#i have had a DELIGHTFUL time with photoshop in the past week

[thepastisalreadywritten]

It was always going to end this way. The truth about Catherine Middleton’s absence is far less funny, whimsical, or salacious than the endless memes and conspiracy theories suggested.

In a video recorded and broadcast by the BBC, the princess says she has cancer and that she had retreated from the public eye to deal with her condition, while attempting to shield her children from the spotlight.

Instead, she had to contend with the internet giggling about whether she’d had a Brazilian butt lift.

My colleague Helen Lewis summed it up succinctly this afternoon: “I Hope You All Feel Terrible Now.”

What is there to learn from such a sad situation? The internet is made up of people, yet its architecture abstracts this basic truth.

As I wrote a few weeks ago, at the center of this months-long story was essentially “a sea of people having fun online because it is unclear whether a famous person is well or not.”

Underneath the memes was always something a little bit gross and indefensible.

Perhaps humans are just wired this way — to gawk and gossip.

There’s nothing new about hounding a member of the royal family or invading the privacy of a celebrity to sell tabloids or go viral.

You don’t even have to be a scold about it: Famous people are wealthy and beloved at least in part because they’re fun to talk about.

Exactly what we do and don’t know about their internal lives is part of the allure — the discourse comes with the territory to a degree.

But Catherine Middleton, of course, is a human too.

During this saga, I kept thinking about the reappraisal of Britney Spears in 2021, as well as the backlash toward past media and tabloid coverage of her rise.

A New York Times documentary dredged up old coverage of Spears from the mid-aughts, showing a young woman clearly in distress, being picked apart by glossy magazines.

Her suffering became entertainment. The response to this film was swift.

Some of the people and institutions that had shamelessly delighted in her pain backtracked: Glamour publicly apologized to the pop star on its Instagram account, noting, “We are all to blame for what happened to Britney Spears.”

Contrast the Spears reckoning with the Middleton drama and, if you’re being generous, you can see some of that newfound attitude in the media.

I was struck by Lewis’s observation that “Britain’s tabloid papers have shown remarkable restraint” throughout this mess.

Progress, perhaps, but what’s also telling is that they didn’t really need to do the dirty work: Random people on the internet were doing it for them.

They recklessly speculated, memed, and used their amateur sleuthing and networked faux expertise to concoct elaborate, semi-plausible explanations for her absence.

Was Catherine’s face actually Photoshopped from a Vogue spread? It wasn’t, but the conspiratorial tweet got 51.1 million views anyhow.

Missing from much of the discourse was the idea that its main character was a person who was likely struggling.

In essence, the internet democratized the tabloid experience, turning the rest of us into paparazzi and addled editors workshopping headlines and cover images — not to sell magazines but to amass some kind of fleeting online popularity.

In my least charitable moments, I see this toxic dynamic as the lasting legacy of social media — a giant, metrics-infused experiment in connectivity that has had a flattening, pernicious effect.

In 2021, I interviewed Elle Hunt, a journalist who’d tweeted an innocuous opinion about horror movies one evening and woke up to find she was trending on Twitter, her feeds choked with thousands of furious replies and threats.

When I asked her to describe the experience of becoming Twitter’s main character for the day, she summed it up thusly:

“You’re repurposed as fodder for content generation in a way that’s just so dehumanizing.”

Three years later, these words resonate even stronger.

What Hunt described to me then as “a platform failure,” feels to me now like a learned behavior of the internet, where people, famous and not, are repurposed as fodder for content generation. The cycle repeats itself endlessly.

This afternoon, the memes about Middleton shifted — from jokes about her whereabouts to jokes about how awful it was that everyone had been making fun of a cancer patient.

Feeling bad about the memes tweets immediately became a meme unto themselves.

Despite the tone shift, the reason for these posts is the same: They’re a way to take a person and repurpose their life for entertainment and engagement.

If this sounds exhausting and depressing, it’s because it is.

But the internet is also too big to be one thing. Clicking through social media this afternoon, I saw dozens of heartfelt testimonials, apologies, and well-wishes for the princess.

For a moment, from my perspective, it felt like watching a collective of people come to their senses.

A recognition, perhaps, of the humanity of the person at the center of the maelstrom.

Then, only a few seconds later, I saw a different post. It was a screenshot from the blockchain platform Solana, where users can create their own cryptographic tokens for others to invest in.

The name of the token in the screenshot is “kate wif cancer,” and its logo is a still of the princess sitting on a bench, taken from this afternoon’s video.

The coin’s market cap briefly surpassed $120,000. Only six minutes later, the price had cratered — the result of a standard memecoin sell off.

An awful thing happened. Some people made a joke about it. Other people made some money. And then everyone moved on.

NOTE: Edited

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #cancer #chemotherapy #internet #memes #fake news #disinformation #misinformation #platform failure #social media

[hazzabeeforlou]

Hi, I’m Toni.

Got a slew of new followers and I’ve been almost inactive the last half a year (at least) so wanted to do an update/intro so you know who I am LOL and so my long suffering fandom besties know what the fuck’s been going on (if anyone still cares rip sorry it’s been forever)

Currently writing this from my sick bed of ear cellulitis? That I got from wearing my mask? It would literally only happen to me. Had to go to urgent care and get a butt shot of antibiotics so it didn’t, you know, spread to my bloodstream :)

Anyways I say that to say that I probably got sick in the first place because I’m incredibly run down right now. The classical music world (im a professional musician) FINALLY opened up again, and to meet gig demands I only work my pandemic retail job once a week. I have been traveling the last four weekends in a ROW, which, due to my chronic pain (which has seen SOME improvement over the last year!!) makes me super duper exhausted and I have to admit tik tok has been getting most of my brain numbing time.

Life post-happy drugs has been tough. I’ve seen improvement in the areas I wanted to, physically, but mentally god. Drugs were nice. Anywho, I’ve done a ton of witchy/ancestral connecting/herbalist kinda things the last six months, and I now have an alter and a spiritual practice that has really brought me a lot of growth and meaning. It’s hard healing from your past when you’re still living IN it… and there’s no improvement with my parents. They’re still homophobic as hell and Republican as fuck, despite screaming matches. The threats of physical violence prevent me from confronting my dad any further. I’ve kind of given up hoping they will ever change.

It’s funny though, I would classify this year as the year I started to “feel” things, and of course that happened physically post the drugs, but also emotionally once I started to let myself FEEL emotions, god what a train wreck. Who knew humans could CRY so much? That emotional revelation led to the probably overdue realization that I’m likely Autistic and high masking, and have been suffering from that classic 30’s wall that “gifted girl high masking autistic children” eventually hit wherein they are no longer able to just push through and ignore. That’s been tough.

Writing has always been how I process and understand emotions, and now that I’ve started to actually FEEL them, it hasn’t become as essential to my functioning as it had been the last six or so years. I miss it, and I plan on finishing all my projects I left behind… as I’ve said many time The Garden part 3 IS coming I promise lol. But! Hopefully. And no promises. But I have the most delightful Christmas fic tucked into my head that I would love to publish this year, if I can find the time to get it on paper.

Okay as for fandom… I did a “growth thing” earlier this year and deleted all the bbygate stuff I’d been saving for the inevitable end. I just can’t anymore. All the photoshop, the blatant exploitation of it all… yeah I think the best option is just not to care. If they’re gonna drag this out for the rest of my life then I’m going to ignore the shit out of it. Speaking of ignoring, I also noped out of the H and O nonsense. God. What a MESS. I liked HH, truly, but the fave for me was Matilda. To be honest with you all, I listened until I grew naturally full of the album and I moved on with my life, it wasn’t world changing to me the way FL was. HOWEVER. FITF? Lord save me i didn’t even know it was coming out and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m fucking obsessed. I’m planning a MP. I genuinely think it’s Louis’ finest work and I can’t get enough of it. Every time I listen I like it MORE. I theorize it’s going to be a slow blooming album that smacks everyone’s expectations in the face. I’m so fucking proud of Louis. I bawled real ugly tears at Common People.

And lastly as always, I believe the boys were in love but I make no claims about their lives now. I enjoy the hints and speculation and love larrying along, but I think they’ve established these personas that are bulletproof to fan speculation these days, and I feel that’s how they truly want it. And that’s cool, won’t stop me from writing Larry because it was the truest gayest baby Star crossed lovers story out there and still makes the best fan fic.

Apologies for the novel but nice to meet you if you’re new HI I’M TRYING TO BE BACK to my old chums, and feel free as always to talk to me, my ask box is always open ❤️

#mine #personal #hiiiiii guys

[the-merry-librarian]

A colorful, charming picture book that depicts one beautiful day in the life of a dog from New York City. On a particularly sweltering day in the city, a pet dachshund has had enough of the heat, so his understanding owner takes him to the beach, where he can run to his heart’s delight and have small adventures of his own.

Genre: Picture Book (Caldecott Medal)

Target Age Group:

Ages 4-8

Justification:

I’ve seen Hot Dog many times this past autumn—on the Caldecott lists that parents give us to request all the books, copies coming in and out to fulfil holds from those parents, and even on my shelving cart a time or two when all the holds are miraculously filled. The cover art always charmed me; while I’m not familiar with Doug Salati’s name, I’ve seen his illustrations on many picture books, and his style has always made me smile. I jumped at the opportunity to take Hot Dog home as part of this project.

Evaluation:

For this review, I will be evaluating illustrations, mood, and style and language. Every illustration in this book is beautiful, expressive and fluid; on the first verso, the publisher notes that the images in the book were “created using a combination of pencil and gouache on paper and Photoshop.” The pencil lines are slightly sketchy, bringing real life and motion to drawn characters. While the majority of the illustrations are composed of pencil drawings with gouache to color in bright, solid blocks of color, several illustrations are primarily gouache and are truly paintings. Salati sets the mood primarily with his choice of color, using a palette composed almost entirely of warm, saturated colors to illustrate the hot city—the page where the titular dog has had quite enough is made up of oranges, reds, and yellow, conveying the oppressive heat. In contrast, the beach to which he and his owner escape is rendered with a much more balanced color palette, where vivid greens and blues are tempered by pale pinkish sand and the orangey-red color of the dog himself (as well as his owner’s vivid red hair). It feels refreshing, clean, and balanced in a way the bright warm city doesn’t. The language of Hot Dog is nothing short of poetry. Most pages have only one or two lines; at the beginning, when the narrator—the dog—is growing uncomfortable and upset in the heat, each line is short, conveying a brief spark of feeling with each line. Salati uses a few elemental writing techniques in the text, such as alliteration (“steamy sidewalks/concrete crumbles/sirens screech”, [Salati 2022, p. 1]), metaphor (“unfolding sky” [Salati, p. 14]), and personification (“sun sinks down, swallowed by the sea” [Salati, p. 26]), which, besides being very effective, may introduce already-literate children to techniques like this. Frankly, I adored this book. I might just have been having a bad week, but the simple joy of a dog running on a beach made me tear up a little. Salati's illustrations make it clear how much the dog's owner loves him and how happy he is to be racing around on his own. While I definitely plan to have this for my children (once they're old enough to understand poetry a little), I might get a copy for myself just to look at.

References:

RH Childrens Books. (n.d.). Hot Dog by Doug Salati. PenguinRandomhouse.com. https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/659445/hot-dog-by-doug-salati/ Salati, D. (2022). Hot Dog (D. Salati, Illus.). Alfred A. Knopf.

#hot dog #a: doug salati #i: doug salati #tag: children #g: picture book #g: fiction #caldecott medal winner #cm winner 2023

[freddiekluger]

Maurice, 1987, dir. James Ivory (unofficial marketing materials)

ID: An edited movie poster for  the Maurice (1987) 30th anniversary restoration. The title has been edited to read “Why I Stopped Shagging Bourgeois Gays”. The review text up top has been edited to read “’Delectable... A powerful lesson in why upper class gays are bound to disappoint, and the power of the comphet moustache’- Janet Maslin, The New York Times”.

#i have had a DELIGHTFUL time with photoshop in the past week #honest movie posters #maurice #maurice 1987 #maurice em forster #alec scudder #clive durham #maurice hall #james wilby #hugh grant #rupert graves

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - next chapter

 ☽ ☼ ☾

As he sat at his gate, he watched the other people. Something about airports had always intrigued him, so many people in their own lives, on their own paths all converging to this one place before jetting off once more. 

Lorcan was restless. On the arm of the uncomfortable chair, his fingers tapped out a furious beat. The monotonous drone of the phone line ringing in his ear didn’t help. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. I miss your voice and I need you to pick up so I don’t lose my fucking–

“What, the fuck , do you want?” 

He chuckled, “Good morning to you too, princess.” Inside his chest, his heart fluttered. Fuck, he missed her. He missed both his girls. The minute they’d dropped him off at the airport eight weeks ago, he’d been itching to go home. 

“I told you not to call me that.” There wasn’t any bite to her words and Lorcan knew - hoped - that she was wearing that soft, sleepy smile of hers. 

He hummed, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle, “Tell me to stop without smiling and I’ll stop. Easy-peasy, Lochan.” 

Elide just muttered a curse in Blackbeak and sighed as if talking to him was some sort of divine torture, “Why are you calling? It’s not even three yet, Lor.” Instantly, remorse flooded through him. He’d forgotten completely about the time difference and told her as much. “Mmm, it’s fine. Did something happen?” 

“Nah, I just wanted to say hey before my flight. I’m sorry for waking you up,” he said. Lorcan ran his tongue over his teeth. “I’ve… I miss you two.” 

The teasing, light mood dropped a bit. Lorcan could hear her breathing slowly and then she answered, her voice weaker than normal, “I know, Lor.” Her swallow was audible. “We miss you too.” Before he could respond, before he could offer her any sort of fleeting comfort, Elide spoke again, “Hold on one second, ok?” 

She was gone before he could respond. Lorcan could hear something rustling, like someone slipping out of a bed. He froze, hardly daring to breathe. She wouldn’t- Elide and Lorcan both knew better than to have someone over when they had the kid with them. 

There was soft murmuring he couldn’t quite make out and the unmistakable whine of their daughter. Lorcan slumped down in relief, cursing himself for this… jealousy. It wasn’t fair. “Hello?” snapped Stella Luna.

He chuckled, delighted by his child’s greeting, “Hey, Tiny.” 

She gasped and that innocent sound, filled with childlike wonder and elation, soothed his aching heart. “Daddy?” 

“Hi, Stella. I’m sorry I woke you up so early, I wanted to say hey before I get on the plane,” Lorcan explained with a smile. Thinking about Elide that summer had been painful enough, knowing he was so far from her, but it was nothing compared to the agony of missing his daughter. 

“Are you coming home today? ‘Cause I got kindergarten tomorrow, Daddy. Mama said you would take me,” Stella said. 

“Yes, I’m coming home today. I’ll take you to school tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok, Daddy. I’ve been very busy, you know. Yesterday we went shopping and at Mintage, mama found me a Wednesday Addams lunch box,” Stella regaled, her words dripping with wonder and awe. “I’m so excited ‘acause I love Wednesday Addams, Daddy, did you know? We watched it last night at Fenny’s house ‘acause he let me choose. He said he was sick of the Addams family and that’s why I called him a dummy.” 

He laughed, pausing for a moment to listen to the PA. “Passengers boarding Flight 1203 to Varese, please make your way to gate C49. Passengers in zone one, please line up at the boarding desk.”  

“What was that? It sounded funny, Daddy, like a robot,” Stella said. 

“My plane’s getting ready to take off, Stel, they want everyone to come to the gate,” Lorcan explained. “How was Fen’s?” 

