#my brain is overflowing with ideas and i will try my best to visualize them even if its just scribbles

[hansmannette]

oh take me back to the night we met

[cerulean-crow]

I was a creepypasta and mlp grimdark kid- I absolutely loved them and they definitely shaped my interests in horror and gore that I have now! I am not immune to the nostalgia of these infection au’s, and honestly I am thriving. I love reading everyone’s ideas and seeing everyone’s art, and I got inspired to try my own hand at one!

I’ve been calling it the Crystal Heart Contagion. I am not sure how far I’ll take this but it’s fun to draw and think about. I considered going a bit crazy with actual gore, but this was just supposed to be a concept page and I wanted to keep it simple and just flesh out some ideas I had bouncing around in my head. Besides, I actually really like body horror that doesn’t involve a ton of gore- and like that note says, has an air of beauty alongside the disturbing elements.

Again, not sure how far I’ll take this- so I’m just gonna jot down some thoughts and notes! I’ll put ‘em under the cut because I am very wordy <3

Also I try to tag my stuff as best as possible because I know not everyone loves horror and these Mlp horror au’s as much as I do! I don’t want people to interact with my posts if it makes them uncomfortable, so if I miss a tag please let me know.

The Crystal Heart Contagion is transmitted when infected crystals come into contact with one’s bloodstream. The afflicted will experience body pains and stiffness at first, hemophilia, and symptoms like lethargy and migraines. The crystals will begin to form in clusters on the skeletal system, eventually breaking through the skin and, after a long enough period of time, will completely petrify the afflicted in solid crystal.

I imagine that one’s teeth, hooves, and horns are where crystals will begin to break through first. I like the idea of stylizing manes as they crystalize- but that’s exploration for another day!

I am currently thinking of the infection more like a parasite of some kind. Parasitic crystals that feed on magic and rely on living creatures to carry them farther in order to spread themselves.

The infection originally didn’t do much to change one’s personality, they would just get weaker and weaker as they were overtaken by the crystals. It was only when the infection started again, when Equestria was home to many more different species and overflowing with way more magic, that the crystals would begin to mutate at a rapid rate. Those afflicted would begin to show signs of aggression that would have them attacking others, thus leading to further spreading.

Some physical details I like is the eyes hollowing out and resembling geodes! Crystals emerging from the spines, horns becoming crystallized, and crystals forming over teeth and jaw to create fangs are all stuff I would love to flesh out in further detail.

I also love the idea of the chest ripping open to reveal a crystal heart held in a crystallized ribcage! I think I will forever be influenced by the Angel Trap in Saw 3

The idea of this infection is still developing and I’m still doing a lot of research and thinking on the words to describe it. My original thoughts took inspiration from a parasitic infection and rabies. My brain also likes thinking of it like a mold in how it spreads or thinking of the crystals like a coral reef (mostly as a visual inspiration)

The background and timeline is all still a work in progress. I haven’t rewatched the full series in so long and I’m implementing plenty of my own headcanons- so it’s all very vague right now.

The original idea is that the infection started during King Sombra’s reign. He created these parasitic crystals and unleashed them upon Celelstia and Luna’s army with the hopes of dwindling their numbers and expanding the reach of the Crystal Empire further through the Frozen North. When he was sealed away, Celestia and Luna would bring several of the infected back to Equestria for study. They would hide them away deep underground beneath a mountain, where the lack of nutrients in the rock would eventually cause the crystals to stop forming and enter some kind of hibernation.

Celestia would later build Canterlot after the banishment of Nightmare Moon, and she would use the very kingdom itself to block off the caverns and keep them hidden for everyone’s safety.

The Crystal Caverns would become known again during the Canterlot Wedding when Cadance and Twilight escaped from them. However, nothing would ever happen after the fact, and Celestia and Luna would continue to hope that with Sombra sealed away and the crystals dormant for so long, that this infection was truly no more.

When I first got this all in my head, the idea was that Flurry Heart’s Crystalling was what caused the parasitic-crystals to get a kickstart of energy and begin spreading again.

That is the part where the timeline starts getting really wonky. Cause I think I’d want Twilight to be running her school and have the young six around, but that’s in season 8 and the crystalling was in season 6. But I can honestly fudge the timeline however I want, it’s an alternate universe after all.

I think that Celestia sacrifices herself in order to save Luna and help as many people flee Canterlot as possible. This was when I still very early into thinking this au through and a potential story that could be told with it- and with the worldbuilding I’ve been doing over the last few days I don’t entirely know if it still fits. I love the scene in my head that comes from it though- so I decided to keep the sketch of crystallized Celestia in the end.

I love the idea of crystals on her head mimicking sun rays! And her forelegs and wings becoming one so she staggers around like a wyvern. That’s definitely a design I would love to flesh out if I get the time.

I am having fun!

[magiefish]

Heyo it’s been a very long time! I’ve been screaming over Batdr and now I’m having an overflow of ideas for my AU (idk if you remember it).

What about you?

I had a period of around a day of losing it over the game but I think I’m chill now. I can’t say that BATDR is objectively good but it’s definitely The Most and I appreciate it for that. Bit disappointed that more characters didn’t return and that it didn’t build more on the lore from the first game: like, guys, I don’t even know how Lacie Benton died and you’re telling me there’s an ink city based off a real city in the outside world that has ghost trains like ???? All it would take is one audio log to accomplish and you already have her voice actor on hand like c’mon it’s not that hard (obviously there are other things that didn’t get answered but I just used that as an example). I had also hoped to see more of characters from the last game in the aftermath of Wilson’s takeover - Like, how’s the Ink Demon cult faring?

OH YEAH, NO INK DEMON CULT?? LIKE NOT EVEN A BIT??? They literally had another cult living in the sewers it would have been so easy to just put any remaining Demon cultists there and it would have made sense too I just AGHHHHH. They did my boy Sammy so dirty - like yeah there were some characters from the last game whose stories felt largely resolved already like Buddy!Boris and The Projectionist that they didn’t need to feature and I’m happy they left alone but SAMMY?? INK DEMON CULTIST AFICIONADO?? FORSAKEN PROPHET??? YOU REALLY COULDNT THINK OF ANYTHING BETTER TO DO W/ HIM THEN HAVE HIM SHOW UP ON A BALCONY AND THEN WILHEIM SCREAM DIE?? There were literally so many interesting directions to take his character and they gave him zilch, nada. I’d even be happy if he just stayed behind glass being sad and we found a letter nearby talking about his loss of faith and lack of purpose - that would have been a good conclusion to his arc. Or even if he joined in W/ the others in the fight. But no, they just made him a joke. Also Malice - I’m happy that they gave her some closure in the form of the moment with Allison, but it’s weird that she didn’t remark at all on Wilson’s takeover. Like, she just shows up as if she’s been dropped in directly from Chapter 3 of the first game, completely unaffected by her time likely imprisoned by The Keepers or the Ink Demon’s absence. Like, you’re telling me the Ink Demon ‘died’ and she didn’t even try a little coup?? Ms Malice ‘torture device creator girlboss gaslight gatekeep manipulator heart eater elevator dropper’ angel didn’t take one look at Wilson’s scrawny ass and said ‘oh yeah, I could take him’.

But, the game had a good emotional core to the story and I liked all the stuff to do with the Cyclebreakers and the Keepers and Wilson. The new technology using colour was a really neat visual, and the whole trapping and documenting subjects thing really scratched the Southern Reach-Control-SCP part of my brain. Honestly, kind of wished all the areas in the game were larger. Each had neat ideas and I feel like if they just had more time to breath it would have elevated them, but as it was it felt a bit like ‘ok heres this cool thing ok done now go here new cool thing ok done let’s go new thing go go go’. Joey was fun in this game but I still don’t understand why he was an ink ghost. Really liked The Ink Demons character in this one too, like *chefs kiss* he has issues. Call him the new projectionist because he sure is projecting hard right now. They should honestly rename this game to Bendy and The Daddy Issues because that accurately sums up the entire thing.

Overall, I’m satisfied but kind of disappointed. Audrey is best girl and I hope she and Benders go get ice cream together.

Honestly, I don’t think it’ll change my AU that much? A lot of the story already kind of aligned with what I had so while I’ll probably add stuff from the game (e.g. Betty and Wilson) to my AU it doesn’t really mess it up either? If anything it makes it easier because it’s like ‘cool, canon characters who fulfil the same role I was going to have to make up a fanon one for anyway, neat’. Definitely going to be incorporating the Keepers, Wilson, and Benders tho, that whole part of the game was cool as hell. Idk if I remember your AU that well but I’d be happy to hear about some of your new ideas too.

[oniongarlic]

Any advice for writers block but for visual art?

Ok, im gonna approach this from the position of a hobbyist, because professional art is a beast of a different colour [i can talk abt that some other time if anyone wants to hear it] also i realize i got a bit long winded about this, but bear with me. Also I’m going to say drawing a lot, but this can apply to whatever medium or technique.

So lets say i played a bit of tennis before in school and i really liked it and want to get back into it. I go out and buy a racket and some balls, and i show up on the local court brimming with excitement. I am going to be the Serena Williams of this tennis court, everyone will see my secret well of innate talent overflow like a geyser, nobody will be able to believe their eyes when they see my perfect first try spin serve. I launch the ball as high into the air as i can muster, i feel my secret innate talent balloon inside of me and the ball descends. I strike my racket at it with the full amount of raw force i can physically produce. The ball bounces at my feet. I missed my first shot. Completely whiffed it. The balloon of secret innate talent explodes and deep shame and embarrassment washes over me. I’m not Serena Williams. I’ll never be an amateur tennis player. I suck at tennis and I’m a failure. I go home and hide the balls and racket in the back of my closet and try very hard never to think about them.

So that sounds like a bit of an exaggeration, but that is how i’ve seen so many people approach art. There is this mythology around art that “You either have it, or you dont” and that the people who are really good were born with those skills. The mythology of “innate talent” is a huge toxic lie, for two reasons:

It makes beginners think that they cannot do it. People run into the first bit of technical difficulty and take that to mean that they are a failure, instead of recognizing that difficulty and multiple failed artworks is a natural and essential part of the process of learning an art medium. You will fail a lot. It’s part of the experience.

It discredits and erases the extreme amount of work that higher level artists have put into their practice. They have almost always spent years, decades, developing their skill.

While “innate talent” is not real, I’ll tell you what IS real. These steps listed below.

1. Commit to a regular schedule of practice

The first bad habit any artist has to demolish is waiting to be inspired to start practicing their medium. If you only draw when you have a great idea, by the time you start on your magnum opus your drawing skills are likely to have atrophied in the time you spent lying on your chaise longue searching your blank mind for an idea and the drawing will not be successful. Make time on a weekly basis to physically partake in drawing, even if you have no particular inspiration yet. In drawing ideas come from the hand, not the brain, and you’ll find yourself having FAR more ideas when your hand is moving on the paper than when you are sitting still, not engaging the hand and eye.

2. Set attainable goals

The best thing about art is the challenge of gradually building a skill, and it helps to create specific and attainable goals along your journey. This could be anything from increasing your stamina to draw for longer periods to achieving finer shading, to learning to draw faster. It depends on what you want to achieve, but always set yourself a goal that can be achieved in 10 works or less.

3. Change mediums OR stick with it

If you’re wrestling with your tools, now is the time to decide whether you want to use something else or not. If the end products you make at the best of your ability just don’t please you and the art that others have made in that medium don’t inspire you, try a different medium. What paintings/drawings do you like? Find out how those were made and maybe try making a picture that way. On the other hand, if you really love the end products made by other artists using the same medium as you but you’re just not there yet on the skill level, its time to dig deep. You will get through this difficult period and you will succeed if you work hard.

Special note for digital artists: try and also learn a traditional medium. Digital art is informed by traditional art, so it would help to be familiar with a traditional medium that is comparable to your digital style.

4. Draw something intentionally bad

If u are REALLY stuck, draw the ugliest drawing u can. I want to see like the shittiest picture of sonic the hedgehog and bart simpson riding scooters with pizza. Draw the “cool S” a few times. Just get some marks down on your page

5. Draw something from life

I don’t care if you have a cartoon style, you WILL benefit from drawing something realistically. It trains the eye, hand, and mind to work together like nothing else, AND the criteria is straightforward. Does your drawing look like whatever you have in front of you? Is the only question you have to ask. This is a good thing to practice when you dont have anything in particular that you want to draw, because by the time the idea occurs to you, your eye, hand, and mind have already been working together and will be ready for the task. Choose something simple to draw, an apple or something. It’s just hand training.

Special note for cartoon people: cartoons are distilled from realistic visual impressions of the world. You wont lose your style by practicing drawing something realistically. It will improve your cartoon style, because now you will know in greater detail what it is you are distilling.

6. Youtube

You can learn anything on youtube. Search up “how to paint/draw [what u want to draw] with [your medium]” and i can almost guarantee there is an artist on youtube with a video detailing exactly how they did what you are trying to do. Watch what other artists do and copy their techniques. A lot of us are learning art all alone now, as opposed to earlier periods in art where artists would all be in a big room together, watching their teacher and each other. This leads to some real artistic anemia because people are missing out on a huge visual component of learning art, which is watching a master do it. Watch youtube videos of what you want to do and mimic what you see.

7. Longterm goals

Time for my second section on goal making, this time those big juicy goals that take a long time to achieve. Make yourself a folder or collage of art from artists who make the kind of art you want to make. These should be like your top tier best of the best in ten years from now artistic inspirations. These works will inform what you need to practice in the meantime to grind your skill into a sharp point.

A final note about style copying:

Contemporary artists can be touchy about style copying, “stylejacking” as its sometimes called, so while you can and should learn techniques from other artists, it is best not to try to perfectly inhabit the style of a working artist. If your main inspirations are all currently alive, try to blend inspirations and techniques from ten or more of them. If the artist you are copying has been dead for 50+ years you can pretty much go ham. Within reason.

[mhdiaries]

Frights, Camera, Action! – Hauntlywood Honey Swamp Diary

2 April

Mama Swamp has always said that navigating the waters of New Goreleans gentility is tougher than a cypress stump, but looking at what’s waiting for me this year, I’ll swear high society has nothing on high school! What with advanced film studies, the school newspaper, Fearbook photography, and all those lil’ social engagements a lady must keep, my calendar is filling up faster than a cistern in a hurricane. Nothing to fret about though, as I’ve formulated a ghoul-proof plan to make this year a success;

Create a student film that simply overflows with passion and originality

Impress Mr. Rougarou, my film teacher, so very much that he enters it into the annual Bayou Boovie Fest

Win accolades galore from the judges for my breakout cinema-togre-phy

Get discovered by Hauntlywood and move out west to work with the  monstrously talented SoFeara Gorepola. We'll make a divine boovie-making scream team!

My student flick last year—"Lurking on the Levees"—scared a major coup thanks to my expert eye for film decomposition, but the script was... well, just a teensy bit lacking, I must confess. Visually I'm always top of my class, but I'll be honest; cryptwriting is not my forte. That's why this time I'm going with a much more "cinéma scarité" approach—my neck of the woods is fairly alive with true stories to tell! Now I just have to find a subject that screeches "Hauntlywood", and I'll be all set.

10 April

Creeping kudzu, I do wish my hair would behave! I've been so busy dealing with the humidity I've hardly had time to think about anything else. Monsters outside this little soggy neck of the world don't know how lucky they have it with the weather; I may have been born here, but my lovely locks have not adapted. Lately they've been either limp as a wet noodle or more ornery than an itchy gator. I should whip up a batch of my famous smoothing marsh mud and see if that helps. A ghoul has to look her best, even if I'm more comfortable spending time behind the camera than in front of it.

19 April

My mama has, at least to my mind, a particularly unusual fascination with vampire royalty. She can tell you all the queens and their names and who their families were down to their 20th generation. She also has a whole bookshelf just stuffed full of stories about the "missing vampire queen" and who she is and where she may be hiding, and if the current jewel they use to detect who the true queen should be is real or a fake. There have been supposed sightings of her all over the world. One ghoul even wrote a whole book that says the missing queen has actually been unliving her life as a high school student. Now I know some drop dead debutante divas in my class that would give any royal highness a run for her money when it comes to acting like a queen but none with the pedigree for it. So, although I don't pay much mind to it, I have to say it has been rather interesting here lately, especially since now the news is saying that the new vampire queen has been found at... a high school. Now there's something you might be able to turn into a film or a book.

