#THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I USE THIS KIND OF IMAGERY FOR THEM.... THE SILLIES EVER

[definitelynotshouting]

Sometimes I like to think of scarian of just like, two people giving each other crazed mad scientist smiles bc they're 100% about to tear each other apart because their love is strange and they want to dissect each other until there'snothing left to learn and love. They would cut themselves open and apart just to show the other what's inside and it makes me want to gnaw on a chunk of concrete

-unstoppable object anon

LITERALLY THIS..... they are soooooooo. Like there's a reason i keep writing shit like this about them:

[nitewrighter]

I know you don’t have any ask games currently posted but just for fun: what has been the favorite bit of symbolism you’ve ever put into one of your stories? Or at least a bit of symbolism that you particularly liked.

Well I think the tough part about this ask is, like, I don't usually set out to have symbolism in my stories, it's more like it kind of crops up in there as I ask the question of "Hmm how can I visually reinforce what's going on here?" And that just kind of gradually folds more and more into the overarching theme of the story as I go along. Which... okay maybe that's kind of how symbolism works? But for me it's more like, visual than really ascribing to any hard schools of "X is in here to represent Y." I would say my most self indulgent case of symbolic writing is definitely in my Reidan fic, "The Stag Prince," and even then I'm not entirely sure if it's actual symbolism or if it's just a matter of being couched in the language and imagery of fairy tales, Irish folklore, and the Child Ballads. So like, throughout the story you have a lot of prevalence of the colors white, red, and black. In Irish folklore, red is considered the most magical color, because it's a pretty rare color in nature, and it's the color of fire and blood! White can also be pretty rare in nature as albinism usually makes animals more vulnerable to predators and whatnot. Red kind of naturally made its way in there because Aedan's a ginger, so it made sense that most of the animals he would turn into would be red. Of course, the stag being his favored form is because we consider stags both cthonic animals and symbols of virility. But like... I don't know if this was on purpose or if I just wanted to create a visual callback to Aedan's freckles, but I write the stag as being dappled--first a red stag dappled with white at the beginning, then a white stag dappled with red for the Wild Hunt. And like, we all know deer/elk only have spots when they're babies, so I was kind of leaning into the concept of neoteny as also a sort of indicator of magic--that Aedan, as an adult stag, shouldn't have spots, so his spots are an indicator that he's a ~magic deer!~ The White Stag bit is also meant to be a callback to English folklore and heraldry with the White Hart. There's a lot of nature-as-magic in the story, and you also see this in the mushrooms/spiders/Snow White scene which, clearly uses a lot of white. Lowkey I wish I knew more about Mycelium at the time I wrote that part, because god, the visual overlap between cobwebs and mycelium is RIGHT THERE.

Basically looking back on this story, it's basically soft romantic fairy tail fluff as a thin rice paper wrapping around me with a megaphone yelling "FAIRY TALES ARE SEX AND DEATH." And like, it's not like I wasn't aware of that at the time I was writing it--after all, another major inspiration of that was the Child Ballads, which have a significant amount of sex in them, so there's a noticeable amount of innuendo in it--Rei doing the Action Skirt Rip, the silly "You have to ride me" exchange, Rei taking hold of Aedan's antlers, Aedan feeling Rei's bare legs tighten at his flanks--and they're doing this to join the wild hunt, which is like... this terrifying procession of ghosts and fairies and monsters, lead by the Dullahan, an omen of death, the fact that they're both doing this because Aedan sought to give up his immortality for love. So... sex and death.

There are also several song callbacks in that fic--Rei's Action Skirt Rip is kind of an homage to Child Ballad 39: Tam Lin's "Janet has kilted her green kirtle aboon her knee" but the white dress she's wearing in the wild hunt is inspired by the Decemberists' Hazards of Love, "My true love went riding out in white and green and gray." Also the witch knots and the spiders webs in the Snow White scene are a callback to the spellbreaking tasks in Child Ballad 6: Willie's Lady (Who was it who undid the 9 witch-knots tangled in amongst his lady's locks?/Who was it split the silken thread the spider stretched all beneath his Lady's bed?)

So like... I don't know how much of it was symbolism and how much of it was just being its own visual and narrative language, but it's mostly me throwing myself into these historic storytelling genres and tropes to tell a story with my beloved kids, and I had an absolute blast doing it, and looking back I still have a soft spot for the story. Even now I can tell it was something I very much wrote for myself, and I'm like "Aw, thank you, Me."

[jcmarchi]

Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance Review - Misery Loves Company - Game Informer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/shin-megami-tensei-v-vengeance-review-misery-loves-company-game-informer/

Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance Review - Misery Loves Company - Game Informer

Despite being a flagship franchise, Atlus has never shied away from taking risks and experimenting with Shin Megami Tensei. Even without taking spinoffs like Persona or Devil Summoner into consideration, the “core” series has taken new forms and reinvented itself over multiple decades and platforms. 2021’s Shin Megami Tensei V was a prime example, both respecting its oppressive, hardcore roots while embracing Atlus’ evolving audience and conventional shifts in games as a whole. It only makes sense that in revisiting such a recent title, Atlus has done far more than produce a simple port with some bonuses. Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance is aptly titled; it’s an act of defiance against convention, criticism, and maybe even its own reputation.

SMT V was a big deal for the series, its HD debut after previously moving from the PlayStation 2 to the 3DS. It was a novel combination of post-apocalyptic doom and gloom with colorful superhero action. As the “Nabohino,” a powerful fusion of human and synthetic demon, players traversed the sand dunes of a long-dead Tokyo, fighting for control of the future in the aftermath of a war between Heaven and Hell. While some found the story lonely with a distinct lack of supporting characters, I found SMT’s recurring theme of a lone human fighting a hopeless battle in a world already lost more resonant than ever in the middle of a pandemic.

[embedded content]

On the surface, SMT V: Vengeance is a home run without any extra effort. The original game being a Switch exclusive meant it arrived with inevitable technical compromises. Vengeance is still on the Switch, but its multiplatform debut means every inch of its world is out in full force. This game is as colorful as it is dour, juxtaposing multicultural religious imagery with post-apocalyptic destruction. Simply being able to dash across the shining dunes of Da’at (formerly Tokyo) without the frame rate sputtering is worth the price of admission.

But there’s so much more to Vengeance than a touch-up under the hood. Rather than being a sequel in the style of SMT IV: Apocalypse or a pseudo spinoff like SMT: If, Vengeance offers a totally new campaign scenario. Nearly the entire story is completely retold, using the original premise as a springboard to leap into a scenario with new central characters, antagonists, and entirely different endings. On top of that is a massive amount of retooling, with changes and adjustments that range from quality-of-life tweaks to brand-new features entirely. Vengeance is almost a whole new game that treats the original as a rough draft. “Almost” is a keyword here, because the original scenario is also selectable at the beginning, so you can still experience the original story while enjoying the new features and adjustments.

In many ways, the new scenario feels like a direct response to problems players had with SMT V the first time around. As a returning player and a longtime fan of the series in general, it’s a bizarre setup with an impressive level of self-awareness. Moments occur when the story appears to change from the original in a direct and crowd-pleasing way, only for it to yank the rug out from you violently, twisting the twist to make it even more unpleasant than before. While I didn’t agree with the criticisms that led to this new campaign in the first place, having a whole new story to dig into that toyed with my previous knowledge was a lot of fun.

The new character was intriguing and added a lot to the scenario, and getting more of the returning cast admittedly fleshed out the plot more. I did find having them playable to be kind of silly, as using a team full of my own demons was always more productive anyway.

This remixed approach could be confusing to a newcomer. Luckily, Vengeance accounts for that too, and the choice of which version to pursue is presented in-game in a way that’s practically seamless. It simply feels like yet another option in a game and series full of choices that impact where the narrative goes. There isn’t special attention drawn to it, nor does it feel like an awkward attempt to replace or undermine the original. It’s just more SMT V to dive into, which for an already jam-packed RPG full of narrative agency and monster-collecting action, is more food on the table for the feast. And it was a hell of a feast to begin with.

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

🥰 for the Witcher of course

A/N: Milos was created I believe by Fayet on AO3 who writes Hibernating With Ghosts which you should all read.

[surrounded by love]

Vesemir was the first person to love Geralt, he thinks. He doesn’t remember if his mother loved him, and he has significant doubts about whether she did or not, since she left him to be raised as a witcher.

But Vesemir was gentle with him, gave him a name of his own, took him back to Kaer Morhen with admonitions that it would be a hard life but that his brothers would always look after him.  He didn’t understand the “if he survived” part until later, when he was a bit older, but it was true nonetheless. There was a fair amount of bickering and bullying among the younger boys who hadn’t gone through the trials yet, but if it came down to it they always had each other’s backs, just sometimes they weren’t nice about it.

Vesemir taught him to hold a sword, to fight with a sword, to keep moving even when he wanted to fall over. Vesemir, he learned years after the fact, had pushed back against the choice to put Geralt through a second round of the Trial of the Grasses, said that they needed a witcher who came through the first round in such (relatively) good shape. And it was Vesemir who was the kindest to him and the most protective of him, in his own rough and hard way, after he emerged from the second round different and strange and uncertain. And he’s never stopped.

Eskel loved Geralt immediately.  They were of an age, though Geralt had been in Kaer Morhen longer when Vesemir brought Eskel to the youngest boys’ dormitories, but Eskel had been bigger. Just a little taller, just a little stronger. 

“I’ll protect you,” the boy declared with complete childlike confidence, taking Geralt’s hand and jutting his chin out as if daring anyone to argue, and Geralt said, “Ok,” and let it happen.

When there were bullies or injuries or sickness, Eskel was always right there. When they came through the Trial of the Grasses (the first time, for Geralt), Eskel was worse off but still managed to crawl his way to Geralt’s cot and squeeze onto the tiny thing with him, holding him even as he trembled nearly out of his skin from the pain and the fear. 

(Geral never tells Eskel how much that moment meant to him, even if he wasn’t so badly off. He never tells Eskel how much any of the things he’s done over the years mean to him. Eskel doesn’t need him to.)

And after the siege that destroyed their brothers and their home, Geralt came back to find Eskel had arrived much quicker than he had, that he and Vesemir had already dealt with the bodies and the worst of the bloodstains. And even hollow-eyed and grieving, the first thing Eskel does is walk to Geralt, pull him into the tightest hug of their lives, and ask if Geralt is okay.  If that’s not love, Geralt has never experienced it, but he’s pretty sure it is.

Lambert loves Geralt in the same way he hates Geralt: loudly, intensely, and jealously. Their relationship is fraught, always. When Lambert is twelve, he begs Geralt to take him away onto the Path, promises he’ll earn his keep, and in the first big city he can go his own way.  Geralt declines, and Lambert’s hatred crystalizes in that moment, from idolization to jealousy.

But other times, as he gets older, especially after the siege, Lambert also provides comfort. He’ll needle Geralt to the point of lashing out, and at Vesemir’s command to “take it outside!” they’ll get their swords and spar for an hour, sometimes more, and when the fight eventually ends, even though it almost always ends with Geralt’s sword at Lambert’s throat, Geralt feels better and Lambert looks satisfied and relieved.

It’s almost as if Lambert doesn’t know how to care for someone without hating them a bit too. Geralt tries not to think about it, because Lambert deserves to be able to pour out that love he carries inside himself without having to lace it with hatred and violence.

Coën  loves Geralt, in the way you love a cousin you were never close to. The Gryphon isn’t a regular winter resident in Kaer Morhen, exactly, but then neither is Geralt. 

Coën  teaches him moves that his school perfected, that don’t naturally mesh with the way the wolves were trained to fight, and talks at length about Milos and how he learned it. 

Milos was a smallish, blond-curled Wolf who was killed in the siege. By all accounts, from Vesemir and Eskel, it looked as though he’d died doing his best to protect the littlest of children. He’d travelled with Coën (inasmuch as witchers travelled with each other, which was to say mostly meeting up every few weeks in a previously determined location) for over a decade.  They would never let Coën go with that sort of connection.  They knew it was there.

And Coën is always a little worried about them all. He may not love them the way he loved Milos, but he doesn’t want what happened to Milos to happen to them.  

Jaskier loves Geralt.

Sometimes facts are just facts, and a best friend will always love you.

Jaskier loves Geralt steady and true until Geralt can’t stand it anymore and breaks his heart and pushes him away.

(And even still, that broken shattered heart keeps loving him, even when he doesn’t remotely deserve it.)

Yennefer loves Geralt, though not always the way either of them want her to. The draw is the djinn, they realize eventually, but the feelings are her own. It’s complicated in the end - she doesn’t want to be kept or bound, and he doesn’t want to be left behind, and yet somehow both of them have managed to entangle the other in the things they want least.

“We could’ve been a great love story,” she says one evening, years down the line, sitting at the fireplace in Kaer Morhen’s library after dinner. “Something your bard would’ve been fit to burst about writing.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, and falls silent. It’s a long time before he says, “I don’t think that was what we’re meant for,” just before Eskel and Jaskier come in bearing alcohol and glasses, Lambert carrying a tray of bread and cheese.  It doesn’t leave Yen any space to argue, or agree, or say anything. 

Geralt’s not sure he can handle hearing too much about exactly what kind of love she feels for him. Not just yet. He can’t quite handle the thought of Jaskier writing a song - well, another song - about them, especially after the heartbroken bitterness of the others.

