#and also worrying. endless worrying. this is all so unfair. the anxietys so much all i can do is sit very still

[fairycosmos]

people are like what have you been up to and i'm like literally staring at walls and screens thinking about how energy can not be destroyed

[alegacyofmonsters]

4x09 Reactions

I can’t even remember if I posted my 4x08 reactions? But anyway,

- Coming in hot (pun intended)

- Jaleb angst?

- “You made me wreck my car.” We all know how much he loves that car

- “Hope Andrea Mikaelson.” That’s how you know it’ll be a Hizzie episode!

- “Isn’t Kaleb kind of like your boyfriend?” Isn’t MG kind of like yours?

- An adult??? On Legacies???

- “Congratulations you are no longer in a coma.” 😂😂😂

- “Is that what the therapy box told you?” No, the therapy box said run from your problems and leave anyone you’re jealous of because it’s broken.

- “I guess I missed all the psycho murderer red flags” Missed them with your sister too ...

- Hizzie and their loopholes!

- Cleo: “I’m gonna third wheel.”

- Landon gets the little bowl 🥰🥰🥰

- The butterfly clip again 😂😂😂 That’s the worst thing Hope’s ever done to her. They are so soft

- An Aurora-Lizzie team up! It was all foretold in the prophecy.

- Ooh. We’ve moved on to “making her pay.” Don’t tell me Lizzie’s already went soft just seeing Hope’s face

- I also have a suspicion Lizzie is playing Aurora but I can’t prove it yet.

- So Triad freed Aurora

- “It was scarier when the tarp was over it.” Oh Lizzie 😂😂😂

- We’re back to throwing people to the bottom of the ocean and Lizzie is NOT ON BOARD

- “It might as well be Hope” but there are living Mikaelsons that helped with the whole endless watery grave??? That makes no sense

- The Kaleo-Hizzie parallels this episode where one half can be worried about the “enemy” because they mean something special

- Lizzie beating Aurora? Yes please.”

- Ah! It’s just like my Hizzie fic! Lizzie agrees to join Hope if she fixes her dad!

- Oh, maybe she didn’t mean Aurora

- OH NOPE she did

- Can I be honest and say I really don’t care where Josie goes? If she still has no intention of helping save the day and still refuses to try any character development, then what’s the point? There are other characters willing.

- Alaric and Ted getting drunk and complaining about how unfair the afterlife is to Landon 😂😂😂 Softies.

- Go Finch! Tell her how hypocritical she is!

- SHE GOT TWO BUS TICKETS. I’M SO WEAK FOR THESE GIRLFRIENDS.

- Kaleb stabbing himself so his boyfriend could get away. Poetic.

- Ethan’s gonna lose control??? Depth? To his character? On Legacies?

- The disappointment that comes from watching the Hizzie reunion in Aurora’s body

- OH LIZZIE HAD THE SAME THOUGHTS. BLESS YOU.

- “I hate how many good memories I have of you.” 🥺🥺🥺

- A HIZZIE LOVE CONFESSION?

- DID I JUST HALLUCINATE? A HIZZIE LOVE CONFESSION SWITCHED HER HUAMNITY BACK ON?

- OH.

- OH.

- OH.

- This explains why I was getting notifs from every Legacies platform last night ...

- WHAT A MIDSEASON FINALE.

- Am I the only one who thinks Josie’s whole “discovery” being connected to Hope is nonsense? Like, 100% I buy that leaving would be best for her and her mental health but how does that at all help Hope is she’s gone?

- Oh the Methan parallels

- “I don’t know why I was the one to bring you back.” Maybe ask Hope ...

- “I’ll say something only the real me would know.” Fatum? in this until the bitter end? Deep down I always knew it was you?

- Panda promise. A little disappointing.

- “You contrast her.” Light and dark girlfriends? Sun and moon? Tall and short? Tell us what you mean, Aurora

- FINCH BECOMES ALPHA?

- LIZZIE AND I BOTH GOT PLAYED

- WE GOT PLAYED HARD

- Is it Heretic Lizzie hours?

- It’s Heretic Lizzie hours.

- So the humanity switch is a mental thing? It’s not attached to the body at all?

- Okay, Legacies, how many times are we gonna watch the “Boyfriend?” 😁😁😁 “Yeah ...” thing so down? Can we pick a new format for defining the relationship?

- METHAN ANGST??? EVERYTHING IS ANGST AND I WANT FLUFF.

- “Maybe you’re having anxiety about leaving?” Maybe your twin is dead

- Finch is more understanding than me. If my girlfriend made a big deal out of staying when it's hard and then immediately wanted to run away from her problems, I’d be pissed, definitely not comforting her.

- Landon dumps into Ted’s bowl 🥰🥰🥰

- The Sphinx! I was just thinking about him the other day and that Legacies needed a new prophecy to be excited about and try to solve.

- Jed gay panicking.

- “I had an insurance policy just in case.” VAMPIRE BLOOD.

- “Don’t worry about me.”

- BUT ALL I AM IS HUNGRY. ALL I AM IS HUNGRY. HERETIC LIZZIE.

- I give it like a 2000/10. Heretic Lizzie, Hizzie love confession, Josie doing what’s best for everyone even if it doesn’t make sense, Ethan and Jed getting depth, Kaleb skipping off! I’m afraid to go see how long I have to wait for the next episode ...

[amandadeibert]

A Love Letter to Parents At the End of The Most Difficult School Year EVER

WOW, that was really something, huh?

It’s the end of the most difficult year school for all of us: teachers, parents, students… Hell, probably even the neighbors of parents and students. I would say “at least we survived!” but this has been more than a year of illness and mental health crises… not all of us did. Some of you are mourning those loses. I am so sorry.

As my daughter celebrates her final day of Kindergarten, and I celebrate my final day of supervising hours of zooms and packets full of work, of being her mother, teacher, confidant, chef, maid, PE teacher, and playmate… I have a lot of emotions. I’m sure you do too.

It was hard for those of us who, like my family, spent the entire year in virtual school: never meeting teachers or classmates in person. Those of us who spent so much of the year trying not to worry about excessive screen time while going against our intuition to coax children to sit up and pay attention to their computers.

It was difficult for families who did hybrid and had their bits of in-person “normalcy” sporadicly and suddenly turned to quarantines every time there was an exposure so that there could never be a true routine.

It was complicated for parents navigating this with multiple children who all needed different things at the same time. I know in my daughter’s own little kindergarten class we over-heard older siblings’ music lessons, younger siblings’ infant-wails, and parents trying to deal with their work zooms while 6 year olds struggled to concentrate on learning to read.

My heart especially goes out to the parents of children who need extra attention or services, some of whom lost out on months or a year of in-person therapies. This is unfair and horrible. This has been infuriating, unfair, and horrible. You have been dealing with far more worries than you should have had to and I am so sorry.

And then there’s work… whew. As a working mother who went to work in person in full PPE, then worked from home with endless Zoom meetings while my daughter put Elsa stick-on earrings all over my face, and then who lost my job due to pandemic related situations. I know it was difficult to work and teach and parent and be a child’s only friend and entertainment.

For those of you who are essential, for those of you who work in healthcare and mental healthcare… I just, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I admire you and also know my admiration doesn’t do a fucking ounce of good to help alleviate all you’ve had to juggle and endure.

So much has fallen disproportionality on mothers. We can see it in hard data. This will have ramifications for years to come. Just as it will on our kids… in ways we don’t even fully understand yet. Just while trying to write this essay…. my daughter and our kitten have crawled into my lap. They are both here right now.

And yes, I know plenty of amazing Dads who have been struggling right there with us. My dad-friends and I have leaned on each other TREMENDOUSLY this year, so please don’t think I don’t see you out there struggling through this too.

As I look back over this past school year (and the end of the academic year before) I am feeling sad for the milestones my child didn’t get to have. The things we didn’t experience as planned. The fond farewell to her preschool of 3 years we never had. The kindergarten teacher she never met in person. The first year at an elementary school where we haven’t yet been inside the building. I have so much dread for the coming separation anxiety after more than a year of never being apart. Hers and mine. This was not how things were supposed to be. No matter how you’ve experienced the pandemic, because we’re all doing it differently… this was not what we “planned.” It’s also not something anyone else alive has ever had to deal with before.

I want to stress that again:

No parent alive has ever dealt with anything like this. No one alive has experienced anything like this as a child. Bad things? Yes. Worse thing? Yes, even. But not THIS.

So if your parents/elders are giving unhelpful “advice” about how you should/should have handled things please remember THEY HAVE NO IDEA. None. At all.

This is one area where you can laugh and laugh and be like… “YOU HAD OPEN PARKS AND SCHOOLS AND KIDS COULD GO RIDE THEIR BIKES UNRESTRICTED. YOU COULD GO SIT IN CHURCH AND THE KIDS WOULD BE IN SUNDAY SCHOOL. YOU CAN NOPE RIGHT OFF.” Love them. Love their advice, but they don’t actually know what it is like.

I hope they are offering love and support. I don’t have living parents, but my grandmother is the first to say that even as a stay at home mom whose husband was away fighting a war, she can’t imagine being unable to simply take her kids to school or to run errands, or to let them play with other children. Her situation was very difficult and complicated. I don’t have it worse. Not at all. It’s just that this school year has been one hell of a weird one.

There have been bright spots. I loved getting to watch and experience my daughter learning in real time. Seeing the day-to-day progress and truly knowing what is going on in her classes. Again, that isn’t the experience for parents who have children unable to access their child’s IEP help in the way they should.

I love the extra time we’ve gotten together as a family. The movie nights outside and snuggles and lack of rushing around from place to place. I enjoy as an Angeleno not being stuck in traffic for hours. Not everyone has been able to work from home like my wife and I have mostly been able to do for much of this and I am grateful for that too.

My hope is that when this is truly over, when we get back to whatever new life looks like in the next school year, that some of the good will stay. That I will be more involved in our child’s education than maybe I would have been before because I know what it looks like. That we will spend more time as a family together just us. That I won’t say “yes” to things out of obligation that don’t add value to our lives. That we won’t be too busy.That’s probably naive, but we can sure try.

I hope that you have some bright spots to look back on from this past school year. I hope you can share them with your children and they can share theirs with you. Whatever you had to do to get through this, I am so outrageously proud of you. I am proud of me too. And wow, our kids. They’ve been through some shit. I’m super proud of them.

Please, please take some time to celebrate what you have managed to get through. I got cupcakes for the kiddo and some cocktails for grownups. Please do whatever version of that sparks some happiness.

PUNT THAT SCHOOL-ISSUED LAPTOP INTO THE SUN.

I mean, yeah okay, we’ll all responsibly return it fully charged and be so grateful to the school system that we didn’t have to use Mommy’s work laptop for it but you know… metaphorically it’s that scene from Office Space. (Your kids wouldn’t get this joke but this isn’t for them. JUST LIKE THE COCKTAIL/CHOCOLATE/BUBBLEBATH/WHATEVER YOU ARE GONNA DO TO CELEBRATE YOU )

Anyway, you are amazing. Maybe you don’t feel like many people noticed. I see you. I’m toasting you from this weird half-teacher’s lounge we share.

If you’d like to share some of your brightest spots, or most amazing, brilliant parent hacks from all this madness, I would love to read about it in the comments. We’ve got to hold onto the good.

[heartofsnark]

Rent-Free (Johnny Silverhand/OC Female V)

Notes; IVE BEEN ENABLED AGAIN!!!!!! AHHHHH BLAME @rosyibby, but uh, yeah basically given how much we talk about Johnny living rent free in V’s head, it made me think of paying rent through other means...*cue the cheesy porn music* Additionally, this does technically go along with my previous Johnny Silverhand fic, but like they’re not so intertwined that you won’t get it. It’s porn, you’ll catch on. Thanks for all the love on my previous nasty Johnny porn. 

Word Count: 2334

Warnings: Oral, Cunnilingus, Unprotected Sex (hologram fucking has perks), Vaginal Sex, Kissing, Johnny being gross, Dirty Talk, I’m lowkey still insecure on writing dirty talk, so hopefully this isn’t bad, also yeah game still isn’t out so he’s prob ooc to some degree

Hot water rushes from the shower head, relaxing Aidan’s aching muscles. Silence around her as she works shampoo into her hair, a welcomed moment of peace in her life, something that’s been so absent since this mess has begun. It’s late, around four in the morning, she just finished a smuggling run with Jackie. Things went south as they often do, her entire body aches from the shootout, but they got out alive and that’s all that matters.  

She works and lather soap into her skin, feeling the roughness of scars gathered contrasting against the soft give of her body. Aidan squeezes her own breast, feeling the heat and tingle of pleasure from her own groping fingers. She starts to move her other hand further down between her thighs, wanting to take advantage of the moment of calm. 

“You pent up again?” 

“God damn it!” She yells out when Johnny’s voice rings through her head, nearly slipping in her own shower. And he laughs at her as he always does, she quickly finishes washing, before stepping out. 

Johnny is leaning against the bathroom wall, arms crossed in front of him as he watched Aidan walk past, no shame in the way his dark brown eyes drag across her naked frame. Weeks have passed since their little…interaction when she tried to find a hookup. The encounter wasn’t brought up again, Aidan refusing to acknowledge it. 

And she still doesn’t acknowledge it, the weird sexual tension that’s been created between her and the ghost in her head. 

“Don’t rush on my account,” Johnny says as she quickly dries off and throws on an overside shirt along with a pair of shorts. She’ll just get to sleep as soon as possible, ignore the dampening heat in her core. 

“You’re the actual worst, you know that?” She grumbles as she leaves the bathroom, making a beeline for her bedroom. Hopefully, none of Johnny’s memories or brain weirdness will come through her dreams, she needs some peace. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me a billion times, well, that is when you weren’t screaming my name or thinking about riding my-“ 

“Shut the fuck up!” She yells out, her neighbors must think she’s crazy, but she can’t help but scream at him as she flops back on her bed. 

Aidan can feel his gaze on her, looking up to see Johnny standing at the foot of her bed, looking down at her. The position reminds her of that night, him watching her getting fucked, the heat in her core rises again. There’s a lazy calmness in the way he looks her over , no hurry or fervor, just taking her in. His eyes hovering around the plush of her thighs, moving up to where her shirt has ridden up, revealing an expanse of her soft stomach. 

“Seriously,” she starts to speak again, hoping her words can cool the heat gathering between her thighs, “you’re like the worlds shittiest roommate.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, you really fucking are. You have no boundaries, you do nothing but annoy me, I can’t rid of you, hell, at least a roommate might pay rent.” 

“Oh, you need me to pay rent? Sure, just let me get my wallet,” Johnny says, reaching into his pocket just to pull out his middle finger.

“Cute.” She rolls her eyes, of course he’s going to be a shit about it. 

“Cute enough for you to throw your panties at.” 

“Shut up! Just shut up!” 

He lets out a low chuckle, resonating deep in his chest, the sound stoke the flames in her center just that much more. Why is he so fucking attractive? Then she feels it, a hand grabbing at her shin, the rough callouses of his right hand. 

“You really want me to start contributing something?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice. 

“I mean, I know you can’t, but you could at least stop irritating me.” 

“Eh, don’t think I can, but I can think of something I can do that might make you a little less tense,” he says, hand skimming further up her leg. 

“Seriously, offering sex in place of rent, you watch that much porn?” 

“C’mon, Samurai, we’re way past the point of you pretending you don’t wanna fuck me, don’t you think?” 

And he’s probably right. 

“I’m definitely right.” 

“You know reading my mind is not attractive, right?” 

“Yet, you still find me attractive, funny how that works.” 

“Fine, fine,” she covers her face with her arm, cheeks burning red, “I wanna fuck you, happy?” 

“I mean, wasn’t exactly a secret, but it’s nice hearing you admit it.” 

“Shut up and touch me.” 

And then he’s over her, knees on her mattress on either side of her hips, hands grabbing the bottom of her shirt. He’s quick and rough as he yanks it off over her head, throwing it across the room. She barely has a moment to take in the cool air from her chest being exposed before he’s groping and touching her, the contrast between the smooth cold metal of his left hand and the warm calloused fingers on his right makes her whimper, arching her back to meet his touch.  The feeling of his thumbs rubbing over her nipples draws another gasp from her throat and then the heat of his mouth connects to her chest. 

“Fuck,” she curses as he works harsh kisses down her body, his touch is hungry and passionate, but most importantly of all completely unpredictable. 

There’s no patterns to where he kisses; whether it’s her collarbones, the plush of her breasts, her ribs, or her stomach. No way for Aidan to know if it’ll be the press of his lips, the laving of his tongue, or the bite of his teeth. The only constant is the scratch of his beard, rubbing her tender skin raw under his touch. She tries to wrap her fingers in his hair, to wrap the dark strands around her fingers but he moves too quickly, and she only gets a brief touch of them. 

A sharp nip just above the waistband of her shorts is her only warning before he’s yanking them off of her. Rough fingers run through her slit, just a fleeting touch as Johnny gathers her slick on his fingers. 

“You’re soaked.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be keeping my mouth busy,” he tells her before sucking his fingers into his mouth, licking her wet from his own skin. 

Then he’s practically bending her in half, pressing her thighs back to her chest, the force lifting her hips and ass off the bed. The position completely opens her up to him, no way to hide her cunt from his view. Before she can squirm or get embarrassed, his mouth is on her. His tongue licking through her folds, lapping up every drop of slick. He eats her out like he’s desperate for it, like he needs to drink up every gush of wet to survive, licking deep inside of her. His tongue finding every spot that will make her wetter. 

His beard rubs the lips of her sex raw, but she can’t find it in her to mind the edge of pain, when his tongue runs up to her clit. No true pattern, no way to predict how long he’ll go between sucking harshly on the bundle of the nerves to licking around it; back and forth between too much and not enough. The heat inside of her is reaching a boiling point, nearly crashing over the precipice of pleasure, but he pulls back before she can meet her end every time. She buries her fingers in his hair, finally feeling the softness of the locks, but she despite her pressing she can’t control his pace. 

