#not at all what i was expecting but wonderful regardless (i thought it was. sillier i was falsely advertised lmao)

[literary-heights]

podcasts are really interesting because i have never in my life listened to one that didn't profoundly change my life

[seeingteacupsindragons]

In your opinion, what are the most basics of basics to look for when analysing a piece of media (be it visual or written)? In other words, what's your framework for analysis, and how do you flesh out your interpretation of a work? (By the way, your blog posts are wonderful and informative and I for one am happy to read them, regardless of the length.)

Thanks, Anon! I'm hoping this one will be worth the read to...anyone. And it's taking way longer than expected, so hopefully in that regard, too.

Now this question.

This is interesting, because I don’t think what I do to start is necessarily the best way for a beginner to start, for a lot of reasons, some related to my own personality and some related to the fact that I have just been doing this for a long time now. That is, I’m not sure the way I start framing things to myself is really dedicated to the basics—I think a lot of people with experience in something are kind of that way. At some point, the basics become second nature.

Analyzing a piece of media really starts with critical thinking and critical close reading. And while these are important skills, they’re not skills everyone has or everyone is taught. I don’t know if I would even know how to teach these properly, but I do hope that my blog posts giving advice, analyzing things, laying out my thought processes and evidence as it were, is helpful in that regard. Especially when we’re talking about something maybe a little sillier and more accessible than things you might read in school. Enjoyment is an important part of getting good at anything.

So first, you start with what’s actually in the text (“text” here referring to the actual material contained in the piece of media). It will be easy to connect it to other things in other media you’ve seen or your own ideas because humans are pattern-seekers, but it’s really important to try to discard a lot of that, especially when you’re getting started.

The text is the text, and while it’s definitely going to get connected to other media and culture because no text can stand on its own, beginners especially and people who aren’t being careful will draw lines that aren’t necessarily strong, good, or accurate, just because It Seemed Right at the time. And then they might get attached to something pretty wrong.

This is a thing that happens. Finding good connections and comparisons, finding meaning in things, takes a lot of practice and experience and exposure to different kinds of things. But it’s very important that those connections are rooted in something in the text, that there’s a real reason for something. That it makes sense in context of the work itself.

…Kind of. This obviously doesn’t apply to the kind of fun reinterpretive fan work that isn’t actually trying to say what a piece of media says. Like. It just does not matter if fanfiction or fanart or shitposts or whatever are rooted in canon. Some people (me) prefer that, some people don’t, and it doesn’t really matter. But if you’re trying to read and analyze something, it’s important that the text is the focus. All of those connections that get drawn? Those are interpretations. Those are analysis.

And some interpretations and analyses are just. Stronger than others. Some are simpler. If I say William is blond, that’s an interpretation based on what the word “Blond” means (to most English speakers, blond would be something like “having hair with a yellowish tone”, but even just slightly adjusting that definition can include or exclude a lot of things). It depends on my determination of what color William’s hair is (not all cultures or people will draw the lines between colors the same way, as they all actually blend together in a spectrum and lines between the definitions are arbitrary). But me saying William is blond is an interpretation that…well…I think…just about everyone who speaks English would agree with.

This wouldn’t be an interpretation if, say, a character explicitly said, “William, the blond man—” because then it would be a thing in the text. But because William’s hair is a visual cue, turning it into words is an adaptive, interpretive action. So it’s important also to remember some interpretation is happening just because humans need it to communicate anything.

And remember, too, that sometimes multiple interpretations are valid. Me saying, “William is a redhead,” is…uh, not a valid interpretation. But if William happened to be strawberry blond (he is not), that probably would be.

There are multiple lenses to view things through, and there’s often multiple things a piece in canon could mean. You know how some people have told me they really like how I try to cover multiple angles of a topic? That’s because a lot of them are valid, even if I have specific ones I’m more attached to and believe in more. My preferring one interpretation doesn’t make another wrong. The interpretation not being rooted in the text makes it wrong. The interpretation being connected to something else that’s misinterpreted makes it wrong.

So. Start with what’s in the text. Try to look at it as clear-eyed and clear-headed as you can before trying to figure out what it means.

And that brings me to how I start my framework for meta: I actually really need a thesis statement. I need a point. I need something I am trying to say. Mentioning a list of things that happen, or a list of symbols connected to a thing just…doesn’t do it for me. I don’t see the point.

This is hilariously not at all how I write fiction, but shh. This is why I have notes and notes for meta, and why I go off the cuff with so many long meta posts based on asks that give me something to focus on.

But my analysis posts tend to be about, “This is how this piece of media uses this trope, compared to how it’s used in other media,” or, “Here is an interesting way that this media decided to convey this specific thing!” or, “Here is a really interesting theme in this media and all the ways it comes up.” I need to know what I’m saying before I can really do anything. I need to know what my topic statement is. I need a thesis.

Now, this works for me because I am very good and realizing these theses at least sort of accurately from the start. But it also works because I have a number  of posts saved on my computer that will never be posted because as I wrote them, I realized I was just plain wrong, or couldn’t really back up what I was saying, or the argument seemed weak to me, or I didn’t really end up having a point.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t want to embarrass myself by posting that, nor do I want to really share a bunch of bad and weak argumentation with people who might buy into it. I am good at setting things aside and I try to be good at realizing I’m wrong. I have practice doing this and analyzing my own writing to be able to do this. I appreciate corrections most of the time, and I try to edit posts when I fuck up.

A lot of beginners might get caught up in the “I did a thing! I wrote it! Let’s share and convince myself it’s great!” because that’s what excited beginners do. Which is fine. You have to be bad at things to get better at things. But it’s also good to learn how to filter your own wheat and chaff.

As for how I flesh out my analysis ideas: well, I think about the thing I’m analyzing as a creator and a writer myself. I prefer a genetic approach to literary criticism (note: this is apparently harder to google than I anticipated, having learned it in university, so: a genetic literary criticism angle is one focused on the author and their intent and process), and I really like to consider what the author was trying to do and how well it worked and why they might have done a thing. What their cultural context is and who they are. What they probably didn’t consider. Those are angles that really fascinate me, and I find them most useful, because it’s helpful for me to grow as my own writer.

And, I really like character stuff and thematic stuff because it’s my favorite things to write. I’m trying to get better about writing things about pacing, structure, etc. because I’d like to focus on it more myself.

Annnnd now I have written over 1k words about how to approach this, but it’s something I’ve been doing for a long time! It’s something I studied how to do in college! It’s something I think about a lot!

I have a lot of thoughts!

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

More soulmate nonsense, haha.

Soulmate mechanics:

After your 18th birthday (Or equivalent), your soulmate’s voice becomes your inner voice, your inner monologue. (Not just accent and general voice sound, but how they would say something, the slang they use, etc.)

Trigger warnings: Extremely brief mention of a bad homelife/abusive home, mentions of drug lords and drugs, lots of swearing.

It was a fairly difficult thing for Loki to get used to. They expected many things, but this particular speech pattern wasn’t one of them.

One moment, they were using slang, crude language, and swears as casually as one’s own name. The next, flowery language and poetic descriptions, easily equatable to something Loki might find in a poetry book in Asgard’s palace library. It was difficult to discern when and where the change in tone would take place, but it was always without warning.

‘A beautiful star-filled sky, as if fireflies danced in the endless expanse beyond. So wondrous, it makes the mind curious as to how many unexplored worlds and interesting cultures could be out there. If only there were time to dedicate to such a venture.' Flowery language like that, which could then, for seemingly no reason at all, turn into: ‘That fucking horizon is beautiful, holy shit, my guy!’

