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namelessexistence · 3 years

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Final part of my top 100 favorite characters

10 – Percy Jackson

A books series I loved as a preteen, and I loved the main character. It’s been a while since I read, so it’s not so easy to organize my toughts and feelings about the character to tellwhat I loved about him, but maybe I’ll do it in the future

9 – Nie Huaisang (Mo Dao Zu Shi)

If I remeber correctly, the very first thing WWX told us about NHS in the novel was that he was inteligente/wasn’t stupid (it was a scene where someone was telling WWX about the repuation of the Sect Leader Nie as the Headshaker, so WWX’s inner monologue was a response to that). Then, in WWX’s memories of Cloud Recess, we see NHS plotting to cheat in the exams and convincing WWX of doing the work for him. One of the very few changes/additions in the live action I actually liked was that scene where he and WWX first met and he talks about how he captured that bird. The reveal in the ending wasn’t really obvious or expected, at least not to me, but it’s not like it came from nowhere either. Teenage NHS already had some of the personality traits that would be “revealed” later on, but not the motivation of doing anything great with this.

8 – Tomie

From the works of Junji Ito. I find her fascinating as a character and as a concept. First of all, she is a chaotic villain, is simply entertaining to read about her, so I woud like the character even if it didn’t go any further. But there’s something deeper that fascinates me about her, that I won’t go into Much detail now, because I intend to write a separated post with my Tomie essay. But there’s something about how the stories lay out and how inevitable it Always feels, not Only to Tomie’s victims, but to Tomie herself.

7 - Sans (Undertale)

This character got a bad reputation due to horny fans in the peak of the game’s popularity. Even so, I love him in the game. The mistery, his personality, his judgments. I love howthe reason why the possibly most powerful character in the game has a painfully beliavable reason to not act in his full potential. How pointless everything seems to him, how hopeless he must feel. That “just give up. I did” line in the pacifista route. And also his monologue in the genocide route battle about the player’s motivation to keep playing the genocide route “...because you think you ca. And because you ‘can’, you ‘have to’”

6 – Sal Fisher (Sally Face)

I loved this game and Episode Four broke me. Sal was such a likeable character, he Always made my heart warm, and his friendhip with Larry was so sweet.

5 – Luo Qingyang (Mo Dao Zu Shi)

One of the things that annoy me the most about the live action i show they LQY so Much she could as well be an original character. She was such a great character in the novel, despite having so few scenes. I already made a post about how she was a narrative parallel to WWX and WJL. She was amazing and had one of the better endings/lifes in the story. Good for her.

4 - Lelouch Lamperouge/Lelouch vi Britannia (Code Geass)

My personal history of problematic faves goes far. I remember how many nights I spent comparing him to Light Yagami, trying to understand why I loved Lelouch so Much while I hated Light so much When both characters are so similar. And I remeber how frustrating it was to try to find someone analysing/comparing this characters, because I could Only find debates about who’s smarter, wich is not importante. Was Lelouch right? Did he had the right to do the things he did? Not really, but he had a better understanding of humanity than Light, and actually tough about the causes ofthe violence, instead of only repressing the symptons. He was an interesting character with a lot of emotion.

3 – Okumura Rin (Ao no Exorcist)

He was impulsive and sounded rude a lot of times, but had a kind heart, despite his tendency to violence. That’s one thing I find interesting about him, that fans often overlooked, is that he wasn’t naturally kind, he learned to be kind, and it wasn’t easy. It’s not because he had a good nature, it’s because he putted the effort on that, and he did so because his father believed he could. He actually told little Rin that if he tred hard to be kind to people, he would become kind. I just love that scene of small Rin being vioent and believing he coudn’t be good and his father saying this. It’s surprinsigly rare to fiction tell us that we’re not doomed to be bad people just because being nice doesn’t come naturally to us.

2 – Original Shen Qingqiu/Shen Jiu (Scum Villain Self Saving System)

A very tragic and complex character, undeniably my favorite svsss character, and it’s not because I have anything against SY

1 – Wei Wuxian (Mo Dao Zu Shi)

Am I confidente to say that WWX is my favorite character from all times? Yes, absolutely. I love him so much, I don’t even know how to exlain how much I love him. I’m so glad he got his happy ending, he deserved it.

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lonelyghosts-stuff · 3 years

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Avengers Infinity War-First Time Watching Reaction Play-by-Play (Pt. 2)

Part 1

I wonder how many people Gamora has killed? What made her finally snap to not serve Thanos anymore?

How DID Gamora find it? Like, who told her?

How did Thanos capture nebula?

Poor nebula. She’s literally been through hell and back.

Ohhhh she snuck on board...

Thanos you suck so much. You favor one daughter over another.

Oh. Where was said map to the soul stone?

Gosh I feel so damn bad for nebula. She was raised as his daughter too but he tortured her and tore her apart. Nebula never had the chance to be her equal. She deserves so much.

Taught groot as an elective? What about all speak?

Buckle up rocket. It’s gonna get emotional.

Thor is literally all alone. He needs a time to sit alone and cry and break a whole building.

Rocket and Thor friends? Please

1500 years old? Jane, honey, you escaped.

Gotta give it up to Hemsworth’s acting chops here. Especially talking to nobody in reality. Just a bunch of cgi

Ew ew ew eye socket

Should have washed that yikes

Snuck it out by hiding it up your? Huh? You watch too many movies rocket.

Huge title card. Thank you. I wouldn’t have known where we were despite them saying their location many times.

How is that video game battery not dead?

Perceptive rabbit

I LOVE that they used a dwarf to play a giant character!!! This is brilliant! (And that dwarves are giant for some reason lol.)

Soooo again Thanos killed everyone EXCEPT Eitri despite his “morality” supposedly being balance

Poor hands

Poor nebula

Smart nebula

Maybe should have waited to be fixed fully first

Ah crap. SOMEONE PICK UP THE SPACE PHONE

MANTIS

Love how Stark asks for peters help in steering and not Stephen lmao

Nice parking job

Peter, stop popping pop culture refs

Lmao ITS ABOUT TO BE THE ICONIC SCENE

YES PLEASE

Blanket of Death. Capey has a new nickname.

Where’s Gamora

Who’s Gamora

Why is Gamora

What master do you serve?

Jesus?

I mean, yea I do. So does Pratt lmaoo.

LMAO PARKER’S FACE WHEN QUILL SAID THOR WASNT HANDSOME

Storm breaker time baby

“In theory it could summon the bifrost” who theorized this? How do you only theorize and not know?

Oh my gosh mantis is just bouncing around

Mr. Clean lmao

Kick names, take ass

Hey now, these guys saved the galaxy and universe from Ego so lmao

Oh no I know the scene coming up

Poor quill lmao

“I’m half human. So the 50% of me that’s stupid, that’s 100% of you.” “Your math is, blowing my mind.” What’s funny is that Quill’s math was actually completely accurate lol

Stephen having a stroke or a seizure? You good homie?

Soooo if Strange looked to the future and so possible outcomes, what does that mean for the TVA? According to them, there’s ONE sacred timeline, so all other branches are erased (which again messes up what smart hulk eventually says in end game. See kids, this is why you don’t mess with time travel in stories. There’s no way to go back in time without creating a time loop). Ehhhhh I’ll let it slide. Just ignore it... sigh... I can’t help it if I’ve studied paradoxes

Hmmmm not good odds I’ve gotta say...

Watch like, outside of the millions of realities that strange saw, there were like a million or billion more he missed where they won with no casualties lol

Hey Red Skull. Long time no see. How did he get here anyways and why?

Yea you’re prepared all right...

Gotta say, Lord Elrond has seen better days

I’m not ready to say good bye to this Gamora. Gamora and Loki and Nat go down as my favorite characters, gotta say. I know that Tony does and it’s sad, but his feels more satisfying because his sacrifice directly results in them winning. Loki is murdered. Gamora is murdered. Nat died just for a stepping stone for the avengers. She has no idea whether or not they will actually win in the end.

I’m hopeful they may bring Nat back like in the comics, red room clone style.

We got back vision, Loki (kinda), variant Gamora, a new captain America, why not Nat? Yea we have a prequel, but gosh I love her so much.

“You must lose that which you love.” Couldn’t that apply to like an object or something? Could I not throw my Nintendo switch over the cliff? Or my dog? (I would hate that just as much as a person, don’t get me wrong, I’m just curious about the rules)

Yea boohoo sad for Thanos... loses his favorite daughter. I don’t care about him. He deserves suffering.

Poor Gamora doesn’t think he’s willing to do it.. GIRL RUN!!!

Thanos deserves all the suffering.

He does love you Gamora... but that love... it’s selfish. It’s blind... Thanos seems to be a chaotic vigilante who is narrowminded, tunnel vision on his goal with no regards of the cost. But he is evil. If there is ever an alternate route to an end that doesn’t result in the loss of innocent lives, and you know that but you willingly choose the once that costs innocent lives, that is an evil decision. Maybe Thanos isn’t evil, but he’s not good. Far from it. He’s obsessed with this idyllic Utopia but he rushes to one method of getting there. Yes, people suffer. It sucks... it’s unfair... it’s horrible. But it is never the right of someone else to dictate whether or not said person would be better off dead. Who lives, who dies. If Thanos truly was neutral and not selfish, he would have thrown his own life into the mix of the potential 50/50 snap. Thanos is not good. He’s not misunderstood. He’s a murderer. A genocidal cult leader. I have no tears for him. Only for those who suffered more at his hands.

Rant over, time to try not to cry about Gamora...

Her face of realization

Gamora run please

Thanos, I hate you. (Great character her, but not a good person)

Poor Gamora

Oh my gosh the emotion here is great but I’ve heard this sound used as a meme on TikTok too many times aghhhh

Gamora!

What a way to die

I’m crying again. I miss her already...

Who the hell designed this place and put the stone here???? Who did this?

Cry Thanos. Suffer. My only comfort here is that you are sad. You deserve suffering. You really do...

The TVA is laughing here and I’m not okay..

Poor Peter Quill... he’s also lost a lot like Thor, but has had the “luck” of not knowing his family too close.

Wakanda babyyyy

No, you don’t want Starbucks, you want Dutch bros

Lmao I love rhodey. Poor Bruce.

BUCKY BUCKY BUCKY

HUG

NO CMON HAVE A LONG HUG

MALE FRIENDSHIPS ARE SO IMPORTANT.

Yea Shuri show em up.

Okay quick pause, I love love LOVE how Shuri is smarter. It’s a powerful moment for females BUT it’s not done in a way that’s condescending to males! It’s not saying women power because men bad, she’s just good! (And she has had access to technology they never could have but I digress). More of this please Hollywood. Don’t let being a female be the power. I don’t want strong female characters, I want strong characters who happen to be female. Ones who hold their own, have faults like anyone else, struggle, have weaknesses and strengths, but are strong without putting down others. Just a comment, just because a woman character may not be as strong as a man character, that is not saying she’s weak. If you’re the second strongest human in the world, you are NOT weak. You’re just not as strong as the strongest human ever, but that’s nothing against you. LET WOMEN STAND ON THEIR OWN MERITS WITHOUT SEX AFFECTING THEM!

