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paperweight91 · 5 months

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Okay here is random thought that popped up in my head and it might fit a little the The Other Side Of Tomorrow universe if you want to but it doesn’t necessarily need to.

You are Lloyds assistant for a few year now. The only one that didn’t run away after a few months and he keeps you and is just not as awful as he is with the others (he still is awful, he is Lloyd) because you do such a great job! You somehow developed this crush on him and starts calling him Lloyd in your head. One day you are in his office, getting instructions for the next day as it is awfully late again. He just expect you to do overtime and you have no choice as to do so if you wanna keep the job. So he asks you in the end if everything is understood. And you answer. But not the usual “Yes sir” or “yes Mr Hansen”. Instead you say “Yes Lloyd”.

How does he react?

Toeing the Line

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x reader

W/C:1822

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), mean!lloyd hansen, slight dub/con 18+ minors DNI!

A/N: oooookay this was supposed to be a short little thing, but apparently drabble is not in my wheelhouse yet. Thank you for this great request I had sooo much fun with it and I really hope you enjoy lovely ❤️ feedback and reblogs are humbly requested!!!

“Okay sweetcheeks, you got everything that I need for tomorrow?” Lloyd didn’t even look at you. He was busy sorting through paperwork that he needed to sign. The muscles in his arms bulged as he sifted through the pages. You could see the strain on his tight black t-shirt. He seemd extra stressed lately. You knew things had been weird in the office.

You had become infatuated with the man so easily. His authoritative attitude had commanded your attention from the moment you met him. You were normally someone who was in charge, and easily got your way, but not with Lloyd.

And so what if you had started calling him by his first name. It was just to yourself. A harmless crush on your boss. Nothing more, nothing less. You were nothing if not profrssional.

You were pulled from your internal drooling over Lloyd by him clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, is your work too much today? I thought you were actually capable.”

Warmth flooded your face at his remark, “I’m sorry Lloyd, I just got a little side tracked making my mental list of tasks, it won’t happen again.”

The moustachioed man smirked at your faux pas. You still hadn’t caught on to your mistake, growing nervous at his delighted expression. “Hmmm didn’t know we were on a first name basis cupcake.”

You blanched. Shaking your head, you mentally went over everything you had said to him. Your mouth fell open as you realized you had in fact said his first name. “Oh God I’m- I’m so sorry sir. I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries. That’s just what I-“ you cut yourself off. There is no way you could tell him that little piece of information. He’d never let you live it down. By the look on his face, you already were in for more trouble then you bargained for.

“‘That’s just what you’ what? Sugar plum, come on. Tell the truth.” His eyes narrowed and his lips curled in a sinister grin. You had seen Lloyd threaten enough people to know when you were on the receiving end of it. He stood to his full height behind his desk, his eyes never leaving yours as he walked around to the other side where you were standing. He pointed to one of the chairs, and you scrambled to sit lest you piss him off further.

“I’m sorry,” you covered your face with your hands, tears springing into your eyes. In moments like these you only wish you weren’t such a terrible liar. “It’s what I call you in my head.” You mumbled the words, hoping they were loud enough for him to hear, but also hoping he completely misunderstood you.

“You what? I didn’t catch that, gonna have to speak up pussy cat.” His rough hands pulled yours away from your face. Putting both of yours into one of his, he placed a single finger under your chin. “You look me in the eye and you tell me the truth.”

When you finally dragged your eyes away from staring at the floor to reach his face, you saw mirth dancing in his eyes and his signature smirk on his plump lips. You licked your own, before shaking your head slightly. “I said, ‘it’s what I call you in my head.’” You were proud for a moment of how clear and strong your voice came out. That was until you took in Lloyd’s expression. His face took on a look that scared you. One that you had never seen before. He looked like a predator that had finally cornered his prey.

“And why, oh why, would you call me that in your head.”

You blinked up at him. Trying to assess what he had already guessed. At this point it looked like Lloyd was well past done with you. Behind his taunts and jabs, you thought you saw real anger in his face. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath. Here goes nothing. “I, well I seem to have developed a bit of a crush on you.” You let your breath out through your teeth.

You heard Lloyd tsk, and he let go of your hands and jaw. He walked around your chair and stood behind you, his large hands dropping to your shoulders. “Poor little lamb, has a crush on the big bad wolf.” You could hear the smile in his voice. He leaned down so his mouth was even with your ear, and you shivered as his breath fanned across your neck. He smirked at your reaction and let his hands rub up and down your shoulders. “Now what am I to do with such a poor little thing?”

You gulped, not actually sure if he was looking for an answer. Knowing Lloyd, even if he wasn’t he always expected some kind of response. You wracked your brains trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to hear. The silence of the room seemed to fill your brain. His touches were intoxicating, making you slower to process. Lloyd tsk’d again, growing impatient with your silence. “I don’t, I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You could feel the tears stinging your eyes. This was not at all how tonight was supposed to go.

Lloyds hands stopped as he reached your exposed collarbone beneath your blouse. Lightly tapping the spot. He was thinking, you could tell. Suddenly he removed his hands from you and stood again. He clapped them together, from his reaction you knew he had a brilliant idea. “This. Is. Perfect.” He circled back around to his seat behind the desk, gracefully resuming his prior position.

His joyful proclamation only set you on edge more. “It is?” You asked as you wriggled in your seat. Having him so close just a few moment before had left you yearning for more.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’ as he spoke. “You like your job?”

You nodded, not quite sure where he was going with this. “And you're always so eager to please…” he trailed off and waggled his eyebrows. You sat there not quite getting what he was alluding to. He rolled his eyes, “Get up and come over here.”

He held his hand out to you as you hesitantly walked around his desk. “I think we’ll be adding a few lines to your job description honey pie.” He spread his thighs and glanced to the floor between them. You followed his gaze dumbstruck. Was he saying…?

Lloyd huffed when you didn’t move fast enough, “I can keep your secret pumpkin, I’m just going to need a little…persuasion.”

