#this is sincere I’m not harshing on anyone’s art style

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

I get so delighted when I see art of Stiles with Derek or Peter where Stiles is like.

A foot shorter.

Pocket sized Stiles. Portable man. Collapsible little dude, for the convenience of werewolves.

Dylan O’Brien is the same height as Ian Bohen and a mere 2 inches shorter than Tyler Hoechlin but that Will Not Stop anyone from depicting Stiles as the tiniest little guy to ever grace the presence of an MTV show. Just a fun sized candy bar of a man. God bless fan creators for having a vision and committing to it.

[norcumii]

some musings on TCW season 7

One of the things that makes Tumblr difficult is that I really, REALLY don’t want to harsh anyone’s squee. I don’t want to be that person who sails in, sneers disdainfully at what people are enjoying, and then ambling out, having sucked as much joy out of the room as possible.

My brother used to do that about ANYTHING I was watching, and I still resent it. I don’t want to do that to anyone.

Meanwhile, I’ve reached my saturation point with Season 7 of clone wars, and in my own tired, perpetually exhausted way, I want to scream. Thus, kvetching under the cut. In all seriousness, if you’re enjoying Season 7, then please, PLEASE skip this rant. I sincerely hope you continue to enjoy and Season 7 continues to entertain.

I haven’t watched it: I’m practicing that much self care, at least. There’s been lots of meta and gifsets running around, so I’ve gotten enough second hand exposure – along with useful meandering through various wikis and such – that I feel able to comment about it.

It is indeed very cinematic, and I guess if you dig the art style, then it is a very good example of said art style. But from a broadstrokes perspective, the writing?

What an absolute screaming dumpsterfire.

The thing that finally pushed me from “meh” to “nope, gotta rant about this” was a fascinating piece of meta here, about how Maul is the prism character – the lens through which the story is told. Now, that’s my phrasing and not the OP’s, and again, I haven’t actually seen this so I’m taking a lot of things at face value.

It’s a fascinating approach, and makes the angst and despair that much sharper – especially if you apply this post about parallels to RotS, and let’s not forget the very impressive mocap for the lightsaber fight.

My question, however, is why the FUCK would you do that in the first place? (Not the mocap. That’s genuinely impressive.)

First off: you’re putting the audience in the same boat with the villain. Your lens character is the one who frames the story, who puts into perspective how one interprets events. In this case, that implies that what Ahsoka, Rex, and the rest of the clones are doing is in the antagonist's position, which might be part of the whole “nothing is true and nothing is false but everything is fucked” atmosphere that they seem to be trying to foster (see: Ahsoka’s arguments with Obi-Wan. GFFA has some good breakdowns as far as I can tell). So Maul is supposed to be the lynchpin of this story, either as the protagonist or the Sancho Panza to the protagonist.

That’s a damn weird take on this particular story. Is it about Mandalore? Is it about Ahsoka’s journey? Is it about Maul’s journey? Or are we trying for something meta about how it’s how Maul and Ahsoka’s journeys parallel each other’s, and how those contrast with Anakin’s?

Have you noticed yet who’s missing from this equation?

For a show that’s called “The Clone Wars,” there’s been astonishingly little clones involved in the broader plot. So let’s take a step back from this one issue and look at the season as a whole.

There’s been ten episodes so far this season, out of twelve total. Six of them have centered around Ahsoka. The other four have been about Rex and the Bad Batch. Now, let’s set aside the whole very valid debate about having so many female centric characters and stories is grand, and we need lots more. That’s a damn good point, and Star Wars as a whole needs better diversity on all fronts. Not the particular lens I’m looking through at the moment.

There’s been four of ten episodes about clones. In the final season of The Clone Wars. Yes, they show up in other episodes, but that’s not the focus.

Why would you do that?? We got five seasons already where the clones are more background noise with the occasional highlight (The Deserter, the Umbara Arc), and the entire freakin’ war has been named after them. Ok, so maybe that’s to some degree social commentary about how the Republic was viewing them – background noise against which the weird mythical Jedi shit really stood out – and the sixth season was more a hodgepodge of “we have THESE episodes nearly in the can, rush to finish them because this is important shit to get out the door to bridge from this series to the movies.”

They didn’t expect to have the chance to make this season. They could’ve done pretty much anything, since they didn’t even default to just using the episodes that WERE 70% done (if not more) and had been released into the wild as animatics.

So why pick these stories to tell? And moreover, why this way? Why not make the last hurrah that the crew could not have expected be something coherent and about the actual people that the damned show is named for?

Let’s play with hypotheticals, since kvetching without reasonable alternatives is considered uncouth these days. Let’s say one wants the Bad Batch “rescuing Echo” arc (and that it’s not agony porn. To be fair, I’m not sure if it IS agony porn, thus the presumption that it’s an arc to be had). Since we already spent SIX ENTIRE SEASONS beating home the point that clones are individuals and to be respected as such, rather than introducing new clones who are “aberrations” just to drive home hey, they’re clone versions of TF2 characters clone versions of terrible action movie heroes individuals, how about this?

Cody calls in the Bad Batch, a squad that gets sent into the worst situations and honestly, isn’t ever really expected to come out alive. They’re bad clones, you see. Their leader is probably a man named Dogma – he’s a Jedi killer, but damn loyal to the Republic. His second in command – not that either of them are happy about that – is Slick, a Brother Killer and all around asshole. The other two members of the squad are two deserters: Cut Lawquane, who was found and brought back to the army, and Boil, who was caught trying to leave after Umbara. They have a civilian support member, Suu Lawquane (a damn good sniper, and she now has armor as well as actual clothes).

Bring so many of Rex’s issues home to roost. Make that poor man question all his life choices. He’s still reeling from the whole chip arc and Fives’ death. Let him see what the Grand Army does with its too loyal soldiers, how Dogma did the right thing against orders and is now leading others into the meat grinder on the daily. Let him see what the Grand Army does to traitors, like Slick whose hands are red with the blood of his brothers – just like Rex’s, after Umbara. Cut, who left after too much death, and built a life. Boil, who lost so much, who had enough and just wanted to go find the one remnant of good things that he’d ever encountered in his short life.

They’ve got slave explosive implants somewhere – three because they’re flight risks, Dogma because – well, no one can say why, but it’s so. Let Slick shove Anakin’s nose into the fact that the Jedi are still leading a slave army, have Anakin have to confront that it’s not hyperbole anymore, not when the clones have chips in their heads and now these have slave implants they literally don’t know where.

Hell, have Anakin blow up at Cody over this, and perhaps Cody has to pull rank – establish on screen that he’s running so much of this damn war. He doesn’t like what’s been done with the Bad Batch either, but he can only put out so many fires, and keeping this from raging out of control is the best he can manage.

Let the audience see consequences. Let there be fallout as they go searching for Echo, and the Bad Batch’s various past issues bounce against the experiences of Rex and whoever’s along with him.

(For that matter, if you still want to tackle Mandalore and all that, have one of the soldiers going along with be Vaughn – get to know the man for a little bit. See how Random!Clone reacts to all this, not just Jesse and Kix. Someone without the history with any of these men. While we’re at it, Dogma had Kix in the firing line against Jesse. GIVE ME THE REACTIONS, DAMMIT! AND! And does Rex ever have to say to Dogma “you did the right thing, that Jedi needed to die”? How much does that blow EITHER of their minds?)

Show us travel time. Show us what it’s like for a bunch of soldiers to be stuck in a tin can flying through space along with an entire penal squad of brothers who spit in the face of what the GAR stands for – for reasons both good and bad. Show us what the years have done to Dogma and Slick, how Cut and Suu have adjusted from a life of growing things to having to murder things. How Boil just is done, and wants to head to Ryloth (hey, maybe Numa is currently living with her new sibs/cousins/friends/arch-rivals Shaeeah and Jek).

Then add poor Echo into that mix. Echo, who doesn’t quite know what he’s doing anymore, who was in the Citadel, then stuck in a nightmare of battle sims, and now in this new nightmare of a war that dragged on even longer – and no Fives.

Let us grieve along with him. Fives got a four episode arc (gee, I wonder why this season wanted to start with a four episode arc dealing with the last Domino >_>) where he fell, let us watch Echo’s rise and how he deals with all this.

Let him decide he wants to leave some of the more painful memories behind, how he can’t stay with Rex because it hurts too much, but at least now he’s got some fellow exiles to watch over.

Let the last we see of him be Echo using his new abilities to dismantle both the insidious little buzzing chip inside his and his team’s heads, along with the explosives they also have to bear. Fives died because of the chip, let Echo help others to live in spite of it.

Then slide the camera focus from Rex to Vaughn. Perhaps he gets assigned to go find the former Commander Tano (did he know her at all? Or had he just heard about her?). We could follow him across Coruscant, meeting various civilians who had Strange Encounters with that nice young Togruta. Maybe we get a fun montage: Vaughn questioning people, their various reactions, possibly as a nice voiceover to What Really Happened – that also gives a grand opportunity to get people’s impressions of the Jedi and their clone lackeys.

Then off to Mandalore, still from Vaughn’s perspective. Let us watch this poor man’s rise, as he has to be the metaphorical third wheel to The Team’s reunion. He’s the poor uncomfortable bastard in the room, but he’s a good man, loyal and skilled.

(Also, why could we not get the clones receiving patches or decals of Ahsoka’s markings, and play with that? Emphasize the clones’ individuality – some have it on their shoulder bells, some did the helmets, some have the design down the arm, along the leg – just...diversify, dammit!)

Have Vaughn keep up with Ashoka all the way through to the fight with Maul. Have him be hit, have him be disarmed for the fight – all he can do is witness it (for that matter, you can echo the Duel of the Fates, with Vaughn being in Qui-Gon’s position of dying on the floor).

Then let us see Order 66 from the clones’ perspectives. Show us the sieges, show us Bly and his squad following Aayla into the woods; show us Wolffe and the pack separating from Plo; show us Fox patrolling the Senate.

We’ve seen the Jedi die already. Show us the other side, if you insist on breaking our hearts, and show us how the clones go from good men to good soldiers.

Let me see Cody, let me see the aftermath on Utapau. Let me see Rex breaking, or refusing to break, or whatever it is that happens.

Let this season be about clones.

[fictional-affliction]

Under Pressure, Chapter 5

Word Count: 2,020

Link to previous chapter: https://fictional-affliction.tumblr.com/post/185895670430/under-pressure-chapter-4

She could feel them staring and hear the whispers. She heard them when she raced out of Geoff’s house after throwing on some clothes and grabbing Cate; they looked at her in shock as she held back tears. She could hear them again now as she sat in English class on Monday morning. When she had gotten to school the walk down the hallway was as if she was under a microscope. Her classmates spoke like she wasn’t within hearing distance.

They were fucking when she walked in.

I heard they’ve been doing it since freshman year.

Apparently she’s a screamer.

Courtney had heard it all and it was only first period. She breathed in and out deeply to try to slow down her heart rate as her nails dug into her palms to keep them from shaking. Her brown eyes bore into the whiteboard as she tried to block it all out.

A stack of small blue notebooks, that the school provided for written tests, was placed on her desk, drawing her attention.

“Take one and pass it back.” Her English professor prompted. Courtney turned around in her desk to do as she was told and was met with Heather’s smiling face.

“Not so ‘holier than thou’ as we all thought huh? Don’t worry about it though, everyone has their shortcomings.” Heather faked sincerity as she took the booklets from Courtney. Courtney wasn’t so bothered that Heather was being mean, that’s just how Heather was. She was more affected by what she said.

She was ruined. Her reputation down the drain. She had prided herself on being the prime example of a model student. In one night her model student status had been reduced to that of the school slut.

Courtney’s vision went hazy as her thoughts began to spiral. As the professor wrote the essay questions on Shakespeare's Macbeth on the board, her heart beat faster and faster. Her professor saying ‘you may begin’ sounded so far away. She tried to focus and opened her notebook.

The questions on the board were all ones she knew the answers to, but when she put her pencil to paper she couldn’t organize her thoughts. Her brain kept jumping around and when she tried to recall quotes from the reading she was answered with the rumors spreading around about her.

But she had to do this. She had to prove she was still that model student despite what everyone was saying about her.

Before she knew it the bell rang. She frantically scribbled down her last sentence and scanned over her essay. Usually she was done with at least fifteen minutes to spare. As she left the class, instead of turning down the correct hallway to her Calculus classroom she made a bee line for the girls bathroom.

She upheaved the contents of her stomach into the toilet of the first stall and gagged until nothing else came out. After she left the stall she immediately received looks from a couple of sophomores. Courtney kept her eyes ahead as she washed her hands but their murmurs weren’t lost on her. Right as she was about to leave she heard one of their comments.

“She’s probably pregnant.” Courtney turned around wildly.

“Do you have something to say!” The sophomore looked back in fear at her outburst and shook her head quickly.

“Good! Then get out!” She screamed and they all scurried past her. Courtney kept her back against the door. She looked up to the ceiling and fought back the stinging sensation of tears prickling her eyes. She’d cried enough Saturday night after she had ignored Cate’s questions about if it was true, and if she was okay. She’d slammed her bedroom door in her face and wept under her covers where no one could hear her.

Courtney wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of making her cry again and slapped her cheek with an open palm. The pain was something else to focus on besides her humiliation and she hit herself again. The late bell rang and Courtney felt her frustration boil over. This time her fist collided with the bathroom wall.

Courtney winced and brought her hand to her face. Her knuckles were already bruising. She pretended it didn’t hurt as she opened the bathroom door and thought up an excuse for why she was late. She just had to make it though six more periods.  

When she opened the door and briskly stepped out she collided with someone. Courtney was already too annoyed to make a real apology and grumbled a quick ‘sorry’ but the person held by the shoulders.

“I tried calling you... and texted...” Duncan sounded embarrassed to confess that he had spent the rest of Saturday night and the majority of Sunday trying to contact her. It wasn’t his style but he was worried, and he hoped that there was still a chance for them.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” It was harsh, even to her own ears, but the words kept pouring out.

