#and it always makes me so delighted to see the responses from fellow writers

[cryptidhyrst]

I just want everyone who leaves fics on comments (even if it's just emojis) to know that authors love them and read those comments over and over for the dopamine drip that such things give.

#I had someone leave the sweetest comment on a fic im struggling to finish writing the latest chapter for #and it was so sweet i was highly tempted to print it out and frame it #cryptid speech #I've also been doing my best to leave really long comments on fics i read #and it always makes me so delighted to see the responses from fellow writers #like theyre so overjoyed at just getting their own stuff quoted back to them and gushed over

[regretisstoredintheme]

Request! Rise Donnie x reader that is smarter than him and teases him about it and he's furious about having a crush on them being 100% oblivious that reader already knows and feels the same way. From Donnie's POV. PLEASE and thank you!

I’ve been dreaming of a— HMMMMMM????

Request, you say????

“Anonymous asked: Request! Rise Donnie x reader that is smarter than him and teases him about it and he's furious about having a crush on them being 100% oblivious that reader already knows and feels the same way. From Donnie's POV. PLEASE and thank you!” 

A/N: unfortunately, I can’t see any way that this would go well... If any writer wants to take this prompt and make a fluff version of this, have at thee! But I can only imagine this going one way….

-

Smarter. (A Oneshot) - Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for Witch Town & Mind Meld, angst, hurt no comfort, Y/n misreads his feelings, Donnie is a protective father. 

-

The science guy. 

That was me.

I “dealt” with things. The “Bill Nye” comments, the teasing, the bantering, the loneliness, the hours of work into every, single, little project I made. I’ve hacked into every camera in NYC. I’ve created sentient machines, reprogrammed a useless movie vehicle to be the best in the world, I would say. Made bombs, robbed and reverse robbed banks, created rockets, bombs, ingenious battle devices, tech-bo, for christs sake! And so! Many! More! But… 

Then, there was you.

Perfect, in absolutely every way. Mystic, science, physics, hell — you even beat me in banter, leaving me speechless nearly every time. And you rubbed it in my face. You were the Hamilton to my Aaron Burr. It didn’t help that you checked off all my boxes, Cute and mean, that was my type, and I wanted to bond with you, a fellow scientist who I didn’t have to dumb down my talk for, someone I could be myself around! but you… you made yourself impossible to tolerate. I admit I didn’t take it well, when I realized…

You were everything I wanted to be. 

“Awww, is this Shelldon?” You scratched behind one of his many ears, making him trill in delight. “Ahhahawww thanks, dude! Yeah that’a me.” He responded, leaning into your touch. “He’s cute! What coolant do you take, buddy?” You asked, talking down to him like a child, the exact way Sheldon had always reprimanded me for. 

“Donnie’s experimenting with different types,” Yes I am, “He’s trying Castrol Radicool Premix right now, it’s been doing good so far.” Thank you. 

As expected, you inhale sharply through your teeth, making my attention pique from what I was trying to distract myself with. “Donnie really doesn’t take care of you, huh?”

…

What?

Me? 

I don’t take care of Shelldon?

“Uhhh… I don’t know if that’s—“ I can’t bring myself to let him finish, already standing from my gaming chair. I turned on my heel, fury in my eyes as I rolled the seat out of the way, “Excuse me?”

You chuckled, and felt my blood boil, “Awh, Donnie, you’re blushing! Embarrassed?” 

“Infuriated.” I answered. 

“Oh come off it, I simply think you should try Ethylene Glycol, it would be so much better for winter.” I grit my teeth, every word from your sicky-sweet voice made my skin crawl. I would have attacked you right then and there if I didn’t know you had better tech. Hah, better tech… better than me? ME of all people? No. 

I furrow my brows, “That was next on my list..” I seethe, feeling my nerves spike as you poked my shoulder. I hated when you did that, it made my face go red and my palms sweat. Curse this irony, it was like smiling at a joke from a person you’re mad at. It’s frustrating, but involuntary. 

“C’mon, we both know you’re not really mad, you’re just frustrated cuz you like me. Look at that blushing nose~!” I felt my voice catch in my throat as you leaned into my face, wanting nothing more than to push you away already. My body was experiencing a freeze response, and I couldn’t even bring myself to push you, it was as if my bones were made of high-grade titanium, the same as my tech. 

I clenched my fists, feeling a bit of my confidence return as Shelldon flew to my side. “I thought I was supposed to be the narcissist…” I hissed, feeling my face redden with anger. I’ve never hated anyone more. 

Your face turns confused, but I can’t bring myself to realize you might have misunderstood my feelings, “You think you’re so great, don’t you?” Shelldon cowers, I know he hates when I raise my voice, so I lower to a furious whisper, “You think you can just waltz into my lab, my life, and tell me how to run things?” My nails dig into my palm, I resist the urge to threaten you, knowing your body would never be found beneath my hands. 

“You think you’re the science guy, don’t you? Think you can correct everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve and just take my place!?” Make me worthless? Be the purple sibling? What next, re-wiring my systems? Taking scraps and making a dark matter accelerator? Drawing on eyebrows to a cheap version of my bandana!?

Your eyebrows knit, “woah, woah, Dondon, I didn’t mean—“ “Don’t fucking call me that!!” I seethe, feeling tears prick at my eyes, I hate how emotional I am when I’m angry, but I’m too deep in now. Some weak, soft shelled part of my heart is telling me to apologize, but I’ve always, always acted with my head. It’s telling me you’re a threat. And you are… aren’t you? 

“I’m not a child!” I can feel my heartbeat, eyes wide and I take a deep breath to lower my voice. “And Y’know what, I think I finally found something I’m better at.” I fold my arms, watching a frown finally form on your face. 

“Really?” You glared, matching my stiff body language.

“Yeah.” I huff, “Reading the room.” 

“You? Read a room?” You scoffed, seeming just as offended, but I didn’t mind. “Ever think maybe, I did all these things — not to take your place, but to impress you?” 

“Oh, you made an impression. Alright.” You… wanted to impress me? I turned my back to you, a small voice telling me that maybe, just maybe, I.. wasn’t acting with my head.. “A bad one.” Why am I so defensive? Why did all this get to me? Shelldon was uncomfortable, I was uncomfortable, hell, I bet my brothers could hear this! They’re probably uncomfortable! why couldn’t I be the bigger turtle and just move on?

“Just… leave..” I waved at the air, sinking into my seat with a little regret. Why was it, that around you, I was never enough? That I was just the small, weak soft shell who couldn’t play rough with his brothers? Who broke his glasses? Who practically wore a pillowcase for protection?

Why couldn’t I be cool for you? Why was I talked down to? I’ve accomplished so many things, why is it that nobody can ever look at me in awe!? Why am I always admiring someone else, and never being admired?

“…” the tension in the room began to dissipate, and I listened with baited breath as you closed the curtain behind you. I let out the sigh, and I hear Shelldon round the corner, landing his head on mine, “Well, that could’ve gone better…” he muttered, and I feel something strange as I look down at my workbench— grief? Guilt? Whatever it is, it stuck, no matter how badly I didn’t want to admit it.

“Yeah..” I mutter, twirling my screwdriver, “Yeah it could’ve.” 

—

A/N: I feel like this might be a lil OOC, am I the only one who gets that vibe?? Idk I’m not really feeling this one, lmk what you guys think 😭 I guarantee another writer could best me at this prompt, and I offer it up to anyone interested! Hope this was ok, anon, really hope I didn’t wreck your day.  —

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #donnie x reader #rise donnie x reader #donatello x reader #regrettable writing #donatello #tmnt #tmnt x reader #2018 tmnt #2018 donatello x reader #2018 donnie

[endlessly-cursed]

fankids appreciation week 23: co-parent appreciation

ottilie enfield, daughter of odessa avery ( @cursed-herbalist ) & kit enfield ( @potionboy3 )

grace of alderly, daughter of cora hastings ( @camillejeaneshphm ) & henry of alderly ( @gaygryffindorgal )

cleo hexley, daughter of jacob hexley ( @the-al-chemist )

emmeline & lucy devlin, daughters of josie edwards ( @slytherindisaster ) & william devlin ( @unfortunate-arrow )

wilhemina stagg, daughter of siobhan llewellyn ( @kc-and-co ) & galen stagg ( @cursebreakerfarrier )

caitlin doherty, daughter of mathilde coventry & lachlann doherty ( @hphmmatthewluther )

reva amari, daughter of lizzie jameson ( @lifeofkaze ) & orion amari

Less: It seems like yesterday when we started talking and you posted Abe & Oscar's profiles and I remember being one of the first to interact with, and ever since you've been such a kind and patient friend and I see you now as some sort of big sister, deal with it 🫶🏻 thank you for deciding to join our little community, because your presence is just what we needed ❤

Annie: It's not a secret that I was at first intimidated when I started following you: you had such compelling characters and cool af videos and here I was, a little guy! But I am so thamkful of having talked to you through Sara and convinced Gryff for you to join our chat, even though you're not there anymore. I treasure our friendship and you and Gryff are now my oldest sisters 🫶🏻 Gryffie wedding when!!!

Gryff: I was intimidated by you too ajhsjssj. You had such cool gifs and content and interesting characters, and I had just started into the OC x OC world, but being your friend during these past years has been a true boon, and I hope to have gained an oldest sister who I can count on and have either a laugh or a very deep conversation. Te quiero, hermana 🫶🏻

Persie: Who would've thought I'd grow to love you so much and become such a close friend? To me, you're the little sister I've always dreamt of having. We can go from making fun of each other, to argue and then proceed to simp for our ocs and blorbos. Thank you for being an awesome friend and being there for me when I needed it ❤ J'et aime, cherie

Al: I've always looked up to you as a writer and a person, and despite being a bit intimidated by you as well, you have turned out to be a great advisor and inspiration for me! Also, you're officially the adventurous wine aunt 🫶🏻 I hope we can do something ourselves in the near future (i'm not exaggerating when I say it'd be a dream come true 🫶🏻)

Lily: Though, because of irl stuff, we haven't interacted much, you were always a great and supportive friend and I constantly feel inspired by you, not to mention that I found a fellow Choicenator here! (even tho chonces is now a dumpster fire but it's ours) and I always remember you fondly 🥺🫶🏻 love uuuu

Arrow: You gave me the impression of someone who was stoic, but once I got to know you through our two ships, getting to know your passionate side, your humour and your wicked wit has been a delight and I look forward to see what you're up to and start writing Aderva's story and get to share it with you 🤎

Kate: We have interacted little (I'm socially awkward and crap at managing friendships :c) I'm constantly in awe with your writing and creativity, and I always learn something new about you and from you, and it is such a privilege 🫶🏻

Sky: You were one of the first people to approach me, and getting to know you through our ships and the chat has been a privilege. You were responsible of me joining the fandom and I'm always in awe with your creativity and how passionate and intelligent you are, and I hope we can get up to more shenanigans together, even if lately we haven't been good at catching up 🫶🏻 you will always have a special place in my heart for showing me the best community ever 🥰

Guzma: You have been the surprise of the year! Getting to know you, talk to you through vc and creating our own verse in the founders era and our 2 am chats have been the highlight of my 2022-2023 and I look forward to getting up to more mischief with you 🫶🏻

Kaze: I think you're the one user I was most intimidated by 😅 you are such a big and respected blog, for a while I didn't have the courage to talk to you, but finding out how sweet, friendly and fun you are has been such a privilege! Like with many others, I'm always learning from you, as well as giving me inspo and motivation to better my writing and as a person 🥰 I look forward sharing something with you! I know I'll have a blast 🥳

Honourable mentions:

@cursedvaultss Alys: You're still new here, but show much promise to our little family! You're so sweet and creative, and I know that soon you'll get far here 🫶🏻 looking forward seeing what you'll do!

@nicos-oc-hell Nico: At first I was unsure of how to proceed with you, but finding out how many things in common we have and your killer sense of humour have been a great surprise! I am always laughing or smiling when I talk to you, and I feel very safe with you 🫶🏻

@mjs-oc-corner Mo: At first I was a bit afraid of talking to you, but you've proven to be funny, badass, super sweet and one of the greatest friends I've got here and, despite having little interactions, I treasure them all just like I treasure you ❤ love uuu hermanita 🥰

@that-scouse-wizard JD: Tbh, I was even more scared of talking to you (I struggle to talk to men in general ksjdjsmaks) but these past months you've been the funniest, sweetest and one of my best surprises this year, and Flossie and Frediette have my entire heart 🫶🏻

@kathrynalicemc Lari: Last but not least, you're probably one of the closest friend here, and talking to you makes my day. You've become very special to me and getting to share stories and shenanigans with you is always a boon to me ❤ thank you for being the absolute best and so you know, te quiero muchisisisisímo, mi mas querida hermana 😘

#ottilie enfield #grace of alderly #cleo hexley #emmeline devlin #lucretia devlin #wilhemina stagg #caitlin doherty #reva amari #founders era #hphl #fbawtft #ww1 era #magic awakened #fankidsaw23 #mine*

[belmottetower]

3.09 - "I'm flattered."

Another part of my Subjectify review that I am REALLY curious for people's thoughts on. This is following on directly from the killjoy post about Sam, Jamie and the armband, and it's about the moment everyone in the room apparently clocks Jamie as queer. This was something we both immediately enjoyed, obviously, but then my co-writer came to find quite weird in a not-so-great way, and I am still in a state of "What did that even mean?" I think Nat makes good points here but I'm curious where others are at about it

‘Ted Lasso’ season 3, episode 9 in conversation: Second-best way it could’ve gone

Natalie: Sorry to crush your joy. I’m about to do it again with the whole 10% gays in the dressing room moment, another bizarre choice regarding Jamie that I am going to complain about. Obviously we follow Isaac to the boot room for a moment, but we don’t hear much there before we cut BACK to the dressing room to follow up on the team’s mood after he leaves. I had high hopes for where this was going as they try to work out what exactly just happened here. Firstly, Moe assumes that Isaac’s reaction is because he himself is gay. It’s not an unfair assumption given the circumstances, and we – and more importantly Colin – get to see how the group would react when talking about a team member being gay.

I thought this was quite a clever way to show Colin that he was safe, all that kind of thing. It’s still not exactly a coming out on his own terms that he chose to do just because he wanted, but the stage was very well set for him. Of course everyone reacts well to Isaac being gay, of course Jan has a statistic, of course Beard pointed out the implication of that statistic. And now is the moment I get to stomp all over people’s happiness again by calling out how deeply shady I found the whole Jamie moment here to be.

This one wasn’t immediate hate, it was mostly a lot of confusion, and some delight at such an absurd response and non-denial. There’s a LOT of good things I have to say about the way Jamie responded to apparently the entire room assuming he’s in the 10%. But the fact that this was the gag – that everyone’s like, “Well, Jamie, right?” Oh, this felt very bad to me after a few minutes’ consideration. I’m such a fucking Zazu and a fun vampire I know, but like, this is NOT the same as a bunch of fellow queer people being like “Wow that earring, wow, that whole vibe.” This is not “I know what you are – one of us!” from a group of people in the LGBTQI+ community. This is “I know what you are – you’re not like us” from a bunch of straight guys who clock him as Other.

What the hell was going on here? What is the joke? What is the joke within their world? Is it how he dresses? Because spoiler alert, they all dress wildly. WHY THE FUCK IS HE THE ONE THE WHOLE ROOM THINKS IS QUEER? It’s so fucking difficult, because as a queer person I DO think he is queer. He feels like the MOST queer-coded player on the team to me and he always has. He is a CLASSIC bisexual disaster and every queer fan thinks so. So was this fan service? Is this Ted Lasso knowing that all the queer people watching the show claimed Jamie immediately and gave us a little nod to say “Sure, we get it!” Because fam, that does not come across the same way when it’s a group of straight footballers being like “Oh yeah, I always thought Jamie was a bit gay, bruv.” WHAT WAS THIS ABOUT, MEGAN?

