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goombasa · 3 months

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I Wanna Play More Genres

I play a lot of video games. It's been my main form of entertainment since I was a kid, and while I was picky with most forms of media growing up, I was willing to try and play basically any game I could get my hand on. But it wasn't long before I started to find genres that I just naturally started to gravitate towards, at the detriment of others. RPGs, platformers, arcade (or kart-esque) racers, narrative games, puzzle and adventure games, these were the ones that really appealed to me as far as genres go. Not to say they were all that I played, I played anything that I came across, but looking back I do remember having some pretty narrow interest in certain genres.

I ignored a lot of first person shooters because I wasn't interested in the more historical setting a lot of them had at the time (and when they started to become much more multiplayer focused, I only drifted further from them).

I liked to consider my options very carefully, so Real-Time strategy often lost me due to the ‘real time’ part of the name.

I didn't have the cognitive ability to memorize fighting game controls and then put those controls into practice.

I didn't have the focus and precision needed to play most scrolling shooters and bullet hells.

Sports and racing games (the more realistic or simulation games) always seemed boring to me, so I ended up giving them a wide berth.

I'm not so naive as to believe that I would love every genre equally, but just like there are some RPGs that I cannot stand, there are plenty of games in each of these genres that I have enjoyed, and probably many more I've never tried that I would like to play. I think a part of it is that my lack of experience in these genres also makes me self conscious about trying them. It isn't like I play these games in public, most of the time, there'd be no one to judge me but myself, and yet at the same time, I can't help but feel a bit self conscious of my inability to perform headshots, optimally prepare an army, perform decent combo strings, or avoid a massive rainbow spread of energy bullets. 2024 has been a year of clearing out quite a bit of my backlog in terms of my games, and in doing so, I've also wanted to really start to expand my horizons, go back to games in genres that I wrote off because they didn't appeal to me in the moment. And so to start that off, for no particular reason, he's a quick just of some major genres that I want to get better at playing, and experience more of what they have to offer.

Fighting Games: I am an unabashed button masher. I have so much trouble properly stringing together combos and performing special moves, and while I really like watching good players play these games, it is such a technical genre that I have always felt intimidated whenever I would pick up a controller for these games. The only game I have any sort of decent ability in would be the Super Smash Bros. series, and those games, like most platform fighters, are made to be more newbie-accessibly and casual compared to big names like Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat, and Tekken, or indie darlings like Skull Girls.

First Person Shooters: I have actually played some shooters and enjoyed them in this genre. I've played through and beaten the 2016 DOOM reboot, absolutely loved it, though I could only beat it on lower difficulties. I also played through the first few Halo games, though I haven't really picked one up since around ODST, I think. Beyond that, my experience with FPS games is pretty low.

Scrolling Shooters/Bullet Hells: I've played through several of these in old arcade compilations, when I could play them without having to worry about getting a game over at all. But that's not really learning how to play the game, because I could just mash away without really learning how to avoid attacks or position myself properly. I have difficulty with the spatial awareness and concentration needed for more complex spreads.

Real-Time strategy: Like I said before, I don't perform well under pressure, and one of the big parts of real time strategy is performing under pressure and adjusting your strategy on the fly to fit whatever is happening, on top of managing the resources that you bring in. I played things like Black and White and Age of Empires growing up, but I never got very far into either of them because I had a lot of difficulty properly managing all aspects of my base while still having enough defenses to keep myself safe.

Those are the main ones. I could get more specific and start picking apart genres and subgenres and combinations, but those are the major genres that I really want to learn and get better at and experience more of, rather than just the more mainstream, surface level elements. To this end, I'd love to hear suggestions from folks about where good starting points would be, games that are decently easy to get into, but are mechanically deep enough to keep me playing and encourage me to seek out more in the genre after I'm finished.

I've experienced a similar feeling when it comes to Dark Souls games, a genre that I gave a very wide berth after an unpleasant start attempting to play through the original PS3 version of Demon Souls, but years later, after playing the original dark souls and going on to beat all of the available soulsborn games at the time, I've absolutely fell in love with Dark Souls and related games. I'm hoping for a similar effect if I can find at least one game that really clicks with me in these disparate genres.

#Genres #Expanding My Horizons

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vodkassassin · 3 years

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Shen Qingqiu decides enough is enough! As is his right

If you see any typos in this, no you don’t 😌

—

The door flies open right on the midday hour mark, when the candle that he lit this morning is exactly half gone, and Shang Qinghua immediately dives underneath his desk and throws his arms over his hand.

“I’m almost done!” He calls out desperately. “Just give me a few more hours, I promise I’m almost done!”

Following this, a silence in his office, long and inspecting, takes place. Shang Qinghua, despite all his instincts screaming otherwise, peeks his head up over the edge of his desk and gulps. The person standing in his door, who is surveying his admittedly very messy office (it’s not his fault! Paperwork breeds like multiplying cells! Why doesn’t anyone understand that?!), and looking very, very unamused.

“Ha, um,” he scrambles back to sit on the chair again, trying to get his thundering heart under control. “H-Hello, Shen-shixiong! This — I — I wasn’t expecting….”

Shen Qingqiu finishes his examination of his workspace and locks his gaze upon Shang Qinghua. He steps smoothly into the office, and shuts the door behind him with sure but quiet movements. A cold sweat breaks out down Shang Qinghua’s spine.

He swallows. He reaches forward and grabs up the paperwork he’d been pouring over before this interruption and holds it feebly before himself like a shield.

“A-Acruelly, shixiong…. If shixiong has something he wants from this shidi, I-I’m afraid it will have to wait. Wei-shixiong demanded these requisition forms be looked over and approved before tomorrow a-and there… there are a lot of them to go through…. I think he waited until the last minute — Oh! And Liu-shidi, he — um, he sent in his audit reports late again, so I have to go through those too and I’m really really sorry but whatever you have for me I can’t —!”

“Stop your babbling.” Shen Qingqiu snaps. Shang Qinghua’s jaw clicks shut so fast his teeth hurt a little. Ow.

He watches with wide eyes as his shixiong — who is now scowling heavily, nooo — begins to flip through the various stacks of parchment and scrolls that sit heavy upon Shang Qinghua’s desk. Too terrified to tell him that, actually, only the sect leader should be looking through those ones, Shang Qinghua remains quiet.

Really, nobody tells Shen Qingqiu what he can or can’t do. Those who have tried before are —

Well. They’ve all seen their sect leader.

“These.” Shen Qingqiu slips a smaller stack of documents out from the middle of one of the piles and holds it up. “The supply logs from the previous joint peak night hunting expedition. They have yet to be filed?”

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua’s eyes water in frustration, and he holds up his sleeve to cover them. “I meant to, I did! But — but when I was going to get to them, Qi-shimei came in with a cart full of delegated peak maintenance reports! She said if they weren’t done before noon she’d — Ah.” He shudders, peeks over his arm, and goes pale at the way Shen Qingqiu’s eyes have narrowed viciously. He hurries on, voice growing smaller. “I’d just finished them when Wei-shixiong brought me his backlog requisitions….”

He trails off, because the expression on his shixiong face has gone colder and colder the longer he spoke.

“Why haven’t you chosen to delegate?” The man demands from between his locked teeth. “All these disciples that you have, and you’re telling me you can’t delegate a single task to them?”

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua’s eyes water again and he shiffles pathetically into his sleeve. “Shixiong, I do delegate. This stuff in my office here, this is all the work only peak lords have the security clearance for. Everything else I delegate to my disciples, because I can’t… I can’t….”

Shen Qingqiu stares down his nose at him, and Shang Qinghua stops talking. He drops his gaze and listens as the man silently turns on his heel and stalks out of his office, closing the door with a solid thump.

He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and drops his arm defeatedly into his lap, frowning down at the water stains his stupid tears have left in the fabric. Silk is so fucking dumb, you can’t walk through without it picking up dirt somehow. It’s why he changed his peak robes to darker colors, because at least black doesn’t show where you’ve been all day.

And seriously, it’s just so much easier to scrub blood out of clothes that aren’t white or beige or pastel.

He shoves his paperwork to the side and folds his arms before him, letting his head thunk down on them with an exhausted sigh. The door opens slightly again and a head peaks in.

“Shizun?”

“A-Kao,” he mumbles into his arms. “I’m gonna die.”

His head disciple gives a polite sound of acknowledgement. “I’ll have someone prepare some of the spiced tea imported from that Eastern desert oasis, then.”

“I love you,” Shang Qinghua says fervently, and listens as his favorite disciple huffs a quiet laugh.

“Will return shortly.”

The door closes again, and with it, Shang Qinghua closes his eyes.

Jin Kao is true to his word, as always, and in fact brings a light snack of fruit and a pastry along with the tea. Shang Qinghua plows through it at record pace and is energized! He’s halfway through the requisition forms for Wei Qingwei when his door is slammed open once again.

He flinches. Taking a fortifying breath, Shang Qinghua glances up and immediately loses all color.

“Shen-shixiong is back!” He shakes, voice wobbling. “With — with Z-Zhangmen-shixiong, ah…!”

Shen Qingqiu stalks into the room, side stepping Jin Kao whose arms are laden with the empty tea set. The head disciple wisely flees into the corner, watching with a narrow gaze as the Qing Jing peak lord all but drags their venerated Sect Leader across the office to stand before Shang Qinghua’s desk.

Shang Qinghua trembles as they both loom over him. What did he do?! Shixiong, what he’s said before was completely reasonable! There was no need to go and fetch your overbearing ge!

Shen Qingqiu points a finger at Shang Qingh— oh wait, not him. At his desk. At the mountains of papers littering his desk.

“If you have time to relax and drink tea in your spotless office,” the second in command sneers at his superior, “then you have time to pick up the slack so that our shidi can do the same!”

Shang Qinghua gapes. He stares up at them with round, round eyes, uncertain as to what’s going on.

Yue Qingyuan, for his part, quails under Shen Qingqiu’s steely and unrelenting gaze. His shoulders are tense, and the way in which he looks around Shang Qinghua’s office with a startled look, only to then turn it upon Shang Qinghua himself, just screams ‘bro, you live like this?’

Not by choice! Shang Qinghua never asked for this, Yue-shixiong! The paperwork just never stops!

Shen Qingqiu pivots sharply, glaring down at him instead. Ah!

“What are you doing?” The man says. “Get up.”

