#absolutely gratuitous amounts of excerpt

[landwriter]

WIP Wordsearch Game: Director's Cut Extended Edition

Why not! Courtesy of @softest-punk and @moorishflower - thank you both for tagging me, please enjoy these excessively long excerpts for every word that was a match in the WIPs:

lonely—lighthouses “You’re off your nut. The only thing Keats and I have in common is that we’re broke.”

But later, halfway out the door, leaving for his own lonely apartment, he finds himself asking, “Keats and Shelley were friends, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” says Dream.

He leaves Dream’s apartment with the words What he has offered me is generous, circling around and around in his head like a dog chasing its tail. I would offer the same, he thinks. I would offer more. Anything. He imagines Dream and his mystery love meeting in the cover of darkness, meeting in cars, in parks, imagines Dream’s lips slick with spit instead of grease, and at the end, each time, the other man, who he pictures as older, chiseled, clean-cut — who must surely have a wife — reminding him he loves another, and Dream nodding, serious, straight-backed as his settee. He wonders if they kiss each other. He hopes they don’t.

small—lighthouses “Trying to kill me,” says Dream, sounding scraped raw.

“Nah,” Hob says, handing the soup back, “I don’t think I could do a good Adonais.” Dream looks at him. “Your throat must feel like shit after that. I’m gonna make you some tea. You got honey?”

Dream nods minutely. He’s wearing an unnervingly soft expression that Hob puts down to him being terrifically, deliriously sick. He puts the back of his hand against Dream’s forehead. “Well,” he says. “No fever, at least.”

“Are you sure?” asks Dream, still staring at him. Hob feels a heat of his own spring to his face. He can’t even kid himself that Dream is just asking. But he’s sure Dream would regret it later, and there’s no way Hob is going to take advantage of him when he’s sick, and he - he tells himself he respects himself too much to be used as a surrogate for Dream’s man, for the one he loves and the one who isn’t here to check if he’s okay, to feed him soup and rub his back and want desperately, desperately, to suck his dick; and it’s not strange to want to do all those things, is it, to want to give him every small pleasure there is of life until he recovers.

He wishes they were both feverish. Wishes he was a slightly worse or significantly better person than this. He drops his hand.

“Yeah,” he says, after a weird, too-long silence. “You’re good. Where’s the honey?”

taste—lighthouses “God,” he says, sounding helplessly reverent. “I’m so fucking crazy for you, man. I’m- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you.”

And Dream smiles, soft, and moves for him, hooking an arm behind Hob’s neck and bringing him close, pressing their bodies together, and Hob feels Dream’s naked chest rising and falling against his own as they kiss, and thinks, I love you, I love you, I love you, and he’s sure Dream can taste it in his mouth.

“I know what I want to do with you,” says Dream.

nose—lighthouses “You,” he says, nuzzling into Dream’s stroking, newly spit-slick hand, trying to gentle him, but he won’t be gentled now, not for anything, “Needy for you, for you, nobody else was the same, nobody else was close.”

Dream’s mouth has fallen slack, eyes glazed with lust. He focuses them, barely, on Hob, “For me,” he says.

“For you,” he promises. “Haven’t even made it with anyone else. Wanted you.”

Dream goes still and breathes in sharply through his nose.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to come, Hob.”

right—lighthouses “I’ll wait,” he says, standing so hard on the knife edge of truth and discretion he thinks he won’t be able to walk away from this, or walk ever again after it. “I’ll wait a hundred years for, for him.”

“You’re too loyal, Hob.” Dream looks disappointed with him. He wonders if it’s obvious, how fucked he is right now. He wonders if his want is rolling off of him, like fog, if Dream sees it. Or feels it clinging to his skin, damp. If he’s repulsed. He doesn’t want to be pitied. Not by Dream. Not for this. There’s nothin’ wrong, being loyal. Nothing wrong waiting.

book—shaper of forms He does not so mind the crowds, with Hob by his side. It is less of an awful clamour, without the dull roar of daydreams. But his own thoughts are louder, even with Hob holding his hand.

He looks at a book display and accidentally catches his own gaze instead. His window-self looks at him in scorn. Gaunt, it assesses. Frail. Weak. As they pass the next shopfront, he glances over again. And again, and again.

Each reflection is a jolt, a shiver, like a wing’d shadow over water. A fish-fear. Nightmare blotting out the sun. Announcing his new station to the world: you are helpless, you are helpless, you are- Helpless. You are only this. Nothing more.