Ciri loves Geralt with all the joy and power and carelessness a traumatized child could hope to love.

She is fire and passion and anger and bitterness and kindness, and it’s all Geralt can do to open himself to accepting all her emotions and trying his best to give back even half as good as he gets.

He doesn’t.  But he tries. He’s her father, and he will always try.

Jaskier loves everyone. It’s not clear at first, how much he loves. Geralt sees him with Ciri, combing her hair and holding her after nightmares and singing silly songs and pretty songs and songs that he clearly wrote about Geralt but with more subtle imagery than Geralt’s used to from him. He’s always known Jaskier was talented, even if he didn’t enjoy the fruits of his labor, but this is something else entirely, a story that is clearly about Geralt, the most honest songs he’s heard about himself from the bard’s lips, but without ever once mentioning wolves or witchers. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t heard these songs, or why they exist. He’s afraid to ask. Ciri seems to already know them well.

Geralt sees Jaskier with his brothers, even with Coën, and feels like he might burn from the warmth in his chest. The lazy ease with which Jaskier interacts with them. It’s not that he’s not nervous, he clearly wants to make a good impression, but Jaskier is warm and open and most importantly not afraid of any of them.

He is never afraid, and it terrifies Geralt more than anything he can think of, and makes him improbably proud to have been the bard’s first witcher.  His brothers love Jaskier right back, in their ways, Eskel with cheerful-yet-terrifying facts about monsters and witchers and the dark places of the world, Lambert with insults and very restrained physical harassment, Coën with solemn offers of helping him train to be a better swordsman than he is, so he can protect himself out in the world.

He sees Jaskier with Yennefer, their previous animosity softened somewhat. They still snipe at each other, pulling at the threads of each others’ insecurities and fears, but if they go too far, they back off, which they never did the first times they met. Geralt sees Jaskier say something saucy (judging by his expression) to Yen one day, and expects Yen to retaliate or slap him, but instead Yen laughs - bright and loud enough that even as far away as he is, Geralt can hear her - and kisses Jaskier’s cheek. He doesn’t know what they’ve built, but he’s glad it’s there, holding them up if he can’t be there.

Vesemir is an enigma in some ways, but Jaskier manages at least to get into his affections, judging by the strict tone he takes with Jaskier while he watches him train with Eskel or Coën, or the firm way he steers the exhausted bard to the dinner table, or the baths, or his own room. It makes Ciri laugh, and Jaskier always sighs when this happens, just following along with a teasing (but somehow also respectful), “Yes, Papa Vesemir.”

And then...

And then.

Jaskier loves Geralt. 

It doesn’t make sense. And after some time away, Geralt can process and internalize that it was never meant to be solely platonic. That Jaskier was willing to take whatever love he could get, but that the love he gave was more than that. It overflowed to everyone in Geralt’s life, spilling over and over and over, doing its best to fill everyone up, and somehow Jaskier manages to do this without coming out of it drained and exhausted and unable to love.

He kisses Geralt one day, after singing Ciri to sleep.

“I can’t handle this anymore,” he admits, and Geralt doesn’t know what he means. He tries to say it, pained and uncertain and terrified that Jaskier’s leaving, but Jaskier watches his face and the strange openness of his expressions, and he smiles.

“You can’t either, can you?” he asks softly, and Geralt lets himself whimper, just a tiny bit. “Well,” Jaskier says, a spark of heat and delight in his voice as he presses against Geralt’s body. “We’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?”

Every important person in Geralt’s life loves him, and when it matters they all love each other as well. And while he doesn’t know how to process or handle this fact, he knows that he never in a million years would give it up for anything short of saving their lives.

And all the people around him continue to love him.

[grayintogreen]

I was not technically tagged, but at least two people on my dash were like DO WHAT YOU WANT NO ONE IS YOUR GOD, and you know what? They’re right and valid. 

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

96! And 90% of them are from just this year. Can’t wait to find out what the big 100 is gonna be. Any one of my WIPS could be Disney’s next 100th fic.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

455,024 (also mostly from this year...)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In my entire life??? Since I was twelve??? I don’t even know, man. I wrote a lot of ooc crackfic and fic for cartoons when I was on FF.net, and then I was on LJ and wrote for a TON of different fandoms, but on AO3, I have written for Critical Role (so much CR), Yashahime/Inuyasha, Guardians of the Galaxy, His Dark Materials (TV), Steven Universe, Bleach, Alias, Supernatural, Dollhouse, Pushing Daisies (the last four were all transferred here from LJ, though)

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

- turning wine back into water (Critical Role, de-aging fic with plot, 30457 words)

I STILL CANNOT BELIEVE HOW POPULAR THIS FIC IS. It beat out two of my super popular GotG fics that have been up since 2017 BY A LOT. Apparently, there was a market for the Mighty Nein being adorable cocktail brats and saving the world. Thanks, Liam’s Quest!

It is probably one of the most wholesome fics I will ever write too. I love it.

- Sunshine Came Softly (Guardians of the Galaxy, Rocket and Mantis friendship, 3188 words)

THIS FIC STILL GETS HITS EVEN TODAY. It was written right after I saw the movie so it hit hard and fast on the hype train. 

- Mine Is Just a Slower Sacrifice (Guardians of the Galaxy, Rocket-centric, 2248 words)

BOY YOU CAN TELL THESE FICS ARE ANCIENT BECAUSE I HADN’T DEVELOPED MY TITLE NICHE YET. where are the lower caps and Seanan McGuire lyrics!!

Anyway, this was written probably IMMEDIATELY after I saw the movie and had to process Rocket’s emotions during the last moments, because of who I am as a person. For what’s mostly a character study, it got some mileage on it.

- they drink dreamers up like brandy (Critical Role, 1625 words)

Back to Critical Role! I wrote this one when I was in a fucking blind post-finale haze and producing massive amounts of Kingsley content and I wanted to write a silly fic about Caleb being tiefling catnip. 

- if adversity breeds character (we’ve character enough for two) (Critical Role, Beau and Molly-centric, 1824 words)

I feel like most of my most kudos-ed CR fics are Beau-related, which is funny because I never really wrote her EVER. I guess I need to write her more often. ANYWAY, this one got jossed immediately after 141, but I needed to write Beau and Molly bantering and I couldn’t get her flipping him off after revealing her card is Rumor out of my head.

(Incidentally my sixth most kudos-ed fic is my Fjorester next gen fic, WHICH I WAS NOT EXPECTING AT ALL. IT’S A FIC BASED ON MY OC FANCHILDREN!! I’M VERY EMOTIONAL ABOUT THAT!!)

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Usually!! There are times when I forget and then it’s been so long that I never go back, but I like responding to comments. They make me so happy and I want to make sure the people who take the time to comment know that I see them and appreciate them. Especially if they give me long comments. You long commenters know who you are and I value you and also flail incoherently in your direction.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

God, probably this church takes no conversions simply because, like, the whole ending scenes are MISERABLE AND FULL OF ANGST and then it has the hopeful ending that is actually a bullshit lie.

But second place probably goes to what couldn’t i offer, what couldn’t i give, which is just misery porn in disguise as a character study. Sorry, Cree.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Okay, so back in the day when I was a tineh fanbrat I wrote a lot of self-indulgent crossovers featuring my friends and I in true Mary Sue format being ~saviors of the world~ alongside our favorite fictional characters and after I grew out of that, I very rarely did it again, because as someone who can only write AUs if they’re high concept and can only write crossovers if the canon welding is pristine, it’s difficult.

I have ideas for some! I just haven’t written them yet. Or they’re sitting in Google Docs partially written.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not to my recollection, which is insane, because I’ve written some things in my youth that deserved it, but also I was a kid, so maybe I definitely did not deserve it. Don’t send hate to kids!!

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

The first smut I ever posted on AO3 involved some fucking American Gods flesh horror shit, so that answers your second question.

Basically, yes, but I write smut to facilitate character development in a way that regular story beats can’t, mainly with characters who are in some way deeply fucked up and have unbalanced dynamics. 

So basically chances of me writing smut that isn’t Creecien or Lucigast? Very low. (I haven’t written Lucigast smut yet but I will. Inevitably.)

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that anyone’s told me, but one time when I was a teenager someone ripped off an entire group messageboard RP I was in and tried to pass it off as a fic they wrote.

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that anyone’s told me!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I tried and it did not work out, because of (non-wanky) reasons, but it’s just not something I’d be very good at. I was the kid who wanted to work alone on group projects. I’m bad at group work.

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

That I’ve WRITTEN??? Because that at least narrows it down significantly. Sesshoumaru/Rin hands down. It’s a good dynamic and they’re fun and sad at the same time. 

My self-indulgent ass does also enjoy writing Creecien though. I’m putting it out there because I want it.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

GOD POOR SUPERNOVAS OF ALL SOUND AND LIGHT. THAT FIC COULD’VE BEEN A CONTENDER, but I unfortunately posted it RIGHT BEFORE the White Diamond episodes aired and it became so jossed by canon so fast that I gave up on life with chapter two half finished. I need to delete it but I can’t bring myself to bury my shame.

15) What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and meta-narrative and character-specific stuff. I go into every story with CHARACTER FIRST mentality, which is how I end up writing so many damn character studies or why my word counts explode. I’m just out here naval gazing because I love character stuff SO MUCH.

I’ve been told I’m good at fight/action scenes too, which... Shocks me, but I think watching and playing a lot of D&D stuff has really improved how I write fighting and action sequences.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

[whispers] too much naval gaze. dial it back, bitch. 

I get really caught up in character stuff and forget to do important things like ADVANCE THE SCENE OR DESCRIBE THE SCENE OR LITERALLY ANYTHING. I also don’t think my prose is all that great, but I’m pretty sure every writer feels that imposter syndrome bullshit, so /waves hands. All I’m saying is I have seen some writers on AO3 who are writing some fucking vivid imagery and stringing flawless sentences together and weaving introspection and description together like beautiful baskets and they are stronger than any US Marine and I salute them and wish to be them.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Iiii try not to. There’s times where I want to throw in, like, a little Zemnian for Caleb flair, but I try to stick to things that are either untranslatable (like German compound words), common phrases (like please or come here), or insults/curses/ pet names. Things that I don’t think Google will fucking lie to me about.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I think it was a Sailor Moon crackfic about Haruka being forced to enter a beauty pageant which was just a blatant rip-off of Ms Congeniality and oh my god was it awful. I don’t even wanna talk about it.

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

this church takes no conversions, probably BECAUSE it’s my little red-headed stepchild of a fic involving so many things that are just never going to make it popular (backstory fic, fic that is almost 85% headcanon, doesn’t involve popular characters, etc.), but godDAMMIT I love that fic so much. It was fun and I use every bit of that headcanon in almost everything like it’s my job.

shattered stage is a close second, because it was such a crazy concept for a fic that I PULLED OFF SOMEHOW and is this wonderful mix of crazy plot and character and lore and my three favorite tieflings having to work together. And also Jayne Merriweather as the main villain. 

A lot of love went into both of those fics and they are my babies. this time next year we’ll see if I add Creedemption and shoot at fate to this list- probably. All of my epic long fics resolve to be my babies because I spent so much time on them, and I have to love them and cherish them because I raised them into gigantic wordy attempts to write a doorstopper.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Dadster #2 (Rules for Dating My Sons)

Notes: Couldn't resist adding on to it a little for Father's day! Tossing in some spicyhoney for flavor, come on, like I can resist?

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Found Family

~~~~

Sequel to: Dadster 

~~~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

"hey, pop, can you hand me the other spanner?"

Gaster looked up from the formula that was currently blurring before his eyes. There was an error in it somewhere and yet, the more he stared at the paper, the more the numbers floated in front of his vision defiantly.

A break was in order and this was a good excuse for one. He stood, pressing both hands into the cramped small of his back with a groan, then made his way to the other side of the lab. There was a hulking dropcloth-covered bulk in the furthest corner and around the backside, a skinny pair of legs poked out from under it. A tray was lying on the floor close by, tools lined up neatly, and Gaster crouched, considering them. A least three of them were spanners.

“Which one?” Gaster asked and when there wasn’t a reply, he sent two of his conjured hands beneath the…ah. The vehicle? He supposed that designation would do for now, deathtrap was likely closer, and he resigned himself to plenty of worries if and when Stretch got it working. He signed his question again beneath the troublesome thing and this time an answer floated out.

“three-eighths—” there was a loud clunking sound. “shit, no, seven-sixteenths.”

“Language,” Gaster said teasingly, even as he put the spanner into the grubby hand that appeared.

That hand vanished immediately, and scrabbling noises followed. “c’mon, pop, don’t you start. blue already has me by the balls, i don’t need you giving ‘em a squeeze.”

“I’ll thank you to spare me that mental imagery,” Gaster said dryly. But he didn’t bother to scold; Stretch was more engineer than scientist and there was a longstanding tradition of a certain amount of verbal vulgarity in that particular trade.

There was another clunking sound followed by an appropriately irritated curse. “sorry, sorry, this fu-friggin thing is stuck good.”

The loud bang of metal hitting metal was also traditional and Gaster shook his head. “Let me get you a lubricant, it may help.”

He ignored his son’s snicker, “sure, let’s lube it up, get it into a slippery situation, might be my saving grease.”

