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thevalleyisjolly · 1 year

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There’s a weird recurring take in D20 fan circles that Zac doesn’t play “complex” characters and that people are just waiting for the day when he “finally” plays an asshole, which kind of baffles me. Quite apart from the idea that only morally grey characters are complex or compelling, are you sure we’re watching the same show?

In Fantasy High, we have Gorgug, an adopted biracial teenager whose journey includes realizing his self-worth, coming to terms with his rage (literally), seeking out and navigating new relationships with others (his birth parents, the Bad Kids, Zelda), and discovering what he’s capable of.

From The Unsleeping City we have Ricky, a second-generation Japanese-American, who has a very personal struggle across two seasons between doing the dutiful/sacrificial thing for other people’s benefit and expressing his own needs, wants, thoughts, and feelings; it’s a very particular exploration of immigrant generations and the relationship between the sacrificial model of your ancestors and the culture you grew up surrounded by which emphasizes the self.

There’s A Crown of Candy and Lapin, whose snark and one-liners are honestly less interesting than the way he engaged with and sought to understand religion and faith; the different yet similar ways in which both the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Church exerted control over their followers, and the search for spiritual meaning beyond these figures/institutions.

Then there’s Cumulous, whose every character aspect navigates a space of tension - the ultimate war guy who made himself hardened (literally) and pragmatic to get the job done but who also remains soft and caring and empathetic at the same time; wielding the power of death without glorifying or giving into it; the cousin who both is a member of the family and yet who remains at somewhat of a distance from the centre; a literal warrior-philosopher who is single-minded in battle and quietly thoughtful about the mysteries of life and death outside of it.

As for actual assholes, we have Norman Takamori in A Starstruck Odyssey, a bitter man who is the living embodiment of both the Superior Orders excuse as well as scapegoating. On a side note, the amount of absolute vitriol and double standards which people threw at Norman during ASO for being an unapologetic asshole -and he had less than two full episodes of screen time- kind of underscores the calls for Zac to play a “real” asshole. Zac can and will play whatever type of character he wants, but is fandom really ready for him to play an asshole if that asshole doesn’t have a secret heart of gold?

From the same season, we have Valdrinor/Skip, who starts as the “prince running from his destiny” archetype with a dash of brain slug possession, has a humorous yet oddly profound exploration of what humanity is and what it means to be human, and springboards from there into “wait, who am I really and actually, why are we doing things (brain slug possession) this way when there are other ways to engage with the universe.”

Most recently in Neverafter, we have Pib, who apart from the fascinating meta element of being a literal character archetype, constantly straddles the line between self-absorbed self-interest and putting himself on the line to help others; his repeated demonstration of both at various points throughout the season is a subtle yet intriguing manifestation of free will and choice-making in a story all about lacking free will and agency.

So, I mean, lack of complexity where? Does a character need to be an asshole in order to be deep or compelling? And because I’ve heard this specific rebuttal quite a few times now, does a character need to vocalize their innermost thoughts loudly and frequently in order to prove their complexity? If a character is “less vocal” compared to other characters, does that mean they lack interiority?

Also, other people have brought this up before, but I am once again asking that people remember the difference between fictional characters and real life people. Zac playing one (1) himbo on the show does not make him a himbo in real life, nor does it make him incapable of creating or playing complex characters (especially as said himbo is himself an extremely complex character), nor does it make him a lesser player than other cast members. You don’t have to find all or any of his characters interesting or complex, but can we stop conflating character with player?

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 discourse #dimension 20 spoilers #(in case you haven't seen one of the mentioned seasons)#i haven't listened to naddpod so i can't speak to mavrus and squing is not included but the point still stands generally #1) asshole/morally grey characters are not the only type of characters who are complex or compelling #2) at the same time; zac has actually played both non-asshole and asshole characters who are complex and compelling #3) you don't have to find all his characters deep or interesting but please stop using them to make assumptions about the real life actor

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jonismitchell · 1 year

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The suicidal murder of the double is also underscored by a sense of the liebestod, or love-death, a marriage between the ego and its shadow-self though mutual obliteration. — Kier-La Janisse

#taylor swift #tswiftedit #taylorswiftedit #tswiftgif #midnights #anti-hero #mine*#everyone else: cute birthday edits #me: this

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drangercore · 2 years

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Love and Other Historical Accidents by @pacific-rimbaud

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy never intended to blow up their life's work, but that's rather what they've gone and done. Now they're trapped 200 years in the past, with a broken Time Turner, a missing snuff box, a handful of overly-eligible daughters, and a House-elf in a cable knit cardigan. It will require the combined power of their keen intellects to get them home, if they'd stop arguing long enough to use them. As it turns out, history is just one damned accident after another.

Fandom: Harry Potter

Relationship: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Art by @gingerhuneybee, @jjuuppiter, @jaxxartbox, & yours truly

My first fanbind!

L&OHA is an impeccable story and is so very dear to me. This was the fic that made me go “I want that on my shelf!”, so here we are.

keep reading for more binding info and to see my gushing on the fic.

QUICK SPECS

153,854 words | 571 pages | 5″ x 8.5″

Binding Method: 3 Piece In Boards Bradel Body Font: Adobe Caslon Pro Decorative Font: IM Fell English

I am very proud of this book, having accomplished many firsts with it. My first book that I rounded and backed, sewed double-core endbands on, painted the edges, and used toner reactive foil and HTV on!

ON THE STORY

Sighs. What more can I say? It’s simply brilliant. A unique multifaceted story with incredible dynamics, clever foreshadowing, great character studies of Draco and Hermione, and such beloved original characters. It’s comedic and refreshing but it also takes on grief and goodbyes, and heartbreak. It’s fucking romantic and also So nuanced. I dislike stories that spoon-feed every little thing about the character, so the parlor tricks on this one? Ate every crumb of it. It was filled with implications and was misleading in the best sense. You’ve got to be an astute reader to catch some things the first round (which I definitely wasn’t).

While it doesn’t entirely shy away from typical lovey-dovies, the regard for mundanity and the inconsequential, I just find more inherently romantic. The exploration on time travel and the vivid prose further underscores the depth of PR’s talent. She captures so eloquently, the mind of an extremely logical person in a very illogical experience. I saw myself in Hermione so many times. The story demands to be read again and revels upon doing so. Pacific Rimbaud is such an incredible writer *sobs* all her works are simply a masterpiece.

That said, this beautiful story deserves to be turned into a physical book.

DESIGN PLAN (or lack thereof)

This is my first fanfic project and my third book overall which I must say was quite a leap considering my very little binding experience. I think the demon small niggling part at the back of my head got the best of me and positively thought she could make a relatively fastidious book despite the lack of skill. BUT nothing can stop me when I am overly enthusiastic about something, thus began my 2 month research, soaking up every gobbet of binding info in reach. As far as my book binding journey goes, gathering supplies was the hardest part lol. Bookbinding is not a common hobby in the Philippines so it was tedious to to look for materials and/or to settle on alternatives.