Heat returned to your body, shooting through you from your face to your core. Without thought you dropped to your knees between his thighs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you slowly dragged your hands from his knees to his hips to undo his belt. “Now, now pussy cat, don’t be a tease.”

Nodding you hastened your movements to undo his belt and pants, while also trying to rub your thighs together to get yourself some much needed friction. You eagerly pulled his stiff length from beneath his trousers, because of course Lloyd went commando. You could feel yourself drooling already as you admired his length and girth, he was much bigger than any man you had been with before. Lloyds words fresh in your mind you stroked from the base to the tip twice before guiding him into your mouth, careful to keep your teeth covered.

“Ahhh I knew you took direction well.” He sighed as he resumed going through his paperwork. He crowded you back until you were fully underneath his desk. “Better make sure I come before I get the last signature down princess, or your not going to like the consequences.” His voice took on a sinister note that had you pausing briefly before continuing your task with vigour.

He was so large you couldn’t take all of him, so you employed both your hands to take care of the rest of him. As you sucked and bobbed on his cock, your right hand pumped at the inches you couldn’t swallow. Your left hand came up to roll his balls. You heard him suck in a breath above you, and his hips canted up. Sensing his approval you kept up your motions. Knowing you wouldn’t have long until he finished signing all of the pages on his desk.

His left hand dropped from its previous task to pull your hands free, and then knotted in your hair. You looked up at him through your lashes to see him glance down and wink at you. That was all the warning you had before he was using your mouth like a toy. His hips jerked up with each thrust causing the wheels of his office chair to squeak with the movement. You felt the tears gather in your eyes as he forced himself further down your throat. You struggled to tamp down your gag reflex.

He groaned as he looked down at you again. “That’s it. Take it. This mouth is so good, I can’t wait to see if your cunts any better.” You moaned at the thought of Lloyd fucking your drooling pussy, rather than your mouth. “I knew you’d like that.” He grunted. By his movements you could tell he was getting close. You focused on your task, eager to gain your bosses approval in yet another area. You felt his cock swell slightly in your mouth before his orgasm exploded down your throat. He was panting and had a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Well pussy cat. I think we’re done for tonight. I expect my coffee and dry cleaning first thing in the morning.” He looked down at you and made a shooing motion. You scrambled back to your feet. Hopping from foot to foot in your arousal. “Was there something else?” He said dully.

You shook your head and straightened your clothes. “N-no sir. I’ll make sure everything is perfect in the morning.” You gathered your items, and readied yourself to leave his office, saddened by his quick dismissal. You were stopped at the door by him calling your name, and you turned around, unable to look him in the eye.

“Make sure there’s no panties under your skirt tomorrow, I better have easy access.” You nodded. “And when it’s just you and me, you can call me Lloyd.”

Your gaze shot to his, unable to hide your hopeful expression. As your eyes met, what could only be described as a smile crossed his lips. You ducked your head before responding, “I’ll be thinking of you all night Lloyd.” You swept from his office and heard his muffled groan from the other side before you got too far. Deciding you needed to make an extra stop on the way home, none of your toys could ever prepare you for Lloyd Hansen.

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #toeing the line #paperweightanswers #chris evans #the gray man

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thedreadvampy · 1 year

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The hipsters are truly descending on Leith. I thought this flavour of waxed moustache striped shirt pocket watch and sunglasses Coolest Kids At The Warehouse Rave Mr B fucker died out in like 2012 but no they're everywhere. moustaches waxed up to the heavens tweed in 26° spring weather.

my going theory now is that this style of hipster is just an inevitable symptom of gentrification at any point in history. assume when Londinium was first becoming a metropolis it was beset by moustachioed men in pinstripe toga with pocket sundials. twats.

#red said #it's possible that my kneejerk reaction to hipsters is itself a 2012 hangover #BUT. COUNTERPOINT. I feel exactly as strongly about the previous rounds of Gentrification Symptoms #which is to say: a proliferation of grey-decor coffee shops with industrial lighting fittings selling £4 coffees (~6 years ago)#an onrush of pricy vintage shops and independent art galleries (~4 years ago)#a rise of plant shops and plant themed cafes all decorated with endless monstera (~2 years ago)#and the current realisation that i can't fucking get a fryup in more than 3 places on this street bc everywhere is a goddamn brunch spot #selling £8.50 eggs on toast #meanwhile most of the independent grocers are shutting there's no more greasy spoons #oh and rent in the area has Literally Doubled at the lowest end. a 2 bed used to be in the 450-600 pcm range #now almost everything even the kind of dive i was in for £550 is £1k+ a month #instead of building more affordable housing they're building more student housing #and the vibe has changed. like ppl used to be extremely drunk and high but also very nice and i never felt unsafe here #that's still true but it's getting less true

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aforrestofstuff · 2 years

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Ok ok one more, thoughts on Mumen/TTM and thoughts on Golden ball/Spring Moustachio

Both of them are practically canon already. I love them. They had a joint wedding. They're both godparents to each others' kids.

#you can ask as many as you want btw. i like these :)#asks #opm

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asklordcaptaincastronova · 2 years

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How's Watkyn at the moment/with recent events?

I'm absolutely spiffy old bean, got that spring in my step, my moustachios are ferociously dangerous, like the mating dance of the Thunderhawk, and now I strut off to go play a hand on the fields of green. Handicap of at least 6.

#Watkyn #what does that even mean

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signutai · 5 years

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spring moustachio says gay rights!

#OPM #One Punch Man #Spring Moustachio #brave gay man defends his boyfriend from a violent homophobe

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wormbagged · 6 years

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Noticed this while re-reading the manga recently: Banehige café?

Ah man, I wish they would have kept his name as Banehige:

((Posting this just so people know who the hell I'm talking about when I say "Banehige"))

#one punch man #Banehige #Spring Moustachio #Spring Mustachio #both names are actually cool I just got all DUMB EXCITED about it #like 'oh wait I know what bane and hige means so this makes sense to my dumb ass'

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themancorialist · 6 years

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Piccadilly Gardens, Manchester.

