#I’d even dare say this is my magnum opus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohgoddard · 3 years

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Fist of Fire: Omega.1.8

I am above them all.

It is a strange feeling, being above someone. They look like ants, so far away. Yet I am not moving, just floating. I scan the crowds of the parade, full of people cheering and having candies thrown at them from the floats. Cramped streets, even tighter sidewalks filled to the brim with people in their summer gear. Some dressed as their favorite heroes that will be in the parade. The heat came in waves, but it didn't affect me. This high up, the air is always cool. Music was always present, among all the other cacophonous explosions of noise. The rumbling brass of the marching bands, the explosive drums of the floats, and the click-clacking of the boots of the veterans of the Power War barely eke out the cheering in the air. It has been so long since I have been among people in this way, in such big groups.

I wasn’t used to the noises again, the sounds of their voices and screaming. Of course, I heard their voices while I shut myself away. Yet, I ignored them. They were suffering at the hands of their chosen protectors, crying for help. Why would I help those who dare declare me a terrorist, a traitor?

But I do anyway. I am the only real hero.

Maybe a few of those poor souls in the crowd will see it after this. An example is always needed to show when something needs to be fixed. They were finally beginning to understand, but I went too far too quickly. The Capitol should have been much later. The establishment of a state was too ingrained in them. Removing it will take much more than just the butchering of the real traitors. It was supposed to be my real confrontation with Whirlwind. He was always on the President’s payroll, him and a few heroes at any given moment. He never showed, though. Instead, I fought nothing. The police never bothered to go in until I left. The so-called heroes in D.C did not even try to stop me. Not even a reserve guard. The networks always disregarded that fact though. It was always a focus on me, the killer and butcher. It was never that the police let me in, the heroes didn't fight me, the President flew away an hour before I showed up.

The parade isn't moving nearly as fast as I’d like it to. Whirlwind is at the end of it, along with this other speedster he’s taken under his wing the last few years. Doesn’t matter. I’ve waited this long. I can wait just a few more minutes. All I’ll need is one. Just like at D.C.

All it took was one minute.

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Thunder preceded my arrival to Washington. Nature was on my side, as it should be. I was the oncoming storm. This was the peak of me, my movement, my actions. Across the nation, people were questioning those who supposedly protected them. This would be my magnum opus to removing the leeches of society, toppling the decaying order. From the top-down, it would be reformed in my image. A safer image. A better one. People won’t have to see their father shot on the streets. But that was all in the future. For now, I had one goal in mind.

The President left an hour ago with an Air Force escort of multiple jets, running away with his tail in between his legs. He wasn’t my target anyway. If I had wanted him dead, he’d be dead. No, the only thing in my mind as I flew through the heavy, cold rain towards the Capitol building was a list. The white marble of the building looked grey under the overcast sky, and as I landed down onto the steps of the building, thunder struck. The entire mall was empty, the Smithsonian closed, Whitehouse silently evacuated. They knew I was coming, knew that their time was limited. Yet, curiously, when I arrived there was no one there. I could feel eyes watching me though. As I scanned the city, I counted the bodies that hid behind the walls of buildings. Shaking men in women in blue, weapons hastily drawn and pointed my way. So-called heroes, standing and facing me defiantly yet refusing to take a step. Citizens clamored around the barricades, trying to catch a glimpse of the great eradicator. The police and heroes weren’t there to stop me, or to keep me from leaving. They were there to make sure no one was stupid or suicidal enough to attempt.

It's all infected. This is the only thought I have in my mind as I ascend those marble steps. They’re all infected. Not a single good soul among them. Not a single good soul within a hundred miles of me. Misguided, led astray by those who trusted them. They thought themselves above those who would put them in power. But they were wrong. And they know they’re wrong now. As I approached the doors, I could hear the desperate banging on the locked doors. Doors locked for me. Hundreds of people, left behind so that another may save their neck. A sacrifice to me in vain attempts to stop greater bloodshed. I heard cries of terror, screaming, silent acceptance in the minds of those who understood what was going to happen.

I was not there for all of them, but they didn’t know that.

I kick the doors down into the Capitol and enter alone. My sopping wet footsteps echo an empty hall as I walk towards the chambers. Carved marble and granite floors, extravagant works of architecture. A palace in any other world. Fit for those who think they’re kings. The first step in a long revolution. I put force into every step I take towards the chambers. I let the ground shake and echo, becoming louder and louder. I hear their voices grow quiet, anticipating my arrival into their room. The House would be first. And it would be public. The cameras were no doubt rolling inside, people-watching in abject horror as I tore the door off from the wall and threw it across the room. Huddled in groups under their desks, hugging each other as if the other day they weren’t at each other's throats. Pathetic. The heat builds in my eyes as I calmly walk down the aisle. It almost seems random who I select, but I choose only the most egregious offenders. Those who have passed beyond the spot of return. I pick no side, only my own. Concentrated shots of a four thousand degrees laser make short work of traitors and an inconvenience for the janitor’s vacuum. They all scream, but none dare move. None dare look away. For they think that if they defy what is happening in any way, they too will turn to dust.

I say none, but one did try. While I am mowing down his colleagues, he attempts to run for the door, thinking I'm preoccupied. To the cameras, I don’t even move. All they see is a sudden mist of red and a smear on the once pristine white walls of the House Chambers.

After my work is done, those I deemed worthy of living still cowering in fear at my feet, I face the camera.

“People of the world, listen closely. I am the first and the last of your new masters. I am the great reset. I am the great leap forward. Everything begins and ends with me. I am everywhere, I am everyone. The world shaped me into what you see now.”

Using my speed, I dart around the world. I make it seem as if I am levitating over every major city. Every capitol. My face, my helmet is seen everywhere.

“I am the Alpha. I am on top. A new order comes from me, and me alone. Do not count on your heroes. Do not count on your villains. There is only one master. One ruler.”

Fires burn across the world, ships and cars crash, planes fall from the sky. I cause them all.

“I am the Omega.”

Escaped from a mental institution, assaulted by a man I could kill if only I had not held myself back. I would have ruled the world had they just listened to me. Yet, I was caught off guard and made a plea bargain. A streak of light and I was defenseless. Another day and it was all back, but by then I had made a plan. Which all leads back to where I am right now. I stand above a parade, waiting to enact revenge on the person who made me who I am. I should thank him, honestly. Without him, I would never have cared about the world. I would have never been born. But he still needs to die. The path to him has been bloody and unnecessary. Sure, many needed to die and were dead now. But it all meant nothing if it meant he still breathed. My failure at Washington will not be repeated. The world is infected, and I am the cure. He is the disease that awoke me. I am power defined, power controlled. There stands no one beside me, no one above. There is only below.

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And yet, here I am.

Wait. One person could have seen me. In that moment of realization, I chuckle. I was going to have to put down another upstart. A small bump in the road in my ambition. It would be a thrill, an easy warm-up for my strength. I inhale the sharp cold air. In the bright blue sky where I floated, I mentally chastised myself for not noticing sooner. That light shouldn’t have reflected and followed me the way it did on my way over. That heat was never that bad this high up. No, It had to come from another source. And as I turned to face it, I smiled.

The parade meanders, a large affair for a large city such as Boston. Yet, I feel something off. A speedster such as himself would never wait for the back. He basks in speed, he would never sit and stay on a float. He’d be here by now. There is no way he’d be late. Unless...

No... Unless he knows. But how? The hospital has not sent any news out, I have made sure of that. I had not sensed any signal leave that building, not even internal ones. No, there is no way he could have known. [i]Could I have been seen? Impossible, I flew in the stratosphere all the way here. No one could have seen me.

Bright white and red, streaks of gold, red hair. She was new. I have only barely heard of her if only through the stories Kiara’s father has told me. In her hands were two suns, harsh things to look at. Her feet were two fireballs, propelling her to stay level with me. Her look was fierce, streaks of flame dripping off her hands like molten iron. Her eyes glowed gold. Cute. A sharp scar across her face showed this wasn’t her first rodeo. It will be her last, however.

“Sunspot, is it? I will give you one chance to leave right now. You are clean. You have done nothing wrong. Your ambition is sacred, you have a life worth living. Live it somewhere else.”

She said nothing, though I could hear her heartbeat increase. I smirked under my mask.

“I only cleanse those who need cleansing. I am not here to butcher the masses. I am not here to terrorize. You are not part of my plan, they are not part of my plan. Do not become a part of it.”

Villains had their weaknesses. Heroes theirs. Everyone had their blind spots. I don’t. There is nothing better than me.

Still, she stood next to me, defiant. The sun started to glow a little brighter, which tickled something in my mind. “Omegaman, you are under arrest. Please surrender and come with me.”

Her voice, while confident in tone and steady, betrayed her uneasiness. Had it not been so cold up here, I would have no doubt seen her sweating. Her shakiness could be written off due to altitudes, but I knew better. She was scared. She had never faced someone like me.

“I don’t want to go to another funeral in Boston because of your mistakes.”

“Or what?” I finally faced her. She couldn’t have been older than 22, yet here she was trying to take me down.

“I have killed heroes ten times better than you. Thirty times more deserving. This is your last chance to leave, Sunspot.” I lower my head behind my arms as I put them up. She mirrored me, moving her arms into a boxing stance, her legs getting ready to propel her. This was inevitable, she wanted this to happen. Might as well make it fun for me, give her one more chance to leave.

She had managed to hurt me.

In a rage of fury, she roared and threw the sun at me. I opened my palm to catch it, laughing at her outrage. Yet when it reached my hand, I stopped laughing and started to scream.

What?! My hands and arms were red and black scorched marks, my brain a frenzy with synapses of pure pain.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

#FoF:om

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the-roanoke-society · 3 years

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now i have a story that i’d like to tell...

about this guy you all know him, he had me scared as hell! / he comes to me at night after i crawl into bed / he's burnt up like a weenie and his name is fred!

horror aus part trois. part one can be found here, and two, here. all warnings and disclaimers still apply--as does the love.

do you dare dare journey below the cut...?

it’s a long way down, a long way down - a holy hell au inspired by the creep series

there are stories are stories on stories on stories about matches made in heaven. about two pure souls destined for the other, finally reaching a ‘happily ever after’ after going through trials and tribulations that, honestly, are played out and boring.

that’s exactly what fergus macleod would tell you, anway.

he’s been inhabiting his mortal coil for a few decades now, engaging in his favorite activity--serial murder.

but lately, something has--gone out.

he’s lost his light. his passion for killing.

so he gets an idea, and puts out an ad for a videographer.

he’ll make a documentary, he decides. a magnum opus to relight the blood and the violence that had brought him so much joy over the years.

what he didn’t expect was andi.

not her beauty. not her courage. not her wit, sharp enough to make a god bleed.

and not her fangs, and a thirst to rival his--even if her moral compass was a bit more lawful.

enough of stories about matches made in heaven.

talk to me about a match made in hell.

(these--particular films are not easy watches, though i personally enjoy them. the sequel is my favorite, but remember when i said ‘explicit sexuality’ in the first warning post? the especially applies to creep 2. when i imagined this au it was less in-line with the main narrative of the movies and more, say, a meet-cute story you’d overhear at an addams’ family function.)

mini soundtrack sampler includes: lovelytheband, ‘buzz cut’ + catfish & the bottlemen, ‘longshot’ + albert natural, ‘sara loves her juicy fruit’

red sun rises like an early warning - an ancient cares au inspired by sleepy hollow

sleepy hollow was often called a “sleepy” village, in the way that meant that nothing ever happened there. marie van tassel, daughter of the richest man in town--and immediately intrigued by the arrival of one police constable walter vaughn, sent all the way from new york city--would disagree. especially in recent years.

the headless horseman had returned.

and marie, for all the occult studying she’d done far from the gaze of her father’s watchful eyes, still so haunted after her mother’s brutal and untimely passing--couldn’t figure out why.

she knew exactly who he was. what he was. but why had he returned? what had woken him?

and could see really be that mournful, when it had sprung start the machinations of fate that brought walter right to her doorstep?

“i have shed my tears for boom... and yet my heart is not broken. do you think me wicked?”

“no... but perhaps there is a little bit of witch in you, marie.”

“walter, why do you say that?”

“because you have bewitched me.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: frank sinatra, ‘witchcraft’ + creedence clearwater revival, ‘i put a spell on you’ + the rolling stones, ‘sympathy for the devil’

drunk and driven by a devil’s hunger - a safety nets au inspired by apostle, co-starring @agent-thorn

it was only five years into the birth of an entirely new century, and her twin brother had been taken; her father, lost in his grief, was utterly useless.

it was all up to parker jensen.

she found a fake pass easy enough, slyly dancing her way through conversations with began with “you know, i don’t remember seeing you at any of the prayer meetings...” until finally, finally, they reached that accursed island.

she’d never been to wales before.

she had no idea what to expect.

what are you supposed to expect, when you’re all alone on a solo rescue mission going toe-to-toe with what can only be described as a cult?

but ivar--son of the enigmatic priest of the island, malcolm--was a nice surprise.

the only nice surprise that she’d find.

it wasn’t until she caught jeremy, sneaking home after what she could only guess had something to do with ffion, that she got her first flash of what would be a more and more grisly truth.

this island had its own god.

and something much more sinister than genesis had happened on this soil.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: bakar, ‘hell n back’ + mumford & sons, ‘little lion man’ + neil reid, ‘mother of mine’

let that fever make the water rise - a grace & choice au inspired by the ritual

it was supposed to be like a vacation. diana hadn’t had one in at least fifteen years. vida, even longer.

so why not hiking? why not the kungsleden--the king’s trail--in northern sweden?

the first two days were bliss. nothing but rolling hills, clear skies. up until:

“ah fuck!”