It genuinely kind of concerns me that they’ve decided to be like “Oh, he’s clockable,” but in a straight guy “Oh well obviously he’s not one of us, the fruit” way. No one in that dressing room is thinking it that meanly, but like, what? Even Ted? Just… us as the queer audience clocking him is not the same at all as a bunch of straight dudes clocking him! For their presumed assumptions of what makes someone queer! What was the reason? Floral tracksuits? Hearing his dad call him a pussy? Of course my first reaction was like “WELL, NOT A NO!” and I’m also so thrilled he would say that even if straight, like it’s a compliment, given how his dad acts about him being soft. The fact he acted like that as opposed to being like “Fuck off, not me!” is beautiful. But WHAT THE FUCK, GREYHOUNDS?

Megan: Firstly, I respect and love you and your Zazu-ness. Or perhaps your Babs-ness, for an in-show reference. But yeah, look. Nearly every single person who I talk to about Ted Lasso sees Jamie and thinks “that is not a straight man,” but nearly every single person I talk to about Ted Lasso is also not, themselves, straight. So we are looking at Jamie, and seeing things about him – whether it’s tropes or style or behaviour – and thinking “Oh yeah. I see you. I recognise you. You are me.” But it is very different for a bunch of sports bros to look at Jamie and, with whatever well-meaning possibly internalised stereotypes they have, thinking “Oh yeah, Jamie’s the other one.”

I think this is probably meant to be fan service. That, as you say, it is meant to be an acknowledgement of the fact that so many queer fans who watch this have claimed Jamie as our own. We know that some involved know about this. Phil has spoken about Jamie and Roy it A LOT, and liked a comment on his instagram that said Jamie should get a boyfriend in season 3. I think that is what they are intending to show with this – “hey, we heard you, wink wink!” – and I think people who do have that valid read of Jamie loved it, especially because Jamie does not deny it! But when you dig a little deeper, the implications are not so good. Why you always gotta make me dig a little deeper, Babs? I mean Nat.

Natalie: Look, reductive as it may sound, them – them being the team, Ted and Beard, all of them thinking he’s queer because – what? He has an earring? He gets his eyebrows threaded? I literally don’t know! – is NOT the same as us thinking he’s queer. Like with us it’s the call is coming from inside the house. If he is NOT in fact actually going to be confirmed as bi, this is just a bunch of footballers being like “Well that guy feels gay to us for reasons.” WHAT REASONS? Because he’s very obviously been demonstrably into women!

Megan: And they don’t mean it in a negative or nasty way! But it would be based on the way he acts or dresses. I mean technically there are probably 25-odd people in the room. So 10% would be 2.5. We know about Colin and Trent. Maybe they’re thinking Jamie is bi and the .5. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

Natalie: Yeah, but no one here is saying the word queer or bisexual, no, someone else in this room is probably gay, and it’s probably Jamie! I mean maybe they all think he’s in love with Roy, because the way he acts about Roy is loud and embarrassing. Or maybe he’s always saying things about men being fit, casually, without meaning much by it. But we have never seen anything like that happen. We have to judge it on what they’ve shown us. Maybe this is because Isaac also wore a pink tracksuit and they currently think Isaac is gay and Jamie also wore a pink tracksuit.

Megan: It’s probably the Roy thing. Maybe they don’t think he’s realised it himself yet and they’re all staring at him waiting for him to do a realisation face about how him being obsessed with Roy makes him queer. One 3 second scene and two words have driven us mad.

Natalie: SO many people are DELIGHTED by this, like “Hahahahah they all know Jamie is queer!” and I’m just like…. “Okay, this feels very bad to me!” Even though I absolutely think he is queer! I think it’s a great response from him, given absolutely everything we know about him and his baggage with a toxic father. Jamie has done nothing wrong here. It’s just an INSANE implication from the other guys. And if it’s going nowhere, I also do not like to be pandered to. If Ted Lasso is doing fan service, like “We know you all think he’s queer, so here you go, a moment that acknowledges that maybe he does have a vibe like that, even though we don’t actually think he is,” they can keep it.

Maybe I’m not giving them enough trust, and next week he will just try to snog Roy because he can’t contain his feelings after his England call up. But if I was a footballer in the closet and the whole dressing room was like “We think you’re gay,” like. It’s not great! I would really like to know what the stereotypes are about him that mean these straight dudes who apparently haven’t clocked TRENT think this about him! Because yes, he may have expressed things! But we never saw those things. We only have like… what. Hair? Clothes? Vibes? Like what the hell did the GA think of that moment?

Megan: Especially if I was a footballer with James Tartt as a father!

Natalie: And especially if my COACHES were in on it! Look I have to move on from this, it’s so fucking weird. It’s so weird that all of this happens. And what’s weirder is that after all that, Colin steps up to clarify that no, Isaac isn’t gay… He is. Except we don’t see any of what he actually says because Ted Lasso decided that cutting away from Colin and only coming back to him in the aftermath was some sort of subversive way of doing his coming out. Instead of hearing what he has to say, and how he chooses to express himself, what parts he tells about his story or what happened with him and Isaac, we just cut back to Isaac and Roy – which is a very important scene, but like…They really think they did something here, cutting Colin. I think they thought it was meant to be powerful. It was not.

Megan: This is the moment for me which, unlike the other two you’ve flagged, I had an instant dislike of.

‘Ted Lasso’ season 3, episode 9 in conversation: Second-best way it could’ve gone

#ted lasso #jamie tartt

[dearestones]

I saw people ask and thought it be interesting and fun to ask if you don't mind. For the writer's ask game;

13. What feedback did you receive for your writing that stuck with you? :0

Hey, Devin here!

This is a really good question and I’m glad you asked! :D

Okay, so way back in ye olde 2012, I was still fairly new to writing and posting fanfic. At the time of receiving this particular review, I had posted less than ten stories with... mixed results.

A few people said that they loved my writing style, while others commented that they were confused, but nonetheless delighted by my writing. While I was happy to receive such comments, they weren’t exactly constructive and didn’t help me become a better writer.

However,

One writer actually took the time to write a lengthy review for one of my stories that simply took my breath away. I’ll admit, I think I was irritated (and definitely way too young at the time) to see the comment for what it was, which was honest and constructive criticism. I may have sent a PM thanking my fellow writer for their feedback, but in a way that might have been rude... ah, if you’re reading this, I’m so sorry!

But anyway, the main body of the review was this:

Not everyone is going to be fully nuanced in English. Back then, I had this bad habit of using terminology and phrases that were so convoluted and verbose that it actively detracted from the reader’s enjoyment of the story rather than add to it. I think I was trying to be whimsical and prove that I was “mature”, but that means nothing when readers can’t understand if you’re trying to make a joke, a reference to politics, or if you hadn’t meant to say anything at all. The overall bit of point one is that I should simplify my usage of the English language: like honing a blade to appropriate sharpness instead of presenting a dull knife to a potential customer.

The next point that my reviewer told me was that editing was key to a good and successful story. Hahaha, so like, I used to write in notebooks before posting. The general idea, for me, was that I would catch any grammatical errors and mistakes while typing and then I would immediately post afterwards. Again, this actively detracted against the reader’s enjoyment because while I thought I was good at catching mistakes... I really wasn’t. There were phrases that needed refining, better words that could I have used to make better poetic similes and metaphors. In short, always type, let rest, edit, and let rest again before posting! And that’s just the minimum I do nowadays!

Aesthetic. I think this was a bit more nit picky to be honest, but I get it now. I used to write “omake breaks” after my fics (because I’m an uwu otaku, hahah), but I didn’t know how to make line breaks at the time. But it really got me thinking: how many of my paragraphs were too short or too long? Should I stylize the way I write by using bold or italicized fonts? What can I do to improve my readers’ experiences?

And that’s what I think what the criticism boiled down to: what can I do to improve readability and enhance experience. You see, back then, I honestly didn’t care if you “got” my work or not. You ether enjoyed it or you did not. However, when I read this review at the time, I realized that I was doing myself and all potential readers a disservice. I was actively choosing to post my work online, it was part of my responsibility to make sure that the stories I posted were things that people could actually read.

Which later led me to the motto that I stand by:

Write for yourself, edit for the audience.

Any idea is a good idea as long the execution is done well. And I think that’s what truly stuck with me, the idea to improve, the idea to make sure that my audience was on the same page with me as I take them along with me.

I’ll admit, when I first started writing and interacting with fandom at large, I was arrogant. Like, super arrogant. And super serious. And unable to understand that people were going to have differing views and opinions on my work, some of which may not be what I was expecting. And that affected my writing. I’m glad that I was able to break into fanfic writing at such a young age because without the reality check that this reviewer gave me, I don’t think that I would have improved and have written this much! :D

Does this mean that I’m a good writer? I honestly don’t know. I have definitely improved over the past decade and have definitely moved past writing “randumb onehsots for the lulz!!!”, but I like to continue moving forward.

Anyway, thank you Sasukeluva 4eva-senpai for your invaluable words of wisdom. It’s been ten long years, but I always keep your feedback close to my heart. I’m not sure if you’re still around, but hit me up. Tell me if I’ve improved, heheh.

Anyway, what about you anon? Do you think I’m a good writer? And if so, why?

Thanks for the ask and I hope that you have a wonderful day! Feel free to ask more questions! :D

#dearestones #devintrinidad #ask #anon ask #anon #anonymous #anonymous ask #answered #ask game #information about devin

[hellandholywater]

A Midnight Clear

It's Christmas Eve, 1896, and all Aziraphale wants is to read his book in peace. His plans are thwarted when he receives a special assignment, but a long-missed demonic visitor appears and sidesteps the Arrangement to grant Aziraphale's wish. In the end, the angel finds that all he wants is his demon back at his side, but where is Crowley?

Aziraphale/Crowley Rated: Teen & up 4k words

Read on ao3

Many thanks to my beta readers, @chiaroscuroverse​ and @wordsintimeandspace​, for making this story so much better than it would have been. I’ve made a number of changes since they’ve seen it, and any errors of style or substance are my own.

Part of the @go-july-celebration​

London, Soho, 1896

A knock came at the door of A.Z. Fell & Co. for the thirteenth time that evening. It was Christmas Eve — a night for peace and goodwill towards men — but after his reading had been interrupted by twelve groups of carolers, each increasingly intoxicated and off-key, even an angel might lose his temper, and this one had. The sign on the door clearly indicated that the bookshop was closed for the night.

Aziraphale leapt to his feet and stormed to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open, seething, intending to give this latest batch of warbling merry-makers a large and vivid piece of his mind. 

"Now, see here!" he began, but his next words came to a sudden, guttural stop. 

"Gabriel!" he choked as his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "And Sandalphon … what a lovely surprise!" Aziraphale stepped back abruptly and flung an arm out to invite them inside. He tried to wring the venom from his planned anti-caroling tirade and inject a bit of enthusiasm in his greeting to the Archangel and his underling, rather than the unmitigated panic he was feeling. He hadn't seen either of them for decades, and his mind raced trying to puzzle out why they were here in his bookshop now. 

Gabriel smirked at him as he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and handed it to Sandalphon, whose metallic teeth glinted as he smiled insincerely at the Principality. 

"Calm down, Aziraphale!" boomed Gabriel, as if speaking to an audience in a large hall rather than the bookshop. "It's Christmas Eve! You should be celebrating the occasion, not shouting at people. What kind of angel are you?" he said, throwing up his arms in scornful emphasis. 

At this, Sandalphon let out a chortle that spoke more of schadenfreude than good cheer. Gabriel smiled at him indulgently, making Aziraphale feel slightly ill. 

"I do apologize," Aziraphale said, trying to resist the sarcastic tone he felt like interjecting. "It won't happen again. But, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" 

At this, Gabriel sobered, and he clasped his shoulder firmly. "Aziraphale, I have a special assignment for you."

"Oh?" The angel raised his brow and pasted on a smile, doing his best to look intrigued rather than indisposed. 

Gabriel continued as if he hadn't noticed Aziraphale at all, which he probably hadn't. (Sandalphon had noticed, however, and shot his fellow angel a rather nasty grimace.) "You're aware, of course, that Frederick Temple was recently nominated Archbishop of Canterbury?" 

"Ye-es, I thought I'd heard something to that effect."

"Well? Temple's participation in Essays and Reviews was nothing short of heresy! And here he is being rewarded for it with the highest religious office in England!" 

"Yes, yes. Terrible," said Aziraphale, furrowing his brow. He’d thought the essays rather funny, but he didn’t want to appear to disagree with the Archangel.

"Aziraphale…." Gabriel intoned deliberately and with more than a hint of condescension. "Did you even read the essays? Denying that true prophecies exist — refusing the very possibility of miracles — even questioning the eternal nature of damnation!" he scoffed, shaking his head. 

Sandalphon glared at Aziraphale as if he were personally responsible for writing and publishing the heretical texts, and nodded slowly. 

Aziraphale winced. "Yes, of course I've read them," he said, hoping fervently his irritation with Gabriel didn't show. "I can't say I find much to agree with in them."

"Duh!" said Gabriel. "And Temple's little writer friends hold too much sway with him. He's starting to have doubts of his own. That's why I want you to prepare a visitation for him, before he's officially installed as Archbishop. Remind the old boy of the divine power of Heaven."

"You mean…."

"Yes. The halo, the wings, the heavenly vestments — the whole nine yards."

"But…on Christmas Eve?" Aziraphale asked, thinking longingly of his abandoned reading. 

"What better time?" said Gabriel. 

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale said as agreeably as he could manage, under the circumstances. 

"Of course I am! Now, hop to it, Aziraphale," Gabriel smiled, exchanging a toothy grin with Sandalphon. "I look forward to reading your report."

"Er, yes, quite," Aziraphale said as he showed the two angels to the door, and bolted it shut behind them as soon as he dared. 

His shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to a ruined evening. He went to his section on religion in England to locate the book with Temple's essay, in order to refresh his memory before he confronted the man.

* * *

A few minutes later, there came another knock. Beyond frustrated with the way his evening was going, and frazzled by the Archangel's visit, Aziraphale stomped to the door, unbarred it, and flung it open. 

"I'm not interested!" he started to shout at the fourteenth interruption of the night. The words died in his throat as he recognized the interloper. 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said with a swirling mix of shock, relief, and something he couldn't quite identify. Something that hollowed out his chest and filled his stomach with butterflies. 

"Aziraphale," said Crowley quietly. "I know it's been a while," he started, but stopped abruptly as he found himself being hauled bodily into the bookshop.

Aziraphale poked his head out of the door and quickly looked from side to side. Satisfied, he withdrew and closed the door, the bell at the top ringing with finality as he locked and bolted the door. He turned around. 

"It's been 34 years, you great pillock! Not one word in all that time," Aziraphale accused. 

"I've been asleep. I'm sorry," Crowley apologized, sounding genuinely contrite.

“Asleep! For 34 years?”

Crowley took a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, after our last meeting, I was feeling sort of … melancholy. And I sleep a lot when I get like that.”

“Oh, Crowley….”

“It’s not a big deal. I just…I woke up today and thought I’d stop by, all right?”

Aziraphale just stared at him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him. Crowley was attired in a Homburg and black top coat over a black suit with dark red lapels. He was nearly clean shaven, with just neatly trimmed sideburns remaining. He was as dashing and handsome as ever. 

Crowley doffed his hat and set it on the counter. Aziraphale began to pace the floorboards. 

"What is it? What's the matter, Angel?" Crowley said in concern. "I really am sorry," he said emphatically. 

"Oh no, it's not you, dear boy. I just had a visit from Gabriel."

"Gabriel! What did he want?" 

"He wants me to appear to the new Archbishop — Temple — in full regalia, wings, halo and all. Tonight!"

"Ha!" Crowley started to laugh, then thought better of it. "An Angel of the Lord visiting, well … anyone these days, is hard to come by. What brought this on, then?" 

"There was a book he contributed an essay to, years ago, that had some rather … heretical content."

"Ahhh … the Essays and Reviews."

"You know it?" Aziraphale said in surprise. He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you don't read?" 

"I don't! I … skim," Crowley admitted. "Besides, that book is well known down in Hell. Top ten humor book since it was published. But Temple's piece isn't so bad. Why did Gabriel order a visitation for it?" 

"Gabriel is concerned that Temple's friends may hold undue influence over him. Seeding heresy."

