#u could see loosely where they were geographically too.

[brothfan1997]

does anyone from 2012 remember what that application was called that people used to html code into their blog descriptions so you could tell how many people were viewing your site

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Teen Wolf Stranger Things AU.

Stiles is walking home from Scott’s house when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The streetlights overhead begin to flicker before the bulbs go out, immersing the street in darkness. Stiles turns around but he was too late.

He feels his legs being wrenched from beneath him, a cry tearing at his throat as he falls to the ground. He claws at the earth, his fingers raking across concrete and dirt as the creature drags him into the forest. He thrashes about and kicks himself free of the beast’s hold. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling as he ran as fast as he could away from the creature.

He feels the creature’s claws tear through his bag, pulling it from his back and tossing it aside before chasing after Stiles.

Stiles trips and falls down an incline, hitting the ground with a painful thud. He finds himself immersed in a world of darkness and decay, but he didn’t have the chance to dwell on his thoughts; the creature is closing in. He scrambles to his feet and runs.

The next morning, Claudia wakes up to find her son missing; his bed not slept in, his school books still sitting on his desk and his lacrosse gear by the door. She begins to panic and runs to the Sheriff’s office to tell them that Stiles is missing, but no one believes her because of her dementia. Sheriff Stilinski tries to calm his wife down and takes her home, promising that he’ll look for Stiles and telling her that there’s probably nothing to worry about; Stiles might have just slept over at Scott’s for the night.

Sheriff Stilinski goes to the school to look for his son, but he’s not there. He pulls Scott aside and asks him if he’s seen Stiles but Scott says he hasn’t seen him since he left to go home last night. Sheriff Stilinski begins to worry. He calls out a search party and rumours quickly spread that Stiles ran away from home. That is, until the search party stumbles upon something in the woods: Stiles’ backpack, torn and discarded.

Meanwhile, Claudia notices the lights around the house flickering as she moves between rooms. She has a haunting feeling that there’s something behind it. She clambers into the cupboard under the stairs, where Stiles used to hide when he was younger and scared, and pulls out a box full of Christmas decorations. She picks up a tangled mess of Christmas lights and holds them before her.

“Stiles,” she whispers weakly. “I don’t know what’s going on and it’s starting to scare me. The lines between reality and my waking nightmares are beginning to fade, so I’m hoping that I’m onto something here and not just losing my mind. So, if you can hear me, can you give me some sort of sign?”

For a moment, nothing happens. Claudia bows her head, her heart sinking as defeat and sorrow begins to settle in her chest. Then, suddenly, the cluster of lights burst to life.

Claudia lets out a sigh of relief but quickly composes herself. “Okay. Blink once for yes and twice for no, alright? Are you okay? Are you… alive?”

The lights blink. Once.

Her nerves begin to settle. “Do you know where you are?”

The lights blink twice.

“Hang on, I have an idea.” Claudia grabs the box of lights and pulls them into the living room, stringing them up over the walls and the roof. Colourful bulbs stream into the hallway and throughout the house. He grabs a marker and scrawls letters across the wall. Finished, she steps back and says, “Okay, Stiles, sweetie, talk to me. Tell me how I can help you. Tell me what I should do.”

The lights above the letters light up one by one. R. U. N.

Claudia’s heart skips a beat. All the lights in the room light up, strobing and buzzing with electricity.

She spins around, her eyes focused on the far wall. She’s frozen in place, watching as the plaster and wallpaper began to bubble and melt away, revealing a opaque grey barrier. Claudia creeps over to the wall, reaching out as her hand touches the flesh-like barrier.

Beyond it, she sees a figure running towards her. Stiles.

He frantically glanced over his shoulder before looking at his mum. His lips move around a word that she cannot hear, but she knows what it is.

“Run.”

Stiles takes off running, disappearing into the darkness as another figure draws near. This thing isn’t human. It throws itself at the wall, jagged claws and piercing teeth tearing through the fleshy barrier.

Claudia screams and runs out onto the street. She falls into a pair of arms, thrashing about as she tries to break free. Sheriff Stilinski holds her close, talking to her softly as he tries to calm her down enough to ask what’s wrong.

“It’s coming through the wall,” she mutters between broken sobs. “It’s coming through the wall.”

Sheriff Stilinski can’t help but feel anxious about this. He carefully ushers Claudia towards his deputy and tells him to look after her. He makes his way towards the house, pushing open then front door and stepping inside. It’s pitch black, the only light being that that seeps in through the front door. He makes his way down the hallway, his chest tight and his heart pounding against his ribs. He draws his gun and cocks it, holding his breath as he steps into the living room.

Nothing.

The walls are undamaged and the only thing that’s out of place is the mess of Christmas lights strung up around the house.

Sheriff Stilinski sighs and glances out into the front yard where his distressed wife is crying. Amidst her broken babbling and tears, he hears her say a name: “Stiles.”

Scott is beginning to worry about his friend, wanting nothing more than to be out there helping the sheriff’s department find Stiles. But Sheriff Stilinski had said that he should stay in school, just in case Stiles turned up. But that doesn’t put him at ease.

Everyone at school is staring at him and spreading rumours that Stiles has run away or, worse, that he’s dead. Scott tells them they’re wrong, but the only person who believes him is Allison.

The next day, they’re sitting together at lunch and Scott notices that the lights are flickering all over town.

“Maybe it has something to do with the electrical currents that flow through Beacon Hills,” Allison suggests.

“What?”

“Danny, Lydia and I were studying together and Danny’s writing an essay on the geographical electric currents that flow through Beacon Hills,” Allison explains.

“The lights were doing this around the time that Stiles disappeared,” Scott says. “Maybe it has something to do with it. We should ask Danny what he knows.”

Scott turns to leave when Allison catches his hand. “There’s one problem,” she says softly. “Danny’s in hospital.”

“What?”

“He was stabbed last night,” Allison tells him. “I mean, we can visit, but he might not be conscious.”

Scott lets out a dejected sigh. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

They go to visit Danny in hospital. He’s not conscious but Allison points out the backpack sitting by his bed. Scott crosses the room and begins to rifle through the textbooks, notebooks, and loose pieces of paper until he finds the essay.

“What are you doing?” Danny rasps, startling Scott.

He glances over his shoulder at Allison, both of them panicking.