“vida--shit, vida, are you okay?”

“yeah, i’m--urk!”

“all right, that was not a reassuring noise, let’s have a look at that--”

vida’s left knee went from pink to a swollen blue to an agonized, deep purple tinged with green over the course of next day. diana couldn’t bear to watch her struggle to keep up, especially when this was supposed to be a romantic break, nothing as taxing as the fieldwork happening back home.

by the light of a campfire, diana studied their map, humming. “what if we just cut through the forest?” she asked. “if we just went as the crow flies... it cuts the time in half. and you need medical attention, vida, we can’t keep going on like this.”

“has the battalion cleared this area?” vida returned her question with one of her own, eyes shining. the reflection of the fire made them look like stones polished by a river. “we wouldn’t run into anything, would we?”

diana smiled. “nothing we couldn’t handle, love, i’m sure.”

and diana didn’t change her mind when they set off the next morning... up until they found the disembowled carcass of an elk, placed up high in a tree like a religious icon.

she thought of morgan.

“diana, what--what put that up there? something had to have put that up there!”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: billie eilish, ‘bury a friend’ + two feet, ‘i feel like i’m drowning’ + coldplay, ‘paradise’

you can hear the river from my burial bed - a secret gardens au inspired by the legends of slenderman & mercy black, co-starring @agent-hood

she wouldn’t say she wouldn’t remember. she did.

it was just that caroline janson had been in therapy for so long... she was no longer sure what of shards of her memories were real, and what would be, as dr. ward would say, hallucinations.

but she knew one thing: she was glad to be coming home.

“i hope chicken’s okay for your first night back,” parker began gently. “i’m just now realizing i forgot to ask--”

caroline smiled at her, “chicken would be great.”

she watched parker’s profile, as she opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. finally, she inhaled, then began, “you know... carter’s missed you since you’ve been gone...”

caroline rolled her eyes. “parker. it’s been a decade and a half. i seriously doubt it.”

“hey, who knows my brother better right now, me or you?”

that earned a huff... and a grin. subdued, but still there. “... okay. fine. but... maybe not tonight.” parker glanced at her once, and nodded.

“i understand. besides, maybe i want you all to myself for the first few days, anybody think about that?”

and caroline laughed.

and she wished that it felt like she wasn’t still being haunted.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: oingo boingo, ‘dead man’s party’ + shaed, ‘trampoline’ + corrina repp, ‘only a beat’

don’t let it shake your steady thread-cutting hand - a royals & robots au inspired by kristy

it was hardly tilde’s idea to spend thanksgiving alone harvard. but between the pandemic, the weather, and her own growing agitation at her father’s behavior...

it just seemed easier.

and it wasn’t all bad. she still had prudence, who opted to stay with her out of love (and perhaps a lack of family--but she didn’t ask). and they had run of essentially the entire campus--there were several buildings that stayed opened, even over the holiday. the library being one.

but it wasn’t until one night, when they made a late night trip to a convenience store not far from tilde’s housing that things became... strange.

“pru. ... pru!” she whispered, snacks in one hand, the other on pru’s elbow. “... i think she’s following us.”

“she?” pru asked, lowly, careful to keep her eyes down, as if they were just having a very, very difficult time decided on what kind of poptarts they wanted.

tilde, face oddly blanched, couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded.

at the end of the aisle, a figure in dark hoodie and skinny jeans passed out of view.

one of pru’s arms went around tilde’s waist. “don’t worry. i’m sure she’s just here at the same time as us. it’s a small store.”

tilde would remember that when she got home in time to find a snuff film loaded onto her laptop.

“oh shit--oh shit, oh god--!”

this is why she preferred halloween.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: yeah yeah yeahs, ‘heads will roll’ + rihanna, ‘disturbia’ + nonono, ‘pumpin’ blood’

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televisor-reviews · 4 years

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Top 10 WORST Movies Of 2018!

As everyone is talking about their favorite and least favorite films of last year, I’d much rather take a look at what came out two years ago! This is what I do every New Year, get used to it. And keep in mind that I haven’t seen every film from 2018, so as bad as I’m sure Sherlock Gnomes and Pacific Rim: Uprising are, I haven’t gotten around to them. If you’d like a list of every film I have seen, I have them listed on my Letterboxd: https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1HnDnQ4ibO82ryM9lOCGgw1FZhVLdC4SZ

#10. Fifty Shades Freed On my 2015 list, I didn’t even bother putting Fifty Shades Of Grey on it because I thought it was absolutely hilarious! On my 2017 list, I placed Fifty Shades Darker at the very top for its lack of even the basics of what makes a decent flick, notably there being no real plot. So I guess I’m meeting this franchise in the middle by putting Fifty Shades Freed at the tenth spot for just how batshit this movie is. Shit kinda just happens randomly with little to no reason while also not being funny in the slightest. In fact, large segments of the film is kinda boring, particularly the sex scenes in which there are so many that by the 20th time, you’d just get used to it like a jump scare in Winchester. Really, the biggest reason this is only at #10 is because Fifty Shades Freed has Freed us all from this series, assuming that a film adaptation of Grey isn’t made. And that’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever given to one of these movies. #9. A Wrinkle In Time I once heard someone justify Disney’s live action remakes by saying they help fund their more unique film escapades like Nutcracker And The Four Realms (which barely didn’t make the list). The problem with that is that I don’t want those ether! And considering how Solo and The Rise Of Skywalker turned out, maybe Disney’s live action department should just stick with Marvel movies. Honestly, I don’t completely remember why I left the theater after seeing A Wrinkle In Time so angry, like legitimately pissed off. I remember the girl who looks like one of the Mean Girls being treated like a member of the Losers Club, how terrible the child acting was, how even worse the adult acting was, how annoying everybody who wasn’t Chris Pine was, and how that little kid was named Charles Wallace because the characters said it at least a million times! Considering how angry I am just writing about it, I’m guessing it was a combination of all of those elements being wrapped up with a pretentious bow. Honestly, A Wrinkle In Time was a humongous waste of my time. #8. Show Dogs It’s a bad sign when the movie starring Bojack Horseman yelling at Ludacris dog is only at #8 on my list. The big reason for that is because this is so terrible that I had to break down laughing at times. Not because Show Dogs is genuinely or ironically funny, it’s just so batshit insane that I had to laugh. Almost like a defense reflex: like if I wasn’t laughing, I’d end up jumping off the roof. The plot is crazy, the acting is crazy, the whole fucking idea is crazy! I’d like you to stop and imagine Will Arnett with the straightest face possible yelling at a dog voiced by Ludacris that nobody can actually hear in the middle of a very serious police station about the dog fucking up an undercover job and somehow not laughing your ass off. That is what it was like watching Show Dogs. You’re welcome. #7. Slender Man I think people really downgrade how good horror has been lately. I know that in a world of Insidious: The Last Key and Truth Or Dare, it’s easy to be pessimistic. And I think people also dismiss the greatness the internet has had on modern pop culture. Considering how bad things like Daphne And Velma and Mowgli: Legend Of The Jungle are, I kinda get it. In reality, these tend to be the outliers among a lot of greatness, but after seeing Slender Man, I’m starting to think similarly. I was one of the only people who was actually excited about this movie because I’m young enough to remember a time when Slender Man: The Eight Pages was the scariest thing in the world and after seeing how well Hollywood treated the character in Beware The Slender Man, I was really hopeful. Little did I know that Madhouse Entertainment had one of the least interesting and least scary horror movies I’ve ever seen with boring characters, a monster that’s barely in the movie, and a script that’s closer to Rings than it is to its source material. I really hope this’ll go the way of Ouija and Annabelle and end up having a really good followup or else Slender Man will be a huge blot on the legitimacy of the internet. #6. Snake Outta Compton I’m gonna be straight with y’all, I have been doing a pretty bad job at keeping up with horror B-movies lately. I mean, I did watch The Last Sharknado: It’s About Time and Leprechaun Returns but those were mostly just mediocre, even within the context of the rest of their franchises. So when I saw the title Snake Outta Compton, I knew I had to watch it expecting something really stupid and funny as all hell. Instead I got a boring and uninteresting barely even an attempt at cinema. I really hated this film, it’s just such a boringly dull film where little to nothing ever happens and I hated every dumb second of it. The terrible rapping, the awful effects, the horrendous acting, everything in snake Outta Compton sucks and I hate it. #5. Norm Of The North: Keys To The Kingdom Remember that god awful polar bear movie starring Rob Schneider from a few years ago… yeah, they made four of those. Normal people would say the first Norm Of The North was the absolute bottom of the barrel, I say “No!… It’s Norm Of The North: Keys To The Kingdom,” and even more suicidal people would probably say it’s Norm Of The North: King Sized Adventure. If you thought the animation in the original was bad, you’ve seen nothing! This is so bad that I’m not even sure it should be considered animation! This is so bad that it makes Duck Duck Goose look like The Grinch! This is so bad that they couldn’t even get Rob Schneider back! The plot, it’s like this is one of those straight to DVD Disney sequels that were made up of episodes of conceled TV shows except why would anyone try to make Norm Of the FUCKING North into a TV show! But apparently it made money considering how (and I’ll repeat this again) there are four of these! Maybe the immense failure of Arctic Dogs will stop Entertainment Studios from making any more. #4. The Thinning: New World Order Speaking of sequels that’ll make the originals look like masterpieces, we’ve got Logan Paul’s magnum opus, coming straight outta that Japanese suicide forest. A film that tells you that a country made up of the smartest 95% of citizens are stupid enough to not catch on to the pretty obvious government plan going on in this universe. Even more so, apparently presidents to be are allowed to just make major laws that’ll arrest about 50% of the population before being sworn in as president. But even more so, I’m to believe that Logan Paul of all people is smart enough to escape these poorly conceived concentration camps. This is a key example of suspension of disbelief gone too far. I don’t believe for a second that this world actually could exist. And I want everyone reading this to remember The Thinning: New World Order after seeing what I put at number one that even liberals can make terrible movies too! #3. The 15:17 To Paris No shit, this is easily the worst movie I’ve ever seen in theaters. No joke, no sarcasm, the Clint Eastwood trainwreck that is The 15:17 To Paris is by far one of the worst movies of the decade… and it’s only at #3 on my bottom 10 of the year. Let me explain. Where the absolute bottom of the barrels of the year are total slogs that I wouldn’t be able to stand watching again, this is actually really fun to watch. Immediately after seeing it in theaters, I wanted to see it again just to make sure it wasn’t a fever dream. In every conversation I have, I recommend this movie because it has to be seen to be believed. Of all the films on this list, this is the only one I’d actually recommend to people. No other film has the balls to portray three normies with ADD talking as boringly as possible taking selfies in Venice for 30 minutes for no goddamn reason. In no other movie will you see a bunch of comedians try and do serious roles that they had no right being casted in. When I went back to school and brought this up with my film nerd friends, every one of them had a different story of watching this. My god, please watch The 15:17 To Paris so that we can convince Clint Eastwood into making The 15:18 To Paris. #2. Gotti Let me tell ya, Gotti is one of the wurst felms ya’ll evar see! Who in da hell convinced John Travolta that he culd do serious roles! But in all seriousness, this movie sucks. I’m not super familiar with the story of John Gotti, and by that I mean I’ve never even heard the name before seeing this film. And I’m pretty sure that to even get what’s going on in this, you’d have to see a 3 hour documentary on the guy beforehand or else you’d be incredibly confused the entire time because I know I was! Don’t even ask me what happens in Gotti because I have no clue. It goes all over the place with different characters doing different things at different points in time and eventually, I stopped paying attention! I do remember that there were about 20 characters named “John,” John Gotti only kills one guy though I’m pretty sure that as a mob boss he’d kill more, and I have no idea how this mafia makes money. Oh, and this convicted feline is apparently also Jesus Christ. I’ll tells yas, ya can live 100 yeers an neva see a moovy as bad as Gotti. Before we get to #1, let’s do some runners up!

