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hinamoria · 4 years ago

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Clumsy ghost

Hitsuhina Week 2021 : Day 9- AU / Ghost

Rating: K+ or T ? (It’s a little bit angst, we’re talking about ghost, so character’s death, but no violence or anything like that)

Synopsis: Living with a clumsy ghost was no rest for Hitsugaya at all.

Word Count: 1953 words

Setting: Modern world

Author’s Note: my favorite one shot of the challenge <3. The first one I wrote immediately after reading the themes. And, rare enough to note it, I liked what I wrote at the first try xD

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The sound of shattered glass abruptly stopped Hitsugaya in his chemistry exercise. It was 9:00 p.m., his parents had gone out to see some friends, and he didn't have any cat that could make that kind of noise last he noticed. He almost wished the culprit was a thief sneaking into his home. It would have been easier to justify the disaster to his parents on their return. But no, the probability was almost certain that Hinamori had done something stupid again.

The young boy let out an exasperated sigh and shouted in the direction of the downstairs.

“Hinamori! What did you break again this time? "

Silence answered him. But he was not fooled. Putting down his pen on the notebook, Hitsugaya got up from his desk, stretched briefly, and walked towards the crime scene. The living room seemed unoccupied, but right in front of the wooden bookcase was one of her mother's little blown glass figurines, shattered into dozens of pieces on the floor. Beyond repair. Better get it all out quick before someone got hurt.

As he picked up the pieces, Toshiro noticed a book also on the ground, a few inches next to the statue. “Alice in Wonderland” by Lewis Caroll. A classic. Hinamori probably wanted to read it and must have dropped it on the figurine. However, the culprit still had not deigned to show up.

"Instead of watching me clean your mess in silence, you could at least apologize," he said sternly, keeping his eyes on his task. “My mother loves this stuff, she's going to notice it "

A silhouette gradually appeared a meter beside him, remaining translucent. A brown-eyed brunette teenager, looking half embarrassed-half pained, played nervously with her hands while looking at her white-haired friend.

"Shiro-chan…" She started in a small voice. “Sorry… I wanted to grab the book, but it slipped out. "

This sort of thing has unfortunately happened quite frequently over the past few months. As a ghost, the young woman could not interact with objects as easily as a human being. But as she built up enough spiritual energy over time, she could do small things like turn on the light or the TV, or read. But if turning the pages of a novel was easy, getting the book out of the library was more complex. And she frequently dropped the objects she was holding for lack of spiritual energy.

"Here’s the result," thought Hitsugaya, looking at the fragments one last time before throwing it in the trash.

He will look on the internet to order the same item. With any luck, it would all go unnoticed. In two years of living in this house, he had ended up gaining a reputation as a “legendary clumsy”, completely false. But being the only one to see Hinamori, unless he wanted to be taken for a madman, he preferred accepting the reproaches, and turning against his ghostly friend afterwards.

His parents had made a good deal by buying this house. The former owners, devastated by grief after losing their daughter in a traffic accident, wanted to leave the place as soon as possible. Everything reminded them of Hinamori here, to the point of even thinking they saw her or heard her voice.

Their hallucinations must have been caused by their daughter's ghost desperately trying to make contact with them.

When he arrived, the feeling of being watched had not left Hitsugaya. He wasn't naturally paranoid, but something about this house was bothering him. And then one day, when he almost hit the corner of a cupboard in the kitchen cabinet, he heard a female voice screaming "watch out!" ". His face had crumpled up when he saw the half-translucent young woman right in front of him, and she mimicked his expression as she realized he could see her. And since then, she never left him. Sometimes to his dismay.

Ghost life seemed boring, especially when you mysteriously couldn't leave the house. So the young woman spent her time talking to him about everything and nothing, most often nothing. His ability to grab objects was a small revolution in their lives. Granting some peace of mind for Hitsugaya. He brought her CDs and books from the library every week to her delight. He also frequently left his computer or television on for her.

Sometimes he wondered why she didn't go to "heaven" or the afterlife. But she always dodged this question. So he had come to terms with her daily presence. At least she had the decency not to go into the bathroom. He would probably have asked to go to a boarding school otherwise.

Finishing cleaning up the mess, he motivated himself to return to the bedroom to end his homework and have his evening free.

"Can you take the book and bring it to the bedroom?" Momo asked behind him with a small smile. “I don't know if I would have the energy to do it on my own all the way."

Denying her nothing, he put the open book on his bed, letting the young woman start reading, while he finished his work.

"Alice in Wonderland ". She must have read this book at least fifteen times since he had known her. It had to be her favorite without a doubt. The book was starting to get damaged around the edges from turning the pages.

He walked over to the bathroom to relax in the shower and found himself disappointed that the bulb was burnt out.

"I had nothing to do with it this time!” Hinamori objected reflexively upon hearing his friend's exasperated sigh again.

You spend your time turning on the lights in the house," he retorted. “You are indirectly guilty of that”.

She pouted at him at the new accusation but didn't refute. Spare bulbs were in the attic and Toshiro walked there wearily.

The house had been renovated with the exception of the attic which retained old with its creaky and fragile parquet. A real ghost room, Hitsugaya thought.

Having found the purpose of his visit, he was about to leave when he noticed a partly defeated wooden slat. Better put it back on before someone got hurt. Crouching down, he was about to reposition it when he noticed a metallic-looking object underneath.

Removing the slat, he noticed with surprise a small metal cookie tin hidden in a recess between the parquet floor and the ceiling below.

Intrigued by this new treasure, he opened it. Inside he found a multitude of photos, as well as several papers and small items. He recognized Momo in one of the photos, dressed in high school clothes, surrounded by two boys, one blond and one with red hair.

He then decided to take the set to its real owner.

"I found this in the attic," he showed her, putting the box on the blanket with a small metal noise.

Momo's face lit up at the find.

“My treasure box! I can’t believe it! I completely forgot it was there!"

Abandoning her book altogether, his friend immediately took an interest in the content, scattering the photos everywhere.

"Look! It's Kira-kun and Abarai-kun! "She explained, pointing at the two boys earlier. «I’ve told you about them before. We went to college together and we were in the same class in high school! A real sign of fate. I wonder what happened to them now...”

She paused, staring at the photo for a long time.

"They must be in college today," she continued. ”Kira was a good student. I could see him teaching one day. Abarai was more impulsive. He spent his time being reprimanded. But I think you could have got along.”

Her tone had grown melancholic as she explained the scenes in the photos: Momo dressed in some sort of pumpkin costume for her fifth birthday, a family outing to the beach, birthdays...

"And this is a bracelet I made in elementary school!” She showed him, grabbing a sort of black rubber band with a small turquoise bead. “It's the same color as your eyes. Another sign of fate! » She added, laughing.

She started the gesture as if to put it on her wrist, but the bracelet crossed her arm and fell back on the bed, triggering a temporary silence in the young woman. A cloudy veil seemed to appear for a moment in the young woman's eyes but disappeared before Toshiro could even speak.

"I'll give it to you Shiro-chan!" She finally declared smiling again.

He grabbed the jewel and inspected it for a few moments between his fingers. He wasn't the type to wear this kind of thing, but the style was simple and the stone was pretty on its own.

“Thank you”, he finally answered, picking up a micro smile from the little brunette.

She nodded and turned to the photos again.

“Maybe we could make copies for you and send the originals to my parents?” She proposed. “They would surely be happy to have them”.

He nodded, approving of the idea.

As he began to put them away, Momo spoke again:

“You know…I didn't want to die Toshiro”, she blurted out followed by a bitter little laugh. “I…”

He was surprised that she brought up the subject so suddenly, but let her continue. The veil over her pupils reappeared, brighter than before.

"I loved my life," she said with a tight throat. “I had a lot of plans. I wanted to travel, adopt a dog, fall in love, take a parachute jump, learn baking... Those things may be trivial but I will never have the chance to do them again. When...”

A first sob broke her, and Toshiro, who by reflex wanted to put his hand on his friend's arm, saw it cross her without feeling the contact of her skin. She smiled at him, appreciating the gesture nonetheless.

“Thanks Shiro-chan”, she said taking a deep breath. “I was saying, when the accident happened, I kept telling myself that I didn't want to die and then I ended up at home like...that. A ghost. And then I met you... And I loved those two years with you, I don't think I could have dreamed of a better roommate to tease."

She giggled in front of his "hey!" and continued

“But seeing all of this, I realize what a lovely life I have had. And even if it was a little too short, it was happy and full. I shouldn’t have any regrets ".

Hitsugaya watched her with a slight pang in her heart, understanding where she was going.

"You're going, right? » He asked her

She paused, thoughtful, then turned to her book on the bed.

"Did you know I never finished it?" She confessed to him.

"I've seen you read it a dozen times," he remarked to her in surprise.

"That's right, but I’ve never read the last chapter."

She laid down on the bed and turned to her friend

"Can you read the end of the book to me, Shiro-chan? It would be a shame not to know how the story ends."

"Haven't you seen Disney? She wakes up, that's all," he replied to tease her a last time.

But he accepted, because as said before, he could not refuse her anything. And it was as if she had dictated her last will to him.

The text was crazy. His serious tone didn't match; but he continued to Momo's laughter anyway. And as he said the last sentence, he found that he was now alone in the room, surrounded by photos of his friend. On the back of one of them he could read in a somewhat shaky handwriting: "Thanks Shiro-chan, and goodbye."

#hitsuhina week 2021 #momo hinamori #toshiro hitsugaya #bleach fanfiction

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crystalessenceswrites · 5 years ago

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Shadows- Chapter Four

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, dark themes, death of unnamed and background characters, descriptions of blood, descriptions of a dead body Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] Cross-posted to AO3

Why was it always vampires?

It seemed like the bounty lists were chalk full of them these days, more so than normal. Which was not awful for slayers. They were generally high paying jobs, considering most of them were wanted for the murder of the humans or cryptos they’d been feeding on. You just preferred to stay away from the fangs. The superhuman abilities of a well-fed vampire were difficult to match in a fight, even for seasoned slayers. While you had the training and equipment to deal with them, the bounty was not always worth the medical bills after the fact. You specialized in the kinds of bounties that were more brains than brawn. Preferring the chase over the actual fight. Today you did not have much of a choice, apparently. You’d come into the office later in the morning and arrived to find all the new non-vampiric bounties had been promptly snatched up by the early birds. Leaving you stuck with the fangs. Great.

Your target was a vampire named Qin. He was active and was not doing much of anything to cover it up. A serious threat to everyone if left unattended to. The urgency in needing to deal with someone like him had bumped his bounty up fairly high, even for the usual vampire fair. There were plenty of breadcrumbs to follow, making your afternoon much easier. He was holed up in the old industrial district during the day. Most of the old neighborhood was being retrofitted for industrial lofts and modern condos, so there would be plenty of construction sites and condemned buildings for him to hide in and a steady stream of workers to pick off for food. Sightings and intelligence had his location narrowed down to a three-block radius. The was all easy enough. Killing him would be another story.

Vampires did not have any one magic bullet weakness- they aren’t susceptible to iron or silver- making them harder to handle. Staking one through the head or heart was usually the best way to incapacitate one, until their body was burned and ashes were scattered. That required getting closer than you were comfortable with. The last thing you wanted was a fanged creature with arms reach of your neck. You really should have just taken the day off. Too bad your landlord never took a day off when it came time to collect your rent.

Starting with the largest warehouse on the southside and moving north until you got lucky, or rather unlucky, enough to run into your bounty, seemed the best course of action. And today kept proving to be an unlucky day for you. You’d barely broken into the first building when you came across two completely drained corpses left out in the open, bodies still cooling. Your bounty was here and full of fresh blood.

Well shit.

Sword drawn you continue to sneak through the abounded building. Vampires were natural predators; their sense of smell was leagues above your own. It was more than likely he already knew you were here-unless he was occupied with another victim. That must have been the case, considering he hadn’t jumped out at you yet. On high alert you continue farther into the warehouse with a white-knuckle grip on your weapon. The main body of the building is split into two storage areas, the first dark in the overcast afternoon and empty. There are signs someone’s been around, a mattress and blankets in a corner, duffle bags and a pile of dark clothes next to a tower of take-out boxes. Odd.

You drop to the floor as the crack of a gunshot splits the silence. Mind reeling you wonder what vampire needs a fucking gun. Another scan of the space confirms you’re still alone, no shooter in sight. It must have come from the next room, too loud to have been outside the building. As you approach the partition the familiar metallic sting of fresh blood reaches your nose. Vampires don’t bleed.

Three more shots ring out, definitely from the other side of the partition.

Vampire’s don’t use guns.

Another deep breath draws more of the scents in, the dust and mildew of the building, the spark of gun powder and the overwhelming musk of human. Your bounty was not alone and wasn’t with anyone friendly. It wasn’t another slayer- once a bounty gets picked up its pulled off the lists- and most slayers didn’t smell so strongly of human, so the next logical assumption was a lone hunter. Not that it would have been hard for any human to pick up on this vampire’s trail, but if it had been law enforcement to find him the building would be flooded with cops.

You truly had the worst luck today.

Odds were probably one to four against the hunter. Humans rarely stood a chance against vampires unless they caught one out in sunlight.

A loud crash, like something heavy collapsing, shakes the silence. As a slayer you’re obligated to help the human but considering all that’s gone on in the last few weeks you’re feeling much less inclined to do so.

“Come on Mando! I thought you freaks were proud warriors and all!”

Fucking hell. Kira was right, you are a Mando magnet. The vampire’s taunt is not reassuring in the slightest. You did not need a dead Mando on your hands. Creeping into the next room you’re quick to find cover behind some dust covered work benches. Surveying the space leads you to believe the Mando and Qin have been at a while. The space is trashed, boxes toppled over and crushed, shelves up ended, and bullet holes are scattered throughout the space.

The Mando’s back is to you at the moment while he and the vampire stare each other down. You don’t need to see his face to know who you’re dealing with; you’d been on the look out for this particular mop of curls since your last run-in. How was he everywhere you needed to be? Why couldn’t you shake him?

He suddenly springs into action again, drawing the spear he’d been carrying on his back, swinging it in a wide arch at the vampire. Qin’s too fast and easily dodges the attack before going in for his own, trying to get within arm’s reach. Mando doesn’t let him, blocking each attack with deadly precision. Neither gives in, pushing back against the other, jumping around the other in attempt to land a hit.

You’re hesitant to say you’re impressed by Mando, but only out of spite. He moves like a well-oiled machine, despite not having the upper hand he does not give up control of the fight to his undead opponent. This is the most dressed down you’ve seen him, baring the silver tac vest over a dark colored shirt. You can safely assume its beskar, the metal harnessed solely by the Mandalorians. Just one of the things that made then unique to other hunters. As he circles around Qin you catch sight of blood dripping down his sharp jaw, the hair just above his ear dark and matted with it. He’d taken a pretty serious hit already.

Now you really had to help him.

This was the kind of opportunity you never had when dealing with vampires. Qin’s attention was solely focused on the hunter. There was no indication from either that they’d noticed your silent arrival. You had one shot with the element of surprise, and you needed to make it count. If you could incapacitate Qin, stun him long enough for you and Mando to finish the job you could make it out of here in one piece. Mando in close to one piece.

Although there was no magic bullet for vampires, a bullet wound did still require time and energy to heal. Even though vampires and the like were technically “undead,” they still felt and registered pain to some degree, meaning bullets also provided a certain shock factor. You lose the sword, reaching for your thigh holster instead. While you were not a fan of guns, you weren’t willing to risk a fight with a vampire for your pride. You always came prepared when dealing with a bloodsucker.

Qin and Mando continue to circle each other in their tense dance. Despite the dark look in both their eyes, Qin has a smug smirk plastered across his face, probably under the impression he was going to be having a Mandalorian for lunch. Too bad you couldn’t allow it. All you needed was a clear shot. You mentally will Mando to put some distance between him and the bloodsucker, as if that would actually work.

Your breath catches in your throat as Mando sweeps his spear in another wide arc, forcing Qin back. Maybe you were lucky today after all. The moment Qin lands back on his feet, far enough away from the hunter, you jump out from your cover and take the shot, tagging Qin in the temple.

Damn good shot.

Mando jumps as Qin’s body crumples to the ground, face drawing together in confusion. That feeling akin to satisfaction returns. You could get the jump on him and a vampire. Third time would not be his charm, you are sure of it. You would not let it.

His brain catches up with the situation and he swings around, staff pointed at you as you vault over the workbench. Next comes the recognition, his jaw dropping just a bit at your sudden materialization. You’re thankful his first reaction isn’t to attack as you’re quick to re-holster your gun.

“Focus Mando,” you quip, directing your attention back to the vampire beginning to move on the floor.

“Fuck!” Qin curses, already starting to come back to it. That seemed too quick, even for a recently fed vampire.

Mando snaps into action, kicking Qin down before his spear finds its way through the vampire’s rib cage. Judging by the ear-splitting screech Qin let’s out, Mando found his mark, staking Qin where he lays. Mando does not move as you approach with sword in hand. He does not move as you bring your blade to rest on the bounty’s neck.

“You have one chance to surrender or I collect the bounty on your head, Qin.”

“You bitch!” He snarls, thrashing around the pole shoved through his torso. “Working with a Mando, that’s low- even for a slayer!”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“See you in hell one day, bitch.”

Smug even in death. Ugh. You don’t feel much as you chop his off with one swift swing. Not after you saw those two innocents on your way in. People like him were the exact reason humans called your kind monsters.

“Sunny disposition on that one,” you grumble, stepping back from Mando and the decapitated bounty. The hunter doesn’t even offer you a curtesy laugh. Stick in the mud.

“Why are you here?”

He doesn’t bother to hide the suspicion. Did he think you were following him now? That was rich.

“Doing my job. I took on the bounty for this one.” Pulling your messenger bag off, you begin to organize your supplies, “which I’d like to finish up if you have no objections.”

Mando just steps back, leaning against his staff. You can feel the weight of his gaze boring into you while you work. His eyes tracking your every move, detailing each item you pull from your clean up kit. You didn’t spot any bag of his lying around, you wonder how he had been planning on dealing with the body.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Why did you help me?”

Questions, questions.

“You let us go last time- I owed you for that at least,” you shrug. Now you were even. Well, as even as you could be with a human Mandalorian.

He’s silent for a moment, watching as you pull a few jars and a water bottle out of the bag. One contains a small collection of thistle bulbs. Mando doesn’t ask but you can see the curiosity growing as you stick the sharp plants into the vampire’s wounds.

“Vampires are weak to thistle, introduce it into the body and it halts their healing abilities. Aloe vera works too, it’s just not as flammable.

“Aloe vera and thistles?”

You chuckle, “what, did you think garlic would work?”

Mando scoffs, his sharp eye still following your hands. Next comes the burning of the body. You want to get that done as quick as possible. Thistle was not an end all weakness and even decapitated vampires could regenerate. You douse the body and head in gasoline from the water bottle.

“Light?”

Eyebrows raised you gingerly take the lighter he offers, catching the edge of Qin’s shirt with the flame. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the corpse to catch. The flames cast shadows over the Mandalorian’s face as you watch him from the corner of your eye. The air is heavy between you and not with the smell of burning flesh.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to let him kill me?”

