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livrosencaracolados · 6 months

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Uma Série Hildispensável

Sᴇ́ʀɪᴇ ᴅᴏ Mᴇ̂s: Hilda.

Sɪɴᴏᴘsᴇ Oғɪᴄɪᴀʟ: A destemida aventureira Hilda encontra mistérios, criaturas mágicas e bons amigos quando se muda da floresta para a grande cidade de Trolberg.

O Qᴜᴇ Mᴇ Aᴛʀᴀɪᴜ: Sem dúvida o aspeto mágico e, de certa forma, caseiro da série. Pelo trailer parecia o tipo de programa adorável que traz sorrisos consigo, e a diversidade de criaturas confirmou imediatamente a ideia de que o buraco que o fim de Star Contra as Forças do Mal deixou no meu coração podia ser preenchido (estava a morrer de saudades de uns bons feitiços). Além disso, é uma adaptação de uma coleção de novelas gráficas (ainda não as li mas foi o suficiente para me despertar a curiosidade).

Dᴇsᴛᴀǫᴜᴇs: A ANIMAÇÃO! Acho que as pessoas não entendem, que se esquecem, que animação não é um género televisivo nem uma corrente de entretenimento automaticamente criada para as crianças. Animação é o esforço coletivo de dezenas de pessoas que trabalham umas quantas centenas de horas em múltiplos campos para trazer uma história ao público. Na sua essência, é puxar os limites do desenho para criar algo que comunique com a audiência de uma forma mais poderosa, mais real, e isso não é para ser menosprezado, porque é arte. Pode parecer que isto não tem nada a ver com nada, afinal, a animação de Hilda, à primeira vista, é simplesmente agradável, mas é aí que está o erro: é muito mais. Entre as camadas de fofura, cores pastéis que encorajam a produção de dopamina e cenários majestosos, encontra-se algo muito especial: emoção. Nota-se o amor que houve na produção da série e isso aliado ao enredo profundamente emotivo que introduz temas como a aceitação da mudança, olhar para o que nos une em vez do que nos diferencia e a importância de nos mantermos fiéis aos nossos valores, cria um programa praticamente perfeito. Nem a parte estética nem o conteúdo têm defeitos a apontar e a Hilda, a protagonista, só adiciona ao monte de razões pelas quais esta série é fantástica. Ela não é necessariamente a melhor a seguir regras, a criar planos estruturados ou a não se intrometer na vida dos outros, MAS é um ás no que toca à empatia, espírito solidário e coragem e nunca deixa de fazer o que está certo por medo das consequências (além de ser amiga de todas as criaturas, mesmo as grandes o suficiente para a comer, isto não faz lembrar a Star Butterfly?). A Hilda engloba tudo o que significa inteligência emocional e ensina, continuamente, como podemos ser um bocadinho melhores todos os dias. Afastando-me agora da parte mais séria, o mundo desta série é um grande fator apelativo, misturando folclore com as ideias originais do criador de maneira a criar o lugar de sonho para se estar. Há nisser (guardiões da casa), elfos minúsculos (que são obcecados por papelada), woffs (espécies de pompons com ar de lobos que voam ao lado das nuvens), um veado-raposa adorável que parece uma bolinha de neve, marras (espíritos de pesadelos que aparentemente só vivem no corpo de miúdas angustiadas e hormonais), uma comunidade de bruxas (que têm uma sede secreta numa mega biblioteca, O SONHO), trolls (que são transformados em pedra durante o dia e se libertam à luz da lua), gigantes mais antigos do que a humanidade, um rei dos ratos que VIVE de fofocas e fantasmas, que só sabem resolver conflitos com lutas de wrestling. É um universo riquíssimo que prende o espectador.