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom I wanted so bad to put this on the list because as a pretty big Jurassic Park fan, I can fairly say that Fallen Kingdom is easily the worst film in the franchise. If only because of that dumb ass twist at the end with that kid I kinda forgot even existed. Or just for those annoying ass comedic reliefs that are consistently useless. Or just because on a base filmmaking level, this movie sucks. Hurricane Bianca: From Russia With Hate Listen, I’m openly and proudly bisexual, so I get how important it is to get good representation out there in the film industry. And I also get why a lot of the Ru Paul: Drag Race fandom has latched onto this series. But Jesus Christ guys, drag queens can do better and they deserve better. From Russia With Hate is definitely a step in the right direction with it being way more interesting and fun than the first Hurricane Bianca… but come on guys! These aren’t good movies! Just watch more Drag Race, it’s much better. The Happytime Murders Disney, please let Muppets Now be good! The puppetry artform deserves better than this garbage! The Happytime Murders is a movie in which half the jokes is that a puppet is jizzing a lot. Honestly, my biggest beef with this film is that it doesn’t even get to the heart of what people love about the Jim Henson style of puppetry, notably the fun. Look at most of the cast, they are very humanoid compared to Kermit The Frog or Fozzy Bear. This movie is, first and foremost, not fun. Bob Lazar: Area 51 And Flying Saucers This is my nomination for worst documentary of the year. It’s just annoying to me that this guy can get away with lying to so many people without any repercussions. In fact, he gets this whole documentary that’s basically sucking his dick the entire time! I went in expecting something along the lines of Behind The Curve, a doc that takes an even stance at looking at its crazy subject matter but in a respectful way. In reality, Area 51 And Flying Saucers isn’t even in the slightest being totally on Bob Lazar’s side without questioning his all knowing wisdom for a second and is n’t respectful in the slightest for the intelligence of its viewers! Fuck this doc! A Simple Favor This is my nomination for best worst movie of the year. A Simple Favor is a crazy film with a cast and crew taking it weirdly seriously for a comedy, all with super monotone voices. None of the actual jokes are genuinely funny but lots of them are ironically hilarious. Granted I was very high while watching this, but as far as I’m concerned, that’s the best state of mind to be in while watching it! And did I mention how nobody acts during this but rather just say their lines monotonely! Loved it! God’s Not Dead: A Light In Darkness This was the year Christian propaganda got boring. I was so excited when I went to see I Can Only Imagine in theaters as my first theatrical Christian film experience only to be totally disappointed when it turned out to be pretty dull. Even more so when, later on in the year, the newest installment in the world famous God’s Not Dead franchise, the same one that first brought upon this new age of Christian based filmmaking that’s brought me so much joy before, turned out to be similarly dull. There was a split moment when a character states, “Jesus Christ was the original social justice warrior,” when I was brought back to life with its own stupidity, but it turned out to be fleeting. Not outrageous enough to be put on the list, but too outrageous to be any good. So this is how God’s Not Dead ends: not with a bang, but with a whimper. The Meg And speaking of boring, The Meg has to be the most boring shark movie ever made. A film that feels like it lasts for days and in which no real stakes feel like are in play. This has got to be the most boring and dull and uninteresting and BORING movie of the year! And considering how boring of a year it was for film, that’s saying a goddamn lot! Mary Poppins Returns I feel like I went through an arc of my own while watching this. I went from, “this isn’t bad,” to, “okay, this is a little too much like the original,” to, “why the fuck am I watching this?” Mary Poppins Returns feels like one of the Disney live action remakes because it’s basically just a shittier version of the original with absolutely no good reason to exist let alone to watch, especially compared to said original. And the climax makes absolutely no sense with the logic of the film universe; she can literally fly! And by god, does this feel like anything but Mary Poppins. Blockers Listen, I get that this film is sex positive and that’s a really great thing and all the actors are really trying their best. But it is all in vain for this film with a really unfunny script and that’s kinda important for a comedy. Sometimes Blockers can get a chuckle out of me because of how over the top it can get at times but those are just outliers in a mostly mediocre movie that got built up too much because of how much positivity is in this. Proud Mary Proud Mary is the perfect example of a film in which just because someone can do it well, doesn’t mean everyone can. Ever since Quentin Tarantino has been making movies like Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill, throw back action films have been really cool to see. Then, all of a sudden, the director of London Has Fallen had to come around and remind everyone that they can’t all be winners. Mostly dull dialogue between characters I don’t care about waiting for the action that isn’t even all that good. I was really hopeful that Proud Mary would be fun, but it’s anything but. #1. The Trump Prophecy Listen, I get that when I say that a movie literally titled The Trump Prophecy is the worst film of the year, it comes off as if I’m making a big political statement but believe me, I am not. Politically, admittedly, I am pretty liberal but I’m not really a political dude. But I do know terrible filmmaking when I see it, and believe it or not, a film about a crazy firefighter who gets a vision in his sleep from a god orb that Donald Trump must be president might not be very good. In fact, fuck this cynical, piece of shit, taking advantage of conservatives, monotonely acted, with no love or passion put into it, goddamn movie! As much as I didn’t like any of the movies I’ve mentioned on this list, it’s clear someone, anyone, was passionate about making them. But considering how clearly the director never asked any of his actors to do a second take, no love is clearly put into this. How cynical, how shameless. As someone who does genuinely love the art of filmmaking and would adore the opportunity to make a relatively big budget movie myself, the fact that something as lifeless as The Trump Prophecy gets to be put into any theaters really pisses me off. Say what you want about The 15:17 To Paris, at least it had its heart in the right place. Say what you want about Gotti, at least John Travolta was obviously passionate about the project. This has nothing and is easily the most hatable film I’ve seen in years!

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bitsinakaleidoscope · 5 years

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So, I got the idea to rewrite the John Mulaney skit about a Horse Loose In A Hospital so it fit the happenings in the SCP Tumblrverse, specifically around the Insurgency, from the POV of one of my UIU Agents, Ishmael Blake.

So I did it. Putting it under a cut because it’s pretty long, but here’s my goddamn magnum opus.

Keep in mind, everything makes more sense if you 1) know about Pasta Surveyor, 2) follow the Insurgency blog, and 3) if you’re in the O5verthinking discord

I never really cared about other Groups, never talked about em much. But then, this January, the strangest thing happened! Now, I don’t know if you’ve been following the news, but I’ve been keeping my ears open, and it seems like everyone, everywhere is super mad about everything all the time. I try to stay a little optimistic, even though I will admit, things are getting pretty sticky. Here’s how I try to look at it- and this is just me. These guys being a Group, it’s like there’s Insurgents loose in a taco shop. It’s like there’s Insurgents loose in a taco shop. I think eventually everything’s going to be okay, but I have no idea what’s gonna happen next. Neither do any of you! Neither do your parents! Cause there’s Insurgents loose in a taco shop, it’s never happened before, no one knows what the Insurgents are gonna do next, least of all the Insurgents. They’ve never been in a taco shop before! They’re as confused as you are! There’s no experts! They try to find experts on the communications, they’re like “We’re joined now by a man who once saw the Foundation in Three Portlands”. Get outta here with that shit, we’ve all seen the Foundation in Portlands, this is Insurgents loose in a taco shop!

When Insurgents are loose in a taco shop, you gotta stay updated. So all day long you ask around “Well what’d the Insurgents do, what’d the Insurgents do”. The updates, they’re not always bad, sometimes they’re just odd. It’ll be like, the Insurgents used the soda machine. I didn’t know they knew how to do that. The creepiest days are when you don’t hear from the Insurgents at all. You’re down in the office like “Hey, has anyone, uh… ... ... has anyone heard-” [Footstep noises]. Those are the quiet days when people like, “Looks like the Insurgents have finally calmed down” and then ten seconds later the Insurgents are like “I’m gonna run into the kitchen and choke one of the cooks, got a cool robot arm and a gun, I’m an Insurgent”, that’s what I’d thought you’d say you dumb fucking Insurgent!

Then, then, then you go on break with other agents and they’re like “There shouldn’t be Insurgents loose in a taco shop” and it’s like “We’re well past that”. Then other people are like, “If there’s gonna be Insurgents loose in a taco shop, I’m gonna yell specifically at the O5s” and- and like those don’t match up at all.

And then for a second, it seems like maybe we could survive the Insurgents and then over in some other construct, this eldritch being was like “I CAN MAKE TONS OF PASTA AND I’M GOING TO FLOOD THE TACO SHOP” and before anyone could do anything about it, the Insurgents were like “If you even fucking look at this taco shop, we’ll shoot you to death with our guns, we dare you to do it, we want you to do it, we want you- we want you to do it so we can shoot you to death with our guns, we’re fucking crazy”. “YOU THINK YOU’RE CRAZY, I’M AN ARCHON OF YALDABAOTH, I LIVE IN A CAVE NEXT TO A LAKE, I’M CRAZY”. All of us are like “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay” like a poor Bright at one of their goddamn reunions, “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay”.

And then for a second we were like “Maybe the Foundation can deal with the Insurgents” and then the Insurgents are like “We have assassinated one of the O5s” and like… they can do that?! That shouldn’t be possible no matter who the Insurgents are. I don’t remember this in the orientation…

#scp #scp foundation #scp tumblr #chaos insurgency #pasta surveyor #unusual incidents unit #uiu #o5verthinking #bastarddome

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

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I’m not even ashamed to admit this hit me right in the thirst, @taleously! I adore these two, so thank you for this :) (Rating T, humour/fluff, ~1.5k words)

“- without even realising, I am holding the grenade all of a sudden and all I hear is this choir of dudes chanting ‘hot potato’ over and over -” Bandit breaks off as soon as he collides with Smoke who froze directly in the doorway to the workshop, so the two stumble inside, basically falling over each other and cursing under their breaths. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?!”

Since they attracted everyone’s attention except for two people who continue talking as if nothing happened, Smoke feels free to simply stare for a bit longer, feast his eyes on the human masterpiece illuminating the entire room with his dazzling appearance. Despite knowing nothing about art, Smoke is dead certain he’s witnessing a magnum opus which has come alive and somehow found its way to their base, a walking and talking sculpture currently engrossed in something technical and too high for him, utterly unaware of its own grace.

“Yo, Porter. Is someone else using your brain? Hello?”

He ignores Bandit a little longer in favour of basking in the presence of such ravishing beauty. He lacks the words to convey just how smitten he is, how pure and innocent his admiration, how deep the impression runs which has been left behind by the image before him, how permanent the imprint in his mind. It’s impossible to put into simple terms as nothing speech produces will ever adequately describe what he’s seeing but he makes the attempt nonetheless, scrapes together every last bit of wit and wisdom left over after his composure has been short-circuited, shattered upon entering to express his wonder.

Smoke blurts out: “He’s so fucking hot.”

Bandit looks at him weird and follows his gaze to the corner of the room where Twitch and Mute are working together on something resembling an engine. Probably due to the nature of their work today, they’ve both donned more casual clothes that are intended to get dirty, and dirty they did get. Mute’s sleeveless undershirt has long bidden farewell to its pristine white colour, making way for greasy handprints and a variety of smudges and yet it’s the most appealing thing Smoke has seen in his entire life. He’d give a foot to be allowed to wear it. Not only does it flatter Mute’s physique, it also draws attention to his upper arms which are usually maliciously hidden from the rest of the world – clearly with ill intent as the mere sight of them probably cures depression at one glance. It certainly does with Smoke. Mute’s hair is sweaty, dishevelled and falling into his eyes, and the fact that he looks like he just bit into a lemon doesn’t diminish Smoke’s urge to bite into him.

“We have to break the air conditioning”, Smoke adds and pictures it in his thoughts, fantasises about sweat dripping and white fabric turning transparent and -

“There’s no fucking air conditioning, you perv. Stop leering and move.”

“If I have to take my eyes off him for a single second, I’m literally going to drop dead.” He cranes his neck to keep watching Mute’s every move even as Bandit drags him to a table at the other end of the room. “Holy shit. Look at him. Where’s my guarantee that no one else is gonna flirt with him? What happened to the slightly arrogant but still totally fuckable nerd?”

“You mean the guy who has to be physically restrained so he doesn’t mount you immediately?”

“Yeah, that one”, Smoke agrees distractedly, his eyes steadfastly glued to Mute who’s pushing a few brown strands back but ends up smearing more soot onto his forehead which Smoke would lick off without hesitation were he allowed. “He so wants me, Dom, I’m telling you. Maybe he’s trying to flirt with me, maybe that’s what’s going on. Jesus Christ, this has to be on purpose. Do you think he sucks good dick?”

“Clearly, he chose to wear this for no reason other than to turn you into a randy ferret. And I don’t know, want me to ask him for a demonstration?”

“Keep your bloody hands off him. Not that it matters, he’s obsessed with me, but don’t even think about tainting him.” Smoke bites his lip as he watches Mute stretch, the muscles in his arms showing. “Oh man. He wants me so bad.”

“How come you’ve not asked him out then?”

“Because he’s so fucking far out of my league he might as well be playing a different sport entirely”, Smoke replies absent-mindedly and only realises what he’s just said when Bandit cocks an eyebrow at him. “I mean – that’s probably what he thinks. Or rather the image he has to uphold. You know, he’s this studious, serious, skilled teacher’s pet who shouldn’t get this turned on by an idiot like me, but there he is, dick rising as predictably as the morning sun whenever he sees me and nothing he can do about it.”

“So he’s currently consumed with desire, is that what you’re telling me?”

Both of them glance over to where Mute is fastening some screws while apparently joking around with Twitch, both of them visibly comfortable with each other and the sight feels like a stab to his heart. Like this, covered in grime and working with his hands, he’s painfully sexy and much more approachable than when he’s reading anything with a title which already flies over Smoke’s head – he looks like someone Smoke would actually chat up and that’s the whole problem. Because usually, everyone chats up the guys he likes. “Yeaaah”, he says very slowly.

The German opposite him snorts. “He’s pretty good at hiding it, isn’t he? What if he’s really a prude?”

“He can be a pillow princess for all I care, all he has to do is take it. I’d make his pretty body dance under my fingertips, you know? Play him like a fiddle, make him beg, make him scream, that sort of thing.”

“Is that so? Let him know, why don’t you?” And, much to Smoke’s horror, he turns to the person in question and yells: “Oi, Mark! Got a minute?”

“No no no, wait, wait”, he whispers and breathes a sigh of relief when Mute replies without even looking up: “I’m busy.”

“See, he’s busy, you best not disturb him, he gets cranky when -”

“Trust me, you’ll want to hear this. Porter is just telling me all the things he’d like to do to you.” This time, all conversation halts. Pairs of eyes slide over to Smoke who can feel blood rushing to his cheeks even as he tries to stay nonchalant and let none of his actual panic show on his face. He suspects he’s failing horribly, however, judging by Mute’s entirely unimpressed expression.