I credit 70% of the 4 month stretch of this project to my indecision. The novelty and sheer excitement with a new hobby, I think, divested me to properly conceptualize heh. I redid my typeset 1 billion times because I kept switching softwares: Word→ Pages→ InDesign. I probably have 8 versions of the typeset that will never see the light of day. Anyway, I did finally get the stuff done. Here’s my little design dump:

Nothing symbolic about the design really. I just worked around elements I thought were appropriate with the regency era and time traveling aspect: vines/ flowers and the time turner. I tried to reflect PR’s elegant writing in the book so hopefully I did it some justice. I added my fave works for this fic too and even drew fanart myself, here are some of them:

BINDING

I watched DAS bookbinding religiously during my research phase and I knew then that I wanted to someday follow his in-boards 3-piece bradel tutorial, but it wasn’t supposed to be so early on in my binding journey. One look at this book however threw me off course. It was incredibly ambitious of me, so I guess I deserved all the stress I endured in the process. I was supposed to trim the edges in between glueing the spine and rounding/backing, but I only had my poorly sharpened Php145 wood chisel to finish the task. That and nursing the finger my chisel wounded took enough time for the glue to dry, so I was fiddling with a stiff textblock the entire time after. I learnt along the way that a blow dryer and bone folder will be your best friends (and plenty of patience). I’d also like to apologize to my neighbors if you heard any hammering at 1am 😳

The covers were... finicky. For some reason, midway, I decided to make either covers differently, and all to the good because the one made following DAS’ tutorial ended up slightly warping. DAS’ was with two 1.25mm boards glued together, while my experimental one was with a single 2.5mm board of which I peeled layers off of to reduce its thickness in half as needed. (see pictures below for reference)

A lot of how the book looks like now is either born out of impulse or a desperate remedy. The book in turn is very gold. Chapter headers were impulsively foiled with gold laser reactive foil (so much for illustrating the headers only to cover them up haha *eye twitches*).

I accidentally stained the edges while smoothing with black sandpaper so I covered the mess with an admix of Sakura acrylic paint in black and Liquitex acrylic ink in iridescent gold (Paint order: 1 layer gold- 2 thin layers black- 3 layers gold).

I am very proud of my sewn endbands as this was my very first attempt at doing a double-core. I used DMC cotton threads in cream (712) and gold (E3821). Below is a close-up because why not. (as you can see, I had some flaking on the paint, luckily this was on the bottom edge so I fixed the issue on the more visible sides.)

I don’t like the bookcloth selection where I’m from (if there’s anything at all) so I made my own with pastel blue eco-ramie cloth, flour paste, and 80gsm paper. I ordered my fabric online and the shade was too icing-like. It looked tacky so I bleached to lighten. The white cloth also came from the same fabric which I bleached till it paled to white.

Titling was one of my biggest worries because majority of binders I saw were using a cricut to cut HTV. I almost entertained the idea of cutting it manually or even painting or embroidery, but to my luck, I found a local shop that offers vinyl ! cutting !! service !!! I sent them my design and they cut and weeded the vinyl for me. I chose white for the title and metallic gold for the vine detail. I messed up applying the word “historical” though, but let’s pretend i did it on purpose for the vintage feel.

Four months of faffing later, I have this story in corporeal form! Overall, I’m overjoyed with the outcome and I’d like to thank PR for the opportunity to have such a wonderful story on my shelf (and free to be read by anyone!)

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

#love and other historical accidents #laoha #l&oha #pacificrimbaud #dhr #dhr fanfiction #fanbinding #bookbinding #dramione #my books #dramione fanart #fanfiction #fanfictionbookbinding #fanficbookbinding #fanficbinding #bookbinder #harry potter fanfiction #sting and snout bindery #buzzing books

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suchawrathfullamb · 4 months

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Since we're on the alana bloom topic: saying will and hannibal's relationship didn't "need to be sexualized" because "it was deeper than that" is inherently problematic for two reasons.

The first is inequality.

It would indeed present a starkly different narrative if both characters were asexual, aligning with a distinct portrayal. However, their identities are clearly depicted otherwise. Despite exhibiting the pinnacle of intimacy and passion in the show, the only instances of sexual intimacy portrayed are within heterosexual or lesbian contexts, seemingly tailored to appease a presumed straight male audience.

The deliberate choice to depict numerous intimate encounters between them and various female counterparts, excluding such intimacy between Hannibal and Will, is not a random occurrence. Rather, it mirrors the influence of censorship pressures and the complex dynamics at play behind the scenes. Those involved in the production navigated within restrictive boundaries, leading to these patterns. The cancellation of the series further underscores the challenging terrain wherein the exploration of Hannibal and Will's intimacy became untenable, drawing a line that couldn't be retreated from without facing repercussions (season 3 had the highest score, it didn't make sense to get canceled).

This discrepancy underscores the imbalance in representation, where heterosexual relationships are often granted more screen time and explicitness, catering to a presumed mainstream audience, while LGBTQ+ relationships are either marginalized or sexualized for the male viewer's consumption.

The disparity in the portrayal of intimacy and complexity between these relationships highlights the unequal treatment of diverse identities in media. The show's tendency to prioritize and depict heterosexual encounters more explicitly while downplaying or withholding similar portrayals in LGBTQ+ relationships perpetuates a systemic issue within the entertainment industry, reinforcing the unequal representation and visibility of different sexual orientations.

The second issue is this false notion of purity.

This notion inadvertently perpetuates the belief that sex is somehow tainted or impure, while implying that emotional connections are more virtuous or pure when devoid of sexual elements.

The comparison drawn between the treatment of their relationship and those with women underscores a double standard prevalent in media representation. While heterosexual relationships are often portrayed with sexual elements, LGBTQ+ relationships are frequently deprived of the same depth of intimacy or physical expression, reinforcing the idea that non-heteronormative connections should remain chaste or non-sexual to be considered emotionally pure.

This perspective not only undermines the validity and complexity of LGBTQ+ relationships but also reinforces the societal discomfort or stigma associated with non-heteronormative expressions of intimacy. It contributes to the erasure of diverse experiences and perpetuates the idea that relationships devoid of sexual components are somehow more authentic or morally superior.

#i am the annoying aunt of the fandom and i don't care #hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannibal #will graham #murder husbands #hugh dancy #hannibal lecter #mads mikkelsen #critical analysis #meta

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firepower-if · 1 year

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An artillery battery is a unit of cannons, missiles, and other weapons grouped to ensure command and control of the battlefield. In the 1860s, baseball statistician Henry Chadwick first described the teamwork of a pitcher and a catcher as a battery: the firepower of the staff.

DEMO TBA.

Before reaching the stardom of grand slams in Yankee Stadium or World Series shutouts, every professional baseball player was once where you are now: the Minor Leagues. Divided into levels from Rookie ball to Triple A, everyone working their way through the Minors has the same goal: to get promoted up to the Big Leagues. The Major Leagues. The Show. And you?

You are no exception.

You are the newest addition to the Double-A Okmulgee Pecans, a Minor League affiliate of the successful and storied Oklahoma City 66s. Surrounded by young, talented, hungry ballplayers, it’s your job to not only succeed in this competitive league, but stand out. As a catcher, you play one of the toughest positions in baseball— and the most important. Your chemistry with your pitchers and your team can make or break a play, an inning, or a whole game. With the constant eye of coaches, team management, and baseball fans on your back, will you find your swing? Can you help lead your team to victory? And can you keep yourself from getting distracted by the potential affections of those around you— or lean into them?

FIREPOWER is an upcoming interactive fiction novel about the love that lives in the infield dirt, the outfield grass, the diamond, and the dugout. In short: it’s about baseball, it’s about falling in love, and it’s about falling in love with baseball.

It is cautiously rated 18+ for themes and/or mentions of substance abuse, past traumas, and structural inequities in professional sports. Warnings will be toggle-able for potentially triggering scenes, which may be skipped.

FEATURES.

Customize your character’s appearance, handedness, and strengths in the game. Play as a man, woman, or nonbinary with options to be gay, straight, or bisexual.

Play through competitive at-bats, bat in your teammates and hit powerful home runs. Make skillful defensive plays; throw out runners trying to steal bases and tag runners out at home with quick reflexes.

Catch bullpens one-on-one with your pitchers to build your chemistry— on the field and off of it. Become a better catcher, and make them better too.

Lead a locker room and become part of a tight-knit team aiming for victory— and maybe a promotion.

Flirt with and romance any combination of your pitchers, other teammates, or the competent Front Office intern. Choose the gender of 2 out of the 4 ROs.

ROMANCE OPTIONS.

