#i wish i could do more than sketches but i always lose steam before i finish

[cerebralatrophy]

dialogue courtesy of bobs burgers

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 4 Part 4

Hello, once again, another piece of Midnight Striga for your reading pleasure!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

With a grunt of exhaustion, Boscha crashed to the floor. The spar had dragged on just long enough to make her and the demon long for rest without them actually needing it. While it may not have been the nightmare she had been dreading when she saw Luz’s smile, it was certainly its own kind of hell. ‘But,’ she mused, a small grin forming, ‘At least I’m starting to make real progress.’ She slowly traced a circle, free of the instability that seemed to plague every spell she formed lately, a small flame forming in front of her. She chuckled to herself at the irony.

Here she was, captain of the Grudgby team, Fire Magic Specialist and Potionist in Training, and she was reduced to the most basic spells she knew of. The fact that she could even get this little flame, no bigger than her thumbs pressed together, without worry was a vast improvement over where she started after that day. She sighed, hauling herself to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Luz pouring over that strange crystal thing she had brought in; it was sort of like a Scroll, apparently, not that Boscha understood how. Helping the so-called Demon King to his feet, they wandered back over to Luz.

“Ahem!” Boscha cleared her throat, prompting Luz to throw up her arms in shock, suddenly scrambling to secure her… Terminal, she called it? “So, how did we do?” She said calmly, raising a brow as Luz sheepishly chuckled.

“As much as it pains me to be in agreement with the interloper,” King began, prompting a tick-mark of annoyance from Boscha, “I too wish to know just how impressive I am, and how I can become even greater!!” It took a lot of effort for Boscha not to yell at the little menace for the ‘interloper’ comment, it’s not like she intended to come here!

“Now King,” Luz lightly admonished, “A ruler must be gracious to their guests, even unexpected ones. While you may not be comfortable with Boscha’s presence, and understandably irritated from your earlier encounter, that must not influence your behavior and judgement. A King looks after his Kingdom, and all who dwell within it.” Boscha honestly expected the pompous little demon to start screaming at that, so she was genuinely surprised that he only grumbled slightly and kicked at the ground. “If you apologize for being rude, and say it like you mean it, I’ll get you some snacks later.”

“Hmm… Deal!” King agreed. He turned to Boscha and visibly pulled himself up to his full height. “As the King of Demons, I offer my sincerest apologies for my conduct. Will you accept it?” Boscha had to admit, he certainly sounded sincere. She figured he wasn’t, but it was still impressive.

“I accept your apologies… your majesty.” Boscha said, only reluctantly tacking on the last bit at Luz’s expectant look. How was she so good at getting under Boscha’s skin?

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Luz drawled, a too-pleased look on her face. “Let’s take a look at what you can work on.” Boscha and King both made inquisitive noises as she turned the screen of the Terminal towards them, eyes widening as they saw their fight lay across the screen. It was something you could see on any Scroll, but this certainly cemented the fact that Humans had some analog to the communications device.

An image appeared, Boscha launching some rocks that had cracked off the ceiling in response to King’s first spell like Grudgby balls. She remembered the stinging sensation in her hands at that stunt, but the sight of King frantically dancing out of the way on screen brought a tiny smile to her face. “Boscha, you displayed some solid tactics, not instantly going for your magic and using your environment to attack with you. However,” She let the video play, showing Boscha rapidly spinning up Spells to launch… only for them to detonate and send her flying back, King sprawled on the floor in laughter at her expression. “Your muscle memories for Spell Casting, while ordinarily a useful trait for combat if you can avoid overly recognizable patterns, are hindering you while you’re recovering your skill.” Luz finished.

Luz turned to King, who straightened up with a gulp. She narrowed her eyes. “Now, on to King.” She turned back to the Terminal, tapping away rapidly before pulling up some new scenes from their spar, King nervously ringing his paws. Another video popped up, showing King launching his spell towards Boscha, thankfully without any sound coming through. The on-screen Boscha avoided the massive spell by the skin of her teeth, Boscha’s ears ringing in sympathy at her memory. She grinned at the sight of King panting after his spell ended, only to yelp and run as her on-screen double rushed him in anger. “King, I’m gonna be blunt, your magic is powerful, but it’s incredibly draining, and the fact you are totally still while using it means that when the spell ends, you are basically defenseless.” King sheepishly kicked his feet, glancing to the side, while Luz looked on.

Luz cracked again. “I got to say, I’m impressed.” She chuckled at the dumbfounded looks she received. “I’m serious, the two of you did way better than I thought you would.”

“Well, how did you think we’d do?” King tentatively asked.

“I expected you to exhaust yourself inside of a few minutes blasting away at Boscha,” Luz bluntly replied, steam-rolling past his squawk of outrage, “and I expected Boscha to lose focus and just keep trying to cast spells.” Boscha would’ve been offended, but that honestly sounded like something she would’ve done if she hadn’t gotten that demonstration of how powerful the demon’s spell was. Luz smirked. “There isn’t a whole lot I can do to help right now, but in the long run, I think I can sketch out some training regimes to cover your respective weak spots.”

Boscha and King exchanged glances, then nodded. It made sense to them. With that settled, the three decided to head back upstairs. Boscha idly wondered why Luz had the hesitant look in her eyes when she said there wasn’t much she could do, though.

Luz groaned internally, resisting the urge to slam her head against the nearest wall. She was absolutely certain that the debriefing she had gone through with Boscha and King had been a disaster. She had visually confirmed how haphazardly they had gone about things in their spar, even if they had been smarter about it than she thought they would be going in, and had basically admitted that she had thought they would’ve been brain-dead rookies only to be proven wrong! Why had she agreed to taking that job!? Oh, right, because it gave her a way to help people and covertly undermine an undoubtedly corrupt regime starting with the youth; curse her bleeding heart!

As she gathered up the assorted snacks and drinks, making care to remember to grab the treats she had promised King, she wandered out of the Kitchen. As she entered the backroom the group was using to discuss things while Eda got her rest, she was surprised to see Boscha and King laughing about something like old buddies. She spoke up, bemused. “Well, don’t you two look chummy.”

“Oh-hohoho My Titan! Luz! Boscha just told me the funniest story about a Slingshot, a Stink Potion, anda Coven Guard!” King cackled, pounding on the table as he laughed.

“Oh, really? Now this I got to hear.” Luz mused, setting the assorted drinks and snacks on the table. Half a minute later, she was pounding her fist on the table right beside King, tears of uncontrolled laughter gushing down her face. Boscha looked painfully smug at the reaction her story had gotten. “Pffff! W-W-With the Gu-guard! A-And the B-bom-b! And the Cheese!! How you did all that and didn’t get caught, I will never know!!”

“Yeah! I didn’t get caught! That’s what happened!” Boscha sheepishly chuckled, deciding against telling them she had to be bailed out by her parents for that stunt. At least it was funny, though.

As the group enjoyed the treats Luz had brought back, Luz let out a sigh of content. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.” Boscha mused, feeling relaxed after the… drama from before. “Not what I expected from the Owl Lady’s place.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” King queried. Luz was just as lost. Eda’s reputation wasn’t that bad, was it?

Boscha blinked, puzzled. “Wait, are you saying that you guys don’t know?” She said, something like shocked awe in her voice.

“Know what, Boscha.” Luz droned.

“Well…” Boscha drawled, still shocked at their lack of knowledge on the topic. “When it comes to the Owl Lady, rumors have always been flying around.”

King snorted. “Trust me, we know. We live with her, remember?”

“As I was saying.” Boscha enunciated tightly after being cut off. Her voice dropped into a deeper, more… mysterious sounding register. “Years ago, a Witch studied at Hexside who was gifted beyond compare. Considered a once in a lifetime prodigy, her skill at learning magic, using it, and her sheer power were without equal in her age group, even outclassing some adults. Her name was Edalyn Clawthorne.”

Luz and King paused, allowing themselves to sink into the story. They had to admit, some of what Boscha was saying lined up with Eda, ability wise at least.

“However, despite her incredible gifts, Eda was a maverick,” Boscha continued. “She openly held rules and order in contempt, and sneered at those who upheld them. Still, she was desired by the Covens, all vying for her incredible gifts, even those outside of her chosen track wanting to tap into her great power for their own agendas. Such attention made her arrogant, believing she was above the constraints of others.”

Luz and King deadpanned; while it was phrased more harshly than the reality, that was definitely Eda being described.

“One day, during tryouts for the Covens, particularly for a spot in the Emperor’s personal Coven, Edalyn boldly and publicly denounced the Coven System, proclaiming it beneath her. The crowd was shocked, unable to comprehend such a thing. As she walked away, smug in her superiority, she collapsed in pain.”

Luz and King leaned in, paying close attention to the details.

