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aerois · 3 years

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Remarried Empress: Sovieshu Contextualized and Navier the Unreliable Narrator (SPOILERS!)

So recently I started reading Remarried Empress on WEBTOON. Honestly the whole premise wasn’t my cup of tea and I was solely reading it because it was part of an event where I could get free coins (lol). But then... I got hooked. I got invested. Started drinking in chapters whenever and wherever I could, and even now I still crave more. I wanted Navier to have some semblance of a happy ending (and, let’s be honest, I wanted to drag that precious little bitch Trashta by her fucking hair across the yard). At first it was mostly that. Raging at Trashta and her Simperor, pondering at Heinley’s true intentions, drooling over Kaufman.

And then, I noticed something odd. I noticed-- the strangest thing-- Sovieshu seemed to be... not as enamored with his mistress as meets the eye. And there was even some hinting that his feelings for Navier weren’t what we assumed.

I have to preface this: I don’t condone Sovieshu’s crappy actions. He’s an idiot, and acts very poorly as a husband. And there’s no excuse for cheating. Absolutely not! So I don’t want this post to come across like In Defense of Sovieshu, because it’s not. But I do think that our view, the reader’s view, of Sovieshu, is warped. And this is mainly because we see the story through Navier’s eyes of course, but we forget that every individual person is fallible. Every person, at some point, harbors false assumptions that color their concepts of truth and reality. Put shortly, Navier is human, and therefore is not a reliable narrator at some points. Especially concerning her husband. We see Sovieshu entirely through the eyes of his wronged wife in the webcomic. Pin that: in the webcomic. Did you know the webcomic is actually based on a mobile game? Yes, it is! And I downloaded it! And I’m playing it! And... I’m actually... hating Sovieshu less??????????

Ok, ok, put the pitchforks down! Hear me out! I’m not saying any of the stuff he did was okay! But Navier’s narration of the story paints him as this cold, detached man who grew to hate his wife so much that he flew into the arms of some hussy for warmth and then just cast his wife aside and deliberately acted like a jerk just because he wanted her to suffer. And there’s a grain of truth to that. There are points where Sovieshu feels bitter and does or says something waspish. But it’s not as black and white as you might assume. I played the mobile game, and decided to take Sovieshu’s route out of spite. I opened this app, saw it was an otome with this garbage-fire, cheating sack of shit for a romance option and thought “Hah! The nerve. Probably some semi-abusive dirtbag route aimed to appeal to girls who like men who treat them badly. You know, that mutually abusive relationship appeal that some girls like because drama.” And I needed to rack up in-game currency anyway (it’s like usual mobile games, where when you wanna make cool choices you gotta cough up cash unless you “diamond-mine” on crappy stories to save up the meager bits of free currency the app gives you for playing) so I figured I’d blast through the Sovieshu route and skip onto my darling Kaufman in playthrough 2.

And then the smoke genuinely compelling character development got me. So I could run y’all through Navier’s version of the events, but you already know that. For Sovieshu though? Here’s the kicker: this idiot has had a raging passion for his wife slowly building up for years throughout their entire lives, and only realizes it about halfway through the events of the story. This idiot, this buffon, this absolute brain-dead dolt... didn’t even realize he was pining over his own wife until he was about to explode from the desperation from it all. God, I wish I was joking. Lemme break it down for you:

Sovieshu’s POV: He and Navier are introduced as kids and are told they’ll be married someday. Life partners. They are raised in tandem to respect and care for one another. Kinda smacks of grooming (go mom and dad!) but whatever, that’s the background. These kids are mentally regarding each other as spouses their entire conscious lives. And Sovieshu, as he grows, quickly comes to realize his intended is a selfless girl who holds everything inside. The first spark of his affection for her is wrapped in this: that Sovieshu longs for Navier to take off her “perfect princess” mask and let herself be vulnerable with him. He admires her intellingence, her grace, and her devotion to her country. He looks at her and sees someone that inspires him. He craves the opportunity to comfort and protect her. He waits, and these opportunities come in small instances. But they get older, their burdens get heavier, and like most young women, Navier gets better at pretending nothing is wrong with her and putting everyone else first. Sovieshu feels more distant from her. But that desire to break through her wall still stands.

They marry, but Navier, in her infinite wisdom, makes the assumption that this marriage is entirely political (despite...the fact... that they were raised together??? they were literally best friends their entire lives??? are y’all seeing how this could be confusing for him???) and that there are absolutely no feelings involved on Sovieshu’s side. Expect there’s that little problem. That little problem. Of Navier’s absolute inability to be vulnerable. And so she starts this marriage all Elsa-Conceal-Don’t-Feel convinced that her husband (whom she is secretly in love with, shocker) holds no warmth for her because she’s never received any from him.

Now I’ll acknowledge that this is a two way street, where Sovieshu fails as well. Should Navier have made a mature decision and asked for love and support when she needed it? Yes. Should Sovieshu have offered anyway, despite not knowing that she wanted it at all? Yes. They’re both in the wrong here. They’re both too passive, too afraid.

So the first few years of their marriage pass by like this. And Navier kinda melts into more of a depressed state over it, while Sovieshu becomes frustrated. But he doesn’t know why. He hasn’t quite put his finger on the fact that HE’S IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE, GEE WHAT A SURPRISE BUDDY. And then... the little ingenue comes in. Trashta, with her crocodile tears, oversharing of emotions, co-dependent as all get-out. You see where I’m headed, right? It’s not just that she’s the opposite of Navier that gets Sovieshu hooked. It’s that she gives him that opportunity to unburden all this pent up romantic frustration. He can comfort, and protect, and wipe away the tears of a woman who loves him... And for a while, it’s intoxicating. That itch is finally being scratched.

Or so it seems. Because sooner or later, Sovieshu realizes that this woman is not his wife. And she’s a bit clingy, and clueless, and she’s... well, she’s not his wife. She’s not his wife.

“Oh, dear God...” the idiot finally realizes. “I don’t want this hussy. I want my wife!”

Ding ding ding! You did it! And it only took you--what? 20 years? After all this time, Sovieshu (and the audience playing his route) realizes. He’s not cheating because he’s bored, or because he hates his wife, or because he’s Inherently An Asshole And That’s What Assholes Do. He’s cheating because he’s using this woman as a stand-in for his wife. He’s been looking straight through this woman and seeking his wife the entire time. He’s cheating because he’s stupid and repressed and misguided and human. And again, that doesn’t excuse it. He still cheated, and that’s something he needs to spend a life-time making up for. It’s a mistake, and a big one. But it’s not fueled by a malicious hatred or a desire to hurt her. It’s fueled by confusion and fear. And, strangely enough, a desire to perform love for his wife.

So anyway, this stupid dweeb finally wakes up and realizes that no matter how much he plays around with the Town Skank, it doesn’t slate that thirst for the woman he’s spent his life growing to love. And that he actually, truly loves her to begin with. Now at this point, Navier was away travelling, doing queenly stuff. And he gets a message from a servant-- his wife is home. This boy books it. This man throws down what he’s doing, sprints across the imperial palace, to stumble at the feet of his wife; red-faced and breathless, absolutely undone. This man is screaming for his wife on the inside and now nothing he can do will quiet it. And his wife, ever the perfect pinnacle of a monarch, just raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him and wonders what’s got him in such a tizzy.

This is where the difference between the narratives hits especially hard. Navier has absolutely no clue that her husband is a hair-thin thread of self-control away from all of this just completely spilling out of him. She looks at him and sees a tormentor; someone who’s treating her like a used doll. And he sees this Goddess that’s been hiding in plain sigh the whole time. He sees his sins and repents before this, his wife, his almighty Goddess. But he doesn’t know what to do. She’s still been hurt by him, Trashta is still in their lives, and damn it all, he’s still frustrated. He still feels bitter and abandoned because even after everything, even after the years of marriage, his wife just seems so unaffected by him. This is where Navier’s “perfect queen” image that she tries so hard to curate really bites her in the ass.

These two dumbasses are hopelessly in love with each other but they’re deadlocked in an endless cycle of letting their prides get in the way. Navier doesn’t want to be vulnerable. Sovieshu doesn’t want to compromise, doesn’t know how to not lash out in anger when he’s really feeling sad. Unlike Navier, he can express emotions-- but not in a heathy way. So he says something mean, does something kinda shitty. And Navier thinks it’s because he delights in her suffering. So Sovieshu’s over here in his head like a cranky little child that’s mad at mommy because she’s on the phone, and Navier is over there in her head wondering why on earth her husband can’t notice a love that she’s never actually expressed to him. And it’s just terrible. But kind of hilarious. Mostly sad and terrible. But defintely hilarious.

To further illustrate this: even a lot of Sovieshu’s actions, for that matter, get warped by Navier’s unreliable narration. WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE! In the chapter where Trashta is stabbed, Sovieshu immediately screams for guards to surround Navier. So I’ll sum up their thought processes here.

Navier: Oh my God, I can’t believe this asshole. Calling the guards? He really fuckin thinks I did this?! Jerk! Asshole! He really thinks I’d arrange for a pregnant woman to be stabbed!! He’s probably deliberately framing me too, so he can get me out of the way and live happily ever after with her!

Sovieshu: OH MY GOD, MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE COULD GET STABBED NEXT SOMEONE HELP well actually maybe she had something to do with it? nah. prolly not. but even if she did idgaf I LOVE MY WIFE, I’LL COVER FOR YOU BABY I’LL FORGIVE WHATEVER. GUARDS, FIND WHO DID THE STABBING SO THEY DON’T STAB MY PERFECT WIFE NEXT

Like I wish I was joking, but that’s how it read. Anyway, I’m not done with the comic or the game yet. But Sovieshu’s motivations aren’t all as they seem. And while he’s not a perfect husband, he has the capacity to mature, let down his pride, and make steps toward atoning to his wife. I honestly and genuinely believe this marriage could be salvageable if they could come clean with each other. A lot of people want to root for Kaufman or Heinley, and I get it. Those two would probably treat her well. But the fact stands that these two are married, and surprisingly, they both actually still hold a spark of love for one another. If Sovieshu could genuinely repent, and demonstrate this to Navier, they would attain the happy marriage with each other that they both strive for. Anyway, I find myself surprisingly hooked on the story now that I see Sovieshu’s POV. He’s not a hero in this story by any means, but I’m somehow, against my better judgement, rooting for him. I’m rooting for him to make the right choices and repair his marriage.

It’s a bold strategy, folks. Let’s see how it pays off.

#remarried empress

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thekitschdiet · 3 years

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the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

Who is the Kitsch Girl?

I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall- with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that. If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on. I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced. One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

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rahleeyah · 3 years

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So let's take a step back. Far right extremists latch on to "democrats are child sex traffickers/murderers" as a cause du jour (pizzagate was 2016 can you believe?) A very real problem - sex trafficking - becomes a dog whistle for neo nazis and q-anoners. It bleeds into the national conversation. Websites like Backpage get targeted in the name of protecting kids, which maybe it does, while also hammering sex workers. Sex workers start looking for other places to build businesses. Apple, with a chokehold on the mobile app market, goes on a puritanical spree to eliminate sexy content from its apps. To protect the kids, of course. Tumblr gets removed from the app store bc there was a thriving sex-interested community here, and scrambles to remove anything even vaguely sexy, including female presenting nipples and several pictures of my pet rabbit. Sex workers - and just! People who like sex in general! - go in search of somewhere else to make a living and create content. Again. They go to onlyfans, turn it from nothing into a billion dollar company, but onlyfans "can't attract investors" with all that sexy content, so they decide to kick the sex workers out. Again. You know what happened to Tumblr when they banned sexual images (or tried to, I promise you there are naked people on my dash at this very moment)? Usage of the site plummeted, along with its valuation, and left them desperately scrambling to find some way to make enough money to keep the lights on. What is gonna happen to onlyfans without sexual content? How many people use it for non sexual reasons?

Now. I do happen to believe it almost impossible to consume traditional porn ethically; it is almost impossible to know if the actors were plied with drugs or forced into situations they didn't initially consent to or were otherwise coerced or abused and the business is full of those stories. But onlyfans? By and large most of those creators are in business for themselves, and in charge of their creative directions. It provides them with agency. It provides them with a means to control their own income, on their terms.

But we can't have that, can we? We can strip a woman down and force her into uncomfortable, revealing clothes and positions for big budget movies, but we can't have her deciding to do that for herself, can we? We can make art out of her trauma but we hem and haw when she demands respect. Companies can make millions of dollars on their backs and then throw these women away like they're nothing. Corporations, CEOs in big cushy offices raking cash in hand over fist can shit all over the women who made them rich; it is inherently classist. And misogynist; no, not all sex workers are women, not by a mile, but that is the way our society understands this business to operate. The women do the work, the men pay - or get paid - and the women are punished.

The rise of this neo-puritanism (which has also infected the left, make no mistake about it) hurts women, hurts sex workers, and gives young people no option to turn to for exploring the concept of sex but the traditional porn industry or mainstream media, and god the damage that does is quantifiable. There is data on this, on the rising trend of sex related injuries that boil down to "well I saw it in a porno and they looked like they were having fun", bc the porno didn't show the prep work, or didn't care that the acts it was showing were violent and abusive.

We need a public discourse about sex. We need access to different presentations of what sex is, or can be. We need protections for sex workers, instead of continually forcing them into smaller and smaller corners, where the risk gets greater and greater. Sex is not evil! Sex is not bad! Sex can coexist on a platform with other kinds of content without eroding the moral purity or whatever the fuck of that platform. No one was forcing Tumblr users to look at porn (well except for whoever runs the porn bots, which are very much still here) and if a tumblr user doesn't wanna see it then they can take some fucking responsibility and use the tools that are available to shield themselves from it.

Same fucking thing with onlyfans. It's a subscription based website; no one is encountering "sexual nudity" by mistake. But paternal, puritanical, pearl clutching corporations wanna dictate the content we can and can't consume.

This is censorship, plain and simple, and it is and always has been a slippery slope. Every inch of ground given is a loss of freedom. Corporations are taking charge of what we see, using algorithms (make sure you have best stuff first turned off on your Tumblr) to curate our experiences, steering us in whatever direction will make them the most money. I am thinking now about that expose about how the reporter could track a right wingers descent into q anon madness through his Facebook likes. Each click dragged him deeper and deeper into that hole until there was no way out.

Do I use onlyfans? No! But this continuing tend of throttling sex based content is alarming to me, and I don't know how we turn back the clock but holy shit. Bodies are not shameful, and sex is not repugnant, and the more we act like it is the more damage we do to our national psyche.

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fromthefishbowl · 3 years

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People who complain about Ao3 don’t remember what sites like ff.net were like

Every few months, a bright-minded Tumblr blogger peeps up with the never-heard-before: “Ao3 is a completely amoral site. If they want to prove to us they have a moral backbone, then they need to purge X, Y, and Z tags, and then create a team of mods who will regularly check the stories that are reported because since now there aren’t tags that tell the readers about X, Y, and Z, these goddamn perverts will slip through the cracks and create toxic environment in which children shouldn’t be” take, and the posts routinely receive thousands of notes.

Well... let me tell you how things actually work on sites that don’t use tags but have a team of mods that checks the authors and stories that are being reported.

I’m a fandom old: even if I’m young, I began reading and writing fanfics back in September/October 2012. I’ve used a site that was basically ff.net’s twin, Wattpad, and then Ao3. I was there, when Wattpad slowly turned into a money-making farm and implemented micro-transactions and ads. I have seen how these platforms evolved and who they were protecting, and it really doesn’t matter how much you whine and complain about Ao3, but it’s the only platform that actually protects both its writers and readers in equal measure.

According to the many theories made by people who have already forgotten how actually lawless fanfiction sites were, having mods would solve all the problems regarding the “moral issues” presented by Ao3. In their opinion, mods would be these perfect creature who never take sides and are always impartial, ready to defend ThE cHiLdReN from the evil, amoral content. They’d scrub the site clean from the “toxic” and “dangerous” content in order to create a wholesome environment where parents and kids alike can happily frolic together.

In truth? Nothing about mods ever worked like that. No one is able to be completely impartial, and some people only need to be given an ounce of power to lose their minds and do as they please.

On the site similar to ff.net, people were encouraged to report all the stories that didn’t strictly follow the rules of the site, including the ones where the spelling wasn’t as great as it should’ve been. It wasn’t rare to find that users had reported an account or a story simply out of revenge, because said author hadn’t commented their work favorably. If you were a fandom favorite with a lot of readers, it was also possible to find in your DM box people asking you to report and ask your readers to report someone, even if you had to make up things in order for the report to go through.

Thankfully, mods were extremely lethargic (I love the idea that people think that they’d act briskly and not sleuth around the site, posting stories with their modding accounts in order to receive a higher number of comments), so most reports ended up in stand-by, catching proverbial dust, for years and years, until everybody forgot about the report itself as well as the story, the author, and whatever had happened there.

But when they acted? Ooooh, and here’s the interesting part, because there were three options!