“This would have never happened if you hadn’t made me go to that stupid party. My reputation is ruined and it’s all your fault!” She knew that wasn’t true as she pushed him away from her, but it felt better to put the blame on someone else.

“Who cares what anyone says, they don’t matter.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re probably getting high fives and pats on the back while I’m the skank who spread her legs for you.”

“We know it wasn’t like that. You know people make shit up.” Through her rage Duncan could see how hurt she was and reached out to console her. She recoiled from his touch.

“Don’t touch me! I don’t want you to touch me ever again.” She pushed past Duncan without looking back.

---------

Duncan blew out a long puff of smoke as he sat on the curb outside of the school building.

“I can’t believe it.” Gwen said between drags. “I really need to take up Geoff’s offer and go to his parties one of these days.” Duncan ran a hand through his hair and huffed.

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.” Gwen tried to reassure him although Duncan wasn’t convinced.

“I ruined her reputation.”

“Why can’t girls hook up without automatically being labeled a slut, yet guys can fuck whoever they want? Besides, everyone knows you and Courtney have been obsessed with each other since daycare.”

“Not obsessed.” Gwen turned to him with a deadpan expression on her pale face. Duncan chose to blow smoke out of his nose instead of giving her any recognition.

“It’ll blow over.” Gwen nudged Duncan with her elbow. Being long time friends meant that she could tell when he was genuinely upset, even if he wouldn’t say. “So...how was it...” Gwen nudged him again, this time with a knowing smile.

“Up until we were interrupted it was...” Duncan drifted off when he started to recall Courtney’s skin against his, her legs around his waist, how her body reacted to his so perfectly; their chemistry was off the charts.

Gwen watched as Duncan got this big goofy grin on his face.

“Ew, forget I asked.” Duncan glared.

“And just where were you Saturday night?” Gwen instantly started to go red and turned her face down. She mumbled something under her breath that Duncan heard but made her repeat anyway.

“I was with Trent!”

“And I’m the obsessed one.” Duncan laughed, Gwen may be all frowns and darkness but she had a weak spot for Trent. Gwen stood up and brushed off her skirt.

“C’mon we gotta go to art class,” she stomped out her cigarette, “just make her talk to you, that usually works.”

----------

Courtney had made it through the day, almost. After her run in with Duncan the rest of her classes had gone like the first. People staring, students whispering, even a few teachers had given her a concerned glance from overhearing the school’s gossip. It was much of the same and by the end of seventh period, she just wanted to go home. Even so, she held her head high. She wouldn’t let them know they got to  her.

She started to walk around a corner of the hallway when she heard her name pop up in a conversation on the other side of the hall, and abruptly stopped.

“Trust me, they were practically doing it when I walked in, he had a condom ready and everything.”

Courtney quickly peaked around the corner to confirm her suspicions that it was that same senior Amanda, who was the true source of her humiliation. Courtney stayed hidden to continue to eavesdrop, but had to silence her reaction to jump when she felt someone’s hand on her arm.

“Court I’ve been looking for you all day-”

“Shh!” Courtney whispered putting her index finger to her mouth. Bridgette had searched for Courtney in all their usual meeting spots throughout the day but she was nowhere to be found. Bridgette was really concerned about her, especially when the only text back she had gotten the day before only said ‘I’m fine.’ Then with everything being spread around about her today, she was worried.

Courtney bent forward to get as close as possible without being seen and Bridgette curiously followed.

“The whole school knows now.” One of Amanda’s friends shamelessly pointed out.

“Oops.” Amanda laughed and her friends giggled along with her. Courtney’s blood began to boil. She’d had it. Next thing she knew she had rounded the corner and was face to face with Amanda.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You think you can just go around broadcasting people’s business?” Bridgette was close behind her and tried to get Courtney to back down.

“C’mon Courtney it’s not worth it, let’s go.” At this point Courtney didn’t care, she was furious. Amanda rolled her eyes and twirled a piece of blonde hair.

“Oh please, what are you going to do about it? You wouldn’t dare do anything that could get you into trouble.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Courtney stepped closer and Bridgette tugged on Courtney’s arm.

“If you want to leave, then go Bridgette.” Bridgette didn’t budge, but did take out her phone and sent out a quick emergency text. Amanda took a slight step back from Courtney but didn’t stop antagonizing her.

“Go ahead, prove me wrong, it would at least give some reason for why Duncan would be into you.”

“Is that what this is about?” Courtney thought back to how Duncan had been flirting with Amanda at the party until she showed up. “You ruined my name because Duncan ditched you at the party? Just because you were jealous?”

“Jealous? Don’t think you’re that special, you’re just another notch in his bedpost.” That struck a cord with Courtney, it was enough to make her see red and tackle her to the ground causing the other girls to look on in disbelief.

“Get off of me!” Amanda yelled and scratched at Courtney but Courtney was stronger than she looked. When filled with this much rage, she was almost unstoppable. She wanted to get just one good hit in, enough to teach her a lesson.

Unfortunately she didn’t get that small bit of vengeance she craved because Courtney was physically pulled off right as she took a swing at her. Courtney kicked and flailed but she was held tightly around her waist. Amanda stood up and brushed herself off, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

“Get lost.” Duncan, who still had Courtney firmly in his grasp, directed toward Amanda and her little group of friends.

“You used to love my company remember?” As angry as Courtney was that gained her attention and she stopped struggling to look at Amanda.

“Oh, she doesn’t know?” It didn’t take a lot for Courtney to put the pieces together. It all made sense now. Courtney broke free of Duncan’s grasp and retrieved her backpack that had fallen to the floor in the chaos.

“Don’t follow me.” Courtney harshly threw over her shoulder as she left the scene.

[nodesiretogrowup]

That episode was ADORABLE!!! spoiler-y thoughts below:

It was cute seeing Team Magic together, even if it was only for a few seconds. I’m gonna pretend that they were fighting Launchpad’s wereduck ex.

Would really love to see a Dewey-Beakley episode now.

“I mean, this is very wrong, but it’s not this either.” Don’t be a hater, Scrooge. I’m surprised Huey hasn’t made himself a costume like Della has. More mother/son bonding in the future?

Goldie is a BOSS ASS BITCH and I LOVE HER.

Louie is already being adorable. I love my green son.

Louie has to stay on brand. He knows who he is.

Goldie is WORKING that necklace.

“Don’t let her get too close.” I wonder if that will come up in future episodes.

“HOW DID THIS GO SO WRONG SO QUICKLY?!” #youtried

“You gotta get close.” And theeeereeees the conflict of the episode.

“I’ll have you know I’m the evil triplet!” “Suuuure, you’re the scariest bunny in the pet shop.” I love their dynamic already.

I think there was some sincerity in Louie’s ploy. He does know feel like he’s not as good as the rest of his family.

“You know your cons.” I think you might be genuinely impressed there, Goldie.

“So you’ll teach me?!” The kid just wants a mentor he can relate to.

Poor Louie. The kid is legit TERRIFIED of Doofus. Was that invitation actually gold?

Della, you do need to sleep.

Of course Huey has a different version of epic. My sweet nerdy son. I wonder if Fenton plays this game too. It seems up his alley.

Love the art style of the game and cyborg Della.

Princess Username and the Heartthrob Goblin. I feel like Della had a crush on both of them. Though NOTHING can beat Princess Unattainabelle.

“The impractically giant weapons, the high stakes adventures!” I’m siding with Della on this one. Big weapons=Big fun

 “The whole village won’t have turnips this season” I highly doubt that is part of the game.

YAY LAZORS!

Doofus’ party looks pretty dope, not gonna lie.

My poor baby Louie. I love that he and Goldie’s outfits kind of clash. Louie is dressed to the 9s while Goldie is super casual. Possible foreshadowing of the two not being on the same page?

“Not full of hair.” WHY IS THIS CHILD LIKE THIS?!

I love that Goldie and Louie can just look at a pile of loot and know exactly how much it’s worth. Even Goldie looked impressed.

“Guhmeemama.” That’s...upsetting.

“Can’t wait to tell my therapist about it when I’m older.” HELP THIS POOR CHILD.

“No, that’s just being a bad party guest.” Lessons in etiquette from Goldie.

“Also I don’t know yet.” Honesty, I can respect that.

 Perfect widdle angel? Is Gideon around? (Two Gravity Fall references. I’m on a roll.)

SERIOUSLY, THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS KID?!

“Hellowen, Llewellyn.” BURN THE CHILD!

I like the Goldie saved Louie from falling in the pool. She’s already attached even if she won’t admit it.

“The only parent I’ve even known.” “Why does he hurt me?” “You know why.” THE FLYING FUCK IS UP WITH THIS FAMILY?!

WHY IS DOOFUS SO UPSETTING?

Wow Goldie, that was harsh.

Percival P. Peppinton. A.) that name is AMAZING B.) digging the Willy Wonka look.

“Hey, I got range!” Johnny is too cute.

The honey bin. Yikes.

Hey, the Beagle Boys are a legit family, even if their mom wasn’t actually there!

Sharkbomb. Just beautiful. I think Glomgold has some issues to work out.

“Super young aunt.”

Digging Mark’s casual outfit.

Boyd is BABY AND MUST BE PROTECTED.

I saw that Goofy Movie reference. And the Flounder hat.

I love that Mark has a phone charm of himself. Sidenote, I miss phone charms.

I wish Glomgold had covered my eyes too. CANNOT UNSEE.

Glomgold’s pics are GREAT. I feel like he’s had those for awhile, just incase.

Quick thinking Louie ftw!

That hug was TOO CUTE. Louie really NAILS affectionate gestures.

Louie is as...photogenic as his Dadnld.

“POOL TIME.” I had the same reaction as everyone else.

Impressed Goldie is impressed.

Oh Glomgold, you keep doing you.

I get you Huey.

“THE DUKE OF DESTRUCTION!” The crew really likes dukes.

A WILD LAUNCHPAD APPEARS.

“I’M THE MASTER OF THE SKY!” I love that the dragon looks like the Sunchaser/Cloudslayer. It’s the little details.

“I’M SURPRISING MYSELF, THIS IS AMAZING!” LAUNCHPAD IS BEAUTIFUL AND I LOVE HIM.

“What a great life lesson!” Solid parenting. Anyone else want to see Launchpad and Della play this together. I mean, what better way to bond than playing video games together (that aren’t Mario Kart or Smash Bros)?

“WOO, JETPACKS!” SERIOUSLY, the two of them would get along SO WELL.

Doofus confirmed for masochist on top of sadist.

Did the invite say to bring bathing suits? Also, Goldie is looking FINE in that gold one piece.

Glomgold, are you...ok? Do you ALSO have daddy issues?

God I love Goldie and Louie bonding.

Notice how Boyd never touches the water? Love that he keeps the bowtie on. And again, BOYD IS BABY.

Goldie is DUMMY THICC

“The greatest adventure of all-waiting.” Oh sweetie.

Della, you should chill on the whole danger thing.

“Every journey begins with a single step.”That’s much better.

THAT IS WHY I NEVER LET MY GUARD DOWN!

“I SHOULD NEVER TRY ANYTHING NEW!” I feel ya.

HE’S A PINBALL WIZARD!

DO NOT TOUCH MY BABY BOYD!

“Beaks would NEVER miss out on that sweet clickbait.” “Click-what now?”

Aren’t acronyms fun?

“Do you know how many evil robots I’ve face? *nervous laughter* Too many.” OH MY SWEET CHILD!”

POOR BOYD! That legit made me sad. LET HIM BE A REAL BOY!

BUTLER DAD OUT!

“DO NOT PEER behind the curtain of reality, bud.” That’s a great line.

THIS POOR KID IS HAVING AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS! HELP HIM!

Butler Dad, noping out again.

Louie looked legit sad about what happened. He’s a good boi.

“I’m gonna need a really big bag of rice.” YOU DON’T DESERVE BOYD.

Money, Money, Money. I’d like to play that game.

LOUIE JUST WANTS SOMEONE HE CAN CONNECT WITH! I’m kind of hoping it ends up being Donald or Della that fills that role for him.

“I swore after last year no one’s EYES WOULD MELT OUT OF THERE HEADS.” WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Et tu, Goldie?

They really are two peas in a pod. I bet she would have ended up giving Louie a cut.

“Hi, I’m BOYD a DEFINITELY real boy, and I’m going to DESTROY YOU.”

“YOU’RE A REAL, SWEET, KIND BOY, I SWEAR!” No arguments here.

Someone is concerned for Louie’s well-being.

THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS CHILD!

I legit want Louie and Boyd to become friends.

Aw Goldie, you DO CARE!

NOT RIGHT.

DELLA LOVES HER BABIES!

“IT’S OVER 9000!” You can NEVER go wrong with a Dragon Ball reference.

SUPER SAIYAN HUEY!

“Well, at least he’s out of his comfort zone.” You might have created a monster there, Della. At least he’s getting out his aggression in a safe and health manner.

Louie could never truly be a conman, he cares about others too much to let them take the fall. And that is noble of him.

Goldie is BRUTAL.

SUPERHERO LANDING!

Louie understands the power of family.

“YOU SENTIMENTAL TOASTER.” Burn?

Yay for Doofus’ parents standing up to him! THAT’S THE POWER OF BOYD!

“I’m...free.” THIS MAN NEEDS THERAPY, STAT.

“YOU’RE IN TOO DEEP.” It’s ALWAYS the quiet ones.

“I’d say you get used to it, but that would be a lie.” The words of a man who has had his heart broken.

LET LOUIE FIND A FRIEND/MENTOR!

THE PHOTOS! GOLDIE DOES HAVE A HEART!