Anyways

I love Shuri

I wish they had more time. She definitely could have done it. But stupid Thanos

Ughhhghhg

I know what many scenes are upcoming... with quill and peter and vision and everyone else

Let👏🏻Bucky👏🏻Have👏🏻Peace👏🏻

Thank you Nat!!! I love that Nat is so protective and selfless.

GET THIS MAN A SHIELD

Bucky needs love please. He’s my stand in, manipulated, greasy, long haired, dark and mysterious, stabby boy. (Also I need Bucky and Loki to meet. But let Loki finish his show (and come out of it alive because if he doesn’t I will sue) and be the antihero hero we need. Please. If he doesn’t get reintroduced into the mcu as a hero I will sue.

Thor, sweetie, are you a masochist?

Back to wakanda

Oh no, bad CGI, floating head Bruce banner. I’ll let it slide... sigh....

Can’t like, you just rain bombs on them forever?

JIBARI TRIBE YEA BOYYYYY

Sorry Proxima Midnight, you look like a frog and your name sounds like a middle schooler’s OC.

How nice. Diplomatic meeting.

“Thanos will have nothing but dust and blood.” Reeeeeeally wish you didn’t say that, T’Challa...

Yay big CGI battle commence! It’s like a really expensive animated cartoon at this point

WAKANDA FOREVER!

Poor Bucky. Forgot this dude doesn’t know much about the modern world.

Ahhhh Kamikazi aliens

I just wanna say that I love that Wakanda still has the artistic culture in their clothing and tradition all the while having badass, super advanced technology.

Why can’t they just rain bombs down the whole fight lol. Rhodey has those super nice bombs, like, do that they he whole time? Please? Why do you not have a barrier around the entire king.

No M’Baku, it’s not the end of wakanda. But half of all life, yea

WAKANDA FOREVER YEAAAAAAA

They should honesty all have nano tech suits like black panther lol. Or iron man suits. Fine maybe the most powerful one with the best quality material for the king, but besides that, yknow.

Wow Steve is hot with a beard.

So much happening at once. Thor, Wakanda, Vormir, Knowhere, am I missing anything?

Okay, but what IS the full force of a star? Like in Newton’s or something? Juls? Is it heat?

What’s this metal? How does it fare with vibranium?

Get off your wooden butt, groot.

“He needs the axe” are you Thor, the god of axes?

Soooo, I thought Thor didn’t NEED the hammer, it just helped him concentrate his powers or act as a conduit. Is that retconned already?

Cmon groot, put down your game. Soooo, is Groot worthy? He technically lifted it. Or is it a technicality because it wasn’t fully finished yet?

Cmon bucky, use that fancy arm of yours.

Wow they’re getting destroyed.

They need wanda to help.

BADASS ENTRANCE BABYYYY

How did Thor know to come to wakanda?

Floaty head Bruce

“BRING ME THANOS!”

Ahhhhhahahaha yeaaaaaa

Cry Thanos. Do it. I hate you.

Much more of a purple grape nutsack.

Oh gosh... I know what Peter Quill is going to do. I still don’t hate him.

“With all six stone I would simply snap my fingers. They would all cease to exist.” Orrrr, now hear me out, I know I sound like a broken record now but... MAYBE DOUBLE THE RESOURCES INSTEAD?? That’s not mercy. That’s not up to you to decide whether or not someone’s better off dead.

Smoosh

Yea quill has experience with the power stone

AIM FOR THE HEAD

Cmon it’s basic zombie tactics

I love peter quill lmao

Go capey!!!

Magic with a kick!

Poor Peter

CAPEY NOOOOOO

Wow he’s OP

Ouch quill just got majorly clotheslined

NEBULA

“Where’s Gamora?” 😭😭😭 SHE CARES AGHHHH

Restrain him! Work it mantis!!!

Why even remove the gauntlet, just slit his throat... kill him....

Quill no... stop being cocky...

Oh no

Quill please don’t

JUST SLIT THANOS’ THROAT

Quill please....

Poor quill. Just lost the person who really really loved him

Okay, I still love star lord. Idc what others think. He reacted realistically. If you hate peter quill for how he reacted, you better also hate Tony Stark for how he reacted to bucky when he learned bucky killed his parents despite knowing for a fact that bucky was brainwashed. Yes it was annoying... yes they were so close, but quill is so human here. I don’t hate him. He gets too much hate for acting like any normal person would have. Distraught, grief filled, he lost his love. Someone who helped him open up and finally move on from his mother’s death and fathers villainy.

Spider man saving mantis gives me life

How did that power stone blast not kill them?

Clearly Thanos has played Majora’s Mask. At least he has good taste.

So close vision.... but I know... I know what happens.

YES BUCKY AND ROCKET GUN CIRCLE.

Lmao give rocket Bucky’s old arm.

“I am Groot.” “I am Steve Rogers.” Comedy gold

Cmon Thor, go after the big one first.

Cmon wanda, save them. We need some scarlet witch magic up here to stop these

Okay that was so cool. AND THEN SHE USED THE BLADES

Oh no but now Shuri is alone

So close yet so far.... Dangit... vision was almost good

Ouch. Bonk to the head

YEA BLACK WIDOW

BADASS TIME

AND OKOYE!!

LETS GOOOOOOO

BADASS WOMEN

Ouch poor vision

Cmon Thor back up vision

Please

Hulk is in his feels

Cmon hulk grow up

Ooooh smart move banner

Aaaaand he’s gone

Giant blade look oit

Corvus, screw off.

YEA STEVE

WHERE IS THOR WHEN YOU NEED HIM

CMON NAT

Oh dang. Nice one wanda. But also, sheesh. Helluva way to go. But no big.

Yea vision. Stabby time.

Now vision and Steve, kiss.

Spider man saving everyone’s lives.

YEA STRANGE

Where was this in New York???

MULTIPLYING

WHY DIDNT YOU DO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE????

Oh no

Well then... ouch. Soooo where’s the real stone???

Hey look Tony, you have a fan.

Okay I’m just pissed odd they didn’t just kill Thanos when they had him subdued. Like, worry about the glove AFTER he’s not longer a threat

Oof

Tony is taking a beating

HE WAS STABBED

WHAT

I don’t want your respect Thanos. That’s an insult.

They will remember him. They will remember him Thanos. When he kills you.

DOCTOR STRANGE WHAT?

You really doing this??? I guess he knows what needs to unfold for them to win... dang. I wouldn’t trust him tho.

Peter Quill in berserker mode

Where’d he go?

Name dropping the second movie

Strange knows everything about to go down. Who dies, who lives, what Thanos is about to do... he’s accepting his soon dusted demise because Stark needs to live...

AIM FOR THE HEAD UGHHHHH

Stop teleporting. That’s Loki’s gimmick.

KILL THIS RAISIN LOOKING NUTSACK UGH

Homie way too OP

Poor wanda and Vis...

HER LIP TREMBLE

PHENOMENAL ACTING

SAY I LOVE YOU

I JUST FEEL YOU

AGGHHHH IM CRYING AGAIN

Poor wanda. To have to kill her love... this.. this is a sacrifice Thanos... not your murder....

Wow Steve is holding back Thanos with pure brute

WANDA IS SO STRONG

HOLDING BACK THANOS WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY BREAKING THE MIND STONE

I LOVE YOU

AGHHHHHHHHH

And I know what happens next...

Poor wanda

Piss off thanos you understand nothing

You lost more than she could know? Bull crap. You are causing everyone to lose...

Cruel reality. Wanda has to see him die twice. RIP Vision

RIP half of all life...

AIM FOR THE DAMN HEAD

IF THOR KILLED HIM THEY COULD HAVE USED THE GAUNTLET TO BRING EVERYONE BACK TO LIFE. USED THE TIME STONE TO REVIVE THEM ALL.

How did that not kill Thanos tho. It may not have been a head shot but still.

Lil Gamora

What is this place?

Is this the soul realm?

Thanos, I hope you suffer forever. You deserve all the pain...

Rest In Peace: Vision, Loki, Bucky, T’Challa, Groot, Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson, Mantis, Drax, Peter Quill, Dr. Strange, Peter Parker (I don’t feel so good), and everyone else...

Thank you Nebula.

Thanos, you do NOT deserve to retire peacefully—wipe that smile off of your face

Oop, Rest In Peace Maria Hill and Nick Fury too... Motherfu— (so close Sammy boy...)

Yea Thanos you didn’t really think that through. Much more than half will died since other people rely on other peoples lives

Good thing he hit that button last minute huh? I wonder how captain marvel would fare in the TVA? are her powers considered magic? I mean, she clearly doesn’t know everything since she only just learned about Thanos (which is funny because she was supposedly traversing the universe to protect people)

Welp... onto movie two!

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patricia-von-arundel · 4 years

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Of Boar & Beast: Part 1 - The Lucky Charm - 2

Rating: T

Summary: “As though there’s finally someone who understands how I truly feel” - words Marianne never dreamed that she would say; words Dimitri never dreamed that he would hear. Theirs should have been the perfect ending to a perfect love story. But in the inferno of war, endings are so rarely happy ones…

Crimson Flower Route

Part I: The Lucky Charm Chapter 1 | AO3

At Marianne’s bedside, the desperate screams of the past were silenced. The room was in one of the old towers - quiet, removed from the tumult of war that had descended like a plague of grasshoppers into the newer parts of the castle. There was never quiet there, and much of the time it drove him half-mad, especially on the days when his head ached its worst.

But there were no screams, nor headaches, here. Just the bed, where she was tucked beneath furs and quilts, and a fireplace he had ordered be kept aflame day and night - leaving the room, by the standards he was accustomed to, stiflingly hot. It was a small enough burden to bear, for her sake. He would never forget the state of her when she was found: her skin blanched and raw from the frigid wind, her lips and fingers a darker blue than her hair. Unconscious though she was, she had nonetheless curled tightly against his chest, her body wracked with tremors, as they rode quickly for Fhirdiad, the day’s intended training session cancelled without a word.

He would never have dared such intimacy under any other circumstances, and the proper action would have been to let someone else carry her - Dedue had even offered - but in that unbelievable, terrifying ride home, he could not stand even the thought of entrusting her to anyone else. Not until they were back to the walls within walls of the castle. Not until he knew for certain she was safe.

He did not know where she had come from, nor why she was here - questions such as those could wait for as long as was necessary. She needed time to recover. Time to heal. Almost two weeks had passed, and thought he had seen little of it himself - he could not spend even half as much time as he wished watching over her - the physicians and healers assured him she was making steady progress in her recovery. She still did not wake often, but when she did, it was no longer in confusion that quickly gave way to panic. She was eating more, though he would not have known it from the hollows in her cheeks or the protrusions of her collarbones through the gown in which she slept.