25 April

Today in film studies we had to give a presentation about our industry scream job. Most of my ghoulmates talked about being cryptwriters, directors, and boovie stars, of course; I was the only cinema-togre-pher in the class. Not that I'm all that surprised, mind. Most monsters get into booviemaking to see their names in lights, but cinema-togre-phy is a lot of responsibility without nearly as much recognition. A cineme-togre-pher defines the "look" of a boovie; she's a director's right-hand-monster for everything that you see on screen. The lighting, the camera movement, the special effects—everything has to look its beast if she wants an audience to lose themselves in the film. If she does it right, it's almost undetectable—but if she does it wrong, it's all anymonster will be able to see! I must have made a convincing case, because when I'd finished my presentation, half the class wanted to change their focus. Mr. Rougarou was impressed (all according to plan!) and said he'd be "very interested" to see my finished film, which makes me as nervous as a long-tailed werecat in a room full of rocking chairs! I gotta find a subject, and soon.

2 May

Still lurking for the perfect subject for my documentary. So far I've rejected half a dozen concepts, from an exposé on Mardi Claw (too cliché) to a search for the perfect gum-boo recipe (mine, of course, so it'd be a hideously short film). So far, nothing quite has that spark of inspiration I crave. My friends, bless their scary-sweet hearts, call me a perfectionist. Which I absolutely am! But unlike them I don't think of it as a weakness. After all, being a perfectionist doesn't mean you do it right the first time, every time—it just means never giving up until you're satisfied, even if that means you have to do it a hundreds times. That's how truly great art is made. Rotten Scaresese or Alfeared Hitchshock never would have given up after trying just one measly lil' time, and neither will I. Besides, I still have a hundred other ideas I have yet to give a fair shake—a little more time and screesearch should have me in the pink.

5 May

It was club picture day; always a busy one for the Fearbook team. I'm still learning about film, but photography will always be my first and dearest love—even when it's just snapping shots of my ghoulmates making freaky faces. The only fangup was a couple of vampires sneaking into every photo—of course, their faces didn't show up, but the out-there accessories they were wearing sure did! It was so funny I about fell out laughing... and then I realized we'd have to do all the shots again. Sigh... so not scare.

10 May

I took some time this weekend to haunt around Jackson Scare, looking for inspiration for my boovie. The deadline is still far off, but time is flying by and I have to admit I'm getting a lil' bit nervous—what if inspiration doesn't strike in time? I've got a half-dozen half-shot films, but nothing I can really call a boovie yet. And I want it to be good enough to blow away not just Mr. Rougarou, but all the judges at the Bayou Boovie Fest. I had some coffee and boue-uiets at the Cafe du Moau, watching the tourists stroll by, but still nothing came to me. If fangtastic southern cooking can't make your brain give up the ghost, what can? I clearly need to shake the ol' idea tree a little harder and see if something else falls out.

14 May

Last night, Mama hosted a dinner for some visiting digniscaries and asked me to lend a claw with the cooking. Entertaining is a big part of a Southern gentleghoul's repertoire, and you gotta be good at it. Photography isn't my only skill! I come from a long line of excellent cooks on both sides—Mama's always said one of the reasons she married my daddy was for his dead beans and rice! It's hard work, but between the two of us Mama and I kept the ladies and gents grinning all evening. Eventually talk turned to famous New Goreleans legends. It's an old town, and hauntings and happenings are all around. Our frights are famous and our mausoleums are second-to-none! One of the monsters in attendance mentioned the legend of the Bayou Bijou, and I sat right up. I'd heard of her, of course, but had no idea she was still floating. I should mention, "she's" a ghost ship, rising from the waters and floating across the bogs in the dead of night, with the famous plays and performers that appeared there still echoing on her stage. I asked the gentlemonster why this information wasn't better-known, and he said it was because the Bijou is so deep in the swamp that sightings are rare, and information rarer still. But nowhere in the bayou is unreachable for a Honey Swamp. Finally, an idea with bite!

15 May

There are advantages to being born and raised in the bayou—you get to know the lay of the land like your own scales. It was the work of just a few hours tracking through the swamp to find where the ghost ship rises. Seems she only appears on the full moon—so I had to lie in wait for a bit, but patience is one of my many, many virtues. Pretty soon I had the first-ever footage of the Bayou Bijou in all her beauty! It'll take a few more stakeouts, but I think I can finish my boovie in time for the festival—and with a subject so unique and fabulous, it won't be hard at all to make a film worthy of recognition. Just wait, Hauntlywood... Honey's comin'!

[atlas-tries]

Shatter Me Chapter 3: Shatter Me

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Summary: Patton finds a painful memory and Janus has a vision. Will it be enough to thwart the outcomes that await?

Notes: Redundant, no? Not gonna lie, fam, it's about to get to the darkest point. Trigger warnings for character death.

“Patton, are you sure you aren’t a hoarder?” Virgil asked, pushing aside a mountain of plushies where he had been unfortunate enough to land. This was the first time the anxious side had been in Patton’s room since he moved to their part of the Mindscape (also the first time he had ever been to Patton’s room) and Patton was beside himself to have him here.

“Absolutely! I just like to keep a few sentimental things around to look at when I’m feeling down,” Patton replied. “But I guess it uh, wouldn’t hurt to clean up a little. Gotta make room for more memories, right? I actually have the energy to do it now!”

Virgil looked at Patton with a lopsided grin. “Wait, what? You, not having the energy to do something? How’d that happen?”

“Ah right, you weren’t here for uh … all of that. Let’s just say I was recovering from an injury I got several months ago,” Patton said, instantly noting the worried change in Virgil’s expression. “Hold on, it’s alright, I’m alright now, see?” He lifted his shirt to showcase the few tiny cracks that remained. “I’m almost completely healed. Logan even gave me his seal of approval!” He pulled out a little medallion with Logan’s bespectacled brain signet on it. “See?”

Virgil breathed out a visible sigh of relief. He shook a finger at Patton. “Awesome,” he said, his voice cracking a little at the end.

“Alright, so you said you were looking for …” Patton started.

“… this one angsty poem Thomas wrote in high school. I thought I’d uh, spice the ruminating up a little when Thomas heads to bed tonight,” Virgil replied. “No better way to fall asleep than thinking about everything that’s gone wrong or that will go wrong, am I right?”

Patton smiled. “Sure, kiddo, as long as they’re balanced with happier thoughts during the daytime! Let’s see, I think what you’re looking for is over here.” He ran toward his version of the staircase that was piled high with boxes and other larger memorabilia that wouldn’t fit on the bookshelf. He glanced through a few of them, perking up a little when he came to the box on the fourth stair. “I think this is it!” He grabbed the box and ran back to Virgil.

“Keep them as long as you need them,” Patton said with a smile. He handed it over to Virgil, who nearly doubled over from the weight of the things inside. Virgil choked out a thanks and quickly sank out.

“Well, that’s one box temporarily dealt with. Now, about the rest of this marvelous mountain of memories …” Patton, though he would never outrightly admit it, didn’t like moving things around very much. It filled him with dread just thinking about moving something somewhere he would inevitably forget about it. Maybe it would be better to start smaller? He looked around for somewhere less cluttered to start. Finally, his eyes landed on the overflowing box labeled New Memories. “That’ll do for now.” He took the box carefully upstairs to his bedroom and got to work sorting its contents.

In around half an hour, everything was categorized into neat little piles that could be easily transferred to other more fitting storage spaces. Patton began collecting everything from the Friends and Coworkers pile and carried them to his dresser. The top drawer was for everything related to Joan. Admittedly, this one was getting a little bloated from all the fun stuff they and Thomas had ever done together. Still, Patton managed to find space for the newer memories in the crevices that remained. The rest made their way into their respective drawers, packed in tightly with all the rest of them.

Patton closed the drawers, smiled, and put his hands on his hips. “Perfect!” he said. Now all that was left was to take the box back to his version of the living room. He picked the box up and startled when it hissed at him. Something was still in there. He peeked into the box at the thing that had just slid toward him, an upside-down picture frame from the looks of it. Steadying the box with one hand, he reached in and flipped it over.

The last memory he had of Thomas’s now ex-boyfriend stared up at him from the bottom of the box.

His hands trembled a little as he stared at this frighteningly still image. “Nope nope nope, not today,” he said, closing the box and walking as quickly as he could to put it back where it belonged. Despite ridding himself of the visual, this memory was still going to make itself heard in the only way it knew how. Patton clutched at his chest hard and the box crashed to the living room floor. “N-not again …”

He sat down on the stairs a moment to regain control of his breathing. Searing lines thrummed in time with his heartbeat, dulled but not forgotten. This was another reason why he never bothered to clean up: too much of a chance to reopen old wounds. Patton rose with a wince to get that recording of the Rainforest Rap. That song always helped cheer him up. He kept the song on repeat until he felt some semblance of normalcy again.

For the rest of the week, Patton lay awake during the nights, praying that the darkness would somehow take away the memories that hurt him so. It, as many spectral entities do, provided no such reprieve. Certainly not enough to quell the ache settling further into his core as the days passed. Taking liberties in his duties here and there made things far more manageable. Just yesterday, Patton suggested Thomas indulge in a half a pack of Oreos and he listened. The day before, he had come thiiiiiis close to getting an actual bouncy castle! And today, Patton had one little plan he thought everyone would jump for (but not in a bouncy castle).

If everything went according to Patton’s plan, they would spend the next 48 hours rewatching The Office in a blanket fort with Thomas’s closest friends. They could all use a break right about now, what with Roman steamrolling through coming up with new concepts, Logan pulling all-nighters researching for new videos, and Virgil making sure everyone was staying on time with Logan’s schedule. He couldn’t wait to see how everyone else liked this idea! He was already out the door and nearly to the stairs when he heard muffled shouting coming from the living room below.

“—not seriously thinking of going along with this latest plan, are you? I have far too much to plan if we’re to keep this project at its utmost quality!”

Patton stopped dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs.

“I know, Roman, I’m concerned about this, too. We’re woefully behind schedule as it is,” Logan added. “If we don’t do something about this, my carefully constructed calendar will collapse under the weight of his impulse decisions.”

“But how are we even supposed to bring that up to him? He’s been acting weird all week, I know,” Virgil bit, “but you know how Pat takes these things, L.” Patton bit his lip to keep from making noise as the cracks grew once more.

“The best way to do that is to do like you said earlier Virgil, rip it off like a metaphorical Bandaid. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to do this.”

So. Patton had gone overboard these past few days with his contributions.

How many other times had he put the other sides in this exact same situation? They were all supposed to be in this together. Weren’t they …?

There was only one way to fix this. Fixing his cardigan and his expression, Patton plodded heavily down the stairs to announce his arrival. “Hey kiddos! Oh, good, you’re all here together, that’ll save me a few trips back upstairs,” he said cheerily.

“Don’t tell us, Padre, you have another idea?” Roman asked. His smile looked so forced.

“Kinda! So I was just thinking that since we are so behind schedule, a 2 day binge-fest might not be the greatest idea I’ve come up with. So instead of that, how about we work on this next concept together tonight?”

Jaws all around the room dropped. “Wait, what? I thought …” said Virgil, looking to the others.

Roman picked up where Virgil left off, “Patton, I believe that’s the best idea you’ve had all week!” He stepped closer. “How shall we go about it? At the dumb boring regular table here, or at the Round Table in the Imagination to help stimulate all the best thoughts?”

“Hmm, that’s intriguing, Roman. It would certainly be easier than trying to keep track of all our thoughts on paper,” Logan added.

“Hey Logan, I guess you say it’s a …” Patton started.

Logan’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Oh, this’ll be good,” Virgil snickered.

“… well-Round-ed idea,” said Patton.

Virgil and Roman couldn’t help smiling watching this play out. Logan groaned. “I will ignore that this one time because you made a worthwhile effort to get us back on schedule, but I do hope that you’ll spend a little more time thinking about what words you want to arrange in a sentence. And make them less … pun-filled.”

“I’ll try not to have too much pun, but I can’t make any promises!” Patton said.

Logan said nothing further, opting instead to vacate the premises as quickly as possible. “I’ll uh, go with him and we’ll get everything set up in the Imagination,” said Roman, running after him.

“Well, I guess that just leaves you and me, kiddo! Whaddaya say we make some snacks for everyone? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us today!”

Virgil nodded. “As long as I can spit on something meant for Roman,” he said.

“I’ll let you have the cookie batter bowl,” Patton replied.

“Deal.”

Between the two of them, Patton and Virgil were able to make somewhat quick work of a heaping plate of hot cookies and several plates of sandwiches for everyone to enjoy. Sure, they may have gotten more flour and other assorted foodstuffs on them than into the finished products on the counter, but it was the fun they had doing it that mattered. Both of them decided that it would be best to change out of their dirty clothes before carrying everything into the Imagination.

Patton sunk into his version of the kitchen, which was considerably more cluttered than the common area kitchen. He stepped over a few stray memories before making it into the clearer living room. That was when he noticed Deceit sitting on his couch worrying his gloved hands. Softly, Patton called out, “Dee?”

Deceit startled and turned quickly to see Patton. “Um,” he said, clearing his throat and brushing down the front of his cloak, “you certainly didn’t sneak up on me.”

“What brings you back to my neck of the ‘burbs?” asked Patton.

Deceit stood from the couch. “We’re just getting so well acquainted that I thought I’d stop by for tea— and to give a warning. I know they’ve been growing again.”

Patton smiled sadly. “I guess I can’t really hide this from you. But you should know, this time—”

“It’s not their fault, I’m well aware. But doesn’t this make it the best time to tell them? The pressure is off. You don’t even have to tell them in a direct way!” Deceit said, taking Patton’s hands in his own. His eyes were alight with worry. “You just need to tell them.”

“I know I need to, but … it’s so hard to do. I’d be hurting them, I know I would.”

Deceit looked down and sighed. He brought his gaze quickly back up to Patton’s, staring with an intensity that Patton had never seen from him before. “You need to tell them,” he whispered slowly. “I saw something on the horizon. Something bad. As much as it pains me to say it, I don’t want that vision to be about you.”

That was a bit startling. Patton knew it wouldn’t get that far, but … could it? “Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell them.” That earned him a split-second smile from Deceit.

“That’ll do, Patton. That’ll do. What in the world is on my gloves?” Deceit said, sinking out.

“Cookie dough!” Patton called after him. “And probably some mayo. Oh, he probably didn’t hear me. Now what was I doing again? Oh yeah, clothes, brainstorming, Imagination!” He quickly ran upstairs to the bathroom to get changed and emerged from his room less than a minute later and grabbed what food Virgil hadn’t. Maybe if he busied himself enough, he would be able to forget Deceit’s visit. He wouldn’t think about the panic behind his crumbling facade, or the thinly veiled pleas he made.

But that would all be a lie. Something had him deeply troubled, and when Deceit was the one giving out a warning in earnest, it bode better to listen. But how to go about it? Patton sighed. “Alright, Patton, let’s just focus on getting to the others right now,” he said to himself. He closed his eyes and thought about the others, and about castles, knights, and everything that made Roman happy.

When he opened them again, he was in the Imagination.

Or rather, he was in a field in the Imagination, right in front of Roman’s towering castle. It was a perfect amalgamation of Gothic architecture and pure Disney magic that made Patton’s nostalgia meter burst through the roof. He ran through the front gates with appropriate gusto and was thrilled to see the others there around the table already, quietly chatting amongst themselves. “Ah, Patton, we were starting to think you forgot how to get here again. Come, let us formally begin this brainstorming bash!” Roman said cheerily.

“That’s the spirit!” Patton squealed, trying to sound as normal as possible. He set down the cookie platter and took a seat in the high-backed chair with his new symbol on it.

“First things first, let’s make sure we’re all on the same page before we begin,” Logan said, summoning papers for all of them. “In order to maximize our output, Roman, Virgil, and I have decided to remove some of the thought filters from the castle for this session. This means that any particular thought, if it’s focused enough, will manifest in here for all of us to review. According to my own independent research, this should boost our productivity by 42% with a .03% margin of error.”

Patton’s eyes widened a little. He really didn’t want to interrupt their work, but this new system would definitely cause problems if he didn’t come clean now. So, Patton gathered every last bit of gumption that he had and shouted, “I have a confession to make!”

The others backed up a little, startled that Patton could be so loud, but quickly recomposed themselves. “Go ahead, Patton,” said Logan, straightening his tie.

Patton thanked him, doing his best to not squirm in his seat. He knew they wouldn’t react well, but maybe saying it now would keep thoughts about it from popping up later. “I uh, wanted to get this out of the way before we get down to business. But um … I think I might be breaking again.”

“Come again?” Virgil asked.

Patton slid the collar of his shirt down enough to reveal several deep fissures. “These things. They’re growing again,” he said. “Started earlier this week. I just didn’t want that popping up without warning and ruining our work. Anyways, um, what ideas are we working with here, Roman?”

“Wait, breaking? Like, breaking breaking? Oh God, Patton, are you dying? You’re dying, aren’t you? Oh God, no! What stops death?! Logan?!” Virgil cried frantically.