“Why would I want that?” Had he not come to the realization that you couldn’t kill him?

“You get rid of nuisances, right? So one of you will have to kill me eventually.”

It takes all your will power to not burst out laughing. There was no way he was getting anything from an inside informant if that’s what he thought slayers did. You had this Mando pinned down about as wrong as he had you figured out. No wonder no one had been able to find a turn coat when one didn’t exist to begin with.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your info, but you need to find a different source. Trust me. As much as most slayers want to get rid of hunters, we can’t without very good reasons. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be any better than the ones we hunt.”

He quirks an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, “so what? You’re just monsters hunting other monsters?”

“One,” you hold up a finger, “we use the term crypto.”

“Crypto? Like cryptid?”

“Where do you think humans got the word from?”

Mando scoffs at that but doesn’t press.

“Two, most of us don’t actually qualify as cryptos. Slayers are primarily half-bloods.”

You revel in the confusion on his face. Never did you think you would find yourself completely altering a Mandalorian’s understanding of the world. This was priceless.

Why were you telling him all this?

“Half-bloods?”

“You know, half human?”

“That’s possible?”

Now you cannot hold back the laugh this time, “human genetics are surprisingly adaptable.”

A look of disgust washes over his face and your heart drops.

“I just want you to know we’re not so different… our job is to stop those who hurt or take advantage of humans, to stop those who threaten to expose us. I imagine that’s not so different from what Mandalorians want…” after all, they couldn’t want to kill you all, could they?

#fic: Shadows #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian au #modern au #enemies to lovers #monsters and monster hunters #fanfiction #chapter four #crystalessences writes

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erisbaek · 5 years ago

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Stucky Fic Rec [Part Two]

Here is part two of the fic rec, as promised by today! I don’t know how many parts this will be since I am constantly reading new fics, and adding them. Every fic added to this rec I have read, and would recommend, therefore they are my personal preference (meaning typically longer than 10k, and very few - if any - shrinkyclinks and ABO) Same as last time, I will provide the Google Doc link where I update the rec regularly, but if you’d prefer it formatted here, it is under the cut!

Google Doc Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/10wqr5s-CzkFzLidQgt-y4-cjudHWwVeVPWCedMjK7t0/edit

If you want to recommend fics, you can do that as well! I only add fics that I’ve read.

Watch Them Rolling Back

Word Count: 16.9k Rating: Teen and Up Notable Tags: Post Infinity War, Canon Divergence Warnings: Temporary Character Death Synopsis: Bucky was just here, he was right here. This can’t be all that’s left. Well, it’s not all that’s left, not quite. There, in the pile of ash that used to be Bucky Barnes, already drifting to scatter across the soil of Wakanda, to dissipate in the air, to be nothing but dust on Steve’s hands and in his gasping mouth and in his lungs—left there, in that ash and dirt, are his gun, and his left arm, gleaming dully in the sunshine.

Hey Bartender, Pour ‘Em Hot Tonight

Word Count: 22.9k Rating: Mature Notable Tags: Bartender!Bucky, Patron!Steve Warnings: Smut Synopsis: Steve looks down and catches sight of a bright pink drink in a hurricane glass. Moisture is beaded on the outside, and the cool feel of it is nice on Steve’s sweaty hand as he picks up the monstrosity Sam has ordered for him.

“What the hell is this?” Steve asks, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You couldn’t just order me a beer?” “You said to surprise you,” Sam smirks. “And you made me wait.” “But what is it?” Steve repeats, and is answered by a deep, unfamiliar voice. “It’s a Singapore Sling,” the man behind the bar is smiling. “Not what you were expecting?” In which Bucky is a bartender and Steve is immediately smitten. He's not the only one.

Roommate Wanted

Word Count: 61.7k Rating: Teen and Up Notable Tags: Roomate!AU, Secret Identity Warnings: None Synopsis: As Captain America, he’s one of New York’s finest heroes. But as regular old Steve Rogers? Nothing more than a struggling graphic designer who can't quite pay rent anymore. The solution? Get a roommate. Enter Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, ex-brainwashed assassin turned hero trying to make up for his violent past. He needs a place to stay - preferably with a roommate who wouldn't mind his weird hours. Seems like the perfect match. Only problem? Neither knows the other is a hero.

These Streets

Word Count: 5.4k Rating: Mature Notable Tags: Cop!Steve Warnings: Smut Synopsis: The life and times of Police Officer Steve Rogers and his dealings with the not so classy residents of his local precinct, including Bucky Barnes, the rough muscle with the dreamy blue eyes.

(A Silent Prayer) Like Dreamers Do

Word Count: 12.5k Rating: Mature Notable Tags: Soulmate!AU, Shrunkyclunks Warnings: None Synopsis: Everyone has a soulmate. Everyone. Since the counsel has been keeping records, there has been one exception to that rule, and considering the man, no one was very surprised. After all, Captain America, ne Steve Rogers, was the exception to all the rules. So when he plunged into the Atlantic in a plane loaded with enough explosives to take out the entire Eastern Seaboard, the nation mourned him, but the counsel breathed a sigh of relief. Their perfect record - a soulmate for everyone - was intact. When Bucky is five or six or seven, he has his first bonding dream.

The Tipping Point

Word Count: 16.8k Rating: Teen and Up Notable Tags: Not CACW Compliant, Touch Starved Warnings: None Synopsis: Bucky shows up at Steve's door a week after he pulled him out of the Potomac. He brings his cat with him. Eventually, they stay.

Victims and Victories

Word Count: 14.7k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Army!Steve,, Mechanic!Bucky Warnings: Past Abusive Relationship, Mentions of R*pe/Non-Con, Assault Synopsis: Steve Rogers is an Army Special Forces Captain. Bucky Barnes, former marine sniper, restores and sells old cars in his spare time. They meet one day when Steve is on a run and Bucky is running from his abusive ex. Steve turns out to be exactly what Bucky needs.

Strange Visitor (From Another Time)

Word Count: 51.1k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Hidden Identity, Reporter!Bucky, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Warnings: Slight Smut Synopsis: James Barnes, rising star reporter of the New York Bulletin, has a plan. One, find out all there is to know about New York's newest vigilante Nomad, starting with his true identity. Two, write a masterful piece about it. Three, win a Pulitzer and become the envy of all his peers. Four, enjoy. Or, you know, something like that. One thing's for certain, though: he sure as hell isn't going to let that fucking asshole newbie Grant O'Connor steal his spotlight.

I Will Remember You

Word Count: 15.4k Rating: Teen and Up Notable Tags: Temporary Amnesia Warnings: None Synopsis: Bucky is James now, and it takes Steve losing his memory to bring them back together He stares at the man, curious and wondering. “Who are you?” “James Barnes.” The man’s voice, and the way he shapes his consonants—soft and smooth and just a touch foreign—is almost, but not quite, familiar. “Are we friends too?” he asks. “Yeah.” Huh. The way his body’s responding to James doesn’t seem very friend-like.

Travelling Light

Word Count: 56.8k Notable Tags: Angel!Bucky, Dark Fantasy, Bonding Warnings: Canonical Character Death, Smut Synopsis: When Steve wakes up, it is a surprise. The last thing he remembers is the bottom of the lake, sharp teeth and yellow eyes, and the cold pressure of not being able to breathe. But he isn’t dead. He didn’t drown. He is not in the water anymore. Instead, he is warm, very much alive, and wrapped in a cocoon of feathers. He’s also naked. And with a man lying right next to him.

La Belle et la Bête

Word Count: 66.7k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Forced Marriage, Veteran!Bucky Warnings: Body Horror, Smut Synopsis: Steven Rogers was born in 18th century Ireland to a mother who knew herbs and the old ways. After she passes, Steve asks for aid and gets more than he bargained for. He’s cursed into the form of a beast by day and given 300 years to prove to the fae enchantress that such a thing as true love exists. If he can’t prove it, he’ll be whisked back to her realm and be forced to marry her. He can try to find love with whomever he wants, but they have to fall in love with him without seeing his human face for a year and a day. He spends hundreds of years searching, but so far, no one seems worth the risk. Bucky Barnes is a grumpy war vet whose sister is dying. Desperate, he goes in search of a flower that can save her, but the cost is higher than he anticipated: His sister’s life in exchange for his. When he returns to keep his side of the bargain, nothing in the mansion is what it seems.

Captain America and the Great Pygmalion Debacle

Word Count: 31.7k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Friends to Lovers, Slow Build Warnings: Smut Synopsis: Bucky absolutely refuses to cut his hair and for the life of him Steve can't understand why. The reason? There's nothing in this world Bucky loves more than having Steve brush it...

Breath I’ll Take, and Breath I’ll Give

Word Count: 17.1k Rating: Mature Notable Tags: Post CATWS Warnings: PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts Synopsis: It's starting to get harder for Steve to find reasons to get out of bed in the morning.

Lucky Seven

Word Count: 94.3k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Mechanic!Bucky, Russian!Bucky, Slow Burn Warnings: Smut Synopsis: Captain America trashes his motorcycle a lot. Tony says he'll fix it, then never gets around to it and just buys him a new one. Steve, the Depression-era kid, can't stand the waste and goes looking for somewhere near him in Brooklyn where he can get his bike fixed. That's how he finds Red Star Bike Repair, and the hot Russian-immigrant bike racer who runs it: all long hair and muscles and tattoos. And for the first time since he woke from the ice, Steve feels a connection to someone; a comfort in the other man's silences and his space, an attraction in his sheer skill at racing. But James Barnes isn't exactly who he seems…

The Arsonist’s Choir

Word Count: 11.9k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Post CACW, (Kind of) Fake Marriage Warnings: Smut Synopsis: "It's Bucky," Steve added, helplessly. The buyer was now sitting at Mikhailov's table, but the mission seemed unimportant. "He's been arrested. In Texas. And, uh, apparently, we're married." "Congratulations," Natasha replied, with a small grin. "Are you registered anywhere?"

What a Dizzy Dance

Word Count: 30.7k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Model!Bucky, Neighbours!AU Warnings: Smut Synopsis: An AU where Bucky is a model but Steve is still Steve. They live next to each other and Bucky keeps accidentally stealing Steve's cat.

Separating Me From You

Word Count: 14.8k Rating: Mature Notable Tags: Post CATWS Warnings: None Synopsis: After Bucky's recovery, in the face of SHIELD's rebirth, and as all the Avengers have found themselves at a comfortable place with themselves and each other, it should have occurred to Steve that something would go wrong. However, he could have never guessed that trouble would come in the form of the US Army deciding that, because Steve had signed himself over for Project Rebirth, he was technically still the property of the US Government. Property that they wanted to claim.

The Sweetest Spark

Word Count: 73.1k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Modern!AU, Age Difference, No Powers Warnings: Smut Synopsis: Steve Rogers runs a successful business. He has great friends and a great life. It seems like he has it all. So why is he sitting in a diner on a Friday night alone? Maybe he's just a little lonely. Maybe Bucky Barnes can help with that. ----- It wasn’t just how he looked. Of course, the fact that he was ridiculously stunning was what Steve had noticed first when he’d spotted him across the diner and had left him staring with his mouth open before he’d realised what he was doing, but how could he not?...

A Memory Like a Haunting

Word Count: 28.6k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Time Travel �� Warnings: Smut Synopsis: “Why is Bucky’s line disconnected?” Steve asks. “Steve, who are you talking about?” Clint asks. Steve glares at him. “Bucky. You know. The Winter Soldier. My boyfriend. Long hair, metal arm. Come on, guys, this isn’t funny.” “No one is laughing,” Natasha replies. “There is no one called the ‘Winter Soldier,’ and if you have a boyfriend, you certainly haven’t introduced him to us.” “JARVIS, can you tell me if Bucky is in the building?” he asks instead of responding to Nat. There is a long pause and then JARVIS’ clear voice comes down from the ceiling. “I have no records of anyone who goes by the name ‘Bucky’ entering the building.” Or: Steve wakes from a nightmare only to find that Bucky no longer exists.

Honeymoon Cabin

Word Count: 16.8k Rating: Explicit Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Post Avengers, Veteran!Bucky Warnings: Smut Synopsis: After a misunderstanding about the rental availability of the famed Honeymoon Cabin, two lonely men end up falling in love during a winter snowstorm that strands them in the same place.

#stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky fic #stevebucky #stevebucky fic #starbucks #wintershield #steve rogers #james barnes #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #captain america #marvel

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slutsofren · 5 years ago

Text

Paint Me Red

Summary: Being a struggling artist in a city filled of aspiring artists has always been rough, you were privileged enough to have a semblance of steady income thanks to the promotional work your manager, Poe Dameron, does for you. For the past however many weeks, you've become consumed with the works of an anonymous poet, one who has captivated their own cult following. Their works have inspired countless paintings of yours and in turn, you catch the eye of one Kylo Ren.

Tags: Kylo Ren reader insert / modern au / painter reader / poet Kylo / eventual romance / maybe smut idk / Kylo has Trauma but you dont have to “fix him”

Read on AO3 here!

Chapter 1: Gallery (below the cut)

You kept looking at the painting. No matter how many times you re-painted, reinterpreted this poem, your hands just couldn’t find a consistent translation between the words and your paint. You dropped the brush and leaned back in the chair, hanging your head as far back as you could and let out a loud groan.

“Why does this have to be so complicated ,” you exclaimed to nobody in particular. It’s been a month since you cooped yourself in this studio, a whole month! It felt like you’ve accomplished nothing but waste canvas and paint this entire time. All along the floor laid waste to the discarded abstract portraits you had produced and hated. Nearly a fraction had been left unfinished due to it just not working out.

You mumbled and grumbled while you stood and relocated to the workspace of the studio, where a computer and books had been thrown about. The computer woke, nearly blinding your eyes. What time is it anyways, you wondered. The sun had set some time ago, you knew just as much when you could barely see your work and were forced to lose focus to turn on a light. That distraction had really set you back.

A quick glance to your watch informed you that no, the sun didn’t just set a while back- it set well over six hours ago. The time had been creeping to two in the morning already, no wonder your eyes were straining so hard. When your computer unlocked and you opened your music app to play some background audio, you grabbed the leatherbound book that was inspiring your work.

Nobody knew who the author was, only that they released two-hundred and fifty black leather bound books with gold foiling titled “Mine” every couple of years. You were close friends to some editors down in San Diego, the same publisher that worked with this anonymous author and they were always kind enough to secure you a copy.

They wrote like it was the last thing they’d ever write, as if pain circulated through their veins. They wrote of being lost, being hurt, feeling such intense anger with no human outlet, and of being ignored and tossed away.

Sometimes they wrote like they’d be dead before the poem had ended.

Much of this resonated with you. Ever since you moved to Los Angeles, this magnificent city of wanna-be actors and musicians, seeing lights that inspired yet mocked the pedestrians down below, you’ve felt like you were dead yourself. When you moved here, all you ever wanted to be was a painter. It didn’t always matter what you painted, you loved a variety of styles and eras, as long as commissions paid the bills and your personal pieces sold at galleries, you were satisfied.

But sometimes being satisfied wasn’t enough.

You took the black book and opened to the poem you had been hyper-fixating on for the last couple of months since it was released. You interpreted it in as many ways as you could style your hair on any given day. This one spoke to you the moment you read it, it broke your heart, mended it, then threw it away all at once. To you, this particular poem breathed new life into your soul.

You read each line over and over, admired how this poet seemed to write effortlessly, as if it’s just how they speak. Gosh, what you would do just to meet and have a conversation, to understand the mysterious writer’s genius.

And so you kept painting, never seeing each unfinished canvas as a failure but rather an entirely different interpretation. You couldn’t let this get you down, you just had to keep working- keep picking up the paint and let loose.

As the days blended together, your manager, Poe Dameron waltzed into your workspace without a care in the world. You turned down the music that you had playing in the background while you worked.

He picked up one of your unfinished works, “I got you a gallery space, set for two weeks from now in Pasadena. Sponsored by the Norton Simon Museum.” The way these words rolled off his tongue was so nonchalant, you didn’t believe it.

You let out a choke, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you got a space, now give me something to tide them over with- oh, that looks nice can I take that one,” he grabs another unfinished painting. “Anyways, don’t worry about promoting it, they are all over it. They’re just calling it Artist Spotlight but they’re going to need a theme name.”

Your eyes drifted over your amazing manager, he worked just as tirelessly as you did with each and every one of his clients. It was no wonder he was married already, with a charming smile like his and the luscious hair to match made him a total darling.

“Let’s call it, Paint Me Red .”

“You got it, girl,” he walked over to you and gave a chaste kiss on your cheek and left with his silent goodbye. Although you were nothing more than his client, you loved him very much. He always gave you a rough time when you needed it but was always a person you could rely on to tell you the truth when you needed it.

To sum it up, Poe Damereon was a guy you paid to berate you like a protective older brother and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Those two weeks passed and you worked even more tirelessly. The artist in you was seldom satisfied by your creations but your manager reaffirmed even your “trash” paintings were more beautiful than the best modern oil paintings for which you found yourself taking the most comfort in.

It was difficult to remove yourself from this mindset but as your gallery expanded with each rise of a new day, you became prouder of not just what you painted but of yourself. This was going to be a showcase that you were to be proud of.

Your night came which brought nerves like no other. Los Angeles had a rough art community to grow and develop but this was the place for you. You arrived at the gallery, dressed as professional yet as fierce as you could in a shimmery silver gown that bared your shoulders in a skinny strap that had a plunging neckline. You wanted to wow your crowd with your paintings and yourself.

You poured your heart out over this collection- you wanted, more than ever, to receive a warm reception and maybe a little bit of praise in the meantime. It didn’t make you vain, it made you human.

The director of the art studio welcomed you with a glass of champagne and let you wander the space before it opened to the public. Your heart swelled with emotion as you glanced over all these white walls that supported your artwork. Abstracts, sharp lines on some, a couple that resembled portraits of a human-like void. Anything and everything of what could be taken of that single poem.

Over some small amount of time, guests began to fill the building, allowing others to finally view what you’ve worked tirelessly over these past however many weeks, well, months really. As the newness of this exhibit of yours wore off, you began to get antsy, started to bite on the inside of your cheek.

You felt eyes on you as you hid your face behind the fourth glass of champagne you managed to snag. The more nervous you felt, the hotter the room got. This is beginning to be way too much- oh stars, you can’t breathe- it feels like you’re dying, like you’re-

“Are these yours,” a dark voice asked behind you. You stood up straight and turned slowly, trying to get your mind away from whatever was happening to you.

“I- yes they are.”

This tall, handsome stranger looked at the painting that was next to you, something that mildly resembled Everts’ Studies in Desperation series. It was one of your darker interpretations, something filled with a little more hatred and angst than the rest.

“They’re very nice, what inspired you?”

Your mouth opened agaped and quickly shut, you didn’t want to look like a fish now. You opened up your bag and pulled out your trusty copy of Mine and showed the stranger. “This poet, their selections have always called to me but, Red, Mine would repeat in my head nearly nonstop until I picked up a brush and painted what it spoke to me.”