And he stops. 

She whines at the loss of pleasure as he pulls away from her. Slick coats his lips and chin, shining in the moonlight that drifts into her bedroom. His looks are grossly unfair for someone who’s both dead and technically in his eighties. Oh god, she’s fucking an eighty something year old digital ghost-

He presses his lips to her and she can’t help gasp, tasting herself on his tongue. Johnny presses down on her body, so his body weight presses her thighs down against her chest, erection grinding into her pussy and her ankles practically on his shoulders. Her slick on his chin presses wetly against her, as his tongue pushes deeply into her mouth. She meets his lips and the passion of it, trying to taste Johnny through her own wet, taking in where he tastes like cigarettes.  

“Stop thinking,” he tells her as he pulls away, realizing the lip lock was to stop her train of thoughts about all the reasons this is wrong. 

“I really wish I could, sorry, but I mean…can you honestly say this isn’t fuckin’ weird?” 

“Who gives a shit?” 

“Wow, that fixed all my anxiety, thank you for you endless wealth of wisdom.” Aidan rolls her eyes. 

“So, the goal is now to fuck you hard enough your brain shuts off, got it.” 

“I wi-” she pauses when she feels his cock pressing against her thigh, smearing pre-cum on her skin, “when did you get naked?” 

“I’m a hologram, I can just do that.” 

“Wha-so when you only had your dick out last time, that was purely for effect?”  Aidan is grinning and already on the verge of laughing at the idea of Johnny being that committed to pretending he has to undo his pants. 

“I mean, kinda…” 

And she bursts out laughing, it’s just too silly and ridiculous, he’s so fucking dramatic. How could one man be so dramatic? What the fuck? Her stomach hurts with the force of her laughter. 

“Don’t laugh at me when I’m trying to fuck you.” 

She tries to stifle her laughter , biting her lip as she looks up at Johnny, he’s smiling. Not a smirk or some smug expression, just a soft little smile, as he looks down at her. The anxiety and tension that has started to creep back up have mostly subsided, humor settling her nerves. 

He grinds his cock down against her slick cunt, reminding her of what they’ve been building up too. 

“This is like…safe, right?” 

“Don’t worry, can’t knock you up or anything. I’ll just fuck you like I’m trying to.” 

Her face flushes red at his words and then he thrust his hips, sliding into her. She screams out his name, between the position and her own slick, he hits deep inside of her, no resistance as her body takes him in. He doesn’t tease or hold back, his entire length pressing into her, filling her completely. 

“Fuck, I knew you’d be tight, but god damn, feel like I’m break you open.” 

“Ah, uhhh, don’t say weird shit.” 

Johnny’s thrusts are punishing and harsh, brutal in the snap of his hips and she wishes she could hear the wet slap of their bodies connecting over and over again. 

“What, don’t wanna hear about how your cunt is choking my dick.” 

“Mnnnn….” All she can respond with is a whine. 

“Don’t wanna hear about how I’m gonna fill you up, how I’m gonna make you leak my cum.” 

“Johnny…” 

He’s pounding into her, each thrust and stroke of his cock inside of her building up the heat inside of her, tightening the tension in her core. The head of his dick hits deeply, harshly fucking against the sensitive spot deep inside of her. Slick keeps her able to take it all, despite the roughness and the size of him, each slam of him into her making more gush out. She can feel her own wet dripping down her the curve of her ass.

“Gonna rearrange your fuckin’ guts, make sure you fit me and no one else.” His voice is tight with a slight growl, movements speeding up. 

And while a part of her knows it’s dramatic, just bedroom talk if his dick was in her organs, they’d have some issues. But, she swears he’s doing exactly that. Carving out his place inside of her, a place only meant for him, so deep inside of her she can feel it in her throat. Stroking the embers of a fire that only he can turn into an inferno.

When that inferno of pleasure builds too high, the tension within her snaps, the bubble burst, and she’s crying out incomprehensibly as she cums on his cock. Everything whites out, mind empty as her body is overridden with pleasure, cunt clenching around him and body squirming as he keeps fucking her through her orgasm. 

“Holy fuck, you’re gonna milk me dry, fuck!” 

And he cums inside of her, hot and warm, flooding her with it. Heavy thick spurts of white coating her insides until it’s too much for her body to hold in, dripping out where the two connect. Her body is still twitching and squirming as she works through her aftershocks, once she’s a little more in touch with reality, she wonders whether his cum on her sheets will need cleaning. 

He pulls out of her and even more of it spills out, Aidan whimpers between the loss of him inside of her and the mess on her thighs. Johnny rolls over to lay next to her, it still astounds her just how real he feels, his body heat next to her own. 

She wants to lay on him, she realizes, a desire to lay her head on his chest. Aidan isn’t seriously considering cuddling with him, is she losing her mind? 

“Just ask for what you want, dumbass.” 

He wraps an arm around her sweaty shoulder and tugs her in against him, her cheeks reddening as she hides her face in his chest. There’s a lot she could mull over, a lot to think about, but with her eyelids growing heavier…it’s best to leave it alone for the night, to take Johnny’s advice for once and stop thinking so much. 

[ivarsrideordie]

Your recent post on AHA being absent from social media got me thinking; my response is verbose and I was nervous it would be annoyingly long to post in the general comment section. So I came here? Is that a thing? Lol. I'm still in my infancy stage with Tumblr. Learning the ropes. So, the thoughts:

Sadly, loneliness and projection are too real. Day dreaming is fun, but scary territory when the dreamer begins to derive their self-worth and happiness from a person or relationship built in the mind. Truth is, this man is merely an attractive stranger whose true personality we can only scratch the suface of. There is no true, substantial two way relationship. So when people 'miss' his presence, who do we miss? The character of Alex developed in the mind? The idea that if he posts, it directly validates his acceptance of 'me' as a person? That he posts because he cares about engaging with 'me'? Alex cannot accept or reject 'me'... he doesn't know 'I' exist. He's engaging with an idea of a group that he hopes is kind but sometimes isn't- a general group of people he's probably grateful for but also weary of. When a fan's emotion and self worth becomes impacted by an actor or influencer's engagement... that's where the line gets real blurry.

I read an article I think of him mentioning that people write to him frequently with heavy thoughts, asking him to respond, to ultimately save them from themselves. That's fking tragic, for both sides. Both humans. My heart breaks for the lonely and the lost who put so much stock in a stranger's validation. Because the savior in their mind is all they have. I'm not judging. I'm not. I understand walking that line more than I'd like to admit. Its too easy to do when you've made inferences in your mind and patchworked together the personality of a potential friend. And what can he do? Its an unfair ask with one person, let alone hundreds, thousands? How can he protect himself from that impossible emotional burden if not by hiding? This person we follow online is just another human in the world who poops like rest of us. And the psychology of acting and influence is heavy. To get the big roles and make a good living, you sell your image, I suppose. You're the product. The more popular, the more valuable in the box office. But also the more exposed, judged, and vulnerable. Do you give up the dream of your passion as an income and the idea of supporting your family because you 'can't handle the heat'?

I do believe all jobs come with a trade off. If I want to earn enough money to afford certain things, I trade time away from my children while working, for example. I don't know if we can change the machine. The psychology behind why his job works like it does. But, just as I am on an endless quest to find balance between what I gain and what I lose as I endeavor to be both happy and provide financially, I imagine he is too. And that's ok. That's fair. Not personal. 

Suffice to say, if I were this dude I'd be ghosting too.

Sorry it took me a bit to get back to you on this.  I actually wanted to be on my laptop so I could answer with more than a 4 word reply.  

First off, WELCOME TO TUMBLR!  I’ll take any comments or questions no matter how long they are so don’t worry about being lengthy.  It’s not hard to use and its both fun and annoying to be on.  This social media platform is becoming just about as bad as Twitter or Facebook.  

You make some very good points.  I agree there is a very fine line between reality vs “reality’ and some fans can’t seem to figure out which is the real one.  When I was younger, I had issues with this.  I have done some stupid stuff that was totally stalkerish.  Then I grew up.  That was also the time I started realizing I was bipolar with high anxiety.  I would have rather been in my own little world with my fake friends then real life.  It takes a lot of hard work and time to pull yourself out of that kind of mentality and also a lot of work to stay out of that kind of thinking as well.  

I’ll admit I say that I miss Alex as well.  It’s not necessarily him that I am missing though.  You are correct.  It is the essence of what Alex puts out there of himself.  We all have come to love him as Ivar.  Some people can’t get away from the fact that he is in fact not actually Ivar so they have that whole image of him in their minds thinking that that is who he is.  I feel for those people.  I feel like some, if not most of the people who have this disassociation have had horrible childhoods.  That was my issue.  And like I said, I have learned through therapy and hard work how to distinguish the two.  

Expecting anything from anyone that doesn’t know you is definitely unfair.  I would never put Alex or anyone in a situation where I would tell them I would die or kill myself if they didn’t talk to me or love me.  That is selfish and unfair to do to anyone.  

That is just my two cents.  Thank you for this comment and somewhat of a debate.  lol  

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2020

I can’t tell you anything novel or insightful about this year that has been stolen from our lives. I watched zero of these films in a theater, and I watched most of them half-asleep in moments that I stole from my children. Don’t worry, there are some jokes below.

GARBAGE

93. Capone (Josh Trank)- What is the point of this dinner theater trash? It takes place in the last year of Capone's life, when he was released from prison due to failing health and suffered a stroke in his Florida home. So it covers...none of the things that make Al Capone interesting? It's not historically accurate, which I have no problem with, but if you steer away from accuracy, then do something daring and exciting. Don't give me endless scenes of "Phonse"--as if the movie is running from the very person it's about--drawing bags of money that promise intrigue, then deliver nothing in return.

That being said, best "titular character shits himself" scene since The Judge.

92. Ammonite (Francis Lee)- I would say that this is the Antz to Portrait of a Lady on Fire's A Bug's Life, but it's actually more like the Cars 3 to Portrait of a Lady on Fire's Toy Story 1.

91. Ava (Tate Taylor)- Despite the mystery and inscrutability that usually surround assassins, what if we made a hitman movie but cared a lot about her personal life? Except neither the assassin stuff nor the family stuff is interesting?

90. Wonder Woman 1984 (Patty Jenkins)- What a miscalculation of what audiences loved about the first and wanted from the sequel. WW84 is silly and weightless in all of the ways that the first was elegant and confident. If the return of Pine is just a sort of phantom representation of Diana's desires, then why can he fly a real plane? If he is taking over another man's soul, then, uh, what ends up happening to that guy? For that matter, why is it not 1984 enough for Ronald Reagan to be president, but it is 1984 enough for the president to have so many Ronald Reagan signifiers that it's confusing? Why not just make a decision?

On paper, the me-first values of the '80s lend themselves to the monkey's paw wish logic of this plot. You could actually do something with the Star Wars program or the oil crisis. But not if the setting is played for only laughs and the screenplay explains only what it feels like.

89. Babyteeth (Shannon Murphy)- In this type of movie, there has to be a period of the Ben Mendelsohn character looking around befuddled about the new arrangement and going, "What's this now--he's going to be...living with us? The guy who tried to steal our medication? This is crazy!" But that's usually ten minutes, and in this movie it's an hour. I was so worn out by the end.

88. You Should Have Left (David Koepp)- David Koepp wrote Jurassic Park, so he's never going to hell, but how dare he start caring about his own mystery at the hour mark. There's a forty-five minute version of this movie that could get an extra star from me, and there's a three-hour version of Amanda Seyfried walking around in athleisure that would get four stars from me. What we actually get? No thanks.

87. Black Is King (Beyonce, et al.)- End your association with The Lion King, Bey. It has resulted in zero bops.

  ADMIRABLE FAILURES

86. Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (Cathy Yan)- There's nothing too dysfunctional in the storytelling or performances, but Birds of Prey also doesn't do a single thing well. I would prefer something alive and wild, even if it were flawed, to whatever tame belt-level formula this is.

85. The Turning (Floria Sigismondi)- This update of The Turn of the Screw pumps the age of Miles up to high school, which creates some horny creepiness that I liked. But the age of the character also prevents the ending of the novel from happening in favor of a truly terrible shrug. I began to think that all of the patience that the film showed earlier was just hesitance for its own awful ending.

I watched The Turning as a Mackenzie Davis Movie Star heat check, and while I'm not sure she has the magnetism I was looking for, she does have a great teacher voice, chastening but maternal.

84. Bloodshot (David Wilson)- A whole lot of Vin Diesel saying he's going to get revenge and kill a bunch of dudes; not a whole lot of Vin Diesel actually getting revenge and killing a bunch of dudes.

83. Downhill (Nat Faxon and Jim Rash)- I was an English major in college, which means I ended up locking myself into literary theories that, halfway through the writing of an essay, I realized were flawed. But rather than throw out the work that I had already proposed, I would just keep going and see if I could will the idea to success.

So let's say you have a theory that you can take Force Majeure by Ruben Ostlund, one of the best films of its year, and remake it so that its statement about familial anxiety could apply to Americans of the same age and class too...if it hadn't already. And maybe in the first paragraph you mess up by casting Will Ferrell and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, people we are conditioned to laugh at, when maybe this isn't that kind of comedy at all. Well, don't throw it away. You can quote more--fill up the pages that way--take an exact shot or scene from the original. Does that help? Maybe you can make the writing more vigorous and distinctive by adding a character. Is that going to make this baby stand out? Maybe you could make it more personal by adding a conclusion that is slightly more clever than the rest of the paper?

Or perhaps this is one you're just not going to get an A on.

82. Hillbilly Elegy (Ron Howard)- I watched this melodrama at my mother's encouragement, and, though I have been trying to pin down her taste for decades, I think her idea of a successful film just boils down to "a lot of stuff happens." So in that way, Ron Howard's loss is my gain, I guess.

There is no such thing as a "neutral Terminator."

81. Relic (Natalie Erika James)- The star of the film is Vanessa Cerne's set decoration, but the inert music and slow pace cancel out a house that seems neglected slowly over decades.

80. Buffaloed (Tanya Wexler)- Despite a breathless pace, Buffaloed can't quite congeal. In trying to split the difference between local color hijinks and Moneyballed treatise on debt collection, it doesn't commit enough to either one.

Especially since Zoey Deutch produced this one in addition to starring, I'm getting kind of worried about boo's taste. Lot of Two If by Seas; not enough While You Were Sleepings.

79. Like a Boss (Miguel Arteta)- I chuckled a few times at a game supporting cast that is doing heavy lifting. But Like a Boss is contrived from the premise itself--Yeah, what if people in their thirties fell out of friendship? Do y'all need a creative consultant?--to the escalation of most scenes--Why did they have to hide on the roof? Why do they have to jump into the pool?

The movie is lean, but that brevity hurts just as much as it helps. The screenplay knows which scenes are crucial to the development of the friendship, but all of those feel perfunctory, in a different gear from the setpieces.  

To pile on a bit: Studio comedies are so bare bones now that they look like Lifetime movies. Arteta brought Chuck & Buck to Sundance twenty years ago, and, shot on Mini-DV for $250,000, it was seen as a DIY call-to-bootstraps. I guarantee that has more setups and locations and shooting days than this.

78. Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (David Dobkin)- Add Dan Stevens to the list of supporting players who have bodied Will Ferrell in his own movie--one that he cared enough to write himself.  

Like Downhill, Ferrell's other 2020 release, this isn't exactly bad. It's just workmanlike and, aside from the joke about Demi Lovato's "uninformed" ghost, frustratingly conventional.

77. The Traitor (Marco Bellochio)- Played with weary commitment by Pierfrancesco Favino, Tomasso Buscetta is "credited" as the first informant of La Cosa Nostra. And that sounds like an interesting subject for a "based on a true story" crime epic, right? Especially when you find out that Buscetta became a rat out of principle: He believed that the mafia to which he had pledged his life had lost its code to the point that it was a different organization altogether.  

At no point does Buscetta waver or even seem to struggle with his decision though, so what we get is less conflicted than that description might suggest. None of these Italian mob movies glorify the lifestyle, so I wasn't expecting that. But if the crime doesn't seem enticing, and snitching on the crime seems like forlorn duty, and everything is pitched with such underhanded matter-of-factness that you can't even be sure when Buscetta has flipped, then what are we left with? It was interesting seeing how Italian courts work, I guess?

76. Kajillionaire (Miranda July)- This is another movie so intent on building atmosphere and lore that it takes too long to declare what it is. When the protagonist hits a breaking point and has to act, she has only a third of a film to grow. So whispery too.

Gina Rodriguez is the one to inject life into it. As soon as her motormouth winds up, the film slips into a different gear. The atmosphere and lore that I mentioned reeks of artifice, but her character is believably specific. Beneath a basic exterior is someone who is authentically caring but still morally compromised, beholden to the world that the other characters are suspicious of.

75. Scoob! (Tony Cervone)- The first half is sometimes clever, but it hammers home the importance of friendship while separating the friends.

The second half has some positive messaging, but your kids' movie might have a problem with scale if it involves Alexander the Great unlocking the gates of the Underworld.

My daughter loved it.

74. The Lovebirds (Michael Showalter)- If I start talking too much about this perfectly fine movie, I end up in that unfair stance of reviewing the movie I wanted, not what is actually there.* As a fan of hang-out comedies, I kind of resent that any comedy being made now has to be rolled into something more "exciting," whether it's a wrongfully accused or mistaken identity thriller or some other genre. Such is the post-Game Night world. There's a purposefully anti-climactic note that I wish The Lovebirds had ended on, but of course we have another stretch of hiding behind boats and shooting guns. Nanjiani and Rae are really charming leads though.

*- As a New Orleanian, I was totally distracted by the fake aspects of the setting too. "Oh, they walked to Jefferson from downtown? Really?" You probably won't be bothered by the locations.