“Before the gaze of the crowd, Edalyn’s body twisted, growing in size. Feathers sprouted from her arms, her hands and feet twisting into sharp talons. Her body warped into an Avian form, sprouting wings large and powerful enough to hold her aloft. Her eyes became as dark as night, drinking in even the brightest of lights. Her jaw warped to accommodate a mountain of jagged fangs. She had become the Owl Beast.” Boscha paused, with Luz and King gasping in shock at the tale.

Clearing her throat and taking a drink, Boscha continued. “As the transformation ended, the monstrous beast was beheld by the crowd, and found to be repulsive, a monster. The crowd jeered, and chased the beast into the woods, it’s haunting cries echoing through the town. Eventually, Edalyn returned, and proclaimed herself a Wild Witch, and an enemy of the Covens. The Emperor’s Coven declared her transformation a punishment from the Titan for defying the system, making her to be an example. And thus, the Owl Lady was born.” Boscha finished, voice returning to normal. She leaned back, adding, “And ever since then, she’s basically been used as a scary story by parents to warn their kids about the dangers of pride and going against the system.” 

Boscha shrugged. “I mean, I never really believed the story, not any more than any of the other kids, but it was still a big thing to learn about, and a lot of the more free-spirited kids growing up got less outspoken after hearing her story.” She paused, scratching her chin in thought. “It probably makes it more believable that she lives outside of town and regularly shows up and causes trouble. Seeing someone described as a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy reduced to a crazy old bat, no offense,” She quickly raised her hands placatingly at an angry King and Luz, “probably made a lot of kids treat the warning more seriously.”

Luz froze, not entirely sure how to process this. King was stock still, glancing at his pauses in confusion. Clearing her throat, Luz spoke up. “Well, that was certainly entertaining, I’ll admit, but how does anyone know she actually-”

“HOOOOOTTTTT!!”

Luz abruptly cut off at the sound of Hooty’s pained scream. The three glanced at each other, before quickly rushing out the door. As they crashed into the Living Room, they froze in horror. The place was ripped apart, the couch shredded, the assorted piles of random junk strewn about, Hooty’s door knocked off its hinges with Hooty himself out cold. Claw marks covered the walls.

The three scanned the room, stomachs filling with dread. As they wandered the room, Luz took stock of the damage; whatever had caused this either wasn’t very high on the intelligence level, or was insanely scared and angry. King crawled over to Hooty, sniffing at him, feeling a surprising degree of relief at the sound of his breathing. Boscha positioned herself in the center of the room, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Just as she was about to speak up, Boscha stilled, feeling hot, heavy breathing across the back of her neck.

With trepidation, Boscha slowly turned around, blanching at the sight behind her. A large, feathery body, twice as tall as she was. Long heavy wings pressed tight against its sides, but doubtless capable of spreading to full length in an instant. Deep pools of darkness where its eyes would be. A jaw filled with jagged fangs. Boscha screamed. The beast roared. Its claws slashed down towards the panicked witch.

[cottonwoolsocks]

Nobody Knows You Now (When You're Dying In LA)

AO3 | Masterlist

title from ‘Dying in LA’ by Panic! At The Disco

Summary: He had to prove he was worth their time. He had to prove he was worth something. He had to pay for the love that they gave, atone for their adoration, because if he stopped providing, they would stop giving, and he would be left alone and worthless and unnecessary and he wouldn’t, couldn't, can’t have that.

He had to prove he was worthy.

Word Count: 1644 Genre: angst, canonverse Characters: Roman, others mentioned Relationships: none

Warnings: slight/ambiguous u!Patton and other Sides (excepting Roman)

If I need to tag anything else, let me know!

———

An actor’s most cherished talent is their ability to reinvent themselves, donning any number of masks to hide their true face and instead portray that of another.

Roman was…exceptionally practiced at this particular skill.

From the moment he had first laid foot in the home of the Light Sides, he had been built up, celebrated; honoured as brave, courageous, noble. He stood tall and mighty, aware of his importance, aware of how much they loved him and how utterly indispensable he was—not only to Thomas, but to the other Sides, as well. He was strong, valuable, fearless, and enjoyed living up to these expectations, always meeting or exceeding them and never slowing down, because why should he? He was bold. He was powerful. He was unbreakable.

He was the Good Creativity. He was important. He had work to do, and challenges to face.

Innovation poured from his pen in great torrents, song after video after sketch, building Thomas up, building the others up, encouraging them all to meet and exceed their potential, to always take the extra step, make the extra leap forward to greatness and significance.

Roman became a symbol for more than just Creativity.

Courage. Success. Confidence. All things he now represented, titles to nurture and crowns to bear proudly. He was not ashamed of his achievements. And he was excited, ever so excited for each new day, each new challenge to face, each new obstacle to overcome.

He was the Good Creativity. He was a standard that had to be upheld.

See, the trouble with such an unwavering incline in achievements and innovation is that eventually it must slow down. Humans are, after all, not like machines or characters in a play, and need to take time to breathe, rest, reset. Creativity is not a limitless tap—but it does recharge, with time.

Roman found this incredibly frustrating.

Success, he argued, was not something you could simply wait to acquire. Success required a devoted, steadfast stream of accomplishments, effort, determination—because the moment you let up, the second you break character, those around you will dig their heels into your shoulders in order to elevate themselves. Success is a matter of how far and how fast you are willing to climb, and what you are willing to do to reach it.

Dreams unfold upon the ashes of dreams.

Roman’s work was never done. Script after script. Song after song. He churned out creations, works to display, musings to share with the world. Always improved. Each better than the last. Always refining, never slowing, because if he hesitated for even a second then those in his dust would catch up to him and he would be left behind, not good enough, never good enough.

He had to prove he was better.

What the others thought of his brother was no secret. His brother was Dark, his brother was evil, his brother was not wanted. They had no use or desire for him.

And what made Roman any different?

Your goodness, Patton would say. You create nice things. Remus creates horrible things.

But where, Roman couldn’t help but wonder, was the line? What separated ‘good’ from ‘evil’, ‘light’ from ‘dark’? Surely it was but a matter of preference, of opinion, of what the individual had learned throughout their life to be accepted or admonished?

That was, ultimately, the reason the Split had occurred in the first place.

Creativity had been torn into two entities, Roman and Remus, Remus and Roman, ‘good’ and ‘evil’. 

And evil was not wanted. That much was clear, had been made clear from the very moment Roman had first grappled his way into existence. Evil lost friends. Evil lost acceptance. Evil meant nobody would listen to you, because you only caused hurt, pain, fear. ‘Evil’ was every villain of every show he had ever seen, always the losing side, never the happy ending.

And Roman was not evil. He made sure of that, tried so hard to make sure of that.

After all, could someone truly evil create such beautiful things, such exquisite artwork? And Roman was a prince! Princes were not evil, practically by default—this, of course, the reasoning behind why he had selected this moniker for himself in the first place, and fought so hard to make sure it wasn’t forgotten.

But he was running out of steam.

The quality of his creations was starting to diminish: not as popular, not as pretty, not as original. But he persevered. He had to keep going, because if he stopped, if they didn’t have a use for him anymore, if they saw through the cracks in his mask despite how he tried so hard to conceal them, then they would throw him away like they had done his brother. Like they had done Remus.

Roman did not want to be alone.

He had to prove he was worth their time. He had to prove he was worth something. He had to pay for the love that they gave, atone for their adoration, because if he stopped providing, they would stop giving, and he would be left alone and worthless and unnecessary and he wouldn’t, couldn't, can’t have that.

He had to prove he was worthy.

Minutes turned to hours turned to days spent locked behind his door, heaps of discarded scripts tossed offhandedly into empty space, neatly at first, then merely cast in the general direction of the trash as he clawed urgently for the next idea, the next project, the next success, because this would be the one, this one would prove it to them, this would show he was worth keeping around, indisputably, that he wasn’t evil, that he wasn’t his brother.

The papers piled up, Roman’s notebook overflowing with discarded ideas, and yet Thomas’s remained blank.

Once, Patton found him, head in his hands past four in the morning, torn up pages obscuring his desk and floor and half-full coffee mugs littering worksurfaces. He had been led gently to bed, and the next day Roman did not miss the sympathetic glances the others thought he couldn’t see. He didn’t miss the demeaningly cautious tone to Patton’s voice, Virgil’s uncharacteristic lack of teasing insults, the way Logan didn’t correct him, even when he purposefully misused the word ‘inchoate’ just to get a rise from him.

He had failed them. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be confident, proud, indomitable. Most of all, he was supposed to be creative.

That was his symbol, his mark, his purpose. It had to be upheld. He could not allow it to slip between his fingers, fall and shatter, scatter into a million tiny, irredeemable pieces, each too small to be of any consequence or concern.