“I’m not doing anything, Danny,” Scott replies “This is just a dream that you’re having.”

“Why are you going through my stuff?” he asks weakly.

“Right, but only in the dream,” Scott insists.

“Why would I dream about you going through my stuff?”

“I don’t know, Danny,” Scott replies. “It’s your dream. Take responsibility for it.”

Danny falls quiet again, asleep. That’s when Allison notices the gashes torn out of Derek’s stomach and arms.

“Scott, these aren’t stab wounds,” she whispers. “They’re too wide and irregular to have been made by a knife. The tearing looks more like a mauling, like he was slashed open by a bear or a wolf.”

“There hasn’t been wolves in Beacon Hills for sixty years,” Scott recited, remembering the strange fact Stiles had told him.

Their anxious suspicions begin to grow. They leave the hospital and drive back towards Scott’s house. Allison reads the essay to him as they drive and when they get to Scott’s house he prints off a map and marks out the electrical currents.

“There are points at which they converge,” Scott says. “On Church Street, heading towards the woods… That’s on the way to Stiles’ house.”

“They merge at the school too,” Allison pointed out. “That’s where Danny was last night when he was attacked.”

“So where else to they merge?” Scott asked, his eyes rolling over the picture.

“Here,” Allison points at the map.

Scott freezes. It’s Stiles’ house.

Scott and Allison rush to the Stilinski house, piecing things together. They arrive, ready for action: Scott wielding his mother’s baseball bat. They frantically try to explain everything they know to the Sheriff (Claudia’s not there, she was admitted to hospital after the earlier incident) and he begins to believe them.

Sheriff Stilinski gets a rifle, passing it to Allison as he readies himself to fight. 

They know what they have to do: they need to guard the rift or else the creature could get loose, or worse; it could catch Stiles as he tries to get out.

The rift opens and the creature breaks out. They fight back but guns don’t seem to work. The creature gets the upper hand, knocking Scott aside and pinning him to the ground.

Something else comes though the rift, grabbing Melissa’s bat as they charge forward. They swing and slam the creature over its head, stunning it.

Scott stares up at his saviour, breathing out a sigh of relief as he looks at his friend. “Stiles.”

Stiles grabs Scott’s arm and drags him to his feet, hurrying past the others and into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of his father’s whiskey and a dish towel. He unscrews the lid and shoves the rag into the bottle until it’s partially soaked in alcohol; a make-shift Molotov cocktail. He grabs a lighter from the top draw and lights the other end of the cloth.

Stiles hurries into the other room and hurls the Molotov at the creature. The glass shatters and the liquor ignites. The creature is consumed by the roaring flames, scratching as its flesh boils away to nothing.

A strange quiet settles and it takes them a moment to realise that it’s over.

The next few days, they try to return to normality, try to pretend that Stiles never left or that they never saw the things they saw, but there’s one question that lingers in the back of their mind: Is the Stiles that came out of the rift the same Stiles that went in, or is he something different?

[austinpanda]

The Spokane Diaries 03.30.2019

A lot has happened to the moving plan. And currently the plan could best be described as a vague, amorphous thing, with no clear destination, and too many tear-stained exclamation points. So I think it wise if I pause for a minute to summarize everything that’s happened up till now, with all its context, the choices we made and events which befell us.

When the plan was first formed, we immediately picked the city of Spokane, Washington to move to. It was just the right size; big enough to have everything we need, small enough not to have traffic. Decent amount of snow each year. Not next to a mountain, but a river with a gorgeous waterfall runs through it, and you can take a cable gondola ride across it. It hosted a world’s fair in the 70s, and some of those constructions remain. It has very friendly pot laws--just go in, show your ID, buy your pot.

Then, cause I’m such a genius, it occured to me that we’d picked Spokane kind of quickly, and mostly because we’d just visited Seattle, and this seemed an affordable Seattle. Perhaps, I wondered aloud, we should take a moment to consider the possibility of non-Spokane, of a different city entirely. Surely we didn’t pick the perfect place on the first attempt without even considering the rest of the lower 48, right? What might happen if we think outside the Spokane box?

A good deal of the filtering and decision-making about possible places for relocation occurs quickly and automatically. We don’t want to live anyplace that doesn’t get a decent amount of snow each year, so the bottom half of the country is therefore immediately discarded. We don’t want to live in a state that doesn’t allow recreational weed. We want natural beauty, or at least some sort of geographical or geological feature that makes it a winner. And it had to be affordable; we want to be able to afford living there and save for our dreams simultaneously.

For a period, Bangor Maine ruled the roost. It’s cold. It’s got New England natural beauty, and touches Canada, America’s hat, that country full of nice people who will never shoot you. Stephen King lives part time in a mansion in Bangor; you can take a picture of yourself standing at its spooky wrought-iron gates. It’s affordability was so-so, but it was on the eastern seaboard, less than a day’s drive to places like Boston, which was incredible! And hey, there’s always a chance you might be getting drywall screws at the hardware store and bump into Stephen King and get a selfie with the best-selling horror author ever! No mountains nearby, but...New England! Think of being there in the fall, when the leaves change color. Find a highway that’s not too heavily travelled and go driving in October and take pictures of the red, orange, and gold trees.

Problems began cropping up. The fact that the affordability was “so-so” didn’t help, and while Maine has legalized pot, political wrangling (and the endeavor’s own inherent complexity) have created a situation where dispensaries are not open for business yet, and I can’t tell when they will be.

And if anyone reading this doesn’t know about my relationship with pot, here it is: I have one, and I don’t particularly like living someplace where it’s banned for foolish reasons, such as:

It’s a gateway drug! (Then so is milk, and watching TV, and breathing air. Post hoc ergo propter hoc, dumbasses. You can’t even make that argument with alcohol, which actually can kill you.)

It robs you of your ambition! (Kinda, in that it softens the effects of certain unpleasant realities which I determine can’t be changed, and makes them easier to live with.)

It’s bad for you! (So are bacon and lethargy. That’s my decision to make, not someone else’s.)

It feeds a system whereby people are enslaved, brutalized, and killed! (No, the fact that it’s illegal feeds it. Make it legal, and no one ever shoots anyone over it again.)

Think of the children! (To quote George Carlin, fuck the children. Or possibly give them weed, too. You know how much less trauma I’d have suffered in high school if they’d had a weed club? I could have been networking in high school, for chrissakes. I might even have gone to a better college.)

