#that sounds cheesy as fuck but that's essentially what it boils down to

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

/vent in tags

but prof sycamore also looked very cute in this pic here and I wanted to share it

eepy french man

[regrettablewritings]

Animatic/Storyboard Music

Got bored/procrastinate-y on coloring in this ultra intricate card for my mom. So I’m just gonna make a list of songs I think make for good animatic material. Because why not/I wanna foist my musical tastes on people/ @locke-writes got me in a music binge. For the most part, it’s just gonna be me explaining the meanings or the vibe or what they generally tend to be used for, but really it’s mostly subjective so imaginate whatchu wanna.

“Trust Me” - The Devil’s Carnival Originally depicting a story about the Scorpion and the Frog, it’s the perfect song for when you want to depict the dynamic between a gullible or at the very least more grounded character and a figure whose intentions . . . may be less than pure. Or good for anyone, really.

“The Dismemberment Song” - The Blue Kid I have a playlist dedicated to songs whose content and sound are just . . . not married to one another, but got a weird flirtationship situation going on. Anyway, I’ve seen people say that they like to imagine it’s sung through the POV of a scorned housewife who’s finally Had Enough™️. And . . . They’re really not wrong for it. Really, though, it’s just the right song for when a sadist is just ready to gut a fucker but is disturbingly jolly about it.

“Love Me Dead” - Ludo Continuing with my trend of songs about people in less than ideal situations, “Love Me Dead” is straight to the point: The relationship is just awful and the guy gets nothing from it, but he can’t help but be hopelessly in a state of adoration for the woman he’s latched on to (“You’re born of a jackal! YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!!”)

“Constellations” - The Oh Hellos There actually isn’t a plot to this song, it just feels really good (as all songs by The Oh Hellos are prone to be). However, if you feel a need to portray the concept of having to reorganize your thoughts after realizing that maybe they weren’t what you initially thought, and then coming to the conclusion that even though everything changes as a result, you’ll be alright? This is the song for you.

“A Kindling of Sorts” - The Oh Hellos An instrumental piece that is like . . . It’s related to another song of theirs about nationalism called “Torches”, so make of that what you will. (I personally have been using it to imagine storyboarding an opening for an animated The Witcher series.)

“The Other Side” - The Greatest Showman I know everyone and their mom has used this to portray situations like villains trying to get good guys to join their side. But I dun curr, it’s a fun song. That, and I like what Emilyamio did with her interpretation. It’s fun. For a basic rundown, know it’s another song about two characters’ dynamics being explored, with one coming to the other with a proposal that they join them in whatever endeavors they have in store. It’s often portrayed as something evil, but it really doesn’t have to be, as the original context was more about letting loose than anything.

“The Thief and the Moon” - Shawn James A much more mellow piece. Simple and straight to the point: A thief tells the Moon that he plans on stealing her light to shade the world in darkness. The Moon insists that the thief would only doom the world by doing so, to which the thief clarifies that he doesn’t care; if the world is shrouded in shadow, it means he will be able to steal with more ease (“My very existence is a race to attain wealth”). Disgusted, the Moon essentially curses the man with a warning that his greed can and will bring about his end -- and leave him to be forgotten by the rest of mankind, once it happens.

“Villainous Thing” - Shayfer James I’ve seen people say that this song is about singing to a cadaver but I can’t quite find anything confirming that (translation: I’m too lazy to look too into it). Regardless, it’s a fun ditty that yet again portrays someone with less than pure intentions encouraging someone to join him in some good old fashion villainy, as they’ve clearly endured their fair share of hardships and surely wanted to do evil anyway (“You’ll find no ever after here, it’s clear that isn’t what you came for“).

“Necromancin Dancin” - Bear Ghost Straight forward and fun as fuck: A necromancer apparently seems to cross classes and try his hand at barding by not only raising an army of the dead, but by also making them dance in order to make conquering the world easier. Because . . . a body doing Disco Duck isn’t scary, I guess.

"Aquaman” - Walk the Moon A song about one half of a couple wanting to become more involved in their relationship, but still having some nervousness about doing so. If you somehow haven’t heard this song yet, you gotta because it’s the cutest shit.

“Jenny’s Tale” - Ren I’ll be brutally honest, it’s about a woman named Jenny who just wants to get home after a long day of work and an unfortunate encounter with a 14 year old named Screech who gets way in over his head. As in, like, a death happens. That being said, I need. Like. An animated music video of this song. I imagine this shit in gritty charcoal or painted on glass, it just needs this. Somebody who isn’t me who knows what they’re doing, please look into this.

“The Curse of the Fold” - Shawn James As cheesy as it sounds, it basically boils down to not giving up or yielding. But what makes it so cool is the fact that Shawn James makes all his songs basically sound like a western gothic soundtrack. Which helps, because he admits that the title is also a reference to poker, in which giving up too often or too easily can often rob you of a delicious reward gained through perseverance and sacrifice.

“Thank God I’m Not You” - Himalayas I prefer to imagine this for an arrogant asshole of a character. Because that’s exactly what this song is about: They’re a liar and a thief, they’ve been called the son of Satan, and yet they consider themselves lucky -- ‘cause at least they ain’t you! If you have a character in mind who’s a delightful, punchable little shit, this is probably either their anthem or at least on the playlist you inevitably made for them.

"Passerine" - The Oh Hellos So there’s a common trend in The Oh Hellos’ discography that tends to explore the two founders’ experiences with faith and their growth in how they understand it or recognize it. With “Passerine”, the concept being explored is the experience they had when it came to taking a step back and realizing just how many of their supposed “fellow Christians” were actually doing some rather unchristian things, so to speak. When they “prune[d] their feathers”, it became clear that they had less in common with certain people proclaiming to be Christian while also spouting bigotry and greed. However, the desire to move away from such influences comes with the feeling of being torn, as moving too far away from the Bible leaves the singer feeling as though she is betraying something she holds dear. As a result, “Passerine” symbolizes not a breakage from faith, but a breakage from blind faith as they understood it, and the inevitable feeling of being torn that comes along with expanding upon how one views their beliefs and those around them. It’s therefore not uncommon to see Good Omens animatics using this song. (Something I also noticed is that throughout the song, you hear pieces of “Constellations”. TOH have a tendency to reference previous pieces, and considering “Constellations” is a song about changing perspective and the meanings we apply to them, it fits in beautifully with a song about reevaluating one’s stance.)

“Like the Dawn” - The Oh Hellos As stated before, a lot of TOH’s discography draws inspiration from their faith. In this case, it’s an outright retelling of the Garden of Eden, specifically when Adam awoke to find Eve had been created. What makes this iteration stand out to most, however, is that the singer is female, which seems to change the vibe you get. It sweetens the feeling of wonder we often forget the first man might’ve felt upon seeing somebody made for him, creating an air of beauty yet comfort with such lines as “And like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook” or “You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen.” Even without the awareness or an interest in religious influences, it still manages to be a very feel-good song -- which is the mark of an overall good song in general!

“Confession” - RED Dealing with the constant battle of feeling ashamed that how you feel on the inside isn’t in sync with how you present yourself on the outside. That you should feel bad for smiling out at the world while screaming and thrashing -- like it’s a lie. But you can’t help it: It’s what you’re accustomed to. Though it does end on a hopeful note with the singer deciding that they want to reach out for help and rid themselves of this feeling of pain they have inside.

“When I Grow Up” - Matilda . . . Only if you want to cry. Seriously. When you’re a kid, everything seems difficult but you’re positive that once you grow up, everything will change: You’ll be tall enough to climb the trees you were too small to, you’ll be able to carry everything because you’re stronger, you’ll be brave enough to fight the monsters hiding in your room, you’ll finally have all the answers. . . . But life isn’t that simple. We wish it were, but it isn’t. There’s this bittersweetness about this song, about a sense of purity we unfortunately grow out of where we think things will be just the same enough for us to do what we want when we want, but things are more complicated than that. We still struggle to reach, to bear the weight, to not be afraid, to have even a fraction of the answers. But! We’re reminded that just because we’re told life isn’t fair, doesn’t mean we have to take it. After all, nothing changes when nothing happens. And even beyond that? It helps to remember that we’re never quite done growing up; there’s always more to learn, so remember to be patient with yourself.

“Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!” - Will Wood and the Tapeworms This is . . . a song. The lyrics are honestly kinda all over the place and shooting rapid fire, making it a bit difficult to discern what exactly the singer is going on about. It makes for a pretty crazy song that suggests somebody’s going unhinged, which is apparently precisely the intention?? I’ve seen a lot of people interpret this as a song about a guy who is already at a low point in his life but nonetheless is going, “. . . I bet I can go deeper. Hand me my shovel.”

“No Reason” - Beetlejuice God if i had a youtube channel the segment i would spend on this song would be so juicy just ripe and thicc with thoughts and feelings i tell ya rich like a fresh fatty peach the apple that tempted Eve and gagged Adam yes ‘Nother song that explores the dynamic between two differing people and their worldviews. At its simplest, “No Reason” is about two opposite ends of a spectrum coming to a head: Idealistic and hippie-dippy Delia is convinced that everything happens for a reason, while cynical and depressed Lydia asserts that everything happens at random and it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re all going to die. And even though the delivery is ultimately a comedic one, you get more insight as to why one another feels the way that they do: Lydia, as we’ve previously learned, has recently lost her mother to an illness, which has left her depressed and feeling invisible (a theme in the show); whereas Delia’s failed marriage and desperate attempts to nonetheless be happy have left her dependent on the idea that these things had to have happened for a reason, otherwise, her pain would’ve been for nothing. What’s important is that neither side is actually appointed as the winner, with the song ultimately ending that the universe is random for a reason.

“Barbara 2.0″ - Beetlejuice Without spoiling anything (or at least too much), “Barbara 2.0″ is about growth. It’s about learning to put your foot down after a literal lifetime of being passive out of fear of what might happen and just accepting that nothing will happen if nothing happens -- but that doesn’t make whatever happens good.

“Bleed Magic” - IDHKBTFM It’s either about a killer or a vampire. No, seriously: When Dallon Weekes was asked about what the story of the song was, that was his answer. I personally prefer to think of it as a vampire or demon of some kind, given that the song came out around Halloween. Perfect for yet another example of somebody (likely supernatural) having an upper hand on an unsuspecting mortal. ...I have way too many of these on this list, I swear I don’t have a problem —

“Feel Good Drag” - Anberlin A toxic relationship of sorts. In that it shouldn’t be a relationship to begin with. Depicts the singer being approached by an ex, who seeks a one-night stand while her current boyfriend is out of town. However, the singer is aware that trying to continue anything regardless of the situation is a moot point: Even when they were together, their relationship was doomed from the start, and nothing about that is going to change -- especially now.

“Soviet Trumpeter” - Katzenjammer (It’s kinda difficult to work with this one but I’ve seen people work with less or stranger.) Based off the life of one Eddie Rosner, a Jewish Polish trumpeter whose fame within the USSR unfortunately faded due to the Soviet Union’s heavy censorship. Even if nothing is to be done with it, it still paints a melancholic picture of a talented man’s skills being largely unknown as a result of things beyond his control. All wrapped up in a song that denotes a strange deterioration in a way I can’t quite place.