[nadziejastar]

Well, first of all I loved his outfit. It’s similar enough to what he wore in BBS to make it feel like Isa, but still felt fresh. It looked like something a fashionable young person would wear. It’s based on a Roen-Gackt collaboration design. Nomura sure loves Gackt, lol. So Isa was considered important enough to get a lot of care put into his new outfit. This collaboration was probably done a long time in advance, like with FFVersus XIII. I’m sure Isa’s backstory was supposed to be WAY more fleshed out so that his character would make a MUCH stronger impression on the player by the end of KH3. So, the outfit was kinda wasted in a way. Isa’s whole character was just wasted potential, though.

In a room made of white marble, a large mirror reflected Demyx as he prepared to leave for the mission. He took particular care with his hairstyle, painstakingly manipulating the brown strands with a comb to make them stand straight up. Saïx observed him from behind with what appeared to be distaste. In stark contrast to Demyx, Saïx left his long blue hair unstyled. The X-shaped scar on his forehead was all the style he needed.

Having an outfit based on a J-pop star might tell us something about how Nomura originally viewed Isa’s personality. He actually seemed like a rather fashionable young man who took pride in his appearance. He even wore stud earrings. His style was different from other kids like Hayner, Pence, or Lea. Saïx didn’t have any interest in his appearance. But Isa certainly seemed like the type to style his hair and then some. For some reason, I picture him ironically spending even MORE time in front of the mirror than Demyx. Especially post-KH3. Isa was already shy. I think he would probably struggle with insecurity over having a scar covering most of his face. So, he would try even harder to compensate with nice clothes and accessories.

The KH3 ending outfit really doesn’t fit someone like Saïx, who had such a harsh and dreary personality. I can’t see Saïx choosing to wear anything like that outfit. Way too youthful and trendy. And definitely not the star and moon accessory, either. He’d throw up at the cute little moon on Isa’s BBS outfit. Isa obviously was supposed to have such a different personality than Saïx. I bet Isa is going to be SUCH an awkward character going forward, because they’ll feel obligated to keep his Saïx personality traits, which will clash so badly with the rest of his character. He’ll be this pseudo-villain/quasi-good guy that just will feel so out of place in a series like this. It breaks my heart.

A great number of Nobodies have lost human form, as have the Heartless. Yet the Nobody born of someone with a strong heart retains its shape, with but the faintest visible changes.

As far as the rest of his design goes, I thought it was pretty lazy. In my opinion, Isa’s character design needed much more of an update than what he got. Kairi looked more different after her haircut than Isa did in the ending. If anyone deserved to look different for KH3, it was him. But…he still looked almost exactly like Saïx to me. He has a bit more color to his hair and face, and his scar is faded. But that’s about it. Which I guess was intentional. Why bother changing his look? It seems like they gave up on whatever plan they originally had for Isa to be his own character who was totally distinct from Saïx. They’re gonna just pretend that he wasn’t Norted and treat him like he was the same as Axel. Which sucks. 

Axel and Riku get along very well somehow. Since Riku has become a figure of Ansem, I don’t speak much with him, but he laughs like a different person when he eats Ice cream with Axel. Axel says he “Laughs to face bad feelings”, but it seems that Riku isn’t a bad person. At that Axel said ‘don’t laugh when you’ve got a gross face’, but Riku didn’t seem all that annoyed.

Also, Axel really liked sea-salt ice cream. You’ve eaten sea salt ice cream ever since you moved to that house. I wonder how you don’t break your stomach! It felt like he ate them to an unthinkable extent. Axel ate so much ice cream that the freezer in the computer room emptied every day.

Now as a villain, Saïx had a very cool design. He was handsome and had long hair, but...he looked mean and scary. He was supposed to. He WAS mean and scary. He was Xemnas’ right-hand man, after all. And if he was Norted, this makes sense. He was envisioned as a sociopathic guy who has bouts of uncontrollable bloodlust when exposed to moonlight. I like Saïx’s design. He was pale and almost vampire-looking? Or maybe Addam’s family. He was created as a bad guy. The whole idea was that he was a scary, unapproachable dude. He was sinister and creepy. Yet ironically his original self was the polar opposite. It made for a pretty cool twist, IMO.

“…Aw, is it good?” Axel teased. “Seriously, you’re like a little kid. Even though you look like a mean old man.” Riku made no response, keeping his gaze fixed on the computer screen. The comment did rub him the wrong way. But mentally, Axel was definitely older than him by at least a little. Not that you could tell from looking.

They were clearly going for a VERY different vibe with Isa. When I first played BBS, I thought that the visual difference between Isa and Saïx was extremely noticable. Isa looked a lot softer, sweeter and more friendly. The idea behind Saïx's design was: harsh and scary. The idea of a cute bunny rabbit representing his personality was supposed to be absurd. Saïx would be utterly disgusted if he was seen as “cute”. But the idea behind Isa's design was: cute and innocent. And Isa was indeed a little cutie. And he was innocent, too.

Saïx: We'll ensure he receives the maximum punishment.

Axel: Okay, since you worked really hard today, you get a reward. 

Saïx’s Casual Gear is called “Dessert Time,” but the localization named it “Just Desserts", and I thought that was very clever. To get one’s just desserts means to receive the appropriate punishment for one's actions. But sea-salt ice cream is supposed to be a treat to reward someone who did a good job.

Saïx gave him a cruel grin. “You will lose everything!” And then the Claymore pierced Axel’s chest.

Saïx rarely smiles because he is cold and cruel. But he would smile when he’s giving Axel his just desserts.

“But sweet!” Lea added, and Isa smiled a bit. That was rare for him. Well, eating ice cream together, talking about silly stuff, laughing together—it was just what friends did.

Isa rarely smiles because he’s shy. But he would smile when he’s eating ice cream with Lea because he has a sweet tooth and loves dessert. It was such a cool idea. I loved it.

dichotomy

1. a division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different.

2. the phase of the moon in which half its disk appears illuminated

Saïx’s Pandora Gear is called “Dichotomy” in the localization. Saïx had weapons called Lunatic, Berserker and Werewolf. The weapon representing his real personality is a bunny rabbit. The HUGE difference between Isa and Saïx was the whole point. My impression was that BBS wanted to emphasize as much as possible that Isa and Saïx were two very different people. And character design was one way they chose to do that. That dichotomy is what made Isa so interesting to me. If you want to make Isa his own character, you should go with a different character design, in my opinion.

“You’re in a pretty good mood,” Axel remarked. Riku glanced up.

“Seeing Sora just made you that happy, huh?”

“I don’t feel like telling you.” A little smile crossed Riku’s lips as he took another bite.

“Y’know, it’s creepy when you smile with that guy’s face,” Axel said dryly, following suit and nibbling on his own ice cream.

Silence fell over the room. He paused in his munching to stare hard at Riku, then finally asked, “What is Sora to you?”

The question caught Riku off guard. He groped for words. On the sofa opposite him, Naminé spoke up instead. “Sora and Riku are best friends.”

Like Terra, Isa was supposed to be cursed. Being Norted is no joke. That’s what a lot of the Beauty and the Beast parallels were about. Axel started teasing Riku for his ugly ass face the same time they were trying to figure out the organization’s next move. They were going to target those with strong hearts, and the Beast was one of those targets. 

Belle nodded and silently walked out of the room. The trio went after her. The Beast was left alone with no company but the moonlight.

“You’re really just going to give up on everything now?” Sora said all at once. But the Beast only stared up at the moon.

Isa was supposed to be just as cursed as Riku was in KH2. And Riku changing his appearance fit perfectly with Lea and Isa’s story. Axel said Riku was creepy when he smiled with that face, and unfortunately that’s kind of how “Isa” made me feel in the KH3 ending. Since they took away the possession angle, I didn’t really see him as Isa. He still felt like Saïx to me. And seeing Saïx play and smile like that was kinda unsettling. And weird.

Axel’s eyes crinkled as he remembered his own best friend—the only friend he’d ever had, in fact.

“If your best friend goes away, you’re sad, and if you get to be with them, you’re happy,” Naminé added. “Isn’t that how it is, Axel?”

“…That’s about the size of it.” Axel nodded and sat down on the remaining empty sofa, staring at the sea-salt ice cream he held.

“So you are capable of sincerity,” said Riku.

Axel only shrugged at the jab and finished his ice cream pop.

Probably for this very reason, I could tell that Nomura wanted to take a different direction with Isa’s character design after he decided to make him a good guy and Lea’s best friend. You can see what Nomura had in mind for an adult Isa based on his illustrations of Saïx for 358/2 Days and KH2FM+. He looks different than he did in his vanilla KH2 concept art. His features lean a lot more heavily toward Isa in BBS. I really wished KH3 went in this direction with his updated character design. He looks much more youthful here, like Axel does. Also, I loved the fact that his scar was gigantic. It went all the way from the top of his forehead to the bottom of his nose. In KH3, they stuck with the old Saïx design, so his scar was a lot smaller. I like the bigger scar because it really shows that he was treated like a human lab rat (of course that idea was scrapped, anyways). 

Beside the Beast, who had once been a handsome prince, stood a man in a black cloak. “It’s time you dealt with the girl. She’s scheming to take everything you have,” said Xaldin, his hood pulled low to hide his face. “Your castle, your treasures…and then your very life.” The Beast hung his head. His castle was a desolate place, ruled by a monster.

“Trust no one. Feed your anger. Only rage will keep you strong!”

“I’ve had enough of strength. There’s only one thing I want…” The Beast gazed, unmoving, at the glass bell jar around a single red rose.

What he wanted was—

“Hah,” Xaldin spat. “To love and be loved in return? Who could ever love a beast?” The Beast whirled again, his cape rippling. He glared and let out a roar of fury.

“Good. Let your anger rise!” With that, Xaldin vanished.

Axel didn’t really see his best friend when he looked at Saïx. He felt like Isa went away and Saïx took his place. His relationship with Saïx was based on his memories of the past. He self-medicated with ice cream to cope. It was heartbreaking. After the scene where Axel was sad about his best friend going away, the chapter about the Beast’s Castle begins, describing him as a formerly handsome prince. So on that basis, I wish there was more visual differentiation between Isa and Saïx. Most of the fandom is just going to see Isa as the same mean old Saïx since there was no attempt to differentiate Isa’s personality from Saïx’s personality and they look exactly the same, too. 

“I don’t trust you,” Saïx replied flatly, the enormous Claymore in his hand.

“Traitors like you deserve to lose everything,” Saïx said.

Saïx gave him a cruel grin. “You will lose everything!”

They originally wanted Isa to have a distinct personality and appearance from Saïx—a lot more than just a new outfit. Isa was supposed to be a beautiful love interest cursed into being a beast. In the novel you can tell that Xigbar and Xaldin were pressuring Saïx to eliminate Axel. He was reluctant to do so on his own. Xigbar doubted whether he was even looking for Axel. Just like with the Beast, they were manipulating him to think Axel had been plotting to take everything from him. Deep down Saïx probably felt similar to the Beast. Like nobody could ever love him in his condition. I think that’s why he was so furious. Axel grew a heart, and then left him. But the only reason Axel grew a heart was because he remembered his feelings for Isa. It was a really cool idea. It's just a shame it never came to fruition.

[tweetie-voice]