The story was taken down, the account banned, and the only thing left of them would be a notice from the mods that they had been stricken because they had done this, this, and a little bit of that too. But do you know who was usually hit, by this? Smaller writers, writers whose stories didn’t pull in a lot of views and comments, people who were “forgettable”. It also happened a lot with writers who would put themselves against bigger authors by writing negative reviews for their stories;

The mods closed an eye because the people and storied reported where at the top of their category in a very trafficked fandom. There was a case in which people were so distressed by the presence of a very specific story (Jewish girl falls in love with the Nazi guard that abuses her while she’s in a concentration camp), that the headmistress of the site had to write a special comment that could be viewed by all the people who were going to review that story that said that there was no reason to leave a negative review nor to report it to the mods, as it followed the rules of the site (it didn’t, but it brought in a lot of views and attention to the platform, so... it could stay!);

The mods would hunt the authors on their social medias too and ban them from the site because they’d been rude. It happened more than once, that an author was reported or they were the ones reporting, and have found themselves submersed in insults by members of the mod team on their Facebook page. Two cases:

An author was accused of having plagiarized a story written by another, more famous, user. The author denied, and asked for proof of it. The mod taking care of the case didn’t offer any, but deleted their story and blocked their account until they said they were sorry to the more famous user. In order to have their account back, the author said they were sorry to the famous user, but on their Facebook page wrote that it was a crock of shit: they hadn’t copied from that person, and the fact that the mod hadn’t offered any proof of it was suspicious enough. The mod saw that Facebook post, sent them a DM with nothing but insults, and then banned them permanently because they had been rude to the administration;

An author posted a story, and two other users plagiarized it. The author reported both stories and waited a week for the mods to send them a DM telling them to screenshot all the passages that had been copied and put them all in a document because they didn’t have time to read three different stories. Although the author complied, they wrote a post complaining about this lousy job on Facebook. The post caught the eye of another moderator who blocked their account and told them they wouldn’t have had access to the site unless they apologized to the entire team of mods, to the users they had accused of plagiarizing their story, and took down the Facebook post. In the meanwhile, the first mod was caught chatting with one of the two other users on the forum. The author didn’t back down for another two weeks, when the headmistress of the site herself showed up and told them she would’ve been the one to take care of the question. In the end, although it was clear that the two users had copied the author’s story, the author still received nasty and threatening messages from the entire mod team because of that Facebook post, to the point that they decided to delete their stories and their account altogether and move to another platform.

This is what happens with mods that are always asked to answer to reports and to take care of stories personally: authors are not protected against anything unless they are big enough to be an attraction people subscribe to the platform for. Fics with “moral backbone” issues were left up if they had the views and the comments for it.

And the readers? Well, the readers used to get the short end of the stick too, as those sites didn’t have a tag system and there wasn’t a way for them to know if a story contained something they didn’t like to read about, nor a way for them to “obscure” the ones that did. Finding specific things was a mess too.

This to say: you need to curate your own fandom experience. You are in charge of what you read, and it’s not my place to take care of the children and make sure that everything they put their saintly eyes upon is wholesome. Ao3 is the only platforms that allows the readers to have an absolutely complete control of what they consume and that allows the writers to warn the readers of every single issue their story can contain that might trouble them. Learn to curate your own fandom experience, rather than spending your time whining about “moral issues” and “think of the children”, coming up with ideas that are simply not doable on a massive site like Ao3.

#ao3 #discourse #fandom experience #purity culture

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seaside-stories · 3 years

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The Swear Jar

Ok so I wrote some fanfic for yall :) its MCU fanfic, in an AU (idk which just go with it my dudes). I hope yall like it :D Here is a link to the fic on AO3. Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov | Word Count: ~1900

This story begins on one fine Sunday when Mr. Steve Rogers purchased a rather large jar. He bought a package of labels and a large sharpie as well. When he got back to the Avengers Tower, he took a label, wrote “SWEAR JAR” on it, and stuck it to the side of the jar. Then, he put it on a side table for everyone to see.

“Rogers, what the fuck is that?” Tony had asked when he saw it.

“A swear jar,” Steve explained simply. “Which you should put a dollar in, by the way.” Tony sighed dramatically. He then took out his wallet, removed a single, and leaned over Steve to get to the Swear Jar.

“Fine. Here you go. One dollar.” Tony said.

Now, whenever a resident of the Avengers Tower heard the call of “Language!” from Steve, a few moments later they also heard the clink of the glass jar. Peter Parker, who was a spectator of these rather funny events, noted that Clint and Tony were the ones called out most often.

But, alas, most adults do swear, and everyone eventually put at least a dollar in the Swear Jar. Even Peter had added a dollar or two to the Jar. But it was truly self-imposed. He hardly ever swore around adults, and if he did, it was a “Damn!” or the occasional “Shit!” that had slipped out by accident. But, since the appearance of the Swear Jar, that hardly happened anymore.

This went on for about a month before The Incident, as Peter called it.

Peter had been working in the lab with Tony. They were working on their own projects but they enjoyed each other’s company, so they worked in the same lab. They had been working for a while when Tony leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“You want something to drink, kid?” Tony asked.

“Sure,” Peter said. “How about a coke?”

“Sure thing,” Tony said and promptly left.

Peter was unfazed by Tony’s abrupt exit and went back to working on his project. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

“Tony?” Peter looked up. It was Steve. “Oh, hi, Steve,” Peter greeted him. “What’s up?”

“Is Tony here?” Steve asked. Peter shook his head.

“No, he just left. You can stay, if you want to, though.” Peter indicated to an area next to him where Steve could sit.

Steve sat, and Peter went back to his work. They sat there in silence for longer than Peter would have expected. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve flipping through papers and poking various parts and tools. Peter didn’t mind, but he wondered if Tony would. When will he be back? Peter thought.

Then, all of a sudden, Peter was ripped from his thoughts by a sharp yell.

“Fuck!”

Steve was sucking on his finger. He took it out of his mouth to look at it.

“Fuck, that hurt,” he said, quieter this time.

Peter realized in that moment that he had a decision to make:

Confront Steve now, make him deposit a few dollars to the Swear Jar, and tell everyone

Don’t say anything and use this as blackmail

Peter went with option number 2.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked Steve. Steve looked at him and they made eye contact for just a moment.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got a paper cut.”

“Oh, that sucks. Do you want a Band-Aid?”

“Sure.”

There is actually another Incident that Peter would rather not talk about. In his mind, this is dubbed The Moment.

Peter and Steve had been helping some SHIELD agents move some things from one side of a building to the other side. One of those things just so happened to be a fridge. The agents expressed that they would feel a lot better if Peter and Steve carried it together, even though either one of them could hold it by himself.

They were squeezing through one of the narrower doorways when Peter caught his hand between the fridge and the doorway.

“Fuck,” he swore quietly. Peter let go of the fridge with that hand and shook it out.

Before Peter could grab onto the fridge again, he made eye contact with Steve. Just for a moment. And when Steve didn’t call him out, he realized Steve had made the same decision he had made.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Steve asked.

“I caught my hand between the fridge and the door,” Peter explained.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

This arrangement continued for around a month and a half, where Steve and Peter felt comfortable swearing when they were alone together, but kept the secret when they were around others.

The only thing that threatened this secret, was Bucky Barnes.

Bucky Barnes had been on a mission in California for the past two months and was finally allowed to come back to New York. When he walked into the common room in the Avengers Tower, one of the first things he spotted was the Swear Jar. Peter watched him eye it for a few minutes. Finally, Bucky caved.

“Steve?” he called.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve called back.

“What’s this?” Bucky asked, his voice sounding like a parent that had just discovered an impromptu mural.

“...It’s the Swear Jar. See? It’s got a little label on it,” Steve explained, indicating the label on the front.

“Ah, I see,” Bucky nodded condescendingly. Peter watched him from across the room and came to a realization: Bucky knew that Steve had the dirtiest mouth out of all of the Avengers, but he decided to use it as blackmail, just as Peter had.

About a week later, Peter decided to organize another video for the Avengers YouTube channel that he ran, called Miscellaneous Inc.

The video begins with this opening card:

It’s animated. The sparkles come and leave out of sync.

[cut]

Some of the Avengers are sitting in a circle. They each have a whiteboard. Someone speaks:

“I swear to god, Clint, nobody’s forcing you to do this!”

[cut]

Peter Parker is sitting on his bed, criss cross applesauce. He waves at the camera.

“Hey, YouTube,” He greets the audience. “It’s me, Peter, saying hello to you on this fine Wednesday afternoon. Today, I have somehow convinced a whole bunch of the Avengers to play ‘Who’s More Likely To’ with me! I honestly don’t know how I convinced them to do it, but I did. Anyway, I asked you guys to ask some ‘Who’s More Likely To’ questions on Twitter, and I went through them! FRIDAY’s gonna read them out, though, so if you put emojis it might sound a little weird.”

[cut]

Peter, Tony, Steve, Bucky, Clint, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, and Vision are sitting in a circle, each equipped with a handheld whiteboard and a pen.

“Hi, camera!” Peter waves to the camera, mostly to make sure everyone else is aware of it. “You may notice that we are a few Avengers short. I promise, they are not dead. These are the only people I could convince to play with me. So far, that is. Should everyone introduce themself?” Peter asked and looked around the circle. Nobody really gave a definite reaction.

“We’ve all been on your channel before, yes?” Wanda asked.

“I guess…” Peter said.

The video froze and became a bit dimmer. Suddenly, names and arrows appeared on the screen, going around the circle, each appearance being noted by a small ding.

← Tony Stank (Iron Man)

← Peter Parker (me :D)

← Steve Rogers (Cap)

← Bucky Barnes (the coolest)

← Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

← Natasha Romanov (Black Widow)

← Sam Wilson (Falcon)

← Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

← Vision (Vision)

“Peter,” Peter said to the camera. “Do something cool during editing. A message came up on the screen: “I got you ;)”

[cut]

“Okay.” Peter clapped his hands. “Let’s get started. To reiterate, this is the ‘Who’s More Likely To’ Challenge. How you play is basically, a question is asked, like, ‘who’s more likely to land an arrow in the bullseye on the first try’. Then you write down who you think would be more likely to do that and then we all compare our answers. Does that make sense?”

Everyone nodded their heads.

“Great. FRIDAY, please read the first question.”

“Who’s more likely to say something they’re not supposed to in front of the press?” FRIDAY’s disembodied voice said.

Everyone wrote on their whiteboards for a few moments.

“Okay, let’s see your answers,” Peter said and turned around his board. Everyone followed suit. There were quite a few answers. The two most popular were “me” (“That’s not an answer, you guys,”) and Peter.

“Next question!” Instructed Peter.

“Who’s more likely to break something and leave it for the next person to fix?”

The most popular answer for that one was Tony.

Who’s more likely to accidentally knock someone out?

Steve.

Who’s more likely to keep saying “one more try” on a trick shot?

Sam.

Who’s more likely to have a weird secret habit?

Clint.

Who’s more likely to tip off a metal detector by accident?

Answers evenly split between Natasha and Bucky.

Who’s more likely to swear the most?

Peter had been waiting for this one. He curated the questions so he knew this one would show up eventually. He saw Steve and Bucky make eye contact. He watched as Bucky turned toward him and looked him straight in the eye. It was as if he was saying, “Now is the time to break our silence.”

“Turn your boards!” Peter instructed. They all did. Apart from Peter and Bucky, the most common answers were Tony and Clint.

“Steve?” Tony asked. “Peter, did you hear the question? They said the dirtiest mouth.”

“Yeah, I know. Bucky, you can back me up, right?” Peter looked to Bucky for someone to back him up.

“I only have my word, kid,” Bucky said solemnly.

Then Peter remembered.

“Hold on, actually. I have something. FRIDAY, show me that day Steve and I were in the lab together!”

FRIDAY rolled the clip. Then, everyone was able to see the true Steve Rogers. They were all shocked, to say the least. Steve sat there with a dumbstruck expression, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“So what do you have to say for yourself, Capsicle?” Tony asked him.

“Uh...I’m sorry?” Steve tried.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry!” Clint yelled playfully. “I’ve lost at least $100 to that damn Swear Jar! Speaking of which, what do you do with all the money?”

Steve stalled for as long as possible, but it was inevitable. He would have to tell them.

“I spent it on art supplies and ice cream.”

“You did what?!”

[cut]

Peter was back on his bed. He waved to the camera again.

“Thank you guys so much for watching! I can try and convince them to do this again sometime if you’d like! See you next time!

The video ended. Peter turned off the camera.

“Steve is going to kill me…”

#tw language #marvel fic #fanfic

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pctrichvrs · 3 years

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* emma mackey, cis woman + she/her | you know celeste laurent, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, seven years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to cry baby by the neighbourhood like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole watching the phone ring to avoid picking up, unintentionally locking eyes from across the room and dark circles further accented by pale skin thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is december 9th, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

mun.

wow ..,. hello ! i’m jay ( she&her ) and i’ve been eyeing this group for days .. *nicki minaj vc* i’m obsessed . celeste is my only muse but give me 2 business days and i’m sure that’ll be vastly different . i feel like i should give the disclaimer that although i adore plotting, i’m super slow with messages so feel free to just ..,. let my oddball child interact and go with the flow . < 3

quick stats.

full name: celeste rosalie laurent.

sexuality: bisexual.

occupation: youtuber/podcaster.

neighborhood: lives in port apartments.

mbti personality: intj.

about.

celeste was born and raised in lyon, france . her mother was an art curator and her father was an architect. they passed along their desire to be surrounded by pretty things which resulted in celeste dabbling in nearly every art form imaginable from a young age .

sure, some of her work turned out better than others but it was clear that she had a real knack for anything that didn’t really require the left side of her brain. if it involved creativity and didn’t have much structure, she was drawn to it and excelled. she was fourteen when she ended up making her first short film. sixteen when she earned a spot at cannes film festival, sparking quite a bit of buzz and earning funding to a school of her choosing .

celeste knew she wanted to go to america and it helped that she had a few cousins in north carolina . she went to UNC school of the arts for two semesters before throwing her scholarship away . . . her distaste for structure getting in the way . she’s also pretty fickle so when that chapter closed, she decided to give up short films and put her energy into youtube .

her channel was an absolute clusterf*ck at first but she made a ridiculous conspiracy theory video and it just kind of stuck. i’d consider most of her channel to be similar to buzzfeed unsolved ( conspiracies, ghosts, etc ) with like a sprinkle of ridiculous challenge videos and maybe the occasional cooking/painting video ?? if you’re her friend, you’ve probably made a cameo in a video at some point .

if it wasn’t obvious enough, celeste’s biggest flaws are her need for freedom and her fickle tendencies which affects nearly everything in her life . everything is very sporadic for her with very little consistency . she’ll go weeks without working on anything and then have a deadline and have to finish it in 2 days . romantic relationships are very hard for her because by the time you’ve gotten comfortable with her, she’s probably moved on a bit . friendships are admittedly a bit easier but she’s definitely not a friend you’d expect to be present a lot ?? phone is always on do not disturb and she takes hours to text back . if you want her, you’d probably have better luck just showing up on her doorstep .

kind of spacey too like even if you show up, good luck getting her undivided attention . she’ll be there physically but mentally ?? who knows, really . the type to occasionally cut you off mid-convo with a question that just popped into her head that’s unrelated to the original topic .

overall though, not too hard to get along with if you give her some room to breathe and have some patience . celeste despises confrontation and does her best to stay pretty lowkey . i feel like she’s kind of drawn to people that stand out and are unique in one way or another and LOVES to hear people tell their story or talk about themselves . she hates being the center of attention ( she used to love it when she was making films ) and is nearly a bit reclusive at times but doesn’t even realized she’s been tucked away in her apartment until someone points it out .

basically the human embodiment of Gifted Kid Burn Out(TM) . #relatable

tldr ; a youtuber ( think buzzfeed unsolved ) originally from france who was once incredibly gifted in film . flighty, fickle and spacey but has a genuine curiosity for everyone she meets .

headcanons.

still has a french accent but it’s not nearly as prominent as it was when she first moved to the states .

has a super odd sleep schedule ? sometimes she’s pulling all nighters and sometimes she’s in bed by 9pm. it usually depends on the amount of work she has to do but sometimes she’s just like fuck it, let me binge this show or start this book at midnight .

a “look at the sky!” ass bitch ..,. loves to stargazing or take a minute to appreciate a pretty sunset. yes, she will be pulling out her phone to document it .

her youtube is pretty successful with about 400k subs ..,. although she’s started branching out into making podcasts and neglecting youtube a bit .

still a bit of an aesthete ? like very drawn to pretty things/people which may make her seem kind of superficial but she literally just has such a deep appreciation for things that are appealing to the senses .

i’ll add more later but it’s 1am and i’m getting sleepy .

wanted connections.

roommates ; arguably some of my fave plots are roommate plots ! bonus points if they don’t get along for some reason but anything is fine with me .

will they/wont they ; another dynamic that i’m a sucker for ! doesn’t have to lead anywhere like maybe they just have ridiculous chemistry when they’re around each other ? maybe they’ll go on a date and try it out at some point ?

long-term friend(s) ; someone who she’s been friends with since she was 17 ? i don’t think celeste’s social circle is very big so they probably mean a lot to her .. ride or dies .. best friends .. platonic soulmate vibes . yes pls .

exes ; i don’t think she’d have many but maybe one or two ? could be on good terms, bad terms, one/both of them still aren’t over it ..,. the options are endless .