Cᴏɴᴄʟᴜsᴀ̃ᴏ/Oᴘɪɴɪᴀ̃ᴏ Fɪɴᴀʟ: Aparentemente esta série é popular...mas claramente não o suficiente porque ainda não conheço ninguém que seja tão fascinado por ela como eu. A temporada 3 (a última, não consigo com isto) vem aí e já saiu um filme, agora é a altura para mergulhar neste programa antes que seja tarde de mais. Esta série realmente toca no coração e se tudo o que eu disse ainda não foi o suficiente para vos convencer a dar-lhe uma oportunidade...então tenho de a comparar a outras para atrair os seus fãs. Como é óbvio (já referi), esta série é para quem morre e saudades de Star Contra as Forças do Mal, Gravity Falls e Summer Camp Island, talvez até de PatoAventuras (DuckTales), Anfibilândia, A Casa da Coruja e Para Lá do Jardim (Over the Garden Wall). Têm de ver Hilda, porque eu sei que andamos todos nostálgicos com o fim das melhores séries mágicas já criadas, e isto acalma essa dor.

E aqui me despeço, com as provas irrefutáveis da beleza reconfortante que é esta série.

Assɪɴᴀᴅᴏ: Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ 𝐿𝓊𝓏 Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

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maelstroms-blog · 1 year

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@tringstar

Your piece was so amazing, i couldn’t get the scenario out of my head. I focused on the floating scene, I might do the other scenes, we’ll see, but i hope @tringstar likes it

In this piece, Hob is a widowed tailor, trying to re-join the world, he’s heard the rumours of the wizard, Dream. A beautiful man who eats hearts, Hob isnt worried, he wouldn’t want his broken heart....

Hob bit his lip, scanning the address once more. He shouldn’t have gone down the alley, but he couldn’t cope with the noise. A parade was under way and he just barely managed to squeeze his way out of his shop. He wouldn’t be getting any customers today, not with the festivities, so he promised his friend, Johanna, he’d meet her at her new job. He wasn’t entirely looking forward to it, he knew the real reason she wanted to meet. It was the same thing every time they met.

To get him out of his shop. He couldn’t remember the last time he set foot outside, not after…Eleanor. Even now, after all this time, the grief still brought a lump to his throat. Her absence still a fresh wound, a wound that made him shut himself off from the world, hiding amongst his clothes. The sensation of cloth, silk and wool were the only sensations he knew, that and the constant stitching, mirroring his clumsy heart. When he first lost Eleanor, he couldn’t fathom how his heart could still beat so loud, not without its other half to beat for. Sometimes he rued the day he fell in love. Especially at night, when he lay in bed, alone, and the very thought of his wife made him want to claw out his stupid heart. Squeeze it until it stopped beating, until he no longer felt this pain. Then, the sun would rise, and so would he, ignoring his pain and plastering on a fake smile. He couldn’t let his customers know how hurt he was, they wouldn’t understand.

Hob sighed, tucking a loose lock of hair behind his ear. He had been growing it out since Eleanor died, her favourite thing was to run her fingers through his hair, even braiding it while he worked. He wore those braids with pride, eyeing up any man who would dare belittle him for it. He got even more stares now with his long hair, it reached the middle of his back, tamed only by the knotted ribbon, another memento of Eleanor’s. Hob sighed again, forcing the thoughts from his mind. If he let them take root now, his mood would be so dour he would just turn round and head home, locking himself once again from the outside world. The cheering on the streets increased, Hob didn’t bother looking. The fresh air felt foreign to him, his hands broke out in clammy sweat. He pulled his straw hat down lower, shielding his eyes from the harsh light. How he longed for the dank, dusty air of his workshop. Deep in thought, he walked face first into something hard. His hat fell from his head and Hob glanced up. He was face to face with the army general, Sturridge he thinks, a large, lout of a man with a wandering eye and hands to match. Said wandering eye looked Hob up and down, slowly,

‘Hey now, watch yourself,’ he wasn’t chiding, even so, his slimy voice sent a shiver up his spine. Hob stammered, keeping his eyes to the ground,

‘Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to,’ even his voice sounded strange. Being in the shop he had no need to speak, even with his customers he only gave one-word answers.

‘Yeah, you better watch where you’re going,’ another voice added. The owner was a second man, Kingsley, smaller than the first but just as creepy,

‘This guy here is a war hero,’ Kingsley said, devilish smile on his face, ‘You ought to show some respect,’

Hob just kept his eyes down, but his heart was racing,

‘Again, I’m sorry, I was in a hurry,’

Kingsley tutted, ‘Hey, now, no need for all that,’

A hand was suddenly on Hob’s chin, yanking his head up. He was forced to make eye contact with the second man,

‘Pretty thing like you, where are you off to in such a hurry anyway?’

