#I'm mad about several different things but the game itself seems cool

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I’ve only seen about an hour of the game through some guy I don’t think I’ll continue to watch and I’m just gonna say with no context...

Oh god there’s three of them now.

[demontouched]

i'm slowly catching up on the mcu....

(thoughts and opinions of someone who is not, and probably will never be, a comic enthusiast, a film major, or cgi specialist below the cut.)

so. i have heard and read nothing but votriol for just about everything after end game. maybe it was the classic fandom progression where everything gets turned into a cesspool (either the fandom survives and becomes good again, or everything implodes and only incels and tarpits remain). i don't really know because i left fandom spaces for like 3 years, but that's a whole different story.

i dropped off after end game, i'm just barely catching up, so i don't know how a lot of everything else turned out. i've liked the multiverse movies i've seen so far (shang-chi, eternals, multiverse of madness, quantumania). they're not masterpieces, but they're good movies. (please remember that this is my opinion and i'm not an expert on anything except myself. the block button and i are best friends.)

despite starting the movie several times, i can never seem to finish wakanda forever. it just feels... sad. without chadwick boseman. don't get me wrong, the movie is interesting, and i love shuri and wakanda. it just doesn't feel right that chadwick isn't there. call it parasocial or whatever, but idk. when black panther first came out, it was compelling. i fell in love with the story of the mcu all over again, and this character specifically. call it parasocial or whatever. idk. i just can't finish the movie.

i really liked shang-chi, i thought it was an interesting movie and it was very pretty in the special effects/cgi department. i liked the story, and while i wasn't completely blown away by the lovie, i did enjoy it a lot. probably my current favorite of the post endgame movies.

eternals was... well, i didn't much care for it either way. it felt strange and lonely, but i think any movie would feel strange and lonely if it happens in a preexisting universe, and is effecting the whole globe, and yet only a certain set of super powered people show up to help.

multiverse of madness was interesting to me. we got to see two preestablished characters who have never interacted collide in a way that doesnt really happen in marvel movies. it wasn't a crossover of any sort (not like venom in no way home or deadpool's fourth wall references) but it was cool. i haven't seen wandavision (i'm television adversed for the most part, honestly. watching movies is like pulling teeth for me, and focusing on a tv show is worse. to me, the tv is for background noise so i don't go insane.) so i'm missing pieces of background for that, i'm sure. something something wanda wanted kids and so she'd destroy the world to have that or whatever. (i'll watch wandavision eventually) i sympathize with craving a life ripped away from you by circumstances out of your control, and i found myself in tears at that one scene, when the kids are terrified of her.

quantumania was a whole other thing. they're setting up the big bad of the arc. like they did with phase one. those little touches of thanos in the end credits, ths machinations of a monster much bigger than them. this is just a step up, a mulitversal problem rather than an in universe one. they did (*imo*) a great job taking this step through by including the slow build to it. the hints of the quantum in phase one movies has lended itself greatly to the build up of this phase.

quantunmania itself was mid. i didn't hate it, i didn't love it. it was interesting to see the probability storm. i think it says great deal about scott as a person that even when he is split into hundreds of millions of versions of himself, his focus will always be cassie. that's a dad if i've ever seen one. it was also an interesting read of hope, as well, that she came all together to help scott and even though the scotts all helped og scott, they only came together when hope arrived. (the metaphor was like a bright red circle in a youtube thumb nail.) also, i loved the ant mimicry in thay scene. and the ants! the ants were probably my favorite part.

end game was a unique film, with countless hours of work from a HUGE cast and crew put into it. blood, sweat, and tears went into that movie. it's a cgi wet dream. it tied up loose end after loose end, sweeping the plot bunnies together in a neat 3 hour long package. i could wax poetically about end game for 3 hours at least. anway. the point of all this is that these movies are fine. they're not end game levels, but i don't think anything will ever live up to end game. maybe i'm wrong, we shall see. maybe i'm stuck in the past. maybe i'm missing a humongous chunk of context bc i haven't been keeping up with the news surrounding marvel. idk. i'm gonna keep enjoying what i enjoy, and despite it's flaws, i do enjoy marvel.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

ON THE EDGE ~ Pt. 2

Characters: Gavin Reed x fem!Reader; Connor; Hank Anderson;

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2.643

Two days later, yn was back in the DPD. After a quick talk with Gavin and greeting Hank and Connor on her way, she sat in the glass office of Fowler. She was always good with her Captain. There was barely a problem between them. And yet, she was nervous in the way Captain Fowler skimmed through her file. His serious expression made it impossible for her to read him. She could feel Gavin's eyes burning on her back. Beside herself, he was the next in the row of the most nervous people.

"It's good to have you back, yn.", Fowler said and gained her attention back.

"Thanks, Sir. I'm also happy to be back. I've missed this beautiful hellhole."

"I have all the results and I have to admit, everything looks pretty perfect. The test results of your shooting training are amazing and the doc report gives you a go. Then, there's nothing else for me to do than to give you your weapon and badge back. Welcome home.", Fowler said proudly and handed her the mentioned things.

"Thank you, Sir.", yn stood up and took her gun, she had missed the feeling of the typical weight, and the badge. The shiny golden badge was her pride and joy. A sign of her hard work.

As yn took the badge, Fowler held the other side in his hand and waited for yn to look at him, "But, keep it slow. Get to know the new cases. There are some. And look after yourself."

"Of course, Sir.", yn promised and then, she took the badge into her hand. Finally, she was back in the game. Yn left the office and stepped into the middle of the room to raise her badge in the air like a trophy. Everyone was clapping and cheering with applause.

**

Like Captain Fowler had advised, yn took it slow. She returned to her desk opposite Gavin’s. Her desk. The small island in the middle of the DPD where she had her place among all the tough guys. The day after she got her badge back, she sat at her desk, studying some file about a Red Ice case as someone placed something in front of her. It was a small flower pot with a smiling face on it. A small green plant grew out of it.

Yn smiled broadly as she saw this small gift and looked up to see Connor standing next to her desk with a soft smile, “What’s that?”, she asked.

“I saw it this morning on my way to work and thought about you. The smile matches yours. It’s a small welcome back gift.”, Connor explained proudly.

“Oh, thank you. That’s so cute of you! I really like that. This desk missed something green and joyful.”, yn said and took the small flower pot carefully in her hands to take a closer look. Proudly, she raised the plant up to show it to Gavin, “Look, Gavin, what I’ve just got! Isn’t that cute?”

Gavin looked at her sparkling eyes and the broad smile but all he could do was to shoot her a small acknowledging nod, “Yeah, wonderful. I’ll get some coffee.”, he said and stood up.

Yn looked surprised at Gavin who just walked away with a sullen expression. She frowned, wondering at what it was that seemed to have bugged him this time. But then, she just shrugged her shoulders and turned back to Connor who was happy to see her smiling about his gift.