Crowley shook his head. "Guilt by association. And the church on the verge of a schism. It's no wonder the humans are leaving it these days." 

"I'm sure that's just a temporary anomaly," said Aziraphale, sounding not very sure at all. 

"Right. Well, I suppose I'd better go and leave you to it," said Crowley. But he didn't move, and Aziraphale was heartened. 

"I was so looking forward to reading Dickens tonight…." He glanced coyly at Crowley for a moment, then quickly looked away. 

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale, then sighed quietly. "I suppose I could do the angel visitation bit for you," he proposed. 

"Oh, would you?" 

"'Course I would.”

"Thank you, Crowley!" Aziraphale smiled, reaching out to grasp the demon's shoulder in gratitude. He lingered for a few seconds, holding Crowley's gaze, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and withdrew. 

Crowley gave a barely visible shiver when the angel removed his hand, and Aziraphale wondered if he'd caught a draft. He was so sensitive to the cold. 

"Oh, I nearly forgot," he said, pulling a suspiciously book-shaped, festively wrapped package from inside his coat. He held it out towards Aziraphale. 

"Little Christmas present for you, Angel."

Aziraphale reached out and took it, grinning in delight. 

"Crowley! But I don't have anything for you," he said regretfully. 

"'S' alright, Aziraphale. It was my pleasure." Crowley gave it to him with a wistful smile. 

"May I open it?" 

"Please."

Aziraphale tugged on the end of the ribbon and set it loose, then carefully unwrapped the paper. It was indeed a book, housed in a red Morocco-backed slipcase, its spine lettered in gilt, with red cloth sides and chemise. Aziraphale tilted the slipcase and removed the white book, the stamped red and black design of the cover proclaiming it one of Oscar Wilde's most beloved works. 

"The Happy Prince and Other Tales?" 

Crowley nodded. "First edition, of course."

"Well! This is a lovely gift. The Selfish Giant has always been one of my favorite stories of his. Poor Oscar…. I do already have a first edition, but of course, another copy is always welcome!"

"This one's inscribed," said Crowley with an inscrutable smile. 

Aziraphale opened the book to the title page and read:

Aziraphale, my dear friend. May this book bring you as much joy as you have brought me. You're an absolute angel. ~Oscar Wilde, 1896

Aziraphale looked up and stared at Crowley open-mouthed, turned back the book in wonder, then set it down next to Crowley's Homburg. "You didn't!" Aziraphale said in disbelief. "He's in Reading Gaol, isn't he? How did you …?" 

Crowley smiled genuinely for the first time that night. "Richard B. Haldane, liberal MP and reformer, has been visiting Oscar from time to time, appealing for improved conditions for him. I simply impersonated Haldane and they let me in to see him."

"But… he can't have been in a mood to sign autographs — how did you get him to sign this for me?" Aziraphale said in amazement. 

"Oh, I took him some books and writing materials he hasn't been allowed. Convinced the warden it would be in his best interests to let him have them."

Aziraphale shook his head, then looked at Crowley as if he'd never seen him before. "You went to all that trouble for me?" 

Crowley just smiled crookedly. "It was no trouble," he said, and then, softly, "I'd do anything for …," he choked back the final word, biting his lip, but it didn't matter. He might have been confessing his every sin, the way the unspoken end of that sentence rang in the silence. 

Aziraphale was stunned. He needed to say something, to tell Crowley that he felt the same way, but he hadn't expected this revelation, and he just wasn't good at change. What did Crowley expect? What was he hoping for from Aziraphale? 

Crowley cleared his throat, stepped forward to reach for his hat, and suddenly he was in Aziraphale's arms. He froze for a moment, then he hugged the angel back quite desperately. They had rarely touched over the centuries, and never before had there been… whatever this was, with Aziraphale's hands fisted in the back of his coat and their heartbeats separated only by a few layers of cloth and thin corporations. They stayed like that for a long time, the seconds ticking by into minutes, and gradually relaxed into each other. 

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale said breathily into Crowley's neck. 

Crowley let a stifled moan escape him. 

Aziraphale responded with a sharp intake of breath. But he didn't let go. 

Slowly, Crowley straightened and withdrew. 

"I should go — get started on that visitation before it gets too late," he said reluctantly. 

Aziraphale was sure he was looking at Crowley with darkened eyes, and he was dangerously close to telling him to stay, to forget about the incoming Archbishop. 

Instead, the moment passed, and Crowley put his hat on and turned to go. His hand was on the doorknob when he was stopped in his tracks by Aziraphale's hand covering his.

"Wait," said Aziraphale softly. 

Crowley waited, holding his breath. 

"When you're done with Temple, will you come back here?"

Crowley nodded. "Yeah, 'course I will… if you want," he murmured. 

Aziraphale's hand squeezed his gently and then let go. 

"It's been far too long, dear boy. I… I'll see you when you return," Aziraphale said as firmly as he could manage.

"I'll be back before you know it," Crowley said. And he disappeared into the night and the fog. 

* * *

Aziraphale returned to his desk and tried to resume his reading of A Christmas Carol, but he was distracted, thinking about Crowley. He thought about his utterly perfect gift, and the visitation tonight that was so far outside of the Arrangement, Aziraphale couldn't see it as anything but another gift. 

He knew, on some level, how Crowley felt about him, but it had been more of a vague sense of love that radiated off of him. He'd never heard him use words the way he'd done tonight. "It was no trouble. I'd do anything for…," and, "'course I will… if you want," swirled in his mind, and warmed him from the inside out. 

He flushed as he thought about how beautiful Crowley was, his crooked almost-smile, his kindness, and how right it felt to hold him. And he thought about the way his stomach swooped just from touching his hand.

By 10 o' clock he'd abandoned Dickens in favor of Wilde, and at a quarter past 10, he began pacing the floorboards in front of the door, stopping every so often to peer out the window and watch for Crowley's return. 

He needed something to do to stop him from flying out the door in search of his demon. 

He got out two bottles of claret, and set them on his desk, then summoned a stockpot with a snap of his fingers. Another snap brought a bowl of oranges, a cup of sugar, a small cutting board and grater, and an assortment of mulling spices to the counter. 

Aziraphale studded the oranges with whole cloves and set four of them in a shallow pan. He opened the door of the cast iron stove, stoked the fire with a few pieces of split wood, and balanced the pan of oranges on top. After grating a quarter of the nutmeg, and peeling the ginger and slicing it thinly, he set the spices aside. He peeked inside the oven, sighed and snapped his fingers again, removed the pan of fully roasted oranges and set them on top of the stove. 

Aziraphale uncorked both bottles, poured the wine into the pot, and set it on the wood stove to start heating while he carefully cut the hot oranges and squeezed the juice into a tall mug. He added the sugar and spices to the claret and cleaned up the mess as he waited for the mixture to simmer. 

The angel sat down with Wilde and tried to read, but was unable to concentrate, glancing at the door every few seconds. Sighing, he got up and put a record on the gramophone, and started to tidy his piles of books, adding his resonant baritone to the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral as they sang:

It came upon a midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold:

"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, From heaven's all-gracious King." The world in solemn stillness lay, To hear the angels sing.

Aziraphale strained out the spices, added the orange juice and stirred, sniffing the fragrant steam appreciatively. He closed his eyes as the song came to a close. 

For lo!, the days are hastening on, By prophet bards foretold, When with the ever-circling years Comes round the age of gold

When peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And the whole world give back the song Which now the angels sing.

When he opened his eyes again he noticed an ornament that was askew on the bookshop’s small Christmas tree. He straightened the ornament, and checked the rest of them while he was at it. The gold-sequined star on top of the tree gleamed.

The angel moved the steaming pot of mulled wine to a large trivet. He ladled two cups of the concoction into mugs and snapped a light miracle on them to keep them piping hot. 

As cozy as it was in the bookshop, Aziraphale felt uneasy. He checked the clock again, sighed and shook his head. It was nearly midnight. It wasn't like Crowley to take so long on a job. What if something had happened to him? It would be all Aziraphale's fault! 

The angel puttered around the shop, reshelving books and dusting everything in sight, though nothing needed it. He had worked himself into quite a state by the time the door opened, ringing the bell. He startled, and turned around to see Crowley slipping inside the bookshop. The fog had dissipated for once, and the clear night let in a crisp draft of air with a hint of snow. 

"Crowley!" he exclaimed, hurrying forward. 

"Hello Aziraphale!" Crowley grinned. His grin faded, replaced by a blissful expression, as Aziraphale hugged him tightly. 

"I'm so relieved you're back! It went well, then?" He drew back to look at Crowley. With one hand, he locked and then bolted the door. 

"Yeah, it went… surprisingly well," he started, but was struck silent when Aziraphale took his cold hand in his warm, soft ones, and led him to the sofa next to his desk. Crowley sat down, and Aziraphale, instead of sitting at the desk as he'd done every other time in the last century, sat next to him. He didn't let go of Crowley's hand, but rested it on his thigh. 

"Ngk," said Crowley, flushing beautifully. 

Aziraphale pressed a glass of the mulled wine into Crowley's hands, then picked up his own. "Tell me what happened, my dear. Why were you gone so long?"

Crowley nodded, taking a sip of the sweet, hot liquid gratefully. 

"Well, I took a cab to the residence of the Archbishop, and waited for the horses to trot off, and for quiet to settle there. I miracled myself into angelic robes and unfurled my wings, and cast a glamour on them to make them appear white. And then I popped into Temple's chamber with a burst of light."

Aziraphale hung on his every word as he described Temple's shock. 

"I thought he was going to have a heart attack, at first," Crowley continued. "He'd been reading in bed. He grabbed at his chest with one hand — very dramatic, it was. If he'd been wearing pearls, he'd have clutched them," he laughed. 

Aziraphale laughed, too, and squeezed Crowley's hand. He didn't let go. 

Crowley paused, taking a deep breath. "We wound up having an interesting chat about science and religion, actually," he said. "I sort of forgot why I was there. Sorry about that, Angel," Crowley apologized. He took a swig of the mulled wine. 

"I'll think of something to tell Gabriel," Aziraphale assured him.

"This isn't Smoking Bishop, but it's close," Crowley said curiously. "What is it?" 

"Oh — it's made with claret instead of port. Little creation of mine. I'm calling it, 'Smoking Archbishop,'" Aziraphale said proudly. 

Crowley cheerfully toasted the angel's ingenuity, taking another swallow of his invention and gazing at him fondly, his glowing golden eyes just visible through his dark lenses. 

Aziraphale preened under Crowley's attention, fluttering his eyes at him, and took a large sip of punch. "I'm just glad you're all right," he said insistently. "I shouldn't have sent you. It was an indulgence, so I could read, and I was too distracted worrying about you to enjoy it for long," he fussed, too caught up in his self-flagellation to notice his confession. 

Crowley brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss over Aziraphale's knuckles. 

Aziraphale blew out a sharp breath. 

"Angel, I'm fine. It's all right. It was a lark, to be honest. I had fun."

"But…you shouldn't spoil me so," Aziraphale fretted. 

"I don't mind," Crowley said roughly. 

"Well… Anyway, thank you," Aziraphale said, his voice like warm honey.

Crowley visibly melted. "Nggyeah," he babbled. "I…," he stopped speaking as Aziraphale brought his hand to his chest. Crowley gasped. Aziraphale was sure that, even through multiple layers of cloth, Crowley must be able to feel his heartbeat tripping under his fingers. 

"My dear…," Aziraphale started breathily, but the rest of his words got stuck in his throat as Crowley removed his hat, set it aside, and ran his free hand through his hair. His sunglasses followed, set down next to the Homburg. 

He looked straight at Aziraphale, and cupped his cheek in his hand, all of his defenses down. 

Aziraphale was thunderstruck. He felt so much love radiating from the demon, it was a miracle he'd ever been able to keep it cloaked from him all this time. Aziraphale felt as if he was going to discorporate on the spot. When he didn't, he turned his head to the left, and kissed Crowley's palm. 

Crowley managed a small, "Hnnggh," and dared to stroke Aziraphale's cheekbones with his thumb.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in bliss for a moment, then, unconsciously parting his lips, he leaned forward. Crowley's mouth met his with a softness and tenderness that would have shocked the demons of Hell. 

Crowley brought his other hand up, framing Aziraphale's face with his fingers. He deepened the kiss until the angel moaned. 

Aziraphale brought his hands up to Crowley's head, sliding his fingers through soft red hair. He ran his fingers around to the back of his head, pulling him closer, a frisson of excitement sparking through his body like fireworks. 

Crowley slid his hands down to the angel's shoulders and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer still. Aziraphale matched him breath for breath, kiss for kiss. From a church nearby, there came a chime, followed by twelve bells.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and drew back to see a dazed expression on Crowley’s face. 

"It's Christmas. Merry Christmas, Aziraphale," Crowley breathed. 

"Merry Christmas, darling." Aziraphale grinned. 

"I love you," Crowley whispered fiercely. 

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath, then let it whoosh out again as he drew the demon's unresisting body close. 

"Oh Crowley … I love you, too," Aziraphale said shakily.

They settled back onto the sofa in each other's arms, and Aziraphale reached for his mug. Crowley picked up his own and held it aloft. 

"To… to Gabriel for being an utter bastard, for giving you the assignment that finally brought us together."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and raised his eyebrow, and Crowley looked uncomfortable. The angel relented with a giggle. 

"To new beginnings," he suggested with a smile. 

"To new beginnings," Crowley echoed, and raised his mug.

Outside the bookshop, snow began to fall. Aziraphale noticed the fluffy flakes out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to watch them fall. He turned back to Crowley, eyes shining brightly. 

"Snow, in London! It's a Christmas miracle!" he exclaimed. 

"Nonsense. It's going to inconvenience tons of people. They won't be able to see their families for Christmas dinner. Got to be one of ours.”

"Oh really?" Aziraphale smirked. "It wouldn't do for me to let you go home in this dreadful weather. You'll have to stay the night."

"I take it back, it's a miracle," Crowley intoned. 

Aziraphale beamed at his demon.

#good omens #good omens fic #christmas fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale/crowley #christmas fluff #go-july-celebration #gojulycelebration #good omens july celebration #good omens july #mutual pining #romantic fluff #good omens fanfic #I wrote this

[kirinda-ondo]

You know him, you either love or hate him (or are moderately confused by my sudden dive into this hyperfixation); we're talking about Orko because I have a lot of feelings.

As a disclaimer, I am not gonna claim to be some kind of superfan. I am not aware of every single iteration of the lore and all of its secrets. I don't know anything about the DC comics. I'm only halfway through the 2002 series as of me writing this. I am not someone you want to have discussions on the wider Masters of the Universe.... universe with. However, after watching Revelation, the entire Filmation He-Man (and some of She-Ra, cause he was there too), and going on a deep dive of storybooks, annuals, and minicomics courtesy of He-Man.org and the lovely people who submitted their scans there, I do feel pretty qualified to at least talk about Orko.

So, with all that being said, I'd like to get into a little bit of backstory, if only for my followers who came to this blog for completely different things and are wondering where the hell my love for this funky little wizard dude came from all of a sudden. Truth is, Orko is actually one of my earliest faves! Mind you, I only had limited access to Masters of the Universe as a kid, only seeing a couple of rented VHS tapes and later getting my hands on a small pile of the Golden Books from Goodwill, but apparently it was enough for Orko to  imprint himself into my brain. However, also due to my limited exposure, he kind of got shifted to the back of my head as I got deeper into other things. I still knew for a fact I liked Orko a lot though, even if I couldn't quite remember why anymore.

And then Masters of the Universe: Revelation dropped on Netflix. I'm not gonna get into my opinions of that show lest I open a flood of irrelevant discourse (for those uninitiated, it is a bit... divisive, to say the least). However my feelings on the matter did encourage me to go and watch the original and well, holy shit I love Orko more now than I could have ever comprehended as a kid. He is THE quintessential underappreciated comic relief character I tend to gravitate towards, and then some.