As crude as it was, sometimes Loki couldn’t help but snicker at how the voice would translate their thoughts. Sometimes it’d say the most ridiculous and out of nowhere things from the simplest ideas. ‘She’s parading around like she’s Aphrodite. But... come on, with that shade of green, plus the orange? She looks like vomited up baby food.’ “*Snort*” “Are you alright, brother?” “*Throat clear* Yes, I’m fine...”

They had to admit, some of the slang they used became fairly endearing after a while. ‘Ya’ll’, ‘Honey/Hun’, ‘Dude’, etc. At one point, Loki even caught themself nearly using one of those in a conversation. Thankfully, though, they caught it before they said it out loud. ”As much as I’d love to join you du- uh, *ahem* my friend-” ‘Jeezus crispy! You almost embarrassed the fuck out of yourself!’

In the end, despite how annoying the crude manner was at first, Loki grew used to it, and eventually, some of the little verbal quirks became endearing.

‘Your soulmate must be a fuckin’ weirdo if they talk like this. Just imagine how awkward it’ll be for Odin and Frigga to meet them, woof. ...But regardless, ‘weird’ is something you’re considered too, are you not? So maybe that isn’t so bad.’

Meanwhile:

Blake found the inner monologue in his mind very comforting. ‘I wonder what kind of person could be behind such a lovely voice?’ He put a lot of thought behind that, especially after he realized how prim and old-fashioned they spoke.

Reading poetry, or any book, really, was something he enjoyed greatly, even before his soulmate’s voice arrived in his mind. But, that inner voice only made it better. 

Blake actually kind of liked how it would hiss in such an aggressive tone when he got angry, as well. It almost made him feel like he wasn’t alone. ‘Fools, barbaric fools! How they could possibly say they ‘love you’ when they so readily harm you only the all-father knows. They don’t deserve you, not at all.’ ‘Hearing’ things like that always made him feel a bit better about the abusive home he was born into.

Blake assumed that his soulmate must’ve been a massive mythology buff like he was, or perhaps was even a Norse pagan, considering how often he seemed to reference Norse myth in his casual speech. *Lighting strikes a few feet away from him* “By Heimdall’s eyes! That almost hit you!”

Sometimes he’d even entertain sillier ideas, especially after news about Steve Rogers returning. ‘Perhaps my soulmate is one of those ‘men out of time’ as well?’ or even, ‘Maybe my soulmate is even a god? That could explain why they always make reference to them.’ But, Blake knew the odds of having such an unnatural match were slim. It was far more likely that he was just an average Joe who enjoyed mythology. 

Hell, with how his life has been going, Blake was surprised that he even had a soulmate. ‘Why would someone like you ever be chosen by anyone, much less a god?’ It was thoughts like that which hurt him to ‘hear’. Though, in the back of his mind, he knew they weren’t really saying it. It was just simple intrusive thoughts. ...But it felt like so much more coming from that voice.

But later...

‘These mortals are nothing. Not but bugs to be crushed under your heel. Show them and your beloved ‘father’ what you’re capable of!’  “An ant has no quarrel with a boot.” “Are you planning to step on us?” ‘Fool doesn’t even realize the fire he’s playing with. What a fucking moron.’ His thoughts manipulated by the mindstone, those thoughts translated through that voice. Loki probably should’ve realized something was wrong when he heard so little of that slang and casual attitude they were so used to. But there was just enough of that crude language and simple manner at times to keep their guard lowered. Not to mention, the mindstone itself keeping him from realizing what it was doing.

‘That man was an innocent person caught in the crossfire. If it weren’t for you and that drug lord, he’d still be alive.’  “I can’t just sit by when someone ended up killed because of me.” “It wasn’t your fault, it was his. Right now, you need to stay low, or he'll target you again!” ‘He doesn’t understand. Of course he wouldn’t, how could he? You have power now, avenge that innocent stranger and stop him before he harms anyone else.’ That voice behind his motivation only strengthened his resolve. He would put that man, ‘Cortez’, behind bars for killing that innocent truck driver, and for trying to kill him. Of course, that only left the task of finding him.

Loki was imprisoned within the helicarrier, while Blake was discovered by Nick Fury after taking down a rogue group called ‘the drug lords’. (Barely managing it, but doing so nonetheless.) ‘That mindstone was a joke. Let’s hope that you never see it again. ...Though the staff was very snazzy.’ Nick offered Blake, aka Copycat, (And his cat, Austin.) a place in SHIELD, possibly even as an Avenger! Of course, Copycat went with him right away. ‘Finally, someone recognizes you for your clear talents.’

But then, something weird happened. Blake heard from Thor about his brother, and out of curiosity, went to see them for himself.  “So, you’re the famous Loki, then?” That voice immediately made Loki jump. He turned, to see him standing on the other side of the glass. “Gotta admit, that outift... nice.” Normally, Loki would’ve responded with a simple chuckle and some comment about flattery, but that voice gave them pause. ‘Holy shit. No way, that can’t be him, can it?!’ “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. ...Jee, I’m not that scary, am I?” ‘Oh god, that’s definitely him. SHIT, why did this have to happen now?!.’

‘Are they alright...?’ “It’s you, you’re my destined, aren’t you?” Copycat’s eyes instantly widened when he heard that voice. ‘Is he your destined? No, they couldn’t be...could they?’ The fact that that word ‘destined’ came up in both sentences made Blake’s breath hitch. Loki immediately stood from the chair at the back of their cell, they walked up to the glass, neither breaking eye contact.

“Oh my god-” ‘Oh my god-’ ‘It’s them.’     “It’s you.” It was almost like they finished each other’s thoughts.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Bratty Pup

For @ssadists !

Summary: Reader is being an absolute brat in the ring, resulting in Bloodhound teaching them a lesson. And then reminding them of said lesson later. Namely with their fingers. And a familiar red dildo.

Reblogs > Likes. Please Reblog if you hit like!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Bloodhound has a vulva and uses a strap on, Reader is gender neutral but has top surgery and a vulva, Reader’s parts are described as cock/dick/hole, knotting plus creampies, Bloodhound’s infamous werewolf strap returns, reader is called things like ‘little one’ and ‘pup’, breeding kink, Reader also is mentioned to have nipple piercings

Words: 5.3k

____________

You were a menace, to put it lightly.  

You knew you were one, and yet, somehow, against all odds Bloodhound had still seen something in you. Something worthy to win your affection and attention over. You were glad for it; After all it wasn’t like you hadn’t been pining for them for a while. Even before you competed to enter into the games.  

You suppose something about the mask and mystery had been the peak of it all for most people, but you being a new competitor and them being a seasoned veteran in these blood sports had been intimidating.  

Yet, they’d welcomed you kindly, even explaining to you any questions you’d anxiously had like ship rotations or how the compound worked. Even sillier ones like if the food in the fridge was fair game or if you were about to get a wingman between your eyes the second your fingers tapped a lid.  

You suppose you’d fallen for their kindness first. Out of the ring, that’s all they were. Around the compound they would help prepare meals with  Makoa  in the kitchen, or sometimes you’d catch them sitting on the couch in the loungeroom with Crypto’s cat- Isabella Marie- perched on their lap and purring up a storm. They exuded this kind, soft energy, speaking coolly and calmly. Yet sometimes you’d catch them laugh, feel your heart constrict, and weigh in on those emotions. Wondering if something would become of them.  

Now? Well, you didn’t have to do any wondering at all.  

