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generallypo · 4 years

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in all sincerity, kim dokja makes me happy and he deserves to be so too :^(

incoherent yelling and sobbing under the cut. these fEELINGS will not be contained aaauuunnghhh.

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anyway i binge-read all 500+ chapters of ORV this week and i honest to god feel bad for this -- completely! fictional! aghhhh -- guy. in case you haven’t figured it out, the following is some spoilerly shit

i went in expecting a fun, brainless power trip fantasy for dudes with an isekai addiction. instead, it turns out ORV is actually a gigantic, self-deprecating prank on the entire genre itself. kdj plays more into the sad -- if high-functioning-- clown trope than the sexy, edgy, chuuni bastard type i was prepared to laugh at. there were -- gasp! -- female characters with personalities! parents (aka ADULTS who act like ADULTS) who actually survive and feature prominently! adorable children! a real sexy, edgy bastard! a power trio with amazing fashion! sexual tension and bickering! friendship! life and death bonding!

*breathes in deeply* fouND FAMILYYYYYYY.

like, yeah, the plot around the first few arcs seems a little aimless, but the buildup is worth. the world-building is pretty decent. there’s discernible effort put into the fight scenes, and i can appreciate that. but -- but! what i stayed for were the characters -- namely, the fantastic OT3 of KDJ, HSY, and YJH -- who come together despite their initial rivalries and end up saving each other’s asses, like, every other day. granted, the other characters don’t get as much focus, and they do fall into certain character tropes..

but a trope done well is nothing i would gripe about. every significant character in ORV has a coherent, and more importantly, respectful take on their respective trope. maybe it’s because sing-shong is actually a married couple, but all the interactions between even minor characters are a convincing blend of awkward rambling, suggestive humor, sharp remarks, and casual banter. in other words, this cast of mostly working adults (plus a teen and two kids) talks like working adults. the relationships built throughout the story are, frankly, some of most realistic of its genre. sing-shong has managed to craft a dynamic that undoubtedly brims with fluffy fondness all around, but also drips with sarcastic tension, with unspoken urgency, with a wariness that softens into sincerity over the course of many, many chapters. it’s the kind of progression that makes even stock characters read like more than just the 2-bit villain or comrade or love interest. here, we have relationships both straightforward and not, strained or otherwise, romantically-oriented as well as decidedly the opposite -- and then numerous others scattered along the spectrum with the freedom to shift either way.

it’s also an interesting point of note that our MC kdj actually does not end up with a stated romantic partner, much less a conventional heteroromantic harem. he gets teased about that fact from time to time, but it’s with less of the sleazy shonen locker room humor one would expect and more of the good-natured ribbing you’d find among friends or that one especially nosy auntie at the yearly family reunion. kdj is a grown ass man. in the background, i applaud his maturity, and he handles all the prodding like a champ.

so instead of finding and fulfilling his horny, he builds himself a wealth of loving family. yeah, there are beautiful men and women around him. yeah, they unequivocally adore him. but they’re also adults, and they have priorities, too -- which are not so much finding a way to bang kdj’s brains out and more so simply keeping the damn guy alive. this is truly not ‘oblivious mc with his thirsty, sex kitten harem’. it just so happens that a guy proves himself to be unflinchingly gentle and capable in an apocalyptic setting despite his broken self-esteem, and lots of people find that attractive, romantically and platonically.

it.. kinda makes sense? he’s a hard worker, thoughtful, and good with kids. kdj is the kind of guy you know would make a reliable partner, and anybody with eyes can plainly see and appreciate that.

and it’s not that our MC’s a total brick wall. in fact, it’s likely the opposite, and he’s just too darned repressed to admit it. from what has been implied, kdj does indeed recognize and accept love, or at least a primitive concept of it. i like to imagine that the kind of love that he ends up seeking out simply manifests itself more easily as acceptance and safety, as warmth and a home of people to return to every day. even better, the people who surround him know this, and they give him exactly that. it’s refreshing, and honestly, really sweet.

(as a side note, i really, really do appreciate the cosmic bi energy radiating off of kdj, who canonically earns the title of being loved by all and is all but in name married to yjh and hsy. he also respects women and small children and honestly anyone who isn’t total scum to him or his family. i respect that.)

but the happy stuff aside, you know it it just ain’t ORV without the generous screaming dollop of angst. admittedly, there’s self-sacrifice, injury, lonesome wandering, more sacrifice, some epic fighting, reunion and confrontation. all of it is a lot to digest, sure, but never does it feel entirely hopeless, or truly, truly heart-clenching. ORV, up until the final act, is a mostly light read. you relax in your chair, thinking that nothing beyond this point can disturb you.

yeah fucking right.

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and then the beginning of the end arrives. when the squad finally break through to their ‘ending’, the scene that kind of breaks me is the reveal of the Most Ancient Dream. it ties so much thematically into the little tidbits that we get of kdj’s past, and it though it feels like almost a joke that the source of the goddamn apocalypse is a kid with bruises smeared across his skinny ass body -- it’s such a pathetic picture that it’s kinda poetic, actually. you’re left mystified but somewhat convinced, like a math problem explained halfway through. this.. child.. is a villain somehow, isn’t he?

and then 999th turn uriel speaks up, and she. just. hugs him.

[[You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.]]

that. that gets me. kdj’s reaction immediately upon this revelation? absolute murder. seeing him essentially self-destruct upon realizing that all these people he’s surrounded himself with -- some who continuously proclaim their loyalty and affection for him throughout their journey, some who suffered eons of war and loss and trauma because of his existence -- not only forgive his younger self but smother him with unconditional acceptance and love is stifling, is too vulnerable and exposed and he simply can’t cope -- it’s so telling of his true mentality, of his crippling insecurity and crumpled sense of self-worth. kim dokja is a liar, through and through, so much that he fails, or perhaps refuses, to comprehend the veracity of others’ kindness and love towards himself.

by some miracle, the events at the end of the world somehow resolve.. or so it seems. there is a departing train, a liberated team of ex-gods, and a child rousing from his slumber. in the aftermath, i am left shaking. somehow, despite the ending having been (happily?) reached, there’s still another chapter ahead. what is this witchcraft?

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and then ah, yes -- the epilogue arc. i teetered on the edge of being critical for a little bit there -- is that display of deus ex machina, of sad, self-sacrificing nobility a bit too egregious to be acceptable? is this some wild last let-me-yank-this-outta-my-ass plot twist to drag out the chapter count? i sincerely thought that the arc before it would have been the finale. i was wrong. thank god.

anyways, as an answer to the above: no, and no. i stake my firm claim on the belief that the epilogue arc was meticulously planned out well in advance of its release, confusing and time-warpy as it is. i liked it. tremendously. even if it entirely invalidates all of kdj’s supposed development (”haha lol yeah sure i won’t sacrifice myself or anything anymore guys don’t worry about me” -- KDJ, at some point because he’s a lying rat bastard). actually, our beloved MC disappears for a large chunk of this arc, and i think it’s great. in his absence, the other characters not only go absolutely fucking nuts, but they have to figure out this new problem on their own, even if the lure of peaceful complacency in the newly saved Korea might convince them otherwise.

and then the whole time paradox thing comes around. yjh goes to space, hsy saves the only life she can, and kdj grows up. the crew waits, holding onto their hope even if it bleeds them dry. sing-shong does a damn good job of illustrating their fraying calm, their lurking madness, the unseen but pervasive depression that seeps in from kdj’s absence. the kids lose their father, lhs and jhw lose their reliable leader figure, ysa loses a best friend and confidant, lsk -- as distant as she pretends to be from her son -- loses her only child. and then there’s hsy and yjh , who are essentially bereft of the other half of their existences. their pain is palpable, is grounded in the hopeless, gnawing frustration of an utterly meaningless victory. emotionally, ORV hits all the right -- if agonizing -- beats.

however, a story can’t sustain itself just through its pathos. i’m happy to say that ORV doesn’t drop the ball after the first milestone, and after all the hurt, the characters do leap straight back into action. even better, the plot holes actually do get patches, and the poetic cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader comes full circle by making use of all those supposedly throwaway characters from the myriad world lines.

at the end of the road, there is a distinct sense of unity, of a delicate but undeniable cohesion to the world lines and their origins. sing-shong lets us guess a little here at the finish, but there’s just enough information to feel hopeful. maybe there never had been a definite start -- or finish -- to the story of kdj company, and... that’s okay. everybody ends up where they were meant to be, where they fought and struggled to reach. it’s.. almost like a happily ever after, if we’re allowed to dream of that.

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now, i realize, this was all an orchestrated maneuver.

i’ll take it.

to me, all of this work sounds like someone put some serious thought into this behemoth of a plot. it cements the entire original premise of the story. it suggests -- but never explicitly confirms! -- the possibility that breaking free of the cycle is possible through the exact same system that sustains it. it’s terribly interesting -- and inspirational! with all the dramatic revelations and life-threatening scenarios and the cast’s resigned acceptance of them that essentially make up ORV’s entire mood, there’s still that last hint of rebellious and righteous anger that lights up the whole damn nebula. it’s like the kdj company blasting away at the heavens just to yell into the nether: we’re not looking for the happy end, but the free one. stay alive.

it’s subtle, and yet it’s such an emotional gut punch. i came away with the most ruinous, frustrating, bittersweet sense of longing in ages. i pined. for these fictional darlings. god, i am weak.

so. yeah. ORV is pretty good. flawed, but ambitious and impressively thought out. i’m stoked that the webtoon is making pretty good progress, even if it’ll take an eternity and a half to meet that monstrous chapter count. i’m still gonna follow it. hell yeah.

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(by the way the idea that secretive plotter and co are literally gonna take care of and raise baby kdj and spoil him and be the best friggin family a kid could ever want does things to me. protect him. he’s suffered too much. let at least one worldline’s version of him know happiness. and actually, aLL OF THEM DESERVE DOMESTIC BLISS TOGETHER IN A BIG OL MANSION WITH SUN AND FRESH AIR AND TENDER FAMILY MOMENTS UGH)

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and there you have it, folks. you made it to the end. in the far, far distance, i’m cheering you on and crying my eyes out in gratitude. thanks for tuning in!