73. Sonic the Hedgehog (Jeff Fowler)- In some ways the storytelling is ambitious. (I'm speaking for only myself, but I'm fine with "He's a hedgehog, and he's really fast" instead of the owl mother, teleportation backstory. Not everything has to be Tolkien.) But that ambition doesn't match the lack of ambition in the comedy, which depends upon really hackneyed setups and structures. Guiding Jim Carrey to full alrighty-then mode was the best choice anyone made.

72. Malcolm & Marie (Sam Levinson)- The stars move through these long scenes with agility and charisma, but the degree of difficulty is just too high for this movie to reach what it's going for.

Levinson is trying to capture an epic fight between a couple, and he can harness the theatrical intensity of such a thing, but he sacrifices almost all of the nuance. In real life, these knock-down-drag-outs can be circular and indirect and sad in a way that this couple's manipulation rarely is. If that emotional truth is all this movie is trying to achieve, I feel okay about being harsh in my judgment of how well it does that.

71. Beanpole (Kantemir Balagov)- Elusive in how it refuses to declare itself, forthright in how punishing it is. The whole thing might be worth it for a late dinner scene, but I'm getting a bit old to put myself through this kind of misery.

70. The Burnt Orange Heresy (Giuseppe Capotondi)- Silly in good ways until it's silly in bad ways. Elizabeth Debicki remains 6'3".

69. Everybody’s Everything (Sebastian Jones and Ramez Silyan)- As a person who listened to Lil Peep's music, I can confidently say that this documentary is overstating his greatness. His death was a significant loss, as the interview subjects will all acknowledge, but the documentary is more useful as a portrait of a certain unfocused, rapacious segment of a generation that is high and online at all times.

68. The Witches (Robert Zemeckis)- Robert Zemeckis, Kenya Barris, and Guillermo Del Toro are the credited screenwriters, and in a fascinating way, you can see the imprint of each figure on the final product. Adapting a very European story to the old wives' tales of the American South is an interesting choice. Like the Nicolas Roeg try at this material, Zemeckis is not afraid to veer into the terrifying, and Octavia Spencer's pseudo witch doctor character only sells the supernatural. From a storytelling standpoint though, it seems as if the obstacles are overcome too easily, as if there's a whole leg of the film that has been excised. The framing device and the careful myth-making of the flashback make promises that the hotel half of the film, including the abrupt ending, can't live up to.

If nothing else, Anne Hathaway is a real contender for Most On-One Performance of the year.

67. Irresistible (Jon Stewart)- Despite a sort of imaginative ending, Jon Stewart's screenplay feels more like the declarative screenplay that would get you hired for a good movie, not a good screenplay itself. It's provocative enough, but it's clumsy in some basic ways and never evades the easy joke.

For example, the Topher Grace character is introduced as a sort of assistant, then is re-introduced an hour later as a polling expert, then is shown coaching the candidate on presentation a few scenes later. At some point, Stewart combined characters into one role, but nothing got smoothed out.

ENDEARING CURIOSITIES WITH BIG FLAWS

66. Yes, God, Yes (Karen Maine)- Most people who are Catholic, including me, are conflicted about it. Most people who make movies about being Catholic hate it and have an axe to grind. This film is capable of such knowing wit and nuance when it comes to the lived-in details of attending a high school retreat, but it's more concerned with taking aim at hypocrisy in the broad way that we've seen a million times. By the end, the film is surprisingly all-or-nothing when Christian teenagers actually contain multitudes.

Part of the problem is that Karen Maine's screenplay doesn't know how naive to make the Alice character. Sometimes she's reasonably naive for a high school senior in 2001; sometimes she's comically naive so that the plot can work; and sometimes she's stupid, which isn't the same as naive.

65. Bad Boys for Life (Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah)- This might be the first buddy cop movie in which the vets make peace with the tech-comm youngs who use new techniques. If that's the only novelty on display here--and it is--then maybe that's enough. I laughed maybe once. Not that the mistaken identity subplot of Bad Boys 1 is genius or anything, but this entry felt like it needed just one more layer to keep it from feeling as basic as it does. Speaking of layers though, it's almost impossible to watch any Will Smith movie now without viewing it through the meta-narrative of "What is Will Smith actually saying about his own status at this point in his career?" He's serving it up to us.

I derived an inordinate amount of pleasure from seeing the old school Simpson/Bruckheimer logo.

64. The Gentlemen (Guy Ritchie)- Look, I'm not going to be too negative on a movie whose crime slang is so byzantine that it has to be explained with subtitles. That's just me. I'm a simple man. But I can tell you that I tuned out pretty hard after seven or eight double-crosses.

The bloom is off the rose a bit for Ritchie, but he can still nail a music cue. I've been waiting for someone to hit "That's Entertainment" the way he does on the end credits.

63. Bad Hair (Justin Simien)- In Bad Hair, an African-American woman is told by her boss at a music video channel in 1989 that straightening her hair is the way to get ahead; however, her weave ends up having a murderous mind of its own. Compared to that charged, witty logline, the execution of the plot itself feels like a laborious, foregone conclusion. I'm glad that Simien, a genuinely talented writer, is making movies again though. Drop the skin-care routine, Van Der Beek!

62. Greyhound (Aaron Schneider)- "If this is the type of role that Tom Hanks writes for himself, then he understands his status as America's dad--'wise as the serpent, harmless as the dove'--even better than I thought." "America's Dad! Aye aye, sir!" "At least half of the dialogue is there for texture and authenticity, not there to be understood by the audience." "Fifty percent, Captain!" "The environment looks as fake as possible, but I eventually came around to the idea that the movie is completely devoid of subtext." "No subtext to be found, sir!"

  61. Mank (David Fincher)- About ten years ago, the Creative Screenwriting podcast spent an hour or so with James Vanderbilt, the writer of Zodiac and nothing else that comes close, as he relayed the creative paces that David Fincher pushed him through. Hundreds of drafts and years of collaborative work eventuated in the blueprint for Fincher's most exacting, personal film, which he didn't get a writing credit on only because he didn't seek one.

Something tells me that Fincher didn't ask for rewrites from his dead father. No matter what visuals and performances the director can coax from the script--and, to be clear, these are the worst visuals and performances of his career--they are limited by the muddy lightweight pages. There are plenty of pleasures, like the slippery election night montage or the shakily platonic relationship between Mank and Marion. But Fincher hadn't made a film in six years, and he came back serving someone else's master.

60. Tesla (Michael Almereyda)- "You live inside your head." "Doesn't everybody?"

As usual, Almereyda's deconstructions are invigorating. (No other moment can match the first time Eve Hewson's Anne fact-checks something with her anachronistic laptop.) But they don't add up to anything satisfying because Tesla himself is such an opaque figure. Driven by the whims of his curiosity without a clear finish line, the character gives Hawke something enigmatic to play as he reaches deep into a baritone. But he's too inward to lend himself to drama. Tesla feels of a piece with Almereyda's The Experimenter, and that's the one I would recommend.

59. Vitalina Varela (Pedro Costa)- I can't oversell how delicately beautiful this film is visually. There's a scene in which Vitalina lugs a lantern into a church, but we get several seconds of total darkness before that one light source carves through it and takes over part of the frame. Each composition is as intricate as it is overpowering, achieving a balance between stark and mannered.

That being said, most of the film is people entering or exiting doors. I felt very little of the haunting loss that I think I was supposed to.

58. The Rhythm Section (Reed Morano)- Call it the Timothy Hutton in The General's Daughter Corollary: If a name-actor isn't in the movie much but gets third billing, then, despite whom he sends the protagonist to kill, he is the Actual Bad Guy.  

Even if the movie serves up a lot of cliche, the action and sound design are visceral. I would like to see more from Morano.

57. Red, White and Blue (Steve McQueen)- Well-made and heartfelt even if it goes step-for-step where you think it will.

Here's what I want to know though: In the academy training sequence, the police cadets have to subdue a "berserker"; that is, a wildman who swings at their riot gear with a sledgehammer. Then they get him under control, and he shakes their hands, like, "Good angle you took on me there, mate." Who is that guy and where is his movie? Is this full-time work? Is he a police officer or an independent contractor? What would happen if this exercise didn't go exactly as planned?

56. Wolfwalkers (Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart)- The visuals have an unfinished quality that reminded me of The Tale of Princess Kaguya--the center of a flame is undrawn white, and fog is just negative space. There's an underlying symmetry to the film, and its color palette changes with mood.

Narratively, it's pro forma and drawn-out. Was Riley in Inside Out the last animated protagonist to get two parents? My daughter stuck with it, but she needed a lot of context for the religious atmosphere of 17th century Ireland.

55. What She Said: The Art of Pauline Kael (Rob Garver)- The film does little more than one might expect; it's limited in the way that any visual medium is when trying to sum up a woman of letters. But as far as education for Kael's partnership with Warren Beatty or the idea of The New Yorker paying her for only six months out of the year, it was useful for me.  

Although Garver isn't afraid to point to the work that made Kael divisive, it would have been nice to have one or two interview subjects who questioned her greatness, rather than the crew of Paulettes who, even when they do say something like, "Sometimes I radically disagreed with her," do it without being able to point to any specifics.

54. Beastie Boys Story (Spike Jonze)- As far as this Spike Jonze completist is concerned, this is more of a Powerpoint presentation than a movie, Beastie Boys Story still warmed my heart, making me want to fire up Paul's Boutique again and take more pictures of my buddies.

53. Tenet (Christopher Nolan)- Cool and cold, tantalizing and frustrating, loud and indistinct, Tenet comes close to Nolan self-parody, right down to the brutalist architecture and multiple characters styled like him. The setpieces grabbed me, I'll admit.

Nolan's previous film, which is maybe his best, was "about" a lot and just happened to play with time; Tenet is only about playing with time.

PRETTY GOOD MOVIES

52. Shithouse (Cooper Raiff)- "Death is ass."

There's such a thing as too naturalistic. If I wanted to hear how college freshmen really talked, I would hang out with college freshmen. But you have to take the good verisimilitude with the bad, and good verisimilitude is the mother's Pod Save America t-shirt.

There are some poignant moments (and a gonzo performance from Logan Miller) in this auspicious debut from Cooper Raiff, the writer/director/editor/star. But the second party sequence kills some of the momentum, and at a crucial point, the characters spell out some motivation that should have stayed implied.

51. Totally Under Control (Alex Gibney, Ophelia Harutyunyan, Suzanne Hillinger)- As dense and informative as any other Gibney documentary with the added flex of making it during the pandemic it is investigating.

But yeah, why am I watching this right now? I don't need more reasons to be angry with Trump, whom this film calmly eviscerates. The directors analyze Trump's narcissism first through his contradictions of medical expertise in order to protect the economy that could win him re-election. Then it takes aim at his hiring based on loyalty instead of experience. But you already knew that, which is the problem with the film, at least for now.

50. Happiest Season (Clea Duvall)- I was in the perfect mood to watch something this frothy and bouncy. Every secondary character receives a moment in the sun, and Daniel Levy gets a speech that kind of saves the film at a tipping point.

I must say though: I wanted to punch Harper in her stupid face. She is a terrible romantic partner, abandoning or betraying Abby throughout the film and dissembling her entire identity to everyone else in a way that seems absurd for a grown woman in 2020. Run away, Kristen. Perhaps with Aubrey Plaza, whom you have more chemistry with. But there I go shipping and aligning myself with characters, which only proves that this is an effective romantic comedy.

49. The Way Back (Gavin O’Connor)- Patient but misshapen, The Way Back does just enough to overcome the cliches that are sort of unavoidable considering the genre. (I can't get enough of the parent character who, for no good reason, doesn't take his son's success seriously. "Scholarship? What he's gotta do is put his nose in them books! That's why I don't go to his games. [continues moving boxes while not looking at the other character] Now if you'll excuse me while I wait four scenes before showing up at a game to prove that I'm proud of him after all...")

What the movie gets really right or really wrong in the details about coaching and addiction is a total crap-shoot. But maybe I've said too much already.

48. The Whistlers (Corneliu Porumboiu)- Porumboiu is a real artist who seems to be interpreting how much surveillance we're willing to acknowledge and accept, but I won't pretend to have understood much of the plot, the chapters or which are told out of order. Sometimes the structure works--the beguiling, contextless "high-class hooker" sequence--but I often wondered if the film was impenetrable in the way that Porumboiu wanted it to be or impenetrable in the way he didn't.

To tell you the truth, the experience kind of depressed me because I know that, in my younger days, this film is the type of thing that I would re-watch, possibly with the chronology righted, knowing that it is worth understanding fully. But I have two small children, and I'm exhausted all the time, and I kind of thought I should get some credit for still trying to catch up with Romanian crime movies in the first place.

47. Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (Jason Woliner)- I laughed too much to get overly critical, but the film is so episodic and contrived that it's kind of exhausting by the end--even though it's achieving most of its goals. Maybe Borat hasn't changed, but the way our citizens own their ugliness has.

46. First Cow (Kelly Reichardt)- Despite how little happens in the first forty minutes, First Cow is a thoughtful capitalism parable. Even though it takes about forty minutes to get going, the friendship between Cookie and King-Lu is natural and incisive. Like Reichardt's other work, the film's modest premise unfolds quite gracefully, except for in the first forty minutes, which are uneventful.

45. Les Miserables (Ladj Ly)- I loved parts of the film--the disorienting, claustrophobic opening or the quick look at the police officers' home lives, for example. But I'm not sure that it does anything very well. The needle the film tries to thread between realism and theater didn't gel for me. The ending, which is ambiguous in all of the wrong ways, chooses the theatrical. (If I'm being honest, my expectations were built up by Les Miserables' Jury Prize at Cannes, and it's a bit superficial to be in that company.)

If nothing else, it's always helpful to see how another country's worst case scenario in law enforcement would look pretty good over here.

44. Bad Education (Cory Finley)- The film feels too locked-down and small at the beginning, so intent on developing the protagonist neutrally that even the audience isn't aware of his secrets. So when he faces consequences for those secrets, there's a disconnect. Part of tragedy is seeing the doom coming, right?

When it opens up, however, it's empathetic and subtle, full of a dry irony that Finley is already specializing in after only one other feature. Geraldine Viswanathan and Allison Janney get across a lot of interiority that is not on the page.

43. The Trip to Greece (Michael Winterbottom)- By the fourth installment, you know whether you're on board with the franchise. If you're asking "Is this all there is?" to Coogan and Brydon's bickering and impressions as they're served exotic food in picturesque settings, then this one won't sway you. If you're asking "Is this all there is?" about life, like they are, then I don't need to convince you.  

I will say that The Trip to Spain seemed like an enervated inflection point, at which the squad could have packed it in. The Trip to Greece proves that they probably need to keep doing this until one of them dies, which has been the subtext all along.

42. Feels Good Man (Arthur Jones)- This documentary centers on innocent artist Matt Furie's helplessness as his Pepe the Frog character gets hijacked by the alt-right. It gets the hard things right. It's able to, quite comprehensively, trace a connection from 4Chan's use of Pepe the Frog to Donald Trump's near-assuming of Pepe's ironic deniability. Director Arthur Jones seems to understand the machinations of the alt-right, and he articulates them chillingly.

The easy thing, making us connect to Furie, is less successful. The film spends way too much time setting up his story, and it makes him look naive as it pits him against Alex Jones in the final third. Still, the film is a quick ninety-two minutes, and the highs are pretty high.

41. The Old Guard (Gina Prince-Bythewood)- Some of the world-building and backstory are handled quite elegantly. The relationships actually do feel centuries old through specific details, and the immortal conceit comes together for an innovative final action sequence.

Visually and musically though, the film feels flat in a way that Prince-Bythewood's other films do not. I blame Netflix specs. KiKi Layne, who tanked If Beale Street Could Talk for me, nearly ruins this too with the child-actory way that she stresses one word per line. Especially in relief with one of our more effortless actresses, Layne is distracting.

40. The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Aaron Sorkin)- Whenever Sacha Baron Cohen's Abbie Hoffman opens his mouth, the other defendants brace themselves for his dismissive vulgarity. Even when it's going to hurt him, he can't help but shoot off at the mouth. Of course, he reveals his passionate and intelligent depths as the trial goes on. The character is the one that Sorkin's screenplay seems the most endeared to: In the same way that Hoffman can't help but be Hoffman, Sorkin can't help but be Sorkin. Maybe we don't need a speech there; maybe we don't have to stretch past two hours; maybe a bon mot diffuses the tension. But we know exactly what to expect by now. The film is relevant, astute, witty, benevolent, and, of course, in love with itself. There are a handful of scenes here that are perfect, so I feel bad for qualifying so much.

A smaller point: Daniel Pemberton has done great work in the past (Motherless Brooklyn, King Arthur, The Man from U.N.C.L.E.), but the first sequence is especially marred by his sterile soft-rock approach.

  GOOD MOVIES

39. Time (Garrett Bradley)- The key to Time is that it provides very little context. Why the patriarch of this family is serving sixty years in prison is sort of besides the point philosophically. His wife and sons have to move on without him, and the tragedy baked into that fact eclipses any notion of what he "deserved." Feeling the weight of time as we switch back and forth between a kid talking about his first day of kindergarten and that same kid graduating from dentistry school is all the context we need. Time's presentation can be quite sumptuous: The drone shot of Angola makes its buildings look like crosses. Or is it X's?

At the same time, I need some context. When director Garrett Bradley withholds the reason Robert's in prison, and when she really withholds that Fox took a plea and served twelve years, you start to see the strings a bit. You could argue that knowing so little about why, all of a sudden, Robert can be on parole puts you into the same confused shoes as the family, but it feels manipulative to me. The film is preaching to the choir as far as criminal justice goes, which is fine, but I want it to have the confidence to tell its story above board.

38. Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets (Turner Ross and Bill Ross IV)- I have a barfly friend whom I see maybe once a year. When we first set up a time to meet, I kind of dread it and wonder what we'll have to talk about. Once we do get together, we trip on each other's words a bit, fumbling around with the rhythm of conversation that we mastered decades ago. He makes some kind of joke that could have been appropriate then but isn't now.

By the end of the day, hours later, we're hugging and maybe crying as we promise each other that we won't wait as long next time.

