#might not be a writer anymore in the future but a storyteller sitting around the fire narrating a 130k word story for bedtime

[thoughts-by-anny]

Write what you want to read. This is never more true than when you're deep into editing and have been reading a chapter so often you could probably recite it from memory

[xmalereader]

Thomas Shelby X Vampire! Male Reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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More Vampire! Reader and Thomas Shelby shots!! Also no, these aren’t in order they are just random shots of the two together either doing stupid stuff or fluffy things! Maybe some smut too 😏

Summary: Just some more facts about the little vamp and Thomas

Warnings: Fluff, bat traits, cranky vampire, some vampires need sleep especially when they are a doctor who works 24/7, Thomas soft, Shelby family can’t take care of themselves.

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A loud knocking could be heard throughout the doctors home, but he chose to ignore it. He’s been busting his ass off for hours that he doesn’t have time for any visitors right now. What he needs is some sleep and that’s all he wants.

He continues to ignore the knocks as he buries hismelf deeper into his blankets, trying to block out the noise as he slowly goes to sleep. It only takes a few seconds for the knocks to finally die down, causing y/n to perk up in surprise. He sticks his head out from under the covers and listens closely, not hearing the annoying knocks anymore. He smiled weakly and tiredly, snuggling back into his blankets as he closes his eyes to go back to sleep.

As he’s drifting back to sleep the knocking suddenly comes back, causing him to groan in frustration as he throws back the covers and heads downstairs to see what the ruckus is all about.

“You better have a good excuse as to why you are waking me up at—“ he glances at the clock and his eyes twitch in anger. “4:30AM!!”

As he stomps to his door he prys it open to see none other than Thomas Shelby. Y/n can’t help but growl at that man in anger. “This better be worth my sleep.” He grumbled out as Thomas raises a brow. “Thought vampires didn’t sleep?”

“This one does.” Y/n points to himself as Thomas eyes him before shrugging and instead of asking, he invites himself inside.

“Oh please do come in.” Y/n says sarcastically as he rolls his eyes and closes the door behind him, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he turns around to face Thomas. “Thomas, you better have a good reason as too why you woke me up at this god forsaken hour.” He says again as he glares at the older Shelby that stood infront of him.

Thomas was already removing his coat, tossing it on one of y/n’s chair as he turns to face the doctor himself. Clearing his throat he slips his hands into his pockets to answer. “Can’t sleep.”

“And you think that waking me up will help?” Y/n raises a brow.

“I thought vampires didn’t sleep, so I expected you to be awake but now—“ he gestured at y/n. “Looks like you were asleep and I do apologize for waking you up, but in my defense I am still new to this.” He answers truthfully and with a simple apology, but y/n can’t be mad at him for waking him up. Thomas was right, he is still learning about vampires and the only information that he relies on are the stories that he was told as a child, he couldn’t blame the man.

Y/n can only let out a deep sigh as he gestures towards the living room. “I’ll make some tea.” He mumbles out as Thomas give him a small nod and heads towards the living room where he waits for him.

It doesn’t take him long to finish making the tea for Thomas as he heads to the living room to see the other already making himself confortable. “Here you go.” He says as he sets the teacup on the coffee table and Sits across from him, letting out a defeated sigh. “So Thomas, why are you really here?” He asks.

The older Shelby drink the tea as he averts his gaze towards the male doctor. Slowly, he lowers the cup down and sets it to the side. “I’m still courious about your kind.”

Y/n rolls his eyes. “Here we go again...” he mutters out.

Thomas ignores his irritation and continues to speak. “I already know how your hunger works and your sleeping schedule, somehow, but one thing that has caught my attention is your ability to survive during sunny mornings.” He crosses his legs and licks his lips. “Don’t vampires hate the sun?”

Y/n chuckles. “Thomas, I know I’m a vampire but not everything is like the books, don’t forget that.” He reminds him once again, but also reminds himself that Thomas was only human and knew little about vampires.

“To be honest I like the sun, it’s warm and it gets me tired. You can say that I usually take days like that off.”

Thomas narrows his eyes and rasies his brow as he thinks back to the times that he’s visited y/n during sunny days, only to be told by the nurses that he had taken those days off. Telling him that y/n was either on vacation or dealing with some personal matter.

“Wait—“ Thomas lifts a finger up. “You’re telling me, that those days off aren’t about you hiding from the sun light but because you were resting?” Y/n gives him a brief nod. “Technically yes.” He responds and sits up in his chair.

“I like the sun, Thomas. Just how some people enjoy cloud days, thinking that they can stay indoors and skip out from work.” He added, shifting in his spot as he lies back on the couch and lets out a deep yawn, licking his own lips as he stares at the ceiling and hugs one of the pillows close to his cold body. “Anymore questions?”

“Yes.” Thomas was quick to ask. “Why become a doctor?”

That catches y/n off guard. No one has ever asked him that since they usually brush it off, thinking that he wanted to be a doctor due to his ‘family’ wanting it.

“You could say that I like helping others.” He whispers to Thomas, playing with one of the loose strings from the pillow. “I grew up with my people getting hunted down, we were killed for fun and I remember how much my mother wanted to keep me safe. So, she would send me to the healers and everyday I watched hundreds of different vampires come and go.” He Can still remember that day clearly, he was only eight when he witnessed his first death.

“She was a nice old women, always dealing with whinny people but she managed to get through. She taught me how to be a doctor, showed me the simple stuff that’ll help me in the future.” He laughs a bit to himself. “Like I said, I grew up learning...” his voice softens. “Once she passed away I took her spot.”

“She wasn’t a vampire?”

Y/n shakes his head. “She was human—a human that helped my people.”

The room goes quiet as Thomas process the information. So far he’s learned a lot about y/n’s past and who he really and somehow he can’t help but feel guilty for not exchanging anything important with the other man and so, he opens his mouth and begins to talk.

“My mother was a storyteller and she always read to my sister and brothers before we went to bed.”

Y/n perks up to this and turns to face Thomas.

“She didn’t just read them, she also made the sounds of the animals and would scream out the lines.” Thomas smiles.

Y/n gasps against the pillow as his eyes widen. Did he just smile??

“I was a child when I told myself that I wanted to be a writer. A writer who can write a book for their own mother.” He taps his fingers against his knee as he leans forward and claps his hands together. “But that never happened, after I was sent to war I stop fantasizing about this dream.”

Y/n sighs and buries his chin into the pillow. “I would tell you to try again but I doubt you’d try.” He muffled out.

“I can try for you.”

The vampires eyes slowly widen as his face heats up. “R—really?” He stutters out in surprise.

“I haven’t written in years but for you I can try.” Thomas repeats himself as he finishes his tea. “I’d—I’d really like that.” Said y/n. “You can make it short, maybe a small story about your own childhood! I’ve already told you my childhood so I think it’s only fair if you told me something about yours.” He huffs out with crossed arms.

Thomas chuckles and leans back in his seat, glancing over at the clock he notices the time and sighs to himself. “How about this,” he stands up from his seat and collects his things. “I’ll write you one memory but only if you tell me more about vampires.”

“Deal!” Y/n jumps off the couch with a bright smile on his face.

Thomas shakes his head as he slips his coat on. “Get some rest y/n and I’d suggest you take the day off too since I did keep you up.”

Y/n laughs as he follows Thomas out. “I’ll be fine, I’m not internally human so I don’t need the full 8 hours or sleep, but since you did suggest it then might as well and get the day off.” He smiles at Thomas.

The man stares at him before reaching over to Pat his head and genlty stroke his hair. “Sleep.” He randomly said as he removes his hand from y/n and walks down the porch, away from y/n’s home as he watches the blinder disappear from a distance.

[queernarchy]

Statement of Elizabeth Williams, regarding a box of tapes found in the basement of her student house. Statement given October 18th, 2018, 105 Hill Top Road, Oxford.

[INT. OXFORD, 105 HILLTOP RD, UPSTAIRS BEDROOM]

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

[SOUNDS OF BETH STUTTERING, APPARENTLY SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING TO SAY]

[A SHAKY INHALE]

BETH

Right. Um. I, uh. Right.

[PAUSE]

BETH

To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I- I found this. It’s the only one I’ve found in the box that’s blank. You know, I’ve never actually seen a tape recorder, like in real life? It’s quite - Well, I’m not even sure I know how to use it. Except … I do. Because I turned it on. I hit the button and now I’m talking to it, like it’s a person. Like I’m crazy, which … I might be. God, I might be. 

[BREATH]

BETH

I probably am. In fact, I hope I am. I hope I was just dreaming it all up. Another sign of an overactive imagination. Spending too much time with those books and not in the real world, as mum would say.

[PAUSE]

Even if it was real, there is no reason for me to be talking to you - no, to this. [TO HERSELF] It’s a tape recorder, Beth, it’s not a person. [BACK TO NORMAL] But I am. It feels right to, to tell you. So I’m going to. I’m going to tell you what happened and then it’ll be over. And I can go back to my life. 

BETH (STATEMENT)

I’m not great at this. The talking, the explaining, the storytelling, it’s not really my thing, at least not anymore. 

When I was a kid it was easy, you know? I was always latching onto one thing or another, letting it consume my brain and then going on and on about it to whatever poor soul I could corner long enough into listening. My parents didn’t let me use a computer until I was well into my teens - something about them making nightmares worse? It was all bollocks, really, how would they know that if they never actually let me use one? But, anyways, before that I used to spend hours in the Wokingham library touring the sections. Once, when I was twelve, I read a book on oceanography: Vanished Ocean: How Tethys Reshaped the World, and spent a solid week scouring the corners of every bookshelf for anything I could find on ancient supercontinents or vanished fault lines before giving my report to the first unlucky and unsuspecting librarian who happened to be out in the open. [LAUGHS] Poor Mike.

I never cared what the genre was, nonfiction, mystery, fantasy, that was never important to me. I just loved the pursuit, and the compelling joy of walking through a new world. It was like a secret between me and the writer, something that we knew that nobody else did. 

I always dreamed of being a writer too one day, but like I said, the storytelling part never actually came natural to me, no matter how many books I consumed. I suppose it must have been that lack of skill that bugged the people around me to no end. My father spent most of his time at work and I didn’t really get along with my brother or sister, but let’s just say that my mum was never as ... enthusiastic about my new interests as I was. 

It wasn’t her fault, I was deeply, deeply irritating. But to my credit, the minute I realized that, well, that’s when I finally started to shut up. Thinking back, I think that’s where it started. I had always kind of been afraid of pretty much anything and everything. But when I got old enough, I started to routinely feel a gripping terror bubbling up through my stomach, my chest, shaking my limbs and rooting me to the spot whenever I spoke for more than a minute at a time. 

All this to say, a few years ago I graduated secondary school with absolutely no skill in writing, the one thing I actually enjoyed, and a lot of anxiety. It seems inevitable that I would end up studying library sciences, doesn’t it? It’s practically what I’ve always done anyways - sorting and researching. And a future as a librarian with a couple cats and a cozy cottage, surrounded by books, well … there are worse things. Much worse. 

I moved into student housing right before my first term started at Oriel. I call it student housing, but it’s not, not technically. The actual dorms were a bit out of my price range, so when I saw an ad looking for flatmates in Cowley, only a 20 minute bus ride from the college, it seemed meant to be. There were ten living here all together, to start. George moved into his boyfriend’s place last year, leaving nine of us. [DARKLY] Well, eight, now, I suppose.

It was a proper house, renovated a few years back, I think, but it was already thoroughly  trashed by the time I showed up. It was one of those places that, the minute you walked through the door, you could just feel the grime lurking between the worn couches and stained mattresses, that musty smell of overuse. I tried to ignore it, I did, but one Friday night a couple weeks after I’d settled in, I waited until everyone had gone and walked to the closest shop to buy a blacklight. It went about as well as you’d expect. I spent that entire weekend scrubbing this house from top to bottom. I even cleaned Sam’s room. It’s not like I’m a germaphobe or anything, I just like to know where things have been. And if they dirty again, well, at least I know it’s the slobbery of my friends rather than that of strangers. 

I didn’t touch the basement, though. None of us ever did. I’m not sure why, it was always just an unspoken agreement between us. I must have asked about it when I moved in. I must have. I mean, it would be one thing if it just never came up, if it was just an unfinished and unsafe part of the house we didn’t go down to and that was that. But, you know, thinking about it now, we didn’t even mention it, not once. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what you can ignore. Right up to the moment you’re devoured by it.

I don’t remember the exact moment things started to feel wrong. Can’t have been more than a couple weeks ago. It was subtle, at first. Doors swinging closed on their own, misplaced items, shadows that didn’t really ... fit. All things that could be chalked up to the mind playing tricks out of boredom, or fatigue - just a consequence of one too many sleepless nights. I didn’t really think about it too hard, even when Sam brought it up at breakfast, started insisting the place was haunted. That was easy to dismiss, she’s always going on about some supernatural this or that and I don’t believe in ghosts, but even that would have been easily digestible as an explanation. 

It was like that for a few days, and all the while, that feeling of wrongness lurked in the background, pulsing beneath us. I honestly don’t know if I would have even taken notice if Milton hadn’t started behaving the way he did. Milton is - was - every bit the hipster film student of your wildest imaginations. I swear, I saw him wear a beret once, completely unironically. We’d been friends, as I was one of the few people who would listen to him ramble on about whatever arthouse film had caught his attention that week. We got on fine, well, actually, for flatmates at least. That’s not to say that I always liked him - I’d acted in a few of his student films, just by convenience, and he wasn’t exactly the most easy to work with. Everything always had to be just the way he wanted it, down the most minute detail. I swear, if he could have tied strings around our limbs and puppeted us from afar, he would have. [PAUSE] Sorry, that’s … that’s poor taste. 

It had to do with the cassettes. You see, Milton had always insisted on using magnetic tape for his recordings, refusing to even entertain the idea of a digital camera. Something about being more authentic - I never understood it, but far be it from me to get in between a film major and their precious ‘analog charm.’ He loved those tapes, and we all got used to seeing dozens scattered throughout the house at any one time. Which is why it struck me as odd when last week, they vanished entirely. When I asked him about it, he just said that he'd been editing a new project that he needed them for. I wasn’t sure what kind of project would require that many cassettes all at once, but he certainly spent enough time working on it. He’d be locked away in his room for hours, sounds of whirring machinery coming from behind his door. When he did come out, he was exhausted, gaunt. I tried talking to him about it, you know, but he’d just ignore me.

It was strange behavior, sure, but not supernatural. Perhaps I would have chalked it up to stress, just a bad week, but that’s when the nightmares started. I had always had them, just a side effect of my anxiety, but they’d died down a couple years ago, after I moved to Oxford. One sleep after this started, though, I saw Milton. He was sat at a desk, a mess of cassettes unspooled into piles of thin black magnetic tape scattered across it. He was tangled in tape as well, almost every limb bound by it. He stared at the pile in front of him with dull eyes, completely still. 

I didn’t realize until the tape began to lift his arms that he wasn’t just tangled in it. The long, metallic strands were embedded directly into his skin. The strands controlling every movement, he grabbed a spool, and, very slowly, raised it to his mouth. His jaw unhinged, farther than anything natural, and he began to stuff the tape down his throat. Again, and again, and again, until the entire pile was gone. I had never felt relief the way I had when I finally woke from that dream. I didn’t know that was only the first time that I would have it.

