certainly isn’t without It’s few flaws, I didn’t particularly care about them, as the film’s acting and It’ s gorgeous aesthetic more than make up for it, it truly treats us to beautiful visuals.

Pleasantville focuses on a brother and a sister, we initially start out in your average suburban American house in the 90’s. The sister who has recently gained in popularity has a date with a jock.

Meanwhile, the brother is preparing for a Pleasantville marathon, good old clean fun and 50’s family values, apparently, nice for an afternoon every now and again but certainly not forever which is exactly what happens here.

Brother and sister coincide in the living room, a fight over the remote control breaks lose, finally the remote falls on the ground and is irreparably broken.

Soon after, a mysterious mechanic offers his services. As they are watching tv, they accidentally push a button they shouldn’t have pushed and end up getting sucked in the programme, prepare for a sickeningly sweet, partly black and white 50’s suburban nightmare.

Perfect at first sight, you get a very hearty breakfast in the morning, that you are not allowed to not finish, bacon, pancakes with maple syrup, as in quantities that would under any normal circumstances guarantee a trip to the nearest hospital.

A crazy diner where the local teens meet up after school, to have their milkshakes and make plans to go to Lover’s Lane, where they subsequently only hold hands and do some very indecent kissing.

The siblings are in a television programme, the people in it, only know said the world and don’t have much of a free will, all their actions have been previously scripted and they never stop to consider doing something differently, this is the sibling turn up.

As it turns out, they can’t leave the town, as it simply ends and starts again after Main Street and Elm Street, they can never read a book for fun, as the pages are without written words, the houses don’t have king size or queen size beds, they don’t need them, as no one knows what sex is.

Until Mary Sue goes out with a local boy and has sex with him, who’s surprised when he gets an erection, and thinks he’s sick, she tells him It’s supposed to happen, funny but also quite tragic.

As the guy drives home, he spots a single red rose amongst the black and white, he has felt emotions and feelings that weren’t scripted, that were completely his own.

It’s the first indication that change is on its way. Later on, Mary Sue explains to her fictional mother what sex is, the mother says “your father would never do that”, Mary Sue tells her that she can have fun without him.

And here is when one of the most visually impressive sequences in the film takes place. The mother takes a bath and touches herself, soon the whole bathroom erupts in colour, and at the exact moment that she has an orgasm, the nearest tree catches fire.

Symbolising that change, a revolution is on its way. Soon all the housewives are asking their husbands for double beds, and don’t always have dinner ready on time anymore, they now leave instructions by the oven.

The people start to have free will, the owner of the local hamburger restaurant, doesn’t see the point in making hamburgers day after day anymore, he starts to paint, other starts to read, and very soon as the people mentally shift and become more liberal and free spirited, they begin to appear in colour.

But there comes a turning point when the coloured people clash with the noncolored people, signs with no coloureds allowed begin to appear.

It all starts when the owner of the hamburger restaurant, paints Betty Parker (the fictional mother of the siblings) naked, a woman he’s clearly in love with, and she seems to be in love with him also.

As he’s much more loving, kinder and respectful of her than her husband, where her husband shames her for now being coloured, he tells her she’s beautiful and to not hide it.

The next day some of the townspeople see the painting of naked Betty, on the diner’s window, and while It’s beautiful and very clearly art. The people are shocked and outraged, apparently bare breasts are corrupting and make people lose it.

Pretty soon their prudishness leads them to destroy the whole diner, the more conservative, proud black and whites turn against the coloureds, they burn books and make a whole set of rules (you could see it as metaphors for racism and fascism).

Everyone has to return to being dull, unwilled, passionless, prudish robots that lack any sense of individualism, the town begins to resemble a fascist regime closely, though eventually it does all end well.

But in the meantime, the film does explore many interesting subjects, such as the dangers of excessive prudishness, of punishing people for creativity and individuality, of the dangers of excessive want for order and control.

Some stuff has to be regulated, I think most people would agree with that, but if people become unhappy, intolerant, hateful and mindlessly and blindly obeying to authority It’s dangerous, as it can lead to everything for the law mentality, in which the law is even above human rights and human life. The film tells us about and instills all this in is along with beautiful cinematography.

But as beautiful as the film, It’s truly pleasant to watch, It’s a film that takes you on a visual and emotional journey. If the acting had been lesser, the film would have dropped to a lesser level.

Luckily this is not the case and we're treated to a cast with great chemistry that delivers powerful and passionate performances, performances that allow you to invest in the characters and their story.

Reese Witherspoon who I love and (she’s been my favourite actress since I consciously remember watching films) affectionately call “chameleon Witherspoon” due to her ability to brilliantly transform into different characters.

She once again shined. Here she was still quite young, but even in her younger years, she never really managed to show inexperience or not convincingly portray a character assigned to her.

She’s natural, charismatic, looks like she’s having while she acts and turns in a strong and consummate performance, she manages to make us care about her character and convincingly shows us the transformation she experiences.

But as much as I like Witherspoon’s performance, so far I’ve never really disliked any of her roles, even if the film in question was on the lousy side, she always remains utterly, unflinchingly, elegant and convincing.

Her performance here is not one of my favourites, simply because I know that she’s capable of more, but it can’t be denied that she shined in what she was allowed to do here.

The film is filled with good performances, some a little more cliche and less developed, they’re roles that don’t really allow the actors room for showing off their acting range, as they’re stereotypes, but nonetheless the actors put their best foot forward and make the best out of their roles.

My favourite performances are Joan Allen and Jeff Daniels as Betty Parker and the diner owner. They’re both some of the only, genuinely kind warm and romantic people in the town.

They’re people with a distinct personality, that appears when the siblings arrive, they adapt so wonderfully and thrive in their happiness in such a delightful way that you can’t help but think that they may have become different on their own, even if the siblings hadn’t arrived.

They’re two characters that are so sympathetic and sweet natured that you can’t help but fall in love with them, and they have such realistic feeling chemistry together, that you can’t help but support them through and through.