That's the exact same journey that I went on with this film.

37. Underwater (William Eubank)- Underwater is a story that you've seen before, but it's told with great confidence and economy. I looked up at twelve minutes and couldn't believe the whole table had been set. Kristen plays Ripley and projects a smart, benevolent poise.

36. The Lodge (Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala)- I prefer the grounded, manicured first half to the more fantastic second half. The craziness of the latter is only possible through the hard work of the former though. As with Fiala and Franz's previous feature, the visual rhymes and motifs get incorporated into the soup so carefully that you don't realize it until they overwhelm you in their bleak glory.

Small note: Alicia Silverstone, the male lead's first wife, and Riley Keough, his new partner, look sort of similar. I always think that's a nice note: "I could see how he would go for her."

35. Miss Americana (Lana Wilson)- I liked it when I saw it as a portrait of a person whose life is largely decided for her but is trying to carve out personal spaces within that hamster wheel. I loved it when I realized that describes most successful people in their twenties.

34. Sound of Metal (Darius Marder)- Riz Ahmed is showing up on all of the best performances of the year lists, but Sound of Metal isn't in anyone's top ten films of the year. That's about right. Ahmed's is a quiet, stubborn performance that I wish was in service of more than the straight line that we've seen before.

In two big scenes, there's this trick that Ahmed does, a piecing together of consequences with his eyes, as if he's moving through a flow chart in real time. In both cases, the character seems locked out and a little slower than he should be, which is, of course, why he's facing the consequences in the first place. To be charitable to a film that was a bit of a grind, it did make me notice a thing a guy did with his eyes.

33. Pieces of a Woman (Kornel Mundruczo)- Usually when I leave acting showcases like this, I imagine the film without the Oscar-baiting speeches, but this is a movie that specializes in speeches. Pieces of a Woman is being judged, deservedly so, by the harrowing twenty-minute take that opens the film, which is as indulgent as it is necessary. But if the unbroken take provides the "what," then the speeches provide the "why."

This is a film about reclaiming one's body when it rebels against you and when other people seek ownership of it. Without the Ellen Burstyn "lift your head" speech or the Vanessa Kirby show-stopper in the courtroom, I'm not sure any of that comes across.

I do think the film lets us off the hook a bit with the LaBoeuf character, in the sense that it gives us reasons to dislike him when it would be more compelling if he had done nothing wrong. Does his half-remembering of the White Stripes count as a speech?

32. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (George C. Wolfe)- This is such a play, not only in the locked-down location but also through nearly every storytelling convention: "Where are the two most interesting characters? Oh, running late? They'll enter separately in animated fashion?" But, to use the type of phrase that the characters might, "Don't hate the player; hate the game."

Perhaps the most theatrical note in this treatise on the commodification of expression is the way that, two or three times, the proceedings stop in their tracks for the piece to declare loudly what it's about. In one of those clear-outs, Boseman, who looks distractingly sick, delivers an unforgettable monologue that transports the audience into his character's fragile, haunted mind. He and Viola Davis are so good that the film sort of buckles under their weight, unsure of how to transition out of those spotlight moments and pretend that the story can start back up. Whatever they're doing is more interesting than what's being achieved overall.

31. Another Round (Thomas Vinterberg)- It's definitely the film that Vinterberg wanted to make, but despite what I think is a quietly shattering performance from Mikkelsen, Another Round moves in a bit too much of a straight line to grab me fully. The joyous final minutes hint at where it could have gone, as do pockets of Vinterberg's filmography, which seems newly tethered to realism in a way that I don't like. The best sequences are the wildest ones, like the uproarious trip to the grocery store for fresh cod, so I don't know why so much of it takes place in tiny hallways at magic hour. I give the inevitable American remake* permission to use these notes.

*- Just spitballing here. Martin: Will Ferrell, Nikolaj (Nick): Ben Stiller, Tommy: Owen Wilson, Peter: Craig Robinson

30. The Invisible Man (Leigh Whannell)- Exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed.

I think a less conclusive finale would have been better, but what a model of high-concept escalation. This is the movie people convinced me Whannell's Upgrade was.

29. On the Rocks (Sofia Coppola)- Slight until the Mexican sojourn, which expands the scope and makes the film even more psychosexual than before. At times it feels as if Coppola is actively simplifying, rather than diving into the race and privilege questions that the Murray character all but demands.

As for Murray, is the film 50% worse without him? 70%? I don't know if you can run in supporting categories if you're the whole reason the film exists.

28. Mangrove (Steve McQueen)- The first part of the film seemed repetitive and broad to me. But once it settled in as a courtroom drama, the characterization became more shaded, and the filmmaking itself seemed more fluid. I ended up being quite outraged and inspired.

27. Shirley (Josephine Decker)- Josephine Decker emerges as a real stylist here, changing her foggy, impressionistic approach not one bit with a little more budget. Period piece and established actors be damned--this is still as much of a reeling fever dream as Madeline's Madeline. Both pieces are a bit too repetitive and nasty for my taste, but I respect the technique.

Here's my mandatory "Elisabeth Moss is the best" paragraph. While watching her performance as Shirley Jackson, I thought about her most famous role as Peggy on Mad Men, whose inertia and need to prove herself tied her into confidence knots. Shirley is almost the opposite: paralyzed by her worldview, certain of her talent, rejecting any empathy. If Moss can inhabit both characters so convincingly, she can do anything.

26. An American Pickle (Brandon Trost)- An American Pickle is the rare comedy that could actually use five or ten extra minutes, but it's a surprisingly heartfelt and wholesome stretch for Rogen, who is earnest in the lead roles.

25. The King of Staten Island (Judd Apatow)- At two hours and fifteen minutes, The King of Staten Island is probably the first Judd Apatow film that feels like the exact right length. For example, the baggy date scene between a gracious Bill Burr and a faux-dowdy Marisa Tomei is essential, the sort of widening of perspective that something like Trainwreck was missing.

It's Pete Davidson's movie, however, and though he has never been my cup of tea, I think he's actually quite powerful in his quiet moments. The movie probes some rare territory--a mentally ill man's suspicion that he is unlovable, a family's strategic myth-making out of respect for the dead. And when Davidson shows up at the firehouse an hour and fifteen minutes in, it feels as if we've built to a last resort.

24. Swallow (Carlo Mirabella-Davis)- The tricky part of this film is communicating Hunter's despair, letting her isolation mount, but still keeping her opaque. It takes a lot of visual discipline to do that, and Claudio Mirabella-Davis is up to the task. This ends up being a much more sympathetic, expressive movie than the plot description might suggest.

(In the tie dispute, Hunter and Richie are both wrong. That type of silk--I couldn't tell how pebbled it was, but it's probably a barathea weave-- shouldn't be ironed directly, but it doesn't have to be steamed. On a low setting, you could iron the back of the tie and be fine.)

23. The Vast of Night (Andrew Patterson)- I wanted a bit more "there" there; The film goes exactly where I thought it would, and there isn't enough humor for my taste. (The predictability might be a feature, not a bug, since the film is positioned as an episode of a well-worn Twilight Zone-esque show.)

But from a directorial standpoint, this is quite a promising debut. Patterson knows when to lock down or use silence--he even cuts to black to force us to listen more closely to a monologue. But he also knows when to fill the silence. There's a minute or so when Everett is spooling tape, and he and Fay make small talk about their hopes for the future, developing the characters' personalities in what could have been just mechanics. It's also a refreshingly earnest film. No one is winking at the '50s setting.

I'm tempted to write, "If Andrew Patterson can make this with $1 million, just imagine what he can do with $30 million." But maybe people like Shane Carruth have taught us that Patterson is better off pinching pennies in Texas and following his own muse.

22. Martin Eden (Pietro Marcello)- At first this film, adapted from a picaresque novel by Jack London, seemed as if it was hitting the marks of the genre. "He's going from job to job and meeting dudes who are shaping his worldview now." But the film, shot in lustrous Super 16, won me over as it owned the trappings of this type of story, forming a character who is a product of his environment even as he transcends it. By the end, I really felt the weight of time.

You want to talk about something that works better in novels than films though? When a passionate, independent protagonist insists that a woman is the love of his life, despite the fact that she's whatever Italians call a wet blanket. She's rich, but Martin doesn't care about her money. He hates her family and friends, and she refuses to accept him or his life pursuits. She's pretty but not even as pretty as the waitress they discuss. Tell me what I'm missing here. There's archetype, and there's incoherence.

21. Bacurau (Kleber Mendonca Filho and Juliano Dornelles)- Certain images from this adventurous film will stick with me, but I got worn out after the hard reset halfway through. As entranced as I was by the mystery of the first half, I think this blood-soaked ensemble is better at asking questions than it is at answering them.

20. Let Them All Talk (Steven Soderbergh)- The initial appeal of this movie might be "Look at these wonderful actresses in their seventies getting a movie all to themselves." And the film is an interesting portrait of ladies taking stock of relationships that have spanned decades. But Soderbergh and Eisenberg handle the twentysomething Lucas Hedges character with the same openness and empathy. His early reasoning for going on the trip is that he wants to learn from older women, and Hedges nails the puppy-dog quality of a young man who would believe that. Especially in the scenes of aspirational romance, he's sweet and earnest as he brushes his hair out of his face.

Streep plays Alice Hughes, a serious author of literary fiction, and she crosses paths with Kelvin Kranz, a grinder of airport thrillers. In all of the right ways, Let Them All Talk toes the line between those two stances as an entertaining, jaunty experiment that also shoulders subtextual weight. If nothing else, it's easy to see why a cruise ship's counterfeit opulence, its straight lines at a lean, would be visually engaging to Soderbergh. You can't have a return to form if your form is constantly evolving.

19. Dick Johnson Is Dead (Kirsten Johnson)- Understandably, I don't find the subject as interesting as his own daughter does, and large swaths of this film are unsure of what they're trying to say. But that's sort of the point, and the active wrestling that the film engages in with death ultimately pays off in a transcendent moment. The jaw-dropping ending is something that only non-fiction film can achieve, and Johnson's whole career is about the search for that sort of serendipity.

18. Da 5 Bloods (Spike Lee)- Delroy Lindo is a live-wire, but his character is the only one of the principals who is examined with the psychological depth I was hoping for. The first half, with all of its present-tense flourishes, promises more than the gunfights of the second half can deliver. When the film is cooking though, it's chock full of surprises, provocations, and pride.

17. Never Rarely Sometimes Always (Eliza Hittmann)- Very quickly, Eliza Hittmann has established herself as an astute, empathetic director with an eye for discovering new talent. I hope that she gets to make fifty more movies in which she objectively follows laconic young people. But I wanted to like this one more than I did. The approach is so neutral that it's almost flat to me, lacking the arc and catharsis of her previous film, Beach Rats. I still appreciate her restraint though.

GREAT MOVIES

16. Young Ahmed (Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne)- I don't think the Dardennes have made a bad movie yet, and I'm glad they turned away from the slight genre dipping of The Unknown Girl, the closest to bad that they got. Young Ahmed is a lean, daring return to form.

Instead of following an average person, as they normally do, the Dardenne Brothers follow an extremist, and the objectivity that usually generates pathos now serves to present ambiguity. Ahmed says that he is changing, that he regrets his actions, but we never know how much of his stance is a put-on. I found myself wanting him to reform, more involved than I usually am in these slices of life. Part of it is that Idir Ben Addi looks like such a normal, young kid, and the Ahmed character has most of the qualities that we say we want in young people: principles, commitment, self-worth, reflection. So it's that much more destructive when those qualities are used against him and against his fellow man.

15. World of Tomorrow Episode Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime (Don Hertzfeldt)- My dad, a man whom I love but will never understand, has dismissed modern music before by claiming that there are only so many combinations of chords. To him, it's almost impossible to do something new. Of course, this is the type of thing that an uncreative person would say--a person not only incapable of hearing the chords that combine notes but also unwilling to hear the space between the notes. (And obviously, that's the take of a person who doesn't understand that, originality be damned, some people just have to create.)

  Anyway, that attitude creeps into my own thinking more than I would like, but then I watch something as wholly original as World of Tomorrow Episode Three. The series has always been a way to pile sci-fi ideas on top of each other to prove the essential truths of being and loving. And this one, even though it achieves less of a sense of yearning than its predecessor, offers even more devices to chew on. Take, for example, the idea that Emily sends her message from the future, so David's primitive technology can barely handle it. In order to move forward with its sophistication, he has to delete any extraneous skills for the sake of computer memory. So out of trust for this person who loves him, he has to weigh whether his own breathing or walking can be uninstalled as a sacrifice for her. I thought that we might have been done describing love, but there it is, a new metaphor. Mixing futurism with stick figures to get at the most pure drive possible gave us something new. It's called art, Dad.

14. On the Record (Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering)- We don't call subjects of documentaries "stars" for obvious reasons, but Drew Dixon kind of is one. Her honesty and wisdom tell a complete story of the #MeToo movement. Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering take their time developing her background at first, not because we need to "gain sympathy" or "establish credibility" for a victim of sexual abuse, but because showing her talent and enthusiasm for hip-hop A&R makes it that much more tragic when her passion is extinguished. Hell, I just like the woman, so spending a half-hour on her rise was pleasurable in and of itself.

  This is a gut-wrenching, fearless entry in what is becoming Dick and Ziering's raison d'etre, but its greatest quality is Dixon's composed reflection. She helped to establish a pattern of Russell Simmons's behavior, but she explains what happened to her in ways I had never heard before.

13. David Byrne’s American Utopia (Spike Lee)- I'm often impressed by the achievements that puzzle me: How did they pull that off? But I know exactly how David Byrne pulled off the impish but direct precision of American Utopia: a lot of hard work.

I can't blame Spike Lee for stealing a page from Demme's Stop Making Sense: He denies us a close-up of any audience members until two-thirds of the way through, when we get someone in absolute rapture.

12. One Night in Miami... (Regina King)- We've all cringed when a person of color is put into the position of speaking on behalf of his or her entire race. But the characters in One Night in Miami... live in that condition all the time and are constantly negotiating it. As Black public figures in 1964, they know that the consequences of their actions are different, bigger, than everyone else's. The charged conversations between Malcolm X and Sam Cooke are not about whether they can live normal lives. They're way past that. The stakes are closer to Sam Cooke arguing that his life's purpose aligns with the protection and elevation of African-Americans while Malcolm X argues that those pursuits should be the same thing. Late in the movie, Cassius Clay leaves the other men, a private conversation, to talk to reporters, a public conversation. But the film argues that everything these men do is always already public. They're the most powerful African-Americans in the country, but their lives are not their own. Or not only their own.

It's true that the first act has the clunkiness and artifice of a TV movie, but once the film settles into the motel room location and lets the characters feed off one another, it's gripping. It's kind of unfair for a movie to get this many scenes of Leslie Odom Jr. singing, but I'll take it.

11. Saint Frances (Alex Thompson)- Rilke wrote, "Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us." The characters' behavior in Saint Frances--all of these fully formed characters' behavior--made me think of that quotation. When they lash out at one another, even at their nastiest, the viewer has a window into how they're expressing pain they can't verbalize. The film is uneven in its subtlety, but it's a real showcase for screenwriter and star Kelly O'Sullivan, who is unflinching and dynamic in one of the best performances of the year. Somebody give her some of the attention we gave to Zach Braff for God's sake.

10. Boys State (Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine)- This documentary is kind of a miracle from a logistical standpoint. From casting interviews beforehand, lots of editing afterwards, or sly note-taking once the conference began, McBaine and Moss happened to select the four principals who mattered the most at the convention, then found them in rooms full of dudes wearing the same tucked-in t-shirt. By the way, all of the action took place over the course of one week, and by definition, the important events are carved in half.

To call Boys State a microcosm of American politics is incorrect. These guys are forming platforms and voting in elections. What they're doing is American politics, so when they make the same compromises and mistakes that active politicians do, it produces dread and disappointment. So many of the boys are mimicking the political theater that they see on TV, and that sweaty sort of performance is going to make a Billy Mitchell out of this kid Ben Feinstein, and we'll be forced to reckon with how much we allow him to evolve as a person. This film is so precise, but what it proves is undeniably messy. Luckily, some of these seventeen-year-olds usher in hope for us all.

If nothing else, the film reveals the level to which we're all speaking in code.

9. The Nest (Sean Durkin)- In the first ten minutes or so of The Nest, the only real happy minutes, father and son are playing soccer in their quaint backyard, and the father cheats to score on a children's net before sliding on the grass to rub in his victory. An hour later, the son kicks the ball around by himself near a regulation goal on the family's massive property. The contrast is stark and obvious, as is the symbolism of the dead horse, but that doesn't mean it's not visually powerful or resonant.

Like Sean Durkin's earlier film, Martha Marcy May Marlene, the whole of The Nest is told with detail of novelistic scope and an elevation of the moment. A snippet of radio that mentions Ronald Reagan sets the time period, rather than a dateline. One kid saying "Thanks, Dad" and another kid saying, "Thanks, Rory" establishes a stepchild more elegantly than any other exposition might.

But this is also a movie that does not hide what it means. Characters usually say exactly what is on their minds, and motivations are always clear. For example, Allison smokes like a chimney, so her daughter's way of acting out is leaving butts on the window sill for her mother to find. (And mother and daughter both definitely "act out" their feelings.) On the other hand, Ben, Rory's biological son, is the character least like him, so these relationships aren't too directly parallel. Regardless, Durkin uses these trajectories to cast a pall of familial doom.

8. Sorry We Missed You (Sean Durkin)- Another precisely calibrated empathy machine from Ken Loach. The overwhelmed matriarch, Abby, is a caretaker, and she has to break up a Saturday dinner to rescue one of her clients, who wet herself because no one came to help her to the bathroom. The lady is embarrassed, and Abby calms her down by saying, "You mean more to me than you know." We know enough about Abby's circumstances to realize that it's sort of a lie, but it's a beautiful lie, told by a person who cares deeply but is not cared for.