“Apple Blossom” - The White Stripes On its face, it’s a very sweet song: The singer encourages his beloved to be vulnerable enough with him to tell him her troubles and to let him “sort them out for [her]”. She’s clearly saddened, and seeing so distresses him to where he insists that he will do whatever he can to make her happy. However, the tone of the song and certain lines make it easy to twist into yet another song of a character attempting to seduce somebody into a state of vulnerability . . .

“You’ve Got Possibilities” - It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman The one singular song people actually liked from this forgotten musical. Perfect for when somebody intends on giving somebody else a makeover. Y’know, after totally roasting them on their posture and clothing. If you want to add a lil something extra, know that the context is that a lady wants to give Clark Kent a makeover, insisting that in spite of his schlubby appearance, there’s gotta be something underneath. I repeat: She is telling this to Clark freaking Kent.

 “Still” - Anastasia In the context, the show’s antagonist (not bad guy, there’s a difference) finds himself torn between obligation and personal interest: Does he fulfill his duty and live up to expectations set upon him by his father and the society he’s been selected to help uphold? Or does he let a woman he has become fond of go? Is she truly as innocent as she claims? Or is she well aware of what she’s doing? And every time he thinks he’s reached a conclusion, he can’t help but thing, “But still . . .” Good for when you want to portray a character conflicted between obligations of politics and what their heart wants.

“Two Nobodies in New York” - [title of show] Two young men plan on entering an upcoming theatrical festival but struggle with what to even submit. This song in particular focuses on them trying to figure out what to even write, the concept of fame, and if wanting the certain things that may come with fame can mean anything from being sell-outs to getting a sitcom. It’s admittedly specific, but it’s a cute and funny interaction between two guys who are, for the most part, actually in sync with their thoughts and anxieties. For the time being.

“Into the Unknown” - Idina Menzel Look, I refuse to watch that movie. I just do. But I will take this song over That Other One any day. Mostly because I personally like to imagine that the singer in this song is about to embark on a Pixaresque journey after accidentally leaving her home during the night of The Wild Hunt, accidentally separating her spirit from her body and thus giving her a very limited time to get back to it before she remains a soul trapped in a whirlwind of ghosts forever. But first: Let’s sing about that strange howling that coaxes her so.

“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” - The Offspring I sure do long songs that can characterize a shithead . . . Anywho! The smoothest way to go is just to portray some cocky, manipulative shit who’s used to just lying and cheating their way to get what they want before slipping away without any consequences -- to a point. There’s the option of portraying the betrayer’s comeuppance, but there’s also the frustratingly delicious option of just letting them get away with whatever to lie another day.

“Why Should I Worry” - Billy Joel When in doubt, go to earlier Disney. Because like it or not, they had some bops. And when in the need of portraying a happy-go-lucky (probably idiotic) doofus and his more neurotic or cynical friend going about their life with the former just Mr. Magooing it while the latter suffers more realistic consequences? You go with this song. If you want. That’s just me.

“Transformation” - Brother Bear For when you want to invoke a mystical or otherworldly feeling. There’s really not much more I can say except to encourage you to listen to it and watch the scene if you can find it. You’ll get the vibe.

“No Girl’s Toy” - Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure It’s a big shame this movie is relatively unknown and never got a proper VHS release or anything -- mainly because the music in this cult classic is definitely stuff I could see becoming standards. I could see people performing “I Never Get Enough” for little shows, or recycling “Blue” for a different show. Thankfully, somebody was able to upload a clear enough sounding recording of “No Girl’s Toy”, so at least we have that. In context (just...follow me on this), Raggedy Ann’s brother, Raggedy Andy, has had enough of being subjected to “girly things” while in the nursery. Additionally, though, the way the song was written means it can also be interpreted as just a guy who refuses to let himself be yanked around regardless of how thick the sugar being laid on him is. . . . If you wanna poke fun as a character for trying to appear tougher than what he is, here’s the song. (That being said, Andy is a sweetheart at the end of the day. No amount of tough-fronting will hide that.)

“I Enjoy Being a Girl” - Flower Drum Song (It is by sheer coincidence that this song follows the above.) Really, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: The singer enjoys being a girl and what all it entails for her. She loves her feminine form, she loves the attention she gets, she loves dolling herself up, she loves frilly dresses, and she hopes to one day marry a guy who enjoys “having a girl like [her].” And honestly? Good on her! Love whatcha love, lovely! Seriously, though, it’s a cute song for anyone who just wants to indulge in some girliness.

“Chip on My Shoulder” - Legally Blonde Come on: It’s Legally Blonde. You know what this bop is, or at least have an idea of it. But since I love this song, I’ll indulge: Disheartened by her failure to both win back her ex and succeed in the fast-paced environment of Harvard, the normally bright-eyed Elle is ready to call it quits. That is, until junior partner Emmett gets involved. Unimpressed by her story, Emmett reveals that he got to where he was by busting his ass due to having a chip on his shoulder from his rough beginnings — and maybe a chip on the shoulder is exactly what Elle needs to survive. And as somebody driven by spite, I can appreciate that kind of message. Anywho, it all in all is a song about growth and learning how to be “driven as hell” to keep up with an opportunity that may not be easy to take, but is not one to be passed by.

“What Do I Need with Love?” - Thoroughly Modern Millie “What Do I Need with Love?” asks exactly that: He could date a different girl every night of the week if he so wanted, and never once had any desire to go steady before. He considers himself lucky to have never fallen for anyone -- until now. Which he’s not! He’s not in love. ...He totally is and, by his own admission, he’s got it bad it’s terribly adorable.

“Interlude IV” - Zach Callison The entire album is actually a narrative about a failed relationship of Callison’s and I’m sure the other songs are just as great fuel for animatics -- I’m just too caught up on listening to this one over and over. Sometimes, we just wanna listen to Steven Universe cuss and be openly furious. Seriously, though, even without the context of the rest of the story, you get the idea well enough: A spiteful Zach decides to get back at the one that broke his heart in such a painful way, whereas a well-meaning friend insists they just leave it be and move on. While this technically would be the better and healthier option, Zach is just too far gone with rage to let it go and decides to take care of things by himself.

“Evermore” - Beauty & the Beast Look, I know the remake wasn’t anything crazy. But also I don’t honestly care too terribly much. Besides, this song was nice and it really gets me after that key change. We all want a royal doofus to be enamored enough with us to let us go for our own happiness but still know that their life will forever be changed because they met us. Animate that shit. Over and over.

goddamn this list is long lemme just stop this now byyyyeeeee

[atmilliways]

On the 10th day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 22 - Metalocalypse but it's a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie

He’s a big city notary, only in town to clean out his deceased grandparents’ condo.

He’s a small-town metalhead pot dealer/part time taxi service with no one to hang out with for the holidays.

Is it fate, or is it Christmas?

Chapter one of a Murderface/Pickles, what-if-Dethklok-never-happened AU. I went heavy on Pickles' accent for this and I refuse to apologize for my crimes.

~

Deck The Halls With Ughs & F*ck Yous

When you boiled it down to the bare essentials, the first half of the letter basically said, “Merry Christmas, your grandparents are dead.” 

Which, William felt, was kind of nice of the lawyer writing to him. He hadn’t liked his grandparents particularly much, for all that they’d raised him ever since the unfortunate murder-suicide that had claimed his parents. Everything he’d accomplished in life had been in spite of them. They’d wanted him to be a hubcap salesman like his grandfather; he’d gotten his notary license and done just fine. They’d wanted him to stay in the same kind of podunk towns they always lived in; he’d gone to the big city and landed a steady career notarizing deeds and titles for a huge real estate company. All they’d done was yell at him to make sure was still alive for seventeen years. Anyone could have done that. 

It was the second half of the letter that was the problem. Apparently they’d had no money to leave him, just all the crap in a condo that needed to be emptied out by the end of the year so the next owners could move in. If he didn’t, there would be a ridiculously large fine due of some truly idiotic wording in the lease they’d signed. 

A quick check online told him it would be cheaper to just fly out to this . . . Tomahawk, Wisconsin, throw all the shit in a dumpster, and be done with it. He had a couple weeks of vacation time coming up anyway, with Christmas and New Years, and no particular plans. Why not go? Maybe it would be . . . cathartic or something. 

William sighed and reached to grab a credit card from his wallet. So much for a quiet Christmas to himself, holed up in his  blissfully undecorated apartment with takeout from one of the best sushi places in the entire city. 

~

Tomahawk was pretty much what he expected. Once he made it out of the four-gate airport with a baggage claim so slow that it might have been faster to  walk  instead of fly, it turned out there wasn’t even a taxi queue. He had to go back inside and call one himself. And it wasn’t so much a taxi service as something called “Pickles Cab” scratched in above the payphone.

As long as it had wheels and knew how to find the address, he didn’t much care. The dispatch guy had seemed kinda stoned on the phone, but hey, William figured, that just meant he might be able to find some to buy in the area. 

The car was easy to spot because it was the only non-white thing moving in the snow-caked parking lot. William eyed the shitty old Vista Cruiser in shades of drab green, rust, and beat-to-shit wood paneling skeptically as it pulled up to the loading zone curb at an angle that was, frankly, terrible. The driver put it in park and popped out the driver’s side door with the engine still running, spewing thick steam out of the tailpipe in the frigid air. 

“Hey dood, welcome to Wiscahnsin,” the guy called, waving. “Abandon hope all ye to enter here, heh.” He smirked. William recognized his voice as the person he’d talked to on the phone.

“Uh . . . hi,” William replied awkwardly, hefting his two suitcases, 

“Trunks open. Lemme get it fer ya.” The driver hurried around to the back of the car and opened it for William to toss the suitcases in. He had a shock of red hair trying to escape from his black beanie in all directions, and park-job aside seemed slightly less stoned in person than he sounded. “Wanna sit up front? It’s warmer up here, I’ve had the heat blastin’ all the way here . . . uh, just let me clear some shit out first.”

‘Some shit’ seemed to be a lot of empty bottles and cans and snack wrappers, but William waited patiently because it’s not like this place had any actual taxis he could call instead. When he did climb in and buckle his seatbelt, at least it was warm, as promised, even if it did smell like pot and stale beer. 

The driver popped back in, stripped the glove off one hand, and rubbed at his nose above a vivid red goatee before grabbing the wheel, “Okey, here we go. I’m Pickles, what’s yer name?”

“William Murderfasche,” William replied. What kind of a name was Pickles? But . . . it did explain the name of the ‘cab’ company. 

“Murderface, that’s a fuckin’ cool name. Mind if I just call ya that?”

“. . . Sure.”

“Cool. So dood, Murderface, where to?”

William gave him the address. The car pulled away from the airport with a jerk and he stared out the window at passing snow banks and white-shrouded trees, starting to sink into all his misgivings about the decision to come out here. There was a certain smell that developed anywhere his grandparents inhabited for long enough that he hadn’t realized until moving out on his own kept him in a near-constant state of upset stomach. 