On his way to the kitchen, Gavin threw the greeting card into the next trash bin. Gavin had brought it the day before as he thought it would be a nice idea to give her something for her return but unfortunately, he had no better idea than this card. Since he had entered the DPD, he had searched for the right moment to give her the card. He even had written something in it, it was a quote from one of her most favourite movies. And then, the android had thwarted his plans. There was no way his silly card could keep up with the small plant Connor had given her.

The longer the coffee needed to be done, the more anger rose inside of him. Gavin clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He had been cool with the android because he had to but this move brought his anger against Connor back. As the coffee was done, Gavin took the cup, turned around and walked through the kitchen. On his way, a young officer bumped into him and let his files fall because of the impact.

“Watch it, stupid prick!”, Gavin grunted angrily.

“S-sorry, Detective.”, the officer said, totally scared and gathered the papers from the ground with shaking hands. Gavin glared at him angrily before he left the kitchen.

“Was that really necessary? You frightened him to death.”, yn asked, crossed her arms and watched her partner sitting down.

“Yes! Now, he knows where his place is!”, Gavin grunted angrily.

Yn looked at him with raised brows. Most of the time, such an outburst was triggered by other things than just a newby who ran into him, “Wow, you’re in a bad mood. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fucking wonderful! If my mood is bothering you then, why don’t you go somewhere else? No, wait. I'll go. I need some air anyway!”, Gavin said with a fiery glance, stood up, grabbed his jacket and left the DPD without another word.

Shocked and slightly taken aback, yn looked after Gavin.

*

Yn studied some of Gavin’s open files to get back on track with the work. There was one case of prostitution but it was nothing too severe. It was just a girl who tried to come buy in these tough times with all the unemployment. She would be still there later. There was one file that caught yn’s attention. It was a statement from a junky who had snitched on his dealer to get off the hook. As yn read the statement, the name of the dealer: Joseph ‘the Joker’ was so stupid and silly that it burnt itself into her mind.

But the name rang something in the back of her head. Yn searched on her desk, plastered with different files, to find the one case file she had read half an hour before. As she skimmed through the papers, she found the same name, Joseph ‘the Joker’, mentioned again. It was an older statement but yn was sure that these cases had a connection.

“Gavin, where the hell are you?”, yn cursed annoyed. For hours, her partner was MIA. She had tried to call him several times but he never answered. All the messages she sent stayed unanswered. But yn needed someone to talk about the discovery she had made and to get a second thought about it. She let her eyes roam through the office randomly until her eyes landed on the other side of the room. She spotted one very helpful person for such a case.

“Hank, can you look at something?”

“Of course. What is it?”, Hank asked interested. Connor also stood up from his seat and joined them.

Yn sat on top of the free desk with the files in her hand. She gnawed on her lower lip. Somehow, it felt like betrayal that she was discussing this with Hank and Connor instead of Gavin but as she looked back, his desk was still abandoned, “I have three different files. A bunch of different statements. But in all statements, the same name gets mentioned. It’s a Red Ice dealer. I guess it’s just a small-time villain but… something tells me there might be more. Could you check that?”

Hank looked behind her at the abandoned desk and was annoyed that Gavin went away and let yn alone where she was just back after the long enforced break, “Sure, kiddo. Let me see what you have.”

Thirty minutes later, Hank looked up from the files, “You know what, you’re right. This Joseph is some dealer but his district seems to be very small. And I don't think he's the type of guy who's able to 'play' boss. He gets his stuff from someone. Wait a moment, I might have a statement about this guy, too."

"Does Gavin know about the connection?", Connor asked but as yn was about to answer, a loud voice caught all their attention. It was the hooker yn had seen in one of the other case files. Chris walked beside her to bring the woman in chains into a cell.

Yn jumped from Hank's desk as she saw Gavin walking right behind the couple, aiming for his desk. First, yn was mad, he had gone far too long without a word, then she saw his face and hurried over to him, "What the hell happened to you?", she asked, concerned and surprised as she saw the bloody lip and the red color on his cheek, maybe from a slap. Yn guided his chin more into the light to have a better look at his face.

Gavin moved his head out of her grip, "It's nothing. This hooker was a bit … rough as I tried to arrest her."

"You bastard! You tricked me! First, all flirty and then- bang! Some silver!", the prostitute yelled. Chris struggled to keep hold of her as she was about to jump at Gavin.

"Chris, lock her up for fuck saken! And throw the key away!", Gavin yelled and finally, Chris moved her through the DPD. Gavin slumped down on his chair, taking a file to note something.

Yn stood next to his desk with crossed arms, tapping with one foot, "So, wanna talk about this?"

"About what? That I do my job?", Gavin asked and looked up. He saw her glance and felt guilty but then, his eyes landed on Connor and the former anger was back.

"We're partners! You could have answered a call or at least, one fucking message-"

Gavin shot up and stared down at yn who didn't seem to be impressed at all. That was something he liked on her the most, that she never backed off of him, "Sorry, mom! I was busy, okay? Now, excuse me, I have some paperwork to do."

Once again, yn was surprised about this kind of outburst. She stared after him. A sad feeling spreaded through her. During her recovery, all she wanted was to go back to Gavin. To work with him. Now, as she was back, he seemed to be on the edge all the time. She wasn’t sure if it was her fault, that it was still because of the shooting or … if there was something else that Gavin bothered.

"Yn?", a soft, smooth voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Connor stood next to her and offered her a bunch of case files, "Your files. Hank added his one. Is everything alright?", he asked as he saw her glance.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fucking wonderful. Thanks for the files...and for the help.", yn said and went back to her own desk.

Gavin left the cell area and watched the interaction between yn and Connor. Ice cold anger and fiery rage shot through his veins again. But he knew, he was his own worst enemy. Like always.

As Gavin saw yn sitting at her desk, studying some files, he felt like shit for treating her like this. Of all the people, yn was the last one who deserved his temper tantrums just because he couldn't be honest about his...

He had two options: one, he could tell her the truth or two, he would pull himself together. At the moment, option two was the only thing Gavin had. So, he had to make up for his latest behavior as best as he could.

Yn studied the file Hank had given her. She read the second statement from a guy who said 'Joseph the Joker is ticking drugs in Liberty park' and so on. Obviously, the junky had been on drugs as he had made his statement because yn had to read the same paragraph for the third time to understand what the guy wanted to say. She just started the fourth try as a cup of coffee appeared slowly in her field of view. A well known, tanned hand shoved the cup in front of her.

Without a word, Gavin walked to his own desk to sit down opposite of her. He had seen her observing glance and the one raised brow but she stayed silent. He knew her well enough to know that she tried to ignore him as a punishment. So, he did something he barely does, "I'm sorry for yelling at you. And I'm sorry for not answering the calls and messages. And for...leaving you alone.", Gavin said softly.