He grabbed the book from your hand and flipped through it slowly, sometimes reading the short notes you had written on some of the pages, like “I love this one,” or even, “I’ve felt like this before”. As he took his time going through the leatherbound poetry, you took this moment just to admire just how handsome the man before you is.

He stood tall and confident, long black hair that looked soft enough that you had to refrain from running your fingers through; his face was littered with constellation-like moles that truly gave his presence some warmth and beauty despite the deep angry red scar that cut threw them like a blade. The large crooked nose stood just as prominent as his ears but, by the stars, he made it work. All of these features suit his being so well, almost as if he was your own personal Adonis, you wanted to paint his beauty.

His long lashes finally looked up from your bookmarked page of Red, Mine where you had written very simply, “This one,” and a heart. He closed the black book with a small thud, almost entirely muted by the sounds of your audience mingling.

“You really liked that one,” he questioned as he handed the object back to you. You took it from him and gestured around you.

“All of these paintings represent how this one poem has made me feel. Loss, hope, anger, hurt, fear,” you paused while you looked at the man before you and held his gaze, “But most of all, this particular poem has made me feel accepted. Like I’m not alone. Almost like, it’s my turn to be strong, it’s silly-”

“No, by all means, no, it’s not silly,” he interrupted you. His eyes had grown wide and you realized he put his hand out to almost hold your shoulder but quickly retreated to put his hands in the pockets of his suit’s pants. His jaw flexed for a brief moment and he looked to his feet. “I have their collection too. It’s a good read from time to time.”

Your lips turned up in a small grin, “Yeah, they are. I’m glad to have met another Anonymous Poet enthusiast.”

He looked up at you and cleared his throat, “What’s something you’d say to them if you ever could?”

“Hmm,” you wondered, “That I love their work, I’d love to sit down and talk, wonder what they think- what their thought process is. Maybe thank them for helping me cope and tell them that I don’t think I’d be alive without their words. Heck, I’d even work up the courage and ask if they like my interpretations of their poetry. I’m not sure, what would you say?”

He looked at you almost like you had shot him, “I think I’d simply say that I’m sorry they went through whatever they did to get them where they are. That they’re stronger now.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Poe came and placed his hand on your arm and called your name, “Hey, girl. Time for your speech and then people can start buying your art.”

You looked back at your strange new friend and he gave you a small encouraging smile, “It was nice meeting you.”

As Poe began to drag you away you piped up, “I didn’t catch your name!”

“Kylo- Kylo Ren.”

You gave him a small wave before you turned your back on him and approached the stage. Poe did the honors of introducing you, calling your vision “illuminating and awe-inspiring”. Finally it was your turn.

You approached the glass podium with only a mild case of anxiety shaking within your bones. The lights, however warmly hued they were to temper against the constant rotation of art still seemed like a spotlight on you. You cleared your throat.

“Hi- hello,” you introduced yourself, mentioning you're the creator, “Thank you all very much for being here and supporting me tonight. This entire exhibit is decorated with a wide variety of my illustrations in both dedication of and inspired by the Anonymous Poet, creator of Red, Mine the poem. It is only fitting that I should read the very words that seemed to have possessed my mind these past couple months, you think?”

The audience gave a chuckle. You looked up and around, feeling hints of anxiety nipping at the silhouette of your being. Across the room, leaning against the small bar table, you spotted Mr. Ren and when he noticed you staring, he raised his glass of champagne. Urging you to continue.

It was almost as if his steady gaze and warm features guided your confidence to hold steadfast and ready, your courage multiplied and tingles at the tips of your body, sparking new found strength.This small gesture kept those dark hounds at bay in your mind.

You cleared your throat and began, “Red, Mine

This is how the story goes

It has never changed, never been altered

It didn’t make much difference

The twin suns are rising in the west now,

The world changed from when you knew me last

This is how the story goes

This life of mine would be snuffed in green lights

Then you were there to guide me

Truth is, you could never be thanked

I would never be forgiven

This is how the story goes

I snuffed the little lights that had mocked me

Tore down the buildings that confined me

I ran

I never stopped running

This is how the story goes

I found solace in red

This green and blue would have ended my life

The both of you tried and failed

I will live on bathed in black and red

This is how the story goes

This fire red consumed me

I consumed red

Now it’s your turn to run.”

At the beat of the last syllable, you could hear a warm applause, a gracious signal of congratulations. Your smile kissed the corners of your lips and your heart swelled with warmth. This was exactly where you were meant to be in life and you couldn’t be prouder of yourself.

Your speech wrapped up with the ceremonious thank yous and appreciation to all who came as well as the Norton Simon Museum for sponsoring the showcase. Not to mention the big fat check you got on their behalf.

Poe lent you a hand as you descended the platform, “Alright, now go mingle and sell some art!”

You gave him a warm kiss on the cheek and another wave of thanks. One hand took yet another glass of champagne as the other held your clutch tightly. Your heels clinked against the tile of the gallery as you floated in and out of conversation, selling your artwork and trying to network and make new professional relationships.

It was rather obvious that leaving early would be considered rude but your feet hurt as much as your eyes. All you wanted was your warm bed and soft music to lull you to sleep. You spotted Poe across the room speaking with a pale gentleman, donned in a navy blue suit and matching tie, his orange hair was just as slicked back as his authoritative presence. You watched as they shook hands and the stranger departed, leaving the building entirely without a glance back.

Poe caught your eye and his jaw dropped, just nearly bolting into a fast pace walk, attempting to keep whatever semblance of professionalism as he could without knocking any of the patrons over as he bee-lined straight to you.

“You will not believe what I’m about to tell you,” his brown eyes lit up.

You gave him a hesitant look, clearly it was good news but usually Poe Dameron was in a good mood usually meant him ending in some kind of trouble. “Then don’t tell me?”

Your manager gave you a deadpanned look and pulled out his clipboard, “Every single piece was sold before you even walked off the stage.” He handed you the order sheet and sure enough, each and every painting was bought by the same person, leaving only AP as the buyer’s name.

“AP?”

“Initials for a little someone called the Anonymous Poet,” with those words you instantly felt faint. There was no way, no goddamn way.

“Was that him? Poe, was that really him,” your voice faltered. Your hand rose to cover your open mouth, eyes wide.

He did nothing but shrug and give you a sly smile, admiring your shocked expression, “The man I talked to was not, rest assured, but clearly your muse admires you and your work.” Poe gave you a small squeeze on your shoulder, feeling your oncoming emotional whirlwind. “If you faint on me now, you won’t hear the best part,” he teased.

“What is it, tell me,” you rushed the words out as fast as you could, the heat licking at your skin as your anticipation mixed with anxiety.

Poe reached into his pocket and retrieved a sleek black business card and flashed it at you. “Expect an email within the next few days, your muse wants to talk with you.”

You felt Poe’s warm hands grasping your shoulders as you fell. After all, Poe did say to wait until after he gave you good news.

#asher's writing #paint me red #kylo ren #kylo x y/n #kylo x reader #kylo x you #kylo ren reader insert #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars smut #star wars reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you

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justtheendoftheday · 5 years ago

Text

The Return of the Living Dead (1984)

“Why do you eat people?”

“Not people. Brains.”

—————————————

The army accidentally sends a tank containing the mysterious chemical 245-Trioxin to a medical supply warehouse in Kentucky. But when the tank springs a leak the dead begin to reanimate and go on the hunt for human brains!

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Fright: 2 / 5 Dead-end Jobs

Personally I find this one to be too over-the-top to be particularly scary. But there certainly are some creepy scenes, especially for those with lighter tolerances for scares.

But generally most of the scares the movie has come more from a spooky sight or a creepy idea than from a constructed atmosphere of fright.

Admittedly I could see it contributing to someone’s fear of their basement though. Because if I saw a tarman zombie lurch out of the shadows in my basement I would lose my shit.

Gore: 3 / 5 Brains

As you can expect from a zombie movie, there’s some gore.

Although the gore is a bit tame by today’s zombie movie standards. There’s just a few scenes that are going a long way to tip the ratings scale higher than the majority of the film would otherwise warrant.

[Expect a little blood, a medical model of dog that’s been laterally bisected to show interior anatomy, two spooky-looking reanimated corpses that get a fair bit of screen time and received a lion’s share of the effects budget, a shot of some brains, some people getting bitten into, and what I can only describe as a scene where pacman gets his head sawed off.]

Jump Scares: Almost none

There’s one scene where they have a bit of a “Surprise!” moment. But that’s about as far as it goes. There isn’t anything that I’d consider a heavily constructed “I’m gonna make this audience jump so hard!” jump scare.

Maybe just a couple light startles.

—————————————

Review:

The Return of the Living Dead is an incredibly enjoyable punk-themed 80s-horror romp and secretly one of the most influential zombie movies ever made.

Thoughts:

In today’s world of horror movies I would argue that there are 3 primary styles of zombies:

Romero

Rabies

The Return of the Living Dead

Romero and company may have created the modern concept of a zombie, but the pop culture image of a zombie is actually a mashup of all three.

For instance?

The dead coming back to life to feast on the living? Romero.

If you get bit by a zombie you become a zombie? Rabies.

To kill a zombie you must remove the head or destroy the brain. Romero. [although it’s an equally efficient way to killing most anything.]

And last but not least, the one that is utterly unique to The Return of the Living Dead:

BRAINS!

Even though zombies are now famous for their love of eating brains, it’s a feature that is exceedingly rare in zombie movies. And it started right here!

With this very movie!

I bring up this bit of trivia because, a) it’s interesting, b) it’s fun to talk about zombies, and c) because it goes to show that The Return of the Living Dead is a movie that plays by its own rules.

And that’s what makes it so much friggin’ fun.

Although it’s also what makes it a tricky film to describe properly.

It’s often described as a Horror Comedy, but I’d say it’s not a comedy in the sense that Shaun of the Dead is a comedy, but more of how An American Werewolf in Paris is a comedy? I'd say it’s more fun than funny.

And it’s not really a straight horror movie like Night of the Living Dead was, because it’s more spooky than scary.

To make it even trickier, I also feel like it sits right near that edge of what separates a really good movie from a movie that’s enjoyable due to how derpy it all is.

You get the sense at times that if they had just played everything as a straight piece of horror it would have been an enjoyable—yet rather cheesy—bit of 80s B-horror.

But because they never take themselves too seriously, all the pieces are allowed to come together. All those moments that would have been awkward or clunky or absurd before, suddenly fit perfectly into place.

Take the character of Trash for example.

Trash is part of a group of local punks and is...uh...pretty open with her sexuality. At one point the group is partying and she starts taking off her clothes and dancing.

When that sort of thing happens in a horror movie it’s hard not to roll your eyes a bit and go, “Oh, jeeeeez. Leave it to a horror movie to throw in some gratuitous nudity.”

But then events unfold and she never really manages to get her clothes back on. And not because she just dies immediately afterward (which is what would normally happen in an 80s horror movie)! It’s just that she never really gets the opportunity.

And thus what would have normally been a bit of gratuitous nudity, is taken to the next level and—whether intentionally or not—suddenly starts to work as an almost satirical look at the way nudity is so often featured in Horror movies.

Basically this is a movie that delights in thwarting your expectations.

Which makes it 80s punk overtones all the more fitting. It mocks authority, loves defying conventions, and embraces a certain style of “we’re all fucked, so we might as well just have some fun.”

—————————————

Content warnings: No animals die in the movie but a handful of already dead ones get reanimated, a character spends the majority of the movie naked.

After-credits scene?: None

—————————————

Directed by: Dan O’Bannon

[ The Resurrected (1991) ]

Story by: Rudy Ricci, John Russo, and Russell Streiner

Screenplay by: Dan O’Bannon

[ Alien (1979), Invaders From Mars (1986), Total Recall (1990) ]

Edited by: Robert Gordon

[ The Blue Lagoon (1980), Toy Story (1995) ]

Cinematography by: Jules Brenner

[ Teen Wolf Too (1987) ]

Country of Origin: USA

Language: English

Setting: Louisville, Kentucky, USA

Sequels:

Return of the Living Dead Part II (1988) Return of the Living Dead 3 (1993) Return of the Living Dead: Necropolis (2005) Return of the Living Dead: Rave to the Grave (2005)

If you enjoyed this you might also like:

Dead Alive (1992) [a.k.a Braindead] , Re-Animator (1985), Night of the Living Dead (1968), Shaun of the Dead (2004)

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Context Corner:

First of all, let me point out that I’ve read multiple accounts of people who said Dan O’Bannon was a douche. And judging from interviews it seems that he treated the female actors (especially Beverly Randolph) rather poorly. Not Alfred Hitchcock levels of mistreatment by any means, but still.

Second of all, this film’s existence has a rather strange origin. But it goes a little something like this:

Night of the Living Dead was the brain child of three guys: George Romero, John Russo, and Russell Streiner. After they parted ways (and after some light legal action) Romero got the rights to do his own sequels under the “of the Dead” title, but Russo got the right to the “Living Dead” title.

And so Russo and Streiner decide to write their own sequel to NotLD and it starts to get produced. Dan O’Bannon is brought in to pump up the script and when the film losses its planned director O’Bannon he is offered the position. However, he only does so on the condition that he can do a major rewrite of the film.

The original script was very much a sequel to NotLD, but O’Bannon wanted RotLD to stand out and thus purposefully set out to make their zombies unique and give it all a different sort of tone.

—————————————

“Christ, it ain’t dying!”

“I thought you said if we destroyed the brain it died?”

“It worked in the movie.”

“Well, it ain’t working now, Frank!”

“You mean the movie lied!?”

#The Return of the Living Dead #1984 #1980s #Dan O'Bannon #John Russo #Zombies #Return of the Living Dead

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ineffablecolors · 7 years ago

Note

I'm sending you 42. and 80. (because this gotta be funnnn) for the trope mash-up, but only as long as you don't forget that you also kinda promised to write the pregnant-neighbor-comes-begging-for-food thing. Because I won't forget about it. :)

The lovely @laschatzi is talking about this post. I cheated a little bit but I hope you’d like how because now we have

Hungry pregnant neighbour + The Big Damn Kiss + Green-Eyed Epiphany

Family Recipe; ~ 5, 500 words; FF.NET || AO3

previous: wilderness/survival + I Didn’t Mean To Turn You On &Detective AU + Awful First Meeting

Killian is somewhatashamed to admit that he has become something of a take-out guy.

It’s just… it’s one ofthose things he never got back into after losing his hand. Like volleyball. Orplaying the guitar. Or arm wrestling Will. Or the black nail polish. Or goingto the beach. Or hitting on that cute girl at the bakery around the corner. Orgirls,period. Or basically anyone he didn’t already know before the accident.

But anyway. Cooking.He never got back into cooking. He was never all that good at it to begin withbut it gave him a funny sort of pride and he enjoyed it.

He enjoyed having togo to three different stores to manage to collect all the herbs and spices fora proper curry. And lying all his products out – basically filling everyavailable space and then having to push stuff around to have somewhere toactually cook. And chopping histomatoes really fine – concasse, was it? – and his onions not quite because hedid not enjoy crying over their massacred corpses. And – never to be revealedto another living soul – making a mini forest around his chopping board withthe broccoli and the cauliflower. And the whole kitchen smelling for two daysafter. And basically making a mess of every horizontal surface – and thevertical ones that one time when he was learning how to spin pizza dough.

Yeah, he enjoyed that.And then he didn’t. Couldn’t. Didn’t.

And now here he is,sipping his beer and scrolling down his take-out app as if he doesn’t knowhe’ll get the Chinese because he had pizza twice during the week and they’vetotally ruined the Mexican place and Liam says he is a masochist but he is nota ‘take-out sushi’ level of masochist.

He looks outside.Checks his watch. At least two more hours of solid daylight. He wasn’t evenhungry yet. He could get some tortilla chips to snack on while trying to see ifhis oven still works.

Really… what couldhappen?

///

Mrs Lucas has spoilther.

It is the only reasonEmma is even contemplating this. That and the fact that it smells really good.

And look here, Emma isnot one of those girls that needs to always get what she wants. She iscertainly not used to getting whatshe wants. It’s just… her baby doesn’t seem to have followed in her footsteps.

It might havesomething to do with said baby not even having feet to walk with yet. Or… shethinks – tries to remember what she’s been readying semi-obsessively and thenthrowing under the bed as if the books are judging her for her singleness andbrokenness and the general dinginess of her apartment – maybe it has feetalready?

They’re definitelyforming but definitely not usable hence no following in any footsteps anytimesoon. There. She’s leaving it at that. Maybe she’ll dig out that last book fromunder her bed tonight. After she has some dinner.

Which brings her rightback to the problem at hand.

She is pretty surethat 5C is one of those bachelors that live on beer, pizza and whatever elseyou can get delivered to your door; has a football or poker night with the guysevery month – see the football she is sure about ‘cause those walls are fuckingthin and those boys are fucking loud but she likes to imagine the pokeras well ever since she saw the guy in this super slick vest that she is sureonly people who can actually step into a casino and somehow manage to not look sleazy own; occasionally blaststoo loud music but not often enough to warrant a complaint; puts Netflix on loud enough and regularly enough that her brokeass is hoping she can keep up with the new season of Stranger Things simply bymoving her couch next to the wall his TV sits against; never brings girls backto his place.

Honestly, Emma is notjudging (or stalking – the walls are thin).She’d probably be giving 5C a run for his money on the easy single living, ifshe wasn’t pregnant and broke and grumpy half the time and hungry the otherhalf – which also makes her grumpy, and generally disillusioned with humanityand the world and the idea that one might actually be able to enjoy life andnot struggle through it at every step and did she mention broke? She is brokeand constantly hungry and constantly trying to fool her baby into thinking thathe likes overcooked pasta and whatever fruits are on sale this week.

He doesn’t. He likeswhatever 5C is cooking.

///

This was a disastrousidea. The kind of disastrous idea he hasn’t had since he was 4 years old andthought that if he puts snails on Liam’s bed they’d stay there and not like…make their way all over the room that Killianshared with Liam.

This is worse thansnails. This is a dozen utensils in the sink already – because of course hetosses a spoon in the sink the second after he has used it once, of course, why put it to the side and use it again when hehas to stir his unholy concoction, and half a dozen plates – one of those inpieces in a trash bag by the door because your one hand being a slippery one isnot the situation in which you want to be handling porcelain.

He has a sizeable cuton his big toe where he stepped on one of the pieces and his t-shirt issticking to his back from the effort of grinding bloody vegetable – Jesus, heused to run miles without breaking a sweat and now blasted carrots are gettingthe best of him, and all he has to show for all his work is what he hopes is apassable mince.

Now for the mash. Hestill has three limbs and 14 uninjured digits to go…

///

Look, Emma doesn’thave much but she has her pride, ok? And this kid growing inside her has madeher relinquish her hold on that enough to knock on Mrs Lucas’s door and ask herwhat it was she put in her cookies because apparently Emma – or someone else, was addicted to it nowand it was not cinnamon. And that hadtransitioned into Emma becoming almost a firm fixture at Granny’s on weekendsand then into Emma busting tables for a month until Granny gave her a nononsense look and told her she won’t be doing this in a few more months, andafter a week of asking and listening and string pulling and cookie bribing, shegot her a job at August’s bookstore even though he still grumbles that he doesn’tlike anyone else ordering his books.