“She’ll be just fine, Your Highness,” one of the healers said, invariably, each time he was able to find a chance to visit, as she and the others gathered their things and quickly disappeared, offering him unrequested privacy. The healer was an older woman, pink-cheeked and sweet, likely very good for timid Marianne - but Dimitri could not understand the knowing smile she gave him, each time she said the words.

Well, no, he could - but only if he accepted he truly was utterly incapable of hiding his feelings. He knew the importance of it. Especially now. Yet he seemed not in the least able to manage it.

He had known he was falling in love with her almost from the first moment he saw her - by the stables, just a scant few days after they had all arrived at the monastery. He was exploring, in hopes it might quell, at least for a time, the anxiety brewing within him. Almost five years had passed since the crown of Faerghus had found its bloody way onto his head, but it was as yet only in name, not in practice. He had never actually led... except in battles he could hardly remember as anything more than a blur of savage, chaotic joy. And now he was in charge of some of the most esteemed, talented future nobles and warriors in all of Fódlan, and yet again by no more merit than the accident of his birth. It was madness.

And so he wandered, on that last day before his true test began.

Away from those who knew him, he was rarely given a second glance - and why would he be? Without the symbol of his position as house leader - the blue half-cape he still was not entirely sure how to clasp to the shoulder of his uniform - he appeared as just another student, like so many trying to get his bearings. He had looked into the greenhouse - wondering if Dedue had yet discovered it, and imagining how pleased he would be when he did - and into the depths of the fishing pond; wandered briefly around the marketplace, enjoying the brief novelty of it, the permanent structures. There were market squares in Faerghus, of course, but the cold and the cost kept the time they were open short and seasonal; far more goods came from traveling merchants moving from place to place as the weather allowed. But he had nothing to buy at Garreg Mach’s marketplace, and despite the exotic wares, he soon wandered on.

He heard the voice before he even realized he was nearing the stables - a sweet, soft, clear voice that reminded him, immediately, of an instrument he had once heard. A harp, perhaps? Whatever it was, it froze him: “Oh - hello there! What’s your name?”

His first assumption was that they were speaking to him, but unless they were hiding behind a wall, he saw no one.

“Dorte, is it? I see you have a little sign and everything! It’s very nice to meet you, Dorte. Do you like apples? You do? I thought you might - all of my father’s horses love apples. Shall I bring you an apple, next time I visit? And some for your friends?”

Dimitri did not yet know - how rare it would be, to hear such confidence in her voice. He just knew that voice was beautiful - and that he was deeply curious about who she might be talking to. Why would she need to bring anyone here apples? He had just seen plenty of spring fruits and vegetables for sale in the marketplace - and far more than would ever be available at home in Fhirdiad, this early in the year.

He began to step around the long, low building - and that was when he heard a distinctly horse-y snort.

“Oh, that’s the spot? Right there between your ears. I’ll have to remember that. What about your nose, then? It’s very soft!”

She was talking to... a horse?

He looked around the corner of what he had now worked out must be the stables. Not intending to snoop, but rather simply... to better assess this curious situation.

When he saw her, though, he knew there were no possible circumstances that would lend him the strength to take one step further... or to draw any attention to his lesser presence, his existence, at all.

Her face, her whole self, seemed to radiate the same gentleness and kindness as her voice. Large, dark eyes; those pale tendrils of hair framing her cheeks. And...

Her smile.

Like her confident voice, he had no idea then how rare that smile truly was. All he knew then was that it was, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful smile in the world.

“I’ll have to find a brush for you - you’d like that as well, wouldn’t you? An apple and a nice brushing - doesn’t it just sound lovely?” The horse had its head against her shoulder; she was patting its neck.

He had to force himself to leave - surely, he did not want to be so rude as to eavesdrop. More than he already had.

He learned her name from Annette. There was little surprise there; Annette seemed to have gotten to know everyone at Garreg Mach - not just students, everyone - before the first week of classes and training was done. “Hello, Marianne!” Dimitri heard her call one morning, waving at the girl as she walked past the first floor dormitory, a stack of books clutched against her chest.

She froze and looked up - and it was like a deer, catching sight of a distant archer. Her dark eyes were wide, and for the first time, Dimitri would see the even darker crescents beneath them. There was no smile now, and her voice was soft and unsure: “Oh... hello.” And then she ducked her head and hurried off, her pace markedly quickened.

He watched her. He couldn’t seem to help himself. Not because he liked looking at her - well... not only that - but because he found himself strangely, desperately eager to try to understand her. She was almost always alone, rarely speaking to anyone, moving from place to place with her head down. She ate alone. She sat alone in the library. She prayed alone (and often).

When he finally worked up the courage to offer prayers alongside her, she gave him the briefest of glances - then quickly turned back to the Goddess, closing her eyes once more. But she voiced no complaint, and he hoped that might be silent acceptance of his presence.

He wasn’t focusing all of his energy on getting to know her, of course, nor even as much as he might have wished to - there was already more than enough to occupy his time. Not only classes and training, but also the strange, unnerving incidents around the monastery, and increasing rumbles of greater conflict to come. There was palpable tension. And, of course, he could not help but notice what seemed erratic behavior in Edelgard - someone he’d once believed he knew so well. She behaved as a stranger now, and worse, a dark, potentially dangerous one. He feared for her - and he feared for Fódlan.

And... there were his own difficulties. He tried to dismiss them as merely indicative of stress. For a certainty, they were all under stress. Were headaches and increasingly troubled dreams really such a surprise, under the circumstances? The echoes of what seemed almost-familiar voices, pulsing against his skull? Fragments of memories, trapped briefly within his subconscious.

Still, it was all sometimes very difficult to ignore.

He attempted to talk to her, bracing himself for how awkward he knew it would be. She rarely looked at him. She never smiled.

When she asked him to stay away from her...

Of course, he did. It should not have been unexpected, truly. And he knew a bit more of her, by then, schools being as prone to scurrilous gossip as they were. He knew she had lost her family, though not the details of what had happened, and that she had been taken in by a distant relative only a few years previously. He knew Hilda had grown close to her, and seemed very protective. And he knew some believed she had a Crest, for some reason kept carefully secret.

The last, Dimitri thought he might understand the reason, whatever it might be, better than most. His own Crest might be a boon on the battlefield, but was nothing but a nuisance in his everyday life. Perhaps hers was somehow similar.

Then that day in the dining hall - he stood like a fool for what seemed half an eternity, hoping a place to sit anywhere else, anywhere at all, might open up. When he finally asked to join her - sitting, as almost always, alone - and she said yes, he felt a surge of relief; a dam bursting inside him, when he hadn’t even realized until that moment that it had existed at all. Stumbling over his own words, speaking nonsense he immediately regretted - until, for the first time, she smiled at him.

Then, she laughed. She laughed.

A dam broken there, too. Slowly, slowly - she no longer shied, nor asked him to stay away. (And what a relief, to realize he had not overstepped any bounds, when she had said that!) Smiles came more frequently. She introduced him to Dorte, and Dimitri bowed and offered greeting, expressing more elegance than he was typically able to muster when telling Dorte what an honor it was to make the acquaintance of such a good friend to Marianne. Her face lit up then in a way he had never seen before.

And Dimitri knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he was in love with Marianne von Edmund.

What might have happened, had war not erupted across Fódlan? Had Edelgard not fallen sway to ill-advisors and some incomprehensible longing for power? Had he not had to watch, from his post at a northern gate, Dorte’s bridle still clutched in his hand, as the carriages and horses from the alliance carried the woman he loved away?

He could make peace with losing her - so long as she was safe. What he had feared most of all was that her voice might one day join those within the tender-bruised confines of his skull. They did not merely echo, now. Now, they raged.

Her voice did not come.

But she had.

She shifted in bed, head falling from side to side, her brow furrowing. The blankets around her shifted, twisting away.

He tucked them back around her - carefully, carefully.

She stilled. Her face relaxed once more.

He would need to have word sent to the man she now called her father - Rodrigue had advised him of this the day they had found her, and reminded him of the importance of it when, just days later, word arrived that both Edmund and Gloucester territories had declared for the Empire, despite the continued silence from Duke Riegan. Dimitri could not disagree with the necessary of informing Margrave Edmund, but before he ordered it done, he wished to hear from Marianne the reason why she had risked her life to come to Faerghus. He would not do anything that might put her in further danger.

His hand was still resting against her shoulder, where he had smoothed her coverings back around her, when the knock came at the door - and he jerked back as if she was suddenly aflame. She twitched, but no more.

“Your Highness?” Dedue’s voice. Of course. “My apologies. It is almost time for your war council.”

“I - yes. Thank you, Dedue.” He allowed himself only a moment - and a smile for her, though she could not see. “I must take my leave, I’m afraid. I shall return as soon as I am able. Rest well, Marianne.”

She stirred, but did not wake.

He was not able to make it back to her until the next evening. The war had led to several private discussions, including one with Rhea and Seteth to discuss how best to assist church faithful should Edelgard renege on her promise to allow them to worship as they pleased. Scouting reports, drafts of orders and declarations, rumors leaking from both Empire and Alliance - his attention was required by all, despite his powerlessness over what seemed the vast majority of it. There were whispers old Duke Riegan was finally on his death bed; Dimitri did wonder what Claude might do, when the Alliance was in his hands - follow Gloucester and Edmund to the Empire? Maintain neutrality? For some reason, Dimitri could not imagine him allying with Faerghus - but at the same time, when had he ever been able to understand what Claude might do? He was just as likely to be knocking on the front gates before tomorrow’s breakfast as anything else, as far as Dimitri might predict.

He wondered if Marianne might have a better grasp of Claude.

It was growing dark by the time he was able to see her. The fire was, as he had requested, still lit, but he put the candle he carried to the lamps as well, dispelling at least some of the shadows. He disliked shadows, the furtive movement of them - and he disliked even more the idea of anything moving furtively in a room where Marianne was asleep, all alone.

He also didn’t like the thought of her alone in any circumstances - well, unless she truly chose to be, and not out of some misguided idea that she was harmful and dangerous. He wanted her to feel wanted. And not from anything but herself - no Crest, no title, no family connections. Wanted as Marianne.

Strangely, sometimes, she reminded him very strongly of someone else he had once loved - a more nascent, confusing love than this one, but just as true. They were nothing alike, nothing at all, but it wasn’t their personalities that brought similarity to mind. No - it was the way the world seemed to insist on treating them, buoying them about like a child’s wooden toy lost at sea, eating away at their trust and their security.

He reached out, smoothing away a strand of hair that had fallen across her face - it made her nose twitch. The way the lamplight caught that hair - “You even look like her,” he said softly.