The scene where the diner owner wipes off Betty’s B&W makeup is in my view one of the most beautiful scenes between any couple, It’s such a heartfelt, you’re almost forced to feel something.

You genuinely care about these people, and want them together, when I discovered that Betty posed for him I I thought hell yeah these people are more alive than anyone in the town!

Also, he painted her because he finally embraces his love of art, he’s fallen in love with her and wants to show her that she’s loved and that she has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

And he does it through art, and as he does it, they both make each other come alive, It’s not a cold, you sit still over there and I’ll paint you or snap a picture of you, for purely commercial reasons.

It’s a genuine romantic moment between two people, also there’s no “paint me like one of your French girls” ( sorry, I simply couldn’t resist) of any sort to be seen anywhere.

The direction allowed in part for the good acting, it shows that the director worked well with the cast and that they had clear ideas of what to do.

I don’t know if they were allowed much or any improvisation at all, but all the actors deliver performances that feel natural and unforced, not tense or scripted.

As I said earlier some performances are less developed than others, it would have been nice to discover some of these characters more in depth, but It’s not something that detracts.

As those performances are also good, but I do believe that would have elevated it to the next level, you would have been even more emotionally invested.

Next, there’s a few flaws and inconsistencies, things that aren’t explained or that seem a bit out of place, but It’s in very few scenes and the film has such a powerful overall message, that you can easily overlook it.

One thing in the direction that I couldn’t possibly critique is the pacing and timing. The director’s dramatic timing is excellent, everything happens at precisely the right instant, this one of the things that make the film feel so alive, along with its great sense of spontaneity and lastly it never drags.

The cinematography is just utterly stunning, the contrast between black and white and colours makes for gorgeous shots, of course, a large part of it also lies in the camera work.

The shift between colours and black appears in tactfully measured moments, and are filmed in such a way that they surprise and overwhelm in the bests sense of the world.

These scenes feel like little cinematographic pearls, that you collect throughout the film until in the end you’re left with the grand beautiful painting, that it is on a whole.

I see Pleasantville as a painting or a puzzle, that constructs itself before your eyes, as both the scenery and the people change, the camera transmits this in way that never feels all over the place, it feels intimate,It’s more like watching the visual equivalent of what I can only call a sociological fairytale, or a newspaper article being told.

The wonderful soundtrack with music by Randy Newman and Fiona Apple also adds plenty of charm and helps in creating the pleasant atmosphere.

If you want to watch a unique, little film that moves, that touches different subjects originally, that’s beautiful to look at and that It’s heart in the right place I suggest giving Pleasantville a chance.

“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” ― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

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solivar · 8 years ago

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WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one in which Hanzo is an expatriate art student, Jesse is a NPS ranger with a number of unusual skills, weird stuff is going down in the New Mexico desert, and their lives collide in the middle of it.

Now featuring 100% more Genji Shimada, World’s Most Wildly Overprotective Little Brother.

Hanzo turned his face to the cloudy, light-pollution washed sky and closed his eyes as the evening breeze washed over him. It was perceptibly warmer in the city than it was out on the high desert, but still cleaner than the air of nearly any other city he’d ever breathed, and he drew it deep into his lungs, once, twice, thrice. On the third, he expelled it with a silent prayer for the intercession of his ancestors, preferably all of them, hopefully at least Grandmother Hanako, who until the hour of her passage from the world possessed the ability to defuse any form of about-to-explode much younger Genji right up the point of detonation. It was that sweet and gentle nature he needed right now, the precise words necessary to calm and soothe, the iron-spined powers of almost courtly decorum necessary to avoid having a screaming argument with his little brother on the doorstep in front of who knew how many neighbors and/or housemates. Because that would, of course, be the absolute perfect way to end a day that was already sprawled out insouciantly on its side giving reality an assortment of rude gestures.

He turned to face Genji and found him standing in a physically contorted state trapped almost precisely between flailing limbs-akimbo outrage and fists planted on his hips primarily to avoid strangling anyone outrage. The result was more than vaguely disturbing to the human eye and seemed to involve far more joints that he actually possessed. His hair, recently re-dyed the nature-insulting shades of acidic green he favored, looked as though he had spent a considerable quantity of time alternately tugging at it in a transport of some strong emotion or smoothing it back down in an effort to avoid broadcasting said transport to any observers without any particular success. His face was a mask of mutually contradictory emotions, his eyes were bloodshot in a manner that strongly suggested a lack of sleep instead of chemical mood enhancement, and his eyelashes were stuck together in the sort of spiky clumps they developed only when he’d been crying and he was still crying, there were tears in his eyes, and Hanzo dropped his bag and threw his arms around his wonderful, terrible little brother and embraced him tightly. “Shhh. It’s all right.”

Genji’s return embrace seriously compressed his ribcage and nearly lifted him off the ground with the force of it, his brother’s voice ragged in his ears. “You’re alive you’re alive where have you been I’ve been so worried I filed a missing persons report --”

“Genji,” Hanzo wheezed perhaps a bit more dramatically than was strictly necessary even given the circumstances, “I need air. And a missing persons report? You called the police?”

His brother let go only enough to relocate the force of his grip from ribcage to shoulders and Hanzo was absolutely certain he was going to have a couple Genji-hand-shaped-bruises in the morning. Some of the half-crazed intensity of emotion had bled from his face but his eyes remained bright -- irridescently glittering lit-from-within green as well as tears, an altogether dangerous sign. “Four days, Hanzo. You have been gone for four days. I was expecting you home Saturday at the latest. So I ask again: where have you been? And also: who was that and how badly am I going to have to maim him?”

My car broke down in the desert, something nearly ate my soul, he’s an NPS ranger too beautiful for this world please do not kill him. It was on the tip of his tongue to say it, driven by the force of his brother’s fear, and the only thing that kept the words behind his teeth was the knowledge that there were all exactly the wrong thing to say, particularly the soul-eating bit, which he was completely certain Genji would not accept with anything resembling serenity no matter how many mind-altering substances he might be consuming at any given time. Neither was he going to let it go, the grip on his shoulders tightening, eyes narrowing a dangerous fraction, and Hanzo reached for the first semi-reasonable explanation to come to mind and blurted out, “I -- I -- was enjoying what I was doing and lost track of time!”