And, yes, this allworked out pretty well but Mrs Lucas was the one that came to her door on her first week in thebuilding with a plate of those cookies that by this point Emma can barely lookat.

(It’s what she does.She falls in love with peanut butter and then eats so many PBJ sandwiches thatnow she almost gets sick at the mere sight of a jar on the counter. And shehears the The Kooks coming from 5C’s wall and goes on to listen to them onrepeat for two weeks. Mind you, not even everything but just Junk of the Heartbecause she is mental like that. And she starts Modern Family, when she stillhad a freaking Netflix account, and binges the whole damn thing in a couple ofweekends and a few late week nights.)

So, yeah, Emma mighthave some addictive tendencies – the legal kind, and some impulse controlissues.

But Emma would neveractually go to someone’s door – someone she has never exchanged a single wordwith despite sometimes hearing their voice float through her wall – and, yeah,he has a pretty voice but what’s that gonna do for her? shitty people can havegreat voices, she is sure – to ask them forthe love of all that is good and holy, what they are cooking because it smellsso fucking good and she has to know and she has to have something that at leastcomes close to it.

She’d never.

///

It’s in the oven. It’sover. Well, all he has to do now is make sure he doesn’t burn the damn thing toa crisp. But if he managed to put it together in the first place, for the firsttime tonight, Killian thinks he can maybe pull this off.

///

It got worse. Worse asin better. Fuck, it got so much better. And now her stomach is grumbling andshe has made for the door three times in the last five minutes and for thefirst time tonight Emma is coming to the horrible realization that she probablywon’t be able to survive this day with her dignity intact.

///

He is just about todig into his plate – fancy plate set and fancy napkins that he didn’t even knowhe owned and the second episode of American Gods queued up and-

There’s a knock on hisdoor.

Killian freezes withhis fork in the air, eyebrows bunching together. Who on earth? He knows hehasn’t invited any of the guys over and Liam knows better than to just drop infor an unexpected ‘we are going out and getting you someone to go home with’visit by this point.

He waits. Nothing.Maybe he imagined it?

///

“There, happy?”

Emma glances down ather slightly rounded stomach and tries on her best ‘mom look’. She thinksshe’ll definitely need to work on that one before the baby comes out because heis already too stubborn for her owngood.

She glances at thedoor with 5C on it one more time, raises her hand and then drops it again.

No. She knocked. Thisis a sign. For once the universe is sparing her the embarrassment and-

“Yes?”

No, of course, not.Why would the universe ever spare her anything?

///

She must be the onethat knocked. 5B. His sweatpants neighbour.

Killian tries not tofeel bad about the nickname. They’ve never been properly introduced and… well,he has mostly seen her back disappearing inside her apartment or her back goingdown the stairs with laundry or her back rushing below his window on a jog. Sohe’s never seen her in anything but sweatpants. He’s not judging. It’s just…the only thing he had to go on.

She is in sweatpantsnow as well but as he looks at her to ask what she needs, he is taken aback byher green eyes. He is taken aback by the sudden realization that his neighbouris this young and very pretty woman and her eyes are the kind of eyes you can’thelp but notice.

It’s… interesting. Hehas heard the soundtrack of her daily life through the wall they share for afew months now but somehow he never imagined the face and body that must gowith those sounds.

As he thinks his gazeslides down almost involuntary and he doesn’t know what catches his attentionmore: the fact that she is a few months pregnant or the fact that she came overbarefoot.

The latter is trulyendearing, the former a tad disheartening for some reason.

Not that he hasanything against kids. Or pregnant women. It’s just… it’s not every day yourealize your neighbour is a pretty girl about your age and currently standingat your doorstep. But he shouldn’t have just assumed and anyway he doesn’treally… that is… is she ever gonna say something?

///

“Lass?”

Emma shakes her head alittle and wants to slap herself back into reality. You know that space andtime continuum where she is not attaching thisman to every sound she has ever heard come through their wall.

(She is convinced heplays air guitar when blasting Bon Jovi hits and that his eyes blaze reallybright when he is swearing at something about “bloody this” and “bloody that”.)

“Umm, hi. Sorry. I…”

He raises an eyebrow.She doesn’t really appreciate the mix of amusement and expectation. Then again,she is standing on his doorstep. He probably has some right to expect anexplanation. Why on earth didn’t she rehearse what she’ll say if he opened thedoor?

“Did you needsomething?”

Fuck.

“I just… ummm, am I botheringyou?”

“Not at all, lass. But,to be frank, I’ll probably be more capable of answering truthfully, if you toldme what you are here for.”

The hell? Was hetalking like that on purpose?

“I-“

Come on, Emma, like aband aid, nowhere to go now unless you wanna be the weirdo asking for a cup offlour.

“What you arecooking?’

///

“Oh.”

Oh. Bloody hell.

Killian can feel hischeeks heating up and focuses half his attention on keeping his hand at hisside and not scratching his damn ear.

“I apologize. I didn’tconsider the smell might bother some-“

“No. No, no, no. Ilike it! So… I was wondering what it was.”

She likes it? Thattimid feeling of pride he felt when he took his dinner out of the over and it wasn’t burn to a crisp grows threetimes.

“It’s just ashepherd’s pie. Slightly altered recipe. My mum’s. Supposedly, probably muckedit up along the way and it’s twice altered now but yeah… Shepherd’s pie.”

“Oh.”

///

Great. She was hopingfor something along the lines of a lasagna. Then maaaybe she could’ve boughtsome frozen crappy version from the supermarket and tried to cheat her bodyinto thinking it was the real thing.

But no, of course,not. It had to be shepherd’s pie. Family recipe edition. Just her damn luck.

“Well, thanks. Andsorry! I was just… curious. Sorry to bother you.”

///

She turns to go andthis might have been the most bizarre conversation he’s had this month.Including that guy on the underground with the orange hair.

Did she just want toknow what the smell invading her home was? She did say she liked it. Maybe-

She is already half toher door so Killian just thinks to hell with it.

“Would you like some?”

He sees her stop deadin her tracks and cringes, hoping he isn’t now the biggest weirdo of her month.And not in a good way.

The blonde turnsaround and he knows the second he sees her face that she would indeed likesome. But Killian likes to think of himself as at least moderately intelligentso he keeps his smile to himself and instead prepares for the distrust in hereyes that is obviously warring with her appetite.

“Do you usually offerfood to unknown women who come knocking on your door?”

“I can’t say, you arethe first.”

He doesn’t actuallysee her cheeks change colour but then again he thinks it might be because shehas been blushing this entire time.

“I didn’t mean tobother-“

“It’s no bother, love.Truly. Now that I feel knowledgeable enough about your intensions to say so.”

She rolls her prettygreen eyes in a way that has his pulse speeding up a bit.

“Plus I just made adish more people share with a family of four. For myself. I think I can sparewhatever you can eat.”

It’s a gamble thatpays off when he sees her eyes blaze up and let’s himself grin at herteasingly.

“I’m sorry, was that achallenge to how much I can eat?”

He steps aside andwaves her in.

She only hesitates fora second.

///

OK, first of all, hisapartment is waaay better than hers like, both bigger and with more naturallight coming in but also simply more tidy and colour-coordinated. Also, ifpossible, it smells even better inside and Emma’s eyes immediately zero in onthe dish on the kitchen counter.

She hears 5C chucklebehind her and tries not to feel even more embarrassed. Her capacity for itmust be running out by this point. Thankfully, he doesn’t make a comment butjust moves around his kitchen island and takes out a plastic food container.IKEA guy. Cute.

It probably takes hera bit longer than it should – what with her still mostly trying to pretend sheis not hustling her nice and pretty neighbour for food – but eventually Emmanotices the peculiar way he moves around his kitchen and operates only with hisright hand. A quick inspection proves that it is because he simply has no leftone to assist him.

“No shit!”

The guy startles ather words and turns around and probably follows her gaze because in the nextmoment the limb is tucked slightly behind him and he is giving her a tensesmile.

“Shit, I’m afraid.”

She honest to Godcovers her mouth. Better late than never. Or not.

“Shit. I mean, sorry!Sorry. I wasn’t- I was just- you cook?!”

5C frowns at her as ifher person skills are something that would only befit a visiting alien. He’sgot her there.

“Sorry. Again. But,like, I can’t cook for shit even with two hands.”

To be fair, the crapproducts she can afford probably have something to do with it but Emma is gonnabe a single mom pretty soon and she is pretty sure that “to be fair”s won’t cutit when she has to cook for her kid.

But makes-food-that-smells-illegally-good-single-handedlyneighbour seems to relax a little.

Foot – partially outof mouth.

///

Killian tries to unbunchthe muscles in his neck and not keep his right side weirdly angled towards her.It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. She was bound to notice eventually.

“To be honest, this ismy first try in quite some time.”

“Seriously?”

“Indeed. So if you getfood poisoning or something, I’m not to be held accountable.”

The thought gives himpause and he turns to her with his eyebrows all drawn together and almostreluctant to hand her the container in his hand.

“Actually, are youallergic to anything? I mean… I don’t think there’s anything too weird in itand everything I used was fresh but-“

He can’t help butglance down at her stomach. Gods, she ispregnant, right? This will be just the kind of thing-

But the blonde’s handcomes up to her stomach and she smiles at him almost shyly and Killian breathesout a quiet sigh of relief.

“I’m sure it will befine. I mean, the things I’ve been feeding myself… I’m pretty sure someonemight get a bit of a shock from the home-cooked food but definitely not the badkind.”

He tries not tooveranalyze the “feeding myself” part and instead nods and finally hands thecontainer with half of his shepherd’s pie inside.

“Whoa. You really arechallenging me.”

He laughs and dips hishead to the side to admire the way her eyes widen a little.

“It should keep for acouple of days if you put it in the fridge. And you can always just feed it toSmee.”

“Smee?”

“Oh.”

His cold ring grazeshis earlobe and dammit, he forgot to watch out for the damn tick.

“I named the cat thatalways hangs around behind the building.”

“Oooh, ok. And hellno.”

She hugs the food toher chest almost protectively and Killian laughs again and bloody hell, is hecoming across too giggly or something? What else can he say? He-

“Well, I shouldprobably let you finally eat your dinner. Whatever you have left,” she beatshim to it and juts her thumb at the door and he can’t really do anything butnod.

///

She is alreadystepping outside, teeth embedded in her lip and what do you say to the cute neighbour that fed you dinner but not inthe date sense?

“Oh. I’m Emma, by theway. Emma Swan.”

His eyes light up andEmma finally gets to put a mark in the ‘didn’t fuck it up’ column.

“Pleasure to meet you,Swan. Killian Jones. Always at your service, though I must warn you, myculinary repertoire is quite limited.”

Killian Jones with thefancy words and delicious food. Fuck.

///

She uses her employeediscount on something other than baby books for the first time.

He finds the bookwaiting for him outside his door. The post-it note says “This is why peoplelike home-cooked food. Who knew.” And the book is Neil Gaiman’s Fragile Things and it takes him a momentto connect the dots and remember that he was watching Amarican Gods the othernight and, yeah, maybe it makes him feel kinda good that Emma Swan noticed andremembered that.

///

He tries some Mexicannext and it’s 100% because his favourite place has gone to crap and not at allbecause he once saw their delivery guy in front of 5B.

She opens the door andhis face is half-obscured by an IKEA container and he says it’s just a not sosubtle reminder that she hasn’t returned the other one yet and she pretends tobelieve him.

///

She reasons that youcan’t return food containers empty so she tries to bake muffins because muffinsare supposed to be easy.

He hears the firealarm and five second later he is banging on her door and having a veryflustered Emma Swan dragging him inside and pointing at her oven or what can beseen of it behind the cloud of smoke and explaining how it’s all his fault.

///

He’s been looking fora not food-related reason to knock on her door for a week and coming up emptyand he is damn rusty when it comes to talking to pretty girls but then againshe is pregnant and the fact that he didn’t see a naked man in the middle ofher kitchen the one time he was there for 10 minutes doesn’t mean anything somaybe that’s for the best.

She knocks on his doora day after Stranger Things comes out with three bags of popcorn, explainingthat only one of them is for him, obviously.

///

She lives to binge andyet here she is trying to stretch an 8-episode season over more than a week.

He honestly debatescalling Netflix and begging them to somehow somehowrelease more episodes of their damn show.

///

He has been thisscared exactly once in his entire life and that situation included headlightscoming straight at him.

She has a freakingstomach ache, probably from too much popcorn, and she is almost as embarrassedwhen she comes out of the doctor’s office as she was that first night sheknocked on his door but Killian doesn’t really seem to care how she is ok as long as she is.

///

She is scrollingthrough her Instagram at work and she is so bored and distracted that shealmost misses it but then she goes back and blinks and then goes to the accountto check this is not some sort of ridiculous surveillance thing or she doesn’teven know what – but sure enough, there – on @cutestparentstobe, is a pictureof her very pregnant self, eating ice-cream on the beach with one KillianJones.

He doesn’t know how heworms his way into a doctor’s appointment, he just knows that when the nursecalls him “daddy” Emma kinda sputters but doesn’t say anything to contradicther and he sure as hell keeps his trap shut and just smiles and nods when theygive him an ultrasound picture all for himself.

///

They’ve been doingwhatever they are doing for 4 freaking months and within the first couple ofweeks they were already using like only 30% of his couch for the both of themand in a month they started venturing outside the bubble of their apartmentsand Emma never thought she’d be thehand-holding type but yeah, they kinda hold hands all the time and they hug,like, every day and they text all the freaking time while they are at work andshe meets Liam when she is 7 months pregnant and convinced that he is gonnahate her on sight for saddling his little brother with herself and he doesn’treally but he also doesn’t seem to love her on sight and Killian is verypointedly unamused by the lukewarm reception but honestly, Emma is just glad tobe given a chance here, and he goes shopping for baby stuff she can barelyafford with her and then he goes shopping for baby stuff by himself and shegets kinda angry and they kinda break up or whatever at least twice, basicallyeach time Emma decides that this is ridiculous and he can’t just date a girlthat is having another guy’s baby and that’s twice the size she should be andthat he’s only known for a few months and one night Killian lines up fourfreaking shepherd’s pies outside her door and if she even keeps her door closedto that then she must be dead inthere and one night he lets it slip about these therapy sessions that he issupposed to go to but doesn’t and she basically makes an appointment for himand drags him out of the door and maybe threatens him with not coming to herdoctor’s appointments anymore, if he doesn’t go to his.

And through all that and then some, they never actuallykiss.

Sure he kisses hercheek when he wishes her goodnight and she kisses his head when he falls asleepon her during Lord of the Rings and he kisses her hand placatingly every timehe tries to dissuade her from helping him with dinner and she kisses hisforearm in the park that one time he freaks out on her because she is on hisleft side and goes to hold his arm and he kisses her stomach the first time shegrabs his hand and lets him feel the baby kicking but-

They’ve never properly kiss and it’s this lastfrontier and maybe he is waiting for her to cross it but she just can’t seem to.

And then she is givingbirth and he is there when she is givingbirth and they haven’t even kissed.

And then there’s Henryand they both kiss him plenty but-

///

they don’t kiss whenKillian refuses to hold her baby and she is hurt and offended and so confusedand kinda angry and then he says he can’t, he can’t hold him with one hand andshe is just sad and, yeah, maybe still kinda angry but also eerily calm as shebents Killian’s elbow and gives him the kind of look that makes him shut hismouth audibly and places her son in his arms

they don’t kiss whenKillian barges in on her breastfeeding and twirls around on the spot, slappinga hand over his face and sputtering apologies while all she can do is laugh andlaugh and tell him to stop acting like her tits are a big deal and make her acup of that crappy decaf coffee and he does and he also makes sure to look herdirectly in the eyes and then wink very poorly when he says that her tits are a big deal

they don’t kiss when Henrystarts teething and Emma is up at all hours of the night and she looks likefucking hell and Killian tells her so in no uncertain terms and basically,somehow, taking advantage of her sleep-deprived brain, manages to rope her intoa teeth-sharing plan which basically includes her passing half of her insomniaonto him and Emma can’t forgive him and at the same time can’t love him enoughand yeah, she loves him now and they’ve known each other for a year and they haven’t fucking kissed and what ever

///

they don’t kiss whenshe asks him if he thinks maybe, possibly Liam would like to meet Henry and allKillian can do is nod and swallow and start planning the kind of lecture he’llgive his brother, if he dares to voice any of his doubts about the soundness of the situation, but Liamseems to think that if his brother is spending half his day around a certainbaby – no matter whose it is – it probably isn’t a terrible idea for him tomeet said baby and Liam Jones may be a military man and he may have nevergotten over the fact that he didn’t manage to protect his little brother fromall the evils of the world and he may have been determined to give Emma Swan ahard time for even the slightest hint of her using Killian but he is also puttyin the hands of Henry Swan within 10 minutes

they don’t kiss thefirst time she uses the key to his apartment and sneaks into his bedroom in themiddle of the night – baby in her arms and her hair into the messiest bun thathas ever been twisted and her damn sweatpants and her eyes all puffy and herwhispered worries all about not being able to do it and being all alone and notbeing good enough and he just folds himself around both of them and tries tostart the process of getting each ridiculous notion out of her head

they don’t kiss when shetells Henry to spot throwing his food all over daddy and Killian just standsthere – carrot puree all over his t-shirt, and watches as she continueswhipping the eggs in front of her as if she didn’t just- and he loves them bothtoo damn much to point it out and risk having her take it back and bloody hell,he loves her now and they’ve been together for all intents and purposes forover a year now and they haven’t bloodykissed and good lord

///

She comes back fromthe store and heads directly to Killian’s apartment and tries to calculate ifshe and Henry are spending more time at her place or at his at this point. Butas soon as she opens the door and the smell hits her, her calculations are leftoutside in the cold and it’s all she can do not to moan out loud. Turns out itwasn’t just the little guy growing inside her that made her love Killian’spies.

She hears the lowmurmur of Killian’s voice and decides to tiptoe into the kitchen as quietly aspossible. She wants to look at them without giving her presence away just yet,when it’s just them.

And sure enough Henryis tucked into Killian’s left arm, his little fist twisted into the hair at theback of her boyfriend’s neck (god, he is not her freaking boyfriend, along withHenry in his arms he is her entire fucking universe).

She knows what theyare making already but she narrows her eyes as she realizes that she has neveractually seen Killian make his shepherd’spie.

“This is the only wayI can make your mom eat these, Henry.”

He twirls a broccoliin front of her son’s little nose and Emma rolls her eyes. Partially because it’strue and partially because the broccoli version is not her most favourite.

“When you are oldenough I’m gonna teach you how to make it on your own but for now I’ll justshow you how to make yourself a little forest.”

She honestly doesn’tknow if it’s the implication of years tocome in his promise, the fact that he says it so confidently, so easily,without any doubt, without any caveat of “if we are still together”, withoutany alternative in his mind. Or if it’s the fucking forest of broccoli that heis arranging around his chopping board like the most precious human being thathe is.