Pardon that diversion. So, when last we checked, the husband and I were considering Bangor, Maine to be a possibility, but not necessarily the front-runner. What other places could we consider? Friends made suggestions; we checked them out. An early favorite was Marquette, Michigan.

Ah, lovely Marquette. It’s a picture postcard lakeside beauty. It sits on Lake Superior, and has the largest wooden dome--The Superior Dome--in the (country? known universe?). It was a small town, but it had a university and a pride parade, so it wasn’t that unfortunate squalid reactionary kind of small town. It’s beautiful in the fall, even though the fall only lasts a week. And it has that natural beauty/interesting feature we wanted, Lake Superior. With a lake that big, it’s just as good as living on the ocean, in that you can’t see anything but water all the way to the horizon, but without hurricanes. And Marquette was very affordable, best affordability of all considerations so far.

Couple of problems. Weed was just made legal by vote, but no dispensaries yet, and that could take a couple of years. And because Marquette is such a small town, with a population south of 21,000, we grew worried about our ability to find jobs. And then there was the snow.

Marquette gets about 200 inches of snow per year. One may immediately think, “Okay, well, then at least it’s less than 200 most years, right? Like 150 some years?” This year, Marquette had over 200 inches before the end of February, and they have snow as late as May. Let’s say they don’t get much more this year, and end up with 215 inches of snow per this year. That’s EIGHTEEN FEET of snow. I would sum up the first year of such conditions with, “Wow, cool! That’s a ton of snow!” And years two through infinity would be, “Holy fuck, please make it stop snowing!”

By this point, we had started with Spokane, changed our minds to Bangor, changed our minds again to definitely Marquette, then to maybe Marquette, and then all the wheels came off.

The year 2019 began, and it began poorly: the government was shut down, and because he was deemed essential, Zach was forced to continue working (for the IRS!) for no pay. Then he had a traffic accident--for him, a mountain of trauma, stress, and unwanted interaction--and his car was deemed a total loss. And the title wasn’t in his name. And his parents had to sign and notarize things, and he wasn’t close with them at the time, and they live in Montana.

All this stuff results in many extra hours of Bad Brain, lots of anger, and self-recrimination, and stress, and paperwork and interacting with potentially unpleasant people who may give you the help you need, and may not! Meanwhile, we have to keep working. Have to keep paying the bills. Have to keep making music (him) and trying not to subconsciously steer every moving plan we formulate into the rocky, prickly pear-studded embankment of failure with depressed second-guessing (me).

This brings us to a couple of weeks ago. We still have not been paid for Zach’s car by our insurance company, because of the many steps required to get the car titled in Zach’s name, all of which require signing and notarization, some here, some in Montana. And then, my brain decided to throw this out there: We’ve been to Denver. They have weed. They have mountains. They have snow, and jobs, and they’re closer! It’s under a hundo to fly there, and the flight is just over two hours. Easier to move to; easier to visit. In fact, specifically we chose Boulder. It features more snow and fewer traffic jams than Denver, though we could commute to Denver, if necessary for work.

Then, would you believe, problems. Boulder (and Denver, to a lesser extent) are not very affordable at all. It’s just right in every other aspect, but in price, it’s ungood. We’d have to spend maybe $100 less per month on rent there than here in Austin. In Marquette, with a little luck, we could spend $500 less. Think what we could do to Zach’s student loan bills with that shit! Think of the medical care and dentistry and car repairs and utility bills we could afford with that! None of that happens if we choose Boulder. We get mountains, but we pay dearly for them.

Now, to step back a smidge, consider this: I know that there will be problems with any choice we make. We’re not going to make a choice that results in us driving a U-Haul from our microscopic apartment in Austin to a mansion in Shangri-La. And I figure there’s pretty much one thing that’ll soften this transition: money. How much sounds like enough? Here’s how I tend to think of it: I’m about to do something that will involve me hanging from a rope tied to a loose branch over a thousand-foot chasm, and the only thing I’ll be able to influence is how good a rope it’s going to be. How much am I willing to pay to make sure the rope won’t fail? What if a $100 rope isn’t nearly as good as a $1,000 rope? What if the best rope you can get costs $10,000. Are you willing to spend less than that, if there’s even a chance you could save it up? ($10,000 is what we’re aiming for, by the way.) 

Something tells me there’s an easier solution to this conundrum, but it may be prohibitively difficult to find. Like...the perfect mate exists, but unfortunately, he/she/whoever lives in Turkmenistan and there’s absolutely ZERO chance that you’ll ever be within a thousand miles of ‘em, literally or figuratively. But! There’s always the chance that someone reading this may think, “Well, the solution is obvious; you just need to ignore concern X and move to city Y, and you’re kind of a dumbass for not figuring that out yourself.” The choices, then, are to ignore our concerns about weather, jobs, weed, ease to relocate to, distance from Austin, etc. and just move to Boulder, Colorado, Marquette, Michigan, Bangor, Maine, Spokane, Washington, Rapid City, South Dakota, Ashgabat, Turkmenistan (its capital!), or someplace else. Bam. Book it. Done.

This is a lot of the reason why I’ve been depressed recently: because I had a big, fat, beautiful GOAL for a while, and it got turned into a big, distressing, confusion. The best idea we’ve had so far to decide how to approach it? We’re going to save up and visit Boulder. Then we’re going to save up and visit Spokane or Marquette or Bangor. We’ll go to the places. We’ll observe our reactions. We’ll try to smart-decide instead of dumb-decide. We’ll be open to suggestions.

Marquette, Michigan

[amoretheiwa]

The Dark Knight and the Boy Scout

On time! For once! Here’s the end of my pre-written stuff so hopefully, I can get back ahead before next week. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Breanna Wayne is turning 23 years old. It has been 4 months since Batman fought the Joker. While getting to know someone new at her birthday party, the contraption the media has taken to calling the Batsignal (thanks a lot, Gordon) lights up the sky. In the name of safety, Breanna sends her guests home and dons the cowl—only to run into the Man of Steel himself just a few hours after taking care of the situation. It turns out they’re both looking for the same thing, and Breanna reluctantly agrees to work with him for just this case.