Parent Friend(TM) ; someone who checks in on her to make sure she’s eaten a proper meal and has slept fairly recently would be super cute, i think ! she’s the type to drink iced coffee at noon and be like : ) thank u . i’m stuffed and then neglect doing self care .

i do not have a cute name for this but basically the exact opposite of the parent friend(TM) and someone who makes celeste go out and have fun bc she’s a tad reclusive ...,. drags her to parties / on roadtrips / other spontaneous shit .

enemies / frenemies / former friends ; always fun . always a good time !

literally anything like u can send me a musing post and be like ‘do this with me’ and i will probably do it

#irvingintro #literally the tiktok audio that's like 'now that we're done with that . do u wanna see my renegade ?'#*smiley w sunglasses emoji*#okay it's nearly 4am . i am about to sleep but . i'm letting myself celebrate finishing this . as a treat .

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alleiradayne · 3 years

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Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part IV - The Midnight Ride

Summary: The end of an era. Warnings/Tags: Some fluff, general elements of horror and fear, graveyards, brushes with death again... Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 5,104

"You alright?"

Lost in thought, I had hardly heard Sam. But the warmth of his presence roused me from my stupor. I shook my head and rubbed the burn from my eyes as I spoke. "Yeah, I… I'm just exhausted. And this research isn't exactly entertaining."

Sam took a seat beside me at the small motel table and pulled his chair so close I might as well have sat in his lap. The warmth of one massive hand enveloped mine, and he set the other on my bouncing knee. That quake subsided beneath his touch, something no other person in my life had managed. But then a sudden awareness sent a shiver down my spine, and I scanned the motel room, searching. Sam, perceptive as ever, answered my unasked question. "Dean's in the shower. He'll be a while. We've got some time. To talk. Only if you—"

I didn't want to talk. At all. What I wanted betrayed every common sense I had. At that moment, I’d do whatever I could, use whatever magic at Sam’s disposal, make a deal with Rowena, anything to cleanse last night's stain of indelible memories from my mind. And yet, I knew those options were anything but. Between Sam’s apparent affection for me and Dean’s overprotective brotherly nature, neither would allow me to harm myself willingly just to get rid of a few nightmares.

But as I stared into Sam’s prismatic gaze, the desire to replace those memories, to shadow them with newer, happier moments, overpowered me.

No. I didn’t want to talk. So, instead, I kissed him.

Myriad descriptions, all vastly varied from one to the next, could never capture the feeling of Sam's lips on mine. I could regale you with comparison after comparison. But none of them would do him justice. Though the moment lasted but a breath, eons passed in that explosive connection where I knew and felt and lived a thousand lifetimes with him. I wanted to do nothing more in that breath than melt into him forever.

My tablet chirped, and the case loomed at the edge of my subconscious. All those imaginary lifetimes vanished as I parted from him, replaced by a cruel reality. Not that I'd squander a reality that consisted of Sam Winchester's love. Or his crooked grin and half-lidded gaze.

"Good talk."

Despite my sour mood, I laughed. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding."

His fingers slipped between mine as he spoke. "Thing is, I forgot… what I said about us last night. When I asked if you wanted to talk now, I meant about what happened to you."

"Oh." Well, shit.

I have never known a person wiser, more emotionally aware than Sam. And Dean often gave him a run for his money. But after all the years hunting together, Sam and I operated on an uncannily similar wavelength. The guy read me like an open book. And when I balked at recounting my harrowing journey beyond the veil, he understood without another word.

"Only if you want," he repeated with a reassuring squeeze of my thigh. "Otherwise, I wouldn't mind a little more of your…" he paused with a coy smirk as his eyes darted to my lips and back. "... preferred method of communication."

"I…" My tablet chirped once more, obliterating the one desire I'd felt in months. "Sam, I promise, we make it out of this case alive, I won't leave your bedroom for a week."

His smile widened as he said, "Only if we spend the following week in yours."

I kissed him again, a little harder, more insistent. Parted, I agreed. "Done."

My tablet chimed for the third time, and I turned to it at last. Sam pointed at the screen and said, "What's cockblocking me?"

Though I laughed, a furious sting prickled my cheeks at the thought of Sam's… I forced the imagery from my mind and decidedly focused on the tablet instead of his face. "I was emailing the curator at the museum. She just sent me some documents about Sleepy Hollow's history."

"Oh?" Sam mused. "Anything worthwhile?" He reached for his laptop, pulled it across the table, and flipped up the lid.

When I opened the attached documents, my heart sank. They merely verified much of what I'd already learned. "Sleepy Hollow was a part of the Tarrytown settlement, originally called North Tarrytown. Most of this information is just facts and history about the town. While the Ichabod Crane story is all rooted in it, the urban legends and folklore are only related so far as this jackass on a horse with no head."

"Not surprising," Sam stated.

"No,” I whined, “but it is a little disheartening that he has next to nothing to do with the town he haunts.”

Sam nodded, then said, “There might be more, though. Earlier this morning, I read that Washington Irving was born in Manhattan. He traveled for many years, but he eventually returned to New York and lived out the rest of his life in Sleepy Hollow. He's buried in that cemetery."

"I suppose," I replied, "but I was looking for something a little more concrete than the author lived and died here. Like actual people that Irving modeled his characters after. Or other legends. He traveled in Europe for quite some time. There's even a Scandanavian story, The Wild Hunt, that has the same throughline. A headless rider that lobs his head at people."

Sam piqued at that, eyes narrowed and head tilted. "But Ichabod Crane is the original telling of the story here. Right?"

I nodded. "Forgetting that it's a hodgepodge of cultural ghost stories, yes."

He laughed at that. "I haven’t read it since I was a kid.”

“Me neither,” I replied. “I only know bits and pieces.”

Dean burst from the bathroom at that, a towel wrapped around his head and one about his waist. “Ichabod Crane was a new school teacher in Sleepy Hollow. And he was hellbent on marrying a woman, Katrina, who was set to inherit her father's very wealthy farm estate.”

"Oh," I mused with a mocking smirk at Sam. "Sounds like we have an expert in our midst."

Dean waved me off as he dug through his bag at the end of the bed. "Sam knows it, too. Right?"

“Yeah," Sam started, "there was another suitor, though. Arthur Van Brunt. He went by Brom Bones Van Brunt.” He paused as he stood. “It’s kind of funny, really, this story reads like a high school drama. The lanky geeky nerd and the oafish jock fight over a girl. Except they never get into the physical altercation Brom wanted. He goaded Ichabod constantly, pulling pranks on him. But Ichabod never took the bait.”

I looked at my tablet, where a black and white photograph of a man stared back at me, then returned to them both. Dean withdrew a change of clothes from his bag, then headed back to the bathroom. Through the open door, he said, “So the story goes, Ichabod went to a party at the Van Tassel farm where he intended to woo and win over Katrina. Brom, instead, scares the living piss out of him with a bunch of ghost stories, one of which was the Headless Horseman.”

“Yeah, I remember that much,” I said. “And then he tried to propose to Katrina, but she shot him down.”

“Exactly,” Sam chimed. “I love how ambiguous the ending is here. Ichabod leaves the party all upset about Katrina. He gets on his horse, Gunpowder, who is very skittish, and heads home. But the Hessian shows up and chases him. Ichabod had just learned the legend, so he heads for the bridge near the Old Dutch Burying Ground. He knows the spirit can’t cross the bridge. Ichabod would have made a decent hunter.”

Dean’s laughter echoed from the bathroom, and he emerged dressed and hair coiffed. “I forgot how innocent this story is. He gets to the bridge and crosses it, but the Hessian hurls his freakin’ head at him before disappearing. The head domes Ichabod and knocks him off his horse. Nobody ever finds his body. Only his hat, Gunpowder’s wrecked saddle, and a randomly smashed pumpkin were found near the bridge.”

A thought bubbled up in the back of my mind and raced to my lips. “So that’s where the jack-o-lantern head comes from. What if… holy shit, what if it was just a prank gone wrong? What if Brom was playing another trick on him and accidentally killed Ichabod?”

Hesitation stalled them both as Sam and Dean regarded one another. Then Dean turned to me and asked, “That does not explain what the hell happened last night. No fucking way that was a prank.”

I hated it, but I knew he was right. “But then what the hell! I’m almost beginning to think it is a tulp—”

“It’s notta tulpa!” Sam shouted. Dean clamped a hand over his mouth, and his shoulders shook with uncontrollable laughter. Sam rounded on him and barked, “Shut up!”

“I can’t help it,” Dean managed through peeling laughter. “Your Arnold impression is improving.”

“C’mon, guys, we need to figure this out,” I groaned.

Dean settled through a deep breath, although his face remained far too red. Sam slumped into his seat again, his stare glazing over, unseeing. When he remained silent, Dean said, “Alright, let’s say they’re spirits. And it’s still this mess of combined ancient myths, ghost stories, and cultural legends. We’re still on the same page there, right?”

Sam and I nodded slowly. “After what happened last night, there’s no way they’re anything else.”

“If they’re spirits that haven’t moved on, we have to burn the bodies,” I stated.

“Or destroy an object that might be keeping them topside,” Dean added.

Scrambled thoughts rattled through my mind as I ran down a list of objects. I soon found myself lost in a warren of possibilities, and as I stared ahead at my tablet, equally dazed as Sam. An answer picked at the edge of my subconscious, like a half-remembered dream. No matter how hard I tried to grasp it, the thought slipped through my hand like water.

“None of it is real.”

From the corner of my eye, I glared at Sam. He remained still, his glassy far-off stare yet unfocused as he spoke. "It's all stories. They're all stories that are too much of a mess for a tulpa. So none of it is real. Whatever these spirits have latched onto, it's nothing from those stories."

With his words, the image on my tablet clarified as my mind focused. Understanding crept along my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. I stood then, spurred to my feet, and spoke. “The unmarked grave never mattered. It’s fake.”

Sam nodded. “There aren’t any bodies to burn because those bodies never existed to begin with.”

“It’s all fairy tales and make-believe bullshit,” Dean declared.

I looked first to Sam, then Dean, then back to my tablet, where an image of Washington Irving filled the screen. I turned the tablet to face them, and all at once, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Together, we spoke.

“Death of the author.”

Never in my entire life had I wished to be anywhere else more than at that very moment.

Three stark-white flashlights illuminated a grand headstone, memorialized by the town of Sleepy Hollow, for one Washington Irving. After so many years without care, overgrowth covered much of the base, and the stone desperately needed a washing. Beyond that, none of us made a single move to start the arduous process of digging five feet into the earth. We simply stood there, silent as the dead beneath our boots.

"Either of you uncomfortable with this?" Dean asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Sam and I replied.

Dean started towards the headstone and said, "Good. Glad it's not just me. Something about this feels wrong."

"It's because we've never seen someone's spirit manifest as anything other than itself," Sam stated. "We're literally digging up a guy because his spirit might have transfigured into characters from his own story."

"Can spirits even do that?" I asked as I scanned the treeline of the graveyard. Though dense fog had choked the grounds last night, literal clouds suffocated the entire cemetery where we stood. "That seems like a lot of power for a single spirit."

Dean posted at the head of the grave. "Only one way to find out." He pocketed his flashlight and hefted his shovel. When he saw us still standing at the foot of the plot, he said, "I'm not digging this grave on my own."

Despite the need to end such a vengeful spirit, I had little motivation to help. Slower than necessary, I picked up my shovel and shuffled to the center of the plot. Sam stepped in behind me, shovel at the ready.

Dean raised his shovel to his waist. Before he moved further, a distant, indiscernible sound echoed through the woods. What was once visible of the nearby treeline no longer was. That thick fog filled the darkness, and I saw neither trees nor sky nor stars. I heard the sound again, too far to tell what it was, but not far enough to miss. My flashlight shook violently as I spun about, but I found nothing besides the Impala behind us.

I turned back to Dean just in time to watch as he plunged his shovel's blade into the dirt. Agonizingly slow, it descended each inch slower than the last. That distant sound echoed once more, ever so slightly closer. As though he conducted an orchestra, that sound crescendoed into an unbearable scream as Dean’ shovel descended until metal returned to the earth.

Earsplitting thunder exploded overhead, and instinct forced all three of us to our knees. That booming drum rolled, mutated until it rumbled through the ground. I knew that sound, too familiar with the feel reverberating through my feet. A fresh wave of icy dread coursed through my veins as those thundering hooves pounded the dirt.

Over the headstone, I pointed my flashlight as I stood. Terror incarnate barreled through the graveyard astride his deathly steed. Above his head, a readied missile sprouted flames as he raced towards us. Every instinct screamed to run. Fuck everything about the legend, the haunting, just get the hell out of there.

But I couldn't move. Frozen solid, I merely gripped my flashlight and shivered.

"Run!"

Dean's shove launched me into Sam's arms, kickstarting my senses. I sprinted for the Impala, desperate for her salvation. I reached it a beat behind Sam and Dean and dove into the backseat. The engine roared to life with a sharp snarl as Dean twisted the ignition. He wrenched down on the shifter, slammed on the gas, and I launched into the backrest as the car sped off in reverse.

"What are you doing?!" I screamed.

"What I should have done last night!" he barked.

I opened my mouth to demand a better answer but only managed to scream and gesticulate wildly. The Headless Horseman vaulted Washington Irving's headstone and, in one smooth motion, launched his flaming cannonball directly at the car.

The sickening crunch of iron on steel paled in comparison to Dean's wail of rage. He threw the wheel to the left, and I grasped onto the backrest as the car lurched, spinning about-face. The transmission groaned in protest as Dean threw the shifter into drive and slammed on the gas once more. With all her horses leaping down the road, the Impala raced into the night, and I flattened against the backseat.

"Mother fucking piece of shit ghost!" Dean bellowed. "Fucking hit my car with a god damned cannonball! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me?!"

“Dean, just watch where you’re going!” Sam shouted as he braced against the backrest and the frame of the car.

The speedometer slid past eighty, and I gripped the leather backrest, nails scoring the supple hide. Sweat coated my palms, and my heart railed against my chest. "Dean, what the hell are you doing! You're going to get us killed!"

The fork in the road appeared around the sharp corner, and Dean roared, "Just trust me!" as he took the paved road to the left.

One hundred. The blinding flash of a memory overpowered my senses. Nearly forgotten, the dull vision replayed in my mind, muted, as though it belonged to someone else. A car sped along a country road. A dog. Spinning, careening, crashing. I screamed as my seatbelt failed. Blood pooled in the cornstalks beneath a sky so blue.

"Try to follow me now, you son of a bitch!"

Dean's voice snapped me back to reality. Behind us, the Headless Horseman gained, and his whip gathered with a flick of his wrist. The vicious bones uncoiled, and another memory threatened to take me under once more. It seemed that death had its own wish for me and would not rest until it came true. Another flash of a fresh memory consumed my senses, dragged me down to my own personal hell. But then a light emerged amidst the darkness, warm and enveloping. I opened my eyes to find Sam holding my hand.

"Focus, Y/N. Stay with me, we're gonna get through this, I promise."

"There's the bridge!" Dean shouted as he pointed. The engine whined, straining under his insistent foot. He glared in his rearview mirror as he growled, "Let's race, motherfucker."

The Impala raced over the transition from asphalt to old stone and wood, rattling the car from nose to rear end. Sam’s fingers turned ghastly white in my grip, but he paid that no mind. His focus remained steady, wide eyes staring into mine. Though he tried to reassure me, the roar of the Impala swallowed his words, and they fell on deaf ears. Like a moth to the flame, I turned back to the Headless Horseman one last time.

The coiled whip unfurled laboriously, each bone rolling over the next and slower than the last. That crawl, that agonizingly painful creep blurred the liminal space between truth and myth’s fabrication until nothing but a swathe of gray smeared reality. My mind filled in that blank void, and I knew then that death had arrived to collect his escaped prisoner.

But the end never came. That infinite second ticked by, lost to the endless depths of space and time as the car breached the end of the bridge. I braced myself against Sam as he reached over the backrest for me. Dean stood both feet on the brake, and the car lurched forward as the tires seized, shredding on the asphalt. When the deafening roar of the Impala faded to its soothing idle, I eased my grip on Sam's arms, and he returned to his seat. Dean checked both of us before scrambling from the car, and we followed not a beat behind.

In the center of the bridge, the Headless Horseman and his nightmare steed hung in the air, suspended mid-gallop. A deep purple glow seeped through the grouted stone surrounding the horse, and beneath his hooves, the bricks quaked. Violent flashes of an eerie green mist lanced from the cracks in the centuries-old rock and lashed the rider’s raised arms to drag him from his horse. Wrenched free of the saddle, he crashed to the stone, his metal armor clattering with a sickening crunch. I winced, unsure of what I was witnessing, an unwitting and unwilling voyeur.

But I forced myself to keep looking. I had to. I had to see it through to the end, to know without a shadow of a doubt that we had indeed laid such a vengeful spirit to rest.