JJ Kim (gender selectable). 23. A rising star pitcher who is almost, but not quite, the team’s ace. Has a temper that has gotten them ejected from a couple games, but uses that intensity towards being the best on the mound. Friendly, but soon it becomes clear they’re difficult to truly get to know.

Olivia Lawson (f). 25. The cheeky second baseman who, despite her unflappably positive attitude, is aching to prove herself. A locker room leader and part of the Pecans for two years, she’s seeking a standout season and wants nothing but the best from her teammates. A cheerful, loyal presence underscored by fiery determination and grit.

Hirohito Kinoshita (m). 24. The best pitcher on the team by a long shot. A rising star who previously played professionally in Japan before signing as a free agent in the offseason. It’s widely assumed that he’ll be in the Major Leagues in the next year or two. Sarcastic, cocky, and kind of an asshole, with a genuine curiosity for his new home.

Dakota “Junie” McIntosh (gender selectable). 22. A college senior and D1 athlete trying their hand at baseball administration on the off chance they don’t get drafted. Though they pitched in high school, they now exclusively play shortstop, but at the moment all they’re playing with is paperwork and Excel formatting.

This will be my first IF project. More information, including RO descriptions and Artbreeder portraits, will be coming soon. Any interaction including reblogs, likes, and asks, are greatly appreciated!

#interactive fiction #interact if #interactive novel #choice script #cog #choice script game #interactive games #interactive story #interactive romance #interactive fiction wip #choice of games #choice of games wip

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jordanianroyals · 6 months

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24 October 2023: Queen Rania of Jordan relayed the Arab World’s shock and disappointment at the world’s “glaring double standard” and “deafening silence” in the face of Israel’s ongoing war on the Gaza Strip, emphasizing that, despite the prevalent Western media narrative, “this conflict did not begin on October 7th.”

“Most networks are covering the story under the title of ‘Israel at War.’ But for many Palestinians on the other side of the separation wall and the barbed wire, war has never left. This is a 75-year-old story; a story of overwhelming death and displacement to the Palestinian people,” Her Majesty said. “The context of a nuclear-armed regional superpower that occupies, oppresses, and commits daily documented crimes against Palestinians is missing from the narrative.”

In a live interview with CNN’s Christiane Amanpour, conducted remotely from Queen Rania’s offices in Amman, Her Majesty explained that the people of Jordan are united in “grief, pain, and shock” in response to the staggering civilian casualties of the past 18 days of war.

“We've seen Palestinian mothers who have had to write the names of their children on their hands, because the chances of them being shelled to death – of their bodies turning into corpses – are so high,” Queen Rania said. “I just want to remind the world that Palestinian mothers love their children just as much as any other mother in the world. And for them to have to go through this, it's just unbelievable.”

Conveying Jordan’s position, Her Majesty stated that the country has been very clear that it condemns the killing of any civilian, whether Palestinian or Israeli. “That is Jordan's ethical, moral position. And it's also the position of Islam,” she said, explaining that the religion prohibits Muslims to kill a woman, child, or elderly person, to destroy a tree, or hurt a priest.

The Queen stressed that these rules of engagement should apply to all sides, arguing that Israel is committing atrocities under the guise of self-defense.

“6,000 civilians killed so far, 2,400 children – how is that self-defense? We are seeing butchery at a mass scale using precision weapons,” she said, “For the past two weeks, we have seen the indiscriminate bombardment of Gaza: entire families wiped out, residential neighborhoods flattened to the ground, the targeting of hospitals, schools, churches, mosques, medical workers, journalists, UN aid workers – how is that self defense?”

The Queen went on to state that many in the region view the Western world as complicit in this war through the support and cover that it provides Israel. “This is the first time in modern history that there is such human suffering and the world is not even calling for a ceasefire,” Her Majesty said. “Many in the Arab world are looking at the Western world as not just tolerating this, but as aiding and abetting it.”

Elaborating on the plight of Palestinian people, Her Majesty explained, “There are over 500 checkpoints scattered all over the West Bank. You have a separation wall, which is deemed illegal by the International Court of Justice, that has separated the territories into 200 disconnected enclaves. And you've seen the aggressive expansion of settlements on Palestinian land, and those have interrupted the territorial contiguity of the territories and has deemed an autonomous, independent Palestinian state not viable.”

The Queen also mentioned that Israel is in violation of no less than 30 UN Security Council resolutions, which “require it, and it alone, to act to withdraw from territories occupied in 1967, and to stop the settlements, the separation wall, and the human rights violations.” She also underscored that Israel has been designated as an “apartheid regime” by Israeli and international human rights organizations.

Commenting on military solutions to conflict, Her Majesty said: “Victory is a myth that politicians make in order to justify immense loss of life… There can never be a resolution except around the negotiating table. And there's only one path to this: a free, sovereign, and independent Palestinian state living side by side in peace and security with the state of Israel.”

The Queen also indicated that allies to Israel are doing it a disservice by giving it blind support. “Expediting and expanding the provision of lethal weapons to Israel is only going to expand this conflict. It’s only going to prolong and deepen the suffering,” she said.

Criticizing the role of the media in covering the current conflict, Queen Rania noted the double standard presented when Western interviewers demand that people representing the Palestinian side immediately issue condemnations, requiring them to “have their humanity cross-examined and present their moral credentials.”

“We don't see Israeli officials being asked to condemn, and when they are, people are readily accepted by [claiming] ‘our right to defend ourselves,’” she said. “I have never seen a Western official say the sentence: Palestinians have the right to defend themselves.”

The Queen also discussed the oppression of Palestinian expressions of solidarity in Western democracies, commenting that when people gather to support Israel, they are exercising their right to assembly, but when they gather for Palestine, they are deemed terrorist sympathizers or anti-Semitic.

“Freedom of speech is apparently a universal value, except when you mention Palestine,” Her Majesty said.

(Source: Petra)

#Queen Rania

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pricelessemotion · 11 months

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Starstruck and Metal | E.M.

Summary: [4.3k] you meet eddie for the first time. it doesn't go quite like you expected.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist!reader

Warnings: none!

Notes: huge thank u to my bestie chuck for beta reading 🫶 also if you solve the crossword hint i love u

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

InStereo magazine was not The Rolling Stones, but it was a start. The modest music magazine had a humble following, enough to earn some hums of recognition whenever someone made the mistake of asking what you did for a living. Most days, it’s great. You relish in the joy of working in a field some people only dream of entering. The leap from column writer to main article was a large one, but you insisted that you were ready. Your first assignment as a music journalist and of course you got stuck with Eddie fucking Munson.

Any self-respecting music journalist, anyone with some skin in the game would have laughed in the face of their editor. But instead, you smiled. You nodded enthusiastically, mimicking the bobblehead that has since been removed from your desk. When you decided to become a music journalist, you wanted to write about people who were changing the field. Instead, you were being tasked with writing some puff piece being used to save a wannabe rock star’s reputation. God forbid you gain the reputation of being a difficult woman–in a male-dominated industry no less–by turning down such a great opportunity.

Even if that opportunity included spending a day with Eddie fucking Munson.

You paid out of pocket for the cassette of Corroded Coffin’s debut album that was currently underscoring your drive to West Hollywood. You refused to meet the frontman without having listened to their music beforehand. They were good. A little rough around the edges, but it was to be expected. Outside of the occasional headlines, you hadn’t heard much about Eddie or his band. Corroded Coffin was making ripples, not waves. Of course, no one really cared about the music when they could be reading about who and what their lead vocalist was doing.

Still, you find yourself parking outside of a humble ranch-style home in a neighborhood full of similar housing that likely cost a fortune to live in. The modest proceeds from Corroded Coffin’s tour have obviously paid off, considering that nice area and affordable don’t usually exist in the same sentence when talking about LA housing. The June sun is beating down on the empty street, and you’re thankful that you decided to wear a T-shirt and jeans. You tell yourself that the sweat collecting on your brow is from the heat and not nerves.

