#That&039;s It!

[jazzdailyblog]

Horace Parlan: The Pianist Who Turned Adversity into Art

Introduction: Horace Parlan (1931–2017) was an extraordinary jazz pianist and composer whose life and career were defined by resilience, innovation, and a singular musical voice. Despite the challenges posed by polio, which left his right hand partially disabled, Parlan became a defining figure in hard bop, post-bop, and avant-garde jazz. His artistry, both as a soloist and collaborator,…

[lgbtqreads]

Fave Five: Historical Romance with Trans Men

The Doctor’s Discretion by EE Ottoman (m/m) A Shore Thing by Joanna Lowell (m/f) A Gentleman’s Gentleman by TJ Alexander (m/m) The Companion by EE Ottoman (t4t4t f/f/m) A Bloomy Head by J. Winifred Butterworth (m/f)

[blerdyotome]

Indie Games You Should be Playing from the Storyteller's Festival 2024

The Storyteller’s Festival is in full swing on Steam and there are a ton of amazing indie games, sales, and announcements from this year’s showcase. For those of you out of the loop, The Storyteller’s Festival is a digital event hosted by indie developer, Two and a Half Studios that spotlights a wide range of indie visual novels and narrative games! The festival runs from January 29th to…

[mediamatinees]

Rosemary’s Baby and the Legacy of Pregnancy Horror

Beware of overly attentive neighbors. You can never be too careful. Rounding out this year's Women in Horror month, my review of the Ira Levin classic "Rosemary's Baby" is out now!

Content Warning: Rosemary’s Baby contains sexual assault, body horror related to pregnancy, intense gaslighting, religious turmoil, mentions of suicide, a severely deranged cult, possible hint of anti-Semitism (?), brief instances of homophobia, and a total lack of bodily autonomy. Reader/viewer discretion is advised. Note: As of publishing, I have not completed the 1968 film adaptation. I am…

[david-goldrock]

I am happy to announce, that my last medical checkup results are in, and I am in complete remission of Crohn's disease

[veryberryjelly]

ribbon cuffs

pairing : kate bishop x reader

prompt : wrapping presents

𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲

" y/n, can you help me a sec ? " you heard kate call from the living room.

she had been in there wrapping for around 25 minutes while you worked on making dinner and this was the first you'd heard anything from her since you parted ways.

you set down the knife you had been using to cook and turning down the stove to come to your heroes rescue.

" what's up ?" you questioned as you made your way into the living room.

your question was answered when you took in the scene infront of you.

lucky was sat on the arm chair, wrapped in three different colours of ribbon, fighting with a crumpled up piece of wrapping paper.

and then there was kate. sat on the floor infront of the coffee table, her hands tied together with the same ribbon wrapped around lucky.

" how did this happen ?" you asked incredulously, moving to crouch infront of your girlfriend and untie her hands.

" he was trying to eat the chocolates we bough for laura. but i ended up chasing him around the table, and the clever thing handcuffed me...somehow " she said with a soft laugh, her eyes focused on your hands as you undid the knots and twists that the labrador had created.

once you freed her hands, kate assisted you in unwrapping lucky from his colourful prison.

the two of you ended up with a pile of unwrapped ribbon that you would need to sort out, but for now, you could stuff the mess into a box and deal with it later.

after dinner, you helped kate finish wrapping the remaining presents.

and by 'help' you meant sit behind her as she wrapped them and hand her long strips of untangled ribbon to wrap around them.

the gifts were stacked onto the table before you went to bed, and when the three of you were curled up comfortably on the mattress, kate pulled out a piece of ribbon for lucky to play with, attached to her finger so that he couldnt get himself tangled up in that.

