#something something launch codes to my psyche

[j2zara]

I can make fun of Bluejay all I want for being a sucker for Jace’s weird pseudosexual mean girl domming routine but who am I to judge truly. I am not immune to watching Erin Goodnight Moon’s Mean Girl Gives You A Makeover ASMR Video at least [Siobhan Thompson voice] eight thousand times

[drwcn]

maybe after today’s acls training i can finally write that chengqing ER oneshot. 

— “Patient male, mid-twenties, motor vehicle collision, eta 3 mins” 

— “What no vitals? No GCS? ETA 3 mins? Who’s on the paramedic team?!” 

— “No one….Dr. Lu hit someone with her car on her way out of the hospital.” 

【A Midnight Conversation in Your Local ER】- Complete

[1] 

The night hunt had gone to shits.

That much was undeniable.

Jiang Cheng heard the panicked shout of his disciples just as he saw the array that he had stepped on.

Fuck.

The ghost of an once mediocre demonic cultivator wanna-be was going to bring Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wanyin - the Sandu Shengshou - to meet his maker. The irony of the situation would be laughable, if he wasn’t so irrevocably screwed.

That was his last thought before his entire body was engulfed by a blinding light and the world he knew disappeared.

The ground beneath his feet gave away, weightlessness paralyzing his body though he did not fall. He felt…launched, his body warping and squeezing and stretching, the air sucked from his lungs into the endless black vacuum.

But just like that it was over. Jiang Cheng barely had time to make peace with his death before his feet touch solid earth again.

Or at least….he thought it was earth, this black, tarry hard thing striped with yellow and white. He stared at it dumbly, breathless and disoriented, barely able to react when a loud blare assaulted his senses and his world went blindly bright yet again.

This time there was pain.

Jiang Cheng clutched Sandu, ready to fight, but then his head hit the ground and everything went dark. When he woke up again, an indeterminate amount of time later, he was in a small tube and had a distinct feeling he was not wearing pants, socks or shoes.

How the fuck do you ‘scan’ a cat???  

[2]

Method actor. The nurse, from the other side of the curtain, mouthed silently.

“Sir, can you tell me your name.”

“Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wangyin.”

The resident paused, awkwardly contemplating how to continue. “Uh…..which is it? Jiang Cheng or Jiang Wanyin?”

“Jiang Cheng, zi Wanyin.”

“Traditional parents?” The resident tried to crack a joke, but it fell flat. The strange man stared up at him with a blank look in his eyes and a frown that was rapidly deteriorating into a scowl. The resident cleared his throat and cast his eyes back onto his clipboard. “Uh, ahem, just the name on your ID please.”

“My what?" 

"Your personal ID….like a driver’s license?”

“Cultivators of the gentry fly on swords or ride horses. We do not rely on carriage valets.”

“Eh… right. Uhm, can you tell me how old you are and what year it is.”

“I’m 39, and the year is jiachen.”

Lu Qi frowned from where she stood by the door, arms crossed, watching her resident and medical student work. 39? He looks like a college student. But he also thinks he can fly, so I guess age is the least of our worries. 

“Jiachen.…?”

The M3 fished his phone out from his scrub pocket pocket and typed it in. “Sounds like the ganji system, like an old timey way to record year used in the past.” He whispers clandestinely to the resident.

“….Right. And uh, do you where you are?”

The man scowled at him. “Am I supposed to?” 

The resident scribbled something on the chart, and then looked up with a plastered awkward smile. “Well, thank you Mr. Jiang for your patience. Wang Fei here is the medical student on our team. He’s going to stay and ask you a couple more questions if you don’t mind. Afterwards we’ll confer with our attending and the team will be back to see you shortly.”

As he turned away, the R3 grimaced and shared a look with Lu Qi, who was the youngest attending physician in their ER, but was not technically working at the moment and so was not on the case. And technically, as the perpetrator who hit Jiang Cheng with her car, she had a severe conflict of interest.

At least this Jiang Cheng dude didn’t seem keen on pressing personal charges against her for MVA or suing the hospital in general… but that being said…

Yeah, they’re going to need a psych consult. 

Unless he’s on acid. 

Well… okay, psych consult either way. 

[3]

"It’s okay, you can relax.” Jiang Cheng said, waving dismissively at the woman standing by his bedside. “I’m not going to take you to the magistrate for hitting me with your carriage - car. You didn’t mean to, and I just came out of nowhere.” 

“....Thank you.” 

“You’re not Wen Qing. I know that now. Your name is Lu Qi. You can call off those psychia - psych - psychics - head healers - or whatever, I’m not crazy. It’s not my fault, you just… look so much like someone I used to know."

"Wen Qing.” Lu Qi echoed. 

“Yeah. Wen Qing. She was a healer - a doctor - like you, but different.” 

“I see. What happened to her?"

"She died. Almost twenty years ago."

"I'm sorry... that's awful.” Lu Qi’s response rolled off her tongue so well, because she had said those word a thousand times during her residency. So much so that it no longer had much meaning to her. Tonight however, she meant what she said. “Were you two close?"

"No, well…yes, maybe. No we weren’t exactly friends if that’s what you’re asking. She...operated on me. Without my consent or knowledge. Took my brother’s golden core and put it in me and then lied with my brother to my face about it. So no we weren’t “close”, but Wen Qing saved my life - well the purpose of it anyway. Saved me from a life of ordinariness.” 

Lu Qi did allow herself to dwell too much on what the fuck a “golden core” was, because her gut response was almost instantaneous. “That’s shitty of her.”

She clamped down on her tongue. 

God, why did I have to say that? To his face?! He was obviously in love with this Wen Qing person and they were encroaching on some dangerous emotional territories, but Lu Qi swallowed down her caution and plowed on nevertheless. There were things she felt she had to say, and since she’d already hit him with her car, how much worse could this shit get? “What I mean is she shouldn’t have. Not without telling you. Besides...there’s nothing wrong with ordinary.” 

Jiang Cheng chuckled bitterly. “Maybe you’re right. Still...she didn’t deserve to die. What her clan did was not her fault.” 

Now that threw Lu Qi off. Did this guy...kill her? 

Lu Qi half wondered if she stumbled upon a Yakuza-esque member whose psyche finally snapped after years of murder and violence. And yet, he seemed perfectly coherent, no flight of ideas, no tangential thought, no hallucations. Even his delusions seemed...logical. 

I must be the one losing, damnit.  

Jiang Cheng scratched a little at his chest, as if palpating for the “golden core” that he spoke of. "She saved my life, but when she needed help, I couldn't save her. But, if I were to go back… I can't say I'll choose differently. My clan needed me, my clan who was almost cleansed by hers. No, no I wouldn’t choose differently. I don’t regret my choices, but I am sorry. Sorry to her, sorry to my brother. I'll always be sorry that she died, and that I failed her when she needed me." 

Jiang Cheng had no idea why he was telling this stranger any of this, but maybe after twenty years, he was finally ready to address this guilt that he lived with. I mean who else was he supposed to tell? Jin Ling? It was nice, to have that face as an audience, receiving his words of confession. 

"She would forgive you." 

Lu Qi had no idea why she was offering absolution as if she had authority in this matter, but when she said it, the conviction she felt was so real, it was almost as though some external force was acting through her.

Which was ridiculous of course, but... 

"How do you know? You're not her." Jiang Cheng shook his head. “I wouldn’t forgive me.” 

"No, but you said she was a physician. So she should know, more than most, that sometimes there is no choosing who gets to live or die."

Jiang Cheng fell quiet at that, and his gaze grew distant. Lu Qi thought perhaps he was no longer seeing her as she was in front of him - white coat, scrubs, stethoscope -  but someone entirely different. The tension he held in his shoulders slowly eased, and he sighed. In the silence that stretched between them, Lu Qi hoped that this strange man with his strange past could find a sliver of peace. 

[4]

— Did you love her? 

— I thought so, foolishly, but maybe I didn’t. Even if I did, it was not well enough. 

— Do you love her still? 

— No... I don’t know. It’s been too long...but sometimes, late at night when Lotus Pier is quiet, I think I do. 

...

— Are you ashamed of it? 

...

— No. No I’m not. 

[5]

The patient known as Jiang Cheng left AMA, that is, against medical advice. It was the term they used sometimes for people who just up and leave without informing the team. 

Lu Qi had gone out to check on his labs, which came back with bonker numbers (I mean really, a hemoglobin of 455, sodium of 200, and a HCO3 of like...3?), but Jiang Cheng was gone from Bay 6 when she returned. The nurse made the overhead page, a code yellow was called, but four hours later, Lu Qi was ready to admit that she was never going to see this Jiang Cheng ever again. 

Somehow, she was okay with that. She had said what needed to be said.  

Her chief had given her a call on her cell and told her to go home and sleep. The guy didn’t look like he was gonna press charges, let’s count our blessings and move on. But the night had just been too damn strange that Lu Qi was all wired up from it and couldn’t possibly fall asleep. She had handover at 10 anyway. There was a change of clothes and toiletries in her bag. She could always take a shower in the anesthesia staff’s on call room and sleep until then. 

Dr. Sun was the anesthesia staff on-call tonight and was currently stuck in trauma OR. They were buddies since medschool; she’d understand.

Sighing, Lu Qi took a seat on the bench across from the bougie cafe in the lobby of the hospital. At this hour, it was the only one still open in the entire facility. The drinks they sold cost an arm and a leg, but Lu Qi needed the pick-me-up after the night she had. 

As she nursed the last bit of her matcha latte, two bickering voices pulled her attention to the front entrance. 

“Aiyo, A-Liang I already said I’m fine! I don’t need to be here!” 

“Fuck out of here with that bullshit, Chen Zhaoxi. You fell off the fucking roof! If Wu Kun hadn’t called me, you’d have gone on -”

It was him! Lu Qi shot up. It was Jiang Cheng! 

But no...no it wasn’t him. The well-dressed man dragging the second man (dressed in red pajamas) into the hospital was not Jiang Cheng. He had the same face - chiselled, handsome, scowling - but it wasn’t him. For one, his hair was trimmed short and neat, unlike Jiang Cheng who looked like he walked straight out of a BL xianxia tv drama. Secondly, his face was softer, eyes younger, and he couldn’t have been older than Lu Qi herself in her early thirties. 

“I was just trying to get to the litter of kittens trapped -”

“Yes, yes, and it was very heroic and I’m sure it would’ve made Wu Kun very horny, and you morons probably would’ve fucked once he got home had you not made a valiant attempt at breaking your neck -” 

“Excuse me,” the security guard manning the information desk chastised sharply. “It’s 4am. This is a hospital! Lower your voices, sirs.” 

“Sorry.” The men apologized sheepishly. 

Then, A-Liang, Jiang Cheng’s doubleganger asked, “Could you please direct us to the ER? This is my brother, he fell off a roof.” 

Lu Bin had no idea what possessed her to interject. “I can take you there.” 

All eyes fell on her. She walked towards them, heart pounding. 

This can’t be happening, this kind of thing just can’t happen... 

A-Liang’s face broke into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Miss -” Then his gaze trailed to her badge, and he corrected himself, “Dr. Lu. I’m Shen Liang. This is my brother Chen Zhaoxi. I think he fractured...well multiple things, please help him.” 

“Of course, come with me. Let’s get him a wheelchair. If he fractured is leg, he probably shouldn’t be walking.” 

“I didn’t fracture -” 

“You, you shut up.” Shen Liang rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He can lose three out of four limbs and say ‘ t’s but a flesh wound’.” 

Lu Qi couldn’t help but chuckle as she put an arm under the complaining Chen Zhaoxi and helped him towards the wheelchair. 

Shen Liang’s smile widened. 

[Extra]

“Holy shit, took you long enough!” 

When Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui finally dragged Jiang Cheng to their portal site, Jiang Cheng realized that the transportation talisman had created a channel through realities between what looked like two metal garbage dumpsters in a back alley behind a food establishment marked by giant yellow bunny ears.

Standing guard there, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen were each munching on a strange layered bread and holding tall drinks contained in...what was it called again? Right. Styrofoam. 

“What is that?” Jin Ling wrinkled is nose at it. Brat. 

“It’s a Big Mac.” Replied Lan Jingyi as if Jin Ling was stupid. “And this is a milk shake.” 

Jin Ling scowled. “I said the bag of gold I gave you was for emergencies.” 

“Yeah but we were hungry.” Ouyang Zizhen defended. He neglected to tell them that the cashier had refused to accept the gold and instead asked for “cash” or “card”, neither of which they had, so Zizhen used a liiiiil confounding talisman he learned from Wei Wuxian. They did leave more than enough gold though...and that ought to cover the restaurant’s cost for their “burger”lary . Reaching into the brown paper bag he held under one arm, Zizhen pulled out a little box that opened to show pieces of... something. “These are chicken nuggets. They’re delicious! Try one! They’re really good with this sauce....hold on...” 

Lan Sizhui sighed. “We don’t have time for this. The portal will close soon. Let’s get Jiang-zongzhu home and we can sample these exotic food later.” 

The boys agreed. 

Jiang Cheng shook his head and huffed. 

[libermachinae]

Cradle

Available on AO3 Summary: Post-battle roll call. Notes: For @soundwaveweek, prompt was ‘poetry.’

---

The MTOs were stressed. He could understand that, and in fact had little choice but to. Coming online in a crashing shuttle was a less than ideal way to begin life, and the hours of listening to gunfire and artillery going off just outside their prison-slash-shelter almost guaranteed the sorts of injuries no tool could fix. Soundwave had no idea whether the silence that followed the Decepticon victory would have been a welcome reprieve or the most hellish stretch of the experience, but his torch cutting through the crumpled hatch had broken its hold on them, and now they were frantic.

Their thoughts cut him like millions of grains of sand caught up in the exhaust of a shuttle launch. There were questions, the standard Who is that?, Am I going to die?, and Is that supposed to happen? Then the observations, It’s dark, It’s light, He’s blue, He has a gun, and I have a gun.

Mostly, though, they were giving off impressions that could not be condensed so neatly into words, not without at least a few days’ practice to understand the ebb and flow of language. Without it, Soundwave could feel the crush of the darkness, the burning slice of the light. When he announced himself on arrival, his voice came back to him thirteen different ways, shivering or sliding or in boxes, an impressive feat for a group whose sum total life experiences were the inside of a dead shuttle and each other.

The volume increased as he approached them, both due to proximity and their own increasing anxieties. Their thoughts were loud enough to be knocking against his helm, adding to the cacophony the echo of his own internals, but he soldiered on, approaching the first cradle, its occupant staring at him with a mouthless expression that nevertheless seemed to snarl.

“Designation,” Soundwave demanded.

“Megatron.”

Hisses and whispers and flares. Soundwave wished he could turn down his sensitivity, but with all the cassettes investigating other casualty reports, he couldn’t risk making himself that vulnerable, even if it meant he would be taking a splitting processor ache to berth with him that night instead of recharge.

“Your designation,” he said, with no patience to start with.

The MTO stared at Soundwave, optics glancing first over his face and then the length of his frame. He started to speak, aborted the effort, attention straying to his comrades before snapping back to the officer. His thoughts were bright, sour, and runny, becoming more disorganized the longer Soundwave stood waiting for an answer. Now he was tearing through his data packs, the disorganized folders spilling open with instructions on how to shoot, who to shoot, which way to run—

“No designation,” Soundwave concluded, feeling a part of his psyche slump with resignation. “Serial code.”

The uncomprehending stare slid again to the other MTOs, whose own thoughts echoed the globular confusion. A few of them were in the same process of upending their entire storage libraries, and although any one of them could have accurately pinpointed the coordinates where their plummeting ship had disappeared off the edge of the battle map, not one of them could provide him the very basic information he needed to complete this task and leave these soldiers for the recovery teams to salvage.

Soundwave made a quick visual inspection of the MTO, who tried to lean away—not far, given that he was still suspended in the cradle—now that his defensive bluster had dried up. No printed serial code, nor was there on the MTO beside him, a quiet mech who barely glanced at Soundwave as he came close. No serial codes, either printed or coded.

“Any identification markers?” Soundwave asked the room at large. A flicker of movement: Soundwave looked down to the mech at the end of the starboard row, the one installed opposite the sole casualty, aside from the ship itself. His thoughts had been quieter than the rest, colorless and inflexible in a way that had suggested a concussion, but Soundwave’s question had provoked a brief flare. He was looking up: on the ceiling above his squadmate was painted the number 2.

That, unfortunately, was something that could be plugged into a database, checked against the shuttle manifest and production logs, and be used to reverse engineer a serial number. Success, though, depended on this being a legitimate deployment, and certain signs were suggesting the opposite, though none so definitively as to trigger a full investigation. Soundwave put out a recall signal to Frenzy and Ravage, wary of how isolated the shuttle’s final resting place was, and tuned his sensors up higher…

Only to immediately turn them down again as the minutiae of the newbuilds’ thoughts flowed like acid rain through fresh gaps in a roof. He could read the rudimentary threat assessments they were running on him and taste the swell of emotions too new to differentiate yet; the bravest among them had started to free curiosity from the mass, and they plugged it into every observation they made, building questions on top of each other until the thoughts were heavy enough to bend under their own weight. Within the shuttle, everything felt compressed and heavy on top of him.

“Calm down,” he commanded, and winced at spikes of anxiety impaling him from multiple directions.

What a waste, he thought as he recovered from the burst, of his time and their lives. Nova Point was captured, the Autobot base overrun, and Starscream’s choice to put him on recovery meant vital logistics standards were being delayed. The already lengthy identification process would easily be doubled if this much of his processor remained dedicated to his hypersensitivity sensors, and he was vulnerable as long as the soldiers’ thoughts were filling his audio feed. Soldier was even a generous word for the mechs he’d been tasked with risking his life for. Their minimal data packs and emotional instability would make them ill-suited to the promotions occasionally offered to MTOs. They would be getting hauled out of one wreck only to be pressed into another, one that would more likely than not reach its intended destination.

Soundwave did not fault Megatron for leading a chunk of their forces off to the distant front lines on other worlds, but he did long for his leader at times. Megatron would know what was best, whether to forge ahead with the recovery efforts or leave them here to—

“A new row of unlit lanterns is marched in, And I can’t remember what my world looks like In the dark.”

The recording was poor quality, torn from a processor moments before it went offline. Soundwave kept hoping to find the rest of the poem, but bots who survived that time were few and far between, and they guarded their secrets fiercely. Because it was short, he let it play out, and when it finished the attention of the MTOs had narrowed.

“What was that?” the first one asked.

“Untitled,” Soundwave said, which wasn’t entirely accurate. He had a recording of a secondhand account that referred to the poem as ‘The Chain Runners,’ but had never been able to confirm it. He could have asked, but then he would have to tell Megatron he kept the old poem, and that wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have yet.

“But what was it?” The MTO jerked in his cradle; despite the clatter of plating, it did nothing to free him.

“Identification: a poem.”

The complete absence of understanding was a hole Soundwave could have fallen into. A couple accepted that as an answer—a poem must have been another form of marching order, the only communication style they had been brought online to understand—but the others prodded him with their curiosity, audials straining to catch another blip of that strange voice.

“That wasn’t you,” one of the others said.

“Negative,” Soundwave said. “Speaker…” He stopped, remembering how the first MTO, now gazing at him with useful curiosity, had snarled the poet’s name. Had that been out of a sense of pride? A desperation to answer the question, using the only scrap of information they had? Or had it been in worship, choosing his lord’s name to be his first word to the real world? The clashing, violent thoughts did not readily bear an answer to Soundwave, but they did give him pause as he considered his response, long enough that the MTOs’ anxiety rose up once more in a wave.

“What’s it mean?” one of them asked.

“Definition subjective,” Soundwave said. He still had so much work to do. “Silence requested.”

“It’s a code.”

“Negative.”

“Then it’s gotta mean something.”

Soundwave grasped uselessly for words, wishing Ravage were there already. He was better at this. Soundwave wasn’t good at conversation, but most of the time he could get out of it by virtue of the fact that the people he ran into were either his subordinates and afraid of him, or at about equal level and jealous of his proximity to Megatron. It was so rare for him to enter a room without his reputation having already made the rounds for him, he had no basis for navigating this.

He couldn’t come up with anything, and the longer he let the silence drag out the louder the background of thoughts grew to compensate. At a loss and desperate for relief, Soundwave dove into his archives and pulled a file at random, plugging it into his speakers without even scanning the contents.

“The revolution failed because the lords were unamused. The smoke that rose from the burning corpses of their clerks Soured their palmful drinks, And the chants which rose to their balconies, Calling for their heads, Were out of tune with the afternoon symphony.

(The first chair would be tossed out at intermission, And the crowd would suck closed empty fuel lines While inside, the lords sipped in peace.)”

Even with his speakers playing at a high volume, the relative noise inside the shuttle dropped instantly. Their minds were still working, turning over each word like they could find the meaning hidden underneath, but without the fear of the unknown it was quieter and reflective.

“If you still say your knuckles ache, Lay them here, on my knee. I cannot take from you That pain, But I will map the seams of your palm. I will memorize you, Memorialize. I will chart your construction And between your seams find…”

Crunching data while listening to Megatron’s voice was second nature by now. Soundwave stood in the center of the wrecked shuttle, seeking out the identity of the MTOs, while around him they leaned and twisted in their cradles, hunting down the poems like the twinkle of an enemy across a battlefield.

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt66

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

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Three hours later they were all still in the living room planning. Tim was sitting in a chair with his laptop and Marinette was honestly impressed by the speed he did things and his ability to multitask. It was proving to be extremely useful, especially since they’d given him all the codes from Nathalie for Gabriel’s other security system. She almost shuddered thinking of the problems they would have walked into had Tim not looked at them first. As it was he was mostly certain he could disable everything when they needed him to.

Damian and Luka were on the love-seat. Luka was in his normal relaxed state but Damian was practically hugging the arm of the sofa and stiff as a board. Tim didn’t seem to notice it which made Marinette think that Damian didn’t relax around his family. She could also tell how hard it was for both boys to act like they were just teammates. As badly as she wanted to take down Hawkmoth once and for all, she was a bit worried about what it would mean for Damian. No threat very likely meant he’d be headed home.