Episode #7 - The Cut - Brammer - Ugly - June 26, 2021

https://www.thecut.com/article/hola-papi-i-think-i-might-be-ugly.html

Welcome to twenty boys, the world's first audio radio, vocalizer social man tweets posts daily news, a stories today, yes june, twenty six, two, twenty twenty one. It is one, fifty seven, a m! Here's our first story. I think i might be ugly most viewed stories that cut com. I think i might be ugly by j p bramer june, twenty five, two thousand and twenty one. So i don't know if i'm an artist have extreme vision. Promise of my maoris want to buy lubercal the an anity warping, my sense of reality, but i think i look good thing is i don't think anyone else shares that view. I know this is typically the opposite problem for people who live with this morphia. They view themselves as being in hideous despite being breathtakingly gorgeous. For me, though, i often feel genuine love for the person i see in the mirror. I feel enamored when i see flattering photos on myself. I love myself. Well, i do until i'm remind that i'm wrong for doing so. If i were to describe my appearance and say i check most of the boxes, what could be considered conventionally decent? Looking not hot enough to have a recurring role on river deal, but so cute enough to be murdered as part of the beef story line. I'm happy with my weight and wear clothes at. I think suit me and have average bove tattoos and a perky ass people. Don't tell me i'm ugly, but they don't tell me i'm beautiful either and when you're beautiful people tell you you're beautiful, it's pretty clear. My confidence isn't terrible, i'm normally the first and message guys who are likely out of my lead, because i don't want to write myself for sometimes it works. I've hooked up with that salute tenant of tens, which grants me some temporary pride of validation until i soon discovered they just look up with anyone simply because it cannot, because i'm special. I know it's wrong to need validation for mothers. Myself. Love should be enough, but it's just not. I find myself deleting pictures of me on my phone instead of posting them because i know they're just going to flock. I give them style in my hair when getting ready, because i know no one cares. I don't say nice things about myself, because i probably sound illusion in doing so. I think i'm good looking a truly do, but how can everyone else be wrong? Bringing desire isn't everything but being undesirable as a life sent of nothingness sincerely on the cover ugly, how they on the cover? Yes, if self love manifests and studio apartment, but no one is around to hear it doesn't make a sound. I am interested in this question because i too identify as an undercover ugly. I don't really have the self esteem you mentioned, but i do have a nagging notion that the narrative art of my life is frequently interrupted by a certain inadequacy, one that i can't quite name but often feels a whole lot like not cute enough and so on to cover. If anything i say here sounds like tough love just now, i'm mostly directing it myself. Don't you feel better already, knowing that we're in this together? No well too bad because much like my fail dates and various brooklyn bars with port point three stars in google. You stuck with me for at least another few minutes i'll start by asking what purse you think you hot people, i'll start by asking what perks you think hot people are enjoying that you are not purty a letter. You say you feel good about yourself. You dress well, and you hook up with people. You find attractive a lot o to consult mascos hierarchy of needs, but my god reaction is you're, pretty doing pretty good. I do wish more stranger would mark on my beauty upon first playing eyes on me, but there's simply no. I can, if i taste either way, that is for a moment, be a little ridiculous. An entertainer thing suspicions on the cover. Yes, you and i were ugly. We fall outside the conventional beauty standards set by society. People do not stop us on the street and ask us if we like the guest star as hot person and the sketch comedy web series, the guys who find a track the ten to pass us over, because it was simply failed to meet the criteria. Now is any of that? True, i don't know now. Do i think it's a particularly useful question, here's a better one! If any of that word true, would we carry? Would we card carrying your members of the uglies? Only club, not anseres, to feel good about ourselves would not be. Would we not deserve love romance sexuality, the similar pleasure of wearing a nice offett? Do you look at random people on the street? I think that person has no business being so confident. Look at you on the cover living in a cage. You yourself is deecorations in your check box in your ratings one through ten and for what for whom? How does this serve you on anyone else? What are you doing, if not failing your own imagination, even if a good chunk of people were to tell you right to your face that you are not attractive? Well, what do you would you think? How do you feel? What about your daly, giving a right to define things for yourself to have your own criteria from one makes something beautiful a worthy, your precious isn't un more compelling than just being born into praise from a said culture that changes its mind. Every few minutes, i'm not in the business sugar coating anything i can't lie. It doesn't feel like gravitating that great navigating a world that has made exclusively be into a science. You can and will be excluded for any number of things in this live color ism your size, the way you express yourself the list goes on and on and on, and so like a few people would be deem worthy and will be celebrated in the ways you will not. You yourself would likely re benefits from the whole process, while others are punished. There is nothing fair about it. There were brutal things about this lap. Sadly, until i collect, if you remaining forbidding artifacts, i don't have the power to fix that for you right now, but concurrence. This harsh reality is another annotating that they can truth to a certain degree. We have the power to name ourselves, to determine what we make in the hand we been tell when i feel ugly on a cover. It's exactly that a feeling, a story, a way of seeing myself i'm method of moving clucky through a word that doesn't wami. That's real, that's unpleasant! That's a place and i'm a regular in life, though we visit many places, must have felt desirable. I felt capable of giving and receiving pleasure of being enchanting of a hold thing, a secret gravity at the center of my existence when it draws others in quite effortless lean. Why wouldn't it the fact that i can pitch my tents here in this place, where ii feel good as unfortunate, but movement is an evitable. We either learn we go when we suffer, as were dragged and short on. The cover. Human life is largely hallucinated. There was no gotcha here. You were not secretly ugly sure when you're rejected it when no one to retreat your selfe or when i want to retreat yourself and when you just in a funk ugliness can feel a lot more like the truth, but it isn't where it is and it's a temporary want. You are a more or less deserving of anything based on your looks nor as anyone else out there doing their best piloting a body. The most important thing is how you feel if you feel hot your hot, so my best advice is just to be hot. Thank you. Please buy my book on mota mortiboy, originally desire originally published in may tend four o tousand and twenty one the cut oile puppy. I think i might be ugly written by j p, brammer tweeder twenty june twenty six, two thousand and twenty one, two d, twelve, a m t

[atruththatyoudeny]

Monthly Reads | October 2017

❤ THANK YOU TO ALL WRITERS FOR YOUR HARD WORK AND FOR SHARING YOUR STORIES! ❤ Top 5 + 7 more under the cut: Walk That Mile

by purpledaisy for 1D Reverse Bang 2017 | Road Trip | strangers to enemies to friends to lovers | 141k Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.” “Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.” “Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

No One Like You

by myownspark for 1D Reverse Bang 2017 | historical | friends to lovers | art history | slow burn| 19k Dear Niall, I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory. Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters. Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion. Are you up for a trip to France? Sincerely, Liam Payne Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

You Might Want to Marry My Husband

by Rearviewdreamer | friends to lovers | minor character death | 24k When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him. It’s a request that Harry is happy to disregard, until he meets the one person who is impossible to ignore.

Like One of Your French Girls

by elsi_bee for 1D Reverse Bang 2017 | friends to lovers | 46k Harry thumbs through his sketchpad before he stops on a blank page. He looks Louis over for a moment, seemingly studying him. It’s a odd feeling, even if it is what Louis signed up for, just sitting in a crowd in broad daylight while a stranger looks him up and down. Louis is the subject of Harry’s first year art project, and what starts as an assignment blossoms into a friendship. It’s unfortunate that only one of them wishes it could be more.

We're What's Right In This World

by BriaMaria for 1D Reverse Bang 2017 | World War II | PTSD | blind Louis | soldier Harry | period-typical homophobia | 48k “Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?” “It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally. The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.” Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.” “Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.” “I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.” ---- Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

Threadbare

by kiwikero  for HL Historical Fic Exchange | historical | period-typical homophobia | hurt/comfort | major character injury | friends to lovers | 20k Harry Styles was eight years old when Louis Tomlinson kept him from falling into a machine in a Manchester textile mill. He was 18 years old when nothing, not even the threat of death, could keep Harry from falling in love with Louis.

I'm still learning to love

by stylinsonau | minor character death | kid fic | babysitter Louis | CEO Harry | 74k “Hello there.” Louis crouches in front of the small child, brunette with light sleepy eyes. He smiles fondly. He looks a lot like his father, but with a little less laugh lines, and frowns, and grumpiness. The child continues to rub at his eyes, clutching at his little shark before he asks, “Are you gonna be my new Dada?” Harry stiffens. Or An au where Harry has almost everything in the world except for the will to move on.

Forget-me-not

by SexyAssWoman for HL Historical Fic Exchange | major character death | Salem Witch Trials | witches | enemies to friends to lovers | angst | 26k “I- I can't move” the elder one finally croaked out, and with more distress Harry came to see that the vines had wrapped itself around the lad's ankles. With a dumb nod Harry took a couple of steps forward. He could see Louis flinch with his sudden movement but he tried not to think about it. Instead, he lifted his hands, and tried his best to concentrate, hoping his power would listen to him just this once around the other man and untie him. Ever so slowly, the vines started to detach themselves from Louis's calves, and soon enough, the man was free. With shaking legs, Louis stood up from the position he was in, and suddenly the air around them got thicker. “You're- you're a witch.” Louis hissed under the harsh wind, making Harry flinch at the accusation in his voice. or, Where Harry had something he did not wish to have. Louis was just trying to figure him out.

The dead things we carry

by Anonymous for HL Historical Fic Exchange | World War II | post-war | PTSD | injury | hidden relationship | angst | 25k September ‘49 He hasn’t seen him since that day in France, that horrible muddy day where for one terrifyingly long second, Louis really thought he was going to die. He winces with the phantom pain, the hand not holding his cane going to his stomach automatically, remembering the franticness, the tenderness, of Harry’s hands while Louis was bleeding out. This is the man who saved Louis’ life. For one second, Louis fears Harry won’t recognise him, but his eyes widen when he turns to his left and they meet Louis’. He takes a step forward, reaching for him with a shaky hand before stopping himself. “Louis,’ Harry says with a shudder and Louis doesn’t think his name has ever carried more weight. This is the only man Louis ever thought about kissing for real. “Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?” There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

Can I just be the same?

by Star_Henderson for 1D Reverse Bang 2017 | vampires | 17k “Are you skint?” Louis studied his face. “I can give you the bloody bus fare home, Harry. You don't have to walk.” His voice was soft. Caring. Harry stopped, his body tingling. Fuck. He shouldn’t have crossed the road. Keep walking. Always keep walking. “I’m not skint, but thanks for the offer. There’s not many kind people like you around. You’re lovely, you know that?” Harry reached his hand out tentatively, cupping Louis’ elbow and squeezing. “Thank you.” His voice hitched a little. He’d roamed the country for centuries, coming in and out of people’s lives, never able to forge bonds. Or, if he did, breaking them and suffering the pain of lost love. That was his life forever. Stuck in this limbo with not one other person in the whole world who cared about him. So the kindness of a stranger really hit home, and this stranger with the bluest eyes and brightest smile was making Harry feel alive again. Reminding him of what he was missing OR Harry is a two hundred year old Vampire with no one in the whole world and Louis is the kind hearted stranger who comes into Harry's life bringing something that Harry had missed. Love. But Harry is forever running, can Louis be the one to change all that?

It'll be

by styleandsin for  pining | implied violence | secret identity | friends to lovers | 17k Harry meets Louis at university. Once he finally gets the nerve to take their friendship to the next level, Louis vanishes without a trace. Harry doesn’t see him again for four years. Only now he goes by Charlie, and pretends not to know who Harry is. Now Harry wants answers more than ever.

Ocean Eyes

by LSFOREVER for HL Fic Exchange 2017 | Farmer Harry | enemies to lovers | 25k “I want to buy your land." “Get out of my house.” “I’d hardly call it a house…” “I’d hardly call you the respectable business man you claimed yourself to be when you introduced yourself!” “Touché. I’ll break you one way or another, Mr. Styles. Just you wait.” or, where harry is a farmer, louis is a rich business man, and niall and liam are the best mates anyone could ask for.

[sumayyahwrites]

Poet of Positivity

I don't remember how I came across the poetry of self-styled 'internet poet' Steve Roggenbuck, but I remember how I felt; euphoric, giddy and greedy for more. I spent the next few days chain-watching his youtube videos and hassling anyone who'd listen to watch them too. His poetry is a raw, unmediated blend of puerile humour, internet vernacular and surprising flashes of wisdom so beautiful, your heart grows a size. In his films, he's often outside in woods and fields shouting over Dubstep as if he were an evangelist at the church of YOLO. If that sounds like it shouldn't work, that's because it probably shouldn't.

Roggenbuck's most popular video, Make Something Beautiful Before You Are Dead, is filmed on his phone, and is mostly footage of him running around outdoors, parodying badly made video blogs and shouting inspirational soundbites about hugs and rain. Between the infectious chaos and sermonising, something remarkable happens; it works. You want to go outside and stand in the rain, you want to hug somebody, you want to make something beautiful before you are dead. YOLO is a recurring theme in what he calls his Carpe Diem poems. Roggenbuck also writes love poems that are hilarious, unexpected and oddly sweet. Love poems with verses that wouldn't be out of place among some big names. Verses such as "i sing into your mouth pretending you are dead / it sounds like you are the ocean / i hold your mouth like a cup / it sounds like you are full of what the sky is full of".

A native child of the digital age, Roggenbuck uses social media not only as a publicising tool, but as a vehicle to create his work, and a recurring motif in it; referencing selfies, Pinterest, and Snapchat in his poems. He sees social media as a means to reach more people where they are, he want “the opportunity to be in people's lives every day." He is confident that his personal hero, poet Walt Whitman, would have loved Twitter.

If you think that poetry should be exclusive, elitist and full of complex allusions, this definitely won't be for you. Roggenbuck's poetry is staunchly democratic, chaotic, and often puerile, with frequent dick jokes and references to Justin Beiber. His written work is also full of deliberate grammatical errors and misspellings, giving the impression that, as if overcome, he's typing too fast to care- but mostly it comes across as a sort of rebellion against the rarefied status of poetry. In this light, his work can be seen as quite radical, railing against the stuffy old-guard of the poetry establishment. Roggenbuck has been described as the first true 21st-century poet, but not everyone is convinced he’s a poet at all. On the back of his latest book If U Don't Love the Moon Your an Ass Hole- he acknowledged his detractors by printing harsh criticism in place of praise, such as "possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to art" and "please die".

A great self-publiciser, Roggenbuck lists Gary Vaynerchuk, a social media marketing guru, as one of his biggest inspirations. In his video poem An Internet Bard at Last, he says "I'm interested in marketing, but I'm mostly interested in marketing the moon." A part of me worries I'm a sucker, falling for a charlatan, a marketeer approximating poetry. But I ask myself, even if he is just a savvy marketeer, with such an uplifting message, can that really be bad? 

Roggenbuck identifies not only as a poet but as an activist, his plan: to 'boost the world'. He intends to do this by making positivity and dedication to improving the lives of others "cool". In an interview with Impose magazine, he says "to me, spending your time on direct efforts to help others and end oppression is one of the coolest things you can do."

Exposing himself with such sincerity and positivity seems like a radical act in a jaded world, and also makes it inevitable Roggenbuck will have his detractors. But I find his earnest intensity irresistible, his love poems sweet and his vulgarity funny. Most importantly, he makes me want to shake off my cynicism, run shouting through the woods and boost the world.

[stormcrow-whispers]

Three Times Kallista Drew Ronan and One Time She Didn’t

Kallista shook her head in disbelief as she watched Tami and the others inspect three of her childhood drawings hanging on Ronan’s wall. “I can’t believe you kept those.” she said wryly, a teasing grin pulling at the corners of her lips. He chuckled softly, “I kept them so I could show your friends if you ever brought any home.” He may have meant it to sound sarcastic, but she was overwhelmed by the warmth she heard in his tone, a warmth that rarely ever made an appearance, a warmth he reserved only for her. 

She whipped her head around to face him, the rings in her ears clinking softly together as she did so, and her fiery eyes went wide. He was smiling, albeit it was a small one, but it was a smile nonetheless. He had a far away look in his lilac eyes, too lost in his thoughts to acknowledge her. Kallista grinned widely. She knew full well the difference between Ronan acting and Ronan being sincere, and if that fond look on his face was any indication, he was being sincere as shit. God he’d gotten sappy with age.

Ronan liked to think of himself as a patient person. Calm, cool, and collected under pressure, he’d never truly lashed out in impatience at anyone. It’s why he was so good at his job and one of the many reasons he’d gone up the ranks so quickly. His daughter, however, was proving to be a real test of his patience.