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 4 years

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🍉 Fri 31 July 👁

As Watermelon Sugar climbs towards the number one spot on the charts, HSHQ is there to push it across that finish line, dropping behind the scenes MV footage unexpectedly last night along with limited edition vinyl, cassette, and download editions of the single plus a funky instrumental version. So, a few minutes of giggly Harry goofing around with the girls plus collectible singles for us, and a number one for Harry coming right up! And where is the moustachioed noodle himself? Unknown but the fans who were following him around Rome suddenly started posting all their stuff from last week (ie sweaty running pics holding his phone with a map open) so if one were to think maybe he wasn't there anymore it might make sense.

In contrast to Harry's out of the blue drop, Zayn is building up to something with some warning. Probably new music! Very exciting! First the family pics, then today a selfie (zelfie), posing with traditional kohl lining his eyes. Is he in the UK for Eid? Is Gigi there too or are they merely implying that she is while she keeps her heavily pregnant self at home? Zayn's mom posted an old pic of herself with Zayn and Gigi yesterday, and today Gigi posted a pic of her and Zayn smooching captioned "baby daddy." But wait, there's more! Zayn has changed his profile pic and archived all his old Let Me promo posts! So is the big one coming, like not just a single but maybe Z3??? I mean for context ztans think literally everything portends Z3 but not for nothing: there's been reason to think it's ready and could come out whenever for a very long time now and he's certainly up to something- maybe Z3, maybe a single, maybe something else, but zomething.

Niall posted a, uh, nelfie, and fans got sick of waiting for his commentary and just asked him about the new Taylor Swift album and he said "so beautiful the lady is a genius" which is unsurprising but honestly less gushy than I would have expected from him! And Louis added another NYC date in April which is... a choice. Ticket sales for the spring shows are great, most of the tour is sold out at this point, but... shows in the US in the spring? Really? I guess we'll just see what happens.

#I'm really hoping those shows get postponed again or I'm gonna watch a lot of ticket money get washed down the drain from home while i cry #cause it is just not going to be safe enough for anyone with medical problems such as myself #it just isn't #Louis Tomlinson #Harry Styles #Niall Horan #Zayn #Harry #Louis #Niall #Gigi that is truly the cringiest possible caption please girl. at least put baby zaddy lol #to me it makes sense to coordinate Z3 with the zaby so i feel like it would make sense to be dropping it pretty soon #no comment but passing along that some people think Zayn's RCA contract would have just ended/be ending about now #not no comment in any weird way i just... genuinely have no commentary to add to that #the people magazine crossword theme of the week was Harry with multiple Harry song clues and one... about Zayn?#people magazine are zarries hashtag confirmed #31 july 2020 #gigi hadid #the zaby #arguably Zayn should headline today's post but ultimately a behind the scenes video trumps a couple selfies even if the selfies #bring big news. either that or I didn't feel like redoing the segue.... 🙃#pick your fighter

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no1monstersimp · 1 year

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Nicchirin is an ally

#one punch man #opm #spring/goldenball #spring moustachio #golden ball #nichirin #my art #art

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amoveablejake · 3 years

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I’m currently listening to a compilation record of Japanese city pop called ‘Pacific Breeze’. It’s cover is adorned with a picture of beach houses, palm trees and deep sunset hues. The only things it’s missing is a moustachioed private eye leaning on the front of a white Ferrari. Looking at this album cover has got me to revisit the more sun soaked of my photographs and from those deep dives I’ve come to this shot. A vision of the blue sky from underground, looking out at the summer to come from the depths of winter. Although, that description I’ll admit is a bit misleading. We are as I write this in spring even if it is still grey outside and I’m still wearing a winter jumper. Also, the photograph wasn’t taken from underground but rather in the shelter of some much needed shade at the Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias in Valencia that I have featured on the blog a couple of times before. I say it was much needed shade although I can’t remember exactly how warm it was. Oh yes I do, hotter than the sun. Valencia and it’s vision of the future is always on my mind, perhaps because I’m working out which shot of it will be my album cover one day because you know, it’s always more important to figure out what the album cover will be before you even work out what the album is.

- Jake, a man available to solve crimes in 80s Miami any day of the week, 24/03/2021

#35mm #filmcommunity #filmisalive #film #olympustrip35 #travel #35mm photography #filmisnotdead

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robdelicious · 5 years

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How Robert Pattinson And Willem Dafoe Made It To The Lighthouse

Out of a swirling fog emerges the prow of a boat, knifing through a foaming sea. Two figures, shadows in the murk, stand silhouetted on the foredeck, confronting the horizon, their backs to us. Presently an island swims into view. No more than a crag, really: lonely, battered, forbidding. Then a lighthouse can be made out, blinking in the gloom.

Now we see the men head-on, a striking dual portrait in high contrast black and white: a double exposure. They are wearing sailors’ caps, greatcoats, and hefting wooden trunks. One is younger, taller, moustachioed. The other, more deeply crevassed, sports a wild beard, out of which pokes a small wooden pipe, like Popeye’s. Theirs are, by any standards, remarkable faces, extreme faces, unyielding as rock yet sculpted with great delicacy, skin stretched tight over jutting bones: sharp noses, strong jaws, deep set eyes. And, oh, the cheekbones! And would you look at all those teeth?

Before anything else — before they are handsome faces, or expressive faces, or famous faces (they are all of those things) — these are photogenic faces. On first inspection they appear impassive, almost blank. And yet an air of foreboding is struck. The older man’s features are fixed in a roguish grimace. The younger man is wary, tense. These might be the faces of a father and son, or brothers separated by decades: hard, thin, stern faces, built for hard, thin, stern lives. Lives filled with mean disappointments, festering resentments, blood feuds. Here are men who have seen trouble before and will see it again. Maybe they’re looking for trouble. Maybe they’ve found it. Is this a dual portrait — or the portrait of a duel?