The young man says something to Twitch, making her laugh, and then walks over and if Smoke wasn’t dying inside already, now it’s much worse. Because not only does he have no idea what to say but also Mute’s so close all of a sudden, radiating heat and smelling like grease and heaven. “Shoot.” He’s looking down at Smoke expectantly and with a look of go on, I dare you to embarrass yourself.

“I uh”, Smoke responds and ignores Bandit’s wide grin, “how about – let’s go for some drinks? Later? If you have time? That’s, uh, I’d like to go for a few drinks. That’s it. I mean, that’s all. Don’t listen to Dom.”

“I’m not even saying anything”, Bandit murmurs, highly amused.

Mute examines him thoughtfully for a few seconds during which Smoke’s cheeks darken considerably. “I’m not deaf”, he announces, “and you’re a twat. You pay, but talk about me like that again and it’s cancelled. Deal?”

His face is burning by now because oh God Mute heard him and how much did he actually hear, so it takes a moment to register that he actually agreed. Stupidly, he babbles: “Yes, of course, thank you, I’m – yes. Deal. Let’s do it. Yes.” Mute just shakes his head again with an involuntary smile and returns to his previous task, leaving Smoke gaping and staring after him, marvelling at the back view of his body which is no less phenomenal than the front and he did it. He asked him out. He can panic later, for now he needs to contain the tremendous joy bubbling up in him.

“He likes you”, Bandit comments with a smirk, “fancy that.”

Oh I fancy him alright, Smoke’s brain provides helpfully while his mouth blurts: “I told you he’s thirsty for my cock.”

“Aaaand cancelled!”, Mute calls from the other side of the room.

Smoke can hear Bandit laugh the entire time he quietly pleads to his teammate, begging him to reconsider as Mute’s grin simply grows the longer he talks.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #fanfic #oneshot #request #smoke... oh honey #you're in for a surprise #mute is everything but a pillow princess my dear

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malfoycouture · 7 years

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Not for sale, but...

This is a picture of my quilt going up for the show this weekend. I’m glad they got this picture, so you guys could see how effing big it is.

But that’s not what this post is about. I get questions every so often asking if my quilts or patterns are for sale. This is flattering, of course, but the answer is no. Lemme tell you why:

1. This quilt cost me hundreds of dollars in material, between the ungodly amount of fabric in it, mostly high-quality $12/yard batiks, regular thread, metallic thread, fusible, batting, not to mention the gas money driving 120 miles round trip to Pennsylvania five times to quilt it, plus the machine rental.

2. I haven’t counted, but there are somewhere between 3,000 and 4,000 pieces in this quilt. Designing just the pieced blocks took every evening for a week, not to mention drawing the house (twice, once for the master and again to cut every piece apart for the pattern), the peacock (twice), the snake (yup, twice), every letter, and the banner. Then cutting all Hunter Star pieces, the half-square triangles, the quarter-square triangles, and the squares for the pieced blocks, and then sewing them together. And hand-dying the sky. And hand-dying the banner. And hand-dying and then over-dying the small stripey border. And drawing the letters again for the fusible backwards using a light box...and...and...and...I could go on, and on, and on, over each step it took to bring this quilt to life.

The point is that there are also hundreds of hours in this quilt. Now, I haven’t had this quilt appraised yet so I don’t know what it’s worth. I will, because I’m curious and because I still have to have it appraised if I want to show it nationally, which I do. The reason I don’t sell my quilts is because handmade quilts are worth a lot, more than most people realize and are willing to pay. As a point of reference, the Guild’s raffle quilt in 2015 appraised for something like $7,000. Almost no one can meet a reserve like that; ask any DIY cosplayer, or anyone really who makes their stuff from scratch. As someone once said to me, “Handmade quilts are either stupid expensive or they’re free*.”

3. With fandom-themed art, there is always some risk of it being a copyright infringement. It’s not a risk if you’re making your own art, of course, but all bets are off when money becomes involved, and J.K. Rowling famously will not hesitate to defend her brand, nor should she. Now, unlike with the Expecto Patronum Quilt last year, this time I actually made an effort to avoid a copyright infringement. To the best of my knowledge Sanctimonia Vincet Semper is fanon and not canon as the Malfoy motto. I looked on Pottermore and couldn’t find it, and it definitely isn’t in the books or the movies. My Malfoy Manor is close to the source material, but not identical, and yet I’m always concerned it’s a little too close. When I put the quilt in the show last weekend, I was careful to avoid any mention of Harry Potter, Slytherin, or Malfoy even in the description blurb for the quilt (which is why I named it “Bad Faith”). Still, I wouldn’t be 100% comfortable selling it for that reason alone.

*4. THAT SAID. If this quilt is not stupid expensive, it will most likely be free or very, very cheap, as I plan on raffling/door prizing it for charity. I know this seems like a paradox based on what I said in 1 and 2 and my husband thinks I’m crazy, but I have never had any intention of keeping this quilt. It’s the journey, not the destination and it’s going to end up rolled up in the back of my closet otherwise, I just know it. I don’t have anywhere in my house to hang it (one of the nicest things I heard at the show this weekend was, “it belongs in a castle!”) and I further know it wouldn’t make me as happy as giving it up for the greater good. Now, the Expecto Patronum quilt was raffled last year to one lucky winner and made Wizarding Weekend somewhere between $1,500 - $2,000; I never did find out how much. Not bad, but not terrific either.

Bad Faith has been my biggest, most ambitious project to date (magnum opus, dare I say? and about 10x more difficult than Expecto Patronum); thus, my goal is for it to have a major impact: first, that it be seen by as many people as possible and second, that it help as many people as possible. Although I am willing to part with it, I’d only give it up if I thought it would pull in more than its appraisal value in money for charity (i.e., Lumos) through raffle or door prize. Granted, that would take a lot more star power than I have. Now, I don’t need that yet, because I don’t have a cohesive plan, as I say, I still need to have the quilt appraised, and I would like to show it a few more times. When I do have a plan (preferably one that involves Jason Isaacs pulling the winning ticket; just kidding, or am I?), I’ll most definitely be posting it here.

Thanks for all the compliments, the likes, and the re-blogs!

#quilting #slytherin #slytherinpride #malfoy

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chicagoindiecritics · 4 years

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: OSCAR PREDICTIONS 2020: The visual and artistic categories

(Image: hypable.com)

PART 3: THE VISUAL AND ARTISTIC CATEGORIES

The short turnaround 92nd Academy Awards arrive host-free for the second consecutive year on Sunday, February 9th, barely a month after nominations were announced. The pace has added excitement and urgency right on down to my website’s 2020 Awards Tracker. Let’s start calling some winners. As always, that prognostication data is cited in these predictions. This column examines the visual and artistic categories of designs, editing, effects, and more. As I say every year, stick with me and I will win you your Oscar pool!

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY

The nominees: The Irishman, Joker, The Lighthouse, 1917, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood

Who should be here: I’ve got two picks for you where one is indie and one is mainstream. On the big end, I thought Hoyte van Hotema’s work in Ad Astra deserved recognition. On the smaller end, Claire Mathon’s dazzling natural beauty for Portrait of a Lady on Fire has won the second most cinematographer awards this season and did not get a nod.

Who should feel lucky to be there: Like much of the talent involved with The Irishman, Robert Richardson is a rightful legend in his field, but other than a few Scorsese specialty long tracks and slo-mo moves, nothing about his camera work is special in the crime epic. His inclusion feels, again like just about all of the The Irishman nominations, like a token resume inclusion.

Who should win and will win: This one is not even close and it’s going to Roger Deakins for 1917. His long takes combining monstrous crane, tracking, drone, and Steadicam work is beyond comparison and some of the insane best in history. That entire movie is a jaw-dropping “how did they do that” reel and it starts with Deakins’ open lenses.

BEST EDITING

The nominees: Ford v Ferrari, The Irishman, Jojo Rabbit, Joker, Parasite

Who should be here: Even if the single-take fakery is a gimmick for 1917, it’s a pretty damn well executed one in terms of economy and hidden smoothness from editor Lee Smith. Less is more and he should be there. More in the “more” department, the massive work it took to take thousands of hours of footage and hone the perfect documentary Apollo 11 also deserved consideration. It’s hard for documentaries to crack this category and I’ll never understand why because editing is everything in that medium.

Who should feel lucky to be there: Take all the things I said about Robert Richardson in cinematography for The Irishman and repeat it here for Thelma Schoonmaker. We get it. She’s a legend working for a legend on a big deal film, but, goodness gracious, that movie is night tight, taut, or sharp in editing. There’s a lot of fat on steak, no matter what truck it fell off of.

Who should win: Much like the sound categories, I think this is a spot where Ford v Ferrari should prevail. The work to merge the second unit shots, stunt performances, and acting inserts with practical sets and props over CGI is incredible. It deserves this outlier consideration for the win.

Who will win: I’m going to be daring here and say this one is going to Parasite. Many people love to point to Best Editing as being married to the Best Picture winner, but that only happens about 60% of the time (including last year with Green Book). A Parasite win here could rile some TV viewers up about Parasite’s Best Picture chances, and rightfully so. However, with no 1917 in here, this award goes to the next best and that’s Parasite and, luckily, the craft of the reveals of its thriller match the award itself in a fair way.

BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN

The nominees: The Irishman, Jojo Rabbit, 1917, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood, Parasite

Who should be here: Even if 80% of the film takes place in a single location, that macabre mansion in Knives Out created by production designer David Crank and his team would have been a fun and eclectic addition to this field. For the single location vote, it looks like Parasite got that spot.

Who should feel lucky to be there: I don’t think any of these five finalists are inferior to the craft and category. Any of them would be excellent winners, even with the Knives Out wish.

Who should win: If my jaw was dropping from the camera work of Roger Deakins in 1917, the trait that dropped it even lower was the towering desolation and created destruction of the outdoor locations and sets for 1917 by Dennis Gassner. He wowed us with Blade Runner 2049 and 1917 is just as good from the guy who cut his teeth carving a baseball field in the corn for Field of Dreams. He’s got an Oscar in his living room from Bugsy but has deserved two or three more.

Who will win: Barbara Ling is a first-time nominee in this category for crafting Quentin Tarantino’s 1969 for Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood. The industry loves celebrating its golden past and this award is a perfect bouquet thrown to Tarantino’s fairy tale to go with Brad Pitt’s future win. From the cars to the ashtrays, the look of the movie was positively dreamy. This is a worthy winner.

BEST COSTUME DESIGN

The nominees: The Irishman, Jojo Rabbit, Joker, Little Women, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood

Who should be here: There is no question Black Panther Oscar winner should be there to defend her title, so to speak, with her flamboyant work on Dolemite is My Name. Her work has won more costuming awards this season than any other film. This counts as a slight.

Who should feel lucky to be there: Here’s one more for The Irishman and its parade of resumes. Three-time Oscar winner Sandy Powell soaked up the era beautifully for Scorsese’s film, but we’ve seen this work before. Solid as it may be, it’s not a standout. That’s where a swap for Carter would have fit.

Who should win: Movies are a chance to really play with changing looks and characterization. The double volume of on-screen show-within-the-show roles and off-screen main characters in Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood was outstanding. Like the production design, not a stitch was out of place and always just garish enough to let the actors have fun. It could still win, but we know older period pieces get more love.

Who will win: .That’s why, and it’s not a bad thing, that Little Women finally wins an Oscar during this ceremony and party. Jacqueline Durran is a veteran with solid work who won back in 2012 for Anna Karenina. This is where finery gets its due.

BEST MAKEUP AND HAIR-STYLING

The nominees: Bombshell, Joker, Judy, Maleficent: Mistress of Evil, 1917

Who should be here: If I were to ask you to close your eyes and picture Elton John, the eyebrows would raise and the wild looks being remembered would be a hoot. That flashy variety in Rocketman should have earned a nomination.

Who should feel lucky to be there: Angelina Jolie and her enhanced cheekbones were enough to get Maleficent: Mistress of Evil a spot in the final five as the weakest of the bunch.

Who should win: It’s not massive, but I really want to put Joker here and not just for Joaquin Phoenix’s frightening look. I think the dinge and class warfare of the movie looked incredible for this award. Give me the daring over the attractive.

Who will win: That’s because attractive is going to win. All you need to do is show a picture of Charlize Theron as Megyn Kelly and this category is wrapped up for Bombshell. If you needed a second dose to convince you, try to find John Lithgow inside of that Roger Ailes facade. Game, blouses.

BEST VISUAL EFFECTS

The nominees: Avengers Endgame, The Irishman, 1917, The Lion King, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

Who should be here: I’ve dropped this title before and here’s another. Ad Astra has won the second most visual effects awards of the year and it was omitted from the finalists.

Who should feel lucky to be there: So help me God, if The Irishman and its crappy de-aging effects actually win, I’m going to break something. When free software fit for YouTube can do a better job that a nine-figure budget, your work shouldn’t be here to win.

Who should win: Call it lifeless all you want, but when you realize that every shot but one (the opening sunrise, in fact) in The Lion King is completely created from a marriage of CGI and cinematography innovations, you have to bow to that newfangled royalty. Their work and detail is staggering.

Who will win: I’d love to see the 1917 train keep going (and it could), but I’m going to push wishful thinking that the saga-capping effects of Avengers: Endgame take the statuette. I think there’s something worth rewarding with the volume and culmination that is its big ending. I’ve been burned here before in this category when I constantly thought the Planet of the Apes reboot effects would and should win. I think with Marvel it’s different. If it wins, I need ABC to cut to Martin Scorsese for a reaction shot of his magnum opus being beaten by the non-cinema MCU “roller coaster.” Take that, you old coot.