Patton quickly said, “Virgil, Virgil, breathe, I’m not dying. In for four seconds, there you go, hold it for seven seconds. You’re doing great. Just listen to the sound of my voice. Out for eight. Good job, keep it up.”

Logan got out a pen and notepad. “Again? And you say they started earlier this week? Do you remember which day it was?” he asked.

“The day I started cleaning up my room. Uh, what day was that again?” Patton said, still doing his best to softly coach Virgil back down to a calmer state.

“Padre … I thought there weren’t going to be any more secrets about this,” said Roman. The hurt look he gave to Patton about killed him where he sat.

“It wasn’t so much a secret as it was an ‘I-got-a-little-busy-and-kept-forgetting’ kind of thing. I never meant to keep it from you, any of you,” Patton replied. A tiny, glowing orb dripped from Patton’s chest. A thought. He pushed it down between his hand and the seat to trap it, knowing that it would unveil his lie. For good measure, he slung a leg over his hand.

“You were cleaning that day…” Logan mused. “I may have some theories that explain this phenomenon, though it is currently up to speculation. Allow me to elaborate. Patton, it seems that stressing yourself beyond your limits could potentially be the cause of this. You have certainly been going out of your way with your work this week. I believe we all recall the … bouncy castle idea. This could be leading to a lack of self-care needed to perform adequately.”

Patton nodded slowly with as real a smile as he could muster. “Yyyyyeah, that could be it,” he said, shoving down another treacherous thought as it popped out. It brought up memories of all the passing comments Logan made about his character.

“Uh, Pops? Whatcha … doin’ over there?” Virgil asked.

Patton stiffened. “Nothing, just, uh … Practicing a new kind of exercise?” Another one flitted out, pointing to being too overbearing with Virgil. “Hey, is that a dragon coming up to the castle?”

Everyone turned to look while Patton conjured a slingshot, flung that icky thought out the other window. and recaptured the one that had come out from beneath his leg.

“No, that’s a tapestry, Padre. It literally couldn’t hurt you if it wanted to,” Roman said. “Not that I would ever let it!”

Patton smiled. “You’re my hero, Roman,” he said.

Roman blushed a little to that. “Aw, Pat,” he gushed.

Another thought came up, a memory of a time Roman had taken him on one of his adventures. He had wanted to tend to a little wounded animal they came across and nearly got them killed because of it. Patton clapped his hand painfully over his heart to keep that one from surfacing. With a whimper and a slight grimace, he replied, “I mean it, Ro.”

Virgil was getting extremely antsy where he sat. “Okay, um … This is weird, right? Like, this just feels wrong.”

“Virgil has a point, you are behaving rather strangely, Patton,” said Logan. “Do you have something you’d like to add?”

With the focus being on what started this, another memory surfaced. The one that had started it again. Patton tried to bite that one as it meandered past. Curse these full hands! He missed by a mile, leaving it to float effortlessly to the center of the table.

“A thought?” Logan said. “Unconventional, but it’s an intriguing choice.”

It began to play. Patton was in his room, sorting through the new memories box. The last few were being tucked away. It skipped to him looking back in the box to see what was left. It showed him, holding the picture. Him, clutching his chest. Him, stumbling to the floor. As if on cue, the cracks thrummed in recognition. Thank goodness he already had a hand over them because it almost took his breath away. The memory evaporated, leaving the others to simply look with jaws slightly agape.

Patton could only look down at the table. These old wounds were reopening in the worst of ways, and now his closest friends would find out the truth. Logan finally broke the silence. “So, that’s how it happened.”

Patton nodded wordlessly.

“This was months ago,” Logan said.

“It was a busy time for me,” Virgil added. “Switching from everything Thomas did wrong to worrying that Thomas will never find love again got to be so exhausting.”

“I admit even I became a bit disheveled by his absence,” Logan said, looking down.

“I nearly ducked out over this. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you, Patton,” said Roman.

Patton still couldn’t bring himself to look up. He knew there were pent up tears threatening to fall if he did. “It … it was hard … and seeing a reminder of it …” he whispered.

Logan sighed. “I believe your best course of action is clear,” he said. “You simply need to let the past be the past.”

“But … what about all of the good times we had with him? I don’t want to leave them behind,” Patton said softly.

“Patton, these memories are physically hurting you. I can’t understand why you would rather suffer endlessly instead of just letting one person go.”

You’re too sentimental to save yourself from dying.

Patton’s face contorted and a small whine escaped his throat. Those insidious cracks lengthened once more, each one feeling like a knife tracing its way through his skin.

Roman stood abruptly. “Now look what you’ve done, Quantum of Soulless!” Roman cried, motioning to Patton. Logan rose from his seat, trying to get a better look from across the table.

“Roman …” Patton lightly scolded. “Pl-please be nice.”

Roman huffed. “Sorry. What I mean is this situation needs a bit more delicacy than Logan’s robotic demeanor could ever hope to provide.” Roman walked over to Patton and put a hand gently on his arm. Logan was making his way over, too, notepad in hand. “Now Padre, you know how much I came to you when this was all fresh. We did our best to hold each other up, but even now, I still feel lost. I can’t tell you how much I yearn to have our beloved return, or how much I want to call him after all this time.”

Patton sniffled a little, putting his hand over Roman’s and leaning his head against his arm. “I know, I want him back too,” he said.

“I think we all do. But I think it might also be time to start boxing up some of those old memories. We can even help you start!” Roman said. Virgil shook his head. Logan rolled his eyes. “Okay, I can help you start.”

“But I don’t want to forget … I wouldn’t even know where, or how, to start. We had so many good memories together that I don’t want to lose,” Patton blubbered.

“I know it’s difficult, but we aren’t children anymore, Padre. I know the relationship ending was for the best and I’ve been striving every day to remain strong. I also know that you wouldn’t be leaving everything behind if you do the adult thing and let the ghosts of the past go.”

You’re too naive to understand what needs to be done.

Patton doubled over, groaning as the cracks split further down his limbs and up his neck. Bile burned at the back of his throat, and he could taste the coppery twang of essence. He felt another wary hand on him. “P-Pops?” came Virgil’s wavering voice. “I… Thomas was being too overbearing. That wasn’t your fault!”

YOU were being too overbearing. YOU were what drove him away.

Patton cried out in agony as his skin split down to his fingertips and over his face to the top of his head. Small chips of skin were beginning to fall away with tiny tinks as they hit the floor, displaying the bright blue beneath. He could feel the front of his shirt begin to dampen.

“I don’t get it! We’re trying to help, why isn’t this working?” Virgil cried. “Why are they getting worse?!”

Logan came up to Patton, attempting to lean him back with utmost care. “Perhaps just talking about the subject of his pain is what’s causing them to worsen,” he said. As soon as he looked at the frail fatherly side, his demeanor changed. “Virgil, get a first aid kit. Roman, help me lay him on the table. Now!”

The others, at first too stunned to move, burst into action as quickly as they could. Patton screamed as they repositioned him on the table, hyperventilating from the pain. “Hang in there, Padre, please hang in there!” came Roman’s muffled voice. Logan was reaching for the hem of his shirt. He mouthed something to him. Patton felt something glide across his skin from his navel to his neck. Wait, when did Logan get scissors? And where was his shirt? And why did the others look so horrified? Those questions seemed inconsequential to the truth staring down at Patton, demanding he tell it.

“It w-was my fault,” Patton croaked.

Logan started threading a needle. Virgil was carding his fingers through Patton’s hair anxiously. Roman looked at him with incredulous eyes. “What are you talking about?” asked Roman.

“Th-the breakup,” Patton replied. Warmth was trickling down over his ribcage and soaking his back. “A-and everything e-else.” Logan tried his best to stick the needle through solid skin, but it just chipped further. Patton coughed, a bit of blue making its way past his lips.

“Everything else? Patton, you’re not making sense,” Logan said, trying the same thing again with the same result.

Patton whimpered, “I-I know that I’m always … messing th-things up. I forget s-so much … I kn-know that you think I’m t-too sentimental t-to do my job. Th-that I’m too … naive t-to see the truth right in … front of me. That I’m s-so over … o-overbearing that I drove him away. If it w-weren’t for … all of you t-to rein me in … I-I’d make Thomas into a… w-worthless mass of a man.”

You are worthless.

“C-Compression. Let’s try compression,” Logan said.

“Pat … is this … is this what caused all of this?” Roman asked. His eyes shimmered.

“You can’t seriously think that,” Virgil said, his hands becoming shaky.

Patton cried as Logan pressed firmly in the center of his chest. More fragments broke free and with them, Logan’s hands went straight through into Patton’s chest. Patton nearly passed out. Logan quickly withdrew his hands.

“Ohhhh my God, oh my God, Logan, what did you do?!” shouted Virgil. “What do we do now?!”

Patton coughed violently, essence spluttering from his lips in a steady stream.

Logan could only stand there, frozen in horror, staring at his blue hands.

“Logan?!” Roman cried.

“I … I don’t know …” came Logan’s voice, barely above a whisper. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

“You can’t die on us, Patton, please, we need you!” Virgil sobbed.

Roman grasped Patton’s hand delicately. It began to shatter like porcelain barely held together. Despite the jagged edges, Roman still lifted it to his cheek, holding on like it was the only anchor in a violent sea. “Y-you’ll … all be … alright … without me … Just … p-promise me … y-you won’t … blame yourselves …” Patton gasped.

He couldn’t hold it together when bigger pieces of him began breaking away from the rest of his body. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t hear.

He couldn’t see. But still, his mouth made the words.

“I… l-love… you.”

With a final shuddering breath, he was gone.

---

Janus knew that meddling with what his foresight told him never aided the outcome.

He knew this, but he tried anyway.

It wasn’t that he particularly liked Patton. He found him to be overly saccharine and ridiculously optimistic in the face of surefire doom, not to mention he stood by socks and sandals as a fashion choice. However, things always seemed to run smoother in the Mindscape with the fatherly side around. Someone had to be there to tend to the others and moderate their senseless bickering, he supposed. How would anyone get any sleep otherwise? And Patton wasn’t one to pass judgement when he was caught alone. Perhaps his near-blind acceptance was what endeared Janus to him in the first place.

Whatever the case, he didn’t want whatever was going to happen to go through like it wanted to. He could never determine much from these visions. Just … feelings. Notions. The occasional coherent thought. This most recent one should’ve been par for the course. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what came. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was being ripped apart. And there was nothing else around but the pain, searing a fiery blue, and those three intrepid words.

I love you.

A swan song if there ever was one. And now, standing here amongst the shadows outside Roman’s castle, he knew the swan had sung.

Taglist: @celeste-tyrrell @taxicabinmemphis @angeldiaries @somehow-i-got-an-account

[shy-magpie]

RQG 151

Moving the patreon names a good idea but changes to structure take up more brain space than they should. I hope they keep the reminder they moved it as a substitute, at least for a while. The rest of the structure is the same and I can feel my shoulders coming away from my ears as the theme plays. I choose to interpret that as Alex saying his players being fine is his highest priority. Borb Under the sea bed🎵. 1)its great when I barely start a thought before a player says the same thing 2) we will get our musical one way or the other 3)I know they're from an improv background but it never ceases to delight how joyfully they support each other's unexpected bits. 4) Alex seems like he gets a kick out of playing up his annoyance at the musical idea more than actually being frustrated it keeps coming up. I thought so but nice to confirm. Bless this cast, it wouldn't have been a huge deal if they let Alex's description stand but its so nice they not only corrected it, they did so without hesitation and Alex seemed to appreciate the help in getting to better phrasing rather than take it as an accusation. Not that I thought he would but feeling grateful for RQ not falling into behavior I see elsewhere. Also hearing everyone chiming in; with Bryn being the one to name check the trope instead of it being on Helen to always take the lead is nice to hear. "he was very encountered" Have I mentioned lately that I love literally everything about this show? Even when he thinks he knows exactly what the party is going to do and certainly knows what he is guiding them towards Alex checks instead of putting anyone in the position of having to derail. Cel! I wonder if cis people get anywhere near my joy in Cel having that kind of control over their body. I mean its just objectively cool even without the gender aspect so I hope they at least enjoy that much. I need cancan art. Did Alex know how delighted Lydia would be with the image of being popped out like a cork before he said it? Coo coo ca chu, thank you Ben Zolf remains 200% done and doesn't bother checking the door Ben don't! 92 HP, well that would be comforting if it wasn't Zolf. Like I don't think it's actually a death wish/that he is suicidal but well, see not checking the door. He is far too comfortable with the idea of being hurt. Alex:Chill sea dude Ben: sounds of objection Lydia: chill environment neutral dude Still love Alex's set design. A person! Bryn sounds alarmed about implications of the walk ways. Cel can shield themselves. Yes Hamid can armor himself! Also casts fly on himself & Azu. Thank you Ben/Zolf. This show does get deep into moral quandaries sometimes but unless these guys are as drugged as the Kobolds they objectively need to die. The dice love us Altruism run Darn it Alex, are you hinting they are drugged against their will? Azu feels tapping their shoulder then killing them is better even if they don't have a prayer of defending themselves. Oh I see Helen has our back and is checking for mind control before we do Kobolds 2: the guilt continues. Well yes they are surprised Bryn sounds so pleased as goes through exactly how many ways the odds are in Hamid's favor. Then he rolls 6,6,5,5 on D6s for 26 damage so no kill like over kill. Watsonian explanation: emotion is at least partially fueling Hamid's magic especially anything fire/desolation aligned, and there is no way he isn't overflowing with emotion after the last few hours. Zolf is happy to let Azu handle the last one and uses his action to ask if Cel knows what (something, the equipment in this room?) does. Cel determines its a notification board for the cell cavern. So these guys were directly aware and involved with the mistreatment of the Kobolds. I officially am dropping the last tiny part of me that cared if they were drugged/otherwise forced into the work. If they were cognisant enough to read that and still did it then its time to find Zolf's old bucket. Glad the table is having fun! I wonder what the face Alex pulled looked like.  Raw terror? The equivalent of a neon sign reading "I'm screwed"? I shouldn't have implied Alex would leave the listeners out, this is a wonderful description. Helen is more thorough than I am. There you go, time to die. Oh episode name drop. That's my Zolf, killing who needs killing doesn't mean we ignore collateral damage. And Cel just invented the departures board. Zolf: not worth destroying? Cel: If you'd enjoy it Priorities Heading towards the shore I like how Alex sounds pleased they broke his dungeon Vital info for visualizing this. Poor Azu is trying to swim while Hamid & Cel are zooming elegantly and Zolf is walking because boots or no he is ungainly. Hamid enjoying flying & Azu being adorable even under the circumstances is endearing. Correction Cel is walking Lockers & propaganda posters I can't put it in words but there is a connection being made between how little these mooks care about messing up shared spaces & the rest of the mundane evil that led to them being bucket worthy. Thank you all for the taking water breathing potions I'm not sure how I feel about Alex giving us stuff for free Oh Dear! Are the mooks heading to the village? Zolf is reassuring Never over the little touches Alex has to make the world feel more real like the water proof flares Oh Cel dear, 1)you don't know that, you don't need mourn your village while they yet may live 2)what kind of trauma have they been through? "Again"? Lydia gets a quick dig in about the party not being allowed to sleep. Cel shifts into a creature who can see. ~Break~ Nevermind just enlarge person Somewhere Babs is begging for a simple answer. I don't think we got a simple answer Hamid is reassuring Cel. Something both relateable and possibly a bad sign that "don't worry they have been spending all their time preparing to kill us, so they can't be attacking your people" is legitimately both the line Hamid took and probably the most effective possible. The others help too. I love how they openly care, reassuring Cel without telling them to repress or that they are wrong to experience the emotions in the first place. Lights and colors flashing in the water. The dice seem to be favoring Bryn today. There's a fight up ahead. They all run to the fight, Cel leaves them in the dust. Hamid flies after Cel since he couldn't catch up on foot The dice do know I promise I will appreciate the set design on relisten,  but for the love of god who is fighting who? Mooks vs who? Humans Yes! Alex hasn't quite gotten there but the cast sound convinced its Barnes & Carter. Ah is Wilde with them? Did Wilde tear his hair out worrying then send back up the second Zolf was overdue? Bleeping Carter Barnes sounds like he is having fun Carter is throwing knives at people. Odd knife & dagger are basically synonyms but not getting Sasha feels 2 vs 8 Ben points out Carter stole Sasha's gimmick Ok warming to Carter will take a minute but I already like Barnes Natural 1 on bomb throwing. Thank you Alex for not being a "death by nat 1 is funny" GM Alex keeps forgetting what a bad bum Cel is. Giblet heavy day Moving quickly past possible misgendering of Cel. Best way to handle that I think, no distracting corrections but Lydia doesn't let it stand. Thank you for being safe Hamid! Hamid protects Barnes. Love the extra extra pew. Finger guns! Alex is 3rd person level stressed Cel gets out the crossbow and punctuates their correction on pronouns. I love this podcast. I really, really, love this podcast and stuff like that shows they love their listeners back. Cel: Pronouns. Are. They. Them Helen: the dice say they/them rights Not sure if dead but 13 damage against one misgendering mook Hamid continues to shoot very well in support rather than endangering himself needlessly. Azu, spotting Carter: You! You? Accidently restarted the episode when I unpaused and now my phone is acting up, and is doing strange things when I try to fast forward to where I was. The annoyance at the above is cancelled out by hearing "Pronouns. Are. They/Them" 4 times Zolf: great seeing you again I love Barnes Alex the fandom appreciates this description Ah Zolf got Barnes into the Campbell books And they attempt to flee badly Carter finally rolls decently but not impressively Cel shoots one in the neck they're still moving Hamid mutters in draconic:  this is for the Kobolds Thank you Bryn Barnes successfully seduced <Azu> Helen I love that the trained mathematician is the one who participates in dice superstition Ben! Huh patreon names still make my brain happy. Wonder if it's something deep about community or I just got pavloved by it being before RQG & TMA for so long

[daddyzanchez]

Another piece for my two favourite idiots in love. Based on @dorklyevil​ and her sweet Wrath and Kindness - Check out my masterpost for more Kindness and Wrath here!