He couldn’t allow them to see him stumble, because in a moment he would be gone, cast out, forgotten. Not worthy, not ‘good’, not enough.

He had to be stronger, he had to be unyielding, he had to act the part—and act he would. Acting was one of the few talents he actually possessed, one of the few uses he had, and he would damn well make the most of it.

An emotional mask, to an actor, is elementary. Change your face, portray another, hide your true thoughts and emotions and instead channel those of someone else, someone without the meagre concerns of your own life.

Roman donned his mask—someone proud, someone self-assured, someone powerful and determined and Good.

He would not let the mask break. He would patch the cracks before they showed, with wit and charm, magnificence and splendour. Because if they couldn’t see him beneath the extravagance, if they were unable to peer too hard into the shining brilliance lest they damage their eyes, they’d never even know the cracks were there.

He would be brave. He would be proud. Most of all, he would be ‘Good’.

He was not like his brother. He was not horrible. He was worthy, he was wanted, he was loved, and cherished, and appreciated. He was. Of course he was. 

He had to make it. He had to be good enough. Because if he wasn’t, if he couldn’t do the only thing he’d ever been good at, what use was he to them? What worth did he have?

Without his mask, what else was left?

The mask had become so rudimentary, so ingrained in his flesh that he wasn’t sure he even existed beyond it any more. He had been acting the part for so long, he wasn’t sure he could stop. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

‘Roman’ had become nothing more than a character he portrayed, his greatest and most elaborate creation. And he had been playing this ‘Roman’ for so long, this bold and brave and extravagant prince, he wasn’t sure he remembered who he had been before.

Had he been anyone before?

Or was this all he was? A shell? A vessel through which a character was to be portrayed?

Maybe he was never supposed to change, to question. Maybe he was supposed to just keep creating, keep acting, continue playing the part of this bold, brave prince.

That was his function, after all. His purpose. And as long as he existed in some shape or form, he must continue to uphold it, no matter how much he may wish otherwise. 

As long as he kept creating, as long as he paid for his place, upheld his standard, he couldn’t be forgotten. Couldn’t be overlooked.

These challenges strengthened him, fleshed out his character for a bigger and better and bolder performance. This pain led to amelioration. And if he kept pushing away the negative feelings, no matter how insistently they tried to tear him down, he would be able to soldier forward.

He is an actor, after all. And the show must go on.

[birdlord]

Everything I Watched in 2019

Movies

The number in parentheses is year of release, asterisks denote a re-watch, and titles in bold are my favourite watches of the year. 

01 The Death of Stalin (17) does a neat trick of building goodwill for Steve Buscemi’s Krushchev, then brutally pays that off in the last few minutes. 

02 Sorry to Bother You (18)

03 Support the Girls (18)

04 Paddington (14)*

05 Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (16)

06 Eighth Grade (18) probably the most terrifying movie I watched all year, if you didn’t watch it through your fingers, who even are you?

07 Morvern Callar (02) much less bleak than the book, but then, nearly anything would be

08 The Favourite (18) revolting and beautiful. 

09 Columbus (17) a really lovely movie about architecture and parent-child relationships.

10 Bring it On (00)*

11 The Land of Steady Habits (18) feels wackier than your average Holofcener, but still a good watch. 

12 Spotlight (15) i was really bowled over by this, and wasn’t expecting to be. Workmanlike filmmaking, but an extraordinary story, well-told.

13 The Killing of a Sacred Deer (17) Barry Keoghan is a blank, but somehow compelling screen presence. This one has an ending that made me bark with laughter.

14 Legends of the Fall (94)

15 Moneyball (11)* if you don’t feel like watching anything in particular, you can always watch Moneyball

16 If Beale St Could Talk (18) very beautiful, but I failed to connect with it on any other level. 

17 For Keeps (88)

18 Abducted in Plain Sight (17)

19 Oscar Shorts (Animated) (18) the offerings were very sappy this year, but the winner was decent! Lots of Toronto content (weird). 

20 Oscar Shorts (Live Action) (18) *unquestionably* the worst one of these won ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

21 Velvet Buzzsaw (19)

22 Vice (18) ugh

23 Friends with Money (06)

24 Can You Ever Forgive Me (18)

25 Bohemian Rhapsody (18) haha what. was. that.

26 Mars Attacks (96)*

27 Paddington 2 (18)

28 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (92)*

29 Shoplifters (18)

30 Blindspotting (18) jacked Ethan Embry in a supporting role?! Whither? Howso? Wherefore?

31 Witness (85)

32 Harry & the Hendersons (87)*

33 The Matrix (99)*

34 T2 Trainspotting (17)

35 Blockers (18)

36 The Slums of Beverly Hills (98)

37 Can’t Hardly Wait (98)*

38 Avengers: Infinity War (18)

39 Iron Man II (10)

40 Isle of Dogs (18)

41 Chinatown (74)*

42 To Live & Die in LA (85)

43 Age of Innocence (93) Daniel Day-Lewis manages to make Newland Archer compelling, where in the novel he’s...the worst?!

44 Shopgirl (05)*

45 The House (17) didn’t sustain all the way through, but then, that’s how mainstream comedies often go. 

46 The Beguiled (17)

47 Badlands (73)*

48 Poetic Justice (93)

49 The Empire Strikes Back (80)*

50 Calibre (18)

51 The Kindergarten Teacher (18)

52 Hounds of Love (17) a nice little Aussie thriller, set in the 80s

53 Kicking & Screaming (95)*

54 Octopussy (83)*

55 Jaws (79)*

56 Lover Come Back (61)

57 Frenzy (72)

58 Always Be My Maybe (19)

59 Certain Women (16) took a while to get to this one, but it’s as great as they say it is. 

60 Baby Driver (17) all flash, little substance.

61 Sneakers (92)

62 Roadhouse (87)*

63 Bull Durham (88)*

64 Ghostbusters (84)*

65 Booksmart (19) I think this will improve on multiple viewings, though I loved the soundtrack and the mix of characters. 

66 Hereditary (18)

67 Rebecca (40) George Sanders as Rebecca’s cousin is BRILLIANT

68 Vertigo (58)*

69 The Dead Don’t Die (19)

70 Crawl (19)

71 Dazed & Confused (93)* If you don’t watch this once a summer, what is wrong with you?

72 Jackie Brown (97)

73 Talk Radio (88)

74 The Guilty (18)

75 Killing Heydrich (17)

76 Lady Bird (17)*

77 Billy Elliot (00)*

78 White House Down (13)* Channing Potatum saves the White House!

79 The Film Worker (17)

80 Whitney (18)

81 Mascot (16)

82 Apocalypse Now (79)* technically I’d only seen the Redux version from the early 2000s, so the regular cut is new to me. 

83 Apollo 13 (95)*

84 Psycho 2 (83) the twist is very guessable, but there are a couple of nice-looking scenes.

85 Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (04)*

86 The Bodyguard (92)*

87 Murder Mystery (19)

88 Wildlife (18)

89 The Stepford Wives (75)*

90 Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (71)*

91 The Natural (84)

92 The Other Boleyn Girl (08)

93 Speed (94)*

94 Opera (87)

95 That’s my Boy (12) haha what?!

96 The Big Short (15)

97 Elizabeth the Golden Age (07)

98 The Glass Castle (17) when I read the book, I genuinely thought it was fiction, it’s so insane. 

99 Dawn of the Dead (78)*

100 All About Eve (50) lady on lady violence is a special thing

101 La La Land (16)

102 Morning Glory (10) remember Rachel McAdams?

103 Casino (95)*

104 Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (06)

105 Pet Sematary (19)

106 Clue (85)*

107 Her Smell (18) amazing soundtrack and the songs were well-chosen. Heartbreaking musical moment in the final act. 

108 Bobby Sands: 66 Days (16)

109 She’s Gotta Have it (86)

110 Good Morning (59)

111 Hustlers (19) I didn’t connect with this as much as the reviews led me to believe I might. 

112 Nocturnal Animals (16)

113 Kill Bill Vol 1 (03) I’d only ever seen the second one before, being a non-Tarantino completionist.

114 Fried Green Tomatoes (91)* I watch this more than anticipated...

115 Steel Magnolias (89)

116 Notting Hill (99)*

117 A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (19) the tiny city models were inspired!

118 National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (89)*

119 Let It Snow (19)

120 Frozen (13)

121 The Irishman (19) most interesting as a sort of pastiche/reckoning on the part of Scorsese about his other gangster films. Really outmoded view of unions. Definitely could have been edited down if anyone were able to come to it without undue reverence, but I did love the bit about the fish.