NEXT: The writing and directing awards

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

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Magnum Opus: Chapter 26

You can read Chapter 26 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 26:

He called Jack Crawford.

Within twenty minutes, he arrived. Within thirty, the rest of his unit arrived, scouring the place and establishing a perimeter. Will was handcuffed, whisked away in the back of the FBI vehicle where he was deposited in a very familiar room, although this time he was chained to the small cuff on the table rather than speculating how it’d feel. Now, he didn’t have to imagine. He was very much the criminal, as far as the FBI was concerned. In truth, he was thankful for the restraints. His eyes burned with the liquid fire that crept through his veins, and he desperately needed an aspirin.

“Where’s Abigail, Will,” Jack asked, sitting across from him. “You called me, so I can only assume that you want to confess.”

“I don’t know where Abigail is,” said Will, watching his hands. “I called because I’m scared.”

“Scared?” Jack prompted curtly.

“I’m being set up, Agent Crawford.”

“Set up,” Jack repeated, derision clear in his voice. He stood and paced the length of the room at a leisurely stroll; it was an intimidation tactic, one to try and remind the person in question that the FBI would gladly waste their time. Will didn’t have the heart to tell Jack that he’d lost so much time, this was nothing. “So you’re saying it was a set up that we found the remains of Charlie Yorkman in your barn, as well as human remains in your fishing lures?”

Shock. Shock, shock, shock, shock, shock.

“Yes,” he forced himself to say, slow and sure. His headache pulsed, ricocheted across his forehead to nestle deep in his temple. Whatever the doctors had given him, it was long since gone and faded.

“And it’s a set up that you came to with the blood of Abigail Hobbs on your hands, in the very place that Garrett Jacob Hobbs and Marissa Schurr died?”

“Hannibal Lecter set me up, Agent Crawford,” Will said, and it was the same sort of silence that met him when he first sat across from the FBI and told them about Jared. It was the same silence he’d endured when his father’s new personality had run out of things to say, the same silence that Hannibal had left him with when he called him to cry that he’d killed Nicholas Boyle.

Except he hadn’t killed Nicholas Boyle. That was the problem.

“Your therapist set you up,” Jack said, a mocking curl to his lip. He rounded on Will and leaned on the table, getting far too close. Will blinked rapidly and looked down, forcing himself to focus on his inhales and his exhales.

“He’s not my therapist. He’s still in grad school,” Will replied. “He killed those people, and he’s framing me for it.”

“And why would he do a thing like that when he’s supposedly helping you get a better grasp on your psyche?” Jack asked, leaning in closer. He was close enough to kiss, to bite. He was close enough to choke, to kill. Behind him, Jared Freeman shook his head to Will, warningly.

Now’s not the time.

“Because he wanted to see what I’d do,” Will murmured. “He’s the sadistic, intelligent psychopath that you’ve been looking for, not me.”

“Oh, and he just…told you this?” Jack waved a hand flippantly. He didn’t move away. Will blinked and forced himself to look into his eyes, gritting his teeth at the warning bells in his head, danger, danger, danger.

“I figured it out,” he whispered. “You kept asking me to get into his head, and when I finally did, I figured out the very thing that you couldn’t.”

“Or maybe you’ve just been running a game that finally caught up to you,” Jack replied.

“If I was really your guy, do you think I’d have been so careless?” Will asked, and as another wave of heat washed over him, he leaned back. He tried to appear defiant, rebellious; he really, truly did. It was difficult though, when his heart was constricting so tightly that breathing became too labored. He swayed and leaned towards the table, and Jack moved away from him, glaring.

“Even the best of you twisted minds make mistakes. You’re just upset that I found out.”

“You’re just upset,” Will managed, leaning forward to press his forehead into his clammy hands, “that the dog you kept sending out to track hunters found one that you’re too blind to see.”

“We’ll tell that to Abigail, then.” Jack left him then, and he didn’t return. Will figured that it was another mind game, but after the hours drained from him, he realized that out of all of the games to play, it was a very good one. These were not the minutes that slipped from fingers that held too tight; these were the seconds that ticked, ticked, ticked with total awareness. His mind throbbed with his heartbeat, and his head bobbed as he tried to nod, nod, nod off. They were going to let him die in here. They were going to let him die.

Hannibal was going to let them kill him.

“Hannibal,” he murmured, and he shifted in his chair, head buried in his hands. Hannibal, the devil in the shadows. Hannibal, the liar. Hannibal, the puppet master. Hannibal, the murderer.

“He’s eating them, you know.”

Hannibal the Cannibal. The name had a ring to it, a title rather than a true name. Will laughed into his hands, timing them on the off-beat of the pain that spread from his neck and up, locking him into such a position that his muscles cramped with the effort. The seconds dripped. The seconds froze. He shook his head, to better dispel the illusions of the man that he’d not only been intimate with but practically thrown himself at, desperate for that sort of closeness that you only get to share with someone that saw you when no one else could.

At the thought of Hannibal’s hands on him, Will rubbed his hands on the table to try and scrape the essence off of him. He could see them, small brands that marked him as sullied, tainted by the touch of a person that once stood over the corpse of an innocent person and kissed him.

“No,” Will said calmly, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “No.”

It was true, though. In the frosted, cool morning, Hannibal had pulled him to his feet, blood spread across their skin, and caressed his face, crooning dark, intoxicating words. Hook, line, and sinker. Will was the worst sort of fisherman, one who couldn’t see the lure until it was too late, one that saw the sights of the gun only to find that he was standing in front of the target.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered, and Garrett Jacob Hobbs sat across from him, bits of flesh hanging, an eye plucked out from where the maggots got to it. He grinned, exposing the chunks of rotten skin that still held on.

“It’s real, Will,” Hobbs assured him, and he reached across the wrap his hands around Will’s throat. “This time, you’re not getting out of this alive.”

A blue light flashed, and the darkness swallowed him whole.

He woke to a lulling, gentle voice. Its cadence was that of an old violin –warm, full-bodied. There was something comforting about it, and dizzying images of a small balcony, just two people and the stars. He opened his eyes, the stark white ceiling above dancing with how it had felt to be so daring to kiss a girl he knew he’d never have.

“What are you reading?” he croaked. He turned his head to look at Alana sitting beside the bed.

“Flannery O’Connor,” she replied, lifting the book up. She looked tired, fine spider web lines around her eyes that attested to a not so restful day. “I loved it so much as a girl that I tried to raise peacocks like she did in the book.”

“I didn’t know that it was legal to own peacocks,” Will said. He focused on her face, on eyes softened with familiarity, rather than the handcuffed wrist that rested in the same view. He jostled his other arm, unsurprised to find that one cuffed as well.

“Oh, it is…it was also completely legal for me to realize how utterly stupid they are.”

“I think that would be something society would take in order to push the ‘beauty isn’t everything’ ideal that’s very popular right now,” said Will, and at her laugh, he smiled, a grimacing, ugly sort of thing. “Not to be rude, since I’ve been informed this is normally a rude question, but have you been crying?”

“Is it that obvious?” Alana asked. She reached up to caress her cheek, an almost self-conscious action.

“Your cheeks are flushed,” he said, “and I’m not so arrogant to think I’m making you blush with the way that I look right now.”

“There may have been some screaming,” Alana admitted. “Maybe some steering wheel hitting, too.”

“Why?”

“…Do you have to ask why, Will?” she inquired gently. He shifted in his bed, staring up at the ceiling pointedly so that he didn’t have to see her eyes again. They were going to make him break.

“I have a scream building,” he said conversationally.

“Do you?”

“Perched just…right under my chin.” He nudged his chin to his chest, as though he could display it to her.

“You should let it out before it explodes out of you. It can sometimes be therapeutic to scream until there’s nothing left,” Alana said.

“I think that if I started, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop.” He glanced at her and laughed a little, studying her face and the way that even the hospital lights somehow made her glow. She was the grounder, and he was the lightning. He looked back up to the ceiling when her expression shifted, an uncomfortable contortion at the words she was about to say.

“Is this the part you tell me what’s wrong with me?” he asked.

“Will…you’re very sick,” Alana began. Will nodded; that wasn’t news.

“I had my suspicions,” he said sagely.

“You had a seizure at FBI headquarters, and you were brought here. They ran some tests, and you have what’s called encephalitis. It’s an infection that causes severe inflammation in the brain, resulting in lack of spacial awareness, hallucinations, dementia, headaches, and…more often than not, death.”

“Well I haven’t died yet,” Will managed, looking down at the blankets tucked in around him. It was neurological, not mental. He wasn’t insane, he was fucking sick.

But Hannibal knew that.

“Now that they know what it is, they’re going to treat it,” she assured him.

“And…how did you know I had a seizure at the FBI? I didn’t even know I’d had a seizure at the FBI.” He glanced to gauge her reaction, and at the hesitation on her face, he nodded in understanding.

“Hannibal and I were asked to speak with Agent Crawford after your apprehension. Hannibal felt that he had a lot to share with the FBI regarding his concerns.”

“Oh, I’m sure that Hannibal had a gregarious amount of concern,” Will spat, and the handcuffs cut into his wrists as he clenched his fists.

“You told Agent Crawford that Hannibal set you up.”

“That’s because he did. He killed those people, Alana, not me.” She reached out to touch his hand, and he flinched, holding his breath. She gripped it tightly, reassuring.

“I don’t think you killed anyone, Will,” she said. Will nodded, the weight on his back easing slightly. He wasn’t going to be alone. Someone was going to believe him. “At least, I don’t think you remember doing it.”

…Oh.

He exhaled, and he flexed his hand, moving it as far away from her touch as he could. She allowed the withdrawal, and he refused to look up to see the expression she’d hold at the ready for him. Pity. Remorse. A whisper of fear.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he said. “Hannibal pretended to try and help me with my empathy disorder, and he is trying to frame me for what he did to…to…those people.”

“Hannibal went to Agent Crawford in order to speak up for you. He discussed your time lapses and blackout periods, as well as your hallucinations and delusions. Whatever happened to those people, you don’t remember it.” It was supposed to sound gentle, coaxing. It didn’t. “He said that you had expressed fear of hurting others, and an inability to remember times varying from hours to, at its worst, even days. It was the encephalitis.”

“He may have been speaking for me, but I-” He stopped, teeth dragging over chapped lips furiously. What had his father said? That’s fucking that? What did almost anyone ever do when Will tried to tell them something? The only two people in the world that seemed to truly listen, truly hear what he had to say, were Hannibal and Abigail –one had betrayed him, listened so that he could slither close enough to strike, and the other was –

-No. He refused to believe that he killed her.

“Will, I know this is confusing,” Alana said, “but all anyone wants to do is help.”

“Jack doesn’t want to help, he wants to put someone behind bars,” Will spat. The heart monitor picked up tempo.

“And what is it you claim Hannibal wants to do?” Alana inquired.

“He just wants to see what I’ll do,” Will replied. Alana opened her mouth with something sharp, something biting to show Will just how wrong he was, but the door slammed shut as Jack Crawford walked in, and it silenced them both.

“It’s good to see you awake, Will,” Jack said cheerfully.

“I’m sure you and I have different reasons for being pleased with my consciousness,” Will replied grimly. They stared one another down across the short distance.

“I’m not the enemy here, son,” Jack stated. Will wanted to fight, to shout. Behind Jack, Jared Freeman pressed a finger to his lips

“Now’s not the time to fight. Now’s not the time for flight.”

“I suppose not,” Will said, looking back up to the ceiling. “Is this the part where you read me my rights?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like Alana to not be here when you do, if that’s alright with you.” He rolled his head to look at her, and her expression was enough to almost crack the veneer he’d painted over his face to keep it calm, sanguine.

“I’ll respect that,” she said slowly.

“…I bet you think you dodged a bullet with me,” he whispered, winking.

“I think I still managed to get hit, Will,” she replied, standing up. She left the book on the bed for him and excused herself, her heels clicking quietly across the floor until the door closed again and they faded away. Will stared at the door, and he debated letting loose the pressure that’d been building for so long he’d almost gotten used to the pain. If he screamed, would she come running back? If he finally let loose the pent up torture that’d tried to suffocate him, would she finally understand?

He swallowed with difficultly and looked to Jack Crawford, scream firmly tucked underneath his tongue.

“Alright, Will,” Jack said wearily. “You’re under arrest for the murders of Cassie Boyle, Amanda Lyon, Marissa Schurr, Charlie Yorkman, and Abigail Hobbs. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do…”

Time moved. It was not the sleepy, drooping time that left him screaming into his hands, huddled in the darkest corner of his cell –no, that came at night when the nightmares were so tangible that he woke with the taste of Abigail’s flesh stuck in his teeth. That brought orderlies, needles, and a silence so bleak it cut underneath his grief and reminded him that no matter how low he was, there was still so much to lose. That taught him to better hide his nightmares. That taught him that even in your most terrifying moments, the worst thing you can do is scream.

In every other aspect though, time blurred. There were mug shots, fingerprints, lawyers, analysis, and therapy to endure. There was talk of trials, of life sentences, of death row and other nasty things that wriggled deep and bred like maggots. Those things spun in a dizzying array, and he found recalling them after was like trying to pick up singular grains of sand. He was guilty, they said, but he just can’t remember it. He was sick, they said, and it’s not his fault he ate that girl.

At least Freddie Lounds was part of the parade of monkeys, too. Someone’s career had to take off in the wake of his demise, after all. When he was sentenced, she all but leapt over the partition, snapped a photo of his bleak expression, then exited the room with a smug, self-satisfied smile.