I woke from one of these nightmares late one night, heart beating fast and body sticky with sweat. I climbed downstairs, trying to clear my head, and found Milton sitting in the living room, staring at our small television screen playing his movie. At least, that’s what I assumed it was. There was no coherence, no audio, just rapid, violent black and white images that flashed across the screen sporadically and bits of static that faded in and out at random. Occasionally, I’d see the corrupted and disjointed image of my own face cross the screen, along with the other actors. The pattern was hypnotic. Every few minutes, the images would perfectly align, shaping spindly, bony legs that almost seemed to reach beyond the glass face of the TV.

After a while, I finally managed to ask him if he was alright, if the cassette had become corrupted somehow, if there was any way to fix it. He had always been so fiercely protective of his tapes, and with the state it was in I expected him to be furious, or devastated, at least concerned. But when he turned, there was none of that written into his face. Just a calm, blank expression. He studied me carefully for a long moment, before finally speaking. ‘We should feed our guest. She’s so happy to have arrived, and she is very hungry.’ He smiled after he said that. When he did, I could have sworn I saw that thin black film tape weaved inside him - webbed in the back of his throat and threaded right through the fleshy center of his tongue. I went back up the stairs immediately and locked my door, sat in bed until the sun came up.

I managed to avoid him the days after that. I thought about telling the others, trying to explain it to them, but I knew it wouldn’t end well. They wouldn’t believe me, why would they? I wasn’t even sure that I believed me. I thought about moving out, of course I did, but I had nowhere to go. No money, no real friends outside of the ones I already lived with. And who knows if I was just overreacting, imagining it all. So I decided I’d just ignore him as much as I could until he went back to normal or I’d saved up enough money for a new place.

It didn’t last, though. It was three days ago that it happened. It was late, and I had carelessly lost time sitting in the kitchen, studying for my history exam. I was alone when he walked in. He didn’t say a word, just, met my eyes with that calm look, like an invitation. Then he turned, with a finality I had never seen before, opened the door to the basement, and vanished down the stairs. 

I shouldn’t have followed him. I could have just walked away, went upstairs and buried my head in my pillow. But I didn’t. I had to know. To see. 

So, I walked down those old stone steps, dodging cobwebs. I don’t remember if I closed the door behind me, or if it did that part on its own. The cellar was warm, far too warm for October. It was unfinished, and empty save for an old, lidded cardboard box that sat neatly in the center of the room. A long, jagged crack ran through the floor and up into the far wall, as though the foundation had been damaged in an earthquake or something. Milton stood facing away from me, towards the crack in the wall, whispering something I couldn’t quite make out. I called out to him, and he turned to face me, expression wild with … something. Excitement? Panic? He had started to say something before, all at once, dozens of shadowy, spindly tendrils, adorned with what looked like coarse hairs crept from the crack and began to wrap themselves around him.

I felt that familiar terror bubble up, running cold through my veins, stronger than I’d ever felt it before. I wanted to run or scream, but I couldn’t. He didn’t scream either, but I could see the fear growing in his eyes, silently pleading. He didn’t move, not even as the tendrils began to … unspool him. They reached into him, breaking into his body like plaster, and pulled. He was hoisted from the ground, his limbs yanked in different directions and elongated. They just dangled there, arms and legs and head only still attached by threads of dark, magnetic tape, like an old, torn doll hanging together by string. And then the tendrils began to move him. They took their time puppeting him, and at the end, they pulled up his head, forcing his gaze to meet mine. His cheeks were strung up into a grin, but I saw the tears that flowed freely down his contorted face. 

I don’t know how long I stood there, watching him stripped him apart, piece by piece, slowly and deliberately. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks, although I couldn’t tell if they’d come from the terror of it all or simply because I no longer possessed the ability to blink. I watched and watched. And when it was over, and he was gone, I waited. I waited for them to take me, a part of me just relieved that I didn’t have to watch anymore. I had already shut my eyes tightly before I understood that I could. I felt my hands twitch, regaining their will. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was alone, in that old, dank basement, with nothing but that long dark crack, and, in the center of the floor, the cobweb covered cardboard box, now open, and filled to the brim with tapes. 

I don’t remember the rest of the night with any real clarity. I know I stood there for a while. I know at some point I calmly bent down, picked up the box, and walked it upstairs. I spent most of the last two days just staring at it. I’ve missed all of my classes. Sam has come to see me a couple of times, to ask how I am. This morning she actually brought me a plate of spaghetti. Imagine that, spaghetti for breakfast. I do appreciate the thought, even if it makes no practical sense whatsoever. Must be an American thing. She did mention that a man stopped by yesterday. Short, greying hair, lots of weird scars, asking about ‘strange happenings’ in the house. Sam told him about her hauntings, and apparently he had been, less than impressed. He told her he was sorry, and that she should move out, and then left without another word. [LAUGH] Creep.

I finally got up the nerve to look into the box. It’s pretty much what it says on the tin: Tapes and stationary. And cobwebs. So many goddamn cobwebs. 

Nobody has said anything about Milton. I expect in the next few days someone will notice he’s gone. How do you explain something like that? I’ve been seeing it again, though. My nightmares … my nightmares have been getting worse. I keep ending up back there. I just watch, and watch, and watch, and I can’t turn away. 

BETH (POST STATEMENT)

Statement ends, I suppose.

[STATIC RISES]

[STUTTERS, CONFUSED]

…. Statement? I, I don’t, I didn’t -

[STATIC FALLS]

[A SHORT SIGH]

I don’t feel better. I really thought I would. I don’t know why. Why in the world did I think that telling my stupid story to this thing would make me feel better? 

The box is still sitting at the foot of my bed. I want to get rid of it, I do. So why don’t I just toss it? It would be so easy. Just … throw it out. But I can’t. 

[RIFLING THROUGH THE TAPES]

Oh, huh - 

[STATIC RISES]

This tape’s blank as well. I thought I’d sorted through them all, but I guess I missed one. Hm. 

[TOSSES THE TAPE ASIDE]

They’re quite interesting, you know. I haven’t played any of the tapes yet, but I glanced at a few of the written accounts. Some of them are so illegible I can’t even read them but others are. Compelling. They make me feel, right. Scared, but [SIGHS]. I don’t know how to explain it. 

I did some research on them, the ones I read anyways. I say research, I mean some quick Googling, a bit of asking around. They’re not real. The Magnus Institute, that’s the logo printed onto the stationary, isn’t a real place. And, as far as I can tell, these people … these people don’t exist. Anywhere. I mean, I found a few names that match but nobody who lines up to the descriptions and when I reach out to them they claim to know nothing about any of it. One of the people I called, Timothy Hodge, his name is, actually gave me the number of his psychiatrist. [LAUGH]

So maybe it’s fiction. A collection of short stories about fictional people and fictional suffering. Just a practical joke. Except, I know that it’s not. I can’t explain how, I just … Know. 

I should probably move out. Only an idiot would stay in this place, after something like that. When I leave this room, I’m going to have to walk by that basement door. Every single day.. I should leave. I want to leave. I will leave. Just, not yet. 

I need to understand, to unravel the mystery, and I’m getting the feeling that there is something in this box that’ll help me do just that. I’ll try to record whatever I find out. I do have another blank tape, after all. [HM] End recording. 

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

[a-lil-perspective]

I don’t want to be that person—

But I really need to get this off my chest. This is the culmination of two months buildup of thoughts that have been screaming far too loud for me to continue simply taking in stride. I can’t do it. I apologize in advance, for anyone who actually reads this, if this is a deterrent to you about my character or my minuscule space taken up here on Tumblr. Again, I really can no longer remain silent. If it’s any solace:

I tried.

Where to begin. First off—as much as I’d love for this to be an update on the next chapter of Remember Me, it is not. For those of you who’ve kept up with the story, I’m sure you’ve noticed my uploading pattern these past few weeks has been reduced to solely weekends—and barely that, might I add. While I will try to have Chapter 9 up within the next few days, I cannot guarantee when. At this point in time, it’s not a lack of creative streak, it’s a lack of time. I have all these outlines and segments in my head but can’t seem to even catch a breath much less put the story down in my notes or in Word for later edit and upload. But I’m trying. I really am. As I’ve said before: I will finish this story, come hell or high water. But currently being engulfed in the former has been a huge burden.

Per my past psa’s: My health? Two giant thumbs down (nothing to do with COVID-19). Personal aspects? Two giant thumbs down. Both are and have been slowly corroding me. To avoid this post seemingly grabbing for sympathy, I’m going to just stop there with that. But I’m truly suffocating in this corner.

Next point in case: I’m going to be completely candid here. It’s extremely difficult and utterly exhausting to continue posting fics. Mentally and Emotionally. The pressure to post. The pressure to post because if you don’t in a timely manner, you lose your momentum and “fall behind” when you post again. Then you’re right back to square one thereafter because people have grown absent in your absence. It’s exhausting and stressful to spin in that wheel.

It’s difficult when you pour every drop of energy into a work, only for it to sit largely unnoticed on your blog. To stay up literally all night making sure your punctuation is impeccable, re-reading the same fic over and over before you post until your brain explodes and you utterly forsake the fic the minute you hit that post button. To take up space on a post tagging and adding those notes and engaging flares that go unrequited. It’s... well, it’s detrimental. It gets you down. It gets me down. I’m not going to lie about that. We all want validation and I will be the first to shoot my hand up in acknowledgement.

I’m going to stop right there as you’re reading to clarify: This is not a call-out post. This is not a guilt post. This is not me giving an ultimatum. This is not me demanding reblogs. This is not me telling you “your likes don’t matter” (I have literally seen that on posts and it kind of disgusts me. That’s all I’m going to say about that for now).

Reblogs, while unanimously appreciated, are not a priority to me. Comments and feedback and communication are invaluable to me. That’s it. That coveted and intimate interaction between the Writer and the Reader. One is not more important than the other. We’re a team, a unit, a force that balances each other on a broad, diverse scale.

I don’t ask for much—I don’t ask for anything here, actually (unless it’s directed towards the general audience over what y’all would like to see, which largely goes unengaged whenever I bring up). No, I don’t post fics that frequently. No, I don’t crank them out as quick. No, I don’t have that many. Yes, I’m new to fanfic writing. But I work quietly and solely with all my own plots and dialogues and ideas (I love prompts and requests, though). Thus my usually hefty works. Y’all get the whole nine yards. But I don’t feel like I really get to bounce my ideas around to others, which can further exacerbate that sense of isolation for me around here. I put myself through a really long process for every single thing I write because, the quality of my work matters to me. A lot. So I try to take my time to deliver that. And... I guess I just hope you know that or can discern that as you read each time.

Another astronomically exhausting aspect is this platform itself. It’s painfully evident to me, in my four meager months here, that Tumblr is just one big popularity contest. Who can upload the most, the fastest, the most efficiently. Who has the most followers. Who accumulates them the quickest. A place where your “exposure” is literally at the mercy of others. And when people purposely don’t want to aid in that, it spirals into this really toxic mindset causing friction between Writers and other Writers, causing unnecessary strain, avoidance, insecurities, and hinderances to YOUR precious work. And I’m not about that. It’s a no from me.

Also, I’ve just got to interject with this bit: Bad Batch Writers. Bad Batch Writers struggle. In my opinion, from what I’ve seen, it’s like if you aren’t writing for a popular Clone like Wolffe or Fives or Jesse, you don’t get traffic. Which I think is just... kind of corny. Okay. I think it’s really corny and ridiculous. Please know that I’m not saying anything bad about those Clone babies, the people who write them, or anything like that. Please don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m just making a point. Bad Batch does NOT get enough love. And the Writers ultimately suffer because of it. That’s all there.

We’re all supposed to be in this together. Your work—your writing—is neither good nor bad. There’s no such thing. There’s only YOUR writing; your unique, beautiful words that I LOVE more than anything, that only YOU speak. We all speak a different dialect and flow through our storytelling. And it’s a beautiful, wholesome thing. It always has been. It should never be this detrimental stage Tumblr has made for content creators. Let’s be honest: Tumblr is not the ideal place to thrive. And I’m just... sick of it.

I’m beyond an exhausted state. I can’t remember that last time I wasn’t. (I know everyone is, with the ebb and flow of our world’s daily uncertainties during these unprecedented times). But for me, personally, it’s getting increasingly harder to keep up with the reblogs and comments and blogs of all the stories I love, while updating my work and trying to interact on my blog, while battling my health and nonexistent energy, and constantly be exposed to the “Tumblr Tumbles”, as I call it—the overbearing popularity and the waiting and the wondering and the silent seething because of it. It’s just too much. And it doesn’t take a detective to pick up on that attitudinal shift around here. It’s all just one big, pernicious cycle. And seeing that here nearly every day, exhausts me. I don’t know how else to convey as much. But I just can’t do it. And honestly, I get this overwhelming loneliness just being here.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I’m going to continue doing my thing until my engine sputters out. I’m going to keep up with storytelling, because I love it more than anything. I just needed to get this off my chest. I’m just rambling. I might delete this but, I might not. Who knows.

I just... Geez. I need to know that I’m not just shouting into the void over here like always.

Communication to me is key. If you don’t want me to tag you anymore: tell me. If you don’t want me to message you: tell me. Please. Just don’t like me? Cool. Tell me. It’s better to know and communicate than to walk on eggshells around everyone and everything. I’ve applied that flawed strategy throughout my whole life and I strongly dislike doing so. It adds no benefit to either party. Just be honest with yourself and others. That’s always super important.

For those of you, my handful of regulars who are around... you know who you are. Thank you. My thanks is but a meager conveyance of my undying gratitude for you. But I want you to know how much I appreciate your presence here. Words cannot express.

@halzore... You are a real mate. You are an incredible being who is not only insightful but, a true muse here. I look to you as more than just a devoted Reader of mine, and you should know that I would NOT have gotten this far with my Bad Batch Post Order: 66 series—or any of my Bad Batch works, for that matter—without your encouraging words. Holy cow. You’re a dearest friend. Your writing, art, and musical talent leaves me in awe. (A truly brilliant mind, please go love her y’all). Thank you for seeing all the good, little things in me and my work. It makes this all worth it. You make it all worth it. I get really overwhelmed thinking about it. But I just want you to know I appreciate you so much.

To anyone who’s ever left me kind, encouraging, and wonderful comments... I remember them. I do. I think of them when I’m down, and I think of them now as I write this—which is in my dispirited state, ironically. But I appreciate it. I think it is so SO important to lift each other up with words. You don’t have to reblog and all that (only speaking for myself here). Just take a moment to say something kind to someone. It makes someone’s entire day, week, month, year. Please... love other Writers. Love yourself. We all struggle. But let’s do it together. Let’s be there for each other.

Come talk to me. I don’t bite, I promise. Tell me about your day. Tell me something about yourself. I care. I love that interaction, because you are MORE than just a Reader to me. You are a valued human being with feelings, desires, wants, needs... come share that with me. If there’s something you’d like to see in my future works, something that would engage you more; please, come tell me.

I’m going to try and get better. At writing, at navigating this strange place, with my health, with life. I’ve been at my breaking point for so long that my barely held together pieces and exposed, worn chinks are almost uneffected and unresponsive to any help or healing. But I’m going to try.