122 Girls Trip (17) actual plot is beside the point. 

123 About a Boy (02)* I always think of this as the “vomit and sweaters” movie, anyone else?

124 Animal House (78)*

DOCUMENTARY : FICTION - 4:120

THEATRE : HOME - 9:115

TV Series

01 Russian Doll - I think I would have enjoyed this more if it hadn’t been bingeable - would have made a nice week-by-week discussion sort of show. I loved to watch the changes between re-ups of our major characters, and I think the actual plotting would reward re-watches. 

02 Catastrophe S4 - A satisfying ending to an excellent show, with very charismatic leads (and deeply weird supporting characters). Had to write around Carrie Fisher’s death, and I’m sure did a better job of it than Star Wars did. 

03 Friends from College S2 - More of the same, which is what I was after. A show like cotton candy (but with more infidelity). 

04 High Maintenance S3 - A lot more of this season took place outside of New York City, which was a great change of pace. And a great deal more information about The Guy and his own life; both difficulties and successes included. 

05 Losers - This was a great little docuseries on Netflix that I didn’t hear a lot of people talking about - it’s about sports losses, but unusual sports ie curling, figure skating and the like. You’d think it would get repetitive, being as it’s always about recovering after loss, but it doesn’t! I wish they would make another season….

06 Shrill - a tight six episode dramedy about an alt-weekly journalist in the Pacific Northwest, based on Lindy West’s memoir of the same name. John Cameron Mitchell as her boss (based on Dan Savage) stands out of the ensemble cast, as does Annie’s roommate played by a British standup Lolly Adefope.

07 Broad City S5 - I haven’t always kept up with Broad City, but I came back to it for its final season, and thought it did a good job of setting its characters up for big changes in their lives. 

08 I Think You Should Leave - It’s easy to assume that all sketch comedy is terrible and always will be, but then you see this, and throw your TV out the window (due to all the laffs)

09 Fleabag S2 - Everything you’ve heard is true, this season is goddamn hilarious and ridiculously sexy. A huge step up from the first season, which was already pretty fantastic and incisive. 

10 Fosse/Verdon - Musicals are not particularly my bag, so I’m sure there was a lot that I missed in terms of references, but the lead performances ably carried me through all of the time jumps and various performances. 

11 Stranger Things S3 - Say it after me: d-i-m-i-n-i-s-h-i-n-g r-e-t-u-r-n-s! Maya Hawke kills it, though. 

12 Big Little Lies S2 - Unnecessary, and (if possible) even sillier than the first season.

13 Lorena - Part of the ongoing quest to rehabilitate the maligned women of the 1990s, this gave me tons of context that I had no idea about at the time, due to being a dumb kid. 

14 Glow S3 - I felt like I was losing steam on this series this year, but episodes like the camping ep kept me coming back. A great ensemble, though some unusual character choices (like a certain kiss *cough*) took me out of it by times. 

15 Lodge 49 S1-3 - I’d kept hearing about this show, so I finally sought it out. I can’t say it was amazingly compelling (I almost dropped it after the first season) but it’s definitely an oddball of a show, slipping from setpiece to setpiece with little regard for logic. For me, a background show. 

16 Chernobyl - This show really gave me the Bad Feeling, humans were definitely A Mistake.

17 On Becoming a God in Central Florida - Kiki in a trashy mode, not as infinitely appealing as the version she pulled off in the second season of Fargo, but scrappy and industrious nonetheless.

18 Show Me a Hero - I’d put off watching this for years, it felt like it was going to be too dull (housing policy in Yonkers?) but it’s great, and larded up with Bruce Springsteen songs, obvs.

19 Great British Bake Off S9-S10 - I’d also held off on watching this for a long time, out of loyalty to Mel, Sue, and Mary Berry. But I needed some comfort viewing towards the end of the summer, and the new hosts and judge do an able job, although the show’s tropes are feeling a bit well-worn at this point. 

20 Righteous Gemstones S1 - A rollicking ride for sure, with a great cast. Your mileage/patience with Danny McBride may vary, so keep that in mind, naturally. 

21 This Way Up S1 - A small show starring the fabulous Aisling Bea, about mental health and families and some nice comic physical acting. Oh, and in case you were watching The Crown and crushing on Tobias Menzies’ version of Prince Phillip, he plays a hot dad love interest in this, which gives you all the Tobias you’re looking for, without the PP racisms. 

22 The Crown S3 - This is the first season of the big cast switchover, and I thought it stuck reasonably well, once we were in it an episode or two. This season concentrated even less on Elizabeth herself, preferring her sister, husband, and (newly!) her children.

[butmomilovepeter]

Greatest Creation

it’s been a month and you know here we are

The lady on the news just disappeared into ash.

Like, in a matter of seconds.

There were screams coming from down the hall and down below on the street. She couldn’t look, but she inferred.

Peter? Where’s Peter? Was all that ran through her head. What if he was out there? Was he on that spaceship she saw? Was he where he was supposed to be; on his field trip? She swore, if he had put his suit on-

Her hands shook as she called him, the agonizing ringing of her phone.

Your call has been- No.

Your call has been- Please no.

She selected Ned’s contact.

Ringing...ringing….

“May?” The young boy’s voice asked, quivering.

“Ned? Thank God. Where’s Peter?”

“The teacher just...MJ…” He said slowly.

“I know honey, I’m sorry, but where’s Peter?” She asked, shivering.

“I...I don’t know! There was that ship and then he told me to create a distraction and-”

“Did he go towards the ship?” She asked sharply.

“...Yes?” He said finally.

Shit.

“Okay, Ned, stay safe okay? If you get anything from Peter-”

“I’ll tell you, May.”

The line went dead.

Almost as if on cue, there was a knock on the door. She walked hesidently towards it, open the door slowly.

In the hallway was Tony Stark.

“Mr.Stark?” She asked. She wasn’t really thinking. Too much was happening. Her nephew was missing and people were disappearing in mid-air, and now there was a billionaire was at her door.

“May-” Tony started.

“The lady. On the news. Gone. Disappeared,” She exclaimed. She walked towards the window, peering down to the ground where several cars were piled up. In a hast, she started picking things up from off the floor- a spanish book, a pair of headphones, and a throw pillow- and tossed them in their respective places. “A-And the lady next door is gone too. Ned doesn’t know where Peter is-”

“May, I-”

But she was listening. Tony had let himself in, closing the door behind him, and May had suddenly decided that the kitchen was a mess, Peter’s half eaten and soggy cereal on the counter.

“He told me he’d come home as soon as he got back from his trip, Tony.”

She suddenly stopped, staring at Tony’s face. There were unshed tears in his eyes, and his face was sunken and ashy. He gripped his left hand.

“I told him to go home.” He said slowly.

May stopped, gripping the counter.

“Stark, don’t you dare,” she whispered.

“He snuck on. We were too far at that point.”

She spun around, a fire in her eyes.

“You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?” She spat, and at this point she had taken a few steps towards him. Why was he lying about where Peter was? Tony sighed, and the tears started pouring down, falling silently.

“He fought really good, May. He was brave.” He said, sounding small. Grief crept up her throat, threatening to come out in a sob, because there was no way that she was all alone now.

“No, no, no. Not him.” She pleaded, to no one in particular. Her legs suddenly gave out, hands clamping to her mouth, as if to keep in the scream that had built up in her vocal chords. “Not him, not him, not him!”

The scream came out anyway, flood gates opening. She sat on the floor, her back against the white counter. Images of cops telling her Ben was gone flashed in her mind. A fourteen year old Peter coming home with blood on his sweatshirt. Peter crying in her arms all night. Peter, Peter, Peter.

Tony walked in front of her, his shadow casting over. He sat down in front.

“May, please-”

“No,” she choked out. “Don’t talk to me.” She didn’t want it to come out harsh, but her emotions took over anyway. She heard Tony sigh, but not in annoyance. She couldn’t quite tell what emotion it was in. He stood up, but she didn’t care where he was going, but a sudden realization settled into her chest.

She had no one.

~

The Parker apartment wasn’t big. It was simply a living room and kitchen that connected, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. May’s and Peter’s.

So there wasn’t really anywhere else to go to give May space, so he found himself outside Peter’s room. The door was half open, so he slowly pushed it the rest of the way. It filled him with that bittersweet memory of first meeting Peter, because maybe, just maybe, if he had just found someone else or even just let Rodgers go, Peter would still be here and things might be okay.

His room was cleaner than expected, considering his bed half made and most of his clothes in drawers. His desk was littered with computer parts, and a couple sketches of little things; a bird, an eye, a few trees, and Tony had never admitted it before, nor had Peter, but he wasn’t half bad at drawing. Tony wished he could tell him that.

But then there was the shelf above it. Tony never mentioned it because Peter never brought it up, but there was an Ironman helmet. And he had seen thousands and thousands of kids wearing helmets, but there was something familiar about this one in particular. Maybe just because it was Peter’s.