The look that took up residence on Genji’s face was equal parts I cannot believe you just said that, aniki and WHAT mixed liberally with oh fucking no you didn’t. “Hanzo. Discovering you have a great deal in common with one of your classmates on the first day of the semester and spending two hours aimlessly wandering the quad talking is enjoying what you were doing and losing track of time. Spending an hour contemplating the menu at Starbucks while trying to work up the nerve to make a pass at the hot new barista is enjoying what you were doing and losing track of time. Driving out into the desert and disappearing for four fucking days? That is something else entirely and I’m vaguely insulted you even tried to pull that on me and for fuck’s sake I was about to call home and tell mother to start watching for ransom demands.”

“Genji, I was in no danger.” Except for the point where YOUR SOUL was almost eaten, the rational voice of rationality remarked, dryly, apparently in league with the self-destructive desire to tell his brother everything. “My car broke down -- I walked to one of the ranger stations. I stayed with him a few days until the arrangements to retrieve my disabled vehicle could be made, and then he brought me home.”

“And you enjoyed that.” And there was the world’s most sarcastic human making himself known.

Hanzo shrugged slightly, Genji’s grip on his shoulders loosening enough that the gesture mostly dislodged it. “Not the breaking down and walking through the freezing desert in the middle of the night, no. Everything else? I managed to get quite a bit of work done and the ranger was excellently helpful and completely professional the entire time we were together.” He bent, picked up his bag, and schooled his face into what he hoped was a serenely competent mask sufficient to cover a gigantic sack of barely believable lies. “I’m sorry I frightened you -- I lost cellular service and -- “

“She couldn’t find you, Hanzo.” Genji whispered, fiercely. “I asked her to find you and she said you were gone, you were nowhere, I thought the police would find you lying dead somewhere -- “

“I would not do that to you.” Hanzo snapped a glare at him, equally fierce.

“I know that.” Genji did not quite reach for him again, though it was a near thing. “And the world continues to be graciously oversupplied with other ways for everyone to leave it.”

“I do not know why she couldn’t find me.” Hanzo could not meet his brother’s eyes and speak that lie at the same time, instead opting to step past him toward the door, head down as though watching his step. “As I said: I was perfectly safe. It has, however, been a very long few days and I want nothing more than my own bed. You cannot imagine how uncomfortable ranger station cots are until you’ve had to sleep on one involuntarily.”

“Yes I can.” He could feel the weight of Genji’s stare laying between his shoulderblades like the tip of a knife. “I let Zen drag me up to that commune outside Angel Fire. I’m pretty sure their beds are Works Progress Administration surplus from the ‘40s. The nineteen-forties.”

Hanzo chuckled, politely, thumbed open the front door and was promptly bowled back onto the steps by the force of the charge that greeted him.

“You’re home!” Hana Song was, like his brother, a student in the tech end of video game design. Unlike him, she had absolutely no hesitation when it came to hitting him and so she did, and with a startling amount of force for someone that weighed perhaps a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve all been, you jerk, you lousy inconsiderate jackass, you -- “ She stopped, glared up at him, and yanked him inside. “Let’s not do this on the front stoop. Genji, are you coming?”

“Hana, let it go. He’s not dead and he apparently hasn’t been shacked up with persons unknown, either.” Genji stepped in and closed the door, casually deflecting the killing glare that Hanzo flung in his direction.

“Oh, so Person Unknown is free and clear then, hmm? Good, because from what I could see he was a stone fox. Where’d you find him?” Hana gave him a quick hug in apology, gears shifting as quickly as that, and snatched the object Ranger McCree had pressed into his hand on their parting. “Oh -- oh holy crap. He’s a park ranger? Are you serious?”

Hanzo snatched the object -- a card -- back and physically resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Car broke down, he rescued me, drove me home, perfect gentleman, I would like to go to bed now.”

“Oh, it’s perfect gentleman and not completely professional when you talk to her about it?” Genji asked and now Hanzo found himself resisting the urge to spin hard enough to smack his wonderful, terrible asshole brother firmly in the gut with his bag. “There’s a not inconsiderable difference between those two things, brother.”

“No there isn’t.” Hanzo replied and, fuck it, introduced his bag to Genji’s midsection in a fashion not entirely unlike a hip-check. “In any case, yes, he is a real park ranger, he was extremely kind to me, I had not noticed his appearance, I am entirely sorry I worried you all, and now I am going to go upstairs, take a shower, send a number of groveling emails to my professors, and then go to bed. If that is acceptable to you two?”

“I think we should get Lu and Zen down here and make a family vote of it,” Hana crossed her arms over her chest but nonetheless stepped aside at his growl. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Hanzo Shimada. You, of all people, don’t get to go galavanting off for whole days at a time and then stroll back home without a reasonable explanation -- “

Hanzo leaned over the second story balustrade. “Genji does that literally all the time.”

“That’s Genji!” Hana shouted back. “You are the grounded and responsible Shimada sibling, and if you two are going to switch personalities you can’t do it at random, there needs to be at least two weeks written notice!”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” Hanzo shouted down from the third floor landing.

“Be sure you do!” Hana shouted back. “Seriously, are you going to call him back? Because if you don’t call him, I totally will. I want a look at that in broad daylight.”

“Good night, Hana.” Hanzo stepped into his room, closed the door, dropped his bag, took the pillow from his bed and screamed into it for five minutes because, sometimes, there was literally nothing else to do if he wished to retain even a modicum of sanity.