“Oh,” she started, “it was very good, Daddy. After the movie, he taked me to his show an’ I wanted to bring Salem but it’s too loud for him so I sat with Essar and she got me a juice box when I was thirsty. I think it was a secret ‘acause they only give them to me. It was grape which is my favourite, but I didn’t want to finish all of it so Vee drinked it after his show. Then Fenny and me and Con and Vee went to Grampy’s and I fell asleep so Fenny took me home.” 

“Passengers in zone two, please line up at the front desk.” 

Lorcan checked his boarding pass, “Kid, I have to get on my plane now, ok?” 

“Ok,” Stella replied, a little sadly. “I miss you.” 

The corners of his lips turned down. Lorcan hung his head, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he tried to think of what he could say to comfort his child. Eventually, he said, “I know, Stella Luna. I miss you too. I promise - once I’m home, no more tours, ok? I love you.” 

“Love you too, Daddy,” she chirped, already his happy, bubbly little baby again. “Bye-bye!”

“Bye, Tiny. Put your mother on for me,” Lorcan said, laughing through the sentence. He could hear Stella Luna hand the phone over to Elide. 

“Yes , you can sleep now,” Elide said with a kiss smacked on Stella’s head. “Lor, you still there?” 

“Yeah, ‘m here. I have to get on the plane now.” 

“Ok. Do you want us to pick you up from the airport?” 

Though it pained him to say it and further delay their reunion, Lorcan said, “No, don’t bother. I’ll be tired and I’ll probably just crash when I get home. I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait, Salvaterre.” 

He smiled a small smile, one that was only ever for Elide, “Me neither, Lochan.” 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

He woke up somewhere high above the Cambrian Mountains. For a few moments, Lorcan stared out the small window, groggy and confused. 

It took him a second to remember what was happening and why he was on a plane. When he finally did recall, Lorcan pulled his laptop out of his camera bag and placed it on the desk. The band he’d been working with over the summer had bought him a seat in business class for both his flights home. 

Lorcan shifted in his seat and absentmindedly toyed with the curved barbell that pierced the delicate skin connecting his upper lip to his gum as he waited for his computer to turn on. He leaned down, searching through his bag for the USB that carried every shot he’d taken in concert that summer. 

He found it and sat up straight. A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he saw the background of his laptop. He hadn’t changed it in the three years since the photo of Elide tattooing Stella’s name in Ozuye on the outside of his right thumb while he held a sleeping Stella Luna to his chest with his free arm had been taken. The tattoo was his favourite, though it probably tied for first place with the cartoon-inspired Wednesday Addams on his inner left wrist. 

The placement of both designs had been purposeful, so when he was shooting something, he could see them clearly and think about his daughter. He had never met anyone who loved the Addams family more than Stella. 

Lorcan put his headphones on and played a playlist at random. Pink + White played as he opened Photoshop and uploaded a file he hadn’t even looked at yet. The photos weren’t needed for another month, but he would rather get them done now so he could focus on the upcoming studio show. 

He still hadn’t decided what or who his subject would be. Maybe he would take a break from concerts and focus on something else.

For the rest of the flight, he worked to distract himself from the fact that he’d be seeing Elide again. It hardly made any difference, his mind on her like always. Lorcan had been in love with Elide for… forever. He finally realised it, though, a couple weeks before she had their daughter. 

He had wanted… he had wanted a family with her. A real one, where Stella wouldn’t be perpetually split between two homes, but Elide hadn’t wanted that and Lorcan respected her wishes. Maybe it was foolish, but six years seemed like long enough to be pining for someone. 

As Lorcan got lost in the thoughts he spent most of his waking hours repressing, a hissing voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother snapped, Elide Lochan is not ‘someone’ and she is certainly not someone you get over. Ever. Stupid boy.  

His lips twisted with a rueful smile, though the memory of his mother ached and stung. Lorcan swallowed past the painful tightening of his throat and saved what he was working on, electing to watch something he’d downloaded on Netflix until they’d landed in Varese.

The air in Varese was balmy and he couldn’t stand it. Lorcan was seconds away from trying to peel his skin off. He had always hated the heat, but this steaming humidity was his hell. 

When his zone was called to board the flight, Lorcan could hardly keep the grin from his face. The thought of seeing his family, no matter how it hurt him to know Stella would come home with him tomorrow and Elide would stay in her apartment, was a joy nothing else had ever replicated. 

His heart seemed to beat a frantic timpani, each pat-pat saying, wait for me, wait for me, wait for me . 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

There was a crick in her neck. Elide muttered a curse with her eyes shut and reached out to her bedside table, only to feel nothing and hear an innocently delighted giggle. 

She smiled and kept her eyes closed. Slowly, Elide reached out, “I wonder who could be laughing right now. And where could they be!” 

There was that little laugh again, though Elide knew her child was doing her absolute best to stay silent. She heard Salem’s meow of protest and Stella’s sweet shushing. 

Staying silent had never been Stella’s strong suit. Elide continued on, now patting the blankets. “Hmm, I do wonder if they could be hiding beneath these blankets!” As she said ‘blankets’, Elide opened her eyes and ripped the covers away. A quick blur of orange and black flashed past as Stella’s fluffy cat was freed and Salem bounded away. 

Stella Luna’s shrieking laughter filled the room, gloomy from the rain that poured steadily against the large, paned windows. Elide laughed too as she grabbed her daughter and pulled her into her lap, her fingers digging into the soft part between Stella’s ribcage and hip bone. Stella squirmed away, begging her to stop, “No, please, mama, it tickles!” 

Elide chuckled softly and relented, choosing instead to gather Stella up in a long hug. “Oh, good morning, little one. How did you sleep, hmm?” She pulled back and brushed her hand through Stella’s hair. 

“Um, I slept good, mama, but I’m really hungry now, so I would like to have breakfast.” 

“We can do that. What do you want to eat?” 

Stella flicked her eyes up to the ceiling. Though her shape was Elide’s ethereal monolid, the colour of rich browns and deep blacks was all Lorcan. “Pancakes, mama. Can we make them look like bats?” 

Elide snorted and nodded, “Of course we can. Why don’t you go wash your hands and we can make them, ok?” 

The four-year old was off before she could even say yes, hurriedly careening into the bathroom. Her mother laughed again, but the care-free sound bled into a pained groan as she stood up and stretched. Elide really needed to stop crashing in her daughter’s bed. 

Stella hollered back from the toilet, “Mama, can we have chocolate chips in the pancakes?”

Elide smiled as she walked through Stella’s room. On the floor, one of Stella’s toys obstructed her path and Elide jammed her toe into a wooden box. She gritted her teeth against the pain and asked, “Will you clean your room today?”

“Uhhh,” Stella contemplated, “I guess. I dunno why , mama, I don’t care if it’s messy, why do you care?” 

“Because your room is messy and you might hurt yourself if you don’t know where something is,” Elide replied steadily. As she pulled on a pair of shorts, she heard little feet race into the kitchen. Elide twisted her hair up and clamped it into place with a hair clip. When she padded into the kitchen, Stella Luna was standing obediently on her stool, her hands clasped like a perfect little child. Elide hooted at the sight, “Oh, you little demon.” 

Stella grinned proudly at the nickname and pushed her wild hair back with both hands. She sighed in annoyance, “Mama, help please. It’s too much.” 

“Of course, witchling,” Elide said. Stella clambered up onto the counter to sit patiently. Elide hummed something soft as she parted her daughter’s hair and weaved two simple pigtails. As she braided, Salem gracefully leapt onto the counter and made himself comfortable in the fruit bowl, resting his chin on his crossed paws like a proper gent. “Better?” 

“Yeah,” Stella chirped as she climbed down and ran to the pantry. She flung the door open, “Mama, is Daddy coming home today?”

“He is. Remember, he called last night, baby,” Elide replied as she pulled out eggs and milk from the fridge. 

“Oh, I thought that was a dream ,” explained Stella. She lugged over the large container of flour, carrying it with both arms and almost tipped over. She decided to put it on the floor and push it to the counter. “I wanna play music!” 

Elide laughed as she picked the flour up and began measuring out the dry ingredients, “Go for it, Stella.” She watched in delight as Stella ran to the record player and sat on the floor in front of it to peruse the stack of records.

A couple moments later, Stella had decided and put the vinyl on. She pranced back over to her stool as music played. “Mama, can I crack a egg, please?” 

When I met you in the restaurant, you could tell I was no debutante

“Yes, ma’am,” Elide passed her an egg, “Be careful, you remember what to do, right?” 

“Yup!” Stella delicately cracked the egg on the side of the liquid measuring cup and used her thumbs to open it. The yolk and egg white plopped perfectly into the milk and vanilla. She picked up the whisk and mixed it all up. 

Dreaming, dreaming is free

Stella was soon bored and trailed over to the living room. She sat down and started to dance with her frog stuffie, singing along, “I don’t want to live on charity, pleasure’s real or is it fantasy…” Elide grinned at the sight and found the silicone mold in the top drawer.

A few minutes later, Elide slid a stack of bat wing pancakes onto a plate. “Stella? Food’s ready.” 

 “Ok, mama,” Stella said. She skipped to the table and climbed onto her chair. “Can I have maple syrup too?” 

Elide had already grabbed the bottle and grabbed a pair of forks drying in the dish rack. She put the plate down and sat, passing Stella her fork. Stella doused the pancakes in maple syrup and attacked viciously, stuffing an entire pancake into her mouth. Elide laughed loudly, “Baby, eat your food properly. C’mon, you know better.” 

Stella grinned around the sticky-sweet mess and chewed thoroughly before swallowing. Elide took the plate and cut the food up into bite-sized pieces before passing it back. The four-year old abandoned her fork in favour of her wee hands and stuffed as many chocolatey-mapley-buttery pieces as she could into her mouth. 

“Good gods, child,” her mother said. “You’ll choke.” Delight surged through her at the sound of Stella’s gleeful laughter, albeit muffled. She grabbed a napkin and reached out, holding her daughter’s chin hostage as she wiped the mess away. “I am so happy your father is coming back, he’ll finally take you off my hands, you gremlin.” 

Stella gasped loudly and wrenched her chin free, “Mama, can we go to the airplane place? I want to surprise Daddy. Pretty please?” 

She made her eyes big and wide, sticking her bottom lip out. Elide cracked immediately, “I think he’d like that, wouldn’t he?” Stella nodded with such vigour Elide half-thought her head would fly off. “We’ll do that later, Stel. Why don’t you finish your breakfast?” 

Stella needed no further prompting. 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

His bag was the second bag out. Lorcan easily slung the black duffel over his shoulder. He made his way out of the baggage claim and around fellow passengers numbly awaiting their belongings. 

Lorcan thought about pausing, his fingers twitching to grab his camera and freeze the moment. There was something slightly surreal about it all. A voice told him to stop, to do it, but the sweet, pure voice of his baby calling him home was louder. 

He was still listening to miss star’s jamzzz and clicked the ball of the piercing in his tongue against his teeth to the beats. I’m Not A Loser by the Descendents’ played at maximum volume as he strode across the scuffed and dingy linoleum. 

Vaguely, he thought he might’ve heard someone calling for him. Pausing, Lorcan half-pulled a headphone off his ear. He looked around, narrowing his eyes in confusion at the sea of strangers. 

“Daddy!” 

“Kid?” 

A wee one shot out through the passing crowd. Her hair, jet black and thick, curled out of her assumedly once-tight and neat braids. Her eyes were thin and dark, so rich and depthless, framed by long lashes. The little lass seemed to have a piece of the sun setting her warm, coppery complexion aglow from beneath. “ *Até , hi-hi!” 

Stella launched herself up and Lorcan dropped his bag to catch her. He held her tight to his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head. “Tiny, Creator above. I missed you so much, my darling moon.” 

“Hi, Daddy,” Stella whispered, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck. “It’s nice to see you.” 

Lorcan laughed raspily at her formal greeting, “Wow, so fancy, miss Star. ‘It’s nice to see you’, really? You’re killing me, Tiny.” 

She giggled, shaking her head as she pulled back, “No, I’m not fancy, Daddy. I’m tough ,” she snarled, baring her teeth intimidatingly. 

Lorcan laughed again, his head tipping back, “The toughest .” 

Stella beamed and abruptly stopped, an outraged gasp escaping her. She grabbed his face and pulled his head back down. When she felt his stubble, Stella Luna pulled a face, “Daddy, you have to shave. It’s scratchy.” 

“What, I thought I looked nice like this, babe,” he said, shifting her to his side. “It’s that bad?” 

She stared at him for a while before slowly shaking her head, “No… it’s ok, Daddy. Mama likes it like that.” Stella laid her head on his shoulder. Lorcan smiled and held her tightly again, his eyes closed. 

For a long moment, neither said a word, until Stella became restless and started peering out around her. “There’s so many people, Daddy.”

“There is,” he agreed. Lorcan brushed something from her cheek and Stella batted his hand away. “So, you learn to drive while I was away, or something?”

“No! I’m still little , Daddy,” Stella Luna corrected him with a giggle. “Mama drived me.” She pointed vaguely towards the entrance, “Mama’s over there and she said, ‘Stella, hold my hand and stay close ‘till we see your dad, ok?’ but you’re so tall and I sawed your head so I ran and didn’t listen to Mama.” Gasping softly, Stella put her hands over her mouth, “Oh no. Mama! Mama, hello? I am here,” she curled her arm over his shoulder as she craned her head to look around. “Where she go?”

Lorcan looked around as well, loving and hating the way his pulse sped up at the prospect of seeing her . “I don’t know where your ma is, maybe she- oh,” Lorcan cut himself off as he saw a familiar flash of long black hair through the crowd. “There she is.”

Through the throngs of passengers and travelers, Lorcan saw a fair skinned, petite woman. Her hair was dark, streaked with purple, and fell to her hips. She left it be in its natural waves, but had it cut into a blunt, pointed fringe that framed her heart-shaped face. Her round, plush lips were painted deep, nearly black, red. They curled into a teasing grin, “Hey, Salvaterre, I see you’ve finally decided to rejoin the rabble! Was the tour too preppy for you, what with all the first class flights and champagne?” 

He laughed and reached out to flick her nose, “Shut your mouth, Lochan. I’m common folk for life.” Elide laughed and Lorcan smiled, “Fuck, I can’t believe that you two came to pick me up.” He pulled Elide into a hug, something finally settling inside him as he held his girls for the first time in two months. 

“No, no swearing, Daddy,” Stella chastised him, her frown disapproving, “Fuck is a bad word. A very bad word and we’re only allowed to say it when we listen to music.”

Elide laughed and slipped her arm around his waist, “A wretched word, really. It’s like you want our daughter to become a menace to society.” 

“Oh, really? And what if our daughter wants to be a menace to society?” 

Stella Luna nodded, sticking her chin out, “Yeah, what if I want to be a menace to society, mama?”

Elide shook her head at the two of them and narrowed her eyes at him, “This is your doing, you know, Lorcan.” Oh… how his heart stopped as his name tumbled from her lips. Lorcan struggled to breathe for a moment and Elide’s warm grin faltered. “Lor? You alright?” 

“Y-yeah, just jet-lag,” he said quickly. Lorcan averted his eyes from Elide’s concerned gaze. Stella Luna wiggled, whining slightly. When she was set down on her feet, she grabbed Lorcan’s hand in one of hers and Elide’s in the other.

“Let’s go!” she shouted, tugging them along with all her might. At fifteen kilos and a solid one-hundred centimetres, it wasn’t much, but her determination made up for it. Over her head, Elide shot Lorcan a smile and a wink. 

Lorcan rolled his eyes and chuckled. Stella skipped and hopped along to Elide’s car. Lorcan tossed his duffel in the trunk as Elide helped Stella into her booster seat and he walked over to the passenger seat. “Daddy,” Stella said, “did you know my birthday is in two months? That means I’m gonna be five whole years.”