After, he cannot stop looking, resolved to confront himself until he no longer feels surprise and pain at the sight, but a part of him, too, foolishly hoping to see himself restored in the next window. It is the way humans sometimes unconsciously beckon the same dream of missing something over and over, compulsively looking in the Dreaming for what awaits them in the Waking world: their brake pedal, their destination, their child.

This is not a dream. His loss is his own.

tea—shaper of forms Nightmares, he knows, are important to humanity. He is certain this is what is missing. Fear.

Three nights later — long, he thinks, but perhaps none of the Nightmares he created himself would dare visit their former lord, something he cannot resist finding flattering — he feels an innocuous dream start to turn from under him. He’s in Hob’s kitchen, making tea. His hands tremble and the cup slips and shatters on the floor. He knows he will not catch it in a dream, so he does not try. The puddle of black tea spreads across the floor, suddenly thick and ichorous, and then turns milk-white. At first, he is fascinated.

Then the Nightmare who has been called to his sleeping mind rises out of it with hair and suit the same colour, and teeth for eyes. It is not, he thinks, an especially creative choice. He is certain it is not the Corinthian himself.

Certain, until the Nightmare places a gentle hand on his cheek and says, all friendly impertinence, “Wanna hear a joke? Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

[mal-likes-biscuits]

More Diablo Character Head-Cannons

[Continued from here, so I don’t hijack the poof.]

I have pretty detailed head-cannons for most of the characters, including their personal habits. Some of the material makes it into stories when it’s relevant, whereas most of it doesn’t. But after talking with @fishyfiash about Inarius’ hair poof, I wanted to share some of the more relatable ones. Mostly about Malthael. And a few others.

Content after the break, because this is loooooong.

Malthael Discovers the Mortal Pool(s) of Wisdom

I have two Tales from Tristram chapters that I never posted, mostly because they were a bit too disjointed and they didn’t entirely fit into the series-cannon I was developing. The first one, though, went into details about when Malthael first moves in with Tyrael, and how they adjust to that. The Nephalem in town don’t find out right away because Tyrael bans him from going outside until he can figure out exactly what to do with him.

This goes marginally well until Malthael discovers that Tyrael has a bathtub. Up until this point, he’s been bathing in rivers, ponds, etc. because he’d mostly been living outside. He takes care of himself, but you know, Sanctuary isn’t exactly known for working plumbing. But some of the wealthier residents of Tristram do have a proper claw-foot tub, including Tyrael.

And, well…you probably should just read the best part of that canned-chapter excerpt:

However, the one habit Tyrael absolutely could not abide was Malthael’s obsession with the bath. He did not understand how a man who seemed to care so little about his physical appearance could waste endless hours soaking. He was not entirely sure Malthael even washed while in the tub, for he continually looked as though he had spent several days rolling about in the woods. He suspected his brother spent most of his time floating and staring at the rafters, perhaps trying to reclaim some sort of communion with nature in place of his previous use of the Pools.

What it meant was the bath water needed to be changed often. And since only Tyrael could leave the house, he spent a gratuitous amount of time heaving buckets from the town well back to his home. After which he would go to use the bath himself, often to find it occupied again. Try as he did, there was no dislodging Malthael from the room once he entered. He locked the door and responded to Tyrael’s annoyed pounding with terse apologies or, sometimes, simply, “Busy.”

Thus, it was not through any sort of redemptive behaviour or earned trust that Malthael gained himself permission to walk about Tristram. It was because Tyrael was tired of doing chores for two adults, and he knew that Malthael was damn well capable of caring for himself if given the opportunity to do so. It was not his responsibility to ensure his brother was fed or watered, and he could carry his own bath water.

This probably isn’t a surprise, given Malthael’s habits when he was immortal. There’s canon descriptions of him being elusive, quiet, and spending a great deal of time just staring into the Chalice. He loses some of that, plus his access to the Pools, when he becomes mortal. And though there isn’t actually any indication of what you do with the Pools, I’ve assumed the experience of looking into them (and the Chalice, by extension) is pretty similar to being in a sensory-pond and just…floating.

Which is what he discovers as soon as he gets over his initial “wtf is this giant bucket of water” reaction. The tub is one of the few places he can block out external noise. I imagine he soaks with only his nose and eyes sticking out, and just lies there and lets everything else go away. I would also imagine that if you really wanted to try and “woo” him, your best bet would be to present him with an already-prepared hot bath. Possibly with some oils or potpourri thrown in. Nothing too flowery, though. Something earthy, or spicy.