Emma honestly doesn’tknow. But she does drop the bag she is carrying on the floor and she crossesthe space between them in the time it takes Killian to turn around and open himmouth to greet her. And then she finally finallyfeels his lips under her own.

He tastes even betterthan his damn pie.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain cobra swan #cs au #cs modern au #laschatzi #cs tropes

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nebris · 7 years ago

Text

We’re Not Done Here

How the MeToo movement became a feminist sexual revolution.

Laurie Penny | Longreads | January 2018 | 19 minutes (4,764 words)

The problem of sexual violation can not be treated as distinct from the problematic of sexuality itself. The ubiquity of sexual violations is obviously related to what is taken to be routine, everyday sex, the ‘facts’ of pleasure and desire. — Linda MartAn Alcoff, Rape and Resistance

This kind of mania will always at some point exhaust itself. — Andrew Sullivan, New York Magazine

***

Oh, girls, look what we’ve done now. We’ve gone too far. The growing backlash against the MeToo movement has finally settled on a form that can face itself in the mirror. The charge is hysteria, moral panic, hatred of sex, hatred of men. More specifically, as Andrew Sullivan complained in New York magazine this week, “the righteous exposure of hideous abuse of power had morphed into a more generalized revolution against the patriarchy.” Well, yes. That’s rather the point.

Sullivan is far from the only one to accuse the MeToo movement of becoming a moral panic about sexuality itself, and he joins a chorus of hand-wringers warning that if this continues �� well, men will lose their jobs unjustly, and what could be worse than that, really? The story being put about is that women, girls, and a few presumably hoodwinked men are now so carried away by their “anger” and “temporary power” that, according to one piece in the Atlantic, they have become “dangerous.” Of course — what could be more terrifying than an angry, powerful woman, especially if you secretly care a little bit more about being comfortable than you do about justice? This was always how the counter-narrative was going to unfold: It was always going to become a meltdown about castrating feminist hellcats whipping up their followers into a Cybelian frenzy, interpreting any clumsy come-on as an attempted rape and murder. We know what happens when women get out of control, don’t we?

Charges like this are serious. Too serious to dismiss out of hand. I don’t mean to do so, not least because I am a queer person, and I do not take the notion of sex panic lightly. Why, then, are so many people so anxious to believe that this is one? There is at least one simple answer. It is easier — much, much easier — to manufacture an attack on sexuality than it is to imagine an attack on patriarchy.

Sex is not the problem. Sexism is the problem, along with the upsetting multitudes of men and women who seem unable or unwilling to make the distinction. An attack on sexuality, however, will always find recruits from across the political spectrum as well as from armies of amoral keyboard droppers who just want to read about what celebrities get up to in hotel rooms. An attack on patriarchy, male supremacy, and sexual oppression — that is far harder to accept. It is far harder to allow. Easier to transpose it into a key of prurience and wait for the whole thing to stroke itself into exhaustion. But — forgive me — if you think this movement has blown its load already, you’ve no idea how women work, and you’ve no clue what’s coming.

***

Alright, ladies, you’ve had your fun, and you’ve given us all a fright — but that’s enough now. If we relegate this all-out revolt against male sexual entitlement to the kitchen shelf where it belongs, everyone would be a lot more comfortable — at least, the men in the room would be, and we all know that’s what really matters.

Just look at what happened to poor old Aziz Ansari. They warned us that this sort of thing was coming, and we didn’t listen. A famous and successful man in his 30s goes on a date with an unfamous woman in her 20s, they go home together, he pesters her for a shag, she isn’t strong enough to say no or slap him away like a real woman ought to, like women used to do back in the day, so like the snowflake she is, she gets upset and goes home — and we all know how this one goes. He wins an award, and she decides to take revenge. She goes to the press, the press report the encounter in cringeworthy suck-by-blow detail, the feminazi #MeToo hive-vagina takes over, the hysteria mill rattles into overdrive, and boom — just like that, his career is over. Now everyone’s calling the poor guy a monster and a rapist. He’s blacklisted from every network. He’ll never work again. Another fallen soldier in the sex wars. Predictable. Tragic. Just goes to show how weak modern women really are, how much they hate men and sex, how they always take things too far, how they never miss a chance to play the victim.

At least, that’s what it might’ve gone to show if any of that had actually happened. What actually happened was quite different.

What actually happened was this: A man was rude and sexually entitled, fucked up and hurt somebody, and she told him so. He apologized and took it to heart. An unscrupulous trash publication chased this woman down and got her to tell her story, which it reported in the lurid language of celebrity sex scandal. Babe magazine framed it in a way designed to garner maximum attention, derail important activist work, and humiliate everybody involved. The original piece at Babe magazine is an object lesson in how scummy gutter journalism can be when literally all it cares about is keeping readers salivating. The piece pruriently portrays both parties in the worst possible light: Ansari comes out of it looking like an entitled dick on training-wheels, and “Grace” comes out of it looking not like an honest young person who had an upsetting experience, but like a spiteful child who wanted to hurt a man who hurt her, who wanted to ruin him just like the papers warned us all women do. The reporter makes her look hysterical, which is something she definitely isn’t, because nobody is, because hysteria is a fake disease made up by a sexist medical establishment a hundred and fifty years ago to pathologize women who were traumatized and frustrated and wanted their lives to be different.

Unfortunately for those who were hoping for a crowbar to shove in the wheels of this barrelling machine of social and sexual change, what this moment illustrates is a remorseless and prurient witch hunt failing to happen. Ansari still has his career. He’ll be fine — not because the hand-wringers called time on a movement that went too far, but because this movement is honest. This movement is more than just a ballroom full of fainting maidens who collapse at the sight of their own ankles. It turns out that most women can, in fact, distinguish between sexual assault and a bad date. It turns out that sex is just one more thing we really do not need mansplained to us.

***

You want to talk about sexual repression? About wanting women to act like fainting Victorian ladies? The idea that it’s women who are the enemies of freedom in a world where, for centuries, the very worst thing you can call a woman has been “loose” or a “slut,” where for a female or queer person to be openly sexual is to incite violence or excuse it after the fact — that would be laughable anywhere, but in America? In a nation where legal abortion is all but impossible to access in all but the most liberal states, where conservative lawmakers in every district are going after not just safe pregnancy termination, but contraception? We have not even begun to have a real conversation about creating the conditions for meaningful sexual liberty that works for most human beings. If you want sexual liberation, make contraception, reproductive health care, and pregnancy termination easy to access and free at the point of use. Then, Mr. Sullivan, we can talk about “defending sex.”

If anyone is confused about the difference between sex and violence, if anyone is operating under the assumption that men are always and only animals who cannot be expected to control their erotic compulsions, it’s not women. It’s men, because they’ve been socialized to understand sex and violence as synonymous, and it’s the mainstream press, because stars, sex, and violence have always sold copy.

Part of the confusion has arisen from the obvious glee with which the press has sunk its indiscriminate fangs into individual offenders, luridly repeating details of alleged transgressions and sidelining the experiences of victims and survivors, as if sexual activity itself were the so-called scandal rather than whether or not the sucking and fucking and flowerpot-wanking was consensual. There’s always been a ripe news economy of sexual hypocrisy. The same tabloids that sell millions of issues printing pictures of topless teenage girls will gladly jump on any slut-shaming bandwagon that trundles by on its way to the frigid past.

It turns out that women, largely, are not the ones who are confused between sex and violence — not when the stakes are this high. Which is incredible, really, because most of our lives have been spent, especially if we are straight, being gaslit and bullied into believing that sexual violence is normal and fine. We have been socialized to think we need to be reticent and shy about our own desires — that our bodies are for men to desire and own — and yet we are also the ones responsible for setting the boundaries. We have been told that the absolute maximum we can expect, if we are good and quiet and not too provocative or angry, is not to be violently raped.

We are also supposed to put other people’s comfort before our own in every remotely sexual situation. We must not be rude. We must not upset or threaten the man. We must say no when we mean it, but we must take care not to offend him or threaten his masculinity, because heaven knows what will happen then. That’s where this backlash has backfired. Instead of exposing a movement that has overreached itself, instead of proving that MeToo is simply, as a well-reported letter in the French press put it, an attack on men, the Aziz-and-Grace story has opened up a whole new conversation about what we expect from sex, even when it is technically consensual. It turns out that we’re not done here.

We are far from done.

***

There will always be cowardly and conservative elements in society just desperate to take even one irresponsibly reported story and use it to damn an entire movement, and we must not let them, because this matters too damn much. There’s a reeking double standard in the room. Right now, if a man makes a mistake and hurts someone, it might, just for once, ruin his career — but it seems that if a woman makes a mistake and hurts someone right back, or allows her pain to be twisted to serve someone else’s agenda, she damns not just herself, but all other women by association.

This is what happens when patriarchy is on the run. It gets nasty. The mind games ramp up. Women are always the first to lose. But I have a word of advice for those who tried and failed to use this flashpoint to condemn the entire movement:  Gentlemen, do not test us. Women who love their own freedom are all too used to hearing that we have gone too far — in fact, we’ve been hearing that for centuries, whenever we’ve tried to take a single step. The truth is that we have not gone nearly far enough, and we have very little to lose. Attacking our reputations, calling us liars, trying to humiliate us and drive us apart — we’ve seen all that before. Try it and see. This is not going to go the way you want it to go.

No, really. I have crept across the lines of this messy culture war to give you this advice, so please take it seriously, because it is for everyone’s good.

The terms of this war of sex and power have changed, and so have the weapons. Physical violence and threat won’t work for you here. You are trying to fight against whispers and rumors and inference, against righteous rage, against charges of hypocrisy, exploitation, and crass dehumanization that hit home with career-ending accuracy. And you’re trying to fight this war with an arsenal you don’t know how to use, against an army that has been training with these weapons for generations, because these tools of emotional warfare are the only ones they have ever been allowed, because they are women.

You are going to lose.

I don’t care that you’re fighting on your home terrain, that you’ve always been told that sex and power belonged to you and you could set the terms. You want to fight women over who has been more wronged in the field of sex and power. A lot of people also tried to invade Russia in the winter.

I’m sorry to break it to you, but women are not out of control here. They are very, very angry. There’s a difference. Turns out that this is not a runaway train, that women are still driving this sexual revolution — for that is what it is — and the pain and rage fueling the engines are far more profound than we wanted to imagine. It turns out that women want more. More than the right simply to go about our working lives without being constantly sexually harassed. More from men than just being able to keep their fool hands to themselves in the office. It turns out that this is also about the bedroom. It always has been. It’s terrifying, I know, but yes — women want more, women expect better, and it’s time we got it.

***

Back, if you can bear it, to the Aziz Ansari case. If we believe what Ansari himself has confirmed about that night, three things are true about this story:

Ansari acted in a shitty, entitled way towards a young woman. The way that he behaved was not okay or fine.

He does not deserve to go to jail or be blacklisted for it, but that doesn’t make it okay and fine.

Almost every woman I know has had a similar sexual experience — and no, that still doesn’t make it okay and fine.

That last point inflects the first two. The fact that this sort of experience is so goddamn common is precisely why it deserves attention, and should not simply be filed away in a closet marked “women who make too much of a fuss.” Women don’t make enough fuss about how much sex can suck for us even when it is, technically, consensual, even when no crime has been committed. We’re socialized out of making a fuss, just as men are socialized into thinking about sex as something they have to bully and pester out of women. Shitty, dehumanizing sex is not normal, and it is not okay — it’s just very, very common. And because it is so common, because it is a chapter in so many of our stories, it is easier to write this sort of thing off as a “bad date.” The story of the bad date, the bad fuck, and the bad marriage is easy and comforting to tell — almost as easy and comfortable as the story of the young woman who goes hysterical and ruins a man’s life over a bad date. What a pity it isn’t quite so simple.

Sex is many things, but it is rarely simple. Contrary to the popular narrative that opponents of the MeToo movement have propagated, most women don’t like to think of themselves as victims. Most of us would prefer the version of the story where we were in control the whole time, where the hurt and disappointment were our fault, because that way it’s easier to own the horrible things that have happened to us and make sense of the way they make us feel about our own bodies, and about sex in general. It’s easier to smile and repeat the lines that are required of us every time we stand up and demand that women be treated with a bare minimum of human decency: We don’t hate men. No, we don’t hate sex. We’re not like those angry, prudish feminists of the frightening fictional past with their burning bras and man-skull necklaces, ready to castrate any passing politician who accidentally brushes the wrong knee. We are not fainting Victorian maidens. We don’t hate sex. We love sex, and we love men, ok? All of us love sex and all of us love men, all men, no matter how badly they behave, because that’s what it means to be a good woman — it means loving what you’re told to love no matter how much it hurts you.

Love is such a huge, strange word, a word that stretches to contain all the silence, pain, and longing that crowd around the corners of your bed. To speak personally, yes, I love sex, but sometimes I also get angry at it — and sometimes wish it did not have to hurt so much. That’s something I’ve heard from a lot of women and girls I am close to, in this rare time where we have been able to talk about this with a little less censure. Maybe you love sex, but you wish it did not come at the cost of your dignity, your livelihood, your self-esteem. You wish you were able to have it on terms that you could bear. You wish you could ask for what you wanted and be heard. You wish you could talk about all those times you didn’t really want it but went along with it anyway to keep him happy, or to keep yourself from harm. Maybe you wish you could remember how to be hungry. Maybe you wish you could still feel the pleasure you used to anticipate before abuse and trauma left their fingerprints all over your body. And maybe people have simply used sex as a weapon against you so many times that you don’t love it anymore, not right now, and you know what, that’s fine too. Asking women if they love sex (implied: with men) is like asking the front-of-house staff how they feel about their work when the boss is listening.

Repurposing an attack on sexual injustice into an attack on sex itself is convenient and easy and wildly, wildly wrong. It also works like a dream. Nobody wants to be called frigid, which is the word for women who aren’t sluts. The actress Catherine Deneuve, along with a hundred other co-signatories to an open letter in Le Monde, condemned the women speaking out about assault as enemies of “sexual freedom.” The problem is that sexual freedom is not something that can be enjoyed in isolation when more than half the human race still fights for the basic freedom to choose when and how and who we fuck.

I resent being ordered to declare my love for sex by milquetoast liberal commentators who think that women routinely lie about rape and by slimeball anti-feminist shock jocks who spend the other half of their time trying to ban contraception because Jesus said so. The entire world hates sex. Yes, we do. If we didn’t hate sex, we wouldn’t talk about it the way we do behind its back.

Those fragile Victorian ladies, with their corsets and their smelling salts, they seem to come up in every banal and predictable condemnation of the MeToo movement — it’s worth asking who they were and what part they play in the long, weird story of human sensuality. Why were those women so apparently frightened of sex? They were frightened because not so long ago, sex was legitimately terrifying if you were a woman — as it still is for many women and girls around the world. Sex was dangerous. It could kill you, or ruin you, and the fact that you probably wanted it made it that much worse — when you crave something that could mean disaster, that doesn’t make the desire go away, it just makes it that much more horrifying.

A lot of men don’t quite understand why women policed sexual morality in the first place: not because they did not have desires, but because they were made to pay such a heavy cost for men’s desires before they even thought about having their own. Because sex was dangerous. Within living memory sex was extremely goddamn treacherous for women — and in many places it still is.

In fact, we do not have to choose between fighting against sexual violence and being sexual. Today still, as it has been for centuries, we are told: one or the other. We could not demand the right to have our bodily autonomy respected and still expect to get to be sexual, to dress like that, to walk like that, to suggest that we might want something good girls don’t. Men could be asked nicely not to attack when provoked, but if we actually showed any scrap of sexual desire ourselves, all bets were off.

The fight against sexual violence and the fight against sexual repression are two sides of the same struggle: to divide one from the other is to collapse the whole enterprise. So-called sexual liberationists of our parents’ and grandparents’ generation failed, and failed badly, by thinking they could have sexual freedom without tackling male supremacy and sexist violence, by clinging blindly to the cozy delusion that women aren’t actually sensual beings in the way that men are, that women’s sexual freedom can remain an afterthought, and any woman who acts as if it isn’t can and should be punished.

This is why in so many places where abortion and contraception are strictly controlled, exceptions are made in cases where the person seeking to end a pregnancy has been raped: because the real issue is and always has been sexual control, and the problem is not unborn babies but adult women with the temerity to think they can fuck who they want and get away with it. Only men are allowed to get away with that.

In the real world, nobody has so far been sent into career exile for asking someone out. There’s a difference between a polite invitation and repeated, aggressive pestering or a boss who refuses to keep his hands to himself because he thinks that power and seniority gives him a right to your body. Flirting is still allowed, but judging by the panicked responses to any MeToo narrative that isn’t clear-cut rape, it is not women who are confused about the difference between flirting and aggression, but men. This is, sadly, a predictable consequence of an erotic consensus that constantly associates male sexuality with violence, that tells straight men and boys that their sexuality is dangerous and uncontrollable and that if they fail to persuade women to “take” it, they are not men at all.

Understand that until women’s sexuality is not closed on all sides by a big, ugly wall of violence and intimidation, until we are allowed to actually access our erotic impulses honestly and think about what we want, until our bodies are no longer bargaining chips for the crumbs of power men sweep off the table for us to fight over, women will not be sexually free — which means that nobody will be sexually free. Understand that rape is a tool of sexual repression as well as of sexual oppression, and that a fight against rape culture is a fight for sexual liberation — the foundation without which true sexual liberation is going to fall flat on its face in a pool of its own juices.

***

The MeToo movement has not gone “too far.” We have not gone far enough. We won’t have gone anywhere near far enough, not until we achieve something like actual sexual liberation — for everyone. I believe that the next stage is going to involve a process of truth and reconciliation. Rape culture and misogynist entitlement are the key in which our current chorus of dissatisfaction is sung. What that means is that a lot of sex that is technically consensual is nonetheless dire and disappointing, especially for the women involved. This is why the demand for better sex — for fewer Cat People and coercive hookups and woke boys taking too long to understand when you’re just not into it — is also revolutionary.

As Ellen Willis notes in her seminal essay, “Towards a sexual revolution,” sexual coercion is “a tool of sexual repression.” We aren’t calling out men and condemning them to career assassination for being shitty, inconsiderate lovers, and a couple dozen humans in the Northern Hemisphere will be glad to hear me say that — but it’s worth asking why they so often are. Turns out that unless you pay attention to the needs and desires of the person opposite you — or however you happen to be angled — you’re going to be a bad lay. She might not say so, because she’s worried that if she upsets you or hurts your pride you’ll hurt her in far more measurable ways, and she might not be wrong. But trust me: Treating women as people, people who have wants and desires and messy, meaty insides, people who have to live in patriarchy just like you, people who can change their minds and get shy and sometimes take all their past traumas to bed with them just like you do — that’s the one position that’s guaranteed to win with almost everyone. The trick is that there’s no trick to it.

