#it always devolves into ‘this is SO bad that you should never find anything compelling or sympathetic to this character’

[poorlittleyaoyao]

By manifesting one of my least favorite discourse topics, the universe is sending me a clear sign that I should stop scrolling and get back to cleaning and packing lol.

[apparitionism]

Why 3

Nearer and nearer this story creeps to its conclusion, and thus to that not-so-distant future day when @mysensitiveside will have received a complete present! Previously, in part 1 of this AU, a Myka Bering adopted a dog. That dog, unfortunately or fortunately, in fact already belonged to a Helena Wells. Myka and Helena, initially strangers to each other, have been walking the dog together, growing intermittently closer in the process, and they are at last, following the events of part 2, about to take a step toward something beyond the pedestrian. Let’s see how that goes.

Why 3

Later, in the parking lot, “You’re sure this is okay?” Myka asked as they began exchanging tangible, traceable information: numbers, addresses. They lived closer to each other than Myka had imagined, which made what Sam had done seem even more brazen... even more terrible. “I don’t want to make you feel like you—”

Helena looked up from her phone. “What exactly will convince you?”

“Convince me of what?” A stupid question; she knew it the minute she said the words.

But Helena again took pity on her. She put her phone in her pocket, and she moved close to Myka, then closer. “I’m not confused,” she said. Their coats were touching. “Are you?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

In response to that, Helena just looked. Did she blink? She leaned up still closer, a delicate, careful movement of body, accompanied by a turn of her head not quite against the collar of Myka’s coat.

Not a kiss, but the potential shiver of one... a “lean down and you’ll find out” feeling...

Myka was still high on the first kiss, not quite ready to dilute it with a second. “Tuesday?” she asked, and “Tuesday,” Helena affirmed, remaining near.

“I like this,” Myka said, and it might have been a warning—to herself and to Helena.

“I’m glad,” Helena said, a comfort against the caution.

I will see them three days from now, Myka told herself as Helena drove away, her dog buckled safely into his harness in the back seat. Myka had a similar harness, limp and empty, in the back seat of her own car.

I know what it’s like to see him without a week having passed. I have no idea what it’s like to see her.

How long could three days feel?

Long enough to make her tell herself, on Sunday, “You should cancel.” Because she hadn’t slept. Instead she spent open-eyed hours retreading her limited romantic past: college boyfriend, who lasted all of one semester; grad school girlfriend, who lasted longer, but only because they rarely saw each other, and when they did, they were too exhausted from long, long lab days and nights to do much of anything but share a cheap meal and go to bed. Nevertheless their breakup blindsided Myka, who expected reasons but received nothing more from her suddenly ex-girlfriend than “I was into it; now I’m not.”

Since then, the occasional night with another lonely chemist at a conference had been the extent of it. That was what Myka figured she would always be most comfortable with: no entanglements, no consequences. No nerve-wracking anticipations.

Tuesday was consequential, with accompanying nerve-wracking anticipation. Hence, “You should cancel.”

Entanglements. Leuko had been one, but he at least had been very clear. Food, walks, baths. Obviously Myka’s emotions had been involved, but it wasn’t as if Leuko was going to do anything to blindside her.

Except bark at someone.

In his defense, she conceded, he had a pretty compelling reason.

So what about cancelling? Myka knew why she wanted to. Why didn’t she want to?

I like walking with her in the park.

Everything she says about herself makes me want to know more.

She is physically more attractive than anyone I’ve ever seen in my life.

Kissing her one time made me wish I had keys to a castle, so I could give them to her.

On a parallel track, there was Leuko. Monty. The idea of interacting with him in his real home felt wrong—but the kind of wrong that could one day become right. Like seeing his leash in Helena’s hand.

Would I have been willing to keep walking in the park if she hadn’t been the one walking him?

Impossible to know. Traitorous to consider an answer of no.

And would I have felt that I could walk in a park with her in the absence of him?

Also impossible to know. Not traitorous to consider an answer of no, but surely cowardly.

So in the interest of at least a facsimile of courage, Myka spent some time pondering yet another question: What do you wear to watch a dog show with your ex-dog and his person, who might be your... well, who could say? Certainly not Myka. She landed on “clothes.” Just wear clothes. Because her ex-dog wouldn’t care, and if his person did—well, that would tell her something, wouldn’t it?

Knocking on a door on Tuesday night, clothed in clothes, she was a mixture of trepidation and, yes, hope.

“Come in!” Helena called, so Myka did. To her surprise, she was received into the house by Montgomery Clift. She’d found, over her days of thinking, that it was easier to call him that in her head; its length and formality kept her from slipping and thinking “Leuko.” Mr. Clift then escorted her down a hallway and into a large living space. “Are you a butler now?” she asked him.

He blinked. It meant either “Of course not” or “I am the most perfect butler who ever buttled,” and Myka said, “You’re right,” in answer to both.

Helena appeared a second later, and Myka held out the gifts she’d brought: wine in one hand, a paper bag in the other. They had cost her far less pondering-time than the clothes had, though she hadn’t realized that at the time, and that probably meant something, though Myka could not think it through now, not with Helena standing right there in front of her. Myka could barely think at all. Instead, she tried to explain: “I thought at first I should bring you something related to writing—a pretty pen?—but then I figured a writer wouldn’t be any less picky about equipment than a chemist, and I’d hate it if some well-meaning person gave me for example a pipettor I’d never use. Nobody would do that, because they’re insanely expensive, but that’s why you’re getting a boring bottle of wine. I brought this”—she extended the bag—“for Monty.”

Helena had gazed at her throughout that recitation, and Myka had in turn felt herself prolonging it, to keep those attentive eyes on her. Now Helena said, “You’ve gifted him...” She took the bag, looked in it. “Several corn tortillas?”

“Fresh ones. He likes them.”

“I didn’t know it.”

Which, Myka had to acknowledge, made her happy. But it was a selfish happiness, so she said, “I didn’t intend to know something you don’t. It was an accident: he was hungry, and that was what I had. And then when I bought fresh, they turned out to be his favorite.”

Helena said, to Montgomery Clift, “More favorite than cheese?”

He failed to respond, most likely due to his laser focus on the now-open tortilla bag. Myka offered, “Probably depends on the cheese.”

“It’s true he is discerning.” Helena paused. “So am I.”

Myka’s nerves, which had ebbed, returned—not fully, but as a vague itch of discomfort. “You don’t need to...” she started.

“What don’t I need to?”

“Try? Like that. Like any way at all.” For it was when Helena tried—as she had in the park, with her “so are you” about prettiness—that Myka lost her bearings.

“I don’t know where you are,” Helena said. Such a reasonable justification: of course she would try, if she wanted to move Myka to some particular place, some place she felt Myka was not.

“Here,” Myka said, but it was a yearn—to get closer to where Helena might have imagined she, and they, could be—rather than the truth. She needed to tell the truth, though: “Or at least I’m trying to be.”

“You don’t need to try either,” Helena said, her tone a balm. “Let’s start by getting to know each other better. I hope that’s what this evening is for.”

“I hope too.” Myka had never said anything more true. “I don’t like that I know your dog better than I know you. I regret it.” But, “Sorry,” she said to the soft butler-or-not who looked up at her, blinking wounded eyes. Or more likely, he was blinking tortilla-wanting eyes.

“We need to remedy that. Or rather, I want to remedy that, and I think you do as well. As I said, I’m not confused.”

“As I said, I am.” Important to be clear about that.

“Tell me why.”

Oh, the invitation. How could she respond? Weighing ideas of entanglements, consequences, anticipations...

Helena, blessedly, went on, “Because I feel that if I hadn’t told you I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be.”

That was indeed the entirety of it, so... “I like that you’re smart,” Myka said. “I like it so much.”

“I like that you are as well, chemist. Sit down. I have food to cook. On that topic, I regret I didn’t ask about allergies, so tell me now. I don’t want to inadvertently attempt to murder you.”

“You can’t. I’m basically insensitive.”

“Ridiculous. Monty knows better, and so do I.”

She delivered that perfectly, not trying, but rather as if she had a doctorate in quashing self-deprecation, and it made Myka smile. “If I were allergic to anything, leukotrienes would be involved,” she said.

“Do you want to explain them to me now?” Helena asked.

It was even more perfect, as an invitation, but Myka turned it down: “You’re busy. Food to cook. Can I help?”

“Sit. You look tired. Is that an awful thing to say? I don’t mean that you look in any way bad. You’ve most likely had a long day.” She stopped, her expression devolving into a sheepish wince. “I’m digging a hole.”

“It’s okay,” Myka said to banish that wince, charming as it was. “You’re right about the day.”

She hadn’t improved much on her Saturday sleep in the subsequent nights, but at least last night had been anticipatory rather than self-castigating. During the day, her concentration at work had been... not ideal. She broke some glass—dropped from nervous fingers—and Abigail asked her if she was intending to go on a rampage. She’d had to redo more than one assay. It really was a miracle she’d been able to get here on time.

So she sat, as instructed, and she found herself pondering various miracles: Helena was cooking food, and Myka, on the sofa, had Leuko—no, Montgomery Clift—beside her, as he used to be, and she wished she were a poet, so as to put into words what suffused her heart. “Does he sit like this with you?” she felt compelled to ask.

“He does,” Helena said. Weeks ago, Myka would have felt that as a knife.  Now it was confirmation of all-encompassing comfort. “With me,” Helena went on, “and now with you. I’ve never seen him do so with anyone else.”

“Have you, though?” Myka asked him.

Of course he blinked those dark, beautiful, secret eyes. “Did she teach you to do that?” Myka asked him, and she dared a glance at Helena.

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Helena said. “All I personally taught him was that he should shake hands. And clearly that is not what is occurring.”

“Shake?” Myka suggested to him.

Montgomery Clift sat up immediately and held out his right front paw.

“Impressive,” Myka told him—told Helena—after a convivial shake had occurred. In all her time with him, she hadn’t thought to see whether he would do that. She hadn’t thought about training at all. He was so quiet and sweet. What else would she have wanted him to do? How often would they really have needed to shake hands? “How often?” she asked, softly, and she took his blink to mean “Not very.”

Helena said from the kitchen, “It’s starting in not very long, and I’d like to let Monty out. Will you watch him in the yard?”

“You’re going to watch me watch him, aren’t you?

Helena smiled. “Honestly, yes. But not for the reason you fear.”

“I’m not sure you have a true handle on the extent of my fears.”

“Educate me.”

“What do you write about? Or I guess I mean, what did you write about?” Myka asked. The question had come to her that instant, fully formed—not a fear, not as such, but rather a gray gap in her knowledge.

“Hm,” Helena said. “Let’s talk about that when you come back indoors.”