@rhayanm

[ginaraemitchell]

Fun Friday Finds | 01-17-2025 | #Books #Crafts #Recipes #IndieAuthors

Happy Friday! It’s time for another edition of the Friday Finds, where we dive into the latest book reviews, author spotlights, and creative gems to brighten our week. Whether you're here for your next great read, a delicious recipe, or just some fun, cozy vibes, you’ve come to the right place. So, grab your favorite drink (coffee for me on these cold winter days!), get comfy, and let’s jump right in. Warmly, Gina *If you enjoy the post, please share it and maybe click a link or two!  Fun Friday Finds | 01-17-2025 | #Books #Crafts #Recipes #IndieAuthors https://ginaraemitchell.com/friday-finds-01-17-2025/

Friday Finds | 01-17-2025 | Welcome Happy Friday! It’s time for another edition of the Friday Finds, where we dive into the latest book reviews, author spotlights, and creative gems to brighten our week. Whether you’re here for your next great read, a delicious recipe, or just some fun, cozy vibes, you’ve come to the right place. So, grab your favorite drink (coffee for me on these cold winter…

[grapejuicestyless]

can you do a conrad fic based on sad, beautiful, tragic by t.s.?

Sad, Beautiful, Tragic.

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n is young, naive but not stupid. Conrad had made one too many empty promises for even her to continue believing.

My feet stood cemented on the pavement, stuck to the grounds that lingered in deadly details of him, but never us. Not now, not ever.

I felt like an idiot, showing up now, so late. A random autumn night in Boston. The streets in the city still bustling with life, longing for the scents of pumpkin spice and apple cider. The further into the suburbs you drove, the quieter it grew. The trees became plentiful, black streets becoming canvases of orange and yellow.

We weren’t right. It was obvious. Laurel reprimanded me for this, my great attempts to salvage what little we had left between us. A dwindling flame, a broken glass spilling wine across a pearl white table cloth. She called me a fool, too blinded by what I wanted to work so badly in my head that I refused what was being presented right in front of me.

His snide remarks with his school friends, all much smarter than I. They knew it. I was never a prodigy, a prospect, gifted. Each dig was minor, easily brushed away like dust on the pages of a forgotten story page. But Conrad always had a way with his words, a tongue that made even the kindest comments come out like daggers. Backhanded and cruel, aimed at the naive.

Gullible was never written on the ceiling yet each time he smiled and pointed I looked. I was a scarlet thread, wrapped tightly around his thumb.

When the door opened, Susannah greeted me with a sad smile. Her eyes spoke a thousand sentences, pleading for me to leave, walk away while I still could. But Conrad had promised, promised that if I just gave him one more chance it would be different.

And I believed him. I believed him because when I met him, he was a good man. Shy, sweet, observant. He was charming, and god he was always handsome. The Conrad I fell for never lied to me. If we disagreed, it was quickly resolved.

Now it seemed like each phone call was just another nail in the coffin. Another reason flying by, red flags blowing in the wind begging me to follow, to leave. It was walking on eggshells, fragile. I was clumsy and they broke. I sit alone in my room sometimes, phone beeping to its death, hanging off my shoulder and I forget. I forget all the reasons I am fighting, what I am fighting for.

But then he comes back, just like he always does. A vicious cycle. He throws daggers at my deepest hurts, freshest wounds to have the pleasure to watch me crumble within his grasp. And when I’m too weak to stand, he lifts me back up. Suddenly, my stomach aches, I want to throw up. It’s bubbling up my throat, the guilt is eating at me until I am nothing. How could I ever even forget how wonderful this man is to me, how could I ever want to leave? I wipe my memory of all the nights I spend crying on the floor. We never speak of it, what we’re doing, but the guilty look in his eyes tells me he knows. We both do. I sleep on the floor for another week, I can’t move. I am paralyzed by my heavy heart, a locket around my neck. It’s golden, decorated in whimsical swirls. A picture of Conrad stays with me always, I clench in my fist. I want to rip it off, watch the chain scatter. It weighs me down, I can barely breathe.

I am a good girl, I don’t fight. I stay quiet while Conrad fights himself. I don’t buy into his attempts to work me up anymore. I know that with him, with us, we are destined to see storms. I know better now that once they pass, the sky will clear and the tragedy of it all will fade away. So I wait. I always wait for that moment of clarity. I refuse to think when I’m so worked up.