Whatever has thrown these men together in this place — fate, karma, the thirst for adventure, the desire for escape (in the case of the characters, but perhaps the actors, too?) or (in the case of the actors specifically) the need to stretch oneself artistically, or to challenge oneself physically, or the reputation of the director, or a really good script, or all of these things — one senses they are aware already, as they square up to the stinging reality of their circumstances, that they may have got more than they bargained for. What we can be sure of from the off: there will be weather. There will be conflict. And there will be acting.

The film is The Lighthouse, the second feature film from the 36-year-old American writer-director Robert Eggers, who made a stir with his debut, The Witch. Eggers, who is based in Brooklyn but grew up in rural New Hampshire, is a man possessed of a rare and creepy gothic sensibility. The Witch was an arthouse horror film, a twisted fairytale with the insidious power of a nightmare. It concerned a family of 17th-century puritans banished to the woods of New England, and it involved possessed children, birds pecking at human flesh, and an unholy bond with a goat. It cost $4m to make and earned that money back 10 times over, making Eggers not just a critical darling, but a coming man in commercial cinema.

For The Lighthouse, Eggers is reunited with A24, among other production companies, and with much of his crew from The Witch, including his director of photography, Jarin Blaschke, and composer Mark Korven, who between them do as much as anyone to set the eerie mood. His co-writer is his brother, Max Eggers. The actors were new to him.

Those faces that I have been at pains to describe, then, belong to Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe. They play lighthouse keepers on a wind-slapped, rain-lashed rock off the Atlantic coast of North America. The year is 1890. Pattinson is, or appears to be, Ephraim Winslow, the taciturn apprentice. “I ain’t much for talkin’,” he says early on — a statement, like so many in this film of shifting and unfixed identities, that turns out to be not entirely true.

Dafoe is Winslow’s irascible, peg-legged senior partner, Thomas Wake, an experienced “wickie” and a cruel taskmaster, obsessively enraptured by the beacon he tends. “The light is mine!” he declares, mad-eyed. Wake consigns Winslow to the bowels of the building, where the younger man stokes the fire and swabs the floors and nurtures his grievances, while indulging in some quite epic, mermaid-focussed masturbation. Winslow and Wake are to spend four weeks alone on the island before they are to be relieved. But when a storm blows in, the odd couple are stranded — maybe, or maybe not, because a violent act on Winslow’s part has brought down a curse upon them. Slowly, and then in spasms of ultraviolence, they unravel.

The Lighthouse is a twisted buddy movie, a surreal black comedy, a psychological thriller set at the hysterical pitch of Grand Guignol. It was filmed in the spring of 2018 on sound stages in the city of Halifax, Nova Scotia, on Canada’s Atlantic coast, and on location on the tiny fishing community of Cape Forchu, nearby. (“People tend to spend up to 45 minutes here,” Google Maps tells us of Cape Forchu. This fact might, or might not, amuse the filmmakers who spent weeks there, battling Biblical conditions. “It snowed in May,” notes Dafoe.)

With the exception of the Moldovan model Valeriia Karaman, who makes a number of brief, though memorable, appearances in her debut film, Pattinson and Dafoe are the only members of the cast, and their seesawing power struggle is the film’s entire focus, with point of view switching sides like a sail boat’s boom in a storm. Its success or failure rests heavily on their shoulders.

Pattinson and Dafoe are big stars, both. They are also men from different generations, different backgrounds, different countries and traditions. The Lighthouse was not an easy film to make for a number of reasons — the remote location, the raging weather — but not the least of the filmmakers’ challenges were the contrasting approaches of the two actors.

“They really did have incredible chemistry on screen,” director Eggers tells me on the phone, “but it was chemistry through tension. I know there’s been discussion about their different acting techniques and the trying conditions on set…” He pauses. “That couldn’t have been better for the movie.”

If you happened to be out and about in Halifax, in the early spring of 2018, you may have noticed a slender young loner stalking the streets day after day, muttering to himself. Noticed him, and felt concern for his emotional wellbeing. Had you followed him, and listened closely, you might have heard the same words repeated over and over again, in a gravel-voiced near-grunt: “Woyt poyn, woyt poyn, woyt poyn…” Come again? “Woyt poyn, woyt poyn...”

“White pine,” the slender young man enunciates into my voice recorder, 18 months on, in the accent of a nicely brought-up southwest London boy, rather than a 19th-century working man from a highly specific part of Maine. White pine — I’m sorry, woyt poyn — is one of the trees which his character lists when telling his colleague of his past misadventures as a lumberjack. Pattinson developed the accent with the help of a dialect coach and by speaking to a contemporary Maine lobster fisherman on the phone. “It’s one of those accents where if you say one syllable wrong it’s suddenly Jamaican, or something,” he says. “So it took ages.”

Pattinson arrived early in Halifax, before his director and co-star, to psych himself into the role of the saturnine Ephraim. Having approached Eggers after seeing The Witch, in the hope that they might at some point work together, Pattinson had declined the director’s first suggestion, for a part in a more conventional, mainstream film that the director was then developing.

“He said he was only interested in doing weird things,” Eggers says. “So when The Lighthouse came around I said that if he doesn’t find this weird enough, I guess we’ll never work together.”

It’s true, Pattinson says, that at that time, in 2016, he “wanted to do the weirdest stuff in the world.” (Mission accomplished, Rob!) Still, he spent a good deal of time agonising over whether or not to take the role in The Lighthouse. “I remember reading it and I thought it was very funny, but I was also thinking, ‘I don’t understand how the tone would work?’”

When Dafoe signed on, Pattinson was excited. “I knew Willem could bring that kind of anarchic energy,” he says, “but I really didn’t know how I would do it at all.” Dafoe, he says, in one of his many moments of self-effacement, “has one of those faces where he can literally sit in any room in the world, doing almost nothing, and it’s fascinating to watch. Whereas I sort of blend in with the chair I’m sitting on.”