~Rest under the cut~

Now, you could so much as walk up to them and they would set their book off to the side and extend their arms out to you so you could clamber into their lap, nestled into their arms. Now, you could hook pinkies with them quietly and know they would follow you back to your bedroom. Now, they would cup your face adoringly, even if you couldn’t see past the lenses of their goggles in the ring. Now, you’d wake up to pecks of kisses on your face in the same pattern: Forehead, nose, one on each cheek, and on your chin before finally capturing your lips.  

Now, now when you two were alone, you memorized every shape of their body with your lips.  

You knew you were lucky being able to catch them like you had. Other legends had explained to you that Bloodhound, for at least three seasons, had taken to wearing their gear around the compound. Heavy full gear, mask and all, without wanting to mingle much with anyone. You’d been told that they were still kind, still calm, yet they seemed skittish like a cat. Only taking to talking to their ravens, Arthur and Munnin, whilst dodging everyone else besides the polite head nod of acknowledgement another legend’s way.  

Yet when you’d come, after a few weeks of them seeming to disappear, you’d find them out in the compound elsewhere. With a lower face mask on of some sort, whether just a fashionable fabric piece or something akin to their respirator but looking more...punk-like. Regardless, you’d seen more than you had expected to ever in your life.  

And now, you knew every bit of them as the back of your hand. Every tattoo, every scar, every clouded pattern of vitiligo etched into their flesh. Every piercing, every jump of their cooled skin, every ticklish spot that made them squirm and push at you with laughter buzzing through their veins. Every snarl they’d release if you teased them too much.  

You suppose you were an even bigger menace than you’d thought you might be. You just loved to push their buttons sometimes, just to see their reactions. They were always cool and calm under pressure, so patient. But sometimes...  

Sometimes you liked to see them break.  

Often times it was things like tickling them. Or trying to get their attention when they were reading. Or things like kissing their neck, waiting until you felt the feeling of their fingers flexing on your hips and the low growl in their throat before you’d wiggle yourself out and dart away. That is, if they didn’t catch onto your game quickly and held you in place.  

You liked to see their eyes turn dangerous, to hear them growl and to threaten you lowly. Often times you’d hear a snarl in your ear if you were teasing, their voice lowly murmuring to you, “Careful, little one, you are playing a dangerous game.” As if that wouldn’t just make you soaked and want to play this little game even more.  

Maybe if they stopped having such good reactions you wouldn’t feel the need to do these sorts of things .  

Like now.  

Now, you two were a duo in the blistering heat of King’s Canyon. And well, you’re not exactly behaving yourself. Not like you promised to, anyway.  

Everything Bloodhound has said to you, you’ve had something to say back. They ping a location and gesture with a, “I have chosen our next location for battle.”? You have something to counter it. Whether it’s with telling them you’re going to loot at a nearby location on the way, or that you think your best new location will be juuuuuust fifty meters to the right of where they originally pinged. 

Or if they tell you to heal up, even if it’s just that small amount you have missing from your shields, you’ll sigh dramatically and go, “So bossy today, Hound.” And though they may not reply to you, you can see how their head tips towards you. You can feel their eyes behind their lenses sizing you up, as if trying to be sure this is the game you want to play. Right here. Right now.  

When Bloodhound starts to test their theories, you know it’s working. When you’re talking idly and they tell you to shush just to see if you’ll backtalk when normally you’re a perfectly obedient partner even in the ring. When you whine back at them with a reply insinuating you would NOT shut up, you know their cogs are turning.   

It isn’t until there’s ten squads left and Bloodhound tells you to pick up the pace in your casual walk do you say the final words that finally breaks them.  

“Make me.”  

You can practically hear the string snap between you two. You watch their back for the signs of their shoulders rising, the tightening of their hands on their weapon. You feel utter glee when you hear them take a slow, deep breath and let it out as if trying to compose themself. You near about squirm where you stand as you both take a pause, your boots sinking into the mud of the quiet, chirping swamps around you.  

You really think they’re going to maintain their control, watching them roll their neck and slouch their shoulders as they compose themself. It almost disappoints you, an apology starting to curl in your chest when you start to think maybe they weren’t in the mood.  

But then, they turn right back around, marching towards you and grabbing the back of your shirt to drag you into one of the buildings in the back. The cameras don’t normally lie around the edges of King’s Canyon, no one normally  trudges  the edges around here and the ring doesn’t close on the edges either. The cameras focus on more action filled areas.  

But...the idea of being caught still makes your belly flutter.  

Bloodhound, normally kind and composed, snarls as they push you into the building. Your back hits the corner wall, a giggle bubbling from your throat in delight at their roughness as they stalk closer. Your laughter comes to a halt when their petite, strong frame presses to yours, their thigh shoving its way between yours. One of their gloved hands rests by your body to press to the wall, the other grabbing your jaw roughly.  

They force you to look at them, seeing your reflection in their lenses and seeing your own flushed face is embarrassing. You let out a soft noise, eyes fluttering when your hips roll down against their thigh out of habit. Your cock is engorged by now, pressing against your pants’ zipper line and making you shudder at the sensation.  

“You have been a brat today.” They murmur, their voice even and  inquisitive  almost, as if they’re mocking you in a way. Bloodhound gently tilts your head down, forcing you to follow where they move you and you whimper as they grip your jaw a little harder. “Do you wish for me to make an example of you? Here?” 

You try to nod, but find yourself unable to move. Your throat constricts, the words too embarrassing to admit so all you do is make this soft sound akin to an embarrassed squeak. Something you wish didn’t come out of you- you sounded like a frightened bunny.  

“Your words, little one.” Bloodhound once again repeats, their voice even toned. And it occurs to you why quickly- they're asking your consent. If this is what you were aiming for and wanted. They were always so kind, making sure this was mutually wanted, even if sometimes you wished they didn’t ask and would just rip at your clothes and take what they wanted.  

“Yes! Yes, fuck, Hound- yes. I was trying t-to--” Your voice waivers into a moan when their thigh presses up higher against you, your hips grinding across it like a desperately horny animal. Like a dog, you think, with an embarrassed reflection back on a few nights ago where you wore a collar.  

“Trying to test my patience?” They help you finish, their grip easing on your jaw and leaving pleasant throbbing where they’d gripped. “Trying to get punished in the arena, where you could be caught?” They press to you, watching as you helplessly babble ’yes, yes, yes’ as you rock against their thigh.  

Pathetic.  

“You are now so eager to be obedient, my love, what has changed?” Bloodhound’s voice is a tease, thicker with the respirator on and seeming to give an edge to their voice. Your toes curl in your boots, rocking your hips back and forth across their helpfully supplied thigh. It’s almost too much friction between your pants and the thick fabric of theirs. You let out a  high-pitched  moan, turning your head to the side to expose your neck and hearing them swear under their own breath at the sight of blatant submission.  

When they huff, you hope they’re giving in. Praying they’ll spare you the teasing and the delicious tone of their voice that blesses your ears like liquid sex. You whimper when their hand slides down your body, pressing on your chest to tell you without a word to stay still. Bloodhound carefully moves their leg from where you’re desperately humping, another thing that causes you to whine, but they shush you gently.   

A tug at the fly of your pants and the undoing of your belt makes your insides flutter. Even more when you hear them unstrapping the velcro of their glove, moving to tuck it into their pocket.  

Their bare, cool fingers tug your underwear down with your pants to mid-thigh. You keep your legs spread like they left you, enough for their hand to slide down your lower abdomen, teasing at the mound of your curls before fingers slip down to frame your cock. You gasp sharply, hips pushing forward, but their other, gloved hand keeps rested on your chest to keep you back against the wall.  