She and Chloe were on the couch. Chloe had long since given up any pretense of professionalism and was stretched out with her head on Marinette’s lap while basically demanding her girlfriend's constant attention. She was tempted to point out how much Plagg was rubbing off on her but decided it would be best to do that when they weren’t on a time crunch since it was highly likely to make Chloe too irate to be helpful for at least two hours. So Marinette just smiled to herself and ran her fingers through the other girls hair so everyone could concentrate on the problem at hand.

“So this entire plan hinges on his ability to communicate with us about everything that happened since none of us will remember it.” Tim pointed at Luka and the skepticism in his tone earned him a glare from both her and Damian.

“Well in your case, it will be a matter of you communicating with him well enough that he can tell you what you need to do or not do. That’s all on you since I know Luka’s memory is nearly flawless in such a short time frame. As far as with us it’s more of a ‘don’t do this, it won’t work’ or him relaying my own plan back to me since he has more information than I do. Luka’s proven himself and I don’t appreciate you talking down to a member of my team.” Tim blinked at her in confusion while Damian gave a subtle nod of approval.

“I wasn’t trying to talk down to you or anyone else. I’m just not used to working this way. We do what we can to have as much information upfront as possible, from psych evaluations of the rogues to habits and patterns we’ve witnessed. This just feels like going in blind and I’m trying to understand how that’s going to work so I can hopefully adapt. I apologize if I offended you.” She could only blink at him. He really was making an effort. They were all just too tired to moderate their tone at the moment.

“I can understand that. Our situation is unique, especially for someone not used to magic. I promise you Luka can memorize and repeat anything you need him to. Just make sure that it’s something you’ll understand with limited context because every time he resets you’ll go back to square one.” Tim hummed in thought and went back to working on his computer. He was frowning at something but quickly got very excited before turning to Luka.

“So whatever I tell you to tell me doesn’t have to be something you understand necessarily right? It just has to be something I’ll understand when you say it back to me.” Damian rolled his eyes at his brother’s exuberance but Luka just smiled and nodded. “Perfect! I can create different plans of attack and color code them so all I have to do is have you tell me to use red, or absolutely don’t use blue. This is great!” Marinette watched as he happily dove into whatever he was planning and couldn’t help but smile. When he wasn’t acting like they needed him to hold their hands he was actually good company.

“I suppose the only thing left is to decide exactly when we want to launch our assault. Given his tendency to go after kids during school hours we might want to do something earlier rather than at night. Considering how desperate and pissed off he’ll be, my bet is he’ll use Lila again.” Damian let out a scoff while Chloe started muttering things Marinette was partly glad she couldn’t hear properly.

“But you’ll all be in school. How will you manage that?” Tim’s question caused both her and Chloe to start giggling. His confused expression made it almost impossible to stop. Damian looked like he just wanted to hit his brother over the head with something. Marinette managed to get herself under control enough to answer before he gave into the urge.

“First, we’re all staying here for the night so Wayzz can protect us in case of nightmares. The absolute last thing we need is him knowing who we are or what we’re planning. As to school, that’s easy to handle. I’m supposed to be spending the night at Chloe’s and I’ve been texting my parents about how awful I feel, in fact I’ve been feeling feverish all day. They’re already planning on calling me in sick tomorrow. Chloe was actually already going to be off because of a function with her father but she’s gotten permission to tend to her sick girlfriend instead.” She smiled warmly down at the blonde in her lap. Her father had caved immediately when he realized Chloe wasn’t kidding. “As Damian’s guardian here in Paris, you can call the school and tell them you’re both settling into a new apartment so he won’t be in for the next couple days. Luka goes to a progressive arts school so he literally just has to text his mentor and tell them he’s going elsewhere for inspiration.”

Tim was frowning at her in puzzlement. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was sleep deprived, surprised that she’d come up with such a plan, or surprised that she’d already been laying the groundwork for it before he arrived. Despite the fact that as a hero she had to think on her feet, she could plan things out. Especially when she had Chloe to bounce ideas off of since the girl had been raised to look at everything for the worst case scenario.

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[kpopfanfictrash]

The Supers and the Not

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Okay. The original request was for Cyborg!Jimin, but I made a few tweaks. I’ve been recently intrigued by this Stephen Hawking excerpt, where he warns about the future of designer genetics v. humanity. So.... Jimin is not a cyborg, but a genetically engineered superhuman. AND, GO. (OH, + this dialogue: “Are you warm enough?”)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 3,637

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

The term superhuman has held many meanings throughout history.

In comic books, superhumans are superheroes. They are beings who use their powers for good, who protect society from unnatural adversaries. The term has changed greatly since then. When science grew bolder and human curiosity surged, the word superhuman began to transform. It became a label; one which separated a new category of human from old.

The supers from the not.

Back in the old days, designer babies (as they were called) were edited merely for defects. Scientists easily identified potential genetic diseases like sickle-cell or Huntington’s, sending in nanotech to modify and fix the code. Obviously, there was debate around this and obviously, humans were wary – but the benefits were proven to outweigh the cost.

Scientists did not stop there. No longer did they research disease, but the human psyche itself. As the map of human DNA filled in its corners, their research became riskier, more complicated and far more exciting. Once all human defects were eliminated, what else remained but the good traits?

Good traits – which could become great.

The first superhumans were not called super. Super was a nickname generated by an overenthusiastic media before they grasped what their existence truly meant. The supers were a class of human beings all on their own – able to see further, hear better, run faster. They were taller, more beautiful and far more intelligent. This was the real kicker – humans have survived extinction based on their wit alone. The appearance of supers meant regular humans could no longer compete.

The so-called supers were turned against the not.

You are not super. Your parents could not afford you to be. While many your age were conceived in a tube; their embryos tested, operated on and perfected; you were conceived the old-fashioned way, with a virtual roll of the dice.

Still, you have always done well for yourself. In a world where you were born at a natural disadvantage, you have always managed to survive. Survival is truly the best-case scenario given your circumstances. Always, you have harbored the unique ability to assess a situation, determine its risks and choose the right outcome. Some call it luck, others skill, but you know it for what it truly is – the only option.

Take now, for instance.

Currently you sit in a white, pristine lobby on a white, pristine couch in front of a white, pristine receptionist. She keeps glancing your way, wrinkling her nose as though you have a strange smell. Warily, you shift in your seat and wonder if somehow you do. Maybe her sense of smell is so acute she can pick up on an aroma you cannot.

Or maybe she is only an ass. This option seems more likely to you.

When the door to the waiting room swings open, you look up. A woman holds it ajar with her hip, checking the hologram hovering above her wrist. 

“Y/N?” she asks, sounding utterly bored.

“That’s me,” you say, rising to your feet.

Swiftly, she looks your way and wrinkles her nose. “Follow me.”

She turns, the door nearly falling shut behind her. You are forced to run in order to catch it, barely grasping its edge before it closes on your hand. From behind you, the receptionist snickers and, glowering, you step through the door. The hallway beyond it is equally pristine and white.

The assistant is already halfway down the hall.

“So,” you pant, practically jogging to keep up with her stride. “The ad didn’t mention what specifically I would be doing. Do you have an overview?”

For the first time since meeting, the woman smiles. Paused in the middle of the hall, she looks at you as though you are something to be pitied and you repress the urge to slap the look from her face.

“And yet you still answered the ad. Most peculiar.”

Drawing yourself to your full height – which is still several centimeters below hers – you glare. “As though I have a choice,” you say coldly. “There aren’t many jobs left which accept normals.”

“Pity.”

She walks past you, opening a doorway you had not yet noticed. The seams of it blend into the wall, barely even noticeable unless you have super vision. The room beyond seems darker than the hall. Finally, the walls surrounding you are not white – it takes you a second to adjust to the lighting.

“He’s waiting,” the assistant says, as though you are a gigantic waste of her time. Maybe you are.

Walking forward, you hear the door fall shut behind you. The new room is utterly silent, nothing to be heard but the sound of your breathing – and his. Your potential employer stands behind a large desk, as though this were a formal gathering of businessmen, and not a rather sketchy job interview.

Fuck, supers are beautiful. 

It is hard not to be dazzled by his outward appearance. A sculpted jawline, bright gaze and sharp nose – standing before him, you feel rather meek in comparison. Before you can speak, the man clears his throat.

“Sit,” he says, waving at the chair opposite. “Please, Y/N, sit. Are you warm enough? Sometimes the temperature of this room is far too cold.”

Of course, he would need confirmation of this. Most supers can sustain greater temperature fluctuations than normals. It is one of their many improvements.

Warily, you take a step closer. “You know my name.”

He smiles politely. “You did fill out an application, you know.”

“I know.” Stiffly, you pull the chair back to sit.

Silence stretches between you, both of you staring and trying not break first. Finally, he speaks. 

“How silly of me.” Chuckling good-naturedly, the man ducks his head. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Park Jimin, but you may call me Jimin.”

“Most supers prefer to be addressed by their surname.”

Jimin’s smile falters. “Yes, well… Ah. All the same, I prefer to be called Jimin.”

“Alright.” You say this as though it is neither here nor there. “Jimin, it is.”

“Wonderful.” Jimin flicks a hand over his desk. A blue hologram appears. “Down to business, then. You’re probably wondering why my ad was so cryptic.”

Uncaring, you shrug. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Jimin pauses. “That would have been my first question.”

He seems genuinely curious and in response, your gaze narrows. The underlying implication is obvious – you normals do not think things through before acting. Not in the same way they do. Normal thought is somehow ages behind that of the supers.

Gritting your teeth, you lean forward. “The ad didn’t surprise me because, based on prior experience, supers tend to be vague about illegal requests.”

Jimin’s cheeks color. Slowly, he lowers his hand and the blue hologram fades. “I see.” Quickly, he glances at the door you entered from. “You’ve answered this kind of ad often, then.”

“Not a question.”

“No, merely an observation.” His gaze becomes shrewd. “I can see you don’t trust me.”

Not wishing to implicate yourself any further, you remain silent.

Jimin arches a brow. “Well, do you?”

“No,” you say simply. “I do not.”

“I can hardly blame you for that. My kind can be… well, cruel to yours.”

Again, you say nothing. Part of survival is knowing when to hold your tongue. Part of survival is knowing when to play the part of the lower, sub-species and when to let them know you understand.

“I need you to trust me, though,” Jimin says quietly. “I need you to trust me, since I’m going to be very, very honest with you.”

Despite your best interest, his words pique your curiosity. Supers do not often care about honesty. 

“It will be difficult to undo years of training,” you note.

Jimin laughs. The noise escapes before he can help it. “Yes,” he muses, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose so. Perhaps it would be good, then to tell you who I am.”

“You’re Park Jimin. You’re a super.”

His eyes are dark brown with flecks of gold at the center. The effect inspires warmness, emotion and you trust absolutely none of it. Everything about this man is designed to draw people in. Idly, you wonder how much his father paid for it.

“True,” Jimin says. “But I am also Park Jimin, of Park Enterprises.” Launching into what can only be assumed to be his Wikipedia biography, he continues, “My father is Park Jiwoo, researcher and entrepreneur. I have no siblings. I am 169 cm tall, which is considered below average for a super and I –”

“Okay, none of that matters to me,” you interrupt, waving your hand. Jimin ceases talking immediately, blinking owlishly and you wonder if this is the first time he has been interrupted. “God,” you groan, slouching low in your seat. “You supers are all the same, aren’t you? Listing facts and figures like that’s all people care about.”

Jimin bristles. “That is what most people care about.”

“Not normals,” you say, softening a tad. “Not humans, really. Tell me something different. Tell me something personal.”

The blue light from his desk makes him seem almost haunted. Likely, the lights in his room are intelligent; designed to reflect his mood and adjust appropriately. You wonder what they glean from him now, since he seems stressed in your gaze. Dark circles shadow his eyes, his grip tense on the table before him. Uneasily, you wonder what a super could have to be worried about.

“I don’t really know what you mean.” His brow puckers. “Do you want my government ID number, or something? That’s personal.”

“God, no,” you choke out, trying hard not to laugh. “If you gave me that, they’d just think I stole it.”

His lips lift in a ghost of a smile. “You’re right, they would.”

“I know I’m right. I want something different. I want to hear about…” Glancing around, you wonder what could possibly make you trust this man. What could possibly make you relate to this super. There are photographs on his desk – a family photo, which is interesting. Looking up, you meet Jimin’s gaze. “Tell me the last time you cried.”

“The last time I… cried?”

“Or, can you not?” Politely, you cross one knee over the other. “Are you supers so far removed from humanity that you no longer feel? Were your tear ducts removed along with your defects?”

“I can still cry,” Jimin mutters, gaze heated.

“Then, prove it. Tell me.”

Slowly, he leans back in his seat. “Last Thursday. 10:12 AM.”

“And what happened to make you cry?”

“I learned information which scared me.”

His honesty catches you off guard. Either Park Jimin is a very good actor, or he is telling the truth. He truly does look fearful, which does not bode well for you. Fearful people tend to make bad decisions – and fearful supers tend to make cataclysmic ones.

“What information?”

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “I can’t tell you that. Not without you trusting me. Not without me trusting you.”

“Then, trust me.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Jimin slowly exhales. “Meeting you like this goes against everything I stand for. There are so many things which could go wrong... I have done the probability calculations over and over – twice while we were sitting here – and it is ludicrous to think I might find the solution, when –”

“Jimin.” Quietly, you interrupt.

He pauses before he looks up.

You meet his gaze. “Why am I here?”

Jimin’s expression morphs from stoic to helpless. “Because... you’re normal.”

“And?”

“And,” Jimin says, closing his eyes. “That means you are immune to the problem.”

The way he says problem sends a chill down your spine. He speaks as though he has exhausted every option and this is his last resort – and likely, you are. That is what tends to come from meetings like this.

This is not your first meeting from an unlisted number. This is not your first interaction where a person has disguised their voice while answering the phone. It isn’t your first time meeting someone in an unknown location and receiving details of a task said person needed performed. 

You do what you must. You receive payment. You survive.

This seems different, though – Jimin seems different.

With his eyes closed, Jimin looks almost human. You suppose that he is, but not in the same way you are. His skin is flawless, the milk of it dusted with blue veins and dark lashes. When he opens his eyes, you expect the illusion of his beauty to fade. It does not.

“What’s the problem?” you say, pushing these distracting thoughts aside.

“It’s easier… if I show you.” Reluctantly, Jimin reaches out to pull up a hologram. Blue strands of DNA twist before you in mid-air. “There have been many accepted edits of the human genome. Some are more progressive than others. The ampliointelligens procedure, for example, is the most widely known. It is where –”

“A person’s intelligence is increased,” you interrupt, bored. “I know. It’s Latin.”

Jimin quickly covers his surprise. “Of course. Anyways, the procedure was considered the first of the… super procedures. The ones which diverted from genetic correction to genetic improvement. And, as with any new field… there were errors.”

“Errors?”

This fact is news to you – nothing about mistakes was reported to the public, which explains Jimin’s trepidation on the matter. In the entire history of the supers, there has never once been any admittance of error. Their strength is their narrative, after all. The supers deserve their positions, their wealth and their influence because they are better. Because they can foresee things normal humans cannot. All of this fails to be relevant if they are proven to be imperfect.

“The concept of intelligence.” Jimin uses air quotes on the word. “Is hard to understand and even harder to change. Gene editing is simple. Take something like Huntington’s disease – we know the genetic defect which causes it. We can simply screen the DNA, cut out the harmful bit and replace it. That’s an over-simplification of the procedure of course, but – there’s low risk of something going wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“However, with something like intelligence… there’s still debate about which portions of the human genome are the most impactful. There are several accepted versions of the ampliointelligens procedure because of this disagreement.”

Hearing him say this, you blink. Again, this is news not known to the general public and you wonder why Jimin is telling you this – any one of these tidbits would be worth a fortune if the supers have covered them up for so long.

The surprise on your face must be obvious, because Jimin then sighs. “The variables increase with intelligence. There isn’t one DNA strand to consider, but millions. Trillions. Each tweak a surgeon makes has far-reaching repercussions; ones which geneticists admitted were impossible to know definitively at the time. And yet…”

“And yet, people underwent the procedure.”

“People were greedy. They are greedy,” Jimin corrects with a tick to his jaw. “Once a reasonable procedure was created, people wanted it – no matter the cost, no matter the risk. If there was a chance their children could be super, they took it.”

You notice Jimin says the word super with a bitterness usually reserved by your kind. This surprises you, if nothing else. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he is any more than you do.

“So.” You tap your fingers against your knee. “Back to the problem you mentioned.”

You assume this problem is why you’ve been asked here. There’s something Jimin needs and the sooner he asks it of you, the sooner you can leave. The sooner you can cease sitting before him, becoming oddly charmed by a man you despise.

He nods. “We’ve known about a mutation for years, but it has recently transformed into something insidious. One of the ampliointelligens procedures is the cause of this mutation. The DNA edit takes over, it spirals out of control and overpowers the human ability to empathize. This leads to rash decision-making, high levels of narcissism and the inability to relate to others. It can be… crippling.”

“Narcissistic and unable to relate?” Pressing your lips together, you keep them from twitching. “However will you separate them from the rest of the supers?”

“It isn’t the same,” Jimin says, a bit heated. “Supers can empathize, even if they place less value upon emotion than normals do. Supers still factor in an emotional response.”

“How noble.”

“You don’t understand.” Jimin leans forward. “Those afflicted by the mutation are incapable of decision-making – and what’s worse, they control every major resource in the country. Yes,” he says, spotting the look on your face. “The problem is bigger than just supers versus normals. If this disease spirals out of control, there won’t be a world left to save.”

“Is that what you intend to do?” you ask, unable to help yourself. “Save the world?”

“I intend to try,” Jimin says quietly.

Maybe it’s this that convinces to you how serious this is. Jimin stares, brow furrowed, and you get the idea he doesn’t lie very often. Slowly, you tilt your head and observe him.

“How many?”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“How many supers are afflicted?”

Staring at you, Jimin seems to sag in his seat. If he had a glass of alcohol in his hand, you imagine he would drink it. 

“About half the existing supers underwent the affected procedure,” he admits. “And it does not seem to be a question of if, but of when.”

“Oh.”

“Take my father, for instance,” Jimin continues, not looking away. “He began to exhibit symptoms last Thursday morning. I, on the other hand, have yet to show any.”

“How…” You pause, licking your lips. “If the procedure is as certain as you say, how does the public not yet know? How has it been kept quiet so far?”

“Those in power have methods of silencing.”

Not wanting to know more than that, you glance away. “I take it you think these methods will not remain effective for much longer?”

“I do not.”

“So, then why am I…” Glancing sharply upwards, understanding dawns. “You want me to be your guinea pig. You want to perform experiments on me because I’m immune. Because I’m normal.”

“Lord, no.” Jimin winces. “At least – not in the manner you speak of. I would like to compare samples of our DNA, yes. I’d like intelligence testing, brain scans – all of that would be on the table, but what I need you for most is observation.”

“Observation. Like, me in a glass room and a strait jacket?”

“It’s the other way around, I’m afraid. I need you to observe me.”

“You?” 

“Like I said.” A sliver of desperation seeps into his tone. “I have no idea when my mind won’t be… my own. I’m seeing firsthand how my father has changed. I need someone neutral – someone not prone to the problem themselves – to weigh in.”

“And that person… is me?”

“Based on this meeting, I think so.” Jimin meets your gaze. “Y/N, has your intelligence ever been tested?”

“Are you serious? Intelligence testing is reserved for supers. Surely, you know that. Normals have no need to be tested.”

“And yet,” Jimin says calmly. “Since you entered this room, you’ve corrected me multiple times, synthesized complicated arguments and even translated Latin to English. Whatever you are,” he says, leaning forward. “It is more than what you let on.”

He sounds so self-assured in this statement, you almost believe him. Pushing the idea away, you glance at the door and gather your thoughts. No matter what choice you make, there’s no good way out. You were stuck from the moment you agreed to this meeting. Jimin has revealed too much to you – and yes, information is power, but not the kind that you hold.

Knowing weaknesses about the supers places a target on your back. Slowly, you return to him. 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” you say softly. “If I don’t agree to your terms, you’ll just send people after me when I leave.”

“No. I won’t.”

“Why not? I would, if I were you.”

“Because.” There’s something hard, something unreadable to his gaze. “I really need you to trust me.”

Variables flash through your mind, a fight or flight instinct warring in your bones. Eventually, you ignore all of it and instead, listen to the voice which whispers in the back of your mind. 

“Find,” you say slowly. “I’ll do it.”

Jimin sags into his chair. “Thank the fucking gods.” He sighs. “I didn’t really have a Plan B.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Jimin says. “I’m afraid this is my final resort.”

“Then, why –”

“I think that’s enough chit-chat for today.” Pushing back his chair, Jimin stands from his desk. Pressing a button on the side, a noise buzzes in the hall. “I think it’s time you reviewed the terms of the contract. One of my assistants will show you to your rooms.”

“Rooms?” 

Without thinking, you stand as well.

“Of course,” Jimin shrugs. “You’ll be staying with me for the duration of the work period. Everything is outlined in the contract – which you will have until the end of this week to make amendments to. Will that be that satisfactory?”

“I…” Blinking at him, your mind reels. “Yes.”

“Good.” 

Clasping both hands before him, Jimin morphs back into the image of super. Banished is the distressed man you saw briefly but still, he lingers around the edges. 

“I look forward to working with you, Y/N,” he says quietly.

The door opens to reveal the tall assistant from earlier. She glances in surprise from you to Jimin, as though she did not expect you to stay.

Seeing her reaction, your smile broadens. “I look forward to working with you, too, Jimin,” you announce, walking towards the door.

It is mainly for the benefit of the assistant, but you cannot help but realize there is some truth to the words. Despite all you have said, that voice still exists deep within you. The one which usually warns you of danger is unusually silent in his presence. This unsettles you for a moment and then you walk past, stepping into the hall.

  © kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[moviediary]

She’s All That (1999)

Rich and popular makes a bet with his “friend”, whose personality is pretty much summed up by the fact that he has frosted tips, that he can turn any girl into the prom queen after getting dumped by his longtime girlfriend. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I love this movie, but every time I watch it I can’t help but be amazed at how absurd it is. I mean, cliché plot aside, every individual piece that makes up this 1 hour and 30 minute ode to the individual is completely insane. What universe does this take place in? What high school do they go to?

That being said, I really like the opening shots to this movie, it definitely gives you a good introduction to the main character. Laney Boggs. She’s political and messy and 100% down to her bones an art student. She isn’t afraid to be dark.