The only moment, the only time that moved at its normal pace, was the one meeting he had with Hannibal.

“What are you looking at, Will Graham?” Will turned towards the cell door, having been facing the corner for a time –an hour? A minute? Time wasn’t real when the walls barely changed, and since he’d been placed in the cell, the walls rarely changed. He blinked, stared at Hannibal, and the fury that seemed to constantly churn within him boiled. He blinked, and the stag man stood tall and mighty, horns rising towards the ceiling. He blinked again, and Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back, expression placidly polite.

“I was in my head,” he said. His voice was gravel from disuse, although it’d only been a few weeks –months? Days?

“What were you thinking of, if you don’t mind my asking?” Will knew what Hannibal wanted to hear. He’d not kept quiet of his accusations, enough that one of the orderlies threatened to sedate him if he didn’t shut up. He avoided that orderly, when at all possible. In his lost days of silence suspended on the dust in the air, he labored over his thoughts of Hannibal, of how now that he could see him, he could step into his place as easily as one breathed. He knew what Hannibal wanted to hear. He knew what he wanted to see.

“Fishing,” said Will. Just that the edge of Hannibal’s eye, it tightened briefly, a shift of disappointment.

“Good,” Jared Freeman coached him, strolling to the bars to size Hannibal up. “Let him know you’re not going to give him a second thought.”

“Do you miss fishing with your friend Charlie?” Hannibal asked. It was taunting, jabbing. Will’s jaw clenched, and he had to fight to keep himself from lunging, from throwing himself against the bars where he’d maybe get a piece of him. He forced himself to swallow, to turn fully so that he could face Hannibal head-on.

“I keep being told what I do or do not remember, so I can’t say that I ever knew a Charlie,” he managed.

“No one disputes the memories that you do have, just the blank spaces in between.” Will nodded, accepting this. It wasn’t true, of course; when he’d tried to talk about Hannibal’s physical advances, the defense lawyer at one point advised against even thinking about it. No one would believe it, for one, and two, they weren’t prosecuting Hannibal so his actions done in the privacy of his own house was none of their business.

“I didn’t put those blank spaces in there,” he murmured.

“No, the encephalitis did. The Warden here tells me he’s going to do his best to retrieve them for you.” Hannibal looked neither displeased nor ruffled at the thought. Will rocked back on his heels and turned, facing his bed.

“They’re trying to fill those spots with things I supposedly did.”

“And what are you trying to fill those spaces with?” Hannibal wondered.

“The truth.”

“The truth is a dangerous thing, Will.”

“I hear you in my head, Hannibal,” he said, and Jared turned back to him.

“Not the plan,” Jared cajoled. “You’re supposed to make him feel inferior and unimportant, not smug. Don’t tell him you hear his voice, idiot.”

“What do I say when I’m within the walls of your mind?” Hannibal asked curiously. Will tucked his hands into the pockets of his jumpsuit, shrugging.

“You are my inner voice,” he said pleasantly. “I used to hear my thoughts as my own –in my voice, with the same timbre and inflection as I would sound as I speak to you here. But now, my inner voice is you, and you’re so very, very persuasive.”

“What do I persuade you to do when I speak?” Hannibal inquired softly.

“You persuade me to indulge in my darkness. You justify my actions for me and twist my words until I hang onto everything that falls from your mouth because I trusted you to not lead me astray.”

“Do you feel like you’ve been led astray by your inner voice, Will?”

“Oh yes,” Will hissed, and he took a deliberate step closer. “I once thought that to have a voice of such surety and clarity would be nice, for once. Now, I want to claw it from my head with my bare hands.”

“Would you place it before me, the same way you place the blame for the unfortunate circumstances that led you here?” Hannibal didn’t move away when Will drew closer. He seemed to hum with the action, coming alive at the thought that he’d gotten under Will’s skin.

“Way off base from the plan,” Jared sneered, leaning against the bars. “You should let me handle this, monster to monster.”

“I would destroy it, that no one else suffered from it.”

“Everything I have done, Will, has been for your well-being. I’m sorry that your fear of your reality has caused you to think of me as your enemy, but I still see us as close friends.”

“We’re not friends,” Will whispered, wrapping his hands around the bars. “We’re not friends, nor have we ever been friends. That light would not touch us, even for a thousand years.”

“And so you would hate me rather than see that I’ve only wanted what was best for you?” Hannibal asked. He stepped closer, dipping his head down to stare Will in the eyes. “If you really thought of me as capable of such monstrosity, why declare your disgust so passionately?”

“Because I want you to know that I’m going to get out of here,” Will growled. “I’m going to get out of here, and when I do, I’m going to destroy you.”

“With your trial coming up, that sort of confidence is key. With your emotions as they are, though, would destroying me truly make you happy? Is that the only way you can be at peace?”

“It’s not peace I’m searching for anymore; it’s a reckoning.”

And in the face of a life sentence for multiple murders while in an unconscious state, that’s really all that Will could hold onto while time spun out from under him.

There would be a reckoning. Will Graham would make sure of that.

#LiaS scribbles #magnum opus #second complete fic yall #hannigram #hannibal x will graham #angst #hannibal #hannibal fanfic #will graham #someone help will graham #Hannibal is terrible about this relationship business #will graham is fucking done

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sscolariwords · 7 years

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Fort

Ah, the great library of Denerim palace. A bastion of learning, collection of the great classical works of Ferelden's history, one of Alistair's favorite places to never visit. Why visit the library, when there were the kennels or the kitchen? The kitchen has cheese, after all. A question for the ages, one he fully intended to posit to his wife, whom after a solid two weeks of camping out in a fortress of Dwarven tomes (guides on customs and etiquette, as well as a lengthy map of Orzammar's financial history) composing her self described magnum opus of trade agreements, had elected to return to her cavern and post guards at the doors.

After shattering a window with the improvised missile of the Dwarven envoy's hat, that is.

Alistair admittedly missed all but the aftermath, cheese and dog related matters holding his attention (at his wife's own insistence, to be fair. She had, after all, just spent the better part of a month studying up on the nuances of Dwarven culture and relations). And yet Eamon likened his beloved to a High Dragon in the wake of her rampage back to the palace library.

"By order of the Queen," barked one trembling guardsman as the last of the Theirin line approached, "None are to be admitted into the Chamber of Repose."

"Keep up the good work, Lads," Alistair replied and strode into his Queen's sanctum.

Or tripped, rather, over the desk that had been propped against the door. Regardless, he made it into the room, though not without going ass over tea kettle. Her Majesty, Elaine Cousland, did not look up, as he came crashed in. She did not look up as he clambered back to his feet and shut the door proper. She did not look up when he called her name. She just kept curled up by her spot on the windowsill, legs wrapped up in her arms and hair draped about her like an oaken waterfall as she continued to glare out into the Denerim skies.

"Elaine?" her king called again, "My love, what exactly happened?"

"I'm abdicating, Alistair," she growled, "Just done. Going to just get the dog's leash and go live in a shack in the Free Marches somewhere."

Alistair trotted over, setting down heavily on the seat beside her. Calloused hands rose to brush aside a lock of hair, finding a pale cheek once carved by a Hurlock's blade.

"I'm sure, dearest," he answered, "I'll even build it for you. But why don't you hold off on packing for a moment and tell me what went wrong?"

She threw up her hands, gesticulating wildly.

"After all that preparation!" she snarled, "Weeks spent drawing up a trade agreement, learning Dwarven, making sure the bloody decor was right, and the damnable King sends an envoy weeks and months, hundreds of miles, just to say he's not bloody interested in trading with us!"

Alistair blinked. "He didn't."

"He most certainly did! Ungrateful half pint of a shit; it's not he owes us his whole sodding job."

"What a complete ass."

"The biggest and hairiest!"

"And how did it escalate?"

"When I calmly and rationally pointed out that King Harrowmont was wasting not just my time, but his own, that squirrelly runt had the nerve to derogate me and my ‘sky-addled mud town’ for even daring to think their King wasn't simply the best thing to ever be shat out of the stone! So I... showed him where he could stick his bloody stone sense and bloody royal decree."

"He's still wiping ink off his tongue, you'll be happy to know. How did the broadsword get lodged in your throne?"

Elaine glowered. "I don't wanna talk about it."

The King took her hand in his and began to knead the soft spots between her knuckles. "I'm genuinely curious."

"He called the guards soft."

"Soft?"

"Soft! He said they'd never been tested in any proving, because they had no paragons to aspire to! So I gave them something to 'aspire to'. I'd like to see that runt crack stone like me."

"I imagine most folks would like to crack stone like you. I'm sorry, my dear." "Yeah, I'll bet 'the Royal Envoy is too. Bastard."

"The largest. Come now, shall we go build that shack?"

"No."

"Darling..."

"I'm not leaving this room, Alistair."

The King watches her a moment. Then he stands and starts gathering up some books from the shelves. Elaine watches him, an eyebrow quirks in befuddlement as he begins to arrange and stack the volumes.

"What are you doing?" she asks, though her husband doesn't answer. He just continues building, until a neat little bungalow stands proudly on the floor. At which point, the King of Ferelden lowers himself onto his rump and scoots into the shelter, before beckoning to his lady love.

Elaine still wants to set fire to Orzammar. She'd like to drop kick Harrowmont right into the blackest pit in the deep roads. But, for the moment, she smiles in spite of herself, and climbs off the windowsill.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Origins #alistair theirin #queen coulsland #fiction #fan fiction #alistair x cousland #alistair x warden

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notesfromthepen · 4 years

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Million P1us

A Million P1us

They ignore us because they can.

I've been in prison going on seven years now. I started getting serious about writing when I came down. At first it was just about expression; an attempt to hold onto a little bit of freedom in a place otherwise designed to kill such things. A few years in I started writing about the shit that was happening in here. Figured, somebody should do it.

I wrote about corrupt officers, nonsensical policies, the cruelty of solitary confinement, the censorship, corruption, and the dangerous parole process. I wrote about the slave wages and the financial fleecing of inmates and their families. I wrote about the benefits of good time and Michigan's failure to offer positive reinforcement to inmates. I wrote about everything I saw, the ridiculous, hilarious, and serious alike. I wanted to give a full voice to this experience. Something deeper than stereotypes.

And then I realized that none of it mattered if no one was reading it. So I started a Facebook page, well Mama C started a Facebook page. I connected with amazing people, but it was clear Facebook wasn't the best platform. So we took what little money we had and started a website. Mama C, the saint she is, learned how to put it all together. And finally, a few moths ago, we entered the Twitersphere (they should bring back the electric chair, just so they can strap me in for writing Twitersphere). This is where the magic happened (can you be electrocuted twice?). In a few short months I linked up with so many like minded people, interested and passionate about what was going on in here, which inspired me to push even harder. After every new piece, I felt the sense of relief that comes from getting something off your chest. But whenever I'd see something written, or said about prison reform or mass incarceration, this responsibility, almost a guilt, would settle on me. I was getting good at pointing fingers, but I wasn't offering any solutions. I figured I'd try to put everything I knew together in a single, comprehensive, piece about the American prison system— to see if that would get rid of the feeling for good.

I spent months writing this pain-in-the-ass tome and, when it was finally done, I felt genuine relief. Everything I knew about the fiasco of incarceration was distilled down to single, coherent, piece of work. Dare I say, I was even proud? I was proud…but I was even more relieved.

Now it was time to get it in the hands of people who could actually make some change. Prison reform, after all, is the ONE bipartisan issue in the county.

With magnum opus in hand, Mama C tracked down all 110 Michigan State Representatives. She sent them each their own personal copy, along with a plea for the reinstatement of good time, and an open letter offering assistance. Twitter friends & the Facebook family sent links and messages to the Governor's office all the way up to federal lawmakers. There was even this amazing degenerate, who also claimed to be a famous comedian, who took notice. And he helped spread the word.

Not a single politician responded.

If this ex-telemarketer and procrastinating, but excellent author, who claims to know Joe Rogan, can't get any of the powers that be to listen, then what chance do the rest of us have?

ZERO. The answer, as it stands now, is zero.

And then I got to thinking.

I've always had love for the underdog, the oppressed, the voiceless. And now I was one. I wasn't surprised at the inaction I seemed to inspire in the political landscape. More often than not, these "leaders of men" do the RIGHT thing, only as often as it is incidentally attached to what they're FORCED to do.

They IGNORE us because they CAN.

Which got me to thinking more; what if I was IMPOSSIBLE to IGNORE?

At first it was just this funny little day-dreamt hypothetical; what if a currently incarcerated inmate had a MILLION PLUS followers on social media? What would that look like? The possibilities cascaded. It felt like a paradox, an impossibility, a glitch in the matrix—for an inmate to have that power.

The first thing I thought was, the system couldn't allow it. Then I wondered if could they stop it? Sure they'd try, but what could they actually do? Any attempt would likely back fire. It's a 1st amendment issue. The biggest strength we have at the bottom, is how little we have to lose.

The fact, that this impossibility wasn't actually impossible, was hypnotic. I couldn't stop thinking about it—about what it meant.

Corruption rarely survives the light of day.

An inmate with a Million P1us followers on Twitter, for instance, would be like one of those nanny cams for the prison system. Knowing you're being watched will significantly curb a babysitter's urge to beat a kid into submission. Trust me, the first severe beating of my life was at the hands of a "baby sitter." I was so young I don't remember but Mama C says my whole face was swollen, that I could barely open my eyes. Then again I am half Asian, with baby eyes like slits, you ever think of that mom? Maybe this case of child abuse was just a simple case of racism. In any case, if ol' Rocky Marciano (he was Italian) had known there was a camera, he might've just let me cry myself to sleep without out the vigorous use of the five-fingered sleep aids.