“Behave.” They remind you, their voice a low tone that makes you shudder. You immediately stop trying to press, feeling your patience slimming and your hope brightening that maybe, just maybe they’d have mercy on you.  

Bloodhound’s fingers dip into your natural slick, drawing back upwards to your engorged cock. They frame it between two of their fingers, gently jerking as the hand on your chest makes to tuck under your shirt. It travels up, briefly feeling along one of the crescent shaped scars under your chest before gently pressing so they may thumb at your pierced nipple. Your head  thunks  back on the wall at the sensation, your hips naturally humping into their hand desperately with each tug.  

“Fuck- Hound, please, God, please- fingers—in-inside, please, please, please -” You babble mindlessly, wishing so badly you could kiss them. Wishing so much you could cling to them, but you know better, keeping your hands flat to the wall behind you, fingers scrabbling against the wood at the sensations. Reminding you of where you are. That if anyone decided to take a pause in swamps, you could get caught.  

“Inside? So greedy, little one. And to think just moments ago you were being a brat.” They chide you playfully, a cock to their head that reminds you of a dog and makes your heart flutter at the familiarity of it.  

Soon, they move their body to rest more in front of you, pinching and tugging at your nipple as their fingers dip down to curl inside of you. Two fingers press at your hole, easily slipping inside and their palm pressing to your cock.  

Your legs are quaking with the effort to keep yourself up. You already feel so close with their fingers curling and fucking inside of you. It doesn’t help with the sensitivity of your chest. Your body is shaking, aching from standing up as they work their talented fingers into you. To make matters worse they abandon your chest. Sliding their gloved hand down until they can bend their wrist that’s fingering you to make room for their other hand to gently tug your cock with their thumb and index finger. The roughness of their gloves eased by the slick you produce.  

It leaves their hand pressing up against your g-spot perfectly with the angle of their fingers. You can feel your wetness dripping down their hand, vaguely hearing the soft snarls hinting that they’re enjoying the sight. It makes your body feel even warmer with the flush spreading across your chest.  

Their voice finally makes your eyes flutter open to look at them helplessly. You can hear the grin in their tone as they begin, “Are you close, my love?” When you nod helplessly, they make a soft, sympathetic noise at you, rolling your little cock between their fingers gently just to make you sob out. “It is a pity you were such a spoiled brat today.”  

Wait. What?  

Shit- no!  

Your confirmation comes when their hand moves from your cock, their fingers still fucking into you with your slick sloppily dripping down onto their wrist. You whimper out at the loss on your cock, but you could still get off like this- if they weren’t slowing down and only rubbing- COME ON!  

“Aw, you look so pitiful, my love. Perhaps if you had not been such  smá   skítur  you would not be feeling this loss now.” They continue, fake sympathy edging their tone as their talented fingers quirk upwards to still keep you interested, rubbing at your frontal walls. It still makes you twitch, feeling like you’re riding the edge of those desperate waves as tears prick your eyes.  

They continue, “You may choose. You may cum now,” You whimper at the thought, but they continue as if you hadn’t made a sound. “Or you may get properly bred later. When you have surely decided you shall be an obedient pup for me.”   

Oh, that isn’t fair .  

But you manage to, against all odds, sob out, “I want to be good for you!” And near about cry at the loss of their fingers. But when they drag them up to your face and nudge at your lips, you part your lips obediently, suckling and licking their fingers clean with a shy glance at the lenses of their goggles.  

“Good pup.” Bloodhound praises you, and you feel that maybe you did the right thing deciding to wait.  

Even if it’s hell when they help you pull your clothing back on, fixing up their gloves and directing you on where to go again. You’re so engorged and wet that each movement feels like hell. And you know they know, knowing they could just smell you inches away, lingering on their skin.  

Torture for you both.  

--  

You two end up in second place, Lifeline and Mirage take championship. Elliott is as perky as ever about it, happily yelling about celebrating with an afterparty at his bar. He’s so friendly and joyous, talking about free drinks as he throws his arms around you and Ajay’s shoulders, that you have to accept. Even if you’re thinking about how hopeful you are for Bloodhound to finish the job from earlier.  

You can only hope that they won’t take the time to tease you all night at the bar and will drag you off back to one of your rooms and give you what they promised.  

The idea of being dragged off in a hurry makes you squirm. You liked when they were desperate, it happened so few times. Whether it was to see you under them or if they were needy and finally let you touch them for the night. The idea of being on your knees and tasting them makes you squirm in your seat at the bar now. Rubbing your thighs together and slowly exhaling through your nose to try and relax your nerves.  

You hadn’t touched the drink Elliott had given to you. Instead, you were more focused on trying to find Bloodhound. Parties weren’t their scene, but they did enjoy the company, as they had told you. They said they were coming, and in the back of your mind you knew they were here. You just had that feeling around you.  

You knew when you were being watched.  

It sends shivers down your spine pleasantly, feeling all too like you were playing the role of prey. Your eyes scan over the tables, the bar, trying to find the familiar red hair or glasses. But, nothing.  

If they wanted to be found, you would have found them. It was that simple.  

“Ey, buddy! What’s up, don’t like your drink? I can make you something new?” Elliott’s voice snaps you out of your scanning as you turn to your right to see him beaming at you. There’s a tinge of anxiety in his eyes, and you offer a smile back to try and aid in it.  

“No! No, not that at all. I think I actually have a bit of a headache. Do you have anywhere quiet I can be for a little?” You offer, feigning a wince as you press your hand to your temple. Understanding immediately crosses his kind eyes as he scoots out of the booth to allow you to get out.  

“Yeah! Of course, the backroom should be nice and quiet for- for you! There’s some pills under the bar if it gets too unbe — uneb — unber —if it gets too painful.” He manages to get out, beaming all the way through it. You can’t help it, his smiles are too infectious, feeling yourself smiling back and thanking him. Briefly forgetting the whole  reason  you were trying to escape was because you didn’t know where your predator of a spouse was.  

You’re still aching between your legs. The memory had carried with you all day. Even when you changed into more casual clothes of a big hoodie and torn up jeans. You’d considered taking the time to get yourself off, but with your luck, Bloodhound would have known somehow and prolonged touching you.  

You’re mindlessly thinking, unaware of your surroundings as you head to the backroom. It’s a darker room with a few dim red lights keeping it lit up. There’s a couch on either side of the room and a big round table in the center with a few chairs stacked in the corner of the room. There’s another bar in here, but it looks more set up for coffee and snacks than drinking.  

As soon as you cross the  threshold  to get inside, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Instantly you feel your hood being snatched, pushing you forward with the sound of the door being shut and locked behind you heard. You yelp in surprise from the push, grabbing onto the table you were thrust towards and feeling a body crowd up behind you.  

“You look frightened, beloved.” Comes Bloodhound’s voice behind you, their voice a low purr. Your shoulders immediately relax, but then they stiffen right back up when a hand reaches around to curl around your throat. They don’t squeeze, just holding you to their smaller body. Their other hand sneaks under your hoodie, wasting no time as they start to undo your pants, pulling them down to mid-thigh roughly. “Were you looking for me?”  

“Y-yes- are you seriously trying to fuck me in the- ah!” Your tease is cut off when they shove your boxers down. Their hands are covered with fingerless leather gloves, making the smooth glide of their cool fingers all the sweeter when their thumb and forefinger gently squeeze your cock. They roll it between their fingers, sliding their palm back on your mound to force the hood to slide back to reveal it in its fullness.  