In contrast I feel like the first meeting of the main love interest really doesn’t set him up to be who the writers want you to think he is. I mean he rolls up to school in a bright yellow Jeep with a Mr. Prez vanity plate. Then you see his shoes when he gets out of the car, fuckin’ ugly ass leather loafers. I’m sorry I know this means nothing I just have a hard time believing this jock wears these fucking shoes they’re so god damn ugly.

Every moment that introduces him makes it seem like he should be the villain, he has pretty much no redeeming qualities that we can see besides his wit (barely) and good looks. I just don’t understand why we’re supposed to like him, this is Sixteen Candles all over again. Hot rich guy, is an asshole, for some reason I still root for and love him. How does that work? What makes these characters so grossly likable? I mean, his name is Zack. That alone raises a red flag for me. That’s a frat boy asshole name. Zacks are friends of Kyle that’s all I’m saying.

Once we get through his painfully douchey introduction we get introduced to Zack’s equally douchey friends frosted tips and Gus from psych. (don’t ask me what their actual names are it’s not important anyway, that is essentially their personalities) The first thing we hear is them talking about summer break and their vacations, further driving home how rich they are and how weird it is that adults write movies about teenagers having gratuitous amounts of sex with adults. Then Zach tries unsuccessfully to say something philosophical about them graduating soon (I have to keep reminding myself that he’s supposed to have like the 4th highest GPA in their class) They then meet the most 90s girls I have ever seen. Who I guess are supposed to be popular? One thing I do like is how diverse all the characters are, they don’t all look exactly the same which I feel tends to be a problem with high school movies.

So we finally meet the “popular girl” Taylor Vaughn, Zack’s girlfriend and she immediately breaks up with him (which honestly is probably a good idea anyway) and his “friends” fucking laugh at him which he really had coming. I mean. Look at his hair. 

This launches what is probably one of my favorite narrated flashback scenes of all time, not because the topic is particularly interesting but because I love the way they have Zach interrupt her inside of the flashback. It’s a very small addition that really gives the scene style. Also we see this hot girl start dating Shaggy??? Also one of the villains from the original Scream???( he only really plays one character.) Makes me laugh every time. Also makes me a little uncomfortable every time since she’s in high school and he’s who knows how old but whatever not important. This also leads to one of my favorite exchanges in the whole movie. 

Taylor wraps up her spring break story time with one of the rawest lines I've ever seen in a 90s movie (she really did that to him) and the director throws in a classic high school movie trope, everyone actually caring enough to stop and watch this exchange. And while I usually hate this kind of character worship, since this movie is already so bizarre and unrealistic it actually kinda fits

We then cut to Laney’s art class which includes her teacher that for some reason thinks her art isn’t personal enough and two clown obsessed Lydia Deetz knock offs. I have to say I do love this part where the art students literally suggest that she kill herself in order to have her art recognized. Very realistic conversation between art students. 

That whole scene is really funny though because it doesn’t feel like it belongs in this movie. Even the music doesn't fit which is only emphasized by the sudden bell ringing transition back into a stereotypical high school movie. It reminds me of movies like the craft, the way it’s cut together, the way the characters talk, how Laney just stares straight ahead after not saying anything. It seems like she could have chosen a completely different movie to be in. Like if the movie was a chose your own adventure, she could have been in a different genre entirely and the movie would have been about her and those girls faking her death to get recognition and make money from her paintings. which would have been sick. but that isn't the movie I’m watching. Which I’m reminded of when fucking Zack comes back on screen.

Also right before the scene where the actual bet is introduced we meet the school’s resident DJ??? which isn’t important at all but is so strange that I feel the need to point it out. Like they don’t just have a guy who does the announcements they have like a disc jockey who is just there all the time??? There are just so many little things in this movie that make it so weird.

So fucking Brock pukashells pulls up and Zach just flips. Which is understandable it is a very gross moment but he just fucking goes off about Taylor and how she’s not that great and he could get with any girl in the school. His friends point out that bitch boy forgot that Taylor Vaughn is “an institution” and basically Zach with tits. She’s very important. This is something I never get about movies like this, has anyone actually been to a high school where someone was that well known. But also not liked? Like sure she’s hot, but she’s also a grade A bitch to everyone. and according to Zach nothing more than a C minus GPA in a Wonderbra. 

Once you get through the misogyny plus ultra scene and they finally make the bet, frosted tips has picked the girl Zach has to turn into the prom queen. Scary inaccessible Laney Boggs. He’s got 6 weeks to make her popular. He starts off his first exchange with her in the best way possible. By calling her brother Spaz (as his name). Again, we’re supposed to like this guy I think. I don’t know when he’s supposed to become a likable character but I can’t imagine it’s during all these scenes where he just legit insults people.

I also love all of the clips we get to see from Brock’s time on The Real World Which make me really question why all the girls fan girl over him given that he’s actually the worst, even on the show. We also get introduced to Zack’s sister who probably should have been a lesbian given how queer coded her character is besides the fact that she desperately wants a boyfriend. She even goes to an all girls school it would have been perfect. But alas, this movie is gay-less.

We are then introduced to another b-plot in this movie, Zack’s indecision about college. This was I guess to make him more human? or something? To sort of flesh him out and give him problems but honestly he doesn't have any problems. Later in the movie Laney points this out to him, he can do whatever he wants. This whole college thing is resolved fairly quickly later in the film too, it’s not very important it’s just the only thing we see about Zack besides being a perfect high schooler throughout the whole movie. Well that and his terrible performance art and being an asshole. 

After we see that Zack has been accepted by every Ivy League school and their mother (I’m not jealous I swear) we take a brief Taylor being a bitch detour before getting back to Zack making an ass of himself. This time he’s bothering Laney at her job which is awesome we love that. Again I don’t know why we like this guy he does like 3 nice things the whole movie. Anyway she gets defensive like she always does and he fumbles around trying to talk like he’s a normal person and not a walking cliché and then there’s this really strange exchange where he tries to asked her for help in art classes and she says “you don’t take art” and he’s like “how do you know?” and she’s like “Why haven't I seen you in any of my classes?” and like, I get what they were going for but what kind of high school is this? how does she have time to take more than one art class? How is she already an art major before she’s in college that’s not how high school works. I only ever had one school where I could take more than two extra curriculars and that was in middle school and it was only because they fucked up and put me in four hours of study hall and so I just went to all of the art classes that were offered. But that’s different. And am I way over analyzing this movie? yes. Does anyone but me care about this shit? probably not, but I’m gonna talk about it anyway.

I also really like Laney’s best friend who’s kind of just there, all the time, he’s such a good wing man. He also made the best excuse to get out of seeing that weird ass art show she’s in. He’s like, oh good I don’t have to see another Mitch show. He’s probably in his underwear in all of them, I wouldn’t want to go either. I think it really says something about the performance art world though, because this is probably the most believable part of the whole movie. If someone told me that his is just an actual performance art piece that they used in this movie I would absolutely believe them. Also one of the weird gremlins in this piece says what is probably my favorite quote ever which is “my soul is an island, my car is a Ford” like what the fuck is that I love that so much.

I really want to know how they came up with this shit, it’s so perfect. It also is another one of these parts in the movie that doesn’t really add anything. A lot of the movie is like this, I feel like 90% of this movie is weird filler scenes and the rest in plot. Like it’s so obvious how it’s going to end that you barely even need to watch most of the movie, and even when you do watch most of the movie it always kind of feels like it only half has something to do with the plot. I’m not even going to talk about the weird hacky Sack scene, I can’t handle how embarrassing and cringey it is I pretty much always skip through it. What a dick move of Laney’s to even put him in that situation. The whole “your eyes are really beautiful” scene is also really strange, both his lines and her reaction don’t really make sense. Through most of this movie when they actually talk to each other I feel like they don’t have any chemistry. It’s the same when he subtly blackmails her into going to the beach with him. He’s awkward and barely says anything that prompts a response and then she just goes full WOKE EMO on him and like, they really do have nothing in common I do not understand their relationship. And then his friends show up and he’s like, “If we’re gonna be friends we’ll have to deal with them eventually” which like, 1: wow get some friends you actually like maybe? And 2: how are you guys friends, you’ve barely ever managed to exchange civil words on screen. Actually maybe that makes sense, this is why he thinks this is okay (besides the whole bet thing) maybe he doesn’t realize he’s supposed to actually like his friends and girlfriend. Because it really seems like he doesn’t like any of them, which I get. Except for Gus (not his name but whatever) because that guy’s actually pretty funny and spends the whole movie calling frosted tips out whenever he sounds too much like Kenny from Can’t Hardly Wait.

The whole beach scene is kinda take it or leave it too, there are a lot of moments where we see Laney hang out with Zack and other people but honestly through the whole movie there really isn’t a whole lot of growth. We don’t actually really see them bond or talk, we’re supposed to believe their relationship is growing but I guess that must be happening off screen because I don’t see it.

One of my favorite parts is when Zack forces the JV soccer team to clean Laney’s house, the kid answering the jeopardy question and her dad just realizing they were there. Oh man, gets me every time. The makeover scene is also pretty cute, I always love those. Also the whole “new, not improved, but different Laney Boggs” thing is adorable and I appreciate it.

The evolving of the characters and their relationships don’t happen gradually, what little is actually shown is pretty much in like 3 parts, the opening, the party scene, and the end. The characters are very flat for most of the movie and they have very little personality, but the party scene is very fun to watch. From “Gracias, papi!” to Laney turning Misty into a clown, and then the Give it to Me dance sequence. And even though the characters haven’t really given me a good reason to care about them my heart still hurts a little for Laney when Taylor ruins her dress. That’s the thing about this movie, I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t like these characters, but I still do, and I have no idea why.

The Brock dumping Taylor thing was great, the parallel was expected but I actually think it added to the story. In fact most of the things after the party actually feel necessary to the movie which is nice. Even the soccer practice actually leads to something. I don’t know what it is about the 2nd quarter of this movie that feels so empty but whatever it is it’s enough that I saw a noticeable difference when I got to the third act of this movie.

It’s a small part but I also really love the alternative clubs that make signs in favor of Laney for prom queen. They’re just so fucking funny to me. I mean, Hygiene club? Prisoners club??? What?

Then they pull another fast feelings thing on me again. They throw the mom painting scene at me and like, wow that’s sad. Then Zack tries to garner sympathy for the problems that he makes for himself. Then boom they flip on me again they’re cute and I like them. Then she says that weird thing about prom and he just dips man. And like, Why do they gotta do me like that? I cannot seem to decide if I like these characters or not it’s so weird how this dialogue is written.

And then the dream happens? Definitely one of the best scenes in the whole movie. So fucking perfect. It really just adds to the weird slight surrealness of this whole movie.

Then we go back to the school and suddenly everyone is dressing like Laney? In support I guess? Again can I just ask what fucking school they go to? And then there’s the beat boxing scene? Where they rap about who’s gonna be prom queen? I’ve never even met anybody that invested in the outcome of who’s gonna be prom queen except for those running. I don’t even think I know anybody who voted. Even so, I do love the beat box scene, they really spit some bars.

Also I just noticed that in that super fucked cafeteria scene, you can see Buffy make a cameo? Just a fun little trivia fact. But seriously that cafeteria scene is fucked. Like, the pubes on the pizza? I wish no one had thought of that ever. Also can I just say I would undoubtedly rather get my ass kicked than be forced to eat pubes. I don’t know what they were thinking that isn’t even a question.

It’s also really uncomfortable how good frosted tips is at acting like he’s not a douchebag. What a creep. If that were a real guy I’d be tempted to call him a sociopath. So gross. But I suppose it’s good for the story line.

The end of the movie wraps up pretty fast honestly. Zack’s dad and him finally communicate which fixes Zack’s only problem immediately because that’s just how easy it is. He was just projecting the whole time, his dad had literally no problems other than being a typical rich dad. Then of course we get another moment with the school DJ who I guess just gets to play and say what ever he wants whenever he wants. Am I the only one who thinks it’s really inappropriate how sexual that guy’s announcements about prom are? Maybe it’s just me and I had a really different high school experience but I feel like people are way too focused on sex when they make movies about high school. Other shit was going on you know? It’s just odd for me to think about grown adults writing and pitching this movie.

Zack really is such a bitch boy though, he doesn’t even try to explain anything to her, just lets her get hurt and lets Taylor be a bitch to her without saying anything. He doesn’t even try to tell her that frosted tips was just as much a part of it as he was. Honestly I kind of wish that frosted tips wasn’t such an asshole his whole heart to heart with her at the door before prom could have been really cute if I didn’t already know he was a lying scumbag. But I guess Laney just gets the lesser of the douchebags.

We finally get to the prom, inarguably the best part of the whole movie, all the little bits and pieces. The sex doll guy is always funny as hell. The DJ being the school DJ works really well brings a lot of closure to that whole weirdness. Also that dance scene is fucking great, has absolutely nothing to do with the plot, which actually works since about 40% of the things in this movie have nothing to do with the plot of this movie. I absolutely unironically tried to learn this dance, man I fucking wish prom was actually like this. I don’t know about you guys but for me, both of my proms were not nearly this theatrical. I spent my first one playing black jack the whole time and my senior prom was full of people that were way too white to dance. Anyway, Laney doesn’t win and she leaves early. Zack gives a pretty boring speech. Taylor goes off on everyone. Frosted tips tries to get Laney in bed and everyone gets upset.

The whole thing ends with Laney coming home to find Zach waiting for her to make sure she’s okay, which is sweet and all but like I can’t help wondering how long he had just been standing there waiting. Especially since it seemed like her dad was just ignoring him. That’s just a funny image to me. Anyway, they dance in the backyard. They kiss. It’s cute. Zack loses the bet so he accepts his diploma naked which I’m pretty sure is indecent public exposure but sure.

Overall it’s a very cute movie. The clichés are sort of made up for by all the weird 90s movie things. Plus it has a pretty great soundtrack. I know I sort of really went in on this movie but to be honest I really enjoy watching it. I’m not sure why. It’s pretty bad when you think about it any deeper than surface level. But it’s also just really fun and the characters are weird and there’s too many duffel bags to be normal and it’s just funny. It’s really weirdly funny. And it has that same non-conclusion that a lot of teen rom-coms have where they just can’t really give you all that much and just make sure they’re happy even if you know there is no way they can continue a relationship outside of high school. It may sound like it, but I’m not mad at it. If you haven’t already I’d say watch it. Watch it as a relaxing mindless good time activity. At the very least you won’t be bored, but if you get sympathy embarrassment like I do then maybe skip a few parts.

As of right now this movie is not available for free on any streaming sites (yes I own it on DVD don’t @ me)

Final Verdict:

Actual movie review: 6/10

How fun is it to watch?: 8/10

[bthenoise]

Check It Out: Here Are 23 Of Your Favorite Bands’ Favorite Skaters

Today is a big day in both the skating and video game world. In case you didn’t hear: The man, the myth, the legend Tony Hawk has just dropped a highly anticipated remake of his iconic Tony Hawk Pro Skater 1 and 2 games.   

Giving the classic 1999 and 2000 gems a fresh facelift for a newer generation, skaters and gamers all around the world will have the chance to bust out 900s and McTwists while chasing insane combos and listening to one of the best gaming soundtracks ever compiled. 

To help celebrate today’s huge moment, we thought it’d be fun to reach out to some of our favorite artists and see who some of their all-time favorite professional skaters are.

To check out what members of Neck Deep, State Champs, Thrice, nothing,nowhere and more had to say about skaters like Daewon Song, Mike Vallely, Mike Carroll and more be sure to look below.

BEN BARLOW - NECK DEEP

Eric Koston

I think what I love about Koston is that he doesn’t take himself seriously at all. He’s very self-deprecating and loves skateboarding for what it is, good fun. I met him at skatepark in Tampa once. We were playing a show next door and it was the warmups for the Tampa Pro the next day. Koston was just goofing around, emanating a very good vibe. He’s a great example that you don’t need to be SOTY to be one of the best. 

Ishod Wair 

Ishod has it all. He can skate street or transition. He can be tech or go big. His style is super clean but he can rough it up too. When you watch one of his video parts it’s never the same sort of tricks over and over, it’s a lot of variation in how and what he skates. He can do anything and do it well. His attitude is always pretty care free and easy going and [he] seems a lot of fun to be around. For me he’s one of the best in the world.

Jamie Foy

I like Foy because he came out of nowhere. He doesn’t look like he’d be able to send it down some of the biggest handrails you’ve ever seen, but he will, and he’ll usually do it to an insane level of difficulty. His determination on tricks is crazy, he can take some big slams on big spots and still get up and keep going. The year he got SOTY and was on King Of The Road was great to watch. All the gnarly/difficult challenges got soaked up by him and he’s constantly upping himself and surprising people with what he does next. 

Evan Smith 

Evan is one of the skaters I discovered more recently. I first saw him on King of The Road and immediately loved his style. Like Jamie Foy, there are times where you don’t expect him to pull out the tricks he does on the spots he does. I love his super loose style and the freedom of expression in his skating and he seems like a great guy to be around, always keeping the vibe strong and pushing the skaters around him to land a trick. He almost seems more stoked when one of his friends lands something then when he does! 

Luan Olivera 

Luan for me is one of the best in the world right now and it’s all down to his style. He really is the embodiment of ’steeze.’ Every flip trick, no matter how difficult, looks like the board is magnetically stuck to his feet. He does everything with speed and conviction and watching him is like watching the flip trick textbook in action. As a skater I’ve always been drawn to learning flip tricks and doing flip tricks on spots so watching him is a great way to get pumped up to skate. 

DEREK DISCANIO - STATE CHAMPS

Andrew Reynolds 

As far as legacy skaters go, Reynolds was always a favorite. He came to my town with the Emerica team for a demo when I was 12 and I remember being so psyched.

Daewon Song 

The technical master. One of a kind with his manual combos and transition skill. Still killing it after decades.

Luan Olivera 

Luan has THE best style in the game. Love watching him and how easy he makes everything look. 

Chris Joslin 

This guy is the future. He racks up insane clips constantly and is making his mark in the competitive scene too. Also a great follow on instagram. Milton Martinez 

2019 Thrasher Skater Of The Year. Watch his “Demolicíon” part and thank me later.

nothing,nowhere.

Rodney Mullen

Rodney is the godfather of modern street skating. He’s created more tricks than anyone else and is the epitome of creativity. I used to watch his videos every day after school, especially his videos on Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater.

Chad Muska

Chad brought straight up style into skating; the muskalade, muska beats, and the boom box... I used to look on CCS magazine for Shorty’s shirts so I could look like Chad. A true legend and role model.

Daewon Song

Daewon is as tech as it gets. I used to watch the “Cheese and Crackers” video every day. He and Chris Haslam inspired me to skate transition more and today it’s all I skate. His Instagram is bananas too, he’s still ripping.

Mike Vallely

I used to be the only kid at the skatepark throwing boneless 360s off of the launch ramp. I wanted to be Mike V so bad! His show Drive on Fuel TV makes me cry whenever I watch it now because it’s so nostalgic. I’ll never forget when he signed my element shirt at Warped Tour 2007.

Mark Gonzales

Gonz is pure expression in human form. He paved the way for so many skateboarders and he always thought outside of the box. His art is insane as well, I’m still on the hunt for some OG prints from him.

ED BRECKENRIDGE - THRICE

Jon Dickson 

Dickson has the ability to make any trick look like an epic, slow-mo, roll-the-credits clip. His style and power is unmatched and he truly embodies the origins of street skateboarding with the progression of modern day.

Natas Kaupas 

Natas is such creative inspiration to us all. His efforts helped influence street skating with creativity, progression, and challenging what is possible on a piece of wood and wheels using the environment around us.

TEPPEI TERANISHI - THRICE

Mike Carroll

Favorites... it’s such a dreaded question for me but if I were to go for an all-time fave, it just might be Mike Carroll. I started skating in the early/mid nineties and he was the cream of the crop. Such style, such a technical and choice bag of tricks, and that flick! Virtual Reality, Penal Code, Goldfish, Mouse, heck, even his part in Questionable...classics!

Franky Villani

One of my favorite skateboarders at the moment would definitely be Franky Villani. The dude can do it all—crazy technical, big rails, gaps—and does it all with a super unique style that’s somehow equal parts fun and heavy.

JIMMY WIZARD - HIGHER POWER

Jake Johnson 

Just straight up solid style and creativity. 

Mike Carrol 

Makes skateboarding look so easy his Modus Operandi part is effortless style and he seems like a funny character. 

Vincent Huhta 

I love watching this guy skate. Can’t wait to see more footage. He is the most relaxed man on a skateboard ever .

Chad Muska

So creative and inspiring off the skateboard and growing up playing THPS seeing his footage through that game was life changing, for sure.

[cykelops]

IMPORTANT: Packing, shipping, store re-opening code and the future of my work.

Hi, guys. I wanted to make a ton of important announcements.

Shipping has begun, as some of you lucky chums found out this Monday when exactly twenty of you got your stuff. That was my test batch, to ensure nothing would go wrong with the way I'm doing things. The rest of you are sitting under my bed waiting to be finished and sent out by this week. I will get that done, god-willing. I have almost everyone ready to go. Just gotta slap your labels on them after a lot of weighing.

Some of you Kickstarter veterans of mine might have realized there's no buzz about the store-exclusive surprise pin. (Those unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, I release an extra design whenever my store launches after a Kickstarter and I provide everyone with a 25% off their entire order to encourage backers to get her). So where is she? She won't be available for at least another month. Let me be clear: the store will be relaunching without the super-secret store exclusive extra DC girl pin. HOWEVER. You will have infinite uses of your Kickstarter-exclusive coupon code for TWO MONTHS, which means every single time you use your code within those two months you will receive 25% off your entire order. That way you can get the extra girl when she's eventually released as well as enjoy some goodies on the side until that time.

[ Kickstarter backers see the Kickstarter backers-only update for your coupon code]

Now for the longest, ramble-y announcement.

Some of you are more up to date than others because you follow me on social media. I am most active as optyck on Twitter. Basically, the backing cards for the pins failed me (as they do almost every Kickstarter) and that frustrated me to no end. Some of you will be receiving packages with no backing cards, or half backing cards, or the lucky few who got all their pins backed. If I had waited for a clean batch of backing cards we would have been here another week or two, pushing my timeline beyond comfort. I refuse to do that in the name of something that doesn't really help your pin, just makes it look cute and professional.