Double-checking that you have the right address, you slam the door shut on your sedan and take a deep breath. The air feels cleaner here, less smoggy. You’re not sure if it’s because of the altitude or the tax bracket of the people who live here. Probably both. You reach into your purse and feel around for what you already know is inside. Pen. Notepad. Tape recorder. The holy trinity for a music journalist.

There were very few topics that Eddie wasn’t willing to talk about. You guess that when you’ve had your insides strewn across the pavement for everyone to see, you don’t bother trying to uphold any semblance of mystique. Beginning the daunting trek toward your assignment, you remind yourself of two things:

1) Don’t ask about his father

2) Don’t ask about what happened in Hawkins, Indiana in 1986

The first rule seemed simple enough. As far as the public was concerned, Eddie Munson came to Hawkins at the age of 12 to live with his Uncle Wayne like how a fully formed Venus sprang up from sea foam. He wasn’t and then he was. End of story. The fact that Eddie’s management went out of the way to make sure his father wasn’t brought up only made you more curious.

The second rule was a little harder to accept. Anyone who knew anything about Eddie Munson wanted to know about 1986. Despite the fact that his highly publicized murder charges and subsequent exoneration are part of what caused Corroded Coffin to skyrocket to fame, he’s remained very tight-lipped about the whole situation. He plays off every question about it in interviews with a smirk and a sly comment. Just charming enough to get away without answering. Just vague enough to keep people guessing. Maybe his publicist wasn’t such a waste after all.

Eddie Munson opens the door a few moments after you ring the bell. Using a ringed hand to shield his eyes from the midday sun, he squints at you. A pair of sweatpants hang low on his hips. He has a severe case of bedhead despite the fact that the time on your watch indicates that it’s nearly two in the afternoon. The confusion that draws his brows together also indicates that he has absolutely no idea who you are. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you state your name and purpose before realization graces his features.

“It’s you! Shit, yeah! You’re here for the– the thing!” He tosses a careless look over both of his shoulders before widening the opening. “Come on in.”

Eddie closes the door behind you and rushes down the hallway in order to put some real clothes on, leaving you standing in the empty living room. The inside is surprisingly clean for someone who’s gained the reputation of being a hot mess. It smells like cigarettes, weed, and lemon pledge. The lemon scent is strongest as if someone was trying–and failing–to use it to cover up the previous two. A record player is tucked into a corner, the vinyl still spinning. A line of electric guitars is propped up against the back wall, each of them no doubt costing more than your monthly rent. One of the stands is noticeably empty and you glance to your left to see a beat-up acoustic resting on the couch. On the coffee table, there are piles and piles of scrap sheets of paper. For most of them, the handwriting is too illegible to read or it’s been crossed out. Eddie seems to write lyrics like he lives his life: fast and all over the place.

Stepping closer, something along the upper corner catches your eye. Slyly lifting up a pile of paper, being sure not to disturb the configuration, you find that your suspicions are correct. Eddie received the same copy of Sub Rosa as you did. Obviously, it didn’t go over well. He’s used a pen to black out his eyes. Much to your amusement, you see he’s also drawn horns and a tail. The hand that’s flipping off the camera is illustrated to be holding a pitchfork.

That’s not the full extent of Eddie’s doodling, though. On the bottom right-hand corner of the magazine, there’s a smaller picture of him standing next to a certain brown-eyed beauty. You’re quick to note that he’s drawn a crude halo and angel wings on his long-legged companion. They’ve been scribbled out as an afterthought, making the halo look more like a crown of thorns.

So, you think to yourself, he’s a little immature. You can work with immaturity. Immaturity means that he won’t be as guarded as some of the other celebrities your coworkers have had the misery of meeting. In fact, from what little you know about Eddie, you wonder if he even has any guard at all. He did leave you alone here with stacks of potential songs for his band’s next album. If you were a better journalist and a worse person, you would probably take the time to decipher his chicken scratch and see if you could glean any insights into his creative process. But you don’t. Instead, you release the stack of papers and wait.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’ve never been inside of a famous person’s house before. You’re not sure if you should sit down and make yourself comfortable or if Eddie has something else planned for the two of you to do. The specifics of your assignment were intentionally vague, most likely to accommodate Eddie’s spontaneity.

Venturing further into the living room, you come to stand in front of a shelf. Brushing your fingers across the collection of vinyl, you tilt your head to read the names along the spines. There are the usual suspects–Dio, Metallica, and Judas Priest–but what surprises you is that, in the midst of all the metal and hard rock, there’s an array of old-school country music. At the end of the lineup is the most surprising one of them all; Sentimentally Yours by Patsy Cline. It’s exceedingly worn, cracks and creases litter the empty sleeve. If you were a betting woman, you would say that the record is currently on the player across the room.

A muffled crash followed by a string of curse words breaks you out of your reverie. Eddie opens the bedroom door with the finesse of someone who is obviously used to being the center of attention. He’s traded his sweatpants and tank top for a pair of ripped black jeans and a v-neck. It felt reassuring to know that you hadn’t underdressed for the occasion.

It also gives you a moment to drink in the blinding light that was Eddie Munson. He’s leaner in person. Though he always looked lithe in every photograph you saw of him, his frame seemed more imposing and large. Maybe all the stars just look that way when they’re so high above you.

He was taller, too. The boots on his feet surely aided in that, given that the soles were at least an inch thick. Still, you didn’t anticipate how much you would have to tilt your head up just to look him in the eyes.

There, standing in Eddie Munson’s rented living room, you realize something; You’re absolutely starstruck.

Although you had turned up your nose at the prospect of interviewing him and regarded his reputation with the same disdain you reserved for bad drivers and shitty landlords, you were still a person after all.

With all of the stars around, it’s easy to think of Los Angeles as the center of the universe. But you are not a star or anything even close to it. You’re some space debris, hopelessly floating and waiting for something bigger to come around and influence you with its gravitational pull.

Eddie is a heavenly body. You can’t help being pulled into his orbit.

“So, I see you’ve found my collection.” His voice is still rough with sleep. The sound makes you weak in the knees.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.” You mumble, tucking Patsy Cline back into the shelf. “You’ve got some really good stuff here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Actually, that reminds me, I have something for you.” He swiftly turns and stalks back towards what seems to be his bedroom, motioning for you to follow him.

The blood rushes out of your cheeks. The terms of your interview suggested that you would have a lot of access, but this was different. This was up close and personal. Your feet seem to have a mind of their own because while you’re still wrapped up in the fact that you’re gonna see Eddie Munson’s bedroom, you’re already following him down the hallway and through the open door.

It’s about as messy as you would expect. The furniture is all pale wood and earth tones, fitting the mid-century modern stylings of the rest of the house. You suspect that Eddie took the time to clean up a little while you were rifling through the stacks of paper. The bed is haphazardly made. There’s an ashtray on his bedside table, filled with the remains of a few cigarettes.

“I’m not supposed to smoke inside. Shh.” He brings his index finger to his mouth, pink lips barely brushing the skull ring he’s wearing. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You let out an airy laugh. Being reprimanded for smoking inside is the least of Eddie’s worries and you both know it.

Eddie’s nimble fingers skim the top of the dresser, brushing aside even more sheets of scrap paper. A couple of guitar picks plummet to the floor, but he pays no mind.

“I heard that metal isn’t usually your thing.” He remarks, still sifting through the clutter.

That much is true. While you dabbled in a little bit of everything, not only as part of your job but also as part of your interest in music, metal wasn’t usually the genre you gravitated towards. In fact, the most metal album that you had listened to recently was written and produced by the man standing in front of you.

“It’s not, but I’m open to everything.”