“Ah?” Completely bewildered, Shang Qinghua only stares up at the man in confusion.

“Honestly.” Shen Qingqiu sighs under his breath — a sharp and stilted sound of frustration.

He rounds the desk himself and grabs Shang Qinghua by the upper arm, hauling him up from his chair and dragging him away from the desk.

“Th-This—?!”

“Sect Leader,” Shen Qingqiu nods at the desk. Yue Qingyuan only stares blankly at him, and so he sneers. “These forms must be finished. And the next stack. All by a peak lord — I’m taking Shang-shidi for a well deserved break, so I can’t do it, and Wei-shidi was the one to submit them in the first place. Of the four foremost peak lords of the sect, only you have time and clearance to do it.”

Shang Qinghua sways, shocked. If Shen Qingqiu didn’t still have such a bone-crushing grip on him, he might have even fallen. The other man steadies him immediately, and the sour look on his face sours even further.

Yue Qingyuan’s face is pale. “Qingqiu-shidi….”

“It isn’t as if you were busy with anything else.” Shen Qingqiu plows on past whatever refuting the sect leader was trying to pull. He shakes Shang Qinghua roughly by the arm, and Shang Qinghua rapidly blinks away the spots from his vision. “Look at our shidi, he’s nearly dead on his feet. Are you telling me that you would make him work more, when it’s already clear that he’s overworked?”

Yue Qingyuan pauses. He glances around the office another time, shoulders lowering in slow increments. His resolve is crumbling visibly to everyone in the office.

Shang Qinghua silently mouths ‘overworked’ to himself, stunned.

Finally, the sect leader sighs. “No, Qingqiu-shidi is right.”

Shen Qingqiu snorts. As if to say ‘of course I am.’

Yue Qingyuan steps around the desk and slowly takes the seat that Shang Qinghua had just been forcably vacated from. He eyes the stack of paperwork that are piled high, not just on the desk but on the floor and the shelves surrounding the desk, and an expression of regret eclipses his face.

“This shixiong had not realized Shang-shidi’s workload was quite so…” he trails off, trying to fish for the right word, and finally lands on, “heavy.”

“It’s the Sect Leader’s duty to ascertain that all those under his sect’s banner are taken care of. Those directly under his command even more so.” Shen Qingqiu sniffs disdainfully. “You have no excuse.”

Yue Shixiong bows his head. “No, this one does not.”

“I’m taking Shang Qinghua to Qing Jing to recuperate.”

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua pales even further. He ducks his head down and glances over to the corner into which his head disciple had squirreled himself away for help.

Jin Kao stares back, an expression of smug victory on his face, and doesn’t say a single word.

This traitor! Unfilial disciple! Shang Qinghua takes back what he said about Jin Kao being his favorite. He’s replacing that brat as soon as he’s able to escape Shen Qingqiu’s clutches.

Shen Qingqiu yanks on his arms, dragging him out of the office. He cranes his neck around, and the last scene he sees before the door slams shut is Jin Kao setting down the empty tea set, picking up a large stack of papers from one of the various spots on the floor, which he then ferries over to the desk at which Yue Qingyuan has picked up the half-finished requisition, looking it over with a frown.

Huh. He’s never seen his head disciple look quite so intimidating before. The boy is practically looming over their sect leader with a dark expression.

That’s a little strange.

He doesn’t see beyond that, though, because Shen Qingqiu slams the doors shut again and drags him off his own damn peak.

—

Support this story on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32312410

#Jiuplane #yes I ship it #scumplane #svsss #scum villain's self saving system #Shen Jiu #Shang Qinghua #Vodkassassin fanfiction #svsss prompts

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duskholland · 4 years

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The Fame Game (Part Three) || Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Sleepovers are supposed to be fun, but perhaps not when they include your fake boyfriend.

Word count ↠ 4.5k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, some bad language, Tom’s shirtless? And also a lil bit jealous

A/N ↠ I decided that Y/N is in Stranger Things because... Joe Keery. You’re welcome. This was a fun part to write! Thank you so much to everyone that’s been loving on this series - makes my heart very very happy to know it’s being read and enjoyed :’) Please let me know what you think of this part! (This picks up directly after part two just with a pov shift)

Series masterpost

THREE: What’s Mine Is Yours (Y)

The studio lights burn your eyes painfully, and your throat has been stinging distantly of tequila ever since you took the first shot.

Jimmy’s been sending you question after question, analysing and picking apart every aspect of your ‘relationship’ with Tom for the past five minutes. So far, you and Tom have answered with your stories aligned, and you thank yourself for having the stroke of genius to go over some essential details with him before the show. If you’d just come out here and winged it, as he had foolishly suggested, you know you would’ve tripped up by now.

It’s all going as expected, until near the end of the interview when Tom’s words split through the air and shock you completely:

“Well, chemistry is a very important part of any relationship, Jimmy, and you know what they say: enemies make the best lovers.”

Enemies make the best lovers..?

Even as the conversation moves on, you feel the words lingering in your mind. Tom’s been playing the role of your doting boyfriend very well all evening, but there has been something a little too earnest about his eyes and his remarks, and it’s left you feeling… odd. Exposed, perhaps. He’s out here claiming that enemies make the perfect foundation to a loving relationship, and though you’re almost certain it was a throwaway comment, you can’t stop yourself from over-analysing it.

“Well, thank you to both of you for joining us tonight,” Jimmy says finally, dragging you from your stupor. “It’s been a pleasure, as always. I wish the happy couple all the best!”

You’re nestled up very close to Tom on the sofa. His hand is on your knee, and you’ve got your arm wrapped around his side. You hadn’t discussed any of this beforehand, but you’d followed his lead when he’d first stretched out his palm. Casual displays of intimacy, according to your PR team, are everything, and it’s been almost nice to have his fingers resting on your leg, acting as a grounding presence. Any time you said something a little risky, he’d squeeze your knee - and you likewise would use your hand on his side to pinch him gently, like a reminder to stop talking whenever he came close to slipping up.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Tom says. He looks around to face you, his brown eyes warm and round. “We’ve had a great time.”

You nod along and pull your hand away from Tom’s side as you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, it’s been amazing.”

Jimmy throws out a few final farewells, and the audience descends into applause. As the bright sign that reads LIVE flickers out, the cameras stop rolling. Almost immediately, you feel lighter. With a loud groan, you stretch your arms out behind your head and collapse back into the sofa, your posture sagging. Besides you, Tom mirrors you, his legs spreading and his knee knocking against yours as you glance over and share a cautious smile.

“That went well, didn’t it?” You ask quietly. Jimmy’s wandered off, and around you, people are rolling up cables and wires. You can feel the eyes of some of the audience on you, so you reach down to play with his hand. Tom lets you fiddle with his fingers, and you gulp as you draw your fingertips across his soft skin.

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. His eyebrows furrow together as he looks at you curiously. “What was the question you answered with Harrison?”

You scoff. “That’s a secret.”

You’d almost died when you’d read the card. As much as you’d disliked the prospect of doing a shot, the question had read ‘Which of Tom’s friends would you consider dating?’. Though you feel no romantic attraction towards Harrison, he’s the only one of Tom’s friends you know. You couldn’t admit it to Tom live, because PR would have had your head, but you don’t particularly want to fess up now, either.

Tom’s always been a bit weird about your friendship with Harrison, and you don’t want to add more strain to your relationship. Maybe a month ago you would’ve loved to have another thing to rub in Tom’s face, but now things are changing. Your relationship is beyond twisted as it is, and much to your surprise, you no longer feel the burning need to exacerbate that - not now you know you’ll be tied to his side for the next five months. For all you thrive off Tom’s discomfort, it’s starting to take a toll.

Tom pouts, but there’s an intense heat to it. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes. “What was your first question?” You return. “The one that you replied to by saying I’m stubborn?”

Tom groans, and the illusion of him being a doting, sweet boyfriend shatters. A part of you is relieved he’s back to normal as he glares at you. Tom has been too nice to you this evening, and it was becoming a little unsettling.

“I won’t tell you mine unless you tell me yours,” he barters. Tom looks down at your joined hands and loops your fingers together, leaning in closer on the sofa so he can drop his voice. The strong waves of his cologne drift out over you, causing your mind to spin. “Oh, come on, girlfriend, we were getting on so well, just tell me? Please?” He even flutters his eyelashes.

You chuckle in the face of his charm. “No way.”

Tom pulls away, his jaw flexing. He drops your fingers dramatically. “Fine. Be like that.” He stands up quickly, but then he pauses and begrudgingly offers you a hand, his eyes skimming the busy room. He, like you, seems to recognise there is a time and place for your petty bickering. “Let me escort you backstage,” he says, voice dry and monotonous.

You sigh heavily. “You’re so annoying,” you tell him, accepting his hand. He helps you up with a strong grip, your fingers tangling together easily. “I almost bought the act that you were actually a decent guy tonight, y’know?”

Tom keeps your hands together as you slowly walk backstage. “I almost bought yours,” he returns, his voice quiet. “I suppose we’re both good actors, aren’t we?”

You set your mouth in a firm line. “I suppose we are.”

You don’t see him for a while, and for that, you’re very grateful. For a few weeks, it seems PR are satisfied with a few teasing tweets here and there, and you enjoy the freedom of living Tom-free again. It really is quite disruptive, having to parade around with him, and lie when your friends and family question you about him. It’s quick to grow tiresome as you have to explain, over and over, that, no, you don’t hate him - love just happened!! Yeah, he’s great! Oh, you always thought there was something going on between us? Haha. Hah. That’s so funny.

It’d be so much easier, you think, if you and Tom got along better. But you know the only way that’ll happen is if one of you apologies to the other, and you’re still too fucking angry about everything to let your walls come down. Your history spans three poisonous years, and you aren’t willing to start lowering your defences for fear of him using that against you. You’d rather suffer through several more months of torture with Tom than show any sort of regret or remorse. You will not be the first to place your cards on the table, which lands you in a difficult position because you know he isn’t the type to concede either. You’re so similar it almost hurts.

About a month after the show, you’re on set when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you pick up the small device to see Rebecca’s name flashing over the screen. With a sigh, you quickly answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi Y/N, it’s Rebecca. I hope you’re doing well.” There’s a brief pause, then, “So, we need you to do something for us tonight.”

You reach up to pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Always straight to the point, aren’t you?”