Loach's central point is that the health of a family, something we think of as immutable and timeless, is directly dependent upon the modern industry that we use to destroy ourselves. He doesn't have to be "proven" relevant, and he didn't plan for Covid-19 to point to the fragility of the gig economy, but when you're right, you're right.

7. Lovers Rock (Steve McQueen)- swear to you I thought: "This is an impeccable depiction of a great house party. The only thing it's missing is the volatile dude who scares away all the girls." And then the volatile dude who scares away all the girls shows up.

In a year short on magic, there are two or three transcendent moments, but none of them can equal the whole crowd singing along to "Silly Games" way after the song has ended. Nothing else crystallizes the film's note of celebration: of music, of community, of safe spaces, of Black skin. I remember moments like that at house parties, and like all celebrations, they eventually make me sad.

6. Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution (Nicole Newnham and James Lebrecht)- I held off on this movie because I thought that I knew what it was. The setup was what I expected: A summer camp for the disabled in the late '60s takes on the spirit of the time and becomes a haven for people who have not felt agency, self-worth, or community anywhere else. But that's the right-place-right-time start of a story that takes these figures into the '80s as they fight for their rights.

If you're anything like my dumb ass, you know about 504 accommodations from the line on a college syllabus that promises equal treatment. If 2020 has taught us anything though, it's that rights are seized, not given, and this is the inspiring story of people who unified to demand what they deserved. Judy Heumann is a civil rights giant, but I'm ashamed to say I didn't know who she was before this film. If it were just a history lesson that wasn't taught in school, Crip Camp would still be valuable, but it's way more than that.

5. Palm Springs (Max Barbakow)- When explaining what is happening to them, Andy Samberg's Nyles twirls his hand at Cristin Milioti's Sara and says, "It's one of those infinite time-loop scenarios." Yeah, one of those. Armed with only a handful of fictional examples, she and the audience know exactly what he means, and the continually inventive screenplay by Andy Siara doesn't have to do any more explaining. In record time, the film accelerates into its premise, involves her, and sets up the conflict while avoiding the claustrophobia of even Groundhog Day. That economy is the strength that allows it to be as funny as it is. By being thrifty with the setup, the savings can go to, say, the couple crashing a plane into a fiery heap with no consequences.

In some accidental ways, this is, of course, a quarantine romance as well. Nyles and Sara frustratingly navigate the tedious wedding as if they are play-acting--which they sort of are--then they push through that sameness to grow for each other, realizing that dependency is not weakness. The best relationships are doing the same thing right now.

  Although pointedly superficial--part of the point of why the couple is such a match--and secular--I think the notion of an afterlife would come up at least once--Palm Springs earns the sincerity that it gets around to. And for a movie ironic enough to have a character beg to be impaled so that he doesn't have to sit in traffic, that's no small feat.

  4. The Assistant (Kitty Green)- A wonder of Bressonian objectivity and rich observation, The Assistant is the rare film that deals exclusively with emotional depth while not once explaining any emotions. One at a time, the scrape of the Kleenex box might not be so grating, the long hallway trek to the delivery guy might not be so tiring, but this movie gets at the details of how a job can destroy you in ways that add up until you can't even explain them.

3. Promising Young Woman (Emerald Fennell)- In her most incendiary and modern role, Carey Mulligan plays Cassie, which is short for Cassandra, that figure doomed to tell truths that no one else believes. The web-belted boogeyman who ruined her life is Al, short for Alexander, another Greek who is known for his conquests. The revenge story being told here--funny in its darkest moments, dark in its funniest moments--is tight on its surface levels, but it feels as if it's telling a story more archetypal and expansive than that too.

  An exciting feature debut for its writer-director Emerald Fennell, the film goes wherever it dares. Its hero has a clear purpose, and it's not surprising that the script is willing to extinguish her anger halfway through. What is surprising is the way it renews and muddies her purpose as she comes into contact with half-a-dozen brilliant one- or two-scene performances. (Do you think Alfred Molina can pull off a lawyer who hates himself so much that he can't sleep? You would be right.)

Promising Young Woman delivers as an interrogation of double standards and rape culture, but in quiet ways it's also about our outsized trust in professionals and the notion that some trauma cannot be overcome.

INSTANT CLASSICS

2. Soul (Pete Docter)- When Pete Docter's Up came out, it represented a sort of coronation for Pixar: This was the one that adults could like unabashedly. The one with wordless sequences and dead children and Ed Asner in the lead. But watching it again this week with my daughter, I was surprised by how high-concept and cloying it could be. We choose not to remember the middle part with the goofy dog stuff.

Soul is what Up was supposed to be: honest, mature, stirring. And I don't mean to imply that a family film shouldn't make any concessions to children. But Soul, down to the title, never compromises its own ambition. Besides Coco, it's probably the most credible character study that Pixar has ever made, with all of Joe's growth earned the hard way. Besides Inside Out, it's probably the wittiest comedy that Pixar has ever made, bursting with unforced energy.

There's a twitter fascination going around about Dez, the pigeon-figured barber character whose scene has people gushing, "Crush my windpipe, king" or whatever. Maybe that's what twitter does now, but no one fantasized about any characters in Up. And I count that as progress.

1. I’m Thinking of Ending Things (Charlie Kaufman)- After hearing that our name-shifting protagonist moonlights as an artist, a no-nonsense David Thewlis offers, "I hope you're not an abstract artist." He prefers "paintings that look like photographs" over non-representational mumbo-jumbo. And as Jessie Buckley squirms to try to think of a polite way to talk back, you can tell that Charlie Kaufman has been in the crosshairs of this same conversation. This morose, scary, inscrutable, expressionist rumination is not what the Netflix description says it is at all, and it's going to bother nice people looking for a fun night in. Thank God.

The story goes that Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, when constructing Raiders of the Lost Ark, sought to craft a movie that was "only the good parts" with little of the clunky setup that distracted from action. What we have here is a Charlie Kaufman movie with only the Charlie Kaufman moments, less interested than ever before at holding one's hand. The biting humor is here, sometimes aimed at philistines like the David Thewlis character above, sometimes at the niceties that we insist upon. The lonely horror of everyday life is here, in the form of missed calls from oneself or the interruption of an inner monologue. Of course, communicating the overwhelming crush of time, both unknowable and familiar, is the raison d'etre.

A new pet motif seems to be the way that we don't even own our own knowledge. The Young Woman recites "Bonedog" by Eva H.D., which she claims/thinks she wrote, only to find Jake's book open to that page, next to a Pauline Kael book that contains a Woman Under the Influence review that she seems to have internalized later. When Jake muses about Wordsworth's "Lucy Poems," it starts as a way to pass the time, then it becomes a way to lord his education over her, then it becomes a compliment because the subject resembles her, then it becomes a way to let her know that, in the grand scheme of things, she isn't that special at all. This film jerks the viewer through a similar wintry cycle and leaves him with his own thoughts. It's not a pretty picture, but it doesn't look like anything else.

[jjkpls]

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> genre : smut, soulmate fluff

> pairing : park jimin x reader x kim taehyung

> words : 5.5k

> Taehyung is taken aback when his soulmate, Jimin, introduces his new girlfriend to him. Jimin tries to help them break the ice. (honestly pwp, slight slash)

> A/N : so... trying to get back into writing, hope this doesn’t suck too much (lmao way to sell your shit). so vmin 3some yay! thanks to anyone that’ll read it, let me know your thoughts ❤

It was one thing earlier when his fingers were laced in between the stiff locks of his hair. Short nails scraping on his scalp, gripping a little when his wet lips were covering the skin of his neck with love. It was warm, comforting, pleasing, felt like pure love and affection. Different from what they are used to give to each other but still oddly familiar.

But with her, it's something else. Taehyung does not know her. He hardly knows her voice. Has never met her heart. Does not know her body. As he is looking at her now, lain down, legs spread enough for him to sit in between, he realizes he meets her eyes for the very first time.

She looks kind. All he knows about her comes from what Jimin has told him. And for the most part, he was not listening. He was too busy trying to keep his heart from sinking with the weight of too many concerns, to care about whatever the hell she was studying and where she'd grown up.

His gaze falls from her eyes, slides along the line of her nose and the shiny curve of her swollen lips, to his own hands. They're spread over her naked waist. He doesn't even remember how it happened.

The skin feels so warm and soft under his palms. He does not feel like taking them off. He does not know if he wants more, if he can do more. Does she?

“I get it. I don't- I'm sorry for the way I acted before.” Jimin is beaming. His eyes have completely disappeared behind the thin crescent of his eyelids and Taehyung would make fun of him if it were not for the faint pink taint spread over the round tip of his nose, reminiscence of the big meltdown from earlier.

Jimin's chubby fingers wrap around the back of Taehyung's neck, cold rings recovering the skin in goosebumps, “I can have two soulmates, Tae. I do have two soulmates.”

Taehyung simply nods. He knows there is no discussion to hold anyway. He just has to accept it. He is not the only one to receive his friend's unconditional, endless love and devotion. He used to share, sure, with the rest of the band, and his family, and a part of the rest of the world. Jimin's heart is just so wide and so full and he wants to fulfil everybody and everyone with it. That's one of the reasons why he started loving him in the first place. How unfair would that be to blame him for it now?

He is scared though. He has not lost him yet but he is terrified he will. He knows his worth. Not so bad of a person, trying but lacking immensely. He knows how lucky he is to have him. Half of the time, he does not even know that he deserves him. But he's had him for so long, how could he give up on him now? He is just human. And he is greedy as one is.

“Taehyung, you don't have to worry. I won't take him away from you.” Taehyung looks down. She hasn't said much the whole time, her voice sounds so foreign, and sweet too.

She is waiting for him to say something, he does not and she flushes bright red under his feline gaze. She squirms around a little, her legs end up resting on his better. Taehyung let his hands slide along her sides, setting on her denim-covered thighs. He's grateful for her words. They've been spoken with a softness that he recognizes for he finds it in Jimin. He is sure she means it.

“You're adorable.” Taehyung whispers, charmed, as Jimin kisses his girlfriend's burning cheek.

“She is, isn't she?” Jimin is all giggles and sparkly eyes now. It is funny how excited he is at the prospect of having a friend see his girl and appreciate her the way he does, in this too intimate way. Then again, it is Jimin. He wants to spoil. He was made to spoil.

“Can I kiss you ?” Eyes diverting to her boyfriend, she absent-mindedly nibbles on her lips, licking them discreetly.

“You can do whatever you want as long as you don't forget who's your man.” He watches their interaction. It is weird. She is lain right there, almost under him, they're so close he can smell her scent -something mild and sugary that reminds him of an exotic fruit he can't pinpoint-; yet it feels oddly personal. He feels like a voyeur, observing the intimacy, the affinity of a longer secret conversation he is not part of. It is palpable. Maybe it is too wrong.

Her hands are pressing sheepishly on top of his now, making a flower of warmth bloom in his chest.

He does not understand how this whole thing can work. How it even just came about. Why do they need to include him, to give him some of this when they are obviously in perfect osmose already.

Taehyung wraps his fingers around her hands. His look so huge with hers nustled in their centre. They're warm, not very soft. He wonders why. He is pretty sure it's related to the thing she is studying or maybe a hobby of hers. Jimin's mentioned it but he can't remember.

From that thought, another one rises out of nowhere. When was the last time he has been this close to a girl? Probably some time in high school. So long ago, it feels like a whole life had passed by since then. He comes to this realization at the same time his heart does, apparently, as it suddenly starts beating hard and fast in growing anxiety and excitement.

A quick tentative peck on the corner of her mouth, and he is sure she wants it too so he just indulges into her. He assumed it would take more time for them to adjust to each other. It doesn't though. Quickly teeth are teasing, tongues meeting and exploring shamelessly. It feels so sultry, hot and steamy, he can't help but always lean in further, fingers digging in her thighs (secretly hoping it is hard enough to leave faint marks for them to look at later), mouths kissing always deeper.

And it gets hotter and bolder. His brain is definitely getting intoxicated by her perfume -he's decided to give up on trying to identify it now, from now on it's become her scent-, her touch, the moans she tries to conceal, how wet and warm and delicious her mouth feels.

His heart is about to burst and his arms are shaking, then fail to hold him up. He crashes into her, though he can’t even think about feeling apologetic when she seems so willing to welcome him in. Her tiny hands are gripping his shoulder and his waist, her legs are sliding up quietly around his waist. There’s no doubt she wants it as much as he does. And no doubt she feels as good as he does. He wonders, briefly, how much of him she’s feeling. Does she feel crushed, grounded down by the weight of his body? Because he feels pulled by her, by every bit of warm contact his body gets from hers.

He’s already so hard, it’s painful. Despite the anxiety and the confusion of the whole situation. His brain is still in a blur, trying to make out a logical and realistic scenario -the fumes their shared kisses and sheepish but needy touch induce are not helping.

He could not tell for how long they allowed themselves to lost into each other’s mouths but when he finally lifts himself up slightly, their ragged breaths, swollen and wet lips, burgundy cheeks and watery eyes mirror perfectly.

Jimin has slipped a hand between the two of them -hardly given the non-existence gap between their bodies- and he is now patting at his girlfriend covered crotch. Taehyung can feel it, the hand, obviously, but he can’t get himself to leave the warmth of the girl's proximity just yet. It doesn’t really trigger anything, this touch, foreign but not scary, so he just lets it be while he looks at her, staring at her boyfriend with big earnest eyes.

“Enjoyed kissing Tae?” Taehyung looks at the blush of her cheeks deepening two shades darker. It’s already addicting, watching her undergo her emotions with no ability to hide her shame and embarrassment. “I can feel how wet you are through your jeans, baby.” He is chuckling, while she mumbles something Taehyung doesn’t quite get, hidden as she is behind her hands but he grins anyway.

“Cute.” He realizes he said it aloud only because of Jimin’s crinkling eyes, jumping suddenly to meet his. He is grinning from ear to ear, overcome with joy as if the compliment was directed solely to him.

“See, Tae likes you now. I told you he would, didn’t I ?”

Was she worried? There are flashes of memories blinking in his mind. He can see himself not so subtly turning his back to her, serving her the nastiest tight-lipped smile and cold glare he owns, animatedly cursing at her to Jungkook trying desperately to get him to see his point -she was a bitch and Jimin too for leaving him- and he feels like shit. He was a dick. A jealous possessive greedy mean dickhead to this girl who, now that he takes a chance to yield his attention to, seems delectable.

They’re sharing another moment. Jimin is whispering in her ear, honey-coated words Taehyung can only imagine from the precious tiny changes in her expression, blessing her skin with kisses when she’s answering him back with the quietest words. They’re cute. And he wishes he could hear her while feeling awkward for intruding. But is he really intruding when she doesn’t make any move to get her legs to free his? He hates to interrupt -obviously not enough so to not proceed- but he’s scared they might flee before he tries to cease a chance. He feels he owes her for having been a massive ass. But also, he kind of really wants to.

“Can I...” He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to get their attention. Taehyung, who is a man who usually thrives from people’s ogling him, doesn’t shy away from but bathe in the attention, feels himself blush, hard, when the couple’s curious set of eyes fixate on him. They look so nice from down there, looking up to him expectantly. Still, he doesn’t know what they expect. And he still kind of feels like a sore thumb.

“I wanted to- I mean if you’re okay with it and-“ He is stuttering now like he’s fucking Jungkook and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He is not cute, he’s just awfully embarrassing. The chances of getting his request met are flying away with all his hopes. He wants to die a little or at least disappear but then Jimin’s chubby fingers are rubbing gently on his knuckles. He does it like he does all the time to reassure him or just show him support during interviews or even on stage. “Can I eat her out?” Jimin gives him a look. It's a bored one that says something along the lines of ‘I don’t know dude don’t ask me, I don’t have the pussy you wanna eat’. “I mean you- sorry, feels weird asking you...” He says, peering at her from between his dark lashes.

“Weirder than asking her boyfriend? Really?” And just like that Jimin's laughing again, and Taehyung wants to grab those fake ass friendly chubby fingers and crushed them in his fist until the traitor cries. “Babe, do you want it?”

“You can say no, I won’t- I mean you won’t hurt my feelings or anything. It’s- really if you want to.” She is looking right back at him, shiny eyes wavering but holding still. Her mouth is agape ready to say something that just won’t come out. He’s pretty sure it’s a yes. From the glint in her eyes, the rose that has reached her chest, the slight but unmissable way in which her legs parted more against Taehyung. He won’t do anything until she said so though.

She sheepishly nods. It’s almost good enough for him at this point. Well, for his engorged trapped cock anyways. But apparently, Jimin’s having none of it, if the impatient smack of his lips is any indication to go by.

“What is this pretty mouth of yours for?” He asks, voice lower and Busan dialect edges striking sharply to their ears. A mischievous glint dancing from a stare to another has Jimin giggling. “‘Course. But what else is it for?”

“Speak.”

“That’s right. So baby, tell us, do you want it or not?”

“Yes.”

“What is it that you want?” Her gaze is dark now, throwing daggers at her boyfriend who doesn't budge the slightest to avoid them. Taehyung follows the exchange with a growing fondness. She really is cute. Jimin not so much right now. Even Taehyung would call him a little shit. “You think I’m being mean babe but I’m not.” He is saying this with the most blatant grin, discrediting completely his claim. “Taehyung doesn’t know you well, yet, does he? Therefore it’s important for him that you’re clear with what you want and what you need. So you’re gonna look at him-“ Pinching her chin, he tilts her head gently for her to face Taehyung's. “-and you’re gonna tell him clearly what you want him to do to you.”

“I- I’d like you toeatmeout.” The words are barely understandable and Jimin's tongue clicks behind his front teeth. Taehyung has had enough though.  “Stop annoying her, s’good enough.”

Jimin gasps dramatically, stares at his best friend, hand raising in the air like he’s about to smack some boundaries into him but the shit-eating grin wins and Taehyung starts unfastening her pants with fingers trembling with excitement. 