It’s sad, and it’s beautiful and oh so tragic, the way we dance around each other. How hours ago I was standing outside his door, regretting my naivety, trying to salvage us. Now I sit in his living room, waiting for him with my legs crossed. The melodic ticking of the clock alerts me of the time. I’m cold, my nose is rosy. I let the house capture me in its warm blanket. A sacred place of safety, I smell Susannah, I smell my mother. I see Belly’s old pictures on the wall in frames and Stevens gifts to Jeremiah and Conrad.

“Y/n/n, hey.” His voice is airy, lips pressed to my temple. I didn’t even hear him coming in the deafening ringing of silence in my ears. My eyes shift to his face, but I cannot move.

“Hi Con.” My voice is coarse, tired. It’s so late, my eyes hurt from being open so long. His arms wrap around me as the couch dips beside my thighs. He’s so warm, so gentle now, I find myself drifting away again. Getting lost in the calm, I forget about how devastating the storm was. I haven’t even picked up all my discarded pieces yet. Somehow, I manage to keep giving away more and more, even now. I am not sure how I can afford this.

Our conversation is warm, long. He talks about school and I talk about mine. With us being alone, I miss any snide comments or judgmental stares. He is so much kinder without the influence of others. He is almost the same man I grew up loving.

“You’ll still visit me, won’t you?” He pleads innocently. The look in his eyes is genuine, I almost crumble. A sharp intake of air is stuck in my throat, my brain becomes re-wired.

I remember the sad looks from Susannah, the fights with my mother. I remember how disappointed Belly was when I left again. How Steven yelled and fought until I was gone. Everyone in my life sees it in a bad light and I still managed to miss it.

Suddenly the golden chain around my neck feels heavy again. It hurts my skin, it’s burning the back of my neck. I hold it in my hand, it’s still heavy in my palm.

“Y/n?” His hand is on my thigh, I can’t breathe. My chest heaves, my throat is burning. There’s a lump stuck in my throat. It’s expanding and my eyes hurt. I’m tired, I’m sick, I’m sad.

Standing up, his hands drop from my lap. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him anymore. I can feel my lip quivering while I suck in a harsh breath. My eyebrows are furrowed, fists clenched.

“Y/n, hey, baby…” He cooed at me, palm pressing to my cheek. I am inconsolable, irrevocably damaged. Too lost in our beauty to remember the tragedy, the sadness that defines us. That is us.

“Conrad, I’m leaving.” It comes out sticky. Quiet other than my sniffles and his breathing.

“You just got here, did…have I done something?” I feel his hands slip down to my elbows. He holds me in place son the carpet. It hurts, not because he’s holding too tight, but because his touch burns.

“No, Conrad.” My eyes open, I search his blue ones. I get lost in our deep they are, collecting my thoughts. I feel trapped.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. If I stay any longer I’m afraid I won’t ever leave.” His face is blank until it isn’t. It’s shifting, contorting into something that looks incredibly confused, pained.

“What, what are you saying?” His voice is less calm now, raising. Not quiet reaching the level of desperation I can see building inside of him already.

“It’s a cycle, Con, can’t you see it? We’re toxic and it’s sick because we are the ones letting it be this way. We fight but we never talk. You promise me you’ll get better but you never do! I’m tired of trying to be alright when I’m around you! You don’t make me feel good.” It’s off my chest, yet he hasn’t comprehended any of it.

“Y/n, please. We can work through it, right? I love you, I do. Please just, please. I love you, you have to love me. It doesn’t just go away like that, I love you.” He’s crying now. His blue eyes clouded in a dark overcast. He makes me feel guilty. All self respect I have is gone, and suddenly I’m back in his arms.

My head finds its place on his shoulder, I tuck my face into his neck. Not to be close, but because I feel to ashamed to show it after falling so quickly under his mind games.

Silently, I agree with him. Of course I still love him, I always will. So I stay, a fool who got so close, but remained so far away. He presses another kiss to the side of my head and tells me I won’t regret it. When I wake up alone in his bed, cold the next morning, I know I’ve been blinded to another empty promise. It’s so hard to stay when he’s mean, but it’s even harder when he’s sweet. So I pack my things quietly and leave. I won’t visit him at school. Not until he comes home will we see each other again.

