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dyker-farmer · 4 years

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Ok this was supposed to be a quick draw and a description to go with, that blew into a full chapter and now it's also on Ao3 SO happy reading ig idk

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

[[MORE]]

Take that can away if you can.

Gulp it down. Chapter 1/2/3/4

There's a few to-know to survive life in society, in the valley; there's no good way to comment on the age nor weight of both resident housewives, you can't say no to Evelyn's homemade cookies- and why would you, you fool-, you do not fight at the Saloon or you'll get no cheese anymore on your pizza and only sparkling water for drinks, and-

And you don't mess with Shane's alcohol related ritual.

Except I did, that night, because you do that, when your two-years long friendship with the guy taught you better than letting his impulses overcome yours, when your buddy is trying to recover from teenage long-lasting into early adulthood, trauma-enhanced heavy addiction, and you know, you know tomorrow he'll feel like absolute shit and question his right to therapy the moment he'll stop his pounding skull from splitting. Wonders what a three-dosage paracetamol can do.

At least he doesn't drink it out anymore.

So yeah, when you're in my shoes, you get that Joja store-bought crap out of Shane's hand, and you brace yourself for the incoming lash out.

The first fractions of seconds are always those to look closely into most. It's only a glimpse, but before the scowl slips on like a well-worn boxing glove ready to strike, there is always this open page I learned I needed to decipher as quick as I could.

Tonight, it's heartbreaking. When I peck his forehead- doting big sibling habits die hard, even when you're actually the youngest of the pair- the eyes I catch looking at me are so confused and bare of any emotion, except for the sorrow that goes beer-soaked tears, it pangs. I get used to the breakdowns, working in the fields I do when I'm off the farm's, but it's not the same when it's a friend.

When I straighten back, offensive beverage in hand, it's already gone in a flinch, away from the empty space behind the chair and onto the table, as he snarls.

"Wha- giv'me back- 's mine!" I don't know how much he drunk before he met up with me, but from the slurring, it's a Lot. A season and a half into sobriety. That's harsh.

I ignore him and walk behind him, pondering where to put the beer for now.

"Y-you can't just do that! It's my booze I got with m'money, not some- who d'you think you are?-" He sputters indignantly, angry tears fewer than the sad ones but still there. He tries to turn around and grab behind his back, but the wild movement is way off and only gets the chair to nearly topples down. I rush in time to stabilize it, and profit off the moment to set a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I can just do that, 'cus it's my house I got with my money, and I think I'm your pal who knows when you've had enough. Dude, I trust you to be an adult, but minutes before, you were already so torched I had to keep your neck upright so you didn't faceplant into the table, and you nearly just kissed my floor good evening. Not to mention you clung to my arms the whole way from the little entry stairs to the kitchen because, quoting, 'If I don't I'll fall in the hole and won't get up'."

I turn to the fridge again, going to open it, before I think better of it. Likely enough, we'll both forget it was there in the first place, it'll stink up my fridge- it's Joja's- and it'll be money out of Shane's pocket for nothing. I set it on the counter, with the rest of the pack. He'll put it to cool down when he's back to Marnie's. Or he won't, probably.

That's not a worry for now.

When I caught up with him, it was a few feet below my doorstep; he'd probably slipped up trying to climb the three steps up to it, and settled for it. He was nursing that same can, muttering to himself, head down, curled up on himself. Except for that leg sticked out, he probably hurt it when he fell, I'll have to look at that and work on it if it's too swollen. Hopefully that'll spare us from a visit to Harvey's.

Bad memories. Not mine, and it's warm and not raining outside, but. Déjà-vu.

Anyways, he looked the picture of "help I've fallen and I can't get up- and even if I can I won't because Fuck You", and it's been a hassle to have him cooperate. But when I asked if he wanted to leave, he shook his head with a fervor no somnolent drunk should have. That resulted in a lovely streak of vomit down the wall right next to the door. That's also for later. If Eryza doesn't lap it up. Ew. This cat's never predictable.

Now, he's staring at his hands, sitting at my table, contemplating something too far down for me to see- or maybe just zoning out with a sleeping brain. Then he mumbles. "Sorry."

I get back to the table and sit at arm's length across of him. "Nah, 's okay. I don't mind being a helping hand or touchy-feely, must be the frog-eater in me. Not for the helping part." I'd chuckle but my quip falls on deaf ears.

I go to put my hand over his. When he doesn't blink at it, I try and shake a reply out of him, gently. He startles and hawkeyes our joined fingers. When he's finally looking at me, I raise a single eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but when he pulls back his arm, I let him. We both straighten up, and it's hard to keep up the eye contact.

"So…" There's a heavy air on us. Suddenly, like the last year didn't happen, we're sitting a stride away of each other, and yet it feels like he's all the way back to the forest, looking down at waves.