Chapter 2: Enter Last Son of Krypton B

Close to two hours later and they walked out into the hallway, just 30 minutes before the gala was supposed to start. One of the people working for Ms. Iverson had directed a very shocked delivery boy to the upstairs at one point when the two women had ordered pizza. Even though there was going to be food at the party, it was considered rude to eat too much and it was not uncommon for guests to eat a small meal on their own beforehand.

Now, however, there was no reconciliation image of the two women messily eating pizza in sweats and t-shirts just an hour or so ago. Lois was wearing a dark red gown with no fancy beadwork or design on it. The neckline was cut close to the base of her neck, and instead of a regular sleeveless cut where the fabric would just end at her shoulders, it came in with a sharp point accentuating her shoulders. It was a little longer than floor-length and her shimmery gold heels peeked out with every other step that revealed toenails that matched the color of her dress. Her black hair was pinned back, the ends gently curled.

Breanna’s dress was a lighter fabric but just as dark but a blue rather than red. There was a slit that showed some cleavage and from the front that seemed to be it but the back was a rather sizeable cutout that stopped just above her hips. Her hair, with its natural curl, was pinned in a half-up-half-down look that showed plenty of her back’s skin. Her dress was the same length as Lois’ but with her extra two inches on the woman, her silver heels were visible with every step. Her toenails, like Lois’, matched the color her dress.

Where Lois wore a simple sparkling silver chain on her left wrist and a pair of gold and diamond earrings, Breanna had a thick, dull, silver bangle on both arms. A set of slim silver rings—just individual bands—on a few fingers added to the look, and her earrings were like a sheet of glowing silver that hung to just above her shoulders.

Their makeup was simple, the most attention paid to their sharp eyeliner and false eyelashes that had been placed masterfully. They were giggling, whispering to each other as they walked into the foyer. The door was open, and the event planner stopped her conversation with the head of security to stare at them for a moment. She excused herself quickly and caught them before they walked into the ballroom.

“Miss Wayne! Miss Lane!”

They both stopped, waiting for her.

“If I may say, you both look gorgeous tonight,” she began with a rushed breath. Breanna smiled, and Lois thanked her.

“Before you two enter the ballroom and truly finish preparing for tonight, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday Miss Wayne.”

Breanna smiled again and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Racheal. This wouldn’t have been the same without you. Remember, once all the guests have arrived, you are more than welcome to join us. You look stunning yourself.”

Breanna gave the woman a once-over with her eyes and ignored the light blush that it brought forth on her dark cheeks.

Lois made a face at Breanna as they turned and walked into the ballroom. Breanna ignored her as well and waved at the quartet who were warming up. They would be performing throughout the night, and Breanna was finally feeling herself get excited. She had not allowed herself to celebrate her birthday in many years, and when she had it was more for others than for her own enjoyment.

Less than an hour later and everyone was there, even those with a tendency to show up fashionably late. Breanna greeted all of her guests with the courtesy her parents had instilled in her before their passing, and it was with a twinge in her heart that she made small talk with a few old family friends. It was with partial relief that she noticed a tall blonde man stumbled his way in her direction.

“Excuse me, if you will Mr. and Mrs. Hendrickson. I have a friend to see,” she said with a smile. It was with a forced air of joviality that Breanna greeted Oliver Queen. He for once did not ignore her hand as it was stuck out in a handshake, and they both squeezed a little tighter than necessary.

“Ollie, good to see you well!” She said.

“Not as good as it is to see you, Bre.”

“How are things in Star City? Business going well?”

He nodded, eyes sweeping behind her.

“Things are pretty swell, even with Queen Consolidated. What about here, in Gotham? How’s Wayne Inc going?”

Breanna pulled her hand back, making a show of rubbing it on her dress.

“Gotham is Gotham, as always, and we’re about to change it to Wayne Enterprises soon.”

His eyebrows shot up as he redirected his attention back to her.

“Really? That’s an odd change.”

Breanna shrugged, grabbing two flutes of champagne as a server walked back. She handed on to him and took a sip before replying.

“It was time for a change.”

Before either could say something else, Lois appeared, towing someone as tall as Oliver over behind her. She grinned at Breanna and more or less pushed her into space next to Ollie. He had hair just as dark as Lois’ or Breanna’s, and blue eyes as well, but his face was smooth and handsome in ways Oliver’s was roguish. He wore a pair of glasses that Breanna immediately saw as fake, but as he nervously pushed them back up on his nose she recognized him as Clark Kent, a writer for the Daily Planet. Or, as Lois often referred to him, Smallville.

“Breanna, Mr. Queen, this is Clark Kent.”

As Oliver shook Lois’ offered hand, Breanna couldn’t tear her eyes away from Clark’s. He smiled at her and cleared his throat. When they shook hands, it wasn’t like when Oliver had tried to squeeze the life out of hers. His grip was gentle, and his hands were barely calloused. It took an extra second to fully pull her hand back but she swallowed before speaking.

“Wonderful to finally meet you, Clark.”

He flashed a smile that Breanna couldn’t help returning.

“Thank you for inviting me, Miss Wayne. Happy birthday, by the way.”

Breanna shook her head.

“Please, call me Breanna, and thank you.”

Oliver barked a laugh and Breanna turned to face him.

“That’s right! It’s your birthday, that’s why we’re here. Happy birthday, Bre! Maybe now that you’re older you’ll stop being so serious.”

Breanna closed her eyes and didn’t care that she was visibly losing her patience with the man. Lois’ suppressed laughter didn’t help and Breanna opened her eyes to see a waiting Oliver sharing a look with Clark.

“Tell me, Ollie, how long have you been back? Three months? Five?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and took his time answering.

“It’s been close to a year now.”

“Ah,” she said, raising a hand to brush against her chin. She turned to face Clark and Lois. “You see, Oliver here was presumed dead five years ago when his father’s ship was lost at sea. He was quite the party animal in his prime, but I never shared the same tastes.”

Oliver quirked his lips.

“Seems like you still don’t.”

He clapped his hands together.

“Well, with that, I think I’m going to find a different crowd to hang with. Ladies, Clark,” and with that he was gone. Breanna let loose a sigh and put a hand to her forehead.

Lois couldn’t stop herself anymore and let out a pealing laugh, and Clark looked back and forth between the two women.

“Am I missing something?” He asked, not unkindly. Breanna waved a hand at him.