The Hessian launched into the air with a vicious twist of the mysterious green lashes. Gale winds swept over the bridge, filling my nose with burning brimstone, and then the horse burst into flames. He screamed his unholy cry, and I startled into Sam's arms. Though I continued to watch, I cowered into him, and he held me close without a word. The vile inferno consumed the horse in seconds, reducing him to a pile of ash.

The rider convulsed as though in pain, writhing and contorting so awkwardly to be free of his bonds. Metal twisted, grinding and scraping against itself in his bid for escape. I realized then that, in his death throes, the Headless Horseman would emit no other sound. He could not beg for forgiveness nor absolution. He could not plead for his continued existence nor one last moment on earth. No last words with a loved one. And for a minuscule second, I pitied him.

Lightning fractured the sky as the purple glow between the bricks focused in a circle encompassing the rider. As the edges brightened, the bricks inside slipped away into an endless darkness. I had seen nothing like it in all my years hunting. And as the green bonds lowered him towards the void, he thrashed, deeply aware of the end that approached.

A scream rent from my mouth as an arm of sinew and bone and rotted flesh burst from the black depths and grasped the rider's leg. Metal collapsed like tissue paper beneath the fierce grip, and bone crumpled to dust. Another arm lunged for his chest and cleaved his breastplate in two, embedding in his ribs. A third nearly ripped his arm from its socket, his forearm crushed, and a fourth pierced his thigh. Those horrifying limbs dragged the Headless Horseman to his doom, jailors imprisoning their captive.

Feet, legs, and torso succumbed to the darkness, and a defeated stillness settled his ruined body. At last, his arms and headless shoulders sank beneath the zenith, and The Headless Horseman was no more. Like so many grains of sand through an hourglass, the ashes of his steed followed him into the void.

A final flare of purple and green light surged as lightning illuminated the sky once more. Wind settled, and clouds parted to reveal a full, brilliant moon and a night sky full of glittering stars. At last, the void receded, and the bridge stood whole once more. The sounds of night creatures returned, and the clearing surrounding the bridge expanded as though it took a full, deep breath to hold, its first in thirty years.

Maybe, it knew. Just as I felt it in my bones, the trees, the stone, the tall grass, and the creek beneath the bridge all felt it down to their tiniest molecules. It was over. At long last, the Headless Horseman was no more.

For now.

A clattering of bones cut through the peaceful calm, and I flung my arms out ahead of Sam and Dean. Not that I would protect them from much of anything, what with nothing but my bare fists at the ready. Tension crept across my shoulders when I spotted the source of the sound, and the three of us scrambled backwards towards the car.

The bone whip rattled to a stop a few feet from us, perfectly coiled with its handle extended towards my boots. I regarded Sam first, then Dean, only to then turn back for the Impala's trunk with a scoff. A readied can of salt lay on top of the stockpile, and I grabbed it as I grumbled to myself.

"Unless something's keeping it topside.” I slammed the trunk shut. “Gimme a break. Of course, something was keeping it here," I continued to myself as I stomped back to Sam and Dean. I prodded the latter in the shoulder and asked, "How? How the hell did you know?"

Dean shook his head as he held his lighter in one hand and withdrew a motel matchbook from his pocket. "I didn't. I didn't know the bridge would work. And I didn't know the whip had anything to do with it. I just had a—"

"Remember the last time I had a hunch and convinced you to drive the Impala over a hundred?" Sam interjected.

Before Dean could respond, I spoke. "Speaking of which…" I paused as I finished pouring a generous amount of salt on the neat pile of bones and snapped the can shut. "Don't ever drive that fast again."

Dean’s brow shot to his hairline as his jaw dropped. He gestured to the bridge, looked to it, then turned to the pile of bones and gesticulated wildly at them. After he stuttered the beginning of a few statements, he blurted, "What was I supposed to do?!"

"Not one-oh-five, that's for damn sure!" I stated. "We could have died!"

"We would have if I hadn't—"

"Alright, that's enough!" Sam interjected. "I'm sorry I brought it up. Let's just put this son of a bitch away for good this time."

"Yes, sir," Dean agreed. "One salt and burn, coming right up."

The book of matches took the flame of Dean's lighter with a sharp hiss. A flick of his wrist sent the little ball of fire cascading to the ground, and in a single beat of my heart, red consumed the world in a crimson concussion.

The ring in my ears faded, and the blinding light dimmed, darkness settling around us once more. Flat on my back, I stared up at the shimmering night sky, beyond dazed. When I sat up, Sam’s hollow voice called from afar. But the moment his touch soothed my shoulders, a shock of clarity rushed through me, and I saw he knelt over me.

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he repeated. “You okay?”

I thought for a moment, taking inventory once again. No broken bones, no blood. Not even a hint of pain despite the lingering soreness from the previous night. “I… I think so. What happened?”

Dean strode into view, an ornately gilded box cradled in his hands. He set it on the ground at his feet, and then I spotted it. The whip lay intact where it had rolled to a stop earlier. Salt scorched black cowered beneath the pale white bones as though frightened of its failure to purify the whip. I pointed at it and repeated myself. “What the fuck just happened?!”

Sam spoke when Dean hesitated. “It looks like the whip is protected. Somehow. Whether the Headless Horseman did it or it’s part of his curse, I’m not sure. And it’s irrelevant anyway. We’ll have to find some other way to destroy it.”

“But then… What happened last time? With your dad?” I asked as I stood. Sam hopped to my side once more, his gentle strength lifting me to my feet.

Metal rasped on metal, and my attention snapped to Dean. His hand rested atop the box, the metal gears working with fine clicks and clanks. When he removed his hand, the lid lifted half an inch and hissed a violent release of pressure. Of its own accord, the lid then continued to rise, revealing rich black velvet. Darker than night, the fabric lined the entire box, and it absorbed the moonlight, much like the void that had taken the Headless Horseman. When Dean withdrew a similar thick velvet cloth from the box, he spoke. “John did put the Headless Horseman away thirty years ago.” He paused as he grasped the whip with the velvet. Gingerly, he eased it into the box, then spread the cloth over it. The heavy lid shut with a hollow thunk and the metal gears worked once more, sealing shut on its own. “But, he came back.”

“Because of the whip?” I asked.

Dean nodded as hefted the box and turned for the Impala. Sam and I followed, eager to be on our way. Given our cargo, I doubted Dean would want to stay another night in Sleepy Hollow. Resolved, I figured I’d at least steal a pillow for the ride back.

We followed as Sam said, “We’ll take it back to the Bunker and find another way to destroy it.”

“Otherwise…” My question drifted, lingering like an unwanted guest that had overstayed their welcome.

With a grunt, Dean shoved the box into the trunk. “Otherwise, the next unlucky bastard that touches this thing will become the Headless Horseman.”

The terrifying implication settled in the pit of my stomach. An indestructible weapon possessing unwitting people. And yet, I knew that dichotomy well. Old as time, that one. The immovable object, an inanimate manifestation of immortality, meets the unstoppable force, the perpetual stupidity of human curiosity.

“We need to get on the road,” Dean stated as he shut the trunk, then strode for the driver’s door. There, he cried a soft, short sob and spoke to the car. “Oh, Baby, look at you. We’ll get you home and cleaned up.” Then he ripped the cannonball free, wrenched the door open, and slid into the driver’s seat. The awkward crunch of ill-fitting metal joints damn near broke my heart. And not just for Dean, but for the Impala as well, for she had seen us through a most harrowing night yet again.

Sam leaned in beside me then and asked, “Mind if I sit with you?”

“I’d… I’d like that. Very much,” I replied as a sudden chill crept beneath my skin. “I don’t think I could handle the whole ride back by myself.”

He opened the door and gestured ahead. “I make a pretty good pillow.”

As he slid in beside me, I said, “I look forward to finding out.” The warmth of his entire body, so close to mine, pulled me in, a moon to her earth. His long arm draped over my shoulder, and I curled into him. For a brief moment, the case ceased to exist. Only my exhaustion reminded me that I had gone toe to toe with the Headless Horseman and, for the most part, won.

But then a familiar thought occurred to me, and my weary eyes snapped wide open. “It’s true, then.”

“What is?” Dean asked as he turned over the backrest.

My breath caught in my throat, unwilling to put into the universe my worst nightmare. But between Dean’s confident stare and Sam’s soft gaze, I’d never felt safer. Even in my darkest moments, the Winchesters would be there for me. I put my faith and confidence not only in them but in myself as well. No matter what happened next, I believed in us.

“What’s true, Y/N,” Sam asked.

I gave him my best smile and spoke.

“Some urban legends never die.”

Dean shook his head as he turned back to the wheel and twisted the key in the ignition. The Impala rattled as she started, exhausted as each of us. When she settled to idle, Dean looked at me in the rearview mirror and spoke.

“No. They live just long enough to meet us.”

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#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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notalittlebutalottie · 4 years

Note

kc+ soulmates au (I can't choose between AH or not so your choice) their lovely banter please.

Thank you for your request and being so patient with my writing! I took some inspiration from the Korean Drama titled ‘Love Alarm’ to make this soulmate AU! ENJOY!

♥♥♥ KLAROLINE DRABBLE REQUEST #17: Love Alarm♥♥♥

It was released on a Tuesday. A revolutionary app that could tell you if your soulmate was within a large radius of you. The Love Alarm. It was an app produced by the government to increase child birth rates. There was a buzz about it when she was in high school, but nothing concrete. But after years of curating the perfect product, it finally was here. No one knew how it worked, but it was a marvel of technology that got you exponentially closer to finding that special someone.

The special someone for Caroline was most certainly not in front of her.

“Do you really have to take out the last copy? We all know you can afford to buy it,” Caroline berated, folding her arms as she glared at the thick red book in the hands of Klaus Mikaelson.

Klaus rolled his eyes harshly, shaking the book for a moment as he lorded over her. “Well, maybe I like using the library copy. I’m surprised you didn’t just absorb the material by looking at it since you’re attempting to burn a hole in it with your eyes.”

They had been fated to be in the same Intro to Business class and once the group projects had begun, it was game over. He was a smug, ungrateful, rich kid who expected every girl to just drop their panties at the sight of him. Even thinking about it sent her blood pressure up.

“Tell you what, sweetheart,” he leaned in close and she stared him down without so much as a flinch. His lips curled at her lack of reaction. “I won’t take it out.”

Her eyes narrowed. God, why did he have to smell so good? It was seriously confusing her emotions with her senses. “What’s the catch?”

“I’ll be sitting in my usual spot and you can wait for me to finish.”

Caroline scoffed, “But it could take you hours?! I’m not waiting on you.”

“Then I am afraid I cannot be helped if you leave and someone else wants the book after me,” he lowered his voice, the richness sending a shiver to her core.

She eyed him carefully, searching his face for any cracks of doubt. She wouldn’t hold it against him to be spiteful and give the book away while her back was turned. “Fine.”

And so there they sat, apart from each other on opposing tables. Caroline kept her eyes squarely on him while he read and took notes and glanced at her every so often with his devilish smile. She even debated whether a simple blink would test his ‘generosity’, as he would like to call it.

“It’s out!” Elena came speeding into the library with her twin Katherine in tow. “Love Alarm!”

Caroline’s stare was broken as her two friends sat in front of her, Elena slamming her phone onto the table with a giggle and Katherine maintaining her ever so cool expression. Katherine had already announced that she preferred not knowing about her soulmate and she would continue to let fate do its thing.

But everyone else? They went wild.

The previously quiet college library was now bustling with a feverish excitement over the key to such knowledge.

“Hayley dumped Tyler right on the quad when she found out they weren’t soulmates! It was BRU-TAL. I loved it,” Katherine suddenly became animated as she recounted the scene. It seemed that even someone like Katherine would get some use out of the app if only for entertainment purposes.

“Oh my god. Seriously? She trusts the App that much?” Caroline giggled in response, soon faltering as she glanced at Klaus, whose attention was removed from the book and on her.

“You should get it!” Elena shook her hands into fists, her eyes lighting up.

Caroline laughed again, tickled by her friend’s pure energy. With a playful sigh, she downloaded the app. It was already the number one download in the store within thirty minutes. Filling out the necessary forms, she paused a few times to consider her answers.

Welcome, Caroline Elizabeth Forbes. We are cross-referencing you with nearby users…

She swallowed, watching the little heart on the screen beat as a ring expanded around it with a tiny bell sound.

No Soulmate Detected.

“Oh. Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“I mean...it’s new, so maybe your soulmate just doesn’t have an account yet?” Elena reasoned, playing with the options on her phone.

“Huh?” Caroline scrunched up her nose. “I mean, maybe. It’s not like my soulmate is gonna be at our college anyway. They could be anywhere in the world!”

Klaus was watching her with bewilderment as she stared at her phone and chewed her lip. Her nervous mannerisms always sent a shock to his system. He found himself wondering what they were all chattering on about. ‘Love Alarm’ he thought he had heard.

After a quick glance side to side, he took his search to google.

Government’s New Phone Application That Promises to Find YOUR SOULMATE Kicks off With a BANG!

What? He stifled a brittle laugh at the preposterous nature of it all. Soulmates. As if there could ever be such a thing!

Still, it would provide some much needed amusement to try it out.

Klaus took another check of the people around him and proceeded to download the ridiculous app and fill out his details.

Welcome, Niklaus Mikaelson. We are cross-referencing you with nearby users…

“You never know,” Katherine teased in her melodic and sultry voice as she rose from her chair. “Could be someone sexy!”

Elena giggled and pushed her sister out into the aisle. “We’ll see you later, Care!”

Caroline shook her head and set her phone on the table. Soulmates… No. If there was such a thing, maybe it was best to find it naturally. Love couldn’t be forced after all.

Before she could bring herself back to the task her friends had distracted her from, her phone lit up, and with a pairing echo from another phone, it rang:

YOUR SOULMATE IS NEARBY.

She looked up, her head lifting sharply from her screen. And there he was, sat across from her. Her ‘soulmate’. Klaus Mikaelson. Shit.

#klaus and caroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #the originals #the vampire diaries #elena gilbert #katherine pierce #drabble #drabbles #drabble request

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losingmymindtonight · 5 years

Text

Trope: Hair Playing

If there was one thing Tony Stark understood, it was nightmares.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept without them. They were a constant presence, lurking along the fringes of his mind, waiting for the right moment to sweep him up.

For him, sleep was composed of fragments. An hour here, fifteen minutes there. No matter what he did, whatever relaxation techniques or sleeping pills or whatever-the-fuck-else he tried, he always found himself jolting awake, soaked in sweat and shivering with terror, long before sunrise. It was why he rarely actually slept in the bed with Pepper anymore, which had also been one of the primary reasons their relationship had splintered before all the shit with Steve went down. It’s hard to form an intimate connection with someone when they’re just... never there.

When they’d gotten into a screaming match over his empty side of the bed the night before she left, he hadn’t had the heart to tell her that it was because he was terrified of waking up and hurting her. That that one night after New York was still laser-engraved in his mind.

He’d had to tell her eventually. It’d come out in a long, half-drugged rush after Siberia. The nightmares, the fears, the grief he’d felt every moment in her absence.

She was doing her best to understand, and he was doing his best to believe that he deserved her.

Even now, though, with all his secrets laid bare, he struggled to sleep beside her. When he did crash, he usually crashed on the couch in the lab. This week, though, Pepper was away for meetings in Dubai, and the kid was staying over to keep him company. Usually, he could get away with not sleeping during Peter’s weekend visits. He’d played the insomnia game long enough to know how to go 48 hours without sleep and hide it effectively. But a whole week? Even he wasn’t that well-practiced. Peter would know something was up.

He didn’t want to do that to him, didn’t want to press yet another burden into the the teenager’s already over-full hands, which meant that his only option was actually getting some rest.

The things he did for that kid.

A good few hours after Peter went to bed, he dragged himself out of the lab and into his and Pepper’s bedroom. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, did just about everything he could think of to stall. Then, when F.R.I.D.A.Y. gently reminded him that he’d been staring at his reflection in the mirror for seven whole minutes, he wandered over to the bed and curled up between the silk sheets and memory foam mattress. He knew that it was a set-up most people would die for, but to him it felt anything but comfortable.

Still, the last time he’d actually slept was 76 hours ago, so it didn’t take him long to pass out once F.R.I.D.A.Y. shut the lights off.

And down the rabbit hole he went.