"Do you want me to do something?" I bend myself a little closer to him, not moving otherwise.

He puts his head in his hands, shivering. Can't tell if it's the AC or his system kicking the alcohol out, or itself, in stress. I think I hear something, but it might as just be his shuddering breath.

"Shane" I insist, voice level, not pressing. "I need words. I want to help, I truly don't mind, but I need words to know what to do." He's never shown signs of going nonverbal before. If he does, I'll improvise. Until then… I need words.

Time ticks slowly as we wait. Then, with great effort and deep fatigue, he drags his palms up from under his nose to his temple, spreading some snot and wet tears across his face from his scrunched shut eyes. Lips trembling but finally showing, that attempt to let out a sound that's not too garbled. He coughs, sniffles a bit, breathe in again, sounding like a sick dog, and blows through gritted teeth before his jaws go slack. Eyes still closed, he whispers, and I have to lower myself some more toward his crouched form to catch it.

"Can I get something to drink…?" His voice is hoarse.

The demand could be comical, if we were into sour humor. And we usually are. But right now, we're not finding the joke in the lines. I stand silently, and as I walk to the fridge again, I let my hand brush his shoulder- same spot as before.

I take a minute to choose, look into the pantry. When I'm back at the table with my items of choice, he's still sitting there, his cheek is cushioned on his arms, face hidden from view. His shoulder, except for the occasional tremor, rise and fall in rythm with his snores. Breaks my heart to interrupt that, but not really. Hangovers are mean bitches with the sharpest nail art on the blackest of boards.

"Psst, dude. C'mon." I rustle his hair backward. He hates when I do that, says it tickles, and it makes him sneeze. So I obligatory do it once a day if I can. Let's say today's my late quota for the last four days I haven't seen him.

He gruffly tells me to kindly refrain from such pleasantries, and raise bleary eyes back up at the table. I can also guess he tried to bat a hand at me, but his coordination is off and he slaps himself lightly on the ear. Then he glares bewildered at his hand for a few seconds, obviously insulted. I profit of this moment to grab a small basin from under the sink, on second thought.

When he brings his attention back to me, I'm sitting again. Between us, a jug of fresh milk from this morning, a small sack of peppers, and a juice carafe sit aside a green glass bottle. There's also some bread, mostly for me to munch on. Because, hmmm dough. He squints at it all, especially at the bottle. Probably trying to read the label.

"Yeah no, didn't get you one of my best wine, not sorry."

"Hot pepper… juice?" He looks at the actual peppers next to it. "With actual peppers?" And then I get the squint too.

"Hmph, I know you like your elongated hell tomatoes, man, what can i say."

At that, a feeble snort.

I decide that it is the highlight victory of my soirée.

"Welp, have at it." I gesture to the half-liter liquor glass right by his left.

He fumbles with the drinks and some splashes around, but I lay back on my chair, arms crossed, letting him do his thing. While I don't hold back from growing downright doting on him when I got to- or even when I don't- I don't see how more devotion right now would be not smothering. He can break my fancy glass cups if he wants and spill my milk, so long he doesn't cut himself or cry over it.

Now, you could be thinking that plain water would have done the trick just fine, if not better, in rehydrating him. Here's the thing, though; going from booze to tasteless liquid, for Shane, that's a sure way to puking his heart out. And I'd rather not have us deal with an acid bile throat burn on top of near alcohol poisoning. Sorry to not spare you the squeamish details, but his oesophagus is pretty sensitive ever since that stomach pumping back at the clinic. Hot fiery hell fruits he can do just fine, with relative moderation and hydratation- hence the milk and juice- but liquor bursting its way back from his guts? Nuh uh.

It had taken lots of coaxing, but he'd explained the plain tastes, or lackthereof, were very hard for him to deal with, especially when contrasting with strong ones like beers and whiskeys. I'd shackle it to gustative hypostimulation, but I don't know enough about him that way to say. He'd said sparkling water was a good compromise.

But I don't have sparkling water, because I do not like suffering.

I might buy a pack for when he visits though.

And I do know a handful about him already. Shackle that to perceptiveness and a stubborn streak on top of a year and so long camaraderie.

And having a certain uncontrollable fear of failing to act quick the next time coped with by accumulating information and patterns compulsively.

I shake my head to focus on the present again. He's switched from juices to soaking bread in milk to eat it small portion after small portion. He pauses in mid-bite when he catches me staring. He's still hunched on himself and red-faced and a tad bloated. His cheeks are drying and he's blown his nose. I smile calmly. Worst of the storm passed, unless I screw up and blow it.

"Ywou wan' chom'?" He offers a dripping piece of bread. In moments like this, when he's sobering but not quite, the resemblance with Jas are unmistakable. The glint in his reddened eyes that open wide, and his blank-but-not-quite wondering expression, it's all here to paint a scrutinizing but vulnerable picture of tired but bright minds.

