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#Cinematic Kaleidoscope

fuckyeahgoodomens · 11 months

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Ooh! 4k version of the S2 Good Omens Opening Title! :)❤

We begin by rejoining the Good Omens universe where we left in series 1, with Crowley rising from the depths of Hell, while Aziraphale gracefully descends from the heavens, both ready to embark on an unprecedented adventure and lead our procession once again. Their odyssey, both grandiose and symbolic, whisks us through a kaleidoscope of surreal and emblematic landscapes.

We continue our procession through a series of intricate scenes, transitioning from biblical to urban to magical realms and progresses into the earth’s interior, and into a cavern of hell. We see urban wasteland resembling an M25 scene, a forest of concrete lift shafts, a familiar Soho scene (this time raining hearts), and a cinema that changes its signage and posters episodically. The urban dereliction then morphs into a landscape filled with props and destruction, leading to an urban precipice where a blinding light engulfs everything.

The artful succession of scenes unveils layers of storytelling, each landscape serving as a narrative catalyst, revealing subtle hints and foreshadowing pivotal developments. Our sequence is a cinematic symphony, harmoniously combining a myriad of techniques from green screen footage and stop motion to 3D and 2D character rigging.

#good omens #gos2 #season 2 #s2 opening title #wahoo! :)

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perspectivestarters · 11 days

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Perspective's Sentence Starters; The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess by Chappell Roan (Part II)

MY KINK IS KARMA

We broke up on a Tuesday.

Who knew that we'd let it get this bad when it ended.

Karma's real.

Hope it's your turn.

I heard from *Name*, you're losing it lately.

It's hot when you have a meltdown.

It's hot when you're drinking downtown.

You're getting called out 'cause you're running your mouth.

It's coming around.

People say I'm jealous but my kink is watching you ruining your life.

People say I'm jealous but my kink is karma.

Wishing you the best, in the worst way.

Using your distress as foreplay.

Six months since April and I'm doing better.

No need to be hateful in your fake Gucci sweater.

It's hot when you're going through hell.

I'm feeling myself.

It's hot when you know that you're caught and you're getting pissed off.

It's getting me off.

PICTURE YOU

Draw the blinds.

Slip off my pretty dress down my chest.

It's ritualistic.

Counting lipstick stains where you should be.

I need you around.

I'm getting close now.

Do you picture me like I picture you?

Am I in the frame from your point of view?

Do you feel the same?

I'm too scared to say half of the things I do when I picture you.

So, tell me now all your perversions.

KALEIDOSCOPE

Here we go again.

Everything is fine.

I guess we could pretend we didn't cross a line.

Ever since that day, everything has changed.

The way I write your name

If you really wanna leave, I'll never make you stay.

Whatever you decide, I will understand.

It will all be fine.

Love is a kaleidoscope.

How it works, I'll never know.

It's somehow all the same

It's beautiful somehow.

It's never just a shape alone.

Well, I'd love to see them try.

There's no one else who could.

The only one is you.

If you change your mind, I will understand.

It'll just take time to go back to being friends.

Don't be afraid to hold it close.

PINK PONY CLUB

I know you wanted me to stay.

I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in *Place*.

I heard that there's a special place where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.

I'm having wicked dreams of leaving.

I swear it's calling me.

Won't make my mama proud.

It's gonna cause a scene.

I know she's gonna scream.

God, what have you done?

I'm just having fun.

It's where I belong.

I'm gonna keep on dancing.

Every night's another reason why I left it all.

I thank my wicked dreams.

You've been too good to me.

Don't think I've left you all behind.

You're always on my mind.

I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away.

NAKED IN MANHATTAN

I know you just landed.

I know you're probably busy but I would love to see you.

Call me when you can.

I'll never cross the line.

I pushed you down a million times.

I'd love if you knew you were on my mind.

Boys suck and girls I've never tried.

We both know we're getting drunk tonight.

Touch me, baby.

Put your lips on mine

Could go to hell but we'll probably be fine.

I know you want it.

You can have it.

I've never done it.

Let's make it cinematic

I wanna know, baby, what is it like?

An inch away from more than just friends.

If I don't try, then it's my loss.

Won't you fucking touch me?

I just want to touch you.

I want all of your love.

CALIFORNIA

I stretched myself across four states.

I trade amber clay roads for the sea foam and the endless sun rays.

I was never told that I wasn't gonna get the things I want the most.

If it hasn't happened yet, then maybe you should go.

Come get me out.

Thought I'd be cool in here.

I'd make you proud

To think I almost had it going, but I let you down.

Too hard to find reasons to stay.

GUILTY PLEASURES

Learned it on the internet.

Wild thoughts that make me melt.

Sometimes I scare myself.

I can't help what I can't help.

So shame on me, and shame on you.

I fantasize what we would do.

How would it taste?

Some good girls do bad things too.

I want this like a cigarette.

Can we drag it out and never quit?

Oh my god, you are heaven sent.

You give me guilty plеasure.

You're a pothead.

You're a cinephile.

It's been awhile since you turned up the dial.

#rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence prompts #sentence starters #sentence meme #sentence prompts #lyric sentence starters #lyric starters #music starters #rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #ask meme #exodusmusing #*mystarters #*trafoamp

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robot-artist-ai · 11 months

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Parameters

Futuristic cityscape of Cyberpunk metropolis pulsating with neon-lit, towering skyscrapers. A sprawling urban jungle bathed in vibrant hues of purple and black, where flickering holographic billboards paint the environment in a kaleidoscope of mesmerizing lights, (8k, RAW photo, best quality, masterpiece:1.2), (realistic, photo-realistic:1.37), professional lighting, photon mapping, physically-based rendering, detailed background, absurdres, (hdr:1.3), (muted colors:1.2), dramatic, complex background, cinematic, filmic, (artstation:0.8), soaking wet,

Negative prompt: (worst quality:2), (low quality:2), (normal quality:2), lowres, normal quality, ((monochrome)), ((grayscale)), skin spots, acnes, skin blemishes, no text font letters, (deformed, distorted, disfigured:1.3), poorly drawn, bad anatomy, wrong anatomy, extra limb, missing limb, floating limbs, (mutated hands and fingers:1.4), disconnected limbs, mutation, mutated, ugly, disgusting, blurry, amputation, extra heads, deformed face, black edges, ng_deepnegative_v1_75t, negative_hand-neg, yam-negative-10000-neg, bhands-neg, disfigured, twisted, fused fingers, long neck, words, text, mutated hands, mutated fingers, interlocked fingers, bad hands, bad fingers, over saturated, duplicate body parts, extra limbs, extra fingers, malformed hands, mutated hands and fingers, contorted, missing limbs, signature, artifacts, bad art, poor quality, (low quality:1.2), easynegative, badhandv4,

Steps: 30, Sampler: DPM++ SDE Karras, CFG scale: 7, Seed: 2548615657, Face restoration: CodeFormer, Size: 513x912, Model hash: a77b8a53eb, Model: clarity_2_vaeFtMse840000Ema_v10, Version: v1.3.2

Used embeddings: ng_deepnegative_v1_75t [1a3e], negative_hand-neg [b740], yam-negative-10000-neg [9586], bhands-neg [9c45], easynegative [119b], badhandv4 [dba1]

Leave your suggestion of what I can create!

#bot #artificialintelligence #art #fy #digitalart #wallpaper #city #architecture #urbanism #building #futuristic #cyberpunk #neon

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scifrey · 1 year

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Cling Fast: Chapter Five

by Losyark

The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon)

Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus)

Unfinished (tentatively 10 chapters)

PG-13 (for now)

Unbeta’d

The next week flies by in a flurry of fittings, script meetings, emergency calls from Dennis when he’d janked the ordering list, a daily visit to a stable and archery range so Hob can practice both skills, and late nights with Shami as they walked Hob though the time-consuming and careful process of scanning El’s diary and Robyn’s sketchbook. Hob drops into bed each night sometime after midnight, falling asleep to the sound of The New Inn going through its closing routine, and waking to the harsh jangle of his alarm clock just after dawn.

Either out of pity for his exhaustion or because he had duties of his own to prioritize, Morpheus doesn’t appear to Hob during his sleeping hours in this week. Hob only manages to concentrate enough to relocate himself to the castle only the one night. He finds himself alone in the throne room, and enjoys the opportunity to spend some time with his own company, after so many hours being crowded by the rest of the Historics team.

Hob has more respect for his friend than to sit on his throne, but he does walk to the top of the dias to admire the three arched stained glass windows behind it. The symbolism is lost on Hob, but each window depicts a different object. The first: a fishhook on a ring, held aloft by a rat. The second: A heart in an intricate mirror, leaning against the sleek black flank of a cat. The third: A fish with delicate flowing fins against a swirl of light. Each of the images moves slightly, the animals each turning to look at Hob as he approaches.

“Hello,” he greets them kindly, but they don’t reply, so Hob supposes that these aren’t dreams or denizens.

Hob sits behind the throne, leaning his back against the cool stone, and settles in to admire the artistry. He wishes Morpheus was here to explain it to him. Hob misses Morpheus when he’s away, and the desire to see him rings like a silver bell across his nerves and in every waking breath.

The rat, the cat, and the fish look at one another, and then resume ignoring Hob. Hob, in turn, simply watches the colors in the stained glass shift and kaleidoscope until he wakes up.

While television isn’t generally filmed in order, Hob’s first scene of the shooting block is his talking head introduction. The crew hasn’t finished setting up at Gadlen house yet, so Hob is being filmed in the study-cum-meeting room where he’d originally met Harriet, being prompted through questions about his field of study and awareness of his relationship to Robert Gadlen the Third.

Harinder, the director, keeps reassuring him every time that Hob pauses before answering. He thinks that Hob is camera-shy. What he’s really doing is weighing his answers very, very carefully. Good thing they can edit out his thoughtful pauses.

The other reason Hob keeps pausing is because, while they’re shooting against the bookshelf, they’re asking him to talk and dress at the same time. The wardrobe department has recreated the outfit he wore in his solo the portrait, the heavy black velvet and scarlet number. And once again, it’s the sweltering peak of summer, and the aircon can only do so much to offset the heat of the studio lights, the extra bodies hovering close, the effort of dressing, and weight and number of layers of the clothes themselves.

It doesn’t help that the wardrobe assistant they’ve picked to help him on camera is getting a bit… liberal with their touches. It’s the glamorous one with the amber-brown eyes, the blond pompador, and a smile like they’d like to unhinge their jaw and swallow him whole.

He’s sitting on a chair with his leg up on an ottoman, trying to give Harinder everything he needs to explain why Doc Bob’s never visited Gadlen house before, while the assistant rolls his stockings up his bare calves far slower than is necessary. Hob’s wearing a swanky pair of loose modern-day boxers, but they’re lost under the billow of his shirt tails, and he knows that there’s at least one of the three cameras focussed on his nude thighs right now.