Montgomery Clift enjoyed his time in the yard. “Sorry we can’t walk,” she told him, but he was cavorting, sniffing, investigating, and didn’t seem to care. It made her sad that she’d had no space for him to do that, untethered.

They came back indoors, so: “So, writing,” Myka said. “I didn’t Google you. So I don’t know.”

“That is both slightly insulting and exceedingly considerate.”

Myka, flustered, said, “Point being I don’t know.”

“It begins with my having been a rather unusual sort of child.”

“That isn’t hard to believe,” Myka said, then cringed. “That’s probably also slightly insulting.”

“On the contrary, I think it’s exceedingly complimentary. Don’t we all want to be unusual? I do now, and did then... I would fix my attention on a thing that struck me as interesting, and I would not rest until I became expert in it. The smaller and stranger the better. An arcane slice of history, some esoteric gadgetry, a figure of obscure influence. As it happened, I could write about such things in a readable way.”

“Showing off what an expert you’d become?” Myka asked. She hoped that wasn’t insulting at all.

Helena smiled in affirmation. “It began like that, yes. One tried to become less insufferable when it was for wider publication. In any case, I sought such topics out for years—the rarities, the curiosities. I made a reasonable amount of money doing so, which is better than many can say.”

“So why stop?”

“I had it in my head to write a novel. Something with that same depth, but also breadth.”

“Do you still have it in your head?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Mainly in my head. Not on paper.”

“Should I not ask why?”

“Monty’s disappearance... derailed me.”

“Are you un-derailed now?”

“Not precisely.”

“Should I not ask why?”

“I’ve found myself distracted.”

“Should I not ask why?”

“You should know why.”

Was that trying again? It felt softer, not quite as discomfiting. “When does this dog show start, anyway?” Myka said.

“Very soon,” Helena said, and the way she spoke those very simple words reminded Myka, viscerally, of why she wanted to be here—Helena’s eyes were bright, her voice low but engaged. An edge of something like hunger crept around the periphery of Myka’s awareness.

The show itself was astounding. Myka had known she had very little knowledge of dogs as animals, certainly prior to her brief ownership experience. But she had not known that she had not known how vast the world of dogs, as rankable, judgeable animals, really was. An entire additional universe was folded into the one Myka thought she knew. The idea of breeds, okay, she got that. But groups? Handlers? Stacking?

“Can he do that?” Myka asked, about the stacking, that stance seemingly required for the judging of... dogness?

“Oh, watch. Monty, sit,” Helena said to the dog who was curled between them. She raised her hand as she said it, and just like that, up he sat. She pulled her hand forward then and said, “Stand.” He stood, his entire self on display, just like the dogs on the television. After a second, Helena said, “I should have cheese in my hand. Or one of your tortillas. He hates when there’s no reward. You see how the handlers hold the treats in their mouths, when they’re in the ring. Often they use liver.”

“In their mouths...” Myka shuddered.

Helena offered a sympathetic echo of the movement. “It’s apparently quite compelling as an incentive, and they can’t hold the brush or the lead that way. But it’s certainly among the many reasons I myself wouldn’t have been able to show him.”

“I don’t understand why being pretty doesn’t count,” Myka said.

“Shapes and sizes matter more than anything, and he’s slightly too small for a male.” Montgomery Clift turned away from her, seemingly intentionally. Helena laughed and told him, “You’re exquisite and you know it.”

“Why did you even want a Mittelspitz anyway?” Myka asked. “No offense, Montgomery Clift.” After trying it out loud, she realized it didn’t work nearly as well that way as it did in her head. “Monty,” she amended, and now he reoriented himself toward Myka, as if he were pleased. She was probably attributing far too much intentionality to him.

Helena said, “I didn’t want one.” Did Montgomery Clift turn even further toward Myka? “As I told you, there was a novel in my head, but I was too busy investigating those curiosities. Then I began to imagine that I might find time for it if I settled into a more routine everyday life.”

“So you got a dog?” Myka asked, recalling her own Leuko-routines.

“Accidentally. While looking into teaching positions, I was finishing up one of my last pieces, on the insular, sectarian cultures around rare breeds of dog. I met Monty’s breeder, and she happened to note that having a dog would certainly create routines... I scoffed, but then I met Monty himself, as a wee puppy, and there was no longer any question.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

Helena showed Myka several photos of that wee puppy.

“Oh my god,” Myka said. It was the only logical response.

“He didn’t seem real,” Helena affirmed.

And yet there the real Montgomery Clift was, clearly the grown-up version of those photos, blinking back and forth at both of them. A curiosity.

“You’re coming back tomorrow night?” Helena asked later, as Myka prepared to leave.

What a confounding question. “I... am I?” Myka staggered out.

“The show. It’s two nights. I thought you knew.”

That had probably been conveyed at some point, but Myka hadn’t paid sufficient attention. She had lost her purchase on the unfamiliar new dog-parade production-number world unfurling itself for her perusal on the television, as she was far more interested in the equally new world composed of one disconcerting woman and one unreal dog. What did it say that the latter outranked the former?

Right... as if that were a mystery. “I think if this evening has demonstrated anything, it’s that I know absolutely nothing,” she lied.

“Not nothing,” Helena said, mindreading. Then she read some more: “Surely you know that I want to kiss you goodnight.”

“I want to know it,” Myka told her.

“Then do.” She moved close to Myka, a sidle not dissimilar to her move in the parking lot, and this time Myka did lean down, did find out. It was not confusing at all, but rather like good clear water, bracing and inundating, roaring, silent, everything. If this was the first night, what would the second entail?

The next day in the lab, Myka allowed to Abigail, “Maybe she’s my girlfriend.” Tempting fate, probably, but fate was certainly doing some tempting of its own...

Abigail crossed her arms. Never a good sign. “Why do you always have to lie first?”

“Why... what?”

“You lie about having a dog,” Abigail said. “You lie about having a girlfriend. What’s next? Your side job for the CIA?”

“Very funny.”

“If you deny it, I’ll know it’s true.”

“Fine. My side job is CIA. What do you know about dog shows?”

“Are you going undercover at one?” Abigail countered.

“My maybe girlfriend knows a lot about them.”

“Then ask her, not me. People like to talk about what they know a lot about. Except you, but you’re weird like that.”

Valid advice, and an accurate description. Myka thanked Abigail for them both.

“And you’d lie anyway,” Abigail continued.

Myka didn’t thank her for that.

As she prepared to leave for Helena’s that evening, she found herself thinking on clarity. That she might at last have some.

Her phone buzzed—a text. She never got texts.

The text was from Helena.

It said: Don’t come.

TBC

P.S. Only a bit left to go, I swear. Poor Myka’s heart can’t take much more, anyway, and my goal in life, or rather in narrative, really isn’t to make her suffer.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER PRE-GAME 9/30/2020: 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE/CONFESSIONAL (2019)

Spoiler alert. Or whatever. It’s not going to matter, you don’t care.

So, I've been away for a minute. Just about any reason to be away from Tumblr is probably a good reason, but I have an especially good one. I'm finally working on a "real" writing project, which demands, and deserves, all of my attention. My social media abstinence isn't just a matter of time management, though. Once I had a long term obligation on my plate, I became very aware of how the short term satisfaction I get from posting mindless rants was eating away at the fuel I have available for sustained efforts. When I wind myself up with a 500-1000 word blog post, it generates a lot of electricity, but I blow it all as soon as I experience the catharsis of posting it, and I'm further pacified by ego-stroking likes and reblogs. Not to sound like a sanctimonious luddite--I mean, I'm still here, after all!--but it turns out that the staying focused on the long haul has been surprisingly revivifying. In fact, I haven't been talking about my big fancy project for the same reason; I don't want to lose any of the juice I've been storing up by wasting it on the shallow pleasure of describing it. Also such things should probably be somewhat confidential until they're approaching the publishing stage, but I digress! There is an actual reason I'm saying all this, that has more to do with this blog.

(Don’t get all excited, I’m not doing EVIL ED right now, I just need a relatable image.)

As I got deeper into my experience of "real" film writing, I started to reflect on the meaning of my personal writing. Like, the point of it. I tend to write in a sweaty, compulsive, sadomasochistic haze, in which I'm sometimes hyperbolically generous, and sometimes--perhaps more often, unfortunately--as nasty as humanly possible. Sometimes the movies deserve it, when they're lazy, pretentious, or otherwise demonstrate an open contempt for the audience aka ME. Often, though, I'm just creating an opportunity to vent my generalized rage and frustration. That can be very entertaining for myself and (hopefully) my teensy-but-devoted readership, but lately I've asked myself whether there isn't some negative tradeoff for all this amusement. In this phase of my life, it's reasonable to assume I'll make more and more friends and acquaintances who create things I don't always care for, but I don't necessarily think they deserve to be abused for it. As much as I have a right to say whatever I want, technically, I'd be embarrassed if I were caught just jacking myself off by making fun of their work in public. And more to the point, I don't necessarily want to contribute to the growing atmosphere in which people feel more afraid to try and fail, because the public so commonly misidentifies sarcasm and mean-spiritedness as intelligence and superiority, and that form of petty darkness spreads across the internet a lot faster than a movie can reach a wider audience. After all, I'm in the process of potentially turning myself into one of those well-meaning failures right now. I could stand to be a little more deliberate about how I speak, and about what, in general.

My father is an art critic, and once in an extra petulant moment, teenage-me asked him in an accusative tone what he thought the point of his profession was. He replied calmly that he wouldn't publish any comment that he didn't think the artist could make use of somehow. I don't know if he always stuck to that policy, but the thought sure stuck with me.

So anyway, over the last few months I've been giving myself a bit of an attitude adjustment, through a combination of personal reflection, and hard work on something meaningful/not for the internet. I've been feeling all proud of myself and shit, but today reminded me that any path to enlightenment is always marked by setbacks, doubt, and temptation. For today, in complete innocence (or at least a melange of innocence and ignorance, as I very much invite this type of problem), I managed to watch TWO (2) movies about an academic film-cum-psychology project, focused on a gang of college buddies who inevitably reveal what bad people they are under the unique conditions of the project, and then the project turns out to be run NOT by its presumed-dead originator, but by the originator's even-crazier lover. It's amazing how particular something can be, and still be utterly obvious and cliche. In my defense, I really tried to turn the second movie off, because it was...just instantly terrible, but the seed of suspicion had taken root--is this randomly selected movie ACTUALLY EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE PREVIOUS MOVIE?--and I just had to find out if this could be true. I suffered, deliberately, for another hour and a half, to confirm my awful hunch. I don't know how I would have felt if I had turned out to be wrong (better? worse?), but I don't have to worry about that now. Now I just have to worry about my overpowering impulse to be as ugly as possible about what I have personally subjected myself to.