It would be nice to read this before reading this story (it’s very short)!

3900 words - erotica - M/M - feels, masturbation, voyeur, anal fingering, ❤️ love making ❤️, blood play (kinda), biting, hickies, loads of kissing

Link to story on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205051/chapters/39047317#workskin 

Visual

That same night as he had seen Wrath for the first time, Kindness sat down on their shared bed and looked at himself in the mirror that hang on the wall. He reached up to touch his face, fingers running over his cheeks and nose as if he could not quite believe that it was him. Being able to see the world as it was, was both a world of new wonder but also dread; it was only now that he had to start wondering if he actually liked his appearance. He started pulling his hair back into a ponytail but then let it drop down again, pushing the thought away for another time, “I don’t want to go to sleep, Wrath.”

The Sin Rick was brushing his teeth in the bathroom but Kindness still talked to him, making him pop his head out through the door and furrowing his brow, “You’ve had a long day.”

“I know,” he smiled softly at him, noticing toothpaste foam run down the side of his mouth. He was amazed by such a tiny thing happening, his brain reminding him that it was a new visual to categorise and he could feel his brain working like clockwork. He ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes and feeling relief, “I know, I just… My head hurts and… No, it’s- ehm, i-it’s irrational.”

Wrath frowned as he started hearing Kindness’ voice waver and stutter. He went right for him, toothbrush still in his mouth, and knelt down to figure what was happening. When he spoke, foam dripped down on his chest and his voice was slurred due to his mouth being full but Kindness could feel the concern despite of it, “No, tell me, Ness.”

“What if I fall asleep and I can’t see when I wake up?” The Virtue Rick sniffled.

The toothbrush fell onto the floor at that, Wrath looking quite taken aback. He shook his head and reached up to rest his hand on the back of the other’s neck, pulling him closer so their foreheads touched, “If that ever happens, you know I’ll be right here and doing my best to fight whatever did that to you. I’ll make it pay- I’ll squeeze the dear li-”

“Kitten, shh…” Kindness put his hands on Wrath’s shoulders. Wrath nodded, taking a deep breath as he had been taught by him many times. It helped, calming his racing heart and removing all the overflowing feelings that were ready to burst out into ugly anger. The smaller Rick still soothed him, shushing him quietly and talking in a soft voice, “Shh, it’s okay. I know it’s not going to happen but I’d hate never seeing you again.”

“I’ll be here no matter what,” he protested, having forgot about the toothbrush on the floor since Kindness chose to kiss him out of the blue. It was not like he usually did when he just wanted a peck on the lips, no, he kissed him with a lust for more.

The hands on Wrath’s shoulders slid up into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down onto the Virtue Rick who whispered his name over and over. Kindness wanted Wrath, needed to share this with him, put all his emotions into sex, so they could feel it together and he would not be alone with all of it.

“Ness,” Wrath protested as he was kissed along his jaw. Kindness’ eyes were wide open to watch his skin up close and mouth slightly agape, “You’re tired, it’s been a long day. You know I’d love to but-”

“Shhh…” he shushed again, mouthing over his Adam’s apple, “Make love to me, Kitten. Please. I want to.”

It seemed that Wrath did not need much more to convince him, and he helped his lover move back on the bed, so he could crawl on top of him properly. Their mouths met again, and Kindness could taste the freshness of the peppermint but also the taste of his very own Wrath, a taste that he had gotten used to but now could put a face to. He wondered for a moment if it would be too overwhelming to do this but his own hardening cock told him that it would be cruel to stop now.

The kiss deepened, and he found himself pushing into Wrath to kiss him a bit harder. A hitched noise escaped the Sin Rick’s mouth as Kindness dared to lick at his tongue, inviting him into his own mouth and getting lost in the moment. Time stood still, and it felt like it went on for ages; the soft pushing and pulling, back and forth and doing what the other loved the most.

Only the need for oxygen separated them, interrupting the thing that had made Kindness feel the warmest that he had in days, maybe weeks. They panted into each other and his eyes roamed over the other man’s face, settling on his puffy lips, swollen from being kissed. The Virtue Rick grinned, “I love you.”

“Ness,” Wrath replied, giving him a tiny smile in return. Kindness knew that he wanted to say it back, knew that he had said in his mind and it was enough because the smile he was getting was making something unknown bubble up in his chest. He knew what a smile was, knew the way a smile felt underneath his fingertips but seeing one, seeing Wrath’s, was something he had just learnt to categorise in his mind but it was already under his favourite things. His smile could warm the sun itself.

They embraced each other again, a mess of tangled limbs, and Wrath started stripping Kindness of his pyjamas. He peeled it off of him, piece by piece with opened mouthed kisses to his collarbone and pointy nails occasionally poking into sensitive skin. It did not take long for the both of them to get naked, and Kindness felt like it was a privilege to simply be there and be able to see the taller Rick in all his glory.

His eyes left his lover’s lips and glanced down at his chest instead. He had never seen Wrath naked, only felt him, and now, he could see the pale skin of his chest and the black lines of his many tattoos; things he had almost only heard about. He wanted to touch them all again, explore them again, feel the way the skin had a slightly different texture due to the needle leaving scars that he now saw as pictures.

“How many have you got?” He asked, reaching with a finger to drag it across the big letters. R I C K. He wondered if he should do it with his tongue, pushing the idea away for later and waiting for a reply.

“Dunno, I’ve lost count,” Wrath replied, looking at the slight rose-colour spreading over the other’s chest and giving his arousal away.

Kindness did not notice, too busy with remembering every little detail about his lover’s body. Wrath was a tall Rick, a lot taller than the rest of those Kindness had met, and he had muscles everywhere, even in unexpected places where Kindness did not know muscles could form. He was all broad shoulders and narrow waist, a Rick to die for, and he was all his, every inch of him. The Virtue Rick found himself wanting to dive in, kiss and nuzzle into him, inhale his scent and worship everything that made beautiful Wrath Wrath.

“Come back up to me,” Wrath interrupted somewhat impatiently.

“I am looking at you,” he answered from underneath him, reaching to touch his biceps and rubbing them with his thumbs. It earned him a tiny noise, Wrath’s eyes going softer and his impatience seeping away slowly, and he took it as an invitation to explore further. He had done it many times before but now, he was able to see the way the muscles moved underneath the skin. Though the invitation was short as the Sin Rick leaned down to brush his hair away and kiss just underneath his ear.

Kindness whined at the sensation, knowing that the other was probably marvelling over how little it took to get a reaction; Wrath wasn’t even using his teeth or his tongue yet. He could feel the pointy teeth as it caused him to smile against the spot, and then the slight pain as they dragged across his neck, making Kindness moan in shock. Wrath snickered but kissed along the now-forming marks of teeth, “You’re perfect, Honeydew, in every way.”

“We all have flaws,” he just mused, moving slightly underneath him and dragging his foot up his calf until he could wrap his legs around his waist. He pulled their pelvises together by tightening his grip.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t got a lot of them, that’s for certain,” Wrath bit down on his shoulder and Kindness was sure that he would draw blood, if he kept going for much longer, so he had to stop him, cupping his face and pulling him to his lips. They kissed again, only briefly and sweetly.

“You really think so?” He asked innocently, trying to keep the mood close to sappy but his cock was aching by now. He needed to do something about it soon, and as a result of his desperateness for just a bit of friction, he pushed his hips up into other’s. They moaned in unison, both seeing stars behind their eyelids.

“God, I am going to fucking eat you alive,” Wrath growled.

“Please,” Kindness squeezed him with his legs, repeating the move. When he looked down between them, he saw the both of them, hard and heavy against his own stomach. The sight of their cocks sliding together was hotter than he thought it would be, the way Wrath’s slit was glistening with precome that dripped onto Kindness’ skin whenever they touched, painting him in a beautiful contrast. His foreskin drew back with each thrust of their hips, making the sensitive head of his cock poke into Wrath’s pelvis, “Oh please. Just do something.”

“How about you do something?” Wrath asked, stopping everything they were doing and leaving Kindness to whine. He crawled over him to reach the bedside drawer, Kindness’ legs falling to the sides. Wrath got out the tube of lube they had lying around and dropped it on his chest, “You know I haven’t cut my nails. This was pretty spontaneous.”

“Oh,” Kindness flushed the same red as his chest, taking the lubricant into his hand and sending him a shy smile. He sat up, “Are you sure?”

“I like watching you,” the Sin Rick said, crawling towards him again and pecking his lips, “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” he nodded, tilting his head as he felt Wrath’s lips travel down his neck. He bit him again like before, causing Kindness’ breath to hitch as he flicked the cap open.

“Thank you, Honeydew,” Wrath whispered into his ear, voice low and sensual. He sat back, fingers finding his cock and slowly stroking as he waited for the show.

Kindness was not nervous about this; he had done it before but now, he had the ability to see himself doing it and the mirror on the wall next to the bed was so tempting to glance at. How he wished they would get a full-body mirror on the ceiling, so he would never miss out how Wrath’s muscles flexed as he was on top of him.

“You alright?” Wrath asked, making Kindness realise how lost in thought he had been. He nodded in reply, squeezing out some of the cool lubricant onto his finger and smeared it out, and then he smiled lazily at his lover as his hand travelled down between his legs.

Two of his fingers slid inside of him with little effort, his free hand finding his own cock to even out any discomfort. The feeling of fucking himself wasn’t new but when he caught his lover’s eyes, an overwhelming feeling of pleasure erupted in his belly. He had to slow down whatever he was doing, release his cock to refrain from coming and only focus on getting himself prep'd because those eyes were wild and more intense that he had even seen them. They burned his skin, the most beautiful fire grazing him as he was being watched whilst doing something so private.

He slid a third finger into himself, a tiny gasp erupting as he curled them against his prostate. Oh God. His head fell to the side, subconsciously Kindness had wanted to see what the fuss was about, and the look of his red chest and his open mouth was enough to tell him why Wrath liked this so much. He felt absolutely beautiful as he looked in the mirror; he looked so dishevelled, so vulnerable.

“You’re beautiful, baby,” Wrath moaned but Kindness was too busy locking eyes with himself, whilst he stretched his entrance open and ready, to reply. He even dared to find his own cock again, and he could hear Wrath’s hand on his own cock speeding up, trying to match the speed.

Only when he was on the brink of orgasm, he stopped in the middle of arching his back with a whine. Kindness laid back down as his chest heaved, pulled out of himself and looked back up at Wrath, who looked amazed, curious and absolutely filled with lust.

None of them said anything for a moment, both still coming down from the intense moment that had just happened. Wrath must’ve known, Kindness thought to himself, that this was a first for him, and that he had gotten embarrassingly hot and bothered by watching himself. It was only when Kindness glanced down at the tube of lube that the Sin Rick spoke, “Jesus Christ, Ness, that-”

“Yeah,” he chuckled breathlessly in reply, beckoning him down with a finger. It had been good but good wasn’t anything compared to Wrath’s perfect, and the mere thought of it made his legs fall apart. Wrath was what could never be replaced, “But I want you more.”

The other did not hesitate, moving to kneel between Kindness’ legs. He smiled down at him, hands on his thighs and moving slowly up his hips, caressing him sweetly, “You want a pillow?”

Kindness nodded, and Wrath took his own and pushed it under him as he lifted his bottom. This way was better, sweeter, more comfortable and more accessible; just how Kindness wanted it… at least for now.

Wrath took little time in slicking his cock in a generous amount of lube and then moved incredibly close, so close that Kindness could feel his damp breath against his face, and so close that he could feel the front of his lover’s thighs against his own. He linked his arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling their chests together all the while Wrath pressed his cock against the tightness of his rim.

The breach of the sensitive muscle was painful but not so bad that they had to stop. It’s a part of it, Wrath always said, and Kindness had learnt to absolutely relish in the pain, lifting his legs up to wrap them around Wrath’s waist and pull him further in, make him go deeper.

“I’ve got you,” Wrath said quietly. He did have him, he always did, no matter what. He moved to catch a moan before it managed to leave Kindness’ mouth, the kiss as slow as the very first movement of his hips. They melted together whenever they were chest to chest like this, and this was no exception; Wrath and Kindness, two opposites that couldn’t fit more perfectly. How could they ever have been apart? Being apart made no sense.  

Kindness hummed against his lover’s mouth, opening his own and Wrath’s teeth grazed across his bottom lip but it only made him crave more. He could taste iron, chuckling as he licked at the other man’s tongue to make him taste it as well. With a growl, Wrath dived into his mouth with a newly-added lust that had not been there just a second ago. They kissed, tongues sliding across each other with gentle pulls and pushes, and Wrath matched the rolls of his hips to it despite Kindness being able to feel his eager for going faster. He put a hand on his chest, breaking the kiss with a gasp for air, “Slowly, Kitten.”

“I want you so much,” he whined in reply and nudged their foreheads together, impatient like a child. Kindness thought he was the most adorable thing ever, the look on his face causing him to snicker quietly.

“You’re so impatient but I stand by what I said,” he said but still, he teased and pushed down on his cock to earn a reaction, causing them both to moan and arch their backs. Wrath started rolling his hips again as if to give in to his terms, and the gentleness was enough to make Kindness tear up. He could feel himself nearly split in two, the slow pace making each roll of their hips full of sensation and pleasure.

The Sin Rick’s head was buried in Kindness’ shoulder now, and Kindness could feel the creases of his forehead as he was concentrating on keeping the languid strokes of his cock inside of him. His hands found their way to the back of Wrath’s head, long fingers gently pulling at the tufts and making him groan.

Kindness wiggled his hips, body moving underneath Wrath as he tried to find a deeper angle and when he did, Wrath’s cock slid right over his prostate that was only waiting for the attention. It sent a bolt of electricity up his spine, causing him to tug harder at the strands of hair between his fingers, “Oh my God. There!”

Wrath pulled back to watch his face, smirking down at him and speeding up his thrusts. He wanted more, it was clear, and another snap of his hips made a string of moans leave Kindness’ mouth. He kissed his open mouth, now, purposely biting at his lip and pushing the blood that trickled down his chin into his mouth.

“More,” Kindness whispered in between messy kisses. It made Wrath dig his fingers into his hip, pointy nails poking deliciously to the point of pain as the force of his hips became greater, sending the other man back on the bed only to be pulled right down on his cock again. He even tumbled off the pillow, Wrath grabbing it and nearly shredding it as his claws dug into the fabric. He threw it away, diving right back down to kiss Kindness’ neck, small dots of red being left behind as a memory of where he had been.

All the while, Kindness’ moans were becoming more and more high-pitched, Wrath making sure to keep the right angle as he kissed and sucked the delicate white skin. The Virtue Rick’s skin was like porcelain, Wrath had pointed that out many times, and so it was nothing new that he enjoyed making a necklace of red marks. They would be sore tomorrow, and Kindness would sit in front of the mirror to study their colour for ages and smile to himself, now knowing why people gasped as they saw him.

Though hickies on the neck became bites to the shoulder, and sharp teeth pierced skin and drew blood - just how Kindness liked it - and the pain that was so centred made him cry out. He begged for more, hands sliding down to grip Wrath’s shoulders till his knuckles were white. He wanted everything and more. Deeper, faster, harder.  

And Wrath gave it to him, would give him the moon and the stars if he asked but for now, a hard and intense round of love making (as cheesy as it sounded) would do. Kindness frantically grabbed him by the face as he could feel himself near the point of no return, pulled his lover up, so they could look at each other and fresh tears sprung to his eyes as Wrath smiled down at him, blood on his teeth. He was so beautiful; puffy lips from kissing with blood smeared on his face, blushing cheeks from the exhaustion and his eyes full of nothing but adoration and love.