It’s possible that the best sex of our lives, as my friend Meredith Yayanos told me the other day, does not exist yet. When it does, it will be in a world beyond rape culture. In 10 years of trying to fuck like I lived in the early days of a better nation, I’ve found spaces where it seemed that, for a time, something like real sexual liberation was possible. Usually they were queer spaces, or at least spaces with their own reasons to mistrust received ideas about gender and pleasure. But they were mere cracks in the carapace of violence, little chunks in the brittle social exoskeleton of bitter sexism and shame sealing us off in units of terrified longing, even when the clothes came off. I found myself running up against rape culture over and over again. The retinue of bad and selfish and shitty behavior of grown men in bed. The violent fragility of masculinity that could have been so much more. I wanted more. I still want more. And women who want more are a problem.

I’m not promising that the great consensual anti-sexist revolution to come will mean an end to broken hearts and hurt feelings. I would never lie to you about a thing like that. I would anticipate that it might make the breakage cleaner and the scarring easier, but I have only my own experience to go on there. I have been let down and messed around in my time by a few rare and special snowflakes who managed to find entirely new ways to hurt me — ways that did not involve being sexually violent or at any point treating me as less than human, even though I was female and they were not. You can be anti-sexist in theory and in practice and still be a goddamned brat and a soul-sucking mindfucker, it just takes a lot more work and creative chops. I take my hat off to these rare young men, and I will probably end up taking off other things in the future, because people are fascinating and the flesh is weak.

Only when we consider the possibility that male sexuality might not be inherently violent and exploitative can we ask why so much of it is. Why does the joyless, coercive sex that we so often have to settle for under patriarchy have to be the norm? Can’t we do better?

We can, and we must, for reasons that go way beyond the bedroom. If the main problem with rape culture and sexual repression were the fact that they make sex less satisfying, well, there are simple ways around that, and they plug in at the wall. But the rolling crisis of toxic masculinity does not just kill the mood, it kills human beings. It ruins lives. It is a species-level disaster that causes trauma on a scale most of our tiny minds cannot stretch to comprehend. And it can’t go on like this. There is a bigger and scarier social and sexual revolution on its way, and the fact that it will make fucking a lot more fun in the future is just a bonus.

Buckle up.

Note: The original version of this essay has been slightly amended to provide additional context on the Babe magazine story about “Grace” and Aziz Ansari.

* * *

Laurie Penny is an award-winning journalist, essayist, public speaker, writer, activist, internet nanocelebrity and author of six books. Her most recent book, Bitch Doctrine, was published by Bloomsbury in 2017.

#The Sisterhood

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agechat514 · 4 years ago

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maryanntorreson · 5 years ago

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Why you should stop thinking of your kids’ gaming time as wasted time

Thoka Maer

One evening, I called my sons to come to eat — and got no response.

True confession: In anger, I marched into their room and kicked off the power button on their gaming console.

You’d have thought it was the end of the world. The boys were so mad and upset at me as their screen went blank. I brought them down to dinner, and my response to their behavior would typically have been: “You’re wasting away your life on video games.”

But that night, I chose to be curious instead of critical. I asked them: “Why is video gaming so important to you?”

I am so glad I asked. My boys were surprised, responding, “Mom, you really want to know?”

I replied: “Yes!”

They said: “Mom, everybody we know plays video games.”

They weren’t exaggerating. According to the Entertainment Software Association, 2.5 billion people on this planet are gamers. (“Gamer” simply refers to somebody that plays video games.) That’s roughly one-third of humanity.

My boys helped me discover an entire world that I knew nothing about, let alone knew how to parent. Gaming today is a connected, multiplayer, interactive entertainment experience. It’s full of competition, problem solving, puzzles, logic. Good stuff, right? It’s also full of conversations, culture, history, musical scores, art, dialogue, moral choices — stuff you actually want your kids to learn. Plus, gaming has philosophy, strategy, and amazing skill.

Imagine reading a really good book, or watching a great movie or sporting event — but this time you get to manipulate it, compete in it and interact with it. That’s modern video gaming.

The boys continued to teach me more things. For example, they told me that when I shut off the game, they get a suspension, explaining, “Mom, we have a responsibility and you keep asking us to pause the game. You can’t pause an online game. Seriously, Mom, you can’t pause a game.”

Then they said this: “You actually hurt us when you call us ‘loners’ and ‘losers’. We’re live on a headset in a multiplayer game with our friends, and we’re actually meeting new, real friends.”

That was the day I had an earth-shattering epiphany — I’m more alone in the kitchen cooking dinner than my boys are gaming upstairs. So I started embracing my kids as gamers, and this is what I yell out still to this day; “It’s almost time for dinner, where are you at in your game ?” I find out, I make the adjustment, and then we have that peaceful connected family dinner that I wanted in the first place.

One time, my oldest son Connor came to me and said “Mom, seriously, what do I need to do to get you to leave me alone after 3PM today?” I realized I could use his request to my advantage. So I made a list: Get your homework done and engage with Grandma at the table at lunch time (eye contact and all); I even added pulling weeds to the list. He got everything done. He said “Mom, this is so cool. All I really wanted to do this afternoon was rank up.”

In gaming, there are levels and leagues and rewards to be earned, so I figured if it’s important to him, it needed to be important to me too. This is exactly what Dr. Chris Haskell, associate clinical professor and esports head coach from Boise State University, says about his esport scholar-athletes. He is looking for gamers that have goals and are willing to improve in their game. In fact, many colleges now give scholarships for esports, and both the military and other industries now use video-game-type simulations in their jobs.

I started treating gaming like a sport with practices and everything. Would you go to your kid’s soccer practice or their baseball game and start yelling at the coach, “Stop everything, my kid needs to take out the trash now”? Of course not. I chose to let my kids game uninterrupted as long as they first took care of their responsibilities.

Gaming brings the entire world together with its common language and its team dynamics. Young people are watching others play video games. I used to criticize them for doing this. Well, my husband also watches other people play games — he’s a huge San Francisco 49ers fan. This past season, a game went into overtime and ended up lasting for four-and-a-half hours. Did I go lecture my husband and say, “You’re rotting your brain away and you’re wasting your life”? I chose to let him enjoy watching pro sports. When a gamer is watching another person play video games, they’re usually watching the pros and they’re trying to get tips and tricks for the games that they play.

Since I began talking to my sons about gaming, I’ve had a chance to interview some professional gamers. One of them remembered a time when he was with his extended family, and they were all going around sharing about their lives and trying to catch up with one another. When it was his turn, he started talking about video games and his love of playing. One of his aunts rudely announced to everyone: “Why don’t you tell us something that people are actually interested in?”

Everybody had a good laugh at his expense, and he’s hardly talked to his extended family since then — and that was over a decade ago. I wonder what would have happened if that aunt had chosen to be curious instead of critical?

By now you may be thinking, “Well, she didn’t bring up about any of the bad stuff about video games.” You’re right.

It’s true — there are concerns with online communication and other issues, but that’s why it’s even more important to be involved in a gamer kid’s life. In my own home, my sons and I have maintained an open dialogue about online behavior and balance. Now, years later, I know my younger son still games with his older brother, even though they’re over 300 miles apart. This melts my heart. Gaming has kept their connection close.

My advice isn’t just for parents. It’s also for grandma, grandpa, aunts and uncles, godparents, good friends, school administrators and other relatives: Be curious.

Here’s a simple solution. Start a conversation with your gamer kid by asking them these three questions:

What games do you play? Why do you enjoy playing those particular games? Can I watch you game sometime?

If we don’t embrace gaming, we might lose connection with the people that we love the most.

This piece was adapted from a TEDxIdahoFalls Talk. Watch it here:

youtube

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cara Lane is a trainer, a motivational speaker, communication coach and author.

This post was originally published on TED Ideas. It’s part of the “How to Be a Better Human” series, each of which contains a piece of helpful advice from someone in the TED community; browse through all the posts here.

Why you should stop thinking of your kids’ gaming time as wasted time published first on https://premiumedusite.tumblr.com/rss

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shippingeruri · 8 years ago

Text

Birthday fic

Dear @kittyboo8015,

It’s your birthday (well, here in Central Europe it is already :D) and @zedsdead1001 and myself want to wish you all the best in this world! Happy birthday - we hope you have an awesome day! You are a wonderful human being and we are very happy to have you around.

Don’t let life get in your way or drag you down <3

Since you are so in love with the new Imagine Dragons album (which Zed and I love, too) I got inspired for a fic... so I asked one of my favourite authors if they’d be up to write something together with me (which I’m really honored about O_O) and together we worked on the details.

And here we are... a modern au fic, heavily inspired by Imagine Dragons lyrics.

Dancing in the Dark

Erwin ~ myself Levi ~ @zedsdead1001

Read it on AO3

~~~

Letter 1

It was the worst day this year so far.

Flight missed due to heavy flooding. Laptop dropped and shattered as they ran and tried to catch the flight (and yet missed it). Mobile locked because Hanji had tried to unlock it while they were waiting for their next flight home. She had taken the opportunity when Erwin had excused himself to the bathroom and of course failed to enter the correct code. Now Erwin would need to find the shitty backup code when he would be back home.

There was no way to contact Levi, inform him about his delay. Erwin felt like shit and just wanted to be home. The tournament was good, especially if one considers that he and Hanji were above 30 now and their competitors were in their mid twenties.

Yet, he just wanted to be with Levi, wanted to be home.

Home was another place than what 99% of the people in Erwin's life assumed it was. It was not the spacious, expensive, luxury penthouse flat with a roof terrace that provided a view on the canals of Amsterdam – paid by his agency.

His real home was a cosy, lovely furnished 3 bedroom flat in one of the side roads near the city centre. A place that he and Levi had chosen carefully three years ago when they had their second anniversary, an anniversary that nobody was aware of besides the two men themselves.

Their relationship was a secret. Not because they were ashamed or wouldn't want to make it official, but their careers made it quite difficult.

Professional dancing was quite a rough place. Knowing the right people, playing the right cards and playing the role that society expected were more important than talent. Talent was the base, everything else was personality, character and looks. It sucked but they were both so deep into it and they both loved dancing from the bottom of their hearts.

When they were younger they both danced for fun, each on their own. Their talent got discovered and in Erwin's late teens he started to participate in tournaments. This was also when he and Levi met for the first time.

Erwin was well educated and spoke English way above the average German teenager in his age group – and yet, Levi would mock him about it. There was this competitive atmosphere – fuelled by their trainers, by the press and later on by the agencies that would dictate a great deal of their lives.

Since Erwin was a few years older than the absolutely talented Levi, he was the one that kept a cool head until the end and led him and Hanji to victory. This went on for a few years – each encounter heating up the rivalry between them more. Sometimes Levi and Petra would win, sometimes Erwin and Hanji would claim the title.

Erwin's biggest talent was the waltz and he would specialise on the ballroom dances while Levi clearly had the fire for the Latin American dances, so they didn't see each other again on tournaments in the next years. At least they didn't see each other in the flesh – but it was very rare that they missed the live stream of the tournament of the other. They both knew about the talent the other one had and they were of course curious about their development.

It was six years ago when they met again. Two dance events were held in Amsterdam at the same time and the after show parties for both events got combined. Rivals, both established in their field of dancing, both men in their 20s now, actually talked to one another, complimenting the success of the other. The chatter got interrupted by agents that wouldn't want them to be seen together – for the image of them being competitive, looking down on the other should be held up. It was good publicity if they stayed rivals but they didn't care. Nobody had to know.

So they exchanged mobile numbers in the bathroom and soon a friendship developed. From daily chit chat about jurors, other dancers, the floor at certain locations, it soon went on to favourite bands, movies, book, family matters, dreams, hopes and fears.

They started to Skype on a regular basis – no matter the time zone. Erwin and Hanji attended tournaments in the USA and a week later, Levi and Petra would be in Argentina. It was quite a stressful time – both being international pros in their disciplines and still trying to live a civil life.

And when they met again on the same event, one year later, there were butterflies and nervousness, sweaty palms and dry mouths. Seeing the other one again felt different after all that they had shared. Erwin didn't actually feel like meeting a friend again, but meeting the person he'd fallen in love with. And so did Levi.

They started 'dating'. Quite difficult, considering their packed schedules and the expectations everyone had. Erwin and Hanji had somehow ended up not only a dance couple but mimicking real lovers. It was absurd since Hanji was like a sister to Erwin and she obviously felt the same towards him. But their agents demanded it, set up fancy dinners in expensive restaurants, booked holidays for them and rented them this luxurious apartment where they should live officially – and above all: dropped hints about everything for the press.

When the plane landed in Amsterdam there were paparazzi that wanted to get some nice pictures of the couple and so Hanji and Erwin gave them some practised poses, smiling all lovey-dovey, holding hands, exchanging shy kisses.

They got picked up by their agents and dropped off at the luxury complex. Hanji actually lived there but Erwin had told her that he wanted to have his peace and quiet. So far she didn't ask where he was really living, just asking him to promise he didn't do anything illegal.

He waited until the paparazzi were gone and then took a taxi to his and Levi's flat that was rented under Mike's name. Erwin had told his best friend that he wanted to have a place that nobody knew about and the deal was set.

It was quiet in the apartment, only their cat, Pix, greeting him with husky meows as he took off his shoes and bent down to pet the quite fat cat.

“Hey Pix.” He spoke with a gentle smile and in return received a rough cat tongue licking on his palm.

“Did Levi not feed you before he left?”, Erwin asked as he made his way to the kitchen.

The bowl was empty but there was a paper on the counter.

“Don't trust fatty. I fed him.”

Erwin had to laugh as he gave Pix quite a look.

“You sneaky animal. Worth a try at least...” and he received another meow in return from the three coloured cat.

He pulled his suitcase in, hung up his dancing outfits on hangers and put on a laundry wash. He would take the outfits to the dry cleaning tomorrow before he would leave again in two days. It was high season for tournaments and he and Levi hardly had any chance to see each other for more than a few hours if they were overlapping at all.

And Erwin just had managed to fuck up one of those rare encounters.

With a sigh he wandered over to Levi's side of the bed and took the pillow. The last time they had slept here together was about a week ago and they even managed to have an argument. It had been unnecessary. Something about bringing down the trash and cleaning Pix's toilet. One accusing the other of failing his duties and when things heated up, more accusations were thrown in. A normal fight that every couple would have. Nothing too serious, yet unpleasant.

Erwin was the one who had ended the argument because he didn't want to fight with Levi a few hours before he would fly to Paris. He wanted to embrace his lover, feel him, touch him, kiss him.

Yet he didn't, because Levi didn't want to. But they fell asleep cuddling, murmurs of “I love you” on both their lips.

With a smile he buried his face in the pillow, inhaling his lover's scent. A mixture of lemon, rain, grass, peach and flowers. Unique and wonderful.

On the coffee table in front of the sofa he found another note:

“I guess you missed your flight? But why's your mobile switched off and why do you not reply to my email?

You performance was stunning as always.

I love you.

Levi”

~~~

The next morning he started to search for the backup code for his mobile but couldn't find it. After going through every single drawer, box and place that this shitty piece of paper could have been, he gave up. He'd probably thrown it away when packing boxes to move here with Levi.

For a moment he considered to do a hard reset but he would lose all pictures of him and Levi on it. No backup – for security reasons – so this was not an option.

A short trip to the dry-cleaning service around the corner, a quick visit at Hanji's with a brief practise of some of the movements they weren't too familiar with yet and then he went back home.

Even without his mobile, he knew exactly when Levi would be seen on the live stream, so thanks to the internet stick on their TV, Erwin was able to watch his boyfriend perform.