Hob frowned, batting away the hand without thinking,

‘That’s none of your concern,’ he wished his voice was stronger, the obvious wobble made him wince.

The first man, Sturridge, laughed, a deep, mocking laugh that was somehow not swallowed up by the crowd,

‘Ah now, Kingsley,’ he addressed the younger man, ‘You’ve gone and offended him,’

Kingsley just smiled, ‘You started it, that big goblin laugh of yours,’ he turned back to Hob,

‘He should come with us to the parade,’ his hand shot out again, clamping on Hob’s wrist. The touch almost burned his skin, no amount of pulling would free him,

‘Let me go!’ his voice broke again, the other men just laughed,

‘Imagine me, with a feisty thing like this on my arm,’ Kingsley reached out his free hand, Hob cringed.

Then, a deep voice broke through their interaction, ‘There you are, dear,’ another hand clasped Hob’s shoulder, their touch gentle, ‘I was looking everywhere for you.’

Hob glanced down to see a pale, white hand, adorned in shiny rings.

Kingsley snapped, ‘Hey, move it, pal, we’re in the middle of something here,’

‘Yes, you were in the middle of leaving,’ and with that, the stranger waved his other pale hand, like a king dismissing his subjects. In response, the two army men stiffened, their eyes widened but they couldn’t do anything. Then, like a couple of marionette puppets, they marched away until they were swallowed up by the crowd. Hob could only stare after them, too stunned to even breathe. The air around him buzzed with energy, confirming one thing.

He had just witnessed magic.

‘Now then,’ the voice started again, Hob stiffened and turned to meet his supposed saviour. The first thing he noticed was a pair of icy, blue eyes, their gaze seemed to penetrate right through to Hob’s soul. Hob shivered, a chill coming out of nowhere. The stranger tilted his head, pursing his lips as if in thought.

‘How about I escort you to where you need to be?’ his lips, standing out like rubies against his alabaster skin, twitched up into, what he guessed, was a friendly smile.

‘Um…,’ Hob said, eloquently, ‘I-I have to-have to meet a friend,’

The stranger suddenly leaned in close, close enough to touch noses, Hob’s cheeks flushed. This close, he could smell lavender and chamomile, calming scents that did nothing for Hob’s racing heart.

‘Do not react but I am being followed.’

The words echoed through Hob’s mind, by the time he processed them, the stranger was already pulling him forward. Hob stumbled over his own feet but his stranger kept him upright, effortlessly so.

‘Follow my lead,’ his arm looped through Hob’s, he could feel the stranger’s solid, lean form, his entire body was cold, and yet, Hob didn’t feel chilled.

As they walked, playing the role of two courting lovers, Hob thought he heard something behind them. The scuff of footsteps, not even trying to be sneaky. Hob ached to turn around and look, instead, he focused on the stranger. His attire was unusual, well-made but unusual. A pink and blue checked coat, tied around his neck with a thin, gold chain, underneath it, a billowy white shirt, buttoned only at his naval, revealing smooth skin, white as snow. Hob averted his eyes, only to find himself staring at his trousers, black, leather, and tight as anything. Hob gulped. Strong cheekbones stood out like crafted marble, long, glossy black hair cascaded down his back, shinier than the most expensive silk in Hob’s shop. Hanging from his ear, sat a ruby earring, dancing when it caught the light. Hob, not looking where he was going, tripped, and it was only the stranger’s strong grip that stopped him from falling.

‘Careful,’ he quietly warned, he gestured to something over his shoulder. Risking a glance, Hob spotted something dark and writhing, coming their way. It was like shadows personified. At his stranger’s urging, they turned, down a side street, only to find another shadow blocking their way. It towered over them, swaying where he stood. It reached out with long, clawed fingers, dripping like viscous oil.