He plucked it from the shelf, brushing some of the dust off, before taking a seat on Peter’s bed.

This kid looked up to him. He was his hero. And he failed him. All he wanted to do was hug the shit out of Peter and tell him I’m sorry I didn’t want this I’m sorry You should have been home by now You should have been home You should have been home

“Ben bought him tickets to one your Stark Expos for his birthday one year,” May said, suddenly in the doorway. “I bought the helmet.” She was quiet for a couple moments, they both were.

“He always wanted to be like you.” She said finally.

“I just wanted to be like you”

“And I wanted you to be better.”

But Peter was better, Tony saw that now.

“He never told me.” Tony said after a minute. She sighed, smiling sadly as she took a seat at Peter’s desk.

“It was the year that those Hammar drones attacked, and as soon as the commotion started, we couldn’t find Peter,” she picked up the papers he had sketched on. “And when we found him, there was a drone right in front of him.” Her voice quivered, and as Tony stared at the helmet in his hand, it started to make a bit more sense.

“Nice work, kid.”

“He held his hand up, like you, and Ben had to hold me back, because I was so afraid I was about to lose him. Like we lost Mary and Richard,” she whispered. “But then...you came. You saved him. And ever since then...he was determined to be you.”

Tony remembered it like it was yesterday. He remembered thinking that he couldn’t decide if that kid was brave or stupid, but that was in Peter fashion, wasn’t it? Brave and stupid.

“He should have come home. And for that, I’m sorry.” Tony said, trying to keep the tears out of his voice.

“Would it have made a difference?” She asked.

“I...I don’t know, May.”

“Tell me,” she asked hesitantly. “Did he...was it...painful?”

Yes. He knew it was coming, he didn’t feel good. He cried. He begged. And I could do anything.

“No,” he lied. “It was over before it began.”

May nodded, and he knew she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press further.

“You were on that ship, right? How’d you get home then? It’s only been happening for a few hours.”

“Magic wizard guy named Wong and blue alien girl. I’m not even kidding.” His words were light but his tone was heavy. May didn’t he ask about that.

Tears slide down her face, and a couple dared come out of Tony.

“What was he to you, Tony?” She asked suddenly.

A son. My kid.

“More than just Spider-Man. More than just someone to fight by my side.” But he didn’t dare say son in front of May. Not unless-

“Like a son?” She inquired, heavy with emotion. Tony sighed, hugging the helmet to his chest.

“I never want to replace his father. I never want to replace Ben, but yes. I loved him like a son, May.” He didn’t even care about the tears steaming down his face at this point. She nodded, almost smiling.

“He was my little boy, you know? And he kept losing fathers. I didn’t want him to be Spider-Man, but I’m glad you looked out for him. I’m glad he had you for a temporary father.” She said through tears, and for the first time, Tony smiled.

“Will you be okay?” He asked. She shook her head.

“I’ve got no one, Tony. But I’ll manage.” She stated.

“Will you? Because you know,” he started. “I’ve still got Pepper. And my friend Rhodey, though I haven’t met up with him yet. But if I didn’t, I’d be losing my mind.” It was true. Reuniting with Pepper made him feel better, knowing she was safe and knowing the unborn child she decided to tell him about then was also safe. Maybe he had a second chance. Take care of this kid like he didn’t take care of his first kid.

But he did know one thing: Thanos was gonna pay. Pay for taking his son away.

“All I’m saying is, I’ve got plenty of room at home. It’s your choice, but you might feel better with us. Because I swear to you, May, I’m gonna get our kid back.” He said, venom hot on his tongue. May smiled a bit at his words.

“I’d like that, Tony.”

~

It’s been a year or so. No real progress, but the Avengers are back together. And that’s a good start.

“Tony,” a voice lures him out of sleep. “Tony.”

“Hmmm?” He moans, eyes still closed.

“He’s crying. It’s your turn.” Pepper whispers. He begrudgingly opens his eyes, and flips off the covers. In the room next, his kid wails for comfort.

“What’s up with him, FRI?” He asks his A.I.

“He just wants attention, I believe. Try talking to him. He may not understand your words, but he’ll like your voice. Lull him back to sleep.” Tony usually doesn’t have to be told how to parent, but it was too late (or too early?) to figure out how to calm him down. But Pepper does it too, so he can’t really be blamed. He picked up the baby, cradling him protectively.

“Okay...well,” he starts. “There was a boy that Dad knew. He was smart, and he was kind. And he looked up to Dad, a lot.” The baby resorted from wails to simply whimpers. “And he had superpowers. He was one of the bravest people Dad’s ever known. He knew how to fight well and he made people laugh.” He sounded stupid coming out of his mouth, like he wasn’t doing him justice. But he didn’t care. Neither did his son.

“And Dad loved him. Like he loves you. He created a hero out of that boy, but the boy always had it in him. But one day, a bad man came and took him away before Dad got to tell him he loved him,” he sighed, afraid he might cry again. He cuddled the baby closer. “But that’s not gonna happen to you. Because I’m gonna tell you every day that I love you, and I’ll never let bad guys take you way.” He kissed the top of the baby’s head.

“Because, Morgan Peter Stark,” he said proudly.

“You and Peter Parker are my greatest creation.”

[tuanyiems]

No Jam (Part 3/Final)

Characters: Reader x Markson (GOT7) Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slice-of-Life Words: ~4300 Plot: He said you were boring–not enough. You agreed. You were happier on your own anyways. But six months later you find yourself on a blind date with a new guy and late night talks with another. Looks like being forever alone is not on your agenda. [Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] a/n: A bit late but here is the final part of No Jam ^^  I was struggling to write this part (in fact I wrote it 3 times lol) and to be honest I’m still a bit iffy about it but if I didn’t post it anyways, I probably never would have finished the story ^^;;; Also I go back and forth between past and present in this so I hope it’s not confusing but if it is, please tell me so I can improve in my writing :DDD Thanks for following the whole way through for my first mini series ^u^ - “I-umm, do you want to have dinner here?” she asked suddenly as I was about to leave. “I mean, I’m not much of a cook, but I make a pretty mean ramen.”  I couldn’t help myself as chuckles of both relief and happiness escaped me. Ramen never sounded so enticing.   Her smile mirrored mines as she opened the door to her apartment. And suddenly butterflies filled my stomach. Her apartment had always been a secret realm, a place whose door I had become well-acquainted with. But the stark white of her door gave no clues about the girl that lived behind it.   And right at this moment the door was opening for me. She was opening it for me.