“Kallista! Come eat your dinner!” he called out for what felt like the thousandth time, annoyance starting to color his voice. The only response he received was silence once again. At this rate, she was going to go hungry, especially given how picky she was with her food as of late. He stuck his head through the doorway to the living room to scold her, but stopped when he spotted her sitting cross legged on the floor in the corner by a small lamp, her back to him. She was hunched over something and seemed to be working very intently, her little arm moving furiously back and forth, a subdued scratching reaching his ears. He frowned. What could she possibly be doing that she was completely tuning him out?

He slinked forward silently to get a better look, stepping carefully around the room so as not to be detected by the small tiefling. Once he reached her side, he crouched down to her level to get a better look. Despite his obvious presence at her side, she still hadn’t shown any indication that she’d noticed him, too engrossed in her work. He stared down at her quizzically. It seemed like she was drawing something, if the wide array of crayons strewn around her were any indication, but he couldn’t tell exactly what yet. It could be a person, but he’d need to get a better look to know for sure. He waited a few moments to see if she’d sense him, and when she didn’t, he finally spoke.

“What exactly are you doing?”

At the sound of his voice Kallista yelped in surprise and flung herself forward onto the drawing, completely obscuring it from his view, sending her crayons flying across the room in the process. She whipped her head around to shoot him a nervous look, her tail curling around her diminutive frame in what he could only guess was discomfort. “N-nothing! It’s nothing!”

“From what I saw it wasn’t nothing.” he drawled, tilting his head to the side to try and get a look at it between her tangled limbs, which caused her to curl even further into herself and give him a petulant look. He huffed impatiently and rolled his eyes. “I already saw some of it so you might as well show me.”

For a moment, she didn't budge, eyes narrowing slightly at him. She shifted just enough so she could look down at her work, then back at him, her face drawn in a mask of deep thought, brows furrowed slightly as she analyzed her options. Eventually she sighed, her shoulders falling slightly in defeat as she slowly reached down to pull the drawing out from under herself. She examined it for a moment, her crimson eyes flicking between him and the drawing, before very quickly shoving the thing in his face, her head turned away in embarrassment. The gesture took him by surprise, but not as much as what he saw when he finally got a good look at the piece of paper before him. His eyes grew wide. Ronan could count on one hand the amount of times he’d been rendered speechless in the last several years. This was definitely one of those moments.

She’d drawn HIM.

He plucked the sheet of paper from her grasp to inspect it properly and held it at a more acceptable distance. It wasn’t a masterpiece by any means, drawn with a heavy hand, comical proportions, colors going outside the lines in many places, much like any child’s drawing. She’d neglected to add his pupils and had simplified his armor considerably, and his scar was not much else than a dark line slashing across his face, and….was that a scowl? And why had she given him fangs...?

All things considered, she’d captured his likeness fairly well, but the fact that she’d drawn him...

The longer Ronan sat in silence, the more crestfallen Kallista became. She’d worked really really hard to make the drawing for him, and she’d wanted it to be a surprise, and now he was just sitting there staring at it and not saying anything? She was starting to regret making it at all. He probably hated it.

She stood up awkwardly, dusting off her knees as she did so, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m...sorry it’s not very good...I can just throw it out if-” The weight of his hand on her tiny shoulder cut her off, and her head snapped up in surprise. Eyes still glued to to the drawing, Ronan let out a soft chuckle. “It’s great, I love it. Thank you.” He finally turns to her and gives her the smallest of smiles. It was more of a grimace than anything really, but she’d take it. Although momentarily taken aback by his response, Kallista puffs up with pride, a huge grin cracking across her face. She could barely contain her excitement at his approval. And when he stood up to hang it on the wall, she jumped up and down with glee.

It was the first of many drawings she’d make for him throughout the years. She took up drawing as a bit of a hobby during their downtime between missions and training, and he frequently ended up as her subject. Not surprising, given how much time they spent together, but somewhat annoying at times. Every time she made one he particularly liked, he’d hang it up on the wall in the living room.

For a while in her teenage years, Kallista’s drawings veered more towards the fantastical. Big eyes, crazy spiky hair, bright flashy colors, and more harsh angles in their limbs and wrinkles in their clothing than Ronan thought any person should ever have. He figured it was a phase, he’d seen other kids her age draw this way, but it didn’t make it any less strange to him. It didn’t really bother him much, that is until he stumbled upon her drawing him in this ridiculous new style.

The drawing itself wasn’t bad, just...ridiculous. He wasn’t sure why she’d made his scar 3 times larger than it really was, or his eyes and his horn for that matter, and his hair definitely wasn’t that long and spiky. And who in their right mind cut holes out of their daggers? The wrapping on the handles he understood, sure, better grip was always a plus in a fight, but cut outs? Not to mention the the strange pose she drew him in. Was he supposed to be running with his arms back like that? It didn’t seem safe at all, especially where balance and stealth were concerned. And from the looks of the wild hair and cape and what he assumed were speed lines, he was most certainly supposed to be running at ridiculous speeds.

“You...made me look like some sort of action hero.” he regarded the drawing with a look of intense confusion. “I mean, that’s kinda what you look like when you’re running around on missions and on rooftops and stuff.” she stated very matter of factly, not bothering to look up from her work to greet him as she added the finishing touches. She seemed to have switched out her usual pencils for colored inks this time around, a development that perturbed him when he noticed the dark stains on his kitchen table surrounding her work space. That was definitely never coming out. Lovely.

He continued watching her work over her shoulder, scanning the page as he did so, his frown only deepening as he began to notice various accents to his wardrobe. “Why did you give me so many belts…? Do half of those even serve a purpose? They don’t look like they’re attached to anything.” She shrugged. “Belts look cool, I dunno. I mean, you do have at least two as it is, so what’s a couple more?” He grimaced at that. He wasn’t sure he agreed, but she did seem to be developing a taste for wearing ridiculous amounts of accessories as she aged, so he supposed the logic made sense, at least in her mind anyway.

He let her work in silence again for a few moments, watching as she signed it and put the current date in the bottom corner. He smirked. “That run is not at all practical you know.” She shot him a withering look. “Well if you hate it THAT much I’ll just keep it for myself then.” Before she could put it away, he snatched it from her grasp and put it on the wall next to her first one.

As ridiculous as this new art piece looked, he had to admit it had a certain…charm.

“Well, well, well, I must say I am impressed.”

Kallista snorted, a lopsided grin breaking across her face as Ronan sunk down into the chair across from her to watch her work, the exhaustion from the the day's work drawn in the lines of his shoulders and face. “Wow, I never thought I’d hear that from you.” He rolled his eyes at that, a sarcastic edge creeping into his tired voice. “You wound me, child.” She glanced up at him with a laugh, her crimson eyes dancing with mirth. “I’m sure you’ll recover.”

She turned her attention back to her work, glancing back up at him every so often, using him as a reference, eyes narrowed in concentration as she added subtle details and shading to her drawing. Unlike the other two he had on display, this one was a simple bust, and a very lifelike one at that. His crooked nose, his high cheekbones and strong jaw, even the deep scar spider webbing across the left side of his face were rendered with startling accuracy.  One thing that hadn’t changed throughout the years though was the heavy black outline she gave everything. His lips twitched up a bit at the corners in the ghost of a smile as he remembered the first drawing she made him all those years ago. “You know I never asked you why you always insist on using me as your subject.”

Kallista sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and arching her brow at him, an air of disbelief coloring her voice. “Are you really asking me that?” He glowered at her in response but said nothing. She immediately sprung forward in her seat and pointed a finger at him, grinning from ear to ear. “There. That’s why.” “I didn’t do anything.” “Exactly, you have that same stupid scowl on your face all day, makes you easy to draw. No need to ask to you keep still if you always keep the same expression.”

Ronan groaned in annoyance and put his head in his hands. He heard Kallista snicker in response before her chair creaked loudly as she leaned forward to begin working again. When the sound of her charcoal scraping across the paper stopped all together and was replaced by a muffled rustle, he glanced back up at her curiously.

She was digging through one of her little craft bags looking for something. She pulled out a ridiculous amount of metal knitting needles of various sizes in the process, as well as a plethora of different pencils, scraps of yarn and paper, and a small knife or two. The mountain of clutter on his kitchen table grew larger and larger by the second, making him cringe internally, until she finally found what she was looking for--two purple pencils, one lighter, one darker, the same color as his eyes. With the deft precision of a master lock pick, she filled in the color of his eyes, never once going outside the lines or accidentally blending in with the charcoal. Once she was satisfied, she sat back with a smile and a nod, and began stuffing her supplies away again.

“You know I wasn’t kidding when I said I was impressed.”

Kallista looked back over her shoulder when he spoke, and found him near her side, examining the drawing up close. He was always rather good at sneaking up on her, even now. She watched his lilac eyes slowly track around the page, watched his expression change minutely from its usual mask of disinterest to one of pride and wonder. His hand hovered close to the page as he deliberated between picking it up or leaving it be, almost as if he was afraid to ruin it.  She smiled softly, all traces of her earlier humor replaced with warmth, her voice quiet. “Yeah I know.”

Kallista sat perched atop one of the towering buildings in the Plaster District, a stolen bottle of  expensive wine in hand, staring out into the night sky and watching the stars shine high above her. She was going to miss this, miss sitting high above the city and watching the people mill by. Hell, as much of a pain as it was living in Holden as a tiefling, especially one as ridiculous looking as herself, she was going to miss this place and its people. She’d really come to love it over the years, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about leaving for an indeterminate amount of time, especially considering it was her first time venturing outside the city.

Most of all, she wasn’t sure how to feel about leaving Ronan behind. When he wasn’t away on business, they saw each other every day, and frequently ran missions together. He even joked she should have never bothered moving out considering how often she came to visit. It was going to be strange being the one leaving town for once.

She brought the bottle to her lips and took a swig of it, letting out a sigh as the warm liquid burned her throat. Baskerville momentarily attempted to have a taste himself, his tiny little hands hooking into the opening of the bottle, but she plucked him from her lap before he could get close enough and placed him back on her shoulder. He squeaked indignantly at her before nipping at her fingers and running back into the hood of her cloak. She grinned. Sneaky little bugger always wanted what he couldn't have.

After some time, she felt a familiar presence behind her. “I thought I’d find you up here.” Kallista didn’t say anything in response, merely extended her arm to offer him a drink from her bottle. She heard the soft shuffle of his cloak and the whisper of his leather boots on the roof tiles as he strode forward to take the bottle from her and sit by her side. He took a long drink before passing it back to her. He’d made quite a dent in it judging by how much lighter it felt. She turned her head slightly to look at him, watching as he adjusted and readjusted the bandana around his neck, noticing the slight twitch in his eyebrows and lips and the unsteadiness of his fingers. He didn’t seem to be taking her imminent departure too well either. She said nothing of it though, and turned back to look out upon the city once more.

They sat in silence for several minutes, passing the bottle back and forth every so often, before he finally spoke.

“I’m going to miss you, you know.” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, and if she wasn’t so accustomed to the hushed tones of his speech, she would never have heard it over the din from below.

She leaned back on her hands slightly and turned so she could face him better. In any other situation she would have answered back with sarcasm, something about how she was the best part of this terrible city so of course he’d miss her, but now was not the time. Not when he was so clearly affected by the situation. She sighed, a sad smile crossing her face. “I’m going to miss you too. A lot.” Silence took over once more, and it was so heavy it was deafening. He was never really good with emotionally charged situations like these, although neither was she, so she didn’t press him. Like father like daughter it seemed, or however it was the saying went.

She glanced over at him every so often, biting the inside of her lip anxiously as she tried to work up the courage to say something, anything to lift the uncomfortable silence. After several agonizing minutes she cleared her throat awkwardly, her fingers twitching nervously over to the pack at her side. “Hey...I, uh, I got you something...”    

At that he finally turned to face her, a look of aloof curiosity crossing his features. Good, that was better than that depressed look he had on before at least. She dove into her pack in earnest, sifting through her tools and notes until she finally pulled out what looked like a heavy envelope. She passed it to him tentatively. He inspected the exterior for a moment before carefully undoing the seal and removing its contents. He was speechless.

Kallista fidgeted a bit in her seat as she waited for a response, and when he said nothing she continued. “I, um, I had two of these made, one for you and one for me. Sort of to remember each other by I guess, since I don’t know how long I’ll be gone or how much I’ll be able to write.”

Ronan’s shocked gaze drunk in all the details on the thin canvas in his hands. It was a color portrait of the two of them, similar to the family portraits the nobles in town hung above their mantles, but on a much smaller scale. It was still remarkable, and it captured their likenesses perfectly. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders, her with a big toothy grin, him with a scowl and the slightest smile pulling at one corner of his lips. He whipped his head around to look at her. “How…?” She shrugged. “I’ve drawn you a million and one times. The painter used one of my drawings as a reference, and I posed with a stand in.” His lavender gaze turned back to the painting once more, before setting it down behind him carefully and pulling her into a fierce hug, totally overwhelmed. “Thank you.” The raw emotion in his voice nearly brought tears to her eyes, and she hugged him back tightly. God she was really going to miss him.

After a while he let her go, thanking her once more before turning his attention back to the unexpected, thoughtful gift. He ran his fingers carefully over the small ridges created by the many layers of paint, a bittersweet sort of sadness taking over him once more as he recalled the many years they’d spent together as a tiny, terrible, and practically inseparable two person family. The quiet between them this time wasn’t quite as unbearable as before, and this time he was the one to break it.

“You know, I guess I never considered they’d send you beyond the walls. That or I was completely in denial about the possibility.” After one final glance at it, he carefully put the painting back in its envelope and into his bag, then turned to her once more. “Either way, this place is going to feel a lot lonelier without you constantly pestering me to death on a daily basis.”

For a moment Kallista sat in a sort of stunned silence, taken aback by his sudden sarcasm after such a heavy exchange. But her bark of laughter that followed broke the melancholic cloud that had been hanging over them, and he smiled, really, genuinely smiled, watching as she doubled over in a fit of giggles. When she finally caught her breath, she roughly shoved at his shoulder, still grinning widely. “Dad you’re the worst, you know that?”