Before filming began, the pair spent a week in rehearsals. Pattinson dislikes rehearsing, preferring to do his experimenting on camera. “It was very, very frustrating,” he says. “I just couldn’t achieve what they wanted me to achieve in that room. Robert [Eggers] was getting furious with me because I was just sitting there, completely monotone the whole time. He could not stand it.” Pattinson tells the story with no rancour whatsoever. He knows it sounds funny, but it wasn’t at the time. “I just don’t know how to perform it until we’re performing it. By the end of the week, I’m thinking, ‘I’m going to get fired before we’ve even started’. I definitely feel like, with the rehearsal period, we were quite angry with each other by the end of it. Literally, we’d finish for the day, I’d fucking slam out the door and go home.

“I knew that there was diminishing expectations of me throughout the week of rehearsals,” he says. “I definitely became an underdog. They’re like, ‘Wow, this was a big mistake. He’s really shit.’”

Pattinson and I talk on a sweltering August morning, in the comfort of a private members’ club in west London, near the flat he’s rented for the summer on Airbnb. (He’s in town to shoot Christopher Nolan’s new sci-fi spectacular, Tenet, about which he is permitted to tell us, with fulsome apologies, precisely nothing.) Rather than swigging kerosene and chaining tobacco, as in the film, he orders a banana smoothie, and when he’s finished that, an apple juice. Occasionally he sucks on a Juul.

Pattinson is 33. He grew up in affluent Barnes, the son of a dealer in vintage cars and a model booker. More or less untrained — unless you count some teenage am-dram — at 19 he was cast as Cedric Diggory, the hero’s doomed frenemy, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But his Hollywood breakthrough arrived in 2008. Twilight was a teen B-movie, but it became a pop cult phenomenon, spawning four sequels of diminishing charm, making an otherworldly $3.3bn worldwide and creating megastars of its leads, Pattinson, who played a sexy vampire, and Kristen Stewart, who became his girlfriend on screen and IRL, as they say, before, in an unseemly frenzy of prurient salivating, she became his ex-girlfriend.

While for some he may always be the pallid tween heartthrob, in the six years since the final instalment of Twilight, Pattinson has worked hard to reinvent himself. His post Young Adult years have been cussedly uncommercial and impressively adventurous. In that period, Pattinson has worked with some of cinema’s most fêted directors: David Cronenberg, Anton Corbijn, James Gray, Werner Herzog, the Safdie brothers. Most recently, he was an intergalactic castaway in High Life, an enjoyable, if bonkers, dystopian sci-fi from the French director Claire Denis.

“Even in the Twilight years I never said, ‘Oh, he’s just a pretty boy,’” says Robert Eggers. “I always thought there was something interesting about him. I could tell that he wanted to be a great actor. And in the past years it’s been very clear that he is.”

The attraction of more avant garde or outré material, Pattinson says, is it allows him to let rip in a way he never could in real life. Pattinson compares the experience of acting in a film like The Lighthouse with joyriding. “A lot of the movies I’ve done recently, you literally feel as if you’ve stolen a car and you’re kind of careening through stuff.” (Such are the fantasies, perhaps, of a boy who grew up with a father who imported American sports cars for a living.)

In person, Pattinson is a mild-mannered English actor, albeit a slightly eccentric one. On set, however, “because you’re playing a mad person, it means you can sort of be mad the whole time. Well, not the whole time, but for like an hour before the scene.”

What does he mean by being mad? “You can literally just be sitting on the floor growling and licking up puddles of mud.”

This sounds figurative. He really means it. On The Lighthouse, in the scenes in which his character is meant to be drunk on kerosene (there are quite a few of them), he was “basically unconscious the whole time. It was crazy. I spent so much time making myself throw up. Pissing my pants. It’s the most revolting thing. I don’t know, maybe it’s really annoying.”

It’s hard not to speculate that yes, it might be really annoying. “There’s a scene,” Pattinson remembers, “where Willem’s kind of sleeping on me and we’re really, really drunk and I felt like we’re completely lost in the scene and I’m sitting there trying to make myself gag and Robert [Eggers] told me off because Willem’s looking at him going: ‘If he throws up on me, I’m leaving the set.’ I had absolutely no idea this whole drama was unfolding.”

In some ways, Pattinson concedes, all this acting out is a reaction to his terrifying early super-fame. He speaks of himself in the second person when talking about it. “For a long time you’re very self-conscious in the street. You’re hiding a lot, so [on set] you have an excuse to be wild. It’s like being an adrenaline junkie. And also, when you don’t know how to do something, why not just run headfirst into a wall? See what happens. I haven’t got any other ideas.”

On The Lighthouse, he spun in circles before each take, to make himself off-balance. He placed a stone in one of his shoes, to increase the already considerable physical hardship. He can see — from my disbelieving laughter, apart from anything else — that all this strikes non-actors as funny, even preposterous. It may be that it sounds this way to some actors, too.

The most famous story (possibly apocryphal) of an encounter between an adherent of the Method — in which actors don’t so much pretend to be someone else as try to temporarily become them — and a more traditional, outside-in actor, who puts on costume and makes believe, is Laurence Olivier’s withering put-down of Dustin Hoffman, when they were working together on John Schlesinger’s Marathon Man. At some point, Hoffman, a graduate of the Actors Studio, confided in the great English Shakespearean that, in order to bring the correct verisimilitude to a scene in which his character has not slept for three consecutive nights, he had forced himself to stay awake for the same period. “My dear boy,” Olivier is said to have smoothly replied, “why don’t you just try acting?”

Eggers says that any suggestion of that kind of relationship between Dafoe and Pattinson is wide of the mark. “The idea that Dafoe is outside-in and Rob is this method actor, that’s not the case. I think maybe they lean the tiniest bit into those directions but they’re both combinations of things.”