Thank you for being here. I’m sure it can be hard to have patience with me and my nonexistent uploading schedule, but, I do have several wips in the works (teases in my masterlist in case you’re wondering). They’ll come around. :’)

Keep your head up and shining, lovelies. And I’ll try to do the same.

[lokiondisneyplus]

In late March, when Robert and Michelle King convened the writers room for their supernatural drama Evil, they plotted out a second season premiere in a haunted New York City subway station.

Now, more than two months later, as the novel coronavirus continues to ravage so much of the world, the idea has been scrapped at the behest of their line producer, who warned that filming permits would be hard, if not impossible, to come by. When the CBS series does return, the season opener will explore the spiritual consciousness of its characters instead, with a storyline devoted to the "God helmet" and its virtual-reality-meets-peyote-style impact. It's a plot perfectly suited for a post-pandemic world, explains Robert King, because it relies heavily on visual effects. "You have to look at scope in a different way," he says, in this case referencing the scope of the brain rather than scope of a subway.

In virtual rooms all over Hollywood, writers like the Kings are being asked to rethink what could be feasible once production resumes. Many are waiting to actually tweak their scripts — "I don't want to have to rewrite everything six times while the guidelines change," says Shameless' John Wells — while others are already avoiding or scrubbing crowds, hugs and handshakes. Sex scenes and fight scenes will need to be carefully considered, too, and in some cases reconsidered as storytellers along with their line producers and studio bosses navigate an unknown future.

"What we're telling our writers is 'Don't be dumb,' " says one studio executive, who suggests that an elaborate crowd scene with dozens of extras would surely qualify. "We're not going to be able to shoot it, so don't write it."

Regardless of directives, which vary by studio, more than a dozen producers who spoke with THR say their anxiety lies largely in the uncertainty. "It's very hard when you don't know what the future looks like," says Marta Kauffman, showrunner of Netflix's Grace and Frankie, whose situation is made more complicated by the fact that the youngest of her four leads is 79 years old. She has yet to go back into her scripts and start making the necessary changes, but that's coming, and she's dreading it. "We had scenes at our assisted living facility with a crowd, and, well, we can't do that anymore. And we know we certainly won't be doing lots of kissing with elderly people, but it may have to go beyond that."

Though Kenya Barris' actors are several decades younger than Kauffman's, he's having trouble wrapping his head around how he'll make his Freeform series Grown-ish, which takes place almost entirely on a college campus. "It's literally about a place where people gather," he says, "and you can only do so many [contained] bottle episodes before it starts to lose the tone and feeling of what the show is." Meanwhile, Mythic Quest's Rob McElhenney was smack in the middle of shooting a scene set at the E3 gaming conference when production shut down. "There were literally thousands of people in the audience, and that's not going to happen anytime soon," he says. "So I'm going to have to rewrite it and reshoot it."

The days of doing a dozen extra takes are likely over, laments another producer, and shooting long just to have it, too. In fact, one executive suggests scripts could soon be five or six pages shorter ultimately, to make room in a show's budget for pricey protocols like crew-wide testing. There have been rumblings of putting line producers into writers rooms as well, though writers with any modicum of power are likely to resist additional infringement on the creative process. ("It's a terrible idea unless you have an irresponsible showrunner," says Kauffman.)

Writers will also be asked to lean on fewer characters along with special effects to provide scale. As one producer explains, if a pre-virus scene was set at a backyard birthday party full of children, the post-virus one will have two or three characters sitting around a kitchen table talking about the party — and any flashes to it would largely be CGI.

"The technology that brought you dragons and exploding people is the same technology that will be bringing you ordinary crowd scenes on shows you wouldn't expect [to use] visual effects," says You's Sera Gamble, who suggests CGI will be of little help on her intimate scenes, which she isn't interested in writing out. "We're not at the place in 2020 where we can talk about using visual effects to fake a kiss between [You stars] Penn Badgley and Victoria Pedretti — that's a separate issue and one we have to figure it out."

In recent weeks, writers such as Gamble have been looking abroad to see and study how productions elsewhere are grappling with the same challenges. All eyes are on Australia's long-running soap Neighbours, which announced it's resuming without extras or physical contact between castmembers. The show's producers have said they'll cut away before a kiss or punch, relying on the audience's imagination to do the rest. It's a strategy that some will consider stateside, too, particularly when it comes to intimacy.

Other approaches being discussed involve facilitating separate shoots, which can then be pieced together in post, and quarantining participating talent for 14 days, with testing done regularly, before shooting the scene in full. The actors involved with the latter would have to be OK with that plan, of course. "And if they're not, you're fucked," says one executive, "because you can't force an actor to do something that they're not comfortable with." At least two more predict those kinds of conversations about comfort levels — both general and specific — will start to happen with No. 1's on every call sheet in the coming weeks, if they haven't begun already. And the responses are expected to vary, particularly among the older and more vulnerable set. Regardless of how many safety measures are put in place, there will be some who simply won't feel comfortable and, as one network head warns, some shows could go away as a result.

For the time being, writers seem to be relying on their own gut to guide them. Barris, for instance, won't be writing in handshakes anytime soon, since he cringes every time he sees one on TV now. "I'd be less offended if you came up and cupped my girl's boob than shook her hand," he jokes. Curb Your Enthusiasm boss Jeff Schaffer agrees: "The handshake is gone," he says, "it's the VHS of salutations." And McElhenney's partner, Megan Ganz, reveals she'll be editing out a pre-pandemic line in which Mythic Quest's lead characters are asked, in response to their slacking, "What have you been doing for the past six months?" because it no longer feels right.

Studio and network execs must rethink their choices, too: Some are looking to their own libraries for contained shows that might be worth rebooting, while others are exploring potential series add-ons where only a couple of characters are needed. Working in their collective favor is an overwhelming desire among most casts and crews to get back to work. Says Black-ish showrunner Courtney Lilly, "If [our show] ends up being a one-act play for 21 minutes between two characters so that people can work and America can see characters they like onscreen doing something that isn't a repeat, we're going to find a way to do it."

It's a sentiment shared by many — just not all. Robert King falls among the skeptics: "Oh my God, network shows can't be made more boring," he says, horrified by the notion of having to scale Evil or The Good Fight down to a series of two- or three-character scenes. "You need to find ways that are visually interesting and inspired, and if you start limiting things, it'll just be, 'Why do I want to watch that? I'll wait for the newest Netflix thing that's shot in Hungary or somewhere where they will let people sit on each other's laps.' I just think everybody needs to calm the fuck down and not write with the idea of limitations in mind — or [at least] not as the guiding force."

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

3, 7, 19, 20 for the writer ask thing!

sure!! here you go <3

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

The incredibly cheesy ending scene to the epistolary novel I’ll never write (which I described here), which is the only scene that will be written in anything other than a text message, a handwritten note, or otherwise. i will not provide any context x but yes this is a coming-of-age story. it’s supposed to be a subversion of the usual archetypal american high school story tho

Seeing that her parents and Lucas’ were most likely gearing up to converse for the rest of Time itself, Lou decided to traipse around the field for the last time.

Excusing herself, she stepped away from the group. For a fleeting second, she watched Lucas in animated conversation with Martin. [nothing to do with cabin pressure martin, may i remark; it was just a conveniently two-syllable name] There would be time, at least in the next few months or so, for them to talk about what came next.

Tonight would not be that time.

Adjusting her mortarboard cap, she walked away, heading for the bleachers. She hadn’t spent time here for the last four years. As she climbed the metal steps and chose a seat high above the field, she realized just how far she’d come since then.

The thin yellow robe was no shield for the chill setting in. Gathering it about her as she sat, she sighed and propped her feet up on the metal seat in front of her.

Her thoughts flew over the past four years. Much had remained the same. She still saw herself in the mirror every day. Her integrity had never been compromised; for the most part, she was fundamentally the same.

But in others, she was not and never would be—and those changes would be difficult to quantify.

She sighed again.

“Thinking deep thoughts, Lou?”

Lou whipped her head up and gasped. “Otto Rhee!”

He stood next to her, silhouetted against the setting sun. He looked supremely awkward in an ill-fitting shirt and tie. Lou hadn’t seen him in about a year. To her great relief, her friend, had managed to stay just the same as before, as always. At least in appearance.

“Congratulations, Lou,” he said. “You’ve made it.” As he usually did, he sat next to her without asking. Lou made room for him on the bleacher, adjusting her voluminous outfit as she did so.

They looked out over the field in companionable silence, and somehow Lou knew that Otto—Otto who could have been a brother to her, Otto who was a brother to her in all the ways that mattered—was seeing the same things on that field. Four years of elongated snapshots, a moment stretched almost too long. UN conferences and dinners in fast-food joints, honors history class. Standing in the deserted road, where the weeds grew between the cracks, and screaming at the sky. And in every microcosm [it was literally midnight, i couldn’t be bothered to use that word properly] there they were. Always the three of them. Otto and Martin and Lou, racing down empty hallways, biking to Cassidy’s around the corner, scaring each other when they stayed too late at school, the lights gone out and everyone else gone. Significant looks, texts sent across the room.

The way all three of them—Otto to Lou to Martin and back around—when they had asked what they shared in common.

Lou looked sidelong and Otto, and Otto at her.

The spell broke, and they were sitting together again—just Lou and Otto, Otto and Lou.

They stared at each other once more before simultaneously saying, “Martin!”

And indeed, Martin was running up the bleachers towards them, his black robe billowing in the breeze. Lucas pounded up the steps, not far behind.

Lou and Otto rose to meet them, and they all smiled.

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

Detail-oriented. I have to describe everything or it just doesn’t work. “Show not tell” was always my least favorite rule (though I have always tried my best to follow it!) because I’m telling you a story, not making a movie! Oral storytelling made up a lot of my childhood, and I should hope it shows in my style.

also my dialogue feels kind of punchy sometimes, I rarely have people talk in drawn out sentences bc im the only person i know who talks that way unless it’s important they do so.

i’m not making it up, people have told me these things in some form or another (mostly in the form of getting penalized for telling rather than showing)

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

I have a habit of using fragments far too often. And em dashes. i also can never leave out the wind. if i don’t talk about the wind at some point, consider it a forgery /s

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

i wrote a novel about power as a little project earlier this year to distract myself >.< and it was a lot of practice at negative character development; I mean where the character ends up becoming worse at the end of the narrative instead of better, but I don’t know if there’s an actual word for that haha. it didn’t cross my mind until after I’d written it, though!

that novel was about the price of selling off your soul in order to obtain power. it was set in a political setting to push that point. the protag started off with a humble beginning. but spoiler alert, the protag gets the power she desires at the end of the novel. the clincher is that she does so at a steep cost. nobody respects her anymore; they only fear her. her best friend, sister, and younger brother distance themselves from her and she’s basically alone at the end of the novel, except for the people who have the same thirst for power as she does. the methods that she’s used to gain that power are also INCREDIBLY ethically questionable, and the only way she managed to wiggle free of those was her privilege (as my favorite character pointed out while submitting a resignation letter, which is one of the more satisfying scenes I’ve ever written)

it’s also a cautionary tale because the protag and her closest cronies check all the boxes for what people of a certain ideological bent would consider an “inclusivity win.” sure, she ends up in a really high position of power, but it’s not really a win after all because of all the heads she had to step on to get there. again, i really didn’t think hard about it until i had finished and started re-reading (and even now it sounds like the novel is much cooler than it really is: it was written over the course of three months and it shows!) and once i sent it off to some of the people who asked me to read it, it was immensely obvious how echo-chamber-y the discussion of representation and power can get. for example, one person immediately assumed i was holding the protag up as the very inclusivity win she is not (this person literally asked me, “Did you base Aileen’s leadership off of yours?” HELL to the NO! i was literally bout to SCREAM. as a person aileen is pretty decent and i could vibe with her, but as a politican aileen is morally bereft!!) but that could just be the weakness of my writing in retrospect

but i want to close with two extracts from robert bolt’s A Man for All Seasons, which I couldn’t put in the epigraph because it isn’t in the public domain and it also might be too long.

MORE: In matters of conscience, the loyal subject is more bounden to be loyal to his conscience than to any other thing.

CROMWELL: And so provide a noble motive for his frivolous self-conceit!

MORE: It is not so, Master Cromwell—very and pure necessity for respect of my own soul.

CROMWELL: Your own self, you mean!

MORE: Yes, a man’s soul is his self! ...

MORE (Looking into Rich’s face, with pain and amusement): [...] Why Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world... but for Wales!

[ladybugsfanfics]

Blind Date | Tom Hiddleston x reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader | Special cameo over phone by Benedict Cumberbatch and his wife Sophie Hunter

Style: One Shot (might turn into smth more but probably not)

WC: 2885 (finally smth long, amirite?)

Warnings: Some swearing, uhh, don’t think there’s anything else, but if there is please let me know

Summary: Your long time friend has set you up on a Blind Date and says it’s worth a shot because ‘you’re perfect for each other’. You’re having doubts, but with Sophie’s reassuring words, you decide to dive in. 

A/N: Tumblr has no line breaks anymore?? Think I’m late to the realization but like... wtf?! I have done my best, thank god i am creative. Hope you like this :P

If you would like to be tagged in future fics, please let me know. 

“Ben,” you say and put your hand to your forehead, “are you really sure this blind date thing is a good idea?”

A chuckle comes from the other end of the line. “Yes, Y/N, I believe it is. He’s a good friend of mine. Sophie agrees that you two would be perfect for each other.” 

You roll your eyes. “Calming, but I’m still not sure about this.” You sigh, and purse your lips. “Can I talk to Sophie? If she’s there?”

“Of course. One moment.” 

There’s a shift in sound, and a moment later, a soft voice speaks into the phone. “I hear you have some cold feet?” 

You let out a strained laugh. “Cold feet? More like I would really like to know who I’m going on a date with nervousness. I don’t know, Soph, it’s just…” 

“Hey, think about it this way. You get the chance to meet someone new, and whatever happens, you tried? You’ve been single since we met you. It might be time to dip your toes in the water? Just check?”

“You’re probably right,” you say, “I’ll just finish getting ready and walk to that stupid way too fancy resturaunt Ben told me to. Honestly, I hope this guy’s rich.”

Sophie laughs. “You might get a lovely surprise.”

“Oh, fuck off.” 

“Have a nice date. Tell me about it later, ‘kay?” 

“Yeah, of course. Bye. Tell Ben to fuck off too for me, yeah?” You shake your head, hear her little ‘will do, bye’ and hang up. God, what did I agree to, you think and try to push the anxiety down. 

You throw your phone onto the bed and sigh as you raid through your closet for something fancy enough to wear. Honestly, you should’ve gone shopping. 

Standing outside the restaurant, cold air nips your skin. You drag your jacket tighter around you, hating that the agreement was to meet outside the building and not just get to the table right away. The problem: you don’t know whose name the table is reserved under.

After another blast of cold wind, you fish your phone out of your pocket. The time reads 08.03 PM. Three minutes late. And you’ve already been waiting for over ten. “Well, I’m not waiting out here anymore,” you mutter under your breath as you turn to walk through the doors to the restaurant. 

The warm air instantly hits you and you shake of the cold feeling from being outside. You’re greeted by a male, who politely asks for your coat. Taking out belongings of value (phone, keys and wallet), you hand it to him. 

“May I show you to your table, miss?” he asks. 