“Sorry my place is a little messy right now,” her voice broke my trance as I entered. Her apartment looked exactly like her—a small but open space with warm hardwood floors and cream furniture draped in fuzzy, fleece blankets. In the corner of the room was a small desk stacked with binders of paperwork. It looked out of place in the room and on closer inspection it seemed to be office work. She kept insisting she was just an assistant, but it was obvious she wasn’t. Looking at the other tables around the room, sprawled with sketches and handwritten story drafts, it was obvious to anybody who saw, that she was a writer. I glanced back to where she stood by the stove, a small smile etched on her lips as she inhaled the steam from the noodles. I let out a breath at the sight, her hair falling down her face in loose curls. She was queen of insisting how boring she was, but every moment we shared put me on edge. It wasn’t like this at first. A year ago she was just a cute girl who ordered to-go cups in the morning, and who passed by in the evenings with her head down, shoulders sulking, slowly making her way back home. And though I was curious how she spent her days, that was all—mere curiosity. It wasn’t until three months later that I began to realize her routine of coming into the coffee house every first Tuesday of the month to chat with her friend. And then she started coming by herself. At first it was just the weekends, but slowly it became every day. With her tired shoulders, she’d come into the café each evening, order a cappuccino and then lose herself in the world that lived inside her leather journal. “You’re staring again, Boss,” Bambam grinned cheekily one night when Y/N was staying later than usual. “I’m just surveying the mood of my customers. It’s called good business, Bambam,” I retorted, quickly glancing away. The younger boy chuckled. “Just go talk to her. It’s better business to talk to your customers.” But I never could. She always looked so tired when she came each evening, but her smile always returned when she sat down and opened her notebook. Interrupting that felt rude, like I was invading her space. It was that night that I learned she had a boyfriend. He was tall and handsome, which was fitting for a beautiful girl, but there was something off about him. It was the little things. Like on the weekends when they had afternoon coffee together, he would go on for hours while she smiled quietly. Or when he suddenly visited her some evenings, she would close her journal midsentence and follow him out the door without even finishing her cappuccino. But what bothered me the most was what he didn’t do. He never asked her questions. Not even a simple: How was your day? Maybe they had been together long enough to know every inch of each other, but even so, people change, they grow. How would you know unless you asked her? Perhaps I was just sour with envy but if I were him I don’t think I’d have enough time in the world to ask her all the questions I wanted to. What made her happy? What made her sad? Tired? Scared? I wanted to know it all. But all I could ever do was send her messages via paper to-go cups. “Y/N,” I spoke up, glancing back at her by the stove. “Are the drawings on your table part of the book you’re working on?” Her cheeks turned pink at the question as she mumbled a soft, “Ah…yeah.” She fingered at a strand of her hair shyly before tucking it behind her ear, which was even more flushed than her face. The simple gesture made me smile. “I didn’t know you were an artist too.” “They’re just doodles…” There was a slight pause before she glanced up at me shyly. “It’s a children’s book.” I smiled at the sketches on the table. It took a full year to finally know what she was working on. I wondered if he even knew what she was dreaming up the whole time they were together. She always closed her notebook so quickly whenever he stopped by. And it wasn’t too long until he just stopped coming by altogether. To be honest, I spent many nights wishing he’d never come again so she could spend more late nights at the coffee house, but then one winter evening, my wish came true. I could see it in her eyes as soon as she stepped into the café with only a thin sweater and her bag full of stories. “Cappuccino is already on its way,” I greeted her playfully as she stood in front of the register. She glanced at me with cloudy eyes before mustering up a weak smile. “Hmm? Ah, thanks.” “I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready,” I replied, watching as she quietly nodded before heading to her usual table. “What’s wrong, Boss?” Bambam asked after he caught me staring at her back for far too long. “Something must’ve happened to her,” I muttered, before personally attending to her cappuccino. Bambam chuckled, shaking his head at me. “How can you even tell? Isn’t she always like that?” I shrugged in response, praying to the gods that my intuition was wrong. Perhaps it was just a bad day at work. Or maybe she just had a small fight with her boyfriend. Any minute now he would come running through that door, ready to make up with her. But as the hours passed her boyfriend never came running through the café doors and then, it was closing time. “What do you want me to do about her?” Bambam whispered as the café music came to a full stop. “Just…You can head home. I’ll take care of the rest.” And then it was just the two of us. Alone. For the first time. It was strange. I spent months pining after this girl, degrading her boyfriend in my head, and suddenly I’m given the opportunity of a lifetime but I wasn’t happy. To be very honest, it was a pretty shitty feeling. All I wanted in that moment was to turn back time to when she was with another man and happy. But I couldn’t turn back time. I could only sit next to her and watch as she crumbled before my eyes. Putting all other thoughts aside, I pulled her into my arms, hugging her tightly as she trembled out an endless stream of tears. It was then that I made a promise to protect her smile, even at the cost of my own. “It’s what I’ve been working on the past six months,” Y/N spoke up, handing me a stack of her illustrations. I smiled as I felt the smooth paper between my fingertips. Y/N just handed me her world, allowed me in. I tried to act nonchalant but my heart was pumping in my chest. But the air in my lungs quickly grew stale as I thumbed through the pages. This was not the world I hoped for her. The children’s story was about a rabbit—a quiet rabbit and her beloved boy. The boy loved soft things and so the quiet rabbit pruned her fur all through the night. And the boy loved the quiet rabbit. The boy loved bouncy things and so the quiet rabbit practiced hopping until her hind legs were sore. And the boy loved the quiet rabbit. Then the boy said he loved fun things. He told the rabbit to speak. So the rabbit tried her best to speak. She spent nights and days, huffing and puffing for her voice to sound. She tried so hard until her belly was aching and her throat was hoarse, but no sound came. And the boy no longer loved the quiet rabbit. He threw the quiet rabbit away. My eyes lingered on the last page she had drawn so far. The rabbit was crying and in a small thought bubble, she had softly etched out the words, “I am not enough.” “You’re the first person to see my work, Mark. Please be gentle on my fragile heart.” She made it to sound like a joke but I could hear the faint trembling in her voice. She was nervous. Vulnerable. And in these pages, I could feel her heart breaking as if it was six months ago and she was crying in my arms again. I didn’t know him, but I hated him—hated how he affected her. She was perfect just the way she was, but he had blinded her to that. No matter how much she insisted on being okay with being “boring”, with being alone, it was the fact that she kept insisting that meant she wasn’t okay, right? She repeated herself almost daily to reassure herself more than anyone else. I stared at Y/N’s back as she put the dishes away. She was stuck. As strong and as indifferent she made herself to appear, the truth was that she was just as stuck as the quiet rabbit in her book. It was why no matter how much time she spent each evening, sketching away in her journal, the ending never came. The rabbit was stuck on the same page, abandoned and afraid. And I could do nothing for her, except sit and watch. “Are you gonna go on a third date?” I finally asked, biting at my lips nervously. My eyes wandered over her as she looked away. Even with her tired eyes and messy hair falling loosely on her shoulders, she looked amazing. In a way, it was better than this morning… “You missed your chance,” Bambam scolded me as I gazed out the coffee house window where Y/N stood by the lamp post across the street. I sighed because I knew he was right. She looked stunning in that white dress. It was like an angel had appeared in front of the coffee house, albeit, a pretty nervous angel but beautiful nonetheless. It made me wonder if I had thought of this new Jackson guy too loosely. It didn’t seem like she liked him much from their first meeting but maybe I was wrong. After all, if her ex was any indication of the kind of men she liked, then the talkative, hyena-laughing Jackson was the perfect fit. Except he was better. As much as I hated to admit it, Jackson seemed like an honestly good guy. I should be happy for her. But as I watched Jackson approach her, and the smile that returned to her lips, I couldn’t help thinking that that could have been me. But I was just the coffee house guy that made her cappuccinos. So I watched Jackson take Y/N by the hand and pull her further away. The moment I held her in my arms, I promised I would protect her happiness, but I never thought it would be so hard now that she was quickly becoming my world. I didn’t want to see her in another man’s arm again. Yet, right about now she probably was. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,” I spoke up again, realizing she hadn’t answered my question. “No, you’re not, I just don’t know that answer to your question.” “Is it because you’re hesitant about dating, or are you unsure about Jackson?” She leaned closer to me. “How do you always know the right questions to ask, Mark?” And I chuckled, letting out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. I slipped my arm around her, holding her close. Truth was I just wanted her to say Jackson. I wanted her to give me a reason to keep holding her close. But she didn’t answer. “What’s your ideal guy, Y/N?” I asked. She was quiet again, resting her head closer to my chest now. I took in deep breaths, hoping to calm my nervous heart. I don’t know why I was so nervous though. I knew she wouldn’t answer me because with all our late night talks, it was obvious she didn’t know herself. Or maybe that was just my way of holding on…in case one day she’ll like a guy like me. “Are you asleep?” “Umm, I don’t really have an ideal guy either,” she whispered back. I sighed. It probably wasn’t a guy like me. “It’s getting late,” I uttered reluctantly. She left my arms a little too quickly. In a blink of an eye I was outside of her world again and despite the summer air, I felt cold as I stared back at her longingly. “Thanks for always being there for me,” she whispered softly. And in her white dress, looking timid and tired, with her shoulders slumped but a smile etched on her lips, I wanted to pull her into another hug. She looked like her quiet rabbit. “I just,” I muttered, looking into her eyes and hoping she could see all the love I carried in it. “I hope you know that you’re enough.” - The next day, she didn’t come to the coffee house. Or for the rest of the week either. “Did something happen between you and Cappuccino girl?” Bambam asked cautiously one evening when it was clear she wasn’t coming in again. I shook my head but my eyebrows remained furrowed as I stared at the café entrance. A part of me was still hoping to see her walk through those doors. Why did she suddenly stop coming? Did I do something wrong that night? “Why did she stop coming then?” Bambam continued to ask. I grumbled at his insistence. “I don’t know.” “Well, why don’t you go find out?” I glanced at the younger boy who only shook his head at me while laughing. “It’s not like you work here, Boss. I can close the shop tonight. Besides, isn’t her house like fifteen minutes from here?” “It’s ten.” “Even better! You can grab some flowers on your way there,” Bambam chuckled before ushering me out from behind the counter. “Why would I need flowers?” The younger boy just laughed. “Just get them. Flowers are always nice to have in hand.” I shrugged, letting Bambam push me out of the shop. The truth was, I wanted to visit her the first day she stopped coming, but that’s just plain creepy. I’m sure she allowed me into her space with the confidence that I wouldn’t take advantage of that knowledge…which was to say, I shouldn’t go stalking her…even if I was really curious. I mean, I am justified in going. How can you expect me to not be curious when she’s been coming by every single day for a whole year only to suddenly stop abruptly for an entire week? That’s a whole seven days! I mean, I’m a pretty good acquaintance. Friend even? I’m just worried is all. What if she fell sick? Or worse, what if she got kidnapped. I paused in my steps as the thought suddenly hit me. Oh my goodness, what if she’s been kidnapped?! With a bouquet of flowers in hand, I sprinted towards her apartment, only stopping when I was greeted by the same stark whiteness of her door. At least there was no sign of blood on it. I knocked at her door only to be greeted by a silence that made my sweat run cold. Of course, I was quickly pulled out of my delusions when I saw two figures walking down the hallway. There was Y/N looking as healthy and beautiful as ever…with Jackson. At the corner in the hall, she pulled him into a hug before waving him off. And as much as I was happy to see her happy and alive, I was equally just as sad. This meant I did something wrong, right? This meant she was purposely avoiding the café…avoiding me. And I wanted to disappear. I shouldn’t have listened to Bambam. But Y/N’s apartment was in a corner and the only way out was by passing by her. I mentally curled into a ball as I awaited the despair that would be my embarrassing self when Y/N walks passed me. “M-Mark?” I opened my eyes to find her smiling up at me. She looked genuinely happy to see me…which made me even more confused. “Have you been standing out here this whole time?” she asked in exasperation as she quickly rummaged through her purse for her keys. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. You know, we really should have exchanged numbers by now.” I followed her in blankly. She was talking to me like normal. Did I not do anything wrong? Why did she go missing for seven days then?! “Ooh,” she muttered softly. “Your poor flowers.” I glanced down to where she was looking. My bouquet of daisies was looking more like a bouquet of stems now. I chuckled at the sight before handing her the sorry-looking flowers. “They’re actually your poor flowers.” She looked at me with bright eyes as she slowly put down her things. A smile settled on her lips as she gently patted the flowers in her arms. “Nothing a little water can’t fix,” she whispered as she moved to her kitchen sink. She was in a plain blouse and jeans, with her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, but she looked different. Her shoulders weren’t slumped over. Her steps seemed lighter. Was this the effect of Jackson? “You seem happy,” I mumbled, standing beside her as she cut off the ends of the stems. “Today was a good day,” she replied softly. As if naturally, she leaned closer to me so that our arms touched and it took all of my power not to pull her into my arms. I could smell her faint perfume, light citrus and sweet cotton. It was an odd combination that was uniquely hers. It was addictive. “I’m glad you stopped by today,” she confessed quietly as she put the flowers in a vase. She took my hand gently and led me into her living room area. And warmth flushed to my cheeks as an involuntary smile spread across my face. But I didn’t want to be happy. What was even happening right now? “Looks like you decided to go on that third date after all,” I finally spoke up, before cringing because I sounded more bitter than I wanted to. “Hmm?” “Jackson,” I mumbled as I took a seat on the couch. Grabbing her bag across the room, she sat down next to me. She glanced up thoughtfully. “Actually, I didn’t.” I arched my eyebrows up at her in confusion. “We decided to just be friends.” I bit at my lip to keep from smiling too widely. I waited for her to go on. “Jackson is a wonderful guy, but I could only see him as a friend.” “Then…” I paused, fiddling with my fingers nervously. Why did you stop coming? What did I do wrong? As if she knew what I was thinking, she leaned closer to me. “You were right. I do hold back a lot of the times.” “You just work at your own pace,” I defended. She shook her head against my shoulder. “No, I hold back. I am a private person. I never want to share what’s going on, but also, no one ever asks.” She turned to look at me with a smile. “And then you came along and only ever asked the right questions.” I chuckled. “And now all you do is talk, talk, talk.” She rolled her eyes, hitting my arm playfully. “Why did you visit me today?” “Why did you stop?” Without answering me, Y/N pulled her bag into her lap and began pulling out materials. “I was meeting with Jackson the past week because he knew another writer that volunteered with him at the children’s hospital.” With a huge smile, she put a loosely-binded book into my lap. “Through him, I met with an agent and a publisher,” her voice climbed an octave as she sat up with excitement. “You’re looking at the first edition of my first book.” My eyes widened as her words began to make sense. Without thinking I pulled her into my arms, squeezing her into my chest as I laughed with excitement. “That’s amazing! You’re amazing, Y/N!” She chuckled against me, her arms finding its way around me as well. “Of course, I’ll have to edit everything from the writing to the art and it’ll take months before it gets released, but the publisher liked the premise so much he gave me a contract on the spot.” Without thinking, I kissed her forehead. “You’ve worked hard for this.” Y/N cleared her throat, chuckling nervously as she pulled out of my arms. Her face was flushed as she fiddled with her thumbs and suddenly I realized…I just kissed her. “S-so t-hat’s why you haven’t been coming…” “Ah, yeah, kinda…” I looked back at her. “Kinda?” She sighed. “I’m sorry I left you hanging. The truth is that night, I realized a lot of things. It was like I was standing on my tiptoes for six months, waiting to hear the words you told me that night…when you said I was enough, I couldn’t stop crying after you left.” “I…made you cry?” I whispered nervously. “But like, tears of relief,” she reassured me, lightly placing her hand over mines. I flipped my hand over to clasp hers. She smiled at the gesture. “I kept saying I wanted to be with someone who just understood me, but there always was someone.” I smiled back when she looked at me. “Mark, I’m really glad I met you. But when you told me I was enough, I was happy but also afraid. I didn’t want to repeat my past, only finding validation in someone else’s words. Our late night talks have taught me that much at least.” I nodded my head quietly, squeezing her hand as encouragement. “So I stepped away for a little bit to do some soul searching. The words you told me had to come from myself.” “And now you have a book published.” She laughed, collapsing into my arms again. “Only a contract. It’ll be a long while until I get published.” “Look at you, speaking like a writer,” I teased. She blushed. “Only because you’ve been pushing me this whole time,” she said softly. She lifted the book on my lap, opening the cover slowly. My cheeks, my ears, my heart—warmth filled me as I read the first page. With her skin, soft against me, smelling like citrus and cotton and home, I felt myself melting against her. Dedicated to Mark—for being the moon that comforts me when the night feels too dark. “You helped me find my ending,” she whispered. She paused for a long while before looking back into my eyes. “This is really sudden and it’s okay to say no, but I was wondering if you’d like to help me with a new beginning.” I broke into a laugh as I pulled her in close. “Oh my goodness, you’re even asking me out like a writer!” “Mark!” she whined, though a smile spread across her face. “Give me a break, this is my first time!” I pulled her even closer, until our foreheads touched and I could feel her light breathing against my lips. “I hope you know, that a new beginning,” I whispered softly, gazing into her eyes. “doesn’t mean I haven’t forgotten about that dinner you owe me.” She laughed, her head leaving mines as her eyes wrinkled into happy lines. “You’re going to make me pay on the first date?” she teased. I smiled at the sound of her words. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” “Come on, let’s not make you wait any longer then.” “It better be as extravagant as you promised.” “I know this coffee shop nearby that’s pretty fancy.” “Haha, very funny.” - He threw the quiet rabbit away. Without the little boy, all her days felt like night. The nights stretched long and dark. The quiet rabbit was afraid. But on the other side of the darkness, there lived a gentle moon. This moon watched over the quiet rabbit as she pruned her fur, as she practiced hopping until her hind legs were sore, and until her quiet voice became hoarse. And the moon loved the quiet rabbit. So he shed his light on the quiet rabbit. And nights were no longer scary. The quiet rabbit did not have the little boy by her side anymore, but she was okay. The quiet rabbit loved the gentle moon and that was enough.