#omniscient reader #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #kim dokja #fanart #kdj happiness rights!#protect him!#let! him! have his big house! with everyone! he loves!#please!#long ass emotional screeching #look i can't do him justice with drawing but hell can i yell out my love for him :'^DD

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bnhaven · 4 years

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A Potential ‘Hidden Quirk’ Idea

To begin: I am so sorry. Truly. I swore I’d be a writer of fluff, and yet here we are...again...whoops.

Anyways, let’s get on with it!

So, if there’s one thing we love about our innocent cinnamon roll of a boy, aka Izuku “Deku” Midoriya, it’s that he’s willing to go beyond (plus ultra style) in order to save the day, even going so far as to break his bones to the point of disfiguration. Adrenaline helps him fight through the pain, and even then I’ve heard a lot of people talk about his insanely high pain tolerance.

Like, ridiculously high. I mean, the Overhaul fight??? Where Izuku just destroys himself so that Eri doesn’t Rewind him out of existence? Wild. It’s like, unimaginable. Even with the decade of bullying to get used to pain, it’s almost unreal for the green bean to be able to push through so much naturally.

Which is where I say: what if it wasn’t natural?

Look, some Quirks are probably hidden ones. Ones that you can’t immediately see, ones that aren’t emitter types. Quirks that just affect the wielder, not anyone else. Like Nedzu’s High Spec, for example. But what’s another Quirk that no one would be able to see?

One that negates pain.

Now, I don’t think that Izuku would have always had this Quirk. I think it’s one that needed the right conditions to form. Like, let’s say...a really hard punch, something with an almost explosive force.

Lucky for Izuku, he has a classmate with a very painful Quirk, and a penchant for using it on those he deems weaker or lesser. Thus, when the bullying started, Izuku’s Quirk finally kicked in after one hit went too far.

The Issue: Nobody realizes that Izuku got his Quirk. Not even Izuku realizes it. Why? Well, Izuku thinks it’s just a high pain tolerance. He still feels Bakugou striking him, he just...doesn’t feel much else. He knows that he feels pressure, so he must have just gotten used to Bakugou’s hits. (And with all of the burn scars that Izuku is gaining, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s lost some nerve endings due to the damage.)

And Izuku would definitely have burn scars in this AU (I’m not really sure if canon gives him said scars, I’ve done more reading for this fandom than watching, oops.) But no matter what happens in canon, this Izuku would have burn scars for one reason: Since Izuku doesn’t feel pain, he doesn’t cry out. Since he doesn’t cry out, Bakugou thinks his explosions aren’t strong enough to hurt...so the boy uses stronger blasts in an attempt to prove his ‘point’. (There is definitely an inferiority complex going on here, where Bakugou subconsciously worries that his Quirk is weak if ‘Quirkless Deku can stand there and take one of my hits without a single flinch’.) He pushes himself harder, lets more force into every controlled blast, etc.

So Izuku has no clue that he has a Quirk, Bakugou uses crazy amounts of explosions on the boy, neither realizing just how much damage is happening because Izuku can’t feel any pain.

Canon continues. The Sludge Villain stuff goes as usual, and All Might chooses Izuku as his successor just like always. The training montage from hell might actually be more self-destructive, not only because Izuku feels the need to catch up but also because he doesn’t feel so exhausted/sore. (Along with pain, the boy also doesn’t really feel when his muscles and body are sore, so he doesn’t realize he needs to take a breather.) But that isn’t the focus, so let’s move on!

The Entrance Exam occurs, and wow that really should have clued someone in. Because Izuku breaks his limbs for Uraraka and when he hits the ground, instead of dragging himself away he tries to stand up. He actually manages to find a 3-pointer, and breaks two more of his fingers by flicking in its direction, destroying it with a gust of air before he collapses to the ground.

But wow, everyone is just like ‘this boy is wild’ before completely forgetting about how they heard his bones crunching with every step.

Continue on.

Quirk Apprehension Test? Izuku doesn’t really get why Aizawa is complaining about how he shatters himself. Like, he doesn’t need to stop just because his arm is apparently broken. It’s fine, he can still use it. Still, he settles on breaking a single finger because he can’t risk expulsion, and he definitely doesn’t have the courage to talk back to a teacher.

Hero v. Villain Fight? Izuku doesn’t even collapse after the final blast, instead walking off without batting an eyelash. Iida ends up corralling him to Recovery Girl’s room, because first Izuku protested having to leave without getting to watch the other teams, then he got distracted by the school and nearly got lost.

USJ? Izuku goes a little more feral, fun times.

Sports Festival? Oh honey you know things are going to get wild here. Broken bones left and right, yeehaw it’s shatter city baby!

Izuku ends up with even less self-preservation with every passing problem, basically. Since the boy can’t feel pain, he assumes that any injury that he does get isn’t that bad. After all, wouldn’t he be crying and, you know, hurting if it was bad? Izuku knows what pain feels like, and this isn’t it!!

It’s only the realization that breaking bones so often could end his career early that causes Izuku to try new approaches to the whole Quirk-using situation. Even then, the boy has no sense of when to stop, and as such pushes himself to the point of passing out from either exhaustion or blood loss multiple times.

-One such time was after getting impaled. The boy didn’t realize he had a broken pole halfway through his back until Kaminari screamed and passed out from seeing Izuku bleeding, a giant rod jabbing out of him. Izuku tried to shrug it off.

Sometime around the impalation incident, people begin to notice that Izuku has a freaky high pain tolerance.

But nobody really connects the dots until Bakugou goes too far in training.

The bad news: his opponent loses a limb.

The good news: It is Shouji, and it’s one of the regrowable ones.

The bad news: the following dialogue occurs after school…

Bakugou: What the fuck? But that’s barely anything!

Aizawa: Bakugou. That explosion had enough force to sever your classmate’s hand off of his limb due to how you directed it. You should know to limit yourself by now.

Bakugou: But I was! That one is so weak that even Deku can walk away without flinching!

Aizawa: There is no way that Midoriya would be able to move on without needing medical attention after a hit that bad.

Bakugou: He has.

Aizawa: ...I beg your pardon?

Bakugou: Deku fucking has! How do you think I learned my limits, huh? Deku has taken a hit like that directly to the chest and didn’t even flinch! I know how weak I am!

Needless to say, Aizawa proceeds to lose his absolute shit. He makes Izuku stay after class the next day, and questions him about whether or not Bakugou has ever used his Quirk on him.

Izuku, a boy who is unafraid of breaking three limbs to save a girl from a giant robot, but who is terrified of teachers most of the time, cracks without too much pressure. He admits that Bakugou has used his Quirk on Izuku for years, but ‘It wasn’t bad, sensei! They were like love taps, I never even felt a thing!’

And Aizawa knows something is wrong with this, something isn’t adding up because if Shouji lost a limb to Bakugou’s hit, Izuku has to be lying...or there’s another factor in this equation.

Aizawa dismisses Izuku, and spends the night trying to figure it out.

And then he does.

The next day, he makes Bakugou and Izuku stay in the classroom during lunch. He questions them on their past. Bakugou complains about how ‘weak’ he’s always been, Izuku brushes past the concern without much thought because it never hurt, and sure there were markings but-

Aizawa: Markings?

The scars are revealed. Well, the ones on his upper body.

This is when Bakugou begins to realize that he’s fucked up.

During training, Aizawa pulls Bakugou and Izuku off to work with him separately. He

brings out machines that test how much force a blow gives off, and has Bakugou throw his ‘weak’ explosions at them.

As it turns out, Izuku should have been in crippling pain from everything Bakugou did. And then Aizawa drops the ‘I think you have a pain-related Quirk’ on Izuku, and yeah.

I didn’t really plan an end, sorry. I just think it’d be interesting, you know?

On the bright side, at least Izuku isn’t constantly in pain!!! He just got his body a whole lot more damaged than he would have, and has maybe half of the self-preservation that his canon counterpart possesses.

Finally, for an extra bit: Izuku only feels pain when Aizawa erases his Quirk. It’s not pleasant. (And, to make him even more oblivious, Izuku believes that the pain is because his Quirk is being ‘severed’ in its connection, not that this is lingering pain that comes from having bones shattered over and over without hesitation.)

#bnha au #izuku has a quirk #izuku can't feel pain #bnhaven #I went feral once more #my apologies #katsuki out here learning that his standards for strength and weakness have been skewed for a decade

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years

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What I Thought About "What If...Captain Carter was the First Avenger" from Marvel Studios' What If...

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

Back when Marvel Studios announced the new lineup of films and shows, I was admittingly underwhelmed. Nothing we've seen so far has been poorly written, far from it, but during the announcement, nothing really popped out at me as worth getting excited for. That is, except for one series: Marvel Studios' What If... An animated series that changes the canon of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, all through the simple question. The question being, "What if this happened instead of that."

From the get-go, I was sold on this idea. I'm a sucker for hypothetical scenarios, thinking up all the ways of how some of my favorite stories in fiction could be drastically different thanks to one tiny change. Some might call that "Fanfiction the Series," and while you're not wrong, I fail to see how that's a criticism. Because fanfiction can be fun...just as long as you ignore the sick freaks, sure, but it still can be fun! So whether Marvel Studio's What If... is fanfiction or not, it still didn't change how excited I was to watch it. Was it all worth the hype? Well, to answer that question requires spoilers, so keep that in mind as we dive deep into Marvel's most ambitious project yet.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

The Watcher: Gonna get the generals out of the way before I talk about what I specifically like about this episode. Ok? Ok.

Now, using the Watcher as the narrator for this series is just perfect. What If... already has a similar energy to The Twilight Zone: An anthology series that takes viewers to new and mysterious realities all through the guidance of an omniscient narrator. And using the Watcher as that type of narrator might just be the second-best choice...number one would be Stan Lee, obviously, but...he's dead now. May he rest in peace.

I haven't read that many comics, so there's not much that I know about the Watcher's character aside from a ten-second Google search. But something tells me that a character described as a celestial being that observes and records the events surrounding the galaxy sounds like the exact type of omniscience to guide us through the unknown. All added with Jeffrey Wright's performance, who really does convey a character that sounds like he's as old as time and wise beyond his years. Plus, it's pretty cool that such a seemingly odd character now technically plays a major role in the MCU canon. Comics are weird, and if the Watcher proves anything, it's better to embrace that weirdness than deny it.

The Animation: Looks like someone watched Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse.