“Wow, you’re going to be so old ,” he said dramatically, smiling in the rearview mirror when Stelle’s jaw dropped open and her eyes widened. 

“I don’t want to be old. Old people are yucky. Like you and mom.” Elide and Lorcan looked at each other and burst into gutsy laughter at their daughter’s words. Stella sniffed primly and turned her face to the side, “It’s not funny to be old. Being old means you die. Do you want to die, Daddy?” 

“If I die, I become a ghost and I’ll haunt people,” he said. 

“Would you haunt me ?” the girl asked, her eyes filled with morbid curiosity. 

Elide huffed a laugh. She turned the car on and smoothly pulled out of her parking spot to the freeway that would take them back to Orynth. “You two are ridiculous. Stella, baby, no one’s haunting you.” 

“Yeah, except for me,” Lorcan ever-so-helpfully stated. 

As Elide exclaimed in annoyance, Stella giggled uncontrollably. The dark haired woman couldn’t help but laugh along and the sound of their laughter soothed the dull ache of missing them. 

☽ ☼ ☾

“ Até, ‘m tired,” said Stella, trailing up to Lorcan. She was all ready for bed, dressed in her Jack Skellington pyjamas. Her dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese had been devoured an hour ago. Lorcan was in Elide’s kitchen, washing the dishes as Elide worked on a sketch and Stella checked her backpack over and over and over again. She was not going to be caught unprepared for her first day of kindergarten. 

He rinsed off the iron skillet and placed it in the dish rack. Lorcan dried his hands and turned to his daughter, who held her hands up expectantly. With a fond smile, Lorcan scooped her up and asked, “Time for bed? Did you brush your teeth yet?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Daddy, don’t forgot Mr. Ribbit.” Stella said softly, already falling asleep. She clutched at his shoulders, a yawn splitting her little face in half. 

His grin softened and he kissed the top of her head, “Can’t forget your frog, now, can we?” There came a low chuckle from the living room. Elide walked over to them, her pencil stuck in her hair and carrying the fuzzy green animal. She passed the animal to Stella and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Lorcan offered her his hand, “Come with us?” 

Elide nodded and slipped her hand in his. They walked to Stella's room together. She breathed evenly and deeply, her eyes closed. Her lashes brushed the tops of her rosy cheeks. Lorcan set her down with care and tucked her blankets around her. “Good night, my darling moon,” he said softly - in his native tongue - and brushed her hair back before it could tickle the tip of her button nose.

“Night-night,” Stella whispered, her eyes cracking open. “Are you gonna come drive me with mama tomorrow to school?” She snuggled into her pile of pillows and held her blanket up for Salem to settle in beside her. The cat curled up against her and purred softly as he flicked his fluffy tail over her protectively.

“Yes, I am.” 

She nodded, “Good. That’s good, Daddy.” 

“Alright, Tiny,” he laughed softly, “go to sleep, yeah? You’ve had a big day.” He kissed her forehead and stood up to let Elide say good night. 

Elide sat down on the edge of the mattress and cupped Stella’s face in her hand, her words soft and too low for Lorcan to hear. She too chuckled and kissed Stella Luna’s cheek, then got up and stepped over to Lorcan. 

They closed the door and silently walked back to the living room. Lorcan sat down on the couch and rubbed his eyes. Elide curled up in the opposite corner and smiled, “Tired?” 

“Yeah,” he said, dropping his head back against the couch. “Fuck me, I have to go home.” 

“Why don’t you just stay here tonight? You’ll have to come back tomorrow anyway,” Elide said, her voice measured. 

Lorcan looked at her, but her face was turned to the side. “Are you sure, El? I honestly don’t mind and I haven’t been to my place in a while.” 

She glanced over at him, “No, c’mon, it’s fine. It’s not like we’ve never done it.” 

“Done what?” 

Elide shot him a flat look, “Slept in the same bed.” 

Lorcan choked and his eyes widened, “El- what? I was just going to take the–” 

“I swear to Anneith if you say ‘couch’, I’ll strangle you. I’m not making you sleep on my couch when you’ve been gone all summer.” Elide stood up and walked to her bedroom, her hips swinging enticingly. Lorcan quickly looked away. “Besides, my bed is big. I promise I won’t give you my cooties.” 

He snapped his teeth and crossed the room to join her. “Fine. I’ll stay.” 

Elide crossed her arms over her chest and smiled cockily, “I knew you would.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lorcan said, pulling her into his arms. Her body melted into his. They fit perfectly together. They always had. “You’re always right, aren’t you, princess?” 

Elide hid her smile and slipped her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed above his heart. For a long moment, neither said a word. Then, Elide pressed her forehead against him and whispered. She couldn’t speak any louder, fearing that the tears she’d held back for years would finally spill over. “It’s nice to have you home, Lor.” 

“It’s nice to be home,” he murmured, gently rubbing her back. 

“It wasn’t the same without you.” It’s never the same without you.

He closed his eyes, hating the tears that blurred his vision. “Wasn’t the same without you, either, Lochan.”

 ☽ ☼ ☾

an: ahh ! it’s here ! a few things will b different for this wip, so i just want to let u all kno: 

- chapters will b posted once a week on mondays, at 8pm pacific standard time

- there will b flashback chapters !! 

- there will b depictions of recreational drug (marijuana) and alcohol consumption - i will put warnings for these n if there r any other triggers u would like me to warn, pls let me know

- if u want to b added/removed from the tag list, just send me an ask - it is rlly no trouble at all <3

translation: *Até: Father/Dad in Lakota (i headcanon lorcan to be native american - speficially Oglala Lakota. this will b more apparent/relevant in future chapters. i call his tribe 'the ozuye'. 'ozuye' means war-party in lakota)

songs played in chapter: (by order of appearance) 1. Pink + White - Frank Ocean 2. Dreaming - Blondie 3. I'm Not A Loser - Descendents

@mythicaitt​​ @werewolffprince​​ @schmlip-scribble​​ ​ @the-regal-warrior​​ @ladyverena​​ @ttakeitbacknoww​​ @shyvioletcat​​ @alifletcher2012​​ @tswaney17​​ @ourbooksuniverse​​  @flora-and-fae​​ @thesirenwashere​​ @queenofxhearts​​ @maastrash​​ @mynewdreamwasyou​​ @cursebreaker29​​ @empress-ofbloodshed​​ @b00kworm​​ @hizqueen4life​​ @silversprings98​​ @amren-courtofdreams​​ @minaidss​​ @superspiritfestival​​ @sanakapoor​​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​​ @spyofthenightcourt​​  @thegoddessofyou​​ @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx​​ @claralady​​ @neonhellas​​ @darlinminds​​ @readingismyonlyhobby​​ @autophobiaxx​​ @silversprings28​​ @myshadowsingeraz​​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​​ @elriel4life​​ @always-in-a-daydream​​ @jlinez​​ @ladywitchling​​ @mariamuses​ @darklesmylove​ @adelzd-bookblr​

#star-crossed & moon drunk #sc&md chapter one #all the stars rewrite #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #stella luna salvaterre lochan #isa writes #nalgenewhore #whoo hoo we're in for it now buds #this is a slooowwww burn

[atmilliways]

On the 4th day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 16 - Taking photos for the holiday cards!

Charles has perfected his Dethklok management techniques: it's all about compromises.

And equal distribution of kisses.

Cute holiday Polyklok time!

Five Middle Fingers & A Manager In A Pear Tree

They’d ganged up on him. They always did, of course, but this time there was a lot less “do it or we’ll grumble and call you a robot and maybe talk about pummeling you with absolutely no follow-through” and surprisingly more “pleeeeeeeease Charles?” It was hard to say no to all five of his boyfriends at once while trapped in the center of a group hug getting puppy dog eyes from all directions. 

And anyway, it was Christmas. 

“Fine,” Charles sighed. “I’ll pose in the holiday card photo with you this year.” 

A near deafening cheer went up all around, and Toki leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“And you’ll get really sloppy with us before the picture, right?” Nathan asked excitedly by his ear. 

“No. Sorry, Nathan, I will, ah, not be doing that. I’ll still have work to do that afternoon.”

This produced a quieter chorus of boos, but he could tell they weren’t particularly surprised or annoyed from the lack of actual complaints. One of the benefits of entering into this relationship, it had turned out, was that these gruff, brutal men didn’t whine about being told no quite as much as long as they knew that, at the end of the day, they would still get his attention. It was sweet, actually, but Charles would never risk telling any of them so. 

Skwisgaar rested his chin on Charles’ hair from behind with a sigh. “I guess that ams all the Christmas vacations we can gets out of Mr. Works All The Times Guy.”

“Workaholic,” Murderface corrected. “The word you’re looking for isch workaholic.”

Charles repressed a smile. “Yes, William, thank you.” Murderface beamed proudly at the morsel of praise. 

“I know what words I am wants to using,” Skwisgaar mumbled, but Charles leaned back slightly against him and he declined to press the issue. 

“One little hit before the picture?” Pickles wheedled.

“. . . Fine, one hit. But nothing over twenty percent THC and don’t mix anything else in.”

Pickles’ eyes lit up. Charles almost never agreed to get any amount of high. “You got yerself a deal there, chief!”

“Okay,” Nathan announced, “now we all gotta go and let Charles get his stupid work done in time for tomorrow. One goodbye kiss each. Except for Toki, he already did his.”

“Hey!” the rhythm guitarist protested. “That’s no fairs, that was just a cheek kiss but now you guys wills alls do the tongue kiss!!”

Pickles nudged him. “Dood, how ‘bout we each get one cheek kiss and one tongue kiss?” 

“Good idea, Pickles,” Charles said, and saw the drummer light up even more at the compliment. Almost immediately, four kisses from four different directions landed on his cheeks almost in unison. 

At the beginning of this . . . understanding between the six of them, things like this had made him flush bright red every time. The mortifying ordeal of being known, he supposed—of suddenly being aware that the people around him cared for and wanted him. Now that he’d had some time to get used to it, there was a warm glow in his chest whenever he thought about how surprisingly in sync they’d all become, even when they were trying to talk him into ridiculous things. 

Murderface lingered the longest; as the others pulled away, he angled Charles towards him and went for it. He was definitely getting better at kissing. The thing he was doing with his tongue, for example, Charles knew he had learned from Skwisgaar and it was . . . very effective. When he pulled away, Charles’ first impulse was to try and follow him, which earned a gratified chuckle. 

Next, Toki leaned in, and he liked to nip playfully. Charles met him on the same terms, enjoying the back and forth of it, and then Pickles joined them for a brief threeway kiss before Toki was done and Pickles was pulling him down like a whirlpool, arms thrown lazily around his neck. He tested warm and smokey, like an aged whiskey

Charles was expecting Nathan next, if they were going in clockwise order . . . but Skwisgaar tapped him on the far shoulder and suddenly Pickles was spinning him to hand him off to the lead guitarist. Skwisgaar dug his long, agile fingers into Charles’ neatly combed back hair, and kissed him so thoroughly that by the time Charles was released his glasses were askew. 

Not to be outdone by his bandmates, Nathan spun him around again with an impatient growl and dipped him like they were in a goddamned ballroom, albeit not actually dancing. Although his grip seemed secure, Charles automatically grabbed fistfuls of the front man’s t-shirt to keep his balance, and when Nathan pulled him back up his fists were pressed hard between their chests. Charles was, at that point, slightly weak in the knees from all the attention, and glad to have thought ahead to find handholds so he wouldn’t embarrass himself. 

“Mm,” Nathan grunted, licking his lips. “Okay, band hug’s over. We’ll see you later tonight, right?”

“I’ll do my best to clear the schedule,” Charles managed to say in a level voice. He unclenched his fingers and began to smooth the black cloth down where he’d pulled at it. “But I get the impression that you boys wanted me to, ah, prioritize that photo shoot.”

“Oh well, yeah, that. Obviously.”

“Ja, obsvkiouslies”

“Is a very important picture times!”

“Yeah, we gotta schpread all the holiday cheer to our regular jackoff fansch becausche their livesch are scho bleak and empty without us!”

“Yeeah, and there wouldn’t be no Dethklok cheer without you, dood!”

Charles felt a smile creeping across his face. It was an unfamiliar sensation after too many years of being married to his work, but he was starting to find that he liked it. “Okay, so I’ll, ah, try for tonight. Which room will you be sleeping in?”

“Probably nots ours,” Toki said, indicating himself and Skwisgaar since their bedrooms were in the same wing of the haus. “It’s always colder there, gives Pickle the shivers this times of years.”

“My bed frame is schtill broken from lascht week,” Murderface admitted. Charles made a mental note to speak to a Klokateer about having that fixed for him ASAP. 

Pickles shrugged. “Nathan’s bed’s the biggest, that’s got my vote.”

“Cool, we can listen to my choice of music while we’re going to sleep,” Nathan said with a grin, as brightly as his deep, gravely voice was capable of. 

They wandered off, already taken up in casual argument about other metal bands and the relative merits of listening to them—but as they went, each took the time to touch or bump or brush past Charles on their way. Just a little physical reminder that while they might be going elsewhere for now, he was still part of the group. The door to his office closed, and Charles circled back around his desk to sit and get back to work with a new lightness to his step. If he buckled down, he saw no reason he couldn’t be done for the night and able to join them by midnight at the latest. . . .

Twenty-four hours later, Charles looked over the holiday card proofs with a wry smile. On the count of one, two, three, say ‘metal!’ the guys had all reached suddenly behind him to grab his ass with one hand and flip the camera off with the other. Seems there had been a secret theme that they’d forgotten to fill him in about. 

But they all looked so genuinely delighted in the resulting pictures—a series in which Charles himself reddened steadily while the band practically collapsed from the hilarity of it. They were good shots. He would just . . . have someone in the graphic design department photoshop a more composed image of himself into the center of it all. 

Yeah. 

And he would keep the originals, obviously.

#metalocalypse #12 days of dethmas #metalocalypse fanfic #polyklok #i have only just begun to explore my polyklok feelings

[hopevalley]

Season 8, Episode 10: Old Love, New Love, Is This True Love

All right, so...like I said, work has picked up and my eyes feel like old marbles from staring at numbers (the woes of working in accounting I guess) so I want to get this written up and tossed into the nether before I lose steam and motivation to do it. The interesting thing about these little write-ups is that as the week goes on they just get harder and harder to write...

I do apologize in advance to those who like the long-winded write-ups. I’m just not up to it at the moment. Still feeling kind of bleh from the episode.

Let’s go back to an old format, shall we?

The Good

We might as well start out with the things about this episode that I enjoyed! 

Gossip Hour with the Men was one of the best openers they’ve had on the show in a while. It was genuinely funny without being meanspirited. Nobody looked like the bad guy. Everyone just calmly talked about it alike it was a normal thing to maybe call off the wedding. Bill calling out Carson for giving marriage advice was pretty funny, Mike was a delight. I don’t know what to say. I’d watch a whole episode of The Boys just hanging around spending time together.

--

Florence’s worry that she’s ugly was...not a terrible idea for a storyline, but the actress is too good-looking to pretend to be ugly (I saw her in this pretty yellow dress on Instagram a couple years ago and she was smashing)? Also, it’s not like Ned is a handsomely aged gentleman (like Henry lol) so it makes even less sense for the characters. I think they should have gone with Florence feeling she’s “plain” and that dressing up Super Nice makes her feel uncomfortable because she just doesn’t feel like Herself and worries maybe it’s projecting a false sense of Who She Is or something? I guess overall I still liked that an attempt was made to add some depth to Florence and her difficulties in choosing a dress/hairstyle, so...it goes here.