I’ve alluded to his preference for bathing before in a previous cannon-short. Unfortunately, as much as I love it, it’s never made it into a story proper, even if I consider it a critical part of his early-series character.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Ya’ll thought you were going to get through this post without a pun, didn’t you? Pfffft no.

In terms of mortal angels, I would assume their hair closely reflects the head-covering they use in their immortal form. Tyrael, for example, has a tight-fitting hood, which becomes his very bald (shaved?) head later. For this reason, Malthael has long hair, because his cowl has damn long ribbons on it.

The guy has a love-hate relationship with his hair. He would never, ever cut it short, because he likes being able to hide his face behind it. It’s comforting to him, the same way he likes the feel of it cascading over his shoulders. It’s a fundamental part of his body-image.

But, of course, long hair has its disadvantages. It tangles, for one, especially if it’s too long. It’s harder to wash. (Regardless of how much time he spends soaking in the bathtub, it’s not time he spends washing his hair.) It flies in your face when you’re trying to swing your swords.

Which means that there is an optimal length for his hair. This is approximately around or just past his shoulders. Long enough to cover his face, but short enough he’s not at risk of getting it caught in his weapons. Or his armor. And it tucks into a hood well enough. And he doesn’t have to spend hours trying to maintain it at a waste of his precious time. Don’t even suggest that he tie it up, because that completely ruins the cowl effect.

So far, so good. Until winter hits, and it gets cold. And it snows. Tristram is a fairly temperate climate, from what I can tell. It wouldn’t get too hot in the summer, and I assume it would snow in dumps in the winter. Anyone with long or curly hair knows that humidity of any kind is…bad.

The very precise drapes of hair that he carefully maintains develop their own internal gravity. They become frizzy. They stick out at weird angles. And no matter how much time he spends trying to keep his hair out of his eyes, it always ends up back in them.

Malthael, of course, refuses to do the simple thing, which would be to cut his hair in the winter. Instead, he packs up his bag and goes someplace warm. If you’ve (for whatever reason) been tracking his travels in the series, he always disappears for long stints over the winter months. There are multiple reasons for this, including that he legitimately dislikes being in the cold for too long, because, you know: death. Also, he’s no idiot, and he’s figured out that people always seem to get ill when it starts to snow.

But, going someplace warm and dry also conveniently puts his hair back where it should be. Mostly.

Malthael’s OCD hasn’t gone anywhere since he became mortal. If anything, he now has more things to become OCD about.

When your BFF Knows Hair Better Than You

Farah and Malthael talk quite a bit, whether it’s through letters or, eventually, in person. We’ve seen a bit of what they chat about, but it also extends to occasionally more mundane topics. Including hair.

Both Farah and Aya are blessed (or cursed, they might say) with extremely thick hair. And since they both wear theirs long, they’ve learned all kinds of ways of keeping it up out of the way, and also of keeping it healthy. Aya is a lot flashier with her hairstyles, but Farah is practiced in all sorts of braids, buns, you name it. You can’t carry books around if your hair is always falling in your face.

She notices early on that Malthael doesn’t do anything with his hair. Of course, she also doesn’t say anything, because she knows he’s particular about his looks. They have to be just so. But eventually, one night, they’re sitting and talking in front of the library fire, while listening to a torrential downpour that’s been going on outside all day.

And he keeps trying to blow hair from his face. Repeatedly. He’s clearly annoyed. And Farah has had enough of their conversation being interrupted with “pfffffft” every twenty seconds that she has to say something.

This is how Malthael learns about proper hair care. I mean, Tyrael isn’t any help. He doesn’t have any. But Farah certainly does. And she’s familiar with hair oils, and all the things you need if you have thick, long hair and you live in a desert oasis.

She never does convince him to let her braid his hair, or anything of the sort. But he does end up with substantially less frizz when it gets rainy outside. And he becomes quite the expert at braiding her hair if she asks. Because, fair is fair, and if she wants to do something weird like that with hers, then he isn’t about to judge.

Coffee is the Drink of the Gods…

The other Tristram short that was canned, which I might post eventually just as a joke-fic, had to do with Aya bringing Farah a coffee set from Caldeum, and Malthael absconding with it because Farah absolutely can’t stand the taste or smell of it. The fic was canned because it was just too tongue in cheek and because I didn’t like working coffee into the story that much, though they would likely have some sort of equivalent there.

But yes, for anyone who is wondering: Malthael does drink coffee sometimes. He prefers tea because it keeps him awake without absolutely wiring him. But sometimes, you’re working late, and you just really want to finish something, and the only thing that will help with that is a good, dark cup-o-joe.