That really is the feeling I got when watching this. What If... doesn't look as good as Spiderverse (Nothing can be as good as Spiderverse), but the idea is still there as it combines primarily CGI animation with a few hand-drawn elements. It makes certain scenes just pop and, at times, even makes specific shots look like they're straight from panels in a comic book. Besides, while Spiderverse still looks better, that doesn't mean the animation isn't phenomenal in What If... The scenery looks gorgeous, the CGI models moderately match their live-action counterparts, the expressions are fantastic, and movements are as smooth as butter. There was definitely some money that went into this series to make it look as good as it did, and my eyeballs were more than grateful because of it. Especially when it comes to--

The Action: Holy s**t, was it a good thing that this series was animated!

The MCU has had its fair share of great fight scenes in the past, but it always felt restricted to what the big superhero fights could be due to everything needing to look "realistic." That all changes in What If... Because now that this series is animated, we can finally chuck realism out the window and allow these characters to be as epic as they were in the comics. The movements are swift, the blows look like they hurt, and best of all, you actually get to see characters fighting each other! There are no random cuts to hide the stunt doubles or weird camera angles to avoid audiences seeing how ugly the CGIed replacements are. We get to see all of the action with zero restraint, thanks to the fact that animation is limitless and allows writers to get away with literally anything. And shows like this make me wonder, "Why the hell isn't the MCU animated?"

Peggy as Captain Carter: It's here that we get into the specifics, and by golly, do I love me some Peggy Carter making a return. And what a return she made!

Seeing Peggy kick Nazi ass as Captain Carter is as awesome as it sounds as she gives a new definition of a "Strong, independent woman." She took s**t from no one and was more than willing to destroy anybody who said differently. It's a ton of fun for fans (the ones who aren't sexist, at least) and even fun for Peggy as well now that she gets a chance to wreck shop. However, that in itself could cause problems. If you watched Agent Carter (a great show, by the way), then you'll know that Peggy doesn't act as...somewhat meatheaded as she does here. As she said it herself, she's "usually more covert than this." And she is, as she was pretty much the first superspy in the MCU, who's impressive through how she effortlessly infiltrates her way to winning the day with diminutive requirements for fighting. So stripping that away gets rid of a core part of what makes her character so interesting. Although, in fairness, you could blame the fact that the reason she's acting like this is that the super-soldier serum is messing with her brain a bit. We've seen through U.S. Agent the reciprocations of the wrong person taking the serum, and while Peggy is far from the worst pick, there are hints of why Steve Rodgers was the best choice. Still, even though it's not the same Peggy Carter, that doesn't mean Captain Carter is a poor addition to the hero roster in the MCU. She's cool in all the right ways, even though they're drastically different from what made her compelling, to begin with.

Howard Stark: Another character I'm more than happy to see again!

Howard didn't leave that much of a grand of an impression in Captain America: The First Avenger, but in Agent Carter (Seriously, great show), he was a blast. You can just tell he was Tony Stark's father through all the ways he fast-talks in and out of problems and brilliantly comes up with solutions thanks to being tech-savvy. The main difference between Howard and Tony, however, is that Howard prefers to stay on the sidelines, where Tony learned to be more proactive. You get a sense of that in this episode. Because even though he goes to save the day, you can tell that he would rather be anywhere else. And, as a bonus, Howard's just funny. Probably not up there as one of the funniest characters in the franchise (Paul Rudd's Ant-Man reigns supreme), but he still cracks me up more times than not. Howard may be nothing more than a side character, but he'll always win me over no matter how small of a role he has.

Steve Rodgers in the Hydra Stomper: Don't mind me. Just admiring the fact that despite being crippled and skinny, Steve Rodgers still finds a way to fight the good fight, which is who Steve is to me. One of the best things about The First Avenger is that it fully understands the hero that is Captain America. Serum or not, he will do all he can to do the right thing and won't give up despite how many times others tell him he should. So if Steve's going to fly around in a suped-up Iron Man suit that's appropriately named "The Hydra Stomper," then Steve'll f**king soar. Because he is a gosh dang superhero, no matter what name he takes at the end of the day.

Fast-Forwarding Through Events: Some fans might take issues with this. Don't get me wrong, I would love to see all the little changes that Captain Carter makes to the story, but realistically that's not the best choice to make. Let's be honest, there's not that much to show other than what this episode did, and doing a full-on rewrite of Captain America: The First Avenger would have rubbed some fans the wrong way. Besides, from what I can tell, most of the What If... comics are one-shots that very rarely branch out into longer arcs. The primary goal is less to write this large-scale story and more of this self-contained narrative that does what it precisely delivers: Show fans a glimpse of what would happen if this happened instead of that. That's what we were given, and I can't really complain that much. I would have loved to have seen more, but I can learn to be happy with what I got.

Colonel Flynn Taking Credit: This guy is sexist and an idiot, and that's why I hate him...but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't at least chuckle when he said everything was his idea. It's such a scumbag move that I couldn't help but find the humor in it.

(Like, what even was that scene where Peggy was pissed at Steve kissing a girl. THEY WEREN'T EVEN DATING !)nd Steve falling in love inThe First Avenger, which certainly wasn't helped by how they had these dumbass misunderstandings of each thinking the other was dating someone else. Here, they at least get to interact, confiding in one another about their insecurities and offer support when needed. And while it may be a little rushed, I'm more willing to believe their romance in under thirty minutes than I did in over two hours. It could have been better, but it also could have been much, much worse.

(Like, what even was that scene where Peggy was pissed at Steve kissing a girl. THEY WEREN'T EVEN DATING AT THE TIME!)

“I won’t tell you anything.”/”He told me everything.”: That's the Peggy Carter I know and love! Added with a solid joke, too.

Steve’s Pratfall: It's nice to know that no matter what universe we see, Marvel is still funny.

Peggy’s Sacrifice: Much like Peggy and Steve's romance, I buy Peggy's sacrifice way more than Steve's. Several fans already pointed out how it makes no sense for Steve to crash the plane into the icy waters when it seemed like he had enough control to land it or could have easily jumped out after aiming for the crash landing. Here, there's a more legitimate reason why Peggy sacrifices herself. The monster was undefeatable, and the only way to stop it was to push it back through the portal. Peggy, being the only one strong enough to do so at the moment, was the only option, and there was no way where she didn't end up going through with the monster. Even her return makes more sense, as I think her being lost to time and space sounds more believable than Steve surviving being frozen in ice. Something no mortal man should live through. Peggy's sacrifice proves that while the MCU can't change its cannon past, the writers learn from their mistakes and make something better.

WHAT I DISLIKED

The Reasoning Behind Peggy Becoming Captain Carter: So, the idea that one small change can greatly alter the story we knew is a great one, and it's one of the main reasons why I was excited about this series...but how does Peggy staying in the room cause the Hydra agent to detonate the bomb early? I understand the ripples that come from the Butterfly Effect, but I feel like that's too big of a leap to reason how Peggy ends up taking the serum instead.

Colonel Flynn: How is it possible that this guy is somehow even more of a pain in the ass than the general he replaced? At least Chester Phillips had the decency to respect Agent Carter!

Red Skull is Still on the Dull Side: Red Skull isn't an awful villain, but he wasn't really a great one. It's the same here, as he's just as forgettable and wooden an episode of television as he was in a full-length movie. But at least he had a cooler death this time.

Sebastian Stan is Not a Great Voice Actor: He's not awful, but his talent really doesn't shine in this regard. Some people think that being an actor and a voice actor is the same thing, but it's not always the case. Through live-action, actors are given a chance to express emotion through their expressions, movement, and voice. With voice acting, actors still have to convey emotions, but strictly through their voice. Meaning that actors like Sebastian Stan are limited to what they're used to and can stumble a bit when trying to perform in a field of acting they're unfamiliar with. You can tell he was trying his best, but this type of thing can take far more practice for others to perfect.

“Whew. Thanks. You almost ripped my arm off.”: ...hhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHA! HA HA! Ah...oh man...I, uh...I felt the internal bleeding with that one. Wow. Just...wow.

Bucky Leaving After Steve “Died”: Ok, now that's the biggest bout of bulls**t I've ever heard. BUCKY WOULD BE WITH STEVE 'TILL THE END OF THE LINE AND WOULD NOT HAVE LEFT THAT QUICKLY!

...This episode did Bucky dirty, didn't it?

IN CONCLUSION

I'd say that "What If...Captain Carter was the First Avenger" is an A-. It's still a solid start of what I can already tell will be a great series, but some elements could have used some polishing out. I loved it, but it wasn't as bloody brilliant as it could have been.

(And I meant it: WATCH AGENT CARTER! It's pleasantly surprising!)

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu reviews #marvel studios what if #peggy carter #captain carter #steve rodgers #hydra stomper #howard stark #bucky barnes #what i thought about #what if reviews

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robert-emmett · 4 years

Text

So Others May Live, A Coronavirus Story: Part One

In light of the recent Coronavirus epidemic, our online blog asked for submissions from writers for fictional stories inspired by this global crisis.

This submission we received in an unusual way. It arrived at our editor’s doorstep without a return address, with a hazard symbol on the front. Our editor still does not know how the writer acquired his address.

The writer said that they would be sending multiple parts of the story over the next few days, and that if we wanted to take part in a process by which writing itself could save the world, we would be remiss not to publish his writing.

Receiving almost no other submissions, we obliged.

We present to you Part One, with subsequent parts, hopefully, to follow.

Part One

“Look at them out there…”

Pedestrians walk down the street in front of a packed sidewalk cafe. It’s a beautiful day out. Just below the window, Brendan can spot a group of joggers heading north, and then rounding the block towards the Schuylkill. He widens the slits in the blinds and shakes his head.

“They play their little games and they wander out in the sun as if everything is fine, even as the storm approaches. Fools. Fools Terry. Did Nero not fiddle while Rome burned? We are the architects of our own doom, and we do it not out of ignorance, but out of apathy. Out of false confidence. They dance on a stage that’s already on fire, they make plans on a calendar that’s crumbling between their fingers, they go to parties that are-”

Brendan turns to the couch. It’s empty except for a Playstation controller.

His roommate, Terry, exits the bathroom, returns to the couch, picks up the controller.

“What was that?” Terry asks, unpausing the game.

“I just…I had a whole speech. I thought you were on the couch listening,” Brendan says.