Gaster only shook his head, suppressing his own smile. To hear Stretch making puns and laughing warmed his soul, evaporating his frustrations over that silly equation. It didn’t seem that long ago that Stretch spoke only in biting sarcasm, mocking humor that never reached his eye lights. Little by little that tight shielding flaked away, cautiously revealing the gentle, vulnerable soul hidden beneath it and Gaster might tease, but he would never, ever do anything to take away Stretch’s little amusements.

Time and patience was all Gaster had on his side when it came to these boys, his boys. He should have been their father, wished fiercely that he could have been and spared them all the pain of their pasts. Lacking that, he’d do what he could and if a silly, vulgar pun helped, he’d listen to each and every one.

A light knock on the door halted him before he reached the cupboards. He paused, considering, then decided the lubricant could wait a moment.

"Come in," Gaster called. He already knew who it was, the only one of his boys who would ever knock.

Out of all of them, Edge was the one who resisted his overtures the most. Gaster didn't press, allowing him to find his own way and only hovered in the background, offering what meager encouragement that the thick armor of Edge’s pride would allow.

He stood in the doorway now, not quite passing the threshold. He couldn’t have been home for long, Edge’s sentry shift lasted well into the afternoon, but he’d taken the time to change out of his uniform and into a plain black t-shirt and jeans. Despite the more casual clothing, his speech was always formal, almost stilted, "Gaster, I was hoping to speak with you."

Edge was also the only one of the children who unironically called him by name. It was a step up, in a way. At least Edge stopped calling him 'sir'.

"Of course,” Gaster gestured to the chairs by the desk, settling into his own. “What can I do for you?"

Even sitting, Edge’s spine was ramrod straight and he folded his gloved hands into his lap as he said, bluntly. "It's about Stretch."

The silence from the far corner of the room was telling and Gaster very much hoped he wouldn't regret saying, "What about him?"

"It's just--" To Gaster’s astonishment, Edge faltered, looking down. There was none of his normal arrogant confidence on his twisting face and his hands knotted into his lap as he struggled for words. “He…that is…”

"Yes, I think you should ask him out," Gaster said baldly.

Bright crimson magic flooded Edge's face, settling high on his sharp cheekbones. When they’d first come to this world, Gaster had been privately worried for Edge and Red; their physiology was different than the other brothers and it was not an exaggeration to call their appearance fearsome. Never had he been more grateful for Asgore’s kindness than in those early days of their arrival when he not only agreed to allow Edge to join the guard, but introduced him personally around the Underground, particularly in Snowdin where Edge was stationed. As Gaster understood it, Edge was quite popular with the children there and protective as well.

The pride in his soul as he watched Edge slowly flourish was only diminished by one last concern and today it seemed to be coming to a head.

"I couldn’t,” Edge blurted. He did not fidget, but his crimson eye lights darted around. “I’ve always been grateful for your hospitality and—"

"You could," Gaster interrupted calmly. He left aside the comment about hospitality, pushed aside the faint frustration that came with it, "And I would approve. Stretch is a charming young man and handsome as well.”

One who did not lack for suitors and they both knew it. Stretch never lacked for company, although he’d never gone on more than one date with any of them. He still kept people outside of their family at arm’s length and was always clear about the casual nature of those relationships.

Gaster had his own suspicions on why that was.

"But I couldn’t,” Edge repeated doggedly, “it could ruin things for you, for all of us.” He looked up then, his eye lights imploring, “What if I ask and he turns me down, or if he didn't and things went terribly. It would change everything!”

"It could, that is true,” Gaster slouched back in his chair, lacing his hands over his middle, signing on with his conjured ones. “Life is change. My life changed when you and the others came here. Perhaps it will work out, perhaps it won't, but stagnation destroys growth. If you want to ask him out, then ask him, and if something comes of it, wonderful, and if it doesn’t, we’ll work past it.”

Edge nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, I appreciate your assurance. I didn’t want to presume.”

He stood abruptly and left without another word. Gaster idly wondered how much longer they’d all be waiting for him to ask. He hoped Edge at least waited until Sunday; that was his chosen day in the betting pool.

From the far corner of the room came words, no longer muffled by drop clothes and engines, "so do i really need to wait for him to ask or can i do it for him? ‘cause i've been waiting, he took forever to read the dating manual.”

Gaster looked over at his son, at his grease-covered clothes and the spanner in his filthy hand, the unrepentant grin on his dirty, delighted face.

"Stagnation is death, but patience is also a virtue," Gaster said dryly. "Wait for him, there’s time enough. And if you’re finished for today, I’ll thank you to clean up.”

"sir, yes, sir,” Stretch’s grin widened even as he turned back around, calling back slyly, “guess the lubricant will have to wait for another day.”

“Cheeky,” Gaster murmured, chuckling to himself and pulled his work back towards him. This time it took him less than a minute to find the error in the equation and he erased it, penciling in the correct number. Before he could finish, Stretch scooted around behind him and there was a light brush of teeth against the top of his skull.

“thanks, pop.” Soft, sincere words, and Gaster closed his sockets briefly, affection for this boy, for all his boys, swelling in his soul.

“You’re welcome. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

“uh huh, you better be heading up,” Stretch said, “blue’ll come drag you up if you don’t.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Gaster assured him. He went back to work, absently hearing the door closing behind Stretch. He was almost finished and then he’d head upstairs, to what would surely be an interesting meal if nothing else, depending on who cooked today.

Either way, it would be a perfect dinner. So long as his boys were all there, it always was.

-finis-

[twodaysintojune]

Sigh No More

Supernatural, Sastiel, Warnings-None

One Shots Masterlist, Long Stories Masterlist 

Find me at AO3

Sastiel Creations Challenge | twodaysintojune

↳ Theme: SONG | Prompt: Sigh No More, Mumford and Sons

The confessional was stuffy and dry at the same time and it was hard to stay alert in the silence that enveloped the entire church that Thursday evening. More silent than what Father Wilkins had ever felt before.

Every year, every month, every week the amount of people that went to church decreased; at least on his town. There was no time for theological introspection in today’s society when you could watch a bunch of people doing silly stuff on your phone all day long and the only regular visit of the last years, Mrs. Hopkins, had passed away almost a month ago of old age. The worst was that apparently half of her missing family had appeared out of nowhere and were now fighting all over each other about the inheritance. There were rumours at town that the sudden death of one of her sons was somehow involved with it.

Father Wilkins sighed, it was hard even for himself to stay compassionate sometimes and he only went along with the motions hoping that one day this awful feeling of hollowness these situations gave him would eventually go away.

The loud clank of the entrance door weaving on it’s hinges announced the visit of a person into the church. Father Wilkins heard the long footsteps make way to the confessional and the tiny door opening. He saw the shadow of the incredibly tall man behind the wooden lattice kneel in front of it. After a bit of a struggle in the tiny booth he took a breath, crossed himself with a quick motion and began to talk.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been six years since my last confession and it’s been fifteen days since I last prayed to god."

“What brings you here today?”

The man stood still for a moment like he was assessing something and then gave out a soft laugh.

“To be honest I’m not even sure if this is the right place to be at.”

Another man with wavering faith. Father Wilkins wondered if he was ready to tackle something like this at the moment.

“Well, there must be a reason for you to have decided to come, how is your life?”

“Oh, everything’s peachy” The irony well accented in the man’s words “I’ve been fighting trying to save people’s lives for years now and I thought it was good and then I…” The man stopped for a moment too long and then sighed “I lost my son. God took him away from me.”

Father Wilkins hitched a breath.

“And how does that make you feel right now?”

“I…” soft shaken laughter “I feel so upset. I feel impotent, insignificant and lost and so, so angry! I’m so angry at god for taking him but I’m so much more angry at myself for not being able to do a thing! Because I was there. I WAS there and just with a snap of his fingers Jack was dead!”

“...the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

An ironic rough laugh from behind the latticework.

“He just likes to have fun looking at us drown in despair.”

Father Wilkins turned his gaze down to his crossed hands, he was as much a believer in God and His plans as any good devotee but he perfectly understood why such a situation would drive a man mad enough to make him say these kind of things with such resent. He kept quiet enough to hear the man stifle a sob.

“...It’s just so unfair. Jack was such a good child. He had all this potential to do good, to be good and now he’s gone because of a stupid whim or tantrum or, or whatever… And I’m still here and I… I don’t even feel like getting out of my bed in the morning because I no longer see the point on anything at all when I realize my life has been one strife after another non-stop and that god was right there, watching every single one of my actions and never did a thing to help!”

The man stopped abruptly when he realized his voice had gone a tone louder. He continued after taking in a breath and calming down a bit.

“And you know Dean, my brother, he told me that we had to keep going and fighting. That helping others was still a good thing to do no matter how little power we had to change anything else...” Father Wilkins nodded in silent agreement with this brother the man was talking about “But I still don’t really feel like anything’s worth fighting for anymore. I mean, in the end everyone dies and some will go to hell and some will go to heaven but ultimately it doesn’t matter whether we helped them or not because it’s not our lives and most likely we’re not even free to take decisions for ourselves, heck, I don’t even know if I’ll land in heaven or hell or just disappear into the empty and the worst is that I don’t care. I don’t care anymore because I thought all of our actions meant something because we took them but it turns out that we have just been jumping the obstacles that god placed on our path...”

It was obvious the man had stopped his diatribe, mostly because he had run out of breath and anger, Father Wilkins sighed and silently prayed to God to find the right words to help this man.

“You know Son, I believe that even when you don’t realize it right now, there’s a part deep in your soul that still wants to believe.”

He heard a soft crushed sigh behind the latticework, by the sound of it the man was resting his forehead on it. It was the most defeated action Father Wilkins had seen on all of the people he had helped confess and it broke his heart.

“And it’s likely you’re not going to see it right now, or in a month, or in a year but even if you have not been able to find solace in God, there’s still a lot of good worth fighting for in the world. Take your brother for example, isn’t what’s left of your family worth fighting for?”

Father Wilkins would have included any other family members if he knew this man better but time had taught him that some times mentions of family were not taken nicely by everyone and that he should not make assumptions on other people’s lives. The man let out a soft snicker fondly, it had been the right call this time.

“Yeah, it’s worth fighting for.”

“It’s normal to feel the way you do. And it’s normal to feel betrayed but I believe that what’s most important right now is for you to mourn your son properly so that you’re able to move forward after that.”

“Even when I don’t know where that forward is?”

“Trust me Son, you’ll know when the time comes.”

Another soft huff. Father Wilkins saw the shadow of the man’s head nod softly, most likely pondering on his words.

“Thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome Son”

The man shifted but he stopped after a moment.

“Uhm, so what is my penance?”

“Penance for what?”

“For… uh, cursing against god?”

“I don’t believe you deserve any kind of penance for grieving the loss of your son.”

He looked at the man’s silhouette move taken aback for a moment and then bend down his head.

“Thank You.”

It was more of a whisper but in the silence of the church Father Wilkins heard the heartfelt relief and gratefulness of the man. He hummed a nod, trying to avoid destroying the moment with unnecessary words. After a brief minute of reflection, the man moved to stand up and step away from the confessional. Leaving the door ajar.

Father Wilkins waited until he heard the entrance door once more and he stepped out of the confessional to move his legs a bit. He saw a man that had apparently been leaning over St. Hubertus’ statuette checking it up. He turned his deep blue eyes to meet Father Wilkins’ gaze.

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought I was alone, were you waiting for a confession?”

The man smiled fondly, almost like there was something funny about the Father’s words.

“Not really but thank you.”

Father Wilkins approached the man wondering how he was able to stand the stuffy heat of the church with that thick overcoat.

“Are you interested in religious imagery? Or perhaps you wanted to ask a favor to the Saint.”

The man turned to look at him questioningly before Father Wilkins glanced at the statuette.

“Oh, I was just looking at it. I had never seen a statuette of this particular saint in a church before.”

“It’s not really common but it was a gift and you know what they say about the gifted horse.”

The man hummed amused and stretched his hand towards him.

“Castiel”

Father Wilkins raised his eyebrows, he didn’t recall any Castiel on his angelic lore so either he was getting old or this man’s parents had become pretty inventive. He met the man’s hand.

“Father Wilkins, you can call me Albert though, something tells me you’re not much for names and titles.”

Castiel smiled openly. Since there was nobody else in the church he made small talk with the man about everything and nothing, he found out that he was actually investigating the case of Mrs. Hopkins’ son and gladly gave away what little information he had on them. He also showed him the beautiful image of Jesus on the cross gilded with gold leaf that she had gifted the church not much before her demise.

“She was a very good woman, I am sure she is in heaven right now.”

Castiel hummed in agreeance.

“She certainly is.”

After a brief moment of silence on behalf of the woman, Castiel bid his farewell to the man holding his hand once more.

“Thank you for your time Father.”

“Not at all. It was good to have some company for a while… I hope I don’t mind you but it’s been bothering me all this time. What thing does the angel Castiel stand for?”

Castiel looked at him a bit surprised. No one had ever asked him that before.

“Thursdays. I’m—Castiel is the angel of Thursdays.”

“Then I guess it’s not a coincidence we met today.”

Castiel’s eyes lit up in mirth.

“Apparently not. You’re a good man Albert, I’m glad we met.”

And with that Castiel left the place. Sam was waiting for him at the diner across the square and waited until he was seated and had thanked the waitress for the glass of water in front of him.