But before I get into that, let me back up a bit and explain. Orko is a Trollan, a race of magical little dudes that are basically floating sweaters with hats and covered up faces. Out of these Trollans, Orko is an incredibly fucking OP archmage. Like, they straight up call him Orko the Great, he's so powerful. But then, he gets caught in a freak storm that whisks him away from his home dimension and into Eternia. Immediately, he runs into a young Prince Adam, who is trapped in a swamp/tar pit and needs rescuing. Orko, being the upstanding lad that he is, uses his magic to save him but in the process loses the item that allows him to focus his magic to the swamp (in the 80s version, it's a medallion, but in the 2002 series, it's a wand). Worse yet, the magic (and dare I say the very laws of physics) in Eternia works pretty much the opposite as it does in Trolla, so he's been incredibly nerfed.

So basically, Orko is trapped in a topsy-turvy world away from friends and family, a world with magic he is fundamentally incompatible with. Ouch. He's not completely screwed, however, as he is rewarded by the king and queen for his heroism and appointed... the court jester. Double ouch. He surprisingly doesn't seem to mind though. He genuinely does enjoy entertaining people, even when his tricks only ever work like half the time because he's basically a Mac program trying to run on a Windows computer.

It's not all horrible though, as he does quite literally get adopted by the royal family  and thus sort of become the entire palace's weird son/little brother (despite being older than many of them. He's very, very child-coded largely for the purposes of being a stand-in and example lesson to the actual children watching). But also, more importantly, he becomes one of the very select few to know that Adam and He-Man are one and the same.

But outside of secret-keeping, he is actually a pretty valuable ally to have against Skeletor and his dudes because even though his magic is kind of screwed up, when it does work, he's still one of the most powerful mages on Eternia. In various materials, he's created floods, a second winter, and hell, he can literally explode himself and still be perfectly fine. He's also really clever and can weasel his way out of a number of situations. In one episode, for instance, he manages to convince someone that he's He-Man and Adam is his "assistant" in order to free him from captivity so the day has a better chance of actually being saved.  He's also got the ability to just be really frustrating and incomprehensible to the point that villains who capture him sometimes either don't want him or don't know what to do with him anymore, which is honestly really funny. In an episode of She-Ra, the villains tried to scan his brain but because the inner machinations of his mind are that much of an enigma, he got diagnosed a weirdo and broke the entire machine. Absolutely delightful.

However, there's a lot more to Orko than just comedy and bungled magic. He's actually surprisingly complex!

See, going into this, I expected Orko's whole situation be played entirely for laughs while the sadder implications of his existence go entirely unaddressed. Coming off the heels of characters like Cobalt and others I enjoy, I'm used to this sort of treatment by writers. But they actually don't do that. The depressing subtext is for once, actually TEXT, which was INCREDIBLY surprising to me. We actually get to see another side of him, a side that hates that he can't be taken seriously no matter what he does, a side that is well aware of all the trouble he causes and feels like a burden to those around him. He actually runs away on multiple occasions, fully believing that he's unloved and everyone would be better off without him, even if that couldn't be further from the truth (a point which the Sorceress hammers home with multiple straight up magical video presentations, and in the 2002 series, a literary adaptation, of why he is loved and important).

Underneath all the hyping himself up that he does, there's a lot of insecurity. He's someone who desperately wants to be loved and respected and feels that without funny magic tricks to entertain people, he has no inherent value (which is incredibly relatable if you are also known by people as The Funny One). At one point he agrees with the notion that he doesn't feel like much more than a pet, which is absolutely heartbreaking. Even when he gets the ability to go back and forth between Eternia and Trolla, his feelings of inadequacy now extend toward his family, worrying that his own uncle, the one who taught him everything he knows and greatly contributed to him being Orko the Great back home in the first place, wouldn't be proud of him. Being on Eternia highkey wrecked his shit, man.

However, even when given the opportunity to go back home for good, he always chooses to stay because he's loyal as hell. Even if he needs some reminders, he does know he's needed not just in the fight against evil, but just because his friends and newfound family genuinely love him. It's heartbreaking, but also incredibly wholesome. I did not even remotely expect a comic relief character like this to get this much depth and respect from the writers, especially not from the incredibly campy and cheaply animated 80s series. I am genuinely so unused to this.

But I think that's also what separates him a bit from his fellow Silly Kid Appeal Characters That Kids Fucking Hate ala Snarf Thundercats or Scrappy Doo. He not only makes a concerted effort to be an actually useful ally, but he's also in fact very self-aware of his status as one of these characters. He knows he screws up a lot but he actually tries to accept responsibility and fix it. It makes me wanna root for the lil dude. Now I understand if someone isn't a fan of the brand of humor he brings to the table, or feel like he's simply a distraction from the Cool Buff Dudes Fighting Each Other, but I hope you can see why he might also be a really appealing character to other people, both kids and adults alike. I mean, he was popular enough to be embedded into the canon despite originating from the cartoon and not the toyline for a reason, after all.

Orko is a fun, entertaining, but also complex, heartwarming, and relatable character. I know there is a faction of people that would disagree with me, but I don't think you need to change him all that much or make him a super serious character to be more appealing. He's already got a lot going on that a writer could easily work with. It all just depends on where you decide to focus. Take a lesson from the show and accept that he's fine just the way he is.

#kateh rambles #a defense of orko (aka 'i can't believe the subtext is actually TEXT this time') #i feel like there's more i could say but i can't get my thoughts organized let alone enough to have it flow with the rest of this #so there could be a part 2 at some point? maybe? i don't know #orkoposting

[themachiavellianpig]

Parvati Holcomb: The Unaccountably Happy Face of the Unreliable

The Outer Worlds, the new space RPG courtesy of Obsidian, helpfully provides your player character with exactly the sort of ragtag gang of misfits which you are probably expecting in such a game. Today, we’re going to talk about the most important of them. 

Parvati Holcomb, likely the first companion you meet and definitely the first companion you can recruit, is a well-written female-character. Her talents for engineering and her incredibly positive and cheerful outlook quickly draw comparison with the character of Kaylee from Firefly (allegedly one of the main inspirations for the character), but there is one very clear difference between the two. 

Parvati Holcomb is an asexual character. 

While the term “asexual” is never actually used in the game, Parvati’s experiences and worries were so obviously born form the real-life experiences of asexual people that I was not the least bit surprised that she had been written by an asexual woman: 

I was, however, properly delighted that Parvati had always been intended to be an asexual character, even before an asexual woman took over as Parvati’s writer; Chris L’Etoile, the original writer, explicitly made the decision to create a warm and loving character, someone who could see the beauty and hope in a failing colony, who could express all the wonder they wanted their players to feel, and then he decided to make her asexual as well. 

The stereotypical ‘link’’ between asexuality and ‘coldness’ is even explicitly referenced by Parvati herself, when she explains her fears about starting a new relationship: “I’m not much interested in… physical stuff. Never have been. Leastways not like other folk seem to be. It’s not that I can’t. I just don’t care for it. It’s been a problem, in the past. The folk who wanted to be with me, back in the Vale? They didn’t - They said I was cold.”

The first response offered to players? “You’re about the warmest person I ever met. To hell with them.” 

Indeed, The Outer Worlds is a game which, over and over again, tells us that Parvati is not cold or unfeeling. This is a young woman who names a robot the moment she fixes it, who worries if the Captain calls the ship’s computer “it”, who checks in with crew members and, in a game with a reputation system (rather than a Mass Effect style morality system), acts as the world’s most adorable conscience. 

And, while Parvati does find her relationship with Junlei complicated, those complications have very little to do with her sexuality and far more to do with her being a young woman, away from home for the first time, and experiencing possibly the first great love of her life. There are miscommunications, a night of drowning sorrows, endless over-analysing of each other’s words and actions, and the need to go to four different worlds just to plan a date. As the player character can say: 

PC: “If you two marry, you’ll be saying, ‘Haha, just kidding. Unless you’re not.’” Parvati: “I resent you saying such, on account of it being uncomfortably likely.”

But once Parvati has worked up the courage to tell Junlei who she is, the relationship works well. Well enough for Parvati to find a new home with Junlei once the fight is over: 

Now, I always expect an Obsidian game to have some awareness of the wider spectrum of human sexuality - Fallout New Vegas included some same-sex relationships, and the player character could be played as straight, gay or bisexual, depending on which perks you picked. But I wasn’t expecting the only great romance subplot in an entire game to include an asexual woman actively pursuing another woman. Were this just one relationship among many, it would still be beautiful, but for it to take centre-stage and not have to share that space with anything else? It’s phenomenal. 

And, just when I think that The Outer Worlds couldn’t get any more lovely, it did this: 

Yep, that’s the option to identify your character explicitly as asexual. There’s even the option just afterwards to clarify your character as aromantic as well, which Parvati takes perfectly in her stride with a nice little nod to the player’s strong relationships with their friends. Either revelation is meant with the same response from Parvati: 

“So we’re… we’re kin-like. That makes me, well - unaccountably happy, Captain. It’s a lonely thing, being different like this.” 

Judging from that reaction, the Captain is likely the first fellow asexual who Parvati has met, and the relief in her voice was such a punch to the gut. Because Parvati’s right - the loneliness of feeling “other” sinks in fast and there’s nothing quite like the relief when you finally feel like maybe you’re not alone after all. 

And the idea that this game and this character might give that moment of relief to someone out there, well, that just makes me unaccountably happy as well.

#the outer worlds #outer worlds #parvati #parvati holcomb #character profile #themachiavellianpig overthinks #obsidian #obsidian entertainment #outer worlds spoilers #asexual #asexuality #asexual character #ace character

[dustedmagazine]

Music for Films, Vol. II: Chick Habit

For good and for ill, Quentin Tarantino’s movies have been strongly associated with postmodern pop culture — particularly by folks whose reactions to the word “postmodern” tend toward pursed lips and school-marmishly wagged fingers. There for a while, reading David Denby on Tarantino was similar to reading Michiko Kakutani on Thomas Pynchon: almost always the same review, the same complaints about characters lacking “psychological depth,” the same handwringing over an ostensible moral insipidness. Truth be told, Tarantino’s pranksome delight with flashy surfaces and stylistic flourishes that are ends in themselves gives tentative credence to some of the caviling. Critics have raised related concerns over the superficiality of Tarantino’s tendency toward stunt casting, especially his resurrections of aging actors relegated to the film industry’s commercial margins: John Travolta, Pam Grier, Robert Forster, David Carradine, Darryl Hannah, Don Johnson and so on. There might be a measure of cynicism in the accompanying cinematic nudging and winking, but it’s also the case that a number of the performances have been terrific.

The writer-director brings a similar sensibility to his sound-tracking choices, demonstrating the cooler-than-thou, deep-catalog knowledge of an obsessive crate-digger. Tarantino thematized that knowledge in his break-through feature, Reservoir Dogs (1992). Throughout the film, the characters tune in to Steven Wright deadpanning as the deejay of “K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies”; like the characters, the viewer transforms into a listener, treated to such fare as the George Baker Selection’s “Little Green Bag” (1970) and Harry Nilsson’s “Coconut” (1971). As with the above-mentioned actors, Tarantino has sifted pop culture’s castoffs and detritus, unearthing songs and delivering experiences of renewed value — and thereby proving the keenness of his instincts and aesthetic wit. “Listen to (or look at) this!” he seems to say, with his cockeyed, faux-incredulous grin. “Can you believe you were just going to throw this out?” And mostly, it works. If the Blue Swede’s “Hooked on a Feeling” (1974) has become a sort of semi-ironized accompaniment to hipsterish good times, that resonance has a lot more to do with Tim Roth, Harvey Keitel and Co. cruising L.A. in a hulking American sedan than with the Disney Co.’s Guardians of the Galaxy (2014).

In Death Proof (2007), Tarantino’s seventh film and unaccountably his least favorite, soundtrack and screen are both full to bursting with the flotsam and jetsam of “entertainment” conceived as an industry. 

In just the opening minutes, we see outmoded moviehouse announcements, complete with cigarette-burn cue dots; big posters of Brigitte Bardot from Les Bijoutiers du claire de lune (1958) and of Ralph Nelson’s Soldier Blue (1970) bedecking the apartment of Jungle Julia (Sydney Tamiia Poitier); the tee shirt worn by Shanna (Jordan Ladd), which bears the image of Tura Satana; and strutting under all of it are the brassy cadences of Jack Nitzsche’s “The Last Race,” taken from his soundtrack for the teensploitation flick Village of the Giants (1965). Bibs and bobs, bits and pieces of low- and middle-brow cinema are cut up and reconstructed into a fulsome swirl of signs. And there’s an unpleasant edge to it; the cuts are echoed by the action of the camera, which has been busily cleaving the bodies of the women on screen into fragments and parts. First the feet of Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito), propped up on a dashboard; then Julia, all ass and gams; then Arlene’s lower half again, chopped into slices by the stairs she dashes up (“I gotta take the world’s biggest fucking piss!”) and by the close-up that settles on her belly and pelvis, her hand shoved awkwardly into her crotch. 

As often happens in Tarantino’s movies, furiously busy meta-discursive play collapses the images’ problematic content under multiple levels of reference and pastiche. The film is one half of Grindhouse (2007), Tarantino’s collaboration with his buddy Robert Rodriguez, an old-fashioned double-feature comprising the men’s love letters to the exploitation cinema of the 1960s and 1970s. In those thousands of movies — mondo, beach-cutie, nudie-cutie, women in prison, early slasher, rape-revenge, biker gang, chop-socky, Spaghetti Western and muscle-car-worship flicks (and we could add more subgenres to the list) — symbolic violence inflicted on women’s bodies was de rigueur, and frequently the principal draw. Tarantino shot Death Proof himself, so he is (more than usually) directly responsible for all the framing and focusing — and he’s far too canny a filmmaker not to know precisely what he’s doing with and to those bodies. The excessive, camera-mediated gashing and trimming is a knowing, perhaps deprecating nod to all that previous, gratuitous T&A. His sound-tracking choice of “The Last Race” metaphorically underscores the point: in Bert I. Gordon’s Village of the Giants, bikini-clad teens find and consume an experimental growth serum, which causes them to expand to massive proportions. Really big boobs, actual acres of ass. Get it?

Of course, all the implied japing and judging is deeply embedded in the film’s matrix of esoteric references and fleeting allusions. You’d have to be very well versed in the history of exploitation cinema to pick up on the indirect homage to Gordon’s goofy movie. But as in Reservoir Dogs, Tarantino doesn’t just gesture, he dramatizes, folding an authoritative geekdom into the action of Death Proof. In the set-up to Death Proof’s notorious car crash scene, Julia is on the phone, instructing one of her fellow deejays to play “Hold Tight!” (1966) by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. Don’t recognize the names? “For your information,” Julia snorts, Pete Townsend briefly considered abandoning the Who, and he thought about joining the now-obscure beat band, to make it “Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, Tich & Pete. And if you ask me, he should have.”

It’s among the most gruesomely violent sequences in Tarantino’s films (which do not run short on graphic bloodshed), and Julia receives its most spectacular punishment. Those legs and that rump, upon which the camera has lavished so much attention, are torn apart. Her right leg flips, flies and slaps the pavement, a hunk of suddenly flaccid meat. Again, Tarantino proves himself an adept arranger of image, sign and significance. Want to accuse him of fetishizing Julia’s legs? He’ll materialize the move, reducing the limb to a manipulable fragment, and he’ll invest the moment with all of the intrinsic violence of the fetish. He’ll even do you one better — he’ll make that violence visible. Want to watch? You better buckle up and hold tight. 

Hold on a second. “Hold Tight”? The soundtrack has passed over from intertextual in-joke to cruel punchline. It doesn’t help that the song is so much fun, and that it’s fun watching the girls groove along to it, just before Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) obliterates them, again and again and again. The awful insistence of the repetition is another set-up, establishing the film’s narrative logic: the repeated pattern and libidinal charge-and-release of Stuntman Mike’s vehicular predations. It is, indeed, “a sex thing,” as Sheriff Earl McGraw (Michael Parks) informs us in his cartoonish, redneck lawman’s drawl. Soon the sexually charged repetitions pile up: see Abernathy’s (Rosario Dawson) feet hanging out of Kim’s (Tracie Thom) 1972 Mustang, in a visual echo of Arlene’s, and of Julia’s. Then listen to Lee (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) belt out some of Smith’s cover of “Baby It’s You” (1969), which we most recently heard 44 minutes before, as Julia danced ecstatically by the Texas Chili Bar’s jukebox. Then watch Abernathy as she sees Stuntman Mike’s tricked-out ’71 Nova, a vibrating hunk of metallic machismo — just like Arlene saw it, idling menacingly back in Austin, with another snatch of “Baby It’s You” wisping through that moment’s portent. 