“Sorry I was in the bathroom,” Terry says, focusing on the TV.

“Oh.”

“What did you say?”

“Well…it was a whole thing…”

“Tell me.”

“…It was a little stream of consciousness…I don’t know if I I could recreate it…I was talking about how they play their little games, how they’re just…wandering around, out there, and — “

“Who is ‘they’?”

“What?”

“Who is the ‘they’ in the phrase ‘they play their little games’?”

“The people outside. ”

“Outside on the street? I’m confused. Could you start from the beginning?”

Brendan’s face turns red as he grabs the controller out of Terry’s hand.

“PEOPLE ARE NOT TAKING THE CORONAVIRUS PANDEMIC SERIOUSLY TERRY!”

Brendan throws the controller at the wall. It shatters a framed diploma on the wall that slides off its anchor and bounces off the back of the TV and onto the floor.

“Jesus Christ!” Terry says.

“Are you paying attention now Terry?!”

“I was always paying attention, you just weren’t making any sense!”

“This is serious! Serious like a plague, TERRY!”

“I get it. You are concerned about the coronavirus, as are we all.”

“No Terry. Not all. You and I are concerned, Terry. But the people outside-”

Brendan goes back to the window, opens the slits.

“-they act as if nothing is wrong! As if the quarantine is a polite guideline. ‘Oh, please, kindly stay in your homes, if you possibly could, so you don’t END HUMANITY!’. But while you and I are trapped here, people are outside spreading the virus, infecting everything they touch. In a week they’ll all be sick. In two weeks it’ll be panic in the streets!”

“Well, it is bad. More people should be staying in to flatten the curve, so that we can make sure that the mortality rate is low.”

“Good for you, frequent reader of The Atlantic. But while we know that, everyone else doesn’t give a fuck! And by the time they do, it will be too late.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to join me in a venture.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not doing a ‘venture’ with you again. Last time I did a ‘venture’ with you my insurance premiums skyrocketed.”

“Terry…”

Brendan gets down on his knee, to Terry’s discomfort.

“I don’t always make requests of you — “

“ — incorrect — “

“- but I need this from you. It is up to us to make a difference.”

“Brendan. Let’s just stay in the apartment and wait it out.”

“That’s not enough. We have to do something dramatic. Something that will make people look up and realize how serious this is.”

“Like what?”

“People in this country are vain and vapid Terry. They only care if illness strikes the famous.”

“Tom Hanks and Idris Elba got coronavirus.”

“But they’re going to recover. Someone needs to die, Terry.”

Slowly, Terry’s eyes narrow.

“Brendan…”

“…and it can’t be anyone. It has to be someone famous. And not just famous. Beloved. Someone whose death would cripple us emotionally, and force people out of the streets and into their homes out of fear. Something that wakes them up!”

“You’re getting that crazy look in your eyes Brendan.”

“We need to kill someone famous with the Coronavirus.”

“Alright.”

Terry stands up from the couch and begins walking towards his room.

“Terry!”

“If you want to use the TV, you can just ask for it.”

“I’m serious! We have to do this Terry. We must.”

Before Terry can respond, Brendan holds up his phone.

“It is already in place. Like a mouse at the start of the Rube Goldberg machine, it just needs to be let out of it’s cage…”

“Just out of curiosity, who are you talking about?”

“…let’s just say that if you were to meet her in person, you’d want to thank her for being a friend…”

After opening his mouth to speak, Terry stops himself. He takes a step towards his roommate.

“Brendan, whatever you’re planning…” Terry starts to say.

With his thumb, Brendan unlocks his phone.

—

“-I mean technically it wasn’t six feet, but I’m not gonna not dance!”

“It’s Saint Patrick’s Day!”

The phone on the marble desk rings. Of the two, the security guard nearest picks it up.

“The Summit, Beverly Hills,” the guard responds.

A car drives up to the security glass. Someone in a Mercedes looking for a specific resident. He’s let through by the other guard.

“No, you’ve got the wrong block entirely, the correct address is 7820 Vine Drive. No problem. Have a nice day.”

“Who was that?”

“Shipment for Betty White. They were looking for her address.”

“I love her.”

“Oh my god. So friendly. Always has something nice to say when she sees me.”

“She is a national treasure. I’d go so far as to say that if anything were to happen to her, it would devastate me!”

“I’d be destroyed! The whole country would!”

Both guards laugh.

—

“-you have a nice day as well.”

Brendan ends the call. He stares at his roommate. A long silence passes between them

“…what did you just do?” Terry asks, still standing in the doorway of his room.

“I just found out the address of Betty White. And I’m going to use it to find her, infect her with the Coronavirus, and have her become the martyr we need.”

“Brendan I’m worried that you’re even suggesting this. How did you know where she lived?”

“Research. Lots of research. It helps to know the Irish, Terry.”

“…is that a saying? I don’t know why, but it sounds racist.”

“Come with me to California. I can’t trust that the final steps will be carried out by anyone

except myself and someone I trust. And that someone is you.”

Terry stares at his roommate, who is still taking a knee in the middle of their apartment. It may just be the light, but Brendan looks particularly tired, worn. His skin is sallow, and there’s a film of sweat covering his body. If Terry didn’t know better, he’d believe that Brendan had the virus.

“…ok,” Terry says.

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not! Because it’s a great plan and I expected you to say yes!”

Brendan jumps to his feet and rushes over to Terry, taking him by the shoulders.

“You won’t regret this! I promise.”

Terry nods, smiling.

He goes into his bedroom and closes the door, noticing that Brendan has just started sweeping up the glass from the picture, and is readjusting his Princeton diploma inside the frame.

—

“So you’re going to stop him?”

“Of course I am.”

Terry extends his arm out a little as he lays back in his bed. He lifts up his phone so Jess can get a better angle of him on FaceTime. A part of him misses her. Another part of him is glad that they’re separated, temporarily. They had been fighting a lot before the quarantine.

“But he wants to go to California, Terry.”

“We’re not gonna get that far.”

“Well…you know maybe you shouldn’t humor him at all.”

“It’s not humoring. Brendan is like a sleepwalker. You can’t just wake him up, you have to let him wake up on his own. It’s for his own sanity. He spirals like this sometimes. It might be helpful if he gets it out of his system.”

“But getting her number?”

“Yeah that’s weird. He is resourceful. And not unintelligent.”

“It’s probably the job thing too.”

“Yeah him being out of work is bad for him. He has too much energy he needs to expend. Plus, he said he would pay for everything.”

“Alright. Well if you think it’s safe…”

She starts to get off the couch.

“Where are you going?” Terry asks.

“I have to give my mom food. I slide it under the door while I wear gloves.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s what you get with chemo. She’s not worried. I am.”

“Tell her I hope she feels better.”

“I will.”

There is a long moment between them as they stare at each other, silently.

“…I miss you Jess.”

“It’s not going to be much longer baby. Call me when you head out. Please stay safe.”

“Wait I wanna talk more. How’s the job?”

“I got a promotion.”

“While working remotely?!”

She nods.

“Damn.”

“Uh huh.”

Jess’ smile fades for a second.

“Just…in case he’s being serious…”

“He’s not. And I will be careful.”

Her smile returns, and she kisses the screen.

“Oh fuck!” she says.

“What?” Terry asks.

“I kissed the screen.”

“Ok…”

“Screens can carry the virus for days!”

“Well have you been washing your hands?”

A voice from another room on Jess’ side of the call speaks out.

“Did someone say they kissed a cellphone screen?”

“No mom!” Jess says in the direction of the closed door at the far end of her apartment.

“Fuck!” she says back to Terry.

“You’ll be fine, I love-”

She hangs up.

—

“This will be so exciting!” Brendan says.

He and Terry walk down the concourse at Philadelphia International Airport. Through the glass above them they see lines of people crowded together at the Arrivals terminal, going through hours of temperature checks before being allowed into baggage claim. In departures, almost no one is in line at the ticket counter. But anyone who is even within the vicinity of the pair watches them pass with astonishment.

“…sure it will,” Terry says, smiling at the people who are staring.

“In-flight movies, those little stroopwafel snacks. This is going to be amazing trip!” Brendan says, spotting a United counter.

“They don’t serve stroopwafels on United flights.”

“Yes they do.”

“You’re thinking Lufthansa,” Terry says.

“I promise you, it’s United. Trust me on this.”

A husband and wife almost stop in their tracks on their way to the security lines to stare at Brendan.

“Lufthansa has those little mixed pretzel — “

“-Brendan is there a reason you had to dress like that?”

“Like what? Like someone who values safety?”

The sound of Brendan’s rubber boots clopping down the concourse echoes off the high ceilings. Most of his face is hidden behind a military-style respirator. He’s wearing a white lab coat with a hazard symbol emblazoned on the chest and elbow-length rubber gloves.

“You look like you’re about to reanimate the corpse of a loved one with devastating consequences,” Terry says as they come up to the desk agent.

“Two tickets for the next flight to Los Angeles please!” Brendan says.

“Sorry, no more flights to the West Coast,” the agent says.

“What? Really?”

She points up towards the departures board.

In quick succession, the flights to San Diego, Seattle, San Francisco and Los Angeles are marked “Cancelled”.

“For quarantine reasons we’re making sure there’s as little travel west as possible,” the desk agent says.

“Oh no. We can’t do the horrible thing you were planning…” Terry says, flatly, under his breath.

“Yes we can, and it’s not horrible!” Brendan says.

The desk agent looks Brendan up and down.

“You look like a broke Bane,” she says.

—

Brendan drops his credit card on the Amtrak counter and slides it towards the agent.

“Two train tickets to Los Angeles please!” Brendan says.

The desk agent points to the Amtrak departure board. All west bound trains are cancelled.

“Oh no, another mode of transportation we can’t use to do the horrible thing you’re planning,” Terry says.

“Shut up!” Brendan says.

“You look like a default character from Fallout 4,” the desk agent says.

—

Brendan drops his credit card on the counter and slides it towards the agent.

“Two Greyhound bus tickets to Los Angeles please!” Brendan says, with great reluctance.

The desk agent points up to the departure board, which is cracked, and hanging askew from a single bolt in the ceiling. All westbound buses are canceled, except for one headed to Sacramento.

“Sacramento is close enough!” Brendan says with excitement, before turning to Terry.

“You see Terry? Things are finally looking up for us!”