Then, because he was indeed the grounded and responsible Shimada sibling, he turned on his holo-terminal and wrote the requisite groveling email of woe and dismay that went into exquisitely embroidered detail about POS rental cars, wandering through the desert at night pursued by coyotes, and the almost total lack of cellular service out in the hinterlands beyond the city limits, which he then forwarded to the four professors whose classes he had involuntarily cut, checked the queue to make certain that the art history paper he had finished last week was still set to go out first thing in the morning and sat, staring, at the little white rectangle of plastic laminate Ranger McCree had pressed into his hand. Plain white bordered in vivid green (National Park Service/US Department of the Interior), the inverted arrowhead seal, his name and contact information (Jesse McCree, Education Liaison, Special Incident Command at Cerrillos National Monument, address, cellular code, email). The laminate coating caught the dim light of even his holoscreen and refracted it in a now-familiar geometric pattern, the card feeling warmer in his hand than could be accounted for even by a transfer of body heat and, without meaning to do so, he pressed it to his lips and slipped it into his underwear drawer, where he was reasonably certain Hana would be completely unwilling to go fishing should she come looking for it. He almost started a second email but acknowledged, if only to himself, that it was considerably beyond pathetic to write a man who had merely been doing his duty, even the outstandingly weird parts, particularly when he didn’t actually have anything to say. At least for the moment. He had a week-long course of medicine to take and he realized that he was, even more pathetically, hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t work so he’d have the excuse.

“You are an outstanding coward of the highest possible caliber,” He informed his reflection in the upstairs bathroom mirror as he stripped out of the borrowed sweats even as he acknowledged them as another good reason to contact the ranger again -- they were only borrowed, after all, he couldn’t keep the man’s clothes. “Hello, Ranger McCree, this is Hanzo Shimada, you know, the one whose soul you saved from being eaten? I would just like to meet in order to return your tee-shirt and sweatpants and would you possibly also like to have dinner? Perhaps coffee? I promise I will keep my housemates and brother as far from you as humanly possible and once this exchange is done we will never have to see one another again and could you be any worse at this, for the love of the gods, stop.”

“Hanzo?” The voice on the other side of the bathroom door belonged to Tekhartha Zenyatta, his brother’s constant companion in dubious sobriety and bendy activities that could probably get them arrested in at least thirty states and seventeen foreign countries. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine, Zen. Just talking to myself.” Hanzo replied, and turned on the water in the shower. “My apologies if I disturbed you.”

“Not at all, my friend.” A warmly melodious chuckle from the hallway. “If you wish to speak, know that I am here for you.”

“Thank you, Zen.”

He should, he supposed, have a slightly more antagonistic relationship with the man who was arguably corrupting the quite thoroughly and voluntarily corruptible morals of his younger brother, but somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to work up any serious quantity of animus for the Tekhartha. For one thing, he couldn’t look at the man without perceiving him as some sort of elegant, kindhearted, slightly baked at all times praying mantis, who looked out at the world with enormous jewelled eyes and saw a bunch of people in dire need of enormously gentle talk therapy, palliative massage, and huge quantities of psychoactive recreational chemicals designed lubricate the interaction of minds and bodies with other minds and bodies. Sometimes literally. And therein lay the problem: Zen was an actual trained clinical psychologist underneath the doofy exterior and if there was anyone in the house to whom he would, through accident or design, give up the whole something freakishly weird happened in the desert and my soul was almost eaten and somehow the ranger saved me and I have no idea how to feel or what to think about any of this thing it was most definitely him. Possibly over tea. No, check that: definitely over tea. Hanzo made a mental note to take his medicinal beverage alone in his room if at all possible.

That night, at least, it was possible: by the time he finished cleaning up and went downstairs to the kitchen, the common areas were devoid of life. A faint trace of haunting melody drifted down from above, testament to the presence of Lucio Correia dos Santos, their fourth housemate, who was likely as deep in the process of musical composition as he ought to be in the process of visual composition. The absence of Genji and Zen from the sitting room, where the holotank and all the entertainment systems were located meant they were likely upstairs, entertaining one another somewhat more athletic ways. The absence of Hana from the same meant she was cramming for a midterm, having laid in a supply of snacks and energy beverages some time before.

He extracted the package from its anonymous plastic bag wrapping, feeling entirely too much like an operative in an action movie just before the villains came crashing in through the windows to steal is laboriously acquired intelligence or, possibly, like a teenager about to open his first stroke mag purchased under plain brown wrappers -- entirely too nervous by half and for no good reason. It was medicine. It was medicine. He absolutely was not about to drink something prescribed to him by some unknown person living in the middle of a nowhere who was close personal friends with a smoke monster and the world’s most desireable park ranger.

“It’s medicine, not a drug,” He told himself, as he examined the tiny, elegant, single-serving tea bell and the tiny, elegant tin, outside etched in a delicate swirling mandala in a dozen shades of blue, the lid covered in a freshly printed sticker written in a language he couldn’t read but which was, he knew from a couple hundred credit hours worth of art history classes, probably some form of Arabic. He firmly ignored the voice of rationality that insisted on pointing out drugs and medicines were exactly the same damned thing.

He snapped a picture of it and asked his phone for a translation, which it provided after a moment of taxing its little computer brain. For the restoration of weakened bonds between spirit and flesh, it said. Take one cup daily for seven days, preferably before sleep. Instructions: steep one teaspoon of the loose mixture in a cup of hot but not boiling water for no more than three minutes. Jesse tells me that you are a gentle, wounded soul who came by your injuries through no fault of your own, and for this reason I will tell you that the addition of a little honey and lemon will not harm the therapeutic qualities of this blend at all. May the Merciful and the Just stand between you and harm in all the empty places where you must walk. Brewed, it smelled wonderfully rich and herbacious, a deep green-golden color even before he added a dollop of honey. He admitted to himself, after the first sip, that it probably didn’t need the honey: he couldn’t place any individual flavor but the way they blent together on his tongue was delicious beyond any other herbal infusion that he could recall, the perfume of it filling his head with every breath.

He put the tin in his section of the kitchen cabinets and set the cup and the tea bell in the sink for the morning, feeling the tug of sleep on his limbs and head and eyes already, knowing he might just fall asleep on a landing if he didn’t seek his bed at once. He was out before his head touched the pillow and that night, when he dreamt for the thousandth time of coiling sky blue scales and air that tasted of the oncoming storm and lightning-stroke eyes that weighed him and measured him and turned away, he felt the contemptuous weight of that silent judgment slightly less.

#WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66 #I promise I'll fix the italics in the morning

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ms-m-astrologer · 8 years ago

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Transiting Venus Enters Retrograde Zone

Timetable (current events in bold): Monday, January 30, Venus enters retrograde zone, 26:54 Pisces Friday, February 3, Venus enters Aries Saturday, March 4, Venus turns retrograde, 13:08 Aries Sunday, April 2, Venus retrogrades back into Pisces Saturday, April 15, Venus turns direct Friday, April 28, Venus enters Aries Thursday, May 18, Venus out of retrograde zone

https : // upload . wikimedia . org/wikipedia/commons/6/6a/Ishtar_vase_Louvre_AO17000-detail.jpg

“When Venus is in retrograde, the emotions and instincts go haywire. Our usual sense of what is beautiful, pleasing and attractive is suspended. Some astrologers warn against buying anything for its aesthetic appeal during this cycle, since the object will seem like a ‘lapse of good taste’ at a later date. Relationships begun now can be the same way. I'd double-check any decisions made by ‘gut level instinct’ or by the way the situation feels while Venus is backing up.” - Martin Bulgerin, www dot biopscinst dot com/bpi/RZVenus.html)

Well, then! Four months of this nonsense. The first thing we all need to do is check out our birth charts for which house(s) contain the swath of Zodiac between 26:54 Pisces and 13:08 Aries. This is, for better or for worse, the stage on which the drama plays out. Here is a good link to get you started.

Next, the signs: Venus is exalted in Pisces, and in her detriment in Aries. We need to figure out how Venus in her exaltation, misused, can lead to the kinds of mistakes made by Venus in her detriment. Isabel Hickey drops this clue: “Needs to learn discrimination where love of a personal nature is concerned.” Venus in Pisces can be a little too idealistic and dreamy. She can be delusional, indolent, and escapist here. (I’m reminded of how Lydia Bennet is described in Pride and Prejudice, after she has eloped with Wickham: “She was sure they should be married one time or other, and it did not much signify when.”)

“Issie” delineated Venus in Aries with the words “touchiness,” “easily offended,” and “inconsiderate,” before going on with, “This is a love springing into activity with ardor and enthusiasm, but not a sustaining and nurturing kind of caring…. The lesson needed this placement is the ability to put oneself in the other fellow’s shoes. In spite of an impulsive approach to love, Venus in Aries is idealistic, and is always seeking outwardly that which can only be found within.” (Bold italics mine.)

This brings us to the Sumerian myth of Inanna’s Descent to the Netherworld. This Sumerian goddess was the equivalent of Venus, with an added martial element. “Cliff Notes” version: Inanna wishes to visit her sister, Ereshkigal, in her Netherworld realm. Inanna lavishly adorns herself, prudently sets up contingency plans should she fail to return, and sets out. As she progresses, though, she must gradually remove all her garments and jewelry, leaving her naked as she eventually reaches Ereshkigal. Who promptly kills her. After three days (hmm), the rescue mission commences. It is successful, and Inanna is revived.

The entire journey was said to have taken 40 days (hmm), and - why, what do you know - Venus’ retrograde cycle is 42 days. So, we can easily correlate this pre-retrograde as Inanna getting ready to go - the actual retrograde as the journey - and the post-retrograde for what happens after the rescue. Let’s look at Venus’ three “main” associations to suss out what’s about to happen:

MONEY AND POSSESSIONS (Not necessarily taxes; that’s the 8th House!) Too often we in the western world equate our self-worth with the quantity and quality of our “stuff.” We can use the Venus Rx as a way to re-evaluate how much “stuff” we really need, and get rid of what we don’t need during the actual retrograde period. And, as Martin Bulgerin warned, this is not the time to make any major purchase! Keep in mind that this retrograde is a temporary situation. Remember that Inanna had contingency plans, too.

ART/AESTHETICS: Our creativity also comes up for re-evaluation. Our Muses may vanish, or we may banish them for being boring. To give this a proper Piscean spin, we may remember a fleeting urge we had, long ago, to pursue a different artistic expression. Again, it isn’t yet time to act. Go back to your natal Venus position and focus on what she says about your artistic creativity. You need to tune in to that. And have a contingency plan.

RELATIONSHIPS: (Ms M exhales a real Junie B. Jones huffy breath.) Old flames come back to haunt us. New flames burst onto the scene. The current partner is suddenly a little too boring, a little too predictable. The current lack of a partner becomes intolerable. We’re going to be too prone to jump into, or out of, relationships, especially given that most of this retrograde is in Aries! The problem ain’t the person - it’s the relationship. (And if like Ms M you’re single, it’s still about the relationship .) You now have almost four months in which to evaluate matters and take appropriate action.

Finally, Venus’ retrograde cycles are synodic. If we were to turn it into something a Spirograph would produce, it would look like this:

www . astrozero . co . uk/astronomy/venus_mandala.jpg

Look back eight years and expect the same themes to crop up. The entire 2009 Retrograde Zone lasted from February 1 to May 20, encompassing 29:11 Pisces to 15:27 Aries.

During these four remaining days of Venus’ first stint in Pisces, she makes only a couple of “intermediate” aspects. That won’t be the case in April, when she spends almost the entire month in the sign! I felt I should look at these minor ones, as they kind of “set the table” for what’s to follow.

Thursday, February 2, Ceres/Aries semisextile Venus/Pisces, 29:26

Here is where the trouble starts: we’re entertaining the notion that there is a one true love that is going to fulfill us. (Or one true work of art or piece of furniture. Ms M understands; she’s in perpetual quest of the One True Book.) It has a double Pisces influence, as Venus is in the sign, and a waning semisextile has a Piscean nature. We may not even be aware that this is happening. But now that I’ve made you aware, evil cackle, you can use this time to think about a real, reciprocal relationship.

Planets/Points affected lie between 28:26 and 29:59 of any sign.