“No, it’s no secret that Oliver and I have never gotten along. I’m sorry that you got somewhat involved in that, Clark.” He shook his head, pushing his glasses up on his nose again.

“No need to apologize.”

Lois glanced between the two and slung an arm around both of their shoulders, bringing the three of them awfully close—Clark was taller than Breanna and Breanna was taller than Lois.

“C’mon, let’s find somewhere better suited to talking.”

Ten minutes and three conversations later the trio finally found their way to the breakfast table in the Manor’s kitchen. It was a diner-like booth that curved so as to accommodate more people, while out of the main walkways of the rest of the kitchen. Breanna was sipping from a glass of almond milk, listening to Lois recount one of her funnier incidents that resulted in yet another rescue from Superman. Breanna laughed, moving her glass farther away from her face, and tried desperately not to snort. When they all calmed down and it was quiet, the heiress turned to face the newcomer.

“So, Clark, tell me—is Smallville really as small as Lois makes it sound?”

Clark glanced at his colleague with an exasperated expression. She just shrugged her shoulders and took a long drink from her glass of water.

“It probably isn’t if Lois has been exaggerating again. There’s a lot of farms so geographically wise it’s not so tiny but it’s the population that really makes the name match the place.”

Breanna nodded once and leaned forward.

“Did you grow up on a farm, then?”

Lois snorted and they looked at her.

“Bre, you’re looking at the most country boy you could hold to find this far north.”

Clark rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, swirling the water in his glass.

“I’ve adapted to city life fairly well,” he met Breanna’s eyes. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” She asked, and he winced.

“There have been a few mishaps over the years,” he started. Lois chortled and sat forward.

“He just isn’t as lucky as me and doesn’t have Superman picking up after him.”

They all laughed, the conversation continued for another twenty minutes. It ranged from the differences between small town and big city life to the differences between Metropolis and Gotham. The topic had just turned to Batman and Superman when Alfred appeared behind Breanna.

“Miss Wayne, what is the point of hosting such an elaborate party if you yourself do not attend?”

Breanna leaned back, tilting her head so that she was looking at her surrogate father upside down. She grinned and he felt a twinge in his heart; it wasn’t often she was happy without some sort of regret or heavy air degrading the emotion.

“But Alfred, what’s the point of having a party if you can’t sneak away?”

He rolled his eyes and walked around the back of the booth, sliding in to sit next to his charge. She scooted over slightly, giving him more room, and he rested his hands on top of the table. Lois smiled at him.

“Alfred, this is Clark Kent. He works with me at the Daily Planet.”

Clark stood up just enough so that he could reach across the table and shake Alfred’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“The pleasure is all mine, and please, call me Alfred. I enjoy reading your articles, especially the culturally focused ones.”

Clark blushed a little, a light pink that dusted his entire face.

“Ah, thank you, sir. I never really got to travel as a kid and so when work sends me anywhere I’ve never been I try to learn about the culture, local and national, and end up writing an extra two articles.”

“Tell them about that time you almost ended up married to a chieftain’s daughter in the Amazon,” Lois elbowed him, grinning.

Clark groaned but Breanna didn’t let him get away with telling the story.

More time passed and eventually, Alfred nudged the three of them back out into the foyer, which had some people mingling but not nearly as many as were still in the ballroom. It was while they were there talking that Breanna noticed something that made her entire countenance shift. Lois noticed first and followed the young woman’s gaze through the windows over the door.

“Oh,” she said softly, and soon everyone in the foyer was also looking out at the Gotham skyline. The Batsignal was lit, throwing the shadow of a stylized bat against the permanent cloud cover. Breanna sighed and put a hand against her temple. Lois gave her a look, and she shook her head.

“I guess it’s time to send everyone home,” she said mournfully. Clark turned back to look at her, no longer as distracted as he had appeared the last few seconds.

“Why? If the Bat’s signal is up wouldn’t that mean it’d be safer to keep everyone here?”

Breanna shook her head, already turning towards the ballroom.

“The Batsignal goes up whenever the commissioner wants Batman’s help, and if could be something as little as information on a case or as big as the Joker showing up again. It’s better if my guests are safe at home than here, a potential target regardless of what is happening.”

Breanna took swift strides into the ballroom and it was obvious by the hushed chatter that the party goers had also noticed the light in the sky. She signaled the quartet and they paused their playing. It took almost a full minute but eventually, she had everyone’s attention. She took a deep breath and grinned, making sure to look at the entire room.

“Thank you, everyone, so much for coming and helping me celebrate my 23rd birthday. It has been wonderful chatting with each other and catching up with some amazing refreshments and spectacular music,” she nodded at the servers standing together and the quartet that was already packing up their instruments.

“I’m afraid, though, that in the interest of safety, it is time for everyone to go home. There’s no rush but I wouldn’t want anyone to get stuck here should something happen in the few minutes.” There was a polite scattering of laughter and the chattering picked up again. This time, the entire room had a lighter feel to it as the guests each began to shuffle their way towards the front doors.

Breanna turned to face Lois and Clark, sighing.

“Anyone out in the gardens will be found by security in the next few minutes and sent on their way as well. Can Lois and I walk you out, Clark?”

The man exchanged a quick look with his colleague before nodding.

“Of course, thank you again for inviting me.”

As they walked out, Breanna smiled up at him. The height difference wasn’t severe enough that she was craning her neck, but it was obvious enough that she was grateful for her heels.

“No, thank you for coming! I’ve heard so much about you and read enough of your articles that I knew that I had to meet you.”

Clark smiled, that light blush covering his face again.

They stood outside, on the brick roundabout that circles the foundation 30 yards away from the front door. Lois gave her coworker a quick hug and Breanna shook his hand and they said their goodbyes. He walked off towards the valets with a wave and the two women turned to go back inside. They had their arms looped together and were silent as they watched the rest of the guests file out.

As soon as the cleaning was started by Ms. Iverson’s people Breanna was heading towards her study. Lois followed her, not quite sure what she was supposed to do. As she followed her younger friend into the room, Breanna locked the door behind them. Alfred was already standing there, waiting by the tall grandfather clock. He nodded at them and reached up to rotate the hands into a specific arrangement—12:17—and pushed the center, and with a low rumbling the clock swung out, revealing an elevator. Lois knew her mouth was hanging open but she couldn’t help it.