Terry stares across the bus terminal to the far corner of the building with a look of horror.

“…Brendan…I can’t be sure but I think there are two toddlers over there fighting each other with brass knuckles… and people are placing bets on who they think the winner will be…”

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry, the Sacramento bound bus has been canceled,” the desk agent says.

“What? Why!?”

The desk agent points out the window. A bus rolls into the arrivals bay with the Philadelphia to Sacramento route on its front banner.

The bus is on fire.

Rather than stopping, it plows through a row of newspaper kiosks and crashes into the side of the building next door. Calmly, as if they have done it a thousand times, the passengers disembark. After the bus driver helps the last person off the bus, takes his belongings from his seat, and steps onto the sidewalk, the bus explodes, sending flaming pieces of metal across the parking lot.

Brendan and Terry are frozen in place watching the flames rise, while the desk agent looks Brendan up and down.

“You look like -”

“-like what?” Brendan says, turning quickly towards the desk agent, “a knockoff mad scientist? A shitty Resident Evil villain? Dumb Walter White?!”

The desk agent shakes his head.

“I was going to say you look like him,” the desk agent says, pointing to a nearby bench.

A man in his fifties is sitting there, in a tattered lab coat, with about the same look as Brendan. His eyes are wild, and as he looks at Brendan and Terry, they feel fear like they never have before.

“I was a doctor with a wife and kids before I took Greyhound! Nice outfit kid! Looks like someone values safety!!!” the man screams, before letting out a cackling laugh that fills the station.

A cheer goes up from the corner of the building, as one of the two toddlers presumably wins.

—

“One compact rental car, please!” Brendan says, sliding his card across the counter to the Hertz representative.

“Hey Brendan,” Terry says, bringing him away from the counter, “are you sure you can afford this?”

“Sure!” Brendan says.

“Brendan. It’s been a while since you lost the job. Renting a car for two weeks is a lot of money.”

“It will be fine! It’s all worth it for the greater good!”

“I’m sorry sir, we don’t have any compact cars available. Our only car left is from our Prestige Collection. It’s a Jaguar XF,” the rep says.

“Sounds good!” Brendan says, hesitation in his voice.

A receipt prints, the rental representative slides it across the counter towards Brendan.

“Your total comes to $2138,” the rep says.

Brendan nods, but does not move towards the counter.

“…Whenever you’re ready sir,” the rep says.

“You got it,” Brendan says.

Still, he does not move.

“Brendan!” Terry says.

He goes over and signs the receipt.

—

While the representative takes them to the car, walks Brendan around it to check for marks, explains to him that the car requires premium gas, which almost makes Brendan lose his footing, Terry is standing with his back towards them.

He types out a text message on his phone to Jess:

Looks like it’s not gonna be four days. More like two weeks driving cross country, LOL! Will try and call again soon baby…

Terry looks at this message.

“It has Apple carplay Terry! We can finally listen to all those Joe Rogan podcasts I’ve been telling you about!” Brendan says.

“Great…”

His thumb hovers over the send button. Instead, he deletes the message, types out another:

Love you baby, will call soon

“Alright,” Terry says, taking in a deep breath, “let’s go.”

—

They get into the car and pull out of the lot, Brendan insisting that he drive. About a block away from the lot, Brendan almost plows into the back of a truck because he can’t properly feel the gas pedal with the rubber boots he’s wearing. Terry calmly asks him to pull over, and takes over driving.

“Two weeks together. Man. Can you imagine how close we’re going to become as friends? Just the level of comfort that we’ll have with each other? I mean we’ve been friends for YEARS, but I don’t think we’ve ever actually taken a trip together. Weird right?” Brendan says.

“So weird,” Terry says.

There is a long silence in the car. On multiple occasions, Brendan begins to speak, then stops himself.

“Why don’t we listen to something?” Brendan says.

He switches to the podcast app and starts playing an episode:

“‘I just think that these liberals are blowing this way out of proportion. Even if I get Coronavirus, which I know all about because I’ve googled it twice, I’m basically inoculated from it because of all the bulletproof coffee I’ve been drinking *sound of a loud, possibly marijuana related cough*’”

“You know what, instead of Joe Rogan maybe we could just sit in silence…” Terry says.

Brendan turns it off.

After a few minutes, he turns to look at Terry.

“Do you ever get worried that people close to you will get it?” Brendan asks.

Terry shrugs.

“Sort of. I’m really only quarantining because it’s the right thing to do. My parents are pretty young and my grandparents are gone, so I don’t worry about that too much.”

Brendan nods, turns to look out the window.

“Yeah…me neither…:” he says.

They make the exit onto 76. Their GPS tells them they have 45 hours left of driving. Terry takes in a deep breath.

End of Part One

#coronavirus #covidー19 #covid #betty white #quarantine

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hiswhiteknight · 5 years

Text

A Blue Christmas

Summary: The Reader and Steve Rogers have been dating for nearly a year. Unfortunately, the Reader has gotten used to celebrating holiday’s and milestones alone. And yet, this would be their first Christmas together as a couple and yet, she knew she wouldn’t have him for Christmas. Even though, they knew who they were dating, it felt like it was going to be a Blue Christmas.

This was written for @buckysbeardliness holiday fluff writing challenge. I’m a little late on it, but I hope it’s decent. I’m trying to write my way out of writer’s block. Thanks for this fun, cute challenge.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 2500 (So Long)

Warning: Fluff, Kind of Slow

This would be your third Christmas party this week you had gone to and around the ninetieth time you had to answer, ‘so where is Steve?’ And you had your answer on lock, “He couldn’t make it. You know, the life of saving the world keeps you busy. But he wanted me to let you know he apologizes for missing it.”

And then the conversation would always go deep, asking how you deal with having such a distant boyfriend and wondering how difficult it was. And you’ve gotten very good over the past year on how to pivot conversations, though often you wish you could say, ‘well Susan, that’s none of your damn business’ or ‘well, he is really very great in bed, so the longs waits are worth it.’ Instead you say, “When the world needs saving, you don’t mind so much. Speaking of work, how has life at the office been?”

You finally arrived how, tossing yourself on your couch. Tony had set up a system life F.R.I.D.A.Y. in your and Steve’s apartment, “Y/N, you have a message from Captain Rogers,” the system said. You breathed out, it was the eve of Christmas Eve. Though it would be nice to hear his voice, you dreaded the message.

“Go ahead,” you pulled yourself to lean your elbows on your knees. You leaned forward, your hands together you placed them just against your mouth. You closed your eyes and waited.

“Hey lovely, I must be just coming home from Susan’s party,” his voiced caused such contradictions. It was relaxing to hear his voice, but also brought a level of sadness. A chuckle rippled through your chest when you heard a distant shout from Nat spouting off on how Susan was a bore. Steve paused, you could imagine he was trying to shush the crowd behind him, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to make it more enjoyable. If you make your way to the kitchen, you’ll find a glass of your favorite wine waiting you and a good book.” You titled your head towards the kitchen when a sad sigh left Steve’s voice and he whispered, “I wish I could be there for you. I know your family will be arriving tomorrow and it’ll be a busy few days for you.” He sounded like he wanted to continue, but a few shouts from behind him caught his attention, “I’m sorry Y/N, I got to go. I’ll be thinking of you, I’ll be safe, got to go, bye.”

You looked up for a second, praying everything would be fine. You believed in all of them to come back with bump and bruises, but overall safe. Jumping out of the what-ifs going on in your head, you look around the apartment. There were big windows, tons of Christmas lights, it was truly a Christmas wonderland in red and green merriment. White snow was trickling down the window, you turned to walk to the kitchen and Steve was right. There was a glass of wine and a book waiting for you. The fireplace roared suddenly, grabbing your attention. Steve must have put a lot of thought into making this as good a Christmas as it could be without him. Though he might be having a snowy Christmas of white, you felt like you were having blue snowflakes falling like blue memories on your soul.

Wiping a tear away, you grabbed your book and glass of wine and sat by the fireplace. You took another big breath, trying to feel excitement for the following few days. This was the first time your family was coming to your new place, this would be the first time they were going to meet Steve, officially, and this is the first time you’d be in charge of the family holiday. There was a lot to look forward to still, even if they wouldn’t be able to meet Steve.

You looked down at the book Steve bought you, rubbing you hands over the cover. It was a classic, A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare and you opened the first page to see Steve’s handwriting, ‘Sending you some magic, whenever and where ever I can. Miss you darling – Steve.”

That caused you to smile a little, feeling a little better. You didn’t want to take what you had with Steve for granted. Picking up your glass, you started to drink your wine as you started to read your book. This was a nice distraction from your blues.

Christmas eve passed by so quickly. Your whole family arrived - your parents, your brother and sister-in-law, the kids – it was nice to have the apartment full of smiles and cheer when you felt lonely. You were in your thoughts again, thinking about where Steve could be or how he was feeling, “Baby,” you look up to your mom, “Need help with dinner?”

You look up from your food, “No mama, you relax. I got this,” you look out of the living room, “Where are the kids?”

Your mom looked back too, “Outside playing in the snow,” she answered quickly, “Are you alright honey? You seem a little off, is everything okay?”

Using your hands, you swat away the comment, “I’m great ma, I’m just glad everyone is here.”

“Everyone except Steve,” your dad jumped in, “Good man out saving the world and all.”

You nod in agreement, “I’m just sorry he wasn’t able to make it home for Christmas,” your mother continues on, “Still, we can’t wait to meet him.”

Feeling that blueness spread over your body, again. You nod again, acting like nothing is wrong, “Yeah, he feels the same way, but until than do you want to get the children? Dinner is finished. And we still have to open our one present,” you pointed at the tree with your knife in hand. Your family had this tradition that on Christmas Eve, you pick on present under the tree each and you open it.

Your mother mumbles something about getting the kids and how hungry she is. Your dad rubs your cheek before getting back to setting the table. Your dad knew you very well and could just tell how you felt without making you say anything at all. You gave him a small smile.

You all sat around the tree after dinner with everyone opening one gift until it was your turn, “Y/N you should open the one from Steve,” your nephew said, passing you the little wrapped box.

Taking the box and tapping it on his head, “No silly, I’ll wait for Steve to come home. Why don’t I open yours,” you try to tickle him, but he rolls away, leaving you with a smile. You just grab a present and open it enjoying these little moments you have with your family.

