#no other character in the game. even the others who have gone through unimaginable trauma

[aphel1on]

i know it's a very basic facet of his character design which we've known about for years but the lightlessness of childe's eyes still sends me insaaaaaane

[zepskies]

Aww I'm so glad you enjoyed this! Was my pleasure to write out this prompt for you.

Yeah I rewatched that first episode of S8 to both refresh my memory and get back into the game with this. When I tell you that "reunion" is so damn awkward. 🫠

But anywho. The opening scene -- definitely tense and emotional for both of them. Even though you don't see Dean's side here, I'm so glad you pointed this out:

Obviously we only see the readers side but the pause before dean answers, I can just see his eyes closing in relief after hearing her voice, just how she reacts a moment later.

Exactly what I was going for there. 💙 Along with his protective instincts of course. lol Can't have Dean without that.

“And how soon can you get here? his tone implies.” I loved this line because dean would never ask that, he’s too focused on taking care of everyone else but after the year he had it’s not surprising he’s desperate for the familiarity and it’s so wonderful that he’s got someone in the reader who can pick up on that. He totally deserves that 🥹

He really does deserve that -- someone who can read him as well as he reads others, and makes moves to care for him. 🥹 I totally agree, which is why I didn't have him say that line out loud.

And fuck yes Sam actually caring about his brother in S8, damn it! I know what the writers were probably going for (a parallel to Dean seeking out a normal life in Lisa and Ben in S6), but it wasn't the right way to go about it. It didn't feel natural (mind the pun lol).

As for what the reader's gone through, you're right, it must be so much worse without closure and no idea where Dean is. At least Dean can cling to the idea that she's safe with his brother back home.

And how have you managed to write Sam more in character than the writers?Yes he would totally be looking out for deans girl and ignoring all his feelings on the matter.

Aww thanks hun, you're too kind. 🥰 I just wrote what "felt right" for Sam, and that was giving a damn about his family and being a protector himself, because he is.

I'm so glad you liked the actual reunion scene! 😭💙 I got a bit emotional myself while writing it. I'm a sap for an emotional reunion and wanted to do my best to deliver there. (I wouldn't let go of him either. You'd literally have to pry me off with a curvy Latina-sized spatula.)

In the car, my heart breaks for dean. Still feeling jumpy and like his missing his weapon. It’s unimaginable how awful that year must have been for him. And still the boy is more concerned for the reader and Sam.

I think the show could've lingered on what Dean went through in Purgatory. Like yes, he comes back a "harder" Dean, but we don't get into his head as much as we did when he came back from hell in S4. Here I wanted to dwell on that -- how the year apart affected both Dean and the reader. How things might not be okay right now, but if they work together, they can get through their trauma.

Again, I'm so glad you liked this! I was very happy to do this request for you. I've got a couple more from you that I'd love to work on in the near future too! ❤️

Hello my lovely friend! I would love to see an imagine/head canon of Dean and the reader seeing each other for the first time after he either comes back from hell or purgatory if you’d be up for it 💕 up to you whether it’s an established relationship or mutual pining 😉 thank you! 😘

Hello, my dear!!

Thank you so much for this imagine! I needed a bit of Dean. 😘

Now I went with Purgatory for this one (S8, E01 – “We Need to Talk About Kevin”).

I diverged from canon of Sam not looking for Dean to make sure if he was dead. Not just because I think that choice by the SPN writers wasn’t true to Sam’s character (Even Jared has said this lol), but because I think if Dean had a girlfriend at this point in time, Sam wouldn’t just abandon her to deal with Dean’s loss alone. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Song Inspo: Yes, I had one for this! Weirdly enough, it was the entire “Moneyball” soundtrack. The whole smooth but intense pace of it really drove me on this.

Word Count: 2,200 Warnings: 18+ only for some smuttiness.

Imagine: Reuniting with Dean, not knowing if things will be the same.

You’re doing the dishes when your phone rings.

You check the caller ID, frowning when the number is unfamiliar. But you answer with a thread of wariness while you’re holding a glass.

“Hello?” you answer. For a moment, there’s silence on the line. Your brows knit together in suspicion.

For months, you’ve been living with Sam and Kevin in this dusty cabin in the woods. Literally, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. It was the only way you and Sam could try to protect the prophet from Crowley.

So the fact that you're getting a call at all is surprising in and of itself.

Your frown deepens. “Whoever this is, you have three seconds before I hang the hell up.”

“Hey…it’s me.”

Your suspicion fades, but shock overtakes you. Your breath stills in your lungs when you hear Dean’s voice. However, your brain can’t compute.

It’s been a year.

“Sweetheart, are you there?” he says.

You finally choke on a gasp, and the glass slides out of your hand and shatters in the sink.

“Hey, you okay?” his gruff concern is so very Dean that it continues to choke you into tears.

“Dean,” you utter. Your mouth trembles as your eyes close, and your tears find their own way down your cheeks. “I…I’ve been…you’re okay?”

“Well, I’m here,” he answers, with some dry humor, but he sounds off. You don’t know what to make of that, but now you’re worried.

You look down at your shaking hand, and you realize that there’s a small piece of glass that ricocheted into your palm. You ignore it, because all you can focus on is your boyfriend’s voice in your ear.