Breanna smirked and put her hand on a scanner. When it flashed green the door to the elevator opened with a quiet hiss and she stepped inside. She gestured for her friend to follow, and Lois eagerly stepped inside.

“I will take care of Ms. Iverson and her people, Miss Wayne. Expect me on the comms as soon as I am done.”

Bre nodded and pushed the down button. The door closed and they began to go down. It was when they stopped that Breanna spoke again.

“Welcome to the Cave, Lois.”

[theconservativebrief]

Throughout the first half of September, the Toronto International Film Festival screened hundreds of films for hundreds of thousands of moviegoers and launched more than a few awards hopefuls on a path to the Oscars.

Some of the festival’s buzziest films will hit theaters over the next several months. Not all of them will end up in the awards race, but many of them are worth your time and attention.

Here are 19 films from the 2018 Toronto International Film Festival to watch out for.

Release date: September 21

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Joaquin Phoenix and John C. Reilly star in The Sisters Brothers, a darkly comedic Western based on Patrick deWitt’s 2011 novel of the same name and directed by Jacques Audiard, whose previous films include the lauded A Prophet and The Beat That My Heart Skipped. Phoenix and Reilly play brothers who work as assassins in the Wild West; they’re set on the trail of a thieving prospector in 1851 in a story that’s as much about family as it is about the Gold Rush. Riz Ahmed and Jake Gyllenhaal also star as prospectors the brothers cross paths with.

Release date: September 21

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Fahrenheit 11/9, though sprawling and imperfect, is Michael Moore’s best film in years. It’s a sweeping broadside against Donald Trump, which is by no means an original approach in documentary filmmaking these days. But it also does what few political films seem willing to do in the Trump era: It powerfully (if unsystematically) dismantles idealistic notions about how much better things were before Trump took office. And when Fahrenheit 11/9 does turn to the election itself, it’s less interested in Trump as a cause than as a symptom of nationwide disillusionment, money-driven elections, and resulting apathy toward the political process.

Release date: September 28

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National Geographic Documentary Films is the distributor behind Free Solo, and that makes sense: It’s a film about free climber Alex Honnold, who’s planning to climb the 3,000-foot vertical rock face at Yosemite’s El Capitan … without ropes. The resulting film is both beautiful and harrowing, and it’s a thoughtful look at what drives people like Honnold to attempt feats like this. Those prone to vertigo should be ready to cover their eyes.

Release date: September 28

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In what he says is his final role before retiring from acting, Robert Redford stars as Forrest Tucker, a career bank robber who escapes San Quentin at age 70 and begins robbing banks again. Set in 1981 and styled to look like a film from that era, it’s the latest project from David Lowery, whose stories of love and longing (see: A Ghost Story and Ain’t Them Bodies Saints) make him a natural fit for the material. Sissy Spacek and Casey Affleck co-star with Redford in a fitting farewell to an onscreen legend as well as an archetype — the celebrity bank robber — that dominated the American consciousness for so long but is starting to fade.

Release date: October 5

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For his directorial debut, Bradley Cooper took on the much-adapted narrative of A Star Is Born, which first appeared in 1937 and then was remade in 1954, 1976, and now 2018. Cooper stars alongside Lady Gaga in the latest version, a love story about a fading music star who gives a talented newcomer the push she needs to break through — and then she begins to eclipse him. Laced with instantly memorable songs and outstanding performances, 2018’s A Star Is Born is the kind of movie that tries to harness all of its cinematic possibility to make your heart burst. And it more or less succeeds.

Release date: October 5

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Amandla Stenberg leads a truly outstanding cast in The Hate U Give, an adaptation of Angie Thomas’s best-selling novel. The film has a great deal to say and no apologies to make about its outspoken message, even as it presents itself as a straightforward family drama. But The Hate U Give strikes a perfect balance between being a coming-of-age story on the one hand and a social drama on the other. And in never sacrificing either of those two interests, it becomes a strong example of both.

Release date: October 12

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First Man, from director Damien Chazelle (La La Land) and screenwriter Josh Singer (The Post, Spotlight), is less concerned with delivering a triumphalist portrayal of the 1969 moon landing — which has been done before, we’ve all seen it — and more with telling the story of astronaut Neil Armstrong (played by Ryan Gosling) the way he saw himself.

Based on Armstrong’s authorized biography, First Man presents a historic moment through the lens of an intimate personal experience, reminding us that events that appear triumphant in history’s rearview mirror often come at the expense of pain and great personal sacrifice shouldered by real people. We’re allowed to see the moon landing through Armstrong’s eyes, but in return, the film asks us to respect what he went through to get there.

Release date: October 19

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Marielle Heller (The Diary of a Teenage Girl) directs Melissa McCarthy in Can You Ever Forgive Me?, based on Lee Israel’s memoir of the same name. McCarthy plays Israel, a successful celebrity biographer who falls on dire financial straits and later turns to literary forgery and theft. Richard E. Grant co-stars in the comedy, which probes the darker side of trying to make a living as a writer while also depicting a kind of delightfully misanthropic friendship.

Release date: October 26

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Burning, from Korean director Lee Chang-dong, has been one of the most critically lauded films at this year’s film festivals, topping many critics’ lists and drawing nearly universal praise. It’s loosely based on Haruki Murakami’s short story “Barn Burning,” which was first published in the New Yorker in 1992. The film is gripping and unnerving, a noir-style mystery that goes in entirely unexpected directions (and harbors a hint of William Faulkner), and featuring a cast that includes The Walking Dead’s Steven Yeun. You can expect it to become a favorite at arthouse cinemas around the country when it opens later this fall — and if you love a haunting mystery, it’s one to watch for.

Release date: November 16

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Director Steve McQueen (12 Years a Slave) has made a heist movie that has all the trappings of a typical heist movie — the plans, the machinations, the twists — but a lot more too. After a group of women, previously strangers to one another, are widowed following their husbands’ deaths in a botched heist, they band together to finish the job against the backdrop of a corrupt election on Chicago’s South Side. Viola Davis leads a star-studded cast that includes Elizabeth Debicki, Michelle Rodriguez, Carrie Coon, Liam Neeson, Colin Farrell, Daniel Kaluuya, Brian Tyree Henry, Jon Bernthal, and Robert Duvall.