For a certain kind of viewer, the Nova’s low-slung, growling charms are hard to resist, as is the sleazy snarl of Willy DeVille’s “It’s So Easy” (1980; and we might note that Jack Nitzsche produced a couple of Mink DeVille’s early records, connecting another couple strands in the web) on the Nova’s car stereo. Those prospective pleasures raise the question of just who the film is for. That may seem obvious: the same folks — dudes, mostly — who find pleasure in exploitation movies like Vanishing Point (1971), Satan’s Sadists (1969) or The Big Doll House (1971). But there are a few other things to account for, like how Death Proof repeatedly passes the Bechdel Test, and how long those scenes of conversation among women go on, and on. Most notable is the eight-minute diner scene, a single take featuring Abernathy, Kim, Lee and Zoë (Zoë Bell, doing a cinematic rendition of her fabulous self, an instance of stunt casting that literalizes the “stunt” part). Among other things, the women discuss their careers in film, the merits of gun ownership and Kim and Zoë’s love of (you guessed it) car chase movies like Vanishing Point. One could read that as a liberatory move, a suggestion that cinema of all kinds is open to all comers. All that’s required is a willingness to watch. But watching the diner scene becomes increasing claustrophobic. The camera circles the women’s table incessantly, and on the periphery of the shot, sitting at the diner’s counter, is Stuntman Mike. The circling becomes predatory, the threat seems pervasive. 

If you’ve seen the film, you know how that plays out: Zoë and Kim play “ship’s mast” on a white 1970 Dodge Challenger (the Vanishing Point car); Stuntman Mike shows up and terrorizes them mercilessly; but then Abernathy, Zoë and Kim chase him down and beat the living shit out of him, likely fatally. In another sharply conceived cinematic maneuver, Tarantino executes a climactic sequence that inverts the diner scene: the women surround Stuntman Mike, abject and pleading, and punch and kick him as he bounces from one of them to another. The camera zips from vantage to vantage within the circle, deliriously tracking the action. All the jump cuts intensify the violence, and they provide another contrast to the diner’s scene’s silky, unbroken shot. The sounds and the impact of the blows verge on slapstick, and our identification with the women makes it a giddily gross good time.

So, an inversion seeks to undo repetition. Certainly, Stuntman Mike’s intent to repeat the car-crash-kill-thrill is undone, and predator becomes prey. But, as is inevitable with Tarantino’s cinema, there are complications, other echoes and patterns to suss out. For instance: as the women stride toward the wrecked Nova, while Stuntman Mike pathetically wails, the camera zooms in on their asses. Bad asses? Nice asses? What’s the right nomenclature? To make sure we can put the shot together with Julia’s first appearance in the film, Abernathy has hiked up her skirt, revealing a lot of leg. Repetition reasserts itself. In an exacerbating circumstance, Harvey Weinstein’s grubby fingerprints are smeared onto the film. Rodriguez’s Troublemaker Studios is credited with production of Grindhouse, but Dimension Films, a Weinstein Brothers company, handled distribution.  

When the film cuts to its end titles, we hear April March’s “Chick Habit” (1995), with its spot-on lyric: “Hang up the chick habit / Hang it up, daddy / Or you’ll never get another fix.” And so on. Even here, where the girl-power vibe feels strongest (cue Abernathy burying a bootheel in Stuntman Mike’s face), there are echoes, patterns. Note how the striding bassline of “Chick Habit” strongly recalls the pulse beating through Nitzsche’s “The Last Race.” Note that March’s song is a cover, of “Laisse tomber les filles,” originally recorded by yé-yé girl France Gall. The song was penned by Serge Gainsbourg, pop provocateur and notorious womanizer. The two collaborated again, releasing “Les Sucettes,” a tune about a teeny-bopper who really likes sucking on lollipops, when Gall was barely 18; the accompanying scandal nearly torpedoed her career. Gall refused to ever sing another song by Gainsbourg, and disavowed her hits.  

Again, that’s all deeply embedded, somewhere in the film’s complicated play of pop irony and double-entendre and the sudden explosions of delight and disgust that intermittently reveal and conceal. Again, you’d have to know your pop history really well to catch up with the complications, and Death Proof moves so fast that there’s always another reference or allusion demanding your attention as the cars growl and the blood spurts. Too many signs to track, too many signals to decipher — that’s the postmodern. But perhaps we have become too glib, assuming that all signs are somehow equivalent. Death Proof insists otherwise. Much has been made of the film’s strange relation to digital filmmaking, of the sort that Rodriguez has made a career out of. Part of Grindhouse’s shtick is its goofball applications of CGI, all the scratches and skips and flaws that the filmmakers lovingly applied. They are digital effects, masquerading as damaged celluloid. Tarantino cut back against that grain, filming as much of the car chase’s maniacal stuntwork in meatspace as he safely could. Purposeful practical filmmaking, for a digitally enhanced cinematic experience, attempting to mimic the ways real film interacts with the physical environment and its manifold histories. Is that clever, or just more cultural clutter?  

Amid all the clutter that crowds the characters onscreen, and their conversations in the film’s field of sound, it can be easy to lose track of the distinctions between appearances and the traces of the real bodies that worked to bring Death Proof to life. Which is why Tarantino’s inclusion of Bell is so crucial. She provides another inversion: Instead of masking her individual presence, doing stunts for other actresses in their clothes and hair (for Lucy Lawless in Xena: Warrior Princess, or for Uma Thurman in Tarantino’s Kill Bill films), Bell is herself, doing what she does best, projecting the technical elements of filmmaking — usually meant to bleed seamlessly into illusion — right onto the surface of the screen. And instead of allowing one group of girls to slip into a repeated pattern, bodies easily exchanged for other bodies, Bell’s presence and its implicit insistence on her particularity (who else can move like she does?) breaks up the superficial logic of cinema’s market for the feminine. She disrupts its chick habit. There’s only one woman like her. 

Jonathan Shaw

#music for films #chick habit #jonathan shaw #dusted magazine #death proof #quentin tarantino #reservoir dogs #grindhouse #Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick & Tich

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Review: Conversations On Love by Natasha Lunn

This has been a highly anticipated read for a lot of my fellow bloggers and I was delighted to be accepted for it. With such a general title, I didn’t really know what to expect but I knew it would make me think and perhaps even teach me something about the broad spectrum of what love is.

Part memoir, part series of interviews, Conversations On Love is Natasha Lunn’s deep dive into love in all its beautiful, messy forms. Input comes from Candice Carty-Williams, Greg Wise, Philippa Perry, Lisa Taddeo, Dolly Alderton, Roxane Gay, Juno Dawson, Alain de Botton, Diana Evans and more. 

The book’s introduction explores Natasha Lunn’s own obsession with constantly longing for something more from her life. It really sets the tone for the whole book as it’s suggested that this longing for what we don’t have is perhaps responsible for all of our dissatisfaction. It is the cause of why we sometimes abandon what we have in search of something else or why we are simply never completely happy.

It also explores where our insatiable desire for romantic love comes from. The innate fear and prejudice that comes with being single is something that many people, particularly women, are desperate to avoid. Of course, this can often lead to unhealthy relationships and intense unhappiness all in the name of not being alone or ‘without love’. The following interviews all talk about the many other forms of love and endeavour to show both Natasha and the reader that not having a romantic relationship does not make you either alone or loveless.

Several sections of the book, particularly Candice Carty-Williams’ interview on the wonders of female friendship and Dolly Alderton’s comments on how friendships change over time, made me really consider why platonic love is considered less significant than romance. If you’re lucky enough to have a set of friends who have seen you through some life-changing or formative years, there is no doubt that this is an incredibly special form of love. The book does a lot to demonstrate how all other types of love can lead to a deeper happiness than the wrong romance ever could.

There are some poignant passages and really beautiful words of wisdom all over the book. These are lessons that we all need to learn and draw from when our relationships and lives get hard. Anyone thinking of ending a relationship should certainly read these parts and think about what how it applies to their own situation. I have no doubt it will give those readers the strength and confidence to make the right decision.

The conversation with Emily Nagoski, a writer and expert on sex and sexuality, made this striking but highly accurate comparison between wanting spontaneity in a sexual relationship to the demands of capitalism. It’s true that capitalism runs on selling satisfaction, which of course requires people to be permanently dissatisfied. Is it possible that this society-produced habit runs over into all aspects of our lives? It’s a fascinating connection and to me, it makes perfect sense!

Author Diana Evans talks about the love she has for her children and how that changes as they grow up. She also talks about how our relationship with her husband inevitably changed when the children arrived. Of course, it’s no secret that the introduction of children into a relationship makes for monumental change but Diana explains that it’s a beautiful one. Seeing your partner as a parent throws a new, gorgeous glow on them and although, your shared life is different, you can fall even deeper in love.

Poorna Bell’s interview focuses on the importance of her relationship with her sister. Poorna’s sister has been her confidante through the most horrific life events and her interview really caused me to think about the power of sibling love. The above quote really resonated with me and of course, I couldn’t help but think of my own relationship with my brother. We have always had a unique bond and I know that there may come a time where he is the only one left who has known my entire life.

There are also many sections that mention how important it is to know who you really are and what you really want before entering into a significant romantic relationship. Losing your sense of self is common when entering a new relationship because you’re trying to be a certain version of what you think your new partner wants. True self-awareness is something that I only achieved through months of therapy but I know it has made me much clearer on what I want from my relationships. The truth is that a shiny, new relationship will never be the answer to deep-rooted self-esteem problems and it takes a lot of people years to realise this, if they ever do.

I loved the philosophical parts of the book too. Some of the people that Natasha interviews go off on little tangents where they talk about how strange and complex humans are. The above thought from poet Lemn Sissay is one that I’ve had myself many times. The fact that everyone in the world has their own thoughts, dreams, fears and problems that we will likely never know about it and yet we’re all united in so many of these very same things is fascinating. 

The final part of the book talks a lot about the concept of loss and what grief really is. When you love someone, the idea of losing them is always terrifying but it’s something that we will all have to endure multiple times throughout our lives. The conversations with actor Greg Wise, who cared for his sister Clare in her final months of a battle with cancer and with Lucy Kalanithi, the widow of When Breath Becomes Air author Paul, are heartbreaking but they’re also full of hope. In these interviews, I could see that their loved ones were very much still with them in everything that they did and that’s an extremely comforting, beautiful idea.

Conversations On Love is about the importance of making and maintaining connections of all kinds. We will never get all of our needs met by one person and we need to be willing to meet some of those needs ourselves. Friends, family, colleagues, work, passions and faith are all valid sources of love that will evolve over time and because of this, we need to be willing to work at our relationships. Natasha Lunn is a fantastic interviewer and this is a wonderful collection of deeply personal stories, sage advice and stunning writing that will make you think and take your breath away on the same page.

#conversations on love #natasha lunn #non-fiction #love #book review #review #books #bookworm

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Good morning! Whats your favorite show/movie? Who are your favorite characters? Why do you like them so much? Also!! Did you have a good sleep?

Okay so I was a film major for a while, and I have opinions. 

Penny Dreadful 

I love this show. Like, so much. I adore it. I can not get enough of that show. Just all of the imagery, and the fantastic writing and acting. The episode intro alone is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Eva Green is a goddess and I love everything she’s been in. The take on classic horror stories is So Good, and it actually became the inspiration for my Gay Frankenstein story! (Started as a stitch AU, and then went completely OC after I had Ideas) but the show itself is so intimate? I think it’s largely that the period they’re in, everything was so repressed and restricted. So when the characters break out of those moments, it’s more meaningful. And the love-hate relationship between Ms. Ives and Malcolm in season one? Exquisite.  I could literally write essay’s about this show, but I’ll restrain myself and just say: it’s the best ensemble show I’ve ever seen. The characters come together, but they also each have their own distinct lives that sometimes intersect, but in s2 especially, are quite separate. They are constant with one another like ensemble shows usually portray. Also gothic horror and romance? My absolute favorite. 

Anything by Guillermo del Toro

This man Owns My Entire Soul. I’m not even joking, everything he writes and directs is perfection. Crimson Peak is probably my favorite (I have a stitch AU for this too ;) ) because again, Gothic horror and romance. I’m a slut for that shit. Also Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain? Delightful casting. I think it’s obvious by now that I love tragic relationships, so their dynamic is *chef’s kiss* amazing. they’re so damaged. And this quote right here is one of the BEST things I’ve ever read: 

“But the horror... The horror was for love. The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all.”

Engrave that on my headstone, please?? I’ve got a sort-of Dorian Gray AU (it’s delightful) that’s basically built on this entire premise. Mitch makes the mistake of falling in love with Stiles, and does many terrible things because of it. Mostly to himself, at least. 

I think my love of Crimson Peak is very closely tied with The Shape of Water. another beautiful movie, I could wax poetic about this forever. it was beautifully written, and such an artistic movie. I love the way it was filmed, and the set design, and all of the subtle imagery. Such as Elisa’s apartment being cast in cooler tones, it always felt very damp and had evidence of water damage, compared to Giles’, a mirror image of her own, in more warm tones. This is another one I could (and have) write essays about. There is so much packed into this movie, from the themes on toxic masculinity and entitlement, to the conversation on queerness and race and disability, and how all the various relationships are portrayed. Like. there is so much to pick apart in this movie. 

Aside from that, ofc Hell Boy deserves an honorable mention because i grew up on those movies. I’m pretty sure the Golden Army especially is responsible for who I am today, given all the lore on the fae in that universe. Wow, that explains so much about me... Also one of my first WoW characters was an elf named Nuala xD I still have her, too, and it’s been like 12 years lol

Near-Future Sci-Fi

Sci-fi is one of my favorite genres, I am a huge nerd for theoretical and astrophysics. But my favorite kind of sci-fi is the stuff that still takes place on Earth, rather than epic battles in space. Ex Machina and Annihilation are at the top of that list. Alex Garland is another writer/director that I love. He has the same kind of approach as del Toro, where he puts a lot of fine details into his work. And I love that it’s very cerebral; there are so many layers to Ex Machina. My English 101 prof actually refused to analyze it in class when I suggested it to him, because he didn’t think my class could. Basically handle? Dissecting that movie? Because a lot of it comes across as very surface level, but in some cases when you look deeper, it’s actually suggesting the opposite of what you might think at first glance. (And he was right, my fellow students were awful. I miss that class though, it was one of my favorites T_T Mr. Ryder was an awesome dude and super chill.) 

Morgan is another good example. As you can see, I fucking love androids lol. Which brings me to another of my all time favorite movies: Cloud Atlas. I could literally watch this movie endlessly, I love it so much. The acting, the writing, the filming, all of it is top notch. And one thing they did in the movie that didn’t come across in the book, was reusing the same actors through the different eras in the book. That was just so neat, because it really encapsulates how connected these souls are, as we follow the threads of their story throughout time. If you haven’t seen the movie, I can’t recommend it enough.  

Another one I always think of alongside Cloud Atlas, even though they aren’t related at all, is Predestination. It’s a great movie that explores the idea of fate and free will in a really clever way, utilizes time travel in a very organized way that I think was neat (think Umbrella Academy. They even use briefcases! As you can see, I love sci-fi bureaucracy, it’s fun. In fact The Bureau is another movie I enjoyed) and the main character is actually, explicitly trans, which was cool. You basically get to see the entire story of their life, and I don’t want to spoil anything, but it’s just. So good. Mindfuckery galore. 

Shoot, and I almost forgot! Arrival! That is one of the best movies, and another one I could watch nonstop. It focuses on mathematics and linguistics and I swear to god, I almost altered my entire college course because of this movie. Amy Addams is brilliant, Jeremy Renner is so soft and nerdy, and again, it has an amazing take on time travel. I am very particular about how time is handled in Sci-fi, and this portrayal was one of my favorite. (Most of my physics studies have been dedicated to the theory of time, so like. Strong Opinions.) 

