Painted a bunch of little skulls for the Planescape: Adventures in Multiverse book, including my beloved childhood friend Morte and this funky guy all covered in stickers :)

Please notice little Mahadi, the Cassalanters' crest and Barovia postcards I allowed myself to slap on him :)

Plus the rest of the mimirs.

AD: Emi Tanji

Could you talk a bit about Matthew and Alfred relationship? Our boys need love too

The lads! The fellas! The absolute units!

Bear with me here I wanna give a little bit of a context and a personal explanation as to why I'm really fascinated with these two countries in general.

If there is one nationfolk relationship that comes as close to pure and friendly as it possibly can, it would be the Us-Can one. Of course, it has major problems and unavoidable disputes. But let me tell you, as a balkan, ex-yugoslav cretin, I cannot help but be intriqued with the way these two comunicate. They make fun of eachother sure, they have disputes and squables, sometimes outright clashes, but when there is crisis in the US for example, all I hear is Americans straight up saying "ok well time to move to Canada". It's fascinating to me! As a Croat who, after returning from Serbia from a 3 day trip, brought home souveniers (key chains mostly, with the Serbian flag) I was yelled at by my dad who afterwards didn't talk to me for a few days. All because I dared to bring this enemy countrys flag into our home. Now, I was born in 1999. I have no connection to the war 8 years prior. No excusable, personal vandetta. But still it' s very much acceptable to hate so strongly. And even if it wasn't 8 years that passed, but 80, there still would be a widely accepted resentment. But alas, I am not talking about people, cus frankly people are just people. Alliances and relations between countries are another thing. Imagine sharing a huge fucken border with another country and being friends. My euro brain is imploding. Uncomprehensible.

Now I do understand the US is often described as a bit of a phycho, and frankly Canada is an expert at dealing with the phycho. Kudos. Keep the yanks from whipping out their home protection assault rifles and unleashing hell fire is risky shit. Canada manages tho. What I'm really interested in is the USA's view of Canada. They aren't a threat. They aren't suspicious. They are a force to be reckoned with tho, but they are friends. If there is one ally the USA can rely on its the maple sucking french/anglo bastards up north. So much history in such a short time. Fascinating.

To relate this to the bros, I think these two understand eachother better than most. Matt is quiet, obsetvand and passive (mostly), while his unit of a brother is loud, idealistic and prone to thinking the world owes him time on the world stage. And it works. Matt is the one to talk to his brother in a way that gets Alfred to listen. H speaks Alfreds language and can communicate with him freely. I think that that is a skill and in the modern era, a privilage that not many have. Not many dare to tell Alfred to his face that he fucked up majorly, but Matt can. He knows he can. Alfred knows he can. So he does. Matt can pull his brother aside after an outburst, and for the lack of a better word, humble him.

Alfred respects his brothers oppinion more then other nations'. He went from seeing Matt as a weak, self-pitying and ambitionless dominion, to accepting his views, ideas and even asking his oppinion on certain matters. I like to draw a parallel here. Matt had to sacrifice everything and himself to have Arthur call him into the war room and ask Matthew for his oppinion. Alfred is not much different. It takes time for Matthews voice to be heard, but when the time comes, it's desperately needed.

Alfred tho, is and always will be Alfred. And if somthing else catches his attention, he will ignore the house on fire across the street. He is prone to isolation and ignoring his brother for extended periods of time, just sending him a tiktok every month or so. That being the only indication to Matt that his brother is alive. Alfred has so much shit going on and his 13 braincells have to spread evenly across to cover it all. His brother is a constant in his life, stable and therefore forgotten.

That being said, I don't think there is another person on Earth Alfred loves more than his brother. Showing it is not something he ever learned tho. He knows he cannot buy his way into showing his love for Matt, so with his lack skills of other forms of love expressions, he does nothing.

As for Matt, he checks up on Alfred as much as he can. His history and past have tought him to expect nothing form the people he loves. So he doesn't. He knows Alfred is his closest ally and best friend, but doesn't ask for anything Alfred himself isn't giving. He is a person who waits to be asked to hang out on Saturday instead of asking his friends himself.

So while almost all I talked about is sad and somewhat negative, I do think the bond and conversations these two share are one of the most honest and true expressions of brotherly love. And by god I usually don't use the world love when describing nation-folk relationships, but in this case there isn't a replacement.

sorry for the personal shit and Alfred slander, I love him.

I’ve recently managed to get a copy (by which I mean, someone who isn’t me did a bunch of work to get it and all I did was be lucky enough to have it sent to me) of this radio interview that Daniel Kitson did in November 2002, on a show called Unbranded. It was hosted by Ian Collins, on the radio station talkSPORT.

Late 2002 is an interesting point in the Kitson canon, and one from which I don’t have a huge amount of recordings, so it’s nice to have this one to round out that period. If I look at the massive spreadsheet that I obviously have in which I document the data about all the Kitson recordings in my collection, sorted by date, there’s not a lot around that time. The only other things from the second half of 2002 are the Phoenix Nights episodes, and of course that’s not really late 2002 Kitson, as those dates are when they aired, far later than when they were recorded. Though their airing dates being shortly before this radio interview is a bit of interesting context, as they do come up.

Late 2002 is interesting because it’s just after he won the Perrier Award, and just after season two of Phoenix Nights aired, and the combination of those two things seems to be pretty much what created Daniel Kitson’s anti-publicity thing that would come to define his career. Before those two things, Daniel Kitson was on a relatively normal career track. He took a tiny role in a shit movie that came out in 2001, after studying drama in university – the move of someone who trying to build up a profile to lead to a proper acting career. Which would also explain the Phoenix Nights role and the episode of That Peter Kay Thing. He even agreed to have his 1999 Edinburgh run filmed for a documentary. Until 2002, he was doing things that were quite consistent with things people do when they don’t actively object to their showbiz career being tarnished by publicity.

I’ve said before that he might have had an entirely different career if Peter Kay had been less of a dick in 2002, because Phoenix Nights was what really put him off the idea of mainstream success. However, I think it’s a bit more than that. He might have had an entirely different career if Peter Kay and Noel Faulkner had been less dickish, and if Adam Hills, rather than being nominated three times with no wins, had won the Perrier Award in 2002.

There’s an article here, oddly published on the same day as that Ian Collins radio interview, that explains in one spot some things I’d heard him explain a little at a time on other occasions.

Kitson was 24. He’d only been out of college four years. It was too soon. “If he gets it in his first year, he really will just implode,” one of his peers told me on the night before the award. And then, this year, he was nominated again. “I can’t see how he’s going to handle it if he wins,” another comedian said, five hours before Kitson actually picked up the gong. Everyone laughed when, for his acceptance speech, he read out a letter explaining why he wasn’t there that night. If only they knew. “I wrote the speech because I didn’t want to go and get the award,” Kitson, now 25, explains. “I didn’t want anything to do with it. I said at the start of the festival to my agent, Hannah Chambers: ‘I’d quite like to be ruled out of it.’ And she said: ‘You can’t.’ Why not? ‘Because I’ve got a new dress, and if you say you don’t want to be considered, then everyone will see it as a publicity stunt.’ “In retrospect, that would have been the best thing. The whole process is innately dividing. I’ve met people who I couldn’t speak to because they thought they should have been nominated. These are, if not my friends, then my workmates, and now it’s really awkward.”

So, okay, maybe he'd have had a different career if Peter Kay had been less of a dick and Noel Faulkner had not satisfied the public's demand for horrible bullying crowd work and Hannah Chambers had not bought a dress for the Perrier Award ceremony. To be fair to her, I can't imagine she could have guessed how much he meant it when he said he didn't want to be considered. If I heard a comedian next year who was in contention for the Edinburgh Award withdrawing their name from contention, I would also assume it was a publicity stunt. Usually, it's a publicity stunt. I wonder how many years Daniel Kitson had to double down on his commitment to avoid mainstream success before it became clear that he meant it.

Anyway. The point is that late 2002 - just after season 2 of Phoenix Nights aired and he won the Perrier, before he had implement his "no mainstream success allowed rule" but after the instigating factors of the rule had occurred and he was mad about them - is an interesting point in his career that I mostly know about through stories he's told on stage years later, and a few articles. Not a lot of recordings from that actual time. Aside from this radio interview that I've recently gotten to hear for the first time.

Okay - so first of all, if you do listen to that without a lot of context about Daniel Kitson, I should let everyone know that he is currently touring a show that is written to apologize for the kind of dick he was in 2002. He does not stand by that time that he called that guy's wife a fat whore in 2002, and we cannot hold people to everything they said in 2002. It's... not something that sounds great, the little bit at the beginning of that radio recording. But it is quite interesting to listen to right after seeing his current show, Collaborator (started as First Thing). Which handles, among many other topics, his guilt at having once been exactly that type of comedian (I mean, he's still a comedian who will call his audience a bunch of cunts, but with a fair bit more awareness of how much context and irony can make any insult acceptable that it did not sound like he had back then).

His Collaborator/First Thing show also discusses how much it annoys him when people refer to certain things as "classic Kitson", as it's a reductive way to describe his work. Which is fair enough, wanting the things he worked hard on to stand on their own merits rather than getting branded as "just that thing he does".

However. I find this radio interview both interesting and hilarious because it could not possibly be more classic Kitson. If I had to describe the archetypal ideal of Daniel Kitson circa 2002, I would describe:

Starting off by complaining that it was annoying to win the Perrier Award because it meant he had to go to a ceremony that was a hassle to get to

Saying he didn't want that award yet won it over people who did, initially with the abandon of a man who did not seem aware of how arrogant that made him sound, then sort of trying to mitigate the arrogance but in a way that didn't really quite work

Saying he was up for doing criticism of an important political/global issue, but then not actually doing it

Requesting permission to swear on a commercial radio station where he had to know that you can't do that but felt the need to ask anyway, because no non-swear words were strong enough to describe his dislike for winning a major award

Arriving mid-asthma attack and breaking into a coughing fit while recording live

Swearing anyway, after being told he's not allowed to do that

Getting wildly offended at the suggestion that he might be anything like Bernard Manning, even though at the time he was rather defining himself by offensive material

When asked whether he likes any mainstream comedians, not being able to think of any

"If you're going to have principles about stuff, you have to live on your own in a room, and not talk to anyone you hate ever." - what a Classic Kitson quote

Tell a fairly indiscreet story with another swear word, after being told he can't do that

Talk a bunch of shit about Phoenix Nights, and about any of his own fans who like him because of that show

Use the word "gay" as an insult, entirely ironically, but still in a way that makes me cringe a bit and glad that he has, since then, acknowledged even with irony, that that kind of language isn't as acceptable as he once thought

Explain, with not enough irony on the word, his desire to not be ushered toward the "mainstream"

Slag off (as they say in Britain, that's one of the main British phrases that I wish I could get away with using as a North American, I love the specific thing it conveys for which we don't quite have an equivalent here, the closest would be "talk shit about" but that's not quite the same) Bruce Dessau

Explain his refusal to put anything positive about himself on his posters

Call himself "contrary" with, again, not enough irony on that word

Treat a tired question ("What can't you joke about?", tired even by 2002) with the contempt it deserved

Talk a bit about how cool performing in Australia is

This is the one thing on that list that isn't an example of exactly what I'd have expected from 2002-era Kitson, though it also didn't shock me - call Johnny Vegas the best comedian currently working on the circuit

At the end, apologize for not being a good enough interviewee

It's good stuff, I really enjoyed listening to it. I had suspected for a while, by the way, that Daniel Kitson had some sort of specific grudge against Bruce Dessau, going even beyond his general grudge against all comedy writers. Based mainly on a few Beyond the Joke articles that are caveated with explanations that they had previously contained more stuff about Daniel Kitson, but Kitson himself had requested that be taken out. There's also this article, about some Kitson footage that I and a helpful accomplice (by which I mean, the other guy did all the work) tried to find, but we were told that after that article was written, that footage was locked down tighter at Kitson's request (by the way, the comedy club discussed in that article, that films its acts, is what Kitson was talking about in that radio interview when he said he'd done some stuff in Paris in an English-language club, the article even mentioned that his filmed run there was from 2002). I'm making a couple of leaps of logic here, when I say that I suspect that request was made because that article was written, which combines with those other caveated articles to suggest that Daniel Kitson reads (or at least, for a time around 2014, used to read) Bruce Dessau's work and the moment he saw his own name would immediately shut that shit down.