Friday, February 3, Sun/Aquarius (14:57) semisquare Venus/Pisces (29:57)

Interestingly enough (run for cover when Ms M says something is “interesting”), this is also the day of a First-Quarter Moon, *and* only a few short minutes before Astrological Brigid. Weaving all this together, we see the stubborn and willful impulse to set plans into action (First Quarter Moon) before the time is quite ripe (Brigid). Perhaps instead we could all set the intent of getting all the Venus stuff right? We need to be patient and flexible.

Planets/Points affected lie between 13:57 and 15:57 of the fixed signs Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, and Aquarius; and between 28:57 and 29:59 of the mutable signs Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

#Astrology #Venus into Retrograde Zone #Venus Retrograde #Venus #Ms M astrologer

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Rosemary Quotes

Official Website: Rosemary Quotes

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• All I’m saying is we got plenty of Texans, and people from Montana, and New Jersey, and Wyoming, or Kansas City. We got plenty of actors. So we don’t need some cat from Cardiff-upon-Rosemary-upon-Thyme, or whatever the hell it is, playing people from Montana. And in the reverse, they got plenty of people from Cardiff-upon-Rosemary-upon-Thyme that they don’t need our asses coming over there trying to do British accents. – Billy Bob Thornton • And we have a little herb garden, which survived the winter thanks to global warming. It makes me feel like a cool, old Italian housewife, that I kept my rosemary alive outside all winter. – Elizabeth Gilbert • As for rosemary, I let it run all over my garden walls, not only because my bees love it but because it is the herb sacred to remembrance and to friendship, whence a sprig of it hath a dumb language. – Thomas More

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Rosemary', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_rosemary').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_rosemary img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blade Runner’s just a noir at the end of the day. Rosemary’s Baby is about the fear of having a child and how that gets in the way of a romantic relationship. Or whatever it is, and you add that extra element that blows your mind apart. – James Ponsoldt • Carmelia Montiel, a twenty-year-old virgin, had just bathed in orange-blossom water and was strewing rosemary leaves on Pilar Ternera’s bed when the shot rang out. Aureliano José had been destined to find with her the happiness that Amaranta had denied him, to have seven children, and to die in her arms of old age, but the bullet that entered his back and shattered his chest had been directed by a wrong interpretation of the cards. – Gabriel Garcia Marquez • He asked <…> Rosemary, why do you love books so much? And I said, Well, I don’t know <…> I suppose I love them because they’re quiet, and I can take them to the park. – Robin Sloan • He will spit you and roast you with rosemary, and we will all sample your flesh tonight. Tomorrow you will be shat out into the snow. Your diplomacy is bold and edgy, sir. – Kevin Hearne • I do love old horror, everytime I watch Rosemary’s Baby the performances just get richer and richer and more multi-layered, and I see images that are just so politically outrageous. I love it all. – Robert Englund • I felt trapped and fabricated in the fifties living up to other people’s expectations. – Rosemary Clooney • I like the Polanski stuff more than anything else. Rosemary’s Baby is still one of my favorite movies of all time. The idea of her being impregnated with the devil is just so frightening. – Dylan McDermott • I like to take mustard baths. I combine 4 lbs Epsom salts, 3 oz mustard powder, 12 oz powdered milk, and 1/2 cup baking soda, add in 12 drops each of rosemary and eucalyptus essential oils, then whisk it and pour 1/4 cup of the mix into the tub while warm water is running. – Natalie Coughlin • I plant rosemary all over the garden, so pleasant is it to know that at every few steps one may draw the kindly branchlets through one’s hand, and have the enjoyment of their incomparable incense; and I grow it against walls, so that the sun may draw out its inexhaustible sweetness to greet me as I pass. – Gertrude Jekyll • I put on the Hank Williams and the Patsy Cline and the Rosemary Clooney on vinyl – I’m not trying to be some cool indie-rock person, I just love the way it sounds – and throw on a T-shirt and jeans. In Texas, we practically come out of the womb in jeans. – Kelly Clarkson • I try to do nothing. I drink rosemary when I have a lot of work to do. People take coffee, they take speed, whatever. I take rosemary. – Agnes Varda • If President Nixon’s secretary, Rosemary Woods, had been Moses’ secretary, there would only be eight commandments. – Art Buchwald • I’ll keep working as long as I live because singing has taken on the feeling of joy that I had when I started, when my only responsibility was to sing well. – Rosemary Clooney • I’m hooked on Polanski’s films, his psychological thrillers. I love ‘Rosemary’s Baby,’ I love ‘Repulsion.’ – Vera Farmiga • In our everyday garden grow the rosemary, juniper, ferns and plane trees, perfectly tangible and visible. For these plants that have an illusory relationship with us, which in no way alters their existentiality, we are merely an event, an accident, and our presence, which seems so solid, laden with gravity, is to them no more than a momentary void in motion through the air. Reality is a quality that belongs to them, and we can exercise no rights over it. – Leo Lionni • It had been three weeks, four days and twelve hours since I’d seen her. Since she’d torn my heart out. If I had been drinking, I’d blame it on the alcohol. It had to be an illusion, a desperate one. But I hadn’t been drinking. Not a drop. There was no mistaking Blaire. It was her. She was actually here. Blaire was back in Rosemary. She was at my house. – Abbi Glines • I’ve always been a huge fan of ‘The Shining,’ and ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ is one of my favorite films of all time. – Mary Elizabeth Winstead • My all-time favorite skin cream is from Poland. Its called Eva Natura with Polish herbs, including rosemary. It smells wonderful and is soothing and comforting. – Dagmara Dominczyk • My company is called Ciné-Tamaris, which is rosemary. That’s my speed. Hot water and herb. – Agnes Varda • My wife and I use a lot of garlic and rosemary with roast lamb. It has to be New Zealand lamb. The domestic variety is too gamy, in my experience. – Alfred Molina • Now you can leave home at any time you like.Your mother comes down and finds a picture of the Eiffel Tower on her plate. And she says, ‘Oh! Rosemary’s gone to Paris. No wonder the bathroom was so tidy.’ And nobody minds. But in my day, to go abroad with all those wicked Frenchmen, what would become of them? So no-one ever went anywhere. – Quentin Crisp • Personally I like the slow burn; I don’t think there is anything wrong with it. When I think about the movies that were most effective on me as a viewer I think of the original Haunting and the Exorcist, Rosemary’s Baby, the Sixth Sense, the Others. These movies are not over the top at all, they are movies that rely on good story telling, good acting, good premise, good exposition and I want to stay true to that in future projects. – Oren Peli • Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse had signed a lease on a five-room apartment in a geometric white house on First Avenue when they received word, from a woman named Mrs. Cortez, that a four-room apartment in the Bramford had become available. – Ira Levin • Rosemary bubbled with delight at the trunks. Her naivete responded whole-heartedly to the expensive simplicity of the Divers, unaware of its complexity and its lack of innocence, unaware that it was all a selection of quality rather than quantity from the run of the world’s bazaar; and that the simplicity of behavior also, the nursery-like peace and good will, the emphasis on the simpler virtues, was part of a desperate bargain with the gods and had been attained through struggles she could not have guessed at. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • Rosemary felt that this swim would become the typical one of her life, the one that would always pop up in her memory at the mention of swimming. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • Rosemary Rodriguez directed on Rescue Me for us, and I love her. She’s fantastic with actresses and she’s got a great sense of humor. That was a huge thing for me. – Denis Leary • She felt a little betrayed and sad, but presently a moving object came into sight. It was a huge horse-chestnut tree in full bloom bound for the Champs Elysees, strapped now into a long truck and simply shaking with laughter – like a lovely person in an undignified position yet confident none the less of being lovely. Looking at it with fascination, Rosemary identified herself with it, and laughed cheerfully with it, and everything all at once seemed gorgeous. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • She wished she had a little yellow house of her own, with a flower box full of real flowers and herbs – pansies and rosemary – and a sweet lover who would swing dance with her in the evenings and cook pasta and read poetry aloud. – Francesca Lia Block • So it’s Rosemary Clooney – Rosemary? Rosemary Clooney, right? The singer? Yes. Clooney, doing, singing, “I’ve Grown Accustomed To Your Face,” which is, you know, really a love song, but what we see on stage is we see one puppet that’s got a ridiculous blonde wig on and she looks ridiculous, and next to her is a head that’s just a piece of fabric with a pretty face on it. – Brian Henson • The best advice I got from my aunt, the great singer Rosemary Clooney, and from my dad, who was a game show host and news anchor, was: don’t wake up at seventy years old sighing over what you should have tried. Just do it, be willing to fail, and at least you gave it a shot. That’s echoed for me all through the last few years. – George Clooney • The scent organ was playing a delightfully refreshing Herbal Capriccio – rippling arpeggios of thyme and lavender, of rosemary, basil, myrtle, tarragon; a series of daring modulations through the spice keys into ambergris; and a slow return through sandalwood, camphor, cedar and newmown hay (with occasional subtle touches of discord – a whiff of kidney pudding, the faintest suspicion of pig’s dung) back to the simple aromatics with which the piece began. The final blast of thyme died away; there was a round of applause; the lights went up. – Aldous Huxley • There are some things, after all, that Sally Owens knows for certain: Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Plant roses and lavender, for luck. Fall in love whenever you can. – Alice Hoffman • There’s rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you. – William Shakespeare • There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. – William Shakespeare • There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. There’s fennel for you, and columbines: — there ‘s rue for you; and here’s some for me: — we may call it, herb of grace o’Sundays: — you may wear your rue with a difference. — There’s a daisy: — I would give you some violets; but they withered all, when my father died: — They say, he made a good end. – William Shakespeare • With Rodham, for instance, it has to work on an emotional level. It has to work on a character level. If it’s only “Look, it has famous people,” then it’s a wax museum come to life and that’s really boring. It’s sort of like what they say about science fiction and horror where the really good ones, if you remove that element of it, it still has to work. That’s the reason The Shining works or Rosemary’s Baby or Blade Runner. – James Ponsoldt