"Nah thanks. You done with that milk?"

"...Sure." He eyes it, wary. He knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it. I take the drink off the table, and his gaze follows my movement until I bring it to my lips.

He frowns. A silent warning.

And as I lock onto him with a dead stare, not blinking a millisecond, I down the rest of the 2 liters jug in three, five gulps. I even take the time to lick my new mustache away, and close my mouth with a click of my tongue.

His expression is the macabre marriage of beffudled horror and pure affliction, disgust if you will. The face of someone who doesn't hate milk, but has grown out of it enough to not be able to live off the stuff like the brave souls I'm apart of. And probably with reason, as I actually can't, like most 20+ years old, digest the liquid in large amount. But I smile like a smug cat, perfectly content.

Cats really can't digest milk once adults, it's all social mythos.

We silently judge and fuck with each other like that for a while more, as more time passes, until the room's elephant gets it all humid with its prancing around. Enough that tears and nervous sweats start again, for no apparent reasons but the residual anxiety from the whole chain of events that led to this.

"I think we should talk about this."

--- to be continued.

#alcohol cw #emetophobia cw #self hatred cw #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #stardew valley #stardew valley farmer #sdv farmer #1!Dow Farm #Farmer Uidelsib #☆my art☆#♧Shane #*watch me push my autistic headcanons onto chicken boi*#*just you wait for the trans and hispanic ones*#*i'm about to destroy this man whole career of self depreciation*#*highly functionning dumbass energy vs immovable but movable force of sadness*#food cw #*fuck tumblr for not letting me put a read more on mobile rip ur dash y'all*#☆writing☆

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aboutlouishofmann · 4 years

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A Life Devoted To Music

[Original interview here which is already in English. I'm just testing. All images curtesy of cinema.de]

FRIDAY, 7/5/2019

A LIFE DEVOTED TO MUSIC

In PRÉLUDE Louis Hofmann plays a talented pianist.

Rising star Louis Hofmann has often been seen at FILMFEST MÜNCHEN — for example, in the tender coming-of-age drama CENTER OF MY WORLD. By now, Hofmann is well-known all over Germany thanks to the captivating mystery series DARK. This makes us all the more delighted that this up-and-coming actor is returning to Munich this year with not one, but two exciting films. In PRÉLUDE, he plays a talented musician who experiences the downside of being an artist; and he also has a role in THE WHITE CROW, about Soviet ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev. We met the amiable actor at the world premiere of PRÉLUDE and asked him about his own experiences as an artist and how life in the spotlight affects a person.

In PRÉLUDE, you play an aspiring pianist named David, a freshman at a conservatory who's under pressure from the beginning. What was it about this story that caught your interest?

In 2015, I was invited to a casting for PRÉLUDE. I think I'd read only a small blurb about it, but it won me over right away and I knew I absolutely had to play this part. I don't know whether I'd already seen WHIPLASH. I grew up around lots of music and have an affinity to it — and probably a fascination with sadness as well. I thought if the script fulfills the promise of that little blurb, I've got to be a part of things. Then I went to the first casting with director Sabrina Sarabi and we simply got along very well and I noticed that she does very fine work.

When did you finally shoot the film?

Two years ago. It was hard to get all the money that was necessary. It is just a small film, after all. I'm still glad that we made it even though we didn't have much money. Being so close on set was also great. On the first day of shooting, there were maybe 15 of us on the set. It took some getting used to, because I'd just come from DARK, where we'd had 100 to 150 people. That was our own little microcosm, and working with such a small team was something I enjoyed to the fullest.

Is that something you generally prefer: a smaller scale?

No. I just prefer good material.

What does good material consist of?

That's the question. There are only the standard responses: well-developed characters, a nice development of the role, a story that's exciting, not one that's narrated. David is somebody I can identify with to a good extent. He's sensitive. He has this great ambition that I carry within myself. When he does something, he jumps in wholeheartedly. That's also the approach I take to my own work. That's why I understood him right away.

You mentioned that music has always been very important to you. Do you play an instrument?

I played violin for a year, because my brother played violin. I stopped pretty soon after that. Then, at age eight or nine, I began to play the drums. I did that for eight years.

Do you still play?

I stopped when I moved from Cologne to Berlin. I didn't have a drum set there, nor did I have the infrastructure: a place to rehearse and so on. I didn't take it up again until this year. I rediscovered how awesome it is and how much I'd missed it — how I'd totally been caught up in the piano as well. I used to be able to play chords or three-finger accompaniment. Classical pieces, though, were pretty foreign to me. I somehow put in a lot of effort with a teacher, without being able to read music. We did it with videos. I think it helped me a little to be able to play the drums. But to learn a new instrument and suddenly understand how it works and to be familiar with the keyboard and to get into the groove when playing: that really did a lot for me. In addition, it was just extremely good preparation for the part. It made the character accessible to me, which is something I hadn't really expected.