“You did not seem shy at the implication of such acts in the arena.” They murmur behind you, their chin tucking over your shoulder from the way your back is arched, allowing them to reach. Bloodhound hums as your fingers grip tighter on the table, knowing they’re watching you making it all the worse. Your face burns, your body humming with sensitivity from your delayed orgasm earlier.  

You’re completely soaked, even after the shower you’d had earlier. You feel sticky and messy on their fingers as they jerk you off. The feeling of their other hand squeezing at the sides of your throat lightly in a claiming fashion only leaving you messier. A low whine leaves you, your hips pressing forward and body already shaking.  

“Ah, you do not wish to make too much noise, little one. There are worse things that could happen than to be caught on camera.” They tease you, lips brushing your ear to murmur lowly and you feel heat roll down your spine. Your mind flickers to a shameful fantasy of being on a leash, surrounded by others while Bloodhound praises you-  

Your hips press back into them as a wave of pleasure  signals  you’re already close. You’re vaguely aware that the front of their pants isn’t flat, but rather bulged out slightly with something hard and pliable.  

Your face burns when you realize their intentions weren’t to tease you now and fuck you at home later. They wanted you here, like this.  

Vulnerable.  

Bloodhound’s teeth tease the lobe of your ear with a nip, murmuring quietly to you. “You may cum as many times as you like. You were so good for me. A good dog.” Their voice is hot against your flesh. It’s all too much.  

As soon as your lips part to scream out, their hand on your throat raises quickly to smack over your mouth. They press you back against their body as you cum, your body convulsing and your legs shaking as they gently jerk you through it. Their mouth has gone to your neck instead, kissing and sucking a hickey into your flesh there as they tip your head slightly to the side to have better access.  

You’re dizzy after you cum, your hips fucking against their hand without you even thinking about it. You vaguely are aware of them cooing to you, feeling their hand leaving your oversensitive cock to tug your boxers and jeans down a bit lower. You pathetically whimper behind their hand, but that soon changes when they’re pushing you down onto the table. Your front pressed flat and your ass exposed for them.  

“Color?” Bloodhound murmurs to you, their hand sliding down along your clothing covered back until they reach the swell of your ass. You hear the tell-tale sound of them removing their glove before their cool fingers return to you, cupping your ass but not moving.   

“Green.” You chirp back in a hazy, dreamy tone. You go so far as to shake your ass a little, resulting in them playfully swatting in a manner that doesn’t hurt. You grin faintly, but turn your head and pout before they can start up again. “Can I get a kiss?”  

For a moment, the air shifts from predator and prey to gentle. They laugh softly, the sound warming your heart with the honey tone of their voice. “Yes, my love. But do not distract me any more.” Before they lean over you and to the side where you’ve got your lips pouted and head turned to the side, meeting them in a sloppy, chaste kiss.  

You whine at them for more, but they peck your nose instead. Only allowing you to get a brief glance at them with their lower face mask tugged around their neck, their red lensed glasses resting lower on their nose, and their hair pulled into a fluffy ponytail.  

The air shifts again as they get back into character. You keep yourself flat to the table as they keep a hand to your back to press you there. Their other hand trails down your ass, fitting between your legs and teasing two fingers at your hole. When they easily slip in, they coo at you in a mocking tone, “So eager even now. You are so wet, beloved.”  

You nod immediately, murmuring pleads as they curl and stretch their fingers inside of you. When they fit in three, you’re on your tiptoes, absolutely positive you’re drooling on your hoodie’s arm. You sob out when they twist their fingers, spreading them apart to scissor them into you to make room for a fourth finger. That’s when you make sure to bury your face into your arms, your voice starting to spill out of you without permission.  

“Look at you, you poor thing,” They coo at you again, mock sympathy in their tone as they finger fuck you. “How noisy you are. It is almost as if you wish to be caught.”  

You try to shake your head, resulting in the hand that was resting on your back to curl into your hair. They yank your head back, keeping you from burying into your arms as moans pour from your lips. Your face immediately flushes, both your hands flying to your mouth as your eyes about cross when they pick up the pace.  

You cum again from their fingers alone, your body trembling as you press hard over your mouth to muffle your sobs. Your breathing is heavy through your nose, heard shakily through each exhale. They finally let go of your hair, letting your body go forward so you could bury into your arms again.  

When Bloodhound’s fingers leave you, you hear them unzipping their own pants. You stay perfectly still, hearing the uncap of lubricant and the wet noise of them sliding it onto their cock. You can’t see which one they have strapped on today, but you have a feeling you knew if they had to use four fingers to get you ready. Especially when they take their fingers covered in lube this time to fit inside of you, gently fucking them into you for a few thrusts before pulling away.  

It’s one of their bigger dildos, that much you can feel. The tapered tip tells you it’s one of their werewolf dildos. The knot was as thick as their fist, the rest of the length going from three to about four fingers thick. They let the head press to your hole, their hands grabbing your hips once it presses in and guiding you into taking it.  

Each press is a stretch, but once you’re finally able to take it down to the beginning of the knot, that’s when they start to fuck you. Their hips slam back against you, the knot pressing at your hole but unable to enter without their aid. You’re a mess when they wrap their hand back around your throat, pulling you up to their chest as they fuck up into you with soft growls. You keep one hand over your mouth to try and be quiet, going cross eyed when their other hand reaches down to start jerking you off in time with their thrusts.  

You think you’ve died and gone to Heaven in the form of Bloodhound fucking you. They’re murmuring by your ear in their mother tongue, words you can make out from constantly hearing them being ‘good’ and ‘my love’ and ‘little one’. But soon their voice dies out, more focused on biting and sucking dark bruises along your neck. Going high enough to just under your ear so you couldn’t hide them.  

The wet slapping between you two sounds much louder in this smaller room. The creaking of the table doing no favors to hide your muffled cries. You’re so overstimulated you’d almost forgotten you weren’t in the safety of your own home.  

When Bloodhound finally unlatches from your throat, they’re growling in your ear now. They rarely get filthy except for occasions like this. Murmuring between each thrust, “Do you wish for me to breed you, little pup?” The hand that had been jerking you off comes up, pressing to your lower abdomen and making you dizzy at the idea. “How beautiful you will be swollen with my pups.”  

A  high-pitched  noise leaves you in reply, squirming on their cock as Bloodhound starts to slam a little harder, feeling the knot pressing at you and stretching you. You whimper, shaking your head and crying into your hand, “C-can’t! I can’t- it won’t fit- Hound, please, I’m so close-” You start to sob out, but they shush you.  

“You can take it.” They promise without a second beat, yanking you back against them as they press insistently forward until you start to widen around it. Your free hand scrabbles at the table for purchase. “You  will  take it.”  

And you do, with one more thrust of their hips as the knot pops into you. It’s all too much when their hand returns to your cock, letting you hump pathetically into their palm as you cum this time. Vaguely you’re aware of the feeling of being full too, and you know they had a cum tube attached to this cock but you didn’t think they’d use it.  

When you’re done and properly fucked, you flop belly down onto the table with your knees weak. You’re panting, sweaty, a mess. You can feel them pull out of you, a grunt leaving you when you feel a smaller object being inserted into your hole. Your boxers and pants are pulled up, an affectionate double smack left on your ass that makes you softly laugh.  

“A plug,” Bloodhound speaks as if reading your questioning mind, their hand going under your hoodie to soothingly rub your back in a way that makes you immediately content. “ So  you do not spill a single drop. I am not through with you.”  