“Nnh?” She turned her face towards him. A moment later - to his surprise - her eyes squinted open, finding his. “...Dimitri?” Her voice was hoarse - but still beautiful. So beautiful.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Of course: she was finally awake when he was present, and he was already in a position that required apology even before a proper greeting.

She worked an arm from under the pile of blankets and used a finger to rub one eye. “No, it’s fine... I... I think I’m ready to be awake. Just for a little while. I woke up earlier, but... no one was here.” She turned her head again, considering, then back again. “And... um... if it’s okay to ask... where is here?”

He almost laughed - not to mock, but simply because her question struck him as almost painfully endearing, and because she had been brave enough to ask, and because this meant, it must mean, that what the healers said was true: she was getting better. She was going to continue to get better. She was going to get well.

“Castle Fhirdiad,” he said. “I must apologize for the rather chaotic atmosphere here at the moment.”

“Fhirdiad? I... This is... Fhirdiad?”

“Don’t let the warmth fool you. It is only in this room, I fear.”

She was the one who laughed - as hoarse as her voice, but laughter nonetheless. “I can’t believe I made it...”

He allowed himself a smile - surprised at how easily it came. They didn’t often, these days. “You made it, indeed. Though if I may ask - how? The trade wagons, perhaps? That’s mostly all that crosses the borders, these days - did something happen during the journey?”

Too many questions - her eyes darted away, and her cheeks flushed. “No. I... I made a mistake. I didn’t bring enough money. So I... I walked.”

“You...?” He stared. He couldn’t help himself. “You walked? All the way from...”

“From my adoptive father’s house. And... I don’t think him likely to want me back, but I can find somewhere else to go if... if coming here was a mistake.” She closed her eyes, but it did nothing to hide the sadness, the pain in her expression and her voice: “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“Marianne...” The arm she had pulled from the coverings was still out, resting at her side. He reached out - almost impulsively - and stroked his fingers against the back of her hand, over the smooth little bumps of her knuckles. “I remember what I said - and I meant every word. You came and found me, just as I asked of you, and I shall keep my end of that promise, as well: anything within my power to help you with, I will do. If that - or even part of that - is allowing you to remain safely here in Faerghus, then none shall force your departure as long as I still breathe.” He hesitated, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I would never force you to stay against your own will, of course, but if I may express a rather selfish desire, I... I hope that you will stay.”

For a time, there was silence - and a divot still between her eyebrows. “Who did you mean?” she finally asked - very softly. Her eyes remained closed.

“Who did I...?”

“You said... I looked like someone. Um... didn’t you?”

“Oh.” He should never have said that, whether she could hear him or not. “Yes, but... it was just a passing thought. I was thinking of the past.”

“The past...” The divot deepened. There were creases at the corners of her eyes. “You meant Edelgard, didn’t you?” She bit her lower lip then - hard. As if already punishing herself for allowing the words to escape her.

But he was the one who had gaffed - ruining her brief, awakened happiness before he had even realized it was tonight a possibility. But he would not lie to her: “The way the light caught your hair... Yes. I did mean Edelgard.”

“You’re very interested in her. I, um... I saw you watching her. Quite... quite often. Before...”

Flummoxed, he had no words for a time - just his own jumbled thoughts, which seemed to scatter like minnows each time he attempted to gather them. “My relationship with Edelgard is... rather complicated.” It would take all night just to try to explain his own feelings, much less make a broken attempt to go into the scraps and fragments he knew of her history; his fumbling attempts to speak to her during their earliest days at the monastery had provided hardly more information than he might have gotten asking the same questions of a wall. Best to keep it simpler: “She was my stepsister, once. Her mother was married to my father, but both lost their lives at Duscur. Edelgard is... she’s family I fear I can never regain.”

Finally, Marianne opened her eyes. He could still see the deep pain there - but now he knew it was for him. That somehow made it harder still to see: he would never, should never, add to the tremendous emotional burden he knew that she already bore.

“I had no idea,” she said softly.

“Very few do. Or ever did. It was not the most pleasant of circumstances for anyone involved. But I know you must be tired - I will bore you with the details, should you wish to hear them, at a later time.”

“I’m... I’m sorry. Both for what happened, and... for watching you. I should not have done that, but...”

“I must confess to the same.”

Her eyes met his - confused, now. “What?”

He finally laughed - but it was brief, and contained little humor. “A sin upon us both, if you were to name it so. I watched you as well. I... wished very much, then, that I better knew how to ease the sadness writ so clearly across your face.”

She bit her lip, hesitating - then attempted a smile. “You did, I think. Maybe. I... don’t feel very sad right now, though it... it feels as though I should. I feel... warm.”

He looked towards the fireplace. “Is the fire too high? I can tamp it down. Or help you remove some of your coverings. Perhaps I overdid it, when I -”

For the second time, she laughed - and twisted her hand, so that her fingers could wrap around his own. “A good warm,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed once more. “You are... You’re gentle.”

He was taken aback - rarely had anyone called him something so preposterous. “...Gentle? Me?”

She smiled at that - that tiny, lovely smile. “Yes. I think you’re very gentle, Dimitri.”

“But I... I cannot... Please, do not trust me with gentleness. Please.”

“But you are.” Her fingers released his and reached up, cupping his cheek. Her palm was cool and soft. “You... you called me lucky once. Do you remember?”

For a moment, all he could focus on was that hand. Who had last touched him so? And... could he...? He shook his head, just to clear it - then realized his gaffe. “No. I mean - yes, of course I remember. Yes. I... I apologize. Yes. I remember saying... something like that.”

She laughed again. He loved her laugh. He loved...

“If you can name me lucky,” she said, “then I can name you gentle.”

“I... suppose that is fair.” His own smile, now, felt rather rueful - ridiculous.

She was still looking up at him. Her eyes, darkened almost to black - the dim light? - were on his, and her brow was drawn. “Dimitri...?”

He took a deep breath. “I will try. I can only promise... that I will always try. Try to be gentle with you.”

A chance - and he risked it. He bent closer, and let his lips brush against hers. Her hand tightened against his face, and he let the kiss deepen, feeling her shudder. Wondering at it. Longing for it.

For her.

But still...

He was careful.

He was... gentle.

She was the first to pull away - and her eyes ,when they met his again, looked almost frightened. She spoke a single word: “...Stay?”

He struggled to catch his breath - and to understand. “Marianne, I -”

“Dimitri.” Surety in her voice, if not in her expression. “Please. Just... just stay. I don’t want... I don’t want to be... alone.” Her hand found his own once more - and pulled. “Please?”

Unfamiliar intimacy - her back against him, his arms curling awkwardly around her. The sound and feel of breathing, slowing to sleep. She was warm. Soft. Her hair smelled of woodsmoke and lavender and something like worn leather. A good smell.

Chaste intimacy. Beautiful, unearned intimacy.

When he slept, no voices found him.

#of boar and beast #dimimari #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #marianne von edmund #dedue molinaro #(very briefly)#fire emblem three houses fanfiction

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yeswritingsandwritings · 4 years

Text

COVID Diaries; Pennies

It is March 2020 and I’ve channeled the spirit of Paul Revere. As Los Angeles erupts into rioting and mass fentanyl suicide, I dive headfirst into the cabin of the Mazda, and gun the packed ship upwards along the vacant I5 corridor. Every smouldering city under Gavin Newsom looks further gone than the last. The navigation takes me on some perverse fantasy detour thru post-apocalyptic San Francisco. It’s been a long time coming but now it’s solidified. The mayor and her delegates have chomped their cyanide pills and now the streets and bridges offer rotting cars beside silent, beautiful Victorian manors. Still in full color, the sky is blue and the sun is yellow, gleaming indifferently. I am nervous about San Franscisco County. The shelter in place order says no one shall be out on the street without proper reason. And, proper reason or not, I have a pharmacy of drugs in the trunk of my car. Will it be enough to wait out the pandemic in my mother’s house? Enough to keep me sane tucked in the basement of the compound on Cougar Mountain, Issaquah, Washington, for GodKnowsHowLong? My very own Bavarian Alps.

For years in LA I have lived for high speed and hard sex in a blackout frenzy which no young American could denigrate without looking like a nerd. In our culture of excess I sought the most insane, unexplored corridors. Chavionistic romps through the bitter forests of lust, contamination, too-young suicide, too-good blowjobs that leave explosions on this cast of characters flown from every corner of the globe, all with the same indelible fever. I come to now, in this chaotic month handed down by God, March 2020, and I’m withdrawing from all of it in the penthouse on the side of the mountain.

In this moment the fantasy is fading fast, like being jolted from a wet dream by a home invasion. For a lot of people the American dream was already a flickering ember in the distance, a relic of some stupid pilgrimgrage for egoic glory, a blind propaganda puzzle piece with no jigsaw to belong to. But I had formed my own relationship with the concept, and, until now, had believed wholeheartedly in the myth in America; or at least that myth’s capacity to spur significant action, which could abolish hunger and pain, mistreatment and misunderstanding, which could deliver us from evil and unto the kingdom of heaven.

I am not, to many of her 300 million pairs of eyes, a portrait of traditional American success. I am the starving artist archetype. I’ve lived in abandoned buildings and shot cocaine into my veins in the speeding bathroom of many an Amtrak carriage. These may be my most definitive traits, save for the music I somehow manage to draw out of all of this. Albums worth of potential answers to the impossible questions. Sometimes I think I’ve reached the peak, with the LSD and the naked festival girls. I am 26 years old and feel incompetent. I go to pay a traffic ticket or am electric bill and find myself paralyzed at the entrance to the website. In a moment of otherworldly strength I call the bank and my debit card has been cancelled. I stare at the parking ticket in my pod, which has been rented from a company called Up(Start), and is arranged in a row with twenty others. At least I’ve made it to Los Angeles.

Up(Start) is a strange place. I find most people don’t last very long in this community. They leave back to their hometowns or find apartments. The ones who stay haunt this place like ghosts, with no discernible goals and mysterious incomes. I’ve learned not to ask how these life-longers pay the rent. The answer is not translatable.

Willow is one of these life-longers. She always talks about moving out; sometimes to an apartment in LA, most recently about some nebulous palace in France. She says her grandmother died and left her everything. She shows me a suitcase full of watches and rings that still can’t fully convince me of her story. She drinks vodka when she wakes up and convinces me to fuck her when Jesse leaves us in his room alone.

Jesse found his way out to a beautiful house in Silver Lake. He had been at Up(Start) for a year before that. He is the nicest guy I know, offering the coat off his back for nothing but a swig of your vodka in return.

I left these characters behind, keeping a steady 65 on the interstate and stopping only to black out in a hotel room in Redding, CA. Summer, inspirational barista and blowjob queen, dared me to stop and see her in Portland, but my body was crawling from scabies from Lucy, (who was also in Portland and, I would later learn, infected with the virus) and I sped right through.