“So?”

“I checked all of the statues and imagery at the church but nothing was cursed. We know that Mrs. Hopkins’ son was found impaled on a cross but I honestly don’t think Father Wilkins has anything to do with this case Sam.”

“Yeah, me neither. I hope Dean finds something with the relatives we didn’t see yesterday.”

Castiel hummed, they kept quiet while Sam ate his salad.

“Sam I…” Castiel sighed “I’m sorry.”

Sam looked at him surprised.

“For what?”

“For not being here for you.”

Sam looked at his friend unable to understand what he was talking about. Castiel took in a breath that he definitely needed before talking once more.

“I… I was so upset when Chuck killed Jack that I didn’t even know how to help you at all. When Dean told me to give you both some space I selfishly took the chance to avoid facing the problem but I cannot let things go this way.”

Sam had left his fork on the plate, he tried to drown the lump forming in his throat.

“I was so stupid. I didn’t realize that we were all feeling the same way.”

Castiel was an angel, he had naturally heard everything he told the Father at the church. Sam’s gaze fell down onto his plate, he didn’t feel like holding his eyes against such profound tone of blue right now. He felt Castiel’s warm hand gingerly glide over his before letting it rest hesitantly on top of it.

“...Maybe I’m being selfish but I don’t want to stay apart forever.”

Sam sniffled. In a moment of weakness his hand tangled his fingers between Castiel’s.

“Yeah, me neither.”

He failed to keep the quivering smile he had managed to give to his friend but Castiel didn’t lose the meaning of Sam’s expression. He kept his hold on Sam’s hand also smiling sadly. Castiel turned his gaze down for a moment and then looked upwards nervously. Sam saw Castiel debating something in his mind before his sight resolved. There was something in the way the seraph was looking at him right now that made Sam’s eyes widen and his stomach flutter for a second.

“Sam I—”

“Hey, hands off my little brother! I haven’t properly given you the talk yet.”

Dean arrived pointing a finger and a killing glare at Castiel while motioning the other towards Sam for him to move over. Castiel straightened up startled by Dean’s sudden intromission but tightened his hold on the other man in clear defiance. Sam on his side blushed wildly at the seraph’s actions but still managed to give Dean a well deserved bitchface.

“Shut up jerk.”

[ailuronymy]

Hey, I follow a WC YouTuber called Moonkitti and she'd uploaded a video called "Warrior Names". She kinda slams traditionalism and also demonstrates she has no idea what exactly it is. Like she shows some prefixes as examples which has Tree and Dirt as acceptable and Jay isn't, despite the inverse being true. I know she mentions she's not against it in concept, but that it was being enforced to limit others' creativity, but I have really mixed feelings about it and wanted to know your opinions.

Hello there, Ruddles! I hadn’t heard of this person before but I went and watched this video and I think I understand where your mixed feelings might be coming from. This video is trying to do a lot of things but, in my personal opinion, it’s doing none of them particularly well.

There’s three major things happening all at once: 1. a legitimate personal reflection about how certain traditionalists acted towards this person in the past and how that impacted her (4:50; 6:20); 2. an incorrect and misleading explanation of what traditionalism even is and very clearly no understanding of why it appeals to people, and therefore very little empathy towards people who use the style; (5:13; 6:00);  and 3. (from an outsider stance as someone who likes deconstructing arguments for fun) a fascinatingly messy argument both in favour of Erin Hunter while using Erin Hunter’s various (and typically more incompetent) choices as justifications for… everything and anything. 

It’s a mixed bag to be sure! To start with, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with saying that some people who use the traditional style are jerks. It’s very true. I remember those days too. Some people genuinely did crash forum threads just to mock and belittle other people. It was terrible and I think it’s totally legitimate to be upset about that.

I think the argument that everyone who uses traditionalism behaves that way is bad faith, however, and I also question the confirmation bias happening at 6:54, because I only ever see people talking about traditionalism for themselves, because that’s the spaces I hang out in. I wonder if Moonkitti has ever actually looked for traditional forums and sites, or if she’s just taken for granted that they don’t exist and everyone who uses the style is waging their own personal crusade. That’s not something I endorse in any way, by the way. Don’t anyone do that. 

The second topic is personally the most frustrating because at points she’s almost right. But her definitions are incorrect and explanations simplify in a way that isn’t helpful to anyone. She’s not trying to actually give an account of the style and then point out the ways it doesn’t work or shouldn’t exist or anything like that: she’s half understood the idea and gone, “That sounds dumb.” This is in fact what she claims traditionalists say about other styles (7:22), which I disagree with: traditionalism is based mostly on having a set framework in place and then fairly rigorously debating what works and doesn’t within that world set-up. Plenty of names that are traditional sound pretty silly, but that doesn’t mean we knock them back wholesale. The whole point of the style is there is a method. Making judgments based on looser qualities, like sound or flow or imagery, is more of a lyrical approach.

Anyway, she doesn’t even seem to have gone to the effort of learning about it herself before deciding to preach. I think that’s tacky. It’s exasperating to me, because it’s not like there aren’t a ton of resources out there: if nothing else, traditionalists are good like that! We love lists and archives and referring to rules we’ve written out. That’s one of the things she’s correct about. She frequently refers to the fact that traditionalism is fan-made (2:25; 3:59; 6:45), but she does so as if this is a bad thing, which it’s not. Traditionalists are aware it’s fan-made: we are, after all, the fans who made it. That’s the whole idea. 

Which brings me to the third topic: she doesn’t seem to fully understand why traditionalism exists and why it brings joy to people who use it. That’s an issue, because much of her argument is based around “well, canon.” She mischaracterises traditionalists as people who are “taking things too seriously” for being creative–i.e., she recognises that the entirety of traditionalism is fan-made, but can’t seem to understand why fans would elect to create rules to follow; it seems to cancel out the creativity in her world-view. She also repeatedly refers to the fact that she doesn’t need a traditional system to enjoy the Warriors world (0:26; 7:17; 8:28; 9:05)–to which I reply, your mileage may vary–and seems to look down on people who are pulled out of the story by “a silly name,” unlike her or Erin Hunter, who don’t take things “seriously.”

The major problem I have with this approach is that it shows a fundamental misunderstanding of the value of good world-building–or even some idea of what it looks like. She claims a strict system would result in a boring story (which perhaps would be true for her, who knows: again, mileage may vary) (8:28), but the issue I have is that she says: “don’t get me wrong, warrior cats is not perfect, but the least of our troubles with the quality of these books is how strange these names are. Sure, Bouncefire sounds weird and doesn’t seem realistic, but if you’re worried about this story’s realism, consider the fact that we have about fifty cats who live together who barely gossip except if it’s about a housecat” (1:06). 

She uses the word “realistic” throughout the whole video, as though the goal of using a traditional style is to make Warriors realistic, which in my opinion it’s not. Plausible, yes. Believable, yes. Cohesive, yes. But not realistic. These are, after all, talking cats with religion. I myself multiple times a year refer to the fact we’re all getting excited over “feral cats talking to stars in the forest.” There’s no pretense there! But the thing Moonkitti argues that actually makes me mad is that, because it’s not real, nothing matters. 

And that’s absolutely horse-apples. It matters that the names in canon don’t have structure, because the world of Warriors doesn’t have structure and that is the underlying problem of the series. That is part of why the series is not well-written. The world doesn’t have structure or consistency in how it is built, and the run-on effect is that characters are frequently flat and their decisions–even their deaths–are regularly made meaningless by the world of the story. The world-building is inconsistent and poorly planned, and the run-on effect is that plots regularly force characters who are supposed to be intelligent or even an average amount of smart into being unbelievably stupid simply for the sake of furthering it, and the stakes of the stories are constantly forced to increase to squeeze any amount of impact out of the plots because the writing itself won’t do it. 

There is no hierarchy from most to least when it comes to the quality troubles of Erin Hunter’s work. The issues in Warriors are not stand-alone. They are interconnected. It’s silly to pretend that transformative world-building, which is what traditionalism is, is somehow a superficial, ornamental thing and not simply another way for fans to mend some of what makes Warriors “not perfect,” like any other AU or fandom meta. Canon invented the name-change custom (7:43)–and repeatedly made it messy, and shameful, and had no idea what they wanted to go with. Traditionalism mended that and made it better. If you can recognise that the series isn’t perfect, I don’t think it’s a stretch to also recognise and acknowledge different ways of how fans react to and deal with those imperfections in fan-works, such as role-playing and fanfiction and OCs. 

Moonkitti’s repetitions that this is a fantasy series and it’s not real so stop caring frankly reminds me a lot people who get uncomfortable and defensive when you analyse and discuss a piece of media in any kind of critical or thoughtful way and will tell you don’t be so serious. In my case, these people tend not to realise that, for me at least, this is fun--and it’s worthwhile and important to do. It’s also my actual job, in the daylight hours. (Here it’s just a hobby).

So tl;dr: Erin Hunter doesn’t take Warriors seriously–and that is the problem. The canon naming style is a symptom of how little effort Erin Hunter puts into consistent or meaningful world-building. Traditionalism exists as some fans’ attempt to craft a solution for themselves, and I include myself in that. 

Moonkitti’s approach to explaining traditionalism from a place of 1. not being interested in understanding it and 2. being oddly defensive of Erin Hunter, the creative team behind all of canon’s terrible weird writing choices, rather than critical of said choices and choosing instead to blame fans for wanting canon to be better and then acting on that desire, feels a bit in bad faith to me. I’m sad to hear that she had such bad experiences with traditionalists in the past, because that’s awful, but I also feel strongly that it’s a good idea to know what you’re talking about before you step onto the stage like this.

For instance, she says, “There’s no real argument for why [certain] names [should] not be in the series,” (2:13), but, well. I’m here and this blog is my seven-years-and-counting argument. I like to think it’s often a persuasive one, too!

[wintersongstress]

Writer’s Questionnaire

tagged by: @a-shakespearean-in-paris - Whew, girl, this tag was hard. I don’t think I’m smart enough to do it but I love talking about writing more than actually doing it so strap in...

EDIT [1/5/19]: @the-darklings Thank you for tagging me as well! 

Short stories, novels, or poems?

POETRY?! #TRIGGERED 

Ya’ll I want to talk about poetry. That Illuminati Cryptology. 

On the one hand, I’m actually quite decent with writing poetry. I like the poems I’ve written. I’m proud of my sonnets, sestinas, villanelles, and free verse. Albeit, the restrictions of closed forms and writing in iambic pentameter grinds the gears in the computer science part of my brain, but I can do it. Some of my best lines are poetry. Poetry is what resonates the deepest, what loops through my head when I think about writing. Its the ultimate mastery of words that makes your work endure.  

Look at Peonies at Dusk by Jane Kenyon. Nice poem, right? Lovely imagery, the tone is somber and sweet. But, you have to remember, poetry is a puzzle. You have to put the pieces together to understand the picture. 

Kenyon arranged her poem in tercet stanzas to link it to the Holy Trinity. (???)This was because she found God during the time so wrote this poem and wanted to pay tribute to how it grounded her life by grounding her poem the same way. In the final stanza, the narrator bending to smell the peony is supposed to be the narrator bending over to take care of someone who is bedridden with cancer. Propping them up with stakes and twine- taking care of a sick loved one. Peonies were also known for their medicinal properties, as well as them withering being an omen for disaster and death. The fading of light and the dusk is all blatantly symbolic. JUST. POETRY PISSES ME OFF SOMETIMES. AND I HATE THAT I KIND OF LIKE HOW CONVOLUTED IT IS ONCE I FIGURE IT OUT. 

tl:dr; I prefer short stories and novels when it comes to reading for the obvious reasons why we love novels. Ya’ll already know why novels are good. When it comes to writing I usually do short stories and poems. I haven’t been able to tackle a novel yet. 

What genre do you prefer reading? 

I’ve always enjoyed fantasy, historical fiction, and of course, romance. I like a good contemporary every once in a while, too.

What genre do you prefer writing?

Same as what I prefer to read. I absolutely love exploring settings and writing the relationships between characters and how they transform and develop them.

Are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

I like to make an outline at the beginning of a new project just to have some semblance of order and to know what the journey is going to look like. This helps a lot in my Research stage because I’m able to identify what I don’t know and what tools I’m going to need. 

What music do you listen to while writing?

Video game soundtracks mostly. They’re designed to keep you engaged and I don’t want to focus on anything else but my work, I just need a little white noise. Jeremy Soule’s compositions are great for setting the mood, as well as Debussy. I also like those nature ambiance videos on YouTube, crackling fire, forest/river sounds, etc. 

Fave books/movies?

Amazing. This question never fails to make me forget every piece of media I have ever consumed. 😂

I’m kind of at a stand point right now because I’m 20 and I don’t read YA books anymore and that’s the bulk of my personal library. (Sorry Sarah J. Maas and Cassandra Clare!). I used to read a COLOSSAL amount of YA; I’m talking 15 books a month, 2 books a day sometimes and I used to do arc (advanced reader copy) reviews through Macmillan for Miss Literati. Looking back now though, there are some novels I read that I still stand by.

The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness - amazing, stream of consciousness writing at its best.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor - my favorite writing style. Period. 

Half Bad by Salle Green - just brilliant.

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway - fight me okay.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

Passion by Lauren Kate - This book was just, everything I wanted. 😭

The Abhorsen Trilogy by Garth Nix - the first series that REALLY got me into reading.