Once she's naked from the waist down, he can tell she wants to shy away and he wishes he thought about it better and had kept her panties on for now. He spreads his large hands on her soft thighs, gently caressing, teasingly squeezing, attempting to smooth her down into feeling more reassured and confident in what she has to offer. Because god, does she have to offer, he thinks when he finally gets to see her.

The discovery is priceless. She looks so pretty, all pink and shiny, so shiny. There is a little hanging moment where he just stares, licking his lips without much thought, just emotions shaking him up until one thought emerges and threatens to freak him out into giving it all up.

He’s gone down twice on a girl before. Only twice. And that was back in fucking high school. He has no fucking idea how to eat pussies. Honestly. He can’t really gather all the ‘knowledge’ he’s gathered over the years from his high consumption of porn now, can he? They say it’s inaccurate and dumb but that’s all he’s got.

He then remembers what some of his hyungs had said, one of those late -or more accurately early morning- drunken conversations.

“If you wanna be good at it, you just gotta enjoy it.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You just enjoy it. Do it cause you want it, you’re hungry.”

“I’d say you eat it like jjajangmyeon.”

“What the hell hyung!”

Like jjajangmyeon. Well fuck, thanks Jin hyung. He’s then looking at her from up close. Lying on his stomach to get closer, the new proximity makes his heart beat harder. He can smell her he realizes and the thought that, when this is all done, tomorrow and the days to come, he’ll still have this piece of her in his mind that only Jimin will share, drives him a little insane. The other boys will get along, get to know her but he will have the most intimate sense of her that none of them will.

He settles, squirming around a bit to get more comfortable, his forearm ends up brushing against Jimin’s crotch and the rock hard member hidden in his jeans. Jimin hisses, while his friend erupts in a loud fit of thunder like laughter. “Why does it turn you on so much to have someone else taste your girlfriend, you weirdo?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” They giggle like schoolboys, a part of it probably fueled by nervousness, eyes attached to one another. And as they share this intimate gaze, Taehyung feels like a complete and utter idiot to have ever doubted those tender chocolate eyes. He’d never let him down. He smiles before turning back to her.

From up close she looks even more endearing. The dim light is hitting just right to make the obvious wetness shown, it’s like it fucking glitters. And the pink so flushed, you'd think she’s been played with and abused a little bit already. He deems he gets it, what Yoongi hyung has said -not fucking moronic Jin hyung. When he sees her like that, he’s not sure he wants to taste her to make her feel good or to satisfy a curiosity and a thirst that he experiences.

Therefore, without much more thinking, without the least forewarning, he just dives in. Attaching his mouth roughly, messily, all over and licking and slurping and sucking, making out with it like a long lost lover. It’s infuriating those sensations. The thought of being so intimate with someone after such a long time of nothing. That person to be his best friend's girl, instead of seeming odd, fills him with gratitude.

And she feels so sweet. Her taste, her warmth, her trembling thighs around his head. She's the kindest gift he’s ever been granted. That's why he tries to give it his whole, not trying to keep it clean and collected. He thinks briefly that at least if he doesn’t do it right, they’ll be able to tell how willing and devoted he’d tried to be.

He’s not sure how well he is doing because she is pretty quiet. He is sure as hell enjoying his feast, as suggests his rutting against the mattress but to his disappointment, it doesn’t last. Or at least, he feels like it’s too short as after what feels only a few minutes, while the tip of his nose is rubbing against her engorged nub, she comes in a succession of charming cries, her hole seizing around the tip of Taehyung's tongue as a few spurts of her cum slip in his mouth.

He sees the way her hole is squeezing around nothing, how laboured her breathing has become now that she’s coming down, but he can’t admit that it’s already over. He kisses her clit tentatively, ready to go again but a hard pull of his hair yanks him up and away from her.

Jimin’s not even looking at him, despite the firm hold on his mop of hair. It’s painful so he doesn’t move an inch, simply watching, waiting for what’s to unfold, secretly hoping that more will be allowed for him to do in a moment if he shows himself patient enough.

Jimin, still ignoring Taehyung, is staring at his girlfriend's face, his full lips stretched into an amused grin, “I don’t remember the last time you’ve come that fast. Was Taehyung that good or were you just that excited?”

“Both.” She whispers, fighting off a smile that threatens to breakthrough. That’s funny how intimidated she still seems to feel, avoiding, for the most part, to hold his gaze for too long, speaking hardly above a whisper for only Jimin to be blessed with her thoughts. Yet, she still is spread open for him, some of her cum still glistening on his chin.

Jimin turns to look at his best friend after having placed a tender peck on her warm cheek, and he smiles fondly. The hand stuck in Taehyung's hair smooths its grip, sliding down along the back of his head, to slip under the hair so the short nails of his fingers can scratch his scalp gently.

“Thanks, Tae. You did well.”  He's petting his head like he would a good dog before he lets him go, leaning back against the headboard. “Come here.”

In a swift motion, she's up and away from Taehyung, sitting comfortably on her boyfriend's lap, taking the seat so naturally like it's undeniably her own.

Taehyung, sat on his knees, is watching, probably like a creep, with great interest. He swipes his hair back from his sweaty forehead. Is it over now? Are they expecting him to leave? They're so lost into each other, obnoxious make out noises interrupted here and there by strained moans. Perhaps he should leave. He can't really move though, and his eyes can't stop staring at the dimples of her lower back that wink at him each time Jimin's wandering hands rise her tee-shirt high enough.

“Um?” Jimin's looking at her with raised eyebrows, his palms now holding her cheeks. She leans in to whisper something in his ear. “Of course, I will.” He answers, a kiss on her jaw. She mutters something else only for him to hear. “I don't know. Ask him.”

She turns around, showing off her pretty eyes and soft cheeks which crimson has still hasn't faded out. The duality of her is making him dizzy. She looks so innocent yet sexier than anyone has ever had.

Tender kisses pressed to the side of her neck encourage her and finally, with a trembling voice, she addresses him, “Are you going to stay?” He bites back a smile.

“Do you want me to?” She nods. The grin is harder to conceal. He tries to nuance it by licking his lips, face lowering down for a second. “Then, I'll stay.”

They fit so well together. Not in a strictly practical way, it’s something more subtle. It’s in their movements. How they move along, at the same rhythm, in the same direction, both following and guiding each other. It's like their bodies are so familiar to each other, nothing is lagging, or not completely natural.

Her legs, tied by the ankles behind his back, are holding him tight against her since the moment he slipped in. Jimin slowly thrusts forward -he needs to go slow as she doesn’t handle over sensitivity very well, as he explained so himself-, a tiny whiny moan and a severe groan, and Taehyung, who’s just witnessing the scene, sitting quietly on the bed next to them, feels himself growing a fever.

“Do you like having Tae watching you ?” At the mention of his name, Taehyung's whole stature straightens up like a meerkat. Jimin is gauging his friend's reaction, the most teasing smirk brightening his face under a new sinful light. Taehyung takes it as an invitation to get closer, lying right beside her, lain on her back. Head held by his hand to see her better and take in all the delicious expressions her pretty face makes.

“Yes.” She mewls, eyes shutting close at a particularly deep thrust.

“I love watching you, ___.” His deep voice mumbles to her ear. He’s pleased to see her visibly shiver. “You look so hot getting fucked...”

“Thank you.” Both men burst out laughing while she remains there, too fucked out to be dying of embarrassment.

“You’re so cute.” Taehyung keeps on going. He finally feels like the wall between them is gone for good. The way she throws him little glances, every now and then, with sugary smiles. “So beautiful.” He adds, his big charming eyes glued to hers. She blushes to the tip of her ears. Jimin, face buried in her neck, is groaning and whispering his own collection of praises; telling her how heavenly she feels, how good she is to him, and how beautiful indeed she looks lying there taking him in so nicely.

She’s bathing in, visibly loving his words as much as his ministrations and Taehyung is so amused to acknowledge that the alleged praise kink he thought to be a unique quirk of Jimin's, is apparently shared by her. At some point, the words and the soft kisses are too much and Taehyung sees how her hands clench harder on her boyfriend's back not from his thrusts but from his compliments and he’s living it up, relishing it.

“Stop clenching so hard you go- gonna make me-“ He’s cut himself off with the weakest whine Taehyung’s ever heard from him -and God knows this guy is a full-time professional whiner.

He hasn’t come yet, neither has she, but they’re right at the edge. So close that Jimin can simply not keep his pace soft and lenient anymore. He’s pounding hard and fast, smacking his hips loudly against hers and fuck, if this is not the hottest thing Taehyung has ever witnessed. He’s sweating bullets.

“Jimin I’m gonna-“

“Yeah? I’ve got you, baby, come for me. Show Tae how pretty you look when you come.”

And that’s exactly what she does. Looking at their voyeur, her pretty eyes begging for him to watch her, she comes right around her lover's cock, in a mess of indecipherable moans. Jimin follows suit, almost instantly, squeezing her ass in his hands, messily hitting his hips a couple of definitive times.

Taehyung felt weird engaging any skinship with his friend whilst he was in the middle of his coit but when his face is laid down, half of it all scrunched up because of his chubby cheek being pressed so hard against her chest, with his peaceful, totally content expression and rosy cheeks, Taehyung can’t help but reach out a hand and tease under his chin with caresses from the tip of his fingers.

“You did well, Minnie.” He mocks to which Jimin, with difficulty, raises a hand to pinch his mate's nipple. And they start bickering. Jimin’s butt naked, Taehyung still turned on beyond belief lain beside his best friend's half-naked girl, and they fight -sort of, Jimin’s only committed one arm to the fight, and Taehyung's attacks are pretty tame by fear of disturbing her- but they do, like little kids, like they always do, until a feminine voice, strained by nervousness and something else, probably envy, brings them to a halt.

“Taehyung is still hard, Jimin.” She didn’t whisper this time. Her voice is still pretty low and soft, but the calm that comes after a crazily heavy orgasm like the two she’s experienced so far is responsible more than remaining intimidation. Nonetheless, she’s loud enough for Taehyung to hear, and he can tell she wants him to hear.

“Uh-uh,” Jimin says, returning to his position, cuddled up and nuzzling against her breast. Looking at her curiously from under, he continues. “So what? Do you wanna do something about it?” She nods, turning her lip white from how hard she bites on it. “You think you can take his cock too?” She nods again with an evident enthusiasm but Jimin only chuckles. “Baby, I think you’re getting a bit over your head. You could hardly have me.”

“But-“

“Yeah...” Taehyung starts, voice hoarse from the crazy ride his mind just has taken him during the past few seconds. He is going against what his whole being is desperately craving as he says what he believes is the right thing to add. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But-“

“___, do I need to remind you of the whole Valentine’s Day debacle? Or you want me to tell it to Tae?” Silence. “You’re not taking his dick tonight, it won’t feel good.” The Busan dialect is back. Taehyung wants to laugh at how much like a dad he sounds more than a boyfriend. Picking a look at her, he realizes she matches with her pouty lips and drawn eyebrows, alike a bratty little girl.

“Do you still wanna help me come?” She’s observing him carefully with wide earnest eyes. “I wouldn’t mind having your hand...” He’s being awfully modest. Too modest. But when he sees her eyes shine and how fast she is to dismiss Jimin’s hold on her so she can face him more comfortably, her hand already reaching for his pants, he wishes he’s asked for more -like her lovely mouth for example- she looks like she would have given him anything he dared to ask right now.

It’s been months since he thought to his very frustrated self that jerking off couldn’t do it anymore for him. Too much time on his own hands, not enough extra attention from someone else, it just left him with virtual semi-blue balls each time.

But here she is, seemingly pressing buttons he didn’t know he had, provoking shock waves to shake him while leaving his vision completely white for few seconds at a time, and he doesn’t understand how one could master in a fucking discipline such as handjobs; and what the hell is she doing that feels so much better than when he does it; and how the hell is he supposed to hold himself back long enough to actually enjoy it when it feels that wonderful.

“Fuck-“ He growls out loud because now Jimin’s at it too. He can feel her breath hitting gently his cheek on one side and the kisses left by the plump wet lips of his friend on the other side.

He blinks furiously, wondering why the world seems so blurry and shaky and if he’s not really going to lose his mind this time. He always thought he was made to do so at some point, lose it somewhere, during one of his explorations into those too beautifully eerie places he likes to visit, since his head is so airy. But he never thought he would because of a handjob from his best friend's girl and said best friend's fucking sloppy neck kisses.

When he hears him curse so heartily, Jimin raises his head up to take a look at him, beyond amused. For a second too long, they stare at each other and their mouths, pondering until in sync, they scrunch their noses, shaking their heads, “Yeah maybe not.”

“Definitely no. But uh- feels nice on my neck.”

Laughing too loudly, Jimin complies, encouraged by the hand petting the back of his hair. And then she is playing with his slit, teasing harshly he can barely take it, and she softens her second hand around his balls and a new white flash lasts longer than the other ones.

“Fuck I’m close, just- please ah- squeeze har-“ She’s already on it. “Ah yes and f-faster-“ Again so diligently she meets his needs and in a couple of more strokes, he finally comes, harder than he can remember ever coming.

Maybe he’s a bit over the top, overreacting for a simple handjob but he’s been so hard for the past hour and they’re so nice and gentle with him, her nicely accompanying his dick softening, him pecking at his ear with sweet words only Jimin knows how to use.

It feels so nice.

Nicer than everything else has ever felt.

When his heart finally calms down, and his mind is back from the outer world, he acknowledges how weird it is that they still lie so comfortably in bed but more importantly, he is the one in between the couple; how this is a unique thing that won’t happen again and the wants and urges he’s mind is currently getting clogged up with won’t happen ever.

“So now will we be hanging out all together?” Jimin asks suddenly. His tone is all cheery and jumpy, his mission's been cleared he thinks and he can already picture the three of them.

“Honestly, I think I won’t be able to look at any of you in the eyes for some times.” Taehyung answers, half chuckling.

Especially Jimin. Especially after the thoughts that crossed his mind because of this damn mouth, thoughts he really needs to annihilate forever.

“You already regret it?” She is quick to ask.

“No I- I mean it was really fun.”

“Yeah, I thought so too...”

Taehyung turns his head to his right, looking at the blushy cheeks and timid but playful smile. And there’s something there that they share. He’s not sure what the fuck this whole night was about. He’s sure he’ll wonder for a long fucking time. But maybe, eventually, they’ll sort it out and who knows maybe... wish and try for more.

Maybe not. At least he’s sure they shared something special, and that new bonding won’t fade.

“So... what’s the Valentine's debacle ?”

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Keep Smiling Through

By George deValier

One-shot sequel to We’ll Meet Again

Summer, 1948 Nebraska, USA

.

In the few months since the ocean liner RMS Queen Elizabeth steamed into New York City Harbour, carrying Mr. Arthur Kirkland and the recently promoted Captain Alfred Jones with it, Arthur could honestly say he had never been so confused, so surprised, or so completely and utterly bewildered in all his life.

If there was one word Arthur could use to describe America, it was big. It was also loud. And confusing. And oddly marvellous. In fact, it was very much like Alfred himself. The American seemed positively ecstatic to return to his country of birth. He had been back once before, just after the war, but that had been without Arthur, and neither had handled the separation very well. Being alone again in the Emerald Lion, with his fears and his worries and his memories, was almost more than Arthur could bear. When Alfred finally returned to London Arthur had been so overjoyed he'd jumped on him in the train station, causing quite a few raised eyebrows and stunned stares and outright cries of outrage. So this time, when Alfred had to return to America for military reasons, Arthur accepted immediately when asked if he wanted to accompany his lovely, charming, bloody frustrating Yank.

Of course the trip turned into more of a sightseeing adventure than anything else. They travelled through more states than Arthur could name in their shiny red Chevrolet, stopping at more diners and lookout points and roadside oddities than he ever wished to see again. Alfred simply bubbled with excitement at showing Arthur everything he possibly could of the great United States of America, all of which had been somewhat bearable so far – until Nebraska. More specifically, until this airfield in Nebraska. Even more specifically, until this tiny, metal, claustrophobic, inescapable plane cockpit sitting on this runway in the middle of this wide, flat, golden field in Nebraska.

It did not take long for Alfred to convince the airfield staff to let him take up one of their planes. Not once they realised who Alfred was; the young trainees gathering in awed respect, the pilots telling their own stories of service during the war, the older engineers shaking Alfred's hand and sharing their memories of Alfred's father when he was a delivery pilot in the twenties. Alfred seemed far more comfortable with these men than the decorated, uniformed, highly-ranked military personnel who usually clamoured to shake his hand.

And now, Arthur wondered how in the bloody hell he had allowed himself to be talked into this. He tried to breathe past the anxiety choking his throat, struggling to suppress the growing fear in his chest. He took another look out the small side window at the long shadow of the wing on the runway. The sound of the roaring engine was almost enough to drown out the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I can't…" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaking breath. "Alfred, I don't think I can do this…"

"Sure you can, Arthur!" Alfred spoke cheerfully over the clacking of the control keys. He slipped his free hand into Arthur's and gave it a soft squeeze. "Come on, look at me."

Arthur nodded, breathed out, and blinked open his eyes. He could really use a stiff drink right now - maybe he should have bought a few more of those jars of moonshine from that bloke in Ohio.

"You're okay." Alfred grinned at him from the pilot seat, his worn old bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, his bright blond hair poking through his flight cap and his radio speaker slung around his neck. "This baby's a breeze." Alfred patted the dashboard. "A good ol' Aeronca Chief - I used to fly one just like her before the war. Y'ain't got nothin' to worry about."

Arthur nodded again, tugged at his tight suit collar, and tried to remind himself that Alfred knew what he was doing. He'd been flying for years, of course he knew what he was doing. "I know, Alfred, I do, but…" But the rational part of Arthur's mind was completely overwhelmed by this instinctive, primal fear. How could he be sitting here in a plane, sitting here about to take off, about to fly into the air for the first time in his life… Arthur suddenly tugged on the belt strapping him into the seat. "I apologise for being a nuisance, but… but perhaps we could just wait…"

"Arthur, listen." Alfred spoke firmly this time, his blue, bespectacled eyes holding Arthur's gaze intently. "You're with the guy that once shot down seven planes, completely alone and with no radio contact, while running low on fuel and surrounded by an entire enemy squad. You're with the guy that's spent over three years training the best pilots the British military has to offer. And you're with the guy that loves you more than anything else in this whole damn world and would die before letting anything happen to you. Now, come on darlin.'" Alfred winked and Arthur's heart stuttered. "Let me take you to the clouds."