My younger brother Jon was at the house and had been awaiting my arrival. I instantly understood why. My mother had become a figurehead for the national panic, and shoulder-hugged me with her mask on. She is, as we speak, sterilizing the place.

I’ve gotten to spend a good amount of time with Jon, and am somewhat surprised to find that he faces the same existential torment as I do. This is not something we talk about, but I can feel it on him. He is super into Xanax, and orders pressed bars off the darknet. I share the drugs I’ve brought with him. Kratom, weed, and, —most enticing— Flubromazolam. I learn that he has been kicked out of UW on academic probation. I ask him about it in front of my mother and stepdad. With a casualness that shocks me he says he just didn’t care about any of his classes. But he’s got reaccepted to the school and he says he’s going to make it this time.

I show him how I order my drugs online. I show him the designer benzodiazepines on the clearnet, pennies per dose. We place an order for O-DSMT. It’s an insane solution to our problems, but I guarantee you it works.

I tell Jon about my life in LA with the stuff. Taking it and driving weed deliveries all day. I don’t tell him about the long nights with Lucy, telling her the love I feel from the opiate is sourced from her, then failing to get hard.

Jon, for his part, tells me about the peak of his Oxycontin habit, poppin 7 OC30’s a day with his buddies at Rolling Loud. I was just a few blocks away. I didn’t know he was in town.

We order the O-DSMT to his apartment in the U District, stopping to and snag it on our sole vacation to Dad’s for dinner. Two packages have been delivered. We have the save pavlov response. We carry the packages to his apartment on the top floor and split the bubble wrap with a butterfly knife. Out of a manilla envelope comes 100 green Xanax bars. From a bent UPS envelope comes a gram of O-DSMT and 250mg of 4-ACO-DMT, a bonus for me (Jon says he hates psychedelics).

We set to the scale and split the gram, dosing 50mg then and there to get through dinner. The next day he visits me in the basement, saying “Yo, this O-DSMT shit… it’s dope.”

I say “I’m with you.”

My days are spent deep in the dream flow, recording songs for a hopeful fourth album. The third one is still far from complete, but I can’t go back and meddle with those songs now. Wouldn’t dare touch their Los Angeles essence with the hand of the evergreen state. They will go to Rob and Twon and Andy as they are.

I’m back to guitars for the new album. Cardinal sin AC/DC type songs. I think it may be a double album, quarantine permitting. I want an exploratory, unstructured, throw paint at the wall and see what sticks, White album/Life of Pablo situation. I want solo piano pieces and Aphex Twin-esque 808 excursions. I want the label to release it on white vinyl with extensive liner notes. Indulgence. I want this album to be the one where I say “indulge me.”

If Rob is vehimently opposed to the idea I had the fantasy of making an easy album. Taking songs like Parade Owl, See You Tomorrow, Miss Can’t Sleep and putting out a whole album of them. Good rock music. Take a step back from the frontlines; the cutting edge. We’ll see what sticks to the wall after this quarantine is over.

Weeks drift by. There’s a trade route for all the beer that gets brought into the house. It goes from the garage fridge to the basement fridge to my eager hand, to my mouth, to my blood. Night by night the ritual recurs, til my mom takes out the downstairs trash and finds all the empties. She makes some subtle comment. I tell her to buy more White Claw.

Despite the drug flow my inspiration seems to be drying up. Rob took a listen to the twenty five songs I’d completed since arriving in Issaquah and said they sounded like Dogs. The old band. The old rock and roll band we’ve been trying to move away from. I was disappointed to hear him say it. I was disappointed he wasn’t excited about the songs. “Fuck it, should I scrap them all?” I asked myself. Then I started to look around the house and understand that if nothing came of these songs… I must be insane. I must be losing it. The stupid research chemical stimulants don’t help. I thought they would. Productivity and all… but I’m just jittery, texting strangers on Instagram for hours, all the while feeling like I should be doing something else. And the television is on in the background, and I told myself I was going to do so much to day. And I did it. And people on Instagram say “you seem busy.” They’ve always said I seem this and I seem that. I never agreed with any of it, but they probably know me better than I do. How could I see myself? I look for myself through a fog and it’s only a ripple of a shadow. A microcosm a million miles away through a hellscape with no up or down, no east or west. They say I’m social. They say I’m a socialite. Really I just get drunk and unleash all my nervous energy on the party or, nowadays, the Zoom meeting.

Today I drink Modello. Ma and Chuck went to the Seattle waterfront for a picnic or something. I didn’t get the details. But the sun should be going down now, and she’s texting me asking if I want to play a board game when they get back. I say yeah sure I do. My temper when I’m off these amphetamines analogues, though… I worry I’ll flip the Pictionary board. Slam dunk the wine glass onto the wood floor. Now the cliffhanger; will this Modello calm my nerves?

This morning I went with mom to buy plants for the garden. I thought we were going to get seeds but she wanted the already grown ones. She was ready to be angry. Nothing made her happy. We went to three different garden store. I think she got some tomatos. How the hell am I going to get out of this one? Feels like the walls are closing in. I feel like I’m in the freezer in the back of McDonalds. I feel so sad for her, but I also feel so sad for myself. I feel cut off. I feel short of breath. I feel terror. It is Friday, April 17, 2020. Dread, terror, paranoia… I’m sure it’s been felt a million times by a million people, but here’s my version of it. In this McMansion on the side of the mountain, feeling less like I have a mission than ever. Calling nobody. Freezing. Yeah I’m freezing.

My brother and I both have drugs to get through this crisis but I’m planning to get off them. I sold him half of my etizolam and half of another shipment of O-DSMT the other day. He wasn’t at all interested in the 2-FDCK, an analogue of the dissociative Ketamine. I am still not really sure what dissociatives do to consciousness. They can move you into states profound darkness. You feel like your life is a black and white film and it is raining outside. And it drips off the palm trees and you sit in traffic on the way back from the Boy’s and Girl’s Club, where the boys and girls wouldn’t listen, they’d just go off into their own worlds. I wonder how they’re all doing now, tucked into their parents houses in Calabasas.

Anyway, I said to Jon “I’m getting off the stuff.” And I intended to. This journal finds me at a crossroads between fantasy and reality. What is my life going to be for? Where do I cast this fishing pole? Well the pole’s been cast. It’s out there in the middle of the ocean. But at the same time it’s in my hand, in this very moment, and I can chose where to dip it. I’m not trying to catch a fish in this scenario, I just like the serenity of the bay.

The question on everyone’s mind is: “If not drugs, then what!?” That’s a great question and I’d be bullshitting if I said I could answer it. I don’t know what lies on the other side of this life. I want to find out. Do I truly? I have to truly. Love, sex, work, victory… I’ve seen all these things before. And I keep turning to these substances. They fill up my days and my hours and all the music is informed by them. They move my hands to play the guitar and my voice is scratchy when it comes out. I’ve formed an identity around these drugs to a certain extent. That idea of me has to die. It does. I’ll have to mourn it. I’ll have to mourn a lot. I guess I don’t know what to be afraid of. I know a lot of stuff is going to come up through this process. The drugs numb it all out. People say that but it’s really really true. Bad news doesn’t don’t hit you as hard. Most things don’t hit you at all. You’re in your world. You’re off in a cloud. You’re unaware of the world around you. You’re afraid to engage. Why?

It’s easier not to ask why. It’s easier to get the immediate relief of a squirt of etizolam tincture. Or a gross tossing of O-DSMT powder into your mouth and a quick washdown with water. In this way you don’t have to answer any questions. In this way nothing hits you. And guess what else? All your heroes did the same thing.

But a lot of them died doing it. And you don’t want to die. You really really don’t want to die. You want to live a long life, with kids and grandkids, and see what happens to America and what music turns into. You don’t want to die, but what do you have to live for? You know you can make things up. Everyone’s always making shit up. All of this is made up. The culture, the value of a dollar, the value of a Benz. We just decide on it. And that takes a lot. But you know what takes a lot less? Deciding how you want to react to each moment. This one and this one and this one. Do you know what I mean? They say a lot of stuff about the world. The world’s fucked. They say the world’s burning to the ground. They say we can’t leave our houses. They say America won’t be a super power by the end of all of this. But they’re making shit up. And I’m making shit up too. I’m whipping up like a chef. Throwing dishes out from the kitchen, but the dishes are words and actions and the kitchen is my mind. What kind of food am I throwing out? What kind of food am I serving the world? Let me serve love and hope. But for that to happen, let me cultivate it in myself first. Let me nurture it like a child. Let me see it sober. Let me take the steps in the right direction. It’s simple. It’s simpler than you think it is. What are you going to do right now, after reading this? Or while reading this? How are you going to face the world?

Jon told me he got into Xanax from the Famous Dex song “Japan.”

“Baby girl, what you doing, where your man? I just popped a xan, fifty thousand in Japan”

He told me his friends heard the song and picked up some Xanax because of it. They liked it and reached out to him “You’ve got to try this,” they said. My little brother, in the throes of this batshit demon force that will bury him. It might bury me too. The jury’s still out. Mom, just let me withdraw in peace. She brings down a space heater. I grow to love it. I lay down on the wood floor that the spiders sometimes dash across. The space heater comes close to burning me, but I’m ok. I stand up, dizzy from all I’ve done to try to combat the withdrawls. Way too much etizolam, way to much kratom, getting to the point of way too much weed and alcohol. But hopefully it’ll all be over soon, and I can call my friends in peace and not want to slam down the phone whenever there is the tiny threat of silence, or whenever I speak, or whenever they speak. I can’t any of it sober, that’s what I think. Life is hard sober; it’s a breeze when you’re floating thru it. A good dream. So why get sober? They say it’ll kill me. Well, I said that. In this very same paragraph. And maybe it will. But when you’re withdrawing like this… all you want is a moment of peace.

Oh God, at dinner tonight I started to go off about my own mental state to the family. I should have known it was a big mistaken, but on my way home from Doordashing a rainy Issaquah I stopped at QFC and got a bottle of True Eagle American Spirits, Kentucky manufactured vodka. And, helping myself to serving of kimchi, I said to them “I think I’m losing it.” And the conversation spiraled until my mother asked me “Are you suicidal?” And “Are you struggling with drugs?” Jon, between us, must have felt betrayed, but I just wanted to feel understood. I feel Chuck does not want to understand. I understand what he’s sacrificed for the life he has, but what value does that life has to him? He has a tumor in his jawbone, and it’s eating away at him, and no one can do anything. And they can’t get out to the specialists on the East Coast, and they won’t do the invasive surgery. He’s too busy. I know, in some capacity, he understands. Because he blows these things off like they don’t matter at all, when anyday he could have a stroke like Grandma had, fall to the floor of the kitchen while dishing up his kimchi, or pulling a slice of pizza out of the carton. I feel the same way. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I know that I am mentally unwell. And I avoid the questions about my drug use and about my suicidality. I miss girls, ma. I miss pussy and parties and not giving a fuck. The way I don’t give a fuck now is in these terrifying sound collages drafted on the latest of nights, in the deep dark depths of quaratine. What was I saying in the last one? Something about how I didn’t wanna kill the crabs on the beach on Whidbey Island as a kid. Holy shit I’m losing my mind. But it’s all fine, isn’t it? As long as the music comes out fine.