You read the kiddos ‘Twas the night before Christmas’ and help your parents settle in and you sat by your bay window in your window looking out to the snow again. You placed a cup of your mom’s famous hot chocolate by your side and grabbed the book Steve had bought you. You had to be reading for about an hour, it wasn’t quite midnight yet when another sigh rumbled through your chest. You hugged the book to your chest, looking out the window to the winter scene in front of you. Your sadness felt crippling, but you didn’t want to cry – it was almost Christmas after all.

“And there she is,” you heard a whisper behind you. You snap your neck that the direction of the voice, “Hello beautiful,” Steve’s face held a confident, shining smile. He dropped his bag on the grab, pulling his arms open to greet you with this surprise. You dropped your book in shock, launching yourself into his arms. Your face was pressed into his chest, with his arms wrapped around you. A sense of relief rushed over you. You didn’t want to let go, you squeezed him hard wanting this to be real, and you knew it wouldn’t phase him in the lightest, “I missed you,” he whispered against your ear, leaning down into your hair.

After a few moments, you pulled away to look up to him, “How? I thought-,” you tried to continue.

“It’s our first Christmas, babe,” he pushed some hair behind your ear, “I’d fight the whole universe just to get home to you.” He took the chance to read your face, realizing you’ve been crying. He brushed your cheek before leaning down to kiss you, “Plus, I didn’t want to miss your mom’s famous hot chocolate.”

It felt like the first time this whole Christmas that you smiled inside and out, “Well come on good sir,” you grab his hand and pull him out to the kitchen. It was quiet all through the house, he leaned against the counter, watching you work the stove and chocolate. He loved watching you work, you had gotten everything started, and spun to face him, “And now we wait for perfection.”

“I can think of a few things to fill that time,” he looked up like he was thinking before pulling you in his arms. His arms wrapped around your waste pulling you tight against him, his lips formed a smile against your lips before deepening it. A few minutes had to pass by before a throat clearing pulled both your attentions away from each other.

You both looked towards the new figure, “Pop,” you pulled fully away from Steve, “I hope we didn’t wake you,” you say.

He approaches you both, “Careful honey,” you dad pointed towards the stove, “You might burn that chocolate if you don’t stir it around.” You looked back to the stove, leaping to stir the hot chocolate you were making for Steve.

“Mr. Y/L/N, it’s an honor to meet you,” Steve reaches for your dad’s hand, “I apologize for being late.”

Your dad took his hand with both his, “Don’t worry about it. We just appreciate you taking care of my baby here,” he gestured towards you, “It’s just extra nice you were able to make it home for Christmas. Also, thank you for letting us stay here.”

“No, of course sir,” he shook his head, “Having Y/N here with me is award enough, you raised quite the human.”

Your dad shrugged, leaning against the arc way, “It was all their mother’s doing,” he chuckled, “Anyway, I’m going back to bed. I just wanted to grab a water for your mother,” he gestured towards you again. “We’ll talk more tomorrow Steve, I imagine your exhausted,” he paused after getting a glass of water, “You up for a game of chess,” he asked Steve.

Steve went to shake your father’s hand again, “Yes sir, sleep well.”

Your father leaned down to kiss your cheek, “Night angel.”

“Night pops,” you glimmer back, looking at Steve with admiration and love. He was going to do so well with your family. Your dad walked back into his room, “You’re good,” you kiss his lips again, “I got your cup, let’s get to bed.”

“Yes, please,” he grabbed your hand, pulling you into your shared room.

You made yourself comfortable against Steve’s chest, he sipped the hot chocolate which he defined as gold. You read the book he gave you and he looked over some reports. Your bodies intertwined together, felt comforting, you couldn’t even remember what a blue Christmas felt like. A box felt into your book, “It’s almost midnight, I wanted to exchange our Christmas eve gift before it was too late.”

Sitting up, switching your body to look into his eyes with love, “You didn’t have to,” you shook your head, reaching for his cheek, “You’re the best gift a girl could ask for.”

He nodded, “True, but this is special,” he pointed to the box. You smile more, gently ripping away the paper and opening the box. In the box was a heart shaped necklace with a tiny pearl at the bottom of an engraved wording, “The course of true love never did run smooth,” you read out loud. You looked up to him in love, “Steve.”

“I know it’s not easy dating an Avenger. I’d give anything to save you from that pain,” he placed his hand against your cheek and you leaned into it. “You’ve been so supportive, but I know you were sad I wasn’t here,” you close your eyes, “But Y/N I love you and I hope you always remember that.”

Believe it or not, you both have never said those words. You wanted to wait till it was right, even if you lived together, “I. Love. You,” he said again with a kiss per word.

You put both your hands on his face and pushed yourself into kiss him. You pulled away and said with a little tear of happiness, “I love you too.” He smiled at you, pulling you into a giant hug, nuzzling your neck. You tried to pull away, “I’ll grab you a gift.”

“No, baby,” he pulled you back against him, “Don’t leave, you just gave me the best gift a man could ask for.”

“Gosh Steve,” you said, pulling your back against his chest, snuggling against him. You didn’t want to leave the bed either, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.” He chuckled kissing your head, “But Steve,” he looked down at you, “We need to cut the cutesy thing tomorrow. My brother won’t let me hear the end of it or my mother, she’s going to ask about babies and weddings,” you grumble, helping build expectations for the next day, “I don’t think I’m ready for that interrogation.”

“Beautiful,” he laughed, kissing your neck, “I deal with spies and interrogations for a living. I’m sure I can handle your mother,” he laughed again, imaging the conversation in his head.

“Trust me babe,” you look back at him before turning off the lights, “You aren’t ready for my mama.” You felt his kiss on your head before he pulled you down on his chest again.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #hiswhiteknight #writing challenge #marvelholidayfluff #fluff

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how2to18 · 5 years

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CRABAPPLE, PRICKLY GOOSEBERRY, bittersweet, and devil’s walking stick — are these the names of thorny old monsters in some dark children’s fairy tale? Nope. They are simply the flora that vine the paths of the forests and hollers of the Smoky Mountains. A brave five-year-old girl named Ernestine must journey through these persnickety snatchers in the early morning shadows in order to deliver mason jars full of fresh milk to the neighbors who live far away. It is 1942, and the husbands are away at war. The wives and mothers run the farms, raise the children, milk the cows. These country neighbors take care of one another in their time of need.

This is the framework for Kerry Madden-Lunsford’s Ernestine’s Milky Way, an achingly poignant tale of independence, resourcefulness, and good old-fashioned neighboring as seen through the eyes of a strong-willed little girl in the wartime South. The illustrations, by Emily Sutton, brush the pages like the powdered wings of butterflies. There are sturdy rock houses and old wooden fences, hand-sewn blankets and dusty banjos, everything surrounded by watercolor bursts of soft country colors — trees, leaves, grass, and plants. Flowers and vines are like their own characters. The facial expressions of the people make you ache for home. Any city-dwelling child is bound to look up at the parent, or teacher, or sibling, or babysitter reading them this story and ask, “Can we please go the woods tomorrow?”

I met Kerry Madden-Lunsford during my first MFA in Creative Writing Residency at Antioch University in Los Angeles. I was immediately drawn to her; she emanates a warm and welcoming vibe, with sparkling blue eyes and a wide, down-home smile. She dresses like a hippie teenager from the ’60s who has met her future self, an older, wiser earth-mother. Currently she directs the Creative Writing program at the University of Alabama-Birmingham, where she covers the desks and tables of her classrooms with books — dozens of picture books and chapter books, and middle-grade and YA, and, sprinkled in between, weathered copies of classics, like cherished relics from a magical library. Reminiscent of your favorite elementary school teacher, she actually writes out the lessons — infused with words of wisdom and anecdotes — in a comforting cursive on the board. She connects with everyone. She connects with their work. She was my first workshop leader, and her editorial letter about the 20 pages I had submitted told me everything I needed to know about her — namely, that she was a very old soul with a very young heart. You can sense this about her. You can feel it flowing from the pages of her books.

I recently visited Kerry at her home in the hills of Echo Park. We sat together over bagels and coffee with her husband Kiffen and their dazzling little dachshund, Olive, to talk about her latest release, the aforementioned Ernestine’s Milky Way, as well as her prior work.

She is the author of eight books, including the lauded Maggie Valley Trilogy set in the Smoky Mountains of Appalachia. The first in that series, Gentle’s Holler (2005), was a PEN USA finalist in Children’s Literature, and it’s easy to see why. The book shares some strands of Ernestine’s world as it explores the life of a 12-year-old girl and her adventures, with her eight brothers and sisters, in the Smoky Mountains in the early 1960s. It’s heartwarming and heartbreaking at once. Imagine a mash-up between A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Coal Miner’s Daughter, and you’re nearly there. Mountain country folk ridden with worries about money and bellies swollen from hunger are the characters that anchor Madden-Lunsford’s work. But the families in her stories rely on mutual affection and a resourcefulness that flows like pure mountain spring water to get them through the rough times.

Her December 2018 essay in the Los Angeles Times, “The Christmas Suit,” is a blistering meditation on family addiction — a deeply caring mother’s despairing attempt to stave off the crippling inertia of frustrated emotion. It’s a different side of Kerry, a flip of the coin. It reveals something tender and truthful about a majority of authors who write picture books, middle-grade, and YA: that they are seasoned individuals whose brave flights of fancy trying to survive adult life are the pearls of wisdom hidden in the sealed-shut shells of books that celebrate innocence, or the end of it.

TIM CUMMINGS: Where did you grow up?

KERRY MADDEN-LUNSFORD: That is a complicated question, though it shouldn’t be. The short answer is that I grew up the daughter of a college football coach, and we moved all the time. For years I said that I lived in 12 states, but my daughter, Norah, reminded me that it’s actually been 13 states. Alabama is lucky number 13. I used to remember all the states by mascots and teams rather than towns. My father’s first coaching job was for Father Lopez’s Green Wave (High School). He married my mother in between football and basketball season.

He was both the coach for both outfits, so he had the basketball season printed on the wedding napkins to build up team support. “Follow Janis and Joe on the Green Wave.” Always the coach, he informed the principal, Sister Annunciata, that the school dance should be held in the library, so the students wouldn’t mess up his gymnasium floor in fancy shoes. He only told me this story a few weeks ago or it would have been in Offsides, my first novel about growing up the daughter of a football coach. Sister Annunciata shut that suggestion down flat, and the dance was held in the gym. I asked him if he chaperoned, and he said, “Hell, no.”