“Where…are you?” you ask. Every trembling, heave of breath brings you closer to a sob.

“Louisiana. Clayton, Louisiana,” he replies. His voice is even, but there’s emotion there too. You hear it, only because you know him so well. “Where are you?”

And how soon can you get here? his tone implies.

After Dean disappeared in the aftershock of Dick Roman’s death, you, Sam, and Kevin had been scouring every lore book on God’s green Earth. Nothing has gotten you closer to finding Dean in the last year.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to fully give up, but in recent weeks, you would never admit that your heart has been starting to falter. So has your body.

Sam watches you closely on the way out of the house, heading to the Impala. You’re grateful for the way he’s been looking out for you, but you also resent it. You don’t need help. You’re fine…mostly.  

As strange as it’s been living in this house, it’s become your safety blanket. Your cold shell where you can block off the rest of the world, as if time hasn’t been ticking by all these months outside of it.

But now you’re practically shaking. Call it nerves, lack of sleep, too much caffeine, too much crap food, stress, and grief. You ignore it, taking a firm grip of the passenger door handle and yanking it open. Sam drives.

The hours are excruciating. Your leg bounces restlessly, and Sam notices, but doesn’t comment. He does try to soothe you with your favorite music in the car. He tries to pick up conversation, but you’re not having it.

You’re even being pretty selfish right now. Sam had been without his brother for a year, just as you had been without. And here he is, trying to comfort you.

You can’t help it though.

You’re not okay. You don’t think you’ll ever be okay again until you see him.

Sam eventually pulls into the dingy motel in the middle of rural Louisiana. (And yet, somehow on the corner of a Hustler, one of Dean’s favorite sex shops. Your lips curve slightly.)

Sam’s calling Dean on his cell, but you’re too impatient to wait for the man to come out.

You jerk the car door open, and in your haste, you don’t realize that you’ve slammed the door shut.

“Hey, easy on my Baby.”

You turn with a gasp lodged in your throat, but not even that can escape when Dean comes into view. Complete with red plaid and old jeans and rough stubble that approaches a beard, and a duffel bag.

Dean’s smirk fades into a softer grin when he takes in the familiar curve of your face, the gentle frame of your body, the sight of your tears, welling up in your eyes.

You take in a shuddering breath, and you go to him. Dean drops his bag so that he can properly welcome you where you’re supposed to be.    

His arms wrap around your waist, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head. He smells like motel soap and second-hand clothes, but all you care about is that he feels solid and alive and your heart’s just shy of shattering, or knitting back together. It beats a fast flutter in your chest.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he rumbles in your ear. You nod, even though you can’t help the way you’re shaking, crying, clinging to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You hate that those are your first words to him, but you can’t help it. That’s what you feel, down to your bones. “We tried so damn hard to find you…”

Dean pauses a bit on that, but he just shakes his head. He meets Sam’s gaze behind you and offers his brother a smile. Sam smiles back; he’s full to the brim at the sight of Dean, but for you, he’s patient. He can wait his turn.

“I know,” Dean tells you, holds you a bit tighter. “I'm all right. It’s not your fault, you understand?”

You draw another shaky breath and lean back far enough to see his face. You raise a hand to touch his cheek. When he stares down into your eyes, you know you’re going to be okay.

And so will he. You’re going to make sure of it.

In lieu of words, Dean leans down and captures whatever you might’ve said then with his lips. The kiss is heat and longing, both sweet and rough. It’s everything you need.

It’s a long drive all the way back to your cabin in the woods. Dean checks on you often while you’re passed out asleep in the backseat. He’s back in the driver’s seat of his car, hands wrapped around the familiar leather steering wheel, but he still doesn’t feel totally…right.

Despite being wrapped around the leather, his right hand feels empty. Like it needs the weight of a weapon. He’s still tense and on edge, even now, and Sam notices.

“What was it like?” he asks, quietly so he doesn’t wake you. He’s glad you’re finally sleeping.

“Purgatory?” Dean scoffs. “Like being deep in God’s freakin’ armpit.”

Sam’s brows knit together, but he waits, seeing if Dean will continue. And he does, after giving Sam a brief glance.

“It was monsters, Sam.” A never-ending twilight. Never a moment to rest. A wide-eyed existence of gnashing teeth and blood and black ooze.

When Sam inevitably asks how he got out of Purgatory, Dean is vague, evasive. Castiel didn’t make it, he admits, also in halting detail. But Dean is more willing to focus on how tired you and Sam both look. How pale your skin is. How it seems like this is the first hour of sleep you’ve gotten all week.

“How’s she been?” Dean asks, once again checking on you through the rearview mirror. Sam inhales deeply, making Dean frown.

“She’s been holding on,” Sam replies. “Strong, for Kevin especially. Poor kid’s too scared to go outside half the time.”

Dean turns to him with a frown.

“You’ve been taking care of her, right?” he asks.

Sam huffs, with a wry smile. “When she let me.”

Dean quirks a bit of a smile. That sounded like you. Stubborn at your best, damn near impossible at your worst. But the latter is what he’s worried about.

He later carries you inside the cabin, acknowledging your sleepy mumbles that you can walk, but not actually heeding your words. Sam tells him which one is your room, and Dean carries you there. By then you’re awake, but resigned to the fact that he isn’t going to let you down.

