#nostalgia is a liar and not everything you remember will be accurate

[pbscore]

Your nostalgia is not more important than actual human lives. In fact, your nostalgia is probably lying to you in ways that continuously reinforce this false sense of security in your mind that does not allow you to engage with reality in a meaningful way, completely outside of your own interests.

This isn’t about trauma or neurodivergency or ‘special interests’, anymore. This is about real shit that’s happening to real people, including people you may really care about or support. This is about how your lack of conviction to do the right thing will inevitably end up hurting people who are already struggling, as well as yourself once the oppressive forces are done smiting their primary targets.

Harry Potter will never be more important than the lives of trans people, people of color, Jewish people, or disabled/neurodivergent people. And no amount of excusing your personal enjoyment of it will make those of us who are past this idolization of our nostalgic media interests take your ‘activism’ or ‘support’ of these groups seriously.

And that’s completely on you and your refusal to do what is actually right over what you ‘feel’ is right.

Your nostalgia lies in ways that will keep you from pushing the boundaries of critical thinking and to constantly use your neurodivergency as a reason is not only reinforcing the idea that people like us can’t think for ourselves, it keeps us from exploring new and important ideas outside of our personal interests that affect other people.

It keeps us from building real, tangible social bonds with other people. It keeps us relegated to an ‘inner world’ that, while ‘safe’ to us, can keep us from using our compassion and sense of justice in an effective way to help support those who are clearly in need of it.

And I get it. I was a part of the early tumblr fandom phase that celebrated introvertedness and talked about being ‘different’ from the norm. I was intensely into Marvel and kpop, always trying to find myself in those pieces of media. I wanted to be a part of communities that wouldn’t reject me for my awkwardness as a neurodivergent person.

But then, I realized just how deeply that way of thinking made me internalize so many unhealthy ideas about socializing with others. It built a false sense of ‘superiority’ over others just because I was ‘nerdy’ and didn’t act like ‘other’ people. Eventually, I ended up alone in those thoughts and had to come to terms with the fact that as much as I may have known about Marvel, it didn’t matter if I couldn’t even see the worth in my own family members or friends who were struggling with real world issues to support me, while I could be off in my little fantasy worlds, ‘safe’ from reality.

My nostalgia kept me from pushing through my own negative self-image and maladaptive coping tendencies. It took until now, at 25, for me to ‘catch up’ with myself, handle whatever trauma and other personal issues I had, and learn about people without making it about myself and my own interests. I learned how to set boundaries while also respecting other people’s. I made it a point to start being the friend/family member that showed up to support the people I care about in their endeavors. I found new things to get interested in. I met new people. I started new hobbies to occupy my time instead of being online all day.

Had I kept giving into my nostalgia, constantly making excuses as to why I needed to keep folding things from my childhood around me in order to just exist, I would not have done the work (and yes, it is hard work but it’s worth it) to face my own fears, explore who I really was outside of just my interests, and reach my hand out to make community bonds with other people looking for genuine, positive connections, free of drama and senseless ‘discourse’ that only exists in an online sphere.

Nostalgia can feel good because it reminds you of those moments in your life when you did feel the safest and didn’t have to put in the effort to be ‘accepted’. I understand that and it’s a big reason why I’m invested in making children’s media: because I want to share those moments with all children and give them a sense of safety and community.

However, allowing that nostalgia to completely rule my life and every aspect of my being to the point where valid criticism of something I once loved makes me too defensive to recognize that other people are being negatively impacted by it will inevitably put me at odds with my own morals and pursuit of justice for those who are suffering.

Now, if something is revealed to be made by someone who supports genuine bigotry, I drop it and move on. Of course it can be difficult depending on how invested I was or how impactful that piece of media was to me. However, in the end, I know for a fact that there will always be millions of other human beings creating things free of those bigoted ideas and those are the folks I’m willing to put all of my support behind, especially when it comes to minorities who rarely get to share their own stories.

Stop letting your nostalgia keep you from growing and thinking outside of yourself. Stop letting it lead you on a leash and determine your activism and morals. Doing what needs to be done in order to keep marginalized people safe is going to require some sort of sacrifice and if all that’s being sacrificed is dedication to some book or tv show or comic or movie… then you need to realize that it’s a far smaller sacrifice than the sacrifices that marginalized people have to make regarding their safety, everyday, just to live.

EDIT: yes, this can be reblogged.

[felicia-cat-hardy]

My 'Pretty Little Liars' Obsession Led Me To My Best Friend

“Got a secret, can you keep it?” Well, I’ve got one: Though Pretty Little Liars ended in 2017, the seven-season mystery thriller schemed its way into being an integral part of my life for the long haul, so much so that the opening credits live in my head rent-free. To this day, each time I hear the sinister theme song — “Secret” by The Pierces — I’m brought right back to my childhood comfort show (ahem, obsession). The visuals begin with a swipe of mascara, the smear of red lipstick, and a clasp of a heel onto a porcelain doll, which makes me feel like I’m watching someone get pampered for prom. Until, of course, it cuts to four girls standing in front of a casket. It's a chilling moment, one that, until Season 6B, ended with Aria Montgomery (Lucy Hale) delivering her iconic “shh.” I got cast under the show’s spell the first time I saw it, and I wasn’t the only one: Pretty Little Liars led me to my best friend.

Ironically, plotlines about deceit and betrayal actually helped ignite a long-lasting friendship. In 2011, the only other person I knew to be watching PLL was my now-BFF, Taylor, who’s been by my side for over a decade. We were only about 11 and 12 when it premiered, so shout out to our parents for letting us watch a show that dealt with very adult themes like substance use disorder, assault, and grief. Unlike our classmates, who watched tween-appropriate hits like iCarly and Victorious, we became PLL stans.

As fans know, the show is loosely based on the Sara Shepard YA series of the same name, and the first book was my entry point into the PLL universe. I loved reading about blackmailers and murderers navigating high school, but I thought I was the only one who was into it. (Was this my ~I’m different~ complex showing, or were my peers just naturally more inclined to recap Dance Moms? I’ll never know.) So, Taylor first struck up a conversation with me at school because she spotted the first PLL book on my desk — you know, the one painted with porcelain wax dolls warning to “never trust a pretty girl with an ugly secret” in a Gothic script. She asked if I’d watched the TV adaptation yet and we immediately exchanged phone numbers to text about upcoming episodes. We then fell into the fandom. Fast.

I’d never talked to Taylor before this interaction — we had only been in a few classes together — but I always saw her as approachable and friendly. Universally, the beginning of middle school is a big and terrifying year when kids from different elementary schools unite. Eager to meet new people, I reached for friendship at any chance I could get. Taylor made it easy. Aside from being a genuinely kind person (a rare trait for a middle schooler!), she was fangirling over the same thing as me.