“Aha! Here it is.” Eddie holds up the cassette like it’s the key to the universe. Handing it to you, you can see that the writing on the sides is reminiscent of what you saw in the living room, though slightly neater. You’re familiar with some of the bands listed, but the songs don’t ring a bell. “I thought I would broaden your musical horizons.”

You gawk at him. For someone whose job is about words, you can’t find any. He took the time to make you a mixtape?

“Track five is a personal favorite.” Eddie says, leaning towards you and tapping the tracklist, obviously unshaken by your inability to form a coherent thought.

“Thanks. I’ll give it a listen.” You manage to choke out, tucking the cassette into the front pocket of your purse.

Looking around the room, you see that there’s a battered copy of The Lord of the Rings on his bedside table. The corners are frayed, and you’re certain that you could accidentally tear the cover off of the paperback if you’re not careful. Cautiously, you trace the spine with your finger, waiting for Eddie to say something. To tell you that it’s the one thing that’s off limits. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching you. Opening it, you can see Property of Eddie A. Munson written underneath the title in a childish scrawl.

“You like books? I mean–you’re a writer, so of course you like books–I mean, have you read that one?” Eddie is visibly flustered, the words coming out of his mouth at an alarming rate. It almost makes up for the way he rendered you speechless moments ago.

“I’m more of a Dune girl myself. But, I love The Lord of the Rings. My dad used to read it to me before bed every night.”

“Yeah?” A small smile tugs at his lips before he practically whispers his next words. “Mine too.”

A flash of something you can’t quite decipher crosses Eddie’s face.

“Right! Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink?” He shuffles out of the room like his life depends on it. You’re still reeling at the fact that he brought up his dad unprompted. Keeping a brisk pace, you put the book down and follow him into the kitchen.

“We have…” He trails off, opening the door to the refrigerator. “Nothing.”

He shuts the refrigerator and dashes to the table by the front door. He mumbles to himself before grabbing a few things, shrugging on a jacket, and finally turning to face you again. A pair of sunglasses covers the half of his face that isn’t plastered with a mischievous grin. From the tips of his fingers hangs a set of car keys.

“You hungry?”

–

You should’ve known that Eddie Munson would try to kill you within 20 minutes of meeting him. Lifting up the garage door, he reveals that the car keys were in fact, not car keys but keys to a motorcycle. The vehicle in question is an absolutely stunning deathtrap. It shines so beautifully that you can see your terrified face in the warped reflection.

Putting his helmet on, Eddie straddles the bike and looks at you.

“C’mon.” Eddie smiles wolfishly, tilting the spare helmet towards you. “I’m a safe driver. Promise.”

You’re still standing frozen. His wolfish grin melts into something more patient.

“Hey, if you don’t want to take the motorcycle, just say the word. I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.”

Despite the sincerity in his voice, you can’t help but take the words as a challenge.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” You profess, though the shake in your voice is evident. Grabbing the helmet out of his hands, you ignore the way your face heats up when your fingers brush.

Eddie takes gross advantage of California’s lane-splitting laws, leaving you clinging to his leather-draped torso for dear life. Outside from the occasional shout of assurance that you can’t understand, the ride is quiet but for the roar of the bike and the wind in your ears. You’re vacillating between being absolutely terrified of crashing and secretly relieved at the fact that you didn’t have to make small talk on the drive from his place to wherever he was taking you.

You were very close to liking Eddie Munson. Now, you were sure that he was sent as some kind of karmic punishment.

“Parking in L.A. is always a pain. That’s why I love this baby,” He gingerly pats the handles as he kicks the parking brake down. “She can fit basically anywhere.”

You hum in agreement, mostly just happy to have made it to your destination in one piece. While Eddie hops off the bike with ease, you have a little more trouble. Swinging your leg over, your toe catches on the fuel tank, causing you to stumble and nearly fall to the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Eddie is biting back a smile. He offers a calloused hand out to you. You brush it away out of embarrassment, planting both feet firmly on the ground and taking in your surroundings.

You had expected Eddie to take you to one of L.A.’s finer dining venues. Somewhere with fancy mood lighting and clientele with pockets so deep that they don’t even bother to put the prices on the menu. His management was footing the bill, after all.

The building that sits before you is none of those things. The diner is old and slightly dilapidated. Graffiti mars the stucco that hasn’t already crumbled away. The neon sign that says Zazie’s! blinks drowsily, more of an eyesore than eye-catching.

Eddie opens the door for you. As the bell above it jingles, you’re hit with a rush of conditioned air and canned nostalgia. The walls are covered in artifacts from a bygone era of poodle skirts and letterman jackets. A lonely jukebox sits in the corner, playing a soft hum to a Billie Holiday song you have long forgotten the name of.

A plump woman sits behind the counter doing the crossword in the newspaper. Likely, the same one you were doing that morning. A thoughtful look is etched into her soft features, and you wonder if she’s also stuck on 57-down: Idle during the heist. The ten-letter space confounded you so much that you were almost late. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like Eddie is the type of person to care too much about punctuality. At the sound of the bell, she looks up, squints, and smiles.

“Is that you, Toto?” The glasses that sit on the tip of her nose are attached to a chain around her neck. She lets them fall to her chest, her voice bright and amiable.

“You know it is, Dorothy!” Eddie gushed, an award-winning smile back on his face.

They fall into easy conversation, making it obvious that he’s a regular here. You keep glancing at him trying to find hints of ingenuity but there are none. Eddie regards the woman with the warmth and respect that you would expect from a boy scout, not a rockstar.

Sliding into a booth, Dorothy hands you both a menu and leaves to make a fresh pot of coffee.

“You have to try the french toast, it’s divine.” Eddie barely steals a look at the laminated folder before folding it back up and putting it down on the table.

“I’ve never really been a french toast person. I don’t know if I wanna risk it.”

Eddie gives you a pointed look, sunglasses slipping down the slope of his nose. “You rode a motorcycle. How much more risky is a plate of french toast?”

“Maybe that was all the risk-taking I had in me for one day.” You force yourself to shrug noncommittally. You don’t know why breakfast food is the hill you’ve chosen to die on, but you’re going down swinging.

“Well, you already trusted me with your life.” Eddie takes the sunglasses off and tucks his fist under his chin, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. “Think you can trust me with this?”

Suddenly, all of the fight in you disappears. There’s that sincerity in his voice again. You realize then that the best and worst thing about Eddie Munson is how genuine he always sounds.

“Yeah, I do.”

The smile on his face is so bright that you feel compelled to look away. Eddie orders for both of you. It’s enough food to feed a small army, but it seems that Dorothy is used to it because she leaves the table with a wink and says if y’all need anything just holler!

“Do you mind?” You say, pulling out the notepad and pen from your purse.

Eddie freezes for a fraction of a second. It’s almost imperceptible. Almost. In the small amount of time you’ve known him, it has become abundantly clear that Eddie wears his heart on his sleeve. Recovering quickly, he gives you the go-ahead and smiles. For the first time today, his grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So,” You begin, clicking the button on your ballpoint. “I have to ask. Toto?”

Eddie barks out a laugh. He goes on a whole spiel about how he was having a terrible day and walked into the diner feeling homesick and hungry. When he first came to L.A. he felt like Dorothy stepping into the technicolor world of Oz. Once the novelty wore off, he found himself missing when the world used to be so black and white. Upon telling the wise waitress, aptly named Dorothy, she lovingly told him, Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore. The nickname stuck ever since.

The story almost sounds rehearsed. A perfect sound bite that shows how you can take the boy out of the Midwest, but you can’t take the Midwest out of the boy. And yet, you feel inclined to believe him. Eddie just seems to have that effect on people.

The food finally arrives and you’re amazed to find that Eddie’s eyes are not bigger than his stomach. He talks about music and his band in between bites of pancakes and hashbrowns, both of them drowned in an inch of syrup. He speaks of his friends back in Indiana with a certain fondness, but you can’t help but notice how avoids naming his hometown. He also never refers to Hawkins as back home, instead saying where I’m from.