You bite the inside of your lip. “Uhh, honestly, I’m not certain what name it’s under.” You try for a nervous smile. 

He smiles back. “I’m guessing you’re part of the blind date couple we were ‘discretely’ informed off,” he says. “You’re date hasn’t arrived yet, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon. You want me to show you the table, or would you like to wait?”

“You can show it to me now. That’s fine.”

You type a quick text to Ben telling him to say to your date not to wait outside but just go in right away. As the waiter stops by a table, you get a reply; ‘you got it, dude’ and shake your head with a small smile. 

“Here you go,” the waiter says. “Hope your date shows up soon. You deserve better.” And before he goes back to his post, he winks. 

You shake your head and swallow the lump in your throat. God, I hope he’s here soon. Unfortunately, the waiter didn’t give you a menu, so no read through of that before your date comes. Nor do you really want to make the impression that you’re constantly on your phone by using it when he comes. 

Bored, you look around at the other people there. Most of the tables are for four people. Around most of them sits men and some women in suits, giving you the vibe that they’re all white-collars. It makes you slightly uncomfortable to think that the restaurant is more a business-meeting place than a date place. But maybe that’s just a feeling more than a fact. 

You turn your head in the direction of the entrance and release your breath in relief seeing the waiter coming in your direction, followed by a tall male in a blue suit. From your viewpoint, it’s hard to see exactly how he looks, but within a minute he’ll be by the table and you’ll know. Anway, that isn’t what matters―you try to tell yourself. 

“Here you go,” the waiter says to your date and smiles. He hands you a menu each. You accept yours with a small ‘thank you’. As he leaves, you get up to greet your date. 

“Hi,” you say and hold out your hand, “I’m Y/N.” 

He takes your hand in his, blue eyes smile warmly as he says, “Nice to meet you. I’m Tom. Shall we sit?” His voice a low hum with an accent. 

You nod and sit back down. 

You date wears a navy blue and striped suit that fits like it’s tailored. He wears a light blue shirt underneath and a navy tie. When he takes off his suit jacket, you can see that his shirt also fits like it’s tailored― and to be quite honest, it’s a pretty good view. It feels a little unfair. In addition to a nice body, you note a strong jawline covered in a five o’ clock shadow, and are those real cheekbones? The small strawberry blonde curls atop his head makes you swallow a lump in your throat, only for it to come back up and make you slightly more nervous than you already were. 

Looking at him makes you feel inadequate. You had decided to go fancy-casual; a long black skirt with leg slits on both sides and a black tight-fitting long sleeved crop top that accentuates your boobs. Despite feeling good in the clothes, you can’t help but feel underdressed. Tom is definitely out of your league, and he looks somewhat familiar. 

You both scan the menu. No one says anything until the waiter comes to take your order. Taking away the menus opens up the need for conversation. Only, how do you start one? 

“How do you know Benedict?” asks Tom.

You answer, relieved that you didn’t have to come up with a topic yourself. “I wrote a short story, made it into a script that I sent to a theatre here in London, and they liked it. Ben was cast as the lead role, and Sophie was actually the director. I worked with them for a pretty long time and we kept in touch.” You smile at the fond memory. “What about you?”

“Oh, we met in 2010 whilst shooting a movie. And we have been friends ever since.” Tom smiles. “We actually live very close to each other, here in London.”

“Really? It amazes me that if you are such good friends that he hasn’t mentioned you,” you say with a little joking-tone. “And apparently I haven’t seen that movie.”

Tom smiles. “He hasn’t mentioned you either, not by name at least. But you’re a writer?” 

You nod. “Yeah, mostly short stories, but I’m trying to get a novel finished. I write some scripts too, for fun, mostly, but I prefer the rather classical storytelling with a narrator and all the other stuff.” You add a joking laugh to the end of the sentence. 

Tom smiles. “Hehe. To be honest, I do that, too.” Tom lets out a laugh. “Though, I do read a lot of scripts and I find them to be highly entertaining usually.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I do too. I am one of those that sits in front of netflix a little too much,” you admit. “But I always find time to read. It’s the one thing that’s always been there, you know?” 

You continue to talk about books, and reading, and writing, and acting. Never before have you been on a date where the conversation flows as easily. Even with the food there, the conversation keeps going. You talk mostly about the outer layer stuff―work, small childhood memories, friends, hobbies. Both of you drink a couple of glasses of wine each. 

“Would you like dessert?” asks Tom as the waiter takes away the empty dishes. 

You give it a thought. “Actually, no. It sounds good, but I’m not tempted.” Tom quirks an eyebrow. “What do you say we pay and go somewhere else?” you ask, hoping your eyes convey the message you want. 

By the way Tom smiles back, you’re pretty sure it did. Not long after, the check is paid (you offered but Tom wouldn’t have it), and the two of you are outside, walking along the streets. 

“This was really nice,” you say after a few too many moments of silence. “I have to admit, when Ben suggested this I was kind of… on edge.”

Tom nods along. “Yes, I did have my doubts. But Benedict told me we were perfect for each other. I only agreed when Sophie vouched.”

You laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I did, too.” You look down at the ground, kicking a little rock and hating that you decided to wear high heels (they’re great, but it kind of hurts in the length). “Do you maybe wanna go somewhere? Park? Lake? Ice cream shop?” 

His hand brushes yours, and you bite your lip. “This is going to sound… blunt. But my place isn’t that far from here if you would like another glass of wine, maybe?” If not for his accent you’d probably hit him (a joke; there was way more in the favor of not hitting him). 

You intertwine your fingers with his, and nod. “I’d like that, yeah.” 

Tom wasn’t lying when he said his place wasn’t far. You walked about three blocks and were in the right neighborhood. Two unfortunate realizations on your part; 1. This is about the same neighborhood as Benedict lives in; 2. This is a rich neighborhood, meaning Tom has money, meaning Tom is not only an actor but a successful one and it starts to bug you a little bit that you can’t place where you’ve seen him before. 

You take a right turn and in a matter of minutes you’re inside his house. Did I shave? Did I…? Am I at…? Your mind races with thoughts on what might happen, what might not happen, and your preparations for the date. To be honest, despite your thoughts going there very much in that moment, sex on the first date was a big no-no in your head. 

Tom takes your coat and hangs it up. Without even giving it a second thought, you take off your shoes, which has Tom let out a light chuckle as he does the same. “You’re one of the few people who does that without me telling them to,” he says. 

“Oh, well. I don’t really see the point in cleaning a house if you’re gonna drag the dirt in with you. What’s the point in vacuuming if it’s dirty thirty seconds later?” You smile up at him. God, he’s really tall. 

“Exactly,” says Tom and smiles. “Would you like that glass of wine?”

You nod. “Could I maybe borrow your bathroom?” He nods and tells you which room it is. With a smile you go in the direction his points in. 

It’s a cozy bathroom. Actually, not bad at all. The shower is quite big and you curse your brain for going straight to what it would be like to have sex in it. Also for ‘it’s big enough’ being your first thought. God, curse that handsome man. God, curse Ben for not telling you about him sooner. Actually, as you check yourself in the mirror (makeup still pretty on point) you take out your phone and send a ‘what the hell is wrong with you?!’ text to Ben, with the follow up; ‘you’ve known him since 2010 and you only now thought to make me go on a date with him?!”

You don’t wait for an answer. Rather you give yourself a smile in the mirror and some encouraging words, and leave with hopes high enough (like maybe a kiss). 

Tom sits in the living room, phone in hand. Two wine glasses are placed on the coffee table. You cough as you sit down, gaining his attention. He smiles up at you and puts away his phone. He hands you a glass as you tuck one leg under your butt. 

Neither of you speak. You take a sip of wine and nod when you do. “This is a really good wine,” you say. 

“Yes, uhh, it’s Italian,” replies Tom. 

What the hell happened to the smooth talk from before? Am I really this nervous? Is he this nervous? Your mind goes away with overthinking. Does he like you? Well, he did invite you into his house. But does that mean he likes you? Maybe you’re just a good conversation partner? But he did offer wine, which does have alcohol, which might be because he wants you a little tipsy, or at least with enough percentage so you would put out? 

You shake of the feeling, not believing someone like Tom could ever take advantage of you. Instead, you take another sip of wine, lean back and smile at him. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?” you ask. That was blunt. 

Tom smiles and laugh this ‘hehe’ laughter that makes your heart skip a beat. He takes a sip of wine and puts down the glass. “You don’t seem to know exactly who I am, but, uhh, I’ve done quite a lot of interviews. Some have me doing things I would rather not remember. I did this silly thing on MTV After Hours With Josh Horowitz. I made up some really silly pranks that made no sense and said loki’d afterwards with this weird laugh and I did this.” Tom puts his hand up to the side of his face and holds it there as if he has a monocle. 

And it hits you. Right in the moment he said ‘loki’d’ and weird laugh. You would like to facepalm. “Oh my God,” you say. “You’re Tom Hiddleston. Oh, my God.” You take a sip of wine to calm down a little. “You’re probably one of the actors I always thought I’d recognize. Loki is my favorite MCU character and I love you in Kong: Skull Island. I am correct that I haven’t seen the film with you and Benedict, but honestly, I have never felt this stupid.” 

He laughs. This godly sound that makes the mistake seem such tiny, but… 

You put down the wine glass and lay your head in your hands. Through them you mumble, “this is my most embarrassing moment. For sure.”

Gentle hands pry yours away from your face, and a slender finger tilts your cheek up so your eyes meet Tom’s. He smiles at you; lips pressed together and wrinkles around his eyes. “That’s okay, Love, really. I enjoyed talking to someone who didn’t know what I had played in. It made some of the stories more fun, kind of.” 

“I should go back to pretending I don’t know, huh?” you ask. 

Tom chuckles. “No, I’m glad you know. It would be weird if you didn’t.” He smiles and cups your face. Your eyes meet. Tom’s are a beautiful shade of blue. Complemented by his blue shirt, they look almost electric. He licks his lips. “You have beautiful eyes,” he whispers.

You press your lips together and smile, feeling the blush creep into your cheeks. At the thought, you notice how close you sit. His face is only an inch from yours. It would be so easy to kiss him, or for him to kiss you. God, it would be so… 

However, is it really a good idea? It is the first date. You only know the basics of each other. Work, a little family and friends, and hobbies. There is more to him, and there is more to you. 

You’re dragged out of your thoughts by his lips on yours. His right hand is still cupping your face, and he places his left on your knee. Taken by surprise, it takes you a moment to react, but as you do you press your lips to his. Something explodes in your gut, and whatever it is makes you shift your position closer to him. Your hands go up and you twine them behind his neck. Tom smiles in the kiss and moves both his hands to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. 

You break the kiss and smile at him. “That… That was, uhh…”

“Yeah,” Tom says, his voice a little breathless. 

You both let out a little laugh and press your foreheads together. “This has been, uhh, pretty great.” 

Tom smiles and pecks your lips. “Yes, it has. Not what I thought would come from a blind date.” 

You shake your head with a smile. “Yeah. Who would’ve thought?”

[daesungindistress]

not sure if you've been asked this before but do you think you will return to writing fic about bb and if so, would you include sr in your stories?

The last time I was asked this was back in March or April. And it’s difficult to give a final answer. I want to return to writing. The thought of abandoning all my WIPs and notes and ideas forever is a depressing one. And if I’m being honest, the longer I go without making something, be it art or fic, the emptier I feel.

Do I think I will? Return to writing? That I’m less certain about. The events of this year have left me feeling a bit disillusioned. Disenchanted. Disappointed. Yeah, they all kinda have the same meaning, but I guess I’m just trying to convey how this thing with Seungri, this tragedy, and the ongoing struggle within the fandom seems to have slowly stripped away my ability to separate BB’s public personas (and private selves) from the fictional versions we as writers play with. It’s broken down some necessary barriers.

The situation we’re in is too serious, too real, too heavy. And in my heart I feel there’s still too much uncertainty about their future. That uncertainty is steadily chipping away at the compartmentalization that let me comfortably turn them into characters and use them to tell stories. When I sit down and stare at all these notes from a happier, easier time I no longer see what I once did. I wonder, “Who wrote this? When? And how?” There’s some guilt too. Like, who am I to toy with them like this, to reduce them to fanfic fodder when so much has gone so wrong? Some fans have successfully escaped into fiction this year to forget; for me it’s the other way around. It’s been nine months but in a way the scandal is still front and center in my mind, and fanfic can’t overpower that. If anything, I’m almost… afraid to touch it again.

For example… the one fic I finished and posted this year, Sugar Kiss, was a smutty ToDae oneshot… and, regrettably, a sequel to a DaeRi fic. It was something I started late last year and had mostly completed by January, well before the scandal reached a boiling point. All the fic needed by then was a little polish, and it took me until July to find the energy for it. The teaser/summary was “It’s Daesung’s turn to be a bad influence” because in the fic before it he and Seungri had gotten up to some ~naughty fun~ together and Daesung decided he liked it enough to pass it on. So in Sugar Kiss Daesung shares what he learned from Seungri with Seunghyun. The joke was that Seungri persuaded him into mischief. Seunghyun even has a line in which he calls Seungri “a bad influence,” which one reader got really upset over, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way when I initially wrote it earlier this year. It was meant to be tongue-in-cheek. Just some silly, sexy, lighthearted fun, nothing more. I felt a little iffy posting it on the heels of Seungri’s scandal but in the end threw caution to the wind and went ahead with it.

Then, a few days later, the news about Daesung’s building broke and suddenly people were saying, “Daesung might be in on it!” and “He’s just like Seungri!” and “Daesung said they’d become close recently!” And I was like 😰 I had a few days to feel accomplished, after that it was pure regret. It’s like nothing is safe. Things I enjoyed before without thought or care… just aren’t that fun anymore. It’s really sucked the joy out of storytelling using real people. The thought lurks: what if some of the questionable stuff I write about them turns out to be, well, real? And then I have to either denounce or defend what I’ve written. People are still leaving kudos on that fic and its prequel, and every time I get the notification I wonder what they really think of it.

Anyway, to answer your other question: even though my view of Seungri has soured significantly since spring, my feelings on the matter of his involvement in my future fanfics, if any, have remained… largely the same. I think. The last time I talked about this I said I might continue to include him, but clarified that it would depend on the timeline (pre/post 2019) and setting (canon compliant, alternate universe). And also what role needs filling. Even after all we’ve learned about him, Seungri is still an interesting character to me with traits that I consider useful for the types of stories I like to tell. He’s a good foil for Daesung due to their opposing personalities, interests, lifestyles, values…. and for this reason I’ve always had a tendency to depict him as someone who brought conflict to the group in some form or another. His fans who found their way to my fanfics sometimes asked me to be kinder to him. Let’s just say now there will be no more pressure to pull my punches. That said, I expect any parts he does have will be small and fairly insignificant. A line or two, maybe even just a mention. My goal isn’t to pretend he never existed, just to avoid giving him undue attention that might, y’know… encourage people to like him.

…there is, however, one possible exception to that. Carnivores. Don’t think I’ve touched on this here yet? I had tentative plans to continue that series one day. Yes, even though I swore it was over. The story and setting is still meaningful to me and those characters feel more divorced from their inspirations, the Big Bang members, than any of my others. “They have lives of their own,” a reader once said to me, and I have to agree. You could change their names and I would still recognize them. I hoped it would be nothing too serious this time, nothing too intricate, just a oneshot catching up with the pack in their new home a year or two down the road. Here’s the problem though: Seungri was finally going to get something he’d always wanted. Something hinted at in the final scenes of Innocence & Instinct. And I wanted to scratch the surface of how they dealt with that.