Because some people are going to think that I am the daughter of John Madden, which I am most definitely not, I finally had to write an essay called “I Am Not John Madden’s Daughter.” My father has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s dementia and he sometimes wakes up from naps, talking old football plays or what defense he ran at the Sugar Bowl in 1977 as the defensive coordinator. He did this while we were in Rome a year ago, and my mother said, “Snap out of it! You’re in Rome!”

How did you come to writing?

I’ve told this story once or twice, but I really do credit my fourth-grade teacher, who told me I was a good writer. It was the first time a teacher ever said any such thing. They usually said, “Aren’t you a nice tall girl who listens well?” They said this because I was shy. So it was a relief when a teacher noticed more than height or shyness. That day, I walked around my neighborhood of Ames, Iowa (Iowa State Cyclones), noticing everything, and wrote a story called “The Five Cents,” thinking it was about the “the five senses.” I never was a good speller. I remained a shy kid, and later some of the nuns began to suggest I might have a vocation to join the convent. I wrote about everything, but mostly I read — I read all the time and that absolutely formed me as a writer.

Who are your greatest influences?

My parents were great influences for humor and resilience, but I rebelled quietly because I was not a girly-girl or an athlete (unless field hockey in ninth grade counts, along with golfing on the boys’ team in high school), so I set out to find ways where I could create my own identity away from the gridiron.

I was definitely influenced (terrified) by Helen Keller and facing her fate when I had to get glasses in third grade. The doctor told my mother, “she’s blind without them,” to make a point. When I sobbed in my father’s arms about my horror of going blind (I think I also threw up in the bathroom), he shouted, “By God, nobody is going blind in this house!” I cried, “But how do you know?” “Because I said so!” It made no sense whatsoever, but I believed him.

I adored my babysitter, Ann Kramer, who was a wild tomboy in Ames, Iowa. I loved the coaches’ wives because they were such good storytellers. I was incredibly influenced by my first best friend, Pattie Murphy, in high school because she was so funny and irreverent, presenting a good girl persona to the powers-that-be and then whispering to me filthy things that were horrible and hilarious. We got caught cracking up laughing in the worst places — in class, at midnight Mass, on stage in Ten Little Indians. She was the first friend to make me laugh. We were miraculously “the new girls” at almost the same time in a school, Knox Catholic, where the kids had been together forever; even their parents and some grandparents had attended Knox Catholic.

I was very influenced by my Aunt Jeanne, who gave me books, and my Uncle Michael, who taught me about art. I lost them both to suicide when I was very young, and I wrote about them in Offsides as a way of atoning for not paying more attention. I wrote an essay about that this past summer.

I do think I was most influenced by getting to study abroad at Manchester University my junior year in college. A group of British drama students adopted me and showed me a whole world of art and theater, and I worshipped them for their hilarity and brilliance. I also had wonderful professors in England, who paid attention to me in ways I had never experienced during my first two years at the University of Tennessee. Plus, nobody in England cared if I went to church or watched football. They wanted me to write plays and “drop the grotty trade school occupation of journalism,” and I was very happy to oblige. I’m now writing a novel inspired by that time called Hop the Pond, which also has themes of addiction and features the Brontë sisters and their brother, Branwell.

When I returned to the University of Tennessee from Manchester, I often pretended to be a British exchange student (yes, I was insufferable because I couldn’t bear leaving England for Tennessee). I changed my major to theater, and I came to know my professors in Tennessee who taught us theater history, acting, directing. I was grateful for the encouragement and attention they gave me as a student (and a girl in the South) who wanted to write plays. The only contemporary playwright I knew of at that time was Beth Henley, and I hadn’t yet heard of Wendy Wasserstein.

Our theater department was still cranking out suggested scene study pairings of mostly Inge, Albee, and Williams, and maybe, once in a while, Lillian Hellman. I wanted to write plays, so I stayed in Knoxville after graduation and began an MFA in playwriting. I was the only student in the course at the time, but it gave me two years to learn to teach “Voice and Diction” and to write plays while working at a bookstore. Those two years in Knoxville influenced me because that is when I fell in love with Southern literature. I dropped the faux British accent, and my patient friends were grateful.

Finally, I think my greatest influence just happened this year. She is my cousin, Maureen Madden O’Sullivan — or, simply, Mo. We met for the very first time last May; her grandfather and my great-grandfather — Patrick and Joseph Madden — were brothers in Roscommon, Ireland. Mo and I have lived parallel lives in Los Angeles for 30 years, with many friends in common. She has been sober since 1982, and I have a family member who suffers from addiction, so she has taught me how to really let go — to breathe, to meditate, to eat better, to make gazpacho, to take walks by the sea. She also has stage-four cancer and is doing everything to live and take care of herself, from chemo to acupuncture to meditation to plant medicine to sound therapy to massage to simply taking joy in everything. She is the light of my life, and when I complain about us not meeting sooner, she says, “We met at the perfect time.” She is more evolved than I am.

I have gathered all the letters and texts we have written to each other since May in a compilation, and it’s currently 440 pages. It’s ridiculous, I know, and I don’t know what the project will be, but I am so grateful for Mo. I know I’m a mother, and I love being a mother, but around her I am not a mother. I’m just me again. A friend said I should call the book or whatever it’s going to be: 23 and Me and Mo.

Could you talk about your dual life as director of Creative Writing in Birmingham as well as a working author, teacher, and mother in Los Angeles?

I’ve been living this unplanned dual two-state life since 2009. I wrote an essay about making the decision to accept a tenure track teaching job in Birmingham, Alabama, and living on an air mattress for a while. I came alone the first year; the second year, my sixth-grade daughter, Norah, joined me and she was like a little cultural anthropologist. She came home from school the first day and said, “We played the name game and we had to say what we liked. And all the kids said they liked only Auburn or Alabama. I know they like their state and ‘auburn’ is a very pretty color, but what I am supposed to choose? When it was my turn, I said, ‘I’m Norah and I like books.’” I realized I had given the child no information about Alabama, so we had a crash course in football so she could catch up. Whenever I hinted at wanting to return to Los Angeles, she would say, “You can go be with Daddy. I like it here. I love it here. All my friends are here. Alabama is great!”

When I realized we were in it for the long haul, we got a rescue dog, Olive, who flies back and forth with me to Los Angeles. I had a terrible flight before we got Olive, awful soul-sucking turbulence, and Norah thought I was crying out “Hell Mary’s” instead of “Hail Mary’s.” After the trip, I vowed to drive or take the train, but it only took a four-day train ride from Los Angeles to Birmingham sitting up in coach class to get me back in the air. Then I got Olive. She has rescued me in countless ways every single day. And she truly is my emotional support animal on planes, along with the occasional emotional support Bloody Mary or glass of red wine.

I love my job as the director of Creative Writing at UAB. I love my students. I learn from them all the time. They come from all walks of life and many of them are first-generation college or they are returning to college later in life. I do miss living with my husband, who has four more years until he retires from LAUSD, but we get to spend summers and holidays together. We also cook and watch movies together. We do this by saying, “One-Two-Three — Go!” and then we hit play at the same time and mostly we’re in sync on Netflix. And because he is a wonderful man, he also goes to visit Mo, and we all have dinner and Skype together.

Our son is in Los Angeles, our middle daughter is in Chicago, and our youngest lives in the dorm at UAB. During the academic year, I live with Olive in what I call my “Alabama Retreat House.” Lots of sweet students and kind faculty drop by from time to time and other friends, too. Birmingham is such a cool city — a bright blue dot in a big red state. One of my L.A. friends visited, and she looked around the house and said, “You’ve created a little Echo Park in Birmingham.” I have filled the place with books and art from mostly “Studio by the Tracks,” where adults on the autism spectrum make art. Started by Ila Faye Miller in what used to be an old gas station, it’s a fantastic studio located in Fannie Flagg’s old neighborhood of Irondale.

I’m currently working on three novels — two are children’s books and one is for adults. I’ve adapted Offsides into a play, and I’m writing a little poetry and always picture books. I am thrilled that Ernestine’s Milky Way, written in this Alabama Retreat House and edited in a 1910 bungalow in Echo Park, has found a home at Schwartz & Wade.

What are your thoughts about the MFA Creative Writing programs these days?

I think they’re valuable because they allow students to find their people. I didn’t find my people in an MFA program, because I was the only student in my program at the time. However, I kind of made my own MFA with a writing group in Los Angeles — we met for 15 years, regularly. Those writers are still some of my dearest friends. I’ve also joined an online group of children’s picture book authors, who are brilliant, and a wonderful local group here of smart women writers. I find I need the feedback and connection with other writers — a kind of forest-for-the-trees thing with all the teaching I do. We also show up and support each other when our books come out.

That is the most valuable aspect to me of the MFA program — finding our people and getting to teach upon graduation. I feel incredibly fortunate to have taught in both a traditional BA and MA program here at UAB and a low-residency MFA program at Antioch University in Los Angeles.

What’s the most important thing you relay to your students?

I hope I encourage my students to trust themselves — to know that they do have a story to tell. I use play in the classroom (storyboarding and making book dummies) and I get them to take risks or chances with writing sparks, exploring narratives. I also talk about the importance of showing up for each other when success comes along. In other words, go to the reading, buy the book, go to the play — it’s such a long and lonely road to go alone, so I encourage them to cheer each other along the way and offer a hand. It’s so much better than being competitive and harboring jealousy.

Of course, it’s natural to feel envy, but I have been so fortunate to have friends who show up and are genuinely pleased, and I hope I do the same for them. I encourage my students to be good literary citizens and also to spend less time online. I offer the advice I need to listen to myself, especially when I fall into the online rabbit hole.

Can you tell us about your love of picture books and children’s literature?

I read to our three kids all the time. My son’s favorite book was Where the Wild Things Are. I even read that book last year to a group of incarcerated men at Donaldson Maximum Security Prison who had never been read aloud to before. I wrote an essay about that experience.