Your PR manager laughs. “Time is precious,” she reasons. “Anyway, we’ve been monitoring your socials. People find it odd that you’ve not posted anything with Tom, and we’ve realised that there is a shortage of photos of you both together.”

You hum. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve ever had a photo together where it looks like we actually like one another.”

“Exactly. That’s a problem.”

“Great.”

“We’ve been in contact with Tom. He’s going to pick you up once you’re done on set, and then come and stay the night with you. You’ll be spotted entering your apartment together, and he’ll be seen leaving in the morning. Whilst you’re together, if you can try and take some photos, that’d be great. Try to build up a backlog of different shots, so you have some in reserves for the future.”

You throw your head back, biting back a dramatic groan. “He’s coming over tonight?” You clarify.

Rebecca sighs. “Yes, Y/N. Is that okay?”

“I suppose.”

“Perfect. He’ll pick you up from set at 5.”

The line disconnects and you put your phone away, trying not to think about how easily your quiet evening plans have been whipped away. You’re called back to set almost immediately, and that provides you with a perfect distraction. You slip on your mask, sinking into a different character, and you let all your worries and irritations fade away.

When Tom rocks up to set, you’re still filming. You catch him from the corner of your eye as you act opposite your co-star Joe Keery, carrying your banter perfectly. You love Joe - love the fact that both of you are wearing matching sailor costumes and somehow manage to rock them, and that your scenes always flow together very nicely. You’re having a great time together, and you feel sad when the director calls out a final Cut! and the cameras stop.

“Great scene, Y/N,” Joe compliments, reaching out to pat your shoulder.

You smile back at him, nodding lightly. “You too!” You say. “I’m going to miss filming with you.”

Joe nods, whipping the sailor hat from his head and running a hand through his long hair. “Me too,” he agrees, mouth curving into a frown, “Who else would dress up in these stupid costumes with me and not make fun of me?”

You laugh, but before you can form a full reply, you feel a figure lingering behind you. You tilt your head and see Tom there, and then feel his warm hands slip around your waist. It all happens so quickly - one moment he’s whispering hi, the next his fingers are wrapped around you and yours are on his shoulders, then he’s kissing you quickly. It’s just a peck, but it completely blindsides you, and you’re still recovering when he pulls back and looks at Joe.

“Hi, mate, I’m Tom,” he greets, his voice artificial and loud. “Y/N’s boyfriend.”

You look between them, your heart hammering in your chest as you retract your hands and let them fall to your side. Tom immediately links your fingers together.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Joe replies, eyeing you sceptically. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he accepts Tom’s free hand, and they shake slowly.

“All good things, I hope, eh?” Tom replies, glancing over to you. You raise your eyebrows, trying to figure out what he’s doing, but he just grins slyly in response.

“Eh, sure,” Joe says. Your friend rocks back on his feet, and you’re briefly reminded of the many, many occasions where you’d stormed onto set and ran your mouth about Tom. “Well, I’m gonna go now. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He raises a hand.

“Bye, Joe. Have a nice night.”

As soon as Joe’s slipped out of sight, you turn your attention to Tom.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, voice higher and quieter than usual. You pull your hand from his grasp, and it drifts up to your mouth, to where your lips are still feeling the aftershocks of the kiss. You stare at him through wide eyes. He’s in a lovely blue denim jacket today, and it contrasts brightly against his short styled hair and his deep brown eyes.

“Greeting my girlfriend?” Tom replies. He looks a little bashful as he folds his arms across his chest. “Is that a problem?”

Fuck, you hadn’t missed him at all.

“You kissed me,” you state.

“Briefly,” he agrees, “We’re in public, Y/N. It would’ve been weird if I hadn’t done anything. Plus…”

“Plus?”

Tom grimaces. “It felt a bit odd to see you so close to him.” He pauses, his face the picture of discomfort. “I didn’t like it.”

“You have got to be kidding, Tom,” you mutter, eyes widening. “Are you seriously being like this because I touched his arm? He’s my friend, dickhead.” You scrunch up your nose, eyeing him sourly. “You don’t have any right to act territorially, Tom. We aren’t actually dating.”

“Right.” Tom tentatively reaches up, and you let him place his hand on your cheek. It feels almost like an apology, and you find the lines of irritation melting from your face. As his fingertips gently trail across your cheekbone, your lips pull into a small smile. “I’m sorry if I took you off-guard,” he says, surprising you completely. You’d never thought you’d see the day he owned up to one of his actions. “I won’t kiss you again unless we talk about it first.”

You swallow drily, trying not to enjoy the way it feels to have his touch skating over your face so smoothly.

“Good,” you agree. You rock back on your feet and sigh defeatedly. “We should go.”

It’s a little after 7pm by the time you get home. You make light, superficial conversation with Tom in the car as you put up with his chiding remarks about your driving, and by the time you walk through your front door, you feel frazzled.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” you mutter as you walk into your living room and take a view of the mess.

“It’s fine.” Tom places his bag down on the sofa and looks around, greedy eyes taking in the details of your apartment. “It’s nice here.”

“Thanks.” You look around at your apartment, smiling quietly to yourself. The building is in downtown LA, right in the centre of things, and it wasn’t at all cheap, but over the years you’ve spent hidden away within the walls, you’ve made it feel like home. You’ve added character by tacking up a variety of posters, plants, and other fun keepsakes. “Do you want to order food? I don’t really want to cook.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom pulls out his phone and glances up at you, face illuminated by the screen. “What do you want?”

“Thai?”

He pulls a face. “How about Chinese?”

You scrunch your nose up. “Thai?” You try again.

Tom bites his lower lip, his fingers moving over the screen. “Is it nice?” He asks you.

“You’ve never had Thai before?”

He looks up at you, shrugging haplessly. “Nope.”

“Yes, it’s nice.”

Tom surprises you by holding out his phone. “Pick something for me?” He asks. “Something good, though.”

You chuckle softly, accepting the phone and scrolling through the app. “I can’t promise you’ll like it, but I think you should.” You add a few things to the order before tossing it back. You dig your hands into your jean pockets and hesitate. “I’m gonna take a shower. Do you want me to show you the guest room?” You ask, eyeing up the hefty bag Tom had brought with him.

“That would be nice.”

You’re quick to show Tom his room, and then you’re off through the shower. You’d been called to set for 7am, and the hot, pulsing water soothes away the tired ache in your muscles. The scent of fresh lavender clings to your skin as you dry yourself off and then collapse into a loose pair of leggings and a nice hoodie. You feel more like yourself as you stare into your reflection in the mirror now. You love acting, and you love being someone else, but you feel safest as you are right now: bare, authentic, yourself.

You’re so relaxed that you almost forget Tom’s staying over until you walk into the living room and see him sprawled out on one of your sofas, phone in hand. He cranes his face back to look at you as he hears you, his eyes drifting lazily over your figure.

“Food will be an hour,” he tells you sadly.

“Great,” you grumble. You walk into your kitchen, looking over at him from across the open counter. “Do you want any wine?”

“Fuck yeah.”

You snicker as you start to pour out two glasses of rosé. “So how do you want to go about taking these photos?” You ask tentatively.

“Well, they made me bring a few different outfit changes,” Tom starts, speaking slowly, “So I guess we should just… Move about a bit and take some pictures together.”

It’s awkward as you walk back into the living room and hand him his wine glass. “Cheers,” you mutter, tipping the rim of the glass against his. A piercing ring fades across the room, and you share a despondent look with Tom.

“Cheers indeed, love.”

It’s uncomfortable until the wine kicks in, at which point the staged photographs come together a lot easier.

You start off with a few simple candids around your apartment. You take some of Tom pretending to make some tea, and then of him standing out on your balcony overlooking the city. He changes out his shirts and hoodies every few shots, as instructed by PR, so you’ll have a more comprehensive selection of photos to post in the future. It grows quite amusing after a while as you both try to out-Vogue the another, and once the air is full of your endless laughter, you find yourself relaxing.

When he’s satisfied with the number of candids he’s got of you, Tom suggests you get a little closer and try to get some more intimate, couple-y pics, “‘for the ‘gram, yeah?” This is when you run into a problem.

“I haven’t done this in so long,” you find yourself admitting as you sit beside Tom in your bed. You’ve slipped into a pyjama shirt, and Tom’s settled beside you.

“Had an incredibly handsome actor in bed with you?” He returns, eyes sparkling mischievously. This evening he’s been very cheeky with you, and you have to admit you’re warming up to it.

“Haha,” you say drily, rolling your eyes. You puff up your pillows and settle against the headboard. “Taken any photos with a romantic interest,” you clarify.

Tom pulls off his shirt easily, balling it up and throwing it across the room. You startle at this sudden action, your eyes drifting down to the defined lines of his abs. Tom is stacked. His lips curve into a smirk.

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” he teases, causing you to scoff. He opens up his arms, and you settle into them gently, aiming for a sleepy, lazy, we-woke-up-like-this vibe. Your head finds his chest, and your cheek presses against his warm skin comfortably. “Smile.”

He takes a few photos of you together, posing as a lovestruck couple, and as the seconds pass by, you melt further into him. You hadn’t realised how cold you were until Tom opened his arms and let you in, but now it’s as if you were freezing before the first touch. He’s got his hand resting on your side, and you feel his mouth linger above your forehead, hesitating.

“Can I kiss your face?” He mumbles softly, “Might make it look more realistic.”

You hum quietly, closing your eyes as you wrap yourself further around his torso. “Sure. Can I kiss your chest?” You ask boldly, spurred on a little by the woozy heat that smothers your mind.

You hear Tom’s breath hitch, and find yourself holding yours until he mutters, quietly, “Yeah.”

You let him have his fun first, and try to remain as nonchalant as possible as you feel his lips fluttering out across your forehead. He leaves a delicate trail of kisses from temple to temple, caressing your skin slowly, softly, with his warm mouth. You realise with a soft epiphany that you don’t mind being in this position: Tom’s peppering your face in gentle kisses, holding you close in his bare arms - and it’s quite nice. And maybe… Maybe he’s quite nice, too. Sometimes.

Tom’s hand smoothes over your hair, and you tilt your head until you’re able to scatter a few short kisses across his chest. You can hear the small clicks coming from his phone, and you really drag it out, enjoying the press of his supple pale skin against your mouth. It warms you up, sets a tingle flaming through your lips.