Too bad 2019 has all but blown those plans to pieces. Carnivores!Seungri is not Big Bang’s Seungri or Lee Seunghyun, he is just a fictional character bearing his name and likeness, but even so, the absolute last thing I want to do right now is give him something he’s always wanted. No matter how I look at it, the thought of writing him into an important role comes off as really distasteful to me right now. So if that’s ever going to materialize, yeah, it’s gonna be awhile.

But wait. What if I give him something he’s always wanted… and then take it away. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It came to me one day months ago, how I could work the events of this year into the series. Some parts of Carnivores do mirror real life events involving BB (such as Jiyong, Youngbae, Seunghyun, and Daesung confronting Seungri in Dreams Like Ashes over fears that he’s going to leave them for his newly formed group of human friends. Though I sort of glossed over it, this was based on things they were saying about him back in 2016, which was when that fic was written). So working his recent rise and fall into a future installment wouldn’t exactly be a new approach for this series. You could even say I’m a little intrigued by the idea.

Still, it’s too soon. Too fresh. And I don’t know how it ends, in this world or that one, or if I even have the creative energy to tackle something so… disruptive. Reality is hard enough. So until then, those plans will stay right where they’ve been all this time, boxed up in a dusty corner of my mind. I hope that one day I can reach back inside that box and share what I find with you all. Until then, I think what I need is a clearer sense of direction from BB… and more time to work up the courage to try.

[the-desolated-quill]

She Was Killed By Space Junk - Watchmen (TV Series) blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

The first episode was a shaky, but intriguing start. The second episode was both incredibly provocative and intelligently written. What about the third episode? Um... I’m honestly not too sure what to make of it, if I’m honest. I watched it twice like I do with everything I review and I genuinely don’t know what to say about it. I couldn’t even tell you if I liked it or not. I think I liked it.... but I couldn’t tell you why.

Okay. Sorry. Hi guys. Let me explain what happened. I wrote that first paragraph and then I got writer’s block, so I decided to step away from it. I had a nap, played a video game and then decided to watch the episode again for a third time with fresh eyes. Now my thoughts are a little more concrete. So. She Was Killed By Space Junk. Having watched this episode three times now, I’ve decided that I don’t like this episode very much at all, and that’s less to do with what’s in the episode and more to do with what isn’t. 

Let me explain.

Reviewing episodes like this one can often be very frustrating because it’s hard to tell what is a genuine flaw and what is merely setup for what’s to come. I have a number of problems with this episode, but for all I know, what I’m about to talk about might not actually be problems at all and will all be explained in a future episode. Or they are genuine problems and I’m inadvertently giving the writers way too much credit. I don’t know. That’s why it’s so frustrating.

My main point of contention is with the character of Laurie. First of all, let me just say that Jean Smart doesn’t put a foot wrong. She gives a great performance and is a good choice to play an older Laurie. The problem I have is with her characterisation. Or, at the very least, bits of her characterisation. I don’t know. It’s complicated.

Laurie’s inclusion in the TV series was something I was actually most looking forward to because I felt her character was kind of shortchanged in the graphic novel. Initially starting out as an effective and scathing critique of how women are often presented in comics, over the course of Watchmen’s story her role was reduced until she ended up becoming little more than a prop for the male characters’ stories. It was disappointing and it’s led to me arguing multiple times that Silk Spectre is one of the most underrated and wasted elements of Watchmen. The HBO series felt like a perfect opportunity to right some wrongs and give Laurie the attention she deserves. She Was Killed By Space Junk certainly gave her the focus and attention she didn’t receive in the graphic novel, but I’m very much struggling to ascertain what the show was trying to achieve here.

Let’s quickly remind ourselves where the graphic novel left us with her character. She had recently discovered that the Comedian, the man who tried to rape her mother, was her biological father, she was in a relationship with Dan Dreiberg, aka Nite Owl, and they were both on the run from the law, hellbent on continuing their lives as vigilantes. Okay. How does the HBO series continue this? Well it turns out she and Dan are no longer together. I know some fans really don’t like this, but I personally don’t have a problem with it. In fact I’m perfectly happy with it. In my review of A Stronger, Loving World, I explained how I didn’t believe their relationship could possibly last long term because it was clear that they were together not because they were in love, but rather because they were indulging in each other’s fantasies, and the fact that Dan’s seeming fascination with the Silk Spectre porn comic supported this. Showrunner Damon Lindelof clearly agrees, so cool. It’s always nice to be proven right.

Anyway, at some point between the graphic novel and the HBO series, the fantasy was shattered and the pair split up. I’m assuming what shattered the fantasy was them getting caught by the FBI. It’s unclear what’s happened to Dan at this time. Judging by the fact that the police in Oklahoma are using Owlships and goggles, I’m assuming that Dan was arrested and his equipment was appropriated by law enforcement. Laurie meanwhile has struck some kind of deal and now she’s working with the Anti-Vigilante Taskforce and enforcing the Keene Act, which is an interesting parallel with how her father, the Comedian, served the American government during the Vietnam War. But you see this is where I start to get a bit confused.

The episode opens with Laurie setting a trap for a vigilante known as Mister Shadow (basically Fake Batman) and shooting him, either not knowing or not caring whether or not Mister Shadow’s body armour would save him. She’s also taken on the Comedian’s last name Blake and displays a very similar nihilistic attitude, making dark jokes and exhibiting uncaring, unsympathetic behaviour. Now I don’t necessarily have a problem with Laurie becoming more nihilistic, given what she’s been through. Having witnessed Ozymandias and his squid of doom, it’s bound to affect her worldview. However, her turning into a female Comedian doesn’t really marry up with her character at all. And yes, I know at the end of the graphic novel she talked about getting a gun and body armour, like the Comedian, but it didn’t work there either. It felt too drastic a character shift and was painfully on the nose. I didn’t like it there and I don’t like it here either. I just don’t buy that she would want to emulate the man who tried to rape her mother. 

I especially don’t like her violent, uncaring attitude toward Mister Shadow. Why does she have such a disdain for vigilantes? Is it because of what happened with Dan, and she’s projecting that onto everyone else? Has she become so nihilistic that she just doesn’t give a shit anymore? There’s a moment later in the episode where she asks someone if their civil rights are being violated only to then turn around and say she was being sarcastic. That really didn’t sit right with me. It just doesn’t feel like something Laurie would say.

And then there’s the whole thing with Doctor Manhattan. Throughout the episode we see her in a phone booth trying to tell a joke to Manhattan (quite what the purpose of these phone booths are, I don’t know. Considering that people in the world of Watchmen believe that Manhattan was giving people cancer, why would anyone want to call him?). She clearly misses him to the point where she has a large blue dildo hidden a briefcase that’s clearly a direct reference to Pulp Fiction. I REALLY don’t like this. At all. The reason Laurie left Manhattan in the first place was because he couldn’t emotionally satisfy her, being an omnipresent demigod and all. So why would she be pining after him? The blue dildo joke in particular just felt kind of degrading. Just... why?

Weirder still is the joke she spends the whole episode trying to tell him. It’s clearly an indirect reference to the Pagliacci joke from the graphic novel, except the Pagliacci joke had a specific purpose in the graphic novel and its meaning was clear. Rorschach was remarking on how America was relying on the Comedian to save them from violence and corruption, which was futile considering what a violent and corrupt person the Comedian was. Here, however, I have no idea what Laurie is trying to say with the brick joke at all. I’m assuming the bricklayer is her father and she’s following in his footsteps. Okay, I kind of get that (except not really for the reasons I’ve already mentioned, but whatever). But then we come to the whole bit with God at the pearly gates sending Nite Owl, Ozymandias and Doctor Manhattan to Hell, only to then get killed by the brick from the previous joke. Now... what the fuck is that all about? I’ve been racking my brains, checking what other people said, and I can’t find any satisfying answers. It just feels like pretentious, unnecessary fanwank. The best I can come up with is that Laurie is expressing how she’s not letting men dictate her life anymore. But... she’s spent the whole episode pining after Doctor Manhattan, she’s modelled herself after her rapist father, and at the end of the episode, she sleeps with her assistant Petey, an agent who claims to not to be a fan of superheroes, but is totes a fan of superheroes. So... is that the joke? She wants to escape from the shadow of the men in her life, but can’t? Or she intends to overcome the patriarchy that has kept her down, but she still ends up choosing to indulge in the power fantasy of Petey? Or does it refer to something else she’s planning to do later? It’s all so frustratingly vague.

As I was watching this episode, I honestly lost track of the number of times I thought to myself ‘I don’t know where Lindelof is going with this.’ Sometimes this approach works, keeping the audience in the dark in order to build intrigue and suspense, but for Watchmen, a story that’s famous for its dense material and subject matter, it’s just plain annoying. In fact this whole episode feels really off to me. Instead of focusing on character narratives and thematic storytelling, She Was Killed By Space Junk relies more on a plot heavy story that moves the pieces of the larger arc forward and keeping certain specific details vague in an attempt to keep people watching. Except that’s not really what Watchmen is about and it results in leaving the more integral aspects of the story in the dust. Angela barely gets a look in here, and considering a significant portion of the episode focuses on Judd Crawford’s funeral, it feels like a massive, missed opportunity. How does it feel discovering that the man you liked and respected wasn’t the man you thought he was? Does that change your feelings toward him? Does it invalidate the good times you had with him? And with Laurie there, the show could have compared and contrasted the two. How these two women move forward knowing these uncomfortable truths about the men in the lives? But the show never really capitalises on this.

And the annoying thing is, for all I know, all the things I’m talking about could actually be addressed in a future episode, thus rendering what I’m saying moot. I don’t know. I can’t tell if this is all just really bad setup for an eventual satisfying payoff or if it’s just plain bad.

That being said, while I do ultimately dislike this episode, there are a few things I like. For instance, I do like what we learn about the larger world of Watchmen. We learn that Oklahoma is the only state that’s allowing the police to mask up and that this law was passed by Joe Keene Jr., whose father was responsible for the Keene Act that was passed outlawing vigilantes. Joe Keene Jr. was briefly introduced in the previous episode and it looks like he’s going to be playing a larger role from here on out. Let’s wait and see where that goes. 

We also learn that Looking Glass knows Laurie and has prior history with her. He even confirms Sister Night’s secret identity to her, albeit reluctantly. So is he a plant? Maybe sent by the FBI to try and sabotage Keene Jr? Hmmm, what’s going on here then?

And then there’s Ozymandias.

While I dislike how Laurie is being handled so far, I love, love, LOVE what they’re doing with Adrian Veidt. After the events of the graphic novel, it seems he’s gone into self imposed exile. Whether this is as a punishment or as a way to make sure he doesn’t inadvertently blab about his involvement with the squid is unknown. Anyway, he’s been here for three years now, judging by the candles on the cake, and he seems to be going a little bit stir crazy. He’s sacrificing his clones in order to try and find a means of escape and now he has to contend with a bloodthirsty game warden (another clone). The idea of Ozymandias being hoist by his own petard and being oppressed by the very tools and instruments of his own vanity is absolutely tantalising, and I love what Jeremy Irons is doing with the part and the way he’s depicting the character’s slow descent into lunacy.

Also a special shoutout has to go to the costume department for the Ozymandias costume we see Adrian finally don. It’s gloriously, breathtakingly terrible. Truly one of the worst superhero costumes ever seen on screen... which is exactly what it should be! 

One of the things I intensely disliked about the 2009 movie was Zack Snyder’s attempts to make the characters look cool and stylish when in reality these characters are supposed to be the complete opposite of that. Rorschach looks like a hobo, puts on a gruff voice and wears lifts on his heels in a pathetic attempt to look more imposing. Nite Owl wears a ridiculously tight fitting costume that shows off his belly bulge. Silk Spectre’s outfit looks more like something a stripper would wear and is not even remotely practical. They look stupid to us, the outsiders, but to the characters, it makes them feel powerful. That’s the whole point, and the HBO series captures that perfectly. Adrian is going to war with the game warden and wants to feel powerful, so he puts on his objectively silly purple and gold shawl in an effort to reclaim the power he once had. It’s laugh out hilarious, made all the more funnier by the fact that he’s clearly far too old to be playing dress up. It’s moments like this that demonstrate that Lindelof clearly does understand the source material, which is what makes the way Laurie is treated all the more baffling.

She Was Killed By Space Junk isn’t a bad episode. There’s stuff to like, but it doesn’t have any of the intelligent thematic storytelling or characterisation the previous two episodes had. Coupled with the apparent mishandling of Laurie’s character and the deliberate vagueness of some of its plotting leads to it being an episode that’s ultimately more frustrating than enjoyable to watch.

[nautiscarader]

2019 in animation - very selected summary

So, I dunno if anyone’s noticed, but this year was crazy strong when it comes to animation, both in terms of amount and quality of it. No matter what type you liked - traditional...

...3D...

...cell-shaded...

...hyper-realistic...

 - oh, wait, wait, no, my mistake, that’s clearly live-action. 

Anyway, no matter what type of animation is your favourite, this year gave you something. and I’m gonna go chronologically, listing those that I have been able to see. Keep in mind, day only has 24 hours, so I couldn’t see every new season or premiere (for example, I had no interest in OK KO, or She-Ra). Some spoilers below. And Gifs. LOTS OF gifs.

In January: we were still riding on the Spiderverse bandwagon from last year,, which culminated with an Oscar in February. And though as I’ve said, the movie would have worked better imho as a, say, Netflix series, as only two of the spider-people were properly fleshed out, I have to admit, it was a well-earned prize.

Then we were hit by the finale of Steven Universe, and while some complained about the another redemption of cosmic regime, it was an incredibly satisfying ending to a great cartoon... so much so that a whole movie and an epilogue series was made.

plus, it had a segment animated by James Baxter, so it’s automatic win..

January also blessed us with a reboot of another old-forgotten property, Carmen Sandiego, with her second season arriving in October. And it proved that reboots do make sense, but only if you actually do something with it. The story was fresh, creative, and yet, similar in its serialised form to capture the imagination of viewers. Also, grappling hooks for the win.

February was the month of dragons. Not only we got the conclusion of How to Train Your Dragon franchise, but Netlfix gave us second season of The Dragon Prince. While I still consider HTTYD 1 as the best movie of the franchise, as it cleverly told the story of a conflict without any obvious villain, HTTYD 3 was a satisfying conclusion, strengthened by the Homecoming special in November. 

TDP S2 on the other hand, did everything season 1 did, except better. For once, the studio finally broke their piggy bank and bought a new graphics card, so the choppy 15FPS animation of S1 is gone. The story got darker, more mature, yet whimsical, and it only made us hungry for more. Luckily, S3 was just around the corner.

March gave us season 2 of Craig of the Creek. I have to admit, I missed out on this cartoon in 2018, and it was a humongous mistake. CotC is quite possibly the most wholesome cartoon out there, telling amazing story about a boy, his friends, and his family, glorifying the mundane adventures in the creek to truly epic proportions. The family is especially important part, I do not remember a cartoon where bonds between family members were as well written as here. Definitely a must-watch if you have missed it as well.