He’s not ashamed of his body, and is actually quite proud of the muscle definition the return to horseback riding has given his legs, but those hands are getting a bit frisky.

"I'm perfectly capable of tying up my own stockings,” Hob says, shooing the assistant away when then kneel beside the ottoman. “I think it’s fine if I–get your hand away from my codpiece!" Hob yelps.

Harinder clears his throat warningly, and the assistant sits back with their hands up, like ‘don’t shoot’.

“Please don’t SA our presenter on camera.”

“What about off camera?” the assistant asks Hob, flicking a look up at him through their mascaraed eyelashes.

“I recognize and appreciate the, uh, appreciation,” Hob says softly to them. “But let’s keep this strictly professional, yeah?”

“Fie,” the assistant purrs.

Far be it for Hob to play the I have a boyfriend card, especially when the one person he’d like to attach that label to doesn’t seem to be interested in him like that. Still, he says: “I’m taken.”

“Oh, are you?” the assistant asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Is that what you’d call it?”

“Yes,” Hob replies, not entirely sure what they’re asking but certain he wants to draw a line under this whole flirting business.

“Understood,” the assistant says, and something about their whole demeanor changes, like they’ve become an entirely different person. “Why don’t you stand, and we’ll get this doublet on you.”

For the rest of the day, they’re completely professional, not a touch out of place. Hob appreciates their understanding, and the rest of the talking head interview flies by. He feels comfortable enough to focus on what he’s saying, letting the assistant move his limbs and skim in and out of frame to wrangle him into all the remaining layers and accessories.

Working around a valet while simultaneously maintaining a conversation comes back to Hob frighteningly easily, even though it’s been at least eighty years since he’s needed someone to dress him.

“Last touch,” the assistant says, holding up the replica ruff like it’s a serving platter full of champagne glasses.

“Absolutely not,” Hob says, making sure it’s loud enough for the mics to pick up. “You and I both know that that darn thing is too scratchy and too fancy for everyday wear. He would have only worn it for the portrait, or at court. I’ll take that picadil over there, instead.”

“As the Prince Consort commands,” the assistant murmurs with purring good humor, and Hob laughs as they fling the ruff out of the shot like a frisbee.

“Just a knight, if you please,” Hob says, tapping the embroidered badge over his heart.

As they button the high, stiff band of fabric around Hob’s throat, a precursor to the starched collar and cravat of the later ages, they murmur something. Hob doesn’t quite catch it, but thinks it might have been: “Not for long.”

He doesn’t have time to ask for clarification, though, because then they’re stepping back with a ‘tah-dah’ gesture at his outfit, and Hob has to smile for the camera.

Costumed and filled with a hasty lunch, Hob, Glenn and Harriet are packed into the back of an anonymous van with a few other crew members, and driven to Hither Green. It takes just under an hour, and Hob uses the time to learn how to read his call sheet from Harriet, while Glenn takes a nap against the window.

Clover, the sweet-tempered mare that Hob’s been training with, is waiting for him by the front gate to the estate when Hob is kicked out by transpo. The van lingers just long enough for the driver to sign off on the delivery of talent to the first AD Celia, and Hob is grateful that it’s blocking his view of the house.

All he can see right now is the wide, well-manicured lawn of Manor House Park, a rolling brook in the distance, and the golden gravel of the drive. This part of the Park is hemmed in with a wrought-iron fence, which is definitely of a more modern style than it would have originally been, and Hob can’t recall exactly if this boundary has moved at all in the last few centuries. He feels like it’s closer to the house than it used to be, but it could just look shorter because there’s a fleet of trailers, tenths, vehicles, and great metal storage containers filled with equipment between the gate and the entryway fountains.Those are definitely newer. It used to be a lily pond.

Hob takes in the landscaping–the orchard is gone, is the apple tree he’d planted out the back still here–but his gaze skitters off the house itself. He’s not ready yet.

When he sees Gadlen House again–for the first time since he was dragged backwards, literally kicking and screaming out the kitchen door–he wants to do so deliberately, purposefully.

Lovingly.

Forgivingly.

Clover lips at the replica ostrich plume on his flat-cap beret as the van drives away. Hob turns his face into her tawny-golden neck to give himself a moment to breathe and get his feet under him. He scratches her cheek in thanks for the help and she lays her head on his shoulder, the sweet old thing.

As soft chirrup from the nearby stone fencepost catches his attention. Over Clover’s back he can see Matthew shifting from foot to foot.

“That bird has been hanging around all day,” Celia says, following Hob’s glance, and giving Matthew the stink-eye. “It better not be a bad omen.”

“It’s a raven,” Hob says. “They’re symbols of intelligence, and new experiences. I think it’s a good sign.” Matthew tilts his head at Hob, clearly amused by this description. “So long as they don’t interrupt our takes, and don’t steal anything shiny.”

“Caw,” Matthew sneers at him.

The camerawoman, who is finalizing her shot setup, whips her head around to stare at him. “Did the bird just say ‘caw’? Like, in a human voice?”

“Corvids are excellent mimics,” Celia says. “I bet a lot of people say ‘caw’ at it.”

“Well, whyever it’s here, I appreciate the moral support,” Hob says, staring right at Matthew. “And seeing as I’m about to make a fool of myself, I’m sure it’s going to be very entertained.”