You whine a reply, not trusting your voice to speak. You go pliantly as you’re lifted up, tossed over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes and brought to one of the couches. Gently, you’re set in their lap sideways, allowing you to curl your face into their neck and nuzzle there affectionately. You’re vaguely aware of them rubbing your back in circles, tipping their head to press a gentle kiss to  your  forehead.  

“Mmmh- Hound?” You start softly, nosing at their neck affectionately.  

“Yes, my love?”  

“Can I have another kiss now?”  

Bloodhound lets out a whoosh of breathy laughter at that. Watching you adjust to sit up a little before they gently cup your cheek, stroking over your cheekbone as their eyes linger on your lips for just a moment. You can feel their breath fanning across your lips just before they meet in a soft, gentle kiss.  

When they break apart, you whine out, “Another!”  Again,  and again until they’re attacking your face with little pecks all over until you’re squealing with laughter.  

How you loved them.  

[weekendwarriorblog]

Wonder Woman 1984 Review: How Does Gal Gadot and Patty Jenkins’ Sequel Stack Up?

There’s a saying that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, a saying that could also best represent 2020, a year in which so much has been taken away from moviegoers… like getting to see movies in theaters, for instance. While you might not necessarily miss everything that’s been taken away this year, maybe the decrease in the surplus of superhero movies has given new and indie filmmakers a chance to be discovered by avid movie fans.

After two weaker comic book offerings this year in Bloodshot and The New Mutants, we’re finally getting a sequel to Patty Jenkins’ 2017 movie Wonder Woman, but if nothing else, Wonder Woman 1984 makes one realize that the lack of innovation when it comes to the “superhero genre” is not something we’re going to see very soon.

As you might guess from the title, it’s 1984 and Diana Prince (Gal Gadot) has a job at the Smithsonian Museum in D.C. as an expert on antiquities. Her new klutzy co-worker Dr. Barbara Minerva (Kristen Wigg) has just started and is immediately jealous of Diana’s beauty, her intelligence plus all the attention she gets from the men around her. One such man is oil magnate Maxwell Lord (Pedro Pascal), who is looking to invest in the Smithsonian. He’s particularly interested in an item that Minerva is studying that turns out to grant those who hold it a single wish. What could possibly go wrong?

I enjoyed Patty Jenkins’ Wonder Woman just fine, although I never really bothered to see it a second time, which would have been the case if I truly loved the movie rather than just liked it. Working from a script co-written with former DC head honcho Geoff Johns and David Callaham (writer of the 2014 Godzilla), Jenkins faces obstacles faced by every sequel when you’re working against having to raise the stakes from an original movie without losing everything that made the first movie so loved and special.

The general lack of action might not be so obvious right away, because it begins with a pretty pointless sequence on Themyscira with Diana as a young girl taking part in an American Ninja Warrior style obstacle course competition against older Amazons – just to reiterate that her mother Hyppolyta (Connie Nielsen) doesn’t want Diana training to be a warrior. Again. It makes for a semi-redundant opening scene that doesn’t really add much in the way of setting up what happens later in the movie.  We then get a scene of Wonder Woman in a DC mall taking on a bunch of burglars using all her powers, basically to remind us that she’s a superhero in “Man’s World” six decades after the events in Wonder Woman.

That’s all the action for almost an hour, because the movie then shirts to introduce the new villain characters, and we spend a good hour seeing how they interact, as well as seeing how their relationships are affected by a historical artifact, essentially a “wishing stone.” I won’t spoil how Chris Pine’s Steve Trevor, who seemed to die in the first movie, is back in the ‘80s to play Diana’s love interest again – I’m sure you can figure that out -- although he does get more into the action this time, rather than just being an Amazonian boy toy. Regardless, the scenes between Pine and Gadot tend to be the best parts of the movie.

I’ve generally been mixed on Wiig as an actor for a long time, and she doesn’t do that much as Minerva that changes my opinion, while Pascal tends to veer into the hammy acting we’ve seen from far too many actors playing DC villains. Sure, there have been exceptions, but Maxwell Lord hasn’t even really been handled very well in the comics other than his early appearance in the DeMatteis-Giffen-Maguire Justice League from from the ‘80s. I’m a little surprised by the attempts to turn him into a major DCU villain ala Superman’s Luthor, but Pascal plays Lord more like a sleazy oil magnate version of Luthor, which is what this version essentially is.

Jenkins tries so hard to instill the movie with a light, care-free tone but the humor feels forced and often feels flat. For instance, there’s only so many times you can make jokes about Trevor being a fish out of water before it gets tired even if it’s meant to be played off of Diana’s own adjustments in the first movie. The action is generally okay, a lot of awkward wirework combined with some of the Zack Snyder style of using time-control to make it seem more exciting. One of the better action setpieces takes place in Egypt that comes across a bit Indiana Jones but generally works better than all the action that comes before or afterwards.

Wonder Woman 1984 has the same general problem as movies like The Dark Knight Rises, Batman Returns, Spider-Man 3 and The Amazing Spider-Man 2 where Jenkins is once again adding too many villains to the mix and making the movie more about interconnecting their origins rather than keeping the spotlight on Diana. Fans of the comics might also be disappointed with how long it takes for Minerva to actually transform into the Cheetah and how little we actually get to see of her in that guise. It just adds to a superhero movie problem that we’ve seen countless times before.

As far as how Wonder Woman herself evolves, we do get to see her flying in the movie – both alone but also with a nod to her famous plane --  although the idea of having her use her lasso to wrangle onto lightning bolts for steering might not have been the most well thought-out idea. And yes, that golden armor with wings, something probably more appropriate for Hawkwoman, does show up and is put to use in one of the fights, but it’s also something that (like a lot in this movie) serves very little purpose.

Despite all the issues, where Wonder Woman 1984 excels is its ending which really pays off in a great way after turning what seemed like a simple premise into a full-on global crisis, and it almost makes you forget some of the sillier bits from earlier.

Wonder Woman 1984 is neither a terrible superhero movie nor necessarily a bad sequel – it’s not as bad as Suicide Squad or Justice League, for example. Saying that, Wonder Woman was the very first full Wonder Woman movie, so you can understand why expectations for a sequel might be high. Unfortunately, while good, this sequel might not live up to many of those expectations, although like everything else these days, mileage may vary.

Rating: 7/10

Note: There is a mid-credits sequence you might want to stick around for, though it feels like more pointless fan service than anything needed to enhance the movie or even set anything up for future films.

[francesboi]

Relic (2020) review

Death is and always has been the great and mysterious absolute. Everyone eventually succumbs to its grasp, naturally or otherwise. Dealing with a loved ones death is never easy, nor is it meant to be and sometimes, even harder than that, is watching the same loved one desolve into a person that neither you or them recognize, effectively watching them become a completely unrecognizable entity.

Relic, by Director Natalie Erika James, is a movie that deals with such emotional trauma and the results are a mostly positive and psychologically horrifying experience. The movie opens with main character Kay (Emily Mortimer) going to visit her mother, who has gone missing, with her daughter Sam (Bella Heathcote) in tow. From the initial onset of the opening credits, the stage is set for how we're going to experience the next hour and a half, with a house that has something supernatural lurking inside of it.

Upon arrival of the two younger characters, the mystery unfolds as they begin to search for the missing woman. Walls creak and bang with no explanation and a growing black mold plagues various areas of the house with seemingly no real origin. The town organizes a search party, to no avail, and suddenly, a couple days later, she reappears in the kitchen like nothing ever happened.