Your hand smooths up his arm, up the back of his neck and into his hair. It makes a pleasant tingle run up his spine.

“Your hair’s gotten long,” you muse, sorting your fingers through the strands. His hair’s darker too, not quite so dirty blonde, now leaning closer to light brown.

Dean smiles a bit. “If that’s all that’s changed, then I’d say I’m in good shape.”

He lays you down on the bed, and you bring him down with you by grabbing onto the front of his gray undershirt. He sinks down onto the edge of the bed and drifts a hand from your arm, to your face. He refreshes his memory of every angle, the soft feel of your skin. He knows his hands are rougher, but you feel the same.

You draw him into you and it begins.

Kissing him feels like taking a much needed breath. The way he grips your arms when you lick sensuously into his mouth—a sudden squeeze, an iron hold—it ignites your blood and the fire in your lower belly.

Your fingers rake into his hair. His solid grip moves to your hips, and you lie back when he guides you onto the mattress.

The sound of your breaths mingling together become shallow as you shove the plaid off his shoulders and ruck up the shirt. He does the same for your shirt and jeans, followed by his own. All that’s left it his skin against yours and rough hands squeezing fingerprint bruises into your hips and thighs.

You don’t mind at first; the strength of his hold and how much he wants you spurs you on. You’re slick and pulsing with need when Dean eventually slides home inside you. He has a hand tight in your hair, gripping tighter as he begins to move hard and fast.

“Dean,” you pant. You moan on his name, but you’re also trying to get his attention. You wince as his hand tightens, both in your hair, trapped against the pillow, and on your hip. You hold onto his wrist.

“Ease up, baby,” you whisper. You don’t want Sam or Kevin to hear you, even though you’re sure they could guess what you and Dean are up to.

But Dean doesn’t seem to hear you at first. You look up into his eyes, and you’re not sure if he’s entirely seeing you. It’s not like him, and it triggers warning signals in your mind. You have to wrap your legs tightly around his hips, squeezing his wrist even harder to stop him for a moment.

“Dean,” you insist. And he finally sees you.

When you soothe a thumb against his wrist, his eyes widen. He releases his hand from your hair, bracing against the bed instead.

He frees the other hand from your hip, and he sees the shape of his fingers already forming in your skin. He knows his hold was tight enough to bruise down to the bone.

It’s happened before, but not like this. Dean’s never lost control like that. Not with you, even in times like these.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he catches his breath, frowning deeply. His green eyes meet yours, raw and guilty. “I uh…I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You tilt your head at him with a thoughtful frown. You reach up to frame his face with both hands, and you wordlessly tug him down to you. Dean is somewhat reluctant, but he follows your guiding hands and meets your waiting kiss, tender and slow.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats against your lips. His voice is low and coarse, filled with the true depths of his emotions. Everything he's been trying to hide from you.

Your eyes sting with the threat of tears.

“It’s okay,” you reply, through sweeter kisses. “I love you. We're gonna be okay.”

He hesitates. Then, he nods, accepting your words and your warmth.

His hand slowly brushes against your thigh, soothing along your bruising skin. You still have your legs wrapped around his hips, but you lessen your own hold, now that he seems to have come back to himself.

You both realize then that it might not be okay for a while. But that too is all right. Because you’re nothing if not stubborn, and Dean is worth the challenge.  

He closes his eyes to breathe and center himself. They blink open at the feeling of your hand, insistent on his shoulder. Your face is both tenderness and determination.

You push against him and twist until he's the one on his back, on the bed, holding your hips, the two of you still joined. He looks up at you still with a measure of reluctance.

"I've got you this time," you tell him, stroking his cheek. His almost-beard prickles against your palm.

After a moment, you can see in his eyes that he believes you.

And you begin again.

AN: Gaaaah, this man. I'm weak every time I write about him. 🥲

I have another Dean imagine coming soon. Some special anon asked for the reverse of "Sam being in love with Dean's girlfriend."

So stay tuned for "Dean gives you an impossible choice." 😉

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Tag List:

@hobby27 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @emily-winchester @deans-baby-momma @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin

@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @fabimaou @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @syrma-sensei

[clementineviolet]

why do you ship violentine?

I really appreciate this question, because I see so often the accusation that Violentine shippers only like the ship because it’s gay. Obviously, for many of us, there are shades of truth to this - we crave visible and loving representations of wlw love, especially because we don’t see nearly as much of it in the video game industry compared to m/f pairings. And Violentine is one of the most “realistic” depictions of a young wlw relationship that I have seen, and I am defining “realistic” in terms of my own experiences of young romance. Like a lot of other wlw, I couldn’t just openly flirt with or express blatant attraction to my crush - I had to rely on signals and just the pure hope that my feelings were reciprocated, and that meant feeling SO nervous and so afraid when I confessed my romantic feelings. But that lack of confidence just made those reciprocated feelings EVEN MORE worthwhile and beautiful - knowing that despite being a pretty small minority in the general population, I managed to find a girl who liked me back and finally could get to experience what comes so much easier to heterosexual people. 

One of the main “justifications” I’ve seen for preferring to ship Clem with Louis is that he brings her joy she hasn’t been able to experience much of before since the apocalypse began and teaches her that survival does not always have to be the number 1 priority. And I would definitely agree with the second analysis, but I think people miss or at least diminish the mutual joy and sense of being ALIVE, not just SURVIVING, that Clem and Violet bring into each other’s lives. 