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Rosemary Quotes

Official Website: Rosemary Quotes

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dominavontana · 6 years ago

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Wed Aug 15 #sexed @sugartheshop Sensual Bondage with Pervertibles

Perveritble: any common often domestic item that can be used for a different purpose other than that originally intended by the manufacturer in a style that is part of a BDSM or kinky play scene

Below are three separate blog posts because ain't no body got time for that...separate posting bullshit.

I just want to go play in the woods.

1. Sugar classes, when sex workers lose clients to death, and the amazing Domme I met

2. The post I promised you yesterday

3. Summary of the successful summer tour (and whatever shit I decide to write about along the way)

First up...SUGAR

Below is the post I promised you yesterday.

But before we get to that...please check out this bondageworkshop I’m teaching on August 15 in Baltimore at www.sugartheshop.com. Tickets are $25 and the classis 90 minutes, from 630 to 8. I always hang around til close because it’s fun and the teaching space is super gorgeous. The stores great too :) and they share the same space…

On a more personal/professional note, I’ve read about the grieving process particular to sex workers who loose long term clients. And now I am both proud and saddened to say I find myself for the first time at this place in my peculiar career. Both clients are regulars and souls that I genuinely enjoy, cleints who respect me and men I believe are a blessing to those who know and work with them, and especially those that may love them or call them family. Good people. I’m not sure what this chapter of my journey is going to have in store but I’m prepared to face it without fear or reservation, because as I see it? My job is to make every moment feel like life its self until the last moment the slave can retire to the great Master of us all, that quaking moment between here and forever.

Last Wednesday after my class at Sugar I attended the wake for the untimely end of the Baltimore Eagle and bumped into an amazing Domme with the verbal gymnastics of the best stand up can offer and she was dressed like a pin up doll, veil and all. And I wondered, why can’t we all be like that? When I discussed my style with her, professionally speaking, her replay was,

“Oh honey, you work so hard, that’s why they have to pay you for it.”