Anyway. It was a fun thing to listen to. Classic Kitson, all around. Good piece of history to slot into an era when primary-source artifacts are a bit thin on the ground.

19th January 1984 - Santa Barbara (California), USA 🇺🇸

No Recording

‘Hip Hoppers, Punk Rockers, Young Ladies, Flat Toppers…and now for you we have; The Clash!’

What’s all this about then?

If Don Letts’ otherwise fantastic 1999 documentary on the band is to be believed, The Clash imploded at the height of their ascendency in the immediate aftermath of the US Festival. A band torn asunder at the peak of their commercial powers.

Has such a hilarious, almost Stalinist attempt at a revision of history been carried out with any other band? Sure, you see this sometimes with long-running film series, but just because you write a new Halloween sequel where Laurie Strode isn’t Michael Myers’s sister, it doesn’t stop the previous movies existing. Media doesn’t just wink out of existence no matter hard you wish for it.

And what is Cut The Crap if not the Halloween 5 of the Clash’s back catalogue - except instead of poor Donald Pleasance being reduced to yelling at a small child to reveal their psychic visions, you have Joe Strummer trapped inside an aural vortex of squelching synths, radio chatter and knuckle-dragging gang vocals. We’d like to save them from their fate, spare them the indignity and return them to their former glory, but life just isn’t fair.

So the Clash camp begrudgingly began to acknowledge that something did indeed happen after the band departed that San Bernardino stage in a flurry of fists and bad feeling. A 2003 compilation was closed out with one track from the post-Jones/Headon era, the Singles box set that followed a few years later went one step further and faithfully recreated the This Is England single in the same fashion as the other ‘approved’ material.

Even so, the message was clear. This Is England = Good. The Rest = Here be Demons, avoid.

And that may be partially true. ‘Aural Vortex’ is not a phrase I would generally attribute to too many musical triumphs. And yet, here’s the secret - The Clash Mk.II were on many occasions a thrilling live band and there’s surely an alternate universe where fate, luck and one Bernard Rhodes took a different path, they fulfilled their undoubted potential and went on to rule the 80s.

This blog will therefore aim to redress the balance somewhat. We know it wasn’t a happy ending, but we can still celebrate what it was and what might have been. And yes, it wasn’t all smooth sailing or the best version of the band that ever took to the stage, or even the coolest (god help me, I’m going to have to watch that video of Paul Simonon breakdancing again, aren’t I?). But if you can listen to them absolutely laying waste to a hostile audience at the Glasgow Barrowlands and not feel your adrenaline pumping then I’m confiscating your rock ‘n’ roll passport, no exceptions.

With that in mind, in this series you can expect every Clash recorded performance from 1984 onwards to be reviewed, catalogued and critiqued. And on the nights where there wasn’t a taper present, various musings on all things Clash Mk. II. Who knows how long this will take but it’ll be more fun than driving a great big car up the boulevard, that’s for sure.

No dice on a recording of the new incarnation’s debut in Santa Barbara in January of ‘84 so a small piece of housekeeping before I finish. This project is hugely indebted to those who run and contribute to the Black Market Clash website and IMCT boards. I’m standing on the shoulders of years of commitment and work by passionate Clash fans around the world, and the usefulness of these sites as a resource for this project cannot be overstated.

See you next time when we join Joe, Paul, Nick, Vince and Pete on stage in San Francisco. No-one better defile the memory of Mick Jones by awkwardly covering Should I Stay Or Should I Go or there’ll be hell to pay…

if i’m gonna see offhanded vent-like posts and have a breakdown (breakdown) can at least have the funky guitar to go along with it?

‘ ⭒ YEAR 2000 ⭒ , — enhypen!au

▸ pairing enhypen x fem!reader, romantic pairing will be introduced within this series containing one of the members of the hyung line

▸ genre enhypen!au, fluff, angst, DRAMA, romantic-pairing, dystopian!au, tragedy, comedy, sort of enemies to friends

▸ warnings this fic will contain occasional cursing + suggestive themes (none with the minors involved!)

▸ taglist is open

▸ description

it’s the year 1999, soon to be 2000, you’re spending the night celebrating at the party your friends are throwing at their penthouse. when the clock strikes midnight the fireworks explode creating art amongst the night sky. as your friends celebrate the turn of a new century the world turns to disarray from the millennium bug setting off. a problem in the coding of computerized systems that was projected to create havoc around the world at the beginning of the year 2000.

▸ MINI-TEASER/PROLOGUE

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

“happy new year!”

the room flared into cheers as the clock hit midnight officially making it the year 2000.

sunghoon approached you with two drinks in tow, reaching out his hand offering the second one to you. “new years kiss?” he asked with a slight smirk on his face.

“in your dreams, idol.” you both laughed as you grabbed the glass he was offering.

everyone was ecstatic to be witnessing the turn of a new century, the party excitedly watching the firework show exploding outside the windows. it didn’t take long for confusion to grow as the noises continued but the sight of the fireworks disappeared.

“hey don’t you think these fireworks are going on for a little too long?”

almost as if it were a stage cue the celebration on television quickly turned to a new channel with the bright red words ‘breaking news’ flashing on the screen.

“what’s happening?”

the entire room began gathering around the screen to watch as the news broadcaster stepped in front of the camera.

“good evening south korea, i am lee wu-jong here to announce that the worst has in fact happened.”

you flinched as the sounds of horns began blaring from the street below, soon the sound of cars crashing one after another were followed by the echoes of screaming.

feeling an arm wrap around your shoulders you turned to face heeseung. his eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, “i’m scared.”

you shook your head as you placed your hand over his free one, “me too.”

the sound of chaos plus phones ringing repeatedly drowned out the noise from the tv. everyone's worst nightmare settling in as you realized it was true.

the people the world thought were crazy for believing the world would implode from a computer bug at the beginning of 2000.. they were right…

this is the end.

001 chapter one

002 chapter two

© an original series by moonsolie , please do not repost anywhere . the gif included was created by me

Little Moments: Reboot Chapter Nineteen: Speaking my Language By  Ericobard and shadows59 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandom: Ben 10 Series Relationship: Ben Tennyson/Gwen Tennyson Some Additional Tags: Bullying, No proofreading, Family is Drama, Long burn

Summer’s over and school is in session, made worse as it is middle school.  Amidst the troubles of the new year Gwen finds something she’s always wanted and was beginning to fear she would never have, a friend.  Except Ben of course. 

Read my review below:

Why is Gwen still going to an elementary school?  It is directly stated in the story that Ben is in middle school, "Middle School blows. You're so lucky you don't have to deal."  They are identical ages, so they should be in the same grade as they were in the original, or an explanation should be given as to why they aren't in the same grade.  Gwen's school is a K-12 school; it wouldn't be called an elementary school.  

Gwen answering her phone in school and her receiving no repercussions for throwing away the note Mrs. Adams wrote to her mother shows that scene in chapter eleven was completely needless.  It should have ended after Gwen's viable scolding.  

" - even old Squid Face was this horrible!" I suspect Shadows59 meant to say 'wasn't' here.

The phone call in the middle of school and the deluge of texts that they exchange is supposed to show that they are a sweet couple that is very affectionate with each other.  But it ends up coming across as they are obsessed with each other in an unhealthy way, so much so that they can't go very long without contact of some form.  Even with young infatuation, couples need time apart so they can continue to be individuals, but Ben and Gwen come across as clingy and co-dependent.  She even calls the phone a 'lifeline' to Ben as if she'd die without him.  This wasn't the case in the original, and Shadows59 came across as a much more mature author in how he depicted a healthy but highly romantic love between two kids.  

Flint continues to be a caricature of a creepy guy.  He just says disgusting, hateful things so the reader will be disgusted by him and hate him, but any reader that understands this will just see him as a shallow character with no substance.  Antagonists need to have well-reasoned motivations behind their actions, and yet for all the times the story has brought up Flint, it never tells the reader why he is the way he is.  

Additionally, the things Flint, an eleven-year-old, says are highly sexual and complex suggestions.  It's not the mere perversions of a boy who would say something such as 'show me your panties.'  Instead, he suggests an advanced form of sexual degradation play, which further raises questions about why he is the way he is.  

Even non-prestigious schools had computer labs and teachers who were experts to deal with them long before 1999.  Even with her affinity for computers, it's unrealistic that Gwen would have then said teacher or would be called in to deal with an administrator's computer.  Said computer might even be too old for her to understand at all.  Honestly, I feel like I would let this pass if the story was more like the show and not trying to be a serious story.  

Gwen comparing the reactions she gets from kissing Ben, her love interest in the story, to the reaction a younger brother gives to his older sister when she kisses him is, odd to say, incestuous.  These two reactions should not be comparable because the reaction she should be getting from Ben is one of a peer who hasn't come around to discovering the romantic feels he has for another peer.  The other is the reaction of a younger sibling at getting a kiss from an older sibling who is, in this case, Gwen peer.  So not only does this compare Ben and Gwen as sister and brother but also Ben as being younger than Gwen, making their romance come across as highly inappropriate.

In the original, Gwen has social anxiety, which prevents her from talking to Michelle at first, and it's only when she thinks of Ben is she able to encourage herself to be open the new girl.  This is a very relatable problem, and Gwen displays her courage and willingness to follow another's example, like a hero, overcoming it.  In the reboot, Michelle asks one innocent question, the first thing she has ever said to Gwen, and Gwen is ready to judge her as being like Marci.  Prejudging anyone is a very unheroic act, and Gwen has to remind herself that Ben wouldn't do something like that to convince herself to give Michelle a chance.  