Over share?

The point is, that without the ability to covertly fuck us over, they'd be forced to stop fucking us over, or at least cut back significantly. Politicians could no longer simply throw us away and ignore our pleas without repercussion. They could no longer anonymously give contracts to these abusive corporations who price gouge the hell out of us, while filling their campaign coffers—at least not without a Million P1us witnesses. From the lawmakers down to individual employees, they'd finally be forced to practice what they've been hypocritically preaching for decades: Personal Accountability.

It was fun to think about, but I wasn't actually going to do it. It was just something to think about during the commercial breaks of Rick & Morty. Just another game of "What If?"

Right?

My mischievous side disagreed; it absolutely loved the idea—wouldn’t let it go.

I'd be trying to watch TV and it'd chime in with shit like, "Why not? What are you scared of?" And the little bastard wouldn't shut up about Kim Kardashian. Kim this, and Kim that. "Kim snaps her fingers and people walk out of prison."

I did my best to remind my mischievous side that I'm not Kim Kardashian.

It reminded me I'm more of a Courtney anyway. And that Snooki, Guy Ferari, and half the cast of The Real Housewives all have a million plus followers.

I wondered how my mischievous side knew this but I didn't.

It said, "The whole point of prison is to silence us. Why not grab a megaphone and be louder than we've ever been? Ariana Grande:67 mil, Justin Beiber: 107 million followers on Twitter."

It was a good point.

"Ralphie May, Channel West Coast, Grumpy Cat..."

I don't know how accurate the research was.

All I'm trying to do is take a shit when I hear the subtlest voice say, "We've been waiting for this our entire lives. We are literally MADE for this. The ultimate thorn in the side of authority—of oppressive, corrupt, authority! An epic middle finger to the entire system."

The constant interruptions are starting to get to me but at this point I'm still unsure.

And then my mischievous side, that rebellious little bastard, says something undeniable, something it knows will kill every excuse I could ever muster. Slowly, fully aware of what it's doing, it says, "J-E-R-E-M-Y R-E-N-N-E-R has FIVE MILLION followers!"

And just like that, I'm in. My mischievous side wins for the first time in a long time.

I tell myself, if all these people have figured out how to get a million plus people to follow them, just so they can sell spanks, talk about their next hair color, or just BE a displeased cat, then what kind of coward would I be not to take a shot. Even if it's an air ball, or whatever clunky sports metaphor you'd prefer, if it means the chance to expose corruption & abuse, the government waste, inhumane practices, family separations, and the mass incarceration of those with mental illness, addicts, black, brown, and poor white people, not to mention the chance to knock Jeremy Renner off his high horse, and make the occasional poop joke...then I have to try.

I mean why can't it be done?

If we can rally enough rebels & misfits, the bleeding heart liberals and the stone cold conservatives alike, these conscientious men and women, Millennials, Baby Boomers & Gen-X'ers, to take a few seconds to tune in, then we'll have done something that has never been done before.

We'll have created a blueprint for other inmates and underdogs to fight for change, to show that redemption is real and that you can affect the world around you, even if you're actively being stepped on, if you work hard enough, think outside the box, and reach out to a few friends, who reach out to a few friends, and so on and so on until you become impossible to ignore.

Plus it would be hilarious, for politicians to have to take into consideration the opinion of a convict they'd all but thrown away...And most important of all: to stop Jeremy Renner from using Jeep commercials to force us to listen to his shitty band.

The goal is to get to a #Million P1us followers before I'm released. Which, if nothing changes, gives us 'til 2025.

We can do it.

In a world of click bait and countless distractions, this FOLLOW and SHARE can be your little contribution to prison reform and ending mass incarceration, a small, but not meaningless, drop in the bucket that gives you something to pat yourself on the back about. I'll take it. Or maybe you're just a rebel who's looking for another middle finger to stick in the air. Maybe you're a troll that thinks it'd be hilarious. Or maybe you're just tired of the same old meaningless bullshit on the news, Twitter, and social media in general. Whatever your reason, you'll be a part of giving a MDOC inmate a REAL chance at grabbing the world by the ear, and letting it know what's actually going on in here.

You already know I can't do this alone. If successful, this will be OUR achievement. Anyone who throws in will be a part of this absurd and exciting movement, and together we'll loom larger than we do alone.

I hope you're in.

We can't live in a world where Grumpy Cat has 1.6 million TWITTER followers, and Jeremy Renner is strutting around like he's the cock of the roost —but a convict on the forefront of the ONLY bipartisan issue of prison reform, with a saint for a mother, an amazing group of friends, and a real penchant for subversive, often ridiculous, writing— can't muster up Million P1us people to pay attention. Whatever God you believe in will not likely spare such a world for too long.

Ok, so: inspiration, outright begging, guilt tripping and fear mongering; ticked all the boxes.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention; most important of all; it's actually a really GOOD Twitter account, on its own, regardless of it being about some convict writer.

So there's that as well.

Please link, share, mention, follow, or whatever you think would help. You already know groups and people that I'd never think of who'd be worth reaching out to. Oh, and CONTACT me...I want to know who you are, and what you think. I'm serious about this being OUR project.

Your friendly neighborhood convict, Bobby C.

'til next time, appreciate the small things...even the annoying ones.

#MillionP1us

0 notes

douglascatesrenovatedspirits · 6 years

Text

Chiaroscuro: An Impromptu Essay Reflecting On, Delineating, Treating Of And Commenting On “Dark” Poetry (A Recently Unearthed Piece, Originally From Wednesday, July 19, 2017)

I have an especial weakness for what I'd characterize as "cryptic" poetry. Poetry that mixes certain definable elements of the mundane and the ordinary with seriously outre aspects. Of course, in my vast, interminable perusal, I have yet to come across great congeries of this stuff, but there are a few that I have been fortunate enough to run across. Those who mix the mundane with the morbid and the macabre, yet hint at it, and who bury it beneath the surface of something seemingly normal...I love poets and poems like that! Perhaps that is a small part of the reason why I sort of like dark folk. Yet, I wish to interject an opposing thought, here: Despite my enjoyment of certain things that are the slightest bit dark, this does not mean to say that I am wholly without love for the light and the exuberant, because that is not so! I love the light and the exuberant, whether it be music or cinema or television or literature or whatever else! I just require an occasional stopover in a slightly weirder state, that's all. I am sure that there are poets who are far darker than those I am about list as some of my favorites, but the notion here is not darkness itself, per se; but rather the allusion to darkness. A subtle yet menacing evocation of that which is dark. Not something overtly dark, something mostly light with darker overtones. In keeping with that theme, I think that at least some of the works of Wallace Stevens and William Carlos Williams make them deserving of being listed in a discussion of poetry of that type. For instance, there are elements of the aforesaid in Stevens' "Emperor of Ice Cream," (though a recent study I read on that seems to have shattered the darker illusions/allusions I once had regarding it). and in several of Williams' works, including, most notably, certain passages of his magnum opus, "Paterson," which I regret to say I have read very little of, possessing it not among the panoply of my personal library. Now, in reference to a mention I made above, I would just like to state that poetry should not be analyzed, should not be drained of its heart and soul...and, to that end, I wrote a poem a while back expressing my distaste with in-depth analysis of poetry. It was written as a reaction to the annihilation of my wondrous, intoxicating confusion regarding "The Emperor of Ice Cream," which I long tried to analyze myself and was delighted at my complete inability to do so with any certainty! It was dazzling, how I could conceive of different interpretations regarding that poem, but never be able to settle on a belief in any one of them! And then, one day when my confusion got the better of me, I forever eradicated it and disillusioned myself, by reading that foolish analysis of "The Emperor of Ice Cream" that dissected every element of it and forever ruined and erased my suspicions about it. Then, as I said, in a disillusioned, angry, bitter, resentful state: the state of someone who has had their greatest fantasy destroyed, their imagination stripped away from them, the last of their childlikeness desolated and extirpated: I wrote my poem railing against those who would dare to analyze poetry! And, I stick by that belief: That poetry should not be analyzed, that its heart and soul are stultified, even decimated by analysis. That being the case, and all this explained and alluded to, I guess I have nothing more to say...at least, not on this particular topic.

0 notes

kristinejrosario · 7 years

Text

Blogging in 2017: How to Disrupt and Get Noticed

This is a guest contribution from Sam Warren of Rankpay

I’ve got good news and bad news.

The bad news is this: that boring content you’re probably peddling? It’s not worth it anymore. It has its place, but it’s not going to take you to that next level.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not your fault for going about content marketing like this. We all do. We’ve been taught to.

But therein lies the problem doesn’t it? If we’ve all been taught to do something, and we all “follow the rules”, it stands to reason that it’d be hard to stand out. And boy, is it ever.

Don’t get discouraged though, as promised I have some good news as well.

While it may be difficult, it’s far from impossible to get noticed. You’re just going to have to think outside the box and that’s why I’m here.

I’m going to show you how to make a difference.

From time to time, we all need to brush up on our creative problem solving skills and remind ourselves that it’s OK to be disruptive and take risks.

But before we get there, let’s take a closer look at why we need to think this way in the first place.

Content Marketing Has Grown Into a Monster

It used to be hard to find good writers on the internet. Those that knew how to write an engaging and actionable article made waves quickly and efficiently.

Nowadays, good writers are a dime a dozen. In fact, there are far too many of us.

Back in 2012 Domo presented research claiming WordPress users alone create 347 articles every minute.

The signal to noise ratio is getting worse by the day, and in many cases writers have altogether forgotten why they started down this road in the first place.

Was it

More shares?

Improved search visibility?

Building brand awareness?

Getting email subscribers for remarketing?

Oh well, you probably don’t have time to consider such things. Better write another 500 word article to hit that deadline.

There, there, it’s all right. You’re not alone.

Further, this type of “bulk” content you’ve been taught to produce can still be marginally effective if you’re in a small and uncompetitive niche.

But for those of us fixing to make headway in existing markets, traditional advice just isn’t going to cut it anymore.

What Doesn’t Necessarily Work in Competitive Markets?

Don’t worry, I know you’re curious about what does work. We’ll get there.

But let’s first take a closer look at a few things you’ve probably been taught over the years. I’d challenge you to take a good hard look at each of them, and try to determine what measurable impact they’ve had for you.

Skyscraper Technique

This was popularized by Brian Dean a number of years ago, and it’s still a pretty awesome concept. I don’t want to devalue this opportunity for you, but it behooves us to be cautious and realistic.

Image courtesy: Backlinko

The problem is, after this technique started to make the rounds, many content marketers began investing serious time putting it to good use. As a result of this, unless you’re blogging in an up-and-coming niche, the return on investment often won’t usually be in your favor.

There are any number of cornerstone and evergreen content pieces out there that you’re simply not going to best without putting in an unacceptable amount of time and energy.

This is an “extreme” example, but say you run an SEO service, and you want to rank for the term “How to do keyword research.” Well, Moz is currently ranking #1 for that term. Spoiler alert: their post already has over 5000 links built to it.

The amount of time you’d need to invest in creating a resource that’s actually more useful than a well-established magnum opus with 1k+ referring quality domains, is staggering.

It may occasionally border on impossible depending upon your link-building abilities and social capital.

Tons of boring “recycled” content

Just take a look on Upwork and you’ll see a huge number of gigs looking for “writers” able to produce tons of 500 words articles focused on a small number of keyword variations.

If you’re working in a space that has no recognizable competition, this could get your site on the map. No doubt. But even under those circumstances, you’d still be missing out on so much of what content marketing has to offer.

Guess what? Readers aren’t going to click your article if it’s the same damn thing they’ve read a thousand times already. Recycling and spinning content will simply turn readers off.

Alienating your existing or potential audience is a surefire way to drive your traffic into the ground.

That horrid template you use for outreach emails

Getting published at notable outlets is a big deal for any marketer. It’s also a critical component to making sure you’re get the most out of your content marketing efforts.

But getting a publisher’s ear can be easier said than done. Case in point: the blog I edit at RankPay is a relatively low-key affair, but nevertheless I bet you’d be surprised by the sheer volume of pitches I get from writers looking to get published.

First and foremost, don’t be an idiot when you write these emails. Do us all a favor and avoid the common pitfalls.

Don’t misspell names

Don’t address the wrong publication

Don’t pitch junk just to earn a link

Don’t plagiarize

But there’s more to it than just that.

Chances are you’ve read that personalizing is the way to go. It is. But everyone recommends you say something like “I’ve been a long-time reader and I loved your article XYZ”.

While it’s nice that this shows you took the time to copy paste a title as opposed to just bulk-emailing, it still doesn’t win you any points these days. Every publisher knows what you’re doing, and it just makes you seem washed up and disingenuous.

What Does Work Nowadays?

Put simply, thinking outside of the box works.

Tell a story and be creative. Write about something that nobody else has bothered to yet.

Do you know why so many readers are happy subscribers to Seth Godin’s blog? It’s because they’ll never see anything he writes, anywhere else. It’s truly original and, even more importantly, it’s from the heart.

That last part is the key. The internet has made us all a bit more skeptical and increased our awareness of when we’re being “sold” or manipulated. Being genuine and honest is the best way to avoid having this problem yourself.

Develop a unique and authentic voice

Writing in a stiff or unnatural voice is a surefire way to alienate your readers.

Let your freak flag fly! Well, to a degree. Let’s not get carried away.