Anyway, I loved reading to our children when they were small, and my husband was a fantastic reader, too. I used to seek out books with great writing and stories. I hid the Berenstain Bears from the kids because I hated books where we had to learn a lesson. I never really thought of writing for kids because I was writing plays and novels for grown-ups. But I began falling in love with stories like Swamp Angel by Anne Isaacs, and anything by William Steig. The kids loved Chris Van Allsburg, as did I, and of course we loved Eric Carle, Margaret Wise Brown, Ruth Krauss, Roald Dahl, Ann Whitford Paul, Cynthia Voigt, Eve Bunting, Jacqueline Woodson, and Lane Smith’s The Happy Hocky Family. There are too many to begin to even name. One of their favorites was “What Luck A Duck” by Amy Goldman Koss, who later became a friend.

We read stacks of books, and as they grew older, they began to tell me what books to read. My son, Flannery, begged me to read The Giver and The Phantom Tollbooth. My daughter, Lucy, fell in love Laurie Halse Anderson’s book, Speak. She wasn’t a huge reader at the time, but she liked that book a lot and said after school one day, “Mom, I felt like reading it at the lunch-table with all my friends around. What it is up with that?”

I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn out loud to them and we watched the movie together. Norah used to have a little shelf of books in the minivan, because she was terrified of finishing one and not having another at hand. She used to ask me, “Can I bring three books?” and I would say, “You may bring them, but I am not carrying them.” When we moved to a different house a few years ago, we donated 20 boxes of books and it still has not made a dent in all the books we have.

Tim Cummings holds an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles. His recent work has appeared in F(r)iction, Lunch Ticket, Meow Meow Pow Pow, From Whispers to Roars, Critical Read, and LARB.

The post Echo Park in Birmingham: An Interview with Kerry Madden-Lunsford appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff · 5 years

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TIM CUMMINGS: Where did you grow up?

How did you come to writing?

Who are your greatest influences?

Could you talk about your dual life as director of Creative Writing in Birmingham as well as a working author, teacher, and mother in Los Angeles?

What are your thoughts about the MFA Creative Writing programs these days?

What’s the most important thing you relay to your students?

Can you tell us about your love of picture books and children’s literature?

Tim Cummings holds an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles. His recent work has appeared in F(r)iction, Lunch Ticket, Meow Meow Pow Pow, From Whispers to Roars, Critical Read, and LARB.

The post Echo Park in Birmingham: An Interview with Kerry Madden-Lunsford appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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terryblount · 5 years

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One Piece: World Seeker – Review

When I first heard of One Piece: World Seeker, I remember thinking it was about time they brought one of Shonen Jump’s most widely-beloved exports to gaming. Unbeknownst to me, the now eight hundred and seventy-three episode anime has actually ventured into our industry numerous times over the last nineteen years. Some quick research revealed that One Piece has inspired several beat ‘em ups, fighting games, turn-based JRPG’s, action-adventure games, and even a baseball game.

Now the series has finally sailed the treacherous waters of the open world, sandbox genre. Veteran One Piece developers, Ganbarion, have yet again given players the chance to don the straw hat of protagonist Monkey D. Luffy, but this time with unparalleled freedom to explore, find collectables, and pummel hoards of marines with his iconic, elastic fisticuffs. Thanks to the power of modern platforms, and not least of all the might of the Unreal Engine 4, gamers have the chance to immerse themselves into Luffy’s adventures like never before.

Monkey D. Luffy, one of the most famous faces in anime.

So close, and yet so far. While there are merits to the idea of building a One Piece game out of a sandbox formula, I don’t think One Piece: World Seeker represents the ideal solution. The combat mechanics were relatively enjoyable, and it is obvious that the developers have put some serious elbow grease into the game’s visual representation. Nevertheless, the repetitive nature of side quests and the underwhelming attempt at world building simply did not take advantage of the rich and varied source material that is its namesake. This is simply not the game it should have been.

Watashi wa Luffy!

For the unfamiliar, One Piece is a long-running manga and anime series based around the escapades of Monkey D. Luffy, a pirate who seeks to obtain the eponymous ‘One Piece’ treasure. Whoever holds this legendary booty will be proclaimed as king of all the pirates, so the series is sort of like Treasure Island, but stretched to an encyclopedic length with the distinctive quirkiness and fanfare that only an anime can pull off.

Yet, Luffy’s whimsical straw hat and flip flops belie his true abilities because he accidentally ate the ‘Gum Gum’ devil fruit as a boy. The fruit made him stronger, highly resistant to enemy attacks, and enables him to stretch his body into extraordinary shapes much like Mrs Incredible or Mister Fantastic. With the power of his rubbery physique, Luffy sets sail on an epic treasure hunt across endless seas where he encounters new friends, gains crewmates, and confronts formidable enemies.

Eight hundred plus episodes later, and we have One Piece: World Seeker opening with our man being detained in a sky prison floating above a union of islands named ‘Prison Island.’ It seems Luffy allowed himself to be incarcerated as a distraction while the Straw Hats crew break into a vault somewhere below. Unfortunately, the plan turned out to be a trap, resulting in Luffy bailing the flying fortress to escape the clutches of Isaac, the tyrannical warden of the whole region.

Isaac, the warden of prison island.

Once our hero crash lands on Prison Island, he befriends a new character called Jeanne, who eventually explains that the island’s populace has been split between Pro- and Anti-Navy factions in the aftermath of a protracted war. The Pro-Navy inhabitants live a life of comfort afforded by Isaac and the Navy as their new governors, while their counterparts struggle under their draconian regime.

Never one to turn a blind eye towards the troubles of the little people, our hero agrees to help Jeanne and the Anti-Navy resistance to rebel against their oppressors. As such, the player will take part in various missions such as reuniting Luffy with his crew, getting to know the colourful inhabitants of Prison Island, and steadily crippling Warden Isaac’s (literal) iron fists over the islands. Of course, you also get to beat up lots and lots of bad guys and bosses.

Missing the treasure in plain sight

One Piece: World Seeker’s setting is one of the most obvious links to its anime and manga roots. The narrative brings out the tried and trusted theme of Luffy stumbling upon a new island with a dilemma, and then going on a spontaneous adventure to assist the inhabitants with their struggles. It is the old, ‘good taking a stand against evil’ trope that has sustained the One Piece universe since its origins.

Moreover, fans should be pleased with how the writers have transitioned the characters and some cameos into the game from the One Piece chronology. Everything from their dialogue, to the depiction of the main villain feels like an authentic production from the central story line of One Piece. Considering that Eiichiro Oda, creator of the series, was involved, it is no wonder the game convinced me that I was playing through an actual episode of the anime during its best moments.

Nami, the resident thief of the straw hats. I cannot stop staring at her big… belt! Is she promoting Bitcoin!?

Unfortunately, it is also here where I began to notice how the gameplay of World Seeker ends up linking to the story in a rather shoehorned manner. After the tantalising opening cinematic of the narrative, most players would probably assume that Luffy will become the centre of a complex operation to overthrow Isaac. Instead, the game just falls into the same loop where he must travel to a certain location, and beat the crap of everyone he finds there.

Generally it boils down to you are at A, bad man at B. Go from A to B and remove bad man’s front teeth. World Seeker does try to mix things up with a few sections where you must infiltrate strongholds without being detected. As is usually the case with sandbox games that include ham-fisted stealth sections, they just feel like tacked on filler meant to lengthen your play time. It doesn’t take long for the gameplay to deteriorate from fun, to repetitive, to monotonous.

Gum Gum BAA-ZOO-KAAAA!

Luffy has a basic, three-hit combo that he can unleash upon thugs and navy soldiers, as well as his famous Gum Gum pistol serving as a ranged attack. There is also the option to sneak up on enemies either from behind or inside a barrel Metal Gear Solid style, which then creates the opportunity to perform stealth takedowns. It was rarely necessary to be stealthy though, since the bad guys are not only easy to kill, but sneaking around as Luffy just feels like a disservice to his character.

I must admit that the combat is very well animated, and fighting does a superb job at making you feel powerful. The camera also has the delightful habit of shifting to slow motion when you deliver the KO blow to the last man standing much like Batman and the Arkham games. Seeing the poor sod being launched slowly off a high building after receiving Luffy’s catapult fists was very entertaining… for the first fifty times I pulled it off at least.

Adding some variety is also the ability to switch between the blue and red ‘stances’ of combat on the fly. The red mode is essentially reserved for Luffy’s heavier, more focused attacks along with the ability to guard. Blue mode is faster and deals less damage, but the broad sweep of the attacks makes it appealing for confronting whole groups at a time. The dodge mechanic is also useful in this stance since you can zip out of the enemy’s reach if you need to.

While One Piece: World Seeker’s traversal fails to achieve the fluidity of recent super hero games, I thought that the mechanics of swinging and propelling my way through the game’s surprisingly big open world was implemented nicely. Like the combat, you really feel the forces at work in Luffy’s special ability, and it became a particularly exciting system once there were some high trees and buildings around me. I even managed to gain a bit of fun out of collecting the overabundance of pointless loot scattered throughout the world.

To my dismay, the majority of the side quests have actually been built around this idea of collecting random loot items for citizens of Prison Island. I was horrified to catch myself looking for small flowers at the request of a random man standing near a wooden shed, or finding pieces of copper for a random little kid. Why must I do favours for bland-faced NPC’s who the game does not even bother to introduce to me? This sort of meaningless filler has no place in a One Piece game; I’d rather go looking for Riddler trophies.

At least the game is generous in dishing out experience points from these meaningless exploits. You can use said points to purchase new blue or red fighting moves, or you can spend them on Luffy’s traversal abilities and health points. However, let us not forget that One Piece has had an entire manga and anime saga to build up Luffy’s resume of moves. Does it really make sense hiding them behind experience points which can only be gained by grinding away at meaningless loot quests? No, it doesn’t.

It feels Unreal how much I love this game engine

Sorry about that atrocious pun, but sweet mother of monkey milk this game is pretty. I am not sure why many studios from the Land of the Rising Sun have made the Unreal Engine 4 their engine of choice lately, but World Seeker is yet another example of what a brilliant move this was. Just like the anime, this game is so colourful and vivid that I bet it would cure a defective monitor from stuck pixels.

This game can be seriously beautiful at times.

I cannot deny that the environments were eerily empty at times, nor can I look past at the lack of variety in enemies. However, the character animations, the sheer scale of some buildings, the beautiful landscapes and the particle effects really captivated me on