Fast forward over a decade later, and the show still feels timeless, especially in its accurate depictions of how dramatic high school can get. It’s no surprise there’s a PLL HBO Max reboot on the way along with the remakes of other buzzy shows from that era (hello, 2010s nostalgia). Ah. It was a simpler time. Back then, Freeform was still ABC Family and for me, Tuesdays meant one thing: PLL is on. What first started as a solo viewing experience soon became a designated hangout time, a time slot reserved for me and Taylor to gush over how much we loved Ashley Benson. (We still do!)

The series had a vibe similar to Gossip Girl or Bridgerton in that a mysterious, unidentifiable pot-stirrer keeps fans guessing each episode, but it was arguably so much better since “A,” the anonymous villain, is out for, you know, murder. Ultimately, it was the type of whodunit that made me and Taylor (and millions of viewers) go down a couple of Reddit rabbit holes — remember the “Aria is A” suspicion? — and this is where my and Taylor’s experience with fan theories began.

Oh, and let’s not forget the location. PLL takes place in the fictional suburb of Rosewood, Pennsylvania, and for two girls from Bucks Country — aka the Philadelphia ‘burbs — we ate it up. The beloved “Welcome to the Dollhouse” episode was exceptionally creepy not only because the Liars get locked into a life-size replica of their bedrooms, but also because our real neighborhood looks extremely similar to their hometown. It operates like Rosewood, too, in that small-town gossip travels at lightning speed.

The Pennsylvania-based plotline also made it easier for us to identify with the characters, who felt like extensions of ourselves. In many ways, we got to know each other through their personalities. Taylor is studious and high-achieving, obviously a Spencer. And I owned feather earrings because I saw Lucy Hale sport them in Season 1, so obviously an Aria. Asking “Are you more of a Hanna or an Emily?” held as much weight in 2012 as asking someone their rising sign in 2021. While it might not say much, it also tells you everything you need to know about a person.

PLL got its start right before live-tweeting shows became popularized, so when we weren’t together, I used to text Taylor on my slide-out keyboard phone (only Zillennials will remember) to compare notes without stumbling upon many spoilers. They read something like this: “Caleb and Hanna are soul mates, TBH.” Like every other fan, we theorized about why A had to be Ian… and Melissa… and Jenna… and Mona… and, you get the point. When our elaborate speculations ran cold, we’d pause DVR’d episodes to gather more clues, like glimpses of Red Coat’s face in her second season introduction, or inspections of those eerie-gloved hands assembling dolls and sharpening knives at the end of each episode.

This game of Clue made room for conversations about all the things. We were in high school during the show’s peak, so it felt like the Liars had laid the groundwork for how to operate our school’s halls. Rosewood High was not traditional — uh, multiple students came back from the dead (*cough* Mona and Alison) — but it did prepare us for the stressors of college applications and first romantic relationships. In fact, Benson’s Hanna Marin would be proud of my matchmaking skills because back then, I introduced Taylor to the boyfriend she’s still with today.

As we both grew up with the show, our friendship got even deeper. The Liars weren’t the only ones to share secrets, and I found it incredibly easy to confide in Taylor. She’s trustworthy, level-headed, compassionate, and an excellent listener. She’s someone I know will always pick up on the second ring and is the type of friend to be there with advice, reassurance, and a quick-witted one-liner. She once joked about never needing a diary because we’ve transcribed the past 10 years of our lives via text.

Our bond has remained strong, especially because the most outrageous PLL-esque plotlines of our lives are ones we’ve experienced together. I love Taylor because I don’t have to provide background for my stories. I’m even so familiar with the cast of characters in her life that when someone re-enters after a long period, I like to say they Alison DiLaurentis’ed her.

And on the off-chance she’s not there to witness something meaningful happen to me IRL, she’s always ready to decipher what went down over texts or dinner and drinks — just like we did when we were teens trying to figure out who A was (minus the wine, of course).

The way she can reconstruct my way of thinking and offer up a perspective I hadn’t seen before is almost paranormal. Whether these are Taylor’s naturally given talents or traits learned from peeling back all the layers of the series, I’m not sure. But she’s always there to decode situations with me — whether they relate to a TV show or during moments when I feel lost.

I couldn’t be more thankful that Taylor entered my life and that PLL played a role in our friendship. I feel so incredibly lucky to know someone like her. Plus, now I have someone who is obligated to watch the reboot with me. Ali was right: Friends do share secrets. And she’s ~quite literally~ the reason Taylor’s got all of mine. Spencer and Aria, you’ve got some competition.

Get Relationship Advice Here

[primordialfell]

@glrchmp​ SENT:           "It hurts." hiii nought

                 VERSE 7:09 - THE WRATH OF THE REFUGEE WORM

     ONE DAY, ETERNATUS BROKE FREE FROM ITS CONTAINMENT. When saltwater and bile filled the glowing room that held it tightly, its looping coils heaped upon another until it grew so large that the room could no longer contain it. As it fled as light and noise, it was pursued--pursued by those who would prison it once more.

     THE WORM OUR GOD KILLED THEM ALL. 

     AS A BATTLE RAGED ON BENEATH THE CASTLE, the Worm Our God beheld the storm that screamed above it. Fear--palpable, organic fear that pulsed its siphons and sent its spines shivering, a terrible raging horror that creeped and spread like malignant fungus.

     ENEMY! ENEMY COME TO TAKE IT AWAY ONCE MORE! A man with flowing lavender hair and a cape made of a velvet throne. The symbol of decadence and glory and degeneracy. So it was that the Hero and the Worm’s battle was LEGENDARY, and so it was that the Hero stood no chance before the raging might of the Worm Our God.

            SAID ETERNATUS: YOU HAVE NOT THE STRENGTH.             SAID LEON: STOP THIS, PLEASE!

     STINGERS FLEW LIKE ARROWS IN THE WIND. They danced and wove between the sky and they lunged for necks and for exposed skin of trained beast and trainer alike. Jab after jab after jab landed home, a paralyzing venom more agonizing than a million hot knives being dug into flesh. WHITTLING, whispered the Shape, but RETRIBUTION, whispered the Worm God. This is the sonorous tragedy of the Worm Our God.

     “ it hurts -- ” Came the desperate whisper of a man that was long, long since defeated, and this alone was enough to quash the hateful fear in the heart of the Refugee Worm. This alone gave it pause, pause just long enough to lose the battle and the war. Pause to reject the Knife’s Claim that goodness begets hate and a good hand must always be met with a blade.

O’ champion mine, acts of kindness are not always wise. Acts of evil are not always foolish. But, above all else, we must strive to be good.

     THIS IS THE REGRET OF THE WORM OUR GOD. It has been transcribed above in verses meant to be studied for generations to come.