Release date: November 23

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Shoplifters made its debut earlier this year at Cannes, where the jury awarded it the top prize, the Palme d’Or. It’s an intimate and accessible drama about a family of small-time petty crooks from Japanese director Hirokazu Kore-eda. But as the story unfolds, a mystery seems to emerge almost imperceptibly from the family’s ordinary interactions, and it eventually becomes something else altogether. With strong performances and an engaging narrative, the movie is continuing to earn praise and capture hearts throughout its fall festival run.

Release date: November 30

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For his follow-up to Moonlight, which won Best Picture in 2017, director Barry Jenkins chose to adapt James Baldwin’s 1974 novel If Beale Street Could Talk. Set in Harlem, the story centers on a young black couple who grew up together and fell in love. But then conflict takes over — not originating from inside their relationship but pressing in from the outside world. If Beale Street Could Talk is a beautiful, lyrical film, at times feeling like a tone poem or lyrical plaint. It’s hard not to fall under its beautiful, somber, lustrous spell, and as a story about black American life framed as a love story, its images are indelible.

Release date: December 21

Tomasz Kot and Joanna Kulig star in Cold War. Cannes Film Festival

Cold War — a decade- and continent-spanning, pristinely shot romantic tragedy from Polish director Pawel Pawlikowski — was my favorite film at Cannes (where it premiered earlier this year), and it easily won hearts at Toronto as well. Set in Europe in the early decades of the actual Cold War, the film balances its captivating main characters and their fiery love with the grand sweep of the places and times they find themselves in. It shows how those two things intertwine, with country and ideology pushing and prodding the characters into shapes that ultimately determine their fate.

You couldn’t call Cold War a political film, exactly, but if the central couple’s stars are crossed, then politics had a hand in crossing them, and in the end, the tragedy of realizing that is almost too much to bear.

Release date: TBD

Robert Pattinson stars in High Life, a sci-fi drama like nothing you’ve ever seen. Courtesy of TIFF

High Life is a wild, visionary film from director Claire Denis about a group of convicts on death row who are sent into deep space for the sake of science. It’s not for the faint of heart — it’s about sex and reproduction and death and life — and it’s anything but sterile; in this case, sci-fi’s enduring quest to probe what it means to be human means that bodily fluids, violence, and deep loneliness all make their appearances. Robert Pattinson leads a cast that also features Mia Goth and Juliette Binoche, and gives a performance that’s equal parts unexpected and tender. All told, the film is confounding but wholly original.

Release date: TBD

Steve Bannon is the subject of Errol Morris’s American Dharma. Courtesy of TIFF

For American Dharma, documentarian Errol Morris sat down for an extended conversation with former Breitbart chair and White House adviser Steve Bannon about his ideological views, his interpretation of history, and his involvement in Donald Trump’s presidency, the alt-right, and the reemergence of militant white nationalism in America.

The result isn’t exactly satisfying; if you go into American Dharma hoping for a systematic and explicit confrontation or dismantling of Bannon’s often disturbing views, you’ll be disappointed. Instead, Morris is interested in revealing his subject as a farce: a deluded figure with fantasies of grandeur and little substance beneath the grandiose clichés — a grown man desperately play-acting at being the tragic hero he saw in the movies.

Release date: TBD

In Fabric is one of the strangest, most twisted films that screened at Toronto this year. Courtesy of TIFF

I’m still not sure I know what In Fabric is actually about, but it was one of the weirdest, nastiest, most fun movies to screen at TIFF this year. Director Peter Strickland (The Duke of Burgundy) tells a twisted tale of shopping — for clothes and for people — that centers on a red dress that keeps mysteriously killing those who come into contact with it. Shot in a self-consciously ’60s style with a hint of sexploitation, the movie feels like a waking nightmare, and it at least partly concludes that women’s fashion is more or less a product of hell.

Release date: TBD

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Roma is one of the year’s most anticipated films, and it delivers. In this lushly shot monochromatic domestic drama, director Alfonso Cuarón (Gravity, Children of Men) tells the story of a family in Mexico City and the girl who works for them. Focusing on the struggles and strength of the family’s women, Roma is funny, sad, and carefully told — a challenge to the viewer to simply sit and pay attention to people who find themselves overlooked in their own homes. The film will be released in select theaters and on Netflix later this fall.

Release date: TBD

Roberto Minervini’s What You Gonna Do When the World’s on Fire is one of the most challenging documentaries from this year’s TIFF. Courtesy of TIFF

Roberto Minervini’s documentaries — such as 2015’s The Other Side, about the often forgotten corners of America — are remarkable not only for the access they have to their subjects but also because Minervini is an outsider, an Italian filmmaker working in America who gains those subjects’ extraordinary trust. In What You Gonna Do When the World’s on Fire, Minervini quietly observes the lives of a handful of black residents in Louisiana, including a group of residents who are forming a chapter of the New Black Panther Party to address injustices in their own community that go unnoticed. It isn’t an easy watch, but it’s a vital one.

Release date: TBD

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A sort of darkly inverse A Star Is Born, Vox Lux is the story of Celeste (Raffey Cassidy), a teenage girl who’s wounded in a school shooting. She sings an original song at a memorial service for her slain classmates and becomes a national sensation, rapidly rocketing to pop stardom under the guidance of her older sister (Jennifer Ehle) and a new manager (Jude Law). But then the movie jumps forward in time to center on a grown Celeste, played by Natalie Portman, who has been hardened by show business and is attempting a comeback.

It’s a highly stylized, incredibly ambitious film that doesn’t quite hit its marks, but it tries hard to illustrate how the modern appetite for sensationalism and spectacle leads to both celebrity and self-destruction — and Portman’s performance as a strung-out pop star is appropriately hard-bitten and manic. Sia wrote a number of the film’s songs and serves as executive producer.

Original Source -> 19 standout movies from TIFF to look forward to this fall

via The Conservative Brief

[apexart-journal]

Radha Gomaty in NYC Day 14 part 2

Snapshots of Consciousness.

i love this term .

i encountered it first in a book gifted to me by a friend called I AM THAT -a the transcription of the dialogues by Maurice Frydman of a great Indian mystic Nisargadatta Maharaj or NM for short .NM had barely studied to 4th grade and successfully an a small chain of 8 tobacco shops till the call came , he met his Master and underwent a fundamental transformation spontaeneously becoming one himself .

Snapshots of consciousness.