It's unclear why Michelle finds what Gwen says funny, why it makes Gwen "crazy," or why this makes Michelle like Gwen.  In the original, Michelle is shown to be as lost and alone as Gwen, so it's natural to her to like the person who reaches out to her, on Gwen's own accord, and offers to show her around.  In the Reboot, Gwen has been conscripted by the principle to interact with Michelle and show her around.  That can be a fine way to bring to people who will be friends together, but the story of the original is stronger.  

Having Ben's liberal parents protesting a new army base is a weak stereotype.  It is a stereotype as no reason is given for them not to want the base built.  

It makes no sense that Michelle, probably before she was 11, would be able to sneak out and go to a protest that turned violent given that when Gwen came near violence in this story, teenagers and adults treated her like a toddler.  

Gwen comes across as bad friend allowing Marci to pull Michelle away from her with putting up a fight to get her back even though she knows Marci is lying, and she is abandoning Michelle to Marci's lies and possible bullying.  Instead of doing anything to stop this, she just sits down and feels sorry for herself, thinking badly of other people, especially Ben.  Gwen isn't concerned with Michelle; she'd not watching the new girl make sure Macri's not making her feel uncomfortable or anything, instead just assuming that she would fall for Marci's corruptive influence.  

There is more overuse of italicized text in this chapter where it displays translated speech.  First, this visual clue that Gwen hears translated speech weakens the story, because in the original, where the speech was not emphasized, the reader is confused with Gwen as to what is happening, but because we already know or can guess that something is happening we're just waiting for Gwen to figure it out.  This distances the reader from the character's situation unnecessarily.  Second I am left wondering what would happen if Gwen was in her plumber suit, speaking to someone on the phone, in a different language, and emphasized what she was saying.  I assume the universe would implode, or explode, or both.

Marci's using the word cousin in place of boyfriend as a jab at Gwen's relationship with Ben would be good if it didn't require Gwen to understand french to be effective.  Marci has been established to be able to speak some french, but Gwen hasn't, so there is no way that Marci would know Gwen would understand her.  If Gwen couldn't understand what she said, then it would lose a lot of its punch.  It's a cause of the scene being written from the author's perspective instead of the character's.

"she was going to drive through a perfect little nose" Don't try to blame reflexes when there is clear intent on the part of the character.

Gwen anticipates that Michelle is going to leave her for Marci several times, and it's only after she refuses to several times that Gwen starts to trust her.  The foundation of their friendship is Gwen constantly mistrusting Michelle.

Every time Gwen nearly explodes on Marci, I'm just reminded of how much healthier she dealt with her anger in the original, channeling it into little pranks she pulled on Marci with her magic.  

"I kind of like the one I have - " Shadows59, you probably meant to say 'ones' here.

The previous chapters had Max leave and created a great deal of drama.  Erico even stated, "Grandpa is gone... They have nobody else they can turn to... They only have each other..."  Every indication in the story and the co-author indicate that Max is gone, and yet he just shows back up in the story like none of the drama of him leaving in the previous chapters occurred.  The original lacked that overly dramatic element, so when Gwen calls Max to find out why she can speak french, it makes sense they can just talk to him, whereas in the reboot, it doesn't.  There's no pay off for all that drama.

"Some part of her - most of her was sure it was Grandpa saying that something came up and she felt sick at the idea. She missed him. She'd been missing him since he disappeared and how could he? None of the eight weeks made that bit any smaller..."   Shadows59, you should consider revising this section.  It isn't clear what is meant by 'Some part of her-'  Because that is unclear the 'None of the eight weeks made that bit any smaller...' part isn't clear either.  Additionally, the sections are separated, but they feel like they are part of the same thought and are referring to one another without clarification.  

"No!" "No!" Shadows, you either repeated the "No!" accidentally here, or the two knows don't need two sets quotation marks.  

"He was just Ben and hers and she wasn't going to share him, not even with Michelle..." This shows that Gwen has a very unhealthy attachment to Ben that goes far beyond romance and young love.

"He was just Ben and hers and she..." There should probably be commas after 'Ben' and 'hers' as they are separate statements.

The added content for Michelle doesn't add much to the story of their friendship.  Some might have found it sudden that the pair met in this chapter, and one chapter later, we're best friends, but that at least was marked with a time jump, so the development of their friendship could take a mundane pace normally in the skipped time.  Here their transition from strangers to best friends really does seem sudden, and there's no real reason why these two because so attached after just a few hours.  There's no real reason for their closeness save on Gwen's part because she notices that Michelle is somewhat like Ben, an unsettling fact given how obsessed she is with the boy.  

Ben and Gwen sound like old people talking about 'kids fashion these days.'

"she was so much faster and back on her feet before she even got any water on her skirt." It's physically impossible to pour water all over someone's head while their head is in your lap and not get wet.  

I'll just say there is a big difference between Gwen staring a little because Ben is shirtless and her ogling him while describing droplets of water running down his muscles.  One is appropriate for an eleven-year-old, and the other is not.  Once more, I just think these characters are older in Shadows59's mind, not that he's trying to be inappropriate.  

That ending is so cute, I love it.

-Erico

"...carries much more depth and heart because Michelle's first day and Gwen's first day back address it from Gwen's perspective." This sentence makes no sense.

You make it sound like Gwen is taking advantage of Michelle's uncertainty.  

It makes no sense for Gwen's classmates to ostracize her for doing things for the school staff; all students get called to do such things.  So unless the faculty is ostracizing the other students and only calling on Gwen for help, the students' opinion of her shouldn't be affected by that.  You are also showing just as well as I that Gwen has an unhealthy attachment to Ben when her focus is getting the day to get back to him.  An attachment that again, goes far beyond healthy romantic attachment.  

So what I hear from you is that Michelle is guarded because the concern she sees from people is usually because she is her father's daughter, and its more their concern for him, or his opinion of them, then it is for Michelle herself.  This isn't expressed in the story, and while it would be difficult to do so while locked in Gwen's perspective without creating awkward dialogue, it is still possible to express it.  For instance, by Michelle extending her father's gratitude instead of her own, or assuring people that she will tell her father what a good job they did.  

You talk about Gwen and Michelle like they are going through the friendship equivalent of love-at-first-sight.  This is a trope that is used, most commonly, by poor writers to establish romance first and justify it later, but real friendship, like real love, is slow to start.  The original had that at least in feeling; the reboot has chosen to forgo it instead.

(As always, please go leave Shadows59 a nice positive review he won’t delete.)

idk if you’re taking requests or anything, if you aren’t ignore this, but if you are I would die for a classic, upside down spider-man kiss with the loml spider-noir. poor guy would probably be very surprised at first but suddenly its his favorite thing to do. thanks I love you and your work!!

AND➝ mayhaps…. a first kiss with noir? if u have time! 

sorry for answering so late nonnies! i feel so bad about that, i promise i wasn’t ignoring y’all. same goes to the few other requests i have in my inbox right now! 

——-

➹ inconvenient feelings➹ (spider-noir x reader)

word count: 2.5k

a/n: can you tell i had no idea what to call this lol. i didn’t edit either bc… oof. i’ve been struggling a lot with writer’s block (nothing new, honestly lmaoo) lately and someone close to me recently passed away and i haven’t quite… been able to wrap my head around it?? i don’t know, not to be a little bitch but this week consisted of a lot of school stuff, emotions, and anxiety so thanks @ the people who requested this bc i needed to write some wholesome stuff. also thx at my bestie for helping me out w ideas, ily broz. anyway, there’s some minimum ripeter x reader although it’s solely platonic! hope you all have a lovely week (:

taglist: @marvelousmorales

It’s not convenient. Convenient was that one person with the pretty smile whose eyes seemed to possess an affinity to him that one time at a jazz club, or the singer with the honey voice and smooth runs more soothing than the late night singing of a mother to her child. A poor goon who smooched his fist whilst it collided with his face could even fit the designation, really— but what mattered, the simple component they shared, was that all three were just a speck in a sea with no end; an eternal blue void with only more possibilities hiding in the pitch-black depths neither he nor the light’s fingertips could touch. They were safe. Uncomplicated.

Peter stared out the window, at a completely distinct world, far from a city in a vintage film: the ongoing the mechanical song of speeding cars, the newer and taller lit up buildings, the blinking golden lights, identical to a field of a thousand miniscule suns. This was not convenient. It’s… so different— like day and night, water and fire. This meant to swim out of the ocean he belonged to and reach for a foreign land, to run after a mere drop of water when a whole fucking body existed behind him. It’s not safe. It’s complicated.

Your sleepy eyes roamed the same page for the fifth time with no precise purpose, more disoriented than a newcomer in a large city until they traveled and spotted their true destination: Peter’s own sight deeply engulfed in the view outside, the twisting of his brows every now and then filling your mind with wonder and curiosity at what could possibly be running through that brain of his. You could’ve continued with the ogling like the damn creep you were (seriously, you gotta stop it with that, you told yourself), but you slipped and made a mistake— the most laughably absurd misstep— worse than trying to take a picture of a stranger and then, to your utmost terror, the flash going off— which wouldn’t have occurred in the first place if you’d paid your electricity bills on time. Your apartment wouldn’t have been plunged into darkness, and you wouldn’t have, without thinking, your head clearly not in its right place at the moment, slightly tilted your phone and directed your phone’s flashlight right at the side of his face. You quickly pulled the beam of light away, as if that would work; however, his gaze drifted to you. “Sorry.” You blurted out, acting casual and pretending to focus on the journal on your lap. “You were so quiet, I thought you had fallen asleep.” You lied.

“No, I’m awake.” He said, furrowing his brows to himself— of course you already knew that. You mumbled a small ‘good’, holding the notebook close to your face, like a child staring through the window of a pet shop at some puppies, shining the ‘smartphone’, he’d learned, over the pages. You bit your lip, your shoulders shaking with your surfacing laughter.

“Oh, man, this one’s so dumb.” You snickered before running your finger up the paper, clearing your throat. “October 8th, 1999. Today I came back from my camping trip with Peter, Ben, and May. We ate a lot of s'mores— Uncle Ben makes the best! We also told some scary ghost stories, and I even made Pete scream. It was awesome. You will not believe what happened!” You read the last sentence with a dramatic tone, similar to that of a terrible news headline from a sketchy website, making yourself more comfortable on the L shaped bench seat and leaning into Peter’s side.

Peter tensed at first, but slowly, he pushed himself to relax after you rested your head on his shoulder, a quiet voice in the back of his head speaking against his desires, echoing the terrifying thought that he could get used to this. “I don’t know, enlighten me: what happened?” He asked, amused. You lifted your finger, eyebrows raising gradually, building up the suspense. He waited, and waited, and waited, until, finally—

“I have to go eat dinner. I’ll tell you later.” You finished with an unhumorous voice and a poker face. Yet again, he awaited in silence, interested. Man, you took this suspense thing quite seriously— wait.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?!” He looked down at you and you nodded. “Oh, c'mon! You just gonna leave the reader hanging like that?”

You shrugged, wearing a shit-eating grin, loving his genuine disappointment as you flicked the page. “Sometimes that’s just the way it is.”