(The completely deceptive poster for our not at all witchy or eerie opening feature.) 

In need of a passable time-waster this afternoon, I put on 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE. Released in March of 2019, Caitlin Koller's claustrophobic black comedy feels oddly like a product of 2020. A group of estranged, middle-aged college pals of the BIG CHILL ilk--which one of the characters calls out, out loud, just so ya know--come together for a fallen comrade's funeral, only to find themselves trapped in his widow's increasingly creepy cabin in the woods. Said comrade was driven to suicide by the failure of a psychological experiment he conducted that plunged its subject into madness, and if you don't realize right away that the obnoxious and unstable cast are the new subjects of their not-quite-dead friend's renewed project, then you're firing a lot slower than 24 frames per second. The dialog is often decent, aiding a handful of funny, natural performances...but it's hard to forget that you're just waiting for the conspicuously crazy widow to reveal that the "unexplained events" in and around the cabin are part of a controlled attempt to get the guests to devolve into their worst selves, which isn't such a difficult task considering the undesirable state they all arrive in.

It just made me ask myself, what was the point of this? Why do people make movies that are entirely predicated on the shock of the twist, knowing that if the twist isn't so shocking--or is baldly obvious from the start--then the whole experience just falls apart? Why not hedge your bets with a little more depth, or purpose, or style, or really anything more reliable than a smug attempt to prove that your script is smarter than your audience? Even if you do manage to pull off this dubious accomplishment, it reduces your movie to something like the experience of having somebody jump out of a closet and scream in your ear to "get" you. I've always felt concerned that if somebody ever tries to "get" me like that, I might just automatically punch them in the face. But anyway, whatever shred of good will this movie could have accrued with its plucky performances is blown away by the final insult, when the cops arrive to clean up the inevitable bloody mess. The responding officers are hilariously unimpressed and unsurprised by the byzantine scheme that has resulted in a shocking act of violence, because the cabin's "guest book", which our heroes all filled out, was actually the signatory page of a complicated waiver form granting full permission to the hosts to, like, do whatever the hell they want to everybody. Presumably this shit just goes on all the time, leading the local law to shrug off anything that happens to or because of the dumbassed lab rats who frequent the cabin? I dunno. I mean, what can I say? ACAB, I guess!

At the time, I managed to resist the urge to take to the internet and decry the crimes of this lame-o party joke. I really don't like the sensation that a movie is just trying to trick me into thinking something that isn't true. But, this isn't, like, an affront to cinema. People make annoying, below average movies all the time, and maybe you kinda have to, if you eventually want to make better movies. I imagine myself in the shoes of the people who actually put some elbow grease into this production, having to wade through the rantings of internet ghouls like myself while they're trying to see how their efforts are paying off. Making a movie is probably a lot harder than I think it is.

But that's part of the point I'm heading toward. I'm always amazed by people's willingness to pour huge amounts of energy and capital into something to which there is ultimately very little point. I mean, I have bad, unoriginal, boring ideas every single day of my life. But I almost never DO any of them. I have a hard enough time convincing myself to just get out of bed in the morning, let alone devote blood, sweat, and money to deliver unto the world material evidence of my personal mediocrity. I can't imagine thinking it would be worth it, for myself or the unfortunate people who are subjected to my project, to actually execute on my bad ideas. I'm being judgmental, but honestly, I don't even know if my attitude makes me better or worse than someone who accomplishes the task of completing and selling a movie that's mainly a waste of time. Movies are so complicated, and realizing them requires the consensus of so many people, that it's sort of incredible that there are people capable of making one that doesn't have a powerfully compelling motivation behind it. People who are able to do such a thing obviously have something that I don't, and it isn't just "consideration for the audience."

So, I could probably stand to be more forgiving--or just, less eager to absolutely flay someone alive on my dumb little blog because they so opened themselves up to my arsenal of elaborate insults. But like...not all the time. Sometimes, a movie really fucking asks for it, and in revealing itself to me, it has effectively signed a waiver giving me patent freedom to do whatever I want to it. CONFESSIONAL is the latest movie to give me such a gift. After the final credit rolled in 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE, I looked for a little palate cleanser. As little as I like movies that put their single egg in the motheaten basket of a "shocking twist", I also have a problem with what I identify as canned theater. Not that I think all movies have to be lavish productions, but I think they should try to do something that is natively cinematic. It's very rare that I'm impressed by anything that is literally all talk. So, I went in search of some more familiar form of trash to help me recallibrate, and trash is definitely what I got.

(Me crying over my own bad decisions.)

To be fair, I kind of should have known that I was in for a challenging experience. The 2019 found footage thriller CONFESSIONAL is more or less based on the "confessional" part of sleazy reality TV shows, isolating each cast member in a soundproof stall so they can spill the rotten contents of their guts. Unfortunately, I spotted a review suggesting that the movie succeeded, against all odds, at remaining visually dynamic despite the unchanging scenery, and I was intrigued. The reviewer was correct, impressively; the monotony of the coffin-like environment with its dark foam walls was the least of my concerns. Other problems superseded that threat, immediately. The plot concerns a group of college pals who come together to remember a recently deceased friend--a filmmaker who expired mysteriously while completing a psychology-tinged project in which she recorded all of her friends' most shameful personal secrets. Now, somebody else has taken over the project...someone who "has never been identified", according to an early title card in this movie-within-a-movie (EVEN THOUGH THIS PERSON WILL BE EXPLICITLY IDENTIFIED AT THE END OF THE MOVIE SO LIKE WHY), but who seems likely to be the decedent's ex-lover...who continues to expose their subjects' most shameful secrets on film. I mean, what the fuck? Did I somehow manage to pick a second movie with almost the exact same plot??? I couldn't believe it. I didn't know if I could take it. My prospects only got worse when the cast showed up and started talking. I tried to turn the movie off. I backed out and walked away from it, twice. But I couldn't leave it alone. I had to know if it was really the same movie.

CONFESSIONAL concerns characters who are contemporaneously in college, which actually goes a long way to making everything worse. Each of these walking cliches is connected in some way to Amelia, a film student whose mysterious death has created a campus scandal, leaving shattered hearts and lives in its wake. The living have each received a blackmail-flavored invitation to speak about the deceased in a tiny "confessional booth" somewhere on campus, where, predictably, they find themselves locked in until they confess whatever they know about Amelia, and their classmates. I don't know why practically every single movie about young people has to be so miserable, but this is one of those. I assume that it has something to do with the fact that youth is simultaneously so desired and so ignored. People in their teens and early 20s are so sexually coveted, yet so easily dismissed as individuals, that we wind up with all this media that panders to them relentlessly (or at least, panders to the legions of ticket-buying perverts who enjoy watching them prance around), without almost any consideration of how they actually think and act, and look. Movies like FAT GIRL and  WELCOME TO THE DOLL HOUSE may be accused of their own form of pandering, a venal form of voyeuristic schadenfreude, but at least they reflect something of the awkwardness, isolation, and incompleteness of adolescence; something more than the dissociated, pornographic fantasies of adults who have long since forgotten what it was like to be powerless and ignored, or desired by people who don't even like you.

Not that CONFESSIONAL is supposed to be a work of grim realism, but it is most definitely rooted in a fantasy about college life that makes its contrived, message-y plot a lot harder to take. With almost the sole exception of "the nerdy one", every single character looks like a Bratz doll, oozing an exaggerated indecency that belies the movie's pretentious insistence on addressing the sex & gender Issues of the Day. What you get is a really good example of what happens when millennial characters are modeled, not on any actual millennials, but on other forms of marketing that are aimed at millennials, which are themselves just based on other preexisting youth-targeted commercials, et al ad nauseam. Even setting aside the deliriously slutty wardrobe choices, makeup appears to have been laid on with a trowel, coating each actor in a thick creamy layer of spackle that only makes any scars, pits, or other evidence of individuality look utterly bizarre. Accordingly, everybody preens, pouts, and generally behaves as if they're about to take off their clothes, which might be a huge relief given the profusion of chafing, cheapo mesh and straps they're laboring under.

So, ok, not every movie can have a great costume department, but the dialog here is a perfect match for the disastrous aesthetic decisions. Actually, this is the real reason I almost walked out on CONFESSIONAL. If I may ramble briefly, without substantiating any of my broad-ranging claims: Sometime in the late 90s/early 00s, horror cinema seemed to suffer a degenerative slide away from genuine thrills and chills, and into a version of the genre that is best characterized as the Slutty Halloween Costume approach. Any sense of existential dread, revulsion, or bodily vulnerability was widely replaced by a cutesy, Hot Topic-y preference for fast fashion and sex appeal, in which bloodshed more facilitated an informal wet teeshirt contest than any real fear induction. Horror's new mall goth look came with an equally shallow, boring verbal affectation: a sullen, sleazy, tooth-sucking sarcasm, that ushered in a new era in which, instead of making fun of the scummy coked-out dialog in porno movies, we now expect everybody to just talk like that, because it's hot. There's probably a line to be drawn between this unfortunate development, and the boneheaded real-world trend of identifying "sarcasm" as an important personal selling point on dating sites, but I won't try to prove that here. For now, I will just say that as soon as I heard the CONFESSIONAL characters start to speak, with their sneering, insinuating tones, with the vocal fry, with the head wagging, the jutting jaws, the smoldering gazes, the juvenile dragging-out of horny grownup words like de-bauch-er-y...I almost lost my nerve. Listening to these little creeps hissing and spitting for 84 minutes is a lot like being hit on by some barfly who continues to bludgeon you with his hot breath and corny lines without ever noticing that you've thrown up into your pint.

Uh, anyway. So what actually happens in the movie. Why would anyone ever allow someone to record video of them revealing the ugliest, most embarrassing parts of themselves? Especially a kid, for whom popularity and reputation are often a matter of life or death--literally and specifically, in the case of this story. The flimsy reason is that the late filmmaker, Amelia, was the most awesomest girl ever. Everybody loved her, because she was so sweet, and so smart, and so cool, and so nice, and so deep, and so original, and so talented, and so sexy, and just like, the bestest most perfectest girl in the whole wide world. N.B. "The greatest of all time" is, perhaps counter-intuitively, a really bad quality that makes for really shitty, boring characters. For better or worse, Amelia is rarely on screen (and when she is, she's no Laura Palmer, frankly), so it's up to the viewer to just sort of imagine a type of person who could make you act against your best interests on account of you just like them so much. After all, so many of the characters were obsessed with her in some way, that it's like they're here to help you clap your hands and believe in this seductive, compelling part of the movie, that just isn't actually there on the screen. The anonymous antihero behind the confessional booth scheme slowly extracts from each character the selfish, destructive behavior that in some way contributed to the tragic loss of the most amazing person of all time--and part of the result is, if not a very interesting excuse for Amelia's death, then a story so wacky that I really wish they had centered the movie on it, instead of on the tawdry soap opera we're locked into. Even if that imaginary movie had been really bad, and it probably would have been, at it would at least have been entertaining.