--

Ned asking Henry to be his best man was nice, too. I can forgive the shoddy pacing and weird placement of this request (like I do with almost everything in the show) but only because the scene was just...so incredibly wholesome. 

I like how Henry just casually is like, “Well maybe today’s just not the day.” I think it eased Ned’s mind just a little that he CAN back out if he really wants to.

I think it’s worth thinking about the fact that Ned and Henry would have always worked very closely, since the mercantile would have been a company store before the mine closed down... I like Henry and Ned as pals.

--

I’m glad the “investment” thing with Jesse and Clara’s savings was brought up in a way that...makes sense. And also, glad it wasn’t forgotten.

--

I really liked Molly and Florence in this episode. I’m a little sad Florence married Ned because I AM SORRY BUT I WANTED TO KEEP SHIPPING MOLLY AND FLORENCE TOGETHER UGHGHGHH

But their relationship is so good and maYBE Elizabeth will learn something from them.

Hey Elizabeth...you see that?

YOU SEE THAT?

Just saying.

And then later...

“You are the sister I never had, the mother I forever wanted, the friend I have always needed. From the depths of those dark and terrifying coal mines you’ve walked beside me, picking me up whenever I’ve stumbled along the way.”

AAAAAAAAA IT GOT ME.

--

I’m...really liking Fiona and Mike’s relationship, whatever it is. I kind of think they’re not headed toward anything romantic. Everyone thinks Mike is really into Fiona but at the end of the episode we realize he likes talking to her about business; it’s almost like they have this shared passion for numbers/ideas and he likes infodumping to her (and vice-versa).

I think they’re going to end up being “just friends” and Fiona will end up paired off with the man Elizabeth doesn’t choose. They hinted at Nathan briefly in this episode (with Allie’s hair), but who knows? I’m over trying to speculate on where the triangle is going at this point, but I actually like Fiona’s relationship with Mike so much that I’ll be disappointed if she fades into the background with Nathan or Lucas. Mike deserves more screentime. 

--

Ned and Florence sharing their fIRST KISS. My husband got emotional over this. And I admit, it was starting to get to me, too. I can’t NOT root for them. 

--

I said it before and I’ll say it again: I WOULD DIE FOR THE CANFIELDS.

--

The wedding was nice. I liked that Bill and Joseph officiated it together; it gives Joseph a li’l trial run of pastoring and finally Bill gets to use some of that power of his to officiate a wedding.

“Please, if you’d like” is such a Bill way to say that they may kiss LOL.

--

Also, I have to admit that I did enjoy Lucas calling Nathan out about Allie. She wouldn’t be caught in the middle if he’d leave Elizabeth alone AND HE IS RIGHT LMAO.

The last good thing: Elizabeth telling Nathan she doesn’t blame him for Jack’s death. Nice. Good. Thank you. He probably needed to hear that.

--

...THE BAD

Carson and Faith. UGH. UGHHHHHHHHHH. BREAK UP ALREADY I HATE YOU BOTH.

I appreciated that Carson had the ring ages ago, and I did like his conversation with Minnie—or more accurately, her advice to him. I felt like she was nudging him toward, “Remember why you became a surgeon in the first place.” If he became a surgeon to help people, then there’s no reason he can’t help people where he is. Sure, he might not be doing state of the art procedures but with Faith working alongside him, he can afford time to learn new things and go to doctor conventions or even take a specialized class now and then. No other doctor could get away for very long but he has that chance!

And he’ll arguably be doing more good in the middle of nowhere than in the city. All the doctors want to live in the city. Nobody wants to barely get paid for their time in the countryside.

We had a whole episode that made it clear that Faith and Carson don’t make a lot of money and do a lot of charity work. They also work for trade goods (mostly food). So it’s like...a pretty big difference in lifestyle? 

Half the reason I can’t get invested in these characters is because I really can’t stand Paul Greene. He just...annoys me on every single level imaginable. But he’s a decent actor and I can’t help but feel that his character was a massive waste of space for the past few seasons through no fault of the man himself. Imagine introducing a character like Carson and then leaving him to rot before you try to make him interesting with a romance plot that nobody asked for.

Yes, some people really like Faith and Carson, but as a whole I think the fandom didn’t buy into them as a ship due to the lack of chemistry.

It really is a shame. This episode didn’t do a thing to endear me to either character. Please, Carson. I am begging you to leave town.

--

This one particular line of dialogue almost enraged me.

WE KNOW WE KNOW WE KNOW WE KNOW WE CAN SEE THAT FOR OURSELVES. WHY DID THEY HAVE ROSEMARY SAY THIS LIKE IT’S AN EPISODE OF A CHILD’S TV SHOW?

--

Elizabeth.........

How could Katie have...looked up to her? She was never in her class? That was? Never part of anything? It was just something they threw in here to force Elizabeth to make 1% more sense in the role she’s in but IT STILL DOESN’T WORK.

I felt like I was back in Season 5 again with Lori and Elizabeth putting their nose in everyone’s business except it’s just Elizabeth!! The whole plot, which was boring and contrived anyway, should have gone to Molly, since she’s Florence’s best friend and another woman from town that Katie would have known as a child.

AND ALSO, MOLLY WOULD HAVE KNOWN KATIE’S MOTHER AND WOULD REMEMBER THE GRIEF THAT NED STRUGGLED WITH.

I know they wanted to make Elizabeth give advice so that she’d Realize that she needs to, I don’t know, make better choices or something, but it was too on the nose for me and I hated it.

GinithePooh on Reddit made a good comparison to Elizabeth in this episode by saying she reminded them of Clippy from Microsoft Word, always popping up and offering to help when nobody really needs or wants advice.

To honor their incredible idea, I opened Photoshop and created this gem, which I will also be posting separately so that people can reblog it if they wish to.

I also don’t think I need to say also filed under The Bad is the fact that Elizabeth didn’t even apologize for being awful to Rosemary and then gave her unsolicited advice to other people for two days straight. I can’t believe they wrote that? 

All I can say is that her apology to Rosemary, when it comes, better be good.

--

And I didn’t like this either:

I wish it had been followed up by literally anything: Nathan saying he’s sorry he didn’t tell her sooner or something to make the hand-holding actually be a little more innocent.

As it is, it just seems so deliberate? 

Maybe the next episode starts off right in this scene and we’ll get that? If so, this might actually end up being fine. I just don’t think it is if it doesn’t get a little more direct attention.

--

& THE UGLY

I debated on putting anything in here, because I’m not ready to talk about my feelings on this matter, at least not fully. But I’ve been pretty quiet all season so far, and...eh, why not just mention things in advance? What will it hurt?

Let me preface this section by saying I’m biased and I doubt hardly anyone on this site will agree with me, so feel free to just ignore this part if that’s the case.

There are two things that I really didn’t like in this episode.

I hate the slanting toward Bill/Molly.

I like Molly just fine but I don’t like her with Bill. I’m biased as all getout and also worried about the future/potential Season 9 with regards to this. I don’t want to see it. Like at all. Why, you ask? You should know why if you follow me. I’m super transparent.

It’s because I like AJ AND I WANT HER BACK LOL.

John Tinker rewatched the series so we know he wouldn’t have missed that hanging plot thread—especially since he didn’t forget any of the other things that were brought up this season! So why didn’t she appear this season? The love triangle absolutely needed to be a focus or it would have never ended, so that’s part of it, but I’m also pretty sure Josie Bissett wasn’t interested in doing any filming last year during Covid. My only “proof” is that Wedding March 6 wasn’t filmed last year even though it was scheduled to be filmed, but it makes sense. Last year was chaos.

THAT SAID, Jack Wagner posted on his Instagram the other day that they are actually filming Wedding March 6 now, so... I guess AJ’s re-appearance in Season 9 wouldn’t come as too much of a surprise if they wanted to write it.

You’d think I’d be hyped about that, and I kind of am? But it doesn’t come without its share of worries, too. We just had the worst love triangle in the history of love triangles and I really don’t want another one, especially if it makes any of the characters in question look stupid or mean.

I fully admit a well-written love triangle could be a LOT of fun for them* (low stakes because they’re not front and center characters), but I saw how Nathan was written so far this season and I really, REALLY do not want to see that happen to Molly, Bill, or AJ.

Anyway, not a fan of the Molly/Bill stuff. No chemistry. I don’t want it.

*I would totally write a fanfic like this lmao.

--

And finally...the part that everyone will hate me for:

I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ABIGAIL COME BACK. And I specifically do not want her to come back ‘cause I do not wanna see Henry/Abigail happen.

I fully recognize that a lot of you like it and ship the heck out of it, and that’s...good. I’m glad you enjoy it. I loathe it, though, and I worry that all these hints (more like...mentions) are leaning toward...something. Like, either they’re:

1) Sending Abigail off/tying up that loose end with Henry (since nothing was ever clarified either way), or

2) Warming up the audience to receive Abigail back on the show.

I’m pretty into the idea of one-sided Henry/Abigail. Hindsight is 20/20, regrets, that’s all some juicy stuff to give a character like Henry. Some things can’t ever be made right again. He had too direct of a connection to the death of her husband and son for me to ever want to see them together. Forgiveness? Yes. A careful but meaningful friendship? Yes. Romantic relationship? Uh...no thanks.

I liked the Abigail mentions at first because I felt like...the character still mattered (as she should) but I’m at a point where I feel like they’re trying really hard to steer the fandom’s view a certain way and not knowing where it’s going is extremely unsettling to me.

--

I’ll probably talk more about the things that bother me when the season ends, because I’m hoping to have a better idea of where things are going to be headed, but for now just...know that I feel very apprehensive.

And keep in mind that I primarily watch this show for Bill these days, since all my previous faves (AJ, Frank, the old Abigail, Dottie) have exited, stage left. I also always really liked seeing Henry. So as you can imagine, seeing plotlines I hate for the only two characters I’m invested in? Is making me consider dropping the series next year.

My husband told me I should hate-watch it, but I don’t know if my heart can take it. I’ve been following this series for so long...it just...kind of hurts to feel let down like this? 

But sometimes an ongoing series ends up going where you...didn’t want it to, and it becomes something that’s no longer right for you. I hope that doesn’t happen, but last night’s episode makes me feel like...it might be happening for real this time.

I guess if that holds true it’ll be back to fanfiction for me. Will that novelization I planned ages ago end up getting written? Will I write the best love triangle fanfic known to man? WHO KNOWS.

For now, we’ll all have to wait and see! Two more episodes left. I’m really curious to see how they resolve some of the open plots right now. :>

#when calls the heart #long post #character studies and information #analysis and meta discussion

[jaehyeonsgf]

dear friend

summary : mark’s therapist suggests that he picks up journaling and mark uses it explore his friendship with you through the years. 

tw : car accidents leading to death.

-

Mark nibbles the tip of his pen in search of what to write, of where to begin. His therapist recommended that he starts keeping a journal, to keep track of his thoughts and emotions. Somehow Mark decides to write it to you because you’d understand. You’ve always understood him. You’d be the only person he felt comfortable sharing his unfiltered thoughts.

-

“Where do I start?” Mark asked, hands grazing the faux leather cover of the journal his therapist had bought for him.

His therapist start smiled kindly – the kind of smile that was practiced to perfection. “Anywhere Mark. The beginning would be good.”

-

Dear friend,

Today my therapist suggested starting a journal, so I’m writing to you. I think you’d understand, you’ve always understood me anyways. I really don’t know where to begin so I’ll start from the start. With us.

I remember the first day of elementary school. You were beside me. You took your small hands and held mine. You squeezed it and it reassured me. It was enough to get my tears to stop spilling out of my eyes.

“Mark!” Your voice was sharp, “Today we are grown-up!” You declared so loudly that even other kids took notice of you.

The other students’ parents were pointing at us and laughing. They thought we were so cute.

“Are they sibling?” one of the parents asked your mother.

Before your mother could answer her, you did with all the confidence a seven-year-old could have.

“No, Mark isn’t my sew-bling,” you frowned at the word ‘sibling’, “Mark is my huss-band!”

I just nodded enthusiastically. We both didn’t understand why the adult were laughing at our ‘cuteness’. We were very sincere about it. I guess, I hadn’t understood the impact of your words. Or my agreement to it. But even at 7, I knew that if being your huss-band meant that I could stand by your side forever, I would gladly be your huss-band. Whatever that meant.

Later that year, I would fall trying to learn how to ride a bicycle. I had scrapped my knees (the scar is still present now) and the pain had cause tears to flood my eyes. Our parents were too busy getting ready for the barbeque that they hadn’t realise.

But you came running to me. Your little legs carried you as fast as they could to my side. Again, you held my hand and squeeze it.

“You are a big boy now, no more crying!”

Looking back at it, you were always the fearless one, the one that stood by my side and steadied me. Even when my parents weren’t there, you were. I could count on you no matter what. Perhaps that’s why I believed, truly from the bottom of my heart that even if the world crashed and collapsed around us, if I had you, I would be fine.

-

Mark finishes his first entry, and places his journal and his writing pen – that he bought at the dollar store just to write in said journal – on his nightstand. That night i the first night that he felt a sense of peace in his heart. Maybe it was the subconscious spilling of his heart to you (well, not actually you you) again.

For the first time in two years, he has a sorta decent sleep.

He forgets all about the journal until a few days later when he came back from a cabin retreat that Doyoung insisted he’d go.

-

Dear friend,

I just returned from a cabin retreat at Hanuel National Park. Doyoung had insisted that I come along. Said that the whole gang’s gonna be there and that they didn’t want me missing out. I don’t think you’ve met Doyoung, he’s the new addition to the gang. He’s a blunt guy with a good heart. I think you’d really like him if you meet him.

It brought back so many memories. I remember that we first went there when we were fourteen. Our parents had booked a retreat in the mountains during spring break and since it was our first time staying over in the wilderness, you had looked up a bunch of websites, trying to find the best spots of the place.

We had our own cabin. Just the two of us. Our little world.

Most people would go hiking in the day, but not you. You said that you read an article online about one of the most stunning places to stargaze is at Hanuel National Park and that you wouldn’t leave without visiting it at least once.

“It’s totally photoshopped,” I grumbled when you excitedly shoved your phone screen infront of me, showing me the apparent night sky at the park.

You pouted and whined. “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease Mark.”

And even though I preferred to stay in our cabin, reading a chapter from Naruto, I agreed. The way your eyes lit up in delight as you flashed your million dollars smile at me was enough to make up for it. You shoved your backpack full of stuff, and in your moment of frenzy, I think you even shoved some of my stuff in it.

“Dude, do you really need my bag of marshmallow? I thought you said it’d be a quick hike.”

You smiled sheepishly. And I knew what that smile meant. I just groaned as I pulled a windbreak over myself and slipped on my boots.

I still remember the harsh winds blowing through the forest, the claustrophobic fear that tugged in my heart as we pushed our way through the dense foliage.

“If we ever make it back to civilisation, I’m going to kill you,” I huffed.

“When,” you corrected, tossing me a glare, “When we make it back.”

“If.”

You rolled your eyes at me. At least, I think you did. In the darkness of the woods, with the only light coming from your dimmed down phone screen (to save battery) and the cheap dollar store flashlight in my hand, I couldn’t see anything. I could barely see you.

You were afraid too. I could tell from the way you would anxiously look past your shoulder, making sure that I’m following you in your every step as if you would think that I’d ditch you last minute.

I can’t lie and say that thought didn’t cross my mind. But somehow your glances made me irritated that you would even consider that.

“Dude, are we getting there yet?” I asked for the tenth, or was it eleventh, time of the night.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “We just started.”

“I think we’re lost,” I muttered, kicking aside a branch.