Oddly enough, the thought doesn’t drain me. I don’t dread never seeing him for weeks on end. I don’t regret not choosing somewhere closer to get an education simply to be near him. I am relieved he will be gone. My heart keeps beating.

It’s barely a month before I’m stood back in front of him. Only now the carpet is cold cement and his living room is the train tracks. He is in Boston, he’ll never leave. He tries his hardest to get me to stay. He’s the nicest I’ve ever seen him. He’s persuasive, but in our time apart he doesn’t know I see it less as a genuine feeling from him and more as a twisted tactic of manipulation.

“We can settle down, we’re almost out of college. Just me and you and it’ll be great. If you’d only give us another chance.” He pleads, hands not yet on my skin, but he’s so close. I can feel his warm breath on my skin.

“I don’t want that anymore, Conrad.” I try to be kind about it, I try and blame my distance on myself. It is me who is trying so desperately to break things off. He’ll never know it was his cold heart that shattered our beautiful love. But it’s helpless, he won’t stop.

“Then we’ll travel the world. Y/n, I don’t care, I just want to be with you!” He tries again. Yet all his words are the exact same. He’s not even trying to understand me, I feel like screaming.

“No, no.” I reaffirm. I won’t look at him because it hurts me too much. I know if I look at him I’ll stay again. My chest is closing in on me, I can’t help but reach to hold onto it. My pinky grazes the same locket when I do. It’s dainty, but gorgeous. There’s stacks of photos within it. Mostly of Conrad, but a few of my family underneath.

“I’m not understanding, Y/n. I don’t get it?” He’s desperate, the train is coming. Once it pulls up to the platform, if he hasn’t convinced me one last time to stay, I’ll be forever gone. It’s the final fight, we can feel it.

“All we do is fight, Conrad. I can’t fight anymore. I tried to end it earlier and you promised me it would work out, it would stop but it hasn’t! And I can’t do it anymore.” My hands rest on the bends of his elbows. I hold him close, I look into his eyes finally, I want him to understand me, I beg for him to understand me.

“Then let me fix it. Let me make it better, Y/n. Anything, I’ll do anything I just can’t-don’t walk away.” My pleads are deaf on his ears. He doesn’t care about what I want, and it’s apparent now that he never did. He’s selfish, so he only takes. He wants me but he hates to have to deal with me.

“Conrad, stop!” He’s ranting, my voice is loud over his. A few people turn their heads. It’s so late in the evening, they’re only passing. Ready to go home.

My eyes shift around until everyone has gone back to their own business. The breath that leave my chest is heavy, harsh but quick.

“Please, Con. Please just try and listen to me.” My voice is breaking. Not because my leaving is breaking my heart, but because I am tired. I am tired of staying, of being so weak. I am wasting my youth on a boy who hasn’t matured yet. I deserve more, I crave it.

“There’s no amount of fixing either of us could do to mend whatever’s happened between us. We lost it a long time ago. And I’ll always love you, how could I not? You’re everything to me. But you’re not mine anymore, and I can’t be yours.” My hands slip from his skin to my chest. I try an even out my breathing, again I am reminded of my necklace. It feels wrong to still wear his picture around my neck when I’ve already let him go.

Unclasping it slowly, I let the gold gather in my palm. It’s warm from where it touched my skin. It’s rusting form how often it’s been worn, and my neck feels lighter. I ball up my fist, taking his hand over my other one steadily.

When he feels the warmth mixing with the coolness of the pendant, I can see him giving up. He nods, swallowing hard.

When the train comes, I wave goodbye to him one last time. He’s frozen, hand still holding the locket out and eyes still sad. I wonder how long he’ll stay there, I never see him move even as the train pulls away from the station.

………………………………………………………………………………….

The whirring of the train passing is accompanied by the occasional blowing of its horn. It’s deafening against the heavy silence that’s consumed me. There’s not even a crunch of a leaf to break it. Now that she’s gone, it’s settled in how I’m truly alone. I’ve blown it.

I wait for her to be out of sight. The caboose nothing more than a small speck in the horizon. The moon is high, the wind is chilling. It’s nearly winter in Boston, yet the weather is no where near as cold as my bones. I curl my fingers over her locket, bringing my knuckles to my lips, I breathe over it.