Ronan smirked, and this time it touched his eyes. “So I’ve been told.”

[andyangus]

Saturday 30th January

3.30 a.m. (The latest I’ve been up in years!) I sat in Starbucks as nervous as a prostitute at confession while attempting to sip my caramel macchiato as indifferently as I could. The place was bustling with tourists who seem to have been unaffected by the global downturn as they continually dripped coins into the ravenous till. Ryan was half an hour late (traditional), so I managed to work my way from an uncomfortable wooden chair to a nice, soft and fluffy couch as people vacated. I sank into the well-ridden cushion with smug satisfaction and admired the view. Edinburgh Castle hadn’t lost her beauty.

I was feeling the effects of the caffeine and becoming quite sentimental when Ryan swept in with the energy of an excited teen. His long, hairy, green and brown overcoat swept open from the speed of his entrance. He recognised me immediately and waved, beaming a Hollywood smile that would outshine any showgirl. Sadly, Tony (a.k.a. ‘Biffo’, the derogatory name given to him justifiably by harsh queens on the scene) was in tow. I stopped slouching and tensed up my stomach in a vain attempt to engage my rarely used abs.

Ryan’s hardly changed. He has no grey flecks, unlike me, and seems to have been living in Tupperware for the past decade as there’s not a crease on any part of his well-presented façade. I’d go so far as to say he looks youthful. You’d hope, after losing a boyfriend, the stress of it all would mean you’d instantly burn all that unnecessary fat, but no, my body screams for comfort food, slowly topping up the levels like a barrel attached to a drainpipe.

Ryan yelped in excitement and hugged me like a long-lost brother. ‘Andy, you look amazing!’ he said and then paused expectantly for a compliment in return.

I shushed him bashfully and said, ‘No way, but you do.’

‘I know I do,’ said my confident friend.

I neglected to compliment Tony as I just can’t lie convincingly. He’s spray-tanned so much he’s on the verge of becoming a fat satsuma. However, as we were throwing hugs around, I was obligated to give him one too, but as half-hearted as I could possibly make it (hugging Biffo is akin to embracing a turd in a wig).

I immediately wanted to trade that hug for a slap the second Tony pulled back, gawped at my face and cried, ‘Goodness, life has been rough on you, my dear. Haven’t you collected a lot of wrinkles!’ and laughed as shrill as a mad banshee.

I countermanded by saying, ‘Wrinkles? No, they’re the trademark Angus laughter lines.’

Whereupon Tony sniggered and threw another verbal grenade, ‘Well, what a family of comedians you must be.’

Cue fixed grin and stunned silence on my part.

I visualised dropkicking him through that bay window until his mangled body was tangled in the castle’s craggy rocks, but I knew this wouldn’t be a great start to rekindling a relationship I’d let slide a long time ago. Even if one of the reasons I’d let it slip was still very much the monkey on Ryan’s back. A monkey that will be backbreaking to carry as Tony has gained several pounds and is struggling to fit into his Fat Face jeans. His thinning brown hair, jug-ears, snooty nose and jutting incisors certainly fit his insulting nickname Biffo the Bear. And his lips ... I don’t remember them being that big. Collagen injections, by the look of it.

‘Moving on,’ I said. ‘Coffee?’

‘Oh, not here, cupcake. I can’t abide coffee beans that have been raped by a multimillion tax-dodging company,’ said Ryan. ‘I hope nobody saw us come in, Tony. Well, nobody that counts. We know a delightful independent place on Broughton Street that you’ll adore. Cosy and they do the best tasting Americano this side of the country. I hope no one sees us leave, either.’ He turned to a busy server filling a large tray with sloppy cups and sticky plates and asked, ‘Is there a fire escape we can use?’

‘The owner can be a bit of a cow, though,’ interrupted Tony, tartly.

I was sold. Anyone who’s a cow to Tony is a friend of mine. A bit of a walk, but I figured my potbelly and bashed ego needed a stroll. ‘Let’s go then,’ I insisted.

‘Oh, hang on,’ said Ryan, whipping out his mobile. ‘A quick celebratory selfie. Stand over there away from the branding. I won’t be tagging our location.’ The boys struck a well-rehearsed pose as he snapped the picture before I’d the chance to focus. I was gawping, my eyes half shut and I noticed a coffee drip on my shirt. It was online quicker than the time it takes to drink one shot of espresso. We left via the fire exit.

******

Café Jamaica, a slither of a place that you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it, is green and black on the shop front with swirly yellow flower power style lettering above the door. Cavernous inside, it gets more extensive the deeper you delve, opening out to an ample space at the rear. On the far wall, beyond a decorative fireplace, sits an intimate stage flanked with purple felt curtains. An eclectic mix of local art hangs on the walls, from picturesque scenes of Edinburgh to the abstract brushstrokes of an aggressive mind. Rainbow coloured paper lanterns hang from the ceiling, softly lighting the chilled ambience, enhanced by grand ornate mirrors dotted around the area. The whole café has a feel of homely, lived-in chaos. Not a single table or chair match in colour or style. Nag champa snaked lethargically through the space and Nina Simone’s voice echoed from somewhere deep within the shadows. It felt reassuringly geek-friendly.

As I squished comfortably into a sofa, a tall, slender, middle-aged black woman with a tower of thickly piled hair emerged from the back of the café and made her way towards us as she flirtatiously dipped into the depths of her ample bosom to remove a small notepad and pen from its clutches. Her hourglass figure was tightly caressed by a green dress that groped her in all the right places and caused her breasts to spill forward like two large, shiny chestnuts. She oozed sexual confidence. Phenomenal. If it weren’t for her sincere smile and gentle Jamaican accent, I would’ve felt intimidated.

‘Ryan, you old hound. So good to see you, what can I get you?’ she grinned. ‘And I see you’ve brought a handsome young man with you,’ she said, nodding to me and ignoring Tony. I warmed to her more.

‘This is my good friend from the West, Andy,’ said Ryan, which melted my heart instantaneously as it became apparent all those years I’d neglected our friendship seemed to bother him not one jot.

‘Andy?’ She smiled wider, ‘Andy, who?’

‘Andy Angus,’ I added, hand stretched to shake hers.

‘Oh, Andy,’ she muttered as her eyes glinted in the lamplight and gazed deep into mine. Well-manicured scarlet nails flickered as she cupped my hand in both of hers and shook it intensely, ‘It’s so good to meet such a fine, handsome, mature man.’ She raised her head proudly and announced, ‘I’m Miss Molasses Brown, queen of this fabulous establishment, where all friends, freaks and lost souls are welcome to linger.’ It felt as if I’d known her for years, such was her warmth.

‘Drinks!’ she shouted, ‘Mojitos on the house, for my dear friends. Back in three shakes.’

‘We should take you out more often,’ said Tony, glaring at Molasses as she wiggled away, ‘the old hag has never given us so much as a free after-dinner mint.’

‘Oh! Selfie!’ said Ryan, mobile at the ready.

Goggle-eyed, I said, ‘Really? But we’ve only just taken one twenty min …’

Snap and post!

We sampled delicious home-cooked recipes that blew my mind, several non-alcoholic cocktails and Molasses’s very own Rum Truffle Cake. A sober evening for me, but a most enjoyable one. We talked about their wedding, and I brushed over my defunct relationship with Thomas briefly. I imagine Tony was keen to perform a detailed autopsy, but I preoccupied the evening with them. Ryan is a window dresser for Jenners and Tony works in a G.P. surgery as a receptionist. They still live at their old flat on Leith Street, but now, instead of renting, they own it. I got most of this information from a very animated Tony. Ryan was hardly given room to breathe, so I was relieved when an early start pulled Tony out of the door around midnight. Even if I had to witness repeated, heavy petting for the next ten minutes until Ryan loosened his leash and the door shut on his saggy arse.

I could relax for the first time all evening. With Biffo gone, we were free to chat over old times, when I lived just a stone’s throw away from Ryan on London Road. Life seemed more relaxed and less complicated. I had more of the pink pound in my pocket, and the scene was new, exciting and risky. He talked about some of the older queens still doing the rounds, the ones who’d since moved on (or worse, died), and the colourful new characters he’s met since I left.

Then he asked, ‘Do you ever think of Steve?’

My heart suddenly ached. I shared the flat on London Road with Steve. He was older than us, experienced, wealthy, butch and bitchy, cheeky and damn handsome. He’d say, ‘When you hit forty, boys, there is a certain clientele that finds you fascinating. Twinks don’t turn my head, but I seem to turn theirs, and if the chap is on the right side of his twenties, then I’m willing to entertain the notion for nothing more than a night. Anything more than that is some form of relationship, and that is definitely not my china cup of tea. What would I want with a twink, anyway? They haven’t lived. They use moisturiser, for fuck’s sake, bathe in aftershave and have no idea how to fix a stop-cock. I just want a real man to rodger and take the bin bag out in the morning, is that asking for the world?’ Riotous laughter would follow, and others would turn their heads towards our usual corner of the bar. We must’ve looked like witches around a cauldron, but we were having a blast.

How could Ryan dare to bring him up? Steve was taboo. Our gang fell to pieces after he died – forty-four and cold on a slab looking a shadow of his former self. His good looks eaten away. Such a jovial, glorious mind ruined by something that could’ve been, should’ve been, treated sooner.

I hesitated some and said, ‘I think of him every day. I still blame myself; after all these years, I still do. I knew he wasn’t right. Six weeks later, he was gone. No more Friday night drinks that turned into Saturday morning breakfasts. Gone was that shameless smile, those playful moves on the dance floor and that gorgeous set of blue eyes that excused him no matter how bitchy he became.’

Ryan nodded, ‘He could charm the Crown Jewels off the Queen.’

That rock that we had clung to was now far away in the middle of a foreboding sea that could never be crossed. At least, not in this lifetime. This marked the beginning of our separation. We met through Steve, and we only knew how to function around Steve. So we clung to new rocks as quickly as we could and lost sight of each other behind the solidity of what we’d found. His funeral came fast and left us with little time to think. And before we knew it, we were toasting the man and, with a tear in our eyes and dregs in our glasses, it was time to move on. And boy, move on we did. Swiftly. Ryan to Tony, and me to Thomas. But even tonight, after all that water has flown under all those bridges, the events leading up to why we lost touch hurt.

‘Not your fault,’ consoled Ryan with a hand clasping mine. ‘Hell, I would’ve told him to shut up with his moaning, but then, I’ve never had much patience with the sick.’

‘I remember,’ I jibed. ‘When I snapped a tendon falling off the stage at Vibe, you quickly asked me to leave as I was embarrassing you. I limped towards the exit, and you continued to dance as if nothing was wrong.’

‘Oh, dear. Did I? I’m sorry about that. I must’ve been on something.’

I laughed. ‘You were on everything back then!’

Ryan chuckled, ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I don’t nowadays. Too old to deal with the comedowns. And who wants to have the teeth of a medieval pauper? I miss him,’ he said with his smile gone and his eyes glistening, ‘and I miss you too.’

It felt so good to be wanted again. Wanted by him. I squeezed his hand tight and told him what I should’ve told him a long time ago, ‘I miss you too. I’ve always missed you.’ It was good to feel as if someone cared once again. I didn’t want to lose that moment. God, I really have missed him. How could I have been so stupid?

‘Are the two of you hypnotised or something?’ came a familiar Jamaican accent. ‘Anyone would think you kids were in love.’

This snapped us out of our bubble.

‘Don’t be daft,’ I spluttered between breathy laughs.

As the doors to Café Jamaica were locked behind us, we wandered along the cobbles reflecting the streetlights’ pale yellow glow. Arriving at my car, we said a reluctant farewell. Ryan hugged me tightly. It was great to be close to his beating heart once more.

‘It’s fabulous to have you back in my life, my friend,’ were his parting words.

As I drove along Gorgie Road, I realised I’d finally found an old piece of me that has been forgotten, buried beneath the chaff of domesticity for far too long. Maybe, just maybe, it is possible to go back in time and start over.

The twenty-five-year-old Andy inside me had woken. He yawned and blinked at the moon as it hung large and low before me on the drive to Mum and Dad’s. I could see the silhouette of Edinburgh’s skyline in my rearview mirror, and even though I was heading in the opposite direction, Ryan, Steve and my twenty-five-year-old self were travelling alongside me and having a whale of a time.

4.35 p.m. It’s Dad’s retirement do tonight, and I’m feeling more than a little tired from my late night.