Tyrael hates when Malthael drinks coffee, because it makes him jittery, and he also starts. Talking. Incessantly. Coffee removes his mental filter almost as much as alcohol does, at least in terms of conversation. And it also makes his conversations even harder to follow, because his brain is jumping around at several times the speed of its already remarkably fast pace. Any conversation with him while he’s had coffee is just a relentless string of non-sequiturs that make perfect sense to Malthael and no sense to anyone else.

…Unless You’re Tyrael, and then the Drink of the Gods is Alcohol

Tyrael is one of those work-hard, play-hard kind of guys. In a completely respectful, kind-hearted way. But, in short, his favorite thing to do after a long, stressful day of work is to get hammered and sing raucous drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. He makes no apologies about it. He likes being mortal at this point. He likes all the emotional, giddy, messy parts of being mortal. He likes dreaming, he likes eating, he likes drinking, he likes banging.

If you think Malthael hates when Tyrael comes home four sheets to the wind and proceeds to slam around cupboards and doors and everything while Malthael is trying to read quietly, then yeah. You’d be right. (They’re brothers with completely different personalities, they find all sorts of ways to piss each other off.)

Most of the time, they co-habitate fine, because Malthael is often not home, or not even in Tristram. But he’s been subjected enough to Tyrael’s boisterous, happy-drunk-mode to know that it’s best to just nod, fake a smile, and let his brother talk until he passes out. Hopefully on a chair, because Tyrael is a LOT bigger than Malthael, and regardless of physical fitness, Malthael has a 21 in dexterity and a 12 in strength, and he’s not lifting his bro into bed. No way.

Now, Tyrael must drink a lot to get to that point. Which is why he’s at the tavern all night.

Malthael does not drink. Well, he shouldn’t drink. He’s a cheap date. One beer, and he’s getting a bit chatty. Two, and his filter is gone. Three, and he’s probably hanging off your shoulder and either arguing about some completely esoteric philosophical principle, or he’s laughing about the shape of the tree leaves.

Lyndon vastly prefers Tyrael drinking to Malthael, because Tyrael is fun. Malthael isn’t exactly aggressive, but he can get kind of argumentative, especially if you prove him wrong about something. Which is not hard to do when he’s drunk. You only think you’re wise when you’re drinking.

Which Takes us to How They Know This (Also Known as, the Time Malthael Drank Mead)

The story of Talm’s wedding has been referenced a few times, mostly in the Tristram stories, but it never really gets expanded on beyond that lots of mead is imbued. The real truth is that when Malthael tells them he doesn’t drink, he’s never tried until that point. All he knows is it makes mortals act stupid. You don’t need it to survive. So, why bother? (Biscuits are superior.)

But, sometimes he succumbs to peer pressure. He’s happy for Talm, and he’s feeling pretty content, and they really want him to have fun. He’s only going to sit with them to talk. That’s it.

Except, research. Hey Malthael, how do you know what alcohol is like if you don’t try it? How can you even appreciate how it affects other mortals if you haven’t even experienced it a little bit? He’s watched random people drink enough to assume you have to drink a lot for anything to really happen.

Oh. Poor guy. They have mead. It’s probably a good 15% at least. And he is the world’s. Cheapest. Drunk.

So now, they’re stuck with him at their table, and he really just wants to talk about stuff. He has a lot to get off his chest. He’s only been mortal for a year, and really doesn’t understand social conventions yet, and all of these emotions he’s been bottling up this whole time want to get out. All at the same time.

They’re relieved the farmers have no idea what Malthael is talking about, because he’s blathering on about cups filled with light, this incessant noise that still follows him around everywhere, and how he doesn’t get why this all makes so much more sense now when he’s stupider compared to when he was taller and brilliant.

Lyndon isn’t nearly hammered enough to be listening to all of this. He’s still skeptical that they didn’t just stab Malthael in Salvos and be done with it. But he’s also kind of…amused. Because this is the guy they spent days tracking down in Westmarch. Whose deep, terrifying voice was blathering on through the Soulstone about Murder and Souls and Deeeeeeeeath.

And now he’s in an argument with Jerem’s cousin about the proper way to season biscuits.

This is clearly not the same person. Or, at least, he’s a mortal, healthier version of the angel they happened to stab many, many times through the chest. Healthy is relative, Lyndon guesses. If it doesn’t include being really intoxicated. And from what he can tell, Malthael is still an impatient, sarcastic know-it-all. He’s just shorter and eats things now.