List of my favorite films I like to tell people to impress them:

The Sixth Sense

The Last Samurai

Brokeback Mountain

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Rear Window

 List of my favorite films when life is sad:

Confessions of a Shopaholic

The Mummy

Star Wars

Back to the Future

Some Like It Hot

The Princess Bride

Forrest Gump

Romancing the Stone

As you can see,  I’m not a huge film buff (though sometimes I wish I were...)

I’m sure I’m forgetting some...

Any current WIPs?

gee let’s look at my documents folder... 

This is gonna sound silly but  the majority of my personal WIPs are actually games I want to write. I know, I know, but I want to go into narrative design, possibly even creative direction. Much to my mother’s chagrin. So I don’t write novels per say, I write scripts and game concept documents. I do write short stories but my longstanding projects I am not talented enough to start writing.  I write ideas for scenes while I let the rest stew in my head, like a bubbling cauldron of ideas that is constantly simmering. I’ll get there, eventually. 

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

My standard get-up is high-waisted jeans, Blundstones, and an over-sized knitted sweater. God I love winter.

Create a character description for yourself:

Hi,my name is Isabell. My worst nightmares include getting C’s, being late for work, and getting back together with my ex-boyfriend from 9th grade. 

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

The best writers are thieves, and I steal a lot of details of real people into my writing. Patterns of speech, outfits, unique traits, that sort of thing. I pay a lot of attention to the people around me, especially strangers. So I don’t incorporate actual people I know, rather, the strangers I see and who I think they are or could be in the context of story. 

Are you kill-happy with characters?

By all means, I will put them in near death circumstances and give them critical injuries. However, I rarely kill them. So, no. I don’t happily kill my characters. 

Coffee or tea while writing?

Self-proclaimed Chai tea slut.

Slow or fast writer?

Slow’er than the molasses in January. 

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Ideas strike anywhere, anytime. I could be standing in the check-out line at the grocery store and get an idea. However, most of my inspiration comes from consuming other stories. Video games have honestly been the most inspiring and immersive mediums for storytelling. I find inspiration from learning new things, especially in history. A lot of stuff from myth and history inspires me. 

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

I’d like to think I would be an adventurer, but let’s be real I’d probably be an Alchemist’s apprentice. Or a sculptor. Maybe even a tutor. 

Most fave book cliche? Least fave book cliche?

Hero/Villain Ships. Enemies to lovers. dYING CONFESSIONS OF LOVE.

Wait, are those cliches? As for what I hate...Oh, I don’t know. I hate the reckless heroine. I just hate reading about girls who make stupid decisions and think they’re the right ones. Not to say they can’t make mistakes, but you know, other characters are like, don’t do the thing, and they do it anyway. 

Fave scenes to write?

SMUT. FIRST KISSES. Yeah. Been writing that sort of thing since I was 11. I had one of those notebooks with a cover that made a zippery sound when you scratched it and it was my first foray into fanfiction and smut lmao. Good stuff. Pandora’s box, though. 

I love writing scenery descriptions. I’m acutely tuned to setting and creating atmosphere and I love determining the specific details that take you exactly where I want the reader to be. The mise-en-scene, if you will.

Most productive time of day for writing?

Dead of night or the wee hours of morning, when the world is quiet. 

Reason for writing?

Because when I write, I feel like I belong. I write because I have a certain taste, and I’m the only one who knows how to capture that. I write because storytelling is intrinsic to me and a part of myself I can never deny, forget, or neglect. I write because my mind has always been full of ideas and worlds I want to explore. I write because deep down I know I’m meant to. 

_

Tagging: 

I’m gonna keep it chill because this tag takes more than 2 minutes to do, but I would love to see your guys’ responses!: @shadows-echoes || @sunstrain || @connorshero || @deviantsupporter

This tag is totally 100% optional! 

[trulycertain]

Tru’s (Probably Too) Exhaustive Dorian Fic Rec List

The opportunity to rec came up. So I recced... and then kept reccing. And then recced some more. Oops. Look, I’m just going to put this great big list here so it can bother everyone else. Still working on tracking down the writers’ Tumblr names and will add them as I go, but if you like the fics, please go and cheer them on!

Trevelyan/Dorian:

imago, by twigcollins (T, 89k) - Unfinished, and that's a tragedy; it has that amount of kudos for a reason. A brilliant Trevelyan and amazing Dorian characterisation that gets that mix of "crazy-smart" and "funny-but-tragic" just right. And the magic is amazingly written. 

you shall love your neighbour / with your crooked heart, by pentaghastly (T, 2k) - pretty well-known, and very good. Beautiful piningfic. 

Circumstance, by jenny_of_oldstones (G, 1.3k) - Short and sad. A piece about the differences between Tevinter and southern Circles, and what could have been.

Wool Socks, by aliencereal (E, 1.7k) - Characterisation through smut. Wanking, pining and... socks? 

tell me what you want to hear, by shirozora (Unrated, 1.6k) - "Amatus" and angst. 

five fates for you and i, by LoonyLupin (G, 2.8k) - AUs and angst, including death, a worse In Hushed Whispers, one where Halward's ritual worked... Basically, it felt like getting a really well-written kick in the face. And if you can get through that beautiful letter without crying a little, you have a harder heart than me.

Everybody Loves A Fruit Basket, by AsheRyder (Unrated, A G if I had to?, 950 words) - Bees and books and daftness and Dorian in rescue mode, and also Trevelyan being startled and impressed.

Lavellan/Dorian:

Horrible Delicacies of Thedas, by 3jarsofbees (T, 5.6k) - Ridiculous foodfic. It's by the creator of the Thedasbook posts, which should tell you everything. I recommend the rest of their series with this Lavellan, too; hilarious and clever and a little heartbreaking when it needs to be. 

A Tale of Mage & Reaver, by darthammonite (E, 31k) - Another one of those where it is unfinished and that makes me want to cry. One of my favourite fics... ever, pretty much. Just the right mix of funny and tragic for Dorian, with perfect character voice and friendships. Hilarious, with plenty of brilliant characterisation even in the smut. As I said to the writer, "Thanks, I think this is the first time I've nearly cried reading a handjob." 

Greatest of these, by Lindira (T, 3.8k)  - Insanely sweet weddingfic. I was there thinking, "This is so fluffy, it should make me want to throw up, but it's so beautifully written it's making me teary instead." 

How To Train Your Dragon (Age), by magisterpavus (E, 117k) - A good slow-build and a lot of sweetness. 

Adaar/Dorian

Not The Flirtatious Type, by Scientia_Fantasia (T, 2.6k) – Funny, awkward and sweet. A fic about Qunari supersenses coming in handy, and cultural confusion. 

for my heart, chain mail, by mywordsflyup (T, 1k) – An old favourite that always breaks my heart. “Dorian doesn’t cry. It’s a thing, and Adaar has noticed.” A piece about Dorian’s emotional state after Last Resort of Good Men. 

Nerd Love, by seven_corbies (About a T, about 1k?) - Two nerds. Being great big nerds. In love. Funny, sweet and ridiculous.

Of Cloves & Of Noon, by Byacolate, mywordsflyup (M, 40k) – Unfinished, but if they ever finished it I would probably jump up and down and try to offer them chocolate, and what there is is fantastic. Or “that beekeeper AU.” This is… probably the fic that got me into Dorian/Inq in general, and probably where I went, “This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”In which Dorian takes residence in his family’s Free Marches estate, and Adaar is the beekeeper living not quite at the bottom of his garden, but close enough. A lovely slow build with vivid imagery and beautifully-written characters. Dorian is so very Dorian, and Adaar is kind and mysterious and incredibly readable. Feels like taking a holiday… er, with more Tal-Vashoth. 

Curare, by littleblackdog (T, 2.8k) - Really adorable sickfic.

Cadash/Dorian

(seriously, if you know of some more fics for this pairing, please nudge me; I absolutely love it)

things you said with no space between us, by lemonsharks (G, 1k) - Crap families and Last Resort of Good Men. Poignant and beautifully-observed.

Gen

Beautiful Boy, by despommes (M, 11k) - Some of this has been jossed by WoT, etc., but it’s a beautifully woven and very plausible backstory, and it is both well-written and immensely depressing (in a good way! And it’s ultimately the hopeful sort of depressing). A character study of Dorian through the years (which is why I put it here, though it contains some Trevelyan/Dorian). Also, worth warning you: there’s a pretty graphic scene of attempted suicide in there. It doesn’t succeed, but even so.

Hangry in the Western Approach, by 3jarsofbees - Funny, silly and kind of captures everything I love about DAI.

octogenarian chemists, by aphreal - Theoretical physicist Dorian. Maths professor Adaar. Mutual coffee addiction BrOTP. What more can I say?

[paganchristian]

And another unidentified waterfall that we saw.  I have an idea of which one this is but I really could be wrong so I don’t know.  Adding now, why not, I think it may be DeSoto Falls, after Desoto the conquistador.  Wasn’t he?  I have forgotten all my history that I learned in school.  But it’s been replaced with other information that has superseded it in importance and then I began to forget that too and it’s being replaced by other vague mental states that don’t contain many facts in it.

It isn’t that I don’t read anymore or learn about new things but now my memory often generally seems horrible.  I don’t really mind it that much though.  I’m not sure if maybe it’s because I’m more intuitive.  At any rate, I am more intuitive.  I like that and it replaces my need for memory most days and far surpasses it in the gifts and joy and beauty I experience as a result of this intuition, guidance, too, and creative thinking, all that I have now, that I have much more now than I did when I had better memory and mental focus.  Also, patience, mindfulness, groundedness, sensory pleasure, so many things that have replaced the desire for more focus or memory but still sometimes I wish I could recall certain things and it seems critical sometimes and I wonder if it will be my downfall one day if I forget horribly important things. 

Faith and hope replace the need for certain stability but that faith is not rock solid and anyway amount those who say they have rock solid faith I notice that they seem to have different lives that are more solid and steady or they have different personalities that don’t require the same kind of subtle balance for wellness, the fragile balance of my mental health, physical health, emotional health.  They seem to just need certain stable strongholds and then they will sail on, unhampered, not too slung about backwards and forwards by the winds that swing me from one end to another, bipolar, sensory, so easily disrupted by so many things, so introverted, so narrow my little unusual world, like a plant who will survive only in one little environment, forever threatened status because of the threatened ecosystem on which it derives all its possibility, ...  and all its stability is sourced from that one place, that one state of homeostasis, equilibrium, equanimity, not some detached thing like Buddhist’s say, the dependent, fragile equanimity of an inconsequential, ephemeral bubble world, to the world around it, meaningless as a bit of fluff, from a dandelion, containing a world therein, unseen.  To reference Horton hears a Who.  I figure that reference sounds weird to a person not familiar and thoroughly dwelling in childhood books, as a big part of their identity and frame of reference, as a mom such as me would be, but for me it is like my cultural framework, the culture hero, no less fantastic and wonderful than some myth of old, or philosopher or fine art reference.  Haha  And so it will be.  I could never really even get into all those classical references and to me the folksy things and the childlike things are much more heartwarming, diverse, and beautiful and humble.  More likely to contain subtleties of values missed by the more sophisticated culture of adulthood, religion, philosophy, and cultural norms of society.  Adulthood in general bypasses what childhood awareness can readily contain in a vast world of intricacy and many angles, many ecosystems in that world, many worlds of it all.  It is no wonder little children are said to be so creative, because in some ways, yes, they are, very much indeed, seeing things adults generally will never even begin to let themselves consider, and they reject as boring, weird, silly, tacky, childish, dumb, failing to see the deep creative uniqueness in them.  I never want to grow up again, even if the childhood I happen to inhabit, partially, is just hte land of my own child and not general childhood where so many other children aren’t much like my child.  But it’s childhood, just a kind of childhood that has to be created in a certain environment, with a certain upbringing, certain influences and activities and practices and teachings given to the child, and certain influences and ideas shielded from them.  Yet I know that this kind of mindset and lifestyle can make my daughter well and thriving, the same way it is making me like that, now, after a lifetime of so much misery that I had until her childhood taught me another way to be.  I know that she can be happy like this through her adult life, or so it seems, far more safe and strong than general culture would teach her, which made me so miserable, abandoned, and lonely, .. General societal culture, which did not let me become “socialized” in any beneficial helpful way, but led to me becoming isolated and used and abused.  No, I think that if I had to go it alone now in some unforeseen circumstance, I would be much better able to thrive, than I was before my daughter taught me to be more childlike.  And if I am different than everyone and have a hard time making friends?  I am my own friend, and God is my friend, my mind, my hobbies, by books and reading and divination are my friends, and can be as well for her, her friends, if she ever needs them, because they have been much better friends than any others.  I still feel dependent on my husband, but I was, always, and before him I was dependent on my parents.  I haven’t ever not been dependent and being childlike is not at all what made me dependent.  If I needed to try to survive alone then I think I’m much more able to cope as a childlike person than I would have been before I became like this.  But only actually experiencing that would be the true test but I feel nearly certain that I could stay centered in my spiritual, childlike, intuitive self and like a bubble, like a shield, to use the new age imagery, a pure forcefield of mental and emotional and soul energy could keep me safe and centered, while I had to deal with whatever life and society put me through, even if I was very alone, very rejected, for being so different, for not knowing how to chatter with coworkers and random people who I’m supposed to want to befriend (but I don’t because they are not interested in the things I’m interested in in the same ways and I have no desire to talk with them about their chosen topics in their chosen conversational styles and in this way I’m totally and entirely introverted by choice, ..  Though with my daughter I can talk and talk at times.  And with my husband too, I can do that.  Only when he opens up his mind to how he used to be before he changed so much, the side of him that lurks but mostly stays buried and covered with defense and anger and shame instead of the openness and love and curiosity and freedom.  Converted into standard normalcy all that once made me fall in love has mostly degraded or become covered up, rotten, the opposite of what it once was, except for a few rare occasions of glimpses of the past shining up again.  It’s something, and it’s a rare situation that few others can give me, but he rarely does. Whatever it’s worth, I’m really not sure.  I have gradually tapered away from needing him over the decades and maybe one day I could completely not need that part of his personality anymore ever.  But in my mental and physical illnesses, society hasn’t got a safe place for me but he makes up for what they can’t give. 