Choosing Violet certainly does entail considering survival more often than you do with Louis; just the dichotomy of the Violet vs Louis choices (go check the defenses vs tune the piano, fishing vs playing walker piñata) makes this point clear. But I dislike how the Violet vs Louis decision is often pitted as choosing survival (Violet) versus being alive and in the moment (Louis). I don’t consider it that simple, for multiple reasons, but the most important being that Violet’s coping mechanism of soft romantic gestures and making survival as entertaining as possible is *just* as helpful to Clementine as Louis’ coping mechanism of humor, light-heartedness, and having fun regardless of the situation. 

Violet and Clem have both survived unimaginable traumas, pretty much incomparable to the rest of the group (as far as we know). Violet witnessed her grandmother commit suicide right in front of her before the apocalypse even started and death became a “normal” phenomenon for the other kids, and closed herself off from others. She presumably allowed Minnie and Sophie to get close to her, and then (allegedly) lost them both to walkers. When she first meets Clem, she’s closed off on purpose; but the speed by which she opens up to Clem reveals what she’s like when she isn’t occupied by the trauma of losing so many people she let herself grow close to. 

And we don’t even have to get into all of Clem’s traumatic experiences. Both of these girls have gone through so much, but make each other SO happy regardless. In particular, I love how understated but thoughtful Violet’s romantic gestures are for Clem. Violet isn’t really the type to engage in PDA or openly flirt - which I relate to A LOT as a lesbian because sometimes it just isn’t safe to do that - but there’s no denying that she’s a closeted romantic who is more than capable of making Clem equally as happy as she is with Louis. 

And getting back to my point about Violet and Louis being pitted against each other as either emphasizing “staying alive” or “living/being alive”. Obviously, Violet is extremely protective of the people she cares about and the most physically capable boarding school student (aside from Marlon), so it makes sense for people to want her and Clem together romantically on that basis alone. But I think it’s important to recognize how Violet isn’t just some walker-killing strategy machine whose number 1 priority is safety and survival. She genuinely tries to make survival as light-hearted as she believes to be possible and under the constant circumstances of threat to her, Clem, and the school’s survival. 

Overall, Violet and Louis both provide different but equally as “useful”/cherished things for Clementine. Louis offers to Clem something similar to what Omid offered Christa - temporary escapes from the post-apocalyptic world, light-hearted humor, more open affection. Violet offers to Clem kind of what Christa offered Omid, actually - a sense of security, but coupled with more subtle yet equally as loving moments of shared humor, joy, and romance. If Clem’s in trouble, Violet’s gonna be in front of her with her cleaver out ready to kick ass without a second of hesitation. But Violet and Clem are also both learning together how to have fun while also surviving. 

And Clementine definitely provides them different things as well. Louis clearly uses his humor to mask his fears of inadequacy, so Clementine provides him with security and reassurance that he can have both survival and a fun time. As for Violet, Clem helps Violet learn and grow from her deeply ingrained fear of abandonment just by sticking by her side and helping her lead this group when just a year ago, Violet would never have stepped up to lead. There is something so powerful about two characters with so much trauma, who have lost so many of the people that they cared for, learning to find joy and love together, while also kicking ass and taking names. Power couple always. 

[idontrememberthetitans]

The Best Films of 2018

Top 10 Films of the Year:

1.       ROMA (Netflix)

If I harbored any doubt that Alfonso Cuarón was among the greatest filmmakers/storytellers of this (or last) century, it was forever dispelled with Roma. Cuarón’s hyper-naturalistic memoir reveals the thorny relationships between employers, caregivers, and those who receive care. It possesses a kind of clarity, maturity, and tenderness that only comes with distance and time. As it communicates the innumerable intersections of and parallels between ethnicity, class, and gender, it neither rushes nor exaggerates and romanticize, which is quite commendable considering just how visually rapturous Cuarón’s execution is. Moreover, he does so without pontificating or criticizing. Some of the film’s detractors claim it’s an elitist exaltation of domestic workers; I find that assertion unfair, for it would require a larger conversation about who is able to represent whom. I believe Cuarón respectfully illuminates and savors the mundane for therein lies the clandestine miracles of life. It’s clear he has so much love for the ghosts of long ago. Roma is a paean celebrating and lamenting all the pains and pleasures that usher us through any given year.  (Watch the trailer.)

2.       COLD WAR (Amazon Studios)

Sexy, sad, and everything in between, Paweł Pawlikowski’s Cold War chronicles a nearly two decade-long love affair between Wiktor - an accomplished music director - and Zula - a rising singer - in a world in threat of extinction. The film examines the violation of cultural identity and the mechanism of war which thwart any attempt to preserve authenticity. Epic and tactfully sparse in equal amounts, the film is comprised of unbearably terse episodes peppered over fifteen years. Thus, we are only privy to fragments of the characters’ tumultuous timeline together. Within the interlude – between each passionate episodes - Pawlikowski brilliantly employs subtext and chilly atmospheric tension to sustains the pair’s longings – and subsequently preserves our infatuation with them. Cold War is a rich love story swathed in bitterness. By the end, we can’t help but envy, pity, and mourn each part of Wiktor and Zula’s hot-blooded romance. (Watch the trailer.)