“Oh, what malarkey!” He laughed softly. You crinkled your nose— malarkey. What a dork.

You resumed scanning the barely discernible handwriting, the corner of your mouth tugging upwards. “Alright, this one does have an ending.” You sat up, rolling your shoulders back only to go back to your position of hunching over the journal. “April 3rd, 2000. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long, I forgot I had this journal. Something crazy happened.”

“The end.”

“Shut up.” You shushed him, shaking your head. “'I hung out with Peter today. We rode our bikes, had a race down the hill near my house, and I also got a butterfly to land on my finger. Man, I love insects!’ …and I still do.” You smiled and he glanced down at you, his mouth twitching. A peculiar glow in his chest grew, fueled him after he recognized that you felt comfortable enough to share this part of you with him; an insight on the stories that carved you into the person that you were today, the being that made every classy, pearly white grin and musical prodigy so boring, so undesirable.

You shuffled on your bum to turn and face Peter, continuing, “We came back home to play some more. We were sitting in front of the TV when, suddenly, he said my name, and like a normal person would, I looked at him…” You inclined forward, voice quieting, looking up at him.

“You won’t believe what happened.”

His eyes darted heavenward and he groaned. “Oh, lord.”

“He kissed me!” You cried out, with as much emotion that past you spilled onto the paper with the five exclamation marks and the three times you underlined the sentence. You slammed the notebook shut and let out a strangled clamor. “I still remember it very clearly. It was just a peck, but he fucking… smashed his mouth into mine, it hurt so much and my lip started bleeding and everything.” You giggled, abashed, rubbing your eyes.

Peter’s brows rose with surprise, pondering how an alternate seven-year-old version of him from another universe had more balls than him. He had to admit, though, the scene playing in his head was more entertaining than unfortunate. “And what’d you do?” He questioned, his mouth twitching.

“He was just curious and wanted to see what kissing someone was like, so we promised we wouldn’t talk about it ever again. He was so embarrassed, though, and felt so bad for making me bleed that he almost started crying.” You recalled, chuckling as you eyed the cursed diary one last time and placed it beside you. “What an idiot. I miss him.” You sighed, peering up at him, grinning. “What was your first kiss like, huh?”

It was comical, almost, the raging blush that trickled his face, the greyish tint screaming for the world’s attention. It was just a Peter Parker thing, you guessed: blushing like there was no tomorrow. “Uh, my first kiss?” You nodded. “Well… it happened when I was eighteen.”

You put the side of your head against the wall, eyes going round, your inquisitiveness close to that of a kid listening to a grandparent’s story. “Was it romantic?” You wanted to know everything: who the person was, the place, the context. Did he enjoy it? Did he make the move? And if so, then was there a chance that, maybe…

Unlike you, he did not have much interest in the subject; he stuttered, searching for a way to move on from the memory before he imploded. “I don’t, I don’t think anyone’s first kiss is romantic.”

You squinted at him, noticing his obvious attempt at dodging the question, but chose to spare him. Just for a few milliseconds, though. “Have you ever had… a perfect kiss?” You said, unsure of how to word such a silly question. He shook his head and you hummed, silently taking in a quick breath, your gaze moving to your right. “Have you thought about what you want it to be like?”

Should he say it? He wanted to. He really did. But he couldn’t, even if his eyes almost flickered down to your lips. “Who thinks about that?” He muttered. Perhaps he had. Perhaps he’d been guilty of having the thought slither into his mind once or twice— possibly more than just that. Perhaps it’d pestered his mind as of recent, like that damn small scratch on his glasses that won’t go away no matter how many times he tried to wipe it away as if that would even help. Perhaps it returned as you unconsciously licked your lips and raised your shoulder, a bashful grin growing on your face.

“I have, when I’m bored. An upside down kiss with a cute guy.” You admitted, your eyes narrowing afterward, only just now realizing how bizarre the idea was once you said it aloud. Your impatience throbbed in your head so badly you didn’t mind the embarrassment as much, though. You really were doing this, huh? “I think I found the cute guy.” You hinted, your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

He understood the insinuation, of course he did. But what better way to run from your feelings than close his trembling hand into a fist, pretend to be clueless, and act like an idiot?

“Who’s the lucky fella?”

Didn’t think he was so stupid, you grumbled in your head, masking your faint irritation. You pressed your lips together, sight on your cushions. “Someone I like quite a lot.” You vaguely said, voice distant. “Though I don’t think you’d understand— you’re not one to fall in love, no?”

It was half a joke but half a real question, one with solely one right answer you yearned to hear from him if you got lucky enough. Peter blinked nervously, fear burning in his stomach, clenching his insides as his tongue dared to break free from his control, from his cowardly spell. “Lately I’ve had someone in mind.” He breathed out, close to breaking out in a sweat. He watched how your eyes dimly lit up, hesitance impeding the light from fully glowing.

“Really? And who is this ‘someone’?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Tell me.”

“Not now.” He gulped. You pouted, begging with your eyes. “N-no.”

“Are you ever gonna make a move?”

Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, feeling dizzy just by thinking about it; the downfall of the relationship once the distance became too much, once the malaise with no cure finally rotted the adoration, infested the heart, decayed it. “No.” Same answer. Same bedeviled word that boomed in his head whenever his emotions were close to getting the best of him.

“Why haven’t you done it yet?” You whispered, not caring anymore about how obvious you were

being. He frowned. Why hadn’t he done it yet?

“I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?”

Why not? His own thoughts repeated, betraying him. The confusion unlatched the cage, released all the questions and doubts about his reasons and dread. They crowded his brain, rang in his ears. “It’s… it’d be too hard to keep the relationship alive.” He retold more to himself and the storm of interrogations than you.

Your brows snapped together, your own fear knocking on the door again. “Is it not worth it to try, though?” It’s what you’d told yourself: the antidote to unfreeze your limbs and wave goodbye at the concern hanging in there, because… was it not?

In the overwhelming haziness, he finally looked at you. It’s what he needed to come upon a realization, a truth he knew all along but crumbled and threw away. Everything hushed, one single, final phrase in the quiet of it all.

Convenient wasn’t what he wanted.

“It is.” He said under his breath.

You heard him, and your eyes twinkled. “Well, then make the move.”

He couldn’t help it anymore. His eyes found your lips.

“I will.”

You stared at each other for a moment, anticipation never more warming than right then as it fluttered in your chest. To your biggest disappointment, he broke eye contact and stood up. “Close your eyes for a moment.” He ordered, his face indistinguishable in the dark now that he was further away.

“Creepy, but okay.” You huffed, your eyelids fluttering shut. “You better not be running away right now, you’d break my poor ol’ heart.”

“Don’t worry, that’s not the case.” You heard him say. You trusted him, which could’ve been a terrible choice. The total silence that followed didn’t put you to ease at all, honestly. Maybe you annoyed him so much with your questions that he was about to murder you, and if that’s what was happening, you were quite sad, to say the least.

Your eyelids were itching to open and you lifted a brow, straining your ears to distinguish any sign of his presence. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re not gonna believe what’s about to happen.”

You snorted at his reference, but his voice was… oddly close. You opened your eyes, and— “Oh, fuck!” You yelped and jumped back in your seat. Damn right you weren’t gonna believe what was about to happen, for Peter dangled from the ceiling right in front of you, upside down.

“Is it too much of a strange idea? I was going to simply stick to the ceiling upside down, but then I thought… that’d be… worse.” He clumsily explained. You looked up at the web he hung from, laughing in disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?” You repeated, but you weren’t mad— your large smile backed that up. You couldn’t figure out if it was a blush creeping up his face or if it was from the fact that he was upside down. Both, maybe.

“I’m making a move.”

You giggled, glad you confessed what you considered to be a perfect type of kiss to him or else you wouldn’t had witnessed how absolutely ridiculous he looked right now. “So you’re willing to help me check 'kissing someone upside down’ off my bucket list?” You smirked.

He grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

You bit your lip, placing both hands on his head. “Alright, then.“ 

You leaned forward, the tip of your nose brushing against his chin. You softly kissed the area below his bottom lip to tease him, but he didn’t want to wait any longer. Not after so long. Quickly, he enclosed your own bottom lip with his mouth, lastly fully aware that inconvenient truly was magnificent.

CHARLI XCX FT. LIZZO - BLAME IT ON YOUR LOVE [6.18] Blame it on your love, makes me... wanna shove?

Leah Isobel: "Blame It On Your Love" has been floating around the internet in some form since 2016 -- either its anemic leaked demo, the still-spectacular "Track 10," or one of the many fan mashups of the two. What the final single release has over the other versions is polish and physicality. EASYFUN's magic touch transforms the once-anemic drop into a bruiser, high and low frequencies pinging through the mix like coins in a blender, while the Diwali beat gives the track forward momentum. Charli's vocal, meanwhile, isn't abrasive like on "1999" or most of Pop 2; she approaches the track with a catch in her throat, words spilling out before she can stop them. You can sense traces of "Track 10"'s vaporous, venomous self-loathing, but this version works because it's sung by a girl who doesn't hate herself. She accepts responsibility and the possibility of redemption; when the drop lengthens after the second chorus, threatening to overtake the track, Lizzo bursts in to talk her down, and the song lights up in response. The transmutation of pain and suffering into communal celebration is what makes pop pop. Here, finally, Charli learns alchemy. [8]

Crystal Leww: "Blame It On Your Love" is doomed to be compared to "Track 10," the much-beloved track at the end of the Pop 2 mixtape. "Blame It On Your Love" is the better song, with its bright, polished production and a guest verse by Critical It Girl Lizzo. But Charli doomed this song's chances by debuting the songwriting on something so raw, intimate, and quiet. "Track 10" is always going to be what I hear when I feel this kind of heartbreak. [7]

Alfred Soto: The story of Charli XCX since 2014 is a strong hook-writing talent suppressed by her tendency to quash those hooks with guests and production gewgaws. "Blame It On Your Love" is no different -- its title suggests the tragedy. [4]

Tobi Tella: I thought Pop 2 was sometimes overwhelmingly weird, but this is much more accessible and still keeps Charli's signature spirit. However, even when Pop 2 got too weird, it came from a place of artistic experimentation, and this just...doesn't. It's certainly fun and bouncy with a fine throwaway verse from Lizzo, but it's a watered-down version of an already released song. [6]

Abdullah Siddiqui: This does annoy me on premise. You can't just take the avant out of an avant-pop masterpiece like Track 10. But we're still left with a -pop masterpiece. Sue me, it's Lizzo on a PC production, we're lucky I didn't implode. [9]

Nortey Dowuona: Lumpy, sloping bass smacks against the thudding drums, then switches to swirling synths, warm bass loops, and a 2014 Flume breakdown out of nowhere. Charli XCX lies above, throwing darts down to Lizzo, who catches them, turns them to origami swans and sends them back up to Charli, who crushes them with her watery croon. [5]