On 8th of March, the International Women’s day, DC Superhero Girls 2019, aka My Little Pony But Humans And With Superpowers, started, and it was a blast. Creator. Lauren Faust, has once again proven that whatever she touches turns into gold. The shorts were funny, clever, and changed just enough of the DC universe to feel familiar, yet show us new, interesting scenarios. 

 In April, Missing Link had its premiere, showing that traditional, stop motion animation not only has place in modern times, but it can deliver spectacular scenes, though of course, we expected nothing less of studio Laika.

In May, one of Disney’s long-running series, Star vs The Forces of Evil had its finale, and that brings us to the first screech of the list. Many people complained about the direction the show has taken, some claiming it has gone off-track in S3, some saying it was S4 that dropped the quality. Some, like me, saw nothing wrong with it, but the finale let people dissatisfied. If anything, it was too short, and definitely could use an epilogue movie that would tie some of the remaining plot threads in something bigger than one single pan-shot. 

Rest in piece, laser puppies

Wait, they’re alive? Well, then... rest in piece, Hekapoo and her puppies.

This month also presented a first contender for this Summer’s line-up, Twelve Forever. The cartoon took us into wild, bizarre land of imagination, and offered quite a few very mature lessons about growing up and acknowledging one’s responsibilities. It also provided much needed representation, both in terms of colour and sexuality. 

Sadly, amidst scandals with its creator, the show was canned, though it’s also Netflix’s fault for not marketing it enough.

A-and maybe the show was just a tad too... creepy....

Also somewhere in May some Games might have been lost and some Thrones burned, but no one cares about it anymore. i think it was popular for a while, though.

However, 12 Forever was just a start. June gave us Amphibia, my personal top-bingeable cartoon of the year. Disney has hit a jackpot, giving us an incredibly creative fantasy show with rich mythology and enough emotional conflict to create fantastic storytelling. The only slight complain was the scheduling, as episodes aired daily, meaning the season was over by the end of the month. But honestly, the amount of humour and adventures with Anne in the forg world we got compensates that thousandfold. Book 2, coming in 2020, can only makes thing more interesting. 

Going for a hat-trick, in August we got the premiere of a cartoon that I was betting would be my personal favourite, Infinity Train... Until I learned of its schedule, even weirder than Amphibia’s. While Amphibia took a right turn, and gave us 20 episodes, a perfect amount for both plot and filler stories, Infinity Train... turned out to be a mini-series with just ten episodes, airing daily, two per night. And that, in my opinion, was a fatal mistake. Not only we now know that the story is not over, as Season 2 arrives in January, but the short episodes and its density gave very little time to leave an impact on us. If it was at least spaced out, then maybe I wouldn’t be so judgemental, but for me it was a blow that deflated the balloon I was clinging to since 2016 pilot. Still, there is more to come, and the story was more than interesting, so we’ll see if I get used to the pocket mini-story arcs.

September. Remember Steven Universe? That cartoon that ended? SIKE, HAVE A TV MOVIE. And by gods, old and new, what a phenomenal movie it was. A musical telling its own, contained story of betrayal, trust and finding yourself, based on Rebecca Sugar’s mis-adventure with a phone that reset itself... I have seen this movie at least ten times, and its OST is one I come back to constantly on Spotify. The songs are amazing, catchy, incredibly-well written, deep, and, as usual, send very adult messages about growing up and finding one’s identity, which SU was already famous for. Must watch.

Continuing the theme of reboots that actually make sense, Ducktales finished its second season after duck-bombs in March and May, with a heart-breaking story of Della Duck and humongous finale, extending DT’s universe to other Disney Afternoon shows. Season 3 promises even more, and DT is a golden standard of making a reboot that stays faithful to a more than half-a-century old material, while adding enough material to keep things fresh and funny for modern audience. What I’m saying is, Disney could really learn from Disney (pictured below).

But while some things start, some have to finish. October saw the end of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, a show that has taken Internet by the storm in 2010 and...

...okay, cringy brony things aside, this was a clever re-imagining of the decades-old property, and its popularity, especially amongst the people outside the target demography is a proof of its quality. The ending was perfectly serviceable, nothing that stood out, in my opinion, but it definitely didn’t disappoint either. MLP FiM will live in history as the cartoon about pastel tiny horses that made adult men cry and gave them enough passion to create years of of visual crack. And porn. Lots of porn.

November:  Just In case if one season of human and elf adventures was enough, The Dragon Prince Season 3 arrived in November, and it provided a thrilling conclusion to its first smaller story arc. Though I wish the season was longer, and it dived into the history of Elves’ and Humans’ animosities, I would be lying if I said I didn’t binge-watch it all in one sitting, gripping my chair. 

Do you like Green Eggs and Ham? Yes, yes, I do, Sam-I-am. Question: how do you take a classic poem, made purposefully of limited vocabulary, and turn it into a thirteen episode series with a beginning, middle, and end? The answer: You add bunch of weird stuff and the mother of all complicated backstories... at least by the original’s standards. And here’s the thing: this is the first Dr Seuss’ adaption where it works. Somehow the writers were able to stretch each verse of the famous poem into a surprisingly emotional story about friendship, losing and restoring hope, as well as following your dreams. Plus, it gave us Fargo-esque team of Bad Guys. Come on. 

And just in time for Christmas season, we were blessed with Klaus, a clear contender for a Christmas classic in my opinion. This STUNNINGLY beautiful traditionally animated original Netflix movie is a very, very clever reinterpretation of St. Nick’s mythos, telling a deep, and very realistic story of greed and selfishness, and how can one turn their life around by changing their life, one present at a time.

We’re about to end the year, so HOW ABOUT SOME EMOTIONAL TRAUMA, KIDS? Yes, Steven Universe Future is here, and from the looks of it, Steven’s problems are just beginning, since they mature with him. The show’s too real, man. However, it also provided much needed levity, giving us a familiar taste. Nothing more to say, as the show is still airing, and it will surely give us more emotional moments.   

And that’s a wrap for 2019. As I’ve said, it is not exhaustive by any means, and from the looks of it, 2020 is gonna be as packed as its prequel. So yeah, the world might be on fire, but at least we got some nice cartoon to binge-watch.

Happy new year everyone! At least I have time until 6th of January when the first episode of Infinity Train Season two arriWHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S OUT ALREADY

[dustydreamsanddirtyscars]

I don't blame you at all for keeping quiet about the show. I just can't understand how the people running the CW can look at what Dabb is doing to this show and go, "Eh - good enough." It's NOT good enough. It is demonstrably terrible, and at this point I desperately hope there will be a new show runner next season who will reveal the last 2 seasons were all a dream because one of the boys was in a coma. I don't know how else to fix things without acting like the Dabb era just didn't happen.

Not sure my ask went thru… What’s up Girly-girl! Long time no comment, edit, review, rant, observation, bitch session…  we miss you! You still watching? Curious as to what you think about theses past 5 episodes. Looks like Dabb in his ultimate suckitude as a Showrunner has screwed Jensen over again and handed off his DeanMichael storyline to another. Shocker. I’ll be really pissed if he has. And it definitely looks that way.             

Hello dear!

I assume these two might have been written by you? And probably some time ago as well. I’m sorry about replying so late, but tumblr hasn’t really been a prioriy these past months. Thank you for your message though. :) I think tumblr is working perfectly alright without me though, but thank you for being sweet and saying you missed my rambles.

That being said, I don’t think there will be any rambles, specs or metas posted on my page in any foreseeable future - though I could probably just schedule the around 200 meta-, gif- and edit-posts that are still sitting in my drafts, but then again… they have collected some dust by now.

To be completely honest, it’s a combination of things why I have been silent on here. One being that my daily life with work has been pretty demanding and doesn’t leave me with a whole lot of energy after I get home, but it’s also that I simply don’t have as much to say about SPN anymore these days.

I joined fandom in the middle of S7 and my personal highlight times on here has been from S8 to S11 - those were the good old days of meta, really they were golden and I cherish that time dearly still, but fandom has changed since then (and what people deem most important as well), the show has changed and I don’t feel like I am having a place in this fandom any longer. While I also always love editing, my primary focus on tumblr and with my blog has been analysis and meta and I feel like the kind of meta I strived for, loved reading and wrote myself theme wise is no longer of any interest to the majority of people - which doesn’t really bother me, I would continue to post my views regardless, but these past 3 seasons under Dabb’s reign have been hard on me. He turned the show into something I can barely recognize as the show I fell in love with. The storytelling is a mess and so much other stuff as well that I have been very vocal about up until a few months back, but I didn’t want to be just negative any longer so I took a break hoping that maybe SPN would inspire me again to write, but Dabb’s version of SPN is so shallow, so foreseeable from miles away that it has simply not been the case.

To put it plainly, Dabb has made me fall out of love with SPN these past 3 years as he turned it into a show that has nothing in common with the show I love. Of course all of our tastes differ, but my personal favourite seasons past Kripke were the Carver years as he imo knew how to craft story, craft emotion, craft characters and he knew how to play subtle, how to set up a story and follow through, how to make your heart ache in the best way possible. His style of storytelling and showrunning is what I adored and Dabb’s style has hardy anything in common with that so the past three years watching the show, seeing canon thrown out the window, replacing deep emotion with cheap melodrama and stories that built up and had a climax to millions of stories that go nowhere has left their mark on me. It’s been a tough three years, years that were frustrating, yes even painful, it was like a relationship that you always hoped would blossom again but never did. It’s like a relationship that had all the raw potential but ended up hurting you more than it made you happy.

Don’t get me wrong, I will always love this show and there will never be another show that will have this impact on me and my life and I can guarantee that there will NEVER be a character that will mean as much to me as Dean Winchester, but Dabb era has been painful, because I cared so much about the show. I was mourning it and it’s characters while they were still there on my screen but treated with such careless hands that I needed to take a step back and to be honest, I think it was the right call. For one because no one needs a negative voice all the time, but even more so now that J2M have revealed that S15 will be the last.

I see a lot of people very broken up about it and I’d have been the same way after S8 or 9 or 10 or 11 if it had ended then, right now I feel relief - and I don’t want to hurt anybody with saying that - and strangely enough for the first time in a while interest again (I have been watching the episodes btw, but like I said… nothing that would need to be written about - aside from Jensen rocking it with his Michael struggle, which like you said now has been given to someone else, once more) and a faint bit of hope and even happiness, because this way they should be able to craft an ending that is planned from the get-go. And that is something that could be very good for the storyline - then again, sadly I doubt that someone like Dabb could pull it all together. But here’s to hoping. All I want at this point is for them to make it count, make it worth it - I’d love nothing more than seeing the first episode of S15 and feeling like writing meta again.

So, what does it all add up to? I know this is a long ramble, but I felt it was overdue given my silence on here. I don’t know how often I’ll be on here from now on, I’ll check in here and there, but I doubt I’ll be posting much. To everybody who is hurting due to SPN coming to an end: HUGS. Really selfishly I can say I truly don’t hurt or feel broken up, I feel more like resolution is finally on the horizon and potential for a wonderful ending. And something that I will always be grateful for is the people this show has brought into my life, people who’ll stay in my life way past this show, that’s what makes the show count: just like the character will transcend, keep living, so will these friendships for life and that’s how this show will become “immortal”. Not through the storylines, not through the 15 seasons it aired, it had impact through and due to the people who watched it and who found like minded people through it they can consider close friends and even family now.

Anyway, if I could have one wish fulfilled, it would be to get all of the good writers back on the show for this last hurra, Ben Edlund, Jeremy Carver, Sera Gamble, Raelle Tucker, Robbie Thompson and Adam Glass for example and of course Eric Kripke. Let them pen the ending to the show that famously once said “endings are hard, but nothing ever truly ends, does it”. And yes, I still stand by my sceanrio that I have written about many a times before in terms of endings. I’d love it if the ending scene was a shot of the Impala on some stretch of the road (the brothers may have died fighting the good fight or finally retired or whatever else) and some guy who looks to be lost, but a good soul tries the door and it swings open. He sits down, rumages through the car to find the keys and finally looks into the glove compartment where a thick envelope sits that reads:

“For you”

And the guy picks me it up and opens it and inside there’s a leather journal, reminiscent of John’s but not his and a folded piece of paper and the keys to the Impala. And you can see in Dean’s handwriting there’s written:

“May she be as much of a home to you as she was for me and my brother. Treat her well, or I swear I’ll haunt your ass.”

And the guy laughs and turns on the ignition, “Back in Black” starts blasting from the radio so that he turns down the volume and fumbles for the journal, opens it up and looks at the first page that says:

“My name is Dean Winchesters. And then is my story. Buckle up.”

[mercerislandbooks]

(Re)Discover Dorothy Dunnett

Since working at Island Books I’ve often recommended Dorothy Dunnett and The Game of Kings to people looking for high quality historical fiction, so I was excited to find out that the whole series is being reissued this month. We have a special treat for our customers, a complete set to raffle! Some lucky person will get to experience the whole series, courtesy of Island Books and Penguin Random House (details below).

Nothing was better in college than opening up my little PO box to find a card saying “You have a package!” I went to college in Massachusetts so often my mom sent care packages filled with treats to share with my hall mates. Sometime in the fall of my first year she included a book in the box. The Game of Kings, by Dorothy Dunnett, volume one of the Lymond Chronicles.

My limited time for leisure reading and my small collection of books that weren’t for class made a new addition welcome, something to look forward to cracking open. The cover was promising, the back jacket synopsis led me to believe that I’d be reading historical fiction set in Scotland with complex political and familial dynamics. I’d devoured all of Sharon Kay Penman’s historical fiction in high school, so this looked right up my alley.

It’s hard to describe my first encounter with Dorothy Dunnett and Francis Crawford. A beloved Scottish writer of the sixties and seventies, Dunnett’s prose is dense, studded with vocabulary I didn’t know and couldn’t guess from context. Her storytelling was not straightforward. It was clear Dunnett knew what she was doing, masterfully so, and I was lost. I could tell there were layers upon layers, nuance and misdirection that I simply wasn’t picking up on. Her characters quote songs and poetry in foreign languages and on the story went, with no translation, no notes at the back. Those of us who didn’t know innumerable other languages were left to gamely try to keep up and hope it wasn’t pivotal. 

And then there was Francis Crawford of Lymond, prodigal son, though more of a unrepentant black sheep, undeniably clever and totally unlikeable. This might have been my first encounter in a novel I was reading for pleasure with an anti-hero. I was not a fan. I didn’t understand why everyone was drawn to him. He seemed relentlessly cruel with his family and followers, appeared to delight in flouting all conventionality, and was annoyingly good at everything he did. I didn’t find his described physical attractiveness making up for all of his flaws. I liked Will, his young idealistic protégé. I wanted him to be the hero of the story. Will was very obviously good, despite casting his lot in with Lymond. I liked Christine Stewart, a pragmatic young blind woman with a taste for light intrigue. I liked Lymond's complex mother, Sybilla, who seemed take the antics of all her children in stride. Yet, by the end, I had to admit that under all the things I didn’t like about him, Lymond worked toward the greater good, and was just as emotionally devastated as I was by a shocking plot twist. It softened me, but only the tiniest bit, towards him.