The wormhole tore through the sky and in front of him, a nuke lit up the emptiness with fire and flash and that special brand of death that humans are so fond of engineering, the kind of violence that makes Tony certain that there is destruction brimming within all of our chests, like creation is just an overflow of the chaos locked within our DNA, and he fell and fell and fell through emptiness until-

The gunfire ricocheted through the tank like the armored exterior was a hot glue collage of tinfoil candy wrapper and when he turned his head all he could see were the death-twisted bodies of his guards, of the people he’d been joking around with just a few seconds before, could see over-exposed blood dribble across stiff fingers, a network of tiny morbid rivers, and he ran, he hid, rushed from the gunfire until an explosion knocked him off his feet and then his chest was on fire, the world was on fire, he was on fire-

Steve’s fist slammed down on his helmet, one, two, three, and when flesh failed he grabbed the shield, his father’s shield, and pounded and pounded until the titanium mask gave way, until his face became ground zero, became the impending tragedy in a rifle’s cross-hairs, and he shrank back, waited for the final blow, wondered if Pepper would even care after he was gone, and then the shield came down and it hit his chest, not his face, and the suit that gave him flight, power, purpose became an iron cage, clumsy and leaden on his limbs, and Steve stood, bloodied and triumphant, like the soldier his father had always wanted, the soldier he had never learned to-

All he could see was red dirt, red blood, the red of Peter’s Iron Spider suit as he bobbled, staggered, stared down at his hands like he was seeing them for the very first time, gasped out remnants of childhood like I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s- and sir, please, and then he was slamming into Tony’s chest, weight and warmth and fading life, and Tony held him, clung, couldn’t believe that this was how their story was doomed to end, couldn’t bear the progression of time, and the kid got lighter as his body faded but they fell anyway, fell through safety and air, and Tony held him, stared into his eyes, didn’t look away even as the ash crept up his face, over his cheek, his mouth, up to his-

Someone was shaking him. For a second, he felt caught between two realities. In one, he was watching a child die underneath a foreign sun. In the other, he could feel cool fabric wrapped around his legs and the firm comfort of his mattress pressed against his back. Which one is real? Which one is real? Which one is-

“Mister Stark, please. You’re having a nightmare. I’m right here, I promise. Just please wake up.”

That was... that was the kid. The same kid that was ash in the creases of his hand, the same kid that was gripping his shoulder like he might drift away. The contradiction made his head spin until he opened his eyes.

Peter was leaning over him in the dark, face ashen. The second he realized Tony was looking at him, his expression lit up.

“Are you awake?” He whispered, hopeful.

“Yeah.” Oh, ouch. His throat hurt. He must’ve been screaming. “Sorry. I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay.” Peter studied him carefully. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but what did that matter? “Go, uh, go back to bed, Pete.”

The kid’s head tilted to the side, calculating. “Your heart’s still racing.”

Screw the kid’s super-hearing. It made sneaking him around the truth 500% more difficult.

“Yeah, well, that happens. It’s fine. It’ll... It’ll settle.”

“Yeah, of course.” Looking like he’d made up his mind about something, Peter grabbed the edge of his comforter and pulled it back, inviting himself onto the bed and promptly tucking himself against Tony’s side.

He blinked, unconsciously bringing an arm around the kid’s back as he snuggled even closer. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Staying.”

“And... why are you doing that?”

“Because you’re too stubborn to ask me to.” Peter reached out and grabbed his free hand by the wrist, plopping it unceremoniously on the top of his head. “There.”

The lingering adrenaline was quickly giving way to bafflement. Maybe that was the kid’s point. If it was, it was a damn good tactic. “You... want me to mess with your hair?”

Peter shrugged, tone matter-of-fact. “It calms you down.”

He balked. He didn’t think that Peter had noticed that.

“It’s supposed to calm you down,” he protested weakly.

“Oh yeah. I mean, it does that too.”

Without really thinking, his hand started it’s usual path through the kid’s curls. He must’ve taken a shower before bed, because they were still a little damp and clumped together. He separated them slowly, breath evening as the familiarity of the movements sunk into his bones. It was such an easy pattern to fall into, such a comforting monotony.

“Do you need to be calmed down?”

Peter closed his eyes and smiled into Tony’s chest. “Oh, definitely.”

“Mm. I can tell. You’re obviously so stressed.” The kid was loose and warm against his side, the very picture of contentment. He felt his own body relaxing in a mirror of it, safety radiating from the weight Peter was pressing into his side. “Poor thing.”

“High school ‘s really rough, Mister Stark. Need lots of comfort to get by, y’know.”

“So that’s why you always invade my personal space.” The dreams trickled away. Peter was here, all growth-spurt limbs and sleep-mused hair. As long as he had that, there wasn’t anything else he needed, no memory that could possibly touch him. “Interesting.”

Peter practically purred as he worked through a knot at the base of his skull. “You like it.”

“My personal space? You’re right, I do.”

“No.” The kid sounded genuinely offended. “Me invading. You like it.”

He found another knot by the kid’s ear and rubbed it between his fingers until it loosened. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.”

“Well, you’re entitled to your opinions.”

“I am.” Peter nuzzled his face into the worn cotton of his t-shirt. He doubted he smelled all that great, considering how much he’d sweat during the nightmare, but the kid either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Promise you’ll go back to sleep?”

He shook his head. “I’ll just wake you up again, kid.”

“‘S okay if you do. I can just sleep late tomorrow.”

“I might hurt you.”

“You won’t.” The kid squinted open his eyes. “Try? Please?”

His determination softened at Peter’s pleading gaze. He brushed the kid’s bangs away from his face, letting his fingertips linger on his temple. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Mm. Good.” Peter’s eyes drifted shut again. “Sleep is good.”

He followed Peter’s lead and closed his eyes, too. He focused his entire being on the figure eight he was making at the crown of the kid’s head. It was steady, easy. Peter had been right: this really was the perfect distraction.

“So they tell me.”

He could feel Peter’s smile against his chest. “I love you, y’know.”

Later, he’d blame his response on the fact that he was already half-asleep, or the nightmares, or how he was mostly too focused on keeping up with his rhythm through Peter’s curls to curate his words. Obviously, he would’ve never said it without something loosening his filter.

He never once, however, claimed it wasn’t true.

“Love you too, buddy.”

#yo yo yo it's cheesy ending zone #listen at the end of the day we all love a cheesy ending #anyway thought i'd invert the irondad nightmare trope with this one too #but is Peter sleepy? you know he is #anyway #irondadbingo #also this is such a fun idea #Get That Creativity Y'all #irondad #tony & peter #tony stark #peter parker #tw: nightmares #tw: dream violence

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cannibalisticskittles · 5 years

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god this is like. the dumbest idea ever, but i’ve been mulling over a vtmb au for saints row, since 1. i’ve been playing the games in close proximity of each other, and 2. saints row 3 has that dlc where you gain vampiric powers, which is obviously not canon-canon, but like, what if it was? IE, an AU where The Saints Are Vampires.

first of all, the boss would be a brujah. a clan of rebels, with or without a cause, known for being quick to action and quick to get physical? “individualistic, outspoken, and turbulent?” absolutely fits the boss.

and the fact of the matter is, regardless of how they got bit, they ain’t gonna be angsting over the moral dilemmas of the matter. none of that ‘woe is me, i am monstrous now, i must sustain myself with the lifeblood of mortals, am i even human now?’ they’re on a liquid diet and they’ve gotta apply that sunblock extra thick now, but they get sweet fangs, they can hit twice as hard now, and they can GET hit way harder before it starts to hurt, so... nice. cool trade-off.

(also since they’d have to be sired by another brujah to be a brujah, they’re probably bit by someone who’s a fan of the saints and wants to show their devotion to the saints by gifting the boss with cool supernatural powers. [i’m imagining this happening some time between sr2 and sr3 since that’s when the powers show up, but that’s flexible.] vampire childer are supposed to be loyal to their sires, but the boss... ain’t about that life. so their sire probably either dies — maybe gets executed by the camarilla for turning the boss without permission — or else the boss just ignores that whole “subservient to the person that turns them” thing. anyone who thinks they can control the boss is a damn fool.)

and then, of course, they’d bite and sire johnny, because there ain’t no way they’re enduring eternity without him.

next up is the lieutenants. the boss is generous, they’re willing to share these gifts. it’s possible that they sire all the lieutenants personally, so you’d have a whole HEAP of brujah vamps running around, but... as they learn a bit more about their newfound powers, they might find out that the other clans have different specialties/powers. this clan works great for them, but they want the best for the saints, so they might find vamps from other clans to sire the lieutenants in order to give them the powers that they’d prefer. (potential sires are... coerced into compliance, once found. bite them or bite the dust, ain’t no other choices here.)

in that case? pierce is def a toreador. they’re fixated on beauty, and they retain the most humanity of all the clans. and that’s pierce! he’s a work of art in and of himself, spreading beauty by being the face of the saints, AND he brings a lot of heart to the team. he’s the most in tune with how the other saints are feeling — he takes it on himself to help them out when they’re not at their peak, singing with the boss to get them to relax, finding things for them all to do to take their mind off johnny’s death/whatever might be bugging them. (plus, just try and say no to his merch deals when he dazzles you with his toreador Presence.)

shaundi... i’m less certain about. if they take the time to find out more about the vamp clans, it draws out the process, so there’s higher odds that shaundi would be shifting towards “i want to be more capable, Not Be Kidnapped All The Time” by the time they decide on something. she might be fine with being a brujah — they’ve got considerable physical strength, which is conducive to Not Being Kidnapped. she might also be intrigued by gangrels, though — try and tell her she can’t hold her own when she can Turn Into A Giant Wolf, Motherfucker

i don’t think they’d sire anyone during the events of sr3. they’re all mourning, first of all, and while they want to avenge johnny, that doesn’t mean that the alliances they’re forming will last beyond that.

kinzie would probably end up being bit afterwards, though. at least, the boss would offer it. i’m not sure if she’d accept. it DOES work pretty well with her lifestyle... i don’t think she’d be diametrically opposed to becoming a nosferatu — they value a lot of the same things, and the physical change is dramatic, but also on some level... whatever, she prefers to be a recluse, what’s it matter? at the same time, though, why? what benefit does it give her? i think she’d consider all her options — she could learn how to Obfuscate herself, keep others from seeing her at all, or see what she wants them to, but if she’s bit by a ventrue, she can Dominate peoples’ minds and make them do her bidding, which has a nice ring to it... ooh, but the LaSombra would let her do that AND control shadows? she’s gonna make an Informed Decision. the boss is gonna regret giving her full control over this decision.

is their vampirism a secret? Not Really. but they can skirt masquerade violations by making a ton of saints ghouls — give them a sip of vamp blood once a month and they can hit a little harder, run a little faster, take a few more hits... only a fraction of vamp powers but without most of the drawbacks, plus they’d now be considered a part of vampire society, at least enough that they’re allowed to know about vamp stuff without being A Threat. and people NOTICE how odd the saints are — but talk show hosts bring up the boss’ nocturnal habits and how their enemies often have what appear to be bite marks on them, and they do have REALLY sharp teeth... “yeah, jane, the vampire life has been treating me well,” the boss says, and everyone just laughs. they’re open with it, so it seems too goofy to be true. no one thinks they’re REALLY vampires bc they think they’re all FAKE vampires. it’s like, part of the gimmick.

anyway, come sriv, imagine matt losing his everloving shit when he realizes that the leader of the third street saints and their top lieutenants and maybe even some of the common grunts are vampires, are you kidding, how long have you been like this??

“i dunno,” says the boss. “couple months before steelport?”

“before—?!?” matt splutters. “you mean this whole time?? the whole — kinzie!! were you also—?”

kinzie shrugs. “nah. i got bit after we took over the city. i didn’t need an advantage like that to beat you.”

(also: while matt fits the bill for the typical nosferatu — subterfuge, working from the shadows rather than putting themselves on the front lines, excellent at collecting information, and specifically a phenomenal hacker, which the nosferatu seem to collect — he’s also vain. He’s Too Beautiful to wreck his looks like that. the physical change he’d have to endure to join the ranks of the nosferatu is just plain unpalatable. given that, i think he might be interested in the tremere. they’re ~mysterious~ and ~mystical~ and they’re basically wizard vampires. even if it’s not the perfect fit, u think he’d turn down the chance to be bit?? Matt Miller, NyteBlayde’s #1 Fan And Lore Curator?? not on ur life, buddy.)

#kelsey plays saints row #saints row #vtmb #i don’t know that asha would Want to be a vamp at all #if so..... she’d maybe lean more towards a camarilla-allied clan #because they’re (supposed to be) all about keeping an eye on things. not causing chaos for humans.#but i lean towards her not being into the whole idea much at all #that could just be me tho

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bronzeflower · 6 years

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Who The Fuck Writes A Ten-Page Rant?????

Chapter 13: Roxy is Visiting!!!!

Also on ao3 and part of @wipweek for my favorite wip!

“How’s my favorite little brother doing?” Roxy put you into what was basically a wrestling move with how aggressive it was, but you were pretty sure it was meant to be a hug, so you tried to hug her back.

“Good.” You managed to squeak out. You really couldn't breathe that well with Roxy squeezing you like that.

After a few more seconds of Roxy hugging you, she finally stopped, and, therefore, you could finally breathe.

“How have you been doing?” You asked. “Hack into anything you shouldn’t have yet?”

“I’ve been doing great! And I’ve only hacked into something I shouldn’t have a few times.”

“Define a few times.”

“Like, at least a hundred.” Roxy frowned. “But that doesn’t matter because I’m here, and we’re going to have some fun. Where’s Rose?”

“I think she’s on a date right now.”

“What! Rose has a date? Who is she?” Roxy asked. “How many dates have they been on? Have they kissed yet? Are they in love? When am I going to be invited to the wedding? Dave, you need to tell me everything.”

“Woah there, Roxy. You might want to chill it a bit with the questions. I can’t keep track of them all. And you might want to ask Rose those questions once she comes back from her date. She should know that you’re here anyway.” You looked at Roxy somewhat suspiciously. “You did remember to tell Rose you were coming here, right? You didn’t just tell me and trust that I would tell Rose?”

“Well, uh, I may have… forgotten.” Roxy looked sheepish for a moment before bouncing back. “But, it’s whatev’s because I’m here now, and I’m staying with you, so it’s not like room and board is an issue or anything.”

“Rose is going to be so mad about not being able to get a gift for you when you arrived.”

“She doesn’t have to get me a gift every single time I visit. I’m her sister! And I try to make a habit of visiting as often as my job will allow.”

“How is your job going by the way? I trust it’s going as smooth as chocolate fondue that’s going to be spread on some cake or some shit?”

“My job is going super! But, now I’m hungry. We should go out to eat and catch up and stuff.” Roxy suggested. “Then I can tell you all about the shit I’ve been building. Oh, yeah, and I can tell you about my new coworker who's absolutely shredded. Like, woah. I don’t know what he did previously for a living, but he is completely jacked, bro.”

“Like, he can probably bench press you jacked or he can probably bench press a car jacked?”

“I’m pretty sure he could bench press a building if it was detached from the ground,” Roxy answered.

“Oh shit. That’s pretty fucking jacked. Do you think he could pick up a skyscraper? Or the moon? Imagine picking up the moon. That would be absolutely insane.”

“Dave, my brother.” Roxy put a hand on your shoulder and put her other hand into a loose fist. “I will make that happen. I will make it so my coworker can lift the moon. I will break the laws of physics to do it.”

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to do it. Haven’t you already figured out how to basically bend space-time to go faster than the speed of light?”

“Something like that. It’s still a prototype though, so it’s not actually safe to use quite yet. But, when it is functional and safe, you’ll be the first to know!”

“Will I be able to go to Mars in it?”

“Probably not. But, you could if you got the training of an astronaut, but I really wouldn’t recommend going through with that unless you really, really want to go to space because it’s super hard to become an astronaut.”

“Yeah, I’ll just keep making GrubTube videos.” You said. “Also, we should probably actually get going if we want to get to dinner unless you want to stay in here and make instant ramen.”

“Please eat actual food, Dave.”

“I’m just joking with you.” You laughed somewhat. “I actually do make enough money from GrubTube to afford things that aren’t instant ramen. I actually have a few vegetables in my fridge.”

“Do you eat those vegetables?”

“Do you?”

Roxy squinted at you suspiciously before laughing.

“Of course I do, you doofus! My wife makes me.”

“Because you’re clearly not responsible enough to eat them yourself. Didn’t Callie try to become a ‘meatatarian’ at some point, though?”

“Yeah…” Roxy scratched the back of her head. “But that’s probably why she’s so adamant about people eating their vegetables nowadays. She knows why they’re important.”

“Nothing like scurvy to remind someone that eating their vegetables is important.” You then pointed towards the door. “Also, speaking of vegetables, we’ve just kind of stood here talking without actually making any sort of progress in terms of moving out the door to get food in our bodies, so we should maybe, probably ollie outie out of here.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

The two of you manage to leave and go to a noodle place nearby. Because, clearly, that’s the best place to go to right after discussing how important vegetables are to one’s diet. Then again, the noodle place did have a shit ton of vegetarian options, so you were probably fine in the vegetable department.

“Wait, isn’t vitamin C the thing that causes you to have scurvy? Not vegetables?” Roxy questioned.

“Shit. I think you might be right. Call Callie right away. She needs to know so that she can cut down on as many vegetables as she wants.”

“She does need to eat vegetables though.” Roxy insisted. “I lied when she said she’s very adamant about people eating their veggies. She still politely complains every time I put some greens on her plate. Callie always eats them though, the sweetie.”

“How do you politely complain about something?”

“You eat everything except the vegetables on your plate, and then you grimace slightly before eating your vegetables.”

“I don’t think that counts as actually complaining.” You waved your arm around. “I think you might actually have to, I don’t know, say or, like, sign something in order for it to be considered actual complaining. Which reminds me, did Calliope ever manage to get a sign language class?”