[jokerownsmysoul]

Girl, once again thank you so, so much for this artwork, it's the sweetest thing I've ever seen. 🐺🌌🌘 Look at him. 😭💙 I'm so in love with this whole werewolf metaphor and it makes me soft that we all love this part of him 🥺 it surrounds Joker with a kind of special magic that makes me very weak and takes me to dreamy places. 💭💭💭 I have to admit that the sight of him as a werewolf makes me crave to write about it, what you captured in this artwork is so inspiring, the atmosphere so magical and bewitching. 😭 I love that he came up with this expression all by himself, I wonder if there's more to dig into it, if somehow he feels it like a part of himself, if something about wolves/werewolves resonates with him particularly and that's why he likes them and thought about this expression. 🥺 I tried to picture Joker as a werewolf so many times but nothing of what I've imagined so far has ever been as beautiful as your artwork is. 🥺💙 I'm so happy we got to see him thanks to your talent 🤧 does the dream I had some time ago about Joker werewolf I told you about have something to do with this artwork or? 👉🏻👈🏻 The concept behind it takes my breath away. I can see in this artwork the connection that Joker has with the moon, there's like a sort of pull between them, makes me feel so many beautiful things and I'm loving it. 😭💙

His expression is charming and very jokery, it really tells you he's about to werewolf 👀 but I find it so incredibly adorable all the same, with his pursued lips and his brows knitted together 💙 and I stg i can almost hear his howling looking at him, what I wouldn't give to get to hear it. If only I think we were so close to actually get to listen to him howl. 🥺 you drew this expression so beautifully and his brows are so thick and 😳👉🏻👈🏻 I love that not even the make up manages to hide its thickness and dark color. 😩👌🏻His hair makes me very very weak, I love the different shades you used, and his locks are so soft and vaporous and I'm once again begging to caress and stroke his hair. 😭😭 I love the same amount the difference shades you used for his tail and cute little ears. It makes me very emo that you painted the werewolf fur with his natural brown colors, behind those Joker vibrant colors and green hair there's the unadulterated Arthur at the end, and I absolutely love with all my heart that we can see him and the natural colors of his body behind the green color thanks to the browness of his fur. It's silly maybe but makes me soft. 🥺 Read more it's needed oops 😂 🐺🌌🌘

His cute ears are simply the cutest shit I've ever seen, look at them, the way they just sneak from those green locks all small and cute. 😭😭 I've still so many jokes about it and his fur but will tell you privately 👀 The small tufts poking out from his sleeves and the collar of his shirt are absolutely FREAKING ADORABLE but also the sight of it drives me crazy girllll my mind can't help but expand the visual and I would like to see it. 😳 Is it weird that I would gladly stroke his ears and chest tenderly through the fur and love every second of it? 😂 What did this same do to me. 😂 And his claws...girl... I do be having lots of thoughts about it 👀

The background is absolutely STUNNING. It's one of the best backgrounds I've ever seen in your works girl and I selfishly love that it belongs to this artwork. 🥺💙 First of all I'm totally utterly in love with the shading of the sky, the way it's dark at the bottom and gets increasingly highlighted by the moonlight, it's so dreamy and beautiful and wow. 💙 And the full moon 💙💙💙 it's so bright and big and full and ugh I love it and the gray little patterns in the surface, it's so realistic. 😭😭💙💙 And the little dots in the sky to represent the stars are so adorable. 🥺 The imagery of the city at night with the buildings far away and their glowing windows stand out into the night it's a imagery that's always resonated with my heart very deeply, and I'm so happy you included it. My mind can't help but lift off and daydream about the different lives of people living there and ngl, picturing our apt too somewhere among those yellow squares 💭💙💭💙 and I can't imagine how much patience you got to draw the buildings and those tiny windows. 😂 They're perfect 💙 His pose is simply wonderful, I love that he's resting his hands on the rock, it gives me the feeling that he's very very far away from the city, maybe he reached the part of the city where the buildings and the city are gone and you can find some more vegetation and free space. Maybe near a forest or wood, since werewolves usually go into the woods to go wild and have fun. 👀 I'm picturing him running through the trees under the moonlight high in the sky once the transformation is completed, and he can run wildly in the forest and unleash and I'M SIMPLY SCREAMING I WANT IT. 🗣️ as always the shading is perfect. On his clothes, the background, everything. I can keep talking about it on and on 😭 thank you endlessly ♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️ for taking the time to do something for me, it means more than I can say and thanking you will never be enough, I'm honored you made it for my birthday, thank you so much girl and I love you you have heart and hands of gold and talent 💙💙🐺🌌🌘🐺🌌🌘💙💙

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the wonderful @jokerownsmysoul !!! WEREWOLF AND GO WILD FLÀ!!! Love you girl! 😘🐺

[feathercorp]

Smoking causes impotence

//disclaimer: i tried i’m sorry//

Hands trembling nervously, rattling the few remaining cigarettes in the packet sitting loosely nestled between long, slender fingers, Mike sat at the back of an unfamiliar café and wished he could light up, desperate for the soothing hit of nicotine. Otherwise, he felt he might run away, all the way back to his room at his father’s mansion and crumple into a ball and just die, because this had been a stupid chase from the beginning. What kind of a creep chases a stranger for weeks?

And not just any stranger, oh no. Looking down between his fingers, he saw the man he longed for curled up on a grey sheet, perfect form and sombre face in miniature on his cigarette packet.

Smoking may cause impotence, so read the accompanying warning. Crude as the thought was, Mike wasn’t so sure. He didn’t really take much notice of the health warnings on his cigs, and he already knew the first set off by heart. Most likely every single one resided in his “collection”, among the rest of the litter that decorated his home workspace. When they started rolling out a new set of health warnings, he didn’t really think much of those either. Dramatic scenes of families in tears, middle-aged women at chemo, tongues with great, fatty tumours lolling out of mouths. And among all that drama, a strikingly beautiful image of a young man who appeared to be in such turmoil. Of course, the message was lost on the young programmer. It seemed less a message of impotence and more of loneliness.

To be fair, he didn’t immediately decide that he must chase this sorrowful young man and make him his, not at all. He found himself staring at the package for far longer than he had to, holding up the queue at the newsagents’, though.

For two weeks, however, the image would drift back into his mind. What a silly idea for an anti-smoking image. Just a pretty young man curled up in bed, looking vaguely upset. Alone. In need of support… And then he would take the empty packet out of his pocket alongside a new one, and scrutinise the image, annoyed by the wrinkles in the sheets, but fascinated by just how perfect the curves of this mystery man’s body were.

And he would chastise himself. The man might not even be gay. But what does that matter when no man in his right mind should be looking at a nobody in a campaign image and pine for them like that. But try as he might, he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

So of course, he had to chase. Of course he had to make a few phonecalls, find out who made the images, what agencies they used to find the models. It wasn’t like it was hard to get that info as the son of one of Glasgow’s most successful businessmen. It wasn’t some long and epic saga of closed doors and false identities. But getting this one man’s name was far more difficult.

No, if he said he was looking for this specific model, then the media would be all over it, without a doubt. So it meant a lot of sifting through site after site, trying to match the face. But that proved even harder, since the man he wanted was partially obscured in the imagery, and all that was available was headshots. And so it also meant a lot of contacting the wrong guys, and making some half-baked excuse about not needing them after all, he’d get back to them, sorry for wasting their time.

And with each failure, the desired result seemed so much further away. Not to mention how creepy he felt; no amount of showers at the highest temperature he could tolerate would wash the feeling of disgust away. But he’d started. He had to see it through.

As time ticked by and model number 47 ran ten minutes late, he sighed, and grabbed a cigarette from the packet in his hands, tapping the end idly against the scuffed wooden table. Time to give up, he thought.

“Excuse me? I’m looking for Mike?”

Suddenly, it was as though the rain had stopped and the sun was shining and the birds were singing in the tress, as he lifted his mop-like head and gazed up into beautiful hazel eyes, and the brightest smile he’d ever seen. This was most definitely The One, the man he’d been searching for all this time, perfect, lithe, dancer-like form…

…and here he was, a fluffy potato.

Nervously, he nodded, sliding the cigarette back into the box. Shit. He hadn’t thought this far. What was he going to do now? He didn’t have time to come up with an excuse to run as the stranger slid into the seat opposite, beaming at him, expecting talk of this incredible project he’d made up and had no intention of actually going through with.

Sustain the lie, or tell the truth?

The beautiful stranger introduced himself as Paul, in a melodious voice with the gentle lilt of Ireland, possibly Dublin, and he extended his hand, which Mike shook gently, but not loosely. Important to make a good impression, even if he had suddenly been struck with fear and paralysis.

And it was still another full minute before Mike spoke, stumbling over his ‘plans’ and 'ideas’ and 'artistic vision’… for about five minutes before the dam broke. The stress was too much, his cheeks too red. Paul blinked in confusion, eyebrows knitted in worry.

Time to confess.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, elbows on the table and face obscured by a forearm, a hand clutching at his own messy hair, a veritable cubist artwork, while the other looked on at him as though a beautiful Renaissance piece. Shit. Shit shit shit. Fuck. “I’m so sorry, I just… I got your name from an agency, they gave me your number and I just – your picture was so – you’re stunning, okay, and I just got lost in this stupid lie and – I shouldn’t’ve been so stupid, but I thought, maybe, and you…”

Now was the time to run, bolt like a terrified deer, and he tripped over no less than two chairs on the way out of the café, a bruise for each thigh as he spilled out into the street, the rain starting up again as though it was following him. Fitting.

Practically biting the filter of the cig in his mouth as he stomped off in the vague direction of the train station, he anxiously searched his pockets for his lighter. …he knew he had it; where did he put it? He always kept it in the same pocket… did he bring matches instead??

Footsteps rhythmic and even caught up with him, and he heard the distinctive click of flint, and turned to accept the offer of a light from his own lighter… and bow his head sheepishly at the now familiar form of Beautiful Stranger Paul.

“From the beginning,” came that pretty Irish lilt, and his lighter was pressed into his palm. “i came all this way, so give me a good anecdote at least.”

The walk was calming, the rain light and eventually stopping again, the breeze cool but not too cold. Paul, typical Irishman, seemed to find Mike;s explanation amusing, even somewhat flattering, and yes, a little creepy, but he had graciously decided not to judge him until they’d at least had a pint together. One became two, two in the afternoon became two in the morning, Paul confessed a few antics of his own, so they were even. The other man’s form was every bit as beautiful in person, and Mike thought he must be dreaming, this only happens in trashy romance novels and fan fiction…

The next day, when all was back to normal and his curiosity well and truly sated, he looked down at the cigarette packet in his hands and smiled as he threw it into the nearby waste bin on his way past. In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he took a quick look at the screen, which showed a tiny photograph from the previous night, and a message insisting that yes, Paul definitely wanted to see him again.

Smoking causes impotence, indeed.

[max-leather-anorak-blog]

Sims 3 Character Profiles: Alex and Dorian

ALEX

In-Game Traits:

Supernatural Fan

Hopeless Romantic

Flirty

Childish

Ambitious

In-Game Favourites:

**Colour: **Sea Foam

Food: Fish and Chips

Music: Electronica

CURRENT OCCUPATION: Band Manager

In His Own Words:

NAME: Alex Astrid Vosijk

GENDER: ?

Date Of Birth: July 28th 1926, no, err…1992

WRITE A LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF AND DORIAN:

I remember the first time a girl stuck her tongue in my mouth. We were thirteen, and her name was Bianca, if my memory serves. I was utterly spellbound by her, and I saw her a lot even into adulthood. Every time I saw her I would fall in love all over again. My mum told me I didn’t want to kiss girls like that. I did. But you don’t want to hear about that.

You probably already know who I am. Standing at five-foot-eleven; lilac-yes-of-course-that’s-my-natural-colour hair; green eyes? Of course you know me.

I suppose, what I’d like most is to be remembered. I suppose, I already am. What, in today’s age of instantaneous information at the simple press of a button, creating a lasting legacy is easier than ever. I feel like everyone wants to be remembered to an extent, but the question is, do we want to be famous or infamous? I don’t think I really mind. I’m a cunt, but at least I know I am. The worst kind of cunt is the type that doesn’t know they’re a cunt. Being infamous could be even better, in my opinion. It’s certainly easier. No-one gives a shit if you’re a saint, but if you’re really a bastard, really, really an absolute dickhead, suddenly, everyone wants to know everything about you. I’m not a mean guy at all- it’s all a bit of a laugh. It’s all for fun- people get that.