3.       THE TALE (HBO Films)

The Tale is a work in progress. I say this without insult but unrestrained admiration. Documentarian Jennifer Fox’s devastating filmic memoir about childhood sexual assault is personal exercise in understanding deeply entrenched trauma. Much of the film’s approbation notes its nuanced handling of difficult thematic material and Dern’s towering yet understated performance, but Fox’s haunting lyricism – the way she manifests a cinematic conversation between her present self and her younger self from dispersed memories  – makes this film a formal and aesthetic triumph just as much as a cultural watershed.

Initially, I questioned how “accurate” the film’s conclusion was. Did the events unfold with the same amount of understated poetic justice? Did Fox have the opportunity for confrontation and vindication as depicted? I realize that asking for explication undercuts the power of Fox’s investigation and exemplary subjectivity. The film itself is an act of introspective healing. As harrowing as The Tale is, it is essential viewing. (Watch the trailer.)

4.       THE FAVOURITE (Fox Searchlight Pictures)

I’m still quite ambivalent towards the film’s nauseating photography, but make no mistake; The Favourite is the best writing and acting you’ll witness this year. While Lanthimos other films (Dogtooth, The Lobster, and The Killing of a Sacred Deer) are the superlative statements on the auteur’s résumé – perhaps in part because he also penned them – his dark, stomach-churning talents certainly lend themselves well to this gleefully filthy farce. The deliciously dicey sexual politics between the characters provides a scathing critique of class, decorum, regal period pieces, and the current political climate on a grand scale. The trio’s absurd antics keep the film alive with color and candor, but film’s lasting impact comes with the glimmers of profound sadness laced within Olivia Colman’s performance as the sovereign. Colman, one of the finest living actors, carefully vacillates between her character’s illogical command and her surprising frailty. The Favourite typifies the best kind of satire: deliciously catty as it plays out with a melancholic sting in its aftermath. (Watch the trailer.)

5.       HEREDITARY (A24)

Balance is key in life – and because we’ve relished the delectable delights of Mary Poppins Returns and Paddington 2, a hearty dose of uncompromising nihilism is also imperative. Hereditary more than excels in that role. It is a grotesque descent into unimaginable horror led by Toni Collette in a game-changing performance. Following films like Antichrist (2009), Babadook (2014), The VVitch (2015) and this year’s equally terrific and terrifying The Haunting of Hill House series, Hereditary marks an apex in the horror subgenre exploring the connection between loss and dread. It’s aware of the genre’s robust history. Consequently much of its success lies in its perceptive ability to draw from other classics like Rosemary’s Baby, Don’t Look Now, and The Exorcist while continuing to probe the complexities of grief and unconscious shame. (Watch the trailer.)

6.       YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE (Amazon Studios)

Had the titles not already been taken, You Were Never Really Here could have easily be called “Making a Murderer,” “Gone Girl,” or “Vengeance Is Mine.” Lynne Ramsay’s follow-up to We Need to Talk About Kevin follows a damaged antihero hired to rescue trafficked girls. Her The story’s presentation is so lean and alienating that it’s difficult to ever form a comprehensive understanding of merciless world the characters inhabit. The violence is graphic, however Ramsey rarely shows the actual acts as they are committed. Instead, she takes us through static terrains in the wake of horrific brutality. Her juxtaposition of overwhelming ambient noises creates a particularly affecting cacophony. Surreal, distressing, yet oddly tender and uplifting, You Were Never Really Here confirms once again that Ramsay is an artist of the highest order. (Watch the trailer.)

7.       EIGHTH GRADE (A24)

Bo Burham’s Eighth Grade a wonder to behold – that is, if you can endure an utterly distressing experience to endure. Eighth Grade’s young heroine, Kayla, navigates the frightening contours of adolescence. During my initial viewing of Eighth Grade, it felt like a slideshow of memories from the most repellent stages of childhood. I only allowed myself to recognize it all at a distance – perhaps a self-induced safety mechanism – as if all of it existed in a half-remembered past.  Revisiting the film months later, it felt startlingly indicative of not only my eighth grade year but every year of life. If we cut through the handful of distinct aches of puberty, I’m really not so different now than I was at age thirteen – though Kayla is perhaps a bit less polished. What’s more, Kayla’s anxieties, comforts, and hopes function the same way mine do now. Burham’s film brims with compassion, so it’s easy to see - and feel - that eighth grade wasn’t that long ago. (Watch the trailer.)

8.       IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK (Annapurna Pictures)

Fear begets fear... until it eats the soul. Barry Jenkins’ adaptation of James Baldwin’s novel is a exquisite study of how fear - internalized and externalized - leads to systematic racism and discrimination. As Baldwin and Jenkins reveal, the only remedy to combat this fear is love – and there’s so much of it in and around Beale Street. (Perhaps Donnie Darko’s Jim Cunningham and his simplistic binary theory were actually prophetic?) It’s difficult to examine Jenkins’ expertise without acknowledging his stylistic and thematic influences – specifically Wong Kar-wai and his intoxicating visual romanticism and Douglas Sirk and his flair for weepy melodrama. Yet even as glimmers of other great works shine through Beale Street, Jenkins contributes his own unique voice to the pantheon of Cinema. Using Baldwin’s poignant prose as a template, he blends the conventions of great American stage plays with docudrama tenets to craft a vast universe of feeling. Furthermore, If Beale Street Could Talk is evidence that Moonlight certainly wasn’t a fluke. (Watch the trailer.)