“Hope ya don’t mind there ain’t no radio,” Pickles told him companionably, not appearing to mind when William didn’t react. “Tape deck’s broken too. . . . I’m tryin’ ta save up the money to fix it by givin’ people rides and shit. And doin’ some other stuff too, but don’t tell the cops, heh. All the local stations are pretty much shit anywey, all they’re playin’ right now is fuckin’ Christmas songs.”

“Hm,” William agreed. 

“What kinda music you listen to?”

“Hm. Uh, what? Oh, schorry. Moschtly metal, I guessch.” He shrugged, shaking himself out of the funk he’d been about to sink into. Usually he would prefer to just be left to his own thoughts, but right now the chit chat was actually a welcome distraction. “It’sch good background muschic for conschentrating on not thinking.”

“Hey dood, me too!” In his enthusiasm, Pickles gunned the engine and sent the car into a brief skid on the wintery road, but corrected it with an ease that spoke to lots of practice. “There’s naht much of a metal scene here, fuckin’ sucks. What else am I supposed to get fucked up to, huh? People jest don’t get that. Is it any better where you live?”

William, braced for impact as he now was and would probably remain for the rest of the ride, shrugged again. “I don’t know. I moschtly keep to myschelf, but there are plenty of schtoresch that have deschent schtuff, if you’re willing to schort through all the other crap.”

“Well, cool. Hey if you wanna hang out at all while yer here, I got a pretty good collection on vinyl. Y’know, if you don’t have family shit to do. I’m avoiding mine due to sort of a . . . landlord tenant dispute. They won’t let me put a lock on the house-door to my basement-room, so I’ve got it barricaded and stopped payin’ rent, and now Mahm won’t let me eat anything she cooks. But it’s cool, I’ve gaht an exterior door so I can still get in’n out.”

It took a moment to digest all that, but William noted the invitation with the tentative optimism of a guy who’d moved a lot as a kid but never quite gotten the hang of making friends as a survival method. 

But he was only planning to be in town for a few days, get the condo cleaned out ASAP, and go home, never to return. Not a lot of point in making friends. 

“Thanksch, but I probably won’t have time.” He wasn’t looking directly at Pickles, but he saw the driver’s smile drop a few watts out of the corner of his eye. Feeling bad for the guy, he quickly added, “Schoundsch like you’ve got a pretty good schet-up, though.”

“Eh . . . it’s alright.”

The conversation petered out after that, and William had no idea how to get it going again. He’d always been shit at this sort of thing. Looking back, it was probably a miracle that he’d stuck through high school long enough to graduate, having alienated, avoided, or accidentally insulted enough of his peers that virtually no one on campus had ever willingly spoken to him. The only social group he’d ever successfully infiltrated was the lunchtime stoners that hung out in the park across the street, and that was because they’d mostly just sat around passing joints, trying to blow smoke rings, and napping before having to face sixth period. 

Eventually Pickles put his turn signal on and announced, "Here we go, Christmas Mountain Avenue. Sheesh, that's a little on the nose, huh?"

Privately William agreed, but awkwardly swallowed the chuckle before it could make itself heard. As they pulled up in front of the building, he peered out the window at the gray, shitty condo building and felt his lip curl. Fuck, there was a fridge in there full of rotting food and cans of condensed milk that he was going to have to deal with somewhere in there, he just knew it. 

“Is this where yer staying?” Pickles asked dubiously. 

“No,” William said with a shudder. “Thisch isch juscht the . . . family schit I’m here to deal with. My grandparentsch died and I have to clean out their plache by the end of the month.”

“Ooh.” Scratching thoughtfully at his goatee, he leaned forward to get a better look at the building. “. . . You know, the nearest motel is a ten minute walk and it’s gettin’ dark soon. Yer gonna want a ride, prahbably.”

William blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Pickles made a show of looking thoughtful. “So . . . want any help? I gaht reeeeal reasonable rates.”

“Well. . . .”

“And I’ve gaht weed, too,” he added. 

“Done,” William said immediately. 

Well. At least the ordeal would probably be over with sooner this way, and also a lot less horrible with something to blunt the edges (and cover the Smell).

[emeraldbabygirl]

I’m so mad I can’t post this from my other account but yea here you go heathen bby

Words: 1839

Happy anniversary from Mingi

“Kitten, I’m-” Uiyeon stops mid sentence, usually you’re right there the moment he walks in, happy to greet him with a kiss and hug, but you’re not, and he hates that. The clattering in the kitchen told him you were up to no good, the last mess you made a burnt cake. He only teases you for a week, sure, but it still hurts your pride. So here you were, covered in flour, icing a cake you’re sure doesn’t suck. Today was a big day, and you had to make sure at least the cake was edible even if dinner wouldn’t be. “Whacha doing?” Uiyeon wraps an arm around your middle and you jump, not sure when he had gotten home, you thought you had more time to at least clean and look like you weren’t wrestling the pillsbury dough boy.

“Making our anniversary a mess.” He snorts, kissing along the exposed skin of your neck. “Stop, I have to concentrate.” You poke a tongue out, determined to write ‘happy anniversary’ on the cake, but Uiyeon has separate ideas, latching onto your throat with no intention of letting up. He rolled his tongue over the hickies littering the skin, pressing his very hard cock to your ass. “Daddy,” was all you got before he’s shoving you over the counter, hand curled around the same expanse of skin he was kissing, he doesn’t lean in however, standing tall still.

“Kitten, I don’t need any of this.” He gives a wary glance at whatever is boiling on the stove, reaching to turn it off without moving his other hand. He squeezes gently. “Besides, short stack, you can’t cook. Not well on your own anyways.” Tears threaten to break from your eyes, you had messed up again and this time he was mad. He was so mad he refused to even let you stand at your height. A gentle hand on your bare thigh glides up between your legs. “I only need my kitten girl. My baby. My whore.” As he speaks, he wastes no time pushing a finger into you, moving your underwear to the side and the large t-shirt over your ass. “And as long as I have my baby, I’ll always be having a good day.” Soft kisses skim over your lower back, a tongue slipping past your cheeks to lap at your pussy. “Tastes so good for me. Do you want to know what I got you for today?”

“You got me something?” Now you really felt lousy, couldn’t make dinner and his gift wasn’t ready yet. “Daddy it’s okay I’m happy wi-”

Both Uiyeon’s hands leave you till he leaves the kitchen entirely, leaving you dazed and confused. “Come.” You hear him from the living room. You’re hesitant for only a fraction, “Now, kitten.” Then you’re scrambling, washing all the icing from your hands quickly to join him on the couch only for him to stop you. “No, pretty whores go where?” You smile, kneeling in front of his crossed legs. “You really are something else, baby.” He uncrosses them, careful not to hit you, he then leans down to kiss you fully, tongue and teeth. “Good girl, ready for that gift?” You nod, curious. Uiyeon was a great gift giver, from corsets to jewelry to trips, he really knew your tastes inside and out. Today was no different as he clasps a pink leather collar around your throat. It has some sort of fluff to it, and something hanging from the front that's cold, but you can see neither. “It says ‘Uiyeon’s’ because that’s who you are, mine.” He looks as lovingly into your eyes as possible. “Pretty, aren’t you?”

When you go to speak a hand firmly makes contact with your left cheek, the force dragging your head to the side. Uiyeon smooths his fingers over it before tucking your chin under his grasp and pulling your eyes back to him. He’s edging on the couch now, gathering your messy bun, seizing your face much closer to his, a wicked smile is the last thing you see before he’s throwing you back to the ground.

“On your knees but turn around— and take your underwear off, show me what’s mine.” Excitement drips from you like molten lava all too eager to show off daddy’s pretty pussy, pulling your panties off in record time. You can hear his whistle of approval at the sight: Uiyeon could get off watching you clench around nothing, cream falling straight to the floor, he could clearly see how stiff and swollen your clit was— it all drove him so mad. “Stay like that, be a good girl for me, okay?” You feel something with a point, cold and smooth, drag suddenly from your aching nerves to your desperate cunt, stopping to tease the hole before repeating the actions agonizingly slow, each pass adding more pressure. “A whore will get off on anything, hm?” Whatever he’s caressing you with comes to a halt on your clit again, pressing down till your breath catches and tears pool in your eyes. “Even a boot. Quite pathetic, dear.” You hear the smile, how entertaining he found all of this, you were about to orgasm on his damn boot for crying out loud— and you couldn’t seem to care less.

“Do you like being fucked by my boot, kitten?” You whine out a yes, almost forgetting yourself to jerk forward, anything to make him move his foot again. “Turn around and see the mess you created, slut.” A black, shiny boot has a thin coating of you clouding the color, your essence rolls back to his heel before finally falling off to the hardwood. “Clean it.” Nervous eye’s flick up to catch Uiyeon’s wide smile, he was serious. You look back down, unsure what he really means, were you to get a towel? You feel his grip on your head again, this time more painful, he finds behind your neck and squeezes, shoving your nose into his shoe. “I said clean it. With your dirty mouth. Do it while I ask nicely.” A pink tongue darts out, leather and you make an odd flavor, but soon you’re confident, tongue flat along the top till you can’t see anymore discharge. “Was that so hard, Princess?”

Uiyeon can’t help himself when it comes to your hair, he often pulls at it till your scalp is raw, but never this hard. He yanked at the bun you almost see stars, some hair tumbling into your sight, he’s not satisfied till you're in his crotch, face pressed against his hot cock. “Show me that throat, baby.” If sucking Uiyeon off were an Olympic sport, he’d give you gold everytime. The way you could slip him into your mouth deep till your tongue lightly fondles his balls is magic— the most taboo if you were to ask him. Drool pools into his lap when you go as deep as you can, choking haphazardly before pulling back up. “Fuck me with your throat.” Growing tired of the hairstyle you chose, long fingers work slowly to release your locs, threading them through in preparation; couldn't just recklessly come down your throat so soon. When you dare peek up, Uiyeon’s dark head is sprawled on the back of the couch, eyebrows knitting in lust, cherry lips parted and teeth clenched, soft moans emit on every thrust down your mouth takes.

“Get on top of me but turn around, I need to be in you.” Uiyeon sits up slightly, guiding your hips over his, slipping you on his thick cock, the intrusion welcomed, almost a relief on the pooling heat deep in your abdomen. When he’s sure he can’t fuck up into you further, the tall man gathers up your legs, essentially hugging you into a ball, trapping all your limbs in the circumference of his arms. “Perfect,” he breaths along your throat, lifting you up only to roughly push you back down. Your body goes slack, head falling back to his right shoulder, you feel your orgasm rip through you, spraying the floor and much of Uiyeon’s thighs. “So you like when I fuck you like a doll? Is that what you want to be next? My cocksleeve?” He sets a pace, lifting you just to hit at your sensitive g-spot, another orgasm building to break. “Gonna squirt on me again, filthy whore?” All you can do is nod dumbly, words only coming out as broken moans. “Aw, I know you’re not all fucked out already. Take me for just a bit longer, I’ll reward you.”