[coyote-spark]

Struggling with Self-Defeat? It could be a good thing.

So in my last post, I was grumbling about the Self-Defeat Creature that lurks around creators and tells them they’re worthless every now and then. I had been struggling with it myself that day, going over and over in my head about how unlucky I’ve been with finances and job hunting despite all of my hard work. I was comparing myself to more talented, more successful artists who not only work hard, but have had the privilege of good luck and financial support, and I was convincing myself that I wasn’t really trying and no one really cares what I create in the long run. Super healthy stuff, right?

Well, I got a serious pep talk from my ever-supportive wife (she always knows exactly what to say, I swear), who reminded me that Self-Defeat Creatures can be scared off by flames of determination (Side note: I’m a fire guy, through and through. Except in the world of Avatar. Then I’m an Airbender). There was a bit more to it than that, but in the end, it pulled me out of that cycle.

Weirdly enough, I had the chance to pass along my own pep talk a few days later, when a student of mine got sidelined by his own Self-Defeat Creature without warning. At the time, I did my best to cheer him up, but I’m not great at verbally expressing myself on the spot. So after we said our see-ya-laters, I wrote a post for him that I found out later had really helped him:

Here's some food for thought:

Why do you think, "Man, my art sucks"? Why do you (and most artists) have these overwhelming feelings of self-doubt?