9.       MARY POPPINS RETURNS (Disney)

It feels inappropriate to include such an imperfect movie among intimidating achievements like Roma and Cold War. Even with all its excessive schmaltz, saccharine sentiment and scenery-chewing cameos, Mary Poppins Returns represents a kind of homage I feared was entirely lost. Not so; I learned nothing’s gone forever, only out of place. Sure, the film’s nostalgic structure (or lack thereof), design, quips and songs are all aggressive imitations of a perfect cinematic and cultural touchstone, but the whole ordeal is just so beautifully flattering it’s impossible not to melt in its warmth. It reverently and earnestly reminds us just how lucky we are to have a classic like Mary Poppins to return to. It sends up and throws back to the pinnacle of the expansive (and now unforgivably carnivorous) Disney kingdom. As demonstrated here, indulging nostalgia from time to time can be quite healthy. Unlike most current family movies that pander to the lowest common denominator, Mary Poppins Returns transcends cynicism, pop iconography, and humor ingrained in the present moment. Although much of the film’s success is due to the collaboration of a surplus of talent, the film belongs to Emily Blunt. She, in fact, IS practically perfect as she evades mimicry and adds nuanced wit and benevolence. (Watch the trailer.)

10.   MADELINE’S MADELINE (Oscilloscope Laboratories)

Madeline’s Madeline, an experimental coming-of-age thriller, is a film for those who care deeply about grueling and convoluted “artistic process.” It deftly walks a tight rope between satire and an earnest exploration of psychosis and performance – not unlike Bergman’s Persona or Lynch’s Mulholland Drive. Co-Writer/Director Josephine Decker fashions a platform for the fascinating newcomer Helena Howard; she reveals a rare kind of brashness and vulnerability in the title role. Alongside Howard, Molly Parker and the ever-brilliant Miranda July put their trust in Josephine Decker’s peculiar process. As such, they elevate and legitimize Madeline’s nightmare. There is palpable malice woven through the confounding narrative, though it is impossible to discern its primary source. Thematically, the film picks up the baton where Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York left it, but Decker uses a film language loaded with obtuse codes and metaphors. Aesthetically, the film is something else entirely – more dangerous and anomalous than we’re comfortable seeing. And for that reason, it’s quite difficult to shake. (Watch the trailer.)

Another Praiseworthy 10 (in alphabetical order):

BEN IS BACK

BLACK PANTHER

BLACKkKLANSMAN

BURNING

CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

THE DEATH OF STALIN

LEAVE NO TRACE

SHOPLIFTERS

SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE

A STAR IS BORN

Best Direction:

1.       Alfonso Cuarón for ROMA

2.       Paweł Pawlikowski for COLD WAR

3.       Lynne Ramsay for YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE

4.       Barry Jenkins for IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

5.       Yorgos Lanthimos for THE FAVOURITE

Best Adapted Screenplays:

1.       IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

2.       BLACKkKLANSMAN

3.       BURNING

4.       CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

5.      BLACK PANTHER

Best Original Screenplays:

1.       THE FAVOURITE

2.       SHOPLIFTERS

3.       EIGHTH GRADE

4.       THE DEATH OF STALIN

5.       EIGHTH GRADE

Best Leading Actors:

1.       Bradley Cooper in A STAR IS BORN

2.       Ethan Hawke in FIRST REFORMED

3.       Joaquin Phoenix in YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE

4.       John David Washington in BLACKkKLANSMAN

5.       Lucas Hedges in BEN IS BACK

Best Leading Actresses:

1.       Toni Collette in HEREDITARY

2.       Olivia Coleman in THE FAVOURITE

3.       Emily Blunt in MARY POPPINS RETURNS

4.       Laura Dern in THE TALE

5.       Yalitza Aparicio in ROMA

Best Supporting Actors:

1.       Timothee Chalamet in BEAUTIFUL BOY

2.       Steven Yeun in BURNING

3.       Richard E. Grant in CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

4.       Adam Driver in BLACKkKLANSMAN

5.       Josh Hamilton in EIGHTH GRADE

Best Supporting Actresses:

1.       Natalie Portman in VOX LUX

2.       Emma Stone & Rachel Weisz in THE FAVOURITE

3.       Regina King in IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

4.       Amy Adams in VICE

5.       Emily Blunt in A QUIET PLACE

Best Cinematography:

1.       ROMA

2.       COLD WAR

3.       IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

4.       AT ETERNITY’S GATE

5.       SUSPIRIA

Best Film Editing:

1.       SUSPIRIA

2.       BLACK PANTHER

3.       FIRST MAN

4.       ASSASSINATION NATION

5.       WIDOWS

Best Sound Design:

1.       YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE

2.       FIRST MAN

3.       A QUIET PLACE

4.       ROMA

5.       SUSPIRIA

Best Production Design:

1.       SUSPIRIA

2.       MARY POPPINS RETURNS

3.       THE FAVOURITE

4.       BLACK PANTHER

5.       READY PLAYER ONE

Best Costume Design:

1.       MARY POPPINS RETURNS

2.       SUSPIRIA

3.       THE FAVOURITE

4.       BLACK PANTHER

5.       IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

Best Original Scores:

1.       Marc Shaiman for MARY POPPINS RETURNS

2.       Ludwig Göransson for BLACK PANTHER

3.       Alexander Desplat for ISLE OF DOGS

4.       Justin Hurwitz for FIRST MAN

5.       Nicholas Britell for IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

Best Original Songs:

1.       “The Place Where Lost Things Go” from MARY POPPINS RETURNS

2.       “Shallow” from A STAR IS BORN

3.       “Suspirium” from SUSPIRIA

4.       “All the Stars” from BLACK PANTHER

5.       “Treasure” from BEAUTIFUL BOY

Best Animated Features:

1.       SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE

2.       ISLE OF DOGS

3.       THE INCREDIBLES 2

4.       MIRAI

5.       RALPH BREAKS THE INTERNET

Best Acting Ensembles:

1.       MARY POPPINS RETURNS

2.       SHOPLIFTERS

3.       BALCKkKLANSMAN

4.       THE DEATH OF STALIN

5.       A STAR IS BORN

2018′s Most Important Films:

1.       THE TALE

2.       SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE

3.       BLACK PANTHER

4.       INSTANT FAMILY

5.       CRAZY RICH ASIANS

To commemorate Ingmar Bergman’s 100th Birthday (and a sold-out Criterion Collection boxset of 39 of his films), let’s recall his greatest works:

1.       PERSONA

2.       THE SEVENTH SEAL

3.       CRIES & WHISPERS

4.       WILD STRAWBERRIES

5.       SHAME

6.       FANNY & ALEXANDER

7.       AUTUMN SONATA

8.       THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | WINTER LIGHT | THE SILENCE

9.       SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE

10.     THE VIRGIN SPRING

[allmymisters]

For the Love of China

I just woke up. That’s a lie. I woke up around 2 hours ago. I awoke from a dream I can’t remember and a peacefully sleeping Mister who does that snoring that sounds like he’s whispering “poo”. I used to do this thing in my head, when I was about to go to sleep. It was to calm me and clear my thoughts, but I would imagine this little Iggy like character in my head, climbing through my brain to the top of the stairs. He had a little room there and he would turn on the light and there would be a very large blackboard full of doodles and writing and he would literally erase my thoughts. When he cleared the board, he would turn the light off and I would go to sleep. When I was a child, I never sucked my thumb, nor did I sleep with my parents. Across the hall I slept in my crib and then that crib turned into a bed eventually, but I was not the type of child who was uncomfortable being alone and my parents were not the kind that would coddle me. When I was a kid, I’d play with my hangnails to get to sleep. Strange I know, but I’d start at a quick pace and as I would slow the pace down to go to sleep. Some people count sheep, I played with my hangnails.

I wasn’t a nervous child. I was shy, but not nervous. Anxiety was something that occurred the night before a trip or the night before the first day of school. I never was affected by it the way my friends say they are crippled by it. Something has happened to me recently and I don’t like it, actually I hate it. The older I’ve gotten the more stressful my life has become. Job stress, money stress, relationship stress, health stress…what was invisible before has now ravaged my nervous system like a freight train. Why has this happened? What did I do that my mind and my body have decided to betray how I compute.

When you scroll down Facebook posts you’ll notice a pattern with people. It goes from “My kid said/did this” to “I have an opinion about the current state of the world” to “My (insert family member) died” to “Look how much fun I’m having on said vacation”. We know every anniversary, birthday, death, birth, new job, new partner, etc etc. Look, I’ve read and listened to a lot of psychologists and experts talk about how social media affects us and I think it affects us in different ways. For me, it’s more of a strange place where you can’t disagree with anyone or I’m reading about some pretty personal stuff for the world to see or I’m realizing how sad I am that I don’t have a cute baby to show everyone or a cute dog for that matter. As of two days ago, it was acknowledging that the two guys I dated in high school were arrested for some pretty serious sexual misconducts.

I have emotional OCD. I can’t help it and noticed my mom is the same way. We lash out in two different ways. We get angry and tell the world to fuck off and then we cry in the shower at how hurt we are. My family was always big on the “suck it up and move on” or “don’t ever let anyone see you’re weak, be smarter”. I think I’ve lived a majority of my life like this. I care way too much about things. Being a natural empath can be rewarding, but can also turn on you in a most wretched way. I fixate on things bothering me. I will go through scenarios, the why, the what, the how. I will talk to that person in my head and say exactly what I want to to them and then see them as though I have no complaints. Please don’t misunderstand, I’m bold enough, I just don’t see what it would really do but become my problem.

I’m trying not to care. I’m actually trying not to notice what’s happening to me. My body is falling apart. I thought I’d be one of those cool ladies you see memes and documentaries about. The ones that are growing old gracefully with designer bifocals and purple hair. My mind has grown and continues to do so, but my body is being an asshole. When you start to see the transition it gets scary. The grey hairs, the aches and pains, the weight gain (for some), the lethargy and most of all the crushing anxiety. I’m having serious issues with anxiety recently and the only thing that has helped are my new acupuncture appointments. But as with all things I experience, I don’t want to have to be helped or ask for it for that matter. It’s challenging, but I’ve always seen myself as someone who can handle her shit. So, I thought.