ESQUIRE: https://www.esquire.com/uk/culture/a29300396/robert-pattinson-willem-dafoe-interview/

#Robert Pattinson #Rob Pattinson #Esquire #The Lighthouse

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annakie · 5 years

Photo

A Post about Patchy

Hey would you like to read a lot of words about and see some pics of this cat? Because I’m going to do that below this cut.

Don’t worry, longtime followers, this is a happy post.

Those of you who have been following me since 2014 or before may remember Patchy. I don’t talk about her much on the blog, but I think it’s time.

If you were worried this may be a post-mortem post, don’t be. She’s happy and healthy.

The pic above was taken in October 2010. It’s the earliest picture I have of Patchy. By this point I had already known her for about a year.

Back in like 2009, around the time I got Cebu, when I started actually looking out in my backyard, I realized that there were several cats who hung out back there at night. I just have a chain link fence in my yard so it’s not surprising they could easily jump it from the alley or side yards, and I have a pretty large patio with some comfy patio chairs, so I guess it seemed like a good spot for them to hang, since I wasn’t out there much.

I wouldn’t know that TNR was a thing for awhile, and since I have a soft spot for cats, I’d leave them out some kibble, I’d just buy a bag of the cheapest stuff at the grocery store and throw a cup out a night to keep them from starving to death back then. There were often 5 or so cats back there, and if I’d have known then what I know now, I would have started TNR way earlier.

The cats would come and go, and there were so many that I just called them by identifying characteristics. “Brown-nosed tabby” and “Tuxedo” and “Orangie” or whatever. So this Calico just became “Patchy” since she has patches of color. For awhile, she was just one of that gang.

Cats would disappear, new ones would show up. Patchy and Moustachio, a shorthaired B&W cat with a mustache, were around the longest. I’m not sure what happened to most of the other cats, I’m sure they got hit by cars and picked up by the pound and other unpleasantness. I had to dispose of a few myself.

Patchy, somehow, kept surviving. Although there were a few times when she’d disappear for weeks at a time and I guessed that was the end of her, but she’d show up later all skin and bones, and then I’d switch her to my cats’ expensive, grain-free food and even give her wet food to get her back on her feet. Once she even showed up bloody with a very scary gash on her head. Not being able to touch her to put like, neosporin or something on that was killing me and I did what I could to help her recover, which was mostly just making sure she had plenty of good food and water. She made it.

And in these first few years, several times, kitten litters showed up in my backyard.

Cebu... get out of the way. (He was always real good about knowing exactly where to be for being in the way. I miss him so much.) (Pics taken in May, 2013.)

Ah, yeah, there’s Patchy with two litters of kittens, one of which was hers and the others were her own grandchildren. I rescued two out of those eleven and still kick myself for not doing more.

After having to clean up a few of her messes and over a few years saving over a half dozen of her kittens, and not saving many more, I decided it was time to do something about this. I started by getting her to trust going into my house.

My master bedroom has a sliding glass door to the patio. (The door you see there goes into the garage, sliding glass door is to the right.) So I started trailing food into the house and into the master bathroom to get her to explore there, and under the bed so she saw a safe place to hide. I’d then hanging out in the bedroom reading and letting her come in to explore the inside. I got her to understand there was food and clean water, and shelter there.

I thought I wasn’t far enough along with trusting me when she was pregnant once again in spring, 2014. But one night she did run right inside the house when I opened the sliding glass door to let Cebu out, climbed into the lining that had been ripped out a bit under my bed, and set up camp. For the next few months, she lived there. I contacted a feral rescue group in my area who agreed to let me foster the kitties and they’d get them adopted, then loan me a trap to get Patchy TNR’d. So that was a relief.

Also? Patchy picked the spot where she wanted to “go”, and after I cleaned up that first mess I put a litter box there and she took right to it, have NEVER had a litter issue since.

The long, and complete story about the next few months can be found on my Rescue Kitties tag, with many many pictures and updates. But I’ll still post a few, and a summary.

She never came out from beneath the bed if I was in the room, but I would go hang out with her when I got home from work every day, lay on the floor and sing to her and talk to her, give her yummy wet food, and sometimes, if she felt frisky, she’d play laser pointer with me when I would lay in bed before sleeping at night, always on the floor, never daring to get on the bed. That’s fine.

In April 2014 one morning I awoke to kitten noises.

She was such a good momma to those kittens. After the first day & night in the birthing box I set up for her, and she did even let me change out the towel (but got real mad when I tried to move the food bowl slightly away), she brought the babies back under the bed and I’d have to peek and use my camera to even see them.

Eventually, they got old enough to get curious, they came out to play, and she let me play with them and socialize them.

And after a few more weeks, the babies went to the rescue group, and found their forever homes.

It took TWO MORE WEEKS of making Patchy very unhappily live inside before I could get her into a trap, so she could be TNR’d. Although she was OK with me touching the babies, touching was strictly off-limits for HER.

But hey! We did it! She went and got TNR’d, got a clean bill of health... and went back outside.

I didn’t see her for like two weeks, and when she came back she was skin and bones, and decided that maybe it was OK to be back here and let me give her food again, after all.

And then for the next year or so, well, if it were really hot or cold or storming outside, when I’d let Cebu out before bed, maybe she’d decide to spend the night under the bed, after all. But she wanted to go back outside during the day. That’s fine. The other cats hated being locked out of the bedroom sometimes, but they got used to it.

Slowly, throughout 2014 and 2015 her inside stays got a little longer and a little longer. It was too hot or too cold out for days at a time, then weeks at a time.

The worst part about this time is that she’d get fleas. And then Cebu would get fleas, and then Jim, Leela, Fry and Pemily would have fleas. And then I’d have to do an expensive round of flea meds on all 5 of the inside pets, and not being able to touch Patchy to give HER meds was a problem until I found some like, garlic pills online that I’d mash into her wet food and give to her. Luckily, between that and flea-powdering (the vacuuming) the carpets, the fleas would be taken care of. I think I went through this three times. Eventually I just started giving her a flea pill once a month. I didn’t love doing it because apparently some cats have bad reactions, but it was that or... stop letting her into the house because I couldn’t keep exposing the rest of the pets to fleas. Luckily, it worked.