Will Adams: I never warmed to the abrasive soundscapes of "Track 10" or its parent album, but how is this a better alternative? Between turning the central line -- devastated, broken, rendered numb through AutoTune -- into a peppy shout-along, the incongruent Diwali riddim, horn blares from any EDM festival of yesteryear, and Lizzo tacked on for no other reason than clicks, every choice here seems designed to transform sincerity into cynicism. [3]

Katherine St Asaph: You ever re-listen to True Romance lately and mourn what could have been? [4]

Taylor Alatorre: I'm terrible at predicting future chart performance, but this sounds like it could be Charli's first mainstream U.S. hit since "Boom Clap." If not, it was certainly engineered for that purpose. I prefer Life Sim's chirpy arpeggios to Stargate's synthesized horn stabs, but the messy emotional center of "Track 10" is still there, which overrides any mere aesthetic preferences. Lizzo keeps her official presence to a minimum while still seeming to bend reality around her; the percussive beat sounds like it was made for her even if she does more background ad-libbing than rapping over it. [7]

Vikram Joseph: "Track 10" felt like a tape unravelling, all of Pop 2's tumultuous energy combusting inwards in a magnificent entropic death-spiral. Makes sense that the wreckage would spawn a gleaming pop automaton; where "Track 10" lost itself in cosmic chaos, "Blame It On Your Love" is a rocket fired directly at the sun. The fact that it loses little of Charli XCX's dangerous intensity in transition is a credit to both the production and the strength of the chorus; even the EDM spasms in the post-chorus feel gripping, and there's no doubt it'll start fires on dancefloors this summer. Lizzo's cameo feels like a hype-gathering afterthought; it sounds copied and pasted in, and she hasn't been given anything of interest to say, but it's brief enough not to break the momentum too badly. [7]

Ian Mathers: At this point, both acts have the kind of fans, and enough shared fans, who are going to have sky-high expectations for any sort of collaboration. And there are factors that could easily lead to disappointment: Lizzo's very short guest verse, the fact that this is a re-shine of Charli's much less poppy but still incredible "Track 10." But you know what? "Track 10" didn't get deleted when this came out, what Lizzo is here is solidly satisfying, and it's still an incredible song. Whether it's more or less incredible than its source -- OK, have arguments about that, happy? [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

Somewhat tangentially related to the S*Lena drama, but IG went down again today. Honestly, between the drama and general discord that SM has caused, coupled with the FB and IG outages, I just wish the internet would implode already. Let's party like its 1999 (play THAT one, Chris!)

I know SO many people who complained when Facebook and Instagram went down this week. I honestly found it nice 😂 it has me considering a serious social media break 🦎

"The Village"- The beginning of M. Night Shyamalan's fall. Fascinating ideas and genuinely eerie set-pieces brought down by a meandering pace and contrived eccentricity.

The career of M. Night Shyamalan has been a fascinating and harrowing thing to follow over the past twenty years. His explosive success with 1999's "The Sixth Sense" was something of a revelation, and it rocketed him to super-stardom in the annals of film history. After following it up with two films I feel are equal in every way to that iconic and indisputable classic in the form of contemplative superhero drama "Unbreakable" and the mind-warping alien-invasion thriller "Signs", Shyamalan could do no wrong as far as many were concerned. Little did we know what the near future would hold, and just how far he would fall before finding rebuilding himself back up. In some ways, it could be argued that 2002's "Signs" was the last truly great Shyamalan thriller we'd get until 2017's remarkable and brilliantly entertaining "Split." And for many people, it was his fourth major release, the period- piece supernatural thriller "The Village", that signaled the start of his downfall. While by no means a terrible film and benefiting from sharp direction and strong performances, "The Village" is where the confident idea that Shyamalan always knew exactly what he was doing began to crack. On one hand... yeah, it had a lot of the things that we ate up in his previous efforts. The quirky characters, the bone-chilling horror... and yet, it was starting to feel a bit stale. Often feeling like someone else trying to imitate Shyamalan's style than an actual Shyamalan feature. His previously careful, deliberate pacing and focus was starting to feel aimless and meandering. His idiosyncratic humor and peculiar characters began to feel contrived and shoehorned. And his oft- shocking twists and turns became shallow and predictable. Now don't get me wrong... "The Village" does have a lot to offer thanks to the elements that do work and on the whole I think the film is enjoyable. But it's still a massive step in the wrong direction. In the 19th century, in the village of Covington reside a small and tightly knit community of families, who all live in fear of the treacherous creatures who stalk the woods around them at night- "Those we don't speak of." In order to maintain balance, a set of rules has been crafted to keep everyone safe. Two young villagers- Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix) and the blind Ivy Walker (Bryce Dallas Howard) admit their attraction to one-another and intend on marrying. However, their happy news comes at a cost, when their close friend, the mentally-challenged Noah Percy (Adrien Brody) cannot accept their love and attempts to murder Lucius in a fit of jealous rage. After pleading with village elders, Ivy is given a chance to help her love- she is permitted to enter the Covington woods and try to navigate past the devious monsters that populate it, so that she can obtain medicine from the next town over to try and save Lucius. However, her journey will bring about revelations regarding Covington and the men and women who populate it... revelations that may threaten to destroy the once- strong community. The greatest strengths of the film lie in its exquisite beauty from a production standpoint, in addition to the generally stellar performances of our three main leads. This is one very good-looking and sounding movie, with some of the sharpest camera-work and jaw- droppingly gorgeous music of any Shyamalan feature. The visual guidance is top-notch from start to finish, and Shyamalan is able to paint a dark and troubled portrait of a town haunted with his stunning storytelling. James Newton Howard's score rightfully earned an Oscar nod, and it's some of his best- complimented by the expert violinist Hilary Hahn, who performs a great deal of work on the score. Our three leads in Joaquin Phoenix, Bryce Dallas Howard and Adrian Brody are all absolutely incredible in their respective roles and will immediately earn great admiration from the viewer. Particularly Howard, who gives one of the best performances of her career in this film. Unfortunately, the supporting cast is mixed, with some of the actors including William Hurt and Sigourney Weaver feeling woefully underutilized and out of place. And unfortunately, as I mentioned above, this is the film where Shyamalan begins to go a bit too far with his material, at times making the film feel like a borderline self-satire. I almost get the feeling that the film was rushed into production without a second draft having been written, because it all feels a bit sloppy. Shyamalan's quirky characters are there... but they're a bit more stale and a bit less defined. The focus and pacing is methodical and deliberate... and yet all too often the film begins to feel tedious and overwrought. Rules are established and ideas introduced... and yet the film does little with the concepts presented, lacking payoff. And without spoiling anything, anyone who is aware of Shyamalan's penchant for introducing game-changing twists into his finales will be able to see what's coming from a mile away. In a lot of ways, the movie feels like its slaving to try and be the next great Shyamalan film by trying to repeat what he does well. But it's not organic. It's a bit too cold and clinical. Even robotic. It's like a computer wrote the film based on a Shyamalan algorithm. The ideas are there... but the humanity is lacking. "The Village" is a troubled film. And it is the movie that signals the start of the dark age for the promising filmmaker behind it. And yet, the stellar performances, sharp visual storytelling and absolutely gorgeous musical score are able to salvage and indeed save the film from imploding. It's not a great film... it's probably not even a good film. But it's solid enough that I'd recommend it to open-minded viewers. It might not be the classic that "The Sixth Sense", "Unbreakable" and "Signs" became. But it's adequate. I give it an ever-so-slightly above average 6 out of 10.

Hello and welcome back to my Journey into Science-Fiction Part:17. I was thinking of a way to watch science-fiction films that I have might have missed in the past and take a deep dive into others that I have already watched and loved. It’s quite a simple idea really, all I have to do is find a connection with each film in order to continue my journey.

In Part:16 I watched and reviewed Dreamscape and if you are wondering how it brought to me to The Blob, 1988 please click on the title of the film above.

Directed by Chuck Russell, The Blob 1988 is a remake of the 1958 film of the same name. The film was released by Tristar Pictures with a budget of $10 million. Unfortunately, the film received mixed reviews at the box office and only made $8.2 million and was deemed a flop for the studio but later became of a cult classic amongst fans.

The Blob is a story about a meteorite that crashes into a small town in America and after first contact with one of the locals, it slowly begins to absorb everything and everyone in its path. I was aware of this film and its predecessor but hadn’t watched either one of them before now but I have to say, I was really surprised this film was released in 1988? I know and understand it has a bit of 1950’s vibe but the visual style of the film is so far ahead of its time; it looks like something from the late ’90s in my opinion and a great achievement to everyone involved in its production.

The film reminds me of some of the great films and TV shows I have enjoyed, Twin Peaks, Wayward Pines, The Twilight Zone and more recently Stranger Things. You know when any meteor crash lands nearby, you have to poke it with a stick, right!!? I mentioned first contact earlier when describing the film but only because the homeless man reminded me of Zephram Cochrane of Star Trek fame and then I had a crossover episode happening in my brain.

I guess I should talk about some of the characters in the film but I must admit, there was only three I actually cared for. Brian Flagg Kevin Dillon plays the misunderstood and rebellious delinquent teenager brilliantly and some of his one-liners actually made me laugh “Feels like fucking Hansel and Gretel in here, I should have brought some Breadcrumbs” The homeless man takes second place and finally, his dog is my favourite character by far. That little dog growling at the meteor is some of the best acting in the film and he/she definitely should have won best supporting actor in my opinion. I guess I need to mention Paul McCrane as Deputy Billy Briggs, if anything came from another planet, it’s undoubtedly that moustache!

Tony Gardner worked on the special effects for the film, unexpectantly finding himself in charge of a crew of thirty-three. I was actually expecting a lot of early CGI effects for some reason but the use of practical effects in this film is pretty outstanding. I think the best scene for me is in the telephone booth as Fran Hewitt Candy Clark is trying to call Sheriff Herb Geller Jeffrey DeMunn. Fran finds herself surrounded by the Blob and the Sheriff’s face appears in the glass of the booth before it implodes. I will admit that left me feeling quite claustrophobic and unsettled. You can really get the sense that the effects team really got the chance to try something new in this film and some of the scenes still look amazing today and some, unfortunately, do not. That pretty much sums up my view about the film as a whole.

I really enjoyed watching The Blob but I didn’t love it. I did love the science-fiction element of the film as the meteorite turns out to manufactured the government. I guess this is a sign of the times and a real reflection on humanity’s lack of trust of those in power. Funny thing is, I decided to write about this film before we entered a global pandemic and there are some many theories about why and how we find ourselves in this situation. I appreciated the horror of the film and the Blob itself is pretty brutal and unforgiving. And finally, the comedy, which really lets the film down in my opinion. I can see how people appreciate it though and I can only imagine that watching this when it was released was pretty spectacular. Chuck Russell went on to direct The Mask which made all the money and you can see early glimpses of his brilliance in this film. Also, I have a feeling this isn’t the last time we will see the Blob on the big screen.