These are nothing but the procession of the NOW moments when being kind of glows up at its radiant best into experience that the Consciousness captures in their utter lucidity then and there and stores away into its endless annals.

It is different from what in general parlance is referred to as a Memory; In the sense ,memory is a construct of many such moments strung together and thereby shaped by various narrative threads that Mind brings in .

So memory and such snapshots moments are not the same

I have been wondering if i could put some down here...

But since this is a journal , a mandatory one at that  and I am positioned as this traveller from a different culture ,a different physical and geographical clime ,that slight self consciousness does tend to crystallize an element of   memory as well, seeded around such single snapshot moments in the saturation of sensations while journeying.

April 21st Earth day ;Walk at East River Park .

i have to look for a foot bridge that for the life of me i am unable to locate and curiously , none i ask seem to know either .That way my experience with New Yorkers has been very human and altogether quite nice .

People stop and actually take their earphones out of their ears and stop to answer your queries which for me is like ...Wow!

it doesn't matter that few walk on or choose not to hear you out .

But thats OK.

There is always the next person you could ask.The world is a busy place.

Finally a young man points out the central route in the bridge that is raised above the rest ,there are only walkers ,runners ,skateboarders and speed cyclists.

”Thats the foot bridge right at the centre of the bridge , raised in level from the vehicular traffic “he said and i thought - wow!what a concept !

it was exhilarating going higher and higher seeing the river slowly rise to view, the charming old fashioned red brick high rises ... Suddenly i am flying ... and a smile from inside bursts into bloom in a slow spread across  my face that my dimples almost ache .I can feel my heart opening out with the sky .It’s  for one long slowed down honeyed instant as in a reverie as i share the smooth dream-like  momentum of the cyclists with their pointy helmets but sans their serious and often grim faces  .Physical ease and totally controlled bouyant agility has always been part of my favorite dream vocabulary. In that state when i walk i dont just walk.

I flow.

i fly .

But somehow i began to feel  i am perhaps on the wrong track as directions go, if i have to find an old firehouse at the end of a foot bridge leading to the bank of the river .However while i looked i saw the river was petty much now almost beneath my feet .

My hunch was right and guided by a cyclist with better sense I turned right back round , neither flowed nor flew but plodded like anyone else effortfully finding my way to destination ,quite royally off the punctuality mark by now a full 15 mts!

There i saw a soul as lost as i as the group had walked away by the time she had got here 10 mts before me and no one was answering her calls either.

While Patricia is chatting away about  herself to me she is  joined by her friend Emma,an avid runner who has caught sight of her at a distance and walks in to join us.Both friends request me to shoot a pic of them together against the flowers of spring which i happily  do .

Emma happens to have a connect with india that soon led to the topic of her interest -meditation and Yoga. On being asked I added my two pennies to her interests and concerns .As a mark of our gratitude for the conversation , we shoot a selfie together for the road as i leave finding the long way back to  the subway station .

I was walking down a long fairly quiet road with a wide sidewalk of dirt when i felt a leg of my spectacles fall away on to the ground swinging to one side of my face.

oh no!

i bend to look for the screw that had come loose but to no avail!

i was mildly dismayed because they were a brand new pair of spectacles i had spent a good deal of money on just a couple of days before I started  .in fact just two days ago at the Brooklyn museum where i also happened to be quite unwell , a leg had already dropped off and the resourceful and exceptionally friendly young woman at the reception dug out a small drawing pin with a ball shaped small round black head upon my request for an improvised fix up session. I managed to bend and insert it in place of the lost screw.

Even that had seemed like small miracle then and i was so grateful. Now i had gone and lost it again ...oh!

But here pops up  the snapshot-  suddenly a tiny golden colored metal safety pin slightly glued up because obviously it has been part of some form of ornamentation  jumps to view.

Its role was to keep something  in place on the dress or hat  or hairband or whatever and was now lying on the dirt upon a sidewalk under a huge bridge in an avenue of flowering trees where people take their dogs out freely to poo, at the precise moment when my spectacles collapsed from my face with one of its legs losing that minuscule screw that keeps it in its place, coming loose and disappearing!

You see , the fact is I am simply good for nothing without my glasses on . Like... i can’t read a thing !

So finding a tiny golden safety pin that still works though all glued up   in nowhere and at the exact precise moment i lost a leg of my specs was like further affirmation that HE is very much there  and with a zany sense of humor at that!

(why HE ?and not a SHE or an IT ...Oh!that’s simple. Being SHE is still quite part of my experience as of now and having a groovy HE around now wouldn't harm me one bit ! )

Thats when i realized yet another fact -Hey ! the leg fitted in with the drawing pin was still  intact and this was the other one that had come loose too !

Now ain’t that grand !

I’m in New York now with truly iconic deconstructed/reconstructed eyewear - a pair of unique red rimmed spectacles whose legs are each fixed with one,a black ball headed drawing pin on one side bent into a u shaped loop with the sharp end jutting upward like a micro antenna into space as if to catch the voices of the voiceless on Earth &intelligent alien civilisations in the Heavens  .And,two, a tiny golden safety pin whose location for falling off from whatever was its last functional post  seems to have happened  with a preordained purpose ,pre orchestrated right to the micro-moment when the other good leg of my spectacles chooses to come off with a precision that simply astounds.

Simply put ,someone  ,who while choosing to remain maddeningly hidden, still loves me one hell of a lot  with a rocking sense of humor and a penchant for  springing shocks & surprises with equal impunity .

You are so close sometimes that i can almost feel you - Secret Lover ...You who has watched over many a tear and then each time stirred to life a smile on my face creating rainbows while even letting me occasionally , the blind woman who sees only with her fingers ,touch that hidden Prism from where You work Your Rainbow making Magic.

I am shooting a bough all abloom for a friend back home who I think loves flowers when You shows up again ... this time with a sudden cool breath of strong breeze that begins to ruffle the flowers with a secret caressing playfulness. i burst into a peal of laughter looking from under tree up at the blueness of the sky through the gaps between the whiteness of the flowers .

My eyes are dancing as I whisper to you  “I’m switching to video since you won’t let me photograph...so what are you going to do about that?”.

“Go ahead ...do it!”

i can sense the play-along approval as i tape and the breeze ends as suddenly as it began .

Love: shutter /  aperture / lens .

Snapshots of Consciousness.