Conversation between the two of you flows as easily as the never-ending coffee from Dorothy’s pot. It’s almost too easy to forget that this is an interview. Remembering yourself, you take a moment to ask Eddie one of the harder-hitting questions you have in your back pocket.

“What about Evelyn Chau?”

Eddie winces. The open book that was sitting before you shuts tight with a resilient slam. The mouthful of pancakes and syrup seems to turn to sludge as his chewing slows. Despite having no regard for table manners earlier, he points at his lips and holds up a finger to indicate that he needs a minute to swallow.

After taking a sip of coffee and wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he slouches in his seat and crosses his arms defensively.

“What about Evelyn Chau?” He repeats your question back to you but with an unmistakable air of forced nonchalance.

You want to crumble under his pointed gaze, but you don’t. You steel yourself with the reminder that asking uncomfortable questions is part of your job description. Besides, it would raise many more alarms if you didn’t ask about the raven-haired model spotted painting the town with him than if you did.

“Everyone wants to know if you’re together.”

“Everyone.” He exaggerates the word, using his index finger to trace the lip of his coffee cup. “Does that include you?”

The smirk on his face indicates that he’s either messing with you or flirting with you. Maybe both.

“Well,” you demure. “are you?”

“Evie is just a friend.” Eddie’s still perfectly composed, but the familiarity with which he says her nickname betrays him. His face twitches when he catches his slip-up. “A really close friend.”

It’s already too late. He couldn’t convince you that she was just a friend if he tried. A flash of a crossed-out halo and crooked angel wings comes to mind.

You’re about to ask him another question, but Dorothy and her impeccable timing interrupts the moment by placing the check on the table. Eddie throws down a few bills from an old leather wallet, while you’re trying to figure out how you can spin a two-hour diner date into an entire article.

Eddie stretches as he stands up, the hem of his black v-neck raises to expose a tattoo on his right hip that snakes down further than you’re supposed to look. On the other side, you catch a muddled array of purple and red scar tissue. Averting your eyes, you look up and are met with a stony gaze. He caught you staring.

“What do you say we get outta here?”

Because you’re a very stupid, stupid woman, you agree.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #mimi wrote ✍️#can i ask you a question?

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zvaigzdelasas · 11 months

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The global market for carbon offsets is worth about $2 billion today and projected to grow to as much as $1 trillion in 15 years even as it faces fundamental questions about credibility and effectiveness. Add government appropriation to the list of risks for this climate solution. A shock announcement this week that Zimbabwe will take half of all revenues generated from offsets projects developed on its territory is a harbinger of an uncertain future in the carbon trade. The African nation is the world’s 12th largest creator of offsets, with 4.2 million credits from 30 registered projects last year, according to BloombergNEF.

Zimbabwe’s move gives the government control of carbon credit production and cancels all past agreements with international organizations. That means more revenue generated from credits tied to protecting forests and other efforts to cut emissions will flow into national coffers rather than going to project developers. There’s now risk that other countries might follow suit, creating new uncertainties for businesses that develop and sell offsets, corporations that purchase offsets as a way to counterbalance their greenhouse gas pollution and the cohort of traders who invest in this emerging asset class. [...]

The move “blindsided” CO2balance, a company that runs five carbon offset projects in Zimbabwe. “Everyone knew changes were happening but we weren’t expecting this — it wasn’t on the horizon,” said Paul Chiplen, head of sales, in an interview on Thursday. “It does put a question mark in investors’ minds when you’re not quite sure of what level of return you’re getting.” [...]

“I think it is an entirely understandable thing for Zimbabwe to want to take a proportion of the funds from any exports of carbon from its territory,” said Edward Hanrahan, director at carbon project developer Climate Impact Partners. “But the issue is they acted rapidly and without prior notice.”[...]

Each credit represents one ton of carbon dioxide and can be bought and sold many times before being used. The unregulated structure of the market involving companies, traders and governments creates risk of double counting. What if a government seeks to benefit by trading a credit produced in its territory after its been sold to an investor or used in a corporate sustainability plan?[...]

Treating carbon credits as just another export commodity underscores an imbalance at the heart of this global trade: Efforts to develop credits are usually funded by firms from wealthy countries and sold to corporate buyers in Europe and the US, yet most of the projects are located in emerging economies. This setup has been derided as a form of carbon colonialism that strips developing countries of an increasingly valuable resource. “Rushing to frame the decision by Zimbabwe as ‘nationalization risk’ exposes a sense of entitlement to access those resources by the global North,” said Rich Gilmore, chief executive officer at investment manager Carbon Growth Partners in Melbourne. “We need to acknowledge that the past 200 years of resource extraction have miserably failed people and the planet. And if we want the carbon market to scale, we need to respect the right of the nations of the south to determine their own rules.”[...]

Developers and investors might start to prioritize countries where governments have been transparent about their future carbon policies. Plus, if governments follow Zimbabwe in taking half of the project revenues, that will create a barrier to carbon projects that are the most costly to implement.[...]

It’s “entirely appropriate” for countries to seek a larger share from their carbon resources but they must “carefully consider the economics,” said Martijn Wilder, chief executive officer of Pollination, a climate advisory and investment firm. “If what’s left for a project developer is not sufficient to cover an investible rate of return, the project simply won’t happen.”

21 May 23

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fountainpenguin · 1 day

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Your fic "Shut Up and Fish" got me thinking... are you implying that Grian's snail is a spark?

"Shut Up and Fish"

"That's hard," Grian concedes, not looking up. The pink snail's watching, its tail patting the dirt. Grian cradles the turquoise snail's limp eyestalk in his hand. Snails are tricky creatures… They don't signal their injuries with the crook of their tails like dogs do, and they're not immune to fall damage like cats. Gingerly, easily, he brings the snail's neck to his chest and gives it a little hug. He makes a little noise. This world is beautiful if you know where to look. "Please," begs the voice in the wrinkles of his damp and dripping clothes. "You'd be a better dad to Tim. You'd be a better husband- I want what YOU have… That's MY life. Give me back my body!" Grian ignores this, peppering sloppy kisses on the snail's sweet head. It nudges into him, cuddly and sloppy and alive. Beautiful, sparked son of a thing. He'll tell Grumbot sometime, but Grumbot might not love to know he's got a snail for a younger brother now. And he laughs again, because it's stupid. It's just… It's really stupid. But he nuzzles the snail and the snail nuzzles back, and the voice in his head wails and scratches at him in the strain of Gem's boat anchor against the pebbles and sand.

In the Pixels Imperfect canon, a creature or build that is portrayed as having sentience beyond that of its basic mob AI (if applicable) needs an AI spark. Grumbot and Jrumbot are perfect examples of "portrayed as sentient" vs. "offhand joke about the build being a child, but not followed through with." Jrumbot is a non-sentient build and Grumbot is a sentient one.

Grian's snail is played as sentient - Grian even makes a huge deal about Scar "not playing the game right and making the snails do things they wouldn't do" - so in the Pixels canon, the snail is a sparked build.

Sparks don't have to be perceived as offspring- they simply embody whatever the intended roleplay was. Grumbot initially referred to Grian and Mumbo as Creator 1 and Creator 2 in Hermitcraft canon, then swapped to addressing them as dads after a certain point (to their surprise), which underscores the idea that in-universe, he is sentient and making his own decisions.

That said, Grian considers the snail his biological son, yes. His baby boy who does crime.

I have some news about Box from Double Life, wheeze...... BigB made it VERY clear in canon that Box is sentient enough to "say its first word," and Ren jumped up and down all giddy exclaiming that he was "such a proud papa," confirming that he sees it as his child.