Fantasy

Stardust! It wasn’t until Good Omens can out that I realized Neil Gaiman is responsible for most of the stories I loved as a kid lol, and I had no idea he wrote stardust! But that is such a beautiful movie (I have a Stardust AU lol) and it’s definitely one of my comfort movies. Captain Shakespeare is one of the best characters ever, bless Robert de Niro. I would die for him. Fun fact, i had no idea Ipswitch was a real place until like. 2019. I 100% thought it was made up for the movie 😂

Alongside Stardust, I’ve always loved The Golden Compass. It’s fantasy, but also with that old-timey steampunk science feel, which is so fun and surprisingly difficult to find! 

Mortal Engines also has the same kind of feel, and it was such an epic movie in every sense of the word. I’m a little sad that after all the work that went into it, it didn’t get a dedicated following or fan base, because I feel there’s so much potential in it. But at the same time, fandom tends to gather around media that has plenty of flaws for us to repair with gold, and there wasn’t much room for that in Mortal Engines. 

I’m going to put Jupiter Ascending here even though it technically fits with the sci-fi, because that section is long as fuck and also this movie has such a fantastic feel. Mila Kunis? beautiful. The CGI? beautiful. Eddy Redmayne? One of the best villain portrayals i’ve ever seen. The whole oedipal vibe he had was immaculate, as was their portrayal of reincarnation, and just. The world building. GOD. I get so weak for through world building. Also the fkn intergalactic bureaucracy when they’re basically at the space DMV? One of my all time favorite scenes in movie history. 

Horror

I have very little room in my life for horror. As I said, I have strong movie opinions, especially when it comes to horror movies. I don’t like how most of them rely on cheap jump scares and overused gore and gratuitous rape scenes, instead of, y'know, actual good writing. 

Which is EXACTLY why I adore It: Chapter 1 & 2. It has none of those things, but still manages to be so terrifying. They are my favorite horror movies, and I’m saying this as someone who has genuine childhood trauma bc of the novel. Like. I couldn’t shower/take baths alone until I was almost 10 T_T When I was 6-7 and saw kids play by storm drains, I would run over screaming about how Pennywise was going to get them. Like, I had issues man. I was terrified to see the first one, and wouldn’t go until I could go with my best friend after she had already seen it, so she could warn me when something scary was about to happen 😂

And, one of my favorite aspects of the movie, and the thing that gave me Mad Respect for Any Muschietti? The way he filmed Bev and her father. They have a character who is literally being molested, but they never once have to show it. And yet their interactions are still so viscerally upsetting to watch. Sexploitation puts me off of most horror, and the fact that Muschietti doesn’t use it here, even when it would be actually somewhat justified? *chef’s kiss*. I love him. 

I love horror as a concept, I’m just really picky about it because I expect the writing to be good. I don’t like short cuts. But in a lot of cases, even if I don’t enjoy the movie itself, I love to watch analysis videos on youtube! I love to see the philosophy and symbolism in different horror movies, even if i don’t like to watch the movies themselves. It’s a fun hobby. 

Misc. 

Then in general, some other stuff I love in no particular order:

The Internship (Bless Dylan, Stuart is such a bitch and I love him) 

American Assassin (ofc. The writing itself is eh, but Mitch is my man) 

Dylan’s episode of Weird City. (I actually have a lot of feelings about this one. Jordan Peele is another amazing writer/director, I really need to catch up on his works.) 

Dorian Gray (*chef’s kiss*)

Rogue One (Makes me cry every time) 

WARCRAFT (Obviously this is a fav. It made me so happy, words cannot express.) 

Coraline and most other stop motion animation. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for that. 

Literally anything associated with Tim Burton. Fun fact, when I was 12 and in middle school, I planned to decorate my future house inspired by tim burton. Like, i had Plans. 

Most adaptations of Alice in Wonderland!

So! this got long as fuck! But you said you like that kind of thing lol 😂 I had kinda Eh sleep since I was up so late lmao, and I kept waking up (as usual, rip). And I’m so mad I go up for nothing! The dude I was supposed to show my listing to never showed, and is refusing to answer my calls >_> It’s been 2 hours now, and I still haven’t heard from him. But whatever, I already have a full price cash offer on the house so who cares. And that means I can play WoW all day, now! 

[paullicino]

A Year like No Other

(Taken from, and funded by, my Patreon.)

A lot of people are now calling 2020 the lost year and it’s not difficult to see why. Most of us have never had a year remotely like this last one. For some of us, the calendar began to blur, weeks and even months merging into one another in a sickly, uneasy timelessness that had us double-checking what day it was. For others, there was stress after stress, as we worried about our health, our jobs, our governments, even our countries. And the two experiences certainly weren’t mutually exclusive.

This month, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on that, acknowledging both the struggles and the successes. It’s sometimes been a difficult twelve months for me, but it certainly hasn’t been without its inspirations and its wonderful moments. I wanted to share some of those, to talk about a few ideas and to spotlight the things that helped me through 2020. I hope it helps. I figure it’s as good a time as any for us to be sharing our blessings.

And I think that first involves celebrating you. I think that’s very important. This past month, a year on from the first COVID cases being widely-reported (and also the first reports of cases where I live), I’ve read a lot by people asking questions like “What difference does it all make?” or “What is the point?” when they look back. They ask these questions when they think about things like their life changes, their mask wearing, their activism or their voting. They see an ongoing pandemic, social unrest or political inaction and wonder why they should make an effort while others are lax or apathetic. It’s natural to wonder that. I think anyone can understand the fatigue, the cynicism and the disillusionment.

But I also, get this, have a Hot Take on this that says that the choices you made were vital. When you chose to wear a mask, to socially distance, to restrict when and where you went, you actively helped fight a deadly virus. You may well have saved lives, saved someone’s health, protected livelihoods by acting as you have. When you voted, shared a cause on social media, attended a protest or talked to even one person about helping others or making the world better, you contributed to improving your society.

In fact, I have capital-O Opinions about these things so strap in and hold on, 'cause here they come.

I’ve been very fortunate to share much of my work on the internet over the years, which is a very particular medium, and sometimes that work reaches a lot of people. My experience of this is that you never know who it truly reaches, or when, or even how, and most of the time you never find out. There’s certainly an immediacy to things where you can see, pretty quickly, what the instant reaction to something is, but that’s fleeting. It doesn’t last and, within moments, there’s already something newer demanding more responses.

In time, the true consequences of things shake out. People get back to you with their more considered opinions. Sometimes months, even years after you do something, you find out from someone what they thought about it, how it affected them or even how they were changed. It can take time for a person to realise how they were changed, too, and we rarely have perspective in the moment. Sometimes it takes us years to appreciate the choices and the actions of our friends, our family members, our teachers, our communities. People have contacted me about work I’ve done long, long after I first shared it, and many of those people have come from places that I never expected, have found my work in ways that I never expected. I think, now, that consequence never travels in straight lines. That cause and effect are strangers rather than siblings.

And so I hope it’s clear that the ramble you have so kindly indulged is meant to say that we don’t always notice the good things that we have done. We ask “What difference does it all make?” or “What is the point?” because we don’t get those answers immediately, or for a long time, or sometimes ever. But not knowing when we saved someone’s health, when we changed someone’s mind, even when we inspired someone’s actions doesn’t mean that we aren’t making a difference. There is a point to our life changes, our mask wearing, our activism and our voting.

I hope you can celebrate yourself and give yourself credit for the choices you made this last year. They have mattered.

I also want to thank you so, so much for supporting my Patreon. I know many of you have been with me since day one, for more than two years now, and I’m so grateful for both your capital-P Patronage and your presence, whether that’s in our Discord community or through your comments and your correspondence. That’s made a big difference to me this past year, helping me pay rent and put food on the table during a time when so much has been uncertain. 2020 was to be my first full year back in Canada after a complicated, circuitous absence and I had half-finished projects, freelance ideas and half a dozen tabs open in my browser with writing residencies to apply for, everywhere from nearby Richmond to the Yukon Territory. I hoped this would be a year that I’d both finally see more of Canada and be able to write about it, too. A lot of things didn’t quite work out, freelance budgets were slashed, work timelines lengthened and I became ill, but as I look back now I’m thankful for a great deal.

I still managed to fulfill some ambitions. At the start of 2020 I’d been finishing up some work on Zafir, which had been an absolute delight, and I was not far off starting spring work on Magical Kitties Save the Day. The close of the year saw me resuming work on a Feng Shui expansion and each of these projects has been really good for me. All of them gave me a chance to work with skillful, progressive people and to become a better designer.

As spring continued, I decided to make a one-off video about board gaming and mental health during a pandemic, partly to offer a practical and helpful introduction to playing board games online and looking after yourself, but also because I wanted people to feel that their actions during a pandemic mattered. Among the things I referenced and linked to, I’ve continued dipping into Headspace from time to time, and this helpful list of brief work-from-home tips has been further updated. I’ve also since further investigated the terrific work of Dr. Ali Mattu, a psychologist and therapist who has produced a lot of material over the last year focusing on how to handle the pandemic.

With the summer came widespread protests across the United States, which highlighted the oppressive and fatal consequences of systemic racism and the urgent need for police reform, both issues not exclusive to the that country (for me, the events echoed the protests that began on my Tottenham street in  2011 and the violent response to 2010’s student protests). I shared a list of resources that I thought were important at the time, but there also followed a wide call for white people to make more effort to both seek out, engage with and promote motion pictures made by Black Americans, or which reflected the Black experience. It wasn’t a big ask and, as well as watching films that had been recommended many times over (such as Us, Da 5 Bloods, The Last Black Man in San Francisco and the excellent BlacKkKlansman, which was the best film I saw last year), I also tried to diversify my social media feeds more. Instagram was host to a growing discussion about how the platform seems to (deliberately or accidentally) divide people by race, something which I think may still be the case, and several nature photographers I follow promoted Tsalani Lassiter and Rae Wynn-Grant. To my delight, among many of the things they speak about and share, both are experts on bears.

I thought it was important to look more closely at Canada, too, so I made more of an effort to follow Indigenous issues and have begun reading Indigenous news sources, including First Nations Drum, Windspeaker and the Nunatsiaq News. CBC runs its own Indigenous news section, much of which is written by Indigenous reporters.A lot of freelance and writing opportunities dried up as the pandemic contracted the world’s economies, but in 2020 I was able to start writing for VICE, working with my old colleague and friend Rob Zacny, and interview the world’s most famous board game designer. VICE has written a lot of relevant, helpful and informative material about current events over the last year and I was heartened by the words of a fellow VICE writer, Gita Jackson, who concluded her essay about living in The Cool Zone of historical possibility by reminding us how “In The Cool Zone, we can also rediscover hope.”

This year I was also inspired by Faith Fundal’s widely-shared CBC podcast They and Us, which was an excellent (and still rare) example of a mainstream media exploration of gender identity and trans rights, and really pleased for my friend Brendan, who launched his podcast project Hey, Lesson! in the autumn. Of course, I can’t mention podcasts without again reminding you of my love for the spooky, supernatural Death by Monsters, which I got to host last winter. It was my dear friend Paula, one of its presenters, who recommended that I start streaming regularly, something I now do here. She was absolutely right when she talked about how positive and social an experience it can be. It’s been a real joy, as well as added some important structure and schedule to my week.

And, of course, the arrival of my first full year as a Canadian resident meant that I got to celebrate my first anniversary as a Canadian resident. I paid my taxes! Let me tell you, it was a slightly confusing and esoteric experience, but it was also one of those mundane, humdrum things that confirms and validates you. Though I didn’t get to throw a party for that anniversary, I did get to enjoy my birthday celebrations before the pandemic really hit. My partner surprised me with a trip to the not-quite-remote-but-definitely-secluded Gibsons, on the quiet British Columbia coastline, which was the best birthday gift anyone’s ever given me and a chance to see more of the rocky, forested, mountainous fringes of a place I’ve fallen so in love with. Before Vancouver closed down, I was also able to collect more than a dozen people (representing five different nationalities!) together in a brewery and then a restaurant, something that now feels like an extremely alien concept. For some of us in our friend group, it’s the last memory we have of coming together and being in the same space. That gives it a pronounced poignancy, a bittersweet quality.

Finally, I’d like to share two more things with you. The first is particularly peculiar and personal: I found my wizard. After drafting this piece last summer, then sharing it in the autumn, a few suggestions led me not straight to my goal, but ultimately down the right path. The game that I was thinking of is called The Tomb of Drewan and I very much doubt that anyone, anywhere is likely to have heard of it. It’s thirty-nine years old this year and it was distributed by a publisher in Berkshire, not so far from where I grew up. It only took me three and a half decades to see what it looks like in colour.

Tracking down this game was a softly satisfying experience. It’s exactly as I remember. Everything makes sense. Reading through the manual reminds me of how difficult it was to try and understand this thing through a monochrome monitor, though I also think it was likely way too complex for the child I was. I don’t think I ever got anywhere. I don’t think I ever could have. But I at least know that my memory has served me well. That wizard was as real as could be.

The second thing is something about my own missing year, something that has also resurfaced in my memory as we’ve plodded through 2020. In the long, dark winter months, in the unstructured days and the collapsing weeks, I’ve been transported back to the early 2000s and to a time that now feels very familiar. Here's what that was like.

I’d been writing professionally for a few years, comfortably and competently, while still living in suburban Hampshire. As publishing moved from magazines to the internet, my work began to dry up, my options narrowed and, honestly, I didn’t respond to this shift by producing my best material. I also didn’t know what to do about all this change, becoming directionless and unsure. I didn’t yet have the confidence to take some of the larger steps that I eventually did and, instead, somewhere in all that I began to move backward. I struggled to find work. I slept the strangest hours. I was frustrated, but it also didn’t matter nearly enough to me because also, I was no longer motivated.

I have memories of waking up at all kinds of times of day and night. Of not knowing where to go. Of running out of things to take photographs of, after looking at the same local sights over and over. It was like living at the bottom of a well, with a tiny, distant view of the world and no handholds for climbing out. I wasted time because I had time to waste, something I deeply regret now, and I became crabby, unhealthy and inward-looking. I was far from my best.

The last time I was in England I found myself going through old things from the early 2000s. I found many of the books I read, a great deal of writing I’d done and, in particular, a lot of my old RPG notes. A lot of old RPG notes, an absolute wealth of work that far exceeded anything I’d done outside of any work except that on Paranoia. I’ve written before about my roleplaying past and how I have fond memories of it, but I had completely forgotten exactly how much material I had collected together. I had so many biographies that I’d indexed them. I was starting to form an encyclopedia of everything I’d done, just so that I could find and reference the things I needed.

I had also read so much, which both prepared me for my degree and began to make me a better writer. I’d mostly stopped reading in my mid-teens and this was a new spurt of interest that led me toward many of the tastes and preferences I have today. I began to develop my fiction and non-fiction writing styles and I developed an interest in non-fiction that had paid me back a thousandfold.

I was building a new me.

I see now that I didn’t lose a year. I was certainly caught in a swamp of sorts, struggling to make progress, but the experiences I had during that time still mattered. They didn’t matter right away and they didn’t matter in any way that seemed at all obvious to me at the time, but they helped to shape me and to guide me, to show me both what I wanted and, certainly, what I didn’t want. If I had the chance to repeat it, I’d for sure live that missing year differently. I’d live it so much better, so much wiser and so much more fruitfully, but I can at least see it now as not the waste I long thought that it was.

And so I hope it’s clear that the ramble you have so kindly indulged is meant to say that, some time in the future, you may look back on 2020 and find your successes, your satisfaction, even your strength. I don’t mean to disregard anyone’s suffering or sadness, your feelings are valid and the pain, loss and difficulties you’ve encountered are very real. I don’t much like people who dismiss the feelings of others and I apologise if I’ve been too glib. I think a past version of myself needed to read something like this, a long time ago, and I only want to give them, you or anyone who might see this, hope for the future, a few reasons to be optimistic and, very importantly, a reminder to celebrate yourself.