‘Hang on tight,’ the stranger’s arm snaked its way around Hob’s waist. His blush finally escaped. Before Hob could say anything, his stomach lurched, the feeling that came right before a big fall, or being lifted into the air. It was the latter. Hob was rising, rising above the cottages and shops, until he could make out their thatched roofs. When he finally risked looking down, all he could do was stare. At the spot he stood, not moments before, sat a writhing mass of black tendrils. Flailing and searching for the pair, but they were high in the air, well out of reach. The hand moved from Hob’s waist, fear surged through him and he found himself reaching out, holding onto his stranger like a terrified child.

‘Are you mad?!’ he exclaimed, wind whipped at his face, ‘Listen pal, you may be light as feather but I’m not, you want to see me fall like humpty dumpty?’ At the back of his mind, over his internal screaming, he found himself thinking, that was the most I had spoken in months.

His stranger let out a huff, Hob instinctively knew it was a laugh. He turned to find his stranger looking at him, his ruby lips twitching,

‘Calm yourself,’ he said, his pale hands found Hob’s and held on, Hob held on just as tight, if not more so, ‘With me, you will not fall.’

‘Now, follow my lead,’ his stranger gently instructed. Hob, despite his fear, looked down. His stranger’s heeled boots, finer than any king’s, began to move. Moving as if he was merely walking down a street. Swallowing back his fear, Hob copied, gasping when he did the same, mirroring his stranger’s actions. They walked through the air, high above the noise and lights, far from the people and whatever those creatures were. Hob no longer cared about them. He had achieved every human’s dream, the power of flight, or more accurately, floating. He could feel his stranger’s eyes on him, feel them watching, the way a teacher would watch over a student.

‘That’s it,’ the baritone voice was right by his ear, ‘You are a natural,’ a shiver went up Hob’s spine for an entirely different reason. He even found himself smiling back. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled. A flicker passed over his stranger’s face at the sight, his perfectly arched brows twitching together, it only lasted a second, Hob didn’t notice. They air walked a bit more, a couple of curious birds fluttered around their heads. Hob held out his palm, laughing in surprised delight when it landed. The bird was warm and soft in his palm. The stranger’s pale hand came into view, scratching at the bird’s head. It happily cooed.

Finally, they were hovering towards a familiar looking building, Hob couldn’t stop himself from shouting,

‘That’s my stop!’ a quiet hum was his only answer. The pair hopped onto a pole, effortlessly like the birds around them, and with another hop, they were on the balcony. Hob floated down, with grace he didn’t know he had, and he turned to his stranger, a thank you ready on his lips, but one more look at those blue eyes made him freeze. The stranger just looked, the small smile still on his lips. He still held onto Hob’s hand; he couldn’t help noting the differences. Hob’s own scarred hand dwarfed his stranger’s lithe fingers, there wasn’t a blemish on his skin. The stranger obviously hadn’t worked a day in his life, despite this, he had strength that belied his appearance.

‘Now, I am going to lead away my stalkers, I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t travel home alone,’

Hob could have listened to that voice all day, better than any music he played in his workshop,

‘Alright,’ was all Hob could say, he smiled again, hoping the stranger knew just how thankful he was.

‘Very well,’ and then, as if Hob hadn’t had enough excitement for one day, his stranger leaned down and pressed his lips to Hob’s hand, his skin hummed in response.

‘Until we meet again, Robert Gadling.’ Hob blinked; he never gave his name. With those parting words, his stranger took a step backward, off the balcony and fell from sight. Hob gasped, rushing to the railing. There was nothing, the stranger was nowhere to be seen, and there was no way someone like him could blend into a crowd. With his heart still racing and blood pumping hard, he didn’t hear Johanna coming up behind him,

‘Hob?! How did you get up here?’

Hob didn’t answer right away, memorising every inch of his stranger’s face, embedding it into his brain and, hopefully, his dreams. He finally turned to Johanna, trying and failing to hide his goofy smile,

‘I think I just met the wizard Dream.’

Hope you enjoyed reading, thank you again for @tringstar for granting me permission to write this, i hope it met your expectations and i hope i captured the magic of the scene.

i love Dreamling and Studio Ghibli <3

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus #tom sturridge #hob gadling #ferdinand kingsley #Dream x Hob #dreamling #dabble #howl's moving castle #studio ghibli #the sandman fanfic

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