What could I possibly do to get healthy? I feel so far off the deep end. You have no idea; I feel like crying. My best friend, living with the girl I thought I could always go back to. We don’t talk. I mix these ketamine analogues in with that cheap cheap vodka (plus etizolam) and cry tears onto this plastic table. It’s pointless to keep up the tinder courtships. I feel like this will never end. And it started with such a bang. I was such a part of history. Now I’m a nobody; I’m a junkie, holding on by the thinnest thread. No energy to pray. I feel like Cobain, and I know so many people do… but I really do. I can only imagine. But I’m only listening to Mingus, Lana Del Rey and Radiohead (Kid A thru Hail to The Thief).

Should I throw weed in the mix? Lord knows I have enough of it. It’s my number one priority. I’ve made enough songs now that we could workshop what I’ve come up with years. What else is there to do? Mingus ripped the piano strings out of some pianist’s instrument in front of a live audience, then stormed off the stage. Where the fuck is that in my life? I’m in front of the computer, weeping because America has come to a close. You know they sent jazz to the Soviet Union as a WEAPON? A weapon of freedom and democracy and individualism. What the fuck happened? It all makes me want to cry. It’s all too much; this world. These people I’ve known and loved and lost. This music I’ve made that they promise me will be something, but I don’t know if I believe them. I don’t know if I want anything to do with this life. I can’t engage with my culture anymore… my history. I feel like I’m not a part of it. I feel so disconnected. Who’s rippin the strings out of MY piano? Or who’s piano am I ripping the strings out of? We’ve lost so much… I mean… I’ll do my best to work with what we still have, but we’ve been so fractured. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was the end. Of America. Of our culture. Of our music and our hustle and bustle and industry and lover’s lanes and rites of passage. I feel like I’m mourning it now. Mourning my culture. Maybe mourning the illusion that was sold to us. Believe me, I was first in line to buy. That’s why it destroys me so deeply to see it collapse.

I guess we’re all one people. I’m crying writing this. Weeping, weeping, weeping. Grieving. You know what grieving is. I remember what’s-her-name in the pool. We went to every hot tub, each a different temperature, in the Desert Hot Springs Resort. Then Lucy’s friend’s new boyfriend told us Bernie Sanders had stayed there when he had visited DHS. I laughed so hard. Lucy ordered me another drink. She didn’t mind the cost. She liked me to be on her level. And I didn’t mind. I was proud to sip. We went back to the hotel and did god knows what. Feels a million lifetimes away.

This was back when anything could happen. When America was a blank slate and no one could predict anything. When you could go outside and say “What the fuck is up?” and get in adventures. I mourn the loss of that. Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe that’s still there. But I’ve emotionally severed my ties to it. And I wish I didn’t. Because I love it. I love it so much. It’s not a myth. I swear to god it’s not a myrh. It was a reality… until all this happened. You have no idea. I mean, if you’re reading this and weren’t around before. You have no idea. I mean… I don’t know what things are going to be like after this. But not the same. There’s no way they could be the same.

You know I hope I get this shit. I hope I contract COVID-19. Lay in this guest bedroom bed with the scabies I may or may not have gotten from Upstart Creative Living… and which wouldn’t die off. I hope I can’t breathe. I hope I’m immune. I want to walk the world. Maybe I should go out, get it, isolate, heal, be immune… if that’s even possible. At this point we don’t even know if immunity is a thing that happens with COVID. But even if I could walk the earth without fear of it… everyone else is cowering, and they pull away from, seeing I’m not wearing a mask or gloves, or even if I am… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would all end this way. I would have done so much more. Focused so much more on each kiss. Even every note. I did my best, I guess. It feels like it’s all coming to an end. It’s Thursday, April 23, but that doesn’t mean anything. You have to understand how little dates mean in this time. It’s like we’re living in one of those time capsules buried beneath the walkway at WWU. Stagnant… yeah we write songs and poems and do our work and keep the economy from faltering completely… but there’s a different angle to look at it all now. The world is over. I mean, aha, to use the words of Rem… “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.” Key words: “As we know it.” I had no idea this would happen in my lifetime… I couldn’t even conceive it. If you would have told me this would have happened six months ago I wouldn’t have believed it. America seemed so stable. And now it feels like it’s in shambles. It really did feel stable. You may think I’m insane for saying America in September, 2019 seemed stable… but shit, we were free. And we were headed where we were headed. This throws a wrench in all of this. And it could be the end. And I thought this was the greatest country on earth. Happiness is a buttery, try to catch it like every night.

I’ve been fascinated in American history since I could understand it. Most specifically, I’ve been fascinated about how history is still happening. The closer you get you the current day, the harder it is to get a straight story. FDR did what he did and we won. That’s fact. That’s cement. Nixon? Everyone agrees he was a crook. But what about Reagan? What about Bush Sr? What about Clinton? The closer you get to the modern day, the more difficult it becomes to discern what is real and what is fake.

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untiltheribbonbreaks · 7 years

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HEART OF THE MATTER

A statement of intent by P . L . Winfield

“Everything potentially always, all is forgiven” - Petrichor

Something occurred to me today: our name has taken on a new meaning. As a child, I would tape the radio onto cassette, fanatically watch VHS tapes the adults left out, and play both ‘until the ribbon broke,’ cementing a life-long obsession with the marriage of sound and image. Our first record was a genuine attempt to capture the sense of wonder in first discovering that magic. An exercise in atmosphere, texture and nostalgia.

When left in the sun too long - when unpreserved and unattended to - cassette ribbon begins to unravel and warp, often trying to escape the safety of its own plastic housing. And in the months and years following our first release, and to a large extent whilst promoting it, I most certainly unraveled. Spilling, unspooled, my life eventually became unmanageable. The crippling anxiety that I had spent so many years masking had finally succumbed to the influence of its most tyrannical friends: Alcohol and Benzodiazepines.

To some degree, I think a large part of surviving the uncertain and chaotic experience that is the human one, is the ability to lie to oneself; pathologically and convincingly. At any cost. In bright white rooms before we walked onto stage, I would stand, gently trembling, tsunami approaching and whisper gently to myself:

“One. More. Drink. No. More. Fear.”

A drink before one stands, vulnerable, in front of a large room of people is, in isolation, a perfectly reasonable reaction to an understandable level of anxiety. In moderation. Just one. Early night. Early start.

But the difference for someone like me, is fundamental. To an alcoholic these words are impossible theory. A brick by brick instruction manual for the Wall of China. There is no moderation, only the promise of oblivion and for me, the temporary quieting of a loud, pervasive and almost constant voice of anxiety.

“Anxiety, I’m pulling down the blinds” - Black and White

Every day and night I tried to quieten that voice. Pushing it away, trying to starve it, bury it, drown it out. Every day it came back harder, louder, more and more vicious. I poured fuel on that particular fire until I couldn’t fight it anymore. In the end, I no longer knew if I was drinking because I was anxious, or anxious because I was drinking.

I couldn’t leave the house without drinking vodka straight from the bottle and worse, I had accepted it. I had lost the fundamental belief that anything of any worth was on the other side of the door. Congratulations! I had, knowingly, torn down every aspect of my life, spitefully, on purpose.

“No more courage in the bottle, I’ve got people I can’t let down” - Meru

In September of last year, I had reached the end of my rope. I could no longer hide from myself, or those still around me. I will be forever grateful to the two people who sat down with me one fateful afternoon and helped me devise my escape route from madness. The start of a journey that was to define my recovery and the very reason that there is even a body of work to speak of.

“The only way out is through” (Alcoholics Anonymous)

Far from the environment that had enabled my addiction, I began treatment, treatment that would change my life forever and help me to reconnect with another voice. A voice I had long forgotten. For three months, I worked. A daily routine of physical and spiritual practise, shedding old skin, changing old stories, reconnecting the dots. Finding a way back.

There are of course names for what we did, there are words for the practices rooted in various schools of thought and belief. Practices that have existed in both the East and the West for hundreds of years. But I find the language of such things needlessly flowery and over-complicated. In layman’s terms however, which have always sat better with me, I believe that any crisis of the soul is a detachment from your true self, the part of you that patiently sits behind all of the worry, all of the pain and discomfort and waits quietly for your return.

So that was our aim, that’s what we set off to find. Some peace of mind, the same peace of mind we all start life with, in my case, long buried under the old, dead weight of fear, shame, and clear, strong liquor.

“C’mon now kiddo, we’ll be alright” - Count the lightening

I had my daily practice, I had my mentor and I had the ocean. As I started, day by day, to feel better, I could feel a kind of shift creatively. I could feel something start to come into focus. Words, sounds, images. Gradually filling up the spaces in my mind, previously occupied by grey, a light was coming on. I set up a makeshift studio in my cabin and went to work filling the spaces on a record that I had previously thought was finished, with a sense of wonder and love for writing, that I had all but lost. But here it was, words and sounds, in my every grateful, waking thought.

It is worth mentioning at this juncture, that whilst in the midst of madness and my subsequent recovery, Elliot had been patiently waiting, wondering if his oldest friend and band member was ever coming back to some kind of normalcy, let alone to music. Never one to sit on his hands, my best mate, also navigating his own turbulence (his story to tell) took it upon himself to learn how to produce and engineer, creating a studio of his own at home on the west side of LA, making loops, ideas and creating fundamental additions to a slowly, surely forming, completed album.

Once back together and with an incredible amount of renewed energy in making music and being a band again, we finished the record, creativity and friendship, two hugely underrated aspects of recovery, I think, from anything.

So here we are today. I find myself writing this with trepidation. I can feel that old knot in my gut forming and my heart rate start to quicken a little. Anxiety of course, is incurable. We need it to survive - it is after all only trying to protect us - but it’s not a perfect mechanism. Much like us.

It’s been 8 months, 243 days since I last had a drink. My life is, by design, more simple now. I go to A.A meetings, I cycle along the seafront, and I make things. I paint, I make music, take photographs and edit film. These are now the things that quiet that negative, critical voice in my head. It’s still there of course, chattering away, but crucially I now have distance from it. I know what it is now.

I think sobriety can mean many things to many people. In my mind, you can get sober from anything that is a negative force of energy in your life. It’s not about alcohol; that was just a symptom, a temporary and ultimately flawed solution. The only real way out for me, in the end, was to look long and hard in the mirror and pull it all apart.

Nothing is coincidental if you look hard enough. You just have to allow a little light in, accept a little serendipity. Be open to a power greater than yourself and submit control. These are the lessons I have learnt in the last few years. These are the simple practices that keep me open, honest and vulnerable. There is no solution to the pains of simply being. There is no quick fix, only radical acceptance, compassion and empathy of what really is: of who you really are.