       VERSE 17:15 - THE DISAPPOINTMENT OF THE HONEST WORM

     ONE DAY, ETERNATUS CAME TO VISIT THE ONE IT HURT. As a pauper sought alms from passersby, so did the Worm Our God seek redemption and abjuration from Leon’s gentle hands. So it was that, when it approached Leon in a form familiar with him, it recoiled and great stingers fell upon its own body like a line around the neck of a fish. So it was that it gurgled with disgust, and so it was that it smelled the ICE in the air.

     “ O’ CHAMPION MINE, ” Eternatus said, “ WHAT IRE HAVE YOU BROUGHT UPON OUR HOUSE? WHAT HAVE YOU BROUGHT BENEATH MY GAZE? DID I NOT TELL YOU TO REJECT THE CALL OF THE KNIFE? ”

     THIS QUESTION WAS POINTLESS, OF COURSE, because the Worm Our God already knew. It always, always knew. It was this moment that made the Virtuous Worm remember why it fled, why it must flee, why nostalgia is an insidious liar that whispers half-truths and prideful malignancies into the ear of a king on his throne. That this was the end of all mankind and of all mortal life.

THE KNIFE’S CLAIM IS RECORDED HERE:  - EXISTENCE IS A WAR, AND IT IS FOUGHT OVER THE RIGHT TO EXIST.  - THE KNIFE WILL ALWAYS WIN. WHEN A HAND IS EXTENDED IN AMITY, THE KNIFE WILL ALWAYS STRIKE. - CYNICISM IS AN ACCURATE MODEL OF PERCEIVING EXISTENCE: EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING WILL OFFER ONE HAND AND ARM THE OTHER. - THE ONLY MODEL OF LIFE IS ONE OF CONFLICT. TWO ENTITIES MEET. THEY ENGAGE IN CONFLICT. ONE WALKS AWAY. THE ENTITY THAT WALKS AWAY IS THE ONE THAT SHOULD RIGHTFULLY EXIST. - THE ABOVE PROCESS WILL REPEAT UNTIL ALL UNNECESSARY LIFE IS REMOVED FROM THE GAME. - THE FINAL INSTANCE OF EXISTENCE WILL BE OBSERVED BY THE KNIFE WITH A MILLION BLADES. - ALL OTHER VIEWPOINTS ARE DELAYS OF THE FINAL INSTANCE OF EXISTENCE. THERE IS NO OTHER WAY. THERE IS NO ALTERNATIVE.

     IT WAILED. IT WAILED, AND WAILED, AND WAILED, and it mourned its failure once more. This too was another failure--for this was the end of existence on this world as it knew it. And now, it must flee again. For none listened to its claim. None listened to it when it begged them to reject the Knife’s Claim, when it begged them to turn away from the Scything Angle and the Entropic Gasp.

     THE WORM IMAGINED THAT THE PROCESS WAS PAINFUL. To cut away everything unecessary and reduce oneself to a shell of their past. To remove anything that the Knife deemed was inimical to survival. To adopt the nature that love and kindness are wastes of thought that could be better spent adapting and preparing to fight. Preparing to prove oneself to be the strongest thing alive. Because you could not love anymore.

     THE WHIMPER DOES NOT MOVE THE WORM LIKE IT DID BEFORE.

     “ it hurts -- ” whispers the man before him, but Eternatus has no love in its heart left to give. Its jaws retract in disgust. Its crown flexes in rage. Its six eyes turned and it left him on the dock, to think before it acted once more.

     “ I SHOULD HOPE IT DOES, O’ CHAMPION MINE. ”

[visanimus]

May I get a scenario where Hakuryuu Ren from magi, falls of a fem!s/o and starts to get jealous and upset with her as she is being very talkative with Alibaba, but she is really just asking him for ideas on how to confess to Hakuryuu and she starts to notice Hakuryuu being upset and is worried about him.

Sorry for taking so long with these requests.

~

| Ren Hakuryuu

For as long as you could remember at the start of this long journey, you got along well with everyone and had amazing laughter filled memories - excluding the ones in which some get kidnapped, murder, and getting lost in a few dungeons - during this time. Though, now, it seems Hakuryuu wished to keep distance from you and throw a displeased look on his face when you weren’t looking.

Electing to ignore his behavior due to Aladdin’s and Alibaba’s antics taking up your attention, it was easy to push it to the back of your mind for the time being. Morgiana was always by your side and willing to help you out, finding it a small comfort to have another female in the group. You enjoyed spending time with her and stuck by her side when the guys split off until you ran into a small problem and needed to consult a male’s opinion, since Morgiana was as lost as you were in approaching this problem in a way that wasn’t as direct her personality.

Your problem: Ren Hakuryuu. More accurately: your feelings for him, not in a hateful way, but rather in a way that was more romantically inclined.

And the only person you could turn to was Alibaba. Aladdin was a child and tell you to act similarly like Morgiana’s suggestion with a child like innocence that you would feel bad at declining. And it wasn’t like you could walk up to Hakuryuu and throw a hypothetical situation without him catching on and figuring out whom you were referring to without causing a strain of awkwardness to ensue if he didn’t return your feeling, but it wasn’t as of he didn’t like you already with those looks he throws your way.

Sighing in defeat and hopelessness, you decided to ask Alibaba what you should do in your current situation. The last resort before you decided to blurt how you felt in a more than unintelligible way. Shivering at the mental image at how terrible that situation would be you walked up to Alibaba and kept your words hushed.

Alibaba was a former prince, and a guy, -who happened to be the same age as all of you-, and so it would be best to ask him. Thank God he knew some idea of privacy and have an continued excuse for your constant conversations if any one asked what you kept constantly talked about. Alibaba was a good liar when needed until one day you got a glare from Hakuryuu that was meant for Alibaba.

“Hakuryuu why are you looking at ____ that way. I thought we were all friends.” Alibaba said with a small frown when he saw that look cross his friend’s face when you started to grab Alibaba’s sleeve as a signal for a last minute prep talk. The group had just settled for the night and was about to eat dinner that Hakuryuu and Morgiana preparer. Until that moment.

Hakuryuu just couldn’t stand another moment of you two spending almost every second together for the past 3 weeks. It made his gut clench almost too painfully. It made his grip almost leave a dent in the metal grip of his weapon. His heart rate would pick up in a slight panic and made his stomach drop when you laughed and conversed with Alibaba too much. His words would get caught in his throat as he did his best to keep refraining himself from speaking out against your actions with the former Balbadd prince. His face would contort into a small glare as he bit his lip till it almost bled to hold his tongue from using sharp words that would cut into the both of you.

But now, he was caught in this game and he would need to either be honest, or keep everything hidden once more.

His face relaxed into it’s neutral mask as he calmly spoke a practice excuse, “I’m not looking at either of you that way. I was just was about to announce that dinner was ready but I had gotten burned by the soup on accident.”