Happy 2021. You made a difference. You always have.

#COVID-19 #2020 #Canada #writing #hope #you made a difference #Patreon #A CHAOS SPELL

[mobius-prime]

186. Sonic the Hedgehog #118

Oh boy, we've got a big one on our hands, guys! First of all, it's worth noting that for the next seven issues the comic kind of had this "magazine cover" gimmick going on, where every story was described on the cover in a humorous, pseudo-tabloid manner. And second, every story in this issue is highly significant, two of which have a huge impact on future storylines, and one of which resolves a problem I've been salty about for a while. So without further ado, let's jump right in!

Robotnik's Return

Writer: Benny Lee Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

“Benny”, I've noticed, as a writer has an unfortunate tendency to solve any conflicts in the plot extremely suddenly, often in a very deus-ex-machina manner that contrasts with the "long game" approach that Penders usually takes toward his stories. For those who don’t know - I was unaware as well at first - “Benny Lee” is a pseudonym that Karl Bollers took on for some of his stories after receiving criticism for his writing. (However, I’m listing him as a separate writer just for the sake of consistency, as clearly he didn’t want certain stories associated with his real name.) For whatever reason, his stories as “Benny” seem to be choppy and full of fix-it gimmicks that, instead of gently guiding the story along a natural path, blindfold it and shove it violently into the next plot point without mercy. This story is no different. Eggman and Snively have managed to finally restore themselves to new mechanical bodies without any pesky Mobian interference, and what's worse, these bodies are free of the virus that caused Eggman's data on the location of Knothole to be corrupted. He's delighted at the opportunity to find its location at last and launch an attack, but, you guessed it, right at that moment the Freedom Fighters burst in, having tracked their location.

Suddenly, the forms of Eggman, Snively, Sonic, and Tails all begin to dissolve, with Nicole confirming to a shocked Sally that they've been unexpectedly teleported somewhere else. But where might that be?

Yes, that's right, they've been randomly abducted by aliens! Now, I have to point something out about this page. You can see that at first, the aliens are speaking in some kind of alien language before they presumably switch on a translator or something. Except, that's not actually just "some alien language"! Look closely at it. Notice anything unusual? Anyone who's ever been to Disneyland in California should recognize exactly what they're looking at - the symbols used in the aliens' speech are in fact the same symbols used in the carvings on the walls of the Disneyland Indiana Jones attraction! I recognized it immediately - I grew up going to Disneyland my entire life, and it's still my favorite theme park in the world. So, I took the liberty of translating exactly what these aliens were saying using one of the old decoder cards that they used to hand out in line! For anyone hoping for some intelligible speech, you're going to be disappointed - it looks like they might have just keysmashed on a keyboard and then "translated" the results. The first dialogue bubble says, approximately, "Denite idlothxo vhry muph i," and the second one "Viuyhkvqj efsqr." I say "approximately" because the letterer appears to have taken a few liberties with the symbols, which don’t all exactly match the ones on the decoder card. It's honestly a very strange but funny homage to the ride - clearly, whoever was responsible for the symbols being included is a fan of Disneyland, and as a fellow fan, it gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside to see these symbols in the place I would have least expected them.

Anyway, the aliens explain that they've beamed the four of them up here for a little experiment. They use their technology to transform Sonic and Tails into mecha bodies, while transforming Eggman and Snively back into their flesh and blood forms, and inform the four that they will be made to battle each other, and the winners will be reverted to their original forms while the losers will be made to keep their new forms permanently. This seems like a rather pointless experiment, if you ask me - I mean, what is even being gained from this apart from some perverse entertainment? - but the four test subjects are beamed into a holographic recreation of Robotropolis and begin to battle it out. Eggman and Snively immediately plop themselves into a robotic mech, but Mecha Sonic and Mecha Tails easily blow it apart. Eggman runs for his life and Mecha Sonic gives chase, while Mecha Tails guards the terrified Snively to ensure he doesn't run for it. Mecha Sonic easily spots his quarry with infrared vision and shoots a net to capture him, winning the "game."

The aliens keep their word and return everyone to the planet, with Sonic and Tails back in their normal bodies, and Eggman and Snively now reverted back to an organic form. Sonic and Tails return to Knothole where they explain everything that happened to the others, and while they're a little skeptical they ultimately accept the story, though they're nervous that since Eggman is now flesh and blood once more, it will be harder to track him. You see what I mean about this being a deus-ex-machina resolution to the Robo-Robotnik problem? It's good for the story to have him be an organic being once more, so that he has to work harder to protect himself from harm instead of weathering explosions and the destruction of his various bodies like they're mere inconveniences, but just… random aliens being the cause? I dunno, man. It is quite interesting, however, to see Eggman's reaction to being transformed back into an organic being, as certainly while in his own zone he existed for the first forty-odd years of his life as an ordinary Overlander, he's remained a robotic being for decades by now. That will be hard for him to adjust…

Heart to Heart

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Jason Jensen

Ever since Eggman's capture of the Secret Service and their subsequent infection with his nanites, the remaining members have been in treatment, with Dr. Quack unable to find a proper cure. However, with Rotor's help, a fix involving aggressive nanomachines sent in to attack the nanites has been developed, and everyone is finally cured. Sally welcomes Geoffrey's return to active duty as the leader of the Secret Service, but he seems dejected and uninterested as she walks away. Hershey asks him what's wrong, and he explains his actions up till now - that as a boy, he always greatly admired his father's sense of duty and sought to emulate it, which evolved into his no-nonsense, humorless personality of today. However, he was always jealous of Sonic and wanted to prove that he was better than him, which was why he convinced Elias to accept his "help" in ruling the kingdom in the king's stead.

Now this is the Geoffrey I like. Up till now, he's been alternately somewhat charming and likeable, and a complete jerkwad. This is the turning point where he goes from a self-centered jackass, to a genuinely focused individual who actually respects those around him, including his rivals. It seems that some time in isolated treatment has given him lots of time to reflect on himself, and in the end Hershey brings out the best in him. With his resolve renewed, he approaches the king and asks for permission to take some leave from his position and go in search of the missing Elias, which the king approves, so together he and Hershey leave to find him. This is honestly the best ending to Geoffrey's asshattery that we could get, because not only does it make him a much more likeable character, but it actually pairs him up with someone who is, well, his age, instead of him creepily pursuing a fifteen-year-old as his beau instead. Hooray for character development!

Ultimate Power (Part Four)

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Dawn Best Colors: Jason Jensen

We've reached the ultimate confrontation - the culmination of everything the Green Knuckles Saga has been building up to this entire time. Knuckles faces off against Mammoth Mogul, his finger on the button ready to disconnect Dimitri from life support. Mogul reveals that he was able to obtain his own version of the Chaos Syphon due to having actually met Dimitri once before, when he was still an ordinary scientist developing the device. Despite the danger, Knuckles refuses to listen to Mogul, determined to save Dimitri while preventing Mogul from taking his powers, and begins to pulse with light which reflects across the whole city, drawing Remington, Julie-Su and the Chaotix, and Lien-Da to his location like a beacon. Mogul, furious that Knuckles is refusing to submit, hits the button to disconnect Dimitri's life support, and Knuckles immediately leaps into action to prevent him from dying.

…okay, Penders, a word of advice, writer to writer. If you ever make your character say "Not if I go into overload mode," you have just ensured that no one will take him seriously and will immediately begin to meme the hell out of it. Also, when the hell did Mogul find the time and energy to build an entire Chaos Syphon room in the middle of Echidnaopolis? Knuckles, in his efforts to save Dimitri's life while resisting the Chaos Syphon, begins to expend energy at a rate he's never reached before, bathing the entire city in his green light. This rapid release of energy causes Mogul's facility to explode violently, leaving a crater in the city where the building once stood. Everyone rushes to the site of the blast, worried about what they might find.

Oh, did you think this very important main character was going to survive this altercation? Well think again, 'cause Knuckles is deader than dead! While all of this is going on, a rededication ceremony is happening across the city, to honor the return of the island's inhabitants to their homes after the firing of the Quantum Beam. The speaker is confused about Knuckles' absence for such an important gathering, but Lara-Le nervously tries to insist that he probably has a good reason. I'm sure she didn't expect the reason to be that he's really, super duper dead!

Yeah, I wasn't joking, guys. For those of you who hadn't read the comic up till now and were unaware, yes, Knuckles has actually died in this issue. There's no mistake, no trickery. He's gone. And that's the note that this issue decides to end on! I guess we have to say goodbye to Knuckles as one of the comic's main characters, because there's no way a comic book would ever temporarily kill someone off only to bring them back a few issues later…

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 118 #writer: benny lee #writer: karl bollers #writer: ken penders #pencils: steven butler #pencils: ron lim #pencils: dawn best #colors: jason jensen

[palmerasenfuego]

ANTIRECOMMENDATION: Surveys (2016), Natasha Stagg

A few weeks ago, before my latest Twitter break, I read an article by Natasha Stagg shared on my timeline, written in response to an edition of Rob Horning's newsletter, itself a response to a somewhat optimistic article about the recently-dubbed "hustle economy." The ideas and problems discussed are of great interest to me, as an artist and writer grappling with shifts in the means of distribution resulting from the commercialization of the internet. After finding myself confused by some of the points Stagg seemed to be making, I half-attentively read a few of the other articles she's written for the website, looked at her Twitter, and still felt unconvinced either way about Stagg's status as an Apparatchik of Cool. I guess that meant it was time I read Stagg's 2016 novel Surveys, which had existed in my mind for a few years as a novel "about" internet fame that I ought to read.

It's a little hard to criticize Stagg's novel, since it is so prescient about the nature of internet fame and the then-nascent influencer boom. The edition I checked out from my library features a blurb from Hari Nef, for everyone not already won over by the little semiotext(e) <e> on the cover. Conventionally, in a book review or whatever you want to call this, here is where descriptions of the novel's elements would appear: Colleen is a 23-year-old marketing functionary who performs customer surveys at a mall in Tuscon. She does typically 23-year-old things, such as feel unenthusiastic about her job, have unfulfilling sex, log on to the Internet, do drugs and drink. After some time with the survey participants and her co-workers, Colleen is suddenly afforded a shot at fame on the back of a whirlwind romance with fellow figure of vague internet fame Jim. Road novel as tour movie ensues, complete with barely legal companions, a coked-out manager, infidelity and, like, so many famous people. Then Colleen goes home again, of course, and, of course, home isn’t quite like she remembered it, and in the end I can't tell if she learned anything or if I did or what all the fuss is about.

I wanted to like this novel. Stagg's writing is often charming and evocative, and she is clearly intelligent. My frustration always only stems from feeling like I'm missing something, or from a sense that the writer hasn't committed fully to a project I think worth interrogating. The first chapters of Surveys were frustrating the way I want the opening of a novel to be—Colleen is not always 'likeable,' nor is her freeze-dried late modernist ennui, but something seems to be at work in the space between her coworkers, the survey participants, and her self. Passages dwell at delightful length on scenes in the mall, or on Colleen's reflections, the language enjoying space to feel out the ideas the novel is ostensibly interested in: "fame, jealousy, and statistics," by the author's account. Foolishly, I thought this meant that Stagg enjoys writing literary narrative. But once Colleen falls in love with Jim, and the A-plot gathers momentum, almost everything that seemed rewarding faded, with Stagg apparently content to let her story of fame won and sort of maybe lost present a series of cliches. As Colleen and Jim's relationship unravels, so too does Stagg's interest in writing a novel. Many ideas that could be fleshed out and explored narratively are reduced to passing asides, expressed by characters in a thought experiment committed to only halfway, its designer too eager to demonstrate how clever or astute her perception is. Which is not to say that Stagg isn’t perceptive and insightful; she just seems more concerned with Making Her Point than with writing a novel.

The closest thing to a consistent aesthetic choice is the decision to exclude any mention or explanation of what it is Colleen posts about online exactly, surely as an ironic comment on how online avatars depend as much on what’s omitted as what’s included, but this choice leaves the plot maddeningly opaque. Not because it’s hard to follow (on the contrary, I think it's too straightforward--personal taste), but it’s difficult to see (or care) why Jim and Colleen like each other, or why everyone in the world recognizes them. They’re famous because Stagg needs the story to be about fame, and in love because Stagg needs fame to parallel love, but almost none of the novel bears on this. Stagg actually doesn’t seem all that interested in what fame is or how it affects a person’s sense of self, because Colleen arrives precompromised, perfectly suited to seize a shot at unearned fame, always already a social climber. She may be unambitious at her IRL mall job, but only because by the beginning of the novel she’s ‘already rejected’ any ‘addiction to mediocrity.’ (That she's the sole survivor of conjoined twins is similarly incidental, and too easy to overlook—I didn't catch this detail on first reading, and realizing that this was the reason Colleen only has one good eye did absolutely nothing to change my understanding of the themes Stagg purports to be interested in.) It’s possible to read all this as a comment on like, entrepreneurial neoliberal ideology in the networked social media environment, but that’s something Semiotext(e) readers are liable to think anyway in 2016, not something Stagg does a particularly good job of elucidating. "Statistics" and market research are obviously something she wants the novel to deal with, but these aren't explored in any meaningful way either; aside from a facile kind of pointing at, the implications of Colleen administering surveys for the Corporation at the start of the novel are completely left behind. Those passages alone would make for an interesting 30-40 page short story I think, but they're grafted onto a novel of parroted ideas that commits the grievous sin (to my thinking) of conflating cinematic narrative with literary narrative: page after page relaying scenes, images, actions, speech, and tight protagonist narration devoid of any stylistic flourishes or even interesting plot points. The back half is like reading the novelization of Almost Famous, a movie similarly too enamored with itself to be insightful.

Rather than run myself ragged ranting, I will reiterate, I'm only so frustrated because I want to like Stagg. But Surveys is what I'd imagine if someone undertook the insane task of writing a much better, more seriously engaged and longer novel, destroyed it, and then wrote a second novel as a trailer for the original novel.

Or worse, if someone wrote a novel to put on their resume.

#antirecommendation

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Word by Word | 02

Genre: Fluff, Romance, University/College AU

Pairing: Graphic design student!Bangchan x Literature student!/Irish!Reader

Warnings: Swearing (but what can you honestly expect when dealing with an Irish person?)

Summary: An ancient saying dictates that polar opposites attract, which is proven once again once an introverted whiskey-loving aspiring author meets a fairly extroverted boy initially proposing to survive the loneliness brought about by academic administration together.

But soon the meaning of ‘together’ expands as personal creative worlds are explored and understanding stirs up hidden emotions.

Masterlist

Previous part / Next Part

In life, nothing goes according to plan for Fate is cruel and God is dead. There is no other explanation for the amalgamation of desperately ironical chaos which follows in the wake of the checked-in transport card going to the steady place by the window all the way in the back of the bus while blasting music. To be more precise, it comes in the form of bleached locks also lost in songs, cruel enough due to the circumstances to unapologetically settle down on the empty seat that cannot be occupied fast enough by throwing the habitual laptop bag onto it.

Oh, for feck’s sake. Alright, lass, just keep calm and read yer book. Just don’t look and... fuck, he’s looking. Calm down and fake ignorance!

Out of the corner of the eyes, a glint is beheld of jasper eyes staring interestedly at the cover of the current read, clearly trying to make out the title partially obscured by cramped with timid fingers while every thought is overrun by the scent of the widespread ocean lapping at the shore mixed with a light hint of coconut. However, impossible as it might seem, a steady yet vague focus is kept on the letters shaping the memoir of a bookseller and good faith is put in the general universally acknowledged fact that earbuds in is equal to the meaning of “leave me alone”.

Though some, like the fairly unwelcome stranger, never grasp this simple meaning.

‘Good book?’ AirPods are taken out in favour of understanding while patiently awaiting a response, continuing to gaze at a rapidly becoming distracted soul heavily debating whether or not to reply.

‘Sorry, what?’ Despite still sounding annoyed, the level of irritation is considerably lower than when speaking to another person asking the same thing and that is quite a curious occurrence for strangers are kept at bay at all costs and by any necessary means such as music.