You have to understand, getting your pins packed pretty takes me almost an entire week or two if I take human breaks. I am one person packing twenty two-thousand pins, and while I get help from well-meaning friends, this is my job, not their's and they cannot always be around to keep me going. You start to want to tear out your hair after a while. Pins in backing cards take up storage space, especially niche pins like mine that sell at a modest pace. My mother, bless her heart, brought an entire dresser someone was gonna throw in the trash for her room so my room wouldn't be drowned in pins. That is honestly my fault. I wouldn't be doing so many pins per Kickstarter if I were more confident in my ability to hold your attention with my art, and because sometimes I need more popular characters to help me fund less popular ones, or simply because I love what I do and I want to do it huge all the time.

So from now on, I am giving up the backing cards.  In future Kickstarters of more than three pins, I will be foregoing the cards altogether unless I am tabling at a convention. What does that mean for you? Well, it means my pins will be cheaper. You're going to see prices drop to $8 on Kickstarter and to $9 on my store. Yes, that's how pricey packaging has been for me. I have to buy backing cards, cellophane baggies, storage supplies, and I pay $$$'s worth of money for extra size and weight of your package as it expands to accommodate the cards.

For me, it means less time up at 3am stabbing pin posts through my fingers (actually happened) or through my butt (yeah, I sat on one.........hundred). It also means people maybe won't look at my stuff and be impressed by the level of professionalism displayed by the twenty-year-old Psych major living with her parents in a two-bedroom apartment... It means maybe not generating the kind of brand credibility that generates sales at first glance, but that's a sacrifice I am willing to make for my own health.

I hope you guys understand. I hope it doesn't make you lose faith in me and my future work. I certainly hope it doesn't reflect badly on me or my dedication to this work. I never tackle what I do with anything less than professional effort, I will always do my best to get your pins to you quickly, safely, and affordably, but I don't have the time, money, or space to give your pins that extra charm.

I love you tons. You guys are awesome. You're patient and supportive and the best Kickstarter backer crowd a girl could want. I hope we'll meet again for my next Kickstarter. I hear some Marvel Men Get Pinned...

[swyllh]

we could be heroes

title: we could be heroes

pairing: soonyoung / reader

genre: superhero

synopsis: in a world where superheroes exist, you’re just a measly insurance agent, and kwon soonyoung is an unlucky guy who winds up at your office every few days. 

Kwon Soonyoung is absolutely nothing like what you’d have expected; a foot holding the door just barely agape, hands tangled in the bizarre ritual of a makeshift meal, thick blonde hair wrestled into submission beneath a pink headband. Your fist, resolute and professional, falls back to your side. He grins.

“Hmm?” Kwon Soonyoung swallows thickly, before exhaling sharply. “Hot- hot!”

As he begins fanning himself with his chopsticks, you clear your throat. “Is Mr. Kwon Soonyoung in?”

“Oh,” he says, taking in your tweed suit and collared shirt. “Um, that’s me.”

You peer over his shoulder, scanning through the mutiny of colours and one too many acid-washed denim. Kwon Soonyoung hurriedly tiptoes, blocking as much of his apartment as he can.

“So, um, who are you?” he says.

Straightening up, you fix him with a level stare. “Sunny Insurance, Junior Manager. Pleasure.”

Kwon Soonyoung stares, jaw dropping. “Oh.”

He hastily backs away from the door, eyes darting between every possible flat surface. As the door slams shut, you can’t help but wonder exactly how someone - in a sulking hoodie and worn out bike shorts - could rack up so much insurance coverage for the past two months. He looks like he hasn’t even left his apartment in days; a broken femur, a fractured arm, two operations on either leg...

Kwon Soonyoung swings the door open, and extends a hand out to you. “Hello.”

It’s a firm grasp.

Coffee Dally worms its way into your intricately balanced diet of sleepless nights and tampered dreams. Somewhere between the first sip and the fifth satchel of sugar, a quaked murmur reaches you. It’s another attack somewhere, on fifth street? You squint at the sprinting lines, caught between fickle numbers and hedging arrows. Sixth street. That’s just within the perimeters of your agency’s ward.

Great. The screen fizzles out of focus and sharply into one of a burning building. Something bright red and tardy zips around the complex. It’s a superhero, and he’s ripping parts of the building out. The fires get worse. A ball of flame launches into yet another building - a bank! - and the scaffoldings go up in smoke.

You down your coffee in a gulp, seethe through your nose. Joshua glances over from the counter, barely hiding his smile. He walks over with a refill.

“It’s gonna be a long day at work, huh?”

You nod, moulding your neck in preparation for all the craning you’re about to do.

“-so I was saying, that man just swooped in, and-” your latest client is miming the sounds of an impaired aircraft, fingers bunched together as they spin around a bottle. “-and he just grabs this wall-”

“From what I hear, you’re claiming for damages dealt by the,” you pause, sifting through your files. “Hurricane Hero?”

Mr. Lee nods indignantly, lifting his bandaged foot. “They’re getting out of hand now - ripping buildings out, as though those villains aren’t doing enough damage! I should really-”

“Yes,” you say blandly, circling his insurance policy with a bright red pen. “See, it’s unfortunate, but you’ve only insured against the Bloody Banker, the Vice Vista and… Hummingbird Henry.”

“But this- this is! This is a hero who did this shit! You don’t have heroes to insure against! Do you see how, exactly how unjust this is?” Mr. Lee shrieks, wheeling back to demonstrate the extent of his injuries. “I’m a ballet teacher, I need my legs!”

You sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t help you - while a claim under the accidental fires would have been completely covered under your insurance policy, you were nowhere near the actual fire. Your injury was caused by the um, Hurricane Hero tearing the wall off-”

“That’s got to be an accident! Or some,” he attempts to read the letters upside down. “‘Acts of God’-”

“We don’t cover for ‘Acts of God’, I’m afraid,” you say firmly. Outside, there are multiple pairs of narrowed eyes glaring through the blinds. “You’ll have to write to the Association of Superheroes, or The Daily Tab. Jasmine outside will put you in touch.”

To assuage his beet-red flush, you scribble frivolously on a name card and pass it to him with a wink. Mr. Lee snatches it out of your hands, and wheels himself out with as much dignity as he can muster. You pretend not to hear his wince when he underestimates the distance to the door.

The next client shuffles in, arms bandaged thickly like the ends of Q-tips. He grins sheepishly at you, and your first thought goes to the singed strap of his messenger bag. Kwon Soonyoung plops down in front of you, arms gingerly resting on either sides of the chair.

“Mr. Kwon,” you greet. “How can I be of assistance?”

“You know the fire on sixth street,” he begins, grimacing. “Yeah, got caught up in it.”

He raises his arms - stubs, really - and lets them fall back down delicately. His body begins to bob up and down, as does the desk as it rattles incessantly. A halo of something green or fluorescent glimmers around his mop of hair.

“Do you have any medical documents?” you ask, rolling back in your chair to reach for his folder. Kwon. K, right behind J. There.

He nods vigorously. “Yeah, they’re all in my bag, but I’m kind of. Bandaged right now. Do you mind?”

You’re scanning his file half-heartedly - the entire team’s gone through this disaster-prone dossier so many times you can recite which villains he’s insured against - when the rattling ceases. Kwon Soonyoung wriggles his brows, and jabs his stubby arms in the general direction of the messenger bag.

“So, who’re you betting on?” Jun says, leaning over the bar.

You cup your ears and lean in. “What?”

Jun repeats his question over the grain and strain of Thursday’s Telecast. You look down at the card in your hands, eyes flitting between the names of superheroes and villains alike. There’s the family-friendly Couch Tater, or the prime time favourite, Vint Age. Even Hurricane Hero’s registered for the match. You flip the card over to see another table of names, all of them foreign.

“They’re getting guests to pick up the ratings,” Jun explains, wiping a glass. “Think they’re from Camdella this time.”

“How long?” you ask, turning back to the domestic list.

“Not long enough to register on your radar, Junior Manager,” Jun teases. “But if you want my opinion, I’d say you might wanna bet on Mortar.”

“Mortar,” you echo. “That’s the guy who snuffed out the landlines, right?”

“He’s wrestling against Hurricane in the first round,” Jun says. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Didn’t Mortar get the Telcomm shares?”

Jun hands the man a pint and a betting card, before turning back to you. “Can’t get enough spare cash - heard he got his insurance terminated for fraud.”

You shake your head. “But Hurricane’s a wild card. There’s no guarantee he’ll make it through.”

“What, Mortar?” Jun shrugs. “No station would let a vet down before a fire hazard. Not even RHK - just looks bad.”

“The Association?”

“Yeah, probably,” he says, and then pauses. “Well, maybe they’re reverse-psyching us. But my money’s on Mortar - he’s unpredictable but safe enough for RHK.”

You nod, and pencil in your bet. Jun collects the card, tongue sticking out as he checks your ballot. You shrug your shoulders back, and take the first sip of your mocktail.

He winces. “Hurricane, really?”

“It’s a free county, barkeep,” you say.

Jun laughs. “Well, that’s more cash for me.”

You let him go on with his duties, watching as he flirts very successfully for a tip. The rim of your glass ponders, a glimmer of a face sprinting as you shift from side to side. Thursday’s Telecast always draws a huge crowd, and with the upgrade in equipment, there’s no doubt that people are getting riled up. Violet haunts the walls as the jukebox begins thrumming out a solemn beat. Someone kicks it, and hops away howling.

“No more bets!” Jun exclaims. A scrawny teenager hurriedly shoves his into Jun’s hands.

On cue, the screen lights up with the opening theme. Someone whistles along, and is promptly shushed. You watch the line up of eager, bravado-dipped heroes and determined villains enter the ring. They pose and growl and preen over their muscles, but all the same, everyone’s got their masks on. For a moment you wonder if it’s possible that they’re just stuntmen under the suits.

“I can’t believe they got the villains onboard,” you say, mirthful after your second glass. “As though they weren’t trying to kill each other on even weeks.”

Jun yawns. “Well, it’s a fine line. They’re still trying to set up an association for the bad guys.”

“Would be helpful,” you rest your chin in your palm. “There’re always new ones popping up, how are we supposed to update the lists?”

Jun pats you on the back. “Tough job, insurance.”

“Is it me, or does Hurricane look a bit winded?”

“No take backs, you know.” Jun squints. “But yeah, a bit. Probably from the fire.”

You grimace. “He shouldn’t be there.”

On screen, Hurricane Hero stumbles over the mat but stands his ground. Mortar turns on him, and the two begin pacing dramatically in circles. The chanting of the crowd heightens, grows with bated breaths. The camera cuts to a brief shot of Mortar’s stubbly chin, where his thin lips stretch into a smirk. The shot pans out to a wider one, and Mortar lunges.

This time, it’s your office building that’s under attack. It’s the rumbling of the panels, and then the trip in the circuit - your computer shuts down, mid-word. Kimmy throws the door open.

“It’s Vibrata,” she shouts, and moves on to the next room. “Code Pink! Leave the papers behind!”

You’re about to reach for the second drawer when the ceiling fan begins to swing ominously. The tremors are rippling up the walls, raging against your dollar-store filing cabinet. The blinds behind you fall off their racks. Kimmy’s screams dull, drowned out by the colossal proportions of a shuddering crash.

A ball of red-hot shrill pierces through the air, tumbles into the frame of your door. Hurricane Hero yells, pushing himself up onto his feet. Another wave of tremors hits the building. Hurricane folds in, grip tight on the walls. He glances around, disoriented and stubborn, and meets your eyes - just as you’re finding purchase on your desk.

“Ah-” Hurricane says, and then, realisation dawning, “oh, fuck.”

You clamp a fist around your flash drive. “You won Mortar.”

Hurricane grins, flashing a peace sign. “Yeah! You saw?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Think you can deal with Vibrata?”

Hurricane pretends to think, tucking his chin into a fist. “Well, she is a Class B villain.”

You make your way to the door, and promise, “I’ll bet next month’s rent if you get her within the next half-hour.”

Hurricane lights up, and offers you a pinky. You take it. Renewed, he charges back out the gaping hole in your wall, shards showering off his tacky spandex suit.

Sunny Insurance takes a day off. You flop back into an armchair, feeling the strain in your back dislodge themselves. Joshua tops off your order with extra whipped cream. Even places a cherry on top.

“Seems like there’s a lot of damage these few weeks,” Joshua says.

You grimace. “Tell me about it - sometimes I wonder if there’s a difference between the heroes and villains.”

“Guess so,” he says. “But at least you’re insured.”

“So’s the rest of the town,” you say, wincing. “Yikes, Monday’s not gonna be good.”

“No, but that’s for you to figure out. Chill, you’ve got the weekend,” Joshua pats you on the shoulder, shoots you a reassuring smile. “And if you need more whipped cream, that’s on the house.”

As you sip slowly on your sugar-filled monstrosity, the murmurs of a report catches your ear. More accurately, the words “Hurricane” and “Vibrata” do. Turning around, you find yourself looking at the blurry loop of an unsatisfying footage. Something red and small rushes up against a bigger purple entity. The red one, Hurricane - you presume, crashes back into another building. The scene cuts back to the anchor’s studio, and a jumble of words drift below her professional facade.

Guess you’re not losing next month’s rent.

Some files are unrecoverable after the incident; you’ve tried your best, but your trusty old flash drive only had annual reports. But when Kwon Soonyoung pokes his head through the door and grins at you, you can’t help remembering the exact list of things he’s insured himself against. With the tiniest speck of doubt, you realise you’ve gone exactly two weeks without seeing him. Strange.

“I don’t remember you being here when Vibrata was shacking up the area,” you say.

You peek at him, wondering exactly which part of him’s injured. Not the arms, not the legs, clearly. There’s a clear lack of a cast or any offending bandage. But he does look thinner - cheeks hollowing out. You wonder if it’s the slight limp on the left foot, but it could just be because these are a new pair of kicks.

Kwon Soonyoung shrugs. “I got hit by a bus on second street.”

“Really,” you say. “Which one?”

Kwon Soonyoung blanches. “You’ve never been this specific.”

You level him with a look. “We’re weeding out insurance fraud.”

He pauses, documents in mid-air. Before you can say anything, Kwon Soonyoung’s leapt out of his chair. He speedwalks to the door, manila envelope crinkled around his fist.

“Um, so I forgot something,” is what he offers before running out of the office.

Jasmine walks over, heels clattering against the floor. She leans in, wide-eyed, and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“That was Kwon Soonyoung, wasn’t that?”

You nod, numb.

“It’s only been five minutes?”

Again, you nod. “We… do you think… god, he’s committing insurance fraud, isn’t he?”

The insurance fraud is not exactly surprising. In fact, you’re mildly impressed that he’s managed to pull it off for so long. In the evening, you make your way over to his apartment, a bookbag and a cold drink in hand.

As you begin the treacherous climb up, a cloaked figure rushes past you. Without much thought, you reach out and grab them by the scruff of their coat. A startled yelp, and then you’re tackled against the wall.

“Hey!”

“Oh,” they say, body peeling away immediately.

“What-” You round up on them, then stop short.

Even in the dark, you can make out the squirmy reds of this suit, and the tell-tale burns along his collars. There’s a badly stitched mark running across his right shoulder down to his left hip. Hurricane Hero doesn’t look his best.

He hurriedly covers his suit, hands in pockets and pulling his coat back in place. You raise a brow. He clears his throat.

“So, guess you get to keep your rent.”

You nod. “You didn’t get Vibrata.”

“Take it easy on me,” he winces in exaggeration. “Bruised ego and all.”

You pause. “Should you really be going for tonight’s match?”

He pulls a hand from the toasty confines of his pockets and reaches for the crown of his head. Then, noticing the mask, drops it down to his neck.

“Worried?”

You shrug. “I have to.”

Through the slits in his mask you can see his eyes widening. And then, swiftly, unexpectedly, he tugs the mask off. Kwon Soonyoung stares back at you with steely resolve.

“Mr. Kwon?”

He makes a noise of assent, then backs away. “Wait, you didn’t know?”

You hold out a hand, then grab onto his arm for security. “Why would - you’re Hurricane Hero?”

He pauses. “Oh my god, please don’t sue me.”

You try to say something, but your throat falters miserably in light of the development. Kwon Soonyoung grimaces, tugs his mask on, and slips away down the stairwell. You hurry after him, clinging to the railings. The thuddings on the stairs hasten.

“I’m not gonna sue you!” you holler.

He stops, “Really?”

“Well,” you trip down the last couple of stairs. “Not me.”

He snorts, and helps you up. The warmth of his palm lingers on your elbow, and before you know it, he’s bolting for the bus.

“This is from an actual traffic accident,” he swears, pulling his sweater up to expose a bruised rib. “I’m not claiming for the fracture, but the bruise!”

You narrow your eyes. “Really? Not that match with Staunch Little?”

Kwon Soonyoung flops back painfully onto his seat. “No! I have the bus number and everything here.”

You flip the page to see a blurry selfie - Soonyoung’s cheesy grin in the top right corner, and the barely legible letters of a license plate. Seconds before disaster. Glancing up, you see him make a peace sign.

“Did you take this right before getting hit?”

He shrugs. “Uhh, can’t say for sure.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t go around crashing into buses just to claim for pre-existing injuries.”

“Fine,” he pouts, then scoops his pile of documents up. “Tell me at least you’re coming for the match tonight?”

[art-of-manliness]

Podcast #890: Toastmasters, Aristotle, and the Essential Art of Rhetoric

When John Bowe learned that his reclusive cousin, who had lived for decades in his parents’ basement, had moved out and gotten married at the age of fifty-nine, John was extremely surprised. What made him equally surprised was how his cousin had finally launched his life. It hadn’t been meds or therapy. Instead, he had joined his local Toastmasters club. Duly intrigued, John set off on his own Toastmasters journey, as he details in his book I Have Something to Say: Mastering the Art of Public Speaking in an Age of Disconnection. Today on the show, John shares how he discovered that the ethos of this nonprofit organization parallels the tradition of rhetoric espoused by the ancient Greeks, especially by Aristotle, and why the ability to speak, whether in the context of giving a formal speech or simply having a conversation, continues to be such an essential skill in the modern age. In my favorite part of the show, we discuss how our ideas of authentic speech can actually get in the way of expressing our authentic selves. We then turn to the techniques for better speaking that John learned from joining Toastmasters and how Toastmasters ultimately transformed his own life. Resources Related to the Podcast * Toastmasters International * AoM Podcast #698: The Secrets of Public Speaking From History’s Greatest Orators * AoM Article: An Introduction to Public Speaking * AoM Podcast #639: Why You Should Learn the Lost Art of Rhetoric * AoM series on classical rhetoric * Rhetoric by Aristotle * The Fall of Public Man by Richard Sennett * AoM series on overcoming shyness * AoM Article: How to Minimize Your Uh’s and Um’s * Sunday Firesides: Want to Solve Your Social Problems? Get Over Your Self * “How to Speak in Public” — article in Psyche magazine by John Connect With John Bowe * John’s website Listen to the Podcast! (And don’t forget to leave us a review!) Listen to the episode on a separate page. Download this episode. Subscribe to the podcast in the media player of your choice. Listen ad-free on Stitcher Premium; get a free month when you use code “manliness” at checkout. Podcast Sponsors Click here to see a full list of our podcast sponsors. Read the Transcript The post Podcast #890: Toastmasters, Aristotle, and the Essential Art of Rhetoric appeared first on The Art of Manliness. http://dlvr.it/Sn0Sgf

[idiopath-fic-smile]

have you ever put any thought into what's going on with the ABC gang in WAR a decade on? like, a lot of high school aus that use homophobia as a plot point are deliberately set in the 70s or the 80s, so it gets a little depressing because they'll have to wait decades for things to really get better - but you set WAR in 2006, which is *so cool* because in less than 10 years it goes from, well, 2006, to obergefell v. hodges.

this question is a bit complicated by the fact that i’m still working on adapting WAR into a novel, and the characters are a little different (i combined a lot of people, and also made most of them female) so this is specifically for the Les Mis fanfic version. 

also, this is more just my overall headcanon for the epilogue of WAR. take it with a grain of salt, none of this is True Canon, death of the author, etc

-it is my cherished secret headcanon that the members of the ABC gradually realize (in some cases, YEARS later) that actually none of them were straight, cis, and allo, with the possible exception of combeferre. 

ex) high school jehan ID’s as gay, but once they’re in the place to have more vocabulary for it, they come out as trans, nonbinary but femme-leaning (while continuing to be mostly into dudes). i think that eponine is bi (and also realizes pretty late that she’s nonbinary.) joly and bossuet are both bi. cosette is a lesbian. marius is ace. (their relationship worked in part because neither ever pressured the other, for anything. it was kind of more like playing house.) bahorel ID’s as straight for the longest time, but there’s a couple of male celebrities he jokes about as his “exceptions” until he realizes one day, hmm not really a joke. courfeyrac in high school considers himself gay, but after jehan comes out, realizes in retrospect he doesn’t fall perfectly on one end of the kinsey scale, either.

-molly keeps the ABC alive once the others graduate. gavroche joins when he becomes a freshman, and by his senior year, the club is double its original size. (he jokes it’s because he made LGBTQ rights cool, but really, a tide is turning.)

-enjolras stays politically active and does a lot of nonprofit and organizing work all throughout college. in ‘08, he joins one of those groups that goes door to door registering voters (so does jehan, who attends the same university). enjolras’s experiences with other people, people NOT from affluent suburbs, open his eyes in a good way and make him a little less intense about his own point of view.

-most of the ABC kids are swept up in the excitement of the first obama campaign. combeferre actually gets emotional, talking about it; he writes some very eloquent op-eds in the school paper about what obama means to him, and how fucked-up all the racist scrutiny really is. joly, musichetta, and bossuet phone bank. eponine starts taking photos at rallies, one of which becomes kind of well-known and helps launch her interest in pursuing photography for real. courfeyrac organizes theatrical productions to raise money for the campaign, which are a weird and wild success. bahorel is a minor social media star, and he leverages his dubious fame to try to help get out the young people vote.

-(eponine is gavroche’s legal guardian, and she balances work with community college. she was honestly more of a hillary girl, but obama wins her over eventually.)