“There,” you say, finally dragging yourself away from him. “Do you think we’ve done enough?”

Tom hums, watching you closely as you sit up from his chest. His arm retracts from your side, and the air between you clears. “Yeah. I’ll send them to PR and see what they say.” He messes around on his phone for a few minutes, but you stay exactly where you are - shrouded in duvet and blankets and lingering near his body heat. Your eyelids flutter shut as you relax, your peace lasting until he asks, slowly, “When was the last time you dated anyone?”

You pry open an eye, looking at him curiously. “Eh, it’s been a while. Almost a year since there was anyone serious.” You look up at him, your head resting easily on the pillow. “Why?”

“Just realised I don’t know that much about you, really,” Tom replies. He slips down the bed until he’s lying beside you, and both of you move onto your sides to face one another. He looks quiet and unassuming like this - tufts of brown hair pushed messily around his forehead, with a warm expression hanging from his lips. It’s an odd look to be directed towards you.

“Yeah,” you hum. You let a small smile find your lips. “I don’t know much about you either.”

The sheets rustle as Tom moves a little closer. “Do you… want to know more about me?” He asks gently.

You swallow. You can taste the wine on your tongue, and you wonder why you can only seem to get along with him when you’re tipsy.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe it’d be easier to do this if we weren’t always so…”

“Horrible?”

You bite your lip as you nod. “Yeah. We can be pretty mean.”

“Why do we do that?” Tom muses, his cheeks nice and flushed.

“I don’t know.”

Tom reaches out beneath the covers, and his hand finds yours softly. He links your fingers together, and you look into his eyes intently. You find only warmth and sincerity staring back at you.

“Maybe we should try to be less hostile to each other,” he suggests.

Briefly, your mind rewinds to that day at the park, all those weeks ago, and how Tom had dramatically announced that the thought of being your friend repulsed him. It surprises you to hear this change of heart, but you realise you’re in the same boat. A lot has changed since then.

“Okay,” you find yourself agreeing. “I’d be down to try that.”

“Okay.”

You share a small smile, and it seems to last a lifetime. For a while, it’s just you and Tom, buried in your bed together, hands clasped, breathing in sync, and it’s nice.

Eventually, food comes, and you convince Tom to watch one of your favourite films in your living room. You settle on separate sofas, but you’re able to make some light-hearted conversation. He even jokes around with you. It feels nice - but also too good to be true.

As you sober up, you find yourself looking at him sceptically. No matter how welcome the thought that things between you are slowly mending might be, you don’t trust Tom, and that’s not about the change overnight. He’s an actor, and you wouldn’t put it past him to be pulling your leg - drawing you into this rouse, only later to turn around and pull the rug from beneath you, and laugh at you for believing that he’d want to be your friend. Your perception of him has been skewed so negatively for so long that it’s hard to believe he’s actually being nice - even if on your end, the softening is genuine.

But you let yourself believe it, just for the night. You throw popcorn at him, and laugh together, and finish the bottle of wine over dinner.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom calls out, resting up against the door of the spare room. He’s caught you coming from the bathroom. He’s shirtless again, grey sweats hanging low from his hips, and you can’t stop your eyes from shamelessly tracing the curve of his v-line. “Not going to give your boyfriend a goodnight kiss?”

You roll your eyes, but you find yourself walking over to him. “You’re so fucking cheeky, Tom,” you mutter, amused. You press your hand to his shoulder and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight,” you say, eyeing him firmly.

Tom’s eyes dance with a thousand different emotions, and he dives in to kiss your cheek in return. “Night, love.”

You raise a hand in farewell and turn away before he can see the huge, embarrassing grin on your face.

When you wake up, it’s to silence and a slightly sore head. Your clock reads 8.22 AM, and you amble towards the kitchen.

You decide to extend towards Tom an olive branch - a cup of tea - to solidify your newfound… friendship? Amicable arrangement? You don’t know how to label it other than a loosening of your mutual disdain, but you know that whatever the dynamic was last night, it’d been nice. The idea that there’s more to him than the cocky, fronting mask he sometimes wears is pleasant.

So you make him a cup of tea, and then tentatively walk across to your spare room. You knock quietly, hear nothing, and then gently push your way inside.

The room is empty. Tom is gone. He’s left the bed unmade.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, scrunching your eyebrows together. You glance around and notice he’s taken all of his things, and then walk back into your room to check your phone - no new messages from him.

You sit down on the edge of your bed and sip at the tea you’d painstakingly poured for him.

Maybe it was too good to be true, and you’d just been stupid to think one tipsy evening together was the start of something new. He’s clearly undergone no change of heart if he’s managed to waltz out without as much as a text goodbye. You feel stupid and angry, but above all disappointed.

Because for a moment - a brief, hopeful moment - you’d imagined being Tom’s friend, and the prospect had made you feel happy.

↠ NEXT PART

please let me know what you’re thinking!!!! ask box is open :D

taglist can be found in the series masterpost, which is the pinned post at the top of my blog

masterlist linked in my description

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland series #tfg #yeeeeeep !!!#y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 3 years

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tuesday again 11/23/21

vacation problems, baybee

listening pitch black, by sencit feat. lady blackbird (deathloop soundtrack). i do not think i will be playing this game since a particular twist was revealed to me (if i had two nickels &tc) and my backlog is already...very long, but this track is a banger. i like this more than many “real” james bond movie opening songs

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youtube

reading mawrth valliis, by EPHK. the schtick is “presented in the original martian” which i think could have been a stronger creative choice if there was less dialogue? the lettering is very pretty, but it’s sort of a frustrating read. i fucking hate the character design and the twist, but the art is lovely in a very textural way, and i’m a sucker for pages like this. 126 p is not a lot of my time wasted

watching the anime otherside picnic is based off the light novel (and manga adaptation) of otherside picnic by iori miyazawa, itself based off the novel roadside picnic by the strugatsky brothers. in short, otherside picnic is a gay genderbent college AU isekai that manages to capture some of the psychological horror and financial desperation of the original. still with me? available free here (legally, even! you’re welcome).

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dailymotion

i care about these girls in a way i don’t usually with anime. part of this is bc this anime does tick all my boxes- young lesbians figuring themselves out, who grow into a well-oiled pair that also goofs around on their off time, a perpetually exasperated handler/patron, The City Is Alive And Will Get You, it’s an adaptation of one of my favorite things, jokes about the availability and type of guns in open-world RPGs that made me laugh like a hyena. there’s a bit about someone growing their hair out that genuinely gutted me. i am probably going to buy physical copies of these light novels bc apparently the POV voice is Quite Something and they’re more explicitly gay.

the animation is Fine, the sound mixing is quite good imo, the emotional arcs were satisfying, i really love halfhour shows bc it’s so easy to watch a whole season in like three days if you’re not careful. hour-long shows are Appointment Television. that’s a Time Investment i simply do not always have

this show (unfortunately) features the US military stationed at okinawa (the marines ARE the ones most likely to get themselves into this sort of situation tbh) and therefore cannot let anything really bad happen to them although i really do think they should just be left to tear each other apart in the Zone/otherside

playing still having a Time with meshes not meshing in sable (also a piece of graffiti i needed to follow to start a quest simply...wasn’t there?) but it’s very forgivable, imo. i am willing to put up with a lot for a pretty game with mysterious solar-system spanning mysteries and wrecked ships to climb around. 4/6 of the way done with the ship AI quest and i am extremely excited and also pre-grieving what i think happened

ANYWAY. BIG DISH YAAAAAAY

making found :) dead :) moths :) in :) my :) new :) sewing :) machine :) cabinet :) so that’s been fumigated to the best of my ability, please cross your fingers i did not introduce clothes moths to my house bc that’s the last fucking thing i need (sewing machine backstory here)

so i haven’t actually started sewing anything yet, and the first thing i was going to make was a new ironing board cover, so it’s hard to prep anything. am i starting with any of the half finished projects i have already cut out? heavens fucking no we’re going to do something with this dreadful flag print i picked up in the summer. setting invisible zippers, truly my beloathed

pattern companies: it’s a shift dress...with a TWIST!

me, every time: it’s a shift dress... with a TWIST!!! :0

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Youtube

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shinebrite97 · 3 years

Text

Part 3

Read Part 2 here

Her phone had seen no action since her message to Lucifer, and with no little check mark to indicate he’d seen it, she figured he was still up to his eyeballs in papers and backlogged work. Now her phone sat beside a fancy little appetizer plate along with too many forks and spoons, hidden behind a basket of steaming rolls between the two of them. A quick dinner at Ristorante 6?