Well, I wonder where The Blob will take me next on Part:18 of my Journey into Science-Fiction? First, I was going to follow the screenplay writer Frank Darabont and watch Minority Report but his writing went uncredited on the film so it didn’t feel right. Next, I noticed that the cinematography was done by Mark Irwin, who worked on Scanners, and Class of 1999. I have watched one of these films and I’m really curious about the other and I have to say I’m torn on which one to choose? So I am asking you for your help. I have created a poll on my Facebook page, so if you would like to vote which film I should watch next, click on the link below.

https://www.facebook.com/colp76/

Anyway, what are your thoughts and memories about The Blob? I am also looking to connect with other people, so please give me a follow or link to your work.  Thanks for reading and I hope you return for my next Journey into Science-Fiction.

https://talesfromtheneonbeach.com/my-journey-to-science-fiction/

The Blob, 1988. My Journey into Science-Fiction Part:17. Hello and welcome back to my Journey into Science-Fiction Part:17. I was thinking of a way to watch science-fiction films that I have might have missed in the past and take a deep dive into others that I have already watched and loved.

“When a Trickster Comes Knocking” (Inktober Day 4: Mythology)

Title: When A Trickster Comes Knocking

Author: VampAmber

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Summary: “Hide me!” The stranger shouted the moment Dean opened his door. The man had been banging on it for well over a minute, waking Dean up out of a deep sleep filled with dreams of a certain someone that he knew he could never have.

“What, why?” Dean mumbled, still not entirely awake yet. It was late at night, after all, the moon only starting to go back down before the sun came to take its place.

“Because I need hidden, obviously,” the stranger replied snarkily, looking like he was about to start pushing his way into Dean’s hut at any moment. Dean rolled his eyes, but moved aside to let the stranger in. He was obviously not going to get anything out of the man until he did as he was asked.

“Okay, now you’re hidden,” Dean said as he closed his door. “Why exactly do you need to be hidden?”

Word Count:  1999

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12266442

“Hide me!” The stranger shouted the moment Dean opened his door. The man had been banging on it for well over a minute, waking Dean up out of a deep sleep filled with dreams of a certain someone that he knew he could never have.

“What, why?” Dean mumbled, still not entirely awake yet. It was late at night, after all, the moon only starting to go back down before the sun came to take its place.

“Because I need hidden, obviously,” the stranger replied snarkily, looking like he was about to start pushing his way into Dean’s hut at any moment. Dean rolled his eyes, but moved aside to let the stranger in. He was obviously not going to get anything out of the man until he did as he was asked.

“Okay, now you’re hidden,” Dean said as he closed his door. “Why exactly do you need to be hidden?”

“Freyja’s on the warpath again, and right now I’m her only target,” the man admitted, though he didn’t look near as terrified as a statement like that would normally warrant.

“What in Odin’s name did you do to anger a goddess?” Dean asked, plenty terrified for the both of them. Freyja was known for having a temper, especially whenever people such as Loki did something to earn her ire. Whatever this guy had done to set her off must have been quite horrible.

“Well, she’s pretty much always angry at me anyway, so I’m not sure which thing it was this time,” the stranger said, causing Dean to get a sudden sinking feeling. It couldn’t be…

“Loki?” Dean asked anyway, not sure if he believed it himself.

“One and the same,” the trickster god said with a grin. The grin was replaced quickly with one of dread when, outside of Dean’s hut, the sounds of an obviously displeased goddess started getting closer. “I think she followed me, where’s a place I can hide?”

“Oh no, no way am I getting in between two battling gods, especially when one of them is you,” Dean said, heading back to the doorway. “Out, get out now before you bring her wrath down on me too, for protecting you.”

“Please, don’t make me leave?” Loki begged. He even went so far as to get down on his knees, much to the amazement of the very mortal Dean. “Keep me hidden until she’s gone, and I’ll… I’ll give you a boon! Whatever your heart desires, I promise. Just don’t make me face her when she’s in the middle of a tantrum.”

Dean wasn’t a greedy man, not by a long shot, but a boon from a god was not something you passed up, no matter the god. “Fine, I have a trunk you can hide in.” He led the god into his bedroom and emptied out the trunk he kept at the foot of his bed. He’d never fit in it, because he was too tall and wide, but hopefully Loki would.

“Thanks, Dean-o,” the trickster god said before hopping in and closing the lid himself. Dean bristled, not liking that nickname at all, but the lid was already closed so there was no point in complaining now.

He went and poured himself a cup of mead, sitting down in his most comfortable chair to wait out the angry storm of noise outside. He probably should have gone back to sleep so that he wouldn’t be exhausted in the morning, but he knew there was no way he’d get any rest with Loki hiding only a few feet away. It took Freyja over an hour before she finally gave up and left the village, but when Dean checked the trunk to let Loki know that he was safe to come out, it was empty. The god had left him a pile of money, though, so at least it had been somewhat worth his efforts.

As Dean fell back to sleep, he wondered what it would have been like, had the boon been of his choosing instead of the pile of coins. While he knew that he probably would have asked for health for his family, mainly his brother Sam and his wife and children, Dean knew what his heart would have wished for. The man who lived across the courtyard from him was named Castiel. It was an odd name for an odd fellow, but it seemed to fit him perfectly. He collected books and gave sweets to the children, and took care of the elders without asking, and while Dean would never admit it out loud, he was completely smitten with the man. He often caught himself staring at that mop of messy, dark hair, and whenever those blue eyes were turned on him he would blush and look away immediately. It was with thoughts of Castiel floating through his head that Dean fell back into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke the next morning, the emptied out trunk with the pile of coins still in it let him know that all of the previous night’s events had actually happened. He took them to the lady Moseley’s hut to get them blessed, just in case. It was well known that bad luck tended to follow those that were unfortunate enough to have dealings with the trickster god. On his way back, he stopped at his brother’s hut to leave most of the coins with him. His sister by marriage, Eileen, was to give birth to his third niece or nephew soon, and everybody knew that children were expensive. Especially considering the two boys that Sam already had ate more than the horses their family took care of. Dean had to lie about where the money had come from, though he kept somewhat close to the truth by saying it was a boon from a god for doing them a favor. He was just conveniently vague on which god.

After many thanks and hugs and a much heartier breakfast than he ever would have made for himself, Dean finally headed home. And as was just his luck lately, Castiel was outside his own hut, tending to his garden. The other man smiled widely and waved, as was his habit. But he was friendly like that with everybody, so Dean tried to not get his hopes up.

“Ahh, so that's what your heart desires,” said a voice from behind him. Dean jumped, he was so startled.

He whipped around to face Loki. “Don't do that, you freaked me out,” he scolded, before he remembered he was scolding a deity. How had this become his life? “Wait, how did you do that? You weren't there a moment ago.”

“Hello, trickster,” the shorter man drawled out. Dean was really starting to understand why Freyja and the rest of the gods were so often annoyed by him. “I can pop in and out whenever and wherever I want.”

“Then why did you need me to hide you last night?” Dean asked, trying to not show his annoyance. He mostly succeeded. “Why not find a mountaintop or an island far away from here instead? Somewhere less obvious than an empty storage trunk.”

“Because, Dean-o,” Loki started to say, before vanishing. “She could've tracked me if I had,” he continued, now once again behind Dean.

“Fine, whatever,” Dean huffed as he turned around once again to face the annoying little god. “Thank you for the coins, it was very helpful. I appreciate your boon,” he said, his voice dull.

“The coins weren't your boon, they were just to make up for the mess you had to clean up,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “I said 'whatever your heart desires’ and I meant it. And from the looks of it, your heart’s desiring that handsome gardener across the lane.”

Dean started choking on air. “No,” he sputtered out, probably looking as stupid as he felt right now. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about. Why would you say something so crazy?” Hearing the truth, as much as he was currently denying it, come from another person’s mouth was just too much. Especially since that other person was technically a god.

Loki just laughed mockingly, the jerk. It took him a few minutes to finish, all the while Dean burned bright red from embarrassment as he prayed to literally any other god that wasn’t the one in front of him that Castiel wasn’t paying attention to the spectacle currently going on. “Sorry Dean-o, that was just way too hilarious,” the trickster god said, when he was finally able to speak again. “But extreme denial or not, I can feel your longing from Valhalla. He’s your heart’s desire, so he’s what you’re gonna get.”

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a tortured sigh. “Fine, you’re right, I have a… thing for him. But I would never have you force him to be with me with some love spell or whatever. It’d be fake then, and I know damn well my heart doesn’t desire that.”

“Who said I’d have to force him?” Loki asked, giving Dean a look that showed just how stupid he thought the mortal was. “You think your longing is big? I could probably hear his from the farthest reaches of Asgard, the kid’s heart is screaming so loudly for you. No clue what he sees in you, because you’re obviously a clueless idiot, but at least the pining is mutual. Makes my job a lot easier.”

Dean felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop, but his brain was too busy imploding in on itself for him to truly care. It wasn’t one-sided? “He… he likes me?”

Loki snorted. “Your mom dropped you on your head as a kid pretty often, didn’t she? Yes, dumb ass, he likes you too. Now go over there and start courting or whatever it is you kids do these days.”

Dean felt dazed by this news. “Yes, of course. Thank you Loki,” he mumbled as he headed over to Castiel’s hut to speak with him, not even paying attention when Loki disappeared from sight.

Gabriel watched on from above as his little brother opened the door for Dean, and smiled as they started talking. This happened every single time with those two. Lots of staring and mutual pining, but they were always too afraid to make the first move until he intervened somehow. At least this time he didn’t have to be as subtle, since Loki was well known for showing up randomly and doing whatever he felt like.

He sensed his Father appear beside him when the two currently-human idiots shared their first kiss. “He always does end up with the Righteous Man, doesn’t he?” God said fondly as He began watching as well.

“That one’s more on you than me, Dad,” Gabriel responded, and God just shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to be off winning absentee father of the year or something?” He teased. The archangel smiled as his Father chuckled.

“I like keeping an eye on your little ‘experiment’,” He admitted. “Having the seraph live mortal lives, even if he doesn’t remember them afterwards, is definitely changing him for the better. It’s teaching him to love humanity, the way I wanted you all to.”

“If by ‘humanity’ you mean ‘the Righteous Man’, then yeah, it’s definitely teaching him that, Dad,” Gabriel joked back.

“You know exactly what I meant,” God scolded, though Gabriel could tell He didn’t really mean it. Whenever He popped in to see how His youngest son was doing, they always bantered like this. They were quickly becoming some of Gabriel’s favorite moments. “They have a lot of difficult times ahead of them, quite a few centuries from now. I’m glad they can have these moments before then.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gabriel agreed. The two stopped watching once Dean and Castiel started towards things no family member should ever witness, and Gabriel grinned as he started to wonder when they would show up next.

How is it that Trump is designated to be in a position of judging the perpetrators of violence? The U.S. government is regularly bombing a number of countries. Just last week, Trump threatened North Korea with nuclear destruction in unusually blunt language -- "fire and fury" rather than the typical Obama administration veiled nuclear attack code lingo "all options are on the table."