Part of what leads up to the death of Amelia is the existence of a secret school fight club, led by a stereotypically sleazy gender studies major, named Major, who is out to prove men's inherent superiority. The club is called CFB, or Cock Fights Back, which is somehow a garbled pun relating to cock fights, and Trump's famous line of "locker room talk": "grab'em by the pussy" > "pussy grabs back" > "cock fights back". CFB is different from your ordinary fight club in that the fights are always between girls and boys, and the boys are always blindfolded, in order to prove that a fully-abled female is no match for even a handicapped male. To complicate things, a new designer amphetamine is gaining popularity on campus, called "odds-on", meaning that it makes you the odds-on favorite in your CFB fight. As awkward as that is, it also seems that men are never the guaranteed winners of these fights, which makes you wonder why Major insists on continuing to host them. As much as I would have preferred to watch a stupid movie about this stupid idea, I'm stuck instead with a movie in which Major is such an aggressive MRA because he's secretly gay, and he thinks that hating women is a great way to hide that...as if that isn't what we all openly suspect about aggro MRAs. Secret gayness is a big part of this movie, involving multiple characters, although it amounts to very little other than the perpetuation of some stale, harmful cliches about how unfulfilled homosexual urges lead to suicide, sexual abuse, and murder. CONFESSIONAL is just as reliant on this grim vision of gay life, as it is on its weirdly obtuse discussion of drug addiction, for the suffocating sense of self-importance that it uses to try to elevate itself above its porn-y trappings. None of the movie's hot button issues are given any real thought, but are only dragged through the mud to create the illusion that there's a point to all this, thus relieving the film of any sense of innocence that could have made its condescending sleaziness forgivable.

Admittedly, I can't really remember all the details of the film's tortured intrigue anymore, even though I basically just saw it. A lot of its meandering revelations just left me thinking, "Why did I need to know that? Why should I care?" I do know that about half way through this ordeal, I became really anxious about whether it would turn out that CONFESSIONAL did NOT have exactly the same plot as 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE after all, and I put myself through all this for nothing. But no, I was right to begin with. The wonderful Amelia's ethically dubious film project has been picked up by the unhinged lesbian character who loved her so much she wanted to become her, and killing Amelia and usurping her confessional project was apparently the best way of doing that. I guess exposing all the dark, violent secrets of all these tangentially involved characters was just an added bonus, or whatever. Ultimately, this ugly, ignorant PSA about something-or-other only deals itself further damage by relying so heavily on the potential of its clumsy twist to blow your mind, which it does not at all.

So that was it, that's how I burned a whole afternoon allowing my mind to implode-not-explode under the ponderous force of TWO (2) movies about exactly the same exhausted cliche that is still being peddled by certain pretentious assholes as fresh and exciting, and beyond the capacity of the audience to anticipate. There's probably a whole slew of other movies that employ this overly familiar "surprise", but I don't have it in me to dig them out of my long-suffering brain. Feel free to contribute in the comments. For now, I must prepare myself for the ordeal of Blogtober, during which I will *hopefully* choose my screening selections and words more thoughtfully than I have in previous years, when this blog was motivated by just as much abject misanthropy as these movies, which do nothing but willfully insult the audience's intelligence. Maybe today's detour into degradation will help me go forth toward more additive experiences, having purged several lungfuls of meaningless venom from my system, and this season will bring with it more interesting, provocative posts than the last. Or maybe not! In any case, I promise to keep trying my hardest to make it funny.

PS I actually love both FAT GIRL and WELCOME TO THE DOLLHOUSE. I’m “just saying”. 

[sloumate]

I think it’s time to do a recap of the whole year, isn't it? For me, 2017 has been such an intense year: i can say that i have experienced more things that i had ever experienced in my whole life, from the purest joy that came from studying abroad and having the chance to get to know many beautiful people, to overcome my limits and get out of the comfort zone which had always been a wall between me and the rest of the world, to the darkest pain that can only come from grief. As i always say, though, fics have been a safety blanket for me, they helped me through some really tough times and i am forever grateful for the authors that have decided to put their work out there for us all to enjoy. 

To all the authors i’m gonna mention in this post: thank you from the bottom of my heart. ♥

So, here are my favorite fics from this year (put in chronological order): 

{ 2016 list here / more fics here }

Stars and Boulevards by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 6k

They’d been friends for years, had known each other throughout middle school and into high school, meeting in a music class on a sticky September morning. They hit it off instantly, falling into one another immediately, never looking back. Their friendship was comfortable, genuine, safe, always there, achingly present and solid. Harry never felt uneasy confiding in Louis, their one year age gap making Louis somehow seem more worldly, more experienced, and even when Harry had to look down at Louis, he still looked up to him. They spent the quickly passing school years making each other’s homes their own, Harry’s mom calling Louis her honorary second son, Louis’ mom giving Harry a similar title, and everyone knew that if you wanted to find Harry, you had to find Louis first.

Like a boomerang by youwilll / 51k

AU in which Harry gets trapped in a lift, Louis gets stuck in a Wednesday, and it's always February 2nd. Until it isn't.

The End Should Be A Good One by bananasandboots / @anylessreal / 43k

The one where Harry loses the love of his life on New Years Eve and finds him again, six months later, ready to open some poorly-stitched wounds.

Shape of You by sincewewereeighteen / @downgoesanotherhero / 21k

The club isn't the best place to find a lover, but somehow they find each other.

Dance Like Warriors On A Battlefield by whoknows / @crazyupsetter / 20k

Down in the arena, the triumphant gladiator places his foot on the back of the loser, holding him there as he waits for instruction on his next move. Kill or let live. It’s barbaric, really, the bloodlust involved in this sport. Louis is pretty sure that if it wasn’t for his distaste for the killing there would be a lot more blood soaking that sand.

As it is, his father rarely gives the kill order anymore. He gives the order to let the loser live. Louis rolls his eyes, turning away. He doesn’t miss the way the gladiator’s eyes linger on him.

Tangled up in you by missandrogyny / @missandrogyny / 45k

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?” Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry. Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.” “A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute. “Of course not!” “A stripper?” “No!” Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!” “What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing. There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.” A professional…what. “What?”

Perfect Storm by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 80k

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

All the Right Moves by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 32k

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire / @alivingfire / 110k

Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

The Melody You Never Heard by bananasandboots / @anylessreal / 30k

The one where Harry gets roped into a four-day camping trip with the boy who kissed him and never called back.

Atlas At Last by louisandthealien / 83k

It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson / @hrrytomlinson / 92k

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to.

Show Me How The Fire Works by turnyourankle / 49k

The Styles-Twist holiday in the Catskills is supposed to be just that: a family holiday. A last hurrah before Harry relocates to the states for uni. Instead, it quickly devolves into a honeymoon for his parents, leaving Harry and Gemma to fend for themselves. Harry quickly befriends the staff at the resort, and is enticed by Louis, one of the dance instructors. Harry gets in over his head in an attempt to impress him, but with Gemma egging him on and a ticking clock, how could he not at least try?

Or, the Dirty Dancing AU no one asked for.

Rivers 'til i reach you by embodied / @crossnecklace / 29k

AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

Got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove / @hattalove / 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Waiting On You by emma1234 / @lads-laddylads / 76k

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

Above your head by deadspy / 57k

Space AU. Louis is an astronaut. Harry works for Mission Control. They don't get along.

Do Not Go Gentle by afirethatcannotdie / @afirethatcannotdie / 70k

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore / 102k

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

Back To You And Tennessee by rippedgloves / 57k

Louis Tomlinson rises to rock and roll fame at age twenty three and is thrown into a life of luxury and excess, but being on stage isn’t easy for a boy who has always stuck to the side-lines, and Louis struggles to deal with his new fame as he joins the Grand Ole Opry and is sent out on tour with names like Liam Payne and Elvis Presley. His life takes a turn, however, when his childhood role model, Harry Styles, joins them on tour, and the two become closer than two men in the spotlight are allowed to be.

-

OR, the one where Louis is Johnny Cash and Harry is June Carter

Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey / 24k

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

The wonderlands by stylinsoncity / 150k

Harry's daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis' girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair.

Sometime Around Midnight by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 3k

Louis is trying to get over his ex, and he thinks that paying their favourite band a visit might help bring him some closure.

He's wrong.

Paint Me In A Million Dreams by green_feelings / 110k

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

It's a Better Place (Since You Came Along) by phdmama / 51k

When Harry Styles, a mid-level talent, Finder, and small business owner, sets off on the vacation of a lifetime with his best friend, Niall Horan, he has no idea the changes his life will undergo over the next nine days. He's got it all planned - there's going to be shore excursions, lounging by the pool on the deck of the luxurious cruise ship, not to mention margaritas. What he does not plan for are the new friends, new bonds, or the mystery from his past that comes back to haunt him, and he certainly hasn't planned for Louis.

Here, There, and Everywhere by harioandlouigi / 54k

Louis was in a rut. He was still living in the same small Texas town he’d hated all his life, he was about to graduate with a degree he’d never been interested in, and he was hooking up with a guy he didn’t even like just because it was probably his only chance to be with another man.

And then someone else’s overindulgences triggered a series of events that lead to where Louis is now, touring the world as a roadie for Harry Styles.

You're A Universe by Jiksa / 15k

Louis’s a stay-at-home dad in London and Harry’s a business expat in Qatar. Louis doesn’t know how much longer their marriage can survive the distance.

Chasing Empty Spaces by Lis (domesticharry) / 79k

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

Given a Chance by Fabby / 173k

the one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.

Golden Like Sands of Time by afirethatcannotdie / @afirethatcannotdie / 51k

AU. Harry and Zayn are spending the summer on an island, and there's a plethora of booze and bonfires and boys. Or in Harry's case, just one boy.

One Shines Brighter by afirethatcannotdie / @afirethatcannotdie / 11k

Harry's wedding was never supposed to be the happiest day of his life. No, that was going to be the day after, when he finally got to start his marriage. Unfortunately his family (and Louis) have other ideas.

Featuring a pair of moms who only want the best for their kids, meddling sisters with too much time on their hands, and a groom who gets caught up in the fairytale.

Turning Page by purpledaisy / 67k

AU: Harry Styles tries to get lost in a place he’s never been.  Louis Tomlinson has been perfecting the art of being lost for years. What they don’t expect to find is each other.

Runaway Land by daggerinrose / @thetommmo / 103k

Louis is sure he’s stumbled upon a secret, underground nightclub, though that is far from the truth. He’s also pretty sure he’s stumbled upon Apollo, which… isn’t very far from the truth, actually.