Her mind was racing, taking in the sites of well-dressed demons giving her judgmental looks as Diavolo simply smiled and buttered a roll. “So,” She said. “It's been some time since we’ve spoken...hasn’t it?” She asked. “You’re absolutely right, Yuri,” He replied. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve spent time with you at all since you returned.” He glanced up, golden eyes boring into her from across the table as he busied himself unbuttoning the long sleeves of his uniform. “Tell me, how are you settling in as a returning student?” “I...it’s been…” She trailed off, wondering how to respond. “I’m enjoying myself.” When he didn’t say anything more, she shifted awkwardly in the chair. Its back was too high, the velvet cushion too firm, the space between her and the table suddenly felt very restricting. "Um…" Yuri bit her lip, considering all the things she could gush about. The food, the people, the things she was learning. "I don't know…" she replied. "I'm just...happier here." She turned her head, stifling some comment about Stockholm Syndrome, and looked back when Diavolo opened his mouth. He closed it again, and her eyes flitted down, seeing him grip a golden soup spoon. "Are you and Lucifer expecting another paper from me at the end of term?" Diavolo laughed. "No," he said. "No. I just wanted to know." "Okay," she replied. "But I know you didn't bring me to this beautiful restaurant to ask about my stay." "No, I suppose I didn't." His words ended in a trill, almost as if he was waiting for her to make the next move, but with a distinct lack of details as to why she was here, she bowed her head, letting the awkward silence fill in, hoping this chair would come to life and devour her. “I’m not really sure how much help I’ll be for anything, to be honest.” She said. “I’m flattered, but…” “Yuri, I need you to marry me.” Dead air. That's what came of her parted lips. She hadn't even closed her mouth when Diavolo processed his words. He shook his head, feeling a bright burn in his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "I could have said that better," he said. "Sir?* She asked. "I can explain," he said. "You are aware that I am the next in line for the throne, correct?" "Yes." "I have been raised for this position for thousands of years, and I've always done as instructed, learned all there is to learn, and the powers that be have decided that I'm ready." "That's amazing!" Yuri replied with a big grin. "Congratulations Lord Diavolo!" "Thank you," his smile took up the majority of his face, a bright beam that overtook the single candle at their table, and Yuri blushed. I'd give anything to see that smile… "However," he added. "There is one condition I seemed to have overlooked in all this, a requirement of ascension is to have a partner, one who can ensure the successful production of an heir." "That's...awfully practical." Yuri replied. "And you're asking me to...take that spot?" "I am," he murmured. "Now I'm not asking you out of convenience. I am asking because you have become a trusted friend, and because...well...you are the only woman who isn't afraid to be seen with me. The only person, aside from Lucifer and Barbatos, who will speak to me...who isn't afraid of me." "Dia…" she whispered. The turn of his lips at her response made the pit of her belly burn. It was something so guarded, an attempt at hubris that didn't quite reach his eyes. Eyes that glimmered with tears in the flickering light of their table's candle. She saw his knuckles clenched above the table, fingers wrapped around the soup spoon, and without thinking, she felt his warm skin under her hand. Smooth as marble, strong and still. He barely noticed at first, but once he did, he cleared his throat and averted his eyes, but very pointedly did not move his hand away. "Basically," he said. "I need your help with the ceremonial side for things. My coronation with take place during my wedding, and if you accept...it would also be your coronation...and wedding." "Coronation?" She asked. "Yes…" he said quietly. "Even at the lowest level of royalty, it would involve changing your title, you would become Lady Diavolo, and I would become King...you would take on the responsibility I currently possess, and...well, the rest of the logistics could be decided later." "I see…" "Now I will not force you to agree, I will not hold you against your will, I am simply asking you...because...well to be perfectly honesty with you, Yrui...there isn't another lady I would want to ask.' "Diavolo?" she asked. "Not to mention, Barbatos told me. I asked him to look into the futures, the realities where this takes place, and I either forfeit the crown, or I live in a loveless arrangement with some other demon nobility, or I ask you...and he swore we were happy." "Wow…" "Is this too much?" He asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…." "Here you are," a raspy voice broke off his apology as the horned waiter set down plates at the table for them. Carved Shadow Hog was the only food item on the plates that Yuri recognized having enjoyed it with the brothers before. However the cup holding an odd-looking relish had bits resembling pineapple. Diavolo smiled in thanks as he lifted his fork. "It looks delicious," Yuri said carefully. The waiter bowed his head before slithering away to the next table and Yuri picked up her fork, first going for the medley of steamed bitter vegetables. She learned early on not to judge meals by name or appearance, because the one she feared most, the Quetzalcoatl brains had ended up becoming a comfort food for her. She recognized the prickly cucumber and the odd little root vegetable, one that Asmo seemed to favor, always saying that it was good for reducing puffy skin under one's eyes. Diavolo paused his words long enough to take a bite of his shadow hog topped with the pineapple relish, though the second his mouth closed, he frowned, lips pursing and mouth scrunching as his eyes squinted into slits. He chewed hard, quickly swallowing and shuddering before taking a longer-than-necessary sip of red wine. "Is everything okay, sir?" She asked. He nodded, using the napkin to wipe his top lip. "There are...pickles...in the pineapple relish." He grumbled. She laughed. A loud sound that traveled through the dining room and left her quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment "Oh, I see…" she smirked, hiding a giggle behind her napkin as she dabbed at her lips. Fondly, she remembered their conversations, the first time Diavolo ever confessed his hatred for pickles, and the time Barbatos and Lucifer devised a plan to slowly incorporate them into his meals. He'd been weary of any food prepared by them for months following the incident. "You like pickles, don't you, Yuri?" He asked. "I do, in fact." She replied. He smiled politely, using just his thumb and index finger to hastily pick up the small glass bowl and placed it gingerly on her plate. "For you, my dear." he said softly. Yuri giggled, accepting it and placing it beside her own. After a quick sample of it with the tip of her fork, she beamed. "This is delicious!" She said. "Ah the perks of partnership…" Diavolo mused. "One to enjoy the foods you do not." "If I accept this deal," she said. "I know there is more than just a title and a dress. What are the things I will be learning?" "Good question! I'll admit even I hadn't thought that part all the way through yet," he blushed. "You would require at least a crash course of everything I learned growing up... considering I have six thousand years of knowledge...and you only have two months to learn everything…" "I'm sorry," she interrupted. "Two months?" He had the decency to look stricken as he took in her response. "Yes…" he said. "I know that is hardly any time, and I wished I had more time to offer you," His fingertips drummed against the surface of the table as he willed himself to he devoured into the chair behind him now. "I, myself, only found out about all of this today." "I see…" she replied. "Well, I think I have said everything I can on this topic, and I believe my last method of persuasion is simply begging on my knees, but I do hope you wouldn't have me do that here." Yuri blushed at the idea, waving away the mental image and nodded. "If I may...do I have time?" She asked. "At least tonight...just to think about it?" "It is only right to grant you that," he said. "Very well. Once we finish our meal I will walk you back to The House of Lamentation." "Thank you." She smiled.

Yuri was surprised at how nice it was to spend time with Diavolo alone. It was a thought that at one point intimidated her, but now more than ever she realized just how lonely the young demon prince was. Their dinner conversation often shifted quickly, and once she used her DDD to find a Devilgram post he told her about, she finally saw the list of comments under each post. Under one of Mammon and Leviathan, Diavolo had commented "That looks like fun!" Under one of Asmodeus with shopping bags. "How wonderful!" A post from Simeon where Luke seemed to be nudging Solomon out of the Purgatory Hall Kitchen. "Come have tea sometime!"

I'd like to join next time! Hope you enjoyed yourself! We should get together!

Listening to him animatedly discuss things regarding those around him, all as heresay, made her realize how little he was in on others' lives. He needed someone. A social buffer, the small cute thing that made him seem more approachable. He needed a friend who appreciated him as much as he appreciated other. He needed a partner. And he'd asked her to be just that. After dinner, and a bill he didn't even let her look at, he kept his word and walked with her right up to the gate, a quick goodbye and a quicker tight hug, and he watched as she walked up the steps and used her key to open the door. I'll do it.

#obey me! shall we date?#obey me! Diavolo #DiavoloXMC #Obey me!#fanfiction #Part 3

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jedimasterkelly · 3 years

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Shit happens when you're a woman. A lot of shit. Bad shit. And a lot of the time, you will run into doctors who do not listen to you. Will not care about you, and will not take you seriously.

This story is about the Great Cancer Scare of 2020.

I was 49, and 3 yrs post menopause. I was pleased about that, as it means no more period ever. I could deal with the occasional hot flashes, and the snapping of necks of anyone who dared bother me. Then in May of 2020, after the pandemic fully hit and the University I work at closed and sent all of us to work from home, I got very sick. Not from Covid, thankfully, but something else. I had started bleeding, and it wasn't menstrual blood. It was bright red and HEAVY. I was filling post-natal pads within 2 hours. I called the Women's Clinic where my OB-GYN lived. They couldn't see me until July. WTF! I called my GP, who got me in on an emergency basis, I mean, 3 yrs post-menopausal women don't just spring a leak, you know? My ovarian function had been almost nil for 3 years. He called my OB-GYN and demanded I get seen right away. They made an appointment for 2 weeks later. Keep reading, because it's quite a ride!

Seriously! 2 weeks later!

In the meantime, my GP discovered my thyroid was tanked out, so I was put on Levothyroxine 25mcg. It helped a lot. I started to feel a little bit more human, at least in the brain area. I finally got in to the OB-GYN, and he did a biopsy and trans-vaginal ultrasound. We got the results 2 weeks later and he called me in to go over them. He said I had hyperplasia with atypia. Cells were dividing rapidly, and he was very concerned. He recommended an endometrial ablation, or a full hysterectomy. At 49 he wasn't concerned with me having a sudden maternal urge (I have no kids), so he was fine with either choice. I decided on the hysterectomy, because why not? Endometrium grows back after an ablation, and why bother at my age? Just yank it all and let me get back to my life.

He said he didn't feel safe doing the procedure, since the cells were most likely cancerous and rapidly dividing, so he sent a referral to one of the cancer centers in OKC. I expected a call within a couple of weeks. I mean, really, if I have the early stages of endometrial cancer, they'd call me in immediately, right? Right?

Crickets. Literal crickets for 4 months! I was very concerned, hell, worried I was going to get full blown cancer and these jackasses weren't going to try and help me at all. I called OB-GYN several times during that 4 month period, and was told the cancer center in OKC wasn't returning their calls. I called them numerous times, and could never get a person on the phone.

I was told it was the pandemic. The pandemic was shutting everything down and causing huge backlogs for non-Covid issues to be seen. I told OB-GYN to refer me to the oncologist from Tulsa, who also worked once a month in Stillwater at the SMC Cancer Center. He didn't want to, he wanted me to see the doctor in OKC (who wasn't returning anyone's calls!) I called SMC Cancer Center and asked how soon I could get in with Dr. Thomas. His office called back within 2 hours asking for my chart and biopsy results. I had the Womens Clinic send my information to Dr. Thomas in Tulsa. Within a week, they called and had me on the schedule to see him in Stillwater on his next visit.

This is where the story gets good. And by good, I mean, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. Thanks for sticking with me this far.

Got in to see Dr. Thomas. I researched him and learned we have the same Alma Mater. That day, we were both wearing t-shirts from said same Alma Mater. Instant bonding! I also work in Administration at said same Alma Mater, so we spent some time discussing (gossiping) about my department since he had taken classes with a lot of my faculty during his undergrad. Then he got serious and handed me my biopsy report. He told me he was going to assume I wasn't shown this, since I am:

1. A Master's of Science graduate student in Education Leadership - this making me a researcher who knows how to do research, do research, and understand research.

2. Work full time in a Physical Sciences department at a Big 12 University.

3. Edit manuscripts for my Dept. Chair, thus proving I am scientifically literate. You can't edit scientific manuscripts without having a good, solid knowledge of said science. If he's alternating between "adsorb" and "absorb", I have to understand his research in order to correct his manuscript. This is important because his manuscripts have to be peer reviewed before they can be published in a reputable journal.