[gigsoupmusic]

Shlomo Franklin is Finding and Telling Stories of the Beauty of the Mundane - Interview

Growing up in small-town Monsey of Upstate New York, Shlomo Franklin finds beauty in small-towns, in people, and what could be considered by some as mundane. The beauty he sees is put into the poetic lyrics in each of his songs. Of his recently released debut album Franklin said "I wanted the songs to come from a place where you couldn't tell if the story was being told by a seventeen-year-old or a seventy-year-old." The twenty-two-year-old singer-songwriter has stories to tell and does it impressively in his music. In addition to the eleven-track album Shlomo is also creating in another medium. With a series of Travelogues the singer is taking his love of storytelling and showing the beauty he both sees and vocalizes. What stories does he aim to tell? "I am obsessed with the beauty of the mundane, small-town stories, with stories that are so damn good but aren't flashy or headline-worthy but still encompass everything that is grand about life and that we love about life," Franklin says. The videos being released on YouTube are an artistic blend of poetry, nature, and music. There is an innocence to the process that is authentic and beautiful. Shlomo Franklin has a song for everyone, and in this space, he has a story for everyone and they are stories you want to hear. I had the chance to interview Shlomo Franklin for the second time. We talked about his journey with music and early connection passed down from his father, his debut album Apt. 16, creating in a visual space as well as in the studio, and more. Read the full interview below. https://youtu.be/QLYvWkvLI9k Hi Shlomo, it is cool to be on the phone with you. It's been a while since we last talked. I am glad to do it again. I am especially glad because in our first interview you were opening for Sawyer Fredericks at a City Winery show and I had interviewed Sawyer and his sweet mother who is his manager asked if I would be interested in interviewing the opener Shlomo Franklin. I start thinking about how I had done no prep and had zero questions but I was happy to do it and you were very patient with me. So I reread that interview and yes I'm excited to be talking to you having prepped and knowing what genre music you sing. How have things been since we last talked? Shlomo: Oh they have been great! It's funny because I remember our conversation being simply delightful. Kirsten (Sawyers Mom) was kind enough to involve me in a very generous way, which already I think having me open the show was a kind gesture. Then including me in that way and therefore introducing me to you was really cool. So that whole experience was pleasant, it was fun, and like I felt cared for and lucky. Then just you know talking to you and hearing a bit about your background you know was awesome. Yeah and that is something that I really wanted to talk to you about, in talking to you I found that you have this really incredible story with your journey with music. You had mentioned in our interview you grew up as a Hasidic Jew and that you didn't really listen to anything outside of Jewish music, except for your dad would sometimes play Bob Dylan with you. You had no idea who Bob Dylan was or that he was this legend but he had this weird voice and you liked it. So now here you are making music yourself, could you tell me a little about your background and your journey into music? Yeah, I grew up extremely sheltered. My parents were very sincere people who wanted to shield their children from a harsh and confusing world, a seemingly apathetic at times, and turbulent universe. So we were brought up extremely sheltered. I loved music, but the music that I was exposed to really didn't go all that deep and didn't really say that much and really wasn't of the best quality. My father was a hippie in the sixties and he used to go see Bob Dylan, Doc Watson, Dave Van Ronk in the early sixties in Greenwich village before their careers really took off. So he had a really sacred and personal experience with Dylan's music. So growing up I think it was a form of him really sharing something personal about himself with me. He would play these CD's that he hid in the glove compartment of his pick up truck that he hid below the road maps (laughs). So he had these CD's and he would show them to me and it always felt like a very personal way of him trying to tell me about himself and about the world that he came from and the world that he experienced. I always knew that my mom didn't love Bob Dylan, and she didn't love that he still listened to Bob Dylan but she respected his love of that music enough to the point that years later my mom and I went to a Bob Dylan concert and she snuck down to the floor really close to the stage for the encore with me. Which was a beautiful experience. Yeah, it was a beautiful experience of solidarity with her. Hearing this music it was so apparently and drastically different than what I was used to, so it sort of hit me in the face. Like anyone listening to Dylan for the first time, the nasally drawl and controversial vocal quality was the first thing I noticed. What also stood out was how absolutely different it was. How much conviction he sang with, how much passion there was in both his lyrics and his performances. It really took a toll on me the melodies were sort of playing in my head. I would go to school and feel perhaps lost, or you know there were times that I was being bullied and just really felt like I was floating in a large pool of nothing and these like melodies and little phrases and lyrics would really sit with me. I noticed that these songs sat with me and they stayed with me even when the CD player was off and there was nothing but silence these songs played on in my head and no other music had done that before. I wasn't all that aware that Bob Dylan was this national treasure and the world's most regarded songwriters and poets, I just knew that he was this weird guy in my dads' glove compartment that my dad used to see back in the sixties. https://youtu.be/vzkdS0pHuD8 That's incredible. What a special relationship with your parents and a special relationship with music. I think it is amazing you were listening and following in love with Bob Dylan without knowing he was this icon, you just connected with his music and lyrics and fell in love from that. Now here you are and you are this awesome musician. I saw your show that night we met at City Winery never having heard you and you take the stage and it was a beautiful night I still remember and your music suited the venue perfectly with the seated candlelit room and it was just you and your poetic music. Since then you have released your first album which I'm excited about, how have things been since you released Apt. 16? First of all the fake candles were a great touch that night and it is very gratifying to me to hear that you have a good memory of that night too. I share that sentiment. The most fun thing about putting out my first album is that nobodies favorite song is the same. So I get comments or messages or at shows, people really gravitate to different songs. That reception has made it feel like a victory because I do believe that I have a song for everyone. Not every one of my songs is my favorite song at the same time, but every single one of my songs is my favorite song at a certain time. The fact that that resonates with people and that comes through and it's not like there's like two of the better songs and the rest are sort of filler or the rest aren't unique or different or just latch onto what's already been said. The fact that I dodged that very common bullet feels really good. I love that. A lot of what you do in person and lyrics come across very genuine to me. You are also a very creative person and you are doing this really artistic thing with your travelogue series on YouTube with your music behind them. What can you tell me about what you're doing with these visuals on YouTube? This is so much fun because for a long time I would watch certain YouTubers that were awesome cinematographers and I always admired a lot of the storytelling and related to them. I didn't really ever see myself in that medium and I didn't think that I would have a genuine or natural way of fitting myself into that art form. But it kept sort of bugging me and creeping up into my imagination and I found the right tone and certain vernacular where I could perform in that area and tell stories or talk about small mundane mini things that brought me joy or intrigued me and I found a way to do that with a certain amount of self-respect and dignity. A lot of that was due to Anthony Bourdain and Parts Unknown which sadly I only got into that after he passed. But his voice in those things and his words frankly really resonated with me and it was quickly apparent that he and I liked similar writers, which after some research proved to be true. So I am really fired up with this ability to fuse my songs and little travels, whether it is throughout the east coast or just upstate New York or eventually hopefully the world. I am able to do it all with my iPhone with a couple of accessory lenses, iPhone Gimbels, and iPhone microphones and eventually I'd like to pick it up to where it can compete with the visual and sound quality of anything that is out there. Right now though experimenting with this very DIY homemade style home videos and tour diaries have been really fun and really has grabbed my attention. I am still trying to crack the code and figure it out and get better at it but it feels very fresh and new which is good because there is an innocence to it but I have a lot of experience still ahead of me to get the quality and type of product that I dream about. https://youtu.be/VOGa5ChubXk You talked about the innocence to it, what has been something you have learned about yourself in the process of finding your voice in this medium? I learned that I am obsessed with the beauty of the mundane, small-town stories, with stories that are so damn good but aren't flashy or headline-worthy but still encompass everything that is grand about life and that we love about life. The things that inspire us and make us feel whole and happy. I am so passionate about storytelling and telling other peoples stories. Which that is the vision eventually that I had with this is I'd love for it to be mixed with people that I encounter and let them tell their own stories and give over their own world. Where I would just listen and simply be the narrator or the curator of a museum that is full of other people's life experiences. You mentioned things that inspire, I wanted to ask you what is something recently that has inspired with you and stayed with you? Recording is the trickiest art form for anyone I think because Tom Waits once said that songs don't want to be recorded and that it is a violent process trying to record them. That's why, and I wonder if you share this same feeling that a lot of times we prefer the live versions of songs as opposed to the recorded. Especially if the first time we listened was in a live setting. So the recording studio generally speaking is designed to be a very stale and bland environment with little conflict and no personality. It's a blank space and an empty page that waits for an artist to make its mark. However in the real world you write a song say in your apartment in a city and as you are writing there are sirens across the way, there are people chattering in the streets, you hear the distant rumble of a crowded subway, and pigeons on the fire escape and so there is this whole soundscape that influences and inspires your music. Then if you take it out to a noisy bar or a packed theater you are still playing with sound and energy with different people. So then trying to replicate that same performance in a deafly quiet sterile recording studio is a fun challenge and it is really unnatural at first. My first album really chronicles my experimentation and my first experiences in really learning how to operate this instrument that is the recording studio. I have been really excited and inspired by my next album because it is a whole new level and I've really found what works for me, what doesn't work as well, and recording has only been feeling more and more natural and conducive to what I know the songs sound like in my head and what they should feel like. The fun-ness the light-ness the ease and joy that comes along with songs and hopefully the more I do it the less nervous and self-conscious I'll be and really let the song just sing for itself. https://youtu.be/zjvSDfqyM-I That is really interesting. It is cool to see you recognizing that with your second album and approaching the studio as an instrument you can master. I wanted to go back to the night we met. I ask people their go-to karaoke song in every interview and we said we'd circle back while you thought of yours and we never did so I am happy to now. Do you know what your karaoke song would be now? (Laughs) It is a great question. I think it would have to be something by The Smiths would be great. Because nobody is as cool as Morrisey, nobody is as out there as him. So I think filling those shoes for fun after a night perhaps of a few drinks seems like an ideal scenario to place one's self in. Being so inspired by your next album like you said, I wanted to ask what's next for Shlomo Franklin? I want to finish this album. I am about halfway done. I hope that the songs will resonate immediately and give people at least a small part of the joy and inspiration that they have given me. I'd also like to go on a European tour soon. That's a little tricky for a completely unknown artist but I'd like to make that happen. I'd just like to continue to go and find my audience and bring these songs to people that need them and want them and maybe don't know that they exist yet. So I am just determined to make sure that these songs meet their targets and make sure that if anybody wants these songs that they know they are here for the taking. For you I think all you need is a seated audience and even if you do sometimes feel like an unknown artist you won't be after that night. I think I speak for the people that were at that City Winery show and it was incredible and I really appreciate you and your time Shlomo. Thank you I hope we can do it again sometime. Thank you Tom, I would love that. We should definitely talk again both on and off the record. You're a great guy and I love talking to you. Thank you so much. https://youtu.be/aM9ALQYlCew Check out more from Shlomo Franklin on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and Twitter. For tour dates and to sign up for his email list visit http://www.shlomofranklin.com/ Read the full article

[circularwastemememe-blog]

Resistance

Even I do feel relatively in peace, there are aspects of me that I truly need to re-examine. 

I ran into some obstacles. I gotta look into my soul and emotions to gain some insights.

I found my previous collaborator trolling me again, and that really annoys me. I try to find ways to make a difference to my circumstances but I feel truly frustrated as though the world is against me. 

My mom asked me to stop fighting back or announcing his wrongs in public. But I cannot go on letting others treat me as shits. This is unfair. I also hate the fact that my life is full of such type of drama to deal with. I stand alone because there seems to be no one to help me. Then I start to feel resentful. I begin to wonder who the fuck would wanna involve themselves in such world of mine - a world that is full of discrimination, fights, anger, failures, disappointments, and hard works. Then I begin to hate my body, my voice as though they are separate beings disconnected from my face. I won't say I'm going to break down but there is something wrong that needs to be fixed. How to find the problem? Go to find it in the worst matter that is highly likely to trigger you - watch Clara's new video. Gee, it sounds almost like a dark joke but I mean it. I had been filled with negative vibes towards this woman, who had been the source for a great many negative inspirations despite that it is hard to associate all this with her beautiful, flirtatiously pleasant face. 

I forced myself to be detached: If I did not have any bit of personal conversation, even just feeble connections, if she were truly a total stranger, if I did not know her life a bit, how would I feel about her video? I think I'd subscribe to her channel and leave her a positive comment full of appreciation and encouragement. And I'd share her video on Facebook posts and with some of my guy friends with my best wishes that she would get a substantial career with her lovely singing voice and her skillset on cinematography. Yes. That is me. I would be doing that as a pure good wish for a beautiful woman who gives me minutes of relief and aesthetic exaltation, which is sheerly impersonal. Even I don't know her, I wish her well. 

Then why I wouldn't since I did have some feeble interactions with her before? Because she manipulated me with her beauty and made me give her more values than she deserves in my life, all for her vanity. Because she knew what happened to me and chose not to say a thing to relieve me. She pretended to be a liberal-minded humanist but she ain't. What makes it worse? She pretended she cared but she did not. All her beliefs are just words to invite likes so simple-minded suckers like me would leave a comment saying she is beautiful inside out. She seemed sweet and gentle with positive words but she was not really a considerate person at all. All her good manners are for her self-image but the well-being of others. Because after all that, I just realize she is very selfish, narcissistic and cold. After having some idea about her, her video appears like she is winking to deliberately seduce/manipulate the audience as she abuses her sex appeal to get the recognition/attention she wants, like she is making fun of people who sincerely care about her as she celebrates her success of making many people fools for her. She is like that type of person who smiles and flirts with guys while her female friends are dying next room and she is not going to do a thing about it. Other guys told me she is trying too hard to be edgy and authentic but fail. Other guys told me that she is rich French middle-class whose stereotypical temperament is, they always do what they want and they don't give a shit, proud and selfish. Others said, why would anyone wanna show nude pictures in public without being paid to do so? This chick obviously loves herself very much. 

She has all the qualities to be a great female singer or artist. (I don't really know whether she can write any song except that she cannot really do live singing with her ukulele since all her videos are processed and edited together. Which is fine. At least she can make good effects with cinematography.) But she just does not have much of a soul to sustain all that even she seems to try very hard by changing her styles. No one bothers to tell her that because they are busy figuring out ways to get into her pants.

Then, I gotta pretend I'm not me and ask me one important question: Do you want her? 

The truth is, I don't know. It seems common senses to want her because all that she is given out there. I bet most people would say yes if they are asked, within ten minutes. I always try to hold a pure mind when it comes to beautiful ladies despite their drawbacks. I wanna mold them into that wonderful woman with my love by overlooking their faults so they will get to become that perfect companion I always want. Then why you don't know, dude? Why? Are you pretending? Yes and no. I'm afraid of the harm she's going to do to me if I don't keep my guard. I'm afraid of giving her that importance, that burdensome value in my life, that much power. And obviously, she cannot do good with all that power. If she is likely to shoot randomly with a gun, you should have enough senses not to hand her any ammunition. Ok, all this is resistance. Who would wanna be with someone who holds such strong, negative opinions towards them?