The whole party really jumps the shark after Talm and Lena disappear for the night, and the relatives get rowdy. Someone starts up a little sparring competition with practice sticks. Tyrael, of course, jumps right in, because holy shit, drinking and physical activity? He’s all for that. The farm hands put up a very good fight, but he eventually comes out on top.

But, you know, drunks can be drunks, and someone starts razzing the little skinny guy to go and challenge his brother. Hey, are you really brothers, even? You don’t even look the same. But, whatever. No can do, says Malthael, he’s not getting involved with that. At least, until someone calls him a coward.

And then he gets mad.

Oh Hells, Lyndon thinks. But also, Hells yes, because this is going to be hilarious. It is, for most of it. Neither Tyrael or Malthael is sober enough to swing the sticks properly. It ends up being a great show of them stumbling around and taunting each other. Too much taunting, probably. It gets personal. It’s good for them, right? They still have a lot to talk out.

Tyrael isn’t the best at talking at this point. He takes all his immense frustration at his stupid brother, puts it in his fist, and punches Malthael in the face.

Which is how the party ends.

Jerem watches the whole thing perfectly sober, because he’s the responsible host, and he’s really confused at who the hell these two actually are who have spent the night arguing about angels, and demons, and related things like they exist. Now one of them has a bloody nose, and the other is apologizing profusely, and there’s a lot of adult tears happening about betrayal, and bad decisions, and Jerem figures neither of them is going to remember any of this in the morning.

But, brothers are brothers, everyone has troubles, and he’s not going to get involved, other than to get some ice from the cellar, and a few rags to mop up the blood.

Malthael wakes up on the floor of the barn, covered in hay, spilled mead, and pastry crumbs, and decides he’s died again because his head hurts so bad. He also decides that drinking is the dumbest thing in the world, and he’s never going to do it again.

Probably.

But that’s a story for a different time that you’ll actually get to read.

[evilgrrl]

Fan Fiction Recommendation: Moral Ambiguity by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)  @delia-pavorum

Recommended by evilgrrl:

I want to recommend a fan fiction I just read and really loved. It was suggested to me by @mokelly1066, who is a wonderful fan fic writer herself.

I found Moral Ambiguity by delia-pavorum (literaryminded) absolutely delightful.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265999/chapters/32903298

Here's an excerpt to give you an idea:

He shakes his head in wonder. “I’ve never… I will never get used to this."

“Used to what?” she breathes.

He swallows hard, cradling her cheek now with his hand, stroking the bridge of her nose with his thumb and then down, over her lips. He gives the bottom one a light tap, pulls it slightly.

“Touching you,” he says, quietly, “like this. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. To have the right.”

This is a fairly short, 3 chapter story that is well worth the short amount of time it takes to read it.

First, it's well written in a general way, with a good sense of characters, pacing, plotting, etc. The language and descriptions are lyrical and beautiful.

Second, it features a wonderfully done depiction of their Force bond, which sings and hums happily when Kylo and Rey are together.

Third, the representations of the characters feel very authentic to me. It starts after Crait, and at first they hate each other. Their banter is very entertaining and I felt it was totally in character. I won't spoil how they come together, but I found it believable and satisfying.

The writer's psychological understanding of Rey and Kylo/Ben and their situation is superb. Helpfully, the characters eventually learn to use their words and tell each other how they feel, not just about the relationship, but about everything.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but I find this Kylo/Ben closely conforms to the way I think about  him from the movie, not too fluffy, not too eager to reveal himself to Rey, not too ready to be comforted. The portrayal of Rey is equally true to character, while bringing to light her own insecurities and flaws.

The love scenes are well done and hot, but don't feel gratuitous at all. Kylo/Ben can be passionate and demanding, alternating with being tender and loving. His fears and feelings of inadequacy are also revealed. He's still the conflicted, troubled soul we saw in the movies. Both characters grow and change through their interactions and the events that have happened since the Battle of Crait.

Rey has total agency, while Kylo/Ben is still lust-worthy and sexy. For me, the story had just the right ratio of plot and character development to smut.