Such a siren with the sweet tongue was she that still I do not know if I am flattered, or being scolded.

I liked her. It’s a lonely sport, topping the top 1%.

One. More, Eclipse. This week. Then you can all breath but my ruler is gonna play hopscotch across my sky for the NEXT two months so I’m just gonna keep riding this ride and asking for patience because GD if I couldn’t slap a bitch on a day like today #PMSRealness B r e e e a t h e

See you on the 15th.

2. Yesterday's blog post is about domestic violence, the kind I have lived with most of my life until now, so I'm finally ready. Let's all take a deep breath.

DV stands for a lot for a lot of things. Not just my initials, Domina (D) Vontana (V), but also...domestic violence. This post is a coming out story. This is my emotional psychological and mental #metoo moment. I’ll never be capable of sharing the stories of my multiple sexual assaults. I’m too much of a scorpio for that shit. Last week I picked up a new pickup truck and it’s been glorious. I’ve started rapidly checking things off my to do list at the farm that have lingered for months, years even. And then finally today the clouds part, the sky clears and FOR FUCKING ONCE there is sun in the sky on a Saturday. If you live in the Mid Atlantic you appreciate what I know. For those of you who don’t let me say this - I arrived back from Asia the last week of April. I arrived at the farm the first week of May. It has rained. Every. God. Damn. Day. Since minus maaaybe...a total of 2 weeks. Today is one of those days that makes up those two weeks and so I took a nice long drive through the country in my new truck. And that’s when I realized...I haven't been yelled at by a man in a year and a half. That is a record in my recent history. And by recent I mean the past decade, at least. Because strong women get abused too. Honestly, I’ve often wondered if my abusers didn’t take more pleasure in hurting me BECAUSE I was a dominatrix. My father was a Pisces and a preacher. My mother was a Sagittarius and a musician. If you know your astrology your cringing right now, and probably laughing. Both my parents were trauma survivors. Especially my father. He was as queer as his daughter here and just as charismatic and beautiful. My mother was the codependent to his addict and as the eldest child and a daughter I was expected to perform the role of caretaker to both. And it sucked. It sucked every single day. There wasn’t a god damn day that went by that there wasn’t some potentially humiliating and or completely unjust situation to deal with while the world outside the window carried on like inside everything in my life wasn’t completely absurd, completely violent and completely religious, all at the same time. Mind fuck is not even the word. Oh and the cherry on this shit cake is that the context for all of this is rural, white America where everyone knows your name and your business. The only place to hide is literally, the corn fields. My parents did their best. I know this now. And it was not that great. I accept this now. And that is why for most of my adult life I have loved men who returned my love with vicious emotional and often violent attacks. Some of these men I am still friends with and they may read this and be upset at me and that’s a price I’m willing to pay because the very reason I haven't been screamed at in the past year and a half is because finally, finally...I am putting myself first everywhere in my life, not just in the dungeon. It is a choice who’s time had come and a choice that has made me more available to the people in my life, not less. If I hadn’t had the figurative and literal space of the dungeon to practice speaking up for myself and EXPECTING to be heard I would most certainly be less fulfilled than I am today. And today I am filled with all the things that make life worth living - love, friendship, passion, creativity, community and family. And I’m almost positive that the only reasons I’m coming up with this blog post now, at this moment, rather than any other I’ve contemplated revealing the truth of my struggle is probably the intense PMS I’ve experienced during the full lunar eclipse on my moon. So bare with me, babes. And what the actual fuck is my part in all of this? I stayed. I believed the lie that obligated me to fix these men. I honestly thought I could heal someone, all I lacked was resources. Then I found myself in a situation with limitless resources and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference - the addict stayed sick for a very long time. Long enough for me to finally skip country and fulfill my expat fantasies and also to finally quit my codependent habit. Now I am in control of my life in and out of the dungeon and no longer suffer fools in any area of my life. And for that every broken bone, every stint in the ER, every bruise and every scar is worth it because I am free at last. Psst. Come closer. I have another secret to tell you. The final reveal. Remember when they said it was scary out there in the real world and so maybe we closed our heart chakras to feel safe? Turns out that is a red flag for predators that sends them knocking at our doors. It was only after I took the chance and did the work that I found myself starting to attract the kind of people and experiences I had always longed for that’s why recently when I felt my heart trying to close again I reminded myself that THAT was NOT the path to security. My brother (biological): “Once a woman realizes she doesn’t need you? It’s over.” 3. Summer Tour Summary

This note is to tell you Mistress had a wonderful summer tour and will be taking the next week off to do even more fun stuff, the old fashion way - without social media.

Three a.m. and the gypsy finally rests, alone, on her bed. It’s been ten days and four states. At least 1,000 miles.

I.am. so. Blessed.

Several years ago I was up for a full ride to UNC so I moved to Chapel Hill. Thus began a period of restoration. My work is very demanding and there are few opportunities for training or mentorship. I left my vanilla life behind when I went pro out of necessity, not choice. This past week I visited the very people who gave me back my vanilla life.

It wasn’t until this week when I stepped back into the wooded paradise I called home for two years that I felt like I was finally back from Asia. That yard is where the Japanese Ume plum blossom first appeared in January and I didn’t even know what I was smelling, but it was fantastic. Fast forward four months it’s April and I was stepping off a plane in Tokyo with just a backpack. My dream to change my life yet again started in that yard, and it ended there. Last week.

Some people know what they want. I know what I don’t want. The path to perfection for me is a process of elimination, not acquisition. Turns out, I want less of myself and more of others. I want more experiences and less things. I want love. And beauty. And art. And laughter. And dialogue. And play. And I’m an introvert. So quality not quantity.

I’ve spent much of my life alone, in one form or another, often literally alone. I admit that part of this lifestyle is self sustaining for me, if not self serving. But all good things must come to an end. Now that I’m back my gypsy spirit has managed to work out a reasonable circuit: Baltimore, DC, rest at the farm, repeat.

So I’ll see you there (www.sugartheshop.com)

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