“Yes daddy.” Broken, slobbering, and sniffling as the answer was, Uiyeon pressed his lips to your temple, picking up tempo. Your chest burns with how hard it is to pull air into your lungs, every nerve was alive and on fire. Lewd sounds from your boyfriend ghost into your ear further humiliating you, you were tittering on a fourth orgasm, arms and legs starting to shake. He grunts as he comes first, tearing you from him once he’s emptied his seed into you.

The rapper lays you back on the couch, spreading your legs wide. His right hand spreads your nether lips and he watches how your pussy pulses, globe of his come rolling at each pulse. Slowly his fingers work the come back into you, your back arches, hips driving against his hand. “Relax, I said I’d reward you for doing so well, didn’t I?” You want so badly to look down, the overstimulation making it near impossible to even lift your torso let alone keep your eyes from rolling back, just to see how focus he must be fingering you like this, like he has all the time in the world to be in you. Warmth envelopes your clit and your hands shoot for the mop of black hair between your thighs. Two fingers scissor along your walls while Uiyeon spells out his name along your clit. J E O N— M I— you push the rapper back, body trembling and contorting in ways only he knew how to invoke. You can’t find your voice to moan, sputtering out gasps and sobs indiscriminately.

“Ah- I should’ve stopped when you first started that dumb look in your eye.” Soft kisses litter all over your body, starting at your left foot. He’s careful not to touch any sensitive flesh on his journey, however, that didn’t stop him from lapping gently at your neglected nipples, kissing each on his way to your lips. “Did I fuck my pretty girl stupid?” A cheesy grin meets you, though you’re still not sure your left from your right. “Shall we take a bath?” Uiyeon fingers at the pendant on your collar, “or perhaps I could stare at how messy and dirty you look? Might make me hard again, though.”

“M’bath.” You hum, body still surging on a galactic high. “Then sex again.”

“If that’s what you want.” He kisses you again, lifting you gently. You truly drove him half insane daily.

HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK DHDFHDNNCCC FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK MEEEEEEEER FUCKING HOT COCK ON A POGO STICK THE WAY I COULDNT FUCKING BREATHE AT THAT BOOT PART YES DADDY ILL CLEAN YOUR BOOT ANY TIME YOU ASK FUCK ME HOLY SHIT I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT AND WHEN HE SPELT OUT HIS NAME ON YOUR CLIT OH GOD PLEASE FUCK AND HOLY SHIT SLAP ME ACROSS THE FUCKING FACE PLEASE DADDY OH MY FUCK I- I- PLEASE IM GONNA CRY I WANT I- MY PUSSY SAID ()•() IN DEFENSE I- FUCK HOLY SHIT I LOVE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN BABY I AM YOUR LIL HEATHEN BBY BUT I WANT UIYEON TO FUCKING OWN ME PLEASE FUCK ME DADDY HOLY FUCK...

Also I added the moodboard I hope that’s okay? And yes he’s a Mingi. I’ve said this before, I have a daddy Mingi and a baby Mingi. But fuck holy shit, this, I love this thank you so fucking much oh my god. The dirty talk hits so different now that I’ve 1. been extremely horny and 2. I’m into so much shit oh fuck. Yes Daddy Mingi please fuck me stupid fuck! THANK YOU SO MUCH BABIEEEE 💕💕💕💕💕

[too-attached-to-fiction]

Protector

Masterlist here.

Word Count: 2,293

Summary:            

One night, Zoey asks Emma to keep her safe. Emma isn't sure why, but for the first time, Zoey seems scared of what could happen outside of Beanies' walls.

Attempted assault and vomit mentioned, but not graphic.

Inspired by Girl Code, written by @ourfandomcrazyuniverse​.

Notes:    

I wasn't sure how to end this so the ending is abrupt but basically this is about Emma and Zoey! I always wanted to know more about their relationship and wondered what would happen if they were close. It's essentially a character study in order to improve on writing less dialogue, but I'm still happy with it and I hope you enjoy!

Read on Ao3 here.

~~~ 

 Emma looked up at the clock, scowling at the time. She’d been scheduled to close with Zoey, and closing was two hours from now. The thought of spending that much time alone with her “manager” (who was ten years younger than Emma) mader her want to barf.

 Okay, Zoey wasn’t bad. If anything, she reminded Emma of a young Jane: bright, sociable, loyal. She did what she was asked without any questions, no fighting back, and was always kind enough to recognize that Emma never wanted to talk to her. Sure, the two of them had their squabbles, but they both understood things could be way worse.

 Shit, Zoey even overshadowed Emma at work. She was always fucking perfect, the way Jane had been. And when one person is so brilliant at everything, the universe calls for the other to be an absolute fuck up. Not that Emma would ever admit that Zoey was brilliant.

 In some moments, Zoey kind of reminded Emma of her younger self. They both had a love for theater, a high amount of sass and a low tolerance for BS.

 In those moments, Emma wanted to toss her cookies into the food waste bin.

 “Hey, Emma? Are you done with the dishes?” Speak of the devil. Zoey poked her head in through the doorway of the back kitchen. “I just texted Nora and she said we could close early, since no one’s here.”

 Emma looked tiredly at the pile of unwashed cups and pastry plates. “I’m not done.”

 “Here, I’ll dry them and put them away.” Zoey said, pulling out her phone and texting Nora back. “Give me a minute to lock the door and turn off the house lights.”

 Emma sighed, moving onto the next dish. She’d tried changing jobs, but she never seemed to put in the effort to get an interview. Something was tying her to Beanies, but she didn’t understand what. It definitely wasn’t the hours or her coworkers, and the pay was average at best. The singing had to be the worst - Emma was pretty sure by now that it drove more customers away than it brought them in.

 How was Beanies still standing, anyways? She was sure that the owner of this place was just wasting time and money, considering Starbucks was always bustling with people. The team of employees currently only added up to five, and Nora was definitely working overtime when theater season came around.

 Zoey reappeared in the back kitchen, quietly joining Emma. Tonight she was humming another show choir tune. Maybe it was Hamilton again.

 Every once in a while Zoey looked out into the main area, a frown on her face. By the third time, the humming was gone, and she had slowed her work.

 “Emma?” Zoey asked, so quiet that she almost didn’t hear it the first time. “Emma?” She tried again.

 “Look, Zoey, just because we’re on the same shift and working together doesn’t mean you need to make small talk-”

 “It isn’t about that.” Zoey’s frown deepened. Emma paused, looking up. She’d never seen Zoey so… well, unhappy.

 “Hey, are you okay?” Emma may be crabby, but she knew where to draw the line. Something about Zoey was off. She set down another dirty mug into the sink with warm water and soap and looked at the younger girl.

 Zoey wouldn’t look at her, scrubbing a plate dry as she spoke. “Can you walk me to the bus stop and wait for me to get on after we close?”

 “What, am I some valet service now?” The words flew out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop them. She watched Zoey fake a smile and her stomach dropped. God, something was wrong.

 “There’s a guy out there.” Her voice was soft. “He’s been standing outside since I got here, and he.. He’s just there, waiting for me to leave. I’m scared that the minute I’m left alone he could do something.”

 “Do you know him?”

 “He’s come inside before, but you know, you hear stories all the time about those girls who…” Zoey took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “It just happens to them without any reason.” She looked up, blinking rapidly.

 “Leave the dishes here, we can finish them tomorrow.” Emma said, taking the plate out of her coworker’s hands. “If you want, you could stay with me for the night. My apartment’s shit, but it’s better than having that guy follow you.”

 “Really, it’s okay-”

 “No.” Emma shook her head. “I’m not leaving you alone in a situation like this. We both know how dangerous things can get in downtown Hatchetfield.”

     Emma looked at Zoey again. Despite what she had been thinking only half an hour before, Zoey didn’t intimidate her anymore. Emma watched as Zoey’s shoulders shook slightly and decided that it was time to be the better person.

 “Come on, let’s go home. I have pepper spray if we need it, and I can sneak photos of the guy if we need to file a report with the HTPD.” Emma said, reaching up to tug Zoey’s visor off her head. “I’ll get your shit while you change.”

 Emma retreated to the little hallway between the back door and the kitchen, unlocking her locker and taking her things. She threw her dirty apron into the bin before going to get Zoey’s bag and returning to her coworker. Zoey was in the same place Emma had left her in, blinking rapidly. Emma assumed she was trying to avoid ruining her makeup.

 She’d never seen Zoey like this, not even on a bad day. Most days she’d fake it until she went to the back. Emma didn’t even think Zoey was capable of crying.

 (Okay, maybe a part of Emma wished sometimes that Zoey was miserable too.)

 “Zo?” Emma asked. “Ready to go?” She lifted Zoey’s bag. Zoey took off her apron hastily before moving her hair to hide her face and slumping her shoulders.

 “Yeah, I guess.”

 Emma flicked off the lights on their way out, locking the door quickly after Zoey had stepped out in the cold night air.

 “You don’t stay with your theater friends?” Emma asked, leading the way to the car. She refused to go more than a foot away from the younger girl, always keeping Zoey in her peripheral vision.

 “Drama is worse when you’re friends with actors.” Zoey sighed. Emma nodded, conspicuously taking photos of the guy as they walked past. “We need a little while to recharge before we spend the next fifteen weeks together again.”

 “Makes sense.” Emma hummed, pointing when she saw her car. “Over here, the grey civic.”

 Minutes later, Emma was driving down yet another back street. She wanted to make sure that the guy wasn’t tailing them, occasionally taking random lefts and rights.

 “Thank you.” Zoey said, her voice quiet amongst the sound of the car tires running over the pavement. “There was this… guy my first year of college who tried… It was at a party, and he was drunk, and my friends pulled me away, but… What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve being so scared of any guy who walks into Beanies?” Her voice quivered just enough for Emma to shoot a concerned look at her.

 “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t…  No one deserves to live like that.” She tried to hide the anger in her voice. Sure, Zoey was a handful, but that sort of thing could fuck a person up. Emma wondered how anyone who did that could live with themselves. “Hey, once we get to my apartment we can watch Disney movies or musicals and eat popcorn and make hot chocolate. It’ll be like a sleepover.” She wasn't sure what spurred that comment, but she did have a small collection of those movies for when Jane's kids came over.

 The rest of the ride was quiet, apart from Zoey’s quiet sniffles and Emma’s cussing when they drove up to the parking garage entrance. “Almost there.” Emma promised, pulling into the first legal spot and parking.

 Zoey followed her without another word, up to Emma’s apartment. The apartment wasn’t much - a studio surrounded by windows and divided rooms from partitions - but still, Emma clicked on the lights one by one.

 “You can sit on the couch, I’ll get everything.” Emma waved in the general direction of a beat up sofa. “I know it’s not impressive or anything, but make yourself at home.” She slipped into the kitchen, putting popcorn bags in the microwave and water in the pot to boil. Leaving the kitchen, she headed to her rest area to hunt for clothes that could be Zoey’s size. She came up with a pair of long sweats (Jane’s, no doubt) and a baggy graphic t-shirt for Star Wars.

 “The bathroom’s over there.” Emma tossed the clothes in Zoey’s direction. “Pick a movie on Netflix?” She didn’t wait for an answer; instead, she went back into the kitchen to check on the popcorn.

   When she got back, Zoey had clearly made herself comfortable, curling up on the couch and staring at the screen. “Is Mamma Mia okay?”

 “Uh, sure.” Emma could vaguely remember Dancing Queen from Jane's 17th birthday, but she hadn't watched the movie in a while. She always thought it was a little too cheesy. But this was Zoey's night, and if she wanted to watch Mamma Mia, then fuck it. They'd watch Mamma Mia.

 “The first one or the sequel?”

 “Whatever you want.”

 Zoey settled on the first movie, and after they finished watching the sequel, Emma noticed she was starting to drift off. “Hey, why don’t we call it a night?” When Zoey didn’t respond, Emma grabbed a blanket, draping it over Zoey’s torso and legs.

 “Good night, Zo.”

   ~~~

 After that night, Zoey started talking to Emma more often. Sometimes they’d talk about the guy from CCRP Technical, who always asked for one black coffee. The funny thing was that Starbucks was actually closer to the office by a block. Sometimes they speculated why he went out of his way for their shitty product.