You’d think, given this experience, I would have had it with Dorothy Dunnett, Francis Crawford of Lymond and the whole thing. But I knew there were more books in the series, I had many long plane flights in my future, and a nagging to find out what happened next. There were characters I did care about, like Will, and wanted to know what happened to them. I could live with Lymond, and the untranslated foreign languages and the incomprehensible politics as long as I could be taken away for hours on end when sitting in a cramped plane seat. Onto Queen’s Play and the treacherous French court I went. 

Along the way through the six books of the Lymond Chronicles and four years of college something happened. I started to like Lymond. Don’t get me wrong, the further along I got in the books, the more convoluted the plot and the characters, to the point where they could give any soap opera a run for their money. I still felt like I was missing about fifty percent of all the nuance. I didn’t care anymore; I was entranced. As more of Lymond’s history was revealed, the more unguarded moments he had, the more I saw him as a tragic figure, rather than a villain, ruthlessly doing the right thing for everyone else at the expense of his own character and happiness. By the end I hoped against hope that Lymond might have a happy ending, idealist that I am. It didn’t seem like he would, too much was stacked against him. Still I hoped. 

This first experience of the Lymond Chronicles was far from my last. I am, as I have mentioned before, an unapologetic rereader. The first time through I am racing to find out what happens plot-wise. Once I know how it all ends, I enjoy reading again for character, for language, for the hints and foreshadowing that are so deliberately crafted. I’ve reread the Lymond Chronicles multiple times over the years. I fall back under Dunnett’s spell, her narrative pulling me along to the next volume and the next. Each time I see a little more of her intricate plotting and character building. By maybe my third reading of The Game of Kings, I started making a list of the words (in English) that I didn’t know and looking them up. Page one began with douce, an adjective of Scottish origin, appropriately enough, meaning sober, sedate, and gentle. Three paragraphs later I added oriflamme. I was just on page one.  A two part Dorothy Dunnett Companion details all those pesky untranslated foreign passages as well as more of the historical figures and events she covers. I bought it, yet I never got around to reading it side by side, always being so quickly absorbed into the world. Perhaps for my next rereading.

To enter the raffle for the complete set of the Lymond Chronicles, email Island Books at info@mercerislandbooks.com with the subject as DUNNETT RAFFLE. One entry per person. We will accept entries up until end of day, Wednesday, May 22nd, and then contact the winner via email. Best of luck to all of you!

-Lori

[eldritchsurveys]

12o.

Do you wish you could paint your bedroom walls? >> Not particularly. I mean, it’d be cool, but I can live without it until we move into a more permanent place.

What’s your favorite musical? >> Repo! the Genetic Opera, full stop. Phantom of the Opera after that, and Jesus Christ Superstar third.

How do you get to sleep? >> I don’t really do anything special, I just read or play phone games or hang out in Xibalba until I’m sleepy.

What happened at the last party you went to? >> I’m not sure what the last party I went to was that wasn’t just some family event that I went to with Sparrow.

Have you ever smoked a cigarette? >> Yep.

What’s your hair like at this present moment? >> Freshly shorn and washed (well, yesterday, but that’s still pretty fresh to me).

Are you more comfortable sitting or lying down? >> It depends on what I’ve been doing more of at the time. I like to sit up but sometimes reclining is a relief if I’ve been sitting too much.

What’s the worst film you’ve ever seen? >> I don’t know, but one movie I absolutely didn’t enjoy was Napoleon Dynamite.

Are you an untidy person? >> No, but I live with a person that isn’t entirely tidy and I have resigned myself to it (because the other option is madness).

Have you ever been a fan of N*Sync? >> Not really a fan -- I liked BSB more back in those days -- but I do still think some of their songs are absolute bangers.

Do you watch a lot of television? >> Not a lot, mostly because I don’t binge-watch like I used to anymore.

Do you think you’re fat sometimes? >> Nope.

Do you like to flex your muscles? >> Sometimes. What little I still have, haha.

Have you ever completely misunderstood what somebody was saying? >> Yep. One time Sparrow was saying that a place was too bougie and I swear my brain heard “boobily” and I was like “it’s too boobily???” and she was like “babe WHAT. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN” and I couldn’t stop laughing.

Favorite kind of cake: >> Red velvet.

Was it a boy or a girl to text you last? >> It was a woman.

Name something you are doing tomorrow? >> I’m not doing anything special tomorrow, so I don’t know... playing FFXIV? Like, probably.

Where are you going to be at 4 PM tomorrow? >> Home, barring any surprises.

Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now? >> Yeah.

Did you have any unread text messages this morning when you woke up? >> No.

Do you think you would be a good parent? >> I don’t know. I think I would do my absolute best, which is all you can ask from anyone, I guess.

Who was driving the last time you were in a car? >> Sparrow.

Are you tanned? >> No, I’m full-on darkskinned.

Did you get any compliments today? >> No. I also have only been awake and online for like an hour.

Do you get jealous easily? >> No.

What were you doing at 3 AM this morning? >> Sleeping.

Are you any good at math? >> I think I was fairly okay at it. I just never developed an interest.

Any plans for Friday night? >> Hopefully we’ll do the Cafe Boba meetup again, with West Michigan Geeks. Last time was pretty fun.

Do you have a little crush on someone? >> Yeah. I don’t know what it’s about, but it exists, so I guess I’ll just deal with it until it finally passes.

How old is the last person you kissed? >> Ageless.

Why did you kiss the person you last kissed? >> No special reason, I just like kissing him.

What is your middle name? >> Frey. I don’t know if I’ll have a middle name when I change it for the [hopefully] last time. I’d like one, but I can’t figure out what flows well. IDK, maybe I’ll just keep Frey. It’s like “Ann”, sounds good in between almost anything.

What are you passionate about? >> Storytelling and mythology.

Do you have any fears? >> You know, my thanatophobia problem has been a little quieter lately. I still have “oh shit” moments, but not like before. And the major change has been... not sleeping in the second bedroom anymore. I maintain that there is something about that room -- either because of the last occupant or because of something I can’t suss out -- that is just toxic for me. So I’ll just keep my stuff in there but not myself, and deal with Sparrow trying to kickbox in her sleep -- it’s better than the alternative.

Where are you from? >> Good question.

What’s your sign? >> Gemini Sun.

What is your favorite color? >> Gold.

Are you a procrastinator or do you get things done early? >> I’m a procrastinator with executive function issues, so I actually sometimes don’t know whether I’m just garden-variety procrastinating or whether I need to be approaching a task from a “let’s fix/cheat my executive dysfunction” angle. When my executive function is in tip-top shape, I can get a task done in no time.

TV Shows and anime you watch regularly: >> Grey’s Anatomy, mainly, because I still have so many episodes left.

Halloween costume idea for this year? >> I don’t have any ideas, because I have never properly dressed up for Halloween and I still don’t know if I’ll ever get to.

Is there anything purple nearby? >> There’s one of those bag clips on my desk and it’s shaped like a purple monster face.

Do you usually leave voicemails on other people’s machines? >> No. I also don’t call people, so.

Do you know somebody whose christmas lights stay up all year round? >> I don’t think so. Aside from people (like me) who use Christmas lights as regular lighting.

Do you always shut your computer down when you’re finished with it? >> No, I usually set it to hibernate or sleep.

Are most of the pens around your house from random companies or plain? >> They’re just random pens, idk.

Sixteen Candles or Pretty In Pink? >> Haven’t seen either.

Do you want to have a big family in the future? >> Er.

Do you get embarrassed when talking about things like sex and periods? >> No.

Do you often write people’s moods off as ‘PMSing?’ >> I don’t recall ever doing that.

Do you think that men endure too much? >> I think that humans endure a lot, period. Men included. It’s unfortunate that it’s in fashion to diminish the struggles of men now in the name of “feminism” or whatever, because not only is that petty and unfair, it’s actually a roadblock to equality. But, you know, who cares, right?

Are there any towels in your house with cartoon characters on them? >> No.

Do the half sheet paper towels annoy you? >> No.

Ever been in a mosh pit? >> No, I watch them but I refuse to participate.

What was the last thing you did that gave you a rush? >> I’m not sure.

Is Vegas one of your must-see places? >> I’m into the idea of going, but it’s not a priority.

Pet rat ; Yay or Nay? >> They’re adorable and I love to play with other people’s, but I’m not sure about keeping one myself. Mostly because I’m a poor caretaker.

If given the chance, would you ride a unicorn to Iceland? >> Uh, yeah, sure, why would I pass that kind of opportunity up?!

Have you ever washed a cat in your bathtub? >> No.

Ever seen the movie Max Keeble’s Big Move? Opinions? >> No.

Would you call yourself a writer? Written any stories lately? >> I suppose. I wrote a short thing with my Fallout 4 Sole Survivor and Preston Garvey a week or so ago.

Are you good at reading people’s body language? >> I don’t know.

Ever ask a random stranger to pretend to be someone for you? >> No.

Are needles something that you’re afraid of? >> No.

Have you ever been prescribed medication? >> Yes.

Did you ever have those glow in the dark stars on your ceiling? >> No, but Sparrow used to, and I actually have a set of them that I got in a Reddit Secret Santa exchange but I never actually got around to sticking them anywhere.

Do you have a Friday night routine? >> No. We might now, though. We’ll see.

Do you kind of have to pee right now? >> No.

[chapitre7]

Beneath The Milky Twilight, Kiss Me

Chapter 3

Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo [달의 연인-보보경심 려] fanfiction

Modern AU

Wang So/Hae Soo

Chapter 2 | Chapter 1

My vision cleared with every step. My role, my future, aligning in a clear line before me. And despite the dirt in my clothes, the pain and the wounds, wounds unseen but still very deep, a weight that had been sitting on my heart seemed to evaporate in the spring air, in every petal that touched me, that showered me, and the only weight that remained was the gentle one I carried on my back.

And there was you, the pink on your cheeks, the softness of your voice. You, looking at me but seeing through me. 

Spring birthed you inside of me that day; a bud stubbornly longing to bloom. 

And I let you.

 “The competition will take place in a couple weeks’ time. All those interested should seek me after the last bell rings. May the best storyteller win.” 

Hae Soo’s feet dance in the air under her desk in excitement after Mr. Choi turns to the blackboard to start the lesson of the day. From the seat in front of her, Baek Ah gives her a discreet thumbs-up that Soo returns. Her attention is mildly caught by the swirling wind outside that rattles the tree branches, a sound reminiscent of the faraway sea. A writing competition. She’ll be free to create, to reference her favorite motifs, to honor her favorite stories, and above all, maybe create something new, something of her own. Her mind travels at the speed of the autumn breeze, of the things that she could write about. Soo never thought of herself as a writer, as a creator, but she lets herself go with the flow, see where it all could lead. The fallen leaves blow far and away, far and away, and Soo has to catch herself, to settle down back in Mr. Choi’s class when he begins to speak. The swirling sea of autumn serves perfectly as background for his voice.

She walks out of the school building after signing up for the competition with her phone in hand, considering dropping that day’s lessons with Wang So entirely in favor of brainstorming with ideas, maybe a little poetry-writing even. She sends him a message without thinking too much of it, and feels surprisingly anxious for his reply. Would he feel mad at her for ditching her tutoring? Wang So never seemed mad or even feeling any specially strong emotion in any of their meetings, but what did she know? What guarantee did she have that he wouldn’t have an entirely unexpected reaction? 

She puts her phone away, waiting for the sign to turn green. The usual crowd gathers around her on the sidewalk, each one of them a stranger, each one of them minding their own business, students thinking about their upcoming exams, children eager to get home, working adults sent on errands or wishing they were, still struggling to find their own place in such a big city. 

Soo picks her phone up again when the sign sings go, the message alert easily recognizable above all the noise. No problem, he says, and she would feel silly for all of her conjectures if her excitement didn’t easily triumph her confused feelings for Wang So. She hops across the street, almost sending the boy a new message, almost telling him when their next meeting would be, maybe they could do some writing on their own, maybe he could practice with her, maybe he would tell her if she’s good enough to win, but Hae Soo looks up instinctively as to not bump into anyone and she sees him. 

Her feet touch the ground in one final landing. The city is no longer an open space where her thoughts roam freely, her palms open wide as if touching an infinite wheat field that grows towards the endless blue sky. The city is actually gray with a gray sky, and although it is still so big, although it is almost as infinite, she sees Hwangbo Wook in the crowd, her gaze meeting his as though they were opposite magnets that couldn’t help but be drawn together. 

Autumn is so much colder that afternoon that it steals the smile out of her face. Yes, she could blame the wind, she could hide behind the red of her scarf. She could do so many things but she stays there, rooted to the ground, and when Hwangbo Wook bows in acknowledgment, clad in pristine white clothes fit for a college student, Soo bows too. She bows, her eyes lingering on the shoes passing her by, on her shadow that refuses to move, and when she dares look up again, he’s gone. Like a ghost. Déjà vu. 

Hae Soo drags herself forward. One step after the other after the next. They begin as a strain to her body but something burns inside of her and her feet can only respond in movement, faster, and faster, and faster. She bumps into people and it’s only good that they’re people because if they were an immovable object she’d be lost, she’d be more hurt than her heart, and that would be a kindness, perhaps. Something stronger than the self-pity. 

She stops as quick as she began, letting herself sit, fall, at the top of a flight of stone steps, her side leaning against the cold railing. Her body doubles forward, her face hidden in the space between her knees, and she cries. For the first time, she lets herself cry, her shoulders shaking with hiccups. Not for heartbreak but out of shame, for feeling all of the things she thought she had locked away, tossed away, when she really hadn’t. Just like the flowers that had once lost their smell but still remained as the outline of what they once were, so did her feelings, the echoes of his touches on her skin. She cries as an exorcism ritual; she cries because she doesn’t know what else to do. 

The cold of the afternoon slowly fades away, carrying her outburst. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hands and that’s when she notices the presence beside her, blocking her from sound and view and wind. Wang So looks at her out the corner of his eye but quickly looks forward again when he realizes she’s looking at him. He seems interested on something on his phone but he’s so obviously distracted that Soo groans. 

Why here? Why now? 

She hits her head lightly against the railing, wanting nothing more than to just stand up and walk away and... What’s keeping her, really? What did she owe him? She pulls her scarf up to cover her mouth and she’s doing the mental route home, walking down the steps slowly, when he speaks. 

“We’re near the park. I was walking home but then I got tired.” 

Soo blinks. She hadn’t realized she had walked closer to the park and neither did she think Wang So would still be there on the days they had nothing scheduled. 

“We can resume next week,” he says, picking himself up, never once looking at her. She almost lets him walk away. 

“That’s... I was planning on meeting tomorrow.” 

He halts, halfway down the stairs, and cool eyes meet red ones. 

“If you want to. I just needed a break to do some... thinking. For a writing competition,” she adds. 

Wang So raises his eyebrows, his hands in his pockets. Soo should be moving, but she’s not. 

“Maybe you could practice with me,” she continues. A lot of thoughts just tumbling out of her, down every step, towards him. Desperate attempts to deflect or an instinctive attempt at feeling better; she can’t choose which one she’s going for. 

“I could. But don’t be disappointed if I’m not good at it.” 

“Hey, you’re my student, you can at least try, you rascal.” 