The sight of him made need burn at the base of Kindness’ spine, tears falling from his eyes, and he reached down to wrap his hands around his own cock, jerking himself in time with Wrath’s movements. Wrath wanted to look down to see what he was doing but Kindness put his free hand on his chin to steer his gaze back to him. The Virtue Rick sniffled, “No, l-look at me. I want- ah I want to see you. So much. I never want to stop looking at you.”

“Don’t- Don’t look away then,” Wrath said with a groan, his hips snapping forward in hard and fast thrusts. Kindness held onto him for dear life, not able to do anything but let out obscene noises. If their neighbours had gone to sleep early, there was no way they had not woken up again because he was moaning, groaning, panting and practically screaming as he came, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and locked with Wrath’s.

It seemed as if Wrath wanted to speak, announce his own climax but when he opened his mouth, only meaningless noises escaped it. His hips stuttered, jaw snapped shut as if trying to hide the embarrassment of not being able to speak properly but he failed, suddenly growling absolutely animalistically and Kindness could barely breathe as he saw the way his eyes darkened as he came. The feeling of his come inside of him was old, not boring but old, but the sight before him was new and took his breath away. All he could do was kiss him, long and hard, drown out the growl by stealing his breath. Perfection, utter perfection.

A while went by before Wrath pulled out and rolled to the side. They were both silent, their pants being the only sound that penetrated the room and somehow, Kindness knew that they were both deep in thought as well. Sex had a new dimension now and he could never in a million years guess, if the way the other man looked up at the ceiling was a look of worry, performance anxiety or absolute wonder. He hoped for the latter.  

“I’m gonna get us a towel,” Wrath said when the silence had gone on for long enough but Kindness turned his body towards him.

“No, I know I’m a sticky mess but stay,” he said softly, reaching out for him and placing his hand gently on his wrist.

“Okay,” Wrath looked relieved. He moved his arm, so they could entwine their fingers.

They lay like that until Kindness could not keep his eyes open anymore, and though he was fighting sleep, all Wrath had to do was to keep whispering sweet nothings to him. He fell asleep after a while; the Sin Rick having promised him the thing he always did. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.

[literarygoon]

So,

I’ve decided to publish another story from my manuscript.

This one’s called “Post-funeral”, and the main character is named Joel Bishop. He’s a friend of my main characters Paisley Troutman and Neil Solomon, and in this story his older brother has just committed suicide after running for political office in Garibaldi. It’s the 10th story in Whatever you’re on, I want some.

It’s raw.

The Literary Goon

Post-funeral

by Will Johnson

FIRST WE swallowed bitter shards of MDMA, spent hours slip-sliding over each other’s bodies giddy and feverish. I’d been staying at my brother’s mansion with my ex-girlfriend Kylie, up in Garibaldi, for nearly two weeks. We wandered the streets shirtless, dove into foggy backyard pools that didn’t belong to us. We did blow off the toilet tank. We sipped mushroom tea, pinkies erect, then watched Jurassic Park while we waited, dopily dragging on cigarettes and ashing on the freshly installed carpet. We smoked salvia and hash, hot-knifed thumb smudges of tar-black ooze. We were doing okay, food-wise: salmon steaks, cheese-drowned Tostitos, frozen blueberries. We drank Black Label and Bailey’s-infused coffee. Some days we binged on Chinese food and pizza; more often we wandered the linoleum barefoot and mind-fucked, sniffling and twitching, having forgotten what hunger feels like.

And whenever we got bored we circled the neighbourhood spearing my brother’s campaign signs onto unsuspecting people’s lawns, just to fuck with them. Vote for Joshua Bishop, indeed. 

One night Kylie fled. I careened along shadowed boulevards in my brother’s minivan just after 3 a.m., wearing sweatpants and a pair of Santa Claus slippers, chain-smoking cigarettes to keep my headspace level. The night dew-misted my forearm hair from the open window. When my headlights slashed across a lawn three blocks over I glimpsed Kylie under an expansive, shadowed oak with thick, threatening arms. She was curled fetal, wearing red bikini bottoms, dollar store flip flops and my Garibaldi Elementary GRAD OF 2004 hoodie. As I lugged her limply off the grass a dog-walker in a peacoat paused on the sidewalk.

“She had a little too much to drink,” I explained. “We’re all good here.”

“And who are you to her, exactly?” he asked, cell phone palmed. “It looks like she needs some assistance.”

“We’re fine, honestly. I’m just taking her home.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

Kylie moaned in my arms as I lift-shoved her into the passenger seat. Her legs slackly dangled towards the concrete as I gathered up her feet and slammed the door shut behind her. Peacoat man flapped his arms, distressed and honking.

“If you fuck with me,” I said. “I’ll kill your little dog and drink its blood.”

I don’t remember what he said after that, but I do remember the electric surge of hatred that blood-dumped through my veins. This man’s banal existence, his uncomplicated morality, the look of fearful revulsion on his face—all of these offended some feral version of myself I’d unleashed during those weeks. I battered my chest, squeezing out wild tears, and roared in his face until he retreated with his little dog yipping.

Kylie wore a thick-padded bra with metal crescents scooping under each fleshy handful. She whined as I undressed her, paranoid of the oil-like substance pooling on the walls and overflowing into the living room ceiling. I worked my fingers under each goose-pimpled boob, inhaled her chest glister. Kylie wasn’t mine exclusively, but our experiences were our own. I took her earlobe in my mouth, her weight supported in my arms, and worked it with my tongue like a soother. We’d tired of our porn-inspired routines and were finding creative ways to exploit each other’s bodies lazily, gluttonously. A tweaked nipple on mushrooms is like a chest-explosion, while a firmly gripped dick on acid can change your life. Cheek to arm pit, sole to shin, elbow to pelvic bone, we chest-banged and hugged, childlike, in the trenches of our sweat-soiled blankets.

Then we slept.  

Sometimes I get brain whispers from my former self, little buried guilt yelps from the Christian kid I used to be. He’s horrified. Kylie struggles to believe I used to be religious, that I used to keep a prayer journal, that I was once scandalized by swear words. She can’t visualize it, can’t reconcile it with the version of me that she knows: a hipster rich kid with no moral code to speak of. She can’t understand that it’s all the same impulse, that God is nothing more than the Drug of all Drugs, that the hardest thing I ever had to kick was Christianity. Driving by St. Catherine’s I’ve got multi-year histories flashing across my vision. Our youth pastor Trent Stonehouse sings at the front of the sanctuary, takes kids on missions trips to Tijuana and Brazil and the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, and then there’s all the kids I knew—Amber, Turner, Paisley, Neil and Ty—they’re all memory-cached, worshipping with the Agape Soldiers onstage while I sway awkward in the pews and try to figure out how come I’m the only one who does’t seem to feel it. Sure, I’ve felt the Holy Spirit before—or at least I believed I felt it at the time—and I’ve been one of those ultra-pious kids seizing on the ground, overcome as the Church Moms lay blankets over our God-blissed teenage bodies. Slain in the spirit.

But spiritual awakenings wear off. Slowly, one day after the next, I felt the emotional intensity drain. Outside the context of the St. Catherine’s sanctuary all the meaning dribbled out until I had to go back, soul-hungry, for more. Being a disciple of Christ meant living this special type of life, meant elevating yourself from the mundanity. At Camp Evergreen, around the campfire, we sang “Jesus, I am yours” and two hours later Rachel Peachland gave me a hand job behind the girl’s cabin line, a frantic and gasp-filled spectacle in the shadows. I was a little perv, shame-soaked but undeterred, obsessed with girls but convinced that every lustful thought was a freshly disgusting sin, something to beg forgiveness for. Do you know how exhausting it is to be ashamed all the time? To spend your life hearing how sinful and hopeless you are without Jesus?

Turner used to say the whole point of grace is you don’t need to feel guilt, that God’s already forgiven you before you even dream up our next transgression.

But who said we need to be forgiven at all?

“If you could go back and be Christian again, would you do it?” Kylie asked, morning squinting in my brother’s bed, her voice grumbly from sixteen hours of sleep. I gripped sleepily at my dick while urine hammered into the shower drain.

“I think about that every day.”

“And?”

“Are we talking like a lobotomy-type solution here? Like would I have to give up part of my brain?”

“No, just say you believed again.”

“The thing is, to make that happen I’d have to give it up.”

“What?”

“My doubt. My fucking reason. I’d have to give up my whole personality.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yes necessarily. Unless God fucking prances in here and goes ‘hey, Joel, I’m fucking real’, this shit isn’t going to happen.”

I slump into her lap. Kylie was born in a Burmese orphanage, got adopted by white Canadians. Didn’t find that out until three months into our thing, when I met her crazy Mom. She kept all that to herself, and I understood why. People project shit, put labels on you. Who wants to be the starving kid from one of those World Vision commercials? She didn’t want pity; she just wanted to be Kylie.

I liked her way more than I realized.

“But what if the thing with Trent never happened?”

“It wasn’t about him. I stopped going to St. Catherine’s way before all that shit in Mexico, before any of those other guys.”

“Do you think he raped anyone you know? Like anyone in the youth group?”

“Fuck, what’s gotten into you?”

“I’m just so curious. I’ve never met someone who knew a real child molester.”

“You talk like it’s a movie star or something.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“So what do you think? Do you think he was doing like pervy, Catholic-style shit?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“But what do you think?”

“I mean they say he molested this Mexican kid, right? Or two of them? That’s why he got arrested originally, in Tijuana. But they never came up with any Canadian victims.”

“Who’s they?”

“Investigators or whatever. He was down there for eleven years years, and it’s kind of like why press charges and do all that work if he’s not even in Garibaldi?”

“Shit.”

“But eventually they figure he’ll be back, right? I mean, the Mexicans can’t keep him forever.”

“When is that going to be?”

“The system’s so corrupt down there. Guilty til proven innocent, all that.”

“Turner told me he got letters.”

“From Trent?”

“Yeah, a while back he was telling me stories about Trent. He told me the letter said ‘you can’t turn your back on God’ and ‘don’t let this be an excuse to lose your faith’, all this shit.”

“Are you serious?”

“From prison he was giving him a sermon!”

“Fuck.”

“I mean, we were smoking a joint but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth. Wasn’t he like Trent’s little favourite? Do you think it was him Trent messed with?”

I’ve considered that plenty of times, but it’s different to say out loud.

“Trent had a weird thing with Paisley Troutman, one of the girls in the worship band. People were gossiping about that for years.”

“But doesn’t he fuck little boys?”

“Yeah, but maybe he’s just like a non-discriminating deviant, right? Just raping whoever, wherever. Dudes’ fucking evil.”

“I heard there’s some people that think he’s still innocent.”

I light a cigarette, roll across the bed and go looking for blow.

“I’m not one of them,” I say.

Kylie sat cross-legged and hungover in the minivan’s passenger seat, reorganizing her purse while we descended the Sea to Sky. Cliffs draped with steel netting loomed to our left. To the right was nothing but open, cloudless sky. The road slalomed along the mountain slope, twist-rising and falling just as quickly. Ocean air swirled around us. A grey thumb of stone emerged in the distance, thrusted up hitchhiker-style, with a few stubborn bushes defiantly alive atop it’s wind-blasted summit forty feet above the road.

The mansions along the highway—stilted and gleaming in the trees—reflected the Pacific’s blue glow from giant mirrored windows. These were the people in my brother’s voting district, who had proudly displayed his campaign signs so they would be visible for commuters passing through the construction progress below. Vote for Joshua Bishop.

No more.

“The last shit we got from Turner was dirty,” Kylie mumbled. “Fucking weak.”

“That wasn’t his regular guy.”

“Says him.”

A bored, sunburned teenager wearing a Solomon Development Ltd. uniform waved us off the highway, past some pylons and orange fencing, and towards the razed shoulder currently being paved. Steamrollers grumbled a few kilometres further on, while in front of us six men guided a crane-suspended concrete median into place. I parked beside a line of trucks facing oceanward, overlooking Howe Sound, and texted Turner. Within a few minutes he appeared, knuckle-rapping the window, and Kylie unlocked the sliding door behind her.

“You two’ve been voracious lately,” Turner said. “You’re outpacing my coworkers, even.”

Kylie ignored him, sullen.

“I’ve got five hundred here, that’s two for last time and three for now,” I said.

“And you’ve got time for a couple lines now?”

An ice-blue sky populated with drifting gulls appeared as I took my first hit. Their beak-tips were dolloped with bright red. I thumbed a nostril for leverage, snorted with all my might, and sucked back. It filled me like sunlight. Wave-crests built frothing and burst into chaos amidst the rocks below.

“That feels better, huh?” said Turner. “I’m gonna fire through my afternoon.”

“I don’t know how you do this dip-shit job, man.”

“Whatever.”

“I would feel like one of those historical Chinese guys they used to dynamite the tunnels, you know? Like some expendable pawn they use for the hard labour. A slave they can just blow up whenever they feel like.”

“Yeah, so what’s your fucking job, Bishop?”

Kylie dabbed residue on her gums, sucking her finger. The world continued outside our windshield, introduced a dangling silhouette to our view-scape. It took me a moment to take this character in: parachuting past with some magical floating canopy, he was trailing an unfurled sign that read NO OLYMPICS ON STOLEN NATIVE LAND while filming with a camera strapped to his wrist. He was wearing those stupid shoes with individual toes, the ones rich men wear, and spandex head to toe—like some gravity-defying ninja spirit. I almost laughed.

How long had he prepared for this moment? What did he imagine he would see, hanging suspended and superior over us? The afternoon wind carried him sideways, tilting.

“Look at that piece of shit,” said Turner. “Look at him flying high.”

On the way back to town, Kylie asked if we could swing by her friend Lauren’s place. She lived in one of the new townhouses by the highway, Garibaldi Estates, on the fifth floor.

“This bitch owes me like a hundred bucks,” Kylie said as we rode the elevator up. “She’s always doing shit like this, and I can’t let her get away with it. You know what I mean?”

I shrugged.

The hallway hung silent following Kylie’s door-battering, but after a minute or two the door rattled and opened. A girl wearing a short pink bathrobe leaned into view, her bed-shagged hair streaked a similar hue. Her eyes were half-closed.

“Uh huh,” she said.

“You gonna let us inside?” Kylie asked.

“I’ll come out’n talk,” she said, pained.

I pretended to ignore them while they argued in the hallway, and watched as a dishevelled crow shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the roof, its talons clicking, just outside the window. Kylie paced shouting while Lauren listened bored with her beautiful brown legs.

Eventually Kylie turned back to me, exasperated. “Let’s go, Joel.”

Once we got back on to the Juan de Fuca Hill she held out her palm, two chalky pills cradled in the creases.

“This is supposed to be boss stuff. It’s K. She didn’t have any cash.”

How can I capture that moment? Kylie halfway-swivelled against the seatbelt, her forehead salmon pink from the sun and her white palm-skin outstretched. The grassy bluffs leading up towards the towering dominance of Mount Garibaldi were stretched out behind her, floating and blurred, while within the carpeted boundaries of our little vehicle we were safety-bathed by the air conditioning. I swallowed the pill. We hurtled towards our future.

“Will you put some more signs up with me later?” I asked. “After?”

“Of course.”

“There’s still so many, babe.”

“We can put up as many as you want, babe.”

Sixteen years old I thumb-dabbed my goggles, donkey-kicking, my headphones tucked under my swim cap. The finals heat for the 100 butterfly at provincial championships, and I was the one standing in front of Lane 4. Ty was there, Sketch and Neil too. I spat air, flailed, my feet splashing on the tiles. I expected to win my whole life, always anticipated easy victory—what does that say about me? I had this daily suspicion that I was a little more interesting than everyone else, a little more talented. My brother Josh was the same way, and all during the campaign I wonder if he had any idea how wrong things could go, how easily his future would evaporate. Vote for Joshua Bishop. I can see his temp’s bemused face, the self-satisfied sneer, as he ruined my family’s life with every fucking word he spoke. As soon as my brother’s news went public, our family scattered into our own grief trajectories, none of us sure how to handle the sudden scrutiny. And before we could decide whether we forgave him, before we could prove to him that being a part of the Bishop family means more than some sex scandal, some political campaign, before my father could even talk to him, he was gone. The ocean will take us all, I figure, but we were left with his body, shower-dangling, at his mansion in Garibaldi. That house! White carpets like cat fur underfoot. This is where I belonged, not slave-waging away in Vancouver.

Underwater is where I feel best, dolphin-kicking streamlined. Life made sense at 16, when my evening revolved around 58 seconds of frenzied exertion. Fuck real life and the future and the present moment too because I’m suspended mid-dive, dripping, while around me the bleachers erupt with cheering. Ice-wind slashes my cheekbones and stings my eyes shut.