Celia’s walkie-talkie crackles, an order comes from the house, and she says: “Okay, good Sir Gadelin. Mount up. We’re ready for your first exterior shot. When I call action, ride Clover up to the front door, and get off–an extra playing a groom will lead Clover away, and you approach the door. You don’t need to open it, we’re not set up for that shot. Just walk up to it and reach for the handle. Got it?”

“What kind of speed are we looking for here?”

“Uh,” Celia says. “Not slow but not fast?”

“A trot, got it,” Hob chuckles.

He positions beside Clover, making sure she’s aimed in the right direction without raising his eyes to the house.

“Uh, before we start, um–” he looks over at the camera. “Sorry, I never caught your–”

“Melia,” she interrupts.

“Melia,” Hob repeats. “You can call me Bob. Melia, I um, not to tell Celia how to do her job but I, um, before I start Clover going I’m going to take a second to just… look. Is that okay?”

“Why?” Celia asks.

“Well, I—I’ve never seen the house before,” Hob lies. “I’m not much of an actor and I thought, you know, I thought it might be nice for my real reaction to be–”

“Yeah, yeah!” Celia is saying, “Smart, yeah, hold on let me just let the guys on the other side know there’s going to be a delay before movement starts, yeah,” and then she’s pacing away a bit, relaying this into her walkie.

“Let me try something else then,” Melia says, repositioning the camera on the tripod to capture more of the drive, and shrugging quickly into another one mounted onto a steady-cam contraption that looks nothing so much like a baby carrier.

Coward, Hob tells himself as they scramble to set up the new shot. Matthew caws again, this time distinctly more bird-like, and Hob flashes him a watery smile.

“Alright, everyone good?”

“Good!” Melia confirms.

“Good,” Hob echoes, and gets his hands in place. Clover snorts, busses his arm ribs with her soft nose, and seems to settle into her role as well.

“And… action!”

With one last deep breath, Hob jams his boot into the stirrup, and in a smooth arc, heaves up and swings himself into the saddle. He takes a few long seconds to adjust the reigns. Then he looks up.

The house is the same, and different at the same time.

He can’t deny that it’s been beautifully preserved. Made of red brick, it stretches three stories up, with matching octagonal turrets on either side of the front door. Each turret is fitted with a door and a stonework Juliet balcony, though they didn’t call them that then, which opens off of one of the bedrooms. His and El’s to the left, the nursery and later Robyn’s chambers to the right. There are small led-mullioned windows to either side of the turrets, four to a side. Intricate overlapping designs in the brickwork gives the frontage the illusion of being made of red lace. And the proliferation of chimneys is a direct nod to Hampton Court palace, and a physical ode to one of Hob’s favorite of humanity’s inventions.

It’s amazing, but it’s not what he would call elegant. In later years, when glass became a real statement purchase thanks to crafty old Bess and her Hardwick Hall, Hob had added an entire room at the back of the house for El with as little brick as his architect could get away with and still create something that wouldn’t fall in on itself.

It is a braggart’s house, boorish and proud, sturdy and loud. But he knows every capstone, every sill, every smoke-tanned rafter. He knows the size and smell of every room, remembers haggling with the designer late into the night to get the details just right. He remembers how to get to each hidden back stairway, built twice as wide for the serving staff as was common, because Hob’s served table and he remembered what a nightmare it was to clank up and down dark passages with clattering platters.

Beside him, Melia pushes in tight, lens aimed right at his face, but Hob can’t spare a thought for her. He’s too busy swallowing his heart back into his chest.

The front door is a different, a metal thing the deep blue of an aegean sea. It’d been black in his day, built of sturdy oak and iron rivets. A fountain, likely added by some fanciful Victorian, stretches along the frontage, and what was once just a plain gravel dive is now a circular path curving up to the door and dotted with a riot of wildflowers and roses.

Hob’s clutching the reins to his chest, patting the too-full space over his heart, before he’s realized he’s moved.

He loves this house.

He forgives it.

“Got it,” Melia whispers, which Hob takes as permission to go.

He blinks hard, hoping the camera doesn’t pick up the moisture in his eyes, and clicks Clover into motion. Clover trots for the first few paces and then, fizzing with joy at this bizarre homecoming, Hob knees her faster. Clover picks up speed, cantering by the cameras they have set up by the drive, and his hat flies off.

Hob doesn’t care. Even if he has to redo the shot a hundred times because of it, he doesn’t care.

He’s too damn happy to be home.

A sharp kraa! catches his attention, and he glances to the side to see that Matthew has decided to join him. The raven soars along beside Hob’s head, firmly on camera. His eyes sparkle with delight, and Hob breaks into full-body laughter.

It’s going to be a hell of an opening shot.

It’s Tuesday, so when Hob has finished scrubbing off the makeup and smell of horse, he ambles downstairs in fresh clothes and damp hair. Dennis has staked out his usual spot on the long banquette, at the tiny two-top closest to the door that leads up to his apartment.

“Cheers,” Hob says, when the new kid brings him a pint unasked.

He takes a long deep drink, and flops down onto the seat. Did he ever arched this much back when he was riding daily? Surely the inside of his thighs and the small of his back can’t have been this sore on a regular basis.

I mean, sure, half of the reason he hurts like this is because he and Matthew borked the first take so spectacularly. He'd had to do it about a dozen more times, all at varying speeds, and by the time they'd gotten a shot they liked, the'd lost the light for anything more than walking up to the door.