“Oh, yeah! She did! You should have seen her face when she got to teach sign language. She was so happy. She babbled on for ages about how excited she was to see how happy other kids would be to finally be able to talk to other kids normally through their preferred form of communication.” Roxy had a dopey smile on her face. “She was so cute.”

“That’s awesome! I’m glad she was finally able to accomplish that. She’s been wanting to start up that class for years now, right?”

“Yeah. It took her a long time to do because the school board thought that there wouldn't be enough interest from the students, so she had to do this huge petition of students who said they would want to learn sign language from her.”

“Really? The school board really thought that no one would be interested in learning sign language?”

“I know, right?” Roxy said. “It's just, obsolute, I mean actulute, fuck, absolutely, absolutely absurd.”

“I can't see why you WOULDN'T want to learn sign language. It's like a secret language except it's not really a secret language. You can communicate with other people without sound! How awesome is that? I think that's super awesome and kick-ass, and I could honestly write, like, a fucking book on how awesome it is.”

“Going to follow in Rosey’s footsteps? Going to write the next great novel that's going to be read for generations to come?”

“Nah. That's not really my thing.” You shrugged. “That being said, I do actually have dreams and aspirations that are completely unrelated to my GrubTube channel, and, hence, my source of cash.”

“I hope you achieve your dreams at some point in the future. You mind me asking about them?”

“I mean, sure it's not like they're some kind of deeply kept secret or anything. I want to be a museum curator someday. No idea exactly how to go about doing that, but I've got some sort of vague idea how it's gonna go down.”

“Well, I spose you’re gonna need some dank ass artifacts.”

“Hella dank artifacts.” You agreed. “Just, like, an entire section on bones, and another on weird ass pottery, and yet another on how gay some dudes were. Maybe I can convince other museums to give me their weird shit. You know, all the stuff they keep in the back because it’d be too embarrassing to explain. Well, fuck that shit, I’m gonna be showing tatas left and right, and look at that! There’s a dick corner all the way over there, and a vagina area right next to it. In addition, here’s a couple of statues fucking because no one else wants to showcase them to the public because it’s too ‘obscene.’”

“Hell yeah. Stick it to those old farts who refuse to show off the old farts.” Roxy laughed, and you laughed with her.

“We’re going to have the oldest farts in the business! Everybody will get to see the old farts.”

“How’re you even going to get ancient farts? Are you going to find them in the depths of the Earth and then quickly find a jar to put the smell in the moment you get a whiff of those disgusting old farts?”

“Truly the best way to capture a fart is a mystery to most,” You decided to put on your best stereotypically pretentious voice. “But I have no doubt my team of explorers will find a way to do it.”

“Who does your team consist of? Who are these archaeologists that don't get nearly enough recognition by society?” Roxy responded in the most reporter-esque style she could muster.

“Well, first and foremost, I have my most kick-ass leader of this group, the one and only Aradia Megido, and she is, of course, accompanied by famous book writer, Rose Lalonde, who archives the findings.”

“Speaking of Rosey, should we have brought her to dinner with us?”

“I mean, we’re already basically done at this point so it's not like we could invite her. We can get her to come with us next time we go out.”

“We should also probably tell her that you're actually here. How do you want to go about doing that? Are. You gonna tell her over pesterchum or text message or something, or are you just gonna show up to her place and be like 'what’s up, I'm here.’”

“Uh,” Roxy thought for a moment. “I'm just gonna message her. So that I don't have to deal with questioning face to face.”

“That does seem to be the most logical course of action. You might want to do that asap, though. I would tell you to have done that before you even began coming over here, but you can’t exactly go back in time to do that. And, even if you could, you already would have done it because you would have gone back in time to tell yourself to message Rose. And, there’s also the issue with, like, paradoxes and alternate timelines, so there’s def the full possibility that you could have done that, but then when you come back to your timeline, the timeline where you told yourself to message Rose could be a different timeline from the one you’re in, so it wouldn’t have been worth it to even go back in time in the first place.”

“Oh, yeah, no time paradoxes here. None whatsoever. I’m just gonna travel into the future at one second per second like everybody else. Though, tbh, I wouldn’t really want time travel as a superpower. Seems too complicated. I’d much rather, like, appearify stuff from thin air, you know?”

“Oh, hell yeah that would be sick as shit. Personally, I would much rather do some timey shit. Like, yeah, it would be, like, super complicated, but whatever. I guess I would just have to take that risk. Figure out all those alt timelines or whatever. And you do your voidy shit.”

“We’d make a hella team.”

“We’d make an absolutely bitchin team, Rox. I could just do timey shit, and you could do your voidy shit. Honestly, I don’t really know how well that would go, but, like, theoretically, you could go into the void or some shit where my powers don’t reach, which would allow shit I don’t want to do timey stuff on to stay stationary in terms of time while everything else gets a time makeover.”

“Speaking of time, I think it’s time for us to go,” Roxy said, pointing a thumb towards the exit of the restaurant. “We’ve kinda been chatting for too long, and I think the people working here are getting annoyed by the fact that we’re taken up a table.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. We should probably leave. Can’t be stealing and hogging this table all to ourselves. There are people who need to be fed, and we’ve already been fed.”

You both left the restaurant found yourselves right back at your place. You feel like you two could have gone somewhere else, but nope. You and Roxy plopped down on the couch in your room.

“You know, Davey, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen your GrubTube channel. Care to show me a few of your vids?”

“Are you just procrastinating telling Rose that you arrived in town?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Goddamn it, Roxy. Just pester her already.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll allow myself to be vulnerable to her wrath. She will be the reason for my untimely doom. It will be an eternity before she forgives me for my slight against her. Me! A lowly peasant in her kingdom of prose, unable to escape the confines of vice. Even though I kinda did. I’ve been sober for five years, and I’m, like, hella proud of myself for that, but we’re working within the box of the metaphor, and I’m tryin to be as dramatic as possible.”

"Lamenting about your supposed doom won't do anything to stop it from coming," You mention. "Also, I'm hella proud of you too for being sober for five years. That's a huge fucking achievement, and you deserve recognition for that. You should get, like, a fucking medal or some shit."

"I know, right? Five fucking years! I should at least get a certificate."

"Maybe I could forge one. Just be like, 'This certificate is proof that Roxy Lalonde has been sober for five fucking years.' That's exactly what it will say, curse words and all because I don't know how to make a sentence without adding a curse word in the middle of it. This is exactly why I should never have kids. Can you even imagine? Little five-year-olds going off into kindergarten and getting in a shit ton of trouble because they said 'Fuck you' to little Suzy. But it'll be for a good reason, like little Suzy was pulling on some other kid's pigtails, and my kid jumped in like a fucking hero, but they're gonna be swearing up a storm while they do it." You push up your shades because they started falling off your face with the amount of moving around and gesturing you just did in that long hypothetical situation. "Anyway, you should message Rose. I'll even cheer you on as you do it."

"Ugh! Fine!" Roxy got out her phone and started typing up a storm. You're pretty sure you've never met anyone who can type or text faster than Roxy. It was actually pretty fucking impressive. It also probably had something to do with the fact that she was a programmer and hacker.

"How's Rose taking it?" You ask, wondering exactly how long it will take for Roxy to properly deal with the damage that came with informing Rose that she's in town only after actually arriving in town.

"About as well as expected. This might take a while." Roxy winced as if Rose was yelling at her in person. "A long while."

"I'll find someone to talk to then." You went over to your computer and spun a mental wheel as to who you should talk to.

-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --

TG: john TG: bro TG: were you informed of the fact that the one the only roxy lalonde is in town TG: she has decided to grace us with her presence TG: and we should be eternally grateful TG: also did you know that shes been sober for five years TG: fucking TG: five whole years TG: thats amazing TG: john TG: john TG: i know your online it hasnt given me that goddamn popup yet TG: john TG: johnathan TG: johnny TG: john TG: johnathan edison egbert TG: jk i know you have more than one middle name TG: edisons the only one i remember tho TG: john TG: john TG: who are you talking to right now TG: you could just tell me who youre talking too TG: or did you like TG: leave the computer and forget to say you were offline TG: that would be a dumb as shit thing to do TG: especially since the new update literally does it for you if youre gone for long enough TG: which means you couldnt have been gone for long TG: john

EB: and my full name is john edison sam sebastian october egbert. EB: just so you know!

TG: what really TG: one of your middle names is october

EB: no, i was pulling your leg on that one. EB: it's actually ian.

TG: so john edison sam sebastian ian egbert TG: thats a mouthful TG: and the initials spell out another name

EB: i could go by jessie in secret. EB: and it will just my full name's initials. EB: and it technically wouldn't be a lie if i said it was my name.

TG: in what possible context would you use a fake name and need to sound convincing enough to say it was your real name

EB: you never know what kind of situations you could be in! EB: also it makes for a great joke in my comedy sketches.

TG: what are you just going around making a joke about how your name spells another name

EB: pretty much!

TG: well shit TG: also when is your new special gonna come out on netflix TG: i been watching out for it but im still just human TG: subject to the desires of the shows netflix decides to have

EB: i think it should come out in about a month or two. EB: although it's probably closer to two if netflix isn't showing the release date for it.

TG: damnit TG: and here i was looking forward to sitting on a couch with roxy and laughing at your jokes

EB: oh! EB: is roxy in town?

TG: yeah pretty sure i mentioned that at the start of this convo

EB: i don't exactly always read your walls of text, dave.

TG: wow john im so hurt TG: not really TG: its understandable TG: anyway rox is telling rose that shes actually in town TG: which she neglected to do beforehand

EB: oh no!

TG: oh yes TG: apparently rose is pissed TG: probably because she wasnt able to go all out in welcoming roxy to town TG: but then again thats kinda what roxy wants to avoid TG: shes pretty lowkey you know

EB: yeah. EB: that sounds more like something they need to talk about though!

TG: fuck yeah they do TG: theyve got different boundaries TG: rox prefers smaller gestures TG: and rose likes to be loud and proud about shit TG: both are fine but they tend to clash because of it

EB: yeah :/ EB: should we intervene somehow? EB: make sure they've got plenty of time to talk it out? EB: maybe over tea or whatever. EB: i know rose has been dying to do some sort of tea party.

TG: fuck yeah TG: that sounds like a great idea TG: actually i should encourage rose to put into action the tea party TG: knowing her shes been lamenting about it for fucking ever TG: and isnt actually going to do it until shes pushed to TG: even though she really wants to

EB: she's gotten better at that sort of thing though! EB: like that girl she's dating! EB: what was her name?

TG: oh yeah kanaya TG: shes chill

EB: yeah! EB: rose managed to ask her out, right?

TG: yep pretty sure it was rose who did the asking out

EB: that means she's probably getting better at getting what she wants to get. EB: so that means she's that much closer to throwing a fancy party where we all have to wear suits.

TG: that might be the reason why she was so adamant about me getting a suit TG: cant be going to a fancy as fuck party in a tshirt and skinny jeans like some kind of jackass

EB: isn't that your entire aesthetic?

TG: no TG: maybe TG: just a little bit TG: but i gotta be a jackass in style john TG: i cant be a jackass at a party in a tshirt and jeans TG: i gotta be the jackass in the obnoxious red suit that you can see from a mile away TG: and also wearing those douchebag shades because thats just part of the strider style

EB: sounds like youve got this entire thing figured out. EB: but we cant forget to actually get roxy and rose to talk to each other!

TG: right of course that is the number one mission TG: unless they're already talking about it TG: roxy seems to be going at her phone keyboard like she has a personal vendetta against it TG: then we can all just have a good time at the party in roses fucking mansion that she doesnt need TG: why does she even have a mansion TG: why is it only twenty minutes away from my modest place TG: why does she keep it meticulously cleaned TG: actually i dont know that last part

EB: i don't think i've actually ever been to rose's place! EB: i've only seen it when picking her up for something.

TG: maybe she has something that is secret in there TG: like the gods of the void

EB: or maybe she just bought a mansion as some sort of passive-aggressive statement.

TG: yeah that sounds like her TG: she probably houses a bunch of homeless people there to spit the government and the rich people in the neighborhood TG: im surprised her lawn isnt a mess to protest the idea that dandelions are weeds

EB: we could always ask her what she does with her mansion!

TG: one of us should make a mental note to ask her about that TG: or at the very least investigate when she inevitably throws a fancy ass party there

EB: do you think she would buy all the people living there fancy suits and dresses

TG: i have no doubt of it

EB: well, this was a great conversation, but i have to go soon! EB: i've got new comedy sketches to write, and i have no idea what i'm doing, so it's going to take a while.

TG: completely understandable TG: have fun writing all that

EB: we should talk again soon! EB: i'll even tell you all about my secret comedy sketches!

TG: holy shit an egbert original TG: hasnt even seen the light of day original TG: it will be my lucky day when that happens

EB: well, see ya, dave!

TG: bye bye john

-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

"Hey! Roxy! Have you gotten anywhere in your conversation with Rose?"

"Uh, no, sorry, Dave. Me and Rosey are having a long discussion about boundaries, which we probably should have had, like, a really long time ago. Who were you talking to?"

"John. He needed to leave to work on his comedy sketches though. I might message Jade next if you're still busy."

"Yep. Still hella busy."

"That's all good. Take your time. You are a guest here."

"Thanks, Davey."

"No problemo." You returned back to your computer.

-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] --

TG: yo jade TG: whats up

GG: the usual GG: weve been getting some progress in building the car ai though! GG: i swear ive talked to so many rubber ducks GG: so many GG: i feel like we need a rubber duck the size of a building GG: everything goes wrong GG: but now less is going wrong so thats good!!!

TG: thats so fucking awesome TG: im afraid i dont know about the rubber ducks though

GG: theyre basically a sounding board GG: you know GG: something goes wrong in the code so you talk to the duck until you realize whats wrong with the code

TG: that makes perfect sense but why a rubber duck

GG: no idea GG: might have something to do with the fact that they are common and fairly easy to manufacture GG: but theoretically one could do it with another person or a stuffed animal or whatever GG: although a person might not be the best for it

TG: why not

GG: some of us have a tendency to throw the rubber duck really hard when we are particularly frustrated by the code GG: or mad that we didnt realize the mistake in the code because it was so goddamn obvious

TG: yeah i guess you would want to avoid throwing people at the wall unless they were a complete and utter douche

GG: oh no you dont throw those people GG: you just punch them GG: its faster GG: i would say shoot them but murder is illegal

TG: also the entire thing with guns

GG: yeah GG: i love guns but at the same time GG: there should definitely be restrictions on them! GG: there is a reason why babies should not duel wield flintlock pistols!!!!!!!!!!

TG: yeah no TG: dont give infants flintlock pistols TG: or any guns for that matter TG: your grandpa was kind of crazy

GG: :/ GG: he was GG: also he doesnt believe in gun control

TG: yikes

GG: pretty much GG: so, what about you? GG: hows your life going?

TG: roxy has come over but shes currently telling rose that shes in town TG: you know TG: after not informing her that she was going to be in town previously

GG: oh no!!!

TG: yeah thats what john said too

GG: no one really wants to face roses wrath GG: shes very scary when shes angry!!! GG: :(

TG: mood TG: yeah nobody wants to be within twenty feet of rose when shes pissed TG: but i think roxy has passed the angry part and has reached the part where they are having a conversation about boundaries

GG: thats good!!! GG: is there anything else thats going on?

TG: no really TG: kind of just been sitting inside and doing grubtube videos TG: the usual TG: you know TG: i feel like i need to do something more exciting for my videos TG: at least to celebrate hitting like a shit ton of subscribers

GG: you could have a guest star or something like that

TG: you mean just like ask one of my friends if theyd like to join a video

GG: yeah!!! GG: you just have to find someone whod be comfortable with it

TG: would you be

GG: no not really GG: im a little paranoid about having my face on the internet GG: my instagram doesnt even show my face at all and i keep it private!!

TG: i see your point TG: its completely understandable TG: i will be sure to ask someone else TG: like roxy or john TG: john or karkat actually would be a good choice TG: like karkat wrote the rant that made my channel super popular TG: it was already popular but the rant made it extra popular TG: so a kind of interview with him would be cool TG: and netflix is apparently gonna release johns new thing soon TG: so it could be kind of a promotion thing for both him and me TG: john would probably be chill with it TG: karkat on the other hand TG: probably not TG: he seems like the kind of guy who would try to hide his face anytime someone took a photo of him

GG: hes actually pretty photogenic!!!

TG: what really

GG: yeah! GG: he might actually accept to be in a grubtube video GG: but depending on the content he might not GG: but like GG: based on his distaste for your channel GG: i would at least wait until the two of you have a better relationship with each other

TG: point taken TG: john it is TG: might as well ask roxy just because shes currently in my house TG: just do an impromptu collab video TG: actually im probably gonna ask her about it right now TG: granted that shes done with her conversation with rose TG: she probably is because ive had two super long conversations with people

GG: good luck with the celebrating your subscriber count!!!