“No we are not,” you gritted through your teeth.

But your fearless façade fell the moment the light from your screen disappeared.

“Shit,” you said, suddenly stopping in your track. “Shitshitshit.”

You frantically tapped the screen, and when that didn’t work, you began pressing on all the buttons of your phone. But it was clear that your phone died.

“Shitshitshitshit,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Okay, calm down,” I tried to reassure you. “Let’s just go there another day alright?”

When you started hyperventilating, I thought you were just sad or angry or frustrated that we couldn’t visit the place. And by this point in the night, we had made a considerable distance from the our cabins. Little did I know I was wrong.

“Let’s walk back.”

You stood frozen. I was so confused.

“Let’s walk back,” I said again, this time a little louder.

But again, you just stood there, rooted on the ground. And it took me a moment to realise what happened.

You were scared. Of the darkness.

I hadn’t realise it until you told me later on, that although you were so terrified of the dark, you loved the stars. You had kept yourself steady on the brightness of your phone, ignoring the darkness outside of the screen as you led the way but when your phone died, the darkness came rushing into your vision.

For the first time in our friendship, I was the one that took your hand and led you back to our cabins. The walk back was quiet and somehow it felt longer when we weren’t quarrelling or bantering.

That night I learned that you had fears too. I also learned that you liked the stars. I wonder if you liked the stars simply because they tore through the veil of darkness or if it was because they shone despite the darkness, not letting it consumed them.

I hope it’s the latter. Because then I can say that you were like a star and not in some shitty poetic metaphor. But because of the years that were ahead of you.

-

That night, Mark places the journal in his leather sling bag – the one bag that he uses for everything. Taeyong has told him before that there are bags for everything, but you can’t use a bag for everything.

Mark doesn’t care. There are more things in life that Mark has to deal with outside of his banal fashion.

-

Dear friend, I’m writing to you on a piece of paper, just because I’m on a train, going out of Seoul to Jeju Island. I was reminded of the first time we’ve been separated. My family took a week long vacation to Paris. And yea sure, there was the Lourve, Mona Lisa and the Eiffel Tower but I spent the whole week just marking the days off with little crosses on my calendar. It was also the first time I wrote letters to you. Although by the time my posted letter reached you, I had already been back to Seoul. I wrote about the beautiful sights in Paris, the macarons I ate and that one rude waiter that was cursing at my family in Italian. Back then, I felt good knowing that I had someone to talk to, even if you weren’t physically there with me. Perhaps it’s the same wi

-

Mark curses when he had ran out of space on the napkin. He was too lazy to ask for another napkin so he just neatly folds the blue stained napkin and pushes it safely into his pocket. He spends the rest of the train ride looking out of the window, taking in the greenery that he hadn’t seen in awhile.

Mark is in Jeju for Taeil’s wedding. His therapist encouraged him to come, saying that it would do him some good to get some socialising. Yet, even as everyone mingles in the reception, Mark hides himself on the outside balcony, sipping on some punch.

“Hey stranger,” Doyoung says.

The familiar voice jolts him, bringing him out of his own thoughts. Eerily, he remembers that hey, stranger, was your first words to him when he returned from Paris.

“Hey,” Mark replies, giving the taller man a practiced smile. The same smile his therapist gives him at the end of every session.

“How’s it going? How are you?”

“Good now,” Mark breathes out, hoping that Doyoung doesn’t press any further. Not that he is lying, simply because Doyoung reminds him so much of you. The way his casual smile has a reassuring feeling, the way it echoes your voice in his head “I’m right here”.

And Doyoung doesn’t question him further.

They spend all evening together, Doyoung helps Mark when old friends come up to him and try to catch up by asking about you, Doyoung helps Mark when the banal table conversations bores him to death and Doyoung helps until the wedding ceremony ends. Mark can’t lie, Doyoung helps him forget momentarily about the constant thoughts and it calms him down when he’s with Doyoung.

Maybe, Mark thinks to himself, it’s because Doyoung is a clean slate who knows nothing about the past.

“I’m glad you were there,” Mark says as he enters his cab.

Doyoung stands on the road, nodding and waving at him to leave. “It’s the least I could do.”

-

Mark’s mental health only deteriorated when he arrives back in Seoul. He’s swamped with work and barely has time to breathe and so he forgets about his journal.

He pushes himself to the extreme, taking on projects after projects and numbing himself with work.

It isn’t until he comes down with a serious case of flu, rendering him almost immobile that he remembers about the journal.

-

Dear friend,

It’s been awhile. I’ve been busy at work until now. Unfortunately, no one’s home to take care of me. I’m missing your warm stews and your barrage of scolding. This ache in my heart is a familiar feeling.

I think it was the first year of high school. Of course, we ended up going to the same high school and, as luck would have it, we were in the same class. By this time, we were seventeen, and more importantly, I was seventeen. You didn’t need to hold my hand nor did you need to encourage me. Yet you were still there, right by myself as I walked into the school building.

Half-a-year of high school normalcy later, my family was turned upside down.

See, we both were very coddled, I think you would agree. Our city-lives were considerably better than many others. So my mother’s death was the first thing actual chaos that I’ve experienced.

Who would have known that taking an extra shift would have been so costly?

Mom didn’t have to be there. But she took an extra shift. She said it would go to my college fund. Mine.

She left work at 4 AM that day. Unfortunately she never reached home. A truck driver was drunk driving and, even though she had waited for the green man to light up at the intersection just in front of my home, the driver hadn’t stop.

She died on impact. There was no hoping for another outcome.

You were there with me, on the hospital floor, as I wailed, cursing God. You sobbed silently too.

A simple accident caused the family to fall apart. My dad spiralled into alcoholism and I spiralled into numbness. I lost the woman I had loved the most. The days when you would come straight to my house after school and just sigh at the mess I’ve become, before cooking me warm stew and using it to coax me out of bed.

You’d consider the day a success if I even drank just a spoonful of your soup.

I didn’t tell you but I hated that you were ever-so-polite in my house. The loud and boisterous you also seemed affected by the cursed place that was my house. I didn’t tell you but the silence within those four walls drove me crazy. It was like a hand, choking me until I couldn’t breathe. Each time you’d come over, I wished you would just talk normally. Tell me about your problems. Rant about the petty arguments you had in school. But you never did.

And I’m not blaming you. It was what it was. You did your best.

But the worse had yet to come.

When Ten had sent out a mass invite for his birthday party, you and I were both shocked to receive one. I had gotten a little better then and wanted to go out and have some fun for the first time in a while.

I saw your hesitation. “It’s Ten’s birthday party. Are you sure?”

I knew what you hinted at, the alcohol. I guess a part of you was also fearful that I’d end up like my father. And you were right to.

The thump of muffled music couple with incoherent voices were audible even before the both of us got to the house. I tried to convince you that not all frat parties are bad. That sure, alcohol’s there but there’s no harm right? You tried to shrug it off like it’s no big deal. The pungent stench of beer immediately filled our noes when we walked into Ten’s mansion, but I was used to it. This was the same odour of my father.

You shifted nervously and I wished that we had just left right there and then. But we didn’t.

“Come on,” I plead, “It’ll be fun.”

You didn’t even have the time to respond before Taeyong spotted me. I had a few classes with him before everything went south so I dragged you along toward him.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in awhile man,” Taeyong greeted me. He passed me a red sole cup and it didn’t take a genius to figure out the contents of it.

I rejected it. I knew that alcohol was a poison. I knew that I shouldn’t accept it. There must be more to parties than just loud music and alcohol… right?

My rejection caused the table to look at me curiously. I recognised some of them. Jaehyun and Johnny from the swimmers’ team were there. So was Taeil from the choir. We’ve heard of them. If life was a high school drama movie, they’ll be the clichéd popular jocks.

Suddenly, I felt the pressure to give in, the yearn for some sort of acceptance, even if superficial. You glanced at me, your eyes pleading for me to not take the cup.

I took it. But I didn’t have to drink it… right?

Taeyong smiled before handing another cup to you. I didn’t miss your desperate glances, I didn’t miss you tugging at the hem of my shirt asking for help, an excuse, anything. But I pretended I did.

Of course I did. I had to. Especially hearing how the table began to chortle unkindly at your rejection of the cup.

“Well, I guess even at a party, I shouldn’t have expected you to take it,” Taeyong said as he set the cup back on the table.

All of a sudden, I felt the predatory eyes of the people at the table. For the first time since the incident, I became the normal one whereas you were the weird one.

I should have stepped in and defended her. But I didn’t. I should have left the party and chased after you when you stumbled backwards, eyes brimming with tears before running out. But I didn’t. When the new group of friends that I found myself with started making jokes at your expense, calling you a prude, a goody-two-shoes, a bore, I should have done something, anything. But I didn’t. I laughed with them too.

The dark sadistic string within me felt… acceptance and freedom.

For the first time in our lives, we were truly, truly separated. I thought this was true liberation.

When Johnny asked me why didn’t I ditch you long ago, I didn’t tell them about how you’ve been the cornerstone of my life. Instead I replied with, “I ask myself that all the time.”

That night, as you ran away from my side and I did nothing to stop you, it felt like a new start. A clean slate. Finally I could rid myself of you, the you who knew me better than I knew myself, the you who accepted me for me, the you who’d give up your life in a heartbeat if it was for me but more importantly, the you that knew my deepest, darkest secrets.

It felt like the anchor tying me down for the past seventeen years of my life was finally removed and I could start anew.

-

Mark’s hand aches from writing a few pages worth of journal entries and he blames it on the fact that he hasn’t written anything to you in a while. He flips through the book, cringing slightly at his atrocious handwriting, before closing the journal.

A sigh parts his lips as he thinks back on the past him and how dumb he was.

His therapist told him not to indulge too much in the past, that it steals from the present moment. So he tries to suppress his thoughts and force himself to sleep. God knows he needs it.

  The next morning, or rather, afternoon when he wakes up, he feels slightly better. He checks his phone and sees that his therapist has messaged him, just to check up on him. He types a quick reply, asking to reschedule his appointment to another day.

His father, who has gotten back on his feet, left a note for Mark.

“Son, eat this and feel better! -Dad

P.S my second year of sobriety is coming up, get me present please”

Mark chuckles at his father’s little note. He drags himself to the kitchen, heating up the bowl of soup that his father had prepared. In some ways, Mark could see a silver lining to his mother’s accident. Despite the hiccup of his alcoholism, Mark’s father really grew to be a caring father. Before the accident, Mark wasn’t close to his father at all. Between business meetings and business meetings and more business meetings, Mark rarely saw his father’s shadow at home.

At least now his father takes a more active role in Mark’s life.

As Mark waits for the microwave to be done, he goes back into his room and brings his journal and pen out, setting it on the table. When the microwave finally beeps, he takes the bowl and sets it on the table.

He journals as he eats.

-

Dear friend,

I was thinking about you, and me and high school last night. And all I want to do is apologise. For everything. Like before, I don’t even know where to begin.

The party itself? Or Monday morning when I completely ignored you as you tried talked to me? Or the day in math class when Yuta made a joke about you coming late, saying you were probably selling your body to a teacher to get your good grades, and we I laughed?

I’m sorry. I’m sorry that the gang and I made your life a living hell. I’m sure that they thought it was innocent fun, to make jokes at your expense, to take everything that was good and bad about you and turn it into a joke. And I’m sorry that I laughed along.

I think I was worse than my friends. They did it to entertain themselves. But I had a hidden agenda. You were the personification of all my past hurts, my secrets and the ugly side of myself. Each joke I made, each time I harassed you, it gave me a buzz. In a twisted sense, I was trying to erase you to erase myself.

And you didn’t deserve.

I don’t think you noticed that I noticed but I did. Every time that I took a step in your general direction, I saw you flinch. And I know I shouldn’t have but I fed off your fear of me. In my twisted head, if you were scared of me, you’d never reveal the me that I wanted to hide.

Everyone just seemed to forget that you and I were ever friends. Our friendship became a faded memory for everyone. But not for me.

The hole you left in your absence had left a hole within me and I wished that the hole had blotted out my entire existence. But it didn’t.

So I continued tormenting you. Until graduation day.

Maybe I thought that it was the last time that you’d ever be in my life, so it was fine. Maybe I wanted some sort of closure from us. Maybe in the heat of the moment, the yearning for what we had took over. Either ways, it didn’t matter.

I walked towards you. Your parents were hugging you, your dad picking you up. They were proud of you. I wanted to say that too.

“Hey.”

Your flinch didn’t go unnoticed by your parents but they decided to give us space. You stayed silent, as if waiting for me to make some sick jokes, waiting for me to tear you down just like I had the past two years.

I felt sick to my stomach.

“Graduation day, huh?” I filled the awkward silence between us. “Congrats.”

You shifted uncomfortably. My stomach churned when the fearless girl I knew couldn’t even meet my eyes. “T-thanks…?” Your voice was strained.

“Where are you planning to go, uh, after all these?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. A part of me was berating me for even trying to approach you.

“Why?” Your voice was soft and shaky.

At this point, the gang had noticed that we were talking. But it’s the last day of school. It felt like the last day I’m going to see you. I felt like I had to do this.

“I just… wanted to catch up?”

I noticed your clenched fist and your white knuckles. I noticed how badly they were shaking. Whether in fear or anger or something else, I would never know.

“We…” you breathed out, “We have nothing to catch up on.”

You turn to leave but I grabbed you by your wrist. Your voice was so so soft that I didn’t hear you telling me to let go until something within you snapped. Was it disgust from being touched by me?

“Stop it! Stop this… this whole thing. First you torment me for two and a half years for what? For for not wanting to drink alcohol? Sometimes I wonder if you actually even loved your parents. How could you do that to them? And me?” Your anger burned brightly in your eyes. It’s the first time your eyes met mine in years. “We were best friends. Us against the world. We did everything together. But I’m not sure if that was just me. Every single day, I playback memories of us, convincing myself that today was a nightmare. Why would my bestfriend turn against me right? Tomorrow will come and you’d be right by my side. But tomorrow never comes.” Your face was red and tears were spilling out of your eyes. People were watching. I didn’t care.

The voice that I’ve silenced for 2.5 years got louder in my head, screaming at me you deserved it. You’re the problem.

“Every single day I hope that you’d come up to me and tell me it’s all a massive prank. Do you know how that drove me crazy?” You took a deep breath, steadying your voice.

Your words were soft, but it cut through in to my heart and wretched it out. “Congratulations. You did it. You’ve won. You’ve became my biggest fear. I hope you’re happy because one of us being happy is still better than none of us.”

-

Mark’s hand stops as he wipes the salty tears that has spilled. Even now, he hates himself for what he did. Two and a half years.

He’d never return it to you.

Fate is a cruel thing.

He starts his pen up again.

-

I should have ran after you that day. But I froze up.

That image of your face streaming in tears will be burned into my mind forever. Because I never saw you again. And I never got the chance to say all the ‘sorry’s I needed.

My world was silent. Then I heard it. We all did.

A loud scream. A screech.

Sirens and chaos.

-

It takes Mark a whole week before he could bring himself to write in his journal again. He recalls the aftermath of your death.

-

His friends, at least those in his clique, tried to understand his pain.

“You’re okay, right?” Jaehyun asked a week after your death.

Mark nodded. “I’m fine, yeah.” That was a lie and everyone knew.

How could he ever explain to them – the people that bullied you – his pain and turmoil? A small voice in his head reminded him that too were part of the people that had bullied you.

Guilt crept into his throat, clutching it tight, just enough to keep him alive but still making every moment a living hell.

-

Dear friend,

I remember the box of letters your parents gave me at your funeral.

-

Mark takes the tape and tapes your last letter to him below the blue ink.