On Monday, the same day Trump read a scripted condemnation of white supremacist violence, Airwars.org reported that in Syria: "Marwa, Mariam and Ahmad Mazen died with their mother and 19 other civilians in a likely Coalition strike at Raqqa ."

You'd be hard pressed to find a "news" story about them. That's the concern with the effects of "violence" when it emanates from the U.S. government.

But the threats and use of violence are not new, nor is the hypocrisy. As he was ordering the ongoing bombing of Yugoslavia in 1999, President Bill Clinton took time out of his schedule to address the shooting at Columbine High School: “We must do more to reach out to our children and teach them to express their anger and to resolve their conflicts with words, not weapons.”

Such outbreaks of domestic political violence are used not as openings for introspection about longstanding violence in U.S. society, but for rallying cries to uphold alleged virtues of the nation. The recent attacks are "repugnant to everything we hold dear as Americans" Trump claims....

National cohesion is the driving concern here. How can we make these differing ethnicities get along well enough to ensure that this stays one nation is a question elites must ask themselves. (See my piece at the time: "'One America' -- To what Ends? ")

There's a tightrope being walked here. There's a functionality to the "debate" between "both sides." The system requires a great deal of tension to keep people in their partisan boxes. The main thing that each political faction has going for it is the hatred towards the other.

But there's the threat that it could reach a threshold that tears at national unity, which is why you get Terry McAuliffe and other political figures making Trump-like brazen contradictory statements, pleading for unity one minute and denouncing white supremacists as being repugnant to American values the next, wholly unworthy of engagement.

The Democratic Party has to offer people something more than Russia-bashing, and that something seems to be opposition to a war that the party of Jefferson was on the losing side of.

Many were aghast at Trump's remarks about Washington and Jefferson: "So this week, it is Robert E. Lee. I noticed that Stonewall Jackson is coming down. I wonder, is it George Washington next week? And is it Thomas Jefferson the week after? You know, you really do have to ask yourself, where does it stop?"

If we do honest history, it doesn't stop. That's the point. It condemns most of the political class. And would do so to most of current political class. But that's not a conclusion many in the political class are interested in. A line can certainly be drawn from Washington to Lee, as Confederates frequently argued.

As historian Gerald Horne has argued, the U.S. Revolutionary War was largely a war to ensure the continuation of slavery . Part of the "genius" of the U.S. was the "unification" of many non-black and non-native people as "white," including southern and eastern Europeans and Arabs. So you have a large immigration pool to forge the nation.

Nor of course is slavery the only crime. It's perhaps focused, to at least some extent, in our current political discourse because it's the main aspect of the imperial project that created, rather than destroyed, a major domestic constituency that was a victim of it. Native Americans are not a major domestic constituency because, unlike black folks in the U.S., their ancestors were not chained and brought to U.S. shores as slaves, but were driven out, killed en mass or made to die or be confined and marginalized.

And that project predated the formal creation of the United States. Kent A. MacDougall notes in "Empire—American as Apple Pie " in Monthly Review that "George Washington called the nascent nation 'a rising empire.' John Adams said it was 'destined' to overspread all North America. And Thomas Jefferson viewed it as 'the nest from which all America, North and South, is to be peopled.'"

Of course, Trump isn't raising Washington and Jefferson to broaden the critique of the crimes of white supremacy, but to try to limit it. This is somewhat similar to when Bill O'Reilly said in an interview with Trump that Putin is "a killer" -- Trump replied: "There are a lot of killers. You think our country's so innocent?" Trump thus becomes the only honest person on the national stage, but largely not for the purpose of positive change. He's using what is mostly a left wing critique to entrench the establishment, which is similar to what "neocons" have done.

There are many ramifications of the nationalistic blinders that are dutifully imposed by so many. Take the discussion of the ACLU's role in defending the white supremacists marching. The "both sides" here are: We should care so much about bigotry and violence that we should curtail the right of gun wielding white supremacists to march wherever they want. The other side is: Our devotion to free speech is so great that we should even allow this.

They both ring hollow to me. It is not at all clear that what is happening will root out structural racism; it has been at the level of symbols, which is where the establishment wants it to remain contained. Nor do I see a serious commitment to freedom of speech being displayed by the ACLU and others, as serious infringement of freedom of speech occur with hardly an objection. Partisan establishment apparatchiks dominate media at virtually every level, with government facilitation. Google , Facebook , Twitter and others have effectively taken over much of the town square and are increasingly skewing what speech gets heard. Such is the nature of corporate power, backed by the state, right now.

The likely "collateral damage" of such "debates" will be critics of U.S. empire. Consider that as the national ACLU seemed to be backtracking from their position , the California ACLU put out a statement that read in part "First Amendment does not protect people who incite or engage in violence. " Who is going to be the likely victim of this? White supremacists -- or someone who explains why Hezbollah might want to lob missiles at Israel? The line that the California ACLU seeks to draw would seemingly ironically lynch John Brown, whose actual execution was overseen by none other than Robert E. Lee in blue uniform.

Twitter suspended hundreds of thousands of accounts last year allegedly linked to ISIS, with hardly a word of protest.

Hezbollah's Al-Manar television channel -- possibly the most anti-ISIS outlet going -- is banned in the U.S. without outcry; with barely a note.

The very discussion about "hate groups" is perverse. The entire political culture in the U.S. lives off of hate. The pro Hillary Clinton rhetoric is "Love Trumps Hate," but Clinton, like Trump, feeds off hate. There certainly are explicitly white supremacist groups. And there can be some distinction made between them and the merely implicitly structurally racist establishment. But the Democratic and Republican Parties would implode in a minute if it were not for the hatred of the other.

“Google, Facebook, Twitter and others have effectively taken over much of the town square and are increasingly skewing what speech gets heard.”

What's needed is that freedom of speech triumph and in today's world it's not clear if that is compatible with the nation state and corporate power in their current construct. In its present form and use, the internet is ceasing to be "world wide web" -- it is constricted in a myriad of ways by national boundaries and unaccountable corporate diktat that need to be questioned if not obliterated in our contemporary world....

But there are perils at every turn. When the U.S. Treasury decided to put Harriet Tubman on the $20 bill last year, many welcomed it. But it seemed to me to be a subtle but real step to co-opting the legacy of the Underground Railroad to one that could be used to help justify "humanitarian interventionism" – i.e., U.S. militarism with some bogus moral pretext attached. That is, the language of the U.S. Civil War could be used to "free" people around the world as the State Department sees fit, as now with Venezuela . As Simon Bolivar said: “The United States seems destined by Providence to plague America with torments in the name of freedom.”

Ironically, some denouncing Trump's "fascist" proclivities have taken refuge in the actions of corporate bosses who have resigned from the American Manufacturing Council that Trump launched earlier this year. As Noam Chomsky and others have long noted, corporate structure is totalitarian. The saviors here are part of the threat. Perhaps doubly so since the Council was a corporate-government cooperative entity. The pretexts and posturing run throughout public discourse in the U.S., as it's dominated by apparatchiks around Trump and around the Democratic Party. Only an ever vigilant parsing of the deceits and actions that are rooted in principles and a sense of the global commons will see us through. 

‘ ⭒ YEAR 2000 ⭒ , — enhypen!au

▸ chapter one

▸ pairing enhypen x fem!reader, romantic pairing will be introduced within this series containing one of the members of the hyung line

▸ genre enhypen!au, fluff, angst, DRAMA, romantic-pairing, dystopian!au, tragedy, comedy, sort of enimies to lovers

▸ warnings this fic will contain occasional cursing + suggestive themes (none with the minors involved!)

▸ series masterlist

▸ description

it’s the year 1999, soon to be 2000, you’re spending the night celebrating at the party your friends are throwing at their penthouse. when the clock strikes midnight the fireworks explode creating art amongst the night sky. as your friends celebrate the turn of a new century the world turns to disarray from the millennium bug setting off. a problem in the coding of computerized systems that was projected to create havoc around the world at the beginning of the year 2000.

▸ MINI-TEASER/PROLOGUE

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

“happy new year!”

the room flared into cheers as the clock hit midnight officially making it the year 2000.

sunghoon approached you with two drinks in tow, reaching out his hand offering the second one to you. “new years kiss?” he asked with a slight smirk on his face.

“in your dreams, idol.” you both laughed as you grabbed the glass he was offering.

everyone was ecstatic to be witnessing the turn of a new century, the party excitedly watching the firework show exploding outside the windows. it didn’t take long for confusion to grow as the noises continued but the sight of the fireworks disappeared.

“hey don’t you think these fireworks are going on for a little too long?”

almost as if it were a stage cue the celebration on television quickly turned to a new channel with the bright red words ‘breaking news’ flashing on the screen.

“what’s happening?”

the entire room began gathering around the screen to watch as the news broadcaster stepped in front of the camera.

“good evening south korea, i am lee wu-jong here to announce that the worst has in fact happened.”

you flinched as the sounds of horns began blaring from the street below, soon the sound of cars crashing one after another were followed by the echoes of screaming.

feeling an arm wrap around your shoulders you turned to face heeseung. his eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, “i’m scared.”

you shook your head as you placed your hand over his free one, “me too.”

the sound of chaos plus phones ringing repeatedly drowned out the noise from the tv. everyone's worst nightmare settling in as you realized it was true.

the people the world thought were crazy for believing the world would implode from a computer bug at the beginning of 2000.. they were right…

this is the end.

▸ chapter one

you huddled alongside heeseung with your friend from the party as you made your way through the hallways, the rest of the group running ahead whilst the three of you grabbed what you could. after the broadcast ended the managers of your friends music group called saying they would have a car ready to go downstairs and to get out of the building as soon as possible.

about eleven of you ventured out of the dead party leaving those who chose to stay behind. the walls were dark gray, the only light coming from the dim wall fixtures. before you had the chance to turn down the next hallway, jay came running to your small group.

“the elevators aren’t working we need to take the stairs.” 

everything about him screamed worry. his hair and clothes disheveled and he seemed to be breathing heavily. almost like he was gasping for air. with no time to ask if he was okay the three of you silently followed behind jay leading your way to the others.

as soon as you were all together again you started dispersing things so everyone could hold something without one person struggling with it all. finally you had a good chance to look at the group. it was just this past year that you had met the group after you began working in their department, later becoming their good friend.. now you're here supposedly experiencing the end of the world together.

sunoo whispered to you asking to carry the backpack for you instead, quietly you shook your head in agreeance, handing the bag over. sunghoon stood in front of a doorway with a navy blue sign reading “stairs” looking out the window he observed whatever he could before turning to announce to the group.

“who knows how many people are in here right now okay so stick together and don’t get lost…” he pressed his back to the door, it was almost as if he was barricading it with his body before he continued. “because if you do no ones coming back to get you.”

“don’t you think that’s a little drastic?” 

“no. who knows what's happening downstairs, it’d be foolish to risk ourselves trying to save others so just stick together and it’ll be okay.”

there was no arguing that sunghoon was right. i think everyone understood his point as it fell silent in the hall aside from the echoes bouncing around in the stairwell. jays breathing seemed to get worse beside you as he told everyone to link hands with a partner, luckily for you he chose to grab yours. you kept studying his face trying to think of a way to calm his nerves before you whispered to him.