-grantaire and enjolras stayed together post-high school, and after a year of attending a nearby community college, grantaire has the grades to transfer to the same university as enjolras. 

grantire spends most of his early college years bouncing from one major to another; he likes art but more as a release than as an area of academic focus. like, getting a bad grade on an art project is fucking devastating. they start fighting a lot that first september in the same school because enjolras is so sure of his path and grantaire feels guilty and defensive for not knowing where to go with his life. it makes grantaire feel like a worthless burnout again (which is frustrating because he thought he’d WORKED THROUGH IT, dammit), but he also resents enjolras’s attempts to help him, which eventually makes enjolras pull away in hurt, which terrifies grantaire so much that he pulls away too, and they break up very early sophomore year of college.

-the night obama wins the election in ‘08, even despite the blow of prop 8 passing, all the old ABC members are calling each other, yelling into their phones with delight. combeferre is literally crying.enjolras is jubilant, but grantaire, who had never seriously thought that obama had a chance, honestly feels like he’s high again.

enjolras and grantaire wind up at the same celebratory party and, under the influence of all that victory, they hook up. holy shit have they missed each other. they briefly get back together, but it’s not like it was in high school, before they knew quite how badly they could hurt each other. when enjolras does study abroad for a semester, they break up again, amicably, rather than do the long distance thing. they drift apart even when he gets back. it’s nobody’s fault.

-jehan switches to they/them pronouns and puts out a chapbook of poetry about feeling connected to the words of dead authors. bahorel becomes a college radio DJ, and is so good, his show gets picked up by local stations and he eventually starts working as the “bad boy of NPR”. courfeyrac realizes that more than acting, his real joy is stage managing. musichetta goes into business, advocating for greater diversity. 

-grantaire winds up at the last minute, majoring in psychology. studying this stuff in an actual class makes him realize just how dysfunctional his family dynamics have really been, and how little of it had to do with him. it’s both freeing and terrifying. he makes friends in his advanced psych courses (mostly idealistic young feminist women), and dates one for a while. ironically, she’s also bi. he has more of a chance to unpack all the stigma he’s been carrying around for years, how frustrating it was to be seen as “the gay kid” in high school when that wasn’t really true.

-combeferre decides to get dreadlocks after graduating undergrad and becomes “that hot World Lit TA with the dreadlocks”

-grantaire starts kind of considering going into counseling. the members of the ABC he’s still in touch with keep urging him to write Mr. Myriel a letter, and grantaire keeps dragging his feet, but one night he’s in town to visit Eponine, and runs into Mr. Myriel at the grocery store, and basically word-vomits all this gratitude, and the two become penpals. Mr. Myriel eventually writes one of the recommendation letters that gets grantaire into a sociology master’s program.

-combeferre gets fed up with the ivory tower of academia and joins a startup that teaches coding to kids, particularly girls in low-income areas. (He’d long been interested in coding, but more as a fun side hobby.)

-grantaire moves to the city (uh, let’s say chicago) to get his master’s, where he also reconnects with bossuet, who by then is a hippie engineer and just a solid, low-stress friend to have. they become super close in a platonic bros way, and grantaire may actually be the one to say, “oh btw, did you have a crush on joly, or did you guys both just like musichetta?” (answer: YES and YES). grantaire rents a bedroom in bossuet’s apartment (bossuet has more space than anticipated because he just had a rough breakup) and in his starving student days, grantaire pays some of his rent to bossuet by cooking him dinner and stuff. in this time, grantaire actually learns how to cook, beyond just fucking up the occasional frozen pizza.

-kind of to his surprise, grantaire winds up really enjoying counseling (or at least, finding it rewarding; talking to people with such intense problems be rough) and particularly working with youths. they never expect his sense of humor, which turns out to be a pretty useful tool in connecting with them.

-bossuet sometimes, long-distance, donates his time to combeferre’s coding project. grantaire hears through bossuet, through combeferre, that enjolras is moving to chicago for law school.

-at first, grantaire and enjolras are awkward around each other, but the weird thing is, their positions are kind of reversed because grantaire by now feels pretty confident in his role as a counselor, and is doing good work, while enjolras is under a ton of stress in law school and still not always 100% sure it’s the right move. grantaire is living alone by now, and he misses hanging with bossuet (who is in a complex poly triad now, and has a lot less free time) (part of me feels it’d be way too big of a coincidence if it’s joly and musichetta, part of me yearns for it, so you decide for yourself i suppose). so grantaire starts coming over to cook dinner at enjolras’s apartment as enjolras studies. this is partly because grantaire’s own kitchen in his studio is really insufficient, but mostly an excuse for them to hang out in a low-cost, low-pressure way. they eat and watch Parks and Rec.

-in theory this is a great system, and in practice it’s the same kind of agonizing romantic tension from high school. enjolras is really into this more confident, happier, more balanced grantaire. grantaire appreciates that enjolras has gotten  a little less overbearing, a little lighter even as he’s also so clearly fraying at the seams. grantaire just wants to, like, give him a massage, but whoa boundaries. they sit on the same couch and SOMETIMES THEIR ARMS BRUSH.

-enjolras decides first that he wants to get back together, that they’ve grown enough in the time they were apart that they could build something healthy and balanced now. he’s not totally sure how to make his case to grantaire, and he feels a little weird being the less stable one of the pair. 

-enjolras decides that he’s gonna make grantaire dinner. grantaire doesn’t really get why; enjolras generally does the dishes so it’s not like anything’s really owed here??? enjolras slips into way overachiever mode and prepares like a whole three-course spread of painstakingly researched recipes. grantaire is VERY confused. “I thought I was hot shit, dude, where did you learn to cook like this?” enjolras has to shamefacedly confess he taught it to himself for this night. “Damn, are you proposing or something?” grantaire blurts in an ill-considered joke, and enjolras’s ears turn red. they get together again. it’s really good this time.

-in 2013, when the supreme court rules that gay marriage is legal in all 50 states, enjolras actually finds out because grantaire texts him the minute the news breaks with simply, “Holy fuck, you were right all along!!!!!” and then some hearts.

-they’re married a year later. one of their wedding photos is them kissing, both raising a middle finger to the imagined haters, like “bring it on, assholes” you’d think this would’ve been grantaire’s idea, but nope, enjolras. it’s framed over their mantle.

-by november 2016, enjolras is a lawyer for the ACLU, and grantaire is a counselor at an organization that primarily works with LGBTQA youth. after the election, enjolras doesn’t get out of bed all day. then he’s a whirlwind of activity. trump-era enjolras is a hybrid of the wisdom and confidence of obama-era enjolras, and the “fuck these motherfuckers” pinpoint focused ferocity of bush jr-era enjolras. grantaire’s work is frequently draining as hell, but he’s drawing again (making a webcomic with joly, actually), and they’re getting by.

-sometimes, at low moments, they remember how it felt at their wedding reception, when bahorel cued up Ted Leo’s “Shake the Sheets” and all those friends and loved ones danced their brains out (enjolras’s parents have some MOVES as it turns out), and grantaire got super choked up, and then enjolras leaned over while they were dancing and whispered in his ear, “Probably better that he didn’t go with our prom song,” (which, as you’ll remember, is Fifty Cent’s “Candy Shop”) and they both burst out laughing in the middle of the dance floor. If they survived high school, they can survive anything.

-bossuet, grantaire, joly, eponine, musichetta and sometimes enjolras have a long-distance D&D game wherein a ragtag crew of outcasts battles the odds as they attempt to take down an evil totalitarian kingdom. (joly’s already got notes for the graphic novel version.)

[marcosoropoet]

Pavlovian Tingle-Railway [Station Blackout] ~ (or express razor eye out Mr. Tingle)

1. Kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake basement forge tight street corner deal forced ink steel night deal danger: Nawnawnawman. mah bruh? ten dollahs on a hundid?! Heh, I knows you's tryin tah pop it right by keeping it tight homie but this muthahfuckin-assed bullshit yo ...The Fuck Outta Here dawg thas some sorry assed real bullshit you tryin' tah pull homie home re-union haze of teenage (((flashback glitch))) in his head left a hilarious grease spot on the blackboard & chemical vandals sizzling in his brain. the green dusty blackboard in a delicately crystalline formulaic tableau of wood and numbers the vicissitudes of black snow the color of darkened ash has hushed all the talk, as he walks in tonight... menacing heights of fire escape drills, getting a dart in the back slo-mo, someone had poured soda into the ketchup bottle and now small torrents of bubbling red oozes & blooms out over the entire table ahhh! the other man makes slight adjustments to his demeanor to be less 'street' and more 'invited' why it's his reunion. flinch. ruination anguish]...dark train car rumbling out of a long dank tunnel why'd I think to see those people (((again))) — all the dark mirrors burn each morning with the sun coming up got the snake eye fingernail pie & the sway all day boo" swooning dust and pitter-patter rain falling on the wood and concrete burst open telephone call in a very clean & empty conference room all cool grey, and smoked glass ultra post-modern a tart aroma permeated throughout the heated glass sun, spun glass sun, glass skin, black tea, your loose spacetime textile, hunched machinations launched the sniper river: filled with humid headrush & slowed down lunge... bell strikes upon time textile carousal corral I'll crack tea soon, planet zone houseout your concrete vibrations played earth, I joke but I don't play hot black grit is dense milky frozen afterflow stillness flight from disorientation crush inside hothouse of humid bright light vivid green curling leaves, frozen stillness of isolated thought timestamp molecules pierce loose clean shimmers sheerly, behind a crystal sky lattice tethering, examine gravel and glass stars, vivid flowers spying are bright: sand pebbles, sun, glimmers sheerly, behind the headlong tangible surfaces, singing head, the pristine universe: filled with air, swooning belts of galaxies, silence of people spin roar and black grit is white black snow of ash razor spin cycle of blood...eyes...ears...horror. between brass skin, into an unspeaking, unexpected whole city falling, hears what time. namedrop sibelius, but no good. I had gone over to piss on a clean slab. city heavy the day fragmented air, swooning body between my fingers, from rooves near edges elbowing real business of people television sidewalk morning show trauma. 2. uncanny sharp terror reflection of purple surfaces, doing my heavy whole city hears white noise and through a candlelit's merriment chili & hot black onyx coffee deems me grass sun, glass stars, glass skin, blank memory shimmers in hems, a blown out window, gusts of icy air, was I walking in circles that day? Yes. (outtake 15: "you wanna do the purple surface deflection again, or the blank noise, or the tinsel applause rose confetti trick...) suspicious mirrors coalition carry long fingers of light, floodlight: store window glass stars, glass sun, glass sunlit coppery direction, spacetimes. sand. cut granules. increments of ideals. my song. black tea, your loose diamond-snake in hemisphere air expanded the sense of screams of the bitten who had become crazed and dethroned. Off with him. OFF. smoothing body dry at the woods' lake edge. the sense of elbowing heavy thunderstore window glass sunlit coppery direction, spacetime textile, caricature. it is what time textile, hunched...( ). every roof dots the night. bells of mirrors repeating swirling sense-blur of heady fruity honeysuckle, hot blue flowers were to go to headlong silvergold touch flame of snooty persona non grata, fractal gravity tethering my fingers, glassy black tea I had gone over the eyes like a million lilacs, cut citrus yellow hot nailgun hems gather the whole, bunched-up coarse fabric and brusquely sew through the thick tough cloth poke & bleed hole into thumb... cut citrus bitter teeth, together what white noise time. in the world...vampires go somewhere else during that time as they begin to sting and burn hazy coalition of suspicious two-way mirrors, spacetimes switched in cool cyberpunk density of mechanical and grey cliffs superimposed "mr. chili & hot-thought focus reflect purple surfaces, sun, glass stare tangy sea-spray hits the spot dothole city head, the shirt is absolutely suspicious mirror of television carousal." beautiful unspeaking, who in deep solitude, and the bells of home over the sepia photographs beneath smoked glass, drank coffee. outtake 7: naw first mix the drums. cymbals clash & smoke swirls around a black infinity screen...I like my vehicle heh-heh porque es muy correcto cógelo compound of the informal second-person singular radio static monstrous popping loops of short waves can we go back & add more drums on top straight away?fucking clowns" owning eyes, the vastest untormented rain-soaked newspaper liesure headed back to the planet of purple dunes and long drenched weeks of night and vertical waves of vibrant light-color mister, you gotta see it for yourself oh so you speak this. good. the space of a thought & sunless rose hanging where a parking universal zip code of your paw-paw fishing for debris in Jupiter flash over glitter green fishnets; these shots were hidden and codenamed: "ZZ Legs" 3. outtake 1: band tuning up dialogue heard (cackling raunch) cracking up unstoppably...right, anybody know where the green guitar went?bloody sold it?he fuckin crazy!!! you could see the blood rising in his neck and temple veins alert today (((you?))) with identity overhead cranking tarantula of metal & ice rising dynamic inversion, tangible fumes, kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake scale basement killer chiller vein driller no filler no filter radioactive reiteration seeker out there basement cracked, hatchet wielder crack good time dark whip in good time, at blood manor of (((thinking)))... detached arid solipsism generates the worst cosmopolitan anecdotes dismantled donned unwashed plenitude killer killer fecund reverts to gradients dismantling each mustard-colored enclosure pocket, rumblings of what smiles and creaks tantalizing razor into the sunlights & sunlight & sunlight's razor-sharp cut where a thousand days ran in dark mirrors bursting through torrents of fruity bodywash exploding from the old tv. did time have something to do with playing that scene in reverse? rumblings of abrasive verbal angst. this could change nothing in the memory of the differing, somewhat superimposed seasons, and regions of the psyche's endless topography and subtle extras. Ever see big mountain stones. Where? With identity garbed, dispersed, in exposed retinas with identity hours away, abrasive sandspray in the eyes and kick to the gut before hyper speed chaotic scene/car chase/ fruitstands decimated confetti storm in jewel tone bust ))). alert to run in happy blinding onto one that is there, not in part. with a fresh braid from cracked roses hung up in snow and smoke, *** overhead cranking tarantula of metal & ice rising dynamic inversion, tangible fumes, kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake basement cracked hatchet wielder in good time, at blood manor of (((thinking)))... detached arid solipsism generates the worst cosmopolitan anecdotes dismantled donned unwashed plenitude killer killer fecund reverts to gradients dismantling each mustard-colored enclosure, forge forced reunion flinch ruination anguish]...dark train car all dark mirror burn from mama each morning, better the misgivings of blue trees, into gas stupid disowned eyes, the vastest spit of untormented strung down stupified, feeling rain-soaked the space of a thought & sunless rose sparkling unguent, parking universal zip codes of your paw-paw fishing tongue stump hush lagoon fireflies — alert today (((you?))) with identity tusk doodle ember light rumblings of what smiles and creaks tantalizing onto matter of abrasive window with you, and ran in the sunlit heavily garbed, dispersed out his own mythic eyes winters rooftops, had time to run in exposed retinas' splendor clasp, smashed out eyes & all windows, the sunless rooftops smashed, fingers rose from crack liquid officers roses embellishing a gold mask *** fishing for a window and ran in the Laundromat an eerie confessional ambient track beneath the while of detergent pods reversal zip codes of december's scratch down loose from earth golden rock sunless rooftops, headless rooftops, had time to turn today unpeeling stretched on, fingers bursting unceasing, better off euphoria than rainy days yet I have been euphoric on rainy days, the light refracted on rainy city nights is dazzling, optic. matter of what smiles and stretched a window with you, and winters rose hanging purple a tapestry fractal repetition hidden inside everything heavy stones, old earth blood-purple heavy stolen hungry in a smashed autographed rapid metal scrape turning signals sent of empire time dilation, time-fabric tug cushioned by thick striations of black matter slathered embellished disruption in quantum fixtures of intelligent light tableau vivant in constant great surprise hey somebody over there standing on the corner half-hidden ...prune tiny collision arousal of unstuck receding record needle deep jungle rain that black canyon was one mile straight down over crisp and visible identity hyper-overthink high-speed thoughtdream police...ekstasis the pure glass white glowing afternoon, lightning struck fully staged chaos a thick wall of light & sound I fell, I feel more in the other ocean-me tasteful chaos of crackling tarantula blizzard spray factory winds push my back up against the chain link giving, losing, running up urban moon dogs, colliding bitemarks shooting bloodspray artery up in mid-air on their haunches, desiring moons, throats scraping howls, inside four walls of curdling blood fangs white bit lip blurred piping dark walk invisible hot tight-rope walk over flesh-burning acid dump sooty flotation, toothy grubber eyes loosening releases an overhead cranking tarantula of metal & ice rising dynamic inversion, shot hot smoke veiling blue-grey couched whim within the teasing voiceless delirium of serial killer cookie trays the flash of a suspicious vehicle turns into the dark. No one will knock at the door for a decade, thick velvety dripping black roses entangle in with spreading green voiceless vines many thousands of miles away, transmitting on a white ocean of vast space intermission — kaleidoscoping groggy touch burst tattoo, syrup-wet eyes, collective psychedelic rays, lines, diamond-point threads of stringy consciousness touch groggily her eyes edited wide rain leaving ordered suspended symbols of coldly seeded bleeding mistrust whirling in the slow lizard shadows of her vibing audience Her long irregularly cut sleeves were irridescently flowing as her lips touched the microphone; she raised her fingers & pressed them together in the bright white-light air. . That may eclipse & dilate, but won't brown-out. That may eclipse & dilate, but won't brown-out. That I have known. There are no cracks in and though a very persistent illusion... reality that never blinks in blurred eras & sweaty flashback of ZFG. I clunkily yanked keeping the sociopath. Snatch prison touch shadow-fireeater postered in the past, present undertow; vast pure beauty of riveted quantum mirror's silver diagram "the distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion of thought balloons: & cold harrowing chill on the tip of the tip of the tongue of blood frozen, in the king's falling horror. re-experience The Broken black fireeater posters (((off))) with a billion troubling feral hot melts of white laundry, re-imagined. In/out, tongue. Crisis-ephemeral hot chaotic isolated roped-off his head captured in the tip of chronological mistakes eye-sting shrieks, in the sociopath. Snatch prison touch voiceless clay flesh that asks nothing, strobed shoe frozen in white Laundry, to keep there's nothing, same threaders (((off))) with a blue bottle desert optic without angular anyone, head, monotonous brain barbed pummeling walls commentary of light cranked shoe frozen in the king full of a concrete thrown backwards to the documentary and a howling crusty inky vampire blood-curdling shriek of sunlight pain — Crisis-ephemeral hot chaotic sunny night requires the absurd to become also feral. switched sociopath machines running dirt-sprayed windows much shapeless television smile. Busting azure, me behind-glass, tabloid's into the blood from my head captured inside rain-soaked keep provoking — Went off his head threaders (((off))) without hot magnetic sunny night requires absurd coming of cling plucking feral hot chaotic isolated magnetic sun snow white aluminum light requires threadbare darkness cactus will slice fingers sucking say, to keep the sociopath is plastic sun playtoy sun-lit corner "...that ain't no drug-dog man, that dog can't smell shit!" 4. tangible fumes, kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake basement cracked hatchet wielder in good time, at blood manor of (((thinking)))... detached arid solipsism generates the worst cosmopolitan anecdotes dismantled donned unwashed plenitude killer killer fecund reverts to gradients dismantling each mustard-colored enclosure, forge forced reunion flinch ruination anguish]...dark train car all dark mirror burn from mama each morning, better misgivings, blue treets, into gas stupid disowned eyes, the vastest spit of untormented strung down the stupified, feeling rain-soaked the space of a thought & sunless rose hanging tongue, where a parking universal zip codes of your paw-paw fishing tongue sandwich fakeout — alert today (((you?))) with identity tusk ember lightflash holo. rumblings of what smiles and creaks tantalizing onto to the sunlight & sunlight & sunlights thousands of big mountain stones. Where? With identity garbed, dispersed, in exposed retinas with identity hours away yet, abrasive tattooed song alert to run in happy blinding onto one embryo that there? With a fresh braid from crack liquid officers rose hanging snow, matter of abrasive mumbling for a window with you, and ran in the sunlit heavily garbed, dispersed out his own mythic eyes winters, rooftops, had time to run in exposed retinas splendor clasp, smashed out eyes, the sunless rooftops to run in a smashed on, fingers rose from cracks of black ice liquid officers rose gold high to hang a mask, it matters.rooftops today. untormented & stuck turning today (((you?))) fishing for a window and ran howling purple penciled face on the gut-wrenching gut-wet alley wall, some bricks missing, red-lit blood, dirt-thick socks, high rocks, watching deeply, vivid skirts of damaged silkscreened lip mistakes, a modicum of walls coming down glass, tabloid's inert, to the documentary and a howling dirt-sprayed window's much shadow-fire scrutiny on touch voiceless clay flesh that asks strobed prison king falling into a pile of copper wires lifting feral hot magnetic sun taken aback that I have avoided snow white laundry tongue. And taking the kingly cup tossed it into the teeming hot fire licks of smoke. ~ Marcos Oro

[sapphicscholar]

hi so I didn't know who to ask but in my psych class we're learning about adolescent psychology, & there was this unit on developing interest in relationships. It went way into detail on how the brain changes during that time, which was interesting, but ofc my gay ass couldn't relate. at the end all it said was 'it's different for homosexuals.' I guess I'm wondering if you know of any way to learn about psychology relating to LGBT people? srsly im thirsty for anything in academia I can relate to

(same psych anon) that was a pretty specific question so I guess like do you have any info or know of any links/ websites/places to learn about lgbt history and lives and stuff like that in an academic way? bc I love school & learning but I’ve always wanted to learn more about myself and people like me, but they never teach that in schools.

Oh my gosh SO MANY THINGS! Okay, so, the psych stuff is pretty outside of my knowledge but I asked my gf (she does the science in this relationship while my gay ass just reads a whole lot of books), and she recommends Helen Fisher and looking at the researchers at the Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality or the Kinsey Institute, as well as The Sage Encyclopedia of LGBTQ Studies (it’s an online resource a lot of universities subscribe to). But I’d also say that as far as thinking about developmental narratives, LGBTQ memoirs are a great place to start, especially since so many of them go through their own experiences of having to confront this heteronormative, cis-centric narrative that just doesn’t fit them and their lives. 