[daleisgreat]

Last Action Hero

Today’s entry will result in one of the quickest turnaround times of an older movie in my backlog box yet. A couple weeks ago I noticed Uproxx posted an article on how 1993’s Last Action Hero (trailer) was way ahead of its time (click or press here for the Uproxx piece). Once I noticed this story I tracked down a BluRay copy of it off Amazon and promptly watched it within 24 hours of its delivery. I did not read the Uproxx entry yet, but I will after I finish proofing this entry to prevent it from altering my current thoughts I am about to deliver and will post a little addendum at the end of this look back at Last Action Hero for some extra insight on how my take compares with Uproxx’s. I cannot remember how many times I watched Last Action Hero as a kid, but my gut tells me it may be near the double digits. Our family had the HBO and Starz movie channels as part of our cable package back then, and the way those channels primarily were programmed back then was a specific amount of newer and older movies were highlighted each month, and they would play each movie once every day or two to the best of my recollection. I remember being stoked for Last Action Hero. The turnaround time on movies from the theater back then in the early 90s was it would take about five to six months after the cinema release for a film to hit Pay-Per-View and home video. Several months later, or roughly a year after release it would hit the premium cable movie channels like HBO, Starz and Cinemax in their original form. Another year or two after that it would be available for local and basic cable channels, but usually in an edited and censored/FCC friendly format. Our family could only afford trips to the theater and video rentals so many times a year, so if we missed a movie in either of those formats and it wound up on HBO/Starz it was kind of a guilty pleasure in my childhood boredom days to pick an anticipated movie like Last Action Hero and watch it as many times as possible the first month it was available.

I have not seen it since then however when I was 11 and have not thought much about it since LAH is not as highly regarded as other Arnold Schwarzenegger classics even though it hit at the tail end of Arnold’s prime (which I consider to be from 1984’s original Terminator through 1994’s True Lies). When it hit theaters in 1993 I remember a ton of hype for it getting ubiquitous advertising and the requisite hot-summer-movie-licensed videogame and pinball table. The pinball table is part of the many licensed tables included in Pinball Arcade on PS4 which I also played a few rounds of before diving into the movie. In 1993 Arnold was the big name action star fresh off his Terminator 2 success. He also dabbled in the occasional comedy like Kindergarten Cop and Jingle All the Way. LAH marked Arnold’s first action comedy however. Schwarzenegger portrays big name action movie star ‘Jack Slater.’ Danny (Austin O’Brien) is Slater’s #1 fan on top of being a middle school film guru where he routinely cuts class to catch flicks at the local cinema where he is best friends with the old-timer projectionist there, Nick (Robert Prosky). Daniel is promised by Nick an after-hours exclusive showing of the wildly anticipated Jack Slater IV. To celebrate the special showing, Nick gives Danny a special ‘magical’ movie ticket that Nick states he got from legendary magician Houdini himself as a kid, but was too afraid to use it. Through cinema magic, the ticket activates and Danny is warped into the movie world of Jack Slater IV as his new reality when he winds up magically transported into the backseat of Slater’s ride in the middle of a cliché action movie car chase.

Danny is thrilled being immersed in an action movie world filled with the clichés and tropes of the genre that he gleefully points out and references past film lore to help Jack track down his latest bad guy. Slater has none of it and takes in Danny in for questioning. Slater’s over-the-top-gruffy captain, Dekker (Frank McRae) is impressed with Danny’s knowledge and makes him Slater’s new partner. Slater begrudgingly works together with Danny to track down Slater’s current most wanted baddie, Benedict (Charles Dance). The film unravels from there in a world jam-packed with the aforementioned clichés that Danny constantly breaks the fourth wall by showing off his action movie fandom by pointing out how all the women in this universe are hyper-sexualized, indulging Slater’s gratuitous one-liners, how Slater instantly pops up from battles unscathed and how the bad guy stereotypically monologues too long to give Slater a chance to make the heroic comeback. 11 year-old-Dale was the perfect target age for LAH when I first saw it in 1994. I experienced the filmed vicariously through Danny and I was right there with Danny for how wicked it would be to magically transport alongside your movie hero in his latest summer blockbuster and helping him bust bad guys and be in the middle of an extravagant chase scenes overstuffed with special effects. I think a big part of me held off forever re-watching this again because I dismissed LAH as a satire film over the years that I loved as a kid, but thought I thought I would outgrow over the years. After my recent re-watch however, I emerged surprised how wrong I was. Seeing it with a grown-up’s set of eyes significantly helped with a new understanding of filmmaking references and other off-color jokes that went right over my childhood head. I also got a whole new appreciation of the scene where Danny takes Slater to a video store in his universe to show him how awesome he is in Terminator 2 only to instead see in that world Sylvester Stallone landed the role.