Slowly, and somehow disbelieving, yn raised her head to look at her partner. She blinked several times. A soft, lopsided smirk played on Gavin's lips and his green eyes, rimmed by dark shadows, were looking hopefully at her. Yn leant back in her chair and crossed her arms, "Alright, who are you and where's my partner?"

"I'm serious!", Gavin said but still with a smile.

"Me too! Gavin Reed never apologizes. What did he say once? Oh, yeah: "Apologies are for chickens…". And I have seen enough movies to know what is going on. So, tell me, alien from outer space, where's my partner?"

"Okay, I get it. You're mad.", he said and leant back.

"Yes, I'm mad. Just like that, you storm out of here without a word to do- what? Arresting this hooker? I read her file. There's nothing important in her case. Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong? Because, somehow I get the feeling that all this bad-vibe-thing from you is related to me."

Gavin felt how all the color drained slowly from his face. He feared she would notice something but not that fast, "No! No, it was not because of you. Look, this...girl was getting on my nerves, okay? Yes, the case is simple and I guess we let her go anyway but…", Gavin stopped and waited. He didn't need to wait long to get the reaction he hoped for. The sign that she was distracted with his lame excuse.

"But, what?", yn asked impatiently.

"During the last weeks, I tried to arrest her three or four times and each time, she escaped-"

"Oh, bloody hell! It's an ego thing? Seriously?", yn asked and started to laugh.

Gavin raised his shoulders as an apology. Glad that his trick had worked out.

"You will never change, I guess.", yn said, still grinning as she looked down at the file again, "Thanks for the coffee, idiot."

"Always, shorty.", Gavin answered and grinned as he saw her face.

"Don't call me that!", yn said serious.

"Stop calling me 'idiot', then.", Gavin fired back.

"Nope. It suits you perfectly."

"Then, you have your answer.", Gavin grinned. They touched their cups with each other to seal this mini fight as over.

"How's she doing that?", Connor asked as he watched yn and Gavin talking about something before they touched their cups in a silly way. In one moment they were fighting and in the other they seemed to be fine again.

"Who is doing what?", Hank asked, slightly confused, what Connor was talking about.

"Yn and how she's acting with Reed. How long are they partners?"

"Two years, maybe a bit longer. But don't get tricked. They weren't always like this.", Hank said but he raised his hands as he already saw the next question in the android's face, "I will tell you the stories one day but not now. Come on, we have work to do."

[adventuresindolls]

Meet Lexie Chapter 3: What Flying Feels Like

(Aside: I know in the story Sophie gets chocolate ice cream and this is clearly a popsicle, but it's the closest I had)

Sophie's friend did come over the next day after Sunday school, but Lexie hardly saw them. She hardly noticed anything that day. Over breakfast, Papa had announced that as a treat to make up for moving, and to forget new school anxiety, they would be going to the County Fair every day this week. Lexie hadn't heard anything said to her since then.

Fairs were thrilling. They meant rare treats and delicious smells and rows of bright booths to hop between. Sophie and Lexie had an ongoing system where they would run around as buddies between the game booths and the ones selling pretty necklaces and giving away paper fans. But when Lexie started to get overwhelmed, they would go together to the 4-H building to look at pretty dresses and pictures of flowers. It was air conditioned in there and much quieter than the rest of the fair. Sometimes Lexie would find a cool corner to sit and read the book she always carried while Sophie found a play area or other kids to talk to.

But best of all were the rides.

They usually went for one day a year. But this year was special—5 whole days of excitement! It was hard for Lexie to think about anything else all day. She read the same page 6 times, lost a Mario game badly to Sophie, and finally went for a long walk around the new neighborhood. She saw a bunch of kids outside playing in sprinklers or shooting Nerf guns at each other, all younger than her. She only got 3 blocks away before deciding it was too hot and turning around. The rest of the day was spent curled up on the couch watching her favorite magic girl anime, which the conversation at shul the day before had reminded her she liked.

She woke up way too early on Monday. By the time Papa called her for breakfast, she had finished her favorite book again and rearranged her stuffed animals. After her usual bowl of dry cereal, she put on her favorite space-themed dress and her comfiest velcro shoes and was pulling on the car door handle before Daddy even had the picnic basket closed.

Lexie had never been to these particular fairgrounds before, but they were as bright and full as she expected. The day wasn't hot yet, which was perfect for running around. They each got $5 for a snack so they didn't have to regroup until lunch.

"What about buying fair stuff?" Lexie asked.

"You can have souvenir money on Friday," Papa told her. "Otherwise you'll buy one thing today and find something better tomorrow."

They ran through the rows of stalls, stuffing Sophie's overall pockets and Lexie's narwhal purse with free pencils in every color of the rainbow and candy they definitely weren't supposed to eat yet. Lexie only had a couple chocolate kisses, but before they reached the end of the lane Sophie had eaten six.

They spent the morning looking at every single booth and spinning prize wheels until they got bored. Having pushed the absolute limit of their patience, they made it as far as 11 o'clock before heading for the games.

Lexie went straight for the ducky fishing game. They had a giant octopus as the big prize. The smiling man handed her a fishing pole and told her to go for it.

She did not immediately go for it. She thought the duck she was aiming for—the little gold one—was about three and half feet away. How hard would she have to swing to hit it without overreaching?

"Hey, are you gonna go?" The man looked a little less smiley now.

Lexie blamed him startling her for why the first time the line went flying past the entire tank. It was much closer the second time, but still plopped into the water an inch away from its goal.

"That's alright!" The man encouraged her. "Try one more time!"

"No, thanks," Lexie politely told him and dashed away before he could try to convince her. She had just remembered that she wanted to save her remaining 8 tickets for rides.

The next thing she remembered was that she hadn't heard Sophie's chatter in a long time. She would be in so much trouble if dads found her alone.

Even worse, something might happen to Sophie, who was "not the most responsible or cautious" kid.

The crowds around her seemed to double suddenly. They were mostly adults or teenagers much taller than her and she couldn't see more than three feet in any direction.

"Sophie?" She meant to call out, but it came out as barely a whisper. That happened sometimes.

Lexie ran up and down the aisles of games and all around the rides next to them. Surely her sister wouldn't be bored enough among the flashing lights and interactive booths to wander back to the ones she had no money for. She tried and failed twice more to call for Sophie, but she doubted even at her loudest she could be heard over the thousand conversations that buzzed around her.

She was about to give up and go find her fathers—who were probably listening to one of the free concerts—and enlist their help whatever the consequences (she was pretty sure by now that Sophie was being murdered or had fallen down a magically appearing manhole) when she spotted her long dark hair by a food booth in a far corner.

"Where have you been?" Lexie wanted to be angry, but instead she felt like crying.

"Right here," Sophie's voice was muffled by a bite of chocolate ice cream, "Where have YOU been?"

"You ran off! You can't do that! We have to stay together."