How long did you practice?

After I got the role, we did two years of workshops. In the end, we had two-hour lessons, five days a week for three months, and then two to four more hours a day of practice.

That's a lot.

You're right. But it's great. At first it's so difficult. The first two weeks were so rough: you're really just searching for the notes; your fingers don't understand it all just yet. You feel like a dyslexic on the piano, just so amateurish. And suddenly after two or three weeks, your fingers start doing what they should. You follow the instrument, and it's simply awesome.

Are you still doing it?

Unfortunately not. No, because I can't read music and because I'd noticed that I get bored easily because I only ever play the same pieces. My roommates and I have a piano, and I play it sometimes, but not like before.

What kind of music do you listen to?

Mainly indie rock, indie pop, alternative. Sometimes soul classics, chansons, or jazz hip-hop.

Can you name two or three artists?

Two or three artists I can name... Somehow that's always pretty hard to do. Right now I'm really looking forward to the new Dope Lemon album that's coming out soon. As for indie pop, Bon Iver is one of my heroes. Parcels is great. I could go on forever. Music is a really important part of my life. I just immerse myself in it and discover new artists. It's a lot of fun.

There's this gotcha question that I once picked up from a job interview: If you were a song, what song would you be? That is, a song that describes you very well.

I have no idea. I think the songs we listen to speak to only part of ourselves. The first song I thought of is "8 (Circle)" by Bon Iver. But that's just my melancholy side. It wouldn't describe me completely, because I also have a non-melancholy side, a very happy side, that I wouldn't be doing justice to.

Now that you've had a brief look at the life of a musician, even indirectly, what would you say is similar to or different from the life of an actor?

The pressure is what they have in common. The expectations one has of oneself. The competition. Although I have to say we're a generation, I think, who fight more alongside each other than against each other. For a pianist, it's a more individual fight than for an actor, because as an actor you normally don't perform alone.

In the film, David has to put his personal life on the back burner in order to get somewhere as a musician. Since you said that you enjoy immersing yourself, to what extent do you find yourself having to put your personal life on the back burner?

Since the work always comes in phases, you only have to do that in phases. And then I do that. In recent years, I've also learned that you can't completely separate the two — that the project phases should intersect more with the phases of free time. I've always felt that I've completely forgone personal life while working, up until the end of shooting. At some point, I no longer thought that was a good thing. In this line of work, you have to watch out, otherwise you'll start thinking of the year only in terms of blocks of time. I've resolved to be aware of this for more than a whole year again. Theater actors can probably do that a lot better, because they have regular work. They're able to balance their personal lives and their work more easily. That's a small obstacle that a film actor has to overcome at some point.

Let's assume you have free time. What do you do to unwind after work?

I had a hard time of that in Berlin. But this year, I went back to some old hobbies, like the drums. Also skateboarding, climbing, bouldering, and so on, to find balance. It's just about doing something that no one judges and where there's no output. Where you're not forced to deliver output. Because all you do when playing is give, give, give. You learn something, too, of course, and it gives you something back. But it's very relaxing to just do something that no one is appraising.

And where you're not being watched.

That, too, yes.

How often does it happen nowadays that you're recognized out on the street?

Sometimes. Occasionally. There are days when nothing happens, and other days when it happens several times. It also depends on whether I'm in a bar or another place where people gather.

Imagine that for some reason you had to do something other than act.

What would I do?

Exactly.

Hm. That's difficult.

Did you always want to be an actor, or were there alternatives?

A soccer player, of course. I definitely wanted to be a soccer player. When I finished high school, I was also very interested in psychology — and art. But I don't believe that I'd study art or psychology, even though I was still saying that two or three years ago. I also have a lot of fun working behind the camera, and I've been a set manager for short films. I enjoy organizing a set in the extreme, because I also have experience in how these things work. I'd probably still prefer to stay in the world of film and then maybe try to develop material or help to see it realized.

So you could also imagine directing and scriptwriting?

Probably not scriptwriting. I'm more the kind of person who reads the script and says, "Oh, that's what happens. I think it'd be great if this and that also happened." I don't think I could write a story myself. I have a lot of respect for those who can.

What else are you up to next?

On Monday, we started filming the third season of DARK, so I'll just do that for now. That'll probably take another six months. After that, we'll be done. The series was planned as a trilogy from the beginning, so the story will conclude with the third season.

That's all from me. In closing, do you have any more comments you'd like to make about your film?

I think Sabrina is very talented, and I'm very proud of this film and hope that people will see it.

#louis hofmann #dark netflix #prélude #sabrina sarabi #german film #german actor #jonas kahnwald

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