Speaking of guest stars, the cameos are through the roof in LAH. There are some blink and you miss it surprise cameos, and then there are exponentially more in the final act where Danny takes Slater back into the ‘real’ world in time for the red carpet movie premiere of Jack Slater IV. The premiere sees the likes of Little Richard, MC Hammer, Jean Claude Van Damme and a few other recognizable celebrities of that era. Back in 1994 I was probably only lucky enough to recognize Van Damme from his role as Guile in the underappreciated Street Fighter, but reliving it again with a new set of eyes made that scene pop in a whole new way. Needless to say, Last Action Hero was a surprise delight to experience in 2020. If I had any nitpicks it is that it was not as brisk a watch as I recalled as it clocks in a little over two hours and I came out of it feeling they could have trimmed at least a good 10 minutes or so off. For as big a deal LAH was when it hit in 1993 it was a bit of a buzzkill to see the no-frills BluRay have a complete lack of extras. I would have loved all-star action movie director John McTiernan (Predator, the good Die Hard films) do a commentary track with Arnold and a few other bonus extras, but it regrettably was not meant to be. At least I have this Uproxx take I can now peruse that will have to suffice for a bonus of some degree…..

Alrighty, I just finished the Uproxx 27 years later take on LAH and we share a lot of similarities. Uproxx’s Mike Ryan thesis is that LAH was too meta and ahead of its time in 1993, but perfect for a 2020 viewing experience. I could not agree with him more, and he grinds out the little references and meta-details more eloquently than I can here, so I highly urge you all to give his editorial a perusal. One key takeaway from Ryan’s article on why Last Action Hero came and went back then was because it made the big time mistake of releasing one week after Jurassic Park. No wonder it is not brought up with other classic Arnold films over the years. I am right there with Ryan on how LAH is an absolute marvel of a film, and if it has slipped by you all these years later then now is the perfect time to watch it in these pandemic times with zero movies hitting theaters nowadays. 1993’s Last Action Hero is the ideal 2020 summer blockbuster! BONUS EXTRAS TO COMPENSATE FOR BLURAY’S ABSENCE OF ANY Click or press here to check out this awesomely through ‘Did You Know’ style breakdown of facts and backstage filming secrects from Mental Floss Here is an incredibly thorough two part oral history of LAH complete with interview excerpts from the cast and crew And I will leave you with Cinemassacre’s ‘Rental Review’ roundtable of Last Action Hero….

Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Dark Knight Rises Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed I & II Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Grunt: The Wrestling Movie Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hell Comes to Frogtown Hercules: Reborn Hitman I Like to Hurt People Indiana Jones 1-4 Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jay and Silent Bob Reboot Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Major League Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Merry Friggin Christmas Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat Mortal Kombat Legends: Scorpions Revenge National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets Not for Resale Pulp Fiction The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VIII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past

[thelandofffanfictrash]

Real Talk HALLOWEEN SPECIAL: Cupcakes

Name: Cupcakes [link leads to a copy of said fic on Google Docs]

Fandom(s): My Little Pony

Chapters: 1

Description: (no description included)

Summary: Pinkie Pie invites Rainbow Dash over to help her make cupcakes...then everything goes horribly wrong.

[TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains gratuitous amounts of graphic violence and gore. This review will keep mentions of the subject matter to a minimum, but please be aware that the fic in question contains these things.]

Nightmare Night has come once again, bringing scares to everypony 'round. On this night of fear, we gather together beneath the pale moonlight, revelling in terror and screams. Tonight, I shall tell you of an existence that brings horror to the bravest of us, bringing even the strongest to their knees in utter despair. Tonight, we venture into a twisted world, utterly insane and beyond comprehension.

Tonight, we venture into the My Little Pony fandom.

I'm not even going to pretend like I wasn't part of this fandom once, a very long time ago. I watched the show, I drew my share of fan art, and I browsed the fandom thoroughly.

...you could say that the latter led to my eventual abandonment of My Little Pony somewhere between seasons 4 and 5. I stopped watching the show, I declared that I wasn't even going to think about drawing a pony ever again, and now my only interactions with this bizarre fandom are through its own cringy output.

That said, I firmly believe that this had to be done eventually, and what better time to do so than on the spoopiest day of the year?

If you don't know about the existence of this fic already, then you obviously know absolutely nothing about the MLP fandom. This is the most infamous fanfiction in the entire fandom with an ENORMOUS following to its name. I'm under the firm belief that this fanfiction alone spawned its own entire subsection of the fandom.

So, how is it objectively?

Well, on a technical level, the spelling, grammar, and language used are impeccable. Of course, this is necessary for describing the gore in all the detail that it needs to be realistic (as realistic as pony gore can be, of course). In fact, everything is described with the kind of detail it deserves. As much as I don't like ponies and as uncomfortable as this fic makes me in every facet, I can realize why people think this fic is good.