Songs which are weirdly put to rest without hesitation. 

At seeing uncomprehending brows knit together, fortunately failing to see a part of the confusion is also turned inward at a fluttering heart and discombobulated thoughts, platinum strands elaborate on the initial inquiry. A long finger rises and points at the cover of the novel in a manner that should not be deemed as cute yet is. ‘The book. Is it any good?’

Neither should speech come as difficult as it does, stuttering normally entirely out of the question as well as the want to expand on the curt reply. ‘Uhm, y- yeah. It is.’

The response evokes a bubbly giggle which miraculously turns up the temperature in the vehicle on its way to the university, surely painting cheeks with a roseate flush. Judging by the mesmerized sparkling irises staring back in unwavering contact, they do. ‘That’s not a whole lot to go on. What’s it about?’

How can I act like this? Get yersel’ together, Y/N, and act as you would during an event. Be a cold professional.

A splendid plan that is always immediately resorted to in similar situations because it offers a sufficient amount of social protection. Moreover, it nullifies any further advances pursuing the conversation as it employs the harshest coldness of politeness.

That is the case under normal circumstances. 

But not now.

Now there is nothing but an oddly enchanted girl stammering while explaining the premise and cause of the diary written by a Scottish bookseller, gradually becoming more and more flustered with every word that flows from lips eager to engage. In the meanwhile, focus is kept steadily on the friendly handsome face intently listening with genuine interest, clearly doing so in delight.

‘So, uhm, tha- that’s the p- pre- premise.’

‘Huh, sounds interesting. Maybe I should read it.’

‘You should!’ The suggestion ignited a giddiness preserved for private moments with Grandfather, particularly on whiskey nights when books are the sole other companions in whose company to rejoice. ‘I- I mean, if y- ye want to. You ob- obvi- obviously don’t have to.’

‘I mean it, I’ll check it out. Wait, I haven’t even properly introduced myself. Hi, I’m Chris. Or Chan or Bangchan. Whatever you prefer.’ The last bit is added shyly, a careful smile ghosting over pale pink lips while a trustworthy veined hand reaches out.

And is taken for a strong handshake that clearly surprises the lad. ‘Y/N.’

‘That’s a firm hand.’ Both barely suppressing a gasp for different reasons, gripping digits swiftly unravel. Personally, it is because of a sense of being attacked on a womanly front while never having been bothered by it, only endeavouring to act entirely ladylike on important occasions. Until someone cannot shut their gob properly. In case of the lad smelling like a beach day, a grimace as if mourning the loss of contact flashes over the composed expression trying to look merely surprised yet fails in doing so. ‘Which is good, because it signifies a strong character.’

Distant remorse laces the elaboration on the original response, jasper eyes averting from a panicked face to the novel put down. Picking up on this, bookish fingertips rapidly retracted to a denim lap graced with the sarcastic memoir creep ever so slightly towards the edge of thighs to feel the warmth of ones still formed as if they were enveloping those that ran away.

But stop and flee once more.

Falsely calm.

Acting.

Though they are not doing so in the desire to get to know the boy showing sincere interest in a cold professionally introverted and, above all, unlovable girl.

‘Whe- Where are y- ye from?’ To keep the exchange going, a natural question follows from what has been quietly observed from speech.

‘Hm?’ Eyes wide, the brooding grim mood fades from chiselled features and morphs into curiosity due to incomprehension with a tilted head.

‘Yer ac- accent. You’re not from a- around here.’

‘No, I’m from Australia. I moved here recently to study.’ A playful grin promises that the same observation pertaining to the manner of speaking has been made as well, counterattacking the question by means of a proposing comment. ‘But you have an accent as well.’

‘I’m actually from around here, but thanks to Charles I got the good ol’ Irish accent.’ Composure has been regained entirely, mostly thanks to the fact the matter comes up frequently whenever accompanying Charlie to foreign publishing events where everyone always seems surprised to hear from the north.

‘Charles?’

‘My grandfather. He’s the one who raised me.’ Nothing is said about the family name out of a conscious disdain to be associated with a great author instead of being seen as an original person and novice writer. Although, mayhaps it is more of an unconscious endeavour since the thought of even mentioning a surname does not comes up.

‘What about your parents?’

‘I’d rather not talk about them, Chris.’ A brief look out the window shows the long line of variously branded cars in front of a steady red light letting solely up to three pass before halting the ever-growing queue, every driver showing impatience in a fashion as diverse as the range of names on the trunks. Next to the bus is a jet black Volkswagen Polo, a father driving while the mother and lone daughter are chattering away.

 That could’ve been me. If only life had been different. If only I wasn’t a bastard.

‘Sorry, I didn’t know it’s a sensitive topic.’ The remorse is more prominent in display than awareness thinks to let filter through to the world, curly platinum strands leaning in apologetically despite not being at fault when reverting attention to Chan.

‘You couldn’t have known, so it’s fine.’ Regardless of sounding as if nothing is wrong, the deeply-rooted pain of being raised in a good yet different life with a father figure rather than an actual parent nevertheless colours the used tone.

Withal, and fortunately fluidly, the subject changes to something casual creating a grander sense of comfort. ‘You said you came here to study?’

To forget what could have been.

Lips part as if to protest but change their mind at the last second, going with the flow and thusly leaving the previous topic behind. ‘Yeah, I did. I’m studying graphic design, but added a literary course to my curriculum this last part of the semester. Unfortunately, all my friends have either chosen a different course or are doing a whole other study.’

‘Then you and I are on the same boat.’ Unintentionally, there is a question of teaming up through the absence of familiar faces placed in other workgroups if present at all. And it is weird it is there at all since loneliness is nothing new and actually bearable, though a little bit more when being in the company of a nice character.

‘Wanna stick together and try to survive?’

Had another person been asked this, no doubt the chance to have a familiar face for support would be taken advantage of. However, it is not so in the case of a bastard who is apparently in the way. Easy to discard, as has been made evidently clear by the monsters that should have raised her instead of the other glorious bastard under a swearing whiskey roof shared with two cats from Inferno.

Trustworthy in action, honest in words, true in sincerity of company.

Just like the aura of the newly met fellow student looking like a puppy anticipating a consenting reply, excitedly wagging an imaginary tail but trying to suppress any signs of enthusiasm under a veil of patience. Still, the gloss over cheerful eyes and pursed lips indicate hoping for the best, despairing when being denied. Henceforth, while the persuasion of attitude comes second in the factors of changing minds, the proposal is accepted gladly with the brightest contained smile that has been given to someone in a long period of time, honest in meaning. ‘I’d like that.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Despite agreeing to the plan, understanding disappointment rings in the taken on tone of speech, Bangchan pulling away barely noticeably yet introducing a familiar abyss that makes the heart sink to the deepest depth it knows.

‘What makes you say that?’ Maintaining the facade of ignorance to hide the unintentional sensitive pain, the face of a summer beach day is carefully analyzed in the hopes of finding an explanation for what has been done wrong.

Why the truth cannot be seen when it has risen from beneath the rose.

‘You seem reluctant.’ The fingers held earlier in a friendly handshake dig their nails in the fabric of the seats to hide the sadness thanks to suspected denial.

But, just this once, there is a wholehearted agreement.

An exception.

For him.

Notwithstanding, the mirage of happiness fades after being built so carefully, flowing down the melancholic stream of the consciousness forever stuck in its grasp with a lowering voice and averted focus. ‘It... it’s a bad habit. A likely wrong thinking pattern.’

‘I don’t understand. What are you thinking?’ Brows knit as the Australian boy stares on in wonder, in need of an explanation to lift the mystery of the cryptic response. In fact, the weird urgency in the inquiry hints towards honestly pondering what makes a mere stranger sympathize with Atlas.

A train of thought which is disregarded by a self-mocking comment of no importance, somberly mumbled with a shake of the head. ‘Nothing. You’ll think me a drama queen.’

Because everyone who knows the truth has judged its teller as such.

An attention seeker.

But why then is she alone?

Dismissed?

But not by Chris, in whose nice to listen to voice has slipped in strong determination underlined with personally deemed misplaced worry. However, perhaps if it is truly so, it would not be evident in the overall distressed attitude sitting on the next seat. ‘No, Y/N, I won’t. I want to know and we’ve still got a ways to go before we’re at the university anyway. Please, tell me about what’s weighing you down.’

We.

Us.

Two.

Of us.

A pleasant notice that is nullified by the knowledge of the inevitable walking away because this lie has been heard one too many times by the grandsons and sons of famed writers who are in contact with Charlie. ‘You’ll discover soon enough, Chan.’

A moment of silence passes, gazes averted and one steadily kept on the memoir of a bookseller with the need to escape and wander alone again. Dwell in familiar solitude and curl up inside it.

Running away is always easier with music. Henceforth, digits already reach towards Airpods and phone.

But are halted by slender fingers wrapping around the forearm, asking for attention with a light squeeze followed by a soft-spoken call. ‘Y/N?’ Kind happiness timidly filters through in the visage of the chatty lad when looking up again, cheerfulness forming a proposal. ‘Shall we first get some coffee after we arrive and walk to the classroom together?’

Curiously, the emphasis on the concept of together remains, thus also continuing to stress the overall paradoxical importance of the word which only enhances the wonder about why contact would want to be had at all.

 Why me? Why “us”? Why “we”?

As if reading the train of thought, Chan voices the answer to the unspoken rampant inquiries. ‘Because everyone deserves to have at least someone for support.’ Teeth bite down on the lower lip, the corners of the mouth wanting to curl up but hesitating to do so. ‘And... I want to see you smile again.’

‘My smile’s fecking horrible.’

Don’t go effing and blinding. So much for that.

They shape themselves into a warm smile regardless, an adoring sentiment that filters through into sincere speech. ‘No, it’s not. Happiness looks good on you.’

The heart flutters at hearing the warmth and unknowing how to deal with the show of affection towards a mere stranger, the book which had been put to rest for a wee bit is picked up again to hide the likely very carmine flush dusting over heated cheeks. Adorable laughter sounds from behind the safe protective walls of pages, the sound enhancing the furious blush following what was surely wrongly heard but which was interpreted as a muttered under the breath “cute”. However, eyes do not shift to check the truth, having no courage to face Bangchan while being an uncharacteristic emotional mess.

The bus starts moving.

And so do we.

In music and literature.

Word by word.

#Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids fanfiction #Bangchan #Chan #Bang Chan #Chris Bang

[rosalyn51]

love it!

A lovely, and bittersweet, reunion of old friends at “Downton Abbey.”

By Ben Ragunton Sept 17, 2019

I have always been something of an Anglophile. I’m fascinated with all things British, including the aristocracy. It’s no wonder that I fell in love with the movie Gosford Park by writer Julian Fellowes because of the story it tells regarding the upstairs/downstairs relationships between the household servants and those they serve. Then Fellowes turns around and creates a series for British television that took the US by storm, that being Downton Abbey, only now ample time could be spent examining each of the players and the impact they have at Downton. Now he has crafted a movie, but after all the time that has passed since the series ended, not to mention the amount of time that has also elapsed in terms of the show’s storyline, is it possible to create a movie that can still callback to that era?

*Spoilers Alert*

Not much has changed since the series went off the air four years ago. Daughters Mary and Edith are happily married to successful men, Tom Branson is still involved with Downton given his marriage into the family (he’s still widower after the passing of his wife Sybil), Robert (Earl of Grantham) Crawley and Cora (Countess of Grantham) Crawley are still married and Robert continues to serve as Administrator of Downton, and the downstairs staff are still basically there, with the exception of a one or two characters. Mr. Carson is no longer THE Butler for Downton after marrying Mrs. Hughes and retiring, thus allowing Thomas Barrow to move up. Even Dowager Countess Violet Crawley still makes her presence known in the halls of Downton along with her best frenemy Baroness Merton. Yes, all is pretty much standard at Downton, except for one tiny bit of news. King George V and his wife are on a tour of Yorkshire and will be coming to Downton to stay the night, and their presence will do more than shake things up with everyone involved with Downton Abbey.

I was pinning a lot of hopes on this movie only because I did enjoy the series during the first couple of seasons it ran. However, what I walked away with was something of a surprise. The story itself was perfectly adequate, perhaps even predictable. You’re going to make a movie about this old English estate. What better way to throw things into chaos than by bringing in the Royal Family? This seemed like an excellent opportunity to rip off the veneer that even the serving staff have and allow us to see their true selves. This does happen as practically each of the primary characters has an unpleasant obstacle that they must contend with during the Royal’s short visit. Amusingly enough because of the portrayed sense of decorum that everyone has, including the serving staff, seeing each of them lower their mask becomes quite the breath of fresh air in regards to their characterizations. Mary carries the weight and responsibility of maintaining Downton Abbey, Mr. Carson returns to Downton under the impression that he will be of vital help, only to discover that he isn’t, the Dowager is juggling a personal situation while trying to ensure her son’s role at Downton Abbey, and poor Barrow is still struggling at trying to find happiness as a gay man in a society where it is illegal to be gay.

It is here where the lines that Fellowes wrote for these characters come off strongly, as it has been several years at least since the series ended and production on this movie began, and yet the lines each of these characters were given clearly allowed for the cast to slip right back into those roles as if they were putting on an extremely comfortable pair of shoes. This is important throughout the entire movie that each regular character carries all of the familiar elements that we remember from four years ago. However, each of the characters adapts quite admirably to the challenges they have to face to the point where I began to feel as if I was merely watching an extended episode as opposed to a feature film. The Royal Family, along with their staff, arrives and then leaves, and then the movie essentially ends. Normally I would take great exception with a movie of this nature, but Fellowes is an enormously clever writer and drops the occasional hint as to why the movie is like this. Finally, in what had to be one of the most heartwarming dialogues between the Dowager and Mary, the point is made that Downton Abbey will always stand. It will change as the people who live in it will change, but it will continue, and that is the message behind this movie for the real star of the movie is Downton Abbey itself. The castle’s walls make up the body and bones and the people who reside within are its blood. Even after they are all gone Downton Abbey will still stand. If the movie felt like nothing more than an episode or a chapter of a story it is because the people there make up that chapter in the life of Downton Abbey. This was probably my biggest surprise. Normally I would pan a movie that merely felt like an over-inflated episode, but this movie was the first one to actually get it right!

The returning cast was absolutely delightful and it was such a joy to see them again as these beloved characters. Some had much more prominent roles than others, yet it is their coming together in an ensemble that became magical. While each of them was wonderful, the two that shone more than any of the others were Maggie Smith as the Dowager and Penelope Wilton as Baroness Merton. Since the earliest years of the series, these two have not only had one of the most fabulous contentious relationships, but Fellowes writes some of the most wonderful lines and quips that each of them expresses. This comes as no wonder since these two wonderful ladies have become increasingly more popular because of the series. I can only say that I would have had a dreadful time trying to keep a serious face and not laugh out loud during the filming of their scenes. And speaking of laughter, while the show has been known for its chuckles from time to time, Downton Abbey went off the deep end in one scene and it was so outrageously absurd (deliberately so) that the entire audience was in complete hysterics. This was yet another surprise that a show known for its dry English wit could pull out a joke of such magnitude that it had me gasping for air from laughing! Even now as I think back on it I simply can’t help but smile and offer up a slight giggle.

Again, this movie was a complete surprise. There were some differences in that with a bigger budget the movie could have more scenes showing off the lands that Downton was built on, as well as dwell on some Royal fanfare, but where I expected more of that I was instead given much more of the familiar that I saw in the series. I never expected to like that, but given the tone of this movie’s message I ended up appreciating this very fact about the movie’s episodic tone. What’s more, while I have been to many movies that thrilled, or excited, or scared, or moved me in some fashion, it is a rare thing to see a movie that I actually “enjoyed.” I truly enjoyed Downton Abbey. There were only a couple of story elements that I would have liked seeing receive more treatment and development, but aside from that, I found Downton Abbey to be a thoroughly enjoyable movie.

Downton Abbey receives 4 out of 5 crowns!

#michelle dockery #jim carter #maggie smith #downton abbey movie #downton abbey #hugh bonneville #laura carmichael #penelope wilton