When they're in couple's therapy, BigB explains that he "knew Ren would like it if Box had a hand so it could reach out and give him a hug." Also, special spotlight on BigB bragging about how "Box is going to need to find a soulmate" because that's so funny. I like how after BigB goes red, he invites Martyn to Box, he says "We look forward to seeing you. That's 'we' as in me and Box."

Shout-out to Martyn and Cleo getting "We will take care of Box in your absence" signed and agreed by Ren and BigB "by law and by will." Sorry you two are horribly broken up, but congrats on ur giant son. They will not nurture it, but they will definitely look at it and go "... Huh."

Guess who has one thumb, canonically wears a monocle and walks around looking like it's been "punched in the face," is technically in the Clocker family tree via Martyn, rocks he/it pronouns, and is heir apparent to Dogwarts in the Neighborhood Watch AU.

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kaddyssammlung · 4 months

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Sundowning

– Transcript from Revolver Sleep Token Special Edition

Sleep token formed in 2016 in the UK. They self-released their debut EP “One” in December of that year, before signing to Basic Records for their 2017 three-track follow-up “Two”.

From the beginning, there was a mystique about them: The image of four anonymous musicians in cloaks and ornate-looking masks, their exposed chests and arms, daubed in the thick black paint, invited questions. At first, Sleep Token answered those questions if cryptically but soon they would begin declining all interviews. In the early days, it seems, Sleep Token acknowledged that their story required a little exposition. A commonly held misconception among the fandom is that Sleep Token had only ever done one interview with British music magazine Metal Hammer in 2017, around at that time of the “Calcutta” single release. In fact, the band granted another interview in 2018 to Kerrang and in both of those rare press engagements, Vessel underscored the artistic purpose of their concealed identities.

“How we got here is irrelevant,as irrelevant as who we are - what matters is the music and the message” Vessel declared to Metal Hammer. “We are here to serve, Sleep and project his message”. When asked in that same conversation about the band's genre-defying approach, he said, “life is dark, life is bright, life is ugly, life is beautiful. Don't get lost in genres. They will disorient you, music, as for everyone”. In the Kerrang interview, Vessel doubled down on Sleep Token's philosophy of unhinging the art from its makers. “The true identities behind Sleep Token are immaterial and ultimately irrelevant”. As Vessel said at the time, “art has become entangled with identity...our aesthetic is there to fill the void left by that absence. True to those words, Sleep Token have remained anonymous and eschwed interviews ever since. Instead, they have communicated about entirely through their music and its accompanying visuals. Each song is an apparent offering to the primeval deity known as Sleep.

A once powerful being who, according to the band's lore, promised Vessel ultimate glory if he were to devote himself fully to him. He is now known as Sleep because, as background information shared by Basic Records put it, no modern tongue can properly express its name.

His past saw him wield far greater power than in modern age, bestowing ancient civilizations with the gift of dreams and the curse of nightmares. As insightful fans have noted, Sleep bears a wealth of similarities to the shadow archetype in Jungian philosophy, which is part of the unconscious mind and is composed of repressed ideas, weaknesses, and desires, and the aspects of oneself that are seen as not just unacceptable to society but contradictory to one's own personal morals and values. Is Vessel devoting himself to Sleep by offering him this music as a token or is he appeasing him? The consequences among the fans will have poured their free time into unpacking the overarching narrative in the band's music as that it's the story of a toxic power struggle. Vessel oscillates from a love bordering on obsession to frustration, desperation, and anger at Sleep's apparent indifference or even outright resistance towards him explaining the fluctuations on Sleep token's song to the text. This narrative had already been foregrounded in the band's first two EPs, but it was much more fully realized on the 2019 debut album “Sundowning”, which also marked the first release on Spineform Records. Its title refers to a phenomenon experienced by dementia patients regarding a range of behavioral changes that typically, but not necessarily, begin as the sun is setting and resolves themselves by morning. Those who experience it may become agitated or anxious, sometimes feeling like theyare in a wrong place, like they need to go home despite already being at home.

Sundowning, the album title, might then refer to a feeling of disorientation and distress that comes over Vessel whenever Sleep, presumably a creature of the night, arrives. The lyrics of “the night does not belong to God”, seemingly confirms this. You can remember only till the sun recedes once again. Vessel groans before the chanted hooks come in. The night comes down like heaven. “Sundowning” didn't get a typical album rollout. By the time it was released in November 2019, all of its 12 songs were already in fans' hands. Starting on June 21st, the summer solstice, the band dropped a new track every other Thursday at that time of sunset in the native United Kingdom. Beginning with album opener, that night does not belong to God and proceeding along the tracklist order. From both an artist and a marketing perspective, it was an innovative approach. One of many Sleep token were out to buck tradition, but only did the regularity of the world build a sense of anticipation. But it also kept Sleep Token at the front of fans' minds as they outpaced the speed at which most bands could release singles ahead of a new album.

Brilliantly, the campaign also fit into the band's story. Every fortnight as the sun was setting, Vessel presented yet another offering to Sleep. On “Sundowning”, as well as the band's subsequent LPs, each of these offerings had its own visual identity. In a case of Sleep token's first album, every song is represented by a sigil, a series of interconnected shapes, often lines, triangles, and circles that construct some sort of meaning. It is believed that the symbols have various origins. Some reference the Elder Futhark, (the oldest runic alphabet, which is also referenced in the Sleep token's logo,)

and the Enochian letters (an occult language) while others resemble the symbols for demons in the goetic grimoire Ars Goetia (a 17th century book oof sorcery). The aspect of the sigils that has most fascinated the fans, however, is the connection to alchemical symbology. Alchemy is an ancient tradition that is both philosophical and proto-scientific, and fans have latched onto the alchemical meanings of the sigils as meanings of finding hidden significance written within the songs. For instance, the sigil for the offering features the symbol for a callous or crucible and the symbol for fumes or smokes, suggesting the idea of something being burned as a ritual sacrifice. Within the song itself, Vessel makes this notion more explicit. This is a giving, an offering, in your favor, a sacrifice in your name, he sings.

That's one of the simpler examples. For a song like Dark Signs, the symbology becomes a little more complex. One of the individual symbols in the sigil refers to sublimination, a phenomenon in which someone witnesses something that challenges the limits of human understanding and the capabilities of human comprehension. This may well be that Vessel experiences interacting with sleep. In a chemical context, sublimination refers to a substance transformation from the solid to the gas stage or vice versa, which could be interpreted as a metaphor for the transition from being in one's body to being only a spirit. Meanwhile, the symbol for iron, which also appears in the Dark Signs sigil, is traditionally associated with the process of making two opposite chemical components separate from each other. Consequently, it's hardly a coincidence that the song itself establishes a growing sense of the division between Vessel and Sleep. Where we met, there must have been dark signs. Vessel sings while he later contends in the chorus that I hate who I have become, as a result of surrendering himself to Sleep. Vessel's feelings toward Sleep fluctuate so wildly, that the over-aching narrative of “Sundowning” is hard to grasp at first. The album opens by establishing Vessel's devotion toward Sleep in its most straightforward and reverent form. The minimalistic “the night does not belong to God” is practically a modern devotional hymn, presenting Vessel at his most eager to worship Sleep. In contrast, the offering introduces not only heavier riffs but also a fuller picture of the seemingly limitless capacities Vessel believes he has for love. The reoccurring image of biting and feeding is underscored by every repetition of take a bite, suggesting that Vessel is fully willing to lose parts of himself, even violently, to sustain and please sleep.