"Read it to me, out loud," he said.

I started reading from the paper in my professional scientist voice. It didn't take long before I began to falter as I came to the realization I had been lied to.

"Read it again," he said.

This time, I read it with a lot more heat in my voice.

Diagnosis: no hyperplasia with atypia, no abnormal cells detected

Dr. Thomas waited for me to explode. I didn't. I just stared at him in anger and horror. He offered to do another biopsy to make sure, but he suggested I fire my OB-GYN immediately and find someone who actually gives a shit about me.

I was still randomly bleeding, 6-9 weeks at a time, so we agreed on another trans-vaginal ultrasound and biopsy. The attached photo shows he took 3 samples from my uterus. He wanted to be sure.

A little ditty about endometrial biopsies:

They hurt like a motherfucker.

Take 2-3 ibuprofen before you leave the house to go to your procedure.

Relax. It usually only lasts a couple of minutes. The doctor normally takes 1 or 2 samples. Pinch, snip, clip, done.

Not this guy. He wanted to be surely sure.

He went for a 3rd pinch snip clip. My uterus seized up in the most painful spasm I ever had in my life. I almost came off the table. He was seated on a little rolly stool so he shot back away from me before I could connect his head to my foot. He triumphantly held up his little weapon of Uterine Destruction and declared, "Got it!"

"Yeah, you almost got your ass kicked mister," I growled at him.

"It was worth it to get this beauty of a sample."

So, after a biopsy of your uterus, expect some bleeding and cramping. I had severe cramps for 2 days. I was not amused. We're talking laying in bed with a heating pad and ibuprofen every 4 hours kind of cramping.

Got the results back in a couple of weeks. No cancer. No hyperplasia. No abnormal cell growth. He recommended I find a new OB-GYN fast. I decided fuck it, I'm done. I'm never seeing another OB-GYN ever again.

Dr. Thomas said several times he's convinced my issues are endocrinal. I filed that away in the back of my mind.

(if you ever do test positive for cancer and you are in the Tulsa area, I highly recommend Dr. Eric Thomas! Make sure you have a sense of humor with him.)

My GP started pressuring me back in March of 2021 to find a new OB-GYN. The Women's Clinic has several, but they have a fucked up rule you can't switch doctors there. So if you go there, you are stuck with the same doctor and can't move over to his colleague on another floor. I saw my GP again, and asked if he was still best buds with a gynecologist who had his own clinic. He was always full, and not taking new patients, so GP would have to call his buddy to get me in.

Which he did. Buddy-GYN's office called the very next day to schedule me in. He had been sent my chart and was concerned about the long bleeds (6-9 weeks in duration) and why the fuck were they happening after being 3 yrs post-menopause.

I went in for a consult in April of 2021. First thing out of his mouth, "Has anyone ever talked to you before about PCOS?"

I laughed.

I laughed because every GYN I saw over the last 20 years told me I didn't have PCOS, endometriosis, or any sort of hormonal issues. I was just fat, lazy, and a piggy pig pig. I actually had one OB-GYN tell me to go on The Biggest Loser. Fat shamed while sitting there naked on his table after an invasive exam of my female bits. Thanks a lot, asshole.

I told him about that. He informed me he could tell by LOOKING at me I have the classics signs of PCOS. I use an epilator on my crazy man-hairs, so he asked if I was tweezing or waxing. I about fell out of my chair. Nobody ever believed me that I was having to remove crazy thick hairs off my chin and neck all the time. He asked if I ever had ovarian cysts. Affirmative, I was diagnosed with ovarian cysts the first time one exploded back in 1994. He stood there, holding the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Well, going by your chief complaints, your abdominal circumference, history of bursting cysts, and no period for 3 years, I am saying you have PCOS."

He went on to discuss my need for an appointment with an endocrine specialist, he was convinced my thyroid tanking out sent my ovaries back into production, and now my hormones are all over the place, most likely, and I needed specialized care.

He must have talked to GP, because I soon got a call from the endo clinic to come in.

This post is already long and tedious, but I am happy to say I finally have 3 doctors who listen to me. My new Endo doc tripled my levothyroxine and scheduled a follow up blood test for next month. Buddy-GYN talked me into a pap smear and cervical exam in July as well. He also wants a mammogram, which I begrudgingly need to schedule so he doesn't chew my ass in July when I walk in with no results. GP is working on my other issues (weight, bad fluid retention, etc...). We discovered from a blood test last Friday my iron levels are dangerously low. I am now on a Rx iron supplement. I've always struggled with anemia, but it never occurred to me or GP to check my iron levels. If you're a woman, and you feel like absolute dog shit and your doctor can't figure out why, have your iron and electrolytes tested. It'll probably take about 3-4 weeks for me to see any results from the iron supplement, but I can already see a reduction in fluid retention.

In September, I have an appointment with Dr. Le at Integris in OKC. He's a bariatric surgeon. I have gained so much weight from having PCOS and Hypothyroidism that I need to drop a lot of fat fast. I'm pretty healthy - I don't have the normal problems obese people tend to have. I'm not diabetic, don't have sleep apnea, my cholesterol levels are good. I am what they call "healthy fat" which seems like an oxymoron. However, it will improve my chances of getting approved for a sleeve gastrectomy.

I turned 50 last week, and had to endure 3 decades of no one listening to me. I feel I lost so many years of my life and I can never get them back. I hope this post reaches a lot of younger women having issues. Keep looking for a doctor who will listen to you. It sucks we have to hunt for these unicorns, but they do exist. I finally have a good team who actually cares about me.

You have a right to be listened to! You have a right to be heard!

I was asked: Who are my doctors?

Dr. Daniel Brown D.O. Stillwater Physicians Clinic

Dr. Yasuto Taguchi M.D. Taguchi Women's Clinic

Dr. Wynter Kipgen M.D. Stillwater Diabetes & Endocrinology

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Modern!Jaskier x Reader Ship Meme

Prompts taken from this ship meme

Which one texts like a straight white boy?: Of course it would have to be our resident white boy. It isn’t even that he necessarily means to, there’s just an embarrassing amount of overlap between the messages a straight white boy tends to text, and those of your rising star boyfriend. You’d look more into it if it weren’t for the fact that you know there’s no actual malice in it, and because it’s just so sad that it’s funny. If one were to go into the photos saved on your phone, they would’ve surely come upon an entire album of screenshots you’d taken over the years, from when Jaskier would be on tour without you to when he’d just be resting at home while you were out at work. Things like: “Wat r u up to 2nit, cutie? ;)” “I’m probably just gonna play whatever’s on my Watch Later backlog on youtube until I conk out.” “Wild!!! anyway wat would u do if i was there rn~?” Or “Do u miss me? :(” “Of course I do ya dingus!” “Ok....Can we do a quickie over videochat?” “Jas i’m at the store.” “The point still stands.” Or “Watcha thinkin bout? ;)” “About how The Great Gatsby becoming public domain means there’s nothing stopping anyone from making a drag show interpretation called The Gay Dragsby.” “Aaww w/o me? ;)” “...” “WAIT NO I THOUGT YOU’D SAY YOU WERE THINKING ABOUT ME SHIT NO.” “BUT ACTUALLY DO GO ON IM KINDA INTERESTD.” If it were anybody else, you would’ve blocked them. But this wasn’t anybody else. It was your Jaskier: Your foolhardy, constantly horny, but never-short-of-loving Jaskier. And besides, not for nothing, at least they were something you could get a laugh out of.

Which one cried during a fucking Disney movie?: Once again, Jaskier is the guilty party. It’s no secret that he’s the more emotional of the two of you -- he wore his investment in Titanic with pride, after all. But it is a secret that the particular Disney movie to make him cry was Hercules of all things! Not Bambi, not The Lion King, not even Beauty and the Beast, but goddamn Hercules! (On another note, he also cried to Coco. But that barely counts: Literally everyone and their mother has cried during Coco. The only difference here was that Jaskier could relate to being a young man so in love with music while coming from a family that discouraged the pursuit of it.) This isn’t a knock on anyone who enjoys the movie, mind you, but let’s be honest: Out of the Disney animated canon, Hercules isn’t exactly the most . . . emotionally cathartic or heart-string-plucking of the bunch. But just because it didn’t go out of its way to create a crying frenzy doesn’t mean that it’s lacking in some humanity. It is, after all, still a Disney film. The problem is, Jaskier can’t even quite express why it made him cry the night you both decided to watch it. Maybe it had something to do with a young man most people took as a joke trying to achieve greatness? And to be fair, “Go the Distance (Reprise)” and “A Star is Born” differently when you’ve done some growing . . .

Who put a goddamned fork in the microwave?: It only happened once, but you’d never let him live it down. You like to joke that you’d left him to his own devices for just fifteen minutes so that you could take a shower -- of which was completely true -- and that was all he needed for things to go downhill. Nobody wants to think they’d be in the wrong for trusting a 20-something year-old to not be his usually somewhat distractable self. But that particular day, said 20-something year-old decided to occupy that little spot of time to himself with TV and a plate of leftovers. And normally this would’ve been fine and dandy. But normally, Jaskier would’ve just waited for the food to heat before searching for something to watch. It shouldn’t have been too big of an issue that it went the other way around that day, but apparently it was. As much as he wanted to (which honestly wasn’t by much), Jaskier just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the images flashing on the TV. The baby blues were set on the screen the entire while -- up until he heard a faint popping. Followed by a sound he normally only heard in a cheesy sci-fi movie. The problem was, he wasn’t watching anything even remotely science-fiction-y . . . All you were doing when you exited the bathroom was going to grab your lotion. That was literally all you had any expectations for. What you hadn’t expected to come upon was your boyfriend, hollering and diving over the sofa in order to scramble into the kitchen and stop that strange, not-good-sounding sound. Suffice to say, you had to put your shower on hold; it simply had to wait for you to finish fussing, then again for you to finish laughing your ass off. And again because if you entered the shower still laughing, you’d probably slip and break your head open and then Jaskier would have to deal with another possible emergency caused by himself.