-

Hey stranger.

Today is graduation day. It’s the first graduation that I’m attending without you. And I’ve never felt more alone. It’s scary.

This will be my last letter to you. Today, I’m putting an end to my one-sided love for you.

I’m going to Oxford, do you remember when we were twelve and we promised that we’d get into Oxford together? I bet you don’t.

Then again, we also made the promise that we’d stick together forever and look where we are.

I wonder where you’ll go. I hope you’d be happy.

After everything, I’ve come to a simple conclusion: it’s nice to feel something once in a while, even if it’s pain. Because it reminds me that the first seventeen years of my life was true.

-

“So how did you find this whole, uh, journaling process?” Mark’s therapist asks at their next appointment.

Mark smiles, rather genuinely this time, “There were days that were very painful. But y’know, I think I’m starting to get this whole thing. It’s nice to feel something for once in my life, even if it’s pain. It’s a reminder that I’m alive.”

#nct #nct 127 #mark lee #mine

[randomoranges]

An Ode to the Summer of 2020

 Back in the days when I was in Cégep and university, when LJ was the place to post musings and fics, I would do a recap of all the things I had done over the summer. It was the first time I had such long summers (from May to the end of August and then from April to the start of September.)

 It made me look back to all the things I had done. It’s easy to forget what you’ve done and easy to feel as though you’ve wasted your time doing nothing.

 This year, with the pandemic and everything else, it turned out to be an even longer summer. For starters, I was only working one day a week as a teacher. So despite having to do Zooms and video capsules, I still had a lot of free time. I was fortunate and privileged that I didn’t need to worry about income, since I live at home and was already on employment insurance. I have no debts and no children to worry about. I know that this wasn’t the case for many, many people.

 It was also a very different summer since for the first time ever – ever, ever, I was actually free in the actual summer. I wasn’t working, since I returned to teaching, and was no longer working in the camps.

 It was – for as much as it was stressful and worriesome – a pretty decent “stay at home period”. The greatest thing, by far, was able to run on my own schedule. Follow my own rhythm. Go to bed when my body told me to and let myself sleep until I naturally woke up. That is, by far, the greatest thing I will miss.

 So, before I go back to getting up at the ass crack of dawn and the world of the packed lunch (I fucking hate packed lunches. I hate lunch as a meal. It is the dumbest meal of the day. I wish I could plough through without needing lunch,) I present the recap of all the things I’ve done over the summer.

 I like lists. I like keeping lists. I like looking back at lists. It makes me feel as though I did something. I also realise that for many, these uncertain times weren’t great creatively, but in my case, it was the first time I had so much time to be creative. And I did a lot. Which, I’m quite amazed at.

 I’m only sharing this list as a personal log of sorts, not to flaunt what I did to make anyone feel bad. I used to do it on my LJ and I am one of those people who look back on old entries and such.  So, by all means, scroll past this very long list of things and carry on.

 On that note, good-bye freedom and spring-summer 2020. You were certainly different, but you gave me time to do so many wonderful things.  I can only hope that the shit fest called “school” turns out better than the fears that have been keeping me up at night.

 TV SERIES

-          Tangled s3

-          Steven Universe Future

-          Broadchurch 1 2 3 4

-          Family Ties 6 7

-          Twilight Zone

-          Welcome Back Kotter 1 2 3 4

-          Radio Enfer 2 3 4

-          Kim’s Convenience 1 2 3 4

-          Staged x2

-          Senpai Club

-          Good Omens

-          Dr Who 1 2 3 4 5

 BOOKS

-          Sticks and Scones

-          Sybil

-          Le chasseur de lapins

-          Paul à la maison

-          Le cahier bleu

-          Dear Edward

-          Me Elton John

  MOVIES

-          Bugs Life

-          Alice Through the Looking Glass

-          Maleficient

-          The Jersey Boys

-          Montreal Main

-          Baaria

-          Primaire

-          Menteur

-          Goon Le dernier des durs à cuire

-          1991

-          Pirates of the Carribean 1 2 3 4 5

-          Harry Potter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7a 7b

-          Megamind

-          Bon Cop Bad Cop 1 2

-          The Road to El Dorado

 ACTIVITIES

-          Hochelaga + Évasia x2

-          Old Port and Chinatown x2

-          Avenue Mt-Royal x3

-          Drogheria Fine [for gnocchi]

-          Wilensky’s

-          Eye glasses

-          Downtown x3

-          Jardin Botanique

-          Serres Lavoie

-          Maison Lavande

-          Marché Jean-Talon x2

-          Trou de beignes

-          Sushi x2

-          Marché Atwater x3

-          Swan Pedal Boats

-          Many bike rides

-          Chinese food x2

-          Pont Jacques Cartier at night

-          Meteor showers

-          Pink and Green House

-          Ice cream x57

-          Finished off 34 teas

-          Went swimming a few times

 FOOD

-          Orange cake x3

-          Pouding chomeur

-          Corn flour muffins

-          Pudding

-          El gran pudino

-          Peanut butter cookies x2

-          Cinnamon buns

-          Coconut cake

-          Fried rice

-          Rice with meat

-          Failed carrot muffins

-          Non failed carrot muffins

-          Cookies

-          Brownies x2

-          Tiramisu

-          Ice cream x3

-          Smoothie x3

-          Banana muffins

-          Arroz negro

-          Matcha latte x3

-          Risotto

-          Pierogies

-          Chicken parmigiana

-          Chocolate cake

 WRITING                      

-          Kesha Kee Taen

-          50+ new parts to Amnesia AU

-          Advanced Prince Au

-          Birthday Kisses

-          Birthday Wish

-          Birthday Gifts

-          Safe and Tucked Away

-          Fly me to the Moon

-          Reposted all of Perfect Cities + Typed out chapters that had never been typed out

-          Finished Olympic AU

-          Finished Witchcraft AU

-          Finished Love Potion AU

-          Hug Me [And Please Don’t Let Go]

-          Old T-Shirt

-          Vroom Vroom Tabarnak

-          Merry Little Christmas

-          Novelty Mug

-          Layers and Oranges

-          Photo-Photo

-          Curtain Call

-          Shall we Meet Again?

-          Mischief

-          Drag Meeting AU

-          Routine

-          Morning After

-          Girl You Really got me Now

  ART

-          Finished Brunch Asks

-          Re –coloured Christmas photo

-          Beach

-          Bathtub

-          10

-          Birthday boy

-          Cal Ét Wall Kiss

-          Chest Kiss

-          Cuddle

-          XXX Digital Version

-          Ed and Ét on a bed

-          Vive 375

-          El Dress

-          Embrace

-          Forehead Kiss

-          Hug

-          Hug 2

-          Hug Cheek

-          Kiss 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

-          Lingerie

-          Loony Bin

-          Cabaret

-          Cozy

-          Culinary Delights

-          Ice Cream

-          Rainbows

-          Marie series x23

-          Nose to Nose

-          Pan-Demi

-          Rock Band AU tshirt

-          Self Hug

-          Spring

-          Teacher Au

-          The future looks bright

-          T-Shirt

-          Twins

-          Sprawl

-          Uniform

-          Lingerie

-          Genderbend kiss

-          Prom

-          Back

-          Mercury

-          Fugly shorts and t-shirt

-          On a hâte de vous revoir

-          Back 2

-          Lingerie Touch

-          Novelty Mug

 PROJECTS

-          Finished going through the Spain photos + uploaded them

-          20 different video capsules

-          Cleaned out the drawers in guestroom and my room

-          Sorted out my bin of letters I’ve gotten since birth

-          Bought 39 new plants (and 9 more that are on the way) + took care of them

-          Cleaned out the bins of my stuff

-          Painted my nails x3

-          Made 3 rainbows for the window

-          Did Figuary 2020

-          Made 4 masks

-          Deep dusted the guestroom and my room x2

-          Coloured my mom’s hair

-          Made a photo album for my students

-          Cleaned out the bookcases downstairs + sorted out the books

-          Built 2 Billy bookcases

-          M3 yr4

-          Painted bookcases

-          Painted plant box

-          Made an Adipose

-          Duolingo [156 day streak. My friends made me realise last night that I restarted doing Duolingo when I went to visit them over their last reading week in February, after we helped out a Spanish speaking lady. It - put things in perspective. February feels like a different life and a different universe.]

-          Rehydrated 2 orchids

-          Put up picture frames

-          Got rid of 24 boxes at Village des valeurs

-          Sorted through photo albums

-          Learned how to make patterns on Photoshop

-          Started typing Grandpas family book

-          Labelled the shells

#retrospective #list #summer #back to school angst #etc

[dansnaturepictures]

16/02/20-Pigeons in the garden, Hawfinch and more at Blackwater in the New Forest and early evening photos 

This morning I was delighted to see the two Woodpigeons in the first picture I took in this photoset on the garden fence as Storm Dennis’ rains raged on. This was my first wildlife photo in exactly three weeks that I’d taken with my DSLR camera and big lens, a product of the two named storms that have hit of late among other things. A nice mini drought to break. I further did this a bit later this morning when I photographed the two Feral Pigeons in the second picture in this photoset that visit the garden regularly that I had done before on the roof opposite. They came in the garden later on. My Mum has nicknamed them Violet and Rex after her late parents which I thought is lovely and it makes them great characters as two birds we can easily identify as seeing a lot. 

With the rain still really pouring around 1pm we decided on another wet New Forest dog walk after yesterday and last Sunday. I decided to bring just my old DSLR camera and normal 70-300 lens so to set the scene not the best kit to take photos of birds at a distance either just simply for the joy of it or to aid identification. With it a little lighter when in the forest in the car we decided instead of where we were going to go Millyford Bridge to head to Blackwater where there was hope of Hawfinches in the arboretum there as well as elsewhere in a circular route as well as Crossbills too. I sort of thought I may not have the right camera but the rain was only lighter by that point so I still knew I was protecting a lot of my kit at home so I would just see what happened. As we walked around here the rain got lighter and lighter and we even had half an hour or so of dry and some sun and blue sky! I took the third-sixth pictures in this photoset of views on the walk showing how wet everything is with the black water river having burst its banks quite notably in the woods. As we walked around to the arboretum we saw more and more birds of a nice variety as the wildlife sightings summary below shows. 

When in the arboretum we did spot a finch right at the top of the tree and as we kept on looking at it we could make out it was a Hawfinch. We had seen the star bird of this place and one I was hoping to see soon this year. We only saw the one compared to other times we’d seen more of them come in to roost here, and it was a brief view but it was still a smashing bird to see they are really so beautiful and special. I always feel lucky to see these birds and have the New Forest particularly Blackwater to be able to get such good chances to see them. I took the record shot the seventh picture in this photoset of them and also the eighth of Siskins and a Coal Tit two more stars of the walk bird wise. I wanted to take these pictures forward to see with the type of tight crop photoshopping I do nowadays with my pictures whether I can take distant bird pictures with my 70-300 lens still as unless I use my bridge camera I nearly always have my big up to 400 lens on. I was quite pleased with how they both come out and it meant the storms has allowed me to explore a lot of backup options so at to protect kit when out in the rain. 

As we left with the rain returning in a quite heavy shower I was very happy to have seen the Hawfinch, my 129th bird species of the year and that I snuck a year tick into another stormy weekend. I would say I did so well with those five year ticks in one day last Saturday that when comparing my year list to past years at this stage which I love doing the storms have not set me back much. The Hawfinch pulled me level with what I had seen on this date in 2018 when I reached 129 around the dates at the start of this week just gone. I was ahead of that before. 2018 was the only year I reached 130 birds in a year inside February previously so I can make it a challenge to match that this year. Comparing to last year my highest ever year list total then and I am already two ahead of what I ended February on last year and it’s guaranteed to be higher than what I had seen last year at the end of the first two months of the year which I am happy with. 

When home after the shower it was a bright end to the day and I ended it colourfully by taking the ninth and tenth pictures in this photoset a macro of flowers on the balcony and a sunset from my room. This is definitely a weekend I shall remember this year for many other reasons but I am glad I squeezed a top day of birdwatching and photos I thought in too. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary at Blackwater: My first Hawfinch of the year, two of my favourite birds the Great Spotted Woodpecker and Buzzard, Siskin, Chaffinch, Coal Tit, Great Tit, Blue Tit, Goldcrest, Robin, Blackbird, Song Thrush and Woodpigeon.

#hawfinch #storm dennis #storm ciara #crossbill #great spotted woodpecker #siskin #coal tit #buzzard #blackwater #earth #nature #hampshire #new forest #uk #wildlife #photography #sunday #weekend #2018 #2019 #2020 #happy #water #river #storm #weather #trees #sunset #forest #winter

[wahbegan]

Red’s Retro Reviews - Condemned Criminal Origins

Hello and welcome to the tag where I use my otherwise useless and time-consuming habit of taking very old classic games that I’ve wrung all the enjoyment out of like a troubled child with an injured bird and turn it into entertainment! Maybe one day the editor of some chic magazine will hire me to talk about how much I know about Batman: Arkham Asylum and how much I hate myself for it.

Anyway, this week I thought I’d start off with an overlooked little gem that had a bit of cult notoriety and good critical reception, but which otherwise nobody gave an ounce of rat shit about: the Condemned series. More specifically, the original game.

Now, when I ask you who started the extremely lucrative habit of live-streaming themselves hilariously over-reacting to horror games, you might be tempted to say the Game Grumps, or Markiplier if you’re younger, or Pewdiepie if you’re the kind of person who unironically uses the phrase anti-white racism. But you’d all be wrong and stupid. Also possibly nazi sympathizers, but I digress.

NO! The first college-age white boys who decided it would be a good idea to beam them fucking up a video game to thousands and thousands of people online are..........lost to history because archiving of the exact history of internet trends is such an enormous clusterfuck that for years people were convinced, and some still are, that Slenderman was a real urban legend and not something some dickhead made up for a photoshop competition circa 2009

But ONE of the first was the 4 Players Network, or 4 Players Podcast, or 4PP. I know very little about these guys, so if they all turned out to be nonces and serial killers please don’t @ me, but what i DO know, is that they uploaded a video that changed my life forever. This video was “Holy Crap That’s a Bear !” Certainly not a name that would stand out in today’s massively oversaturated Let’s Play market, but this delightful video documented these two dumb assholes losing their shit over a game. The game of course, being Condemned 2: Bloodshot. Specifically, the level in which you are chased through a hunting lodge by a rabid bear. As an aside, I looked it up, having never heard of the phenomenon, and apparently it’s very rare, but yes bears can and do get rabies, usually with just about as fatal results as you would expect. So sweet dreams!

Anyway, watching this couple of dipshits get jumpscared and mauled to death by a poorly rendered bear again and again as they were repeatedly outwitted at every turn by an entity with a few lines of programming instead of a brain was, in y’know the year 2008,  the absolute most fun a 14-year-old boy could have. Clearly it still is, but you always remember your first time, particularly when the only LPs i have watched since were a handful of markiplier videos with a girl in college who liked to get me very stoned and then put them on because she thought that counted as courtship.

A n y w a y, apart from the unfortunate and definitely a mistake innovation of streaming video games, the sequence of being chased through a claustrophobic environment by a bear which can rip down doors, break through walls, run faster than you, shrug off 15 shotgun blasts to the face without so much as sneezing, etc. seemed incredibly tense and original, an amazing concept for a game. Once again, this was circa 2008 before “Run for your fucking life” had become the norm for horror games.