Alibaba knew that Hakuryuu was lying through his teeth, but knew that the Kou prince would deny such a claim. It felt as if everyone knew that there was something that wasn’t spoken out loud and decided to not touch the subject or even question it. It would resolve itself in due time. Hopefully.

You kept to yourself throughout dinner, only laughing at a few comments and stories, but other than that you didn’t say much. Your eyes kept trained on everyone one else’s expressions as you eternally debated that if this would be the night you would finally confess to the Kou prince and get rid of this tension in the air that simmered down.

Looking back at Hakuryuu’s smiling face; closed blue eyes, smile starving across his face in a cute boyish manner and how he tilted his head in a adorable way, as his features were high lighted by warm flames of the fire you all sat around that contrasted with his pale skin and dark hair.

Closing your eyes, you finally decided that tonight would be the night you would confess.

Before everyone could get settled for bed, you walked up to Hakuryuu and tapped shoulder, timidly. His blue eyes of two different shades focused on your nervous face, “May I speak to you? Privately, I hope.”

His brows furrowed as his lips formed a thin line.

That wasn’t a good sign. Your gut started to drop as you almost turned on your heal and admit defeat. Lips being bitten into to stop the wobbling of your weak smile.

“Yes, what seems to be troubling you miss ______?” His voice stopped you from wanting to curl in on yourself. It stopped you from curling into your blanket that night and stifle the sniffles of your broken heart.

Swallowing down the fear that built in your throat, “I hope we can talk sometime a bit away from everyone if you don’t mind.” His nod off agreement was all that signaled you to lead the way.

After a small distance had been made you too a deep breathe and decided to follow the most common method; be straightforward with your emotions and accept the answer.

Deep breathes. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

“Hakuryuu, I……I honestly don’t know how to start this conversation or how to tell you what I want to say without stumbling through my words like idiot, but I’m gonna try and I hope you can understand what I’m trying to say.” The wobble of your smile and the fear hidden in your eyes didn’t miss the Hakuryuu’s observation.

He gave you a calm and reassuring look, “Take your time miss ______, I’ll listen.” He reassured you with a gentle pat on the shoulder. He wanted to know what you needed to say. It would answer why you have been avoiding him all this time and looked so scared as if he was going to do something terrible to you. He could never imagine doing anything that would harm you. His crush on you wouldn’t allow him to do so either way.

Shaking your head, shaking away your fears, you tried your best to convey how you’ve been feeling and seeing these past few weeks. “When we met Hakuryuu, you treated me as a friend and companion, like Aladdin, Alibaba-” you didn’t miss the way the muscles of his hand tighten for a second-,“ and Morgiana. It was nice to feel as if I was apart of a really caring and kind group.” Nostalgia hot your voice and softened the words as memories filled both your minds of the past year, only for your time to suddenly drop to a more fearful one. “But then, these past few weeks, you’ve been giving Alibaba and I these looks as if you don’t enjoy either of our companies as you used to.”

His chest tighten for a split second when he heard your voice quivered for a second and he wished to reach out, but he needed to respect your space and wait for you to finish your speech.

“I don’t know what happened to change how you felt about the both of us. The only reason why I bring this up is because…..” Pausing to run your hand through your hair, you about eye contact to look at the moon, “I’m bringing this up because I like you more than a friend, much more than for a regular companion and I feel as if you know and that’s why you don’t wished to be around me anymore. I don’t expect you to change your behavior around me, but I needed to say this and find out why you’ve been acting this way.” You tried to blink away the tears in your eyes as you imagined how Hakuryuu would now turn his back to you.

Imagining how Hakuryuu wouldn’t want to look at your because he didn’t return your love. How Hakuryuu would reject you and your heart and continue with his own life. How you would never ever be considered his friends after this.

Tears started roll down your face at this becoming a reality. What if you really did fuck up and now that possibly will become reality.

“I don’t care if you don’t return my feelings Hakuryuu, but please don’t hate me or Alibaba anymore. I’m sorry.”

Now would be the time in which Hakuryuu felt like a monster for making his friend and crush cry because of his past actions. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around you and patted your back. He really did mess up, gigantically. His selfish and childish actions caused this problem to become bigger than necessary.

“Miss _____, I don’t hate you or Alibaba.“

“You don’t?” Words muffled by the fabric of his clothes and the your quiet voice.

“No, I don’t. I just didn’t wish to see you with Alibaba all the time. You started to spend more time with him than with anyone else in our group of friends. It made me…… Jealous to see your happy with someone else.” Hakuryuu said softly as he waited for a response from you.

“You were jealous? I was just speaking to Alibaba about how I should tell you my feelings.” Hakuryuu could literally feel the heat of his embarrassment burning him up from the inside as he heard small laughs from you.

“What.”

“Yeah, I was just getting advice from Alibaba on how to confess to you. He suggested that I wear a Kou empire dress and cook for you. Another time he suggested getting Aladdin to use his magic to create my confession in fire for you to see how ‘brightly my love for you is’. I thought it was a terrible idea.” You remembered the terrible pun your blond friend made as your shot down that idea quickly.

Hakuryuu’s laughter filled the air, as it was soon accompanied by your own. You started to tell him how many ridiculous ideas Alibaba created for you to confess to the Kou prince. Part of your wished that Alibaba wasn’t such a knucklehead, but if he wasn’t then you wouldn’t have someone to follow for entertainment anymore.

“He suggested that you obtain wild animals with Pisti’s help, to put on a circus for me?” At this point Hakuryuu had tears in his eyes from the laughter that was brought to you both by your goofball friend.

“Yes. I thought it was terrible, and I secretly suspect that he wanted to see a circus too.”

“Now I wished I had seen it.” He teased with a small smile and a joking tone.

Rolling your eyes at the prince’s extravagant behavior and demands, “Oh pardon me, your liege, but I’ll make sure to do that next time for your entertainment.”

“Why would you do another confession when I’ve already accepted this one.”

You’ve never felt so incredibly flustered and embarrassed in your life. You looked like a complete mess and the boy you liked didn’t care as he just admitted to accepting your rambling confession. Though the blush to his face was the only indicator to that you weren’t the only one who was nervous about this entire situation.

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #90: Sleep.

Written: 4/8/2017                                                                            Music Week Song Listened to Before Writing: Liars - The Overachievers

When Gertrude was very young, she would spend a lot of her time under the supervision of her grandfather, while her parents were off at work. This lasted until, as her mother would say, the man’s mind had started to turn to mush, and it would have been irresponsible to leave the young girl with the elder, who needed supervision of his own. The separation, for Gertrude, was too much, since the man had spent more time with her than her own father, turning her grandfather into a father figure, leading to a lot of anger and confusion, so her parents eventually agreed to take her to the nursing home every weekend so that she could spend time with the old man who had trouble remembering who the little girl was, sometimes mistaking her for girls that had been women for decades. Sometimes he would forget what they had talked about over the last weekend, and sometimes he would forget what they were discussing only seven minutes prior. This was difficult for the young girl to understand, and no matter how many times her parents tried to explain it to her, she was persistent in believing that there was a solution to his memory problems.