But the point I’m going to stress here, is that getting noticed demands personality, creativity, and authenticity. With so many talented writers producing quality content, you’re going to need to be different.

There’s often a level of candor that I still “feel” is missing from many popular writers. Perhaps once they reach a certain popularity point they feel they need to button up and follow the rules to be careful not to misstep.

I’m not popular enough to be burdened with high-brow concerns. But that being said, time and time again, being original and authentic gets folks to pay attention.

We all just want to relate to one another and to be heard, whether we’re creating or consuming content.

Actually be creative

While everyone shouts this from the mountaintops, very few seem to practice it.

I don’t just mean “don’t plagiarize”. Honestly that should go without saying. I mean tell a story that your audience hasn’t heard before. Screw the rules! Be creative! Be different!

Image courtesy: Derek Halpern

If you’re in IT, write a cute screenplay about how to better provide tech support. Write a limerick about common troubleshooting solutions. Being original (and often weird) is usually how content goes viral.

“If you’ve ever seen my YouTube channel, one of the first things you might notice is that I look ridiculous in half of my thumbnail pictures. Why would I publish these truly unfortunate freeze frames when I have much better pictures I could be using? The answer is simple: What stands out gets remembered. What blends in gets forgotten.” – Derek Halpern

People want to be entertained and educated. If you can accomplish both at once in an innovative way, you’re truly on to something.

Honest outreach emails

Instead of sounding like just another writer looking to grab a link, try being genuine for a change.

I’ve legitimately landed multiple publication opportunities by opening my cold emails with some variation of the following.

If you don’t know the publication, try being honest that you don’t. Make yourself vulnerable.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” ― Brené Brown

It seems risky, but the people on the receiving end of your emails are human beings. In my experience, people respect and appreciate honesty above all else. Trust me, candor is a refreshing treat when you work in marketing and/or publishing.

Putting Disruptive Ideas to Paper

Imagine yourself as a blogging entrepreneur! You’re going to have to take some risks. It’s scary to put yourself out there like this.

But the reality is, you won’t get far unless you “dare greatly”. That’s more wisdom from Brené Brown right there. Seriously, go watch her Ted Talks if you’ve somehow missed them.

It’s all too easy to just phone it in and write the same dribble you’ve been writing for the past few months or years. But let’s make 2017 different. Let’s make a difference this year.

Remember:

Be creative with the content you create

Be authentic with your voice and tone

Be different than your competitors

Be honest with your outreach efforts

You’ll be amazed by the opportunities you earn when you begin to bring these goals in focus.

Sam Warren is the marketing manager and editor at RankPay, a top rated performance-based SEO service, and the proud father of a 10lb chihuahua mutt.

The post Blogging in 2017: How to Disrupt and Get Noticed appeared first on ProBlogger.

from http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ProbloggerHelpingBloggersEarnMoney/~3/igx50Rby3iI/

0 notes

richardrobertsimsuccessblog · 7 years

Text

Blogging in 2017: How to Disrupt and Get Noticed

This is a guest contribution from Sam Warren of Rankpay

I’ve got good news and bad news.

The bad news is this: that boring content you’re probably peddling? It’s not worth it anymore. It has its place, but it’s not going to take you to that next level.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not your fault for going about content marketing like this. We all do. We’ve been taught to.

But therein lies the problem doesn’t it? If we’ve all been taught to do something, and we all “follow the rules”, it stands to reason that it’d be hard to stand out. And boy, is it ever.

Don’t get discouraged though, as promised I have some good news as well.

While it may be difficult, it’s far from impossible to get noticed. You’re just going to have to think outside the box and that’s why I’m here.

I’m going to show you how to make a difference.

From time to time, we all need to brush up on our creative problem solving skills and remind ourselves that it’s OK to be disruptive and take risks.

But before we get there, let’s take a closer look at why we need to think this way in the first place.

Content Marketing Has Grown Into a Monster

It used to be hard to find good writers on the internet. Those that knew how to write an engaging and actionable article made waves quickly and efficiently.

Nowadays, good writers are a dime a dozen. In fact, there are far too many of us.

Back in 2012 Domo presented research claiming WordPress users alone create 347 articles every minute.

The signal to noise ratio is getting worse by the day, and in many cases writers have altogether forgotten why they started down this road in the first place.

Was it

More shares?

Improved search visibility?

Building brand awareness?

Getting email subscribers for remarketing?

Oh well, you probably don’t have time to consider such things. Better write another 500 word article to hit that deadline.

There, there, it’s all right. You’re not alone.

Further, this type of “bulk” content you’ve been taught to produce can still be marginally effective if you’re in a small and uncompetitive niche.

But for those of us fixing to make headway in existing markets, traditional advice just isn’t going to cut it anymore.

What Doesn’t Necessarily Work in Competitive Markets?

Don’t worry, I know you’re curious about what does work. We’ll get there.

Skyscraper Technique

Image courtesy: Backlinko

There are any number of cornerstone and evergreen content pieces out there that you’re simply not going to best without putting in an unacceptable amount of time and energy.

The amount of time you’d need to invest in creating a resource that’s actually more useful than a well-established magnum opus with 1k+ referring quality domains, is staggering.

It may occasionally border on impossible depending upon your link-building abilities and social capital.

Tons of boring “recycled” content

Just take a look on Upwork and you’ll see a huge number of gigs looking for “writers” able to produce tons of 500 words articles focused on a small number of keyword variations.

Guess what? Readers aren’t going to click your article if it’s the same damn thing they’ve read a thousand times already. Recycling and spinning content will simply turn readers off.

Alienating your existing or potential audience is a surefire way to drive your traffic into the ground.

That horrid template you use for outreach emails

Getting published at notable outlets is a big deal for any marketer. It’s also a critical component to making sure you’re get the most out of your content marketing efforts.

First and foremost, don’t be an idiot when you write these emails. Do us all a favor and avoid the common pitfalls.

Don’t misspell names

Don’t address the wrong publication

Don’t pitch junk just to earn a link

Don’t plagiarize

But there’s more to it than just that.

Chances are you’ve read that personalizing is the way to go. It is. But everyone recommends you say something like “I’ve been a long-time reader and I loved your article XYZ”.

What Does Work Nowadays?

Put simply, thinking outside of the box works.

Tell a story and be creative. Write about something that nobody else has bothered to yet.

Develop a unique and authentic voice

Writing in a stiff or unnatural voice is a surefire way to alienate your readers.

Let your freak flag fly! Well, to a degree. Let’s not get carried away.

I’m not popular enough to be burdened with high-brow concerns. But that being said, time and time again, being original and authentic gets folks to pay attention.

We all just want to relate to one another and to be heard, whether we’re creating or consuming content.

Actually be creative

While everyone shouts this from the mountaintops, very few seem to practice it.

I don’t just mean “don’t plagiarize”. Honestly that should go without saying. I mean tell a story that your audience hasn’t heard before. Screw the rules! Be creative! Be different!

Image courtesy: Derek Halpern

People want to be entertained and educated. If you can accomplish both at once in an innovative way, you’re truly on to something.

Honest outreach emails

Instead of sounding like just another writer looking to grab a link, try being genuine for a change.

I’ve legitimately landed multiple publication opportunities by opening my cold emails with some variation of the following.

If you don’t know the publication, try being honest that you don’t. Make yourself vulnerable.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” ― Brené Brown

Putting Disruptive Ideas to Paper

Imagine yourself as a blogging entrepreneur! You’re going to have to take some risks. It’s scary to put yourself out there like this.

But the reality is, you won’t get far unless you “dare greatly”. That’s more wisdom from Brené Brown right there. Seriously, go watch her Ted Talks if you’ve somehow missed them.

It’s all too easy to just phone it in and write the same dribble you’ve been writing for the past few months or years. But let’s make 2017 different. Let’s make a difference this year.

Remember:

Be creative with the content you create

Be authentic with your voice and tone

Be different than your competitors

Be honest with your outreach efforts

You’ll be amazed by the opportunities you earn when you begin to bring these goals in focus.

Sam Warren is the marketing manager and editor at RankPay, a top rated performance-based SEO service, and the proud father of a 10lb chihuahua mutt.

The post Blogging in 2017: How to Disrupt and Get Noticed appeared first on ProBlogger.

Blogging in 2017: How to Disrupt and Get Noticed

#Richard Roberts IM Success Mix #Blogging in 2017: How to Disrupt and Get Noticed

0 notes

silvino32mills · 7 years

Text

Blogging in 2017: How to Disrupt and Get Noticed

This is a guest contribution from Sam Warren of Rankpay

I’ve got good news and bad news.

The bad news is this: that boring content you’re probably peddling? It’s not worth it anymore. It has its place, but it’s not going to take you to that next level.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not your fault for going about content marketing like this. We all do. We’ve been taught to.

But therein lies the problem doesn’t it? If we’ve all been taught to do something, and we all “follow the rules”, it stands to reason that it’d be hard to stand out. And boy, is it ever.

Don’t get discouraged though, as promised I have some good news as well.

While it may be difficult, it’s far from impossible to get noticed. You’re just going to have to think outside the box and that’s why I’m here.

I’m going to show you how to make a difference.

From time to time, we all need to brush up on our creative problem solving skills and remind ourselves that it’s OK to be disruptive and take risks.

But before we get there, let’s take a closer look at why we need to think this way in the first place.

Content Marketing Has Grown Into a Monster

It used to be hard to find good writers on the internet. Those that knew how to write an engaging and actionable article made waves quickly and efficiently.

Nowadays, good writers are a dime a dozen. In fact, there are far too many of us.

Back in 2012 Domo presented research claiming WordPress users alone create 347 articles every minute.

The signal to noise ratio is getting worse by the day, and in many cases writers have altogether forgotten why they started down this road in the first place.

Was it

More shares?

Improved search visibility?

Building brand awareness?

Getting email subscribers for remarketing?

Oh well, you probably don’t have time to consider such things. Better write another 500 word article to hit that deadline.

There, there, it’s all right. You’re not alone.

Further, this type of “bulk” content you’ve been taught to produce can still be marginally effective if you’re in a small and uncompetitive niche.

But for those of us fixing to make headway in existing markets, traditional advice just isn’t going to cut it anymore.

What Doesn’t Necessarily Work in Competitive Markets?

Don’t worry, I know you’re curious about what does work. We’ll get there.

Skyscraper Technique

Image courtesy: Backlinko

There are any number of cornerstone and evergreen content pieces out there that you’re simply not going to best without putting in an unacceptable amount of time and energy.

The amount of time you’d need to invest in creating a resource that’s actually more useful than a well-established magnum opus with 1k+ referring quality domains, is staggering.

It may occasionally border on impossible depending upon your link-building abilities and social capital.

Tons of boring “recycled” content

Just take a look on Upwork and you’ll see a huge number of gigs looking for “writers” able to produce tons of 500 words articles focused on a small number of keyword variations.

Guess what? Readers aren’t going to click your article if it’s the same damn thing they’ve read a thousand times already. Recycling and spinning content will simply turn readers off.

Alienating your existing or potential audience is a surefire way to drive your traffic into the ground.

That horrid template you use for outreach emails

Getting published at notable outlets is a big deal for any marketer. It’s also a critical component to making sure you’re get the most out of your content marketing efforts.

First and foremost, don’t be an idiot when you write these emails. Do us all a favor and avoid the common pitfalls.

Don’t misspell names

Don’t address the wrong publication

Don’t pitch junk just to earn a link

Don’t plagiarize

But there’s more to it than just that.

Chances are you’ve read that personalizing is the way to go. It is. But everyone recommends you say something like “I’ve been a long-time reader and I loved your article XYZ”.

What Does Work Nowadays?

Put simply, thinking outside of the box works.

Tell a story and be creative. Write about something that nobody else has bothered to yet.

Develop a unique and authentic voice

Writing in a stiff or unnatural voice is a surefire way to alienate your readers.

Let your freak flag fly! Well, to a degree. Let’s not get carried away.

I’m not popular enough to be burdened with high-brow concerns. But that being said, time and time again, being original and authentic gets folks to pay attention.

We all just want to relate to one another and to be heard, whether we’re creating or consuming content.

Actually be creative

While everyone shouts this from the mountaintops, very few seem to practice it.

I don’t just mean “don’t plagiarize”. Honestly that should go without saying. I mean tell a story that your audience hasn’t heard before. Screw the rules! Be creative! Be different!

Image courtesy: Derek Halpern

People want to be entertained and educated. If you can accomplish both at once in an innovative way, you’re truly on to something.

Honest outreach emails

Instead of sounding like just another writer looking to grab a link, try being genuine for a change.

I’ve legitimately landed multiple publication opportunities by opening my cold emails with some variation of the following.

If you don’t know the publication, try being honest that you don’t. Make yourself vulnerable.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” ― Brené Brown

Putting Disruptive Ideas to Paper

Imagine yourself as a blogging entrepreneur! You’re going to have to take some risks. It’s scary to put yourself out there like this.

But the reality is, you won’t get far unless you “dare greatly”. That’s more wisdom from Brené Brown right there. Seriously, go watch her Ted Talks if you’ve somehow missed them.

It’s all too easy to just phone it in and write the same dribble you’ve been writing for the past few months or years. But let’s make 2017 different. Let’s make a difference this year.

Remember:

Be creative with the content you create

Be authentic with your voice and tone

Be different than your competitors

Be honest with your outreach efforts

You’ll be amazed by the opportunities you earn when you begin to bring these goals in focus.

Sam Warren is the marketing manager and editor at RankPay, a top rated performance-based SEO service, and the proud father of a 10lb chihuahua mutt.

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