Of course when Cebu died at the end of 2016 I had a lot less reason to ever go to the backyard, so, she had a lot fewer chances to try and go outside, anyway. But it’d been awhile before that since she’d go out. I used to leave the door open enough for Cebu to go out and come back in during nice days, and she wouldn’t bother most of the time. And usually, even when she did, she’d be back inside for bed.

She did get out for like two minutes once last year, but she made it to the end of the backyard, saw I was going back inside, and ran back to me and inside all on her own after that.

She’s at least ten years old now, I think she’s happy to be settled.

I feel bad that she lives her entire life in one room. I’ve tried a few things to see if she wants to integrate. Pemily is my most social and outgoing and friendly cat, and also she is literally Patchy’s granddaughter, and several times Pemily has managed to sneak her way into the bedroom, she’s very wiley. Patchy DOES NOT LIKE IT. Usually within 10 minutes there are growls, spits and hisses. Once or twice Pemily has made it into the bedroom without me noticing, and I’ll find her sitting by the door VERY READY to leave when I go back in. Patchy and Fry would never get along, and she’d probably bully Leela, so... she’s a bedroom cat.

We still play laser pointer, I made sure we has a few hunting-type toys, which are the only thing she responds to. I’ve tried several “enrichment” toys that the other cats like, stimulation toys, hiding toys, a mini-cat tower that she only uses the brush on, special places to lay down... whatever. I also bought her a life-sized stuff cat for companionship and NOPE, she hissed at it. I left in in the room just in case she gets used to it and she ignores it. She doesn’t really care. She likes to hunt fake mice and the laser pointer, everything else is “Meh.”

She used to dump her water out all the time and I realized she likes to drink moving water, so I put Cebu’s water fountain in there and she loves it. She has the view of the backyard from the sliding glass doors she spends a lot of time looking out at. She has crunchy food always and gets some wet food when I get home from work, I spend a few minutes with her when I come home from work every day and at least an hour hanging out in bed watching shows and playing laser pointer... and she seemed happy.

In January, 2016 I woke up one night and found a warm lump next to my feet.

It may have been a little earlier than that, but not much. Patchy figured out that it’s more comfy ON the bed (well, she had been sleeping up there when I wasn’t in the room before then, but never while I was there) and hey, humans are warm! Actually now that I look at it, I think this pic was taken in the afternoon, so maybe this was one of the first times she came onto the bed when she knew I was awake. (Hey, I’m big on weekend afternoon naps.)

Further strides.. were slow, but measured. The first time she’d come up on the bed while I was sitting up. The first time she walked on me when I was laying on my side. The first time she walked on my stomach and smelled my face. Figuring out that sleeping higher up on the legs is even warmer. Figuring out that purring and making biscuits on the human’s leg was really nice. Oh man, I cried the first time she made biscuits and I heard her purring. That was probably early 2017.

I had a few aborted attempts at trying to touch / pet her, including thinking she was Pemily while I was still half alseep. These always lead to setbacks that took awhile to get that trust back.

After awhile, she’d sometimes even do stuff like... this.

This was a huge deal because it was the first time I had even thought to record her and she just came right up and said hi, and she laid there for like 20 seconds while I talked to her.

And then I asked her if she wanted pets, and she immediately backed off.

But hey, she backed off to go do this...

So it wasn’t so terrible. A little biscuit making before settling down to hang out.

I decided about a year ago, that to move forward, what I needed was to get her used to my hands. So I began Operations: Hands are OK! For literally the last year, every day I just try to spend a few minutes with my hands somewhere near her when she settles in. And I started trying TINY PETS on her paws when she was relaxed. This was a gamble because most cats hate having their paws touched. But she could see my fingers touching her paws, and tiny gentle paw strokes that did not hurt were something she could control, and remove her paws from. Which usually she did, and at first she’d get up and move, but eventually, she’d just tuck her paws under.

Sometimes... even something like this would happen...

See? You can touch MY hands, too! It’s OK!

I also let her sniff my hand any time she was close enough, and she got used to that, I started using it as a greeting. She was totes OK with touching any part of me that was covered up with a blanket at this point. So I’d also put my hand under the blanket sometimes and then under her paws or side. She didn’t like this much, either, but would tolerate it in small bursts.

I was patient with her and tried to not push her boundaries too much.

The thing is, though, she has not been to the vet since getting TNR’d in 2014, and she’s now at least 10 years old. I don’t want to take her if it’s going to set her back, and I don’t want to someday have her be sick and still terrified of my hands, of touch, so... I pushed forward.

The last few months... I started feeling like she knew she wanted something else, but she didn’t know what she wanted or how to ask for it. So I went for pets with the back of my hand a few times, slowly, letting her know where my hand was at all times and she’d... run away after a short brush.

She’d hang out... close, like this, though. Looking at me like... “I need something. What is it that I need?”

Less than two weeks ago, on June 12, I had to wake up at 4am for a work thing, made it back to bed at 6:15ish, then woke up, oops, an hour later than I meant to around 9am. I really needed to get up and get to work, but woke up to Patchy laying with me, then when she saw I was awake she climbed up to my stomach, purring.

“Okay, we’re gonna try pets again,” I said to her, and showed her the back of my hand. She sniffed it, then I lightly brushed it against her side. She didn’t move.

“Okay, we’re gonna do that again,” I said, and for 4 or 5 strokes, she let me. So I got bold, and went for the regular front-hand full body pet down the spine.

She let me. I held my breath and looked at her and she didn’t move. I tried again and she let me. And after a few seconds... I was just... petting her. Like you would any other cat. I literally got teary eyed as I told her what a good girl and brave girl she is. She... leaned into it.

After about a minute, I got really bold and tried a neck scratch.

SHE. LOVED. IT.