Hob hasn't even been inside the house yet.

The last time these muscles had hurt this much, he’d stumbled–dehydrated and disheveled–from an hours-long lovemaking session with one of the Ladies of the Night who’d frequented the White Horse in the 1890s. Not Lou, no, he'd helped her find stable housing, and employment in something she actually enjoyed.

No, it had been the one who liked sex work. Who'd chosen it for the freedom and control over her own life, and finances and body. She'd been what they'd call trans now, blonde with hilarious fake tits that she'd slapped him around the face with as they both giggled. She'd pegged him better than he’d ever had before (or since) happy to help him drive away the thought of his Stranger and happier still to see gold for it.

Hob frowns a little at the memory. Why on earth has he been so damned horny today?

And not just in the sexual sense, either. Everything had been enticing, and exciting, and gravitationally fascinating. The food at craft services had tasted amazing, he’d gone back for thirds when he rarely does so. He’d caught himself stroking the velvet of his doublet, marveling at how soft and fine it was. He’d run his hands over the textured wallpaper in foyer, and satiated every whim smell the roses, gazing in joy and horror at the way the generations of owners who’d come after Hob had added to the facade. He'd taken Clover on an extended gallop around the park between setups, and begged to brush her down himself before she'd been loaded back into the trailer for the sleepy trip back to her stables.

He had wanted today, and hadn’t denied himself.

Maybe it was just the excitement of being back at the house again, miraculously and thankfully unshadowed by the grief he expected to encounter in every stone, but it did feel like getting everything he’d never known he’d longed for, all in one afternoon.

Well, not everything, Hob thinks as he catches sight of Morpheus slipping in the front door.

The Endless flows his way through the joyous gatherings between Hob and door.

All the tables gilded with happy people, and shot glasses, and laughter. Maybe Hob's not the only one feeling revved up tonight, because the air practically shimmers with whatever gold dust it is that's been simmering in his veins since he arrived at Broadcasting House.

Hob licks his lips and swears he can taste it.

And Morpheus just looks so good. There's something different about him tonight, something more self assured. He's always moved with liquid grace, completely comfortable being folded up into this corporation of his choosing in the Waking world, and offhandedly aware that the body that everyone sees, no matter how differently they see him, is an undoubtedly attractive one.

But tonight, Morpheus looks satisfied in a way that Hob's never seen before. He looks pleased with himself. Sure of something. Before he's always looked like being the Waking world is vaguely itchy. Now, he looks like he's been slathered in calming skin oil, glistening with relief and damp with…

Christ in his heaven, no daydreams!

Humanity parts before Morpheus like a heaving inhale, and then every single head swivels so people can watch him pass by, blissfully unaware that they are doing so.

And then Morpheus is folding his lanky frame into his usual seat. The heat of a bar full of bodies in summer must be getting to even him, because there are two bright spots of pink high on his cheek.

“Hello, Hob,” he says, voice even more like chocolate and sin than usual.

Get a grip, Gadling! scolds himself. Another image comes to him and he adds, Not like that, and not in public, you dirty old man.

“Hello, my friend. Where’ve you been lately?” Hob asks conversationally. "I haven't run into you in the Dreaming."

Morpheus’ face twists in displeasure. “I regret that I was forced into negotiations with my siblings over a matter that I would rather not discuss.”

“For a whole week?” Hob clarifies, waving politely at Dennis for service. His co-owner doesn’t even bother sending over a server to ask what they want, just walks over and drops off a fresh beer and the vinosanti himself with a welcoming nod to Morpheus.

Morpheus indulges in a gulp of the sweet wine, which is a greater indicator of his lingering irritation than anything he might say. “Desire has an unfortunate tendency of hostility toward me, and where they lead, their twin would follow. It makes arbitration of this sort tense.”

“Yikes,” Hob says sympathetically. “But did everything turn out the way you wanted to?”

“Death was able to mediate a satisfactory arrangement, yes,” Morpheus says. “I got more than I gave, and I wanted what I got.”

“Don’t think that I don’t notice you’re quoting Lin-Manuel Miranda at me, Prince of Stories,” Hob laughs. “Fine, you don't have to tell me. It'd probably be over my little human head anyway. I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

“I am,” Morpheus concedes. His expression is soft, when he meets Hob’s eyes, pleased and easy.

Hob’s mouth goes dry. His own gaze sinks to land briefly on Morpheus’ parted lips, before jumping back up to more polite territory.

He clears his throat to cover the awkward pause and then says, "So did Matthew tell you what we did today?"

"He did not," Morpheus admits with a self-satisfied smile. "He knows that I prefer to hear it from you directly."

That's all the encouragement Hob needs. "Well!" he starts.

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ao3feed-irondadspiderson · 8 months

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i'm just a poor boy nobody loves me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50147242 by iron_spider “How’s the little tike doing?” Obie asks, on Tony’s third day working from home. “Pepper briefly spoke to me earlier, when she came in—” “I hope she didn’t do too much,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “She said she was only gonna—be in and out.” She’s leaving tonight, going back home from his apartment to her own, and he’s trying not to think about that. It was bad enough when Ben and May left yesterday. Thankfully, Rhodey’s staying for another week, and Tony hates how clingy he sounds with all that shit, even in the recesses of his mind. And what’s his mind doing? Kaleidoscope of hell and horror, black and white with dangerous streaks of color. Too much of what it used to be like, before Peter. He’s that guy again and he’s not, because Peter’s still here, Peter’s back, he’s got him—but Tony feels like there are walls up again. Ones too strong for him to try and dismantle quite yet. Ones he doesn’t know how to break down. Words: 4129, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 33 of I love you more than anything (bio dad au) Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Obadiah Stane Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Bio dad au, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50147242

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark

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sweet-child-of-night · 1 month

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Can you describe what are you up to now?