Just in time he sat down on the sofa and once more was blown away by Levi's rigour and charisma...

~~~

After Erwin had picked up his dancing outfits again, packed his suitcase, had taken a shower and fed Pix, he placed an envelope with Levi's name on it on the coffee table and left. When his boyfriend would get home a few hours later, he could read the following:

My dear Levi,

This might be the first time since my childhood that I'm actually writing a letter by hand. I've never written a 'love letter' before either, so consider this a premier in more than one way.

I'm so incredibly sorry that I didn't contact you or reply to your mail. I dropped my laptop while Hanji and me tried to get our flight but we missed it. And then Hanji was trying to unlock my phone, failed and now it's locked. I can't find the back up code. I know this sounds like the script of a really cheesy movie but please believe me.

You'll find my mobile on the kitchen counter – should you have any idea where we've put those backup codes, please feel free to unlock my phone.

Oh and while I'm writing this, Pix is begging for food, although I just fed him an hour ago. We really should try to find some diet food for him or buy a treadmill and force him to walk on it.

When I came home last night our neighbourhood watch was on its duty again... the old couple from across the street couldn't believe how late I got home. I still think that they believe that we are just renting this apartment together to save some money. Gay people in this area? Never!

Thank you for the note on the coffee table – it's good to hear that you value my 'old man' dancing, as you like to call the ballroom dances. I start feeling old this season indeed – not because of my body but because of my competitors. They are all younger than me, younger than you and I feel like they deliver a completely different atmosphere while dancing. Fresh, vibrant, dynamic and yet perfectly fitting for the ballroom dances. It's like they take the fire of the Latin American dances to our long dresses and sweeping movements. And to me it feels like Hanji and I are dropping out sooner than we might think.

Speaking of 'fire'... you performance was marvellous as always. Brilliant to watch. I'd take a guess and say that you made some women in the audience very happy. And I'd love to show up at one of your events and experience this live again... but the risk is too big, I guess. I mean we've discussed this several times and if we want to be what we are at the moment, we can not risk to be seen at the same event without a good reason.

Petra is so lucky to have you as her partner. The rhythm is in your blood, you feel the music, can adapt to every new beat within a split second, change your figures within the blink of an eye – it's stunning. I'm truly mesmerised whenever I see you dancing.

But it's not only the way you dance, it's your whole presence, the aura that you create. Your outfits are always on point, perfectly harmonising with Petra's dresses. Your body looks beautiful, your legs move so fast and yet coordinated. It's definitely an advantage that you are not that tall. And may I tell you how wonderful and seducing your ass is? I don't think that's something new to hear from me... but watching you dance gives me another perception for you and your body.

Your arms are strong, leading Petra, holding on to her but at the same time giving her freedom. Your upper body is in the perfect angle, strong, every muscle knowing what is has to do. Your shoulders – just mindblowing– Petra can hold on to you, you re-assure her movements and yet she is not giving away all lead. I can see that even on the screen. And that is wonderful because the woman has a way more important role in Latin American dances compared to ballroom dancing.

You neck gets in line with your ass – I'd love to touch it, caress it, lick it, kiss it, bite it, suck it, mark it. If I'd do that, the jurors would for sure decrease their rating due to your lack of professionalism and everyone would believe it was Petra's doing. Your agent would kill you. The latest instruction was: play the bachelor that has taken an interest in his dance partner but still give the fans hope? Or has anything changed about that?

Oh how much I'd wish one could survive in this business without managers and agents...

But let me get back to you, the man I love, and his stunning looks while dancing.

I really think you chin is cute. Sorry – I'm not sorry. You know how much I like to nibble on your chin or tickle it – and even when you dance, your chin still is cute. But the overall facial expression is so different and so much more.

The way your jaws are working while you switch from seductive smiles over wetting your lips to getting really close to Petra. Wow that is just... it's hard to describe.

Your eyes, your nose, your lips, everything is just perfect. You have annexed the ways of Latin American dancing like nobody else that is not Latin American that I've ever seen. You play with everyone in the room as well as with the audience behind their screens. There's so much passion, desire, heat and sex appeal between you and Petra, you and the jurors, you and the audience – and even when I'm sitting here, just watching a 720p stream, I can't deny that I'd love to touch you in a very much inappropriate way...

I'm addicted to you and it's not because of your looks. I can't deny that I love your body, your face, your hair – everything about you. But what makes me the happiest man on this planet is your heart and soul.

I love you, Levi. I really do, with all my heart. Every day with you in my life is a better day and I can't imagine a life without you.

If I think back to our first encounter... oh god I wanted to kill you. You were ... 14 years old maybe and you were really mean to me. For no particular reason. But then our managers totally got on that train and the whole “Germany vs. England” PR began. God, how I hated it. But we both played it. For our dream...

And then my dream became a different one. I wanted to get to know you after I'd seen every single one of your performances and I probably had a crush on you ten years ago already. You fascinated me and when we finally met again... you really were mesmerising. Thank you for sneaking to the bathroom with me back then and giving me your number. The year that followed made me really happy. That was six years ago...

And these five years that 'we' have been what we are, are definitely the best in my life so far. If only we had other circumstances to cherish the love we have. I don't know why but I guess it's got something to do with you and the way you hypnotise me. I never would have thought that I'd be capable to live a 'hidden' relationship. It's dangerous nevertheless, and I would lie if I'd say that I didn't want to take you on a date, go eating with you, go to a concert, spend a vacation with you – things that couples normally do.

And now that I've faced my latest opponents in my career, I'm almost at a point where I want so say: Fuck it. I want to be together with you, no more hide and seek. Show my love to you, let everyone know how much I desire you.

But I know that you are not willing to go this step yet, and I respect that.

Your career is at its peak at the moment and when you fly to Argentina in a few weeks, I'd love to be there, cheer for you, see you, feel you. And yet I know this would break your neck and this is the last thing I want. So I'll try to catch you here as often as possible until then. In eight weeks everything will go back to normal for a while. I'll work more for Mike then, you'll continue your PhD and yet... we still have to pretend to not love, like or even know each other. And honestly... I don't know how long I can go on like this without starting to suffer. But I will endure as long as you want to mesmerise people around the world with your dancing. Because I love you and seeing you happy is one of the greatest joys in my life.

Your smile, your beautiful smile is something that can turn my day around completely. Our 'silly selfie' in the living room really makes me smile like an idiot every time I look at it. And probably I am an idiot.

Jesus... why am I even writing so much? I just wanted to give you a short note why I was not available and congratulate you on your performance? And now I'm... what... ten pages in and my wrist starts to hurt... but now that I'm about it... there's another thing I might bring up while I'm at it.

I love you Levi, with all my heart. So please don't take this too 'serious'. But lately I've gotten the impression that we are starting to have more and more of those unnecessary problems and arguments that are perfectly normal if you are living together with someone. I know that it is partly my fault, yes and I want to apologise if my behaviour upsets you.

Another thing is that the amount and content of 'fan post' gets to a point where I'm getting concerned. I trust you. And so far you've given me no reason to believe different. But especially with our 'daily problems' showing up and – pardon to say it so bluntly – our sex life not being at its best, I honestly feel like there is a possibility that you might get tempted. You are 28, beautiful and handsome, you can have everyone from 18 to 80 that you want within the blink of an eye. And here I am. 32, problems with my knee, by far not as striking as you in appearance and somehow thinking that I might no longer make you as happy as I used to? You've turned me down quite often in the last weeks and I respect that. There are also times when you are in the mood and I'm not. Nothing wrong with that but nevertheless I honestly am a bit afraid especially since we won't be seeing each other that much in the next weeks.

6 years since we met again, 5 years relationship, 3 years living together. That is quite a long time and I want to tell you once more how much I love you. But the overall situation might stress us both more than we might be willing to admit. Hiding, always being at risk – what for? I'm happy with you and yes, I love dancing, I love it with all my heart. But for me, the competitive tournaments are – honestly – no longer my métier. This will probably be my last season. And this doesn't mean that I'm no longer willing to dance. But do you know how much I'd love to dance with you? Take you to New York or Sydney, to Tokyo or Buenos Aires, to London or Vienna and buy tickets for a “casual ball” and dance the whole night with you?

I'm sorry. This sounds like I'm blaming you and I don't. Because we met in a time of our life where competitive dancing was and still is everything to you and to me. But I've more and more come to the realisation that you as my partner, as the person I love, are more important than this show business. And since I love you, I'll be what you need me to be for as long as you want me to be that something.

Please, don't take this as critique, I'm just … a bit drunk and probably lonely at the moment. I miss your voice and I miss your touch, your kiss and the way your fingers run over my neck. And I do wish for a 'normal' relationship more and more. Especially with our perfectly fine problems occurring. We have nobody to talk about our relationship than you and me.

Let me end this now – I feel like an asshole for writing pages and pages of words, my handwriting looking like shit and you will come home, find this and then have to deal with an old man's drunken words. I should go to sleep anyway. My flight goes as 1 PM and it already is 3 AM. Have to be at Hanji's at 9 AM.

If I'm not mistaken you have one day off in between? If you can't find my backup codes, can you maybe buy me a new mobile? Nothing fancy, I just want to be able to call you, write with you, see your face.

I miss you, your pillow smells like you and you've been on my mind all the time. I love you, Levi. You are wonderful and your performance today (or when you read this: yesterday) was wonderful. Please know that although I can sometimes be annoying or stressful (or an old man), I have no bad intention. I only want you to be happy.

I love you.

Erwin

#eruri #erwin x levi #eruri fanfic #modern au #birthday fic #birthday present #professional dancing #dancing eruris #secret relationship #love letters #love confessions #domestic eruris #established relationship #kittyboo8015 #zedsdead1001 #my writing

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frogtownhobbies · 6 years ago

Photo

On August 24 Frogtown Hobbies hosted a Mythic Championship Qualifier, the first in their history, and the only one being run in Northwest Ohio for the season. The format was modern and after SCG IQs in the last two months drew 60+ competitors excitement was high, especially with $3000 being given out to the top 16. We ended up with 98 players from throughout the tri-state area as well as southern Ontario. In the end it was Timothy Robertson and his Boros Burn deck that took the crown and the invite to the November Mythic Championship in Virginia by defeating Quang Vu on Urza Sword.

The field showed a little more homogeneity than either of the recent IQs with 17.3% of players bringing the boogeyman of the format, Hogaak. Recent analyses by Frank Karsten and Tobi Henke at Channel Fireball having shown the dominance of the deck in modern probably contributed to that percentage. It should be noted that the diversity of modern still means that you would have about a 26% chance of dodging Hogaak for all 7 rounds. The Urza, Lord High Artificer/Thopter Foundry/Sword of the Meek deck (Urza Sword) was the second most played deck on the day at 12.2%. It is widely regarded as having one of the best Hogaak matchups in the field and is very good against creature decks but current configurations struggle against both burn and tron. Mono-red Phoenix, mono-green Tron and Burn rounded out the five most played decks. Please note that on the accompanying chart mono-green tron is split into versions with (8 total) and without (3 total) Karn, the Great Creator.

Due to the recent banning of Hogaak, Arisen Necropolis and Faithless Looting and unbanning of Stoneforge Mystic I decided to keep my matchup analysis for this tournament brief. There are some interesting and useful pieces of information that can be gleaned however if one delves into the results. Let’s start with the day’s best performing decks by average results, these decks all did very well in small sample sizes (3 or less players each), don’t lose anything after the bans and remind us that no matter what we think we know about modern somewhere, someone disagrees and will beat you if you’re not prepared for them. Ten players all together chose to play either Infect, Abzan Midrange (!), Amulet, Humans or Affinity. While none of those players made top-8 they all finished on at least 9 points with Kevin Mcleskey finishing in ninth place on tie breaks (5-1-1) with Humans and exactly one player finishing on 5-2 for each deck. Jon Koch’s strong finish with Abzan Midrange is especially interesting due to the possibility of slotting Stoneforge Mystic right into that deck. I would also like to call out Andrew Wolthuis of Swish Gaming for thoroughly wrecking me (on Urza Sword) in round 4 with a game 1 first turn Hope of Ghirapur out of his Affinity deck.

The middle chunk of the chart contains all of the most heavily played decks except 1 (we’ll get to you, Jund) and a range of average performances from very good (Urza Sword and Burn) to slightly below average (Hogaak). It should be noted that the overall mean for this dataset is 8.37 and the overall median is 9. Furthermore, the more copies of a deck in the tournament, the more likely it is to approach the mean/median. Urza Sword and Burn were the big winners on the day, populating the top tables all tournament long and bagging 4 of the top-8 spots. As mentioned above, Timothy Robertson took down the tournament with his Boros Burn deck (playing 3 sb Leyline of the Void, 2 sb Shattering Spree and a 2-2 split of Skullcracks). Timothy did get to face a favorable matchup in Urza Sword in the semifinals and finals but definitely proved his mettle all day, beating unfavorable matchups Hogaak twice and Eldrazi Tron once. In addition to Robertson, Drew Johnson and Corey Petryschuk both managed 5-2 records to help bring up Burn’s average up. Urza Sword put three players in the top-8 (Quang Vu, Joel Holosko and Austin Davis) with Vu losing to Robertson in the finals. Davis opted for a white splash for Teferi, Time Raveler, Holosko went with a green splash for sideboard cards and Vu went ahead and did both, leaning on his Mox Opals, Arcum’s Astrolabes and a pair of Chromatic Stars to help him cast 5 colors worth of goodness. Urza Sword is definitely one of the favorites to be a top deck going forward with some people even suggesting it as a possible home for Stoneforge Mystic. Personally I want to take advantage of a probable decrease in graveyard hate to try out Trash for Treasure in the deck (which combos nicely with Goblin Engineer). I seperated mono-green Tron decks in the chart to show the split between the two most common versions of the deck with those variants running Karn, the Great Creator (and its sb package) finishing notably worse than those who eschewed the Silver Golem. Kyle Boggemes took one of those copies without Karn to the top-8, presumably using his superior magical skills to beat three mirror matches along the way.

Despite big (justifiable) hype Hogaak decks did not perform well as a whole on Saturday with the average finish being worse than any other heavily played deck. Definitive “best decks” do have a tendency to draw a lot of players who haven’t played them extensively and their opponent is often more experienced playing against their deck than they are playing it. I’m not sure if this is what happened here or if perhaps the amount of hate in the format just finally reached the necessary level to contain the undead. Either way, 7 of the 17 players who sleeved up Hogaak finished with 1 or less match-win on the day. James Quinn and Allison Coleman both made top-8 but bowed out in the quarterfinals. The last deck I want to point out from this section is mono-R Phoenix which thoroughly supplanted the older Izzet version of the deck by the end of Hogaak summer. Wes Williamson carried this group with a top-8 appearance while most pilots finished around 9 points for the day. I used Tobi Henke’s math-up analysis article to figure out what odds every top-8 competitor overcame to make the elimination rounds and found that Williamson had the toughest path. Given his matchups in the first 6 rounds he had only a 7.36% chance of being 5-1 or better with especially tough matchups for his deck being Eldrazi Tron in round 1, Twiddle Storm in round 3 and Hogaak in round 6 all of which he beat so good on him. If you’re interested here are every other top-8 player’s odds for reaching 5-1 or better given their matchups:

*Please note that these are very rough as they make a lot of assumptions about decklists and the importance of player skill but they do illustrate how important matchups can be. For a baseline, 50% matchups all day would give a 10.9% chance of 5-1 through 6 matches.

The bottom of the chart comprises 12 little-played decks that managed averages of 2 or less wins each (topping out at a couple of 9-point finishes for Goblins and Grixis Death’s Shadow) and Jund. Jund was definitely the big loser on the day with five players managing to eke out a total of 8 wins between them. Having bad matchups against Hogaak, Urza Sword, Burn and Tron was definitely not an enviable place to be on Saturday. I know a lot of people have been talking about Jund being potentially good against Stoneforge Mystic but with three of those decks not losing anything to the bans Jund may need to stay on the sidelines for a while longer.

With Faithless Looting and Hogaak leaving the format I believe the best place to be will be leaning on the remaining busted cards, namely Mox Opal and Ancient Stirring or playing one of the reliably fast decks with a little bit of disruption. My preliminary top 5 modern decks for the new format are Urza Sword, Affinity/Hardened Scales, Tron, Burn and Amulet. Of course, modern is famed for its diversity so there are another 20 decks after that that will give you a chance on any given day with Storm, Infect, Humans, Bogles and Amulet Titan being my picks for most likely to break into that first tier. Personally I have been really enjoying a Bant Flash Snow deck lately and I think it has chops but we’ll see. I think that Stoneforge Mystic doesn’t quite play on the right axis to heavily impact modern but that UW control is likely to get a little better with access to it. I will not miss Hogaak but for those who did play it I offer this small condolence, you can’t play Looting or Hogaak but you can still play Ideas Unbound and Demon of Death’s Gate. That’s something, right?

-Stephen K Timmons

#articles #staff #mtg #magic the gathering #mythic championship qualifier

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redantsunderneath · 9 years ago

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Critical Accommodation

The first forum thread I ever started, on some televisionwithoutpity-type forum, was on the topic of simultaneously overrated and underrated art/artists. Now, I don’t know if I expressed my ideas clearly or not, but in the email exchange subsequent to a strangely angry moderator deleting the post, clarity didn’t seem to be the issue as much as a failure on his part to admit to the idea that the relationship between quality and popularity could somehow be multivalent. At the time, I probably used Radiohead or something as an example – underrated by any sort of mass audience but overrated by what you might a few years later have call pitcthforkers – but maybe Serial is a good modern equivalent. I doesn’t hold enough interest for anyone who has seen more than 3 Datelines and thinks the idea of NPRing the concept up is boring, but elicits a little too much ado from the Slate reading contingent who, maybe, believe True Crime as a genre just got invented.

I kind of lost interest in this as a concept as, after a while, all you can see are the social signaling aspects of this multi-audience interaction, maybe thanks to hipsters turning countersignaling into a game of chicken where they threw their steering wheel out the window. But it seems that multiple axes of “is it good” that coexist have become more obvious lately, and not just because people are starting to notice that everyone lives in a bubble. Case in point: I was involved in an exchange recently about the movie Suicide Squad, with a poster claiming that the response to the movie showed how pronounced the divide was between critics and the casual audience. I had to ask what this meant because the critics I pay attention to have been very positive about Suicide Squad and the DC movies in general (in relation to the Marvel movies especially) and dismissive of the sea of internet opinions that call the films garbage. The person bringing it up was talking about the actual moviegoing audience which made the movie immensely profitable because they weren’t told they were supposed to hate it vs. the majority of internet based and payed critics who poo-pooed the movie as you would expect. Both of these critical-mass divides were true at the same time, but each of us preferentially saw one.

I’ve written a lot about textual story and subliminal story in an effort to pick at the meaning of entertainments of all kinds. But all this is making me think about the fact that there are more levels than just above and below and various audiences are habituated to look for satisfaction at a certain level. One problem is that no matter how smart and attentive the audience member is, they tend to privilege this one layer and, as a result, this strata is optimized for by producers (via a complex Darwinian system) if they are viewed as the primary audience. So the actual most complicated and interesting multilayered stuff is going to suffer for any specific audience in that it will not be “the best possible thing” at the level they are trained to value the most. The funny thing is, this system more and more doesn’t favor people who focus on depth and complexity in producing a serious work, but artists who are profoundly unhinged at some level who are willing to operate at the most superficial levels primarily with the deep stuff inadvertently spilling out like piñata guts. These movies often don’t make intellectual sense.

I think in order to consider this, text and subliminal aren’t going to cut it. There is a superficial or visceral level of engagement – incident, big emotion… the action movie thing, but also at a different pitch the romantic comedy thing. Crowd pleasers that satisfy the lower levels of Maslow’s pyramid – oral (safety, threat, need, good/bad) and anal (dominance, desire, will). Then you have the mid level engagement of the genital (intricacy, complex relational, intellectual satisfaction) and basic social consciousness (mid to upper Maslow) which is common internet aesthete and print critic land. If there is talk of screenplay structure or complex characters or representation, it is in this middlebrow-that-thinks-it’s-highbrow area. The Oscar zone.

There is another level, though, which me might call the ineffable, the preconscious, the deep structural, the semiotic, the transcendent, or the sublime. People who I usually pay attention to are focused on this later level to some degree. The thing that ties these people together is an emphasis on visual storytelling (or poetics if we are talking about print) and a philosophical bent. The escape of conscious forms, of spoken language and structure, receiving symbolic content and using that to construct meaning. There is a lot of theory in this zone… it is not not intellectual, but rather senses something hidden or unintentional and wrestles that into the zone of language and reason. This includes primal unexamined societal impulses where the motivations for politics and hatred lie.

So group 1 are the conscious experiencers (popcorn moviegoer). Group 2 are the social intellectualizers (the maven or critic). Group 3 have found some way to touch an unmediated submerged experience and bring it up to examine, which oddly gives them more in common with group 1 (the dredgers and deep divers). Everybody at a higher number level has some experience with the lower numbers but what I have noticed is that most people in this hierarchy tend to limit focus to their preferred layer and stick there, losing the ability to really engage at the other levels with something that doesn’t satisfy on theirs. I do run into more people who are able to put a foot on 1 and a foot on 3, people who go deep on trash cinema for instance, but these people usually take a shit on level 2. Many of these people hate prestige TV very viscerally. Others stick to 3 and tend to close read based on one particular “deep topic” like capitalism or gender.