She picks up a nearby pebble and throws it at him but she misses by a long margin. Wang So only chuckles, smiles up at her, and walks away, the sound of his shoes never once making a sound. He seems to appear in her life when she least expects, only to disappear just as she’s getting used to him. She touches her chest where not a single restrained sob yet remains and picks herself up, making her own way home. Soo avoids contact with everyone on the way, just moving aside, moving forward. One foot after the other after the next. Slowly, her scarf trailing behind her. 

Soo doesn’t brainstorm that night; she barely wants to think. She eats a flavorless dinner and then lies in bed with a drama in the background, keeping her eyes open until she can’t anymore. In the sentient darkness between reality and her dreams, the comfort and warmth of her blankets makes her feel a lot like she’s not alone. Her secret is finally shared. Every pent-up feeling jumps up and down the stone steps like misbehaved children, her red scarf a rope they hold on to, a rope wrapped around a Hae Soo surrounded by dead flowers. But the unseen sun is warm and she smiles despite herself. She wakes up from her dream drained by her own emotions, but gets up to a brand new day. 

Feeling sad is so tiring. Soo wants to feel differently, to think different things, so she gets up. Puts on discreet make-up that her school might not scold her for, adjusts her ribbon neatly, braids her hair in a simple side-braid. She makes neat annotations for every class, even neat numbers So would be able to read perfectly, and tries to shed the old Soo like an old skin. Maybe she’ll be forgotten in the wind on the way to the park. It’s not easy, but she tries, to the best of her abilities, without straining herself. Little steps. Deep breaths. And the park, waiting for her with arms wide open. 

Wang So places two hairclips on her notebook and when she looks up at him, he’s doing his very best attempt of nonchalant with a faint blush on his cheeks. 

“Your hair keeps falling on your face with the wind. Of course you picked today of all days to tie your hair back but whatever.” 

Soo picks up the hairclips; a single white flower adorns them and it shines faintly like a pearl. She places them on either side of her hair, by her temples, and without a mirror, she only raises her eyebrows at him for his opinion. So gives her his lopsided smile — this one looks a little happy — before focusing on his own work again. 

“You know I’m not going easy on your composition, right?” 

Wang So hits his head against his notebook and Soo can’t help but laugh.

[aspiestvmusings]

ENDGAME SPOILERS

This is for everyone, who was unhappy with certain characters story arc endings. Here’s my fanfic version of how that could be “fixed”... at least in fics

SPOILERS & LONG POST WARNING! 

I hope you get which characters, and which scenes and which arcs I am referring to, because I am being deliberately very vague & confusing, because I’ve decided to delay posting spoilers as much as I can. 

Originally, before seeing the film, I had one wish for the characters... Mid-way to the movie I knew that wasn’t an option...for these characters, but I had a certain vision on how it would end, but then, of course, it did not go as I would have written it if I had made the choices. 

But, while I would have preferred the story arc endings to have been handled a bit differently, I am ok with how it went down. Because it kinda fits. And if we look at two specific characters (whose endings fans might be most vocal about...based on the posts/comments I’ve seen online), then one got the ending they had earned, the other (though it may seem they got it) didn’t actually. And a few paragraphs below I’ll explain why & how. 

We also knew that several of the cast members didn’t plan to return for anymore movies, so their characters stories kinda had to be completed. 

For one of them the ending was a massive thank you to the actor, and the character (Tony/RDJ). For the other... it was such bad decision from writers (Cap/CE). But at the same time...if I look at it from the characters POV, then all I see is that other character (who got the “WIN” ending) basically giving the finger to the other one (who got the “SEEMS LIKE WON, BUT ACTUALLY LOST”). You ask how? Well... they reversed their roles...or rather finally revealed that their roles have always been reversed. They proved who was “right” & who was “wrong”. He did not actually grow, learn, develop...as a character..instead stayed the same. Unlike the characters, also in this film, who did good. And yeah, I am one of those who thinks this ending was not fitting*, but actually kinda “ruined” the character development thus far. (and that’s sad) or to put it better: it was fitting, because it revealed the character flaws that were being masked until now, it just showed that the “good guy” can actually not grow asa character & rather “regress”. That’s what I didn't like about it. 

Also... remember... “in order to get the soul stone, you must give up that which you love the most - a soul for a soul stone”.  (also consider  where the soulstone was at the end of Endgame... before this characters end scene)  And you cannot change the past/what’s happened. The things that have happened (including the 2018 snap) cannot be undone. It’s not how things work - it’s not possible for them to prevent the snap in their past happening:  

Then think about where that Old Man came from. The one, who sits by the lake. If we presume that he went on the mission he said he was going (when he took that briefcase & that other thing with him), and assume he completed the mission, then how did he end up where he did? All those years after the snap? How did he get to the “future”? To that precise location? To that precise moment? Perhaps he changed, and perhaps he went to Vormir & returned without the Old Woman (the one he loved the most), but with a Soul Stone? And what if he also had collected the other stones (time stone, which we saw Thanos use in IW to reverse/”travel in” time) & projected himself to the future that way - cause we know that he knows where the stones are...(Yeah, I know... impossible, because of what Team Avengers did, but... this is a superhero universe after all...) Cause...just going back... and either staying in one of the timelines where he returned the stones or creating a new timeline by going to a different time & place ... and then living there til the moment where that universes Pym particles & Stark tech help him jump to the MTL...is too boring...

What if he’s the next villain? In disguise (a hidden in plain sight end credits scene)? Just like Goose in CM was not what it seemed to be.  Because so much is missing from his story that it allows for different interpretations...as to why the writers chose to make him make the choices he did in the end. Cause unlike our heroes...his actions (based on the ending the way they wrote it for him) really make him a selfish asshole. I wish I didn’t have to say this, but after seeing it several times I still can’t wrap my mind around why the implied happened - why didn’t he leave that white house right after that scene...like he should’ve ... if he’d gotten a “win” ending. (cause now we have a set-up for a prequel for him) 

Like.. I didn’t pay much attention to this character in MCU, and I kinda thought he was cool and all & I had no issues with him til this (I’m not anti- him), but I am with those who have said that his ending (the way it seemed to imply this went) was a massive dis-service, and even under the rules the film set up it did not make sense... It kinda seemed off. It kinda seemed unexplained. It kinda seemed... not him.... (and even though I think that the fan theories that explain why this ending fits him perfectly & how it all makes sense...do make some sense & I see the writers trying to say those things through those scenes, but still...something seems off to me.... and the writers explanations just make it...worse) 

I hope that if this post does nothing more then it at least cheers you up a bit or gives inspiration for a fanfic... if you are not happy about how that characters story was handled. And as I've checked the tags, I've seen many have issues with it... so hope I brought you a bit of that silver lining... ;) 

I understood the rules set up in the film. I know that everything that has happened, happens..no matter what, so none of them can change anything that has happened in the past (even if they wanted to.... even if they could get their hands on a time stone & try to go back in time to undo some things or wand people about coming things... it’s not possible)  This isn’t some "Back to the Future”. So unlike we saw Thanos do in IW with Vision, what’s done is done and they can’t prevent anything that they’ve had to live through...not happen. This is also why I don’t agree with those who ask...why did he didn’t try to “go back & prevent things from happening”? Because... this is Avengers movie, not prevengers & because the past will always remain in the past & it simply cannot be undone.... None of it... But I still have issues with HOW they handled his ending.

And to anyone, who thinks this is unfair complaining, I’d like to use a quote by someone, who knows about storytelling/writing: Happy endings (the cheesy Disney ending this character got... just to include this type of fairytale ending is what bother many...) are overrated & not good. Hence why this one should not have been added, cause it feels...off... 

Everybody wants a happy ending, but it shouldn’t always go that way. 

[neptunecreek]

Building the “Great Collective Organism of the Mind” at The John Perry Barlow Symposium

Individuals from the furthest corners of cyberspace gathered Saturday to celebrate EFF co-founder, John Perry Barlow, and discuss his ideas, life, and leadership.

The John Perry Barlow Symposium, graciously hosted by the Internet Archive in San Francisco, brought together a collection of Barlow’s favorite thinkers and friends to discuss his ideas in fields as diverse as fighting mass surveillance, opposing censorship online, and copyright, in a bittersweet event that appropriately honored his legacy of Internet activism and defending freedom online.

Thanks to the magic of fair use, you can relive the Symposium any time by visiting the Internet Archive. Video begins at 48:00.

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After a touching opening from Anna Barlow, John Perry Barlow’s daughter, EFF Executive Director Cindy Cohn kicked off the speaker portion of the event:

“To me, what Barlow did for the Internet was to articulate, more and more beautifully than almost anyone, that this new network had the possibility of connecting all of us. He saw that the Internet would not be just a geeky hobby or toy like ham radios, or only a military or academic thing, which is what most folks who knew about it believed.  Starting from the Deadheads who used it to gather, he saw it as a new lifeblood for humans who longed for connection, but had been separated.”

EFF Executive Director Cindy Cohn.

While the man himself may not have been present, Barlow’s connection—and influence—was palpable throughout the Symposium, with a dozen distinguished speakers and hundreds in attendance conversing, delivering remarks, and offering up questions about the past, the present, the future, and Barlow’s impact on all of it. The first speaker (and EFF’s co-founder along with Barlow), Mitch Kapor, told the audience: “I can feel his generous and optimistic spirit right here in the room today inspiring all of us.”

EFF co-founder Mitch Kapor with Pam Samuelson.

Barlow’s genius, said Kapor, was that in 1990, while most Internet usage was research- and military-based, he “absolutely nailed the Internet’s essential character and what was going to happen.”

Samuelson and Barlow speak with with Bruce Lehman, head of the USPTO in 1996.

Pam Samuelson, Distinguished Professor of Law and Information at the University of California, Berkeley, pointed out that Barlow’s 1994 treatise on copyright in the age of the Internet, The Economy of Ideas, has been cited a whopping 742 times in legal literature. But he didn’t just give lawyers an article to cite—Barlow helped the world understand that copyright had a civil liberty dimension and galvanized people to become copyright activists at a time when traditional notions of information access would be shaken to their core.

Freedom of the Press Foundation's Trevor Timm.

Trevor Timm described Barlow as “the guiding light” and “the organizational powerhouse” of the Freedom of the Press Foundation, which he co-founded with Barlow in 2012. On the day the organization launched, Timm recalled, Barlow wrote: “When a government becomes invisible, it becomes unaccountable. To expose its lies, errors, and illegal acts is not treason, it is a moral responsibility. Leaks become the lifeblood of the Republic.” His hope was that the organization would inspire a new generation of whistleblowers—and the next speaker, Edward Snowden, made clear he’d achieved this goal, telling the audience: “He raised a message, sounded an alarm, that I think we all heard. He did not save the world, none of us can—but maybe he started the movement that will.”

Whistleblower Edward Snowden talks about Barlow's impact.

The speakers answered questions on Facebook privacy, their disagreements with Barlow (of which there were many, ranging from the role of government overall to whether copyright was alive or dead), and what comes next in our understanding of the web. Cory Doctorow, EFF Special Advisor and emcee of the Symposium alongside Cindy Cohn, answered this in “Barlovian” fashion: “We could sit here and try to spin scenarios until the cows come home and not get anything done, or we can roll up our sleeves and do something.”

EFF’s former Executive Director (and current director of the Tor Project) Shari Steele began the second panel, discussing Barlow’s deeply-held belief in the First Amendment, insistence on hearing opposing viewpoints, and interest in bringing together diverse opinions: “That’s how he thrived...He was always encouraging people to talk to each other—to have conversations where you normally maybe wouldn’t have thought this was somebody you would have something in common with. He was fascinating, dynamic, and helped us create an Internet that has all sorts of fascinating and dynamic speech in it.”

Shari Steele, John Gilmore, and Joi Ito.

John Gilmore, EFF Co-founder and Board Member, invoked French philosopher and anthropologist Teilhard de Chardin, whose ideas Barlow specifically referenced in his writings. Barlow’s interest in mind-altering experiences, like taking LSD, said Gilmore, wasn’t just related to his love of the Internet: it came from the exact same place, an interest in creating the “great collective organism of mind” that Barlow hoped we might one day become.

Steven Levy, author and editor at large at Wired.

Author Stephen Levy, the writer of Hackers, thought that though Barlow may be well known as a writer of lyrics for the Grateful Dead, he will possibly be even better known by his words about the digital revolution. In his view, Barlow was a terrific writer and a master storyteller “capable of pulling off a quadruple-axle level of nonfiction difficulty.” His gift was to be able to not only “explain what was happening to the out-of-it Mr. Joneses of the world, but to encapsulate what was happening, to celebrate it, and to warn against its dangers in a way that would enlighten even the...people who knew the digital world—and to do it in a way that the reading was a pure pleasure.”

Joi Ito, Director of the MIT Media Lab.

Joi Ito, Director of the MIT Media Lab, described Barlow’s sense of humor and optimism—the same “you see when you talk to the Dalai Lama.” Today’s dark moments for the Internet aren’t the end, he said, and reminded everyone that Barlow had an elegant way of bringing these elements together with activism and resolve. His deep sense of humor came “from knowing how terrible the world is, but still being connected to true nature.” Ito also touched upon Barlow's groundbreaking essay A Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace as a crucial "battle cry for us to rally around," taking the budding cyberpunk movement and helping it become a socio-political one.

The second panel fielded questions on encryption, Barlow’s uncanny ability to show up in the weirdest places, and how we can inspire the next generation of Barlows. Echoing EFF’s mission of bringing together lawyers, technologists, and activists, Joi Ito said that we will need engineers, lawyers, and social scientists to come together to redesign technology and change law, and also change society—and that one of Barlow’s amazing abilities was that he could talk to, and influence, all of these people.

Twenty-seven years later, EFF continues to work at the bleeding edge of technology to protect the rights of the users in issues as diverse as net neutrality, artificial intelligence, opposing censorship, and fighting mass surveillance.

Ameila Barlow reads from the 25 Principles for Adult Behavior.

Amelia Barlow, John Perry’s daughter, thanked the “vast web” of infinitely interesting and radical human beings around the world who he cared about and cared about him. “Never before have you been able to draw more immediately and completely upon him—and I want you to feel that,” she said, before reading his now-famous 25 Principles for Adult Behavior.

Anna Barlow reflects on her father's life.

As Anna Barlow said in her opening remarks, Barlow’s adventures didn’t stop in his later years—they just started coming to him. Some of the most brilliant thinkers in the world showed that this will remain true even while his physical presence is missed. Perhaps the Symposium was one step towards creating the “great collective organism of mind” that Barlow hoped to see us all become. And at the very least, Anna said, he doesn’t have to be bummed about missing parties anymore—because now he can go to all of them.

Cory Doctorow gives parting words on honoring Barlow.

Cory Doctorow closed the Symposium with a request:

“This week—sit down and have the conversation with someone who’s already primed to understand the importance of technology and its relationship to human flourishing and liberty. And then I want you to go varsity. And I want you to have that conversation with someone non-technical, someone who doesn’t understand how technology could be a force for good, but is maybe becoming keenly aware of how technology could be a force for wickedness.

And ensure that they are guarded against the security syllogism. Ensure that they understand too that we need not just to understand that technology can give us problems, but we must work for ways in which technology can solve our problems too.

And if you do those things you will honor the spirit of John Perry Barlow in a profound way that will carry on from this room and honor our friend who we lost so early, and who did so much for us.”

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