This was after about five minutes of neck-scratch / body pets switching. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand to capture the moment, and she was totally cool with staying still while I shifted a bit to take the pictures with my left hand.

I probably hung out with her for ten or fifteen minutes and actually had to push her away to get up and run into work and not miss a meeting I was supposed to run at 10. I’ve been so. damn. happy. about this.

It took ten years you guys. Or damn close to it. A decade of knowing this cat, of getting her to trust me bit by bit.

And now, when I hop in bed at night, whenever she’s ready she’ll jump up and hang out. A few nights ago she even let me pet her while she was standing up and I was sitting up for a moment, and once while I was sitting up and sitting cross-legged, she laid down on the pillow in front of my legs and just let me pet her that way.

She even woke me up in the middle of the night last night going “Uh, hey, that thing you do now? Do that some.” She lays there and purrs and lets me pet her for a long time.

She still mostly runs under the bed if I’m in the room and not on the bed, but the last year or so she’s been lazy about it, instead of jumping up terrified and running under the bed it’s more like “Oh... you’re here. Ok.” More like a routine than a necessity. The last few days she may even be outside of the bed under the nightstand or just... NEAR the bed if I’m walking around, but I haven’t pushed that boundary yet.

My goal is now, by the end of the year, have her tolerate me picking her up, or at least pushing her around. Get it so I can get her into a carrier and... if I��m real lucky, get her to the vet before 2019 is over. We’ll see.

Maybe, but not likely, someday I can open the bedroom door again, sleep with the other cats (I do occasionally sleep in the guest room so they can hang out with me, but that bed is nooot as comfortable.) For the last few years I was doubtful we’d ever get this far. So who knows.

Thanks for reading this far! I have been wanting to just record this story for awhile and made myself sit down and do it tonight. I’ll post further updates if warranted. :)

#personal post tag thingy #rescue kitties #my pets

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writingasymphony · 2 years

Text

Ice Cream for Jack.

Saturday, bright and early in the morning, Jack went tip-toeing into his parents’ bedroom. His mum was softly laid out under the duvet, and she looked like she was wearing a peaceful smile... but not for long! Jack clambered up the empty side of the bed, where his dad was already off out to his 5-a side game that Spring morning, and so undisturbed, Jack started jumping up and down on the bed enthusiastically, “mummy, mummy, HEYYY mummy!! wake up, we’ve got to playyyyyyyyyyy together today!”

Groggily, Jack’s mum bent up on her arm and heaved herself up; half in a day dream that she had the luxury of time without a child to cater for, tend to and entertain. It was the weekend after all. On the phone, she was being updated by Jack’s father about how he’d be helping the footie boys move a sofa after the game. But hearing how his partner was struggling this sunny morning, he suggested for her to take Jack out for some ice cream, that he’d meet them there afterwards, as soon as he possibly could. Off they went, gloved hand in gloved hand, Jack and his mum toddled down the chilly shaded pavements and into town for a treat. They soon arrived at the ice cream parlour, Italian flags pasted everywhere on the cold stone walls, and a sign that boasted home made ice cream being served there. A moustachioed Italian man in a faded black and white photograph front and centre of the shop, the founding man of the ice cream recipe from Naples. Jack’s mouth was agape in excitement for the rows upon rows of colourful shades of ice cream, soft serve, gelato and every other kind you could think of. Labels adorned these mountains of ice creams in silver buckets so deep. The server even had to put his whole arm’s length inside to scoop the last bits of ice cream before removing the bucket, and replacing with another prepared one from the cold storage every so often. The place was jam packed, there was a line all around the counter as people in front of Jack and his mum were umming and ahhing about which flavour to get.

Too much choice before them, too many flavours to name: Zesty citrus, bright banana, melty mango, cookies and cream, chilli chocolate, tangy cherry in vanilla, but also your more traditional clotted cream, double chocolate, raspberry ripple and mint chocolate chip. Jack was pointing his finger at all of the flavours he desired, “I want this one, and this one, this one, this one AND this one!” Jack’s mum took a deep breath, realising the task of choosing ice cream wasn’t going to be so easy. “Hey Jack, I can get you one, two, three scoops of different flavours to try,” she counted on Jack’s fingers with him. “Which ones would you really like, try hard to think of three and we’ll count them together, okay?” Exasperated by the cacophony of noise all around, her toddler wanting at least half the store of ice cream, and her own tired intrusive thoughts about wishing she didn’t have a kid right now, Jack’s mum glanced behind towards the door, wishing her partner was already there to lend a helping hand.

Jack had chosen mint choc chip, cookies and cream, and double chocolate in a cone. By time they’d reach the front of the queue, the gelato that Jack’s mum had wanted; melty mango had run out. The cashier apologetically announced alternatives and Jack’s mum ordered a more traditional vanilla raspberry ripple instead. One scoop for her, she was more concerned about her son having all that he wanted anyway. “Would you like sprinkles on that m’boy?” the server asked and Jack shyly nodded. Handing the cash over in exchange for two large coned ice creams, Jack and his mum set off to a window adjacent seat. On their way there, a baby licking what appeared to be strawberry ice cream from her dad’s lap suddenly grabbed the cold and sticky substance and lobbed it onto herself, then began to cry in a very unrelenting way.

Now with a headache, Jack’s mum sat them both down, grabbing some napkins on the way there. Busily sampling the three flavours, Jack was very quiet and his mum was thankful for that. She kept glancing at the door with no luck, and when she glanced back this time her son had chocolate ice cream and a few colourful sprinkles dribbling down the side of his mouth. She reached for a napkin, but her hand brushed against another and alas, her partner had just caught the ice cream in the tissue before it flew off of Jack’s chin. With a faint smile, Jack’s mum was relieved that her partner had finally appeared and thanked him, to which he replied with a hearty laugh, “I’m just happy to help finish off both yours and my son’s ice creams!” She then took a breath with ease as the joy of seeing them eat the ice cream in front of her made her feel much better.

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