Modern Greek mythology AU.

The World Still Turns by hrrytomlinson / @hrrytomlinson / 21k

They had their eyes on the stars.

Harry and Louis have known each other since they were tiny little boys, both wildly obsessed with airplanes, space, and the stars. More than twenty years later, Harry plans to propose to Louis, but when he wakes up, Louis is gone.

Where I Belong by hopeneverdies / 31k

Harry Styles is an introverted director of a small nature reserve in Norfolk County, England. Louis Tomlinson is an Emmy winning wildlife documentary filmmaker with a bad boy reputation. When Louis arrives at Harry's reserve in search of a new project, and a new path in life, Harry is less than thrilled. Yet, the two men realize that working together may benefit them both, especially when the future of the reserve is threatened by a large corporation and its powerful CEO.

Things Gone Cold by MediaWhore / 24k

With his soulmate’s thoughts about him written on his skin and the world’s eyes trailing his every movement, Harry Styles is having a bit of a rough time releasing his second album in peace. And that’s not even counting the breakup. Or the car crash.

Can't Fool Me by emma1234 / @lads-laddylads / 30k

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

No Place Without You by fackinglouis / 19k

A Wanderlust AU in which Harry doesn't have a permanent home and stays with Louis when he visits NYC.

You Know Sometimes Words Have Two Meanings by alienharry /  22k

Harry and Louis navigate the universe.

No One Like You by myownspark / 19k

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

We're What's Right In This World by BriaMaria / 48k

the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

Never mind the odds (i'm gonna try my luck) by spit_on_me_larry / 59k

Featuring Louis as a writer/workaholic, Harry as a plastic surgeon with a heart of gold, Zayn and Niall as Louis’ colleagues and long-suffering best mates, and Liam as everyone’s favorite pediatric surgeon and Harry’s right-hand man.

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy / 141k

A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

You flower, you feast by stylinsoncity / 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

(We will be) as if chosen by alivingfire / @alivingfire / 35k

the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves.

The dead things we carry by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics / 25k

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites / 86k

A Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

Falling, catching by tsuneni / 23k

the one where Harry likes poems, soft sweaters, old novels, and that one boy in his Romantic Poetry course that keeps falling asleep during lectures.

Like Vines We Intertwined by bananasandboots / 11k

the one where Harry and Louis first figure it out. A prequel to You Watched Me Sink.

Kiwi by fondleeds / 24k

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

Knives don't have your back by turnyourankle / 51k

The lone survivor of an on campus massacre that claimed the lives of his four housemates, Harry is urged to take a sabbatical or transfer. Instead, he chooses to stay in school, move into the dorms, and overcome his fears.

He finds comfort in a budding friendship with Louis, an upperclassman who lives on his floor, not realizing that their relationship will bring him closer to his traumatizing past rather than further from it.

You and Me by delsicle / 36k

Alex goes to war. He comes back and everything is the same -- his hometown, his flat, the boy with the bad heart he left behind.

Everything is same. Except for him.

Things unspoken by stylinsoncity / 6k

he wants to say it. he’s waited his whole life to say it. but how do you tell your childhood best friend you want them?

Yellow by 13ways / 84k

A Batman/ Catwoman AU

Find You Home by FullOnLarrie / @fullonlarrie / 35k

When Louis lies to his family and says he’ll bring his new boyfriend home for Christmas, his best friend and roommate Harry agrees to play the part. It’s that, or be left alone over the holidays. What will happen? No one knows! Perhaps Santa will swoop in with a Christmas miracle. (Featuring lovesick idiots, kissing and cuddling, pies and Christmas clichés.)

The Unexplained by mooninherhair / 34k

Harry has just moved to Los Angeles to work for HiveNews Media, and his dark mood from homesickness and his creepy new apartment inspire a brilliant idea for a new paranormal video series. Unfortunately, he finds himself partnered with the biggest ghost skeptic of them all. Will they be able to get along well enough to get the series off the ground? And what's going on with the other unexplained events that are beginning to surround their lives?

To the light by fondleeds / @fondleeds / 13k

AU. Harry is a mermaid lost at sea and Louis is a boy determined to make his first Christmas a memorable one.

[sumigakure]

Skyfall

To: @modernart2012

From: @pwnie3​

Title: Skyfall

Rating: T

Wordcount: 2896

Prompt: Pacific Rim AU. Preference for MadaTobi, but I’m open to any pairing, romantic or otherwise. Doesn’t have to follow the movie

Warnings: Brief suicidal ideation, character death, excessive use of italics

Summary: Madara wakes up and doesn’t open his eyes, because he knows that if he does he’ll roll over and Izuna won’t be there in the next bed over. He feels like the ground has been torn out from under his feet and now he’s just falling alone into empty sky.

Drop, Category II solo, let’s do this, first blow comes, harness cracks, Izuna, Izuna, Izuna get up, “Kaleidoscope Burst please respond”, Izuna’s down, Izuna’s down, IZUNA–

Madara wakes up and doesn’t open his eyes, because he knows that if he does he’ll roll over and Izuna won’t be there in the next bed over. He feels like the ground has been torn out from under his feet and now he’s just falling alone into empty sky.

It feels strange, to not have Izuna there. Even as a little presence in the back of his head, like the way it feels to talk to someone using two soup cans and a piece of string, is gone. He and Izuna have– had always been notoriously strong ghost Drifters, to the point where they could divine each other’s emotions from across a building.

Tears well up in Madara’s eyes, and he presses the heels of his palms into them. His breath starts to shudder in his chest.

“Madara?” a scratchy voice asks, a hand laying itself on his thigh. “You in there?”

He scrubs at his eyes, then opens them to see Touka.

She looks about twice as bad as Madara feels. Her hair is a rat’s nest, her eyes are bloodshot and the bags underneath are deep enough to run a river through. She smiles at him wanly and runs her other hand over the crown of his head. “We didn’t think you were gonna wake up.”

I wish I hadn’t, he almost says. “How long was I out?”

She takes a deep breath and retracts her hand. “It’s been almost a week. Kaleidoscope Burst took most of the damage, but…”

But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much of the kaiju’s attack the Uchiha brothers’ Jaeger took, it wasn’t enough to save Izuna.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Touka sniffs. “You know those old Mark Twos as well as I do. Flimsy harness couplings and all that, right? If anyone is to blame then–” a sob catches in her throat– “then it’s me.”

“Touka–” Madara starts.

“No, I was supposed to check everything in that conn pod, but who thinks to check on the pins holding in the damn harnesses?” She laughs bitterly, then sobers. “I checked the box without even looking because hey, you’d never had trouble with it before, why would you start now and it’s cost me my husband–” she chokes on her words and devolves into ugly, halting tears.

Madara pulls her close. She twists her hands into his hair, identical to Izuna’s except for the sheer volume of it, and bawls into his shoulder.

After a minute or two, she pulls back and takes a deep breath, then gives another little laugh. “Look at me, Madara. A week without Izuna and I’m already falling to pieces.”

“You think I’m doing much better?” he croaks eventually. “I feel like I just saw him five minutes ago and I’m already in shambles.”

“What a pair we make, huh?”

Marshall Uzumaki lets Madara rest, heal, and grieve for a week before she has him back in the ring for another copilot. She supervises him for every bout and Touka, who’s been reassigned from engineering to the command center since Kaleidoscope Burst’s last drop, calls out strikes as they land.

Like it means anything. All twenty-three of the bouts Madara’s gone in the past hour have ended 4-0 in his favor, and by this point the candidate pool is shrinking back into the audience.

Mito is one of Madara’s oldest acquaintances, and even if he can’t speak to her without losing his temper half of the time, he recognizes the look on her face when she leans over to whisper something into Touka’s ear.

“That will be all for today. Thank you for participating. Madara, come here,” Touka says. Madara steps forward. “We think that maybe a test is in order.”

He levels the two women with the most unimpressed look he can muster. “Did I not just spend the last hour doing tests?”

Mito makes an amused noise. “A different kind of test, Madara. Report to the drop bay in an hour.”

“Oh, hells no.”

Inside the mangled remains of Kaleidoscope Burst’s conn pod– the only intact part of her left– waiting and hooked up to her Pons system, is Hashirama of all people, with his little brother looking annoyed as usual behind him.

Madara gestures to Hashirama, looking straight at Tobirama. “Is this-?”

“Is this the test Mito ordered? Yes.” Tobirama looks all too pleased to be plugging someone else into Hashirama’s head. He spent four years Drifting with his brother before Hashirama screwed up his leg and got the Hidden Leaf, the Senju brothers’ Jaeger, removed from duty. “She wants to make sure your head will still let you Drift at all.”

Madara scoffs. “‘Can I still Drift’, of course I can still Drift! Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hashirama pipes in. “Well, saying that you can Drift is like saying that you can do art. It’s a generalization. Just because you can make ice sculptures doesn’t mean you can fold origami worth a damn.”

“Just because you could Drift with Izuna doesn’t mean that you can Drift with anyone else. Mito wants to make sure you’re physically capable of finding a new copilot before she spends more time on the matter,” Tobirama clarifies. “And seeing as how Hashirama is the easiest Drifter we have on site, he’ll be your partner for this exercise.”

It’s for the sake of his age-old friendship with Hashirama that Madara refrains from making a joke about how Hashirama is easy, and he knows that Madara knows exactly what he’s definitively not doing.

He takes some measure of gratitude that at least it’s Hashirama and not some green cadet that’s never even seen a kaiju. Hashirama is familiar, he was the first person Madara ever Drifted with even though he’s not the one that stuck.

“I’ll be observing your Drift from here just in case something goes wrong.” Tobirama steps back to his sleek control panel– which looks oddly different from the ones in the LOCCENT. “Initiating neural handshake,” he says, getting ready to flip switches. “In five, four, three, two, one.”

Hashirama’s memories rush into Madara’s head. Little brother, Mother is gone, new mother, more brothers, Madara, Tobirama, Madara, Madara, Madara, police academy, the first kaiju taking away Father and Itama and Kawarama, the Jaeger program, why is Tobirama here he should be safe at home, Drift compatible, victory, victory, victory, victory, victory, pain and loss, you’ll never pilot again with a leg like that, Mito, command track, oh god Kaleidoscope Burst please respond–

Madara is thrust violently back into his own body with a jolt and knows that Hashirama just felt the same thing.

“Handshake successful. Try waving hello with your right arm,” Tobirama directs.

It works, as every other command Tobirama gives them does. It goes so well in fact that only Hashirama has to listen to what Tobirama’s saying Madara just follows his lead. Hashirama exists in Madara’s head as a long road he’s compelled to follow no matter where it may take him. He’s similar, in many ways, to Izuna. Bright, happy Izuna who was like the blinding, guiding sun on a summer’s day. Izuna’s wedding was on in the middle of summer, Izuna, Izuna, Izuna-

“Right hemisphere out of alignment,” he vaguely registers hearing before he’s disconnected from the Jaeger.