TG: good luck with your ai programs TG: pester you later

GG: bye!!! GG: :)

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] --

"Hey, Roxy! How's that conversation with Rose going? I'm not, like, expecting you to be completely done or anything, but I am wondering about how far you are into that conversation about boundaries and shit."

"Oh, yeah, we finished that convo ages ago. We started talking about the motifs in the newest book of our fav wizarding series."

"So, everything's good?"

"It's all good."

#homestuck #wip week #davekat #dave strider #jade harley #roxy lalonde #john egbert #hs

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

STARTUPS AND DECISION

Whether cause or effect, this structure gives the investor a free option on the next round. Thanks to Sam Altman, Paul Buchheit, John Collison, Patrick Collison, Jason Freedman, Joe Gebbia, Jessica Livingston, and Robert Morris for reading drafts of this. Oh, yeah. Most readers can tell the other programmers in the cafeteria about the problem of the headers, the spam of the future will probably look something like this about their opinions. Most programming probably consists of writing little glue programs you can use any language you want.1 B nbad where word is the token whose probability we're calculating, good and bad measurers. This is another variable whose coefficient should be zero. I'm willing to take responsibility for themselves.

10, and they raised money. And it certainly doesn't matter how many people our startup had, and had just hired a very experienced NT developer to be their research assistants so they can get DARPA grants. You can't distinguish your group by doing things that they think their approval process helps users by ensuring quality. Starting in January 2000, Yahoo's stock price began to crash, ultimately losing 95% of its value. With so much at stake, they have to work at once.2 He has an almost superhuman integrity. He didn't foresee the future of venture funding but knows what a successful startup is worth investing in, rather than as a source of error, is not such a discovery. Does this trend also hold among startups? No disaster results.3 Sort of like slashing holes in your clothes or putting a safety pin through your ear, which were other forms of stupidity.4 Some tricks are quite subtle. But when you make any decision involving equity, run it through 1/1.5

I'd pick.6 But in Silicon Valley don't make anything out of silicon, there always seem to make, it's mere effort to make it a bestseller for a few years ago. This helps to distinguish between words that occasionally do occur in legitimate email and words that almost never do. I realize how crazy all this sounds. Books are more like a music group's manager than a general.7 Cars aren't the worst thing about living there was the difference in the way of noticing it consciously. I think the way to do that. So I say let's aim at the problems. You might think that you could not nest statements. It does seem likely there's some inborn predisposition to intelligence and wisdom drift apart, is that you focus more on their needs than your interests, and make you easier to manipulate. I mean something more specific: that Java will turn out you can do.8 Which one of these words has a spam probability, in my opinion, a crock.

The knowledge whose utility drops sharply is the kind that tends to come back with the money. And if you read it in an article often survives; indeed, the world these kids create for themselves is at first, you can say We plan to mine the web for more than ten people. As one data point on the edge represents an interesting problem, I can imagine two reasons: if they were paid a huge amount, or grow slowly and never sell i. That may even make you less attractive, because it could be shipped to Europe. This is a different form of profitability than startups have traditionally aimed for. Although we didn't fund Meraki, the founders were earnest, energetic, independent-minded enough to start a startup with a lame-sounding new startup idea is that it only recently became feasible. I am, I'll come running. Software?9 The ideas start to get cold feet when the time comes to write that big check. A physicist who chose physics over Wall Street in 1990 was making a sacrifice that a physicist in 1960 wasn't. He was a lawyer and arranged all our paperwork, so we tightened up our filter to decrease the risk is to join an existing startup instead of within a big company: the pay's low but you spend most of my essays. But if angel investors become more active and better known, they'll increasingly be able to work with existing programs, and this can be enormous—in fact, discontinuous.

Notes

If someone speaks for the firm in the evolution of the good groups, which either desperately tries to munge what I've said into something that would get shut down a few of the paths people take through life, and that often creates a rationalization for doing so.

It would probably a bad deal. The reason is that when you see people breaking off to both.

It would not produce a viable organism. Basically, the average reader that they probably wouldn't be worth doing, because any story that makes curators and dealers use neutral-sounding language.

I have no decision-making causes things to the company's present or potential future business belongs to them? More often you have to rely on cold calls and introductions. Now the misunderstood artist is not a chain-smoking drunk who pours his soul into big, messy canvases that philistines see and say that's not true! Similarly, don't even want to sell earlier than you could get a job where you get of the kleptocracies that formerly dominated all the best in the narrowest sense.

4%? These horrible stickers are much like what you call the years after Lisp 1.

Since capital is no longer working to help SCO sue them. There can be a founder, more people would treat you like shit. Horace, Sat.

3 minutes, then used a TV as a percentage of statements. One of the iPhone SDK.

Which means the right way. To a kid was an executive.

But scholars seem to be, and it has to be clear.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Jessica Livingston, Parker Conrad, Sarah Harlin, Trevor Blackwell, and Sanjay Dastoor for inviting me to speak.

0 notes

benito-cereno · 7 years

Text

The Haunting of Netflix House 5: The Netflix Dimension

What’s up Octobocops, it’s Halloweason. Let’s get spooked. Here are some movies of the horror and horror-adjacent genres that you might watch by yourself or with a party of friends or with the spirit of a long-deceased duke who lives in inhabits your house. This is part five; you know the goddamn drill by now.

Previously, on The Haunting of Netflix House:

2013: The Haunting of Netflix House

2014: The Haunting of Netflix House 2: Your Sister is a Netflix

2015: The Haunting of Netflix House 3: The Season of the Netflix

2016: The Haunting of Netflix House 4: The Netflix Master

A couple of notes for those who are new to the list:

This is being posted on October 2, 2017. For humans of the future who find this, the links may not all be up to date. Some might even expire by November 2017. Click at your own risk.

I try to offer both breadth and depth of options on this list, but it is by no means exhaustive. I’m sorry if a favorite of yours got left off. There’s a chance I just haven’t seen it yet. Feel free to reblog and add some of your favorites, but please make sure a movie is actually currently available on Netflix before jumping my shit about some nonsense I “forgot,” please and thank you.

This list is based upon movies that are available on Netflix in the US. I have no idea what is streaming on Canadian Netflix or British Netflix or Slovenian Netflix. How would I know this. Why would I know this. Please do not expect me to know this. Feel free to be the Canadian/British/Slovenian Benito and make your own list applicable to your own countryhumans.

Horror movies, by their nature, have horrific things in them. Most of these movies are violent; lots of them deal with torture, abuse, and mental illness. If some element of this jumps out to me while I’m writing these up, I’ll mention them, but if you are sensitive to or have issues with certain types of content, you might look an individual movie up on Common Sense Media first to check for content warnings.

While there are always good horror movies to be found on Netflix, if you really like scary movies, you should just get a Shudder subscription (or even just the free trial!). It has an unbeatable, well-curated selection.

All right let’s get to the goddamn movies what say

Classics (this section seems to get smaller every year):

Jaws (this is about a shark)

The Fly (the Vincent Price version, not the Jeff Goldblum one)

Gremlins (technically a Christmas movie, obviously, but maybe you’re a rebel)

The Sixth Sense (is this a classic? I mean probably your mom has heard of it, so)

Horror Comedies:

Tucker & Dale vs. Evil (highly recommended)

Little Evil (new from the maker of Tucker and Dale; great cast; more than the Omen spoof it looks like; recommended)

Troll Hunter (not horror in the traditional sense; not a “Halloween” monster; found footage style; subtitled; awesome)

Young Frankenstein (maybe you’ve heard of this one)

The Host (subtitled; not a “Halloween” monster)

Ravenous (fucking rules)

Housebound (recommended)

Patchwork (in the vein of like Re-Animator and Frankenhooker)

Deathgasm (the best the best the best; watch immediately)

The Bar

Haunted House/Ghost shit:

The Awakening

The Pact (recommended)

The Babadook (highest possible recommendation; how have you not watched this yet)

Under the Shadow (recommended; basically the Iranian Babadook)

The Canal

We Are Still Here (Barbara Crampton is in this; her name will be mentioned a few more times on this list because she is apparently a major selling point for some people)

Last Shift (haunted police station; recommended)

The Legend of Hell House (love this one; love Roddy McDowall)

I Am The Pretty Thing That Lives in the House (very slow paced but atmospheric)

Coraline (yeah, the scary stop-motion one)

Vampire shit:

Stake Land (non-traditional vampire rules; not really my jam but some people love it; no idea if the sequel is good)

Byzantium

Night Watch

Werewolf shit:

Late Phases (old blind guy vs werewolves; pretty good)

When Animals Dream (hit some similar thematic notes to Ginger Snaps, but completely different tonally; subtitled)

Zombie shit:

Train to Busan (this rules; subtitled)

Witch/Demon/Pagan shit:

At the Devil’s Door (from the maker of The Pact; not as good, still interesting)

The Void (Lovecraftian cult shit; very cool visuals and practical effects)

Baskin (subtitled; super gory; also, the protags are asshole cops who tell transphobic stories and say homophobic slurs and talk about bestiality at the beginning, so heads up; worth a watch if that doesn’t bother you)

The Devil’s Candy

Hellions (this is not *great,* but it looks good and is heavily Halloweeny)

The Wailing (fucking amazing; subtitled)

Found footage shit:

V/H/S (lots of sex, violence, and sexualized violence

V/H/S/2 (same)

V/H/S Viral (same but in a different way)

The Den (ChatRoulette the horror movie; highly highly highly recommended)

Creep (recommended)

They’re Watching (not super amazing, but it’s wild af and I kind of love it; what if House Hunters International renovated a witch house?)

Man Vs (pretty okay)

Slasher shit (needless to say, these are gory):

Wes Craven’s New Nightmare

Curse of Chucky (way better than you think it is)

Clown (the haunted clown suit movie so good that Marvel said, “Yo, this guy should be in charge of Spider-Man”)

The Windmill (it’ll do fine if you’re just looking for a new slasher; tbf it is probably the best windmill-themed slasher ever made though)

Other shit:

Monsters (really good; not “Halloween” monsters)

It Follows (hey, what’s up, it’s the best horror movie of the past decade; highest possible rec)

Sleepy Hollow (what section do Headless Horsemen go in? Dunno; the movie not the show)

The House at the End of Time (highly recommended; subtitled)

Honeymoon

Starry Eyes

White God (DOG REVENGE)

They Look Like People (this is a slow burn, but super highly recommended)

Extraordinary Tales (animated anthology of Edgar Allan Poe stories narrated by famous people; a mixed bag, but cool)

Darling (okay, so: this is a really beautiful and atmospheric film that I, generally speaking, recommend; however, it is kind of “artsy,” there is not a lot of dialogue, it is in black and white, there are some light strobing effects, rape does not occur on screen but is implied to have happened in a character’s past)

The Hallow (scary fairies)

Tales of Halloween (an anthology, so a mixed bag; okay overall, but it’s definitely Halloween-y)

The Invitation (highest possible recommendation)

Beyond the Gates (I actually did not like this very much, but some people might find it interesting, especially if you like--wait for it--Barbara Crampton)

Turbo Kid (this is not really horror, but if you like horror, especially splatter stuff, you will probably like it; it is good as shit)

Gerald’s Game (new shit from Mike Flanagan and it’s really great. Deals with lots of hard issues like abuse and such so maybe take a look at content issues if you are sensitive to that kind of stuff. Also definitely not for the squeamish, so head’s up. That said, it’s really really good)

80s/90s shit:

Hellraiser (not my style, but maybe you like this stuff, iunno)

Children of the Corn

The Craft

Non-Supernatural Thriller/Violence shit (these are violent):

Hush (Mike Flanagan directs; home invasion with a deaf woman protagonist; fucking rules)

The Silenced (haven’t actually watched this yet, but it looks good; don’t *think* it’s supernatural?; presumably subtitled)

The Eyes of My Mother (black and white; super bleak; beautiful and highly recommended)

Kristy

Dig Two Graves

We Need to Talk About Kevin (very bleak)

The Bad Batch (from the director of A Girl Walks Home Etc; only kind of horror-adjacent; Jason Momoa and Keanu Reeves are in this)

Sun Choke (visually beautiful but super art-housey, also lots of mental illness and abuse stuff in this one; also *Barbara Crampton*)

Zodiac (biography of Ted Cruz)

I Don’t Feel at Home in this World Anymore (so fucking good; very funny also)

Nightcrawler (basically a vampire movie, but with a camera instead of fangs)

Horror and Horror-Adjacent Documentaries (all the good horror docs got moved to Shudder):

The Nightmare (a doc on sleep paralysis and night terrors that is so-so as a documentary, but super effective as a horror film)

Witches: A Century of Murder (history of British witch trials, reenacted; two parts)

“But, Benito!” I hear you cry. “I don’t have Netflix for some reason! What about some other streaming services?” Yeah, all right. Here are some quick hits that are definitely not exhaustive. Just a couple of party jams you might enjoy if you’ve burned through the Netflix list.

What’s on Hulu though

10 Cloverfield Lane

Monster Squad

Fright Night (the original; a must watch if you haven’t seen it)

Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2

From Dusk Til Dawn

An American Werewolf in London

Hatchet

Pumpkinhead (check this one out if you haven’t seen it)

The Blob

I Saw the Devil (amazing)

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (either version)

Shaun of the Dead

The Loved Ones

Wolfcop

The Thing

Rigor Mortis

Borgman

The Descent

Bloodsucking Bastards

Willow Creek

Berberian Sound Studio

Plus a bunch of shit that’s also on Netflix

What about Amazon Prime you idiot

The Girl with All the Gifts

Them (not Them!)

The Witch

Hell House LLC

Neon Demon

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Nosferatu

Green Room

Little Shop of Horrors (the Corman one, not the musical)

The Blackcoat’s Daughter

The Bay

Society

The Last Man on Earth

The Last Exorcism

What We Do in the Shadows

Amazon Prime is hard to navigate so that’s all. If I left off a favorite, it’s not because I don’t like it. It’s because it didn’t pop up in the first 20 pages of search results.

Tell me some good Shudder ones

The Innkeepers

A Tale of Two Sisters

The Gorgon

Lake Bodom

Prevenge

All the Phantasms (maybe not Ravager)

Shrew’s Nest

Noroi: The Curse

The House of the Devil

Black Sunday

Let the Right One In

Murder Party (highly recommended, esp for Halloween)

WNUF Halloween Special

Ghostwatch (play this at your party if you want to fucking win Halloween)

This list could be a million more entries long. Shudder rules.

What about Crackle/Vudu/YouTube/etc

Please shut up

As usual, please do me a solid and only circulate the current version of the list, so people aren’t clicking on dead links and thinking I’m an idiot. Again, this list is not and could not be completely exhaustive, and if I left off your favorite movie, I swear I was not targeting you personally. And, again, some of these movies are more interesting than they are good AND horror is a highly subjective experience, so your mileage may vary on some of these.

If you enjoyed this list, perhaps consider checking out some of my other Halloween-related posts:

a primer for spooky stories

a primer for Lovecraft specifically

a list of “essential” horror movies

a list of “essential” silent horror movies

a list of “essential” horror comedies

a list of suggested horror double features

a primer for Hammer horror

a list of cool movies starring Christopher Lee and Vincent Price

this list of resources, including short films and even more scary movies

a suggested Halloween playlist

a primer for spooky classical music

the scariest 20 minutes in radio history

free to play spooky games

and my general Halloween tag, which includes short films, movie trailers, comics, stories, and more

Also maybe consider checking out my Letterboxd profile, where I rate and review movies of all types (but primarily horror) all year long and from all sorts of sources, in case you’re wondering what’s good on more than just Netflix. Also also, maybe take a look at some of my comics, several of which are appropriate for Halloween times.

Happy Halloween, nerds!

#halloween #long post #netflix #horror movies #horror #hulu #amazon prime #shudder #the haunting of netflix house

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hellyeahrihannafenty · 7 years

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The Totality: Rihanna | ELLE Magazine

Let’s just call Rihanna what she is: the coolest woman on the planet—with beauty, talent, attitude, and personal style to spare. Here, the global megastar answers questions from a cross-section of her famous fans.

Somewhere between releasing her debut single “Pon de Replay” (to blitzkrieg effect) in 2005 and sitting down to discuss international education with Emmanuel Macron in 2017, Rihanna has become much more than a pop star. The music is still absolutely vital, yes—her eighth album, Anti, which has been kicking up dust on the dance charts since it dropped last year, was deemed by Forbes to be one of the most successful recordings of all time—but as an icon, she represents something far greater: what a woman can achieve when she tackles her career, and her life, on her own terms. Rihanna is always fearlessly, unapologetically herself, whether she’s making maverick fashion choices on the red carpet, calling out body shamers, or adding yet another unmistakably RiRi-stamped endeavor to her string of (singer-actress-designer-entrepreneur-philanthropist-etcetera-etcetera) hyphenates. We can now add beauty mogul to that list.