So then why the fuck are you not reviewing that game?? You might be thinking if you’re still reading this which someone clearly is or my narrative voice would have ceased to exist by now in that tree falling in the woods kind of way. Well, dear reader, while Condemned 2 was better than the first game in a LOT of ways, it’s always worth taking a gander at the one that started it all. Also, Condemned 1 is, if only slightly, probably better known. Also, Bloodshot commits the cardinal sin of over-explaining the first game’s mystery and a result making it kind of goofy and ridiculous see also the entire history of the Halloween franchise, and as a result the ending is....well, a bit shit, to be honest. Finally, and most importantly, it’s not on Steam for 3 dollars, so shut up

The thing about Condemned is that while Let’s Plays and seemingly inanimate objects moving only when you’re not looking at them and unstoppable juggernauts of wanton death have now become the norm for video game horror (and thanks a fucking bunch, Doctor fucking Who, for always being what people say started the inanimate object fuckery even though Stephen King did it in The Shining in the FUCKING 70s and let’s be honest it’s just a primal universal fear and i’ll be in the cold fucking ground before that bloody show sees one ounce of credit where it isn’t due), Condemned as a whole has remained remarkably unique. Not wholly unique, the developers have heavily borrowed from genre-straddling crime horror movies like Silence of the Lambs and Se7en and in fact almost beat-for-beat stole the most infamous jump scare from the latter, but if it still ends with shit in my pants, and it does, I can’t really call it a failure.

Most of the creativity the game DOES have is in the gameplay itself, or rather one aspect of the two aspects of the gameplay. It’s the combat I’m talking about the combat, seeing as that’s basically all there is. Let’s just get this out of the way first, the forensic investigation shit is........well, it’s a bit shit. Oh yes, there’s a couple crime scenes you have to “solve” in a cursory almost a cutscene sort of way, where you have helpful premonitions about where you’re supposed to look and, as your lab tech helpfully informs you, “the system will choose which tool you need for you, so don’t worry about that!” Well, Christ kill me, thank God YOU know between the three fucking tools I have, one of which is an everything sensor and one of which is just a fucking camera which I’m supposed to use, God knows I wouldn’t have liked to have solved that mystery myself. It’s a shame because some of the crime scenes are quite intricate and yes, I would have liked to have put together myself that “wait a minute there’s a handprint in the paint here that matches the killer but the UV light shows an old blood spatter on the wall right above where he’d be sitting to make it, THAT MUST MEAN-” but nope. No you just have a premonition of the guy getting clobbered over the back of the head because the game is so terrified you won’t be able to put two and two together that it points out both the twos and hands you a multiplication table and nudges you and looks meaningfully at four every few minutes if you hesitate.

Anyway, that’s all the whingeing about the gameplay out of the way, because the rest of it is just delightful. Condemned is the rare first person game that focuses almost solely on melee combat and the almost unheard of one that does it well. In fact, it is the only example I can think of that’s not shit. Weapons all have individual stats to do with their heft and how far they can reach and how much of a man’s skull you can cave in at once with it and you have to choose between the plank with nails sticking out of it you can swing three times a second but you have to beat a man so badly with it it’s tiring just to watch and the sledgehammer, which demands a two weeks’ notice in writing if you’re planning on hitting someone with it, but will basically render every living thing in its considerable swing arc sent to the fucking Shadow Realm upon impact.

Something about the sound effects and the way the weapons in this game control really gets under my skin, I was killed by a 300-pound Subway-dwelling crazy survivalist wielding the aforementioned sledgehammer, and when I went down, I was sure I was familiar with the sound effect that played when it struck my skull, a sort of distant, muffled ringing of bone hitting metal. Wait a minute, I thought, I know I’ve experienced this in real life, how did they get this sound effect? Did they kill a man with a hammer to get this sound effect? Was I killed with a hammer in a past life? Killing people is equally fucking unpleasant as even the most vicious and inhuman looking ones don’t go down easily, and you can see them spit gobs of broken teeth and blood and god knows what, hear the lovingly researched impact noises, and almost feel the impact as you necessitate years of reconstructive facial surgery with one swing of your mighty chunk of concrete attached to a rebar. Then some of them have the gall to shakily get to their knees, not quite dead, trying to mumble something and you’re required to hit them AGAIN, which is always harrowing. To quote another underappreciated piece of media about the joys of gruesome murder: Why won’t you just die?! This is hard enough for me!!

The guns you do get are absolute balls, generally having about three bullets in them, you can’t reload them even if you find the exact same type of gun later, you can’t hold them in your inventory, and if you want an aiming reticle you have to actively turn it on in the options menu, and you can almost hear the game laughing at you for being such a shameless pussy.

Well, you now might be thinking to yourself, cheers for making the effort, but I’m not an insane person and therefore do not think the idea of a brutally beating people to death simulator sounds very enticing, but that’s the thing, it’s not really supposed to be. It does have a strangely addictive quality after a while, but for the most part it’s panicky and harrowing and grotesque and you really don’t want to do it but you have no choice, which is absolutely the best kind of survival horror. See, the combat in survival horror is always a bit of a sticking point, isn’t it? Because if you give the player too much firepower it just becomes an action game with spooky set pieces, but if you give them none at all, as is chic today, you better have loads of other surprises in store buddy boy, because the sheen on that trend has died and now you’re just likely to get slapped with the dreaded WALKING SIMULATOR sticker.

No, the best kind of combat for a horror feel is exactly the kind Condemned delivers, so of course they never FUCKING did it again. You leave every fight low on supplies, exhausted, badly wounded, and a bit sick at what you just reduced a human being’s skull to. Too often, the combat in games is, even that word “combat” it’s clean, it’s cold, it’s detached, it’s a very unique euphemism for butchering God knows how many people. I play this little game in my head when I go through games sometimes trying to keep track of how many unique, thinking, feeling entities I’ve just reduced to a mess for the janitor to mop up, and I always lose track around the third level. Condemned isn’t like that. Its violence is violence: horrible, awful, terrifying violence, and it doesn’t let you forget it. 

The graphics also add a lot to the horror if you can get past the dated polygonal weird-ass xbox 360 at launch faces and cutscenes, which is actually pretty easy once you get used to it. The level and character design is fantastic, and really adds a lot to the whole feel of the game. Everywhere you look is dark and labyrinthine, crumbling with rebars jutting out and exposed paneling and plumbing beneath holes rotted in the walls and grime and blood and god knows what just staining everything. This game is really nihilistic in tone, and you get the sense just from the graphics that you’re somewhere nobody gives a shit about, in a part of a city that’s just been left to die and rot. One almost gets the feeling moving around the fourth or fifth condemned (ohhhhh I see what they did there) building that the whole city is just a ghost town full of nobody but violent lunatics, and also that if you keep playing for too long you might get hepatitis just from exposure.

Plot-wise, I could fill another twenty paragraphs with petty gripes. It’s a bit Kill List which i’m sure is a reference you all understand in that it starts as a crime thriller about catching a serial murderer and ends in some bizarre insane bullshit halfway between Hereditary and Hellraiser, and leads you into it gently enough that you never really notice a sudden lurch.

You play as Ethan Thomas, a very boring and generic FBI Agent called in to investigate a serial killer case by two cops who are REMARKABLY blithe about murdering people, and it’s a bit jarring in today’s political climate. Though distrust, fear, and hatred of the police isn’t exactly new, and violence amongst police officers is brought up at one point, albeit in a loading screen, so honestly I can’t be arsed to speculate on what level of self-awareness we’re operating on here. Regardless, it’s bothersome.

“Oh yeah, this place is full of addicts, hopped up on something, I think, just shoot ‘em. What? Lost your gun, eh? That’s fine here’s a fire axe go nuts, kid, we’ll deal with the paperwork later”

Anyway, you are ambushed by a man you believe to be the killer for.......no real reason, really. He was spying on you checking out the crime scene, but we just established this place is full of squatters, what if one of the 8 people I murdered on the way into this ambush was the killer??? Case solved! 

Anyway, needless to say, without wishing to spoil, the dude IS the main antagonist the yellow eyes are a helpful giveaway, and he takes your gun and swiftly shoots Generic Beat Cop and Generic Dick with it, then throws you out a window, whereupon some other asshole whose main role in the game is to be enigmatic and plot-convenient, you know, one of THOSE characters, spirits you away from the scene, making it look like you just killed two cops and fled.

Now, in real life, as we all know, a cop can’t be indicted for murder even if 50 people saw him do it, but in this world, it means you have to go on the run from the FBI (not your lab tech, though, who is somehow assisting you from the lab and sending confidential data to your phone unnoticed??) while trying to solve the murder.

Meanwhile, in the background, in an “I’m sure this isn’t important and will in no way inform the last level of the game going batshit bonkers” kind of way, all of the people, including the cops, in certain dilapidated and neglected areas of the unnamed City City appear to be going what is medically known as balls-to-the-wall kill crazy, and birds are dropping dead from the sky by the thousands. Even you, protagonist, are prone to horrible screaming nightmare visions coming right the blazing blue fuck out of nowhere and that you never feel the need to comment on or go take a lie-down. I’m sure it’s nothing.

The voice acting is what you’d expect from this era of video games i.e. not good and the writing has an absolutely DESPICABLE habit of having characters tell Ethan things he should already god damned well know for the sake of gameplay or exposition, leading to my current theory that Agent Ethan Thomas has some kind of horrible head injury and can’t remember anything from over 2 minutes ago like Guy Pearce in that pretentious movie where he accidentally kills his wife and then runs around for two hours terrorizing random-ass people about it.

The game never full-on plays the AND THE MAN YOU’VE BEEN PLAYING AS WAS CRAZY THE WHOLE TIME card and leaves things a bit ambiguous, but after caving in the 15th vagrant’s head and the 7th vision you’ve had of being murdered by some Cenobite-looking motherfucker while conducting an unsanctioned investigation during a suspension prompted by you presumably murdering the shit out of two guys, you start to think this may not be standard FBI protocol. 

It’s all a bit hard to swallow is me point, a bit hard to sympathize, and a bit muddy if we’re supposed to or not. But you know what? It certainly isn’t boring, and I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t effective. This game is now one of only two to have genuinely given me nightmares, and I think it’s rather telling that after I played the hallucination part I had the nightmare about, I was having genuine trouble remembering if something happened in my nightmare of it or in the actual version.

Condemned is batshit crazy, hilariously easy to write off as “that game about killing hobos”, and very, very dated. But it is genuinely harrowing and unpleasant, and was clearly genuinely made by artists with the intent of saying.....errr i’m not exactly sure what, but SOMETHING! It’s about as far a cry as you can get from the Triple A crawling with microtransactions like your MCM is with crabs milk-you-for-money-until-your-udders-bleed look-at-how-shiny-we-are games, and even a lot of indie horror games who think it’s a measure of a masterpiece being able just to constantly trigger your fight-or-flight response again and again and again so you can make a hilarious Let’s Play out of it not to name any names Five Night’s at Freddy’s. It’s a relic of a different and i think a better time in gaming history, where big-name publishers were still taking chances and hadn’t quite yet worked out the formula for how to distill games into their most skeletal, malnourished, corporate, addictive, glorified gambling form.

Also it’s 3 dollars on Steam and you can finish it in like ffffffffucking...two days? So really why the fuck not. I have no idea how to assign numbers to things i’d probably give ir a 7 or 8 or 4 out of 5 stars but i’m bad at systems like that, just play it if you give a shit. If nothing else, a bunch of people snapping it up out of nowhere will really fuck with marketing, which is always a noble pursuit

#game reviews #Condemned Criminal Origins

[crazyrichxplainr]

How would you decide if a story was best suited for streaming or theatrical?

I think about what audience am I making this for, and how do I want them to experience it? For instance, with [the forthcoming film adaptation] “In the Heights,” I knew we wanted to go theatrical because it’s a musical, and we wanted people to experience it in the dark with a focus on the screen. And similarly to “Crazy Rich Asians,” this is a moment to make a statement about what the audience is willing to go see. Seeing Latinx faces in the museum of cinema is important right now.

In the months leading up to “Crazy Rich Asians,” romantic comedies like “The Kissing Booth” and “Set It Up” were becoming word-of-mouth hits on Netflix. It was a reminder that people were hungry to see movies in that genre, and big studios weren’t giving them that — which created an opportunity for Netflix.

Love, hope and romance will never die, but the audience wants fresh takes on these things. There are only so many times you can do a romantic comedy before you know all the beats and you’re not surprised anymore. There are so many things asking for your time, from video games to social media,  why would you spend the time and money if you’re not going to be surprised and delighted?

We just have to make our storytelling better, and that’s not an easy thing to tell studios, that we just have to be better filmmakers. Stars that drive box office are hard to come by now, so stories become even more important.

How do you think theatrical will evolve as Apple and other streamers get into the game?

I don’t think theaters are going away, but will some movies get shown to you earlier at home if you pay a certain price? Tiered pricing hasn’t worked in the past, but I think a better thing is coming. Look at the subscription services [like MoviePass]. Although it may have been too early for them right now, clearly there’s an appetite. Maybe you can see a movie a week early if you go certain places, or watch a movie earlier at home if you have a certain television. I don’t know what will happen, but I do know that the stringent walls of cinema are bending.

You’re very plugged in online. How do you see social media shaping the movie industry over the next 10 years?

It’s already had a direct effect on ticket sales, because word of mouth has such power now. And it’s had an effect on me.

Social media opened my eyes to issues of representation. When you’re told, “You can’t hire that actor because they don’t sell internationally,” I think you start to believe it when you’re in this business. When the hashtag #StarringJohnCho was trending, it was a weird psychological thing to see John Cho photoshopped as the leads in all these movies. I felt this shift in my brain. I couldn’t forget that image, and it made me question everything: “Why don’t we have heroes who look like this on movie posters?” It only reminded me of my own power.

So how do you measure that progress? When you see Henry Golding cast opposite Emilia Clarke in this coming winter’s romantic comedy “Last Christmas,” or Marvel readying “Shang-Chi” about an Asian superhero, is that the sort of ripple effect you thought might happen when you did “Crazy Rich Asians”?

I am an optimist, but mostly a pessimist. [Laughs] I went into this with the hopes it would change things, but knowing that it probably wouldn’t. That’s just the way your mentality has to be in Hollywood.

When I would talk to Henry Golding, I’d say, “This is going to put you on the map.” But I would also have side conversations. “Just so you know, there aren’t very many parts for people who look like you, and I’m not sure that will change after this movie.” There was a whole system that had not been responding to our calls for change, so who knows? I told him, “Be prepared, but your path is not made.”

And now?

The fact that Awkwafina, Constance [Wu], Gemma [Chan], Jimmy [O. Yang], Ronny [Chieng] and everyone else is working? And not just them, because when they’re not available, others get jobs? Eyes are being opened to that talent, and I could not have predicted that.

#crazy rich asians #In The Heights #set it up #Henry Golding #emilia clarke #awkwafina #john cho #Constance Wu #new york times #jimmy o yang #ronny chieng #the kissing booth #jon m chu

[bushleaguefpl-blog]

FILL THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF BANTER

I left this photoshop looking like this cause Rowan here looks like a FIFA99 render....or the render of fans in FIFA13 when they were added....hahahaha

I know what you’re thinking...ye of little faith...you really thought it wasn’t going to happen. But here it is, the main event, what you’ve all been waiting for. It’s the Bush League, Merry Bushmas Christmas Update 2017 2018!

As we head into the holiday bumper period, the Bush is at it’s most competitive and funnest yet. Through Logan ‘Champ squared’ McIndoe stands ahead of the pack with a dominant 7 point lead, the spots below in the top 8 are all to play for. Looking at the table above the point differentials and the wins are tasty as fuck to say the least. With regular suspects Logan, George and (on the odd occasion Harry), The top 8 has some interesting new contenders. Let’s all get up and sing for the man of the hour Guy Ethell who now sits in the top 8 (through at least 10 games) for the first time in two seasons. From the strong Wooden Spoon magnet to now a championship contender, what else is more empowering, inspiring, than a rise to glory in the Bush from someone who has been known as a serial power bottom dweller.