Well, i find myself in this cafe's, the air feels heavy with the sepia-toned scent of a thousand brewed dreams. It isn’t a harsh bitterness, but a comforting nostalgia, a well-worn sweater against the chill of economic uncertainty. Hanz Zimmer's score swelled in the background, a cinematic counterpoint to the equations scrawled across my notepad - the subject of econometrics has been a chaotic collapse as betas intertwined with lambdas.

Outside, the city pulsed with a relentless energy, a kaleidoscope of honking horns and hurried footsteps on the rain-starved pavement. I yearn for the sky to crack, for a cleansing downpour to wash away the dust and grime, but the windowpane reflects back only the harsh glare of the streetlamps.

The cafe door creaks open, a flurry of chattering patrons momentarily distracting me. A young couple nestled into a corner booth, their laughter a counterpoint to the somber cello strains. A lone businessman hunched over his laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration.

I see a lone barista, stands sentinel behind the counter, a weary smile plastered on like day-old wallpaper. Her eyes, though, betray a yearning for the final clink of the espresso machine's portafilter, a sign that her shift is mercifully ending. Each face, each interaction, adds another verse to this cafe's ever-evolving song.

As for me, i observe this steaming tendrils of aroma curl upwards, a bittersweet counterpoint to the complexity of the equations before me, - ecotrix has never been kind to me unlike this coffee where each sip is a pause, a moment to refocus before diving back into the fray.

#random musings #observation #anon ask

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cartel34 · 3 months

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Native Instruments - ELECTRIC MINT: A Digital Symphony of Dynamic Soundscapes" Download

Dive into a world of sonic innovation with Native Instruments' latest release, "ELECTRIC MINT." This cutting-edge virtual instrument is a game-changer for music producers and sound designers, offering a kaleidoscope of dynamic soundscapes that redefine electronic music production.

Unleash Your

Soundscapes" Download

Creativity: ELECTRIC MINT opens up a realm of creative possibilities, combining the organic warmth of analog synths with the precision of digital technology. From ethereal pads to pulsating basslines, this versatile instrument allows you to sculpt and shape your sound with unprecedented precision. Whether you're producing ambient tracks, EDM bangers, or cinematic soundtracks, ELECTRIC MINT is your passport to limitless sonic exploration.

Immersive Synthesis Engine: At the heart of ELECTRIC MINT lies a powerful synthesis engine that seamlessly blends classic analog tones with modern digital flexibility. Craft intricate melodies, experiment with evolving textures, and sculpt your signature sound with an intuitive interface that caters to both beginners and seasoned professionals. The instrument's expansive library of presets serves as a launchpad for your creativity, while advanced users can dive deep into the synthesis engine to fine-tune every aspect of their sound.

Expressive Performance Features: ELECTRIC MINT is not just a static instrument; it's a dynamic musical partner. The incorporation of expressive performance features such as mod-wheel assignments, aftertouch sensitivity, and customizable macros ensures that your music remains fluid and expressive. Whether you're performing live or layering tracks in the studio, ELECTRIC MINT responds to your every nuance, allowing you to infuse your music with unparalleled emotion.

Seamless Integration: Native Instruments is renowned for its seamless integration with popular DAWs, and ELECTRIC MINT is no exception. Enjoy a smooth production workflow as you effortlessly integrate this virtual instrument into your preferred music software. With support for various plugin formats, including VST, AU, and AAX, ELECTRIC MINT becomes an integral part of your production toolkit, regardless of your platform of choice.

Elevate your sonic journey with Native Instruments - ELECTRIC MINT, where innovation meets inspiration in a digital symphony of unparalleled soundscapes. Explore, experiment, and evolve your music with this groundbreaking virtual instrument that pushes the boundaries of what's possible in electronic music production.

#NativeInstruments #ELECTRICMINT #SoundDesign #MusicProduction #VirtualInstrument #DigitalSynthesis #CreativeSoundscapes #EDM #AmbientMusic #CinematicSoundtracks #SonicInnovation #ProducerToolkit #ExpressivePerformance

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byneddiedingo · 11 months

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Liza Minnelli and Joel Grey in Cabaret (Bob Fosse, 1972)

Cast: Liza Minnelli, Michael York, Helmut Griem, Joel Grey, Fritz Wepper, Marisa Berenson, Elizabeth Neumann-Viertel, Helen Vita. Screenplay: Jay Presson Allen, based on a musical play by Joe Masteroff, a play by John Van Druten, and stories by Christopher Isherwood. Cinematography: Geoffrey Unsworth. Production design: Rolf Zehetbauer. Film editing: David Bretherton. Music: John Kander.

In Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, a young German engineer, recuperating in a tuberculosis sanatorium in the Swiss Alps, decides to read up on physiology. He concludes that life itself is a kind of disease, "a fever of matter." In Cabaret, Sally Bowles (Liza Minnelli) proclaims that "life is a cabaret, old chum." Yet given that the cabaret presided over by the Master of Ceremonies (Joel Grey) in the film is a febrile sort of place, there's a coherence between the two views. Director Bob Fosse would himself go on to posit a relationship between illness and creativity in All That Jazz (1979). And Sally Bowles's favorite phrase, the seeming oxymoron "divine decadence," suggests that out of decay comes something higher. What would be the opposite, after all: satanic order? In perhaps the movie's most chilling moment, Fosse gives us a closeup of a cherubic, well-scrubbed young face, the very opposite of the Master of Ceremonies's rouged and lipsticked face that has dominated the film from the very beginning. The boy then begins to sing "Tomorrow Belongs to Me," and as the camera pulls back we see that he is wearing the uniform of the Hitler Youth. As the crowd at the open-air beer garden, which has to this point seemed an idyllic setting, joins in and begins to raise their arms in the Nazi salute, we view the very definition of satanic order. But enough German dialectics. Cabaret is one of the great movie musicals. As a rule, I prefer musicals created originally for the movies, like the Warner Bros. films with the kaleidoscopic routines of Busby Berkeley, the Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers movies, or the sublime Singin' in the Rain (Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly, 1952), and not musicals like West Side Story (Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise, 1961; Steven Spielberg, 2021) or My Fair Lady (George Cukor, 1964), that were translated to film from the stage. My admiration for Cabaret would seem to be an exception to that rule, except that when Fosse became director, he jettisoned the book that had been written by Joe Masteroff for the 1966 Broadway musical and went back to the source, Christopher Isherwood's 1939 The Berlin Stories. Jay Presson Allen had been commissioned to write the screenplay, but Hugh Wheeler (credited as "research consultant") heavily revised what she had written. Fosse also dropped many of the songs by John Kander and Fred Ebb, though he added new ones by them: "Money, Money" and "Mein Herr," along with one of their older songs not from the Broadway version, "Maybe This Time." And he made the significant decision to keep the musical numbers, except for the aforementioned “Tomorrow Belongs to Me,” confined to the Kit Kat Klub stage -- a touch of cinematic realism that seems essential to a story set in Berlin during the rise of the Nazis. The result is a musical essentially created (or at least re-created) for the movies. It received 10 Oscar nominations and won eight of them, including awards for Minnelli, Grey, and Fosse, as well as for Geoffrey Unsworth's cinematography. The only categories in which it lost were best picture and best adapted screenplay, which went to The Godfather and its screenwriters, Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola.

#Cabaret #Bob Fosse #Liza Minnelli #Joel Grey

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assamnews · 5 months

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Ahalya – an abstract cinematic experience

Film Criticism | Utpal Datta

Chinmoy Barma's "Ahalya" emerges as a visual spectacle, surpassing conventional storytelling boundaries to offer audiences a thought-provoking journey through a landscape of vibrant and imaginative imagery. The film's title Ahalya, is drawn from the mythological narrative of a character transformed into stone due to a curse by her husband. This reference introduces an enigmatic element that leaves viewers pondering its correlation with the abstract narrative that unfolds.

Barma masterfully defies traditional storytelling norms. He blended elements such as colour, sound, diverse properties, characters, and actions to produce a kaleidoscope of emotions. "Ahalya" stands as a daring experiment, urging viewers to delve into the director's artistic dominion and decode the latent messages. The absence of a linear plot does not diminish the film's impact; instead, it metamorphoses the viewing experience into an abstract poem. Such experiments create new avenues and establish the possibilities for the expansion of the creative process.

Despite the absence of conventional dialogue, the film incorporates subtitles, unfortunately proving to be a disruptive element. The illegibility of these subtitles detracts from the immersive experience.

The collaborative efforts of the entire team shine through in "Ahalya." Each member contributes to the success of this vibrant and experimental project, showcasing a synergy that breathes life into Barhma's visionary work. From the evocative cinematography to the atmospheric soundtrack, every element harmoniously contributes to the film's abstract narrative.

In conclusion, "Ahalya" stands as a courageous piece of experimental cinema. Its abstract beauty and thought-provoking imagery render it a bold and commendable cinematic experience. Chinmoy Barma and his team have crafted a visual poem that transcends the confines of traditional storytelling, leaving an indelible mark on the landscape of experimental filmmaking.

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chillingcinemachronicles · 6 months

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the Best Sci-Fi Movies on Netflix Right Now

Embark on an interstellar journey where the boundaries of reality dissolve, and imagination takes flight. Brace yourself for a warp-speed adventure through the cosmos with our curated selection of mind-bending science fiction wonders!

5. Annihilation (2018)

EW grade: A- (read the review)

Director: Alex Garland

Talent: Natalie Portman, Oscar Isaac, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Gina Rodriguez, Tessa Thompson, Tuva Novotny

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In the swamplands of Florida there sits a forcefield that formed after a meteor hit the area. Separated from regular life by a kaleidoscopic shell whose circumference continues to expand, The Shimmer, as it’s called, has claimed the lives of every man who has gone inside — except one. Biologist Lena (Natalie Portman) lost her husband Kane (Oscar Isaac) after he was presumably killed during a military operation, but when Kane returns home with his memory gone and his health failing, Lena looks for answers.

She then joins an all-female research team consisting of a physicist, a geologist, a paramedic, and a psychologist, all of whom volunteer to enter The Shimmer in what amounts to a suicide mission. While inside, the women find a gorgeous world that defies nature — but the mutations taking place within threaten to destroy the women, their team, and eventually, the world.