He comes out of the Drift like waking up from a dream, groggy and absent and with a faraway look in his eyes. All he wants to do is sleep and not think about the report Tobirama will be presenting to Mito and how he can guess exactly what it will say. Is capable of Drifting but chased the rabbit in almost record time. Unfit for duty. End report.

A few days later, Madara– who hasn’t been asked back to the sparring ring and is completely blaming that on the report Tobirama probably filed– is tasked by a newly-busy Touka with delivering a sheaf of Important papers to the R&D department.

The “R&D Department” is actually just three guys in a too-small room with a tiny budget that mostly gets spent on whiteboard markers, takeout, and weed. After Hashirama started Drifting with Tobirama but before Madara and Izuna got a Jaeger of their own, Izuna used to split his time between flirting at Touka in Maintenance and getting high with the R&D team. Madara used to hear a lot of stories about his friends’ crazy theories and that one time they all got crossfaded and woke up ten hours later having forgotten their own names.

But the budget has been cut down even more than usual this year, and so it’s not three guys anymore. It’s just one, and it happens to be the infuriatingly snarky one with white hair and tattoos that shouldn’t look as good as they do.

Tobirama isn’t paying attention when Madara walks in– he’s shoulder deep in a, well, in something, and his white button-down is discarded across the room in favor of the tank top that shows off real, honest-to-God biceps that he didn’t have the last time Madara saw his arms (granted he had been seventeen to the albino’s fourteen at the time, and knew what would happen if Hashirama even thought Madara had a thing for his brother) and also keeps his clothes from getting stained too bad by all the machine oil.

“Hey,” Madara says to get Tobirama’s attention.

The younger man startles, and in his haste to turn around flings a streak of oil in Madara’s face. He hisses and goes to wipe it off, but Tobirama slaps his hands away with a towel. “Don’t do that, you’ll just smear it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he demands. “Be blind for the rest of my life?”

Tobirama makes a frustrated sound and kicks his ankle gently to guide him over to a chair. There’s a sound like a metal hatch closing, probably from the machine he was working on. “Sit down, I have something for this.”

A few moments later, Tobirama starts dabbing a wet cloth over the oil-stained portion of Madara’s face. “If this is acid–”

“If I wanted to kill you, Madara, I have other ways. It’s just something I mixed up to remove oil and grease stains,” Tobirama rebuts.

“Why not just wear gloves?” Madara blinks hard and then opens his eyes wide when Tobirama backs off.

“I’m allergic to latex and this facility doesn’t buy anything else.” The younger man lets the awkward air hand between them for a few moments. “So why are you here?”

Madara fumbles with the sheaf of papers. “Touka asked me to bring you these.”

Tobirama finishes cleaning the oil off his arms and then gives the folder a cursory glance, but Touka has always been bad at labelling things. “Do you know what it is?”

“Something about Burst’s specs.” Madara shrugs.

“Oh.” Tobirama’s eyes widen. “It’s notes about her Pons system. I’ve theorized that her previous engineer made some kind of neural processing magnification modification to the Pons system to enhance the combat abilities of the Drift team.”

Madara is no genius, but he did take an AP class or two in high school (one of them with Tobirama, who had no business being a freshman taking senior-level classes). “Based on what evidence?”

Tobirama swiftly makes his way over to one of four desks covered in so many papers it nearly hurts to look at. He rummages around what’s either the world’s most complex sorting system or just a mess, and after a minute he sounds a victorious shout and pulls a thick file from the bottom of a pile and lays it out on the one clean half of a desk he can find.

“These are neural performance records taken from one of your Drifts with Izuna in Burst,” Tobirama says, pointing to one long scanner sheet of paper, then to a second. “These are records taken of Izuna when he was Drifting in Burst with Touka.”

“Wait, what?”

“It was her birthday and she failed the Jaeger program’s physical but they were Drift compatible and I helped him out with giving her the birthday present to end all birthday presents, okay?” he points to a third record. “This is the scan I took of them from their anniversary Drift a few months later, this time at using the system I have here.” He gestures to the piece of machinery he was tinkering with when Madara walked in.

Madara studies the records. “The performance levels are completely different.”

Tobirama nods. “And this is a scan I took of you and Hashirama the other day, compared to the record I took of him the last time we snuck into Hidden Leaf.”

Again, the performance scores are wildly different. “So you want to prove that there’s something up with my Jaeger?”

The younger man nods. “Yes, and there’s just one more scan I need to prove it.”

Madara bobs his head too. “A scan of me outside of Burst.” He gives Tobirama a Look. “Did you tell Touka to send me over specifically with the specs?”

He nods again. “You’ll be Drifting with me this time.”

Madara lets out what’s definitely not a squawk of outrage. “You want me to Drift with you? We don’t even know if we’re compatible!”

“Please. If you can Drift with numbskulls like Izuna and Hashirama, you can Drift with me,” he scoffs. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m almost as easy to Drift with as Izuna or Hashirama.”

This is different, Madara wants to scream. Hashirama is different, Izuna was different. How long has it been, since he tried to Drift with someone who wasn’t his best friend or his brother?

“Just because we can both Drift with Hashirama doesn’t mean anything,” Madara exclaims. Tobirama let out another wordless noise of annoyance, but before he can say anything Madara interrupts him. “Just because a positive magnet connects with a negative magnet does not mean that two negative magnets will connect!”

“Just put on the damn headset and let me get my results.” Tobirama shoves the headpiece at Madara’s chest.

He grumbles. “I hope no-one believes your results.”

Tobirama is wearing a matching headset as he reaches for a button. “Initiating neural handshake in five, four, three, two, one.”

Mother, Hashirama, a big treehouse, loss, learning, top of the class, accelerated learning courses recommended, he’s too young for this class, why is he here, beat them all out, what’s a kaiju?, Hashirama don’t go, ‘Tobirama why are you here”, Drift compatible, Hidden Leaf, success, saving people, killing kaiju, failure, injury, find a new copilot or find a new job, Izuna, Izuna oh God please no–

If Hashirama’s mind is a path and Izuna’s was the sun, then Tobirama’s can only be described as an endless freefall over a cliff into the sea. Being in the Drift feels like Tobirama is his parachute. Through the Drift he knows that Tobirama views Madara like a chained lion, and he can feel the euphoria the other man knows as he sets the lion free.

Madara comes back into his own mind feeling like he can take on the world and win, in a way that Drifting with Izuna had never provided.

When Madara first entered the PPDC, the team he and Izuna took over from– a pair of women who piloted a wonderful Jaeger named Whirlpool Dawn– told him that there was Drifting and then there was Drifting. Maybe, he thinks, this is what they meant.

He looks over to Tobirama, and finds that the albino’s crimson eyes are just as wide and his face is just as flushed as Madara’s own must be. He watches Tobirama’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.

“I think we need to go talk to Mito,” Madara hears, though despite being aware of Tobirama’s every move he doesn’t know if the words were said aloud or if he just understood Tobirama’s intentions through the Drift.

“I think you’re right,” he replies.

Two months later finds Tobirama and Madara in matching Drift suits and getting ready to test drop for the first time together.

They had argued for a long time about which Jaeger they would pilot. They went back and forth with their reasons; Hidden Leaf was in better condition, but Kaleidoscope Burst was the newer and safer mech, for example. But before they could come to a conclusion (which many figured would never happen at all) the victorious new head of engineering, an early twenty-something called Sarutobi, informed them that they wouldn’t have to decide at all because he’d gone around them and gotten the all-clear from Mito to combine the two Jaegers.

So here they stand, ready to pilot Konoha Burst under the watchful eyes of Touka, Hashirama, and the entire world. What Sarutobi’s done by combining two defunct Jaegers is unprecedented, and even with a hundred different news crews waiting for the results of the test Madara isn’t scared.

He doesn’t have to look or talk to know that Tobirama is putting on his helmet and raring to go, but he does it anyways.

“You ready to rock the world, Skyfall?” he drawls.

“You know it, Lionheart.”

If you enjoyed this piece, why not take a look at other pieces written by the same author on AO3.

[mdwatchestv]

Everything I'm Going to Watch in September and You Should Too, Or Not, I'd Rather You Be Your Authentic Self

There is one question asked in this town more than any other and it's not "Who are you wearing?" (as the media would falsely have you believe) it's "What are you watching?" Or "Have you seen anything good lately?" "Did you watch x?" "Have you seen z?" This question is posed at awkward drinks, on boring conference calls, lazily to your co-workers, animatedly to your brunch friends, in all caps to your IM buddies. We have this conversation because we hope it will go something like this:

Me: Have you seen anything good lately? You: OMG yes I have! I just watched this six episode British miniseries about a group of diverse women at the turn of the 20th century who have to solve a series of murders! Also there's a hot guy. You will LOVE IT. Me, sobbing: Thank you for this gift. We embrace, both openly weeping. Our friendship has never been stronger.

But it usually goes something more like this:

Me: Have you seen anything good lately? You: No, I decided to start Seinfeld over from the beginning. We stare at each other, the conversation stagnant. We have never been further apart.

So in an effort to draw you in closer to the burning embers of my heart, here is a list of every show I am going to try and watch that starts in September. God knows I am not going to write about all of these shows, for I am just one girl with a stressful job, mild depression, general laziness, and not a lot of free time. But hopefully I can recommend something new, or validate your choices, or condemn your bad ones. I am not promising any of this will be good, but here is an open and honest look at my life choices. Here we go, LET'S FORGE A FRIENDSHIP:

September 5th- American Horror Story: Cult (10pm on FX)

Okay so we are off to not a very good start here because this show premiered Tuesday and, as of this writing, I have yet to watch it. Also while we (or more specifically me) are confessing things, I will also tell you I have not watched a season of AHS in its entirety since Coven. That is because, like all (of the seemingly endless) Ryan Murphy content, each season begins with a striking concept backed by a fantasy cast that eventually devolves into a lukewarm mess of half-cocked ideas. I come for the opener, leave in the 7th inning to avoid traffic on the way home. I predict I will watch about five episodes of this season, but it may be less depending on severity of clown content.

September 10th- Top of the Lake: China Girl (9pm on Sundance)

You guys if you didn't watch the first season of this show (only seven episodes) please correct that immediately. I want to say it's all on Hulu, that feels right. Just googled it, it is. Written and directed by Jane Campion, the original miniseries is an atmospheric, character-driven mystery set in gloriously accented New Zealand. It stars Elisabeth Moss, with said amazing accent, just acting up a storm. Additionally the series has a decidedly feminist bent, which is especially refreshing in a landscape where most shows about the crimes done to women veer in the opposite direction. Season China Girl takes place in Sydney, Australia and adds Gwendoline Christie (Brienne!!) and NICOLE FUCKING KIDMAN to the cast. NICOLE KIDMAN PEOPLE. WATCH THIS.