This is when we are officially introduced to Edna played by Robyn Nevin in an absolutely dominating performance. Something is clearly wrong here, she struggles to remember-or admit that she remembers- what happened to her and even lashes out at her own family over things that she personally did. To divulge the rest of the movie would be an utter disservice to the wonderful amalgamation that the director and actors created, instead I will attempt to explain what really works and what ultimately doesn't.

Let's begin by talking about a basic. Is this movie SCARY. The short answer? No. But to judge this movie based on short answer alone would be completely unfair. Relic offers little in the way of traditional horror, and is by every definition a slow burn movie. A few scenes play out like what you would expect in any other movie to hit you with an obvious jump scare, only to play out slowly with little to no reward. However, i wouldn't call this a bad thing, as the horrors involved are much deeper and far more mental. You may not be jumping in your seat, or screaming out loud at all, but by the end, your heart will be racing and your mind might just change on what it truly is to be scary. Having said all that though, I do want to emphasize that this is a slow burn for better and worse. Its a fantastic way to build its characters and setting but having 2/3s of the runtime be nothing but building and little payoff is a bit tedious and frustrating. Survive long enough to see the heartbreaking and emotionally charged finale though, and you might just see why the rest of the film really was worth it.

Relic, for all of its ambition, is first and foremost a character movie. The actors really give it their all, and that helps sell some of the sillier aspects of the film. What works exceptionally well do to this fact, is the overall metaphor. Relic is a study into the mind of dementia, both literally and metaphorically. The monsters present here constantly walk the line of real and imaginary and i think that sells the idea perfectly. We spend the first half of the movie believing that something supernatural is hurting the family and enveloping the house, and that wouldn't necessarily be wrong either, but that also wouldn't really cover it. The ending of the film really sells the metaphor aspect completely while not throwing out the idea of real supernatural involvement either. Regardless of how the movie is interpreted, it is worth every minute to reach the gut punch of a finale. It might be ever so slightly heavy handed, but the final few minutes will stick with you well after the credits roll.

I will be honest here, Relic is not for everyone. Those looking for that classic horror experience may be disappointed here, and people who prefer to watch at face value, or without really applying too much thought will likely be bored or disconnected. Some of the moments, including the climax, waver about on the silly side and if you let that take over, you lose the ability to appreciate it. Having said that though, Relic falls into a category of horror that I personally hope continues to grow. I would compare this to Ari Asters 2019 hit Midsommar. The movie thrives in the genres subtleties and it really wouldn't work any other way.

VERDICT: 8 out of 10

[sparklegemstone]

San Diego Comic Con 2019 -- Sat. Marvel Studios Panel

Got back from a long weekend at SDCC Sunday night and wanted to post my reactions. This first post will be about the Saturday Marvel Studios panel since that is what has captured most people’s interest.  Fair warning, half of this is going to be my own personal waffling and stream-of-consciousness that you may not care a wink about.

I've been trying to get a SDCC badge for, what, 4-5 years now?  Year after year, the lottery did not look kindly on me. So towards the end of 2018 when I finally succeeded in getting a badge for 2019, not only was I excited to have gotten a badge at all, but I thought I was extra lucky and that, if I were to be able to attend any year, this would be the year to attend because 1) it would likely be the concluding Game of Thrones panel, which after almost a decade would be a monumental event and 2) under the impression that the Loki series was going to be some of the first content available for Disney+ released late 2019/early 2020, without really having any expectations I was daydreaming about how great it would be if Hiddleston were to be there promoting Loki+ as well.  Turns out both of these were true! 

So flash forward to the weekend of SDCC.  Since we'd learned that Loki+ was still on the far horizon I'd completely forgotten about any wistful idea of Hiddleston being at the con.  In the aftermath of Endgame, I was not feeling interested in the upcoming Marvel Studios content, but still my love for Phase 1 and 2 and completionist tendencies were compelling me to try and get into Hall H on Saturday for the Marvel Studios panel regardless.  If only 50-100 more Star Trek fans hadn't felt it worth sticking around for Marvel, I would have gotten in, it was very close, but I didn't quite make  it. But I did get to see the official recording of the full panel sans promotional videos Saturday night 3 hours after the live event as part of the "playback" programming at the con.   

So! Feige's introducing movies and bringing their casts onto the stage, but my brain's so comfortably seated in my prior belief not expecting Hiddleston to be here that the possibility didn't even dawn on me.  I was so dense you guys, it did not dawn on me until literally 5 seconds before Hiddleston came out on stage, even after Feige had started talking about Loki+, lol. But what a delightful surprise! 

People are talking about the bit of music that played while Tom walked onto stage. There's another piece of music, though. In the playback of the Hall H panel that I watched, there was some introductory video for the Loki+ bit of the panel for which the video itself was redacted but the sound for the video still played.  For that piece of music, whimsical is the wrong word, I don't want to bring people's minds to the cartoony/whimsical character of the first Loki+ logo we saw because the music wasn't of that nature, but it kind of felt quirky and unearthly, not heavy, grounded, and driving like a lot of the powerful MCU themes. I thought it had to be for Dr. Strange 2 until it became clear it was for Loki+. 

I was delighted that the audience started chanting "Loki! Loki!" in callback to his previous SDCC appearances.  That's a good group of fans there. 

Also, seeing these huge groups of casts and creative teams coming on stage for 10 minutes at a time to introduce each of their movies, and then seeing Hiddleston up there by himself to introduce his own show, given equal weight and importance among the other MCU announcements at the panel, it just uniquely dawned on me then how proud and happy I felt that Hiddleston now had a front and center role carrying his own show and was getting the recognition for it, no longer a supporting character in a larger ensemble film.  He was the only one that had the stage all to himself during the panel.  Coming close would be things like Falcon & The Winter Soldier, which featured Mackie and Stan, but it's unclear to me how much that show is going to be about their characters vs. just featuring their characters, being about their interaction and the situations that arise when you throw them together.  I have hope that Loki+ is going to be specifically about Loki as a character. 

I enjoy the fandom content featuring Strange, Wanda, and Loki together as the trifecta of powerful magic users, and so when they announced Wanda would be making an appearance in Dr. Strange 2 I was lightly miffed that Loki was left out. In practice, though, I'm not sure how challenging it would be / how likely it would be that the creative team would execute such a Loki appearance well so I'm not going to focus on it. 

And then Thor 4.  Despite having negative interest in anything Thor-related at this point and agreeing that Loki as a character is not well-served by the sensibilities of another Waititi film, the thing I was most interested in was seeing if Hiddleston was going to join them on stage for that one, and when he didn't, I will admit that I felt a juvenile, knee-jerk reaction of irrational and undeserved resentment on Hiddleston's behalf, as if he was being excluded and deemed not good enough to be in another Thor film after all that he's brought to the Thor franchise, but of course it made no sense to feel that way when my brain kicked in. I'm not going to touch any of the 'behind the scenes relationship' wank, but in the most general possible sense, different stories have different needs.  Either a character furthers a specific story or they don't, and for a piece of work where service to the story comes first, it should be as simple as that and needn't be about the character at all.  Plus in this case logistically I don't even know if Hiddleston would have the time to act in both Loki+ and Thor 4. 