By the third track, “Levitate”, the foundations begin to wobble with Vessel, now gripped by anxiety over the prospect of being separated from Sleep or of Sleep no longer needing him. I can tell you won't remember my cracking bones. He despairs, eventually asking, will you levitate, where I won't reach you? In the next song, Dark Signs, his fears have come true and he's looking at the wreckage of the relationship, missing the man he was before the first, before the first even again. Yet after the conflict between them intensifies and “Higher”, “Take Aim” finds Vessel so deep in a state of love that he's defiant, almost daring Sleep to come back to him. Make me tear my body, make me yearn for your embrace. He challenges. “Sugar, a couple of tracks later represents the second emotional peak of the album with Vessel in the full throes of desire but with an undertone of darkness and violence. He knows Sleep plays a twisted little game but remains addicted to the pain none of the less. After the romantic dreaminess of “Drag Me Under”,

“Sundowning” ends on a note of frustration with Bloodsport. Once again, everything for Vessel has fallen apart and he's left exhausted by all the sacrifice for limited reward: “I made Loving You a Bloodsport I can't win” he curses, making the second downturn in his mood and fortune on the record. It serves as a lasting reminder, intensified by the singer sobbing over the final thrills of the piano that their bond as a destructive force where Vessel gives and Sleep takes. Musically speaking, “Sundowning” is arguably Sleep Token's softest album. It might be the most pop-oriented as well. Give, for example, has the slickness and the arcing, aerobic shape in the melody of something that might have floated around the mainstream in the mid-2010s while a vibrating synth lands that and trap percussion of “Dark Signs” and “Sugar” evoke the feeling of modern R&B.

On the other hand, there's plenty here that verifies Sleep Token's metal credentials. The bite of the guitars cut through like a surprise attack in the middle of a song, a bait-and switch structure that has become all the more frequent as Sleep Token have evolved. A notable expectation is “The Offering” which melts siren-like synths with noshing guitars and intertwines them tightly rather than handling them as a separate tool. By far the heaviest song on “Sundowning”, however, is called an alternative metal slice of fury that stones and swaggers with greater harshness than anything else on the album. Recalling Death Tones at their angriest as well as Sleep Token's contemporaries in Liverpool metal upstarts “Loathe”. Regardless, it's rare for Sleep Token to stick to just one sound. Even the anger of “God” dissipates for a while with a delicate, twinkling piano bridge. When “Sundowning” was released, Sleep Token were in a promising position. On October 3, 2019, they performed a ritual at the Underworld, a 500-capacity venue in London that often acts as the first rung on the ladder of an up-and-coming band's success.

Plant a flag at the Underworld and it's a sign your band is truly going somewhere.

Later that year, the album brought them to the US for the first time and then they returned to the UK for a headline tour in the early 2020s. Unbeknownst to them, however, the ritual they played at the 900-capacity Islington Assembly Hall on January 31 would be the final one for almost a year and a half. Not even the act of worshiping Sleep could justify gathering during the COVID-19 pandemic. The band did attempt to organize a series of socially distanced shows known as the Isolation Rituals in March 2021, but the virus was still too rampant at the time for them to go ahead. Not even Sleep himself could know how fast Sleep Token might have risen if there hadn't been a pathogen standing in their way. None of the last, when the stacking of ritual was approved by the government again, would neatly coincidence with a whole new chapter for the band. Sleep Token's son was about to rise to another level.

(This text was taken from the Revovler Special Edition Collector's mag; I don't own any of this)

#sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token revolver

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fatehbaz · 10 months

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And the penal colony was to remain a viable alternative to the penitentiary, not only in nineteenth-century Britain, but also in twentieth-century France [...]. But what might it mean to have a rigorous and distant form of imprisonment, located in a colony and continuing until the mid–twentieth century? [...]

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French Guiana emerged as an early favorite for the placement of a French penal colony. [...] Daniel Lescallier, [...] authored a work entitled [...] (Exposition of the means by which to develop French Guiana). In it he points to the example the British have set in exporting offenders to the colonies [...]. Louis-Napoleon, still serving in the capacity of president of the republic, threw his weight behind [...] the exile of criminals as well as political dissidents. “It seems possible to me,” he declared near the end of 1850, “to render the punishment of hard labor more efficient, more moralizing, less expensive [...], by using it to advance French colonization.” [...] The era of the French penal colony was now open; the new French Empire had begun its Botany Bay, even as the British original [penal colony in Australia] wound to a close. [...] The double logic of the British system also drives the French imagination; proposals alternatively concentrate on a desire to punish criminals and rid the Metropole of their presence, on the one hand, and a hope of furthering the work of colonial expansion and economic progress, on the other. Within this logic the focus shifts between the need to colonize, the need to punish [...].

In the case of France, it shimmers with colonial fantasy, allowing future Australias to emerge on tropical horizons. [...] [T]he penal colony requires location. The specificity of the site matters; it is the very place that is to enact punishment [...]. The penal colony is in essence a geographic technique [...]. But despite frequent outcries and sensational reports, the French Guiana penal establishment continued to exist through the end of World War II. [...] As geography itself becomes a technique of isolation, the French penal experiment in Guiana threatens further ordeals implicit in separation from all that is civilized. [...] In sensational accounts these tropics incessantly punish [...]: “Fever and dysentery get every man! Clouds of buzzing mosquitoes and fire ants sting your aching body while you labor [...].” As the commandant of the bagne would inform convicts on their arrival, “The real guards here are the jungle and the sea.” [...] Many of the prisoners, after all, were from urban environments [...]. The terror of Devil's Island takes shape amid metaphoric invocations of the jungle and of the savage [...].

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For those in Metropolitan France the penal colony served as a hidden punishment, a distant if graphic terror, retaining elements of torture out of public view. Yet it retained a veneer of reformation, for the convicts were still told to “make a new life for themselves.” In addition, shipping convicts away from France in the name of colonization cloaked their punishment in the robes of the “civilizing” mission: they would be part of an effort to build a greater France, to develop Guiana, and to integrate it into a Franco-world system. At the same time the bagne underscored that resistance to the humane norms of France could lead to decivilization and exile in the wilderness. [...]

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For those sent to French Guiana, however, the penal colony served directly as a public display, a constant reminder of the operations of justice. The convicts were not merely confined but forced to labor on public works. Official executions were performed by that once-humane instrument, the guillotine, but before an audience of convicts and by a fellow convict, far beyond the gates of Paris. A slower execution, that of the “dry guillotine,” the effects of the tropical climate, surrounded the entire process of deportation, reminding the convicts that this punishment could only happen here and not within Metropolitan boundaries. Theirs was a raw and primitive environment, one of torture and deprivation away from the public eye. Against the truth invoked in their conviction -- justice -- lay a suggested truth invoked in their punishment: no longer civilized, they were no longer human.

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And for those already living in French Guiana, the penal colony also served as a public spectacle, if one not aimed directly at them or of their making. Not only did the proximity of prison life to their own lives parade the power of justice before them in an immediate fashion, but the constant importation of prisoners for this apparatus of punishment emphasized the particularly colonial nature of this power. Uncivilized elements were sent to them; their relation to France was that of a repository for human waste, and acts and punishments deemed unseemly for the homeland could still occur within their boundaries.

In addition, the appropriation of the names “Guyane” and “Cayenne” in myths of the bagne and “Devil's Island” precluded other identities, while burdening the area with a symbolic brand and a historical chain to France. “The bagne,” writes Ian Hammel, “left only a disastrous brand on Guiana.”

Brand here means “trademark” as well as “scar,” indicating purpose, function, and maker.

To be remembered as a penal colony is to be remembered not only as a prison, an exotic place of horror, but also as a colony, the object and product of another. [...] Modernizing France, a convulsive patchwork of provinces, cities, farms, and factories, casts its shadow overseas. [...] The penal colony takes shape at a crucial moment in European colonial understandings of place and labor. Slavery had just been abolished in the French Empire […]. If slavery were at an end, then the crucial question facing the colony was that of finding an alternative source of labor [...], not only in French Guiana, but also throughout colonies built on the plantation model.

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All text above by: Peter Redfield. Space in the Tropics: From Convicts to Rockets in French Guiana. 2000. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

#abolition #ecology #forests #imperial #caribbean #colonial #landscape #haunted #futures #modernity

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