All that aside, it’s brilliant to be back in Bridgeport. My grandfather lived here when I was growing up and I haven’t visited since he passed when I was 14. My parents had to be boring and move to Moonlight Falls before I was born, but I suppose Moonlight Falls wasn’t all that bad. Where Bridgeport has the connections to fame and fortune, Moonlight Falls has a resident population of Supernaturals. Isn’t that awesome? Always wanted to be more than human, me, but I have to settle for living vicariously through Dor, him being a warlock (love that word, it makes me think of some old bloke with a huge beard dressed in blue and silver, like Merlin and all that), but he’s a little…well…boring. Lovely, lovely bloke though. I once got beaten up on my way home from school when we were eleven, and he used magic to heal my broken nose and clear my wounds. We’ve been friends ever since. Then he started living with us when we were seventeen. His family were nasty-really nasty. Used to beat the shit out of him, I think. Treated him as a servant. Slept in the shed most nights. We’ve shared houses and flats ever since, as well as DVDs, books, sadly not lovers. I was hoping, really, that moving to the city would bring him out of his shell, but it hasn’t really worked. He still just sits at that laptop typing away. Man, you’re a warlock! The amount of people you could be out impressing, seriously, think how much pussy you could be getting, man, but instead you’re just going to write Cthulhu and Friends Go To Taco Bell?

10 SONGS YOU’D TAKE INTO A NUCLEAR BUNKER:

**1. **_Are “Friends” Electric? - Gary Numan and Tubeway Army _- A Classic

**2. **Bizarre Love Triangle - New Order - A_nother classic._ I don’t trust people that don’t like New Order.

**3. **_Toxic- Britney Spears - _The Production is so good.

**4. **_Venus - Television - _I’m an art-punk at heart.

5. _Das Model- Kraftwerk - _Electronic Pioneers, the synth and bass are really ahead of their time.The Germans do Electronic music so well.

6._ The Sparrows and The Nightingales - Wolfsheim - _See previous.

7._ Performance- Tones On Tail - _Really, really underrated band.

8._ She’s Dangerous - Clan of Xymox - _Dor once told me this should be my theme song. I’m unsure if this is an insult.

**9. **Seventh Dream of Teenage Heaven - Love and Rockets - Another band Dor introduced me to. I just love the lyrics.

_**10. **Another Fall From Grace - The Mission - _Legends, and yet another band Dor told me to listen to.

DORIAN

In-Game Traits:

Loner

Shy

Bookworm

Grumpy

Night Owl

In-Game Favourites:

Colour: Green

Food: Fried Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwich

Music: Custom

CURRENT OCCUPATION: Full-Time Author

In His Own Words:

NAME: Vincent Dorian Lovecraft, please, though, call me Dorian.

GENDER: Male

DATE OF BIRTH: July 6th or 7th 1992

WRITE A LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF AND ALEX:

Writing makes my teeth hurt. Of all the habits I’ve had,nail-biting is the one I’m still yet to give up. Yet, I only do it when I write. I also happen to chew pen lids, though, luckily for me, I don’t find myself having to use them very often. I was filling in a tax form last week, and hurt my gums very much when the lid slid upwards while I was minding my own business chewing it. I don’t usually realise until that point, or until I hear Alex finally snap. “Dor,” he’ll say, “get that pen out of your mouth or I’ll stick it where the sun does not shine.”

It wasn’t a decent pen, anyway. Just one he stole from work when he used to be with Lunar Industries, back in Moonlight Falls. He had to leave there because he’d slept with the entire office, and before long, they’d all found out and turned on him. He wasn’t cut out to be a businessman, Alex, who’s never given up on his childhood dream to be a rock star, or marry a rock star. On the rare event I’d catch him leaving for work, he’d always have his top shirt buttons undone, tie askew, hair teased to the heavens, and with a quick pout in the mirror, he’d stride out the door, and I wouldn’t see him until perhaps eleven that night. There was often a woman, or a man, and sometimes an individual of indistinct sex. Occasionally, there would be two. As was the way always, with Alex, since we were around seventeen, though it could very well have been happening earlier than that. He’s had a few long-term relationships of course, but never just one, always several at once. Monogamy doesn’t much interest Alex. I wouldn’t lie to you and say I understand, because I don’t. I’m perfectly happy being just me, my plants and my laptop. No need for one person, let alone three or four.

Since we moved to Bridgeport, he’s been every day urging me to “get myself out there” and “not get left on the shelf”, whatever that means. Internet tells me it’s something to do with unmarried women. Anyhow, he took me out to a few bars the first day we moved in, which, sidenote, I hated. He spoke to a woman who was playing the keyboard up on the stage and then fell off, and on our way out he said, “Dorian, I love you, really, right from twelve years old, but god, you need a girlfriend, or at least a whore.” And then fell over again.

I don’t much like it here, but perhaps it’ll grow on me. As long as I have my words, I’m happy.

10 SONGS YOU’D TAKE INTO A NUCLEAR BUNKER:

**1. (I Want To Be Your) Mirror - Temples - **It was a tough choice between this and the similarly named I’ll Be Your Mirror by The Velvet Underground…but…

2. All Tomorrow’s Parties - The Velvet Underground - The one true Gothic song. Nico was truly gothic, Bram Stoker gothic.

**3. **_Left Hand Luke and The Beggar Boys - T.Rex - _Only Marc Bolan could include the word “myxomatosis” in a song and not sound silly.

4._ All We Ever Wanted Was Everything - Bauhaus - _Embodies the melancholy of a small town, even if I preferred that to where I am now.

5. Visions of Johanna - Bob Dylan - What a wonderful lyricist he is.

**6. **_The Boxer - Simon and Garfunkel - _Another one of those songs that tells a story. I really admire that in songs. This was played on the radio a lot when I was working on my third draft of Orpheus Undead, which is my favourite book that I’ve written.

7. _The Bewlay Brothers - David Bowie - _I’m absolutely a Bowie casualty. This is a beautiful, harrowing story about his half-brother who had schizophrenia. Absolutely worth a listen. The creaking chair sound effects towards the beginning give me chills.

8._ Black Mountain Mist - The Mission. _Beautiful. The imagery this song provokes is just absolutely gorgeous. Tragic, but gorgeous.

9. _Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now- The Smiths. _It’s obvious I like The Smiths. I’m a skinny, poor, single writer.

**10. **_The Killing Moon - Echo and The Bunnymen. _No words.

[cheesencustardwatchnetflix]

10,000 BC

Cheese- I’m pretty sure I’m going to hate this movie. My dad talks about this movie all the time and just that alone is enough to make me hate it. I have never seen the entirety of this film. Nor have I ever wanted to. But will for the sake of… whatever this is. I’m expecting lots of horrible CGI animals. Probably only one female character. I’m not expecting to be impressed by this. 

Custard- I saw this movie in the fall of 2008 when it came out on demand while spending the night at my friend nemesis’s house. In line with all the other poor decisions we made that night [a revolting amount of candy, breaking the smoke detector off the wall (which was never fixed in the rest of the time I knew this girl), and sleeping with the AC set to 50F] we started watching it at 1 am and didn’t make it all the way through to the end, and attempted to watch the last portion in a nearly hung-over state- or as close to that as 15 year olds can get- so the details are really fuzzy now. But the very thought of this movie makes me cringe by association.

This girl’s whole house smelled like rice.

All the time.

Always.

Yuck.

15 Minutes In

Cheese- My first comment on this movie is that it’s very obvious that both actresses playing the main female character are wearing blue contact lenses.

Was everything filmed in front of a green screen?

Also main actress was in a Jonas Brothers music video. It was for ‘Love Bug’ I remember.

I have seen worse CGI. But I have also seen TONS BETTER and from movies that came out earlier than this one. Although I expect this level of CGI was considered okay back in 2008. It’s just really horrible to watch when things are supposed to be fast moving. And when the people are in the middle of the mammoths…because then it’s just shitty as hell.

Also, everyone looks like they’re in a low budget history program that they force you to sit through in school.

Custard- I knew the keying in this was terrible but it SCREAMS AT THE TOP OF ITS LUNGS “I’M SHITTY GREEN SCREEN LOOK AT ME TEEHEE.”The mammoths aren’t terrible�� But that running. 

30 Minutes In

Cheese- Dude kills mammoth and almost dies underneath it but then gets rescued and all the other dudes just give him swift pats on the chest because NO HOMO

Fake snow is FAKE

The acting is also a joke in this movie.

The use of the green screen has only increased.

60 Minutes In

Cheese- I’ve only just noticed how WHITE everyone’s teeth are. What brand of toothpaste were they using back in 10,000 BC?

The weird giant birds are terrible. SO TERRIBLE. They’re almost comical. Like a bunch of deranged Kevins. 

Why are all these people gathering for a war??? Did I miss that part?? The dude guy talked to the scary cat and now everyone is marching to battle?? Did they actually say why????

So far this move is very boring. Even the exciting action parts. Boring. It’s hard to get all nervous and excited over a suspenseful action scene when half of it is in terrible CG shit and you can’t see it.

Custard-  … Wow I don’t remember there being this much story here. Flimsy, cliche story but, wow. Actual story.

Conclusion

Cheese- I don’t even know what to say anymore. What did I just watch? There were parts of this movie (granted they only lasted maybe thirty seconds tops) that I actually thought that it wasn’t so bad, and then something completely ridiculous would happen and I’d find myself taking back my words. What was that ending? What the actual fuck? I don’t even know what to say. So much so that I had to say that twice. I found myself laughing out loud during the big dramatic climax because it was all just so silly. So so silly.

I think my main problem with this movie is that I found myself unable to follow along with anything anyone was saying. Yes I was reading the subtitles, yes I was listening. But all the words just seemed to go in one ear and out the other. I had no fucking clue what was going on. And I honestly don’t think it would have mattered.

I liked the boats. The fake boats they were all on. But mostly just like their sails…just the way they looked. I don’t know. Also, the part when Main Dude goes over the sand dune and shouts to Main Chick was the only scene I can remember where I had any actual emotion that wasn’t annoyance. This emotion didn’t last long because I was probably reminded how bland the whole movie was.

There were other moments that seemed to spark a hint of promise to this movie, but they were so small and so few and far between that I completely forgot about them in all the boring unattractive scenery.

Do I hate this movie? Not nearly as much as I thought I was going to. Will I ever watch it again? No thanks. I’ll probably completely forget about it in a matter of days. It was all very forgettable. Even the shitty CG animals weren’t shitty enough to remember and laugh about later.

Two Stars - because I could have hated it more.

Custard- So, I think as I watched this my brain cells were dying because I had less and less to say as the movie progressed, and now I find it difficult to even type up a conclusion. I remember when this movie hit theaters people were crowing about how “pretty” it was, but uh, when did that happen? It was kind of nice in the beginning, in a vague, desolate way, but I was so distracted by the terrible lighting on the characters and the poorly hidden green-spill that it wasn’t even a blip on the radar.

Story-wise, even ignoring the historic inaccuracies, it was painfully simple, and any notion of a prophecy (how many prophecies were there???) was poorly done to the extreme- to the point of nonsense. I was bored 95% of the time, and the visuals weren’t good enough to distract me.

There were three and a half scenes I actually enjoyed; The part where the old hunter dies (I had subtitles on and I still couldn’t tell you his name) because suddenly the dialogue had the tiniest amount of depth to it, and the scene when the “God’s” servants find the slaver with the three pack-a-day voice hiding out with blue contacts- because ridiculous egyption servants tickle me, apparently- and the scenes with the saber-toothed cat; because cats. The scene in the village with Mr. Toothpicks wasn’t that great, although I remember 15 year old me being enchanted by it. Having yet another convenient prophecy to help the plot along didn’t impress me, even if it involved a one-ton-tabby, and especially considering how fleeting any involvement in that prophecy was.

On the whole this came out as bottom of the barrel, barely passable as a good mindless summer flick in my book. If your story is going to be so flat and full of holes, you damn well better have some stunning imagery, and while the CG cat was good, it was there and gone again before I could even really start to care, and the rest of the VXF ranged from ‘meh’ to ‘ho damn that ugly’.

Two stars - I was never embarrassed, but I’m not even sure I had normal brain function through the whole thing.

[pluiethewolf]

TIP TOP STUFF FROM 2017

This post has been written in an ever-shortening sliver of the end of the year so there may be many typos, half-sentences, oddly expressed feelings and extreme over-sharing. BEWARE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE! (the rules are if I’ve seen/read it this year it counts as this year, hence some stuff from last year/the 1960s)

Dollywould

If I have too much time to think and am not in a great mood I end up worrying a lot about how quickly time goes past and then we die and then no one remembers us. I am not very good at dealing with these worries and mostly when I see shows which look at these themes I don’t generally appreciate the layered approaches and interesting comments, I mainly just get stressed out. Yet coming out of Dollywould, a show at least in part about death and legacy and I didn’t feel any of my normal worries. In fact if anything I felt really good – not just buoyed by the FANTASTIC music and HILARIOUS costumes and I mean it’s Sh!t Theatre I don’t need to describe why it could make you happy. But it also felt like it said something to me about these themes that made me feel a little bit okay. Obviously I can’t just write down what that was otherwise I’d no longer ever feel that way and I definitely still do. For me it was one of those beautiful pieces of art where you feel what it’s saying to you rather than think it. I want to keep it in my pocket for when I’m sad. It is my favourite Sh!t Theatre show so far and anyone who wants to argue about that can go away.