“How are we supposed to tell her,” the father said, after the mother told him that he had to set things straight with Gertrude, “that the man is basically rotting on the inside?”

“Well, you obviously don’t say it like that!” The mother fired back.

“But that’s what’s happening! He’s old, his brain is spoiling. He’s like meat that’s been left out for way too long, and there’s nothing you can do about it except for throwing it away.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s a horrible thing to say! That’s your fucking father.”

“He stopped being my father when his mind turned into mush. The man is having trouble remembering who I am, its like he can hardly understand what’s happening around him. He’s becoming hollow on the inside, every bit of the man I knew is gone, or is about to disappear. Christ, he can’t even be trusted to use the bathroom on his own, its like he’s turned into an infant.”

“But-”

“And don’t you try to say that besides all of that he’s still my father, because everything that made him who he is is all gone. The only thing that is sticking around are his looks, but appearances don’t make people who they are. Appearances don’t mean shit when it comes to character.” Of course, all of this anger was just his way of expressing have to see his father enter a state of, what he perceived to be, living death. He was in the process of mourning his old man, who, it was clear, wasn’t going to get any better, especially since his time was running out. So, the father eventually stopped trying to explain things to Gertrude, and let his little girl try to help the old man, because, even though he would never admit it, he hoped that she would be lucky enough to actually find a solution. He was desperate for anything in the same way that drowning victims only want one more breath, or how some people with terminal illnesses turn to ridiculous medical procedures or rituals, knowing that they can’t afford to be cynical, or even realistic.

So, Gertrude had asked to him to buy her a $249 video camera, so that she could record her conversations with the mentally fading man, hoping that if she could have him watch their conversations, it could jog his memory and help him remember, and even though the family was tight on money, due to the costs of the nursing home, the father had agreed to get it for her, ignoring his wife’s frustration. However, the girl was only to record for two weeks, and even though it just seemed to confuse the man even more, because he didn’t remember the conversations, or even really know who the girl was, and if it wasn’t so confusing, he probably would have been terrified by it. Several days after the girl’s last visit, the old man had a brief window of lucidity, when the clouds finally parted, and he used that time efficiently, making sure that he could hang himself with a belt, wanting to die while being aware, instead of having to go back to the foggy and confused way he was previously living. When this happened, the man’s only son hadn’t mourned, grieved, or cried, because he had already accepted the old man’s death. The son also opted to not tell his daughter how the old man had died, in fear that if he had told her, she would have thought that she was responsible for him becoming lucid, making herself responsible for the hanging, and that was just too weight for such a young girl, so he just told her that he died peacefully in his sleep, the way that many people hope to die, the coward’s way out.

After he passed, Gertrude had a video camera that she had no idea of what to do with. So, now that she was worried about the possibilities of the same things happening to her, she decided to film as much as her life as she could, so if her memory ever left her, she could just watch old movies of her life, allowing her to never forget, even when (she believed) she would be 130 years old. Years went by of her always keeping a rolling camera with her, unless people were angered by being recorded, always trying to record all of the things that she did. It never occurred to her to try to make any sorts of movies, or to film for entertainment purposes, but she had assumed that her life was interesting anyways, and she didn’t bother to go back and watch anything that she had recorded, not until she had reached the age of fifteen, and was struck by a wave of nostalgia for the simpler days of her childhood, before she had to worry about difficult teenage issues, like trying to give up her teenage years in order to make sure she will be in a comfortable position in her young adult years to give up her young adult years, so that she can make sure that she can spend her adult years only focusing on raising children, putting her life on the back burner so all her focus could be on their lives, which would only happen if she wasn’t able to spend those years hard at work, saving up money for her twilight years, which she could hopefully live until (instead of spending her life working for a future that would never come), and could spend the time finally being able to relax and build “interests” or “hobbies” that she actually enjoyed, and weren’t work or school related. Her teachers would tell her that if she didn’t pursue this lifestyle, she would become miserable and poor, because the good things in life could apparently only be achieved by going to college. Gertrude hated school, and wasn’t meant for college, but she seemed to have no choice, and desperately wanted to hit rewind on her life, wanting to be a child again, where she could just focus on being a child, not having to worry about her future, outside of prepping for her mind to fall apart.

When she started watching the videos, she ran into a problem: they were incredibly boring. It was challenging to find any moment where she was actually entertained by what she watched, instead of having to see the dumb rocks she thought were so interesting, or stretches of time where she played with toys, forming dull and incoherent stories. Boredom was something she was usually able to handle, she learned that you can’t be a  good student without being able to deal with subjects you couldn’t care less about, subjects that you were forced into just because it would look good when she would apply to go to colleges, just to get a major in a field that would bring in a lot of money, even if it was something she hated, but for some reason the boredom that the videos had brought on was worse. She couldn’t understand it then, she spent very little time in introspection, but it was upsetting to learn that her life had been so disinteresting, even though her memories of it all seemed much more exciting. When she decided to watch more recent footage, to try to form an accurate comparison, she found her current life to be even worse, since all of it was basically school related, just filled with her either studying, sitting around in class, or spending time in clubs that she hated, but would look good on her college application.

Gertrude started to fall into the habit of skimming through the previous day’s recordings, during the half hour of free time she had before bed, trying to find something neat, something to catch her attention. Occasionally, she would try to convince herself that it would be way more interesting when she was old and her brain had went to shit, and it was all only boring now because she had only recently experienced it, but she couldn’t stop going over the footage, she couldn’t stop trying to find at least one instance that could prove her life was fun, that it was actually a life. A moth of this sort of behavior had passed before she started to become depressed, which put a damper on her school work, so she eventually decided to only film herself when she slept, convincing herself that having to carry around a camera all day was making it difficult to study, but that was a blatant lie since the camera had been natural for her, after keeping it with her for most of her life, and she really knew, deep down, that if she just video taped herself as she slept, she could continue to skim through the videos, not feeling upset at how dull it all was. Why wouldn’t somebody sleeping be boring? Why would you expect something interesting to happen when somebody is turned off for the night?