It doesn’t even smell like her. It’s a sad souvenir of pity. She didn’t want me, I’m certain she only gave it to me because she didn’t want a reminder of me either.

I stuff it into my pocket slowly, fingers feeling around the rough cotton of my pants. It sits snug at the bottom of it, right beside the long, handwritten note I prepared for her.

I knew I had my own demons, I know I was a mess. I treated her horribly, I gambled away our love. But this time I was serious. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make it better.

My words meant little to nothing now. There were no amount of promises I could make when I was already too late.

[thedoctorwhocompanion]

Peter Capaldi Says He Found Promoting Doctor Who Hard Because He's Too "Melancholic" in Real Life

Peter Capaldi Says He Found Promoting #DoctorWho Hard Because He's Too "Melancholic" in Real Life

Twelfth Doctor actor, Peter Capaldi, has given a frank and eye-opening interview in which he talks about the difficulties of being in Doctor Who. He says one of the toughest things was acting against his more gloomy outlook on life. He explains: “My [personal] character leans more to the melancholic and cynical. The daily good-heartedness of it all is quite a leap for me. But that’s what I was…

[blumoonfiction-blog]

Exploring Black Media Arts Today

As we celebrate Black History Month, it’s the perfect time to honor the storytellers and visionaries who have shaped the narrative of Black lives through media arts. From literature and film to theater and visual arts, African American creators have continually elevated the art of storytelling, using their platforms to reflect the richness of Black experiences and open doors for future…

[mitigatingchaos]

On Satisfaction

Classic Editor is back!  Thank you, WP!! Martha, satisfied with her view. A satisfied life is better than a successful life. Because our success is measured by others, but our satisfaction is measured by our own soul, mind, and heart. Courtesy of A Gentleman’s View

[lgbtqreads]

Most Anticipated LGBTQ+ Romances: January-June 2025

So Not My Type by Dana Hawkins (January 5th) Sophie Black has clawed her way up from coffee runs to project manager at a top Seattle ad agency. She’s laser-focused on her career—until the CEO’s daughter, Ella Northwood, joins the team. Forced to work together on a high-stakes campaign, sparks fly as Sophie’s scrappy determination clashes with Ella’s polished privilege. But there’s more to both…

[blerdyotome]

Visual Novels to Play this Pride Month (and Beyond)

Happy Pride Month Blerdy Tribe! Representation has come a long way over the years and now more than ever, there are so many great games featuring stories and identities from within the LGBTQ+ community. So, to celebrate Pride, I’ve compiled a list of amazing LGBTQ+ visual novels that you should definitely add to your play lists, backlogs, and wishlists. While Pride Month is celebrated in the…

[mediamatinees]

All You Need Is Love: a Seasonal Trip Down Memory Lane with "Love Actually"

I feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes. We're finishing out my picks for this year's Nostalgia November and ringing in the holiday season with the Christmas classic, "Love Actually."

Content Warning: Love Actually contains depictions of workplace sexual harassment, womanizing, infidelity, annoying early 2000s fatphobia, low-key stalking, and parental/spousal death. Also, it’s very early 2000s, so it hasn’t aged perfectly but it’s still fun. Viewer discretion is suggested.  If you’re under the age of 18, stay in a child’s place. There’s nothing for you here.  Note: I’m…

[biblioklept]

Mass-market Monday | Ursula K. Le Guin's The Compass Rose

The Compass Rose, Ursula K. Le Guin. Bantam Books (1983). Cover art by Yvonne Gilbert. 271 pages. A strong collection, containing one of Le Guin’s classic stories, “Schrödinger’s Cat,” which I wrote about a few years ago. From that riff: Ursula K. Le Guin’s 1982 short story “Schrödinger’s Cat” is a tale about living in radical uncertainty. The story is perhaps one of the finest examples of…

[rewritingkel]

Body Paint/Camouflage Art

Watching Face Off and one of the challenges was to do body paint on their models. I then took it upon myself to find some online that I thought were very well done. Quite a few of them I found on Design Swan here. The following is from this CBS News article.