"I didn't run off. I stopped 'cause I wanted to play something different."

"You have to tell me that!" Lexie really wasn't about to admit that she was mostly embarrassed she hadn't made sure Sophie, who had ADHD and was known to get distracted, was with her.

"Don't yell at me!" Sophie was getting mad.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Lexie finally relented. She gave Sophie a quick hug, which was so rare for her—too much touch made her brain go staticky—that Sophie stopped arguing. "Let's go ride the rides. What's wrong?"

"I don't have any tickets left." Sophie's eyes were wide with surprise and disappointment. "I played a bunch of games, and I didn't even win anything. Can I have one of your tickets?"

Lexie looked down at her sister's tear-filled eyes and felt a sudden sense of protectiveness. She planned so Sophie didn't have to. "You can have two. But only if you tell me where you're going."

"Ok!" Sophie's face instantly brightened.

The rides were all bright colors and flashing lights and quick movements. Lexie didn't even know where to focus and let Sophie lead the way, finishing her ice cream and chattering away about how cool every ride was.

And then she saw the swings.

It had always been her dream to ride that one. It was always more pastel than neon and it looked like fun. Just like spinning on the playground swings but MORE. She had wanted to last year but got too scared at the last minute, even though Papa promised to go with her.

"Sit here and hold my purse. I'll be back." She barely glanced to make sure Sophie obeyed before skipping to wait in line. It seemed very soon that a teenager with a green mohawk took her ticket and motioned her up the metal step. Up close, the ride seemed much bigger, but no one else was hesitating to strap themselves in. Swallowing, she grabbed the chains on the closest chair and pulled herself up into it.

She was still pretty sure it was a good idea, right up until a different teenager came by and pulled the metal bar down on her lap. All of a sudden, she kind of wanted to go back to fishing for ducks. She glanced through the crowd to find Sophie, who was still on the bench and completely ignoring her, her favorite otter in one hand and the other covered in melted ice cream.

Lexie gasped and grabbed the chains with both hands at the first jerk of movement. Several people around her giggled, and she heard at least one "Oh!" of surprise. Very slowly, the ride began to spin and rise into the air. She was torn between stomach-dropping anxiety at being so high and absolute delight at all she could see. The rows of booths looked like brightly colored handkerchief squares. The people swarmed like ants—at least, she thought, there were no crowds up here. She soon lost track of Sophie. And then she could see beyond the fair, to the tiny houses of the city itself. The taller buildings downtown looked like shiny metal twigs. She forgot to be worried.

They were spinning faster. And faster. It wasn't scary up here, really, it was wonderful. It was like everything she'd always wanted to feel when she spun herself until she fell down or kicked her legs to swing as high as possible. It was impossible to describe. Like everything that was always too loud and too bright just stopped. Like there was no such thing as feeling trapped and panicked in a crowd. Like nothing existed but her and the seat and spinning. Like she could stay up here forever. She kicked her legs, making her chair wiggle.

It couldn't actually last forever, of course, and almost before she knew it they were slowing. Her stomach dropped again, this time with disappointment, and her legs nearly collapsed beneath her when she first stumbled out of the chair and through the metal gate.

She found Sophie on the same bench where she'd left her, the remainder of her ice cream staining her hands, face, and overalls, but miraculously not Elliot the Otter. Lexie briefly considered telling her to go wash up, then decided it wasn't worth it.

"Hi! I'm gonna go ride the rollercoaster!"

"Ok."

Sophie hopped up and stuffed Elliot back into her pocket. "What are you gonna ride next?"

"The swings."

"Again?" Sophie looked at her like riding the same ride twice was the weirdest thing she'd heard that day.

But Lexie couldn't help grinning at the thought of freedom and flight. "Yeah."

[leiascully]

Ummm....I'm a little late. But can you maybe write a little ficlet about Mulder and Scully getting assigned to the Dallas terrorist task force? A post ep for The End, but pre-FTF? Maybe a little snippet of the plane ride out there? What were they thinking? What'd they talk about? Did Diana come up at all?

Anything for you, doll!

She still smells smoke when her hair falls across her face.  It’s not real; Scully knows that.  She’s washed her hair several times in the days since the fire, with the lemon shampoo that covers even the lingering reek of formaldehyde.  She hasn’t been down to the office in days, though her finger slips automatically to the lowest button in the elevator before rising again.  It isn’t real, but she smells it nonetheless.  Mulder would understand - he probably catches the whiff of burned paper when he strips off his undershirt at night - but she can’t tell him.  Diana lingers between them like stale cigarette smoke; the choices Mulder made on the Gibson Praise case muddle the air between their temporary desks.  Scully can’t decide if the taint of nicotine or the slightly cloying smell of charred manila folders would be more appropriate.  

In the absence of the X-Files, they have been reassigned, as if the powers that be could repurpose them.  As if they hadn’t been forged in the basement long before the flames licked around the edges of their evidence.  Some swords can’t be beaten into ploughshares, not again.  How far did the higher-ups sift through their history before they hit on the terrorist task force as an appropriate venue?  Does someone, somewhere, in some smoke-hazy office, know that something’s going to happen, or is it just the general paranoia that undergirds American society?  Like the trees that turned out to be one enormous organism, like the fungi that interlace for acres underground, different threads of bigotry are woven through their society, the pretty pattern spoiled and snarled underneath.  Her life too has become irretrievably tangled, or at least her mother thinks so.  In ways, Scully is grateful that her mother can’t see the ugliness of all the other choices in her life.  Maggie Scully can still appreciate a landscape or a tapestry without imagining the brutish scurrying underneath.

Mulder is moody and standoffish, as if he has a right.  “They’re wasting our time, Scully,” he says as they deposit their bags at the airline desk.  

“Just consider you’re going back to your roots,” she tells him.  “Profiling used to be your thing.”

“Physics used to be yours,” he says.  “You using your degree, Doctor Scully?”

“Every time we get on a plane,” she says, gazing steadily up at him.  

“I guess that would make flying more fraught,” he says.  “You could always take something and pass out on my shoulder.  I’ll even let you drool on me.”  A peace offering, she sees in his eyes, but it doesn’t mean much when he doesn’t understand what he did to vex her.  The game was afoot.  Of course the dog didn’t bark in the night time.  Mulder had spent dark hours with Diana, years’ worth if the Lone Gunmen were to be trusted, and somehow that made all the years since they’d spent watching each other’s backs something he either trusted so much or valued so little that he was willing to abandon it.  

“I’ll consider it,” she says.  At least on a plane, strapped and wedged into his seat, he can’t ditch her in media res.  Unless aliens hijack them, she supposes, in which case, she’ll try to document the process so that she can present their findings to the world without looking foolish.  