“Iggy where are you!?”

My mind races in the middle of the night. I go to bed fine, but if I awaken, it’s a nightmare. I try to get Iggy to come out and he’s there but he either erases the board and it refills instantly, or he just stands there looking at it, as though he’s stuck in some video game prompting me for his next direction.

What do I have to work on tomorrow? Can I sell this woman’s house? Am I doing the right thing with my life? Why does he have to work tomorrow? Am I going to lose my hair? I need to go to the gym. What should I get my parents for Christmas? I’m so angry about my camera! Why haven’t I heard from her, do they just not like me anymore? I want to go somewhere. I miss my dad. I hope my dad is ok. I wish my brother would come visit me. I wish I could afford to go see them, i hope those fires aren’t too close to him. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. Ok, relax, deep breaths. Why is my heart beating like this, am I dying…fuck…fuck…am i ever going to lose this weight. I need to just go to the gym. Oh my god, stop snoring! I need new glasses, shit I need to reschedule the dentist because I don’t have money right now, how am I going to pay for the window…..

And it goes on and on and on and on. From me thinking I have cancer to wondering when the next tragedy in my life will occur to am I going to have a job tomorrow. I get it, I’m not alone, there are other people who have this stuff going on, I just don’t like it. It’s physically tearing me apart. I’m about to turn 47 and I’m wondering where my womanhood has gone because let’s face it, I’m 22 forever. It’s disorienting and for me, very frightening. I don’t want to have a heart attack in my fifties you know?

I used to love being an empath, recently I hate it. There’s an emptiness I’ve been carrying around with me and what used to be a simple brush off the shoulder and has now become some colossal underlying stress ball of unimaginable proportions. My doctors have told me that they are quite surprised I’ve gone this long without completely losing it. When I look at them with “tha fuuuck?” look, they explain going through that much trauma in one sitting can put most people over the edge, but two therapy sessions in, after a suicide, an excruciating end to my marriage, the death of one of my best friends, the news that my ex boyfriend and friend had died while at mentioned best friend’s funeral, the loss of my close knit circle and the loss of my job due to all of the above was good enough for me. I moved forward. Moved forward in a very zig zaggy, drunken fashion making no stops for breath while being accused of being unforgiving, angry and abandoned. Yep, seems about right. It’s been nine years and I’m afraid it’s finally all caught up with me, like a tsunami from hell.

“Take a Xany”

I don’t do pills. I will fight to self heal before having to take something for it. No offense to you who have found resolve in it, I’m just not that person. I just wanna feel better! I want to sleep. I wanna enjoy my morning instead of walking straight to my computer. I want to figure out a workout routine. I want to tell people no. I want to not feel like my heart is in the Kentucky Derby. I want my body to slow down. I want time to slow down. Slow the fuck DOWN! Why am I so apt to be that overachiever? I think because for so long I’ve been overlooked in my duties, and now, I’m finally getting recognition and to be honest it feels fantastic. My therapy comes from helping others, that’s my selfish reason for doing the things I do. So, how do I make it stop? I don’t have an answer. Right now, being in a dark room for one hour every week with pins sticking in me seems to be the only thing that’s been working. It’s sad that, it is the only place, I can breathe and not think of all the things, even though the cost gives me its own anxiety.

It’s not greek to me

A few hours ago I couldn’t finish writing this piece. I wanted to write something because writing is my catharsis and to be honest, I was upset. It helps me work it out in my head. Instead, I started talking about it while my man comforted me and asked what he could do. I broke down. Blubbering like a fool, telling him how disappointed I am in my life right now, how I don’t know why I can motivate others and not myself and how alone I feel a lot of the times. I just want to shut it off sometimes. My brain that is, not my system. I don’t want to be fearful because that’s not who I am, yet I feel like I’m fearful everyday with everything I do and say. When did that happen?

I just want to sleep like the dead again so I can feel alive. Remember in our 20’s? Bed at dawn, sleep til work, repeat. I want to eat a piece of chocolate without feeling like I’ll need to buy new jeans next month. I want to tell people to eat a dick every time they tell me what I should feel and what I should say. I’m not feeling very punk rock these days and that’s what it comes down to. All these feelings I have about the world, the non-reciprocated relationships I have, the allowance of urgency everyone needs from me, and the disrespect I’ve received in certain situations are an implosion waiting to happen, all because the one emotion I owned, anger, has become some sort of disease. Are we no longer allowed to express our discontent for anything except what has been deemed acceptable and determined by some invisible sensitivity police? I think not. It’s not just about being consumed by anger, it’s more about being able to express and release. You know, throw some plates against the wall and then have a martini after. Maybe I’m reading into it too much, but for me, I think it is part of the reason why I feel so handicapped recently. I wanna mad. I want it to run through my veins and shout it out! It doesn’t make me crazy. It doesn’t make me unable to cope (fuck anyone who says I can’t cope with shit) and it surely doesn’t make me non-confrontational. I don’t like this new, “Don’t let them hear you” mentality. It’s my right to embrace my humanity and that includes being angry and having my own perspective. So, I’m getting my plates ready, because I’m tired, so very, very tired, and there’s nothing Greek about that.