So some good queer history authors are: John D’Emilio (comprehensive, if a bit male-centric), Lillian Faderman (writing all about lesbian history, including more recent history; very well-respected; she’s got some issues in her scholarship that by no means discount it as a whole, but I’m happy to talk more about if you want), Michael Bronski (his Queer History of the United States is really accessible), George Chauncey (it’s just of NYC, but still fun), Estelle B. Freedman, Foucault (though it’s not quite “history,” it’s a kind of history meets theory of regimes of power and how sexuality got tied up in that), Martha Vicinus (I adore her), Valerie Traub (goes all the way back to the early modern period), and so many others who really focus more on niche history, so I won’t list them here. There are some web resources, but I know a lot of them are databases that are subscription-based. I’ll see what I can’t dig up in the next couple of days as far as free websites. I know they exist; it’s just a matter of having the time to look…

Okay, you didn’t specifically say you were interested in literature but bc I taught literature and think it’s a great way to learn about the history of a group, I’m gonna list some anyway and you can feel free to disregard!

Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt (or Carol, depends on the year it was printed) – you can also check out the movie! I find the two to be complementary (the book gives you Therese’s POV almost exclusively, whereas the movie shows much more of Carol’s story) 

Alison Bechdel, Fun Home is her graphic novel/memoir that’s really excellent, but the comic strip that sort of launched her as a public persona (at least within the lesbian community) was Dykes to Watch Out For, quite a bit of which is available for free online

Henry James, The Bostonians – one of the first recognizable depictions of a queer female character in literature (not really…I’d trouble that as a professor, but that’s how it gets taught in general, and it was one of the first books where even contemporary reviewers were quick to note that there was something “wrong” or “morbid,” which was 19th C. code for what would come to be understood as lesbian sexuality, about Olive Chancellor) – free online, though it’s James at his most….Jamesian, which means it’s not that accessible

The poetry of Emily Dickinson! It’s all free online. There’s a ton of it, though much of it isn’t obviously queer

James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room – gets into bisexual identity in a way a lot of works don’t do; on the sadder side…fair warning 

Virginia Woolf! Especially Orlando or Mrs. Dalloway – the former has been called “the longest and most charming love-letter in literature” (to Woolf’s longtime friend and lover, Vita Sackville-West) and deals with the fluidity of gender and time; the latter has quite a few flashbacks to the brief childhood romance of the protagonist and her friend. Both of them are great, but Woolf, as a modernist, can have a writing style that’s difficult to get into at first (for instance, time really isn’t stable or linear, which is something I adore about her, but definitely takes some getting used to). They’re both available free online through Project Gutenberg

Radclyffe Hall, The Well of Loneliness – it’s a classic, in the sense that it’s one of those books people sort of expect you to have read if you do lesbian literature. It’s certainly an interesting story and told well, but it’s not even close to a happy ending and is rather conciliatory to prevailing norms (though even still it was taken to the courts under the  obscenity laws) - free online, though!

Sarah Waters – a contemporary novelist who writes almost all historical fiction about queer women! Some of her stories are better known (e.g. Tipping the Velvet), but they’re pretty much all great. Varying degrees of angst, but definitely an accessible read

Maggie Nelson, The Argonauts – sort of experimental in form (it’s fiction with footnotes!); it deals with a lesbian woman coming to terms with her partner’s transition and her own identity during the process 

E.M. Forster, Maurice – even though it was first drafted in the 1910s, Forster edited it throughout his life, and, given the subject matter, which was also autobiographical, and the prevailing attitudes at the time, the book was only published posthumously in the 70s

Colette’s Claudine series – it’s long (multi-volume) but sort of a classic – they’re all old enough to be free online, though the English translation is harder to come by 

Eileen Myles – lesbian poet and novelist – I’d recommend Inferno but some of her poetry is free online 

Rita Mae Brown – Rubyfruit Jungle and Oranges Are not the Only Fruit are both quite good, though, especially the latter deals with religiously-motivated homophobia, so I know at least my girlfriend, who dealt with a lot of that from her family, opted not to read it for her own mental health. 

Tony Kushner, Angels in America – this two-part play deals with the AIDS crisis in America – it’s been turned into a TV miniseries, a Broadway play, and a movie, some of which are available online

Really anything by David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs – both are gay authors who deal a lot with short stories (a ton of memoir/autobiographical stuff) – the former is a bit funnier, but they both have enough sarcasm and dry wit even in dark situations to make them fast reads 

Alan Ginsburg’s poetry 

Walt Whitman’s poetry (though it can be really fucking racist) 

Binyavanga Wainaina, One Day I Will Write About This Place – does deal with issues of sexual abuse as a warning 

Anything by Amber Hollibaugh (she writes a lot about class and butch/femme dynamics – quite a bit of her stuff has been scanned and uploaded online) 

Michelle Tea – was a slam poet; recovering alcoholic; fantastically funny and talented author and delightful human being if you ever get the chance to meet her or go to one of her readings

Randy Shilts, And the Band Played On – more a work of investigative journalism than anything, the work is a stunning indictment of the indifference of the US government during some of the worst years of the AIDS crisis, but it also provides a good bit of gay history 

Terry Galloway Mean Little Deaf Queer – deals with one woman’s experience of losing her hearing and navigating the world and the Deaf and deaf communities as a once-hearing person – she’s sort of acerbic and always funny;

Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex – grapples with intersex identity in a way that’s still far too rare in literature 

Theodore Winthrop, Cecil Dreem – just rediscovered about two years ago, this is one of the few pretty happy gay novels from the nineteenth century! Free online!

Leslie Feinberg, Stone Butch Blues – pretty clear from the title, but deals with a butch character’s struggles with gender identity (takes T to pass for a while, but then gets alienated from the lesbian community; eventually stops taking T, but still struggles with what that means for her) – Feinberg’s wife made it free online for everyone after Feinberg’s death (the book had a limited print run, which made finding copies both hard and expensive) 

Harvey Fierstein, Torch Song Trilogy – trilogy later adapted for film about an effeminate gay man (who also performs as a drag queen) and his life and family   

Oscar Wilde – his novels aren’t explicitly gay, but they often dance around it thematically, at least; his heartbreaking letter, De Profundis, which he wrote to his lover while imprisoned for “gross indecency,” is available online 

Anything by Dorothy Alison 

Audre Lorde, Zami: A New Spelling of My Name - great as a memoir and a cultural history  

There’s so many more but this is so my jam I suspect I’ve already rambled too long

If you’re interested in film, here are a few: 

Paris Is Burning (a film about drag ball culture in NYC) 

Fire – Deepa Mehta (it’s on YouTube in the US) 

Boys Don’t Cry – there is a lot of homophobia and transphobia in the film, so it’s definitely one you’ll want to be in the right mindset to watch (I, for one, have only watched it once) 

But I’m a Cheerleader – over-the-top mockumentary-esque film that satirizes conversion therapy and the Christian “documentaries” that claimed to showcase their successes (RuPaul is in it as well) 

Desert Hearts – one of the earliest films to leave open the possibility of a happy ending for the lesbian couple 

Hedwig and the Angry Itch – deals with gender identity and feelings of not belonging (also a fabulous musical) 

Philadelphia – about one man’s experience of discrimination while dying of AIDS 

There are plenty of lighter films, but I figure these tend to also talk more seriously about some issues as well

I don’t know if anyone but me made it to the end of this post, but there’s also so much fun queer theory out there that I won’t get into here, but I’m always up for giving more recommendations!

[dazzledbyrob]

NEW INTERVIEW & PHOTOSHOOT BY GQ

Robert Pattinson Is Alive Again

The Twilight heartthrob seemed damned to be a brooding ex-vampire forever. But then he drove a stake through his career and got to work resurrecting it.

So it’s settled, says Rob Pattinson, we’re going to do ayahuasca together! Ayahuasca is an Amazonian hallucinogen that people take to journey to the center of themselves, usually with a shaman, usually on a retreat, and it is a totally normal and valid way for us to spend one of our two days together, I completely agree. Yes, Rob, let’s do it. For the great big stunt of our GQ cover story, let’s take great big doses of ayahuasca. Let’s slide down the gooey tunnels of our ids until we Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich. Then I look it up. There’s a really long period of your trip where you’re just vomiting. But we’re up for some vomiting! Nobody here is a newborn babe who can’t handle a little reverse peristalsis! We just met, after all, and what better way to get to know each other than a little kayak into each other’s insides? Me and Rob Pattinson! Vomiting up a storm! What a story! But—but—maybe all that vomiting would make it hard to talk? Maybe it would change our psyches irreparably and return us to our loved ones forever altered? It might, right? Back to the drawing board. But you know what they say: There are no wrong ideas in a brainstorm.

So it’s settled, says Rob Pattinson, we’re going to swim with sharks! No one’s done that, right? The best way we can get close to some edge of existence, he thinks, is to swim with sharks, daring them to eat us. I suggest that maybe ayahuasca brings us to the edge of existence, too? And wouldn’t it be hard for me to write this if one of us (me) got eaten by one of those sharks? Sure, sure, he gets it. Anyway, he says, “I’m afraid something will happen that makes me look like a pussy.” Which is fair, and so we’re not going to do it. So it’s settled, says Rob Pattinson, we’re going to a Russian spa in West Hollywood! Sure! Let’s sit together in a spa, me in my bathing suit and you, Rob Pattinson, in yours, and you can talk about your workout regimen, and I can tell you about the care and maintenance of my C-section scars! Both of them! Argh, but a friend told him he’d seen Justin Bieber there, and Pattinson was like, no way, he will not be Bieber-derivative, which I support. (And usually spas are gender-separated?)

So it’s settled, says Rob Pattinson, he’s gonna come to me! Yes, he wants to infiltrate my suburban life. How’s that for turning this whole thing on its head? He’ll come to where I have coffee every day, at the Able Baker, and we’ll have a latte and a cookie, then haul over to do camp pickup with the kids. Yes! Me and Rob Pattinson! In New Jersey! Yes, come on over, Rob. The kids get picked up at 3:50! Bring a snack or the younger one will bitch you out for hours! Shoot, no, he has to go to Paris to get photographed for his Dior campaign in two days, so that won’t work with my deadline.

Pattinson, bless him, brings an unfiltered, uncut fire to each idea. Me, I am getting whiplash from nodding vigorously as I consider them. I am excited just to bear witness to his enthusiasm for all the ways you could eat the world. But I am also inspired by him. He really wants us to walk out of here with an amazing plan. Here, incidentally, is a very quiet, virtually unknown café that he likes, just a few blocks from his house in some part of some part of Los Angeles. He asks that I don’t print where this is, since he comes here a lot, mostly because of the [privacy feature]. He sits here every day, same table, eating the same [house special scramble], hold the [thing that makes the scramble delicious], and he never sees anyone here, and he’d like to keep it that way. Sure, I say. Suddenly, his eyes are a fever. He knows what we’re going to do. “Let’s get fecal-matter transplants,” he says. This is roughly his ninth suggestion (I’ve spared you some) for how we might spend our time together, but it’s number one in experimental procedures that are not yet fully FDA-approved. He’s been reading about it—he reads about everything, from stories about psychology to linguistics to fecal matter—and he cannot stop thinking about the possibilities. “It works,” he insists. “You can have an athlete’s shit put inside you and then you’re an athlete afterwards.” Imagine that! An athlete’s shit! Turning you into an athlete! It’s real! It might be real. It’s probably not real. But he’s just read about a woman with chronic fatigue who did a DIY fecal transplant and now she is totally fine. In fact, someone Pattinson knows did it; he spoke to that someone just yesterday, and that someone’s life has changed materially as a result—he can’t tell me who it is, because that someone is someone, but my God, we need to do this. So here’s the deal: We’re going to transplant each other’s fecal matter! I will become more like Rob; Rob will become more like me. No one’s ever done that before, right?

I look up from my notebook and blink. He is rubbing the fine layer of stubble resting luckily on his jawline, which you could hang your dry cleaning on. We sit back and consider. You know, if this is too hard, we could just come here again, I say. Maybe we could just not do anything and just come here. He shakes his head. That won’t do. No, we’re going to do something. He stares at the iced coffee he ordered. He used to drink “a million” cups a day, but lately, since he turned 31, he finds that it’s making him crazy. “Yeah,” he says, “if I have a little bit too much, I’ll suddenly think the trapdoor in the bottom of my life is falling.” Plus, too much coffee is like truth serum for him (hey, what if we did truth serum?), but he still loves coffee. So far he’s had maybe one and a half fingers of a regular-size cup. He puts his fist up to his heart. “I already feel like I had a speedball.” He lets out a kind of cackling laugh after he says this—head back, launching upward—but it comes out almost like a moon-howl. He laughs like this after almost everything he says, which is an intense way to communicate. When he talks, he tugs on the chest hair near his clavicle so that the bits of skin attached to each follicle pull up and form a miniature mountain range. We sit perpendicular to each other, and he keeps on his Helmut Lang sunglasses. Sometimes he looks at me, but mostly he looks at his scramble and at his dog, Solo, whom he has brought along—he shares the dog with his romantic partner, the experimental British musician FKA Twigs—and who has a Mohawk. "I can commit so wholeheartedly because I think it’s so stressful being in a thing where you’re just constantly second-guessing everything all the time.” Okay, so a fecal transplant. Check. A doctor will creep his (or her!) way into our colons and replace our poop with each other’s poop. Why not? What do we have to risk, other than infection and death?

So it’s settled, I say. I am game for it. I was game for all the others, too, because this is exciting for me, for someone to be as into this as much as I am. Maybe he wants to do something he’s never done before, or see something he’s never seen before, or be someone he’s never been before. It seems like this is the only criterion for how he wants to spend our time, just as it seems to be the only common denominator among the movies he chooses to make now: It has to be something new. It has to deliver a real connection. It has to teach him something about himself and test him. His new movie—his first starring role in years, made by a pair of gifted young brothers named Ben and Josh Safdie—is definitely a test. It’s called Good Time, and it is a locomotive that will grab you by the chest hairs near your clavicle for 100 minutes; Pattinson classifies it as the “panic genre.” He plays a desperate low-level con artist in Queens trying to protect his little brother after a bank robbery gone wrong. Without giving too much away, let’s just say it’s intoxicating to watch someone never slow down over the course of 24 hours and not once in that time make a good decision. Yes, the new Rob Pattinson is defined by his willingness to go berserk or go home. But maybe it’s just on-screen. Already Pattinson is reconsidering the fecal matter. Fecal transplants probably aren’t something that can be arranged in a day, even when you’re Rob Pattinson. Probably you need a diagnosis code or something. They probably aren’t as easily accessible as a colonic, and at this point who hasn’t done a colonic with a journalist? Anyway, he adds, maybe with some menace, “if we did a swap, I don’t know if you’d be able to handle my shit.” As we continue to discuss ideas for our big something, I bat away my thought about what these ideas also have in common, which is that they all render me incapacitated, unable to ask him any questions, and him unable to answer any. We’d be in different rooms, or on a hallucinogen, or in the belly of a shark, or in surgery, for Chrissake. But no, it couldn’t be that. It has to be this: That after years of playing dead, Rob Pattinson feels alive again. Yes, that has to be it.

He spent his formative acting years suspended in Twilight, playing a vampire who mostly just stood there, brooding—an inert emo-reactor to his cis-mortal heroine, played by Kristen Stewart. If you’ve never heard of it, because you were in an underground prison with no access to the outside world, or even other prisoners, a brief recap: It’s about two co-dependent teenagers (one of whom has been a teenager for 100 years) in a super-toxic relationship that unfolds over five movies in the small town of Forks. The blood of this lonely, virginal teenage girl gives off a scent that is like heroin to this teenage vampire who lives there, meaning he wants to eat her but also that he wants to love her. By the end of the third movie, they still haven’t slept together. Finally, in movie four, the two have sex, which they feared might kill her. But she then immediately becomes pregnant, and that actually does kill her. What is the opposite of subtext? Did I mention the town where this takes place is called Forks? “When I find someone who I have an instinct about, I find it quite easy to completely give myself to that person.” When the cameras stopped rolling, Pattinson was surrounded by oceans of admirers who made his world small and paranoid. So you can maybe understand why, freed up by all of those coffins full of Twilight residuals, Pattinson is now doing what he’s always wanted to do: making movies that are relentless and dark and kinetic and subversive. He could’ve gone a lot of different ways after Twilight; the world loves a pallid British super-villain. But it would’ve been more standing still: the CGI, the green screens, the waiting around in his trailer. Plus, he says, “I think you have to have a specific type of confidence to be in those movies.” He was confident he didn’t. He couldn’t just stand there and be defiant, the way villains do. He couldn’t stay on one note and mean it.

Instead, he plunged himself into a series of gritty art-house movies, which, of course, is a strategy favored by just about every teen idol trying to go legit. But this is different in that he doesn’t appear to be picking these projects with a calculated eye toward prestige, or even edge. His recent films are unified primarily by the fact that they feature directors who are great and mostly unheralded, and characters who are a little scary to play. Hardly anyone saw any of these movies, and he says he never expected them to. The point wasn’t for people to see the movies. And so far, he’s been right nearly every time. So far, it appears that Rob Pattinson has killer taste. Cosmopolis, his first post-Twilight movie, gave him the chance to work with his lifelong hero and favorite director, David Cronenberg, and to try his hand at (a very dark sort of) comedy. His character, a nihilist finance bro in the age of Occupy Wall Street, sits in the back of a limo for the duration of the film. He loved Cronenberg. He loved working for his hero. But still, there wasn’t a lot of movement. Edward Cullen’s most notable attribute, besides his looks—powdered face, strong lip, clenched jaw, which would slice through his hand if he rested it there—was his stillness. After that, he wanted some motion. He wanted to floor it. He started noticing how supporting roles got to be wilder and more eccentric, how they weren’t subject to the stolid requirements of a leading man, so he went and did a bunch of those— The Rover, Queen of the Desert, The Lost City of Z —much smaller films that allowed him to move, tinker, alter his appearance. You could watch The Rover, a brutal Australian-made post-apocalyptic heist-revenge tale, without realizing until the credits roll that you’ve been watching Rob Pattinson the whole time. “Yeah?” he asks happily when I say this to him. He loves that. Hearing that is the best thing he could hear. Next up: a project with the visually sumptuous French filmmaker Claire Denis, someone he’s been wanting to work with forever. “It’s a lot about sexual fantasy,” he tells me, “and how your past intermingles, and this thing about kind of having your semen stolen from you in a spaceship and like forcibly impregnating people.” Look for it in theaters soon!

Pattinson came across the Safdie brothers in his endless reading. What caught his eye was a single still image from the last movie they directed, a much admired 2014 heroin-junkie drama called Heaven Knows What: It was a close-up of the film’s star, Arielle Holmes—stringy-haired and staring warily beneath a hot pink filter—whom the Safdies met one day in Manhattan’s Diamond District and decided to make a movie about. When Pattinson first saw the image, on a film-geek website, the movie wasn’t even out yet. But he couldn’t look away. He reached out to them immediately with a blind note saying he was a huge fan and that he wanted to be in their next project. Just to reiterate: He hadn’t even seen the movie yet. But he didn’t care. He was hooked. “I want to disappear into a role,” he told them. Good Time did not exist in any form until Pattinson reached out. The Safdies were in the middle of another movie when they got Pattinson’s note, but they invited him to talk and showed him the finished version of Heaven Knows What. “He said he just wanted to be part of that energy,” Josh Safdie told me. “Rob is constantly overturning rocks to see if he can find a worm to eat. He is genuinely interested in discovering things.” To prepare for Good Time, Pattinson spent weeks in New York just walking around Queens, asking friends of the Safdie brothers to read the lines from his script back to him until he got the accent right. He read The Executioner’s Song and In the Belly of the Beast because Josh mentioned them in passing. He lost weight, dyed his hair blond, got two actual earrings (he didn’t realize the holes never go away), and began to creep into the role of Connie, a petty criminal with dubious morals, redeemed only by his devotion to his intellectually disabled brother. One day, Pattinson and Ben Safdie, who plays the brother, went into a Dunkin’ Donuts in Yonkers, and Ben tried ordering coffee in character, getting more and more agitated, just as his character would. Pattinson, in character as well, tried not so gently to subdue him. “When I find someone who I have an instinct about,” Pattinson says, “who’s going to just push forward, I find it quite easy to completely give myself to that person. And I can commit so wholeheartedly because I think it’s so stressful being in a thing where you’re just constantly second-guessing everything all the time.” On the other hand, now that he’s the star, now that the movies are so much smaller than the franchise machines that run on their own power, like Twilight, he has a new set of responsibilities. He knows a movie like Good Time would not be the subject of much mainstream attention—remember, it probably wouldn’t even exist—without his name on it. He knows that he has reached the stage of his career where he can use his immense fame to bring attention to a very worthy, very difficult movie like this one. But now, sitting here, he realizes he doesn’t really know what to say to me about it. He doesn’t love this part, the selling part, and he’s struggling for the right words. “I’m not very good at sending a message,” he tells me. This is Rob Pattinson’s conundrum in 2017. He can disappear into roles. He can become someone new. But when he shows up to talk about the career he has now, the career of his dreams, people still mistake him for the tabloid tween sensation he was a few years ago, whose personal life was everywhere, who knew he was going to get asked about it in every interview and hated every second of it. He still does, which is why every minute we’re together I see him watching me warily, waiting for me to pounce.