September 13th - Broad City Season 4 (10:30pm on Comedy Central)

I mean... I personally identify as an Abbi pretending to be Ilana. Broad City is everything. 

September 14th - Better Things Season 2 (10:00pm on FX)

Okay, more honesty, this is largely an aspirational entry. I watched a handful of the first season and really loved it, but didn't finish it. I know, I know, this show is much better than American Horror Story and deserves to be watched thoroughly. Maybe it's me, maybe it's FX. But I mean any show with scenes about television casting hold a special place in my heart. It's hard for me to watch shows about the industry without feeling nauseous, but Better Things successfully walks the line between comedy and me having to put my head between my knees.

September 17th - The Emmys!!! (8:00pm on CBS)

TV'S BIGGEST NIGHT YOU GUYS! Also it's the 69th one...nice.

September 20th

Channel Zero: No End House (10:00pm on SyFy)

Yeah I know. I watched the entirety of the first season of this show ("Candle Cove") and it was not even that good, or that scary, but it's a show based on Creepypastas!!!! The nostalgia overload on my little goth early aughts heart is just too much to for me to resist. Also it's only six episodes!

The Good Place Season 2 (10:00pm on NBC)

If you didn't watch the first season of this show, I highly suggest you do that as well, it's on Netflix! At the end of the day The Good Place (created by the always brilliant Michael Schur) is a high concept comedy about philosophy. Philosophy! The first season genuinely surprised and delighted me (two emotions I very rarely feel while watching television because I am jaded/dead inside). The first season started off a little...impenetrable... but so did the first season of Parks and Rec! In both cases putting in the work is worth it I promise. 

September 22nd

Gaga: Five Foot Two (Netflix)

I realize this is not really TV, but it is a thing I'm going to watch on Netflix that will take up time from my regularly scheduled programming.

Transparent Season 4 (Amazon)

I feel like Amazon never tells me when things are going to be on. Like, I have been wondering all year when Marvelous Mrs Maisel is going to premiere and I know they are just going to spring it in the night or something and I’m going to miss it, Transparent is consistently compelling and at its very best, magical. This year the Pfeffermans are traveling to Israel, and the change in location may be just the thing to add a kick to this fourth year show.

September 24th - Keeping Up With The Kardashians 10 Year Anniversary Special 9:00pm on E!)

Look, we are building a friendship here and the key to building friendships is honest communication.

September 25th - The Good Doctor (10:00pm on ABC)

That's right, a brand new network one hour! I watch exactly zero network dramas, the time commitment (22 episodes) to quality (22 episodes) ratio is just not worth it for me. There always comes a point where I fall woefully behind, never to catch up again. I have no illusions I am going to watch every episode of this new fall drama about a surgeon who has autism and must persevere over odds and prejudice while solving intriguing medical cases etc etc. But I love the Brit leads of this show, Freddie Highmore and Antonia Thomas, to little bits and pieces so I am at least going to tune in for the first couple in order to coo over them and critique their American accents. I hope they are both making lots of money.

September 26th

Law & Order: The Menendez Murders (10:00pm on NBC)

There are two things I love in this world, true crime and miniseries, and this new Law & Order spinoff from NBC vice overlord Dick Wolf, has married them together. If you don't know about the 1989 Menedez brothers murder of their parents (in Beverly Hills no less), and the subsequent trial, it's a real humdinger. I have high hopes for this series, especially seeing as it stars Edie Falco (strong female lead with a questionable perm is where it's at this year), and Law & Order has  been delivering the crime-solving goods for literally decades.  However the primary colored billboards popping up around town (see above) do feel a bit like a red (yellow, and blue) flag, but I remain murderously optimistic for this.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine Season Five (9:30pm on Fox)

Brooklyn Nine-Nine is hilarious and Terry Crews is a gift, A GIFT.

September 28th  

Great News (8:30pm on NBC)

This show, about an aspiring reporter (the beautious and funnious Briga Heelan) whose over-bearing mother (ANDREA MARTIN PEOPLE) becomes an intern at the news station where she works, took a couple of episodes to find it's feet in the first season. But after getting its groove this under-the-radar gem proved to be genuinely charming and laugh out loud funny (who knew Nicole Ritchie could be so likable). I have high hopes for season two now that the writing has hit its stride, and Tina Fey is going to recur in seven episodes! That's so many!

Will and Grace (9:00pm on NBC)

This could be absolutely terrible or ALL OF OUR TV HOPES AND DREAMS.

And before you ask, here is why I'm not watching the below:

You're The Worst - I am so far behind on this, feels insurmountable to catch up. I liked the two I watched though! I know, I’m the worst.

BoJack Horseman- Industry related existential dread  is too overwhelming and leads to nausea (see above).

One Mississipi - Saw the excellent documentary about Tig on Netflix, felt spiritually satisfied. Did not need more. 

The Deuce - Struggling to generate excitement and energy to watch two James Francos.

Fear the Walking Dead - I loyally watched the first two seasons, but it started to feel like a chore. Also AMC's bizarre lack of marketing for the first (and now second) half of the season makes me suspicious of quality. Love much of the cast (Kim, Frank, Coleman) and could be lured back...we'll see.

Outlander - Woefully far behind, although what i saw of the first season was A++++.

The Orville - Not sure why this show is an hour?

Star Trek: Discovery - I am not a Trekkie, but I was excited for this when my beloved Bryan Fuller was at the helm. Now every time I see the billboards I can't help but wonder what might have been....

Phew that was a lot, but I feel closer to you than ever now dear reader. Are you going to be watching any of this? Is there anything I missed? I know I am a bad and irresponsible television watcher for not trying harder on You're The Worst and Outlander, but no one is perfect and a person's flaws are supposed to endear you to them. If you would like to debate me, tell me which Kardashian is your favorite (mine is Kim), or if you know about a six episode British mini-series with a strong female lead and murder, you can hit me up on twitter @marthadee!

Ok goodbye new best friend, love you bai. 

XO MD

[deans-fire-dragon]

"The Raid" Broke My Dean Loving Heart

I don’t normally do any kind of episode feedback, but last night’s Supernatural episode, “The Raid,” left me with too many feelings to just say nothing–--mostly unhappy feelings. I don’t even know where to start because I don’t want this to be some wanky rant that devolves into a lot of complaining on Dean’s behalf. I’m sorry in advance because I’m sure that it will.

Of course, I’m always pro-Dean, so if that is going to be a problem for any reader, please turn back now. I’ve been pro-Dean for 12 years now, its not going to change because of anything anyone could say and I don’t really enjoy debating unchangeable opinions.

I guess I’ll start at the beginning with Dean and Mary’s fight. While I’m not liking Mary all that much right now, I don’t hate her. I just feel like, at this point, she’s not even as good a parent as John. John was driven by grief and revenge to a single-mindedness that often left his parenting lacking. But he did love the boys…he did sacrifice himself for Dean. If he had been in Mary’s situation with Ramiel? He’d have given up the Colt without hesitation to save his sons. In fact, he did.

What’s Mary’s excuse? She wants a normal life? No one is forcing her to hunt. Does she even know what she’d do with herself if there was no hunt? She obviously doesn’t want to be a mom in any traditional sense. And, while I can understand the appeal of what the BMoL are offering her, it doesn’t excuse her selfish actions-–--to choose them over her sons, to lie and manipulate her sons and put them in danger.

She’s says she’s not “just” a mom. Well, no duh. I think the boys already knew that. Right now, I don’t see her being ANY kind of a mom since she’s never there in body or spirit. Jody is a better mom to the boys than Mary. Ellen was a better mom to them. Neither of those ladies are/were “just moms,” but they did balance who they are as individuals with also being the support and love these boys need in their lives. Mary says she loves Dean and Sam…but I’ve not seen her really do anything to prove it.

And still? I don’t hate her. I’m angry at her and disappointed in her, I find myself wishing the show had left her alone and preserved her good memory….but I’m still hoping she’ll redeem herself. I want so badly for her to be the mom the boys need to believe in (also because I’m extremely forgiving and I don't like to be a hater).

I think the thing that upset me the most about the fight between Dean and Mary was when she told Dean he was not a child. I really, really felt angry about that. With the exception of his first four years of life, Dean has never been a child. He has never known a childhood. He’s always been the responsible one, the one who takes on everyone’s issues and always relents to their needs. He’s never asked for much in return. So, don’t talk to HIM about how he isn’t a child–what has he even asked for besides Mary being available and concernedj, to act like she cares.

That whole not-a-child moment is where I feel the writing was extremely weak because I don’t think Dean was asking to be treated as a child–--he’s not asking for nighttime stories and band aids on his knees. He wants his parent to be there, to be involved in his and Sam’s lives–--Mary has not acted like a mom in that sense. He said that she’s been gone and that he felt her needing space was really her just not wanting them. I don’t see how he is supposed to think any different when that is all he’s been shown–--her utter absence.

In this, he is speaking from the part of him that feels abandoned and unwanted. Since Berens seemed to bring that point up during the argument, I don’t understand why he later reneged on it it and made it about things Dean isn’t expecting–--lunches and being tucked in. Seriously? When has Dean ever asked for that from anyone? I also feel it was ridiculously unfair to make Dean apologize for wanting his mom to care enough to be around and get to know him and Sam (for crying out loud, Berens!).

Dean asking his mom to be present and want him is not being childish. It’s being human…and that Mary can’t see this and understand it just shows a how little she knows about Dean and parenting. Even as adults we want our parents' love. How selfish of her to not want to be with and know her sons. How can she not want to be with them? She reminds me of people who have children and then decide they are too much of an inconvenience in their lives–--so they go their own way and leave the kids to fend for themselves. Oh, they drop in now and then with presents to ease their conscience or when they need something, but they don't really want to be there.

When Dean responded to Mary that he’d never been a child, it broke my heart because its true. Also because his face looked so raw and hurt. He IS hurt and that is what stinks about this whole mess–--because no one seems to acknowledge he is genuinely hurting and he is not at fault for feeling that way. Why isn’t anyone, Sam or Mary, seeing his pain and caring about it enough to allow him the justification of saying it without recrimination? I know Sam is hurting too, but at least Dean is supporting Sam. In fact, some of Dean's anger at Mary is because he's protective of Sam and he knows her choice hurt his brother too.

As a mom, I can tell you that I cannot stand to see any kind of hurt on my kids’ faces. It compels me immediately to fix it. To soothe it. And if I can’t do either of those, to at least acknowledge it and let them know I’m there and I care that they are hurting. That’s what I want from Mary and Sam on Dean’s behalf.