Who does the silly hands-over-the-eyes “Guess who?” thing?: You can both be guilty of it, but Jaskier without a doubt does it more. Sometimes he’ll emerge from “his cave” (aka the little nook in the apartment where he likes to mess around and write lyrics or arrangements) on a break and catch an unsuspecting you sitting on the couch or at the dinner table. Other times, it could just be when he comes back from running some errands or doing a quick interview at the local radio station. You don’t mind it much . . . Especially since you can get a rise out of him by purposefully guessing the wrong person. (“Hmmm . . . Could it be . . . my mail-order husband? Boy, that was quick. And all the way from Russia, too . . .” “Uh, no.” “The milkman, finally accepting my invitation to commence a torrid love affair?” “Okay, you know damn well -- ” “Or better yet: My hopes and dreams have manifested, oh, Waluigi, could it really and truly be you!?” “What in the absolute fuck --”)

Who puts their cold hands/feet on their partner?: Because it’s usually himself who presents as being the more mischievous of the two, and because he tends to run the warmest, it always shocks Jaskier when you decide to play dirty and put your cold limbs all over him. Is it childish? Yes. But are his reactions to the sudden feeling of icy flesh hilarious? Also yes. You love to creep up on him when he’s tuning his guitar or scribbling down lyrics, or just minding his own damn business by trying to actually turn in relatively early for once. You love even more to watch him jolt and release the most high-pitched yip a man of his build could ever even joke about making. You’ll still be laughing about it as he scowls at you, cursing your “ghoul hands” and demanding to know if he’s dating a corpse at this point. Of course, no matter how peeved he might be, you can always count on one other thing from his dramatic reactions: Him huffily grabbing your hands into his own and rubbing them warm, or him forcing a park of fuzzy socks on your feet. And just for extra measure, you can be sure that he’ll spend the rest of the night holding you close or cuddling you -- “For exchanging bodily heat purposes,” he will always reason.

Who had that embarrassing reality TV marathon?: You both are guilty of it, actually. The question should really be, who is the least shameful about it. As with most things regarding a lack of shame, it was, of course, our dear Jaskier. Being a musician with a growing following, the little attention whore just can’t miss out on an opportunity to show himself off to his awaiting public. A rising star with relatability and a taste for trash? People eat that shit up! So you’ve learned to be less surprised every time he decides to liveblog himself watching things like Love Island or any of the 90-Day Fiancee spin-offs. In fact, in more recent times, you’ve come to join in with him, adding your own corresponding Tweets and commentary. Though don’t be too shocked once he starts holding polls and letting the public decide what show the two of you should watch next.

Who laughs more during sex?: You do, completely through Jaskier’s own efforts. Jaskier’s always had a pretty lax view of sex. This didn’t change when he met you, of course, but how he specifically portrayed that laxness did undergo some metamorphosis. Before, the entertainer was much more intent on his bedroom experiences being a display of power and an ability to please. Something dramatic and to be taken seriously. He still sees the importance of satisfaction in the bedroom, mind you, but with you, he can’t help but feel more . . . comfortable. With you, it’s a little more okay if he accidentally makes a dumb noise that in no way can be salvaged as sexy. With you, it’s a little more okay if he struggles to get his or your pants off, or if he struggles with removing your bra. And with you, he’s come to find that he’s a lot more okay with sharing a giggle or being a little more loose about things. It’s fine if your fingers tickle him or if he struggles to think of something proper dirty. But it’s even more fine if you think something he says or does makes you laugh, but not in a way that discredits his efforts. When you laugh, it shows that you’re comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to be with him, and be truly vulnerable. So do forgive him if he can’t help but run his fingers up your sides in a tickling fashion, or sloppily string together an innuendo. He simply loves how golden your laughter sounds, even in the throes of passion, intermingled with sweet whimpers and pleas of his name. How the heave of your chest and rippling of your tummy bumpily sync in with the rhythm of his thrusts . . . He just wants to see your smile, your genuine mirth, and bask in it with you. Besides, it serves as excellent song inspiration for him . . .

Who is the little spoon?: It depends on the sway of the day, really. As a whole, you both take turns without much thought simply because you tend to just fall into your positions. Some days, you just happen to lay into him in a way that makes you the little spoon. Other days, he conks out next to you in a manner that most could consider would make you the big spoon (or jet pack). Neither side really fights how it plays out unless one or the other may feel small and vulnerable, or just plain tired and in need of comfort. You often find yourself playing the role of the more dominating position during those first few days after Jaskier returning home from either a quick tour, or after finishing a long week of hours upon hours in the studio, or whatever kind of press-related nonsense his management team told him he needed to do. For as much as your boyfriend loved the spotlight, the truth was he was still quite capable of burning out and needing time to himself. Or, at the very least, just time with you. Even if that means he’s asleep for most of it, with you clinging to his back as he drifts off into a much-needed sleep. He makes sure to return it tenfold when you need just the same. Sure, your occupation may not be of the same nature as his own, but that didn’t mean you were in any less need of his cuddling. In fact, with him being gone as often as he was, Jaskier couldn’t help but feel almost guilty for not always being able to provide you with the basic comforts of being a constantly present boyfriend. Hence why the moment he would see your fatigued body crossing the threshold of your apartment, he would be all over you, ushering you into a quick shower, followed by a quick and simple dinner or snack, and capped off with him cuddling about you from behind. It didn’t matter if you’d come home right in the middle of a writing frenzy, or even if he’d been in the middle of searching for a breakthrough with an arrangement -- for as vain and bullheaded as Jaskier could be, he knew he owed you at least this much. You already put up with so much of his nonsense; this was quite literally the least he could do, both for you and for himself. Besides, he who was he to fight against the feeling of you wiggling closer into his hold, to deny himself the sound of your soft breathing as you lay yourself vulnerable to him? The fact of the matter is that he simply isn’t. He couldn’t be. Maybe in the beginning when things were still so unsteady and uncertain, but never now, when things had become so . . . well, what he could only describe as being “the both of you”. The both of you, molded and entwined, never wanting to let go. Never planning on it, either.

#jaskier x reader #modern!jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier imagines #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #regrettablewritings

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theotherjourney7 · 4 years

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“I want to tell you about a criminal case I’ve been contacted about.

It’s not pleasant, but in light of UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s comments yesterday (October 6th 2020 in the annual Conservative party conference) I think it’s important.

It’s not one of my cases, but it’s very similar to many I prosecute. It involves serious allegations of rape.

In early 2017, Annie, made a report of serious sexual offences to the police.

Two years later, in 2019, the case reached the Crown Court.

Why the delay?

Because Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s party cut funding to the police and CPS, causing a logjam in police investigations.

This is sadly commonplace. In fact, this case is one of the lucky ones. Many cases I deal with - especially involving sexual allegations - go back to pre-2017, because the police simply don’t have the resources to progress investigations any quicker.

But anyway, back to 2019.

The trial joined a Crown Court backlog of 30,000 cases.

Why?

Because the government slashed funds to the courts, restricting the number of cases that courts were allowed to hear.

This backlog soared in 2019 to nearly 40,000.

[Note the date - nothing to do with Covid.]

So Annie’s trial was listed in September 2019.

But because of these cuts by Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s party, the court wasn’t allowed to hear the trial.

There were enough courtrooms. Enough judges. The case was ready.

But the government said no. So at the last minute the trial was adjourned.

The trial was adjourned to April 2020. But the backlog was only getting longer. Because even though lawyers were begging the government to stop the cuts, to open up the courtrooms and resource the system, Prime Minister Boris Johnson refused.

And then along came Covid.

When Covid hit in March 2020, it was obvious that jury trials in the Crown Courts couldn’t continue as before.

Large venues were needed for socially-distanced juries. Theatres, cinemas, sports halls. The huge courts that the government had recently sold off to make a cheap buck.

What did Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s government do?

Nothing.

Like Trump, it pretended the problem didn’t exist.

And the Court backlog grew even longer.

Lawyers begged the government to pay for more courts and alternative venues to open.

UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson refused to make money available.

So suddenly serious sex trials like Annie’s found themselves without a venue to be tried. Annie’s trial went off again - to Autumn.

Across the country, people were forced to wait even longer for their trials.

But still UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson refused to fund the criminal courts.

The trial was due to take place last month. Can you guess what happened?

Having prepared herself for the third time, Annie was told, the night before, that the trial could not go ahead.

Off to 2021. A fourth trial. Four years after she reported the allegation to the police.

UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson did find money for some things in criminal justice though.

He found money to fund extra prison places so he and Home Secretary Priti Patel could posture in the tabloids about “longer sentences”.

Never mind that we couldn’t even run a trial. “Tough sentences” were what mattered.

UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson also found time and money to change the law to increase the time that accused people could lawfully be held in custody awaiting trial. Just to relieve the pressure on the government to actually deal with the backlog.

In the meantime, criminal justice ground to a standstill. The people involved - real, breathing, bleeding, pained and desperate people - were ignored, their trials kicked into 2021, even 2022 in some areas of the country.

Still the government wouldn’t act.

So when I hear UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson claim that the problems in criminal justice are the fault of us - the lawyers who have been working, without pay (we earn our money doing trials - no trials since March = no pay since March) to keep the show on the road - it makes me quite cross.

Because the truth is that the problems in criminal justice were all caused by politicians, not lawyers.

And UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson has made them all far, far worse. While the “do-gooder” lawyers have been the ones speaking up for the people affected.

It didn’t have to be this way.

Faced with the growing court backlog, UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson could have taken the problem seriously. He could have funded the courts to run at full capacity (typically he would run them at 1/3 to 1/2 capacity to cut costs)

When Covid hit, he could have opened Nightingale Courts.

But no.

Because the evidence is that UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson doesn’t care about victims of sexual violence. Or victims of any crime. Or people accused of crime. Or witnesses. Or the public whose safety depends on functioning criminal justice

His only interest in justice is getting cheap headlines

Given the choice between a properly resourced justice system that gives complainants and defendants timely justice, and cutting the system to the bone and covering it up by blaming Covid and bleating in The Sun about “tough sentences”, it was obvious what Prime Minister Boris Johnson would do.

The Law Is Broken

But we didn’t break it.

Complainants like Annie are being denied justice by Prime Minister Boris Johnson. He, and governments before him, have slashed criminal justice to the bone. He now openly lies to the public to deflect from this.

Don’t let him get away with it.”-The Secret Barrister

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letterboxd · 3 years

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How I Letterboxd #12: Joe Lynch.

Self-described cinedork and Mayhem filmmaker Joe Lynch tells Horrorville’s Brett Petersel about cinematic sausage, getting to direct Creepshow episodes and being a three-star starter on Letterboxd.