Rotting clumps of mown grass collected on my boots as I worked my way up the St. Catherine’s lawn, past the youth trailer in the parking lot, up towards the stained glass window at the apex of the sanctuary. As kids we played this game called Gestapo where the youth leaders would chase us through the streets of Garibaldi with flashlights while we raced from Diefenbaker Park to the safety of the church. I scanned the treeline for spectators, but I was alone. I was thinking about this thing Turner once told me, about how we’re all just energy morphing from one form to the next. In reality, he was the first one to ditch on Jesus. He was braver than I was, less scared of the social consequences, or maybe he was just more honest.

“When I die and go to Heaven, I’m going to walk into the throne room of God and I’ll have three simple words for him: what the fuck?” Turner told me, perched in the Sky Train window, when I asked him about why he wasn’t coming to church anymore.

“If you had kids, what could they do to stop you from loving them?” he asked me.

“Nothing, I guess.”

“So why are we worshipping a deity who routinely condemns whole swaths of society to Hell? It’s so fucking arbitrary, Bishop! You’re born in India, you’re fucked. You’re born in China, you’re fucked. But if you’re a white Christian dude, everything will be fine and you’ll be a happy little saved boy.”

I didn’t know what to say then, and I still don’t now.

“A God like that doesn’t deserve my love.”

The way Turner talked, he didn’t miss religion. He didn’t miss understanding everything, having that communal reassurance. He liked to be an outlier, a rebel, a heathen.

“You can’t spend your whole life pretending,” Turner said. “Sooner or later you have to admit we wasted our teenage years on a medieval crock of bullshit.”

All that meaning, all those years of prayer, all that struggling and learning—for what? I speared the first campaign sign firmly beside St. Catherine’s front entrance, another one beneath its stained glass, and the final one at the top of their hilly lawn. My brother’s plastic face smiling from each one. Then I sat, butt-damp in the grass, and lit a cigarette. My brother was 33 years old when he died, the same age they nailed Jesus to a fucking cross, but he wasn’t dying for any reason. He didn’t get to close his eyes knowing he’d made some huge sacrifice, knowing that he left the world a better place than when he arrived. My brother died tormented and hopeless, kicking against the porcelain, and who deserves that? How come he got hand-picked for that fate? I felt personally robbed of decades of experience, of the chance to see his face wrinkle, his voice change, his hair go white like Dad’s.

“I really wanted to believe in You,” I told the looming, dark church. “If I had a choice, I’d still be here. You know that.”

I couldn’t believe I was praying. I was still high.

“If there’s something more to this, something I’m missing…I guess what I’m saying is if you’re going to keep me around, You’re going to have to do something.”

I sat there quiet, wondering what God could do, short of flashing across the sky in all His radiance, to convince me of His presence. I heard this quote once, attributed to a 16th century hymn writer: “a God comprehended is not God”. If that’s true, then why even attempt to grasp the mystery? Why call out to Him, why pray, why devote yourself to a deity who can’t (or won’t) respond? When I was a kid I used to make little faith bargains, sending mental requests for God to manipulate the circumstances around me. (“If you really exist, make that kid put something in the garbage can as he walks by.”) Sometimes it even worked. It was like having an Almighty, imaginary friend. But now I’m an adult, a real person, I’ve read fucking Nietzsche. I won’t be so easy to convince. A warm feeling in my chest won’t be enough, a whispered voice deep in my psyche was completely inadequate. I needed something tangible, a Burning Bush-style sign, and I would accept nothing short of a miracle. Maybe my brother could bound out of one of his election signs, let me know this was all an elaborate dream sequence, or maybe Trent would materialize in front of me and explain what happened down in Mexico all those years ago. He’ll tell me our youth group’s implosion was part of some larger, mystical scheme, that St. Catherine’s has some continued role to play in my life. 

Or what? An angel! A demon! Anything. These sorts of visions end up in sermons and heartfelt testimonies, in parables. These experiences alter people’s entire lives, give them purpose and direction. Why not me? Why couldn’t I, just once, be allowed a glimpse of something beyond all this? Why couldn’t I be the one with the faith, the one who understands the light while everyone else stands in the dark?

“Will You speak to me?” I said, my voice trembling. “Are You there?”

[harryozzz-blog]

Thoughts on Design thinking and what improvements i should make on myself.

I feel wrong making myself use a creative process that is universal in its structure or one that follows any step by step formulae. Sure, as guidelines, steps in creating a design are important. Still, there will be a case eventually that cant be solved in those exact steps or the best solution just wont be possible to discover thinking with a specific process. Our own process should learn from design thinking but in the same way that you should be allowing your creativity and problem solving to be improved by as many things as possible. Never stopping, not even when you’ve become a walking vessel of creative ichor that is overflowing with ideas and capable of thinking in every possible direction at any given moment.

If i imagine my own design thinking process, visually it would look like a ball of multi colored squiggles of various textures and sizes. You can pull out and sift through for ideas. Which is terrible and not efficient and kind of gross but fruitful, fun and explorative as I learn to refine it. When I make something I research all of it’s aspects. I’ll make drawings, create scenarios in my end, write things, doodle and even look at old journals. Just continue to consume and brain vomit.

Never taking the first several ideas. Then if there is an idea try turning it upside down or mixing baking soda in it or putting it in the microwave mentally. Then after rinsing and repeating it’s done. I think being more organized would help me. I waste a lot of time exploring routes or aspects of a design that I’ll never use, I trying develop several versions at once, I can often get distracted and what was supposed to be a quick doodle break has me watching tutorials on how to use a new software because i need it’s effect for the frame by frame animation I made in photoshop. I need to be more focused, disciplined, decisive and practical. Which I am slowly learning, but writing all of this down has made me realize how stupid it is. I shouldn’t refer to wastes of time as just a by product of my process and revere them because i see them as a sign of creativity.

[idjurovic]

On Rewards in 2019, in Games and in Life

This is a tad off-topic for this blog, but a thought that’s followed me into the new year is the idea of rewards and how we expect feedback for everything we do, even outside of games (and perhaps because of games). With the new year rolling in, I’ve been thinking about my goals for 2019. I’ve always been a very results oriented person, for better or for worse. It’s certainly what’s gotten me some of the achievements I’m most proud of; there’s been a lot of opportunities given to me that never would have been possible had I not worked every angle in pursuit of some goal, whether it was fleeting or truly what I wanted. But that kind of thinking has also caused me a great deal of pain and anxiety. It’s a little sad to say, but I’ve never been the type to “stop and smell the roses,” and the saying “it’s the journey not the destination” has always eluded me. However, as I thought of resolutions these past couple of weeks, I found myself feeling so exhausted from the rewards thinking. It’s strange, because this is the only way I’ve ever lived my life, and also because games may have some role in molding the minds of highly engaged players like myself to expect payoff - or response at the very least - for the deeds we do. It got me wondering: is there another way to reward players? Is there a way to reflect experiencing something for pleasure and not for strictly tangible gains that is still satisfying? And underneath it all, past the surface-level fascination I have for rewards systems in games, what can I learn from them to better myself as a human?

There’s a lot of ways to reward players of your games. Feedback like I mentioned above is a great one; visual and aural feedback, balancing intrinsic and extrinsic motivations, variable vs. fixed rewards - and unexpected rewards even! - all for the player to see and understand. Showing task relevance and the value of behaving a certain way in the game is another big one; sometimes even learning itself is a great tool for rewarding the player - giving the player a brand new, interesting area to explore when they go off the beaten path for example, or allowing multiple solutions to a problem so the player feels like they found unique and unexpected ways to interact with the game... the list goes on. Maybe learning as a means for rewards is one of the better ways to fight the dangerous feeling I described above, where we start to only do things for the end results. Heck, simply showing a bunch of juicy particles when the right buttons are inputted feels like such a good reward in a lot of games! We game designers have a great responsibility to our players in how we reward them - if we don’t design these systems in a way that’s satisfying, our players will leave to find something more worth investing their time in. In life, as people without titles like “designer,” it’s not always so clear when you’re doing something to advance yourself. It’s not wrong for games to be different in this way - we do use games to escape the confusion of our daily lives and to amplify our desire to prescribe meaning to events that may otherwise seem unfortunately meaningless, after all. We want to believe there’s an order somewhere. At least, I do. Games really play up this part of my brain that is relying so heavily on the notion that the things I do matter somehow, and that all things that happen in the world are noticed and accounted for. It scares me to think of a life where even a small fraction of the things we do are possibly inconsequential. How can all our planning, all our tears and efforts and endurance, ever fall to the wayside when they matter so much to us? Can that ever really mean nothing? In most games, anything worth doing always matters.

Then something struck me. On New Years Eve I finished Season 2 of a show called The Good Place. The show is genius, if you haven’t seen it already - a great blend of comedy and thought-provoking concepts about morality and the afterlife. An idea relevant to rewards systems that kept appearing in the show was the concept of “moral desserts.” The show describes this as the idea of doing something good for the sake of the anticipated reward, as opposed to doing something good because it’s good. In other words, it’s the idea of doing something almost exclusively for the dessert you’re expecting and feel you’re owed at the end of the meal. This is a huge dilemma in reward systems design; many times you want a reward to feel like icing on the cake, not like the sole reason the player will do that cool quest you spent so much time creating and tuning. There’s the idea that content, if it’s cool enough, will be reward in itself to play, and satisfaction will arise from play itself. Is this a naive thought for designers like us to believe, if so much of what we do in our day-to-day lives is with a specific reward in mind (like recognition, or social or financial gain)? It seems at odds with how we operate, but perhaps it’s another form of idealism we’ve woven into games: deep down, we want to do things for the sake of doing them, NOT for the fleeting reward itself. But boy does the carrot taste sweet once you finally reach it.

The term “moral desserts” is so aptly named and so relatable that I can’t help but find myself recalling these last few months where all I’ve been doing is moping over the dessert I feel I earned but didn’t receive. For me, 2018 was so life-changing and full of newly found joy... but it also felt cruel in a lot of ways, like it was overflowing with moments from start to finish where I did my best, put my heart and soul into a thing, and was left with an empty plate when all I wanted was to dig into some metaphorical cheesecake and call it an experience. (Who doesn’t love cheesecake?) I found myself obsessing over it all - through researching and playing with rewards systems in games, actually! I found myself studying all the different kinds of ways games would make me feel good - or bad - for the actions I took, and reveled in how immediately the world took notice of me. I dissected all the dissatisfying moments of my year that haunted me, and put them up against a chart in my mind of ways it could have felt rewarding and wasn’t, or why exactly my enormous efforts in situations that were so important to me felt so meaningless in the end when I had all the words in the world to explain why it felt good to do simple fetch quests in an RPG. I thought about how a reward can seem like a punishment if it’s not the one the player expects and wants, or how failing to give a reward when the player feels they did something to earn one is demoralizing and threatens their capacity for long-term engagement. I blamed everything around me for threatening my “long-term engagement” with my dreams for game design. I’m not exaggerating when I say I wrung myself out with this line of thinking. Indeed, I’ve been a child crying for dessert.

But as I watched The Good Place and waited for midnight to strike on New Years Eve, I really pondered moral dessert. Had I done any of the things I did in 2018 for the dessert? I felt I didn’t get any, and had nothing to show for all my efforts - I even thought for so many months that I had even less than what I started the year with, and that I may have even regressed. But could that really be true, if time passed and I matured? It’s not tangible, but does that mean it doesn’t exist? What if my mind and expectations was in the wrong place all along, and that’s why it didn’t turn out the way I wanted; in other words, what if I was expecting the kind of reward I might get from a strategy game when all along I was playing a hack-and-slash? Of course I’d be disappointed as a player; I was setting myself up for disaster. In that line of thinking about the “why’s” instead of the “what’s” of the year, it occurred to me that as much as I mourned the endings... the “why” in the things I did was never for the result. Maybe I wanted the dessert in the end, but really I did what I did because I wanted to pursue it at the time. Maybe my growth isn’t tangible, but saying it doesn’t exist would be totally negating those 365 days that I really believed I wasn’t wasting as I lived them. I wanted to know it was noticed, but if I were to go back now, I think I would do the same knowing I wouldn’t get the results I wanted. It really isn’t about the dessert in the end, and growth is not material but it exists and is something to be proud of. Maybe the game of 2018 was trying to show me that.

Some say there are two different kinds of players to identify when you’re conducting a playtest: the kind that blames themselves when an interaction is confusing or unexpected, and the other kind that blames the game itself. Maybe this time it wasn’t a problem with the rewards system itself, if I’m to be so bold to say that there even is one in life, but rather a problem with me, the player, for blaming the game when I could be more balanced and look to myself for how I can improve despite how the game is structured. We don’t really have a choice in life but to adapt, do we? So, reader, I’m going into 2019 now with a new mindset thanks to games, the pain of living, and Kristen Bell. I’m cutting down on moral desserts.

[mhdiaries]

Diary of Honey Swamp

If you don’t want me to snap at you, sugar, keep your claws off my diary!

2 April

Mama Swamp has always said that navigating the waters of New Goreleans gentility is tougher than a cypress stump, but looking at what’s waiting for me this year, I’ll swear high society has nothing on high school! What with advanced film studies, the school newspaper, Fearbook photography, and all those lil’ social engagements a lady must keep, my calendar is filling up faster than a cistern in a hurricane. Nothing to fret about though, as I’ve formulated a ghoul-proof plan to make this year a success;

Create a student film that simply overflows with passion and originality

Impress Mr. Rougarou, my film teacher, so very much that he enters it into the annual Bayou Boovie Fest

Win accolades galore from the judges for my breakout cinema-togre-phy

Get discovered by Hauntlywood and move out west to work with the  monstrously talented SoFeara Gorepola. We'll make a divine boovie-making scream team!

My student flick last year—"Lurking on the Levees"—scared a major coup thanks to my expert eye for film decomposition, but the script was... well, just a teensy bit lacking, I must confess. Visually I'm always top of my class, but I'll be honest; cryptwriting is not my forte. That's why this time I'm going with a much more "cinéma scarité" approach—my neck of the woods is fairly alive with true stories to tell! Now I just have to find a subject that screeches "Hauntlywood", and I'll be all set.

10 April

Creeping kudzu, I do wish my hair would behave! I've been so busy dealing with the humidity I've hardly had time to think about anything else. Monsters outside this little soggy neck of the world don't know how lucky they have it with the weather; I may have been born here, but my lovely locks have not adapted. Lately they've been either limp as a wet noodle or more ornery than an itchy gator. I should whip up a batch of my famous smoothing marsh mud and see if that helps. A ghoul has to look her best, even if I'm more comfortable spending time behind the camera than in front of it.

19 April

My mama has, at least to my mind, a particularly unusual fascination with vampire royalty. She can tell you all the queens and their names and who their families were down to their 20th generation. She also has a whole bookshelf just stuffed full of stories about the "missing vampire queen" and who she is and where she may be hiding, and if the current jewel they use to detect who the true queen should be is real or a fake. There have been supposed sightings of her all over the world. One ghoul even wrote a whole book that says the missing queen has actually been unliving her life as a high school student. Now I know some drop dead debutante divas in my class that would give any royal highness a run for her money when it comes to acting like a queen but none with the pedigree for it. So, although I don't pay much mind to it, I have to say it has been rather interesting here lately, especially since now the news is saying that the new vampire queen has been found at... a high school. Now there's something you might be able to turn into a film or a book.

25 April

Today in film studies we had to give a presentation about our industry scream job. Most of my ghoulmates talked about being cryptwriters, directors, and boovie stars, of course; I was the only cinema-togre-pher in the class. Not that I'm all that surprised, mind. Most monsters get into booviemaking to see their names in lights, but cinema-togre-phy is a lot of responsibility without nearly as much recognition. A cineme-togre-pher defines the "look" of a boovie; she's a director's right-hand-monster for everything that you see on screen. The lighting, the camera movement, the special effects—everything has to look its beast if she wants an audience to lose themselves in the film. If she does it right, it's almost undetectable—but if she does it wrong, it's all anymonster will be able to see! I must have made a convincing case, because when I'd finished my presentation, half the class wanted to change their focus. Mr. Rougarou was impressed (all according to plan!) and said he'd be "very interested" to see my finished film, which makes me as nervous as a long-tailed werecat in a room full of rocking chairs! I gotta find a subject, and soon.

2 May

Still lurking for the perfect subject for my documentary. So far I've rejected half a dozen concepts, from an exposé on Mardi Claw (too cliché) to a search for the perfect gum-boo recipe (mine, of course, so it'd be a hideously short film). So far, nothing quite has that spark of inspiration I crave. My friends, bless their scary-sweet hearts, call me a perfectionist. Which I absolutely am! But unlike them I don't think of it as a weakness. After all, being a perfectionist doesn't mean you do it right the first time, every time—it just means never giving up until you're satisfied, even if that means you have to do it a hundreds times. That's how truly great art is made. Rotten Scaresese or Alfeared Hitchshock never would have given up after trying just one measly lil' time, and neither will I. Besides, I still have a hundred other ideas I have yet to give a fair shake—a little more time and screesearch should have me in the pink.