 “Maybe he doesn’t think it’s shitty.”

 “Maybe he doesn’t taste the spit.”

 “He doesn’t even add cream or sugar, of course he tastes the spit!”

 When Nora added the new musical part of the job, Zoey had listened to Emma gripe about it for the entire six hour shift. Somehow by the next day, the singing and dancing was replaced by a small machine that sang out a jingle whenever someone tipped. Emma still complained, but Zoey knew she was grateful to not have her shift full of performances.

 So the mystery man kept coming in, and Emma and Zoey kept talking. Until finally, one day, when he was at the counter -

 “One black coffee.”

 “Keeping it simple? No caramel frappe?” Emma asked with a smirk. She knew his orders in and out, what time he'd come in and the days he brought his friends.

 “I just need something to get through this afternoon.” The mystery man shook his head. “I figured I’d walk here and get something to drink while I was at it.”

 Feeling a strike of confidence, Emma leaned on the counter, looking up at the man. His shoulders were rounded, his face long with bright blue eyes. “I see you in here all the time. What’s your name?”

 “Paul Matthews. I work at CCRP Technical, down that way.” God, Emma was lucky the store was slow at this hour. Zoey pretended to be very interested in polishing the espresso machine, a smile tugging at her lips. Emma pointed to her name tag.

 “Emma Perkins.”

 After a pause, Emma spoke again. “You know that Starbucks is better and closer, right?” Emma raised an eyebrow.

 “I’d rather give my money to small businesses.” Paul shrugged. “And anyway, you know..” He trailed off, looking at her for a second too long before clearing his throat. “Some things are worth it.” He looked at her again and then looked at the travel cup of coffee in his hands. “Like,” he took a sip, “This coffee!”

 Emma squinted her eyes at him, knowing full well that the coffee wasn’t the reason he came. Nobody could love their coffee, at least, not enough to go out of their way to get it. Still, it was cute to watch this guy squirm under her questioning gaze.

 “It’s good.” He defended, and Emma scoffed.

 “It’s the bare minimum.”

 The bell that hung over the front door rang, and a few more customers started to approach the counter. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” She said, straightening up and giving him a small smile.

 “Yeah. See you later, Emma.” God, his awkward smile was adorable.

 She watched him walk out, smirking as he paused outside. He looked like he was saying something, but she couldn’t read his lips.

 When the shop was slow again, Zoey paused her work, hip-checking Emma. “I think he was picking up what you were putting down.” She winked.

 “Maybe.” Emma snickered. “It’s not too far. Did you see his face when I asked him why he doesn’t just go to Starbucks?”

 “He comes here for you. I swear he’s disappointed when I’m the one at the register.” Zoey laughed. “You should ask him out.”

 Emma hummed again. “Isn’t that considered unprofessional?”

 “Everything we do is unprofessional.” Zoey pointed out with a laugh. “I’ll tell Nora to stay home tomorrow.”

 When Emma finally did make a move, Zoey made her pinky-promise to tell her everything the morning after. And when theater season rolled around, Emma made sure to make it to Zoey’s opening night.

 Maybe Zoey wasn’t so bad after all.

[dykephannie]

REALITY OTP CH. 4

MASTERLIST. PLAYLIST. NEXT CHAPTER. PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

summary: Avid fangirl Gracie Green expected that the most extraordinary thing to happen to her at Summer in the City was meeting her long time obsessions Dan Howell and Phil Lester. This proves to be untrue when a fatal virus sweeps through the convention, killing everyone except for Gracie and the very two people she was there for. The odd threesome must travel across Europe to escape an evil tyrant who has claimed the crown for herself, and face not only the dangers of this new, post-apocalyptic world, but the feelings and secrets uncovered by the life threatening journey.

Because after all, it’s the harshest conditions that reveal the deepest truths about us, truths we’re not even willing to admit to ourselves.

word count: 1.6k

tw: blood, descriptions of stab wounds, knife violence

DAN

Despite his personal vow to never again walk more than a few feet at a time, Dan found himself, minutes later, mindlessly trudging towards St. Pancras station.

It felt a bit easier this time, but his legs were still boiling in his black jeans and his hamstrings burned with each step. And there was a bag on his back now, full of his clothes and as many bottles of water they could fit inside. Phil was carrying the food, and Gracie the other essentials like toilet paper, matches, and toothpaste.

The grey haze of dusk was starting to appear over the sky when they finally reached the station. The shadowy blanket over the road made Dan shiver. It truly looked like the apocalypse now.

In front of the station were a group of three men, huddled around a fire in a trashcan. They looked like they might’ve been homeless, or maybe just running from Marilynn like they were. Their clothes hung loosely off their limbs, but they looked clean. The thing that gave Dan the biggest pause was the feral glint in their eyes. Gracie hand flew straight to the bulge of her gun at her hip.

“Hey there,” the man said. His voice was scratchy, like he hadn’t drank any water in his life. “Nice weather we’re having.”

No one laughed.

“Who are you?” Gracie called, keeping a steady distance from the group of men.

“The name’s Dave. What’re you doing out here, kid?”

“What are you doing out here?” she shot back. Dave chuckled.  

“Just hanging out. Guessing you ran into that witch back there rambling about the end of the world?”

“Yes…” Gracie replied cautiously.

Dave stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat and his eyes settled on Phil. The hairs on the back of Dan’s neck inexplicably stood up. “The world’s not ending. It’s just beginning.”

Dan knew what was going to happen before it did. It was like he could tell by the way Dave’s hand curled into a fist in his pocket, the gleam of silver through the thin material of the jacket, the dark twist in his tone as he stared down an oblivious Phil. Dan looked to Gracie. She seemed just as ignorant. For the first time so far, it was up to him.

“Duck!” Dan shouted, impulsively leaping at Phil, tackling him to the ground and landing with a thump. The knife clattered on road. The palms of Dan’s hands were scraped to bits.

“Don’t move!” Gracie shouted, pulling out her gun. “Don’t fucking move!”

“Woah,” Dan heard Dave say. “Let’s get out of here, this bitch is crazy.”

The exchange was happening in the back of Dan’s mind. His was only focused on the splatter of red on the blade of the knife and the small pool of blood collecting next to Phil’s arm.

“Fuck, fuck, shit,” he cursed rapidly. “Phil…!”

Phil’s eyes were screwed shut. Dan couldn’t tell if the tears pricking the corners of his eyes were from the effort he was putting into keeping them closed or the pain. “Is it bad? Fuck, don’t tell me if it’s bad.”

Dan couldn’t really tell. He could see a cut across Phil’s forearm, but the wound didn’t look too deep. His stomach swirled. He didn’t want to keep looking.

“Gracie?” Dan called. “We have an issue!”

She was at their side immediately. Her face went pale when her eyes landed on the blood, but she swallowed loudly. “We need something to wrap it up with, put pressure on it.”

She threw her backpack on the ground and struggled with the zipper. Dan did the only rational thing that came to mind and pulled his shirt off.

“Dan!” Phil and Gracie yelped in unison. Dan just tried to concentrate on methodically wrapping his shirt around Phil’s arm instead of the fact that he was now half naked in front of a fan.

“We need alcohol,” Gracie said finally. “To stop the infection.” Her gaze lingered on the pair for another fraction of a second before she turned and bolted into the train station.

“Ah, fucking shit,” Dan muttered. His hands were covered in blood and his shirt was already soaked through. He got a good look at the knife, which looked like the biggest one in a kitchen set. It was rusted at the tip of the blade, or the bit Dan could see through the splatters of Phil’s blood, anyway. “Are you alright?”

Phil’s eyes were still shut. “Oh, you know. I’m all good.”

“Gracie’s going to help.”

“That doesn’t exactly help to calm me down.” Phil let out a wheezing laugh, turning into a strangled groan. “Oh wow that hurts.”

“I’ve got it!” Gracie came hurtling out of the train station, the sound of an alarm faint behind her until the door slammed shut. She was clutching the neck of a bottle of vodka, as well as a first aid kit. She had a look of fierce determination on her face.

“Thank God,” Phil muttered under his breath.

Gracie knelt down next to him and pushed Dan out of the way, unraveling Dan’s ruined shirt from Phil’s arm. A whole new wave of blood poured from Phil’s arm. Dan had to look away. Even Gracie was disgusted as she lapped it up with Dan’s shirt until it was completely red, not a single piece of the fabric still its original white.

“I think this is going to hurt,” Gracie warned, uncapping the vodka.

“What makes you say that?” Phil whimpered.

“Movies?”

Without any further hesitation, Gracie tipped the bottle and let the liquid drip right into Phil’s wound. Dan thought he heard it sizzle, but he couldn’t really hear much over Phil’s howling. He was screaming out all sorts of curses Dan was certain Gracie had never heard come out of his mouth, but she remained unfazed, drenching a strip of gauze in more alcohol. She grabbed Phil’s arm tightly, knuckles going white in an effort to keep Phil still as she wrapped the gauze around and around. Dan plugged his ears, not wanting to hear the wretched screams coming out of his best friend’s mouth.

Eventually Phil calmed down, his breath still heavy but his exclamations of pain limited to a moan every now and then. Gracie was sitting down next to him, emptying a bottle of water and stuffing the first aid kit into her backpack. Dan had changed as soon as the world had quieted, and was now sitting with his knees to his chest, staring blankly at the knife on the ground. Gracie followed his gaze.

“You okay?” she asked. Dan knew she was trying to be nice, but he wasn’t in the mood to entertain her. He had gone through far too much to keep treating her like someone paying his rent.

“I just saw my best friend get fucking stabbed, what do you think?”

“Dan…” Phil muttered.

“God, you’re an asshole,” Gracie bit back. She snatched the knife from the ground and wiped the blood off with her shirt, leaving a stripe of red at the hem. She held out the knife to Phil. “Take it. It’s yours.”

“You’re giving him the knife he was just stabbed with? Are you insane?” Dan spat.