Our Best Guess

This was another show where it was more about talking around a theme than making a point (or if it was about making a point I definitely missed it). It’s about missed chances and avoided tragedies and the turn of prediction to regret&. It was a fantastic mosaic of stories and when I sometimes look around and cynically think that, amongst all the remakes and reboots and ‘original’ stories that may as well be one of the former, all the stories have been told before, it was amazing to find so many sharing space in the same show.

Kin

My possible dissolutionment (which is definitely an actual word) with narrative means a lot of stuff on this list is non-narrative – most is live-art-y or dance-based and one that was circus! I can be very hot and cold with circus – one or two shows have been some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen (especially Ockham’s Razor’s Not Until We Are Lost) but I’m often on a weird line where I don’t want it to just be tricks but feel like narrative almost always feels weirdly forced in. Kin was the perfect balance – suggestions and nods towards meaning coming from heart-in-mouth, skilful, silly, absolutely sincere, risky (sometimes a bit too much) movement. Also I think the song ‘Starry, starry Night’ was in about 5 shows I saw in Edinburgh and this version definitely won.

With Force and Noise

While Kin was filled with massive movement, what was striking in With Force and Noise was the restraint and small-ness. Like many of the shows in this list it feels really difficult to talk about without just listing everything that happened in it, and standing back and going ‘isn’t that great!’. I’ve already written a teeny bit about why I love the show+ so I’m going to focus on one really specific element. When the show started Sullivan walked with painstaking slowness towards the audience – this was joined by lights on the floor really slowly turning on as she walked forward. So slowly that you wouldn’t realise what was happening until another light had been turning on for minutes. I’ve been paying a lot more attention to lighting designs recently due to my friends doing that and honestly I think this was my favourite of the year. Sullivan then stand still for a long time and some of the other beautiful parts of the show happen, which I loved and were fantastic but which for now I’m going to skip over. That’s because after all these parts, where Sullivan stays completely still and we are all totally focused on the one still point she inhabits. Then she gently starts to shake. I hear clanking sounds and I think they may be off stage – I thought I’d heard some while she was entering. The shaking builds and so does the sound and I realise they are connected – spittle starts to fall from Sullivans mouth. Shaking quite violently  now she turns and we see that sewn into her costume – along with the intricate embroidery – are kettles and pots and bells, now clashing against one another. That was why she had to walk so carefully at the beginning. She had to remain completely composed to stop her rage from spilling out. God I love theatre.

Alba

Alba is another show which lies in small movements. It’s also a show that I think has been around for quite a while but I went in knowing almost nothing about it. This is a show that I definitely could describe moment for moment because I did just that when I got home, filling in a friend who couldn’t go. I’m so glad because now I can relive the show. It felt like magic, transforming everyday objects with a sense of mystery, but also humour, a wink to the audience. It was almost completely wordless, with recordings of Bannon’s mother speaking occasionally adding to the sight onstage. It was beautiful.

Foley Explosion

Another show that was about transforming objects before us was Foley Explosion – like a magician showing us how the trick is done (which tbh is the best kind of magic). It was incredibly dream-like, slipping from one sliver of story to another, sounds transmuting to have one meaning or another. It was slow, allowing itself the time to build what it needed. The outcome was bizarre and beautiful.

Locus Amoenus

I saw Atresbandes perform All In last year and really liked it, after being really annoyed at missing Locus Amoenus. I’m so glad I managed to catch it because where I liked All In I absolutely LOVE Locus Amoenus – the slightly off dialogue, the knowledge that nothing that happens on the train really matters, and the occasional slip away from the scene in front of us to descriptions of other scenesF. It was the kind of play that I wish TV was more like – how great would it be if halfway through a scene in Breaking Bad we saw a random scene that would never be referenced again. Also it was absolutely HILARIOUS. Also there was an extended reference to Zidane’s headbut which is pretty much the only football reference I understand so that made me happy.

Lilith, The Jungle Queen

This show isn’t just on here cause it has the same name as me. Absolutely not. It probably was a large part of why I went to see it though and I am so glad for that because it was one of the most surprising joys of the Fringe, and probably my whole year. It used the ‘human raised by animals’ (in this case lions) story to look at gender, race and colonialism. It had be absolutely roaring$ with laughter, both due to the dry wit of the dialogue and the fact that the pink gunge steadily spread around the stage left the performers slipping around and dragging each other across. Message-wise it was a tough one – the political opinions of the show seemed as slippery as the set, and it was a wonderful example of how you can seriously delve into issues and still be hilarious.

Vs.

It felt like the moments in youth theatre at the end of the warm-ups where you wish you could make an entire show out of games, but they somehow managed to make it beautiful and vulnerable and stressful and fantastic. Watching it I found my reaction ranging from thinking about the apocalypse to just thinking ‘just look how HIGH they can jump. I wish I could jump that high. That is so cool.’

Room For All Our Tomorrows

I have found this really difficult. It is hard summing up why you love something in such a small amount of words and time (especially when you saw it so long ago). I’ve already tried to write a bit about it for Exeunt but couldn’t sum up how I felt about it or why. I think part of it was the magic that I mentioned above – created both by the set (the table turning into a piano and the way-too-much liquid endlessly pouring from the coffee machine) and the bodies on stage in front of us. Maybe it felt a bit like a ritual, maybe it felt a bit like a speeded up daily routine, maybe a timelapse of years going by.

 Right it is now 3pm on New Years Eve and I absolutely refuse to publish this in January but I also want to write a bit about other things that I liked in 2017 so it is time to KICK THE PACE UP!

Student Theatre

This isn’t in a separate list because I think student theatre is some kind of lower category than ‘proper theatre’ but I do think about them in different ways and am very biased over a lot of it and anyway it would have just made the first list way, way too long. A lot of this stuff that I loved was at NSDF last year – after having gone the year before and not particularly enjoyed it I loved the festival and so much of the work in it. Thick Skin was a complete surprise, not knowing anything about it until we went in and I thought it was such a smart way to approach racism on stage in a useful way – we don’t necessarily need to be shown another depiction of an obvious racist, but see how jokes and unthinking behaviour can cause harm. I’d been looking forward to seeing Nothing is Coming, The Pixels Are Huge since I saw it had applied for the festival (and desperately hoping it got in)% and it did not disappoint At All – it used hugely impressive technical wizardry to create metaphor and imagery which felt like it could be chewed over for as long as you wanted, pulling out different meanings around how we remember things and what makes us us, and what is missing in the gaps in between. It felt like it was throwing down the gauntlet for what science fiction theatre can be. By the time Celebration was at NSDF I had seen it many times, and I have seen it many times since but for me nothing will beat that first performance in that massive room – I love that show so much and I love the people in it and I cried from joy.

The rest of the shows here are from Warwick. Seeking Intimacy by Eve Allin was a gorgeous use of the campus’ space, wandering one of the mammoth buildings, the white stone and massive windows providing the futuristic yet not setting of the play. It was another wonderful use of science fiction – one of the latest episodes reminded me of it a little, but the play contained much more ambiguity, introducing different interesting facets to the tale of an ever changing dating service. The next piece I can’t actually remember the name of - it was the dissertation piece of three people in my year – but similarly looked at how the internet changed our relationships with each other, but through a completely modern rather than science fiction lens. I often think plays fail to present the internet in a interesting or engaging way – both the need for drama and speed of change means it is all too easy to demonise the net as destroying relationships and communication. I knew that I was going to like this piece as soon as Rosie made a speech defending what great art can be made, even if you could easily text someone. It used a clever mix of live filming, audience interaction, games and monologue to explore different aspects of the internet. My favourite moment was two performers stuffing their faces with marshmallows as they repeated the phrase ‘Anything, even water, can be toxic when too much is consumed’o.

These last two shows I am both very biased on and had very similar reactions to, even though in form they were very different. Those were Portents and Speed Death of the Radiant Child. They are both quite sad shows, built around breakdowns of communication, but they both made me incredibly, incredibly happy. Part of that was the beauty of both shows, from the writing to the lighting, but also I feel that while they may be pessimistic about the outcome, they put a lot of hope in people. The characters are always grasping out to communicate, trying to understand, and even if that attempt leads to their failure the attempt is beautiful.

Books

The feeling that I mentioned just above I think was possibly helped not only by the shows themselves but by what I was reading when I saw them, which was Franny and Zooey and Raise High The Roof Beams, Carpenters both part of JD Salinger’s series of stories about the Glass family. They create in me the exact same feeling and the beauty in them makes me happier, inspires me in what I do, and makes me more accepting of pretention, and of people in general. I honestly kind of think they make me a better person, and I have decided to ration out the rest of Salinger’s 8 stories about the family for when I’m feeling down.

Everything else in this list is science fiction because that’s just the kind of person that I am, and three of the four utopian because of the same reason. The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin (which I have been trying to write a blog about since JULY) feels like an amazingly detailed attempt to imagine how another society really could exist. I didn’t love it all – there were a couple of scenes which if it had been written by a man I probably would have hated the book for, which I’m not sure is a good way to approach books but nevermind. However it did contain some beautiful words about hope and community and work and progress which really landed with me. Oddly I also had some uncomfortable ‘would I forgive a man for this’ moments in Too Like the Lighting by Ada Palmer – to be completely honest I’m not entirely sure I LIKED the book, it frequently disturbed me, but I was undeniably hooked, the constant dual mysteries of trying to figure out the actual world of the plot at the same time as the enigma at its heart meant there was a giddy surprise behind every corner and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so much plot per page. On top of that the use of form and references – a book about the future written in the style of an 18th century novel – made me feel like I was reading something completely unique.

A much more down-to-earth utopia was Malka Older’s Infomocracy. One of the quotes on the back basically describes it as the West Wing for sci-fi nerds so I obviously loved it. It was a neat idea with cool characters and a zippy story. What I found really nice about both this and the previous book is the expertise that the authors brought to the plot – the fact that Palmer teaches 18th century history and Older disaster management meant it felt like I was allowed a glimpse at how different experts saw the world.

My absolute favourite book of the year was Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson. Written in the early days of the internet the world it describes is odd – half super-familiar and prescient and half hilariously dated. I read the entire book with absolute glee; it was perfectly paced, sweeping along the reader so that they were at the extract same point as the characters. It managed to have whole sweeps of the story ruled by connections to Sumerian myth and language theory and be neither patronising nor pretentious (and make a history lesson as exciting as the drug deal it was intercut with). It managed to create a cruel world that still contained a massive amount of love, and good, interesting and exciting characters. It managed to be an exhilarating adventure story which spoke about human communication and the power of language (in an interestingly linked way to Frannie). All this while making jokes about pizza delivery – it was fantastic.

Other things

The NYE party really is starting quite soon and I still have half-finished sentences in the earlier sections which I should go back to so the rest is going to be a bit of a hodge-podge list that is mostly made up of films and cool stuff on the internet.

Patrick by Adam Blampied (https://adamblampied.com/2017/03/27/patrick/) – Is this erotic fan fiction about Patrick Marber? Is it a witty and surprisingly insightful critique of modern theatre? The answer to both of these questions is yes

The Handmaiden – *mild spoilers* I stopped watching the BBC adaptation of the source text for this halfway through cause it made me sad and I’m pathetic. I’m completely glad I did because it made the twist SO SO MUCH SWEETER.

Your Name – Combining a whole load of body-swap comedy and anime tropes and making a really lovely, intricate, original plot.

17776 by Jon Bois (https://www.sbnation.com/a/17776-football) – The other half of the blog post I’ve been writing since July. Everything I want from utopian fiction and stuff on the internet at the same time.

The First Half of Baby Driver – I mean the second half is okay too but in the first half I literally thought it could become one of my favourite ever films – feel like there was a moment on the edge where it could have stepped away from what was expected by instead went back to a more conventional storyline.

The Second Half of Magnolia – I have absolutely no problems with the first half of this film but I watched it over a year before the second half and I gots to stick to the rules. So gorgeous, and with random non-naturalistic bits I wish were in more films.

Spiderman: Homecoming – saw this the day after Baby Driver and really surprisingly enjoyed it more. Fascinating idea of how the crazy Marvel Universe would affect real life, just the right levels of funny, silly and sincere.  

The Last Jedi – I JUST LOVE IT AND HAVE NOTHING MORE TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

I have probably missed out a load of stuff I loved this year but it’s time to go sort out some of those half-sentences, so have a good year everybody, can’t wait to see some more great stuff J

***

& I’m realising now (and possibly at the time, who knows) how much it also speaks to my neuroses – how I’m constantly jealous of everything because I want to have achieved what every possible version of me making every possible decision could have done, all at the same time. I think maybe the emerging here is that I like shows that really gently prod at what troubles me.

+ http://exeuntmagazine.com/features/exeunts-most-memorable-regional-theatre-2017/

F Writing this makes me really wish I kept better notes (or any notes at all) on the shows I see.

$ I’m hilarious

% This year the show I’m feeling that towards is ‘Lights Over Tesco Carpark’ – I’m just a sucker for sci-fi with long names

o Disclaimer: this was almost definitely not what they said I just can’t remember the actual phrase