5 May

It was club picture day; always a busy one for the Fearbook team. I'm still learning about film, but photography will always be my first and dearest love—even when it's just snapping shots of my ghoulmates making freaky faces. The only fangup was a couple of vampires sneaking into every photo—of course, their faces didn't show up, but the out-there accessories they were wearing sure did! It was so funny I about fell out laughing... and then I realized we'd have to do all the shots again. Sigh... so not scare.

10 May

I took some time this weekend to haunt around Jackson Scare, looking for inspiration for my boovie. The deadline is still far off, but time is flying by and I have to admit I'm getting a lil' bit nervous—what if inspiration doesn't strike in time? I've got a half-dozen half-shot films, but nothing I can really call a boovie yet. And I want it to be good enough to blow away not just Mr. Rougarou, but all the judges at the Bayou Boovie Fest. I had some coffee and boue-uiets at the Cafe du Moau, watching the tourists stroll by, but still nothing came to me. If fangtastic southern cooking can't make your brain give up the ghost, what can? I clearly need to shake the ol' idea tree a little harder and see if something else falls out.

14 May

Last night, Mama hosted a dinner for some visiting digniscaries and asked me to lend a claw with the cooking. Entertaining is a big part of a Southern gentleghoul's repertoire, and you gotta be good at it. Photography isn't my only skill! I come from a long line of excellent cooks on both sides—Mama's always said one of the reasons she married my daddy was for his dead beans and rice! It's hard work, but between the two of us Mama and I kept the ladies and gents grinning all evening. Eventually talk turned to famous New Goreleans legends. It's an old town, and hauntings and happenings are all around. Our frights are famous and our mausoleums are second-to-none! One of the monsters in attendance mentioned the legend of the Bayou Bijou, and I sat right up. I'd heard of her, of course, but had no idea she was still floating. I should mention, "she's" a ghost ship, rising from the waters and floating across the bogs in the dead of night, with the famous plays and performers that appeared there still echoing on her stage. I asked the gentlemonster why this information wasn't better-known, and he said it was because the Bijou is so deep in the swamp that sightings are rare, and information rarer still. But nowhere in the bayou is unreachable for a Honey Swamp. Finally, an idea with bite!

15 May

There are advantages to being born and raised in the bayou—you get to know the lay of the land like your own scales. It was the work of just a few hours tracking through the swamp to find where the ghost ship rises. Seems she only appears on the full moon—so I had to lie in wait for a bit, but patience is one of my many, many virtues. Pretty soon I had the first-ever footage of the Bayou Bijou in all her beauty! It'll take a few more stakeouts, but I think I can finish my boovie in time for the festival—and with a subject so unique and fabulous, it won't be hard at all to make a film worthy of recognition. Just wait, Hauntlywood... Honey's comin'!

[taurusmanlove]

How to Attract a Taurus Man at Work

New Post has been published on https://taurusmen.net/how-to-attract-a-taurus-man-at-work/

How to Attract a Taurus Man at Work

If you’ve got the hots for a Taurus man in your office or at your workplace then you may already be wracking your brains trying to figure out how you can get his attention and attract him to you.

Of course, you always need to be respectful at work if you’re thinking of getting together with a co-worker. If you feel at all that he is not interested then you should not try to pursue things with him. However, if the feelings are mutual then you will want to get to know him a little better.

Getting his attention is an important step in trying to seduce a Taurus guy at work. If you already know exactly what kind of woman a Taurus guy is attracted to and you know what turns him on then you are already halfway there. If you’re still trying to figure this out, then I tell you everything you need to know here.

So, in this article, I’m gonna talk about a few tips for seducing a Taurus guy at work. Please keep reading.

How to Attract and Seduce a Taurus Man in the Office

Attract him with your looks

Taurus guys are very visual creatures, and as such, they really appreciate a woman who looks good, takes care of herself and has pride in her appearance.

It goes without saying that we always want to pay close attention to our personal hygiene. So besides this, wearing clothes that you look great in and accentuate your curves but at the same time, make you look like a classy chic will get his attention.

Taurus guys appreciate someone with a good sense of class and style, so wearing fashionable clothes and shoes will likely pique his interest.

Keeping yourself in good shape is also an absolute must. So if you need to, get yourself down to the gym to shed the unwanted pounds.

You should also wear a perfume with a great scent and use a little makeup, but don’t overdo it.

Related article: More ways to attract a Taurus guy

Confidence is attractive

Taurus men adore strong, confident women who are comfortable in their own skin. Therefore, if you want your him to notice you at work, it will help to be bold and express your ideas in meetings and around the office. However, try to avoid coming across as bossy or arrogant as he won’t find these qualities attractive.

Being able to take up challenges that come your way and handle them bravely will be good for your career and please your boss. However, these characteristics will likely also be appealing to your secret love interest as well.

When talking with him, be relaxed and confident and ultimately just be yourself. If he sees you’re at ease talking to him then it will also help to put him at ease and the two of you will more easily be able to form a connection.

In other words, it is important that you show that you are a strong and bold woman who has the ability to take control of things that come your way. Taurus guys like to have all their ducks and their life in order.

If they see a woman who also has these qualities then he is much more likely to find her attractive and view her as potential relationship material.

That being said, you should avoid appearing as if you always want to be in control because that is a turn off for the Taurus male.

Being organized is attractive

Taurus fellas are very neat and organized. Therefore, to grab his attention in the office and keep it, you need to show him that you are in control of your life.

It is important to note that Taurus men perceive an organized woman as someone who is goal-oriented and can look after herself. Therefore, if you work closely with your Taurus crush, it is important that you let him see these qualities.

Showing that you have the ability to put things in order and stay on top of your workload will again, please your boss, but it also demonstrates this attractive quality to others around you.

Avoid procrastination because it will derail your motivation to be organized and productive.

Show an interest in him

Most Taurus guys need to know that you are interested in him before he can make a move on you. This is especially so in the work environment as no one wants to offend someone they work colleague, cause an uncomfortable atmosphere or get into trouble by reading the wrong signals at work.

It is also important for you to be subtle and respectful when letting him know how you feel. Appropriate ways to express your interest in him include making eye contact or starting a conversation with him and occasionally giving him a flirty smile.

If you are working on a project together then asking him to meet up during a lunch break to discuss your work can also be a good way to get to know him a little better. This is, of course, much easier if you already know he likes you too. Listening attentively to what he says and to asking him questions are also good ways to show your interest.

However, it is critical to note that a Taurus man does not usually like being chased. He likes taking his time because he is very cautious about whom he dates. In other words, chasing him will make you look desperate and needy, which can be a turn off for Taurus man.

Related article: How you can attract a Taurus man with your conversation

Be yourself

Taurus men admire honesty and truthfulness. Therefore, if you are trying to attract a Taurus guy in your workplace, you should be truthful not only to him but also to yourself.

Being yourself in every situation is critical regardless of whether he will like you or not.

Pretending to be a person you are not just to win his attention will not do any good. You should be confident in your own skin and remember that it takes time for a Taurus man to trust.

Be humorous

Taurus men can have a great sense of humor and they also like to be around fun and happy women. So, if you want to make him fall in love with you, you need to be a happy and bubbly person.

Showing that you have the ability to enjoy life to the fullest is certainly an attractive quality for anyone. If he also notices that you have a sense of humour and particularly, if you laugh at his jokes then he will be more likely to approach you as he will feel more comfortable with you.

However, you should avoid laughing at every little thing he says as you don’t want to come across as though you are faking it.

Compliment him

The easiest way of attracting a Taurus guy without making it obvious is by giving him a little attention and a few subtle compliments.

Boosting his ego a little by complimenting him on his work, his confidence and maybe even his dress sense will likely go down well. It not only shows that you acknowledge his efforts, but that you are interested in him.

Final Thoughts

Attracting a Taurus man at work may not seem so easy as you’ll also need to be discreet and respectful towards him and your other colleagues.

However, being in regular close proximity with him due to your working environment can work in your favor.

Making sure you dress the part and present yourself in all the ways that Taurus men find attractive is very important. However, more importantly, knowing exactly what makes Taurus guys tick and understanding how they think when it comes to dating and relationships is the key to attracting and making him yours.

In her book, Taurus Man Secrets, renowned astrologer Anna Kovach, tells you exactly what you need to do to be able to attract a Taurus man and make him fall in love with you. I reviewed her book here for my readers.

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In the introduction to her review anthology For Keeps: 30 Years at the Movies, the legendary film critic Pauline Kael wrote, “I’m frequently asked why I don’t write my memoirs. I think I have.” She meant what most movie critics realize at some point: that reading your past reviews and revisiting the lists of films you liked most during the year reveals not just something about a particular year in cinema, but something about you as well.

That’s the feeling I get constructing my list of the best films of 2017, a year that overflowed with great films in every genre, from horror and romantic comedy to documentary and arthouse drama. Some of the films on my list have commonalities — ghosts, meditations on memory and interpersonal connection, and women who refuse to behave — but mostly they underscore just how vibrant cinema remains as an art form, even in the midst of massive cultural shifts in the industry and beyond. And it is a keen reminder to me of all the 2017 conversations I’ve had around and at the movies — and the ways I will never be the same.

Here are my top 21 films of 2017 and how to watch them at home, with 14 honorable mentions.

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I am as shocked as anyone that a Star Wars movie found its way onto my list — but I was bowled over by The Last Jedi, which may be one of the series’ best. In the hands of writer-director Rian Johnson (who will also oversee a new Star Wars trilogy), The Last Jedi is beautiful to look at and keeps its eye on the relationships between characters and how they communicate with one another, in addition to the bigger galactic story. The same characters are back, but they seem infused with new life, and the galaxy with a new kind of hope. The movie’s best details are in the strong bonds that develop between characters, and I left the film with the realization that for the first time in my life, I loved a Star Wars movie. Now I understand the magic.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi is currently streaming on Netflix and available to digitally rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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The unusual documentary Faces Places (in French, Visages Villages) turns on the friendship between the accomplished street artist JR and legendary film director Agnès Varda, whose work was central to the development of the French New Wave movement. The pair (whose difference in age is 55 years) met after years of admiring each other’s work and decided to create a documentary portrait of France — by making a number of actual portraits. The film chronicles a leg of the “Inside Outside Project,” a roving art initiative in which JR makes enormous portraits of people he meets and pastes them onto buildings and walls. In the film, Varda joins him, and as they talk to people around the country, they grow in their understanding of themselves and of each other. The development of their friendship, which is both affectionate and mutually sharpening, forms Faces Places’ emotional center.

Faces Places is currently streaming on Netflix and available to digitally rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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Ingrid Goes West is a twisted and dark comedy — part addiction narrative, part stalker story — and yet it’s set in a world that’s almost pathologically cheery: the glossy, sunny, nourishing, superfood- and superlative-loving universe of Instagram celebrity. But despite Ingrid Goes West’s spot-on take on that world, the best thing about the film is that it refuses to traffic in lazy buzzwords and easy skewering, particularly at the expense of young women. Instead, the movie conveys that behind every Instagram image and meltdown is a real person, with real insecurities, real feelings, and real problems. And it recognizes that living a life performed in public can be its own kind of self-deluding prison.

Ingrid Goes West is currently streaming on Hulu and available to digitally rent on YouTube and Google Play.

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Lady Macbeth is no placid costume drama. Adapted from an 1865 Russian novella by Nikolai Leskov, the movie follows Katherine (the astounding Florence Pugh), a woman in the Lady Macbeth line characterized by a potent cocktail of very few scruples and a lot of determination. She’s a chilling avatar for the ways that class and privilege — both obvious and hidden — insulate some people from the consequences of their actions while damning others. Lady Macbeth is also a dazzling directorial debut from William Oldroyd, a thrilling combination of sex, murder, intrigue, and power plays. It’s visually stunning, each frame composed so carefully and deliberately that the wildness and danger roiling just below the surface feels even more frightening. Each scene ratchets up the tension to an explosive, chilling end.

Lady Macbeth is currently streaming on HBO Go and HBO Now, and it is available to digitally rent on Amazon Prime, Vudu, YouTube, iTunes, and Google Play.

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BPM (Beats Per Minute) is a remarkably tender and stirring story of the Paris chapter of ACT UP, an AIDS activism group, and the young people who found themselves caught in the crosshairs of the AIDS crisis in the early 1990s. The film follows both the group’s actions and the individual members’ shifting relationships to one another — enemies becoming friends, friends becoming lovers, lovers becoming caretakers — as well as their struggles with the disease wracking their community. As an account of the period, it’s riveting; as an exploration of life and love set at the urgent intersection of the political and the personal, it’s devastating.

BPM (Beats Per Minute) is currently streaming on Hulu and available to digitally rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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Few 2017 movies could top the charm and tenderness of The Big Sick, which hits all the right romantic comedy notes with one unusual distinction: It feels like real life. That’s probably because The Big Sick is written by real-life married couple Emily V. Gordon and Silicon Valley‘s Kumail Nanjiani, and based on their real-life romance. The Big Sick — which stars Nanjiani as a version of himself, alongside Zoe Kazan as Emily — is funny and sweet while not backing away from matters that romantic comedies don’t usually touch on, like serious illness, struggles in long-term marriages, and religion. As it tells the couple’s story, which takes a serious turn when Emily falls ill with a mysterious infection and her parents (played by Holly Hunter and Ray Romano) come to town, it becomes a funny and wise story about real love.

The Big Sick is currently streaming on Amazon Prime and available to digitally rent on iTunes, Vudu, Amazon, YouTube, and Google Play.

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There’s so much pulsing beneath the surface of Mother! that it’s hard to grab on to just one theme as what it “means.” It’s full-on apocalyptic fiction, and like all stories of apocalypse, it’s intended to draw back the veil on reality and show us what’s really beneath. And this movie gets wild: If its gleeful cracking apart of traditional theologies doesn’t get you (there’s a lot of Catholic folk imagery here, complete with an Ash Wednesday-like mud smearing on the foreheads of the faithful), its bonkers scenes of chaos probably will. Mother! is a movie designed to provoke fury, ecstasy, madness, catharsis, and more than a little awe. Watching it, and then participating in the flurry of arguments and discussions unpacking it, was among my best moviegoing experiences of 2017.

Mother! is available to digitally purchase on Google Play and YouTube.

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Director David Lowery filmed A Ghost Story in secret, then premiered it at the Sundance Film Festival to critical acclaim. The movie starts out being about a grieving widow (Rooney Mara) trying to live through the pain of losing her beloved husband, but it soon shifts focus to the ghost of her husband (Casey Affleck, covered in a sheet), evolving into a compelling rumination on the nature of time, memory, history, and the universe. Bathed in warm humor and wistful longing, it’s a film that stays with you long after it’s over, a lingering reminder of the inextricable link between love and place.

A Ghost Story is available to digitally rent on iTunes, Vudu, Amazon, Google Play, and YouTube.

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Winner of the Palme d’Or at the 2017 Cannes Film Festival, The Square is a hilariously needling comedy about the contemporary art world, as well as the kind of idealistic liberalism that is tough to maintain in the face of real problems. The outstanding Claes Bang stars as Christian, a curator whose cluelessness leads him into some outlandishly rough spots, with Elisabeth Moss in a too-short but brilliant part as an American journalist who won’t let him get away with his shenanigans. It’s a heady film with a lot of ideas ricocheting around — and a lot of uncomfortable satire — but if you (like me) are the sort of viewer who loves that stuff, its sly jabs at the veneer of civilization that keeps the social contract intact are intoxicating.

The Square is currently streaming on Hulu and available to digitally rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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Dunkirk, a true cinematic achievement from acclaimed director Christopher Nolan, backs off conventional notions of narrative and chronology as much as possible, while leaning headfirst into everything else that makes a movie a visceral work of art aimed at the senses: the images, the sounds, the scale, the swelling vibrations of it all. You can’t smell the sea spray, but your brain may trick you into thinking you can. Nolan’s camera pushes the edges of the screen as far as it can as Dunkirk engulfs the audience in something that feels like a lot more than a war movie. It’s a symphony for the brave and broken, and it resolves in a major key — but one with an undercurrent of sorrow, and of sober warning. Courage in the face of danger is not just for characters in movies.

Dunkirk is currently streaming on HBO Go and HBO Now, and available to digitally rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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Rat Film is about rats, yes — and rat poison experts and rat hunters and people who keep rats as pets. But it’s also about the history of eugenics, dubious science, “redlining,” and segregated housing in Baltimore. All these pieces come together to form one big essay, where the meaning of each vignette only becomes clearer in light of the whole. It’s a fast-paced, no-holds-barred exploration of a damning history, and it accrues meaning as the images, sounds, and text pile up.