They find their seats, window and middle, not an exit row.  Scully puts her newly issued coat in the aisle seat, folded so that the bright yellow FBI doesn’t show.  She’s been approached at airports for everything from directions to reports of pickpocketing.  She doesn’t want to spend the flight peered at and interrogated.  Fortunately, the door closes without anyone in the seat.  Mulder hands her his jacket as well.  She piles them together and weighs them down with the buckle of the seat belt.

“You’re mad at me,” he says as the flight attendant approaches with beverages.  Scully is lost in the relative merits of ginger ale (fizzy, too sweet, may give her a headache) versus coffee (caffeinated, acrid, may give her heartburn).  

“I’m not mad,” she says absently.

“Something’s wrong,” he says.  “Throw me a line here, Scully.  My profiling skills are rusty.”

“I’m frustrated,” she says and he groans quietly.

“You’re frustrated,” he repeats.  “That’s a mom thing to say.”

Grief flickers through her and she can see that he regrets his choice of words.  He bumps his shoulder gently against hers.  “Hey.  I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You were there for me through everything with Emily,” she says, looking him straight in the eye for what feels like the first time in months.  “You’ve been there for me through some of the most difficult moments in my life.  Sometimes lately it still feels like you shut me out of those same moments in your own life.”

He shifts in his seat.  “It’s not personal, Scully.”

“It’s not personal,” she says.  “Exactly.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, defensive.  “Cry on your shoulder?”

“You could have told me about your history with Diana,” she says.  “I went to see her in the hospital.  She’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“That’s not personal,” he says, avoiding her eyes.  “It’s the past.”

“The past doesn’t leave us, Mulder,” she says.  “Otherwise regression hypnosis wouldn’t be profitable or theraputic.”

He sighs.  “I don’t know what to say about it,” he tells her.  “I don’t know why I still trust her, but I owed her the benefit of the doubt.”

And not me?  She doesn’t ask the question, but it still drifts up between them, soundless as smoke.

“She’s important to me,” he says.  “She believes in the X-Files.  I believe in her commitment to the truth.  Sometimes we’ve all done things in the course of our investigations that seemed incongruous.”

Scully inclines her head in acknowledgement.  The drinks cart rattles closer.  Club soda, she decides.  Maybe the stinging freshness of the bubbles will clear the memory of smoke from her sinuses and the taste of Mulder’s mealymouthed half-apology from the back of her throat.  The flight attendant thinks they’re married.  Neither of them says anything as they accept their cups of ice and bags of peanuts.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be part of my misery,” Mulder says as Scully tips the last of her honey-roasted peanuts into her palm.  A small indulgence to offset her distaste for flying.

“Mulder, I couldn’t escape being part of your misery if I wanted to,” she says.  She crumples the empty bag onto her tray and licks the nuts out of her palm.  With her clean hand, she touches his forearm where he’s rolled up the sleeve of his dress shirt.  He gets hot on airplanes.  She can feel how cool her fingers are against his skin.  “For the record, I don’t want to.”

“Here I am, stuck in the middle with you,” he says blithely.  

“Some days, I feel stuck,” she says.  “Some days, I feel like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I can’t recommend robbing banks, Scully,” he says.  “It’s not as much fun as it looks.  But I’m sure we can make our own fun in Dallas.”

“There’s fun in Dallas?” she asks skeptically.

“You’ll see,” he says with confidence.  “Don’t we always find a way?”

“Frequently the wrong way,” she says.

“I took the way less traveled by,” he tells her.  “It’s made all the difference.”

“I know it has,” she says, and leans back against the headrest.  The last of her club soda is fizzing in her plastic cup.  It sounds almost aggressive, the way the ice amplifies the popping of the bubbles.  But it tastes clean and fresh when she raises it to her lips.  All she can smell is the crispness of ice, a microclimate that will vanish, inevitably, as the water shifts states into a tepid liquid she won’t want to drink.  The only constant is change.  The ice doesn’t lose itself; the water retains the memory of what it was, and becomes ice when the conditions are met.  That’s comforting.  She’s heard the murmurs of ice queen around the bullpen before, but ice has structure and clarity that smoke doesn’t.  Ice remembers.  It can hold the evidence inside it of thousands of years, preserving a perfect record of how things used to be.  She becomes aware that she’s gazing into her cup and sets it down.  She hasn’t been sleeping well.  Her dreams are all hazy at the edges.

“You’re looking sleepy there, partner,” Mulder says in what he seems to believe is a Texas accent.  It’s no better than it was when they were chasing vampires in Cheney.  He pats his shoulder.  “I’m here if you need me.”

She lets herself lean against him.  For a moment, he tenses, but then his muscles ease under her head.  When she takes a deep breath, he smells like soap and heat.  

“We’re not going to a cowboy bar,” she tells him.

“You say that now, Scully.”  His arm rises and falls gently under her ear as he breathes.  “I bet you’ll be boot scoot boogieing with the rest of the Texans in no time.”

“I didn’t bring my cowboy boots,” she says.

“There’s your first mistake,” he tells her.  “You’ve got the wrong attitude about this trip.  I’ll show you.”

“I’m sure you will,” she says, yawning, and the rest of whatever he says fades into the steady hum of the engines.

[joeyvintage]

https://www.videoreligion.net/2019/01/violent-shit-2-mother-hold-my-hand-1992.html?m=1

-rev terry

I think if I were a badass, I would need a metal mask or full covering helmet of some kind. Not for the armor aspect, although head protection is always good, I'm just a fan of the look. I would wear one in my daily life now, but they are probably expensive, and people would expect me to do something cool (as I too would expect of a dude with a metal head).  All my favorite villains had one in my youth. Both Magneto and Dr. Doom from the comics commanded respect and fucked shit up while wearing some metal on their heads. They were probably my earliest examples, but honestly, that's enough to have secured my love for the style. Their helmets were both semi utilitarian but mostly just looked really awesome with their cape combo. In cartoons, GI Joe took the effects of mirrored sunglasses to the next level with Cobra Commander, as he sometimes just had a smooth piece of chrome covering his face. I can get down with that--the blank and shiny look. It’s stylish features even distracted from his shrill sounding voice. I would probably go with something a little more personalized myself, but would definitely want something metal. It just completes the whole look for me. Something about a good sturdy helmet just fits with murder and mayhem. Karl the Butcher gets it. That's why, when he died, along with his love for over-the-top murder, he passed his fancy medieval headwear down to his son, so he would be properly dressed for his own adventure in Violent Shit II (1992).