Arthur felt thrilled and giddy and frustrated and proud and bloody terrified all at once. He let out a low, groaning sigh. "That's utterly unfair."

Alfred beamed innocently as he pressed even more of the buttons and tapped the gauges and reached for the strange-looking little wheel. Arthur was rather amazed at how easily Alfred pressed and pushed and pulled what looked like a dozen controls at once with only his seven remaining fingers. "What's unfair?"

Those words, that wink, that blasted grin… "You know what, you bloody fool."

Alfred just laughed as the plane started moving along the runway. "All right, now, I'm getting her into takeoff position…"

Arthur's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me what you're doing, good God man, just do it!"

Alfred shrugged. "All-righty then, if you say so." The plane continued steadily for a few moments before Alfred shouted, "Here we go!" The roar of the engine filled the cockpit and Arthur very nearly dived for the door. Instead he forced himself to control his panic, to focus on Alfred's confident motions and his bright, cheerful smile. But as the plane reached impossible levels of speed and noise, the runway blurring beneath them, Arthur could not help but close his eyes. Alfred cheered as the plane tilted and lifted from the ground. "WOO HOO HOOO!"

An invisible force seemed to attack Arthur. His stomach sunk through his legs, his chest compressed, and his ears felt full as blood rushed to his head. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was grip onto the seat and grit his teeth and pray that this shaking, soaring plane would not fall from the sky. The aircraft seemed to drop slightly and Arthur almost choked as he gasped, his hand flying to his chest.

"That's normal, sweetheart. It's just the plane gaining height."

Arthur was too overwhelmed to even object to the nauseating term of endearment. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut, felt his knuckles turn white. This was the oddest feeling he had ever experienced: both heavy and weightless, his head tight with pressure and his stomach empty and unsettled. It felt wrong, it felt strange, it felt completely mad, and how could Alfred be laughing and cheering like he was having the time of his life? Didn't he realise Arthur couldn't breathe here?

"Isn't this amazing, Arthur?" Alfred shouted loudly.

Arthur tried to reply but all he could manage was, "Oh bugger oh bollocks oh Christ blast shit bloody hell STOP LAUGHING!"

"Aw come on now, takeoff's the best part! See how everything just falls away below… hey look, there's our Chevy! I tell ya, these old controls sure bring back memories. Sure is different from all those Spitfires and Hurricanes they've got me showing off these days. Hey, Arthur, in a few minutes, I'll be able to show you the farm I grew up on! Hang on a minute… Arthur, why are your eyes closed?"

"Because I'm bloody terrified! Please, just tell me when this is over!"

Alfred's laughter quieted and he sighed instead. "Oh. All right. I'll just get her level and do a quick fly-round."

The disappointment in Alfred's voice sent a painful stab of guilt through Arthur's chest. What was he saying – that he did not trust Alfred? Yes, this was new and different and scary – but this was important to Alfred. This was his home, his past, his life - and Arthur was letting fear get in the way of Alfred showing it to him. Alfred was not even able to fly for long these days, not with the strain it placed on his damaged eyes. Arthur breathed through the cloud of fear, and told himself he could do this. For Alfred. "No, I'm fine, I'm just... Blimey, this is very odd, isn't it?"

Once again, Arthur felt Alfred's hand slip into his. "It's also amazing. Just look at the view below us. Isn't it terrific?"

All right. Just look. Arthur could do this. He gripped Alfred's hand, forced himself to open his eyes, and immediately gasped in shock. "Blimey," he said again.

An infinite blue sky stretched out around them. Green and yellow striped fields spread out below, dotted with dark houses and streaked with criss-crossed dirt roads, like a labyrinthine maze. The high, brilliant sun blazed down and drenched the endless, flat, open expanse of land in unfiltered, golden light. Arthur shook his head as he took it all in; he couldn't imagine any place in the world more different from London. Alfred's home was sunny, bright, enormous; awe-inspiring. And it was beautiful. Arthur turned to see Alfred grinning wildly, ecstatically happy once again. That same grin that Arthur still loved, as always bringing the blue sky and driving away the dark clouds of Arthur's fear and doubt.

"It's beautiful."

Alfred laughed, overjoyed. "I knew you'd love it! I tell ya, Arthur, the times I've dreamed of soaring through the sky together - and here in my own home..." Alfred winked. "It's magic."

Arthur's heart sped up, and it wasn't from fear anymore. The three years since the war ended had been more than Arthur had ever dreamt of. Every day with Alfred was bright and new and fun, every moment an adventure, and Arthur didn't know how it was possible but it seemed he loved the mad American more with every passing hour. Loved him enough to cross the world; enough to fly into the bloody sky for him. Arthur gently nudged Alfred's arm. "It is, Alfred. Magic."

Alfred's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, bluer than the endless sky. "Now keep your eyes peeled for one of them flying saucers like what crashed in New Mexico last year!"

Arthur groaned in exasperation. "That was a weather balloon, Alfred."

"That's what they want you to think."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. If he heard one more word about this blasted 'cover-up in Roswell...' "I am not having this conversation again."

"You'll see the truth one day, Arthur. Ooh, look, look!" The plane tilted slightly and Arthur gripped the seat as Alfred pointed past him. "Right down there - that wide dirt track, do you see it? That's the first runway I ever took off from! And I don't know if you can make it out, but there's my old house, on the edge of that little hill there, do you see?"

Arthur didn't, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, yes, it's lovely. Now put the plane back in that nice straight position, please."

Alfred giggled as he did so.

As the flight drew on, Arthur asked about the land they were flying over, and about the confusing plane controls, and he couldn't help but smile at Alfred's joyful enthusiasm as he answered. All anxiety was forgotten. Arthur was just sitting here with Alfred, a thousand miles in the sky, and it was as magical and strange as every other moment they had shared together; as all the beautiful madness these three years had brought.

"It's amazing you can remember it all," said Arthur when Alfred finished explaining the difference in turning speed between the Aeronca Chief and the Mustang.

"Nah, Arthur, it ain't that hard. I could teach you to do it easy, I reckon, what with how smart you are and all."

Arthur scoffed doubtfully. "You flatter me. Up here, you're the smart one, Alfred."

Alfred attempted a nonchalant shrug, but his expression was proudly delighted. He looked out again at the vast blue sky and the endless country below. "Let's take her higher. You trust me now, right?"

Of course Arthur trusted the blasted Yank. He always had; he always would. And that's why he was doing this. Why he was sitting in this winged metal box a thousand miles in the sky; why he was here in this strange, wild country a million miles from home. Because it made Alfred's face light up, made him laugh with joy. Because this was what Alfred loved, and who he was, and this was what had brought him to London and into Arthur's life almost five years earlier. Because it was still, and always would be, magic.

"Always, Alfred."

Alfred flashed Arthur a tiny, sideways grin. "Enough to let me put her into a spin?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes warningly. "Maybe next time. For now…" Arthur pushed himself up in his seat, leant towards Alfred, and followed his gaze into the sky. "Take me through the clouds."

.

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[birdologist]

This is meant for a different format but I’m gonna put this here for now. Under the cut are some little quips I’m putting together

 for hammering out my main’s bg. Part one I guess?

part two over here

Sylvari who awaken during the Dawn cycle are said to be natural silver-tongues, masters in the world of diplomacy and preparation via their honey-words and keen minds.

When he came out of his pod, Sprout gave that idea a run for its money.

At first, the tenders who greeted him weren't even sure if he could talk, and he seemed more keen on hiding from anything and everything than striking up conversation. It took a lot of coaxing and crooning to get him to settle down, finally, and he was set up with a small house, still not having said a word.

He moved through his first few months being a social butterfly, mostly through smiles, laughs, and gesturing. Eventually he would say a word here or there, sporadically, but those he spent time with noticed those words getting more and more frustrated. More articulated thoughts centered around exploring, restlessness, a desire to go.

Some told him it was too early for him to leave the Grove, he still had much to learn before going out among others less understanding than his fellows, but others encouraged the growing need in him. Fear and anxiety was replaced by zeal, and eventually, without giving himself much time to think about it, he decided to leave the Grove. Using what little money he'd accrued to take an asura gate to Lion's Arch, he stumbled into Coriolis Plaza in the dead of night.

Sprout stumbled a little stepping through the Gate, and nearly reeled backwards once he got through. A jolt of fear, suddenly being somewhere completely foreign. But this was quickly overrode by exhilaration.

He stepped in place a few times, feeling some kind of smooth cold stone under his feet. This whole place was stone. White stone, reflecting moonlight. It was quiet, the dead of night, and distantly he heard what sounded like enormous, soothing breathing. In front of him a circular plot of grass, with huge spindly trees he'd never seen before. Palms.

The biggest smile he'd ever had.

The rush of this place, this completely new place, was heady; the idea that even more new places lay behind each portal was entirely too much. With a little whoop he ran through another gate, paying little mind to the "hey!"s of the half-seen gate guards. They'd be alright, letting one little sylvari slip through.

He stumbled through this gate too, tripping on the grated flooring on the other side, his footsteps hollow metallic thuds on the black steel of the walkway. A big hand caught his shoulder, steadying him with a growly "whoa there." This hand was huge, easily the size of his torso, furred, clawed. The owner of the hand even more so, Sprout having to step back to get a good look at them.

"You're a charr?"

"Yeah, you a runt?"

"Yeah!"

The Black Citadel is home to the charr: large, fuzzy, and tough. The Citadel itself is made of steel and smoke, churning out all the necessary parts of war, from farmers to siege towers. Overall, it looked like the polar opposite of the grove. But, as Sprout found, it was similar, too.

The main part of the Grove, to Sprout, the part that made him love the Grove even as he left it, was the permeating sense of support. And that was here, at the Citadel, too. Just different. Here, a warband supported each other to the fullest, so that each could fulfill their duty to the fullest. Here, everyone pushed each other to be the best they could be. Similar to the focus on growth and fulfillment of purpose in the Grove. Just different.

Sprout latched on to the first friendly face he saw, which ended up belonging to a young Iron Legion medic named Alex Mendmuzzle. Having been invited to the table with the Muzzle warband (interested in the hearing the stories of this small, weird plant thing), Sprout never really saw a reason to leave. He tagged along, treated as a younger sibling by some and a nuisance by others, but it never really seemed to bother him. It was fascinating, he loved every second of it.

He asked endless questions about their work: mostly mechanical and engineering things he had no hope of understanding even with the most patient teachers, but also things about daily living, working, fighting.

He loved the fighting. Particularly he loved the fighting of Nona Dustmuzzle.

Nona, her bandmates often joked, should have been Blood legion. Nona, in response, is quick to point out no Blood could ever think far enough ahead to outfight her. She was vicious, aggressive to the extreme, moved too fast and hit too hard for anyone to have a moment's breath against her. All of that Iron Legion brain went right into perfecting her technique.

And Sprout wanted to be just like that. So he took to following her around the most, which at first put her off, but when she realized he couldn't be chased away so easily found it a little charming. She was a tough teacher, but a good one.

A four-foot sylvari learning to fight like a charr seemed unnatural, and it probably is, but Sprout took to it like he was meant for it. He learned to be ferocious, he learned to dominate a space, he learned how to fight like it was a game of vicious chess. He grew as a fighter and as a person, coming farther and farther from the scared, quiet sylvari who had emerged however long ago.

He even took on a new name, Dawnsprout, after talking with Mendmuzzle about how it was unfair for charr to have more name-parts than he did.

He found a teacher in Nona and a friend in Alex Mendmuzzle, who he spent most of his evenings with. Talking, listening, laughing. Sprout found him to be someone he could relax around, which was nice after a day of bruises from Nona and teasing from the rest of the 'band.

The teasing, Sprout could tell Alex never liked it. He didn't see the harm in it, but Alex always said they took it too far and was quick to swat the others off in his defense. It scared Sprout, just a little, to see Alex so upset by it.

But, all the same, he spent quite a while with the Muzzle Warband. It was good, but came to an abrupt end.

"Does it hurt?"

Dawnsprout huddled further in on himself, covering the left side of his face. He was scared, confused, and though they'd put the fire out hours ago his treebark skin still felt like it was burning. Waves that wrung whimpers out of him.

He didn't like how it felt to ignore Mendmuzzle, but it hurt to move his mouth and he didn't want to hear his voice break when another wave hit.

"S'pose it does." Mendmuzzle's voice was a deep but quiet rumble normally, but this was even quieter. Disappointed. Sad.

Dawnsprout was worried he was disappointed in him.

The silence afterwards made him even more worried.

The last bits of red sunset had gone out sky, and in this dirty corner of Lion's Arch the only noise was the breathing of waves down the harbor wall, beneath their feet. Had Sprout not been so preoccupied, he might've been more interested, having heard waves only once before.

But as it was he was getting increasingly panicked. The silence was getting longer, longer, longer and he was focusing harder and harder on the disappointed tone in Muzzle's voice. He didn't know what had happened, in fire and the rush of arguments after. All he knew was that he had gotten hurt, and then Muzzle had taken him here.

Sprout wanted to go back to the Citadel. Maybe if he just pretended it didn't hurt, that it was just a little scuff in the end, things could go back to normal. He didn't know why him being hurt meant they needed to sit in silence on a Lion's Arch dock, but he felt deeply that this was bad and his fault.

"Mendm-"

"That's not my name anymore."

That didn't do anything to help. His mouth hurt now and he felt terrible and didn't know what was going on and he didn't know what Muzzle meant by that because why wasn't that his name anymore how could that be and why did he feel so, so at fault for this. So he started crying.

He tried to hide the little noises, the shaking shoulders. The way it screwed up his face and trembled in his body made things hurt, a cracking burning feeling, and it only made things worse. On his best days, he wasn't very good at hiding anything about himself, and this was not one of his best days.

He tried, tried so hard, to sort out what had happened.

He remembered being asked to come look at something, then pain and fire and surprised yelling from somewhere else. He remembered a roar he thought sounded kind of like Alex but also very much not, yelling and something about a joke, a joke, it was a joke. He remembered Alex putting out the fire and trying his best to patch the damage, but none of his tools worked on flesh that wasn't flesh.

He remembered more arguing, arguing that made him scared just to think about, before Alex had picked him up and taken him through the gate (he'd almost forgotten about that gate) and back to Lion's Arch. They'd seen another medic there, a mender who knew how to help sylvari. They did their best with the burn, but admitted it wasn't likely to be very pretty. Now they were here.

And he was crying.

He was picked up, held, in silence but in warmth. And he was crying.

part two over here

[iwatchedyougoinghomeeveryday]

Gonna make good use of Tumblr and write a post about my trauma!!!

tw: death, depression

It’s 3:00 am and I’m just gonna dive in... there’s no denying that everyone has had a difficult year and in a way that makes me feel better and worse?  Even though I wish I could take away everyone’s pain... better because I know people can relate.  Worse because I feel guilty when I go on and on in my head about the unfairness of it all when I know others are dealing with things far more overwhelming and traumatic.  Still... these past two years have made me feel numb in a way I could not have predicted.

I never, ever wanted time to move forward.  As a child I questioned why everyone wanted to grow up and resisted the changes in my life.  I felt wiser and also lonelier with the perspective that time passing meant taking steps closer to an inevitable end.  I never thought about myself - I was fortunate enough to not have to question my own mortality - but I worried endlessly about my loved ones.  I felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop - everyone around me was well and I had never experienced major loss before.  Things had to end.  So while everyone was actually healthy and present, I was spending time panicking about the future.  Worrying that it would be the last time I saw somebody or picturing the day when I got that big, bad news.  Sometimes it was too painful to even imagine - I simply couldn’t picture it - but I’d torment myself with the thought anyway.

All of this to say... I’ve been so nihilistic.  That might be dramatic, but it’s how I’ve felt, especially since I entered this depression episode seven years ago.  I don’t think it was a coincidence that my depression got bad my junior year in high school when everyone was excitedly planning for the future.  I didn’t care about school or jobs or anything superficial - I just cared about my family being alive.  And couldn’t everyone see how pointless the other stuff was?  It was a distraction, or worse, an endless routine with a predictable end.  I hated it.

I haven’t done any of that stuff - there’s nothing I want from the future.  I think if I had a dream or passion, I would accept it as a distraction, a goal to alleviate some of that darkness.  But I genuinely don’t want anything.  And that’s a whole other story, but it’s where I’ve been stuck these past five years - telling myself that if my family was secure and my mental health was better, then the rest would fall into place.  That never happened - the other shoe dropped.

Here was my family: my mother, my sister, my grandmother and grandfather, my aunt, my four cats.  Those were my people - my tiny circle of people that I held closely.  A few months out of school... I found out one of my cats had cancer.  I got him when I was seven.  (I pretty much got all my cats when I was seven/eight.)  He was my best friend and, after eight months, I lost him.  And that broke me a bit.  I drove myself crazy that year (2016) with worry and my OCD - that was my worst year with anxiety.  I spent so much energy caring for him then suddenly... nothing.  I feel like I can’t properly express how much my cats meant to me.  They were all my best friends, really.  They were always there and I understood them so deeply and I felt so responsible for them - it was unwavering.  When I was ten, and dealing with my aforementioned fear of death, I remember thinking that they were “it” for me - they would be gone one day but I vowed they were the only pets I was ever going to have.  It was the only thing that was right and fair.

Flashforward a year and half from my cat dying... my aunt’s boyfriend died from a heart attack.  Sudden, no warning - just get the call that he’s gone.  And even though it wasn’t official, he was like an uncle to my sister and I.  He’d been in our lives for over ten years.  It was difficult to categorize or even comprehend this loss.  But I consider this the start of everything going to heck.  Something happened at the end of 2018 that I can’t even talk about because it’s too painful and sensitive, but it was one more major trauma.     