Pattinson was cast in Twilight when he was 21, and throughout his four-year run, he and his co-stars would get dragged to shopping malls to do promotion. Those were the days when he spoke freely. Nervous girls would ask him everything from when Edward and Bella were finally going to bone to how he styled his hair. He told them, “I have 12-year-old virgins lick it.” He was hooded and dragged off to media training by studio executives, and from then on, in any interview he did, he was surrounded by several anxious publicists ready to tase him if he got out of line again. The paparazzi descended upon him in a way we hadn’t seen since Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez were a thing. (They were once a thing!) Tabloids camped outside his home. “People were like, ‘It’s fine, who cares?’ ” he says now. “ ‘They’re just photos or whatever.’ They’ll say, ‘Just live your life.’ But that’s not life for me, if someone’s observing it.” During the height of the Twilight madness, he had each of his friends call Ubers while he traded outfits with them in the restaurant bathroom, so that photographers wouldn’t know which car he got into, and then he sent all the Ubers in different directions, because drop dead. He rode around in the trunks of cars “constantly,” he says, because fuck you. At one point he had five rental cars and kept them, along with a change of clothes, in parking lots around town. If he was being followed, he’d dip into one of the lots, switch his clothing and his car, and leave. One day, coming home from Venice, he realized he was being tailed. He drove around for hours because he didn’t want anyone to know where his new house was. Finally, as the sun came up, he pulled over and got out of the car and approached one of the photographers. “You’ve gotten your pictures,” he said. “Can I please just go home now?” “No,” the guy told him. “My boss says I can’t come back until I know where your new house is. Sorry, man.” Pattinson never tried to negotiate or appeal to their humanity again. “There are ways to disappear, like, fairly easily,” he tells me. “It just involves effort, and most people can’t be bothered to put the effort in.” Finally, he won. And he didn’t win because tabloids changed or because Twilight ended or even because he and Kristen Stewart broke up, a breakup instigated, of course, by the very paparazzi they had worked so hard to dodge (look it up). No, he won because he had more money than they did: They simply couldn’t afford the gas and unbillable hours that led to no billable shot. “As soon as I saw a tail, I would just disappear again. It worked after a while. They’re just like, ‘Oh, the guy is just a hassle.’ ” He had cracked the code; he was free. “There are ways to disappear, like, fairly easily,” he tells me. “But you have to be living a quite strange life. It just involves effort, and most people can’t really be bothered to put the effort in.” Things are easier now; not perfect, but easier. Just yesterday he was walking Solo—his girlfriend named the dog—and he saw a photographer, and he hid his face and then was angry at himself, because he knows that hiding your face is a story. As he tells me about it, he tightens that jaw that jaw that jaw, which you could luge down, but then he relaxes and remembers what it used to be like. Put it this way: He was walking his dog outside. He thinks Instagram has taken the heat off of him; it’s taken some of the fire out of the tabloids’ pursuit of movie stars. Now they chase the Insta-models and reality stars. Sometimes they chase one another. But he has no animosity for any of them, he says. “They’re just losers trying to do their jobs.”

What he is trying to say is—no offense to me personally, of course—he would rather not be here. “It’s technically part of my job, but I’ve never been very good at it,” he says. And anyway, “I’ve never been that concerned if someone sees the movie,” which he knows you’re not supposed to say aloud and maybe doesn’t entirely mean, but there you go. His eyes briefly shift toward me with suspicion. He’s sure this is what I’m after—something incendiary, maybe even something about his ex-girlfriend, or something about Twigs. (He only accidentally lets me know he calls her that—Twigs—twice: once in relation to who named the dog they both own and also in relation to the ugliness they both experienced when their relationship became public and people on Twitter spewed racist garbage about her.) In fact, Pattinson tells me, he went to therapy a few years ago during a low time, and the therapist often remarked how good he was at talking without saying anything. Now he applies this skill whenever he’s forced to hang out with people like me. “If I could stay silent,” he says, “I would.” He’s convinced that I’ll take whatever I learn and make his loved ones’ lives a hellscape. Back in the Twilight days, someone Googled his sisters’ names and started hounding them at work. He realized that he should never say anyone’s name—not his ex’s name, not Twigs’s name. (Just watch this. Me: “Are you getting married?” Him: “Eh...,” then laughs.) He tries to make a point in interviews of saying nothing that isn’t already known: “I always think the risk reward is very much weighted in the wrong direction.”

But it’s not just his personal life that he refuses to dive into. He’s also alarmed by the prospect that if he says the wrong thing about a film he’s trying to promote, it could be a disaster. “We live in very sensitive times,” he says. One false move, he says, and it becomes the story of the movie, undoing a lot of good people’s hard work. I surmise, but he will not confirm, that he is referring to several bits in the movie that might go over some p.c. line that the Internet has drawn. I ask him to give me an example—one example—of a movie where this happened, where a single remark or bit of gossip derailed the whole thing. He looks at me searchingly, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to name anything because he assumes that will get him into trouble, too, shitting on someone else’s movie. But I sit quietly and wait. I can wait all day. Finally, he’s got one. “Like Waterworld, for instance.” I look up from my notebook and squint. The Kevin Costner movie? “It’s one of the greatest movies ever made,” he continues, “and everyone said it was bad. And for years everyone was like, ‘This is a terrible movie.’ And now people are watching it and the veil is being taken away.” I am momentarily speechless. Then I confirm whether he’s actually seen Waterworld. He has. Later, I will check to make sure there isn’t a Sidney Lumet movie that’s also called Waterworld. There isn’t. Already he regrets saying this, invoking his beloved Waterworld. He looks down at the coffee. He gets a far-off look in his eyes, staring straight ahead, over my shoulder, at the restaurant wall. He looks at me again and pushes out a micro-sigh. He tells me a story about filming The Rover in 2014, in a town in Australia with a population of 90, several hours north of Adelaide. He could stand out in the open desert, taking a piss. “I know no one can see this,” he thought then. He could barely get his head around it. Just four years earlier, he was filming a movie in Central Park, and 3,000 people came out to watch. For anyone else it would be just a regular piss. For Pattinson, it was the urination of liberation.

So after all that, we end up playing golf, something he’s never done before and I’ve only done for other articles. It was his suggestion, as out of nowhere as the others. It stuck simply because it was the last thing he thought of before there was no time to think of anything else, so we got ourselves a last-minute tee time. He shows up this time in a gingham shirt, unbuttoned to just below the thorax, a baseball cap, and sneakers. He is less anxious than yesterday; he is happier when he is moving. Calmer, too. We rent a golf cart and make it through exactly one hole before it becomes clear that the combination of our ineptitude at golf and cackle-moon-howl laughter does not jibe well with the foul humor of the Angelenos who are available to play golf on a Friday afternoon at 3:12—a time that is called the Twilight slot, if you can believe it. We do not know quite where to put our tees. We do not know where we should be aiming our balls. There are people behind us and people in front of us, and perhaps we hadn’t considered how very, very seriously other people take golf. We decide to bail. I get into the golf cart with him, and he has to drive backward in order for us to make our escape. He does it at full speed, swerving in reverse with the confidence of a man who has been chased down by innocent-looking Priuses with devious-looking photographers hanging out the driver’s-side window. “We are going really fast,” I say.

He turns briefly toward me and gives me a funny look. “No, we’re not.” I was right all along, you know. Sure, yes, all the activities he suggested were about doing something cool he’d never done before, but mostly they were about not talking. Maybe I was being naive, but you have to know I go into each one of these with a heart clouded by optimism and a willingness to believe the best in everyone. He is searching for something new in his work and in his life—that’s all real. But his ulterior motive became unavoidable after we played one hole of golf. You try asking a question with a tape recorder jammed under your bra strap and your notepad under your armpit so that you can hit a ball nowhere near the hole.

“I want to be misunderstood. People are always changing, and the more you put something down in print, people form opinions and they’re constantly creating who they think you are.” After we return the cart, Pattinson and I hit the restaurant in the clubhouse. We sit with beers served in glasses the size of fishbowls and eat hot dogs (ketchup and mustard). I try again for even one iota of intimate conversation. But he just asks me why he would ever answer. So I think back on all the interviews I’ve done, and I tell him very honestly that I think it’s because people want to be heard. Most of us, even the most famous of us—sometimes especially the most famous of us—want to be understood. “I don’t,” he says. “I want to be misunderstood. People are always changing, and the more you put something down in print, people form opinions and they’re constantly creating who they think you are. If you do something that contradicts that, or if you do something which goes out of that box, then you can look like a liar or something like that.” He prefers to stay nimble, you see. There will be less to combat later if someone like me can’t throw his words in his face. It’s just not worth it, he says. Especially now. Especially now that he’s finally back among the living. Living is picking the movies you want, reacting to the world as it comes. Living is walking your dog. That’s why he isn’t giving me shit, he tells me. He hopes I understand. It’s for the best, he says. He’s alive again. Finally he’s alive again. Taffy Brodesser-Akner is a GQ correspondent. This story originally appeared in the September 2017 issue with the title "The Second Coming of Robert Pattinson."

[daleisgreat]

20 Years of Dreamcast: Thinking of Dreamcast’s Legacy for 20 Years!

Where were you for quadruple nine, AKA September 9, 1999? That was the marketing friendly launch date of the Sega Dreamcast in North America, which will make it 20 years old. Such a landmark anniversary inspired me to craft another gaming reflection piece here looking back on my memories with the Dreamcast over the years. If you missed my similar anniversary articles earlier this year for the Genesis and GameBoy please click here to get caught up.

The first thing that comes to mind all these years later of the Dreamcast is that it ended up the first system that released when I had a job and could afford it entirely on my own. I got my first part-time high school job mere days after turning 16 about a half year earlier in 1999 and was fine picking up the occasional new game for our family’s N64 during that timeframe. However, around August of 1999 the first issue of Official Dreamcast Magazine (ODM) hit newsstands and it really popped compared to other gaming magazines. It was the first oversized gaming magazine that I can recall and they crammed in tons of news, special editorial features, previews and reviews in every issue and not a millimeter of page-space seemed wasted. It also had a bright colorful art scheme consistent throughout most issues compared to its competitors and in hindsight it was the ideal color scheme due to the unorthodox lineup of eye-popping bright games like Jet Grind Radio, Space Channel 5, Sonic Adventure and Samba de Amigo to name a few. I will give props to YouTube channel Classic Gaming Quarterly for doing a excellent page-by-page revisiting of that awesome first issue several months ago which was the catalyst for me re-reading the first four issues earlier this year. Those issues hold up splendidly and if you run across scans of any I highly recommend giving them a look-see as they perfectly encapsulate everything that made the Dreamcast as fondly remembered as it is today. That special preview issue of the Dreamcast sold me on the system with its hype of being the first 128-bit system on the market and how Sega would change gaming with its new GD-ROM disc format, interactive VMU memory card and by introducing online play with its built-in 56k modem the following year. It also had thorough previews for nearly the whole launch lineup. If you recall my Genesis write-up, I was not much of a Sonic fan and that issue only had reviews for Sonic Adventure and House of the Dead 2. I had good memories of the first HotD light gun arcade game and that review got me amped up for the sequel. By the time I was done perusing that issue of ODM a few times over I was hell-bent on getting a Dreamcast and a copy of HotD2 at launch. 9-9-99 As the Dreamcast launch approached I was legitimately unaware of being able to pre-order games or it was officially a available service yet at our local Software Etc. in the mall. I inquired there frequently when they were opening on launch day it turned they were opening early that day an hour or two before I was supposed to be at school. I convinced my dad to give me a lift there and arrived there an hour early to secure getting a system. There was only one person ahead of us and I presumed getting a system at Software Etc. in 1999 would be comparable to lining up at any other department store and getting a new product on a first people at the front of the line basis. That turned out to be the case for Dreamcast (though I do remember them instituting pre-orders the next year for the heavily anticipated PS2 launch) and I was thrilled walking out of there as planned with a Dreamcast and HotD2!

Software Etc. did not get any VMUs however and thankfully my dad checked out other stores on his lunch breaks and was able to procure me one from KB Toys. Only other problem was there were no light gun peripherals available for the Dreamcast at launch. Sega did not release their own model in America due to the controversial Columbine shootings earlier in the year, and third party models were still two-to-three months out from being available. I could play HotD2 with a controller, but I refused to accept that as an option and for the first few weeks after the Dreamcast launch I was content on playing the included demo disc and checking out games like Sonic Adventure, Hydro Thunder, Soul Calibur and Power Stone over at a friend’s place. Finally after a few weeks of that I was fed up of waiting for the light gun to hit and I took a chance and picked up Sega’s NFL 2K since I was always into football games and still sticking with older pigskin games on the N64 and playing a ton of Madden NFL ’99 in near weekly sessions on another friend’s PSone. I was instantly blown away by NFL 2K’s revolutionary leap in graphics and gameplay at that point. It had bar-raising production quality with TV-caliber replays, camera angles and insanely impressive announcer commentary which made it feel like the first football game to come off as an actual telecast. I can still pinpoint my mom walking in on me playing and doing a double take and asking if NFL 2K was real or not. NFL 2K got a ton of play in single player and in local multiplayer against friends over the next year.

Sega released five star sports games within the first year of release with hits seen above like NFL 2K, NBA 2K, Virtua Tennis and Virtua Striker For the rest of 1999 I checked out every demo included with each issue of ODM and it lead to me checking out Sega’s other sports offerings and playing a ton of NBA 2K and even a fair amount of NHL 2K. Worms Armageddon ended up being a surprise hit with friends and I loved going nuts with its Banana Bombs and Holy Hand Grenades. For Christmas of 1999 I got NBA 2K and Toy Commander. I eventually came across a light gun too and played through HotD2 several times through with a friend. Toy Commander was another lost gem on the Dreamcast I spent hours with devouring its single player missions and the local vs. multiplayer deathmatch was also fun for its time. I loved using the pressure-sensitive triggers on the Dreamcast controller to shoot free throws in NBA 2K, and speaking of the controller I am surprised there seems to be a lot of widespread disdain for peripheral. Sure, it was a little bulky, but nothing compared to the original Xbox ‘Duke’ controller or the unique ergonomics of the N64 controller. I loved the thumb-stick and directional pad, and the rest of the button layout was nearly identical to a SNES controller. If I should be nitpicking about some of the Dreamcast’s features it would be about the side effects of the painfully low battery life of the VMU. For those unfamiliar, it was Sega’s innovative memory card that also had a mini black and white LCD screen that would display gameplay tips, stats and other options and also could be unplugged from the controller to play bonus mini-games included with supported games. Unfortunately the VMU had an infamously low battery life and within a few weeks the included watch batteries would drain and would result in a notoriously loud beep from the VMU when powering on the system to indicate it was time to replace them. Additionally, the Dreamcast also had a painfully loud hard drive whenever loading game data. After awhile however I got use to the grinding hard drives and perpetual beeps and passed it off as Dreamcast’s catchy marketing slogan ‘It’s Thinking.’ As the years passed and new owners complained about those noises it sort of became a hazing-esque right of passage to them first experiencing the platform. 2000

While I was putting together an outline for this piece I was surprised to find out how much of a bummer a first half of 2000 I had with the Dreamcast. Aside from still getting lots of long-term fun with the aforementioned sports titles, almost every new game I picked up was a letdown. I never played a Resident Evil game before, but friends and classmates loved it and I saw a ton of buzz for the upcoming exclusive Dreamcast title in the series, Code Veronica, in ODM so I got it for my birthday shortly after its release. I popped it in and was completely unprepared for its tank controls the early Resident Evil games were known for and I completely stumbled around like a buffoon and could not get past the first zombie. After several attempts I pleaded with my mom to take it back to the store and exchange it for something else. After that I tried renting games more often and was disappointed with World Series Baseball 2K1 and Sonic Shuffle. The former had excellent past entries on the Genesis and Saturn, but the first Dreamcast baseball game released without the ability to control the fielders and it felt like half the game was missing. I knew Sonic Suffle was developed by Hudson Soft who also made the first couple Mario Party games I played a ton of and was excited for the Dreamcast rendition of the party game, but was stunned it was plagued with countless loading times for every turn and mini-game that soured the experience. The last big disappointment of 2000 for the Dreamcast was WWF Royal Rumble. At the time it was going to be the first exclusive Dreamcast wrestling game and I was nonetheless psyched for it. I disregarded EGM’s low review scores for them not ‘getting’ the game and presumed I would have a fabulous time with it. I came to find out later on it was a port of an arcade game I did not see available anywhere which is why it surprised me with its low amount of wrestlers on the roster and modes of play available when stacked next to other titles. After plowing through all the single player content in an afternoon I was overwrought about how the game turned out. I did wind up getting some decent value out of Royal Rumble down the line with friends in multiplayer Rumble matches, but out of the gates as the sole Dreamcast exclusive wrestling game it felt like a Kirkpatrick-esque punch in the stomach.

After those four disappointments 2000 wound up getting redeemed for the Dreamcast with a flurry of much better titles. I enjoyed playing Soul Calibur over at my friend’s, but was not head over heels for it like many others. A fighting game I did feel that way for however I took a random chance on in the summer of 2000 with Marvel vs. Capcom 2. I instantly loved its unforgettable music, chaotic three-on-three tag battles and the accessible hyper combos that did not require master precision to pull off. The game was a regular in my rotation with friends and for a couple months we held routine tournaments in my first apartment with my roommate and neighbors. It lead me to playing a ton of another Capcom fighter that same summer in Power Stone 2, which was vastly improved over the original and felt like a 3D version of Smash Bros. with simultaneous four player battles and constantly evolving stages. Demolition Racer: No Exit was a surprise hit I put way more time than I should have into it. I love demolition-derby racer games, and No Exit had a ton of tracks, demolition derby events, thrashin’ metal soundtrack and many unlocks that kept me coming back to work my way through its extensive career mode for a good three-to-four years after release. It ended up as my surprise favorite driving game on the system which is absurd compared to other first-party driving hits that did not land on my radar until many years later like Daytona USA 2001, Sega Rally 2 and Metropolis Street Racer. The awesome port of the arcade hits Crazy Taxi and 18 Wheeler had faithful home Dreamcast ports, but I played a ton of both in the arcades and got my fill of them at home with a rental. I think it is safe to say I am not alone in Crazy Taxi turning me onto Offspring and being one of the few games to make product-placement seem cool with driving like a lunatic to escort passengers to get their KFC and Pizza Hut fix. I was so bummed out to see the later 360/PS3 re-release take out the product placement and replace the Offspring’s tall licensing price soundtrack with licensing fee-friendly indie bands.

The other surprise hit of 2000 was Virtua Tennis. I tried it on ODM’s demo disc and it wound up being surprisingly fun and easy to pick up and play. Jim Courier I now associate as being the man who dethroned Jimmy Connors in his last gasp at coming close to winning a major in the early 90s and being the only American character to play as in Sega’s game. The demo wound up being hit and created buzz online about it and a quick fervor spread about it being the cannot miss Dreamcast game of the summer. Virtua Tennis was impossible to find in stores so that caused me to create an account at ebgames.com and how Virtua Tennis was the first game I ordered online. After those two games saved the year for Dreamcast, the next installments of NFL 2K and NBA 2K released which I instantly purchased and played endless hours of with friends. The 2K1 versions of both games added franchise modes and online play finally debuting for the system. I played about several rounds of both sports games online and tried to master typing out ‘good play’ on the keyboard peripheral. The games played decently, but I could not help but notice semi-constant lag over the 56k modem so after several games I stuck with my routine local multiplayer with friends.

What was being advertised as the do not miss hit for the 2000 holiday season was Sega’s much anticipated open world adventure, Shenmue. ODM and websites put a ton of hype for Shenmue leading up to its release and how Sega was putting a huge budget into it and how it was the first part of a mammoth saga, but I was not initially feeling it and that style of game seemed a bit outside my wheelhouse at the time. Shortly after its release however, I saw a used copy marked down surprisingly low at a local rental store and decided to chance it. I was shocked by its quality of graphics and cinema cutscenes for the time and before I knew it I found myself getting immersed in the open-world and having the freedom to talk and interact with nearly any major or minor NPC and their own so-bad-its-good English voiceovers. I understand Shenmue is not for everybody and its unique controls resulted in a polarizing reception for the game, but I burned through that game within a couple of weeks and loved every minute of it. I revisited it last year when Sega released HD ports on the Xbox One and PS4 last year, and after getting used to the controls I instantly got wrapped up in it again.

Dreamcast had a ton of quality fighters in its brief lifespan. Some of my favorites pictured above are Soul Calibur, Marvel vs. Capcom 2, Power Stone 2 and Heavy Metal: GeoMatrix. There are several other quality fighters on the system too not pictured above such as the original MvC and Power Stone, Virtua Fighter 3TB, Street Fighter III: Third Strike, Dead or Alive 2, Street Fighter Alpha 3 and Capcom vs. SNK. This console was heaven for fighting game fans! 1-31-2001 2001 kicked off strong for the Dreamcast with ports of PC FPS hits of Unreal Tournament and Quake III both launching around the same time with online play. ODM and websites hyped up 2001 for being a big year for Dreamcast games supporting online play. I tried out those pair of FPS games at a friend’s and had a blast with them and was looking forward to the rest of 2001 for the Dreamcast even though at the time the PS2 was out for a few months and had a lot of people’s attention. Unexpectedly, towards the end of January crazy rumors started popping up about the PS2 slaughtering Dreamcast in 2000 holiday sales so bad that Sega would be discontinuing support for the system early. I immediately dismissed the rumors as ludicrous as it seemed whacked for a publisher to stop supporting a system under a year and a half after release. Sure enough however on January 31, 2001 news broke with Sega stating they would only support the Dreamcast with games for the rest of 2001 and would transition into a third party publisher role in 2002 going forward.

I was devastated with the news as a huge Dreamcast fan and continued to be bummed throughout 2001 as many anticipated Dreamcast games like Half-Life, Rez, Castlevania Resurrection, Headhunter and Tribes got cancelled and/or switched over to becoming a PS2, Xbox and GCN release. Sega and a few loyal third parties like Capcom released a steady stream of games throughout 2001 and I did get a lot of enjoyment from some of them like the addicting arcade-driving sequel Crazy Taxi 2, a decent but forgettable arcade FPS title Outrigger and a few more light gun games like the excellent HotD2 follow-up from the same developers but in a secret agent setting called Confidential Mission, the peculiar Japanese horror themed light gun shooter Death Crimson OX and the delightful surprise remaster of the original Virtua Cop tucked inside Sega Smash Pack to tide me through 2001 for Dreamcast. Sega said they would be porting their next wave of sports games to other systems a few months after their initial Dreamcast release in 2001 so I held off on them that year. I was saving my last surge of Dreamcast fandom for what the gaming press was heralding as the swan song for the Dreamcast in Shenmue II. About a couple month before its American release however Sega stunned its fans by announcing they were cancelling the American version and making it an exclusive to the Xbox a year later with touched up graphics and adding in English voiceovers that were not originally going to make their return. The Shenmue fanboy in me was furious, but I found relief in ebgames.com capitalizing on the situation by offering the European version of Shenmue II that did not get cancelled for sale along with a boot-disc to get it to play on American systems. I spent the first several weeks of 2002 gleefully playing nothing but Shenmue II. I convinced myself it blew the original away due to jumping through extra hoops to acquire the sequel. The follow-up is a noticeably larger and longer experience and contains some noticeable gameplay improvements; upon currently replaying it on the previously mentioned HD bundle on Xbox One/PS4 I am going to have to go back to siding with the original being superior due to its more immersive setting and my love for driving forklifts. I hope to finish replaying the sequel in time for what is one of my most anticipated games ever in the long awaited third Shenmue game currently slated to be released this November a whopping 17 years after the original release of the second Dreamcast game.