Long after the events of the first film, two makeshift drug distributing gangs meet up in an open field to engage in something nefarious with a briefcase. For whatever reason, the deal sours, and the two groups go at eliminating each other in various gusher inducing ways. The battle whittles the congregation of assorted backyard wrestles down to a one on one duel between the leaders who both happen to practice kung fu and enjoy white button-up t-shirts. After some fancy moves, one of them slays the other in combat and begins to leave the scene (sans all his dead homies, I guess) but is stopped in his tracks by the sight of a large masked man yelling at him on the horizon. Turns out Karl Butcher Jr, son of the legendary mass murderer, was out for a stroll, spotted the dealers killing each other, and, not to be left out, had rushed to join. Very quickly, Karl (Andreas Schnaas) is on top of the would-be lone brawl survivor and promptly fucks him up with a machete just before the screen goes black. Following its intro and sparse opening credits, the film takes the form of a true crime documentary in development by reporter Paul Glas. Paul believes a string of recent murders can be linked back to The Butcher massacre from twenty years before (and also, the whole thing has something to do with real-life serial killer Fritz Honka...I think?). After divulging the history of Karl senior for a bit over panning random footage of Germany, the reporter follows a tip leading to an interview with some dude in a bar who confirms his suspicions. The Deepthroat-esque “DR. X” then tells him a few stories about the original culprit’s son who, mad about a face rash or something (honestly between the bad subs and silly plot I'm still dim on some details, but it doesn't really matter), had also already done some minor rampaging of his own in the last few years . Switching formats once again, we catch up with Karl II and his (adoptive?) mother (Anke Prothmann in a lot of make-up). Turns out, Momma Butcher has been priming her young progeny to follow in her late husband's footsteps, and now that he has grown to be the spitting image of his father (complete with the heirloom medieval helmet), he is ready to do some eccentric butchery of his own. In fact, this time will be extra special, because mom is coming along too. As one could probably guess, Karl's old lady has some very peculiar parenting ideas, specifically cannibalism and incest. Also at some point, a naturally occurring body hole gets closed up with a stapler, and I think someone eats poop, so watch out for that.

The title is about as far from the old-fashioned B-movie bait and switch as you can get. Like the first film, Violent Shit is wall to wall grotesque violence, only now (in true sequel fashion), it's been turned up a few ridiculous levels. There is an increased story to it compared to the first film, that is to say, there is more than nothing tieing the insane moments of torture and dismemberment together. For the first few acts, a disjointed, random, and confusing series of events form some semblance of a point, but the film forgets about the majority of this as it moves on into plasma soaked sadism. Mostly, the additional fluff just makes room for things the series was truly missing-- like a training montage, cliche fauxumentary tropes, and Kung Fu.  Karl Jr's maternal relationship adds fucked up frosting to an already disturbing cake of sinister shit. The weird sexual thing that's going on there, combined with mom's encouraging cheers, was enough to make me glad the subtitles are wonky and that I don't speak German. At around the same runtime, it might be a little lighter on the fake entrails than the first to make room for the added story, but it wouldn't be considered lacking in most circles. The Butcher-minor is more creative than his father but also seemingly obsessed with genitals (of all genders), which is weird and takes a lot of screen time. There are a few classic machete whacks to the face for some victims. However, as the body count grows, most of the slaughter comes with long, drawn out, silly torture and bloodletting. A bare-bones opposite to the Saw-style mouse trap, instead of providing intricate setups for the deaths, the act of execution itself is long, complicated, and involves several steps. It's all sure to offend anyone who watches but is too extreme to take seriously. Even if you are of the squeamish type, by the fifteenth minute of growling testicle torture and six similar acts, the action loses any real shock and becomes either just gross or hilarious (and gross). It goes for broke, eventually just dissolving into increasing levels of carnage, capturing the essence of a drunken night between friends trying to top each other's morbid imagination. Along with its spastic rampage, the film makes several references to classic American horror films and even borrows a few plot points from the Friday the 13th series unambiguously. To its credit, it's moved forward quite a bit from the first writing-wise, although it’s not like it is casting a bigger net for an audience. It's still just random gore because that's fun sometimes, and hopefully, no one who pops in a film titled Violent Shit 2 will be worried about the level of drama involved.

Shot on tape and seemingly dumping the entirety of its finite resources into gore, Violent Shit 2 is, again, what it says on the tin. The whole thing looks like it was shot in different sections of the same public park, which it refers to as a “forest” at one point. The John Woo tribute, in the beginning, is the film’s most developed moment as far as framing and choreography go, displaying some above average movie brawling for its budget. For the film’s meat and potatoes (Karl the second, killing people), it's a lot more of the same backyard style camera work that kind of hangs around watching the action from any accessible angle. Shots seem almost placed at random, and it jumps between them with meaningless cuts. The film’s biggest draw is an overabundance of practical gore, which comes out as a step above the rest of the film quality- wise. For the lack of resources, the film utilizes some pretty gnarly effects when it comes to flesh mangling, and it doesn't skimp or pull away.  I think I counted four different consistencies of blood, and each horrible scenario is trying to top the last. Without spoiling anything, there is a range of squirtastic stabbings and stringy limb removals that, despite their amateur surrounding conditions, would give a lot of larger budget splatter flicks a run for their money.  Some of the more ambitious (for lack of a better word) moments spend a little too much time on screen and give themselves away, but all together it should more than slate any grimy blood-seekers thirst or send anyone else running. When it isn't mumbling at random volumes, the dubbing is just screaming, grunting and giggle-worthy squishing sounds with no attachment to what's on screen. Music-wise, the film is laced with an out of place, unbalanced soundtrack that sounds straight out of an RPG fantasy video game. Besides the Dungeons & Dragons mood tunes, it does have a German death metal/butt rock theme song (Violent Shit by Vice Versa) bookending it that captures the spirit nicely and almost feels critically necessary. Stick around afterward for some bonus scenes and marquee of credits that look like they are trying to sell you knock off sunglasses.

German director Andreas Schnaas has made an international name for himself with a torrent of ultra-low budget, ultra-violent gross-out splatter flicks that continues today. In 1989, he and some homies secured a tiny bit of funding to form the company Reel Gore Productions and produce their first full-length picture titled Violent Shit. Filmed over four weekends and with a rented tape recorder, the project amounted to a series of violent acts committed by a large masked man named Karl the Butcher, crafted with homemade practical effects (and little else). By the grace of the trash-gods, it saw a single midnight theater showing but received mostly negative reviews on its initial video release due to its lack of production values. However, with a little help from a to-the-point naming strategy and its unrefined grimy gusto, it found an audience worldwide over the following years in less discerning gore hounds who don't mind the homemade feel (a bunch of fucking weirdos probably). Succeeding their second feature Zombie '90: Extreme Pestilence in 1991, Andreas & Co would return to the world of Violent Shit and brewing cult following. To date, the character Karl the Butcher has appeared in six flicks, that I know of, including a reboot of sorts (Violent Shit: The Movie 2015) by Italian director Luigi Pastore, without Andreas Schnaas involvement. Schnaas himself would play the role in most outings, taking over for Karl Inger (allegedly) after the first film.