And yes, cassette ribbon can unravel, but it can be saved (if you are old enough to remember) by lodging a pencil into the reel hole and winding the ribbon back. This, I believe, is why this collection of songs in particular - this record - is self-titled. It’s time to give something its name, to take responsibility for it, to hold up a sometimes trembling hand and say, “I’m Pete, I’m an alcoholic and I’m grateful to be alive, thank you for listening to my story, until we meet again, until the ribbon breaks”

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rebeccahpedersen · 6 years

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Tall Tales From The Trenches On Feelgood Friday!

TorontoRealtyBlog

Last Friday, when I offered another edition of “Photos of the Week,” a couple of readers mentioned that rather than sharing negative reviews of listings, photos, and seller/agent behaviour, I should provide some feel-good examples of listings done right.

So in the spirit of positivity, let me offer you a story for “Feelgood Friday.”

Perhaps I don’t often share enough of the good stories, and despite this chaotic market, there are many.

Last week, I sold a condo listing amid 13 offers, and the ending sent chills up my spine…

You’ve heard this from me before, but I honestly don’t enjoy working on the selling side on “offer night” during multiple offers.

Most listing agents love it.

I mean, what’s not to love?

Power? Status? Envy?

That’s not me, I’m sorry.

Call me dramatic, but when I receive 13 offers on a listing, I can’t help but think about the twelve buyers, and buyer agents, who go home disappointed.

Once the “winning” bid has been accepted, I personally call all the agents with unsuccessful offers to tell them that I appreciate their offer, and their efforts, and that I hope to see them again out there in the real estate trenches.

In today’s market, when you have 13 offers on a property, the person-to-person connection often goes out the window. More to the point, the buyer-to-seller connection goes with it.

Some of my clients couldn’t possibly care less who buys their house or condo, and yet to some, it’s tremendously important.

The first property sale I ever witnessed was my childhood home, which I mentioned in my Pick5 video today, on Parkhurst Boulevard in Leaside.

It was the spring of 1992, and I was 12-years-old.

I remember my father telling me, as I was upset that we had sold the house and were moving that a “young couple” were going to buy the house, and “start a family.”

In my mind, this was our house. I belonged to us, and no matter what happened, and who moved in, it would always be our house.

Once we had moved out of our home, and into our new one on Bessborough Drive, we went back to the vacant house on Parkhurst, God knows why. I think my brother, sister, and myself wanted to say some sort of “goodbye” before the deal closed, and another family moved in.

I remember laying on the floor of my bedroom so vividly, I can almost smell the 80’s carpet fibres, which always seemed a little dirty, and a little greasy. My mom was trying to round up her three kids to get going, and she walked by the doorway to my tiny room, saw me laying on the floor with my arms outstretched as though I were hugging my room, and said aloud, “Oh my God, I knew this was a mistake.”

When we moved to Bessborough, I still thought of Parkhurst as “my house.”

Our family jogging route took us from Bessborough Drive along the outskirts of Leaside – Bayview, Southvale, Laird, and then back up Parkhurst to Bayview again. We jogged by our old home hundreds of times.

We moved to Parkhurst from a house around the corner on Airdrie Road shortly after I was born in 1980, and lived there until 1992 – a total of twelve years.

I remember in 2005, chatting with my sister, when she said, “Can you believe the family who moved into our old house on Parkhurst has now been there longer than us?”

It was crazy-talk to me.

Longer than us? Really? How could that be?

“Time flies,” and all that? Twelve years?

I remember when I was coaching Bantam baseball from 2007 to 2013, at some point one of the kids mentioned a party at the house (why do parents leave they teenagers alone???), and my head popped up. I gave them the address, and they said, “Yeah, you know it?”

Time flies, indeed. It seemed that the non-existent child from the “young couple” who were “going to start a family” as my Dad told me back in 1992, was now a 17-year-old, throwing parties with the kids I coached.

Well, guess what? That family is still there.

They’ve been there now for a whopping twenty-six years, by my count.

And I think it’s fair to say, that of all the people that have ever owned that particular property, the 26-year tenure really makes it their house.

I think if you took a quick poll, and perhaps we should do that, you’d find that the ratio of people who care, and don’t care, about who buys their home, is about 50/50.

When I received 13 offers on my condo listing last week, my sellers said they really wanted to know who was buying the property from them.

They’re a really nice couple, and I could tell from the first time I entered their condo, that they take an immense amount of pride in their home. They also like to entertain, and left behind in that condo, as is the case with everybody who moves, are a slew of good memories, great times with friends and family, and a few years of their lives.

When we settled on the “winning” bid of the thirteen offers, I called the buyer agent to let her know. She was a little surprised, as anybody would be in the midst of thirteen offers, and she said, “My client will not believe this!”

She told me again, “You will not believe how much this means to my client, just, wow.”

I’ve heard it before; emotions run high in these situations, and the reactions are often hyperbolic.

I emailed the accepted offer, and asked the agent where she was, and where I could get the certified bank draft for the deposit.

And then things started to get really interesting.

“She’s at King & Sherbourne,” the agent said. “I’m in the west end; I could go meet her, then meet you, wherever you are.”

I told her that I actually live two blocks from King & Sherbourne, and provided she trusted me interacting with her buyer-client, I was happy to save her the trip at 9pm in the evening, and go meet the buyer myself.

She took me up on the offer, and was quite grateful.

“Let me give you the address,” she told me, and I said, “I already know.”

Creepy-sounding, but it wasn’t. “230 King Street East?” I asked.

“Yes, wow, how did you know?”

“I lived there for five years,” I told her. “When you said ‘King & Sherbourne,’ I had a feeling.”

Ironically, in hindsight, I realize it could have been 39 Sherbourne Street, aka “King Plus Condo,” which is directly across from King’s Court at 230 King Street.

But I just had a feeling it was my old stomping grounds, and I got in my car, and headed down.

I got to the condo, and walked in through the beautiful lobby (it’s an old bank where they’ve preserved the interior as it was in the 1900’s, and even have ‘before’ photos posted on the walls), then found a seat on the padded benches in a separate waiting area off the mailroom.

It was on that very bench, on the same side, in the very same spot, where I waited for a friend of mine to meet me, along with my mother, back in 2005 when I was looking at purchasing a condo in the building. And here I was, years later, waiting for somebody else, who was looking to buy a condo.

Not exactly the same situation; this lady was looking to buy someplace else, but the coincidence wasn’t lost on me.

I met the woman, as she peeked around the corner and asked, “David?”

She was carrying with her a dog that, I swear – I actually did a double-take as I thought it was my dog.

The resemblance was uncanny.

“That’s my dog’s face,” I told her. “The nose, the eyes, the little teeth – this is my dog!”

It was a half Maltese, half Yorkie, just like my dog. Yet another coincidence.

She handed me the deposit cheque, and we chatted for a while.

She told me that the dog was a rescue, which was ironic, given I had literally just had a conversation with my wife about adopting a rescue dog. Not any time soon, of course. We have a dog, and a 17-month-old baby. Another dog is not in the cards. But my wife volunteers for a non-profit called “Save our Scruff,” which helps find owners for rescued and abused dogs, and she said if we ever get another dog, it’ll be a rescue.

As we chatted, I asked the new-buyer what the importance of her offer price was.

I realized as soon as the words came out of my mouth that it’s a far more personal question than it seems.

A buyer might offer $800,610, because they got married on June 10th.

I’ve seen all kinds of numbers, with all kinds of meanings. Birthdays, anniversaries, lucky numbers in various cultures, favourite numbers, sports jersey numbers, number of children – anything you can think of.

Of course in this case, the lady said, “My Dad.” And then added, “My Mum.”

“My dad died on that date,” she told me. And as the lump in my throat started to grow, she said, “And my Mum on the other date.”

Oh boy. Well, add “death date” to the list of potential numbers and meanings above. I guess I didn’t think of that.

“I actually lost both my parents in a very short time,” she added. “In the same month.”

Right. I was so glad to bring that back up for her…

But you know what? She wasn’t sad. She was actually happy!

“My parents always wanted to help me buy a place,” she told me. “And tonight, they did.”

Boy, was I ever caught off guard.

I have to be honest, maybe I’m not a deep enough person, but I never really thought of it that way.

We had 13 offers, and as is always the case, the bidding was close.

The dates of her parents’ passing were used in her offer price, and those numbers helped her win the property.

In essence, her parents did “help her buy a place.” as she put it.

It was heart-warming, and the coincidences were not lost on me.

But there was even more ahead.

She told me how she had been a tenant in the same unit for eight years, and how recently her landlord asked her to sign a new lease, at a much higher price than what was permitted by law. When she respectfully declined, he sent her a Form N12 by email, with no subject line, and no text. Just the form.

The form specified that a family member would be moving into the unit, specifically his son. She added that she had known him for eight years as his tenant, and she was pretty sure he didn’t have a son…

Rather than dwell on her situation, she decided now would be the time to take the plunge into the housing market, and she started to look at condos.

I know a lot of buyers say this, so it sounds cliché, but she said, “As soon as I walked into the condo, I felt like I was home.”

“They had my stuff,” she said. “Half the stuff I have, they have!”

They also had a dog, as did she, and she had always wanted a terrace for the pup. This condo, by the way, happened to have a 300 square foot terrace.

The coincidences, similarities, and happenstance was just too much. I stood there in the lobby of my old building, and smiled.

And then came the clincher.

She told me, “I just absolutely love that terrace! I’ve always wanted one,” she said. “I actually live above a huge terrace in my current unit.”

It made me think.

“Do you live above the units on the second floor – the ones with the 440 square foot terraces?” I asked.

“I do!” she said.

I knew these rather well, of course. There are six units with 440 square foot terraces, as I used to own one.

“I used to live in one,” I said. “Which unit are you in?” I asked her.

“Unit xx2,” she told me.

Go figure.

“Small world,” I said. I used to live four floors below you. Directly below you. I’m was in Unit xy2.

We both laughed.

What are the odds?

She actually lived there, a few floors above me, for two years while I was there.

We shook hands, I went out to my car, and I went home feeling good.

This can often be a miserable business, and I’m sorry to say, but an overwhelming majority of interactions that you have with people, no matter what role they play, are negative.

So how good did I feel, meeting such a pleasant lady, with such a great story about bidding on and winning this condo, with all these incredible coincidences and personal connections?

That’s a rhetorical question. And suffice it to say, you don’t have to guess how happy my sellers were to hear the following day what a great person they sold their beloved condo to.

Perhaps I’m being overly-sentimental, or maybe you caught me on an off day.

But most “tales from the trenches” don’t end well, so I’m glad I could provide you one on an otherwise feelgood-Friday…

The post Tall Tales From The Trenches On Feelgood Friday! appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

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asundizzay · 7 years

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DRAFT BOX: FOTO FAIL FRIDAY: FROMANCE.