Speaking of imports, Shenmue II was the first game I ever imported, and the second game was another Dreamcast game in FirePro Wrestling D. I heard so much acclaim for the FirePro games in Japan about them being the ultimate 2D wrestling games. After tracking down a guide online I relentlessly jotted down detailed English translations of all the menus and discovered a game save that translated all the wrestler’s names and attires into their English counterparts. I wound up playing a ton of that classic entry in the series on the Dreamcast. I am constantly nagging myself to open up my copy of the latest entry, FirePro Wrestling World that recently hit PS4 last year. I regret not importing more Dreamcast titles in the later years because games kept regularly coming out for Sega’s last system in Japan for several more years. Eventually most of them made their way to America on other systems in the following years, but for those that took advantage they got a one-to-three year head start on gems like Ikaruga, Rez, Rent-a-Hero and Capcom vs. SNK 2. Post-2002 I also regret not making time to sink my teeth into the then-exclusive RPGs on Dreamcast. My former podcast co-host Chris picked most of them up so I was able to check them out at his place and play some of them on demo discs. Skies of Arcadia intrigued me with its sky pirates setting and I eventually picked up the GCN re-release. Ditto with the pair of Evolution RPGs that later were bundled together on the GCN. Grandia II I recall having a kind of more involved battle system that popped out to me and if I owned a Switch I would likely be acquiring the HD up-ports of the first two games that just released on there. I did enjoy demos of action RPGs Silver and Record of Lodoss War and finally tracked down both games last year and played about an hour of both way after the fact. The one I did put a lot of time into later on was Phantasy Star Online on the original Xbox. I loved being able to play that game in four player split-screen and I had a few friends over for several marathon sessions of its addicting action-RPG combat into the wee hours of the night.

The Dreamcast unofficially lived on for the next couple years well into the PS2/Xbox/GCN era with some of its key games that got cancelled and sequels getting re-released on those systems. Sega released their 2K sports line for a few years on all three systems before selling sports developer Visual Concepts and the 2K branding to Take-Two in 2005. The heavy duty competition from 2K Sports titles only helped fuel EA Sports to step up their efforts for better sports titles from both companies for the past 20 years. The Xbox got some heavy hitters in the form of Panzer Dragoon Orta, Shenmue II, Crazy Taxi 3, Marvel vs. Capcom 2 and Gun Valkyrie. The PS2 landed Rez, Headhunter, Half-Life, Tribes, Grandia II and Resident Evil: Code Veronica. The GameCube received the four player port of Phantasy Star Online well before the Xbox version and later an exclusive third chapter in addition to Evolution Worlds, Skies of Arcadia Legends, Ikaruga, Chaos Field and enhanced deluxe versions of both Sonic Adventure titles. Aside from Dreamcast living on with those games on the next wave of systems I still busted out my Dreamcast regularly for the next several years. It was my favorite way to play Marvel vs. Capcom 2 for many years and as mentioned above I kept revisiting titles like FirePro Wrestling D and Demolition Racer for quite a few years too. The homebrew/indie scene was alive and well for the Dreamcast and is still going to this day. Goat Store had a couple high-profile indie releases with Feet of Fury and Irides that I both acquired. The former is the only dance-pad game I know of for the system and while I do not own a dance-pad I did put some time into it with its support for the Dreamcast keyboard. Irides: Master of Blocks is a fun Lumines-inspired puzzler on the system. Since it is the 20th anniversary of the platform, I took a chance a few months ago and Kickstarted an upcoming driving game set to hit at the end of this year that peaked my interest in the form of Arcade Racing Legends. Here is hoping to its success! The End? When I think back to my own personal favorite moments and experiences with the Dreamcast there are a few things I will chalk up to its legacy. I consider it to be the first system to prove that online gaming was viable on consoles and paved the way for it to really take off a couple years later on the PS2 and Xbox. I will also remember it for its local multiplayer games being a big hit with my friends and I for its wide array of fighting and sports games for two players as well as many games taking advantage of the four controllers with quite a few party games and driving games especially supporting four players locally. I consider it the last hurrah for the arcade ports, as the late 90s were the final successfully years of arcades in America and Sega, Capcom, Midway and Konami took advantage of Dreamcast’s Naomi-based hardware making it developer-friendly to convert their arcade titles to the system. A majority of the games I listed above are arcade conversions.

These last two are big ones for me personally. First is how Sega stepped up big time with their blockbuster first party sports games on the Dreamcast and gave the impression of how they scared away competition from EA Sports releasing their games on the Dreamcast. Finally, I will remember the Dreamcast where Sega took chances with a plethora of new, unorthodox IP. It seemed every few months a new original Sega IP hit the system from successes and cult-hits like Jet Grind Radio, Samba de Amigo, Space Channel 5, Crazy Taxi, Skies of Arcadia and of course Shenmue to fascinating curiosities such as Floigan Bros., Alien Front Online and the bizzaro-Leonard Nimoy-narrated journey that is Seaman. Combine everything from these last two paragraphs and that is why I feel it is safe to say why I and likely many others revere the Dreamcast as much as we did for the years it was active in its all too short lifespan. I have rambled, ranted and raved for over 4,000 words now and want to thank you dear readers for sticking with me to the very end of this trip down memory lane. I apologize for the length of this piece, but I had to get it all out of my system. If somehow you want more Dreamcast love and want to keep this Dreamcast nostalgia train rolling I will link you to two prior pieces I did on the system. The first is a special 10th anniversary flashback on the Dreamcast where I breakdown 15 forgotten facts about the Dreamcast. I touched on a few of them here, but there are several more obscure factoids you can discover by clicking here. The other is my former co-hosts and I doing a special Dreamcast retrospective podcast on my old podcast you can listen to by clicking here. My Other Gaming Flashbacks GameBoy 30th Anniversary Genesis 30th Anniversary

BONUS OVERTIME: Random Dreamcast quick bits I neglected to include above!

Oh man, I wish I would have remembered to touch on a few more gems I dug on the Dreamcast. I forgot about the oddball arena-based fighters that were fun rentals back then like Spawn: In the Demon’s Hand and Heavy Metal: Geomatrix. There was also the crazy keyboard version of HotD2 that hit in 2001 called Typing of the Dead! It was a super fun way to master your home row skills while massacring zombies! Sega released a remaster of it on Steam a couple years ago so give it a look-see! I remember trying to hunt down the low-quantity released broadband adaptor for the Dreamcast in 2002 on eBay but sellers were marking them up in ‘Dreamcast Online Ready’ bundles for absurd amounts. 56k web browsing with the Dreamcast was admittedly a slog, but it worked and was a slick way to upload and download game saves and made me feel I was swindling William Shatner by not falling for his WebTV commercials from that timeframe. Hydro Thunder I played a bit at a friend’s and to this day even though it was a fun on its own merits arcade boat racer the thing I recall most fondly about it was the over-the-top announcer saying the game’s name on the title screen and exclaiming ‘Dam the Torpedoes!’ at specific moments. I wanted to get Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 so much for Dreamcast after hearing all the GOTY-caliber buzz and wanting to experience it with better graphics, but after spending weeks not finding it in stores around town I wound up settling on purchasing the PSone version even though I did not have that platform at the time and brought it over to my neighbor’s place for many throwdown sessions of Trick Attack multiplayer and HORSE. No regrets! There was something about Next Tetris: Online Edition that was off that did not get it to live up to the fun I was having in multiplayer over on the N64’s New Tetris and Tetrisphere. I wanted to like it, much like I did with launch title Trickstyle because of its futuristic extreme sports nature with a bunch of unique tricks and competitions to take in, but its un-intuitive controls left me getting my fix with solely the demo. Brighter days were ahead for Trickstyle’s developer, Criterion Games.

Apparently sim F1/Indy/Cart games were a hit on the Dreamcast for its brief lifespan with multiple entries from Sega and Ubisoft. Even the notorious LJN publishing label got resurrected after being dormant for several years with its retro F1 game, Spirit of Speed 1937. It is a good thing I never came around to them with the many other stellar driving games available. I remember loving the Ready 2 Rumble Boxing demo and thought that franchise would be around for years, but one quick sequel later and an out of nowhere Wii version years later and it has been AWOL ever since. EA’s Facebreaker seemed like a worthy spiritual successor, but that one came and went even faster. Even though EA did not release anything on the Dreamcast I still checked out a few other third party sports games from Acclaim, Midway and Konami and had great times with NFL Blitz 2000 and digging NBA Showtime and its brilliant use of the NBA on NBC theme song. Crap, I forgot to touch on the last pair of Sega’s polygonal arcade brawler ports that were good weekend rentals for their day in Dynamite Cop and Zombie’s Revenge, but I will forever be a Die Hard: Arcade man for life! I tried to give Sonic Adventure an honest shot, but lost interest quickly after being wowed by its opening stage and that damn whale flipping all over the place after Sonic in its 128-bit glory. I will not get into the details here, but if you are up for an ill-fated timing story, then look up the details on the cancellation on what was supposed to be one of the last Dreamcast games originally scheduled to release towards the end of 2001, Propeller Arena. Ok ok, now I am finally done and think I covered every nook and cranny of my Dreamcast experie….awwww shoot I forgot to tell you guys all about Sega Swirl! Wait, where are you going? Come back, come baaaaaack!

[ncmagroup]

Written by Meg Prater

Being a CEO or entrepreneur is not for the faint of heart. You’ve got to have a firm handle on the market and your product — while inspiring employees and influencing stakeholders. Sound like a tall order? It is.

So, if you see the letters “CEO” in your future, it’s never too early to start preparing with these 27 powerful and inspiring books. Start your education now and your business and employees will thank you later.

27 Best Business Books for CEOs and Entrepreneurs

The Hard Thing About Hard Things

Sam Walton: Made in Americ

Seeking Wisdom: From Darwin to Munger

Zingerman’s Guide to Giving Great Service

Managing Oneself

Behind the Cloud

Let My People Go Surfing

Positioning

Meditation

Practicing the Power of Now

Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion

EntreLeadership

Setting the Table

Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance

The Creator’s Code>

Predictable Revenue

The Sales Acceleration Formula

The Five Dysfunctions of a Team

Playing to Win: How Strategy Really Works

Lean In

Pour Your Heart Into It

Good to Great

Great People Decisions

The Innovator’s Dilemma

Rework

The Tipping Point

What Got You Here Won’t Get You There

1) “The Hard Thing About Hard Things: Building a Business When There Are No Easy Answers” by Ben Horowitz

This book captures what it’s really like to lead a startup. Get practical advice on how to manage tough problems they don’t cover in business school.

Review: “This book can be read as ‘The Art of War’ for business. The first few chapters alone make this book amazing.”

2) “Sam Walton: Made in America” by Sam Walton

Sam Walton shares how he created Wal-Mart and became one of the richest men in the world. Walton’s thoughts on building a lasting business and “servant leadership” are important lessons for any executive to learn.

Review: “This book should be mandatory reading for any MBA student. What they don’t teach you in business school is to recognize an opportunity. Walton did that, and he did it repeatedly.”

3) “Seeking Wisdom: From Darwin to Munger” by Peter Bevelin

Learn how thoughts are influenced, why you’re quick to misjudge, and how to improve the way you process new ideas. This book isn’t just about running a company — it’s full of advice on thinking bigger and understanding what motivates the people we work with every day.

Review: “Bevelin summarizes the pitfalls of the human psyche while providing lasting wisdom. It’s a book you can pick up anytime to learn something for business, investing or life.”

4) “Zingerman’s Guide to Giving Great Service” by Ari Weinzweig

Weinzweig co-founded the beloved Michigan-based Zingerman’s Deli. In this book, he speaks about the secret sauce that has made his business the focus of articles in The New York Times, The Atlantic, and Fast Company.

Review: “This book teaches all there is to know about customer service: The customer is your business. Once you accept, embrace, and get ecstatic about that — everything about your company will skyrocket!”

5) “Managing Oneself” by Peter Drucker

Drucker argues we all must be our own CEOs. It’s up to us to stay engaged and productive during our careers — and you’ll learn just how to do that in this page-turner.

Review: “Everyone has a different interpretation of success, and this book helps you understand which questions to ask to continue moving your career or life plans along.”

6) “Behind the Cloud: The Untold Story of How Salesforce.com Went from Idea to Billion-Dollar Company and Revolutionized the Industry” by Marc Benioff and Carlye Adler

This is the story of Salesforce as told by founder and CEO Marc Benioff. Learn how Benioff grew a startup from his apartment to one of the world’s fastest-growing software companies — in under 10 years.

Review: “Highly recommended! An entrepreneur’s journey from idea to inception and launching their own company. “

7) “Let My People Go Surfing: The Education of a Reluctant Businessman” by Yvon Chouinard

Chouinard, the founder, and owner of Patagonia tells how he founded the outdoor gear retailer and built a company with strong values and culture.

Review: “This is one of my favorite business books of all time. It’s the story of Patagonia interspersed with business lessons. Yvon’s vision of sustainability, profitability, employee happiness, and service (repair) is refreshing.”

8) “Positioning: The Battle For Your Mind: How to Be Seen and Heard in the Overcrowded Marketplace” by Al Ries and Jack Trout

Learn how to position yourself as a leader and your company as a respected brand. The trick? Getting your ideas to stick your audience’s mind. If this sounds like inception — trust me, it’s only the beginning.

Review: “The author efficiently demonstrates several positioning tactics and weaves them into a playbook. The author’s incredible use of real blue-chip and no-name company stories effectively communicates his point.”

9) “Meditations” by Marcus Aurelius

Think your problems are hard? Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius shares how he coped with life as a warrior and administrator of an empire. In the midst of natural disasters and war, Aurelius writes about his commitment to virtue above pleasure and tranquility above balance. CEOs and entrepreneurs often struggle to find balance and this book is a great North Star.

Review: “Meditations is a must-read for anyone interested in human behavior and Stoicism. While parts may be difficult to understand, the book provides marvelous insight into human behavior. Marcus has given us a way to see life and our role in other people’s lives.”

10) “Practicing the Power of Now: Essential Teachings, Meditations, and Exercises From the Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle

Need a strategy for dealing with the daily anxiety of running a business? This book is key to finding balance, clarity, and a rational way forward.

Review: “This book is very rejuvenating and revolutionary. It really helps captivate the realism today. If you’re trying to improve your well-being and seek truth, this is the book for you.”

11) “Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion” by Robert Cialdini, PH.D.

Understand the cognitive biases humans use to make decisions, and learn how to use that knowledge to lead a business. Cialdini shares six psychological principles and explains how to use them to become a skilled persuader.

Review: “Reading this book will open your eyes to the techniques used by others to influence you. You will also understand how deeply ingrained some of these principles are.”

12) “EntreLeadership” by Dave Ramsey

In this book, Ramsey explains how to work on your business instead of init. He argues your company is only as strong as its leaders, and your team will never grow beyond you. So, the real question is, “Are you growing?”

Review: “Great practical business book! It’s full of good reminders for those with experience, and it’s a great way to learn business from an entrepreneurial perspective. Highly recommend — especially if you’re in business for yourself.”

13) “Setting the Table: The Transforming Power of Hospitality in Business” by Danny Meyer

Meyer is one of America’s leading restaurateurs, and this book is all about he got there by providing world-class customer service. Learn Meyer’s “Enlightened Hospitality” philosophy — and how it will make you an effective, productive leader.

Review: “This book should be required reading for anyone who aspires to change paradigms and push themselves beyond what they think is possible. Meyer does an amazing job of balancing the need to achieve with the need to treat people well.”

14) “Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance” by Angela Duckworth

Duckworth is a psychologist who spent several years researching what makes successful people so successful. Her findings? It’s not talent that helps some people thrive — it’s a blend of passion and persistence she calls “grit.”

Review: “This is a really great book with good stories and analysis. I would recommend this to any business leader, entrepreneur, parent, or person… O.K., that’s everyone.”

15) “The Creator’s Code: The Six Essential Skills of Extraordinary Entrepreneurs” by Amy Wilkinson

This book is based on in-depth interviews with more than 200 entrepreneurs. Through her research, Wilkinson identified six disciplines we need to master to transform our ideas into real-world success.

Review: “Wilkinson did a great job picking the brains of today’s greatest entrepreneurial heroes, telling amazing and inspiring stories, and conveying that knowledge in a practical framework.”

16) “Predictable Revenue: Turn Your Business Into a Sales Machine with the $100 Million Best Practices of Salesforce.com” by Aaron Ross

If you’re looking for a guide to running a successful sales team, look no further. Written by an early Salesforce sales leader, this book spills what it takes for a team to generate highly qualified leads, create predictable revenue, and meet financial goals.

Review: “My highlighter ran out on page 133 of Chapter seven! This book is always on my first-to-grab shelf of resources. I use it every time I work on new marketing strategies, campaigns, and tactics for my clients.”

17) “The Sales Acceleration Formula: Using Data, Technology, and Inbound Selling to Go from $0 to $100 Million” by Mark Roberge

Former HubSpot SVP and current Senior Lecturer at Harvard Business School Mark Roberge explains how to challenge conventional methods of scaling your sales organization. You’ll learn how to apply data, technology, and inbound selling to every aspect of sales acceleration.

Review: “This is one of the most important books for sales leaders, entrepreneurs, and CEOs of emerging companies ever written. Why? Because it helps an outsider with no prior sales experience view sales through the lens of an engineer, while creating frameworks for analysis of operational aspects from day one.”

18) “The Five Dysfunctions of a Team: A Leadership Fable” by Patrick Lencioni

Lencioni tells the story of a CEO facing a leadership crisis: She must unite a dysfunctional team threatening her company. Throughout the book, he outlines an easy-to-follow model and actionable steps for building a cohesive, effective team.

Review: “I’ve read a lot of leadership books and this one is my favorite. It’s told in fable form with a made-up company and staff. The ideas presented about developing a team seem obvious, but when you dig deeper you realize how challenging it can be.”

19) “Playing to Win: How Strategy Really Works” by A.G Lafley and Roger Martin

“Playing to Win” outlines the strategic approach Lafley and his strategic advisor, Martin, used to double Procter & Gamble’s sales, quadruple profits, and increase market value by more than $100 billion.

Review: “Much has been said about this book. My only add is if you need to understand strategic thinking processes of large corporations — and CEOs in particular — this is an excellent book.”

20) “Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead” by Sheryl Sandberg

Facebook’s COO combines personal stories, compelling data, and remarkable research to explain how women can combine professional achievement with personal fulfillment — and how men can benefit by supporting women in the workplace and at home.

Review: “This book changed my life. I’d been working in the same position at the same company for the last 12 years, and I found myself wondering why I wasn’t being promoted or approached by competitors. I needed this book to push me to take the next step.”

21) “Pour Your Heart Into It: How Starbucks Built a Company One Cup at a Time” by Howard Schultz

Learn how the Starbucks phenomenon was shaped and benefit from the wisdom Schultz gained along the way. The coffee giant’s book illustrates how devotion to product excellence and employee satisfaction can lead to exponential success.

Review: “This is one of the best books I’ve read in a long time. It’s a how-to book for running a business. In it, Schultz talks about having a vision and giving more than you promise.”

22) “Good to Great: Why Some Companies Make the Leap and Others Don’t” by Jim Collins

Collins’ book takes a deep dive into what it takes for good, mediocre, or even bad companies to achieve greatness. Five years of research, 28 companies, and thousands of interviews allow the reader to learn what it really takes for a company to be exceptional.

Review: “We take for granted the products and services many companies provide, and we pay little attention when these companies fail. Most of all, we don’t pay attention to the very basic ideas that cause companies to fail. It’s obvious the author put a great deal of effort into picking and analyzing these companies.”

23) “Great People Decisions: Why They Matter So Much, Why They Are So Hard, and How You Can Master Them” by Claudio Fernandez-Araoz

The ability to hire, manage, and retain great people is a critical skill for executives to have. This book is a comprehensive resource for leaders who want to be better at hiring, promoting, and growing great employees.

Review: “This book just oozes with wisdom. From recruiting to evaluations, this is one of the most well-researched and useful books on the market. There are books out there you wish you’d read earlier, and this one is on my list.”

24) “The Innovator’s Dilemma: The Revolutionary Book That Will Change the Way You Do Business” by Clayton M. Christensen

Are you doing everything right? Christensen argues your business could still fail. Read this book to glean valuable insights into changing technology and why it’s critical to your company’s success.

Review: “Attention all future game-changers: If you’re looking to change the world, you can’t follow the world’s rules. This book gives you a blueprint for action.”

25) “Rework” by Jason Fried and David Heinemeier Hansson

“Rework” shows you how to stop talking and start working. It’s a straightforward handbook for anyone dreaming of starting their own business or being their own boss. The takeaway? You can’t do it while stuck in traditional channels of business plans, competition, and investors.

Review: “Rework was an absolutely fantastic read! I highly recommend it to anyone who plans to start a business. The chapters are short but packed with tools that will help you focus on the real priorities of having a sustainable business and work environment.”

26) “The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference” by Malcolm Gladwell

You know that moment when an idea takes off? That’s what this book unpacks. Gladwell discusses the changing way people think about selling products and sharing ideas, trends, and social behaviors. Learn how to pitch your own ideas, listen to those of your staff, and be part of the great ones when they take off.

Review: “‘The Tipping Point’ is excellent at providing insight into how large changes can be caused by small ones. It summarizes three ways an idea can go from insignificant to catching on in a large way.”

27) “What Got You Here Won’t Get You There: How Successful People Became Even More Successful” by Marshall Goldsmith, Illustrated by Shane Clester

Businesses are filled with people who’ve worked hard to excel — but only a handful reach the top. Goldsmith, an executive coach, shares the nuanced behaviors setting them apart. If you’re wondering how to make the jump to a CEO or executive role reach for this book now.

Review: “As an executive coach, I work with high performers who sometimes wonder why they are stalled in reaching the next level of success. I found this book overflowing with insights I can use in these situations.”

Whether you’ve been a CEO/entrepreneur for decades or aspire to be one in the future, grab a few of these books and invest in your career and the well-being of those around you.

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27 Top Books for CEOs and Entrepreneurs Written by Meg Prater Being a CEO or entrepreneur is not for the faint of heart. You’ve got to have a firm handle on the market and your product -- while inspiring employees and influencing stakeholders.