Violent Shit II: Mother Hold My Hand (aka Violent Shit 2) is a composition sketchbook of demented cartoon executions forged during an in-school suspension and realized in full-color low fidelity magnetic tape. For the right crowd, it's an awesomely inelegant, generously proportioned helping of sloppy sleaze, possibly best devoured while intoxicated. It advances from the first movie to some degree in almost every way, but it's still one for the same exclusive and fucked-up crowd. If you want tasteless acts of dismemberment, childish boundary-pushing, and obscene special effects, it's got you covered. Those seeking damn near anything outside of that, better look for their kicks elsewhere. In a way, it has the same MO as a Gallagher show, in that there are small bits of gibberish in between gags, but ultimately everyone watching is just waiting for red shit to spray, and a majority of possible viewers are not going to get the joke. I enjoy the fuck out of the unseemly mess, although I don't know what that says about me. I also really dig Karl the Butcher’s fashion sense. If only I too had been lucky enough to have inherited some cool metal headgear along with the destructive predispositions.

[groundramon]

for the ask the blogger thing... ☂ - favorite season? ✐ - fave types of movies? ♪ - music you like?✌ - favorite bands/ singers? ♒ - fave animes? ❦-.fave characters? ღ - mottos? I'm spamming u with those sorry

SHHH NO I LOVE BEING SPAMMED WITH QUESTIONS SO THANK YOU

Also thank you for including the questions with the emojis that makes this 10x easier for me lmao

anYWAYS

☂ - favorite season?Winter!!  Nice and cool AND you dont have school for two weeks lmao

✐ - fave types of movies?Generally animated; I enjoy animation and movie animation tends to be consistently pretty high-quality (even the fucking emoji movie looks pretty decent) not to mention live action movies always seem to have really bad sound mixing??  Meaning important things you NEED to hear like whispering are too quiet and explosions are too loud even when you dont change the tv volume.  But even then, saying I prefer animated movies isn’t exactly accurate because….I haven’t gone to the theater for a single animated movie this year.  The only ones so far that I would’ve considered were Lego Batman (which I have on dvd now but i havent watched) and Cars 3.  I’m hoping to see Coco in theaters but other than that….i can wait for it on dvd or just not watch it at all because I’d prefer to rewatch a movie I like.

I also dont like calling animated movies a genre, so if we’re going by genre, I’d say fantasy-adventure stories tend to be my favorites, but sci-fi can be fun as well.  I just want a good, heartfelt story that doesn’t take itself so seriously that you can’t have fun but also takes itself seriously enough that you really feel for the characters.

♪ - music you like?GOD I WISH I KNEW??  I’ll literally listen to everything from vocaloid to mainstream pop to techno music to video game OSTs and everything in-between and outside of that.  I’m generally more picky with rap music, techno/electronic music, and just anything that gets screechy or is too intense with its instrumentals, but….I can listen to hard metal music when im trying to fall asleep at night, so i mean.

✌ - favorite bands/ singers?Again, god I wish I knew.  I have a tendency to think “oh, this is alright, I’ll listen to a few of this artist’s songs” and then moving on and never thinking about them again.  One artist that I’ve come back to repeatedly is Sabrina Carpenter though, her music is nice and a few of her songs are some of my all-time faves, its probably not for people who cant stand mainstream pop tho.  Also shout out to Mystery Skulls for officially licensing Mystery Skulls animated instead of taking them down for copyright infringement lmao also their music is some of the techno music that i actually like

♒ - fave animes?I havent watched enough animes aaAAAA but I will always and forever love Digimon.  Like I dont think any anime will surpass the personal attachment I have to the Digimon series.  It’s just so silly and charming and for a long time it was the best thing I had ever seen and it’s honestly still just….really enjoyable.  (Honestly it gives me fossil fighters vibes, I think I like them both for the same reason tbh)  Digimon Adventure is definitely my favorite, Tamers is really good but I actually have a bit of a personal bias against Tamers because it scared me as a kid :’D its still a good season tho and i appreciate it a lot more now that im older.  And FRONTIER IS ACTUALLY GOOD, PEOPLE CAN FIGHT ME it’s got the same vibe as the first four seasons, even if the concept seems vastly different, and is really enjoyable if you arent blinded by your love for the digimon partners in the old series.  After that though its kinda….ehhh.  Data Squad and Fusion didnt have the same feel, although Fusion did it much better, but…its just not the same.  I really dislike Marcus so it makes Data Squad less enjoyable, plus i just…idk, it doesnt seem to have as much life as the first four seasons and is written and animated in a different way to me.  Fusion is kinda interesting in the second arc (ive only seen the first three arcs; the third arc/seventh season [idk which it is] hasnt been dubbed yet so…) but it takes itself too seriously because it removes its primary comic reliefs - and also the best characters - after the end of the first arc.  So we’re left with the Digimon as the only comic reliefs and….ehhh….theyre not as good.  Also I havent seen the Appmon anime and idk how good it is but im still salty that they stole the name of the project that ive had floating around in the back of my head for years so i havent done anything related to Appmon.  AND Digimon Tri is good but i still need to catch up on it ahaha cries (planning to get a trial at crunchyroll to watch the last two parts when the last part comes out)

But enough about Digimon.  Besides Digimon, I really did enjoy Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood; I do have some gripes with the series (namely the earlier episode and how much happens in the earlier episodes vs how much happens in the later episodes, so pacing problems basically) but it’s still really good and I LOVE AL.  There was an anime I watched with my dad several years back called Blue Dragon that I remembered enjoying a lot, but then disowning because it turns out in the original my favorite character was a perfect example of the anime pervert trope.  Dubs are fun lmao.  But I feel like I’d pick up more on the changes they made between the two versions now (the sub version being riddled with swears and innuendos, and the dub version being dubbed for kids) and probably wouldnt enjoy it as much anymore.  I also barely remember shit about it except a plot twist at the end that i spoiled for myself but still had no idea it was coming.  I was like 11 when i watched it, its been a long time.

❦-.fave characters?Well I already mentioned loving Al, but I also love Pidge from VLD, Amanda from Dream Daddy, Baymax and Hiro from BH6, and Napstablook from Undertale.  Also like all of the main characters in Fossil Fighters Champions but shhh.

I really want to add Hunk to this list but honestly as the seasons in VLD go on it becomes more and more apparent to me that he’s just a running fat joke; Lance looks like he could be building up to something, but I haven’t got a clue where Hunk could go besides more of the same.  So :’) my boy deserves better, he can join the group again when Dreamworks gets its shit together.  Sorry Hunk, I still love you and I’d treat you better if you were mine (//looks at my characters all burning in hell and sweats// well maybe not better but…)

ღ - mottos?Uhhh idk?  Does this mean like, mottos I follow, catchphrases I use a lot, or inspirational quotes?  Idk I’ll give all three

I try to live my life by the policy of “do to others as you would have them do to you.”  That’s like my number 1 rule about doing anything.  I dont understand how people can be intentionally dicks to other people or so something that they would hate happening to them; what, dont you realize that other people have the same feelings as you?  I know I’ve hurt other people but still, it’s always been in instances where the pros outweighed the cons if I put themselves in their shoes.