Early 2019... another one of my cats died from a random attack.  We let him onto our back porch for the morning - we have a fenced backyard and he just liked to sit on the porch - and there was a stray cat that had gotten inside and attacked him.  Just like that, two days later, he was gone.  Once again having to accept a sudden and senseless death.  Leading to August 2019, two days after my birthday, my grandfather fell from his porch steps, hit his head, and died.  Just like that.  Nobody got to even say goodbye or see him because my grandmother was visiting my mother, sister, and I for my birthday.  Only took us two hours to drive there and in that time he was gone.  Two hours to worry about my grandfather, who was in great health, then just accepting that he was dead.  This was the biggest, most awful thing to happen to my family.  I still haven’t coped with it.  

Didn’t even mention that in 2018 I found out that another one of my cats had kidney disease.  He was second closest to me when my other cat was alive, but in his absence, my bond with him was stronger than I had with any of my cats.  Stronger than I had with most people, tbh.  He was needy and around me 24/7 - he really only loved me.  And I couldn’t fathom losing him.  There were ups-and-downs, but he was doing good with his fluid treatments.  Then November 2019, because I was so intuitive with him, I got the feeling that he was getting sick and for real this time.  He was only eating just a little bit less than usual, but I knew.  Just a look in his eye... I knew.  And this really sent me on the deep end.  November 2019 my depression deepened when I realized that a year from that date, I might not have my two cats, or my grandmother, or who knows who else.  This was not some faraway fear - this was real.  I was actually living in the time that I feared.  I was there.  So badly I wished 2020 didn’t have to exist.  (God, if I only knew what was to come.)

I was a basket case November and December as I watched my cat slowly get worse.  On top of this, my mom was feeling ill and she went to the doctor several times with no explanation for her pain.  That sickened me - I had pictured losing so many people, but I couldn’t picture losing my mom.  It was too big, too life-shattering.  She was superwoman, invincible.  And now I had to consider that, too.  She thankfully started feeling better, but my cat got worse.  I was lucky if I got any sleep or ate anything during last January.  At the end of the month he passed away and, out of everything I have experienced, that destroyed me the most.  He was like my child - I was supposed to protect him.  And instead I watched him suffer.  I’ve now lost people close to me and I know it sounds bad, but losing my cat was the worst.

But guess what - trauma is not over!  Exactly one month from my cat dying... I witnessed a fatal car accident.  Directly in front of me.  Never even seen an accident before - not even a fender bender - and this one was fatal.  It was unnerving because the actual collision didn’t seem that bad, but suddenly there was an unconscious old woman laying in the road.  I didn’t see it happen - thank God - but I’m assuming she was ejected from her car because she was not wearing a seatbelt.  I called 911 - first time doing that, too - and watched as she lay there and all I could think was that I was on the opposite side of what happened with my grandfather, six months ago.  He had a fatal head injury and we got the call and got to the hospital to get the news that he died.  Some family was going to have that same experience.  That messed me up.  In so many ways.  I don’t have my license because I am scared of driving - now I’m scared to ride in cars.  I had nightmares for months.  This accident never made the news, which actually made me angry because it felt like something that happened and was immediately forgotten about.  I obsessively wondered about the family and victim.  The accident happened at the entrance to the library - my one safe place.  I volunteered there every week before covid.  I only got the chance to go two times before everything shut down in March, but I had to drive by the place where it happened and when I was in the library I tensed and panicked every time I heard an ambulance.  It was awful.

July 2020 - I lost the last of my kitties.  Fifteen years of taking care of them, loving them... I really didn’t know how to exist without them.  We didn’t have any closure on this cat’s death, either.  Never knew exactly what was wrong.  But I was so numb at this point - my whole view shifted.  I just didn’t want anyone to suffer anymore.  So losing her was numbing - she was gone, but she didn’t suffer like my last kitty.  Numb numb numb numb numb.

Then Thanksgiving... this news would’ve absolutely destroyed me a few years ago.  Right now I can’t comprehend it.  I’ve been expecting the worst anyway.  We found out my grandmother has cancer and is already in the final stages.  That damn theme again... no warning.  She went into the hospital for another reason, leaves learning that she has three cancerous areas.  And I see her at Thanksgiving and all hope is gone... I see the effect on her.  Because I’m robotically dealing with grief now, I tell myself that I don’t expect her to live to 2021.  I saw her end of October - she seemed fine.  If she can go from fine to awful in three weeks, then I expect the same for her passing.  And it is so selfish, but I do not want to see it.  I do not want her to get any worse.  She had a biopsy and she gets results tomorrow.  I already know it will be the worst case scenario.  Everyone, especially now, says to appreciate the small things, make the moments matter because you don’t know how many you have left.  BS.  I just want it to be over.  I don’t want the in-between - there’s nothing to appreciate.  Losing my grandmother... that’s unfathomable.  I love everyone in my family, but it’s always been me, my mom, my sister, and my grandmother who has been the closest.  My family couldn’t function without my grandfather.  I don’t know how we go on without my grandmother.  It doesn’t matter what news she gets from the doctor tomorrow.  One month is the timeframe I am giving myself.  It is cold and calculating to think, but that’s what I expect.  And I’m so used to people dying suddenly... there’s nothing romantic about last moments and words.  I don’t want them.  Maybe I’d regret that in the future, but right now, it’s how I cope.

This is not even mentioning that my mother has always had SO much stress and trauma in her own life and this past year I have noticed it take a huge toll on her.  I’m worried about her health - physically and mentally.  She’s seemed different this year - I can’t blame her, but I don’t know what to do.  And my sister’s mental health is always so fragile, and her relationship with my mother is awful - I feel like I’ve lost them, too.  It’s not hopeless, but I’ve been trying to fix things and they don’t improve.  And I know my grandmother’s passing will affect them most of all - she’s my mother’s mother, after all, and my sister has always loved my grandmother the most.  She has unconditional love for her, a love I wish she extended to us but I was always glad she had that relationship with my grandmother.  We’re going to be completely broken.

So now I’m submerged in that future - I’ve lost all four of my cats, my grandfather, my grandmother soon.  My mom and sister are all I’ve got, and that would be reassurance if I wasn’t so worried about them, too.  If sixteen-year-old me couldn’t see a favorable future... you can imagine how helpless I feel now.

[fireflyskitters-postgrad]

Contradictions

People are rarely ever what they seem to be.

I was rereading old messages and rediscovered a friend’s unupdated blog--the raw, messy, diary-ish type, left anonymous and therefore honest. You’d think she’s placid and relaxed, or at least that’s what she shows on the surface, but her personal writings reveal otherwise. There’s tension, anxiety, conviction, thoughtfulness, and I can almost imagine her a few years back, turning the thoughts over and over in her head behind closed doors.

It’s nice, how the surface is always smooth and one-dimensional, but what lies on the inside is another story altogether--as if people are mysteries to be unpacked, each layer peeled back until one realizes that the unknowing is endless. On the other hand, it’s not so nice when the opacity leads to us playing charades instead of actually talking to each other, or when somebody nearby commits suicide and we didn’t even have the foresight to suspect.

It took a while for it to sink in, though, that what we see isn’t the truth. People usually look fine, even happy and worry-free. They’re upbeat, they laugh at the right moments, they go about their duties well enough, their social media accounts give off a general air of pleasantness. From there, it’s easy to conclude that there’s something wrong with you for not feeling like that all of the time. But that’s an unfair comparison, because as someone cleverly worded it, you’re comparing your insides with other people’s outsides. You’re aware of your most glaring flaws and shortcomings, your insecurities, while all you see of most other people are their surface selves, the part of them that they curate and control because it’s infinitely up for inspection.

But really, everyone is so much more interesting than that. Everyone I’ve gotten to know on a closer level had problems to brood over, and were just as likely to break down crying or drink alcohol or send alarming messages about their current state of mind--all while looking okay from a distance. We’re human, and as pointed out by the immense epidemic of mental illness, contrary to wishes or expectations, we’re not biologically hardwired to be happy. Our brains were better adapted to prehistoric conditions when we really had to push hard on fight-or-flight to survive in the wild, but they’re scared out of their wits in today’s world. This isn’t an announcement of doom--all it means is that we need to let up on ourselves when we’re feeling crappy, and work on developing good habits and relaxing rather than getting anxious.

There’s also the fiction that we’re individuals, or rather unified selves, but we’re more like a cacophony of characters with different needs or--from a biological perspective--an ecosystem of microorganisms. It’s perfectly natural for us to have contradictory urges and to not make sense. We don’t operate on the kind of clean logic that ties together science or math; we are terribly inconsistent, even to ourselves.

That’s what’s so amazing about people, and why psychology is so fascinating, to the point that there are all these different frameworks for trying to understand and they all work, because the darn human psyche is just that multi-faceted.

[njawaidofficial]

How John Krasinski Became The Next Great Voice In Horror

https://styleveryday.com/2018/04/04/how-john-krasinski-became-the-next-great-voice-in-horror/

How John Krasinski Became The Next Great Voice In Horror

Emily Blunt in A Quiet Place.

Jonny Cournoyer / Paramount Pictures

When John Krasinski set out to cowrite and direct A Quiet Place, he knew he was in desperate need of a crash course in horror. For years, he had largely avoided the genre, but now that he was going to make a horror film of his own, he had to play catch-up.

“The first thing I realized was how ignorant I was to be so strident about not seeing movies because I thought they’d be scary, because what I did was I realized I missed out on some of the best cinema that’s been going for the last few years,” he told BuzzFeed News. “Get Out, The Witch, The Babadook, Let the Right One In — all these movies are so incredibly well shot, well written, well thought out, that I’m such a lover of genre movies now.”

Emily Blunt, who plays Evelyn in A Quiet Place and has been married to Krasinski since 2010, admired his binge-watching, although she confessed that she’s “terrified” of the genre herself. “John watched every horror film under the sun to prepare for this movie,” she said. “He was like, ‘Do you want to watch It with me?’ I was like, ‘No, I don’t!’”

Krasinski’s horror education seems to have paid off with A Quiet Place, the third feature he’s directed after 2009’s Brief Interviews With Hideous Men and 2016’s The Hollars. The reviews that have come out since its South by Southwest premiere have been overwhelmingly positive. The film — which Krasinski cowrote with Bryan Woods and Scott Beck — follows a family of four as they live in silence to defend themselves from alien creatures who hunt by sound. Krasinski also stars as the father, Lee, who — along with Evelyn — works to keep their daughter, Regan (Millicent Simmonds), and son, Marcus (Noah Jupe), safe. It’s a tight, at times unbearably suspenseful thriller, with some of the most terrifying set pieces in recent horror memory. And because the characters can’t speak out loud or make any noise, it’s overwhelmingly quiet.

But A Quiet Place also has a rich emotional core and resonant themes of parental anxiety and the endless challenges of communication. Monsters aside, it’s about the lengths a mother and father will go to to protect their children in a world of constant danger. And then there’s Regan, who is deaf and sees herself as a burden on her family, when, in fact, her disability proves to be one of her strongest assets. Her fractured relationship with her father (and herself) provides a critical through-line to the film. That deeper level recalls the similar thematic richness of the modern horror films Krasinski cited, and it’s what elevates his movie past being just a tense creature feature.

One of Krasinski’s major takeaways from his horror binge was that the standouts of the genre never rest solely on scares. But then, that was never his approach to A Quiet Place. He was first offered the movie as an actor; at that point, it was a 70-page treatment that Woods and Beck had written. Once he saw a way in beyond the surface-level horror, he signed on as a writer and director. “It was terrifying and I could see that there was a potential for this giant allegory for parenthood, and that’s what I put into the rewrite of the script and I really tried to go for it,” he said.

John Krasinski and Noah Jupe.

Jonny Cournoyer / Paramount Pictures

While he was nervous about taking on a new genre, he thought back to advice he received from Greg Daniels, the showrunner of The Office, on which Krasinski starred as Jim Halpert for nine seasons. Daniels told him that it wasn’t his job to be funny or to make sure his scenes with Jenna Fischer’s Pam were poignant; he just had to deliver the lines and leave the rest to the audience.

“I thought of Greg because I said, my job is not to try to make a scary movie, my job is to make a movie about a family that you care about and if you care about them enough, you’ll be scared to go through what they’re going through,” Krasinski said. “Yet again, I owe everything to Greg Daniels.”

Krasinski’s approach to A Quiet Place grounds the film in family drama without sacrificing any scares. It’s what drew Blunt to the project despite her reservations about the genre as a whole. She was moved by the script and its focus on a mother and father’s fiercely protective devotion to their children. A parent herself, Blunt said she identified with Evelyn more than most of the characters she’s played.

“It felt very close to home for me, as being a mother of two young children, feeling like I’m worried about exposing them to this brutal world,” Blunt said. “It’s a fragile world we’re in anyway, and wanting only happiness for my children, and their health and happiness and their safety, it’s like, this mother and the way she operates was so — it was a no-brainer for me.”

A major reason why A Quiet Place succeeds as well as it does is that the family unit at its center feels cohesive and real. There’s a bit of an unfair advantage, of course: As real-life husband and wife, Krasinski and Blunt were able to use their own relationship to give a bit of unspoken backstory to Lee and Evelyn. “John and I have that immediate shorthand obviously because we’re married and we have a whole lifetime of memories together to sort of draw from when imagining what life must have been like for this family before hell ensued,” Blunt said.

The film even includes real photos of the couple and their children as stand-ins for family photos. Given that built-in intimacy, there could have been some concern over privacy, but Blunt was unfazed. “Something that would have been more intimate for us would be a drama about marriage — that’s not what this movie is,” she said. “What’s been so cool about the reaction is that people talk about the film, they talk about [John] as a filmmaker, and then they’re like, ‘Oh yeah, by the way, they’re also, like, married in real life.’”

Blunt and Millicent Simmonds.

Jonny Cournoyer / Paramount Pictures

But it’s not just the parents who anchor the fictional family in lived-in honesty — it’s also the kids. Simmonds and Jupe are accomplished young actors who are able to convey the fear and frustration of their situation without ever opening their mouths. Simmonds, who earned acclaim for her breakthrough role in Wonderstruck last year, is especially compelling. For Krasinski, hiring a deaf actor for the role was non-negotiable. “She can give a much more honest and layered performance because she’s actually experiencing it,” he said. “I needed a guide. I needed someone to actually help me talk about the nuance of — or talk to me about the nuance of — what it’s like to be a member of a family when you’re deaf and they’re hearing.”

That authenticity shines through in all the scenes with the family — and it’s part of what makes the peril they’re in as the creatures descend on their farm so stressful for an audience to endure. Beyond their own bond as a married couple, Krasinski and Blunt had the younger actors and their parents over to their home. Krasinski said he learned the most about how to portray those fictional family dynamics by watching their real family dynamics play out in front of him. As a result, the unwavering parent-child bond that he wanted to keep front and center feels impressively organic and holds the film together.

With that combination of high-concept terror and potent emotional honesty, A Quiet Place emerges as exactly the kind of horror film Krasinski wanted to make — and one he was uniquely suited for. It’s also another great reminder of how a genre that has historically been dismissed and maligned can actually offer rich storytelling while still scaring the crap out of audiences.

“It’s a genre with sort of endless potential and possibilities,” Blunt said. “You’ve got a heightened reality, or a slightly heightened reality, and you can really actually create a sort of more profound backdrop for it. You can carve out new space for yourself in the horror genre, and I think that’s what films like Get Out and certainly John was trying to do.”

Krasinski is thrilled by the response he’s gotten so far — and somewhat relieved. He admitted that he was nervous going into this experience, particularly as a horror newcomer. But while he’s not sure what the next directorial project he takes on will be, genre fans can rest assured he’s eager to give horror another shot.

“This genre now is something where some of the most complicated storytelling is happening, some of the biggest conceits, some of the biggest ideas, so that’s where I want to be,” he said. “What was so thrilling about this was being outside of my comfort zone. I’d love to do it again.”

[i-am-lois-barks-blog]

My Media Relations Lessons

Media Relations has been very challenging within this school year. My goal from the Mastery class that I set for myself was to focus on each week and not overwhelm myself with worry about what would be coming up in the weeks ahead. I’ve always been the type of person who would start something and never see it all the way through. I promised myself that by focusing on the weeks and taking each lesson week by week, that would help me to finish this journey out strong. Media Relations was a challenge for me because of the teacher, Ms. Latoya Lee. She grades hard and will break down and explain what you did and didn’t do in the lesson. When I recognized after the second week that Ms. Lee was very serious about following the directions to the tee, I began to second guess myself and go back and forth reading and rereading the directions just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. With a new job, a family and trying to make sure I kept up my 4.0 GPA, it started to become overwhelming for me. Even though, I felt the pressure and had anxiety, this was the class that taught me so much about myself. It showed me that I do have the ability and that I can do anything if I just prioritize and focus on the task at hand. In this class, I learned in week 1 about making media list, which I know will give me an endless amount of possibilities if I reach out to some of the ones I chose in this area. In week 2, I learned how to write targeted pitches. This was the week that I scored low on my discussion due to me not following directions. I wanted to give up in this week because I felt like Ms. Lee was being unfair. After sending her my thoughts on how she graded my work and receiving her response, there was nothing I could say because the directions painted a clear picture of what I was supposed to do and I did not do it. Growing up, I use to get in trouble for doing what I wanted in school. I thought my way was better and I thought it brought more life to what I was doing. This course not only taught me what I need to know in order to be successful in the PR industry but it taught me a few life lessons that I also believe will help take me to the next level as I move forward in this journey. I am definitely grateful for Ms. Lee and her challenging me to pay more attention as it reminded me of what I said I wanted when I set my goals when I first started this journey. From here, I rise and I focus on these last 4 months and maintaining a 4.0 as I show myself that I CAN and I WILL as long as I’m willing to do the work.