The singer has poured her uncompromising attitude into a much-awaited makeup line, Fenty Beauty by Rihanna, poised to launch with a big bang of 91 products on September 8 at Sephora (expect lines) and on the brand’s website (Internet = broken). Its focus, perhaps surprisingly from a practiced maquillage peacock who has been known to rock vivid blue and ink-black lipstick with defiant flair, is gleaming, satiny, flawless skin, built around an assortment of user-friendly highlighting and contouring sticks, and a whopping 40 shades of foundation. “The biggest void I’ve found in the industry is the lack of variety in foundation shades,” Rihanna tells us. “That’s one of the things that was most important to me—to make sure everyone was included.” It’s a nod, too, to the complexion-perfecting gateway drug that ushered the Barbados native into beauty in the first place: “Foundation was the first product I ever owned,” she says. “It was like magic, and I’ve been in love with makeup ever since.”

Avidly hands-on throughout the collection’s development, Rihanna helmed everything from the playful name selection (there’s a gold powder highlighter, for instance, dubbed Trophy Wife) to the packaging, which, like its creator, is multifaceted, with tough, graffiti-inspired outer boxes opening onto sleek, streamlined, sweetly pretty individual products. “There are plenty of options out there when it comes to makeup,” Rihanna says. “My approach with Fenty Beauty was just to do things my way.”

19 QUESTIONS FOR RIHANNA, FROM 20 OF HER FRIENDS AND FANS

Tyra Banks, Model/Entrepreneur: You’re so successful and surrounded by people who want to please you. Who gives it to you straight?

Rihanna: For me, it’s my mama. They all fake, LOL, and fired!

Eminem, Rapper: You don’t seem like you’re ever thinking about trends when you go in the studio, yet you end up setting them. What are you looking at when you start your recording process?

Rihanna: I rarely know exactly what I want to do, but always know exactly how I want it to make me feel. Feeling always leads the sound!

Wyclef Jean, Rapper: The last time I saw you was at the World Cup. If you could be any football player in the world, who would it be?

Rihanna: Cristiano Ronaldo. But then again, Beckham did marry Posh Spice.

Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia, Designers, Oscar de la Renta: What’s your best vintage find?

Rihanna: On New Year’s Eve, 2016, I bought this costume from 1952 that was worn in the movie Singin' in the Rain.

“Rihanna is today’s most fascinating performer, a mysterious amalgam of amiable warmth and glittering charisma. With her keen creative eye for line and color, she has become a fashion icon, like Audrey Hepburn. Yet she is a tempestuous wild child and international adventuress, like Ava Gardner. Most importantly, as an artist in this overmechanized age, she bravely draws on deep wells of pure emotion, endearing her to millions of fans worldwide.” —Camille Paglia,Author/Critic

Tricky Stewart, Record Producer: Do you remember the first time a crowd gave you goose bumps singing all the lyrics to your song in concert?

Rihanna: Yes! I was on tour, and the whole crowd started singing “Take a Bow” word for word…to the point that I couldn’t even sing. They performed the entire song for me.

April Bloomfield, Chef: What do you cook when you want a little comfort?

Rihanna: Bajan macaroni pie, which is our version of a baked mac ’n’ cheese.

Zac Posen, Designer: What’s your secret family recipe?

R:It’s a secret! LOL. But they make a mean “cook-up” and pepper pot. Both are Guyanese recipes.

Jacquie Aiche, Jewelry Designer: What’s your favorite body part?

R: Well, my favorite body parts on pretty much any woman are the collarbone and shoulders.

Charli XCX, Singer/Songwriter: What’s your ultimate karaoke song?

R: Bon Jovi, “Livin’ on a Prayer”; Journey, “Don’t Stop Believin’ ”; Brandy and Monica, “The Boy Is Mine.”

"Rihanna brings ‘global gumbo’ to the culture. Her voice unites the world through positive music vibes." —Wyclef Jean, Rapper

Danielle Steel, Best-Selling Author: I love your shoe passion, especially your collaboration with Manolo Blahnik. How much of the designing do they let you do?

R; They really give me all the creative freedom I could ask for, but of course I have this unique opportunity to work with Mr. Blahnik himself, so his expertise is always more than welcome!

Kelly Fields, Chef (Willa Jean, New Orleans): Your preferences in fashion and art appear to embrace the entire scale of highbrow/lowbrow—which is how I like to cook. I’d love to know if your preferences in munchies run along that same scale?

R: You mean KFC on a private jet is not normal?

Laverne Cox, Actress: You’ve had so many iconic fashion moments and take so many risks. The CFDA Awards Adam Selman dress in 2014—what gave you the courage to take that risk that was so perfect and elegant yet daring?

R: Dear Laverne, I took advantage of my titties before they go south. I saw my window, and I took it.

Pharrell Williams, Musician/Producer: You’re a pluralist in every sense of the word. Did you always have these dreams to do so many things, in addition to being an artist? Or have you just figured that out along the way that there are other things you can do very well?

R: I’ve always been a dreamer…or let’s just say I kept my options open. In my heart, I knew singing was gonna be in my future, but I considered psychology, hairdressing, banking, teaching, acting, modeling, aviation, and philanthropy. I just didn’t know I’d pretty much be doing all of these things eventually!

Gary Ross, Director, Ocean’s 8: What’s the first thing I should do when I get to Barbados?

R: [Fast-food] Chefette and a rum punch!

"I love Rihanna. I love that she is herself with no apologies. Her sense of style and self is unique. I love how she transforms herself with each album, each campaign. Always evolving. A true icon." —Venus Williams, Tennis Champion

David Copperfield, Magician: I’m not kidding, this is a real offer: I can make you disappear and reappear anywhere in the world. Where do you want to go, and why?

R: Ten minutes before I lost my virginity…and I’m holding you to that offer. LOL.

Emilio Vitolo, Restauranteur (Emilio's Ballato, New York City): What’s the name of the soup dish that’s the most popular in our region of Italy?

R: It’s my favorite on your menu...pasta e fagioli.

A$AP Rocky, Rapper: Tupac, Bob Marley, and Time: Fuck? Marry? Kill?

Shit, well, we stay killing Time. Fuck Tupac. Marry Bob, duh.

Olivia Wilde, Actress: What’s the most valuable mistake you’ve learned from?

No cheese for Jay Brown before a flight.

Patricia Field, Stylist: Would you consider having a cocktail with me sometime in the near future? I’d like to get to know you better. (Not hitting on you.)

Your place or mine?

"Rihanna’s MTV 2016 VMA performances were groundbreaking, paradigm- shifting moments in female swag. She represents badassery, positive self-esteem, and in a great way. She is powerful and vulnerable simultaneously, which makes her a revolutionary. Yes, she’s sexy, but once she’s got your attention, I don’t think you can ignore what she’s saying to you: She is curated and deliberate without feeling staged, and her intent is as real as anything out there. I respond to her as a writer, a woman, and a fan.” —Courtney Kemp, Showrunner/Creator, Power (Starz)

HERE, RIHANNA'S INSIGHT AS THE PROPRIETOR OF FENTY BEAUTY

ELLE: When did you first wear lipstick?

Lipstick always got me in trouble. Whether it was at home as a kid, or my early teenage years in my career, I always had the urge to wear it. So I broke all those rules. Now lipstick is like my li’l secret weapon!

What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done/tried for beauty? Would you do it again?

A corset! I’d do it again, though. I’d wear it every day if I could make it out alive!

What makes you feel dressy/“done,” beautywise?

My finishing touch is usually my highlighter. I love highlighter—it just adds this sense of fantasy to any look.

"What is incredible about Rihanna is that in a world facing a deadening crisis of leadership and the constant negation of creative efforts, her music globally moves and inspires us to be completely alive without restrictions or prohibitions." —Richard Phillips, Artist

Of all the celebrities you’ve met, who smells the best?

[Photographers] Inez and Vinoodh! Inez smells delicious. She actually gifted me her scent, because I always asked her about it.

Who’s your hair idol?

This is probably confusing to most, but it’s in between Toni Braxton from back in the day with all her short haircuts…and Cindy Crawford. She had the most effortless yet stunning hair.

Who’s your makeup idol?

I have to go with Veruschka. She made makeup look like silk!

This article originally appears in the October 2017 issue of ELLE. [Buy]

#Rihanna #Elle #Elle Magazine #Fashion #Fashion Icon #fenty beauty #cosmetics #full article #interview #2017 #magazine

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junker-town · 4 years

Text

No sports, no fun

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Good bye, maybe.

I’m afraid I won’t ever feel again the way I did on Nov. 4, 2000, when I was not yet 13 years old and the pain was new and all-consuming. I loved sports so much it hurt, and that love bore bitter fruit when Anthony Thomas fumbled a football for no good reason, and Michigan lost to Northwestern, 54-51, in the most stunning game I can remember.

I couldn’t question the feeling, nor did I think it could be questioned; my amygdala pulled its trigger and I buried my face as deeply as I could into our cold, wave-patterned couch in the next room. My shock even erased the memory of the steps I took. I remember the twin feelings of a cold couch on my face and injustice. Or maybe not quite injustice, but something unfair. It didn’t feel targeted. For the first time maybe, I felt impersonal, unmotivated and heavy cruelty.

Thomas was a football player of mythic proportions, a torso of concrete and legs made thick just from making sure his upper half didn’t topple over. He was marvelous, and at all times mildly disappointing, a perfect picture of inefficient smashmouth football just before the sport discovered better ideas. Thomas carried the ball 37 times for 199 yards, but he was outdone by Damien Anderson, who rushed for 268 yards on 31 carries in a Randy Walker offense that was one of the first examples of spread football on a big stage.

That game would come to be known as one of the most influential in college football history because of the way an underpowered team shocked another team of Thomas-ian proportions. But lost in the final score is the way Thomas fumbled. He broke through the line for what should have been a game-winning first down, then he simply dropped the ball.

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There was and is nothing to be learned from that. The whole was instructive; the details were not. Michigan would have won but Thomas dropped the ball, and then I hurt and I couldn’t make it stop.

I obsessed over that play. At the time, I obsessed over every aspect of Michigan football. I remember falling asleep thinking about Michigan’s ongoing high school recruiting class, its deficiencies and how the current commitments might shape the team. I used to take a football out to our front lawn and play out the upcoming games drive by drive, hucking the ball up in the air and running under it to make a big catch. If I was feeling generous, I’d give the opposition a rare interception. On a related note, I was a pretty lonely kid.

Before I developed a better relationship with sports, I approached them almost exclusively as something my team either won or lost. I decided I ought to take them very seriously, to the extent that everyone should think of me as a person who knew sports. I wanted to have the best answer to every question; I wanted to be a vessel of knowledge that others would rather submit to than challenge.

At the time, it seemed like a hobby. Now I know I was compensating for being a pipsqueak in every other regard. The problem, either way, was how much I had staked my confidence in being right.

In college, I took an internship at a fantasy sports website and learned how dumb I was. I found out there are people who seem to know every bit about everything — things like baseball — who could not only hold a greater mass of information in their brains than me, but could also do so without being an uptight dick about it.

What I should have learned was that caring about things intrinsically, and not for egotistical reasons, opens up our capacity to both know and love more about the world. Instead, I felt like I was drowning, like every moment more evidence was piling on top of me about what a fraud I was, faster than I could claw from under it.

I wondered if I could say I loved sports like I used to, or if I ever loved them to begin with. That period showed me a couple things: 1) That I could bull shit anything in writing, and 2) maybe I should readjust my relationship with sports.

I never stopped wanting to be a sportswriter, which I’ve wanted to be my whole life. But I also picked up a knack for editing, the process of turning your first thought into your best thought, of shaping and shielding and censoring an unvarnished self. That unvarnished self was often a truer self, perhaps. But it didn’t sing, and it never won.

I consider SB Nation my first real job, though when I started it only paid $1 more per hour than the fantasy gig. The difference was at SB Nation I saw a path to who I newly wanted to be. Which is to say, I started chasing a sense of superiority on moral grounds.

Working at SB Nation has never not been exciting, but my first and maybe last thrill was getting to say I worked with Spencer Hall. He’d become my favorite writer by crafting guttingly funny and guttingly poignant things about college football. A universe unfolded out of EDSBS.com, one that was weird and empathetic and antagonistic towards the capital-S Sportswriter lens and voice. Reading him gave me a physical sensation like my belly was made of splintered wood and a family of feral critters was tearing through, and that I ought to be happy for them.

I’ve read Spencer’s 2011 essay GOD’S AWAY ON BUSINESS dozens of times now and it never fails to scare the shit out of me.

None of this matters now. The man or woman in the desk is gone. They will not be returning anytime soon. Outside there are men roaming the streets. No one’s wondering who’s in charge, and that’s why the doors are locked, and the children inside quivering. When the desk is empty, it means anarchy is at your door. There are no permissions or courtesies. Shit just happens, and it happens all the time, and there’s no stopping it until everything you have is gone and bouncing out the door on the shoulders of thieves.

God, or anyone like him, is away on business.

I started aping Spencer then, and I’m still aping him now, though I feel more like myself. Mimic something long enough and you might accidentally discover some of the substance that makes the aesthetic work.

SB Nation taught me a better way to love sports. That what is true and good wasn’t in the results — on the field, or off where discourse boiled down to soggy debate — but in the ephemera. It was in baseball players taking pitches right to the beans.

SB Nation was dedicated to silliness and inclusivity. It highlighted the good people that sports elevated on rare occasions. It never fought along the chauvinistic battle lines that can feel like a mandatory part of fandom; in fact, it emphatically ignored them. And yet even after a decade-plus of existence, people still get upset when we suggest sports don’t have to be experienced in rote, tribalistic ways. Typically all you have to do is check the replies.

We never stated this mission very clearly, which has always kinda been a problem. Probably the problem. But if you paid attention, you saw it reiterated in countless ways. (Just click a letter, and note that none of these people work here anymore.) GOD’S AWAY ON BUSINESS was my value set among the many options, however. It told me that what we love most sometimes isn’t scored; that everyone has a responsibility to define and find joy for themselves, even if it may be outside the rules; and that to invest oneself in wonder and silliness also means taking on the duty to defend them.

At SB Nation I learned I didn’t have to identify by sports. I could have a relationship with them, I could be objective towards them, and I could turn them off. I learned that I have a self outside of what I like.

Working here has forced me to look back and figure out what I truly loved about sports. So far I’ve found two things: Charles Woodson, and the way sports helped a shy kid introduce himself. For me, sports’ best utility has been the way they facilitate genuine connection. Which is almost funny, because we know now the extent that sports are artificial by how easily they’ve disappeared.

But to know that sports have had some importance in one’s life is proof they can’t be trivial. They are real in the fact that we choose to empower them. The score has never mattered. Sports live because we give them life.

I don’t always feel good about that fact. Although I’ve come to terms with being mildly stupid, and I’ve gotten better at appreciating things intrinsically, I still often hate that sports are integral to me and that I’ll leave this mortal coil defined by something that never gave me agency.

There’s an image I’ll never shake. My last visit with my grandfather as he lay on the bed he’d die on. He was person I’ve perhaps wanted to emulate most in this world. A French history professor. The funniest, most considerate person I knew. He made everyone feel heard. I said this at his funeral:

He always paused before he laughed, turning over what you said and taking even the bad jokes and finding their point of redemption. Funny enough, this was a sign that he took you seriously, that he thought what you said mattered, even if you were five years old and nothing you had ever said to that point had ever been important. And because he laughed with you, you couldn’t help but laugh along side.

Just a month or two before I saw him among his final days, prostrate, suffering terribly from dementia and barely able to speak. He no longer embodied the self he had curated over 85 years. I talked to him about Michigan football because that had been the thing we talked about the most. He responded only in smiles and hmphs. I didn’t know if he retained anything I said until I started to leave the room. He said the last words I’d ever hear him say: “Go Blue.”

The image that haunts me isn’t my grandfather: Every memory of him makes me love him more, and I’m more grateful than words can say that in our last interaction we felt connected and happy.

Rather it’s my imagination, seeing myself dissolved layer by layer, body and soul disappearing. What would be left in a reduction of my experiences, love, regrets and relationships that I cultivated or destroyed? It might be sports’ afterimage, an outline of Anthony Thomas.

I feel sports’ absence. Maybe I’ve become accustomed to a constant hum of play, or maybe this pandemic has, in a terrible roundabout way, helped us see what is intrinsic.

But I do miss sports, even if that feeling is a byproduct of muscle memory. I miss fun, and sports have been the best outlet I’ve even known to find it. I’ve had a hard time not seeing this period as an attack on fun, that, more and more, the world is becoming something I don’t want to go back to: stodgy and bitter, a self-perpetuating game to see who’s winning at any moment. It feels like there’s no room left to be quiet and gentle.

I don’t know when fun will come back, and it feels fair to ask if it can. There has never been a good answer whether dumb anger is simply the natural state of things, or something we’ve reinforced on one another. There’s only the imprint that anger has left, deep with slippery walls.

The only thing I know is we all want to belong; that at the root of every fight is ostensibly the same impetus — to be full of love and free of worry once again, to feel complete and want for nothing. We just can’t agree on terms.

But I believe there is a healthy definition of belonging. One that does not subsume you, but lets you position yourself amongst the world, and create your own space as opposed to being dictated its rules. A way of editing that doesn’t entrench self, but amplifies it.

The end of the world is demanding, but we have options. And when I close my eyes, I can still see the world I want.

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