“hey, just breath okay?” by the time he shook his head the rest of the group had grabbed a partner's hand.

“move quickly.” sunghoon said as he opened the door. you flinched as the noises got louder with each inch the door crept open. 

sunghoon held onto jungwons hand as he led the group down the stairs, next went sunoo with your friend, heeseung with another, and jake with niki. your grip on jays hand tightened as it was your turn to venture down the first row of stairs, the last group of three following closely behind you.

the metal staircasing seemed to be bouncing from all of the patrons of the hotel running up and down them. if it weren’t for you beginning to blank out from your panicked state you’d probably be a lot more freaked out at the moment. 

the further down the building you got the more it crowded inside the small room. it felt like hundreds of people were standing amongst you as everyone desperately struggled to keep up the pace and follow sunghoon.

maybe being jays partner was not the best choice as you felt your breathing beginning to match his. each step felt harder and the room’s temperature felt like it was boiling you alive in your panic as you tried to force your body to keep going. 

the feeling worsened as you repeatedly made eye contact with the people around you. the news of the millennium bug being true seemed to bring the worst out of people as they fought eachother down the stairs.

the unrelenting grip on your hard felt bone crushing as jay took note of your state helping you along, “almost there.”

the floors quickly passed as you weaved in and out of the groups of people fighting. two floors above you had seen a man get knocked out as another man took the keys from his hands. 

“this is the last floor get out here and follow me!”

sunghoons voice strained to yell over the chaos as he opened the door pushing himself and jungwon out to the lobby.

the sound of your shoes hitting against the tile floor drowned out your thoughts as you ran as fast as your legs could take you. no one was looking behind themselves, not even to see who was following. i guess it really was true when sunghoon said that if you get lost you’re on your own.

eventually you reached the main doors of the building to make your way outside with jay. just as promised there sat a black suv awaiting your group’s arrival.

jay let go of your hand and grabbed you with a firmer grip around you body as he helped you inside before himself. the car was already running as the final person got into the car and closed the door. your body flew backwards forcing you to land on someones lap as the car sped off without question.

“is everyone here?” jake questioned from the passenger seat as his eyes scanned over the dark car. he did a quick head count before nodding and turned around to sit properly. i’m assuming that means yes.

the driver quickly pulled out of the parking lot onto the street driving you to god knows where. after having a chance to think for a second you realize you landed on jays lap, your face burned from embarrassment as you offered to sit on the floor instead. his arms tightened around you keeping you in place before responding back,

“no, it’s okay i’ve got you.” 

after driving for a few minutes you finally reached the road necessary for where you were instructed to go. the manager spoke on the phone about a safe house the company prepared but no one actually knew where it was.

behind you could see the city becoming further and further away. its lights glowing as an orangish red almost as if it were made to resemble the mayhem that just ensued. you turned yourself back around to face forward in jays lap. with your back pressed flush against his chest you could feel his heart beating against you, the rhythm seemed to calm you as your breathing had a chance to even out. 

the car was quiet aside from the whispers coming from the from seat where jake sat speaking to the man driving.

everything that had just happened felt like a fading nightmare as you felt yourself grow tired on jays lap.

the last thing you wanted to do was inconvenience him anymore- which sleeping on him was sure to do. but all reasoning went out your head as the world around you turned black.

so much for a happy new years.

▸ authors note i left certain identities unknown and the main romantic pairing undecided because i want them to be based by you guys! after each chapter feel free to comment, anon ask, or message me whoever you would like to be seen in this series ((:

▸ taglist is open | @maeumiluv​ @nomy0520​ @luvrseung​ @tsunchani​​

Photo: Ron Galella, Ltd./WireImage

The first time Britney Jean Spears ever left America was to go to Stockholm in 1998. It was spring, and in less than a year, the fruits of ten days of labor there would be out in the universe. With it, the hardest-working, most successful teenage superstar of the 1990s would have a debut album. Prior to that, she was just a 15-year-old Mouseketeer — a former classmate of future ex-boyfriend Justin Timberlake, future ex-rival Christina Aguilera, and Ryan Gosling. On her first international voyage away from her small hometown Kentwood, Louisiana, she met a bunch of bearded Swedish producer-songwriter dudes (no disrespect to the now-monolithic Max Martin, and the sadly departed Denniz Pop), and together they made pop history and miscellany.

Perhaps that context is why …Baby One More Time (named, of course, after the Goliath breakthrough single) is the listen it is 20 years later. It wasn’t the reactive album conception we’re accustomed to now. It came before album rollouts were meticulously mood-boarded in the wake of one viral online hit, and plotted with the use of some neurotic, algorithm-assisted A&R development program. Spears’s debut was a bunch of songs she’d recorded before her opening statement changed the course of popular music.

That single — and title track — moved the earth with its first bars. Those first few seconds still sound like an intergalactic alarm clock rousing us from a faraway planet inhabited by horny robots. “DUR! DUR! DUR!” they warned. The Millennium Bug was coming to wipe us out and MTV was the most likely host for the final dance party. The single remains one of the signature pop songs of its ilk, borrowing from the school of Backstreet Boys and ’N Sync but with a new melodramatic, turgid molasses of beats and piano stabs that sounded as heavy as the distress their lovesick narrator suffered.

There is no second “… Baby One More Time” on the record. Her third single “(You Drive Me) Crazy (The Stop Remix)” was the closest contender, but still planets away from that entrance point. To listen to Spears’s debut front-to-back is to travel back to a distant past where the wool was willingly pulled over audience’s eyes and fans were satisfied with being hit over the head by a song without needing to know the who, where, and what from whence it came. This was before we gained a bird’s-eye real-time view of the warts-and-all process of cherry-picking backwoods talent on X Factor. It was before that accessibility worked the other way, and the likes of Lorde could launch a career online from the end of the Earth. Nobody in a pre-social-media era demanded logical intent from their overnight superstars. The aim was to use the vessel that was Spears and build a catalogue of danceable teen bops for her to perform in the malls where she made her first touring appearances. The LP’s clean fun also established a foundation from which she’s since built a career far longer than this album ever anticipated. The foundation is listenable and enjoyable, yet questionable, flawed, bizarre, and epically over the top.

Spears had a voice that was bigger than her life story so far. It was not the voice of an innocent small-town girl. “…Baby One More Time” could be sung by a 15-year-old or a 40-year-old. Spears’s voice was perhaps a problem. The Britney-isms were fine, great even: bay-buh versus bay-bee, and an inflection so nasal that one of her backing vocalists once told the press she pinched her nose while recording her takes for the album to match Spears’s. Those affectations lend her a sort of pop-star weirdness, but it’s the rich depth of her voice that creates an issue: It’s too serious for frivolities, like a ball gown she can’t fit into yet but has to wear anyway. In attempt to match it, her collaborators tried both adult contemporary and tween jingles on her in the hopes something would stick.

Take the reggae-inspired “Soda Pop,” a song riffing on the addictive nature of soda (“open the soda pop, bop-shee-bop-shee-bop”). You may ask again: What planet did this come from? The charming bamboozlement of “Soda Pop” notwithstanding, silliness is not Spears’s legacy. Pain, solitude, gut-wrenching rejection — this is where she lives. Not to shade her performance on “Soda Pop.” There is not another singer in the world who could run lines around the lyric “the pop keep flowin’ like it’s fire and ice,” and ready it for a highly anticipated debut album release. Artists like Billie Eilish are decidedly not recording a “Soda Pop” at the moment.

More confusing than “Soda Pop,” however, is her presentation. The consistent message of Spears’s story arc has been the innocent-until-proven-otherwise mantra. Her album’s material conflicted with her physical presentation. What she did with her body and what she said via her mouth were worlds apart. For example, contrast the album-cover art with her first Rolling Stone cover. The latter was shot by David LaChapelle, and featured Spears on her bed in lingerie, a Tinky Winky doll brushing her nipple. Oh to be a fly-on-the-wall during the decision-making process about which Teletubby was going to work best. Even after two albums, Spears remained on the fence with her third record, Britney, concluding at the age of 20 that she was “not a girl, not yet a woman.” But the seeds of the oversexed virgin enigma were born on …Baby One More Time with its advanced lyrical appeal to the perils of thwarted romance.

The schmaltzy “I Will Still Love You,” a homogenous duet with Don Philip about undying love so burdensome the tryst sounds like life imprisonment. Then there’s single “Born to Make You Happy,” which is emo-level tortured. “I don’t know how to live without your love,” she sings on the piano-driven hit. She was 16, channeling emotions that are on par with Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (incidentally, nobody was pretending those guys were just holding hands). She plays the doting, subservient girlfriend, always on the other end of the phone, neither a threat to the school jock nor to his mom and dad. And yet she burns with the desire of a thousand Jackie Collins novels.

It made sense that this was Spears’s oeuvre. She would reveal on TV appearances that she was a student of Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston. She was eager to be considered a singer-songwriter. Before the train pulled out from the station, she was looking to position herself as a younger Sheryl Crow. After sexing up the Catholic-school-girl look, she was a lifetime away from Crow, but the songs were rooted in a similar world of romantic balladry; one in which love is as intoxicating as it is near fatal. There are hints at her own inspirations too. Natalie Imbruglia in “I Will Be There” — a guitar-based number, which has a post-chorus wailing guitar line that borrows heavily from “Torn.” Cher is referenced with a great cover of Sonny & Cher’s “The Beat Goes On,” which came before Cher resurrected her career with “Believe” and auto-tune.

The album is also a time capsule for the desperate, but still lucrative, state of MTV in the late ’90s, appeasing the erratic genre-bending of the network’s jukebox before it imploded. It features a ton of, at the time, commonplace production bells and whistles: the sci-fi whirring effects transitioning into verses (“Sometimes”), the copious cowbell (“(You Drive Me) Crazy”), the sprinkles-of-stardust keys (“Deep in My Heart”), the bouncing synths (title track). Stepping into the future was the song, “Email My Heart” — which Rolling Stone called “pure spam.” In an interview from 1999, Spears discusses its inception: “Everyone’s been doing emails, and it’s [called] ‘Email My Heart’, so… everyone can relate to that song!” Turns out Spears would have the last laugh considering the intimacy of our online discourse two decades later.

The critic Jon Caramanica wrote in the New York Times that Spears’s blueprint of pop is but one subsection of the genre now, which makes sense when you listen back. We live in an age where pop is supposedly controlled by us, not them. This album does not sound like supply meeting demand. Nobody would have streamed most of …Baby One More Time if it came out now. It’s a mess. And yet it’s her biggest seller to date. Producing five hit singles, it made her the Antichrist among critics and purveyors of “real” music. In its review of the album, NME wrote: “Hopefully, if she starts to live the wretched life that we all eventually do, her voice will show the scars, she’ll stop looking so fucking smug, she’ll find solace in drugs and we’ll be all the more happier for it.” It was a different time.