As for catchphrases I use a lot, probably “mood” or “god same” because this site has completely broken my sense of anything

As for inspirational quotes, well here are some copy-pasted directly from my dA page:

“No man deserves to be trapped in jelly.” - Rupert from Fossil Fighters Champions“what motivates Scart? That’s right: the nut” - Tumblr user claratyler“I am slowly going crazy” - Dr. Jean, songwriter of children’s music and my lord and savior“I’m still mad at Seth McFarlane btw but im more concerned with my tree cookies” - me“I was out of the third bean” - Yolei’s mom from Digimon Adventure 02

[austinstahl]

City Paper is Dead, Long Live City Paper

It's hard to describe, to someone who's never experienced it, the pleasure of being a part of something you'd previously loved from the outside. It's what I imagine it might feel like to be drafted by the team you grew up rooting for.

I'd been reading the Baltimore City Paper since high school in the late ’90s, when I'd pick up a copy on occasional trips into the city, and it was a window into a world of arts and music and general adult freedom that I longed to enter. After I moved to Baltimore for college, it became an indispensable companion to the city I was now exploring, and to a growing music scene that I was attempting to infiltrate. And it was a consistent source of great writing about things I cared about — it seems weird to say now, but at the time, it was not easy to find genuinely good writing on the internet — with great photography and illustration alongside it.

So when, as a newly-minted college grad in 2004, I got invited in for a job interview after an acquaintance had recommended me, it was both exciting and surreal to see where this thing I loved got made. (I believe the only time I ever used the stately front entrance to the offices at 812 Park Ave, a converted Mt Vernon rowhouse mansion, was for that interview; staffers, as I soon learned, customarily slipped in via the back alley.) I had spent the previous several months searching for a “real” graphic design job, and this City Paper position was for a production assistant, so I wasn't entirely sure it was the right move, but it seemed like too much fun to pass up. Even for a measly $12 an hour.

It was. The vibe of the Production department was like being in a class populated entirely by class clowns, on a day where you had a substitute: You knew you'd need to get your work done eventually, but in the meantime a feeling of let's-see-what-we-can-get-away-with anarchy hung over the whole enterprise. We occupied a large room on the second of the building's three floors, appropriately between Editorial (above) and Advertising (below). There, six of us laid out some parts of the paper—whatever wasn't handled directly by Joe, our goofily ebullient art director—and designed a massive number of small ads for local advertisers. (We offered this service for free, and it was like layout boot camp.) Music was usually blaring from a boombox perched on the mantel of what had once been a bedroom fireplace, often controlled by the eclectic tastes of our senior designer Matt. A second sonic layer, made up of constant jokes and banter, floated overtop of and intertwined with the music. Even if the work itself sometimes felt like drudgery, I was never bored.  

On Mondays, we worked a 12-hour shift as final ad approvals came up the stairs from Advertising and final article edits came down the stairs from Editorial, all needing to be placed onto pages. At dinnertime we'd wait anxiously for a call from the basement to tell us the company-provided pizzas had arrived, and then march down past “the morgue,” where nearly thirty years' worth of papers were archived—a weekly reminder that this madcap pursuit had a long history (longer, indeed, than my life to that point).  

I'd gotten a lot of advice in design school about making sure my first job was one where I could keep on learning, and while I'm not sure that CP was quite the type of job these advice-givers had in mind, I was undoubtedly learning plenty: When to push back against bad ideas (no, Mr Advertiser, the fact that the ad we designed for you contains a few slivers of white space does not mean that we can now cram 50% more content in) and when to grin and bear them (usually making private use of my colleague Rebecca's oft-repeated saying: “If that's what you want...”). How to wrangle disparate pieces of content into a coherent whole (it was our job to create “The Map” that determined which content/ads went onto which pages, no small task when we had so many different ad sizes that we used the letters of the alphabet to refer to them). How to keep your cool when the pressure was on and tensions were rising.

And though I didn't fully recognize it at the time, I was beginning to learn that publication design was what I was meant to do; I loved spending my days working alongside people who were putting something of value into the world. As difficult as I found the schedule—after Monday's 12-hour slog, you'd grab some sleep and then head right back for the mad dash of Tuesday morning, sending pages off to the printer—I immediately appreciated too that if a week's work wasn't your best, well, you didn't have to wait long for a chance to do it better.

After a little less than a year, though, I was growing weary of that weekly grind. Adding to my weariness was the peculiar mix of entitlement and insecurity that perhaps only young twentysomethings can feel with the ferocity that I did; I felt that my numerous design talents were not being properly utilized as a mere Production department drone, and simultaneously feared that dronehood was perhaps all I was capable of. It didn't take long for this mixture to curdle into a bad attitude that I evidently didn't hide well—at some point that summer, our production director, Athena, called me down into the alley (the only place one could have a private discussion at 812 Park) to ask if I really wanted to be working there. I admitted, to her and to myself, that I didn't.

(Athena, thank you for putting up with me.)

So I moved on. I only worked at the paper for less than a year, but that time has taken on an outsized importance in the life story I tell myself, looking back with a dozen years' distance. As short as my tenure was, I had the privilege of being a small part of this local institution, this forty-year history of documenting and shaping the social and cultural life of my city. There's a pride in that, which I expect will never go away.

City Paper itself, of course, has now gone away, killed by its parent company earlier this month. Count me among those who felt the paper had experienced a sharp decline in quality and consistency in recent years, though to be fair, at least some of that must have been due to rapidly shrinking resources. Certainly they were still capable of great heights: their dispatches from the summer's Baltimore Ceasefire and their longform deep dive into sexual harassment and abuse in the arts scene, to name two from the final few months, were engrossing and important pieces. These are the kind of community-serving features that they seem ready to continue in new form over at the Baltimore Beat, which launched this week under the leadership of some recent CP vets. I look forward to following it.

City Paper's demise has been framed widely as a symptom of the 21st-century media landscape, where the internet has killed print advertising so thoroughly that no free print media can survive, but apparently CP was still profitable—just not profitable enough for the corporation that chose to end it. The narrative that it really fits into is the one where more and more independent media entities, print and digital alike, are bought up by the rich and powerful and don't always survive the whims of their new patrons.

I still have a copy of the first issue of City Paper I worked on, from October 20, 2004. It contains 136 pages (compare this to the final issue's 40) and lists fifty-one employees on the masthead, not counting contributors or distribution. (Baltimore Beat's full-time roster, reportedly: five.) So, yeah, independent media in 2017 is leaner in more ways than one. But I think it can still be a force, a beacon to draw kids like me to cities like ours, and a vital resource for those who are already here. Even if there are fewer opportunities to be drafted by the home team, I have to believe that there are new teams to start, new games to invent that we haven't yet dreamt of.