Rat Film is available to digitally rent on YouTube and Google Play.

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A Quiet Passion is technically a biographical film about Emily Dickinson, but it transcends its genre to become something more like poetry. It’s a perplexing and challenging film, crafted without the traditional guardrails that guide most biographical movies — dates, times, major accomplishments, and so on. Time slips away in the film almost imperceptibly, and the narrative arc doesn’t yield easily to the viewer. Cynthia Nixon plays Emily Dickinson, whose poetry and life is a perfect match for the signature style of director Terence Davies: rich in detail, deeply enigmatic, and weighed down with a kind of sparkling, joy-tinged sorrow. A Quiet Passion is a portrait, both visual and narrative, of the kind of saint most modern people can understand: one who is certain of her uncertainty, and yearning to walk the path on which her passion and longing meet.

A Quiet Passion is currently streaming on Amazon Prime and available to digitally rent or purchase on iTunes, Vudu, Amazon, YouTube, and Google Play.

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Columbus is a stunner of a debut from video essayist turned director Kogonada. Haley Lu Richardson stars as Casey, a young woman living in Columbus, Indiana, who cares for her mother, works at a library, and harbors a passion for architecture. (Columbus is a mecca for modernist architecture scholars and enthusiasts.) When a visiting architecture scholar falls into a coma in Columbus, his estranged son Jin (John Cho) arrives to wait for him and strikes up a friendship with Casey, who starts to show him her favorite buildings. The two begin to unlock something in each other that’s hard to define but life-changing for both. Columbus is beautiful and subtle, letting us feel how the places we build and the people we let near us move and mold us.

Columbus is currently streaming on Hulu and available to rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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Sean Baker’s The Florida Project unfolds at first like a series of sketches about the characters who live in a purple-painted, $35-a-night motel called the Magic Castle down the street from Disney World. The film is held together by the hysterical antics of a kid named Moonee and her pack of young friends, as well as long-suffering hotel manager Bobby (a splendid, warm Willem Dafoe), who tries to put up with it all while keeping some kind of order. But as The Florida Project goes on, a narrative starts to form, one that chronicles with heartbreaking attention the sort of dilemmas that face poor parents and their children in America, and the broken systems that try to cope with impossible situations.

The Florida Project is currently streaming on Amazon Prime and available to digitally rent on YouTube, Vudu, and Google Play.

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Luca Guadagnino’s gorgeous film Call Me by Your Name adapts André Aciman’s 2007 novel about a precocious 17-year-old named Elio (Timothée Chalamet), who falls in lust and love with his father’s 24-year-old graduate student Oliver (Armie Hammer). It’s remarkable for how it turns literature into pure cinema, all emotion and image and heady sensation. Set in 1983 in Northern Italy, Call Me by Your Name is less about coming out than coming of age, but it also captures a particular sort of love that’s equal parts passion and torment, a kind of irrational heart fire that opens a gate into something longer-lasting. The film is a lush, heady experience for the body, but it’s also an arousal for the soul.

Call Me By Your Name is available to digitally purchase on Amazon, YouTube, and Google Play.

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In her second collaboration with French director Olivier Assayas, Kristen Stewart plays a personal shopper to a wealthy socialite, with a sideline as an amateur ghost hunter who’s searching for her dead twin brother. Personal Shopper is deeper than it seems at first blush, a meditation on grief and an exploration of “between” places — on the fringes of wealth, and in the space between life and death. Some souls are linked in a way that can’t be shaken, and whether or not there’s an afterlife doesn’t change the fact that we see and sense them everywhere. (Personal Shopper also has one of the most tense extended scenes involving text messaging ever seen onscreen.)

Personal Shopper is currently streaming on Showtime and available to rent on Vudu, YouTube, Amazon, iTunes, and Google Play.

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Stephen Cone is a master of small, carefully realized filmmaking; his earlier films such as The Wise Kids and Henry Gamble’s Birthday Party combine an unusual level of empathy for his characters with an unusual combination of interests: love, desire, sexual awakenings, and religion. Princess Cyd is his most accomplished film yet, about a young woman named Cyd (Jessie Pinnick) who finds herself attracted to Katie (Malic White), a barista, while visiting her Aunt Miranda (Rebecca Spence, playing a character modeled on the author Marilynne Robinson) in Chicago. As she works through her own sexual awakening with Katie, Cyd unwinds some of the ways Miranda’s life has gotten too safe. They provoke each other while forming a bond and being prodded toward a bigger understanding of the world. It is a graceful and honest film, and it feels like a modest miracle.

Princess Cyd is currently streaming on Netflix and available to digitally rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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Racism is sinister, frightening, and deadly. But Get Out (a stunning directorial debut from Key & Peele‘s Jordan Peele) isn’t about the blatantly, obviously scary kind of racism — burning crosses and lynchings and snarling hate. Instead, it’s interested in showing how the parts of racism that try to be aggressively unscary are just as horrifying, and it’s interested in making us feel that horror in a visceral, bodily way. In the tradition of the best classic social thrillers, Get Out takes a topic that is often approached cerebrally — casual racism — and turns it into something you feel in your tummy. And it does it with a wicked sense of humor.

Get Out is currently streaming on HBO Go and HBO Now, and is available to digitally rent on iTunes, Amazon, Google Play, YouTube, and Vudu.

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The Work is an outstanding, astonishing accomplishment and a viewing experience that will leave you shaken (but in a good way). At Folsom Prison in California, incarcerated men regularly participate in group therapy, and each year other men from the “outside” apply to participate in an intense four-day period of group therapy alongside Folsom’s inmates. The Work spends almost all of its time inside the room where that therapy happens, observing the strong, visceral, and sometimes violent emotions the men feel as they expose the hurt and raw nerves that have shaped how they encounter the world. Watching is not always easy, but by letting us peek in, the film invites viewers to become part of the experience — as if we, too, are being asked to let go.

The Work is streaming on Topic.com and available to digitally rent on Google Play and YouTube.

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Frederick Wiseman is one of the towering giants of nonfiction film, a keen observer of American institutions — ranging from prisons to dance companies to welfare offices — for the past half-century. Ex Libris is his mesmerizing look at the New York Public Library and the many functions it fills, which go far beyond housing books. Wiseman works in the observational mode, which means his films contain no captions, dates, or talking-head interviews: We just see what his camera captured, which in this case includes community meetings, benefit dinners, after-school programs, readings with authors and scholars (including Richard Dawkins and Ta-Nehisi Coates), and NYPL patrons going about their business in the library’s branches all over the city. The result is almost hypnotic and, perhaps surprisingly, deeply moving. It makes a case for having faith in the public institutions where ordinary people work — away from the limelight, without trying to score political points — in order to make our communities truly better.

Ex Libris will air on PBS in the fall and then be available to cardholders in many library systems across the country via Kanopy.

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Lady Bird topped my list almost instantly, and only rose in my estimation on repeated viewings. For many who saw it (including me), it felt like a movie made not just for but about me. Lady Bird is a masterful, exquisite coming-of-age comedy starring the great Saoirse Ronan as Christine — or “Lady Bird,” as she’s re-christened herself — and it’s as funny, smart, and filled with yearning as its heroine. Writer-director Greta Gerwig made the film as an act of love, not just toward her hometown of Sacramento but also toward girlhood, and toward the feeling of always being on the outside of wherever real life is happening. Lady Bird is the rare movie that manages to be affectionate, entertaining, hilarious, witty, and confident. And one line from it struck me as the guiding principle of many of the year’s best films: “Don’t you think they are the same thing? Love, and attention?”

Lady Bird is currently streaming on Amazon Prime and available to digitally rent on Amazon, Google Play, and YouTube.

Honorable mentions: Marjorie Prime, Phantom Thread, Casting JonBenet, The Post, The Shape of Water, Logan Lucky, I, Tonya, The Lost City of Z, Graduation, Spettacolo, Loveless, Restless Creature: Wendy Whelan, In Transit, The Reagan Show

Original Source -> The 21 best movies of 2017

via The Conservative Brief

[itsallblogsense-blog]

How to Do a List Building Campaign on Pinterest

New Post has been published on http://www.itsallblogsense.com/list-building-campaign-on-pinterest/

How to Do a List Building Campaign on Pinterest

If you’ve been diving into blogging for a while, you’ve definitely heard that having an email list is the most beneficial thing you can have for your blog. And if you’ve been around It’s All BlogSense for a while, you’ve already seen me re-iterate that your email list needs to be your number one priority. Now say it again until it’s drilled into your brain:

YOUR EMAIL LIST NEEDS TO BE YOUR #1 PRIORITY! YOUR EMAIL LIST NEEDS TO BE YOUR #1 PRIORITY! YOUR EMAIL LIST IS YOUR #1 PRIORITY!

Good! We’re getting there!

My two favorite things as a blogger:

Pinterest and my email list

I am ALL about Pinterest and have been sucked into its webs countless times. Please tell me you love Pinterest just as much as I do! When I started this blog, I started using Pinterest to grow my blog since day one and not just to consume my time anymore.

Now, what if I told you how you can unleash the power of Pinterest to get loads of new subscribers to your email list? This was a game changer for me and can be for you, too!

If you’re new to Pinterest and still have questions, I have the answers put together my first ebook, Pinning to Win. I go into detail answering all the questions I get asked repeatedly about how I used Pinterest to its full potential to grow three different types of businesses.

Once you’re ready to grow your email list and your blog, you’re going to need to dedicate some time to get this started and to see results. So go ahead and pin this page to reference later, grab yourself a drink, and let’s get started.

You will need to Choose an

email marketing provider

To have an email list full of loyal followers, first you’ll need to have an email marketing provider. You know, like ConvertKit, MailChimp, or, my personal favorite MailerLite. I tested out all three, but MailerLite was worth the switch and I never want to leave. Trust me when I say I’ve been around the block of email marketing services! I have finally found my BFF newsletter with Mailerlite. It’s easy to use, free forever for the first 1,000 subscribers, and it’s comprehensive! They even give you access to free lead pages! Which brings me to my next two points on what you need to create an effective list-building campaign on Pinterest.

Find a Lead Magnet You want to offer

What’s a lead magnet, you ask? As the name might suggest, a lead magnet is something enticing that will bring leads to it much like a magnet. In this case, that something enticing is going to be  something of value for free, and those leads will be e-mail subscribers. Call it what you want: a freebie, an opt-in offer, a content upgrade, a landing page, an ethical bribe; it all means lead magnet.

If you need a help finding an idea for a freebie you want to offer to your readers,  Elle&Co’s The Collaborative has 5 fantastic ideas for lead magnets that aren’t all run-of-the-mill.

Another unique idea to attract new subscribers is the use of quizzes. Interact is a quiz platform that has options for pre-made quizzes to save you some time. I’ve already used Interact to grow my list right here in my blog posts. But you could also use a high-converting quiz as a lead magnet!

Once you decide on what type of opt-in you want to offer, you’ll need to put in the time to create the freebie. It’s going to take a bit of time to perfect it, but that’s okay. This is all going to pay off!

You’re Ready to Make a Landing Page for your

Lead magnet

You need a landing page for your freebie so when your pin is clicked on, your reader is brought to a page with the option to immediately opt-in. They are willing to exchange their name and email address for whatever it is you have to offer. In other words, it’s an ethical bribe.

Your landing page is about one thing and one thing only: convincing your visitor to opt-in! You want make it easy for your reader by making your sign up box front and center. There’s nothing else to distract your reader. It’s also acceptable to include a link to your blog or popular content so your reader will stick around your website. Don’t get carried away, though. Any more than two additional links is too many.  I love how Elna from Twins Mommy really clarifies a landing page. She lays down the basics and then some!

If you took my advice to make the switch to MailerLite, you’ll have access to their free lead pages! The best part about using MailerLite’s forms to create a landing page is that it’s already integrated with your mailing list!

Create a Pin for Your Lead Magnet

All right! Go ahead and give yourself a pat on the back! You’re so close to seeing the magic of Pinterest unleashed to build your email list! Before you start seeing traffic on your lead page, you’ll need to create a pin-worthy pin for your freebie. This should clearly state who would want this freebie, what your freebie is, oh and that it’s FREE. Cuz who doesn’t love free stuff? You might want to create 3 to 5 variations for the same lead magnet. This works well because Pinterest is a visual search engine, so you want to diversify your pins instead of having the same exact thing pinned time after time.

Pin it again, and again, and again

Yep, and again and again. To save you time there are totally pin schedulers! Tailwind is a beast. You’ll be able to take care of scheduling, review analytics, and even join Tailwind tribes to help connect with others in your niche. If you want to give it a try, I’ve got $15 for you to use towards a month of service (making it free for a month). BoardBooster is another pin-scheduling tool and it’s free for the first 100 pins. If you want to use both, you absolutely can.

You’ll need to do the set up for at least one month of pinning in advance, which might take a whole afternoon. I did warn that this list-building campaign was going to take a small investment in time. But, seriously. Don’t skip the scheduling step. You might think you can repin it all yourself, but the time you spend scheduling it into Tailwind will save you time in the long run!

Tips for planning to pin in schedulers

Don’t go into Tailwind or BoardBooster and pin your new lead magnet and its variations repeatedly. There’s more strategy to it than that! If you’ve been using the 80/20 rule, you’ll want to implement that into your scheduling. The 80/20 rule says that 80% of what you post is from other people’s pins and 20% is yours. You’ll want to add it to your group boards, too.

Make sure your pins include a keyword-rich description, but avoid just cramming keywords in for the sake of having keywords.

Using the different pins you created, set them to go out at different times. You don’t want to schedule them to all go out back to back. A good plan is to schedule some for the morning, some around noon, and some to go out at night. Schedule it for every day. And make sure you’re scheduling your lead magnet to go out more than your other content. I mean, while you’re in there scheduling, you might as well be scheduling your other posts to get more traction on Pinterest, too!

Get it set up for a month in advance. Then let it go out for a month. At the end of it, compare your subscriber count to when you first started.

Although it’s possible for your pin to find its way to going viral, it’s going to take time for that content you’re pushing out of Tailwind or BoardBooster to catch up with everyone else using Pinterest (a whopping 150 million!) so give it some time. Just start with one month to see your list grow. Then you can repeat with a new lead magnet!

Okay, I know that was a lot to take in! Just take it slow and take action. Just one step at a time!

If you’re new to using Pinterest for your blog, you can learn how to prime your Pinterest account for your business with my FREE Pintastic Primer eCourse.

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padding: 10px 10px; height: auto; font-family: Arial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid #cccccc !important; color: #000000 !important; background-color: #FFFFFF !important; -webkit-box-sizing: border-box; -moz-box-sizing: border-box; box-sizing: border-box; clear: left; #mlb2-5071625.ml-subscribe-form button border: none !important; cursor: pointer !important; width: 100% !important; border-radius: 0px !important; height: 40px !important; background-color: #ef1f87 !important; color: #ffffff !important; font-family: 'Abril Fatface', sans-serif !important; font-size: 16px !important; text-align: center !important; padding: 0 !important; margin: 0 !important; position: relative!important; #mlb2-5071625.ml-subscribe-form button.gradient-on background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 100%); background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 100%); background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 100%); background: linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 100%); #mlb2-5071625.ml-subscribe-form button.gradient-on:hover background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.3) 100%); background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.3) 100%); background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.3) 100%); background: linear-gradient(top, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 0%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.3) 100%); #mlb2-5071625.ml-subscribe-form button[disabled] cursor: not-allowed!important; #mlb2-5071625.ml-subscribe-form .form-section.ml-error label color: red!important; #mlb2-5071625.ml-subscribe-form .form-group.ml-error label color: red!important; #mlb2-5071625.ml-subscribe-form .form-group.ml-error .form-control border-color: red!important; #mlb2-5071625 .ml-vertical-align-center text-align: center; #mlb2-5071625 .ml-block-success, #mlb2-5071625 form.ml-block-form display: inline-block; width: 725px; @media (max-width: 768px) #mlb2-5071625 width: 100% !important; #mlb2-5071625 form.ml-block-form, #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form width: 100% !important; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form.horizontal padding-bottom: 0px; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal float: left; margin-bottom: 5px; width: 70%; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal .form-group float: left; width: 50%; padding-right: 10px; box-sizing: border-box; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal .form-group .form-control height: 40px; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal.ml-button-position width: 30%; padding: 0; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal.ml-button-position.top-padding padding-top: 26px; @media (max-width: 768px) #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal float: none; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal, #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal.ml-button-position, #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal .form-group width: 100%; padding: 0; #mlb2-5071625 .subscribe-form .form-section.horizontal.ml-button-position margin-bottom: 20px;

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