It's because you're a GOOD artist.

You read that right! You are a good artist.

Your art itself may not yet be on par with the art of the creators you admire, but you are a good ARTIST. I say that because you have the eye and the skillset to recognize good art, and to recognize that your own art can improve, AND you practice to make it better.

Bad artists think their stuff is great because they lack the ability to look at their art objectively and see what needs improvement. They remain blissfully ignorant of the possibility of improvement because they believe their art is perfect.

Good artists almost always doubt themselves. This is because they look at their work and think, "This isn't as good as I'd like it to be..." And they work on making it better.  And when they DO make it better, they look at it again and say "This isn't as good as I'd like it to be..." And they work to make it EVEN BETTER. Good artists always have standards that are just slightly higher than they can reach. This ensures that their progress is always upward.

In Japan, if you tell a master craftsman that his work is flawless (and it IS because he's a master), he will say, "Mada mada desu..." Which essentially means, "I still have a lot to learn."

The downside to all this is that we sometimes fall over the edge, and into the anti-spiral of self-doubt. There's a tipping point where creative criticism turns into self-esteem bashing, and it becomes debilitating. You end up so depressed that you can't bring yourself to create anymore, and it becomes a self-defeating cycle.

I wish there was a surefire way to avoid this cycle entirely, but I'm 30 years old and I still fall into those spirals occasionally. They come from out of nowhere and they hit hard and fast. They knock the steam out of you and cripple your creativity.

The good news is that you CAN get back out again. You've done it before, you can do it again. Because you're strong and you're determined. Any time you get knocked down, you get hurt, but you don't give up.

So don't let the idea of where you could go hold you back from where you will go just because you're not there yet. Let it be your goal post. Let it be your motivation. The point at which your art will become perfect will always be just out of reach and it will seem like you're not moving forward. But glance behind you and you'll see the long, winding path you've taken to get where you are. Use that to remind yourself of the work you've accomplished. Don't lose hope! Even if you lose faith in your future self, remember that your past self is really impressed with the person you are right now.

Remember: art (like swimming or figure skating) is a practice. 90% of the time, your drawings will be scraps, sketches, doodles, or studies. You're practicing your breathing, your diving, your breast stroke, your triple Lutz, etc. You're learning how to fall and get back up again to finish the routine. Practice isn't always beautiful. The practice is preparing you for the 10% of the time you will create works of art - your performances. And over time, that 10% becomes 20%, 30%, 40%...

ALL of that being said, I'm going to keep challenging you to step further and further outside of your comfort zone because I believe you can handle it.

In conclusion, here's some relevant British humor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvVPdyYeaQU

Super long, I know. But I believe in you. :P I hope, if you’re someone who struggles with the beast of self-doubt, that this will help you out.

[entergamingxp]

Those Who Remain review – a torturous exercise in mediocrity • Eurogamer.net

I almost gave up on Those Who Remain halfway through. It was the lions, you see. A first-person blunderfest for horror obsessives only, the game’s setting is split between a menacing night-time reality and a weed-choked, oceanic otherworld in which objects float and the puzzles are more, well, videogamey. One such puzzle is a labyrinth dotted with lion statues. The idea is to carry the statues to candlelit plinths. The problem is that there’s a monster in your path, an oily personification of buried guilt and suffering. There’s a lot of that kind of thing in Those Who Remain – accusing messages on walls, silver-masked demons chortling about sin and forgiveness – but for the most part, the emotions you’re repressing are boredom and frustration.

The main character has no means of defending himself, so you must take winding routes to those plinths while lugging chunks of Umbrella Mansion Surplus stoneware that prevent you from sprinting, block the view and have a habit of jumping out of your hands. These burdens create tension, of course, but only for the few seconds it takes you to realise that you’re playing a mandatory-stealth McGuffin-fetching puzzle with instadeath. After my eighth try I decided that life was too short. But I came back the next morning and beat the area, thanks partly to bloody-mindedness and partly (I speculate) to a developer update that prevents the monster from chasing you endlessly once alerted. Let me tell you: I wish I’d stopped at the lions.

Those Who Remain does have some neat ideas, but all of them are squashed beneath a great steaming heap of mediocrity. The premise is Silent Hill as rewritten by an Alan Wake who has run out of coffee, and possibly self-respect. Leading man Edward is drinking and monologuing himself into an early grave over the loss of his family, as leading men in horror games often do. As the curtain goes up, he’s driven to a motel to break off a torrid affair, only for somebody (Wake?) to steal his car and maroon him outside Dormont – a spookily abandoned, predictably metaphysical town whose shadows are filled with knife-wielding spectres, their eyes flickering in the depths of closets and cornfields. Turn on a light and the spectres vanish, rendering the area safe for traversal.

The immediate question is: why not carry a light source with you? And Edward does – for the first few minutes, brandishing a cigarette lighter as he hurries after his car. But he soon loses the lighter and declines to replace it, even as the game’s tedious psychodrama drags you to malls, toolsheds and police stations filled with, at the very least, burning chair-legs and candles. There’s something loveable about this unwillingness to spoil the game’s core concept. It fills me with nostalgia for those perversely specific lock-and-key puzzles in older Silent Hills. And the spectres are eerie enough to begin with, especially when encountered inside. One dependable source of heeby-jeebies is reaching around a door frame to flip a light switch, inches from death.

The fear lies partly with how the spectres turn Those Who Remain’s shortage of actual character animations into an advantage, and partly with the sense that they are still there when the lights are on – that you are walking through them, kept from their blades by a single parameter in a game where objects occasionally glitch themselves invisible. But that fear soon turns to familiarity and – when you’re scratching your head over an obtuse item puzzle – annoyance. I started throwing things at the watchers, trying to recreate the exploit from Skyrim where you could blind shopkeepers to your thievery by putting baskets over their heads. Even disregarding the point about mobile light sources, the perils of darkness are inconsistently applied: there are pools of deep shadow in the game that are somehow safe to walk through, which means that you always think of the light/dark conceit as a designer’s gimmick.

Still, all that’s small potatoes next to the irritation conjured by the game’s handful of mobile threats. These include a Frankensteiny blur of body parts with a searchlight for a face, whose approach is heralded by the dopplering wail of an ambulance siren. The Frankenstein creature stars in many of the stealth bits, fidgeting around as you try to solve puzzles that take you back and forth across the area. She’s not difficult to avoid, but she’s more of a meddler than an adversary. You kind of wish you could just usher her to a chair and give her a book to read, while you figure things out.

And then there’s the major antagonist of sorts, one of those flapping-head harridans familiar from Jacob’s Ladder who screams and sobs in your ear as you flee down corridors packed with dead ends and moving obstacles. These gauntlet runs throw the game’s lousy checkpointing into sharper relief – die, and you’ll often have to re-complete puzzles and re-experience scares that were pretty unconvincing to begin with.

The areas themselves are charmless and indistinct, not in an exciting, feeling-along-wall-with-danger-nearby way, but in an annoying, stepped-in-dogfood-while-fumbling-for-the-doorhandle way. The game’s buildings are, in theory, iconic chunks of Americana, the kind of thing Remedy revels in, but they all feel interchangeable thanks to furniture-showroom scene composition. The spirit realm is appealing mostly because it’s relatively well-lit, and has a wider colour palette. It’s accessed via magic doors, and creates some fleeting intrigue as you ponder what the differences between realities suggests about the characters and premise.

The puzzles run more of a gamut, quality-wise. Some are inoffensive but insipid, such as turning valves in the right order to activate fire sprinklers and clear a route. Others are slightly more involving. In one later section, the setting flicks rhythmically between realities, giving you a window to hurry past barriers or hazards that don’t exist in the other world. The spirit world conundrums incline towards the goofy – there’s a frightfully unwieldy specimen that has you covering runes with barrels to move blocks around. And some puzzles, like the item hunts, are an absolute chore. At intervals Edward is required to condemn or forgive some local sinner to progress, a series of choices that shapes his own fate. Before you can do this you need to learn everything you can about said unfortunate, which involves picking through dozens of lockers and drawers for backstory documents, often while hiding from Searchlight Lady.

Those Who Remain hints at being a serious exploration of mental illness, but in practice, Edward is just the same old Sad/Mad Dad the horror genre can’t seem to wash its hands of, growling things like “your life feels like a movie” as he lumbers towards the final accounting. The misbehaving men and boys he’s asked to pass judgement on are just as clumsily sketched – I felt nothing towards them, positive or negative. I can’t say the same for the game they’re a part of. If Those Who Remain is a purgatory for wayward souls, its true victim is the player.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/05/those-who-remain-review-a-torturous-exercise-in-mediocrity-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=those-who-remain-review-a-torturous-exercise-in-mediocrity-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net