“Guys, please,” Phil said. He shakily got to his feet, taking the handle of the knife and carefully tucking it in his waistband. “Let’s just focus on getting out of here. Maybe we should spend the night in the train station and then get going.”

“Good idea.” Gracie’s voice still had a cut to it. She reached down and grabbed Phil’s bag, stomping into the station.

“You don’t have to be rude,” Phil whispered.

“Not everyone can be as patient as you, Phil.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“She’s still a fan.” Dan looked over at Phil. The blood was seeping through his gauze already.

“She’s all we got,” Phil pointed out. “Other than each other.”

“I think we’re all that we really need.”

Phil smiled, a much better alternative to his previous pained grimace.  

Gracie held the train station door open for Phil, but let it swing closed as Dan crossed the threshold. As soon as he entered, Dan was slammed in the face with the smell of metallic blood. It wasn’t as hot as it had been in the afternoon, but there was still a slight tinge of rotting flesh in the air. Dan swallowed, his heart pounding, as if one of the dead bodies he was smelling was about to jump out at him.

“How about in there?” Gracie pointed to one of the restaurants. “There’s probably booths we can sleep in. And food.”

Dan and Phil wordlessly agreed. Gracie led them into the restaurant, a cheesy Italian place, and set her backpack on the table nearest to the window. “In case someone tries to sneak up on us,” she told them. “We can see them coming.”

While she unpacked, Dan wandered into the kitchen. A pot of pasta was cold on the stove, and a basket of bread had been abandoned on the countertop. Dan grabbed a roll. It was hard, but hadn’t staled yet. He grabbed the entire basket as Phil ignited the stove. In a few moments, the three of them found themselves sitting on the kitchen floor enjoying the closest thing to a gourmet meal they were going to get.

They ate in silence, whether it was an awkward silence or the silence that came with enjoying real food in the apocalypse, Dan wasn’t sure. All he was sure of was that he wanted to sleep.

Once everyone had finished their food they retired to their sleeping arrangements. Dan curled up on his booth, barely fitting his entire body. Phil rested his head in front of him.

“Goodnight,” Phil muttered, tucking his arms underneath his head like a pillow.

“Night Phil.”

[thenctcults]

Love like No Other (pt. 2)

Pairing: Doyoung x reader Genre: fluff what else Warnings: grossly soft, some language Word count: 1,814 

part 1 

“Ugh, fuck.” 

“Geez, Doyoung, you’re already whining.” you scolded him, closing the door behind you. 

“Aren’t I always?” Doyoung asked with a sarcastic smile and moved to peck your lips, making you giggle like a little school girl. Enjoying your reaction, he lowered his head to kiss you again and again and again until you were having a full fledged make out session against the door that was, much to your dismay, interrupted.

“We’ll continue this later.” he mumbled into your lips, before reluctantly pulling away and giving you a longing stare. 

Doyoung paced back and forth as he spoke over the phone with his mother, who had interrupted your make out session, groaning every now and then, probably because of her motherly nagging or some sort. You stared adoringly at him, admiring his beautiful side profile, the way his nose sloped roundly and so beautifully, his tall frame, the way his broad shoulders expanded beneath his cotton t-shirt, his long legs, his everything. Not exaggerating or anything, but you truly felt like Doyoung was a blessing sent from the heavens above.

“Sorry, that was my mom.” he said rolling his eyes and snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you against his firm chest. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked confused and touching his face self consciously. 

“Because I realized how lucky I am to have you and that I love you dearly.” 

“That’s gross.” he said grimacing with a pink hue tinting his cheeks. 

“Your blush says otherwise.” you pointed out, your forefinger poking at the soft skin of his cheek. 

“It’s because it’s really hot.” he lied evidently and hugging you closer to him, bringing one of his hands on your head and threading his long and slender fingers through the soft strands of your hair, causing you to close your eyes in satisfaction. Resting your head against his chest, you focused on the steady beat of his heart. 

“I wish I could stay like this forever.” you murmured and inhaled his scent that was a delightful mix of his perfume and fabric softener. 

“Me too, but we have a shitload of boxes to unpack.” Doyoung whined, bottom lip jutting out into an adorable pout. 

“Well, let’s get it over done with as soon as possible so we can cuddle.” 

“I’m so tired.” you moaned, clutching your back and flopping down on to the bed alongside Doyoung who pretty much looked dead. 

“So tired, can’t even cuddle.” you groaned, nuzzling your face into his side, which you knew was very ticklish. 

“Don’t do that.” Doyoung breathed out tiredly, laughing lightly. Ignoring his protests, you brought up your hand, suddenly feeling a burst of mischievousness flowing through you and began poking his side. Big mistake. Doyoung trashed around, screeching like a five year old before he abruptly brought down his arm and elbowed you on the head. 

Moaning out a string of curses, you clutched the crown of your head tightly and rolled away from him. 

“I told you to stop now, didn’t I?” Doyoung jeered, scooting over to hug your head close to him, placing a soft kiss on it and rubbing on the sore spot softly. 

“Stop babying me!” you struggled against his hold but that only resulted in him strengthening his grip around you. 

“But you are my baby.” he cooed, pressing his cheek on top of your head, humming in sheer delight. 

“That’s so...” you trailed off, face still pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt, finding comfort in his warm embrace. 

“Cute?”

“No, disgusting.” you corrected him and burst into a fit of giggles when he angrily pushed you off of him and turned on his left side, his back now facing you. Rolling over on your left side, you pressed your front against Doyoung’s back and wrapped your arms around his slim torso, palms resting against his toned stomach. 

“This feels weird.” Doyoung admitted, shuffling in your hold. “I want to be the big spoon.” he whined softly. He spun his body around, faces now centimeters apart. Dared you lean your face to the front just the slightest, the tips of your noses would graze lightly. So that’s what you did; rubbing your nose against his tenderly into an Eskimo kiss. Doyoung began to blink slowly, his eyelids growing heavy and droopy by the second.

 Soft fingers came in touch with the smooth expanse of his face, caressing it lovingly, tracing his eyebrows, fingers trailing down to his cheek and all the way down to his jawline before repeating the same action again. His breathing slowed down as your actions eventually lulled him to sleep, with a small smile gracing his rosy lips. 

The following morning you were woken up by Doyoung constantly peppering you with kisses, wherever he could, whether it be your lips, nose, cheeks or forehead. Behind Doyoung’s sassy persona, there was a tender and affectionate side to him that you adored so much. Although done in Doyoung’s unique ways, he loved showering you with love and cling to your side. 

With eyes still heavily laced with sleep, you stared up at your boyfriend who was looming over you, cocking his head from side to side like a curious puppy. He had changed into a clean outfit and smelled of peaches which indicated that he had showered using your shampoo, something you had found out he did often. His now dark brown hair, was still damp, the tips only just then beginning to dry. 

“Good morning, I made you breakfast.” he informed you and let all his body weight fall on yours, nestling his head in the crook of your neck, placing open mouthed kisses on your sensitive skin, eliciting a groggy moan out of you. Still dazed with sleep, you couldn’t muster up the strength to push him off, not that you wanted to do so either. 

“Do I have to worry about any raging fires?” you asked, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots on the nape of his neck evoking a content hum from him. 

“What is this slander?” Doyoung asked, detaching his lips from where he was attacking your neck, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him. “A reminder that I’m a better cook than you. You can’t even boil an egg.” Doyoung spoke, marking the start of your daily roasting sessions. 

“Not true!” you protested, rolling your eyes at his exaggerated lie. “Get off of me, before I push you off the bed.” 

“You can’t, you couldn’t bear the thought of possibly hurting me.” he countered with a smug smile that you oh so badly wanted to wipe off his face. So you did what was deemed right and necessary: pushed him off of you. Doyoung landed on the floor with a loud thud, followed by a loud groan and curses. 

“What the fuck! You actually did it!” Doyoung exclaimed in utter disbelief and got up on his knees, trying to reach out behind his back to rub it. 

“Don’t ever try me, bitch.” 

Two weeks of having moved in together passed by like a breeze and it was time for your assigned movie marathon day. Every two weeks, the pair of you would dedicate a lazy Sunday to stay in home all day and binge watch on movies or sometimes tv shows. Also, fried chicken was essential. 

With one leg straddling his lap, one arm around his shoulders, you rested your head against him and watched as the main characters shared their millionth kiss.

“This is so boring.” you griped, discarding a chicken bone into the box you were holding on one arm and throwing it into the plastic delivery bag. Grabbing a wet wipe from the package on the coffee table, you handed one to Doyoung as well, both of you cleaning up. 

“Do you have anything else in mind then?” Doyoung questioned. 

“Well,” your voice trailed off, fingers fiddling with the hem of the oversized shirt you had borrowed from Doyoung. The hemline barely reached the middle of your thighs and it could easily expose yourself if you bent down just the slightest. “I have something in mind.” you through one leg over his lap, now straddling him. 

Doyoung leaned back against the couch, hands coming up and resting on your bare thighs, thumbs lazily drawing circles on them. Not uttering a single word, he basked in your ethereal beauty. 

“Like what?” Doyoung asked, his voice sounding smoky and an octave lower. 

“Why don’t I show you instead?” you asked, quickly leaning in and placing a short kiss on his lips and quickly pulling away, leaving him dumbstruck. 

“That’s it?” Doyoung asked, evidently displeased by your teasing, scoffing at you. 

“That’s all you get.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I just said you don’t get anything more than that.” you countered. 

“I hate you.” Doyoung grumbled, removing his hands from you and crossing his arms. his lips pursed. Silence fell over you, but it was not awkward or uncomfortable at all. You were at this point in your relationship when you didn’t constantly feel the need to keep talking so as to avoid any weird moments of silence. The presence of one another was just enough. You shifted lower on his lap so you could comfortably rest your head on his shoulder, and it was moments like these that you enjoyed the most in your relationship with Doyoung, just being able to be close to him. 

“Doyoung?” your gentle voice broke the silence, the movie had already come to an end but neither of you had been aware of that, too engrossed in each other’s presence. 

“What is it?” 

“I know I don’t say this often but,” you paused to shift and take a better look at him. “this is so cheesy but, I feel really lucky to have you; you make my life worthwhile, it’s unbelievable. What have I done to deserve you?” you admitted, staring at your boyfriend in awe and entirely lovestruck. 

“That’s so random.” your boyfriend exclaimed, face flushed a deep red, smiling self-consciously. Truth is, Doyoung wasn’t very vocal and rarely expressed his innermost feelings with words, he showed them with actions in lieu. 

“I’ll never miss out on a chance to say how much you mean to me and how much I love you.” you said, molding your lips with his in a tender yet passionate kiss, just like the love you harbored for him. 

“Well,” Doyoung reluctantly broke out of your shared kiss, dragging your bottom lip with his teeth lightly. “I love you. too.” 

[bnrobertson1]

The Unexpected Tutelage of Cuphead

Lot of Life Knowledge in those cups. 