...until we reach the plot.

EVERYTHING FEELS ARBITRARY.

Nothing is ever explained. Why is Pinkie doing anything she's doing? Why does she need to go through this extremely specific procedure that includes cutting off Rainbow Dash's cutie marks and wings? I'd be fine if it were just that Pinkie Pie is a psychopath, but it's explained that Pinkie Pie is actually working under a set of seemingly arbitrary “rules” that are never explained beyond “she draws someone's name and she has to kill them”, and no, I'm not going to trust Pinkie Pie's weirdness and leave it at that. When you're writing a story, things can't just happen for no reason.

To top it all off, at the end of the story, Pinkie Pie doesn't even make any cupcakes. She instead contemplates stuffing Rainbow Dash's corpse so she can “be with Rainbow Dash forever”, which means that there's not even any payoff to the premise of Pinkie Pie killing people to make cupcakes out of them. At least tack some gosh dang cupcakes onto the end so I don't have to feel like I just wasted my time looking for them.

At the end of the day, this is pretty much just a well-written excerpt of a story that needs a lot more development an an ending that actually makes it gratifying to read. The only thing to even come to this story for is a detailed description of Pinkie Pie mutilating Rainbow Dash, which does not a good story make. Ultimately, it just needs something more.

[landwriter]

CHOMP CHOMP eating up the WIP list 😋

I can already tell that #4 and #9 are going to make me absoLUTELY LOSE MY MIND (for very different reasons) (I'm begging, actually).

But IF you do not mind I am also very curious to hear what you are going to do with the extinct animal in #13 and if you have an idea of what sort of animal you will choose :)

TY xoxo

Theoretically it'll last you forever because I doubt I'm ever going to actually 'finish my WIPs' hahaha. In reverse order:

[choose extinct animal] is for the Dreamling Bingo prompt Last Of Their Kind. I have done a grand total of ZERO FUCKEN FILLS for my card but I do have ideas! Ideas that I will definitely and totally get to once I finish Oaths and my other mostly-done nonsense. I have not looked into animals at all and have written exactly two lines for this:

In the beginning, creatures were new. Then they were were many. Now they are few. There are as many lasts in succession as there were once firsts, and this, Dream thinks, is in its own way beautiful.

It will be a short story about The Very Distant Future wherein Death is just about ready to pack up the chairs and turn out the lights, and Hob and Dream are very old husbands who have seen a great deal, but Hob not quite so much as Dream. A tender fic, and a sad one, probably, not from Hob's POV because I could not bear it at all, but from Dream, who regales Hob with stories about a nascent Earth filled with dreaming creatures, while the watch the last dreams of entire species. Thus the note: The first time they watched the last dream of a species was X - [choose extinct animal].

#9 is going to be my attempt at, like, a horror/love story that is really tender as well as increasingly unnerving :^)

[tits in front of mirror] is 2K of deleted sex scene WIP from Death of Translation. I stole a bunch of lines originally from that scene and never even got to the fucking (or the [tits in front of mirror], as you can tell) but at some point I am sure I am going to want to write Dream Maritally Banging Hob In Front Of A Mirror With Gratuitous Amounts Of Middle English, because that is who I am.

Have an excerpt under the cut just for fun!

“Look,” says Dream, “Look at yourself, Hob Gadling.”

“Speak it here, speak it while you can watch,” he commands, and Hob, shuddering, does. He speaks the oldest thing about his stranger, Saxon and French meeting in the middle to make English, ‘e’s like exhales, like offerings.

“Myn straunger with derkest cloth an heere. I fol-hope we schul be frendis dere.”

In the mirror he sees it like he could not before, the way Dream looks at him. As he speaks, Dream shakes head, and says, “No. No, it was no foolish hope. Myn ful dere friend. I would be no stranger to you. I have been trying. But I would you knew me as well as your own heart.”

“I thought-” says Hob, and Dream turns then, suddenly, and catches all the words in his mouth, and swallows them that had been forgotten, them that had been spilled out and not understood before, them that he had trapped behind his teeth and bitten into his tongue.

“You are not a mortal,” says Dream, pulling away spare moments later, as Hob is still gasping, and he does not understand the words, but guesses at the translation as Dream curls himself entirely around him, wrapping around his chest and waist, pulling him flush, looking at him again through the mirror: I permit myself this.

“Not for centuries,” he says.

WIP asks (via random notes-to-self in them)