Even if Mary and Sam don’t agree with Dean? They could at least let him know they care that he hurts, that they are concerned. That’s the least Dean deserves and its the least I expect from them…but these writers, man. These writers just won’t give that to Dean. Instead, they make Dean apologize to Mary for wanting her to care/be around and they show Sam picking a side that is clearly not Dean’s. How lame is that? It makes me very upset.

Then there’s Sam. Ever since the season nine finale, I’ve been liking Sam again (because for a long while there, I really didn't). He’s been acting more like a real brother who cares, which is all I want from him. I can’t stand to see anyone hurt Dean no matter who they are and, even though I always want Dean and Sam to be a united front, I won't abide Sam hurting Dean like he has in the past. I have always liked the show best when the boys are united and standing together. I hate it when they don’t.

With Sam, I’m not so angry, but I am disappointed. I think he’s got blinders on when it comes to Mary. He’s willing to take whatever scrap she’ll give him because he wants a mom so bad. I don’t agree with it, but I can see where he’d feel deeply conflicted about this whole situation. Wanting to please Mom, but not liking her choices; seeing his brother upset with mom, but not wanting them to fight and split up.

Still, when Dean told him to pick a side, my heart broke again because I knew it wouldn’t be Dean’s (because that's how it always goes). I don’t feel like Dean was asking Sam to be angry at Mary, so much as Dean was just asking for Sam to acknowledge and validate Dean’s feelings for once. Sam is always reasoning with Dean or trying to correct him and I think Dean gets tired of being “corrected.“ I know I sure do. Sometimes Dean needs his brother to just be his brother, ya know?

Dean needs Sam to stop playing the Devil’s advocate for once and just pick him–--put him and his feelings first. Dean always gets overlooked for something or someone else–--his opinion and feelings never matter. It's no wonder he doesn’t feel he is worth much considering people rarely give him a reason to feel like he is worth choosing. His choices, his feelings, his wants are always wrong (even when they really aren’t). That is the hardest pill for me to swallow when it comes to this show.

Sam needs to stop taking other people’s side against Dean and stop telling him he’s wrong for how he feels, for his choices and who he is and be there for him. Sam has chosen others over Dean before and I don’t think Sam fully understands how much that hurts Dean. It’s like Sam doesn’t think enough of Dean, Dean’s opinion or Dean’s feelings to put everything aside and choose Dean first.

I knew, though, as soon as Mary started with the spiel about ridding the world of evil so they could live a normal life who Sam would side with. I knew she was feeding him exactly the right words to convince him to join her and the BMoL because these are the exact things Sam wants most in the world. So, I knew Dean would lose (and, really, does Mary even think about or respect Dean at all? Is she proud of him at all? Or does she just consider him a lost cause because he’s nothing but a hunter… no normal or lawyer aspirations in his future?).

I can understand Sam’s reasoning, but I was still disappointed in his choice. I knew at the end of the episode that they’ll end up dragging Dean in this with them because he won’t shut Sam out. Dean always chooses Sam and he’ll always be the one to give of himself and give in out of love and loyalty. *sigh* I love him for it, but it is so painful to watch knowing he’ll never get that same consideration back.

The thing is, the BMoL have, on the surface, a good goal. The problem is, its not so black and white. For one, they have no problem killing innocent people to achieve their goals. The soldiers Dean and Sam worked so hard to avoid killing didn’t deserve to die. But the BMoL didn’t care about that. It was more convenient to just take them out.

Not all supernatural creatures deserve to die, either. I mean, isn’t that what the show has shown us time and time again? Sam himself has been a big proponent of the idea that not all supernatural beings should be killed–but now he wants to join this organization which kills any and all supernatural creatures en masse. These guys don’t care about the Bennys and the Kates. If it was up to them, Alex would be dead instead of living with Jody. If they had been around in season four, they probably would have killed Sam.

So, even if Mary and the boys don’t know about the innocents the BMoL have killed, the boys, at least, know its wrong to just kill without making sure they know the situation. It’s noble to want to rid the world of evil, but it matters how it is done. I don’t really know why the show is always sending us conflicting messages about this issue. One episode it’s wrong to kill all supernatural beings and the next its not.It seems like it depends on whether they want to make Dean look wrong or not, even making him waffle on it from one episode to the next.

Everything they’ve shown us makes it clear that the BMoL are not the good guys, but yet they used this episode to plant the idea that Dean is the one that needs to get with the program.

I have to say, I get really tired of Dean always, always and forever being the one put in this position. Even when he’s right? He’s wrong. When the show does on a rare occasion acknowledge Dean was right about something, it’s always with a caveat. I mean, it gets depressing after a while to see your favorite character constantly beat down and put in his place when he’s the one who is right….who has the correct moral compass. But the show is forever making him apologize and appear to be the one who needs to learn "lessons." And there are so many, many times when Dean was obviously the one who was doing the right thing all along. Lastly, I'm getting tired of the show calling Dean a killer. He's no more a "killer" than Sam, Mary and Cas. Sam has been proven to be the one with more capacity to be cold-blooded than Dean has ever been. Look at what Cas did while he thought he could be a god? I don't understand why the show keeps emphasizing this message to Dean and to us. Of them all, he has the softest heart, the purest motivations, and biggest drive to do the right thing consistently. It really makes no sense at all.

Regardless, I know I’ll keep watching because I love Dean Winchester that much. It would be so nice, though, if they could stop using Dean as their episode scapegoat. It would be lovely to have Sam stand at his brother’s side and say Dean’s right and he supports him in his decision.

And I wouldn’t complain if Mary ended up seeing Dean through my lens long enough to really appreciate/love him and feel enormous amounts of guilt for how she has hurt him…and try to make up for that.

This show. It gives me as much pain as it does joy.

[serene7ram]

Klaroline One-Shots

Here are just a few of my personal favorite klaroline one-shots/drabbles :)

Friction by mon-amour-eternel 

  From @thetourguidebarbie: “so maybe original!caroline goes to mystic falls for some reason and runs into elena and then compels the entire town to think she’d always been there” 

The Raven Hunter by LynyrdLionheart

  There is a killer hunting frat boys on campus. The Raven Hunter is a terrible name... not that Caroline has a reason to care or anything.

Yellow Flicker Beat by eternal_optimist

  Plagued with nightmares and the horrors she'd faced, Caroline had hidden herself far away in hopes to never be found and dragged into the war she wanted no part in. But that all ended with a knock on her door.

How the Colony Became Lost by UppityBitch

  In this story set in the 16th century, Klaus is an Original vampire who finds himself at the newly established Roanoke Colony to seek out a local tribal legend. It turns out that even an Original can still be surprised...

moments where the words don’t reach by princessoftheworlds

  The five times Caroline and Klaus received the ending they deserved and the one time they didn't.

Things I Almost Remember by Some_Impossible_Fairytale

  Klaus Mikaelson has spent over 100 years learning how to live in a world without Caroline. Until one day she walks right back in.

  Really he should know by now that reincarnation is one unpredictable bitch.

sired. by quandtuesla

  In which Caroline isn't a vampire and Klaus didn't expect to find himself intrigued with a baby werewolf.

all you need to grow inside my spine by but_seriously

  Katherine had come and killed her and gave her pointed teeth and a thirsty gut, and insecurity came back with an all new jig: what would her soulmate think of her ripping into necks like this, fangs caught in veins gushing blood and the messy pulp of chewed flesh stuck in the cracks of her razor-sharp teeth, a walking horror story, vampire, an abomination.

  So Stefan suggested bunnies.

  “Paints a cuter picture,” he said. His own mark, a quill, on the side of his neck. Elena had the same one, but on her stomach. “You know, in case your soulmate is averse to the whole ‘need human blood to continue existing’ thing.”

Bound Together by soapmaniac22

  When Caroline Forbes finally gets the hang of the whole teenage vampire thing, Klaus Mikaelson blows into town and breaks his hybrid curse, sending her down another supernatural road that leaves her at odds with something she trusted the most- her heart.

Familiar Taste of Poison by Cupcakemolotov

  A great love isn't always a blessing.

The Howling by Cupcakemolotov

  Caroline's day goes from bad to worse to insane in a matter of moments.

Don’t Blame Me by Cupcakemolotov

  Trapped in a tiny, freezing room is the last place Caroline wants to be. Worse, she's trapped with Klaus.

Kiss Me Again by Cupcakemolotov

  When Elena is late for her shift at the kissing booth, Caroline finds herself staring down Klaus.

Tie Me With Sin by Cupcakemolotv

  Caroline keeps waking up in Klaus’ bed.

where it began: by endoftheline7

  He had sat at her bedside like an old friend and held her like a lover, letting her drink from him, drink her fill. He hadn't felt as menacing and cruel as he'd been painted while he cradled her. He hadn't loved her then. He loved her now.

-

  An AU where Klaus doesn't stay in New Orleans. Set during the summer of Elena's life.

love is like a sing, my love (for the ones that feel it the most) by but_seriously

  Klaus aims to take, to ravage—not to please. / Or, Klaus’ kleptomania gets the better of him at the Mikaelson ball.

The Lost Prince and The Eternal Queen by 3tinkgemini

  Klaus was met with nothing but betrayal everywhere he turned. Lost and alone, he sets out on a mission to track down the right type of wolves to turn into hybrids. What he didn't expect to find was a stunning creature by the name of Caroline Forbes, who was a wolf within the only pack that was not hiding from him. Together they find things that they both have been missing, as well as things neither one ever expected to discover.

like a sin, my love by willowaus

  A pre-canon, Klaroline twist. What if Klaus took an interest in Caroline when he was in Alaric's form? How could their story have changed?

Alternate Realities by princessoftheworlds

  Three universes where Klaus and Caroline are someone else, and one universe where they are the baby vampire and the Original hybrid.

make it so divine by but_seriously

  Klaus has never met someone who overdressed in such beautiful order.

anthems for a seventeen-year-old girl by but_seriously

  “Freaking great,” she groans, slumping back against his arm. “I just have to die on my birthday, don’t I? It’s like the universe is conspiring against me. It’s not even poetic.”

Something True by mon-amour-eternel

  Birthday present for thetourguidebarbie, who asked for Original Hybrid Caroline.

  ""You vikings, you hate wolves. If they knew, I have no doubt that I would be killed. Even if I could manage to run, I would be hunted. You would be hunted. I don't want to live that way," she said, devolving into tears."

And this gem that isn’t finished but is still beautiful to read :)

Set Down Your Glass by imperfectandchaotic

There are so many more amazing one-shots out there but these are the ones that I’ve come across and really liked.  Hope you enjoy!