I am not a fan of horror movies. Sure, I almost always like them when I find myself watching them, but that usually takes a Herculean effort of an enthusiastic friend or a total lack of desire to drudge up an explanation why I don’t want to watch something called Happy Death Day 2U. The reason I don’t like them? Simple- life is terrifying enough as is, and seeing as I don’t like ruminating in fear with my precious free time, the idea of willingly being scared strikes me as preposterous.

While there are some “scary” games like the new Resident Evil*, for me the real parallel to scary movies in the video game world is difficult games. Most current video games are super user-friendly, oftentimes because the software developers want you to see the entirety of the thing they’ve spent hundreds of thousands of hours and hundreds of millions of dollars creating. In other words, they don’t want you to get pissed and bail without showing off what they spent a good chunk of their lives working on. And while I have played video games long enough to be pretty good at them (I’m not), I actually appreciate the lowering of the difficulty bar. Much like scary movies, I usually stray away from difficult games. Why? Again, simple- frustration ain’t welcome in my leisure time. I’m trying to enjoy myself, not get all red-faced and hurl hard plastic as a torrent of never-before-heard profanity gushes out of my mouth because I’m trying to defeat some recluse’s brainchild/ torture device.  

*A stone cold modern classic for the first hour alone

But, many hardcore* gamers find modern games’ user- friendliness/ forgiveness to be insulting to their cheesy-dusted core. Many of this ilk were raised in the original Nintendo-era, where difficulty was praised and games like Ninja Gaiden and Battletoads were designed to be essentially impossible to defeat, thus making it a bragging-worthy accomplishment if you could.   

*Bathe in the irony of me using a pornographic term to describe a gamer 

But, as video games started to expand their audience, many of these Capital G Gamers who loved the feeling of accomplishment that accompanied victory over insanely hard games were kind of forgotten, given “Hard” modes on otherwise easy games to satiate their thirst for difficulty, but that’s about it. After being avoided for what to them must have felt like ions, things finally began to change when games like the rebooted Ninja Gaiden and the fetishized Dark Soul franchises started catering to those who those studs who think replacing l3tt3rs with numb3rs is cool and that the best games are the ones that only those with superhuman focus and tenacity can defeat. 

Enter: Cuphead. A long-in-development indie game that looks like a gorgeously* animated WW 2-era cartoon a la Betty Boop or Woody Woodpecker yet is as difficult as finding a WiFi hotspot during the Great Depression. A simple shooter, the game does an excellent job of drawing you in with its eye-popping looks and catchy soundtrack before it intentionally overwhelms you. Because it’s you, a literal cup of coffee whose only offense is a finger-gun (seriously) and the ability to jump, fighting enemies so large their eyeballs fill the screen. To put it politely, you’re fucked.     

*And buddy, it is one seriously gorgeous game. One of the things that keeps you playing is the desire to see all of the peerless art and monster design    

Again, it’s you:

Versus (that’s you in the little red airplane- everything that’s glowing will kill you instantly, but that’s a good life lesson within itself):

Again, fucked. And that’s one of the earliest bosses. Just about everything on screen kills you, and there are no checkpoints from which you can start over. It often takes several consecutive minutes of flawless playing to even make a dent. But amongst all the gorgeous ass-kicking chaos, the game does something profound on the sly: it gives you hope.

I realize this sounds silly- hope, arguably existence’s sweetest gift, is given by a game where Asperger’s is almost a prerequisite to win? But it’s true. 

At 35, I’m at the age where I doubt that most things can or will change. Sure, shoes look different, the popularity of some philosophies surge then retract, the younger get old who in turn die, but much of life is being reminded that real human change simply does not happen. Socially awkward at 15? Probably won’t be much different at 45. Addictive personality? Better find a healthy outlet because the addictive part probably ain’t going anywhere. Planning on writing the Great American Novel? Drinking like the other millions who tried that is much more likely. Want to pick up a language in your 30s? Maybe an instrument? Good luck, those parts of your brain stopped working while you were cursing at the iPod speaker because it wasn’t playing Master of Puppets loud enough after that gin bucket incident. 

The more life’s inevitable stasis solidifies in the brain, the more harrowing it is- the more dangerous the feeling of defeat and despair become. Grand realizations and epiphanies start feeling like the stuff of fiction. Things perpetually prove pointless, because if you can’t change, what exactly is the point of existence? The one thing you know for sure that does change is our planet’s resources (they dwindle) as we march- or should I say sail- to our doom.  

“Hold it right there, Mr. Goth McDowner,” Cuphead whispers at you after about an hour of play. 

Because not being good at Cuphead is exactly what you should be once you start playing it. Failure is certain. You die all the time. Like within seconds, over and over and over. You’ve got a gnat’s chance against a windshield. Fail. Fail. Fail.  

But while Cuphead first appears to be the masochist’s wet dream, you realize that why everything still overwhelms and doom as is certain as time itself, you’re- somehow- getting better. Slowly, sure. In most instances, you’re not even sure how. It’s almost imperceptible when it isn’t imperceptible. But, sure enough, keep at it, and you will improve.

And that is the direct result of Cuphead’s design. For while it is hard- easily one of the hardest games I actually enjoyed playing- it is never cheap. The game doesn’t want to defeat you with bullshit tactics like games from the 80s. Much like the loving, hardass parents everybody probably needs, It wants you to get better, and is more than willing to kick your ass to get you there. How does it do both? By subtly encouraging you through how it is made. Getting better boils down to two things: sharpening your hand-eye coordination and muscle memory*, and recognizing patterns that start simple but become supremely sophisticated, ranging from the speed of enemies to knowing the exact positions where the 12,000 objects flying at you will miss you by a millipixel. Nothing truly random ever occurs, so you won’t have to bear the true indignity of finding meaning in a game you’ve played for dozens of hours about coffee cups cheap deaths (or cheap wins) just when you’re about to see that sweet, sweet Victory! screen. The game also does something genius when it comes to letting you know you’re progressing: Every time you lose, a timeline appears where you see how close you were to victory. 

*Sorry, A.I., but that one requires practice, which means dying. A lot. 

Plus, it’s just funny to lose to characters from the 30′s who then insult you with Vaudevillian trash talk. None of them have voices, but I like to think they all sound like the Penguin from Adam West’s Batman. 

At first this seems boisterous if not barbaric in the worst possible way- a na na nee boo boo for the Switch generation. It quickly proves to be just the thing you need to see that you are in fact making progress. Yes, it makes some of the frustrations sting a lot more (I was this close). But it also gives you hope (I was this close). It’s the first time I’ve seen such a mechanic in a game, and I will be amazed if it is the last.

Eventually, after you’ve beaten the Robot that has been giving you a headache for the better part of 10 hours, a weird feeling may hit you like it hit me: not accomplishment- although that is most certainly present- but hope. Hope that if you are willing to be persistent, you will get better. Sure, that’s not an guarantee, but one thing is for sure: you can’t improve- in this game, in life- if you quit.  Persistence is the best quality a person can have, as it is pretty much the only one they can control. Why? Because hope- the beautiful thing that makes happy people happy-  is the fruit of persistence. And the truly ingenious thing about Cuphead is that its design encourages such epiphanies. Not bad for $20. 

Does constant failure suck? Speaking as an ad writer and more generally as a person I can tell you from experience that yes it indeed does. It’s humbling. It can be crippling. It’s demoralizing. But if you’re willing to fail with both feet, you will get better. At least sometimes.  And if you don’t, just remember to not chuck your Switch in the lake.

[thousandmovieproject]

I didn’t know what the hell was going on here for like the first twenty minutes because the only version of Midnight Song I could find was a grainy transfer on YouTube, which was cracklesome and nostalgic (pleasant in that sense) but it was also hard to see. Also, worse yet, the subtitles appear to be word-for-word translations from the original. English words formatted in Chinese grammar. So we get sentences like, “We allows the enemy’s account excels fierce beasts of that year,” which goes noplace near even making a little bit of sense, and, “It stops rain now, we can do not beat the umbrella.” So the prospect of following the story and writing an essay was daunting and seemed doomed, like I’d have to rely on Wikipedia for a plot summary again.

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It’s at least as funny as it is disorienting but ultimately a story does begin to take shape. The fractured syntax and nonsequitors pick up a strange rhythm, like a secret language between yourself and the movie, and eventually the dialogue starts to ebb just over the line of coherence.

The story is a spin on Phantom of the Opera. A troupe of actors settle into a dusty old theater to prepare for a major performance. Their perfectionist male lead, whose name I can’t find, struggles through rehearsals, starts working on the apparently-challenging role by himself late at night, whereupon, being overheard by a slouching shadowy figure who sings well and was allegedly once a performer of enormous repute, a tutor comes forth, and counsels the young man, until eventually he achieves perfection and the performance is a great success – and while that’s totally ow I remember the movie playing out, I also feel like I’m missing something. I probably am. But I figure the wonky subtitles gave me at least 70% of the story.

Lon Chaney’s unmasking in Phantom of the Opera

Anyway. Eventually the cloaked figure is unmasked (cued by a wonderfully cheesy crash of thunder and lightening) and we see that he’s disfigured. It’s not the demonic disfigurement of Lon Chaney in the source material. Our guy here is disfigured by acid and his face has the droopy, melted-wax quality that – though fleshier than the outcome of an actual acid attack – pretty well achieves the look. It’s shocking, and upsetting, but not horrifying. And now we get the flashback to how it all happened. This is how Midnight Song surpasses Phantom of the Opera. Because even with the ridiculous subtitles, and the awful picture quality, the scene in which the disfigured anti-hero, following the attack that deforms him (which I think he’s made target of on account of political subversion[?]), removes his bandages and sees his face for the first time is one of the most powerful scenes, some of the most remarkable acting, to grace the List so far. I can confidently recommend Midnight Song on the basis of those two minutes alone.

Is it a good movie aside from that? Yes. But I think it only barely pulls enough weight to warrant its place on the List (though there’s something to be said about the East being under-represented up to now – it also begs the question of whether a feature-length movie should be included on the List only because of a single outstanding scene). It makes for an informative contrast against Phantom of the Opera, which is a weaker movie ine very respect. For all of that earlier movie’s mood and powerful images, and its pleasant abundance of Lon Chaney, the iconography of Phantom resides in one or two images, not the whole movie. I’m strongly of the opinion that most people who say that they really like the movie aren’t actually fans of the film overall but, rather, of its camp, and a couple of well-accomplished scenes. Midnight Song is supplied, twice over, with the heart that was missing from Phantom. Maybe that’s not such a fair comparison to make, because one had the privilege of sound and the other didn’t (although that’s not always a default excuse, the use of sound does give a skilled director an extra tool), but Phantom of the Opera is pretty clearly meant to shock its audience more than move them. That’s the whole premise of its quality: it’s socking. But time has stripped it of shock value. So what’s left?

Also, Phantom of the Opera is just a clusterfuck of a movie. It’s got four directors and no momentum.

Midnight Song gets kinda weird in its second half. The phantom believes that his ex-girlfriend – to whom he long ago faked his death so that she would never have to see his deformity – will be able to finally cope with his passing if she’s visited, and consoled, by his ghost. So he goes to his young protégé and says, basically, “Dess like me, talk like me, and go console her, at midnight, as though you were my wandering spirit.” And it goes on from there.