With how Jane was carelessly brushed aside in Ragnarok, and not being aware of anyone in Marvel Studios having talked about Portman since TDW, I was very surprised about the announcement that Thor 4 was going to feature Jane again, and intrigued as well at her larger role, just not enough to actually see the film.  Maybe there's hope for Betsy yet (I don't actually believe that).  What's interesting is that the Marvel comics and Marvel Studios exhibit that was in Seattle earlier this year featured artwork of Jane-as-Thor (if I remember correctly, it was created specifically for the exhibit) next to Hemsworth's costume, and now looking back I wonder if that was deliberately added to the exhibit by someone that had knowledge of Thor 4 or whether it was just a coincidence. 

I cannot decide which has the sillier name: "Thor: Love and Thunder" or "Dr. Strange and the Multiverse of Madness".  Oh wait, yes I can. 😋 

[sableaire]

How to start living in the present?

And how to move on?

This is a difficult question, Anon - it’s something I struggle with myself, sometimes. To that point, I do apologize for such a slow response. I wanted to take my time to answer this question thoughtfully, and I didn’t have a spare moment. 

Be it moving on from a friendship, a romantic relationship, a loss, a missed opportunity, or anything else, it can be difficult, and there’s no one right way. However, I will do my best to answer you below the cut:

The first step to start living in the present isn’t, as a lot of online guides to tell you, to “let go of the past”. I always thought that was a hopelessly vague instruction, and I think the question “How do you start living in the present?” is, in most cases, the same question as “How do you let go of the past?” So I’ll just list a variety of ideas and possible methods here, and maybe one of them will be useful to you.

Do something new and or unexpected (not the usual advice I promise)

So, for me, the first step would be to do something new or unexpected. Do anything that isn’t harmful to you or to others, be it going on a jog if you don’t usually do so or spending a half hour making paper airplanes. I’m not saying to go find a new hobby, but if you’re feeling stagnant or find yourself looking back, I think the best way to snap yourself out of the mindset is to do something you normally wouldn’t do.

My mother would take me by the hand and swing it back and forth as we walk, just for a change of pace. My father would go find some new burger place to eat at. And me, I go for the real unconventional stuff: did the paper airplane thing (and forgot America uses letter paper, not A4), decided to see if I could still remember an aikido roll (I didn’t and also hit my ankle on a shelf), and once I shouted my grievances to the full moon.

One of my favorite things to do is put my music playlist on shuffle, find a mirror, and just act out some kind of scene. Is a dramatic movie instrumental swelling? Get down on your knees and mourn shout at your right-hand person, who just took a laser beam for you, to hang on, that help will be here soon. Solo act the entire first song of Legally Blonde. 

Really, anything works, but I find it works best if it’s a little sillier than usual.

The reason that this works is because, when you do something new, it forces you to focus on what you’re doing and you can’t do it on autopilot. The reason it works better if it’s something silly is because that tint of self-consciousness forces you to be hyperaware of yourself in that moment, what you’re doing, how you’re feeling, and that gives you some time to feel present in the present.

Eventually, you might find that you can remember what being in the present feels like without a silly exercise like the above.

Ask a loved one to remind you when you get caught up in the past

It’s important to talk through your feelings on something to get it off your chest and or find some form of emotional closure. However, it isn’t necessarily healthy to keep revisiting a topic again and again. There’s no point closing a door on an issue if you open it again and again.

Sometimes it helped me to ask a close friend to just straightup let me know if I’m getting hung up on a stressor and fixating again. She would point it out, and I would either find a new topic, or she would help to distract me. Regardless, it helped me a lot emotionally to know that I had my friend’s support in this fashion.

Of course, finding that you keep revisiting a topic over and over again could mean that you didn’t actually find closure. If you suspect that’s the case, it’s probably a good idea to sit down and think about what would help you feel closure and if what you want is feasible. If it isn’t, then your best course of action is probably to try and let it fade from memory.

Remember your feelings about the past are also feelings in the present

On the other hand, sometimes people get so caught up on moving on or thinking that they’re caught up on the past that they forget to let themselves actually feel. Regardless of how you feel, even if you’re hung up on something, your feelings may be about the past, but you are experiencing them in the present. Sometimes I can forget that, and it’s always a relief to remember that a) I am allowed to feel and b) my feelings are not necessarily ‘old’.

It may take a while, but feelings change over time. Anger is either fueled or fades. Sadness can turn to anger. Indignation can turn to indifference. However, because the change is so gradual, we often miss the transformation.

In my case, I do creative writing for hobby. If I’m feeling strong emotions and am unable to move on from something, I write a poem or a story. In fact, I am still struggling to move on from a thing myself, so whenever I’m revisited by that feeling, I write this one self-indulgent short story. 

This works twofold, as both a harmless creative outlet and also a mood tracker of sorts. Sometimes I read a poem I wrote in the heat of the moment a few days later and go, “Wow, that’s a little extreme.” That point of comparison helps me to realize that, though I’m still bothered by the same issue, I’m not thinking about it in the exact same way. Perhaps I haven’t quite moved on, but I at least know I’m not stuck in the same place.

Consider it an experience

This is a piece of advice that doesn’t work for everyone, but it’s something that helps me as a writer. I could write about grief and loss all I wanted when I was fourteen, but it was hollow and an emulation. It wasn’t until I had a baby foster brother adopted to a different country that I realized how hollow I could possibly feel. It was only then that I could understand what people meant about expecting to see someone and not having them be there.

The experience has made me more empathetic to people who mourn someone’s absence. I still haven’t experienced a close death, but I understand it better than  before. It also has widened the range of stories and characters that I can include in my personal writing.

Now, every negative event, I frame as just a human experience. Failure? It hurts. I’m ashamed. I’m going to write a scene including failure before the feeling fades. Heartbreak? It’s excruciating. I can’t think about anything else, so I might as well write a scene about it.

Sometimes I’ll write a scene from beginning to end, and the character moves on. If that happens, often times I find that I feel a little lighter myself.

Think about yourself

Something I consider one of my greatest personal achievements is committing to making myself happy. I think one of many reasons people are unable to move on from something is because they get stuck thinking about how much easier or better or wonderful things would be if everything went as planned. 

It’s not easy to forget about that, so that’s not what I’m telling you to do. Instead, think of it as a minor setback. Sure, maybe it won’t be as easy or as good or as wonderful, but humans are adaptable and resilient. 

I wish society had told me there is more than one way to be happy.

There is more than one way to be successful.

Both are defined by yourself.

So if you’re stuck in the past, start thinking about yourself and what happiness means to you. It may be hard since you’re still influenced by recent events, but it helps then to list out several variations of happiness. Maybe whatever went wrong was one of them, but I guarantee you, it was not and will never be the only route to your contentment. In fact, try not to think about what would make you happy - think about what would make you satisfied with life.

In my case, once I did this exercise, I came up with a broad range of futures that I would be satisfied with. In one, I travel the world and get to visit all my scattered friends, staying with them on occasion. In another, I have a life partner, and I cook and read and my hypothetical partner forces me to write my novels. In another, I live alone but take in foster children, keeping contact with each once they’re adopted. In my favored one, I live in an apartment with a cat, making a living off my writing, and once a year I hold a New Year’s party for my close friends and their families.

Each are different. In each, I am satisfied.

So maybe something went wrong. You lost your job. You broke up with someone. A loved one passed away too soon. That’s one potential outcome of your life that’s been marked. You can either fix the sketch around the mark, or you can set that aside and focus on the others.

You are important, and your happiness and or satisfaction never hinges on one specific person or event. There are always other avenues. They may not be as easy or as perfect, but it’s not the end, and if you start walking a different path and the scenery starts to change, you might find you don’t mind that closed door.

I hope that some portion of this post could be of use to you, Anon. Again, I’m sorry this response took so long.