I wanted to take the non-traditional route in approaching this belated Valentine’s Day post by ignoring the standard conglomeration of hearts & love, and photographing nouns that relate to some of my favorite rom-coms/rom-drams/rom-com-drams, because i’m a low-key sucker for sappy things (cheesy). I was out all day hoping to photo some movie thangs and nerds fighting the storm with their umbrellas, but nope, just got wind-slapped all around (stray branches included )–the rain didn’t start pouring until I got home because of course.

* UPDATE (02/21): THIS IS NOW A TBT OF A FOTOFAIL OF A COMMERCIAL HOLIDAY THAT HAPPENED ONE WEEK AGO LOL HOW. *

**UPDATE (02/22): LOL it’s Wednesday. But this is finally complete. #WhyNotWednesday **

500 Days of Summer ( 2009 )

Rachel Hansen: Just because she likes the same bizzaro crap you do doesn’t mean she’s your soul mate.

Tom and Summer were two separately flawed characters whose bittersweet union was doomed from the start. For the longest time, I saw Summer as the b-word who carelessly wrecked Tom’s heart, when in reality, Tom’s insufferable sense of entitlement and manipulative nice guy complex subtly revealed that he’s actually kind of a jerk. Except for that whole dance number to Hall & Oates You Make My Dreams and showing Summer his favorite spot and drawing painstakingly detailed buildings on her arm. That was cute. Another thing that saved this film for me was presenting the nonlinear “boy meets girl” narrative in the dude’s perspective, forewarning the audience that this is not a love story, and allowing these two imperfect humans to individually see a happy ending: Summer marries someone she truly wants, with whom she shares a genuine connection, and Tom is refreshingly presented another “season” to start anew, with someone potentially better suited for him. Additionally, a mind-blowing color theory visually demonstrates how these two were simply not made for each other, which can be found here.

cute score: 6 ( eh cute, JGL A 10 tho )

photo: Water Court at California Plaza on the upper level of Tom’s favorite spot in Angels Knoll, Los Angeles, 2009.

13 Going On 30 ( 2004 )

Matt: You can’t just turn back time.

Jenna: Why not?

In this essentially female version of Big, Jenna Rink’s 13 year-old self wishes to be thirty, flirty and thriving after some dudes and mean girls (which premiered the same year!) ruined her birthday party. On cue, magic dust spins her into an It’s A Wonderful Life-type alternate reality where she is living the dream as a rich, successful editor for her favorite fashion magazine. She reconnects with her childhood BFF, Matt, and they ultimately catch feelings faster than a winter cold. But aw dip, chocolate chip, Matt is hella engaged and about to be married, and now conflicted because Jenna has finally reciprocated his feels, but you know, commitment and whatever. A string of miscommunication and conflict occurs, then Jenna shows up to Matt’s wedding where he’s like, LOL, look I’ve always loved you but the past can’t come back yo. Upon hearing this, she cries with intense regret, wishing she could just be 13 again for a do-over. The same magic dust gradually falls (for effect), and the scene reverts to her birthday party where she enthusiastically chooses Matt ( who grows up looking like Mark Ruffalo ) over the 80s cool kids, and their story ends all sweetly with the pair eating their favorite childhood candy on the lawn of a pink house, interestingly designed like her dream house, figuratively implying that her deepest wish has come true (or not).

cute score: 8 ( hecka cute the Thriller moment is still awkward for me tho and omg look Mark Ruffalo didn’t even want to do it lol click here )

photo: New York Public Library, setting for magazine’s ‘Class of 2004′ photoshoot, NYC, 2012

10 Things I Hate About You ( 1999 )

Patrick: Yeah, and is she worth all this trouble?

Cameron: Well, I thought she was, but you know, I…

Patrick: Well, she is or she isn’t. See first of all, Joey is not half the man you are. Secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want. Go for it.

A modern take on Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew ( the numerous Shakespeare references / allusions make sense now ) introduces us to the Stratford sisters, their strict father with the winning punchlines, awkward Cameron with the sidekick BFF, the “obligatory cool kid slash model” Joey, and resident bad ( bad bad bad ) boy, Patrick Verona doing bad boy things with a bunsen burner. So here’s the thing: Bianca really wants to date Joey but she can’t date anyone until her shrewd AF sister dates, which prompts her to set up the whole “this bet gets outta hand” premise that heavily spawned in 1999. Obvious villain Joey pays Patrick to win Kat’s heart and sing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You” on the bleachers to win my heart, then he inevitably falls for her. In a callback to She’s All That, Kat eventually finds out about everything leading to the tearful read of the eponymous (these are clearly over 10 things ) poem in class, as Patrick looks on like man I done fcuked up yo. But wait, he gets Kat the guitar she’s been wanting, insists that his feels for her are hella real and all is forgiven. Also, Cameron finally gets Bianca, and she punches Joey (whose nose spray ad is now ruined) thrice for herself, her sister and Yung Cameron. Oh yeah, and Cameron’s BFF ends up finding a Shakespeare lover just like him, lol, nerds.

cute score: 9 ( super cute, everyone gets who they want and the real bad boy gets what he deserves! They had a band on the freakin’ roof dude )

photo: Fremont Troll, where Cameron and Bianca talk and stuff, Seattle, 2009

A Case of You / Comet ( 2013 / 2014 )

Birdie: Success is a myth. Love’s the only true currency. After all this is done, all that really matters is how and who you loved.

———–

Dell: Why does it feel so impossible to let you go?

Dell: It’s an addiction, you know. That’s all it is.

Dell: It’s a biochemical addiction. It’s so stupid.

Dell: If you think about it relationships are all totally narcissistic.

Dell: Basically, you’re just looking for someone who’ll love you as much as you love yourself. That’s all it is.

———–

Two Justin Long movies for the price of fun.

I’ve probably checked off so much of this dude’s filmography that I can easily tell you that one of his many underrated roles would be a cameo as George Harrison in the equally underappreciated Walk Hard: A Dewey Cox Story. I know… comedy is understandably the toughest genre to press onto humans, so to each his own. These two films fall in that hit or miss category–on one end, you have Sam, an author who meets a barista and quickly becomes infatuated with her, even more so after creeping reading her Facebook profile and mimicking those interests in order to attract her attention, eventually using her as a muse for his story ( A Case Of You ), and on the other, you have Dell and Kim caught in a classic case of star-crossed lovers whose rocky relationship is dreamily depicted through a non-linear narrative of parallel universes, reminiscent of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind ( Comet ). Despite his ridiculous Facebook faux pas, Birdie admits that she was adding random items to her profile to see if Sam would change, and to no one’s surprise, she still liked him anyway because if a connection is real then it’s real, and it’s extremely important, to like, just be yourself because there’s more to a person than what they choose to display on the Interwebz. And Dell and Kim continue to sail through different universes, with Dell wishing to live in a permanent world where they end up together 💔.

cute score: 3 ( So much fighting–whether with oneself, another person, or the world, das not dat cute. ).

photo: Light trails, space, and time to represent chaotic nature of the parallel universes in Comet, NYC, 2015

Begin Again ( 2013 )

Dan: You can tell a lot about a person by what’s on their playlist.

Greta: I know you can. That’s what’s worrying me.

I’ll throw in Before We Go, Friends With Benefits, or even Lost In Translation into this mix of getting to know a person as you explore a new city together–whether platonically or romantically, it’s still awesome. This particular love story focuses on the protagonists’ mutual love for music rather than feelings towards each other–though their respectable relationships with his estranged wife and her ex-boyfriend still romanticize the plot. Dan Mulligan, a formerly successful record executive drunkenly discovers Gretta James, a newly independent songwriter reluctantly singing in a low-key bar thanks to pre-late late show James Corden. He sees great potential, she doesn’t believe in herself, I mean how could she, her ex-boyfriend slash songwriting partner is none other than recent singing sensation, AdamN Levine Dave Kohl. After Dan’s business partner Yasiin Bae/Yasiin Bey/Mos Def Saul initially rejects Gretta from their record label, the pair take matters into their own hands and decide to produce their own album together, using local talented musicians backed by the sights and sounds of New York City and the result is pure magic like fireworks in your ears, the visual “wow that’s so glorious” part not the actual “boom boom” noise part, because you would totally go deaf. This is a story about how music can bring people together (production, collaboration, Dan reconciling with his wife ) or tear them apart ( Dave cheating on Greta ), seek forgiveness ( Dave singing Lost Stars, Don Henley singing The Heart of The Matter [not in this movie, that song just popped up in my head as I wrote that lol] ), or drive passion ( Violet dreams of becoming a guitarist/ Gretta’s career kicking off ). Music is love, music is life, and Gretta’s album sells hella copies from its online release, and things are looking up for Dan and his life. Dan in real life. After encountering a series of failures/contemplating suicide, discovering Gretta, producing this album, and making amends with Saul, his wife and daughter, I guess you can say that Dan (as well as Gretta? ) was given another chance to fairly begin…again.

cute score: 7 ( Dan drunkenly composing a song in his head, The headphone splitter scene tho, das kinda cute )

photo: Times Square, the scene stealer of the headphone splitter scene tho, NYC, 2012

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ( 2004 )

Clementine: Meet me in Montauk.

It’s 3:41 AM and my body hates me. Especially my eyes. Okay, so two contrasting personalities, Joel and Clementine, meet on a train and immediately connect like 4, only to learn that they are former lovers and Clementine had erased her memories of Joel after some petty argument, and Joel’s like ‘wtf bro’ and decides to erase his memories of her. The familiar surrealistic non-linear narrative that I heart so hard navigates through Joel’s head space, intercut between scenes of sadness and anger, to happier times until the final memory where everything crumbles to the ground like dust in the wind, as he tries to hold onto his last moment with Clementine, after realizing that he still loves her. Other story lines, connect, Kirsten Dunst finds out she had her memory of the doctor erased and she gets mad upset, like ‘i’m gonna show everyone (who has undergone this procedure) their memory erasure records’ upset. Elijah Wood is just super devious. COTDAMN MARK RUFFALO IS ALSO IN THIS MOVIE LOL WTF YO. The scene restarts and Joel and Clementine, meet on a train and immediately connect like 4, only to learn that they are former lovers and they’re like “oh whaa” and think that maybe starting over would be a good idea or it might be the same but they go for it anyway and who knows what those two are up to now probably making sure that they don’t forget about each other amirite lol omg it’s already 4.

cute score: 2 ( Comet before comet was comet, not dat cute, but like Comet, beautiful cinematography is a 10)

photo: Imagine this human’s hair is orange, you know, like Clementine, ArtWalk, San Diego, 2014

——–

honorable mentions: Garden State. Ryan Gosling & Ryan Reynolds’ things. Scott Pilgrim Vs The World. High Fidelity. Say Anything. John Hughes’ things.

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