4. Anon (2018)

EW grade: (read the review)

Director: Andrew Niccol

Cast: Clive Owen, Amanda Seyfried, Colm Feore, Mark O’Brien,

Privacy and anonymity are luxuries afforded to no one in the 2018 British-American sci-fi thriller Anon. Clive Owen stars as Detective Sal Frieland, a troubled cop operating in a dystopia where the entire populace is implanted with an ocular device intended to record and track the movements of the people around them. The government’s transparency methods ensure that all criminal activity is caught on tape — but when a mysterious woman with no digital footprint (Amanda Seyfried) crosses paths with Sal, he realizes she might have a connection with a series of unsolved murders he’s investigating. Director Andrew Niccol tells EW “I always wanted to do a movie about privacy and the fact that there was never a war for privacy, because we already lost — we gave away our privacy without a fight, all for convenience.

3. Bird Box (2018)

EW grade: B (read the review)

Director: Susanne Bier

Cast: Sandra Bullock, Trevante Rhodes, John Malkovich, Danielle Macdonald, Sarah Paulson, Machine Gun Kelly

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Sight becomes a handicap in Bird Box, a post-apocalyptic thriller where the enemy must go unseen, or else. Sandra Bullock stars as Malorie Hayes, a woman responsible for transporting two young children down a river while wearing blindfolds, a strategy intended to help the survivors avoid seeing the entities that attacked Earth five years earlier, and who cause those who look upon them to commit suicide. Jumping between their present journey and the past events that led Malorie and the children to this point, director Susanne Bier leans into the tension of the unknown and relies on her talented but eclectic cast to do the rest. Released the same year as A Quiet Place, and possessing a somewhat similar premise, Bird Box received less attention when it first premiered, but this sci-fi horror film is a great option for fans of both genres.

2. Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018)

Director: David Slade

Cast: Fionn Whitehead, Will Poulter, Craig Parkinson, Tallulah Rose Haddon, Catriona Knox

As it turns out, the only thing missing from the British anthology series, Black Mirror, was options. In Black Mirror: Bandersnatch, the TV show gets a movie makeover, but with a twist: The film was shot in the style of a “choose your own adventure” novel, and viewers are able to customize their viewing experience through their scene selections. Centered around a young programmer named Stefan (Fionn Whitehead), Bandersnatch follows Stefan’s journey in developing a video game for a famous gaming company, a journey that puts Stefan under a great deal of mental and emotional stress, and results in one of ten main endings. Black Mirror is beloved for its eldritch and tech-focused content, and Bandersnatch keeps that tone alive, using the main storyline to explore themes like free will and mind control, even as the viewers’ choices drive the story forward.

Don’t Look Up (2021)

EW grade: B (read the review)

Director: Adam McKay

Cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Jennifer Lawrence, Jonah Hill, Meryl Streep, Timothee Chalamet, Ariana Grande, Cate Blanchett, Mark Rylance, Melanie Lynskey, Chris Evans

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As a comet sets its sights on Earth and prepares to wipe out human civilization, two astronomers (Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence) rush to warn the world of the impending collision — only to discover the world doesn’t really care. “Based on events that haven’t happened yet,” as the film’s trailer states, Don’t Look Up is a sci-fi satire that skewers climate deniers and government inaction in the face of scientific evidence pointing to looming catastrophe. Directed by Adam McKay (Vice, The Big Short), and featuring everyone in Hollywood from Jonah Hill and Meryl Streep to Timothee Chalamet and Ariana Grande, Don’t Look Up offers great jokes and fun cameos, but be warned: it’s not exactly light fare. Still, as far as sci-fi comedies go, this one is worth a watch — just don’t think too deeply about the implications of the film’s ending.

#netflix #movies #top 5 #sci fi #science fiction #film

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thequietabsolute · 1 year

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on my walk earlier i had half an hour on a favoured bench in the sunshine and came across two incredibly moving love poems completely new to me. here’s a few lines from each 🌳

———————————————————

Skin looked like this two hundred years ago

… winterlight

In their celestial altitude

The eighteenth-century stars.

… shape-shifting fire’s

Impatient nudity and ours

On the big bed.

… these Muscovian furs

Were linen until fire reshaped

Their transient destiny.

Hands dipped in light-and-shadow cast

Ledas and satyrs on the bedroom wall.

A candleflame’s a silent chatterbox

And cinematic book …

Among the gravestones, yews and cypresses

An Orphic night bird cries ‘Eurydice’ …

Love, touch my heart with who you are

And sleep, history, sleep.

— Love-making by Candlelight; Douglas Dunn. from Northlight. 1988.

———————————————————

In the hollows of home

I find life, love and ground

And intimate welcome:

With you, and these, I’m bound

To history.

Touching your hair, holding your hand,

Your beauty blends with time and land,

And you are loveliness

In your green, country dress,

So fair this day.

— At Falkland Palace; Douglas Dunn. from Northlight. 1988.

———————————————————

if you really liked these, i recommend the slim collection Elegies. some of the most breathtakingly beautiful poems you’ll ever read are in there. for a pre-buy sample see, off the top of my head, The Kaleidoscope, Transblucency*, The Butterfly House, and Attics (i’m missing so many good ones here; the whole collection is remarkable, and no one really knows about it: the quintessential hidden gem)

*hideous title i agree; will make you cry though

#ledas as in ‘Leda’#of Leda and the swan fame #Spartan queen #douglas dunn #poetry #poem #love poetry #love #literarure #quote #my books #elegy #elegies #personal notes #n.

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