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A personal weakness when it comes to evaluating a movie is that I’m a sucker for well-crafted mentor/protégé relationships. Whether it’s a father-son or master-pupil thing, there’s something about that dynamic that I find really compelling. We don’t get much of it here, with the phantom coaching the young actor, and even though they’re essentially peers, working in the same field and not so far apart in age, there’s an Old Master quality to the phantom. But eventually the old master proves needy. His air of authority crumbles under that neediness.

This is gonna prompt another tangent, forgive me: there’s an older guy I work with, his name’s Bill, and Bill’s a sweetheart, he’s always bending over backward to help people out and he’s been doing that kind of thing his whole life. What’s his is yours. That kinda guy. The thing is this, though: Bill doesn’t drive, on account of he’s 81 and can’t see so well (actually gets routine injections in his eyeballs), and as a result of this he’s constantly bumming rides from people. Students, mainly. But when a student isn’t around, he comes to me. There was a period where I was taking him home almost every night for several months. And the conversation was always pleasant, and stopping by his house didn’t call for much of a detour from my usual route, but it did mean that I’d get home at 9 p.m. instead of 8:30 – which is kind of a big deal when you’re waking up early (at the time I was both a high school substitute and a tutor at the college, so I’d wake up at 5 a.m. four days of the week). But he was so nice that it felt monstrous to refuse himt he service.

But then he started asking to stop at Walgreens on the way home. And at Starbucks. And at Don Pan (a chain of bakeries down here in Miami). If I told him I didn’t wanna stop, that I had to get home, he’d say, “Well then just drop me off and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

OK, Bill. Sure. You’re fucking 81 tears old and I’m gonna have you walk two miles in the dark with your arms fulla shit you just bought.

Eventually I boiled the proposition down to a quick phrase. He’d ask for a ride and I’d say sure – “no stops, though.” He’d balk at this sometimes, get condescending; on more than one occasion he stormed outta the room. Eventually he stopped asking.

But Bill came in here this past Saturday, there was a little over an hour left in my shift, and he’d just finished with his classes fr the day and he was ready to go home. He starts drumming his fingers on the counter, making small talk with my colleague, glancing over at me. I’m editing an essay. I know he needs a ride. But I’m doing work so I just keep my eyes on the page. Speak when spoken to.

After a couple minutes he said bye and left. My colleague and I exchanged looks.

“Think he wanted a ride?”

I shrugged, and kept working.

There’s a part of me that self-flagellates whenever I turn Bill down, or dodge his questions or just keep away from him because I don’t even wanna be asked, but there’s another part of me, the busy part, that feels no shame at all. Feels with resolve that if he wants a ride from me he’s gonna choose one destination.

Not sure what the right course of action might be here. Or if there is one. But I’m definitely compelled to give him the ride just outta fondness for the guy, as it doesn’t cost me much more than my time, but I’m impaled on the fence of whether or not it makes me a rotten person to delineate what might be rudely strict parameters on that generosity. If I compare the degree of inconvenience these rides impose upon me to the convenience they provide for Bill, the answer should be obvious: give him the ride! Don’t make this dude take the bus again. Don’t put him in the situation of having to call everybody on his phone to see who’s willing to come by and give him a ride.

But at the same time: fuck. I don’t wanna make all these stops.

Anyway. Midnight Song is good, I can see myself watching it again, but I think I’ll go for the official translation next time.

#108. Midnight Song (1937) I didn’t know what the hell was going on here for like the first twenty minutes because the only version of…

[stoked-skeleton-blog]

daniel talks #1

Hello to all followers of my girlfriend,

So I know Maxi has been blogging for a while now however up until recently I have be unable to read the posts due to them being in German. I am trying to learn Deutsch but my progress is still very much in its infancy. However I have always had a good understanding of what she has been writing about from parts she translated for me and most importantly from experiencing most of the stories first hand.

But now the posts are in English… firstly I have been able to fully appreciate how incredible she is at describing all of these amazing experiences in her very own unique way which for me is the real talent. Secondly we had the idea that I could maybe write a post from my point of view which is equally exciting and kind of daunting.

Arriving back in London from Panama yesterday afternoon after three flights, a long layover and returning to work and squeezing onto the tube during rush hour is never a nice experience but believe me it seems infinitely worse after spending 15 wonderful days, in the most surreal place with my absolute favourite person.  

So here we are… its my turn.

This start of this trip was pretty strange as i would be travelling alone and be meeting Maxi in Panama. The travelling was not a problem, I have done plenty of travelling all over the world for work and pleasure, but the anticipation to get to Panama or more importantly Bocas Del Toro was killing me. My flight from London was early on Friday morning which meant either stay in a hotel for a few hours on my own on Thursday night  or just hang out all night at Heathrow. As I was unlikely to sleep either way i opted for the later.

Landing in Panama City 13 hours later or something I then had another night to kill on my own as it was impossible to get to Bocas that night. Trust me if there was the slightest chance I would have attempted it. I have pulled of many tight connections in the past to get somewhere sooner but having looked into all of the potential options as foolishly optimistic as possible, assuming every flight was perfectly on time, my surfboard bag would be waiting for me as punctual and pristine as if it was a going on a first date with its high school crush as soon as I sailed through immigration then find an ex formula one taxi driver to take me to the next airport in record breaking time where the Panama Air staff were eagerly awaiting my arrival and keeping the airplane doors open as long as reasonably viable, it would still not possible. So I checked into my hotel, took a shower, spoke to Maxi on the phone for a short while before getting some sleep before my alarm went off at 5am the next morning.

By the time I landed at Bocas airport i was beyond excited to meet up with Maxi and begin our adventure. As I walked out of the airport I was immediately offered a taxi which i accepted however the deal fell through somewhere during the 20 metre walk through the airport and the offer was no longer on the table. I was considering trying to walk to where I thought our Airbnb was when another taxi showed up, I showed him the address I had which was met with a clueless expression as if i had asked him to take me to a mythical city, then my phone started ringing, it was Maxi. She told me to go to Panagas (a shop that sells gas cylinders) which was more than enough information for my moronic Conrad even though I was confused as to how that was any less cryptic than the full street address for where I wanted to go but nevertheless we was on our way.

I recognised the area from the Airbnb photos and as we pulled alongside the cabana. There was Maxi swinging in a hammock seat on the front porch, with a huge smile on her face. That moment alone made the last 30 hours of travelling worth it. Reunited again it was time to get the party started and fuck shit up in Panama.

Although it was never discussed i think we were both a little sceptical about the Airbnb when we booked it. It clearly had amazing potential from the photos and description and the reviews were mostly positive but seriously that place was incredible. If I had tried to imagine the perfect place to stay for the two weeks we was going to be in Panama together it would not have been anywhere near what we had. I am not going describe the place as Maxi has already done that but I knew from walking into that place that it was going to be ideal for what I was and am always most looking forward to about these trips which is getting to spend time with my girlfriend.

I started unpacking and said to Maxi that I have to give her a valentines gift early which she protested against initially however I really did have to give it to her so no matter how much she tried convince me to wait it was never an option. I pretended to search through my bag as if to be trying to locate something small and hard to find and then pulled a brand new, custom made, completely plain surfboard from the bag with a huge heart and the words “ Happy Valentines Days” drawn crudely in wax on the top and sat there waiting for the usual freak out whenever I surprise her with stuff like this which normally includes crazy overuse of the word “WHAT!” and calling me a weirdo. However in this instance there was silence and I was a little unsure what to do, it never occurred to me that it might not be obvious that it was in fact the gift. I can’t remember exactly what made the penny drop, it may have been when I took my board out of the bag but that may completely wrong nevertheless as soon as she realised it was in fact her very own surfboard the excitement and appreciation flooded out as originally expected… thank god haha.

Our itinerary for our time in Bocas could not have been more straightforward. It basically consisted of surf as much as possible and find somewhere to watch the super bowl. This is the strange thing about me and Maxi, the idea of compromising for each other so that we both get to do what each other wants doesn’t exist, ever. Not that we wouldn’t if it was necessary, but it never is which I find incredible. It was the same for our trip to Sri Lanka.

I would start the day by waking up at around 6am and getting some juice and heading out to the porch to check my instagram for any overnight updates before cracking on with reaching my daily target on my language app, which as I mentioned earlier I am using to try and learn some German. I would always try and get this finished before Maxi woke up so that I could practise what I had learnt with her as soon as possible as it really helps me remember the new words when I try and use them right away, we would walk from our place into to town to get a water taxi every morning and I would try and form simple sentences about what was going on in an attempt to converse in German which Maxi would always entertain with so much encouragement. I remember the first time she saw me practising on my phone one morning and seemed shocked and genuinely happy that I was trying to learn her native language which was confusing as it certainly was not a secret but nevertheless that was a huge incentive for me to really work at it. So you never know, maybe the next time I write something for this blog it may be in flawless fluent german haha.

If its not already super obvious, me and Maxi both like to surf, a lot. Hence the destinations of our past and future trips. This is what I mean about there being no need to compromise. I absolutely love that we have been and are going to all of these incredible places together, to do what we both want to. When we go surfing together it really is just like that picture perfect image I have always had of being out in the water with my girlfriend, watching each other surf, entertaining each other while waiting for waves. Sometimes it seems to perfect to be real. haha i am sure that line is far too cheesy to make it onto this post but we will see haha.

Predominantly our days consisted of surfing all morning before heading back to the Cabana for lunch and some rest before going surfing again in the afternoon and then back for dinner, alcohol and a movie before going to sleep. AKA the perfect surf trip.

I am a huge fan of napping, as in I take that shit seriously. For the first few days the post surf, midday period involved a nap, even if it wasn’t essential however that got shut down pretty quickly by the unbelievable temperature it would reach inside the cabana. Even with air conditioning a comfortable nap was out of the question even for an experienced napper like myself. I decided to use this time to practise some skateboard tricks while Maxi took photos. This sounds like such a simple thing but it is being able to share moments like this together which makes our relationship so perfect.  

I know that Maxi has posted a few recipes for some of the food she cooked for us which I feel compelled to elaborate on. One of the reasons we chose the Cabana was because it had a kitchen and thank god for that kitchen because this girl can really cook, I mean seriously cook. We would stop by the supermarket at some point during the day to buy the necessary ingredients from an endearingly harsh asian lady in which my role would be pushing the shopping cart around which certainly was not as easy as it sounds trying to navigate the anything but regulation width aisles. Maxi would then cook us the most amazing food in next to no time. It was so good that every time we had something new it would immediately become my favourite. I would try and help as much as possible but aside from boiling the water for the pasta my talents were used for opening cans, throwing out peelings, playing music, pouring drinks, them kind of things which I think you will all agree is equally important when preparing cooking.

So there you have it, I am not going to attempt to describe everything we done together while in Panama as Maxi has already done a far better job at that than I could ever but here is an insight to the experience from my perspective. The most important part of all of this for me which I find impossible to describe how much lucky I feel that I get to have share these experiences and create these memories with Maxi who really is fucking awesome!