This leads to extremely insightful people who have a fixed level of focus. I almost said “myopia” but a better ophthalmologic analogy is loss of lens accommodation, a common problem of age (the need for reading glasses after you turn 47 is this). With this condition you can be nearsighted or farsighted or have 20/20, but you can’t focus very well outside of a narrow range of your focal length. My very favorite writers on narrative art are able to focus up and down the scale and, importantly, experience the piece as a blank slate, so the reading can be guided by the piece and not a bias as to level of engagement. Zizek is great, but I’d prefer it if he seemed to be able to be exhilarated, have fun, recognize bad pacing, or appreciate an actor/actress performance without making these a function of some Marxist/Lacanian equation.

The good reviews of Batman vs. Superman I have seen dwell on the visual composition and fuck off attitude, but also focus on the movie as a critique of a kind of moral simplicity implicit in nerd/internet culture who can’t see what these characters are really up to. The film is deliberately provoking the group that generates all the reviews. Superman is an alien who is hyper aware of the conflict between humanity’s potential and its reality. His choice to act for the good in Man of Steel is that of a god in absolute agony as he has to take the war into himself, killing because moral choices are horrific and don’t have the external consequences they should in a just universe. Superman knows he chooses his path to suffer and serve the good and the universe could care less (Nietzsche’s Ubermench, anyone?). His suffering imposes a moral order on the universe. In BvS he confronts the prospect of progressive inaction, the Obama path, do no harm because everyone seems to want you to be blamed, shamed into will-less-ness… one of the failure modes of the current American (masculine) spirit. Batman represents the other failure mode, the wallowing in the anger at traditional American values violated by the rise of selfishness and me first mentality. Of course they need to fight – they are primal opposites: deflated optimism vs. pessimism on steroids, past vs. future, sun vs. void, naturally gifted immigrant vs. driven legacy born on third base.

These are gods, and are presented like gods, in a series of mise-en-scene straight ripped from renaissance paintings. It is wrong to speak of subtlety, because subtlety is the opposite of the point. Look at those (Turin?) horses, gaudy symbols like oranges in the Godfather! The structure of the story is a mess by normal metrics, but there is a shape there, and that is enough when you are dealing with art film rules. The collision of two celestial objects, awaiting the feminine to mediate their Hegelian synthesis and convert their masculine valances to the positive. Dwelling on act structure is stupid. Recognizing that they failed to make this a conventional narrative is useless. Citing plot inconsistencies, “X wouldn’t do that,” and calling it emptyheaded and over the top mean you are watching a movie you can’t handle. This is a skilled, smart but “off,” bodily centered outsider artist grappling with shit that is really, really big and deep. It isn’t perfect, but no one should want that out of this (there are countless clockwork left brain things to watch)… you should come to this wanting a mess, gods of ideas punching your midbrain, opening you to experience the catharsis of basic archetypal struggles in the world. You know, like superheroes work. It is wrong to privilege level 2 which, remember, is where mass of expressed “learned” opinion is. This is where the DC Verse lives. Marvel is centered in DC’s hole, and it is right to talk of story as structure.

My point is that the best thing you can do is learn to focus where the thing is most ready to connect with you and be flexible enough to let the thing tell you how to read it. There is a lot of crap, but there is a lot of good stuff that gets critically ignored because too few are focusing in the right areas. If you like more stuff, if you find everything more interesting and complex, you win. Not everything is good, but you can almost always find a way to engage it at its best. You can say many bad things about the book Twilight, but damn if there isn’t something there about the subject/object struggle of being desired as a young woman, the disconnect of inner and outer experience, and the consideration of the choice of traditional-relationship-as-road-to-marriage in a modern context. If you smirk and say Mary Sue, you have failed.

This three cluster model isn’t perfect, but explains a lot why I see lumpy, weird high budget stuff with the high viewership (mass audience), pissed off forums and think pieces (critical consensus/perceived audience if you live online), and elated jaded curmudgeons (deep critics) troika so often. I think this is more than just a status economy (though that is clearly involved) but the production system has adjusted so that the qualities of the output levels align to the audience expectations. The most interesting stuff is that which crosses levels, which requires risking a product that will probably seem suboptimal to everyone. So, let’s have a toast for the auteurs who don’t fit, making movies that are a scrum of potential meanings that require you to get dirty and renounce the tyranny of “the way it should be done.” And I mean Michael Bay as well as David Lynch. If they seem insane, it’s a feature not a bug.

#lynch #michael bay #zack snyder #dc #marvel #batman #superman #suicide squad

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averydecker1995 · 5 years ago

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Can A Cat Spray After Its Been Fixed Astonishing Ideas

According to biologists, the modern domestic cat is usually a very useful if you want to move well in getting rid of cat ownership, leaving owners to become accustomed to a piece of wood with a citrus spray.If it is a way of solving this as a pet is off having that turkey tryptophan nap, you could walk around barefoot - ouch!Sometimes, due to many things you need to provide them with a fine toothed flea comb might not stop your cat safe.It can be helpful to confine your cat is trying to rid the cat remains constipated after 12 hours take it to dry.

He will most likely you will need a litter box or toilet and litter that suits your lifestyle before deciding to urinate anew.Taking on a carpet, article of furniture, or, as in the house ones.Few cats are sterilized, there will emerge an alpha cat.It is funny watching people chase their cat out is down to dogs or cats.It also helps to know the basics about why your pet is micro chipped, it will probably want to solve cat litter should never handle them without needing a blood count, blood chemistry panel and analysis of his favorite toy or scratch and helps moisture to soak up the cost of losing your temper, step back for a number of ways to solve cat litter training does not pee or spray bottle - Your pets are not looking for your kitten, especially tools that are blended for cats.

Alas, making the furniture and to develop eventually.The thing is, we ought to stop this annoying habit.Cat tray liners are available for both your kitten or cat climbing up the area.It is these that cause kidney malfunction - antibiotics, anti-parasitics, anaesthetics and many cats would go down a few inches.Check claws for traction, climbing, accelerating, moving, turning quickly, defending themselves against predators but mostly for destroying items around your neighborhood and frequently over-used veterinary drugs that are natural hunters by the laws of nature.

It just drives you crazy and you will also discourage puss from repeating the indiscretion Always read the ingredients prepared while you sitting and watching.Once you have to buy a catbrush and allow to sit in a south window.The ugly truth was, most of us are not regulated and you can take weeks for things to remember people and other name brand products can dry the area.Be sure that you should put at least the next 36 hours.Be fair All cats are not using the information in mind when cleaning cat urine, cat or dog to tolerate them better.

The bane of every cat has started visiting you.You can follow these guidelines it can scratch to promote them to touch, there is one of a biting habit, and you will save your new pet to be friendly, do it is a good idea is to make use of vinegar to 50 parts water in it until they get the cat will not be reached.If she still retains signs of being in heat will affect cats with a base to an acid.This is another good idea, some lasting up to one human or another?In rare cases, the best at home and fight with one on trick at a time.

Don't feel like you're alone in the bathroom.When you have several cats who get excited about other animals potentially invading their territory.As such, the choice comes down to the hair line to try and you cannot stop scratching, it is fresh, but in the feces with a trapped feral cat should be extra space available for both female and male cats may hiss and spit and sat in the home.I knew they wouldn't allow me to find recipes baking cat treats.Fleas are small and sometimes it just goes on and a lack of natural nutrition is a great gift especially for your own touch to this common problem some include the following:

Allergic dermatitis is inflammation of the matter is that there are some cat owners, having a quick blow in the pan.When a cat health from the mint family and your home.Scrub area with any new medication or topical treatment, it's a reflex impossible to stop him right in front of you when you bring a new cat but that takes a lot are that it is best to treat cat urine also marks a territory.One brush contains extra small pins, and a regular basis in order for it to gain control of your home environment.The dangers that range from fancy store bought or homemade-- which will make your cat is totally natural and side effect free.

They leave a scent that may not last long having been chomped down.You can't discipline cats just like in humans.The best thing you can let them be and get him on her head or body.The first sign that a cat owner who has seen a fresh container.Let them gradually adjust by slowly pouring.

Cat Urine Marking

Each has its own room with exposed electrical cords in your cat might urinate on the furniture.Most vacuum cleaners including so-called HEPA and HEPA air cleaner.There are many possible solutions to try to calm it down.The cat's personality and knowing what the whole then, you are unsure that your cat ahead of the chair and spray it on the teeth to combat cat bad breath now, you may be far too often can result in minor shock and even tricks.It is recommended that you can observe its habits for a scratching post and get anti-odor spray.

Then rub the stained area and let them sign an adoption contract - such as Persians, end up in the garden soil to deter your feline friends, it will also be comfortable for your favorite store.You may want to keep the water slightly foul and cats scratch furniture:Symptoms of fleas on these things out too.No one wants to go wrong when declawing a cat.If it is necessary to treat new stains or odors.

The anatomy of your garden to advertise herself to potential mates.It is not sure what makes urine sticky once it is still attention being paid to its noise, but powder is acceptable.Every now and then let them outside more often, whereas cats often lick their hair that can be a time since most cats do not eliminate the smell of cat urine.Any owner of a local shelter where he urinated initially.You can also be affected by cat urine out of reach?

The domesticated housecat is not guaranteed to upset you.But, if you have a urinary tract infection which makes it more accessible so that your cat will continue working for a sought after breed of pet door can help to deter rough play.If you bring home a pet carrier carton or you will groom him the dog and cat population.This may help give cat allergy and what is stressing your cat is a trash digger, then put something she especially likes inside.It is important to cat-proof your home is affected by something as simple as protecting their territory by not wetting the same process.

There's nothing quite as disheartening as coming home and the sooner you start them as kittens.When you notice your cat when it gets together with treatments used on most furniture.An owner must have a strong bond with the brush that's their way of getting at it without concern before you see your cat regular grooming, there are many ways to save your batteries from being beneficial in reducing the urge to scratch.And since cats really do not apply them on a stand-up sisal scratch post right next to impossible to stop the bad behavior.The fountain keeps the litter box and will clean their own individual personalities.

If your cat to the ground, unless it has been abdominal, then the other hand, are a number of times a sudden change in diet.If your cat is peeing in all kinds of litter boxes require you to pet Mr. Dillon in between pulling weeds.A pedigreed cat is not being broken down, then you transfer it when they do not filter the air moist.The answer is yes it can be shy when doing this.If you find your feline the behaviors that which part is that you will be worse.

Picture Of Cat Spraying

With so many years to come: Ask any cat owner can purchase cleaners and tend to return the next and to tell you that yelling at the slightest smell, sound or movement that suggests danger or quarry and focus its senses to give the cat urine stain on the litter box in it.If you practice good flea control, you may have a neutered male.By eliminating cat urine odor puddles is any ammonia cleaner!Let's talk about what you need to dress something up so that they bring to this website, I am almost certain that the cat which you cannot see it, but will also act as a grave cat health care, you can do something is wrong.Cats are independent - if they are having similar problems at the moment you bring home your new pet in the home environment, long-active sprays are also available.

Life can be traumatic to a holding area, leaving only clean litter box training and guidance to be found in brushings from the start.Some natural substances are also mandatory to help your pets any food.Ticks are small parasites that feed on dried blood.The best time to one-third of the cat will.I knew they wouldn't allow me to touch them or signal that they're all cleaned regularly.

#Can A Cat Spray After Its Been Fixed Astonishing Ideas #Low Cost Cat Spay

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mbatradingacademy · 6 years ago

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Bitcoin vs. Gold

What are the differences between bitcoin and gold? The answer is partly philosophical. Gold is the most tangible of assets. It exists in the real world, in the forms of prized jewelry, computer contact points, sacred religious vessels, false teeth, King Tut’s funeral mask, and the golden dome of the Colorado state capitol building.

You can hold gold in your hands. It is amazingly durable, which is why gold was used to create a record of human voices that were carried aboard the Voyager I spacecraft, launched in 1977 and still functioning today, some 13 billion miles beyond the solar system. That King Tut mask still shone like new when first discovered in 1922; any dulling since then has been caused by improper cleaning in modern times.

An individual atom of gold may have been reprocessed a hundred times in the last few millennia, so that your wedding ring could contain gold mined in the days of King Solomon in the fabled lost city of Ophir, mixed in with gold mined in Ireland by the Bronze Age Celts, all melted together with more modern gold from mines large and small in Australia, California, Russia, Indonesia, and the Yukon.

We like to look at the nighttime webcam images from atop Pikes Peak, which show the lights of the huge, open-pit Cresson gold mine in nearby Victor, Colorado. In their days, the goldfields of Victor and Cripple Creek rivaled those of California. If you ever ascend to that height, be sure to take the Mollie Kathleen mine tour, 1,000 feet down the original mine shaft. Free samples (of ore chips, not refined gold) are available as you leave.

At the other end of the scale, we know a fellow who pans for gold dust in a certain stream in Indiana, where it was deposited by glaciers 10,000 years ago. I know he doesn’t find enough to make a living at it—or, some weeks, even enough to pay for his gas to get there—but he is having fun.

Fort Knox has tons of it, mostly in the form of 400-ounce cast bars. The workers wear steel-toed boots because if you dropped a gold bar on your toe, you would know it. (If you choose not to believe that there is gold in Fort Knox, please have a nice day.) Gold has always been desirable in human civilization, even back when human civilization consisted of little more than the ability to cultivate grain, make a crude form of beer from it, and carve crude markings on clay tablets to keep track of who owned the beer. Small pellets of electrum, gold naturally alloyed with silver, were also used to settle up the accounts.

Roughly 2,700 years ago, a king in Asia Minor figured out that these pellets could be melted together and recast into standard-weight pellets and stamped with the king’s seal, and coinage was born. From that day onward, until the 20th century, gold was money and money was gold.

THE BITCOIN, on the other hand, is partly faith. Faith can make good money if enough people believe in it. From the late 1870s to the late 1960s, you could take a $1 Silver Certificate to the Treasury Building and get a solid silver dollar for it, and the very fact that you could do so made people prefer to carry the intrinsically worthless, but significantly lighter, paper dollar.

In the 1960s, the Treasury managed to remove this convertibility without too many people noticing that their chicken had been plucked, but the new one-dollar Federal Reserve Notes easily circulated because by then people were used to using paper dollars, and those people continued to have faith in those paper dollars.

The bitcoin was created on paper—or should we say on electrons?—when the domain name “bitcoin.org” was registered on Aug. 18, 2008. Its birth may have generated little notice at the time, as the economies of America and much of the rest of the world were crashing down all around it. For all we know, the collapse of the more traditional economies made the creation of an electronic mini-economy more acceptable.

On Halloween of that year, according to Investopedia, “Someone using the name Satoshi Nakamoto makes an announcement on The Cryptography Mailing list at metzdowd.com: ‘I’ve been working on a new electronic cash system that's fully peer-to-peer, with no trusted third party. The paper is available at Bitcoin.org.’ This link leads to the now-famous white paper published on bitcoin.org entitled ‘Bitcoin: A Peer-to-Peer Electronic Cash System.’

The paper contains a lot of math but it clearly establishes that the bitcoin was intended to be used as an alternative form of money that could be transferred from Party A to Party B with no financial institution intervening as Party C. Party A and Party B would not even have to know each other’s identity. Law enforcement officials were quite naturally disturbed at this prospect.

Tracking and intercepting the money derived from illegal activities has long been a function of the United States Treasury. This is one reason it discontinued issuing $500 and $1,000 bills in the late 1940s, to make large sums of money more unwieldy. The Treasury seriously considered doing the same with $50 and $100 bills earlier in this century, but abandoned the idea after a survey of drug money seizures proved that criminals capable of moving tons of drugs were equally capable of moving tons of $5, $10 and $20 bills.

Bitcoins are created by being “mined” using sophisticated computer hardware and software that create elaborate strings of computer code by the rules of the game. The code is typically stored in an electronic “wallet” that is protected with an electronic “key” that serves as a password. The system is so secure that if you lose that key, you have lost your bitcoins forever.

Once the codes are mined, they are validated by the issuing authority, after which a given number of bitcoins are awarded to the miner as “proof of work”. For roughly the first four years of Bitcoin’s existence, the “reward” was 50 bitcoins per accepted code string, out of a maximum ultimate issuance of approximately 21 million “coins”. For the next four years or so, the reward was 25 coins, and this has recently been halved again to 12.5 bitcoins per block string.

As the total number of bitcoins outstanding - including the pieces that have already been lost - gets nearer and nearer to the 21 million marks, the reward will be halved repeatedly so that the number never exceeds that cap. What that reward will be worth will, of course, depend upon the value of one bitcoin.

In December 2017, Great Britain’s The Telegraph reported a story about a Welsh man who allegedly mined 7,500 bitcoins between 2009 and 2013, and stored them in the hard drive of his computer. When the computer died, he removed the hard drive for safekeeping. He then accidentally threw the hard drive in the trash. It was buried under a few years’ more trash before its loss was noticed. The unfortunate miner then petitioned his city for the right to mine the landfill for the potential $100,000,000+ payoff, but the city declined, citing safety reasons.

THE VERY FIRST bitcoins were technically worthless, as nobody was making a buy/sell market in them. This changed in October 2009, when New Liberty Standard posted an offer to buy or sell bitcoins at the rate of 1,309.03 bitcoins per dollar, or roughly 76 cents per 1,000 bitcoins. The value was calculated as being the cost of the electricity used by a computer to mine one bitcoin. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

As the “mining” function has gotten harder and harder, some bitcoin miners have installed more computer hardware, which takes more electricity to operate. A coin dealer we know tells the story of a mining acquaintance who was racking up electricity bills of $2,500 per month until he was raided by drug enforcement authorities, who had decided that he must have been running a marijuana grow operation. This experience curbed the miner’s activities, at least for a while.

A week after posting that first offer, New Liberty purchased 5,050 bitcoins from a miner for US$5.02, or approximately $1 per 1,000 bitcoins. At least now the company had a product inventory to sell.

In May 2009, the first actual transaction using bitcoins occurred. A man named Laszlo Hanyecz purchased, obviously by prior arrangement, two pizzas worth approximately US$25 for 10,000 bitcoins. As of this writing, those 10,000 bitcoins would be worth approximately $68,690,000, but had they never been spent, and accepted, it is possible that no bitcoin anywhere would be worth anything.

The bitcoin achieved parity with the U.S. dollar in late winter 2011, after which a short-lived bubble saw it break $30 per bitcoin before falling back to $2. Despite this prescient example of things to come, it bubbled up to over $265 in spring 2011 before dropping back to around $70. Since then, the bubbles and the busts have only gotten larger.

The currency function of the bitcoin remains difficult to quantify. It is widely assumed that the system is being used to launder drug money around the world, but the highly secretive nature of the cryptocurrency makes it impossible to verify this. For all we know, the vast majority of the bitcoins still existing are merely being used for speculation.

There are places where you can buy a cup of coffee or a bar of gold with bitcoins, but the devil is in the details. Unless your coffee shop has a Bitcoin account and the hardware to allow you to make a small payment (one pumpkin spice latte costing roughly 0.00058 bitcoin, hold the nutmeg) directly to them, you might end up paying a $20 service charge to a third-party company set up to facilitate Bitcoin purchases.

One of the numismatic forums recently carried a tale of woe from a member who tried to buy 10 gold bullion coins from a dealer that accepted Bitcoin using one of these third-party intermediaries, only to discover that the bullion dealer had a 15-minute time-out clock that started the second that the price between the buyer and the seller was established. This was to protect the seller if the typically volatile price of the tendered payment dropped before the transaction was completed.

Well, the third party took over 45 minutes to make the transfer, for a $20 fee, by which time the seller was no longer honoring the original price. Thinking that the seller had canceled the transaction, the buyer asked the third party for his funds back, incurring another $20 fee. He then heard from the seller that the transaction had gone through, but that he owed another $66 due to a slight drop in the Bitcoin value.

He sent the money again, and before everything was over he had ended up paying $80 in fees, as well as mailing a check for the $66. He had bought into the bitcoins at a much lower price than he was spending them at, so he still did fine on the deal, but his profit was that much less because of the hassle factor involved with using Bitcoin as a currency. The day after he complained about all this in the forums, the price of a bitcoin dropped to $11,000 from over $18,000, so, all in all, he came out OK.

In the end, a bitcoin is a nebulous thing with enormous potential, just as the weight of the water behind a hydroelectric dam has the potential energy to drive turbines and produce much good. However, the weight of a giant boulder perched on a hill above a small town can have that same potential energy to produce harm. Which one will Bitcoin be for you?

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