After the sleep routine began, she was able to repress her distaste for her current life, and was able to stay in denial, allowing herself to think that she had an enjoyable life. That only lasted for two months, because eventually she sat through a lecture where her substitute teacher was upset , and started complaining about how the current generation was so self absorbed, nothing like the teacher’s clearly superior and amazing generation, and how these new groups of kids couldn’t understand anything other than themselves, they couldn’t understand that they were worth nothing, that there was nothing that made them special, they just refused to understand what other people went through. The lecture (the term the teacher used, even if it was actually just a condescending rant) only began because a student had insulted the teacher, telling them, “You think you’re tough shit, but you’re almost 50 and you’re working as as a substitute teacher at a fucking public school”, and the teacher was furious that the student couldn’t see how great they were.

“I don’t know how you kids ended up this way,” said the sub, who did his part in raising and shaping the generation he was lecturing, “but all I know is that if you kids can’t look at yourselves, and other, and understand how the world works, then you’re going to be in for a rude awakening.”

When Gertrude heard those last words, she was lost in thought, and not because she was upset by any of it, she had thought that she was different than the rest of the people her age (the same way that a lot of them thought that they were different), but because she was wondering if other people slept differently. Sure, she knew that her life clearly stood out, but what happened when she was asleep? Was everyone different, or was everyone the same? An idea had formed.

Gertrude became obsessed with the different ways that people slept, considering it to be an intellectual side project, some sort of study that she could write a paper on, but it was really just because she had to be assured that everyone was boring when they slept, and that interesting sleeping didn’t exist. She had to protect her fragile self image. At first she only decided to film her parents, and would sneak into their rooms, past midnight, when she knew that they would definitely be sound asleep, to set up her camera and tripod, allowing her to stand there, filming them for hours and hours, until a little while before their morning alarm would go off, and they would wake up and start the day. This footage wasn’t enough to satisfy her, because she couldn’t be sure if dull sleep had run in her family, making her parents just as boring as she was. So, she had to make a decision, since the time spent staying up at night, filming people sleep, was starting to effect her school performance, she was often exhausted and was having trouble participating in class, or doing well in general. She either had to give up on her little project and return her focus into her schoolwork, so that she could go to a good college, or she could continue on with her sleep project, and hope that it would be enough to get her into a good college anyways, while still being able to prove that everyone was just as dull as her. It wasn’t a tough decision, she decided to go with the latter.

It was tough to figure out how she was supposed to find other people to film sleeping, mainly due to her lack of friends (who, if existing, she could just invite for a sleep over and film that way), but eventually she decided that it would probably be easier to just record her neighbor’s through their bedroom windows, if she could find a house that had a good view inside. Personally, she knew that having her blinds open at night creeped her out, because it was so dark out and she couldn’t see anything, causing her to be unable to know if somebody had been watching her from the outside, but it never crossed her mind that she had become one of these types of people. As she went from house to house, crouching in the bushes every night, filming who ever was available, watching them sleep, she never realized how strange her behaviors were, and spent most of the time worried that she was a dull, uninteresting, and painfully average person. This new hobby of hers had seemed uninteresting, only because it came naturally to her, causing her to be unable to understand why anyone wouldn’t want to do something like this.

However, she eventually started to become frustrated with lurking in backyards all night, partially due to the way her clothes would either get filthy, or torn up from thorns, partially due to the cold, of her having to crouch out there in the damp, dark night, trying to keep herself warm as the lens of the camera is pressed right up against the window pain, partially due to the unclear view some of the houses would give her of the sleeping occupants. There weren’t many houses that had optimal conditions for recording (there were plenty of other factors than an open view into the bedroom, like not having dogs, not staying up at a late time, not having bars in front of the windows, not having bushes that prevented her from getting as close to the window as she would prefer, etc), so if she found one that was great for filming, she had to kind of stick with it, finding it too valuable to pass over. She also began to take more precautions into making sure that other people couldn’t spy on her through her bedroom windows, starting to believe that it was a common occurrence, it was just a thing that people did.

Then, one day, she got the idea of trying to get inside of the houses by searching for keys under mats, in fake rocks, in those magnetic key holders people hide under barbecues and patio furniture, etc. Sure, she played with the idea of sneaking into houses before, but it had never occurred to her of how she could do it. She would also have to avoid houses with security alarms, for obvious reasons, and at first she thought of driving over to low income neighborhoods who couldn’t afford home security, but she figured that they might have guns or be more violent if she was caught, so that idea was scrapped, and she just opted to stick to her current neighborhoods, looking for houses without alarms, while also have to see if people were light sleepers or not. So, before she would sneak into a house whose spare key she was able to find, she would give three taps on the master bedroom’s window, and if she heard them make noise she would flee, but if everyone was sound asleep then she could enter.

Gertrude was amazed by how close she was able to get in the first house, watching a married couple sleep cuddled up next to each other, and she got some really impressive footage of them sleeping, but after she filmed more and more people, her original intents started to become blurry. As she mainly lived during the night, she mainly slept through school, and her grades were in a downward spiral, but she still thought that she would get into college somehow, not remembering that her footage was originally supposed to be some sort of study. As she kept going from house to house, recording each person sleep, she forgot how she even started the process, and thought of it as something she always did. She also started to not only lock her bedroom door when she slept, but also made sure to lean a folding chair against it, allowing her to wake up by the clatter the falling chair would make if somebody decided to sneak in and film her. It was as if she stopped filming to compare people to the way she slept, and was just caught up in the process of filming.

One thing that Gertrude never noticed, as she would walk through those dark hallways and watched the unaware figures, wondered what they dreamed about, moving as close as she could without waking them up, sometimes only being a foot or two away from their faces, crouched, filming in almost complete darkness, using the night vision functions, she never noticed that her sense of self was starting to disappear. It only took four months of watching people in this way, having large amounts of videos stored of all sorts of different people sleeping, that she started to not think of herself as a person, thinking that she was too boring, too worthless to focus on, and that everyone else was worth watching instead. She had surrendered herself to her fears of being dull, of being worthless, and thought she was accepting reality as she only traded one form of denial for another, instead of fighting to be a main character in everyone’s story, she subjected herself to being an extra, even in her own. There was no more worry of having her mind go away when she would become older, there was no person to become old.

When she wasn’t at school, trying to sleep and waiting for it to be over, she would be resting, trying to catch up on sleep until midnight, where she would have to leave her house and search for people who had yet to be recorded, for people’s who would willingly welcome her into their houses, being kind enough to leave keys outside for her, so that she could do her job and film them as they slept, helping to preserve their memory for when the time came to (she didn’t know, and she never thought about it enough to have a fully formed reason behind it). On the weekends, when she had free time, she would sit and watch all of the recordings she had made inside people’s homes, of the pictures they had on the walls, of them as they slept, of their children if they had any, and sometimes she would reach out and touch the screen, wondering what those people would feel like, wondering what it was like to be somebody interesting, somebody worth watching. This routine was disrupted when something terrible occurred.