We must mention that at this point of the season, after some research and painstaking folder diving, that I have concluded that at this stage of the season, this is the highest average scoring season we have had in recorded Bush history. With three managers in the top 50,000 users of fantasy premier league, and a majority (top 16) of the league in the top 30% of fantasy users in the world...we’ve all really gotta give each other some credit. We’ve come a long way and we’re proud to be apart of the Bush. Well done lads...except you blokes at the bottom...you’re making us all look better but making the league suck....like Sunderland when they were in the Prem. 

But, back to our honourable mentions. We gotta say that two lads who are up and at em are the Tally Tiger Cornerstones Alex “ST/CAM/RW” Horne and and Danny “Ghost Coach” Cotton who each are climbing to staggering heights. Unfortunately, at this stage nose bleeds are all too common and the top 8 sit very close to the next 8 players who are all 6 points or less behind and the next 8 only 9 points or less out of the top 8... CRAZY STUFF.

Down the bottom of the league sits David O’Carroll, now resident bottom bitch after the last two seasons. He used to be a huge force as MVFC, but now, in the Bush’s twisting mess, he has succumbed to casting couch bitch as pillow necklace FC....fitting name really? Let us also not forget our 26th place superstar...former champion...serial passworder...and now resident in the worst photoshop in bush History...the main article photo is not my proudest moment :’(. Rowan “Underage” Flanagan has hit his lowest point. Sitting more than 4 wins off the top 8 and seemingly unable to catch a break. To be honest, if this reporter had his way, he would be on the receiving end of a lot more banter for it. He’s lost 4 in a row, with his most recent defeat being an absolute thrashing by Brock “ashamed Arsenal supporter” Lamont by 83-41. Jeez. Let’s all point and laugh...at least he’s got a good pornstar moustache.

Also Shoutouts are due to Mr Madde “Mr Manager” Bowshire for what can only be described as the most topsy turvy season I’ve watched in a while. One has to wonder if he’s left the Premier League Fantasy app behind as he’s been up, then down, then up and now back down in the bellows of the Bush where he’s made his home for the past Bush Seasons. We reach to him now for comment, tell us all what the plan is, what went wrong and where to now Bowshire? WE WANT YOU TO SUCCEED. WHY WON’T YOU JUST FUCKING DO IT?!

We’re in for a rocky ride this festive season as the fixtures come thick and fast, including some double game weeks right around the corner. AND WILDCARD 2.0 available from the 1st of January!!! In the words of number 1 influential rap recording artist.... LETSKEETTTTIIIIITTT

EASTER EGG TOPIC: RANK MANC VS ABRAMOVIC’S FAVE BUM BUDDY

Bit of a weird headline I know but hey, It’s difficult to sum up the Man City vs Chelsea rift brewing in the league. Harry “Hazard’s Dick Would Be My Lollipop” Kennedy and Riley “I Am The Whiney Misso” Guest have been going head to head. Much to Max “Box On” Haggarty’s delight, the two have been debating the plight of Hazard vs De Bruyne to no end with hilarious results. To stoke the flames the Bush Times asks all of you to weigh in, in the comments of this article, about this fight, about the stats, and to egg on these two to actually “boxing on”. Here’s the stats:

Discuss....

#BushLeague18/19 #BushChristmas

[squarecarousel]

Interview with James McInvale

It's interview time again! Today, we're getting to know James McInvale, whose stunning ink drawings always leave us impressed. Even though his delicately rendered artwork may, at first brief glance, appear very serious, when you take a proper look, there's often a streak of humor or surrealism to providing a delightful counterbalance. Let’s dive in!

"Sub Sandwich"

Q: James, you work primarily in pen and ink for your illustration work as well as your sketchbook. What draws you to the medium (pun intended)? 

A: Years ago, maybe in middle school, when I was starting to get serious about art I wanted to learn to paint in acrylics, so I found a local artist that gave lessons. He (wisely) suggested I start with drawing basics, and a part of that was line work and value in ink. And it just fit. I’ve drawn with ink ever since. Something about the textural possibilities and the inherent contrast of the medium appeals to me. I’ve never really considered myself great with color, so for years I worked mostly in black and white (and I still really enjoy it). Adding color to my pen and ink illustrations has been several years of trial and error (mostly error) and experimentation with acrylic inks. Only recently have I gotten comfortable enough with color to incorporate it into more of my work, but I’m still learning.

Q: I've noticed a recurring nautical theme in your work. Is there a story behind all the lighthouses and ships? 

A: It is a long story, but basically I went to an RMS Titanic exhibition when I was six, and it spiraled from there. The history fascinates me, and old ships and lighthouses tend to have a lot of it. 

“Frankfort”

Q: Describe your process from start to finish.

A: It usually starts with sketchbook doodles. When I have an idea, I work up a small finished sketch in my sketchbook to see if I like it. From there I do some quick thumbnails to figure out compositional changes and make it work better in a larger format. Then I work up a line drawing at the final production size (sometimes I will do a full value sketch, especially if it is going to be a black and white piece). Once I’m happy with the composition I do a graphite transfer of the basic shapes to my paper and start inking/painting. I do my color painting first since I use acrylic inks, they can be pretty opaque and tend to dull any black ink under them. Then I go over the color with a pen or brush with black ink to lay in the line work and any hatching or textures I need. That’s pretty much the end of the process. I scan and tweak the levels in Photoshop, but I try not to have too much to fix digitally, so that part usually only takes a few minutes.

James’ studio space

Q: What's your favorite part of the process when making a piece of art? 

A: Probably the actual execution of the piece, after all of the ideation and initial sketches have been finished and I can just sit there and draw. There is just something really soothing about the act of drawing. 

 "Hot Air"

Q: What is one project you would love to tackle if you had the chance? 

A: Hmmm, possibly an illustrated compendium of North American lighthouses. 

Q: How do you get past creative blocks? 

A: Sketching, lots of sketching. If I am not sure what to work on I will doodle in my sketchbooks to see what comes out, or go look through old sketchbooks to see if they give me any new ideas. I also keep a folder of other artists’ work for inspiration, and I will look through that to see if there is any subject matter or a specific technique that jumps out at me. Also naps; I have found a good nap can really help jump-start the creative process. 

"Nacoochee Mound”

Q: Since following you on Instagram, I've seen a lot of your travel sketchbook drawings from various trips. I think it's fantastic that you do this! Tell us more about how you started this practice and how it influences your vacations. 

A: I probably started location sketching when I was about 11 or 12 while I was visiting a couple of lighthouses (of course). At least those are the earliest sketches like that I have been able to find. During college I got in the habit of carrying a sketchbook with me wherever I went, and I would just draw what was in front of me. So on vacations I would draw the places me and my family visited (usually some kind of historic site). About a year and a half ago it occurred to me that I enjoy learning the history of these places, and I’m already doing drawings of them, why not do something with it? So with some prodding from my girlfriend I started a travel sketch blog, The Inky Atlas. So now everywhere I go I am looking for potential sketching and historic material. Last summer I spent several weeks on a road trip around Michigan drawing and researching lighthouses. 

Q: Speaking of vacations: Beach house or cabin by a lake in the woods? 

A: Definitely the cabin, too many people at the beach.  

Q: Do you have any non-art hobbies? What are they? 

A: I had to think way too hard about this question. Does Netflix count as a hobby? Travel, I suppose. But even that I have managed to relate to art because I tend to choose destinations based on their potential for sketching and reference photos. 

"Nature Channel”

Q: If you had to live without one of the 5 major food groups, which would you choose to never eat again? 

A: Vegetables, I don’t trust them. 

Q: Anything else you would like the readers to know? 

A: I make awesome grilled cheese sandwiches.

James himself, sketching on one of his travels And that’s all folks! Thanks for answering our questions James! Check out more of his work a jamesmcinvaleillustration.com

#interview #interviews #james mcinvale #illustrator #artist #pen and ink #ink #illustration #drawing #sketchbook #travel sketching

[fandomscreenshots]

#pennywise #pennywise the clown #pennywise the dancing clown #it #it 2017 #clown #horror #cute #love #bill skarsgard #photoshop #photomanipulation #fandom #screenshots #screenshot #screen #fandomscreenshots #story #imagine #fanfic #stephen king

[book-coverage]

Book Covers (Are an Act of Trust)

An Interview With Lisa Perrin by Christine H. Lee

We write our books alone. We have control over our words and our narrative. And then someday, it gets published. And then we have little say over how our work is represented. It’s a nerve-wracking thing. You as a writer have had agency over the content of your work. Every word—likely even the title.

But starting with the cover, you learn that the book is in the hands of others and that you have to let go. When it comes to book covers, writers are asked to step back and accept what’s created on their behalf. There’s little input on image, on font choice and size, or colors; in the end, writers may have limited veto power. The reality being: how many times can you veto politely?

There are wonderful covers out there. And there are missteps too. (Consider Japanese fans on the cover of a book written about and by someone Chinese). Bottomline: there is risk in putting trust in others.

I was lucky to have had Lisa Perrin illustrate the cover of Tell Me Everything You Don’t Remember—Lisa illustrated my BuzzFeed essay off which my memoir was based. She “got it” and of course I befriended her. I had to know the person behind the art and the person who, I am convinced, helped elevate my essay to become so widely consumed. Again: I am so lucky.

I wanted to share a little bit of the process behind book covers with you. I interviewed Lisa long ago, well before the pandemic, with the intention of publishing her words in this newsletter. My apologies if some of this is a bit dated. But truly, her perspective on book covert art is heartening—because she is a fellow artist, too, with great empathy for the creative process. With book covers, we are putting our faith in someone else toto take what we have created and put it into an image. But they too are artists.

And I hope what she says enlightens you too. Lisa Perrin’s art is amazing—and while I knew her from my work at BuzzFeed, she has an amazing portfolio of illustrations. She’s illustrated greeting cards for American Greetings, for Macy’s, and book covers for publishing houses. She teaches at her alma mater, Maryland Institute College of Art (and often assigns her students book covers for assessment!). Her work is vivid and inventive—and filled with energetic movement. Truly beautiful imagery that keeps your eye moving. It’s no wonder she’s become popular as a book cover illustrator. And when you read her interview, you’ll also understand the care she takes with how she interprets the writer’s vision.

In this time when trust feels fragile—it’s good to know there are to trust with your words. Thank you, Lisa.

Here’s the interview.

——-

Christine Lee: Part of my intention is to put a spotlight on book cover artists--and the process of book cover art from the illustrator’s perspective. You’ve been such a crucial partner to my work--and I’d love to learn a bit more of what you do--and hopefully publish to my readership.

Lisa Perrin: Hi Christine, thank you for your patience! I hope you are well. I appreciate that you wanted to interview me! :)

CL: Hi Lisa. For so many writers, the accompanying artwork is something to which we aren’t privy in the publishing process. We largely don’t pick the artwork accompanying our published essays or stories--and we definitely don’t have much insight into book cover design. So I appreciate you taking the time to open up what is a black box to us all. For starters--what is the title of your role? And what exactly is it you’re responsible for in delivering book cover art?

LP: I am delighted to talk about and demystify the process! I am an illustrator. I create visual art for many different types of clients, such as editorial, advertising, and surface design, but book covers have become the majority of my work. I think I have done about thirty book covers in the past six years! In the end, I deliver a layered Adobe Photoshop file with the custom-made artwork I’ve created. I am also a hand lettering artist and often hand letter the book’s title.

CL: How did you find your way to designing book covers? You were a working artist prior to working on book covers. Was this a pre-designated goal of yours? Are there any ways in which your work illustrating cards for American Greetings informs your book cover art?

LP: Creative career paths are rarely linear. In college I double majored in English and fine art painting. I think I have always been drawn to vehicles for story telling. I am also a lifelong fan of theater. My first job in high school was reshelving books in the local public library. Picture books often have an “about the illustrator” biography on the back flap of the dust jacket, and I would always flip to that as I was reshelving. I didn’t know anyone who was a professional artist or how to become one. I resolved to go back to school to earn a master’s degree in Illustration at the Maryland Institute College of Art. The program really helped me understand this industry, learn new digital tools for art making, and develop a portfolio.

Shortly after graduating with my MFA, I was hired to be an in-house illustrator for the American Greetings card company. Even though I was working full time, I actively sought out many freelance illustration projects. My time at AG was an invaluable learning experience. While I was there I was able to take lettering classes every week with a master calligrapher. I believe that being an artist who could do both the illustrations and hand lettering gave me an advantage in jobs where words and pictures mingle.

I cannot say that I set out specifically to become a book cover illustrator or a greeting card artist. I had a passion for design and a compulsion for drawing. I just want to put things that I think are beautiful in the world. I think all of these experiences have informed my current work. I often say that book covers are just posters for books. A poster is a classic illustration assignment. You have to convey the information clearly and aesthetically in a way that appeals to the right audience. You need to consider style, tone, and mood, as well as the hierarchy of information, conveying the most important things first. The artist tells you where to look and guides your eye around an image. I enjoy having my work be a part of our visual culture!

CL: Can you describe the process of designing/illustrating a book cover? How much do you know about a book as you make the art? What is your approach to deciding and envisioning what will be the image for the book?

LP: Typically the process begins when the designer at the publishing house reaches out to me or my agent to gauge my interest in the project and my availability. From there I usually receive a brief and a synopsis of the story. Sometimes I am sent a full manuscript. They may include a piece of artwork I previously made as reference, suggesting that they want something similar. They may list some other books that are cut from the same cloth as this one stylistically to help guide me as well. I usually ask a lot of questions at this point as I try to understand what the designer is looking for. There are many people who are part of this process, such as the design team, the editor, the author, and the sales and marketing team. There are projects where they know exactly what they want and other times its more about exploration and finding just the right note.

I usually get about two weeks for sketches. I try to incorporate anything specific that was requested, as well as include some other options as well. I typically send about four sketches. Next, I will get feedback on those sketches to change or revise certain elements. This part of the process can go on for weeks or months. Sometimes we will change course at this time if its not working. Once the sketch has been approved I send in color studies which are rough drafts of what the colors may look like. Once that has been approved, I can then begin to make my final art.

CL: Do you consider the reader or the writer most?

LP: I personally always think about the author when I’m designing. I only have this project for a few months, but for them it’s their baby that they have spent years on. I want the cover to be something that feels like the right home for something they care about so much. People do indeed judge books by their covers, and a dynamic and compelling cover can really help bolster interest and sales.

CL: If you could ever be in touch with the writer as you create your art, is there something you would say? Or do you feel it’s best when writers and illustrators are silo’d (as they currently are)"?

LP: This is a great and really interesting question. My understanding is that authors and illustrators are intentionally kept apart during this process. The author is so close to their work that it can be challenging to see it interpreted in other ways. The publishing house has experience with design and marketing for book covers and know industry trends and so on. I would love to have more contact with the author and hear what they envision and potentially incorporate that.

CL: If you could make the book cover for any book--classic or contemporary--what book would that be? And why?

LP: I have so many dream projects! So far I have only worked on covers for contemporary novels, but I would absolutely love to create covers for some great literary classics. I think a fresh or modern cover has the power to help revitalize and reignite reader’s love for those classic works. I’d be thrilled to make covers for some of Shakespeare’s plays, or Edgar Allan Poe’s dark mysterious stories. I would love to do a series celebrating great women authors! I also love folk and fairy tales, so that would be a very fun project as well!

I am fortunate to be a professor of Illustration at my alma mater and assigning book covers is one of my favorite projects.