If someone holds such a negative view of me, what would I do? I will try to understand them first. At least they bother to complain. It is better than people who don't say a word. Silence is the highest form of contempt. It is never my wish to crash anyone's self-esteem. It is not a zero-sum game - you win and I lose. No one wins, in fact. Judging from that, Clara must feel a need to contempt me so she can win by all means. Also, her need to win in this case is very questionable as though there is something unspeakably weak and frail hidden beneath. 

Maybe I'm being conscientious with this question. Without building a solid bonding, whatever motivates me to want her is superficial - I wanna caress a beautiful face and go to bed with good-looking people as everyone in this world would like to. I also know how it feels to get people into liking you for your appearance. Admiration given free is valueless. Only admiration earned has everlasting values. It is also pretentious to deny your attraction to her but all that is kinda superficial. I have eyes and I'm human and I do enjoy watching fine things. Objectively, I do appreciate her in some aspects but I don't admire her after living through all this. I must say, she handled it horribly. In the end, she acted like a 12-year-old who was unable to sustain an authentic friendship and unfriended some unwanted ex-suitor on Facebook. I was surprised but not so surprised. I somehow felt sorry that she had let herself go and descended to a new low point, as though she were my teenage sister and I was with all that patience in this world to wait for her to get reformed. 

Further, judging from my experiences of going to bed with beautiful men, they are usually mediocre lays. The moment I screwed them or they screwed me, I felt bored. Looks is not everything. I tend to give woman's looks more value than man. As to men, I prefer to look at their souls. 

I guess I'm okay now. Despite the excruciating distress from this experience, I've come to accept myself a bit better, appreciate a bit more of what I have and the few true people around me. I thought she was what could make me happy but I was wrong. I worked so hard to get what I've always wanted, things and people as goals to attain, people who seemed to be able to make me happy, but all I got was more and more unhappiness in my pursuit of "happiness." Now I just wanna be around people who don't make me unhappy. People who stay around and interact with me to create true values for me. Such values will always exist even they age and change physically. That is precious enough for me.

Clara will eventually age or die someday as we all do, or change her hair and get into an un-fitting style that uglifies her, and all she had created was just a lovely image without content for me. My portraits of her would always be there as I genuinely spent years of my life creating something out there with my heart and soul. I love those works for their true emotions and raw affections even they could be fruits of erotomania. Reluctant as I was, with my fate, I had created true values out there, despite being unseen by this world. Which is fine. Because I believe in me, myself and my art. May the world rot and perish, they will be there as always.

I'm sorry to have been so harsh on her. She is just a girl who wanna celebrate the few things she has had online so she can like herself a bit better. I place her under my microscope for scrutiny because I was also a girl who looked for importance online. I thought she was higher and it broke my heart to see my "idol" act like some commonplace person as it angered me that she had fooled me so well. Gee, I still sound so negative. I think I should make an effort to grow up and forgive her as she is just a lost girl who plays goddess, like my 5-year-old niece who gets delighted when we call her Snow White and treat her like a princess even she is not. (Hopefully, she will grow up and mature in time and be alright with herself, even without someone who treats her like a princess.)

I think I'm alright now.

[gigsoupmusic]

Shlomo Franklin is Finding and Telling Stories of the Beauty of the Mundane - Interview

Growing up in small-town Monsey of Upstate New York, Shlomo Franklin finds beauty in small-towns, in people, and what could be considered by some as mundane. The beauty he sees is put into the poetic lyrics in each of his songs. Of his recently released debut album Franklin said "I wanted the songs to come from a place where you couldn't tell if the story was being told by a seventeen-year-old or a seventy-year-old." The twenty-two-year-old singer-songwriter has stories to tell and does it impressively in his music. In addition to the eleven-track album Shlomo is also creating in another medium. With a series of Travelogues the singer is taking his love of storytelling and showing the beauty he both sees and vocalizes. What stories does he aim to tell? "I am obsessed with the beauty of the mundane, small-town stories, with stories that are so damn good but aren't flashy or headline-worthy but still encompass everything that is grand about life and that we love about life," Franklin says. The videos being released on YouTube are an artistic blend of poetry, nature, and music. There is an innocence to the process that is authentic and beautiful. Shlomo Franklin has a song for everyone, and in this space, he has a story for everyone and they are stories you want to hear. I had the chance to interview Shlomo Franklin for the second time. We talked about his journey with music and early connection passed down from his father, his debut album Apt. 16, creating in a visual space as well as in the studio, and more. Read the full interview below. https://youtu.be/QLYvWkvLI9k Hi Shlomo, it is cool to be on the phone with you. It's been a while since we last talked. I am glad to do it again. I am especially glad because in our first interview you were opening for Sawyer Fredericks at a City Winery show and I had interviewed Sawyer and his sweet mother who is his manager asked if I would be interested in interviewing the opener Shlomo Franklin. I start thinking about how I had done no prep and had zero questions but I was happy to do it and you were very patient with me. So I reread that interview and yes I'm excited to be talking to you having prepped and knowing what genre music you sing. How have things been since we last talked? Shlomo: Oh they have been great! It's funny because I remember our conversation being simply delightful. Kirsten (Sawyers Mom) was kind enough to involve me in a very generous way, which already I think having me open the show was a kind gesture. Then including me in that way and therefore introducing me to you was really cool. So that whole experience was pleasant, it was fun, and like I felt cared for and lucky. Then just you know talking to you and hearing a bit about your background you know was awesome. Yeah and that is something that I really wanted to talk to you about, in talking to you I found that you have this really incredible story with your journey with music. You had mentioned in our interview you grew up as a Hasidic Jew and that you didn't really listen to anything outside of Jewish music, except for your dad would sometimes play Bob Dylan with you. You had no idea who Bob Dylan was or that he was this legend but he had this weird voice and you liked it. So now here you are making music yourself, could you tell me a little about your background and your journey into music? Yeah, I grew up extremely sheltered. My parents were very sincere people who wanted to shield their children from a harsh and confusing world, a seemingly apathetic at times, and turbulent universe. So we were brought up extremely sheltered. I loved music, but the music that I was exposed to really didn't go all that deep and didn't really say that much and really wasn't of the best quality. My father was a hippie in the sixties and he used to go see Bob Dylan, Doc Watson, Dave Van Ronk in the early sixties in Greenwich village before their careers really took off. So he had a really sacred and personal experience with Dylan's music. So growing up I think it was a form of him really sharing something personal about himself with me. He would play these CD's that he hid in the glove compartment of his pick up truck that he hid below the road maps (laughs). So he had these CD's and he would show them to me and it always felt like a very personal way of him trying to tell me about himself and about the world that he came from and the world that he experienced. I always knew that my mom didn't love Bob Dylan, and she didn't love that he still listened to Bob Dylan but she respected his love of that music enough to the point that years later my mom and I went to a Bob Dylan concert and she snuck down to the floor really close to the stage for the encore with me. Which was a beautiful experience. Yeah, it was a beautiful experience of solidarity with her. Hearing this music it was so apparently and drastically different than what I was used to, so it sort of hit me in the face. Like anyone listening to Dylan for the first time, the nasally drawl and controversial vocal quality was the first thing I noticed. What also stood out was how absolutely different it was. How much conviction he sang with, how much passion there was in both his lyrics and his performances. It really took a toll on me the melodies were sort of playing in my head. I would go to school and feel perhaps lost, or you know there were times that I was being bullied and just really felt like I was floating in a large pool of nothing and these like melodies and little phrases and lyrics would really sit with me. I noticed that these songs sat with me and they stayed with me even when the CD player was off and there was nothing but silence these songs played on in my head and no other music had done that before. I wasn't all that aware that Bob Dylan was this national treasure and the world's most regarded songwriters and poets, I just knew that he was this weird guy in my dads' glove compartment that my dad used to see back in the sixties. https://youtu.be/vzkdS0pHuD8 That's incredible. What a special relationship with your parents and a special relationship with music. I think it is amazing you were listening and following in love with Bob Dylan without knowing he was this icon, you just connected with his music and lyrics and fell in love from that. Now here you are and you are this awesome musician. I saw your show that night we met at City Winery never having heard you and you take the stage and it was a beautiful night I still remember and your music suited the venue perfectly with the seated candlelit room and it was just you and your poetic music. Since then you have released your first album which I'm excited about, how have things been since you released Apt. 16? First of all the fake candles were a great touch that night and it is very gratifying to me to hear that you have a good memory of that night too. I share that sentiment. The most fun thing about putting out my first album is that nobodies favorite song is the same. So I get comments or messages or at shows, people really gravitate to different songs. That reception has made it feel like a victory because I do believe that I have a song for everyone. Not every one of my songs is my favorite song at the same time, but every single one of my songs is my favorite song at a certain time. The fact that that resonates with people and that comes through and it's not like there's like two of the better songs and the rest are sort of filler or the rest aren't unique or different or just latch onto what's already been said. The fact that I dodged that very common bullet feels really good. I love that. A lot of what you do in person and lyrics come across very genuine to me. You are also a very creative person and you are doing this really artistic thing with your travelogue series on YouTube with your music behind them. What can you tell me about what you're doing with these visuals on YouTube? This is so much fun because for a long time I would watch certain YouTubers that were awesome cinematographers and I always admired a lot of the storytelling and related to them. I didn't really ever see myself in that medium and I didn't think that I would have a genuine or natural way of fitting myself into that art form. But it kept sort of bugging me and creeping up into my imagination and I found the right tone and certain vernacular where I could perform in that area and tell stories or talk about small mundane mini things that brought me joy or intrigued me and I found a way to do that with a certain amount of self-respect and dignity. A lot of that was due to Anthony Bourdain and Parts Unknown which sadly I only got into that after he passed. But his voice in those things and his words frankly really resonated with me and it was quickly apparent that he and I liked similar writers, which after some research proved to be true. So I am really fired up with this ability to fuse my songs and little travels, whether it is throughout the east coast or just upstate New York or eventually hopefully the world. I am able to do it all with my iPhone with a couple of accessory lenses, iPhone Gimbels, and iPhone microphones and eventually I'd like to pick it up to where it can compete with the visual and sound quality of anything that is out there. Right now though experimenting with this very DIY homemade style home videos and tour diaries have been really fun and really has grabbed my attention. I am still trying to crack the code and figure it out and get better at it but it feels very fresh and new which is good because there is an innocence to it but I have a lot of experience still ahead of me to get the quality and type of product that I dream about. https://youtu.be/VOGa5ChubXk You talked about the innocence to it, what has been something you have learned about yourself in the process of finding your voice in this medium? I learned that I am obsessed with the beauty of the mundane, small-town stories, with stories that are so damn good but aren't flashy or headline-worthy but still encompass everything that is grand about life and that we love about life. The things that inspire us and make us feel whole and happy. I am so passionate about storytelling and telling other peoples stories. Which that is the vision eventually that I had with this is I'd love for it to be mixed with people that I encounter and let them tell their own stories and give over their own world. Where I would just listen and simply be the narrator or the curator of a museum that is full of other people's life experiences. You mentioned things that inspire, I wanted to ask you what is something recently that has inspired with you and stayed with you? Recording is the trickiest art form for anyone I think because Tom Waits once said that songs don't want to be recorded and that it is a violent process trying to record them. That's why, and I wonder if you share this same feeling that a lot of times we prefer the live versions of songs as opposed to the recorded. Especially if the first time we listened was in a live setting. So the recording studio generally speaking is designed to be a very stale and bland environment with little conflict and no personality. It's a blank space and an empty page that waits for an artist to make its mark. However in the real world you write a song say in your apartment in a city and as you are writing there are sirens across the way, there are people chattering in the streets, you hear the distant rumble of a crowded subway, and pigeons on the fire escape and so there is this whole soundscape that influences and inspires your music. Then if you take it out to a noisy bar or a packed theater you are still playing with sound and energy with different people. So then trying to replicate that same performance in a deafly quiet sterile recording studio is a fun challenge and it is really unnatural at first. My first album really chronicles my experimentation and my first experiences in really learning how to operate this instrument that is the recording studio. I have been really excited and inspired by my next album because it is a whole new level and I've really found what works for me, what doesn't work as well, and recording has only been feeling more and more natural and conducive to what I know the songs sound like in my head and what they should feel like. The fun-ness the light-ness the ease and joy that comes along with songs and hopefully the more I do it the less nervous and self-conscious I'll be and really let the song just sing for itself. https://youtu.be/zjvSDfqyM-I That is really interesting. It is cool to see you recognizing that with your second album and approaching the studio as an instrument you can master. I wanted to go back to the night we met. I ask people their go-to karaoke song in every interview and we said we'd circle back while you thought of yours and we never did so I am happy to now. Do you know what your karaoke song would be now? (Laughs) It is a great question. I think it would have to be something by The Smiths would be great. Because nobody is as cool as Morrisey, nobody is as out there as him. So I think filling those shoes for fun after a night perhaps of a few drinks seems like an ideal scenario to place one's self in. Being so inspired by your next album like you said, I wanted to ask what's next for Shlomo Franklin? I want to finish this album. I am about halfway done. I hope that the songs will resonate immediately and give people at least a small part of the joy and inspiration that they have given me. I'd also like to go on a European tour soon. That's a little tricky for a completely unknown artist but I'd like to make that happen. I'd just like to continue to go and find my audience and bring these songs to people that need them and want them and maybe don't know that they exist yet. So I am just determined to make sure that these songs meet their targets and make sure that if anybody wants these songs that they know they are here for the taking. For you I think all you need is a seated audience and even if you do sometimes feel like an unknown artist you won't be after that night. I think I speak for the people that were at that City Winery show and it was incredible and I really appreciate you and your time Shlomo. Thank you I hope we can do it again sometime. Thank you Tom, I would love that. We should definitely talk again both on and off the record. You're a great guy and I love talking to you. Thank you so much. https://youtu.be/aM9ALQYlCew Check out more from Shlomo Franklin on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and Twitter. For tour dates and to sign up for his email list visit http://www.shlomofranklin.com/ Read the full article