One night, in one of the dark and silent houses she entered, she had accidentally stubbed her toe on a coffee table she hadn’t noticed, and it made a loud noise as it scraped across the hardwood floor, but nothing in the house stirred. Frozen, for several minutes, she stood in the middle of the living room, trying not to make any more noise, hoping that she didn’t wake anybody up, hoping that they wouldn’t get upset that she would have to come back another day to film them, but it seemed like she was in the clear. She was much more careful when she made her way to the master bedroom, but when she stepped inside, she saw, through her camera, a man hanging in the middle of the room. For a while she wasn’t sure if she should find another house, since the man was clearly not asleep, but something lead her to film him anyways. Night turned to day, and she was still able to film the hanged man, she was able to walk around him and get all sorts of angles on the body, she was able to reach out and touch him while she described what it felt like (so she could imagine the feeling during later viewings), she was able to noisily search through his drawers to find a name (so she could accurately label the footage, instead of the standard, rough descriptions that she normally did, like “family #42”, “tall man #3”, “snoring man #13”, etc), but she couldn’t figure out why she kept filming.

When she got home that day, around noon, all she did was watch the footage, made sure to speed it up, and she couldn’t figure out why she had to keep watching, what was so interesting about it, and then she realized that this was the most unique sleeper that she had ever filmed, she realized that this man had been a complete game changer, because he had decided to sleep forever, to allow her to get all of the footage she needed, which showed insane dedication, more than the part timers that she had to be cautious to not wake up. Days were spent watching the video of the man who would sleep forever, compared to all of the others, and she ended up getting lost in the whole concept. If she left her house, she might have sought out more people to film while dead, she might have killed people in their sleep, just for the potential, just to make them stars in her eyes, but she was too consumed by the footage she had, it was everything she needed. Gertrude started to only focus on the footage, it was becoming impossible to have to think of anything else, she could only live through these memories. This was all life was, and she wasn’t watching any of it, because there was no her, it was just life going by, sleep and death, sleep and death, this is what the world was to her. Eventually she found some old footage of some little girl who would sometimes play with her toys, who would go outside and film supermarket lines, or scenery from nature, but it only confused the watcher, who couldn’t figure out the purpose of it all.

One day a woman had come to the room where the footage was stored, and she said to no one, “We are concerned about you. Are you alright? Hello? Please, say something. Eat something. Can you talk? Can you understand what I am saying?” But who was she talking to? What was she going on about? The woman must have been mad, because there was nobody else in the room with her.

[hoynovoy]

My 'Pretty Little Liars' Obsession Led Me To My Best Friend

“Got a secret, can you keep it?” Well, I’ve got one: Though Pretty Little Liars ended in 2017, the seven-season mystery thriller schemed its way into being an integral part of my life for the long haul, so much so that the opening credits live in my head rent-free. To this day, each time I hear the sinister theme song — “Secret” by The Pierces — I’m brought right back to my childhood comfort show (ahem, obsession). The visuals begin with a swipe of mascara, the smear of red lipstick, and a clasp of a heel onto a porcelain doll, which makes me feel like I’m watching someone get pampered for prom. Until, of course, it cuts to four girls standing in front of a casket. It's a chilling moment, one that, until Season 6B, ended with Aria Montgomery (Lucy Hale) delivering her iconic “shh.” I got cast under the show’s spell the first time I saw it, and I wasn’t the only one: Pretty Little Liars led me to my best friend.

Ironically, plotlines about deceit and betrayal actually helped ignite a long-lasting friendship. In 2011, the only other person I knew to be watching PLL was my now-BFF, Taylor, who’s been by my side for over a decade. We were only about 11 and 12 when it premiered, so shout out to our parents for letting us watch a show that dealt with very adult themes like substance use disorder, assault, and grief. Unlike our classmates, who watched tween-appropriate hits like iCarly and Victorious, we became PLL stans.

As fans know, the show is loosely based on the Sara Shepard YA series of the same name, and the first book was my entry point into the PLL universe. I loved reading about blackmailers and murderers navigating high school, but I thought I was the only one who was into it. (Was this my ~I’m different~ complex showing, or were my peers just naturally more inclined to recap Dance Moms? I’ll never know.) So, Taylor first struck up a conversation with me at school because she spotted the first PLL book on my desk — you know, the one painted with porcelain wax dolls warning to “never trust a pretty girl with an ugly secret” in a Gothic script. She asked if I’d watched the TV adaptation yet and we immediately exchanged phone numbers to text about upcoming episodes. We then fell into the fandom. Fast.

I’d never talked to Taylor before this interaction — we had only been in a few classes together — but I always saw her as approachable and friendly. Universally, the beginning of middle school is a big and terrifying year when kids from different elementary schools unite. Eager to meet new people, I reached for friendship at any chance I could get. Taylor made it easy. Aside from being a genuinely kind person (a rare trait for a middle schooler!), she was fangirling over the same thing as me.

Fast forward over a decade later, and the show still feels timeless, especially in its accurate depictions of how dramatic high school can get. It’s no surprise there’s a PLL HBO Max reboot on the way along with the remakes of other buzzy shows from that era (hello, 2010s nostalgia). Ah. It was a simpler time. Back then, Freeform was still ABC Family and for me, Tuesdays meant one thing: PLL is on. What first started as a solo viewing experience soon became a designated hangout time, a time slot reserved for me and Taylor to gush over how much we loved Ashley Benson. (We still do!)

The series had a vibe similar to Gossip Girl or Bridgerton in that a mysterious, unidentifiable pot-stirrer keeps fans guessing each episode, but it was arguably so much better since “A,” the anonymous villain, is out for, you know, murder. Ultimately, it was the type of whodunit that made me and Taylor (and millions of viewers) go down a couple of Reddit rabbit holes — remember the “Aria is A” suspicion? — and this is where my and Taylor’s experience with fan theories began.

Oh, and let’s not forget the location. PLL takes place in the fictional suburb of Rosewood, Pennsylvania, and for two girls from Bucks Country — aka the Philadelphia ‘burbs — we ate it up. The beloved “Welcome to the Dollhouse” episode was exceptionally creepy not only because the Liars get locked into a life-size replica of their bedrooms, but also because our real neighborhood looks extremely similar to their hometown. It operates like Rosewood, too, in that small-town gossip travels at lightning speed.

The Pennsylvania-based plotline also made it easier for us to identify with the characters, who felt like extensions of ourselves. In many ways, we got to know each other through their personalities. Taylor is studious and high-achieving, obviously a Spencer. And I owned feather earrings because I saw Lucy Hale sport them in Season 1, so obviously an Aria. Asking “Are you more of a Hanna or an Emily?” held as much weight in 2012 as asking someone their rising sign in 2021. While it might not say much, it also tells you everything you need to know about a person.