“Even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going ‘okay people, let’s screw this up today!’” —Joe Lynch

It is always a pleasure to find film directors lurking on Letterboxd. Joe Lynch is a bona fide, OG member, having racked up more than 1,500 diary entries, giving half-star reviews to his own work, and creating lists of the movies that have influenced the making of his films.

There are the films that were in Lynch’s subconscious when he made Mayhem, a workplace splatter led by Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving. There are the movies he watched while researching the Salma Hayek-starring Everly. And this just in: films that influenced The Right Snuff, one of Lynch’s two episodes for the new Creepshow series—based on the 1982 horror-comedy classic and its sequels—which premieres on Shudder April 15.

Like so many of us, Lynch took time during the pandemic to catch up on films he had neglected to watch in spite of a previous career as a video-store clerk (a Criterion Channel subscription helped him get on top of the backlog). In this edition of ‘How I Letterboxd’, Lynch discusses how those classics have informed his craft, who his Letterboxd faves are, and why the horror genre is the future of the industry.

Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving in Joe Lynch’s ‘Mayhem’ (2017).

How long have you been on Letterboxd? Joe Lynch: I remember when Letterboxd was in its beta phase way back in good ol’ 2012 and I couldn’t wait to sign up, breathlessly waiting for an invite to the party. At the time, I had a digital database where I would log movies I’ve seen, but it was always subject to whatever laptop or device I had handy and would just be a mess of titles with no rhyme or reason.

When a member follows you, what should they expect? I put it right up top in my description: “I am not a critic”, just a lover of cinema. At first I didn’t want to write “reviews” in the description, especially since I first started using the service whilst in the throes of a horrible experience making a film that I thought would bury me and I’d never work again. I was like, and I still feel this way, “who am I to rip on a movie when someone can throw it right back at me? Like ‘dude, you directed Knights of Badassdom, sit down’.”

I’ve always had the highest regard for filmmakers who can get anything made. So even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going “okay people, let’s screw this up today!” but instead were trying their best and circumstances just got in the way, which always happens. Having made a few films and TV now, I’m fully aware of the trials and tribulations that go into making a movie and have all the respect in the world for anyone who can steer that ship to completion. It’s hard making movies and even harder making one that is your original vision [and] that is widely embraced by an audience.

I have very weird tastes so don’t be shocked if you glance at my recent activity and you see Casablanca, The Silence of the Lambs or Bigger Than Life right next to The Legend of Billie Jean, Con Air or Candyman 3. I’m usually bouncing all over the place in terms of what kinds of movies I’m screening. From films recommended to me, to films that I may be watching for research, or even just how I’m feeling that day and maybe need a good laugh or a good cry or to be scared stiff. I like that kind of variety. There’s something out there for everyone and every emotion. If anything, I’d say expect the unexpected when it comes to my viewing habits.

What’s your favorite feature to use and why? One of the residual effects of working at video stores as a kid was my desire to siphon people’s tastes in movies and possibly recommend films to others as well, so my favorite feature is the ease of use in logging films and being able to quickly recall those films as well in the event someone asks me “what’s something I should watch?”. Getting older, the “employee’s picks” in my head is getting a little harder to cross-reference than usual so to have the ability to whip out my phone and say “oh man, I just watched Possession and it was awesome!” is exponentially helpful to a cinedork like myself.

‘Big Trouble in Little China’ (1986)—a five-star film says Joe Lynch.

How do you rate the films you watch? For example, what type of film is worthy of a five-star review? Funny, I always start out on three-stars mainly because I’m so proud of the filmmakers actually getting it completed! I’ve been there! I’m somewhat biased in my reflections because I’m always rooting for the artists and from there, it’s usually gauged on both an emotional level and a technical level. I always get made fun of while watching movies because I can point out hidden cuts or when a shot is reversed but [I’m] not trying to point out flaws, it's just how my brain is wired at this point. When you pull the curtain back enough to see how the cinematic sausage is made, it's harder and harder to objectively watch a movie without trying to dissect how it was done. I try so hard to shut that part of my brain off to just passively enjoy a movie but it’s tough. I usually skew towards the positive.

The films I’ve given five-stars are movies that have continually affected me over the years and have inspired me as a person and a filmmaker, which is everything from The Empire Strikes Back, Dawn of the Dead and When Harry Met Sally... to Big Trouble in Little China, The Blob, The Last of the Mohicans. I looked back at my five-stars and it’s mostly movies that made a significant impression on me from an early age and continue to do so, maybe even more so as I get older and I view these movies in a different light.

The anthology show Creepshow returns to Shudder this month. Tell us about the two episodes you directed for the series, ‘Pipe Screams’ and ‘The Right Snuff’. Both Creepshow and Creepshow 2 were important films in my youth and even today, they were some of the first movies I remember where I wasn’t quite sure if I was supposed to be scared or laugh. These films proclaimed we could do both! As a disciple of George A. Romero, Stephen King and Tom Savini, Creepshow really shaped how I watched movies and how I made them—consider the anthology I did a few years back, Chillerama, as a prime example. So when Shudder announced the show, I had to do everything on my part to convince them I could take the baton from these masters of the macabre and do them and the many fans proud.

To come to the table and say “I want ‘The Right Snuff’ to feel like 2001: A Space Odyssey crashed into The Andromeda Strain, and ‘Pipe Screams’ is my homage to The Blob and Delicatessen”—and then everyone just immediately getting it—was a dream. Between the casts I was lucky enough to work with and the amazing crew, especially the FX geniuses at KNB, it really was one of those dream jobs I’ll never forget. I hope audiences dig the madness we conjured up on those!

Season 2 of the Shudder series ‘Creepshow’ returns to the horror streamer this month. A third season has been ordered.

If you were to expand the Mayhem universe, what would it look like? We tried! I pitched the producers the idea of the ID-7 virus in other locations and situations because in essence the idea of being uninhibited by mental and emotional constraints is so ripe. My favorite was the idea that it would get loose in a Wal-Mart or a mall on Black Friday when consumers swarm to these department stores for the best deals. You’ve seen the videos, it’s just mass hysteria. The footage already out there would have been perfect to use already and those people aren’t even infected!

Sadly it didn’t come to pass, mainly because they asked “how do we get Steven and Samara back?” and I didn’t want to force those characters into that scenario, Die Hard 2 style. Plus they’re both huge stars now and likely unavailable for the next twelve years. But the ideas people have thrown out to me show that it was impactful enough to warrant variant scenarios in a “what if?” way that’s really exciting. Who knows, maybe the ID-7 virus could find its way onto the set of a movie production…

What excites you about the future of filmmaking, especially in horror films? The world is embracing new faces and voices more than ever and it means we’re getting stories that may not have ever had the chance to flourish and be seen and heard before. For the longest time the system was much more rigid because executives and producers thought that the audience was much less accepting of a wider world view in cinema and I think the last ten years has proven them wrong. There shouldn’t be any more “token” character or “strong [insert non-white-male] character” descriptions in development meetings. I hear it less and less, which is great because that’s not our world and since cinema—especially horror—is and always should be a reflection of our culture and times, it should reflect these evolutions as well.

When I made Wrong Turn 2: Dead End, the discussions over how one of the characters—a Black character played by Texas Battle—survived at the end was not in the original script but I pushed for it mainly because it was rare for the Black character to do so in a horror film. That shouldn’t be an anomaly! Why can’t there be a ‘final guy’ or have the survivors be LGBT+ or a POC and not the usual stereotypes?

I think now it’s more commonplace to see this and it excites me for the future of the genre that artists are being more welcome to express themselves without it feeling like it’s a gimmick or a twist on the norm.

I think generations of kids growing up with horror now are gonna see these strides in the storytelling—and who’s telling the stories—and push it even further. Places like Netflix and Shudder are willing to take chances with new voices more than the studio system, now more than ever, and that’s only going to produce some great stories now and in the future.

Erica Leehrsen and Texas Battle in a scene from ‘Wrong Turn 2: Dead End’ (2007).

How has the pandemic affected your creativity and influenced your work moving forward? Aside from losing a bunch of gigs due to the shutdown and being delayed on shooting Creepshow—which was a blessing in disguise considering the time we took to further develop the scripts and design of each episode—one of the main effects of the pandemic was how it gave many of us the time to catch up on a lot of films, mainly older ones. As you’d see from my diary entries on this very site, my viewing habits changed from a lot of modern films in that rat-race of catching up with the latest release, to mainly watching films I loved in the past and a lot of ’40s to ’70s films that I never got around to.

We have the tendency as film lovers to keep a mental list of films we’ll eventually get around to as if we have all the time in the world, but with the threat of the apocalypse and no real new content coming our way at the usual rapid clip, it was so gratifying to buy an annual subscription to Criterion Channel and start watching films like The Old Dark House, The Crimson Kimono, Contempt and many others.

All of these films impacted how I view film now and have bled into future projects I’m working on—especially on the technical side, when the world wasn’t influenced vicariously through MTV coverage and letting scenes play out in masters or longer takes, relishing in the performance or the mise-en-scéne. So, silver linings!

Before we go, who are some of your favorite follows on Letterboxd? I’m a big fan of Sean Baker, who I’ve known for almost 20 years now! We worked together in NYC and I was already a big Greg the Bunny fan but our mutual appreciation for fringe and exploitation films, especially international horror and genre films, seems to have bonded us for life. I love when he posts what he’s watching. Even if he’s just saying he screened something on Blu or streaming, his thoughts on cinema are always enjoyable and engaging.

In the same breath, filmmaker Jim Cummings has the best perspective on modern filmmaking and he’s clearly a big fan of using Letterboxd, so whenever I see peers like them using the app it makes me feel less like an obsessive movie dork myself, who should be getting back to work.

Some of the other follows I really enjoy are cineastes like Elric Kane and Brian Saur, who are the hosts of the New Beverly podcast Pure Cinema. Writers Anya Stanley, David Chen, Walter Chaw and Lindsay Blair Goeldner, musician and filmmaker Brendon Small, writer and critic Brian Tallerico, author Glenn Kenny, filmmaker Rodman Flender—just to name a few people who clearly love film and love sharing their thoughts on films in a very thoughtful way.

More times than not, I’m getting some great advice for what to watch next in my “new from friends” section! Because, like being at the video store, it’s casual conversations like the ones on Letterboxd that I love and always steering me to new films or revisiting old ones with a new perspective.