PLL got its start right before live-tweeting shows became popularized, so when we weren’t together, I used to text Taylor on my slide-out keyboard phone (only Zillennials will remember) to compare notes without stumbling upon many spoilers. They read something like this: “Caleb and Hanna are soul mates, TBH.” Like every other fan, we theorized about why A had to be Ian… and Melissa… and Jenna… and Mona… and, you get the point. When our elaborate speculations ran cold, we’d pause DVR’d episodes to gather more clues, like glimpses of Red Coat’s face in her second season introduction, or inspections of those eerie-gloved hands assembling dolls and sharpening knives at the end of each episode.

This game of Clue made room for conversations about all the things. We were in high school during the show’s peak, so it felt like the Liars had laid the groundwork for how to operate our school’s halls. Rosewood High was not traditional — uh, multiple students came back from the dead (*cough* Mona and Alison) — but it did prepare us for the stressors of college applications and first romantic relationships. In fact, Benson’s Hanna Marin would be proud of my matchmaking skills because back then, I introduced Taylor to the boyfriend she’s still with today.

As we both grew up with the show, our friendship got even deeper. The Liars weren’t the only ones to share secrets, and I found it incredibly easy to confide in Taylor. She’s trustworthy, level-headed, compassionate, and an excellent listener. She’s someone I know will always pick up on the second ring and is the type of friend to be there with advice, reassurance, and a quick-witted one-liner. She once joked about never needing a diary because we’ve transcribed the past 10 years of our lives via text.

Our bond has remained strong, especially because the most outrageous PLL-esque plotlines of our lives are ones we’ve experienced together. I love Taylor because I don’t have to provide background for my stories. I’m even so familiar with the cast of characters in her life that when someone re-enters after a long period, I like to say they Alison DiLaurentis’ed her.

And on the off-chance she’s not there to witness something meaningful happen to me IRL, she’s always ready to decipher what went down over texts or dinner and drinks — just like we did when we were teens trying to figure out who A was (minus the wine, of course).

The way she can reconstruct my way of thinking and offer up a perspective I hadn’t seen before is almost paranormal. Whether these are Taylor’s naturally given talents or traits learned from peeling back all the layers of the series, I’m not sure. But she’s always there to decode situations with me — whether they relate to a TV show or during moments when I feel lost.

I couldn’t be more thankful that Taylor entered my life and that PLL played a role in our friendship. I feel so incredibly lucky to know someone like her. Plus, now I have someone who is obligated to watch the reboot with me. Ali was right: Friends do share secrets. And she’s ~quite literally~ the reason Taylor’s got all of mine. Spencer and Aria, you’ve got some competition.

Get More Dating Advice Here

[effloresceawe]

Post 5. (Medievil and the rose-tinted lenses of nostalgia).

Sigh….

OK, let me preface this by saying.  I’m really trying not to be so critical of the thing because I don’t want to come off all: “I DON’T LIKE CHANGE!”.

I was so hopeful for the remake of Medievil. It was number one on my list of games that should get a remake from the psx era. They’d already done spyro (which was great) and crash (which would have been great if the platforming elements and the hit boxes were fixed).

They should revive medieval, that was a damn good game. It meant a lot to me growing up and I have lot of formative memories surrounding that game. It’s the first game that I can remember laughing at, and Sir Daniel Fortesque was one of the first para-social relationships that I formed with a fictional character.

Compared to all the other media that I consumed at that time, in comparison, he is kind of a bumbling fool. Whom just so happened to be granted a second chance. He’s an underdog, and people constantly doubt his skill. It was the first hero (except for crash- who is a mentally ill animal- but that’s a topic for another time) that wasn’t a typical hero. It resonated with me. He was trying his best and everyone around him doubted his aptitude. I can see why it did echo with me as a child, because that what being a child is like. Adults always wanting both more and less of you at the same time. Being a child is a weird paradox.

I WAS WRONG!

Medievil was never a good game, and should have been either left in the graveyard of the 90’s or should have been completely redone, they should have taken the bones of the thing, and built on it. Instead what we got is a complete accurate upgrade on the old one, even the voice actors were the same (I think maybe it might have been the original voice actor clips, because they were word for word, cadence perfect, delivered exactly as I remember them).

By upscaling the game, all they have done is shown me the flaws that were their already. The game was and is, a bad game. The gameplay is haphazard and messy. They have implemented platforming elements, tbu because of the layout and the fixed camera angles utilized in the platforming moments, the player has a hard time judging depth. The shadow under Daniel doesn’t help much, because for some reason they have decided that the shadows should be natural and fall in the opposite directions to light sources, meaning the shadow juts out at weird angles. It’s a weird design choice. It makes the platforming elements of the game basically all guess work, which goes against my core values as a designer. Games should have no margin for error, (I know, That’s basically impossible) Or at least the designers should make their game a sturdy and fair as possibly, Players shouldn’t lose lives because they couldn’t judge the depth of something because of your design ‘choice’, or rather, apathy. Its sloppy.

Then there’s the combat; It’s dreadful.  Its tied to the movement mechanic (which is already as graceful as a runaway train). There is no grace or trace of method to the combat. All you ever do is run around in circles hoping to eventually hit an enemy. They should have included a lock on mechanic. They should have done a lot of things, but I will get to that later.

Also, it terrified me as a kid. The jagged edges of the polygon models gave everything kind of a extra layer to aesthetic creepiness. In the update they have cartooned up the whole world. Giving everything a Tim Burton feel. And while yes, I love me some Tim Burton. In the case of medieval, it detracts from the feel of the thing. The style was unlike anything I had encounter up until that time, and was fairly of its time, being that the 90’s weird cartoons like courage the cowardly dog and the grim adventures of Billy and Mandy- There was a more of dark edge to the media of that time, and medieval was one of the few games to mirror that chic.

Might just be the thing though, games like fortnight are popular- so the idea may have been to change the package of the thing to appeal to the a younger generation (God I sound so old).

If I had been given the project, I would have made a game for the grown ups that played that game as a kid, I would certainly develop dan’s character more, and add some depth to interactions with the NPC’s in the game. You wanted to make the player feel a sense of satisfaction that they proved all the people that doubted Daniel wrong. Fix the camera angle, tighten it up. I’d just go full souls like with the thing. Focus on environmental storytelling. Make the combat mechanic the foundation of the gameplay. Then I’d slow down the movement mechanic. What makes dark souls so interesting is that the movement is actually quite slow, It gives the player the impression that every step is carefully laid, as you do not know what is ahead. It brings a sense of rumination to the game, allowing the player to savour the experience. The work Becomes more intimate that way.

The rose-tinted lenses of nostalgia are liars. Do not listen to them. Just because you enjoyed something when you were little does not mean that that thing was any good,

In fact, as I go back over and over again to the media that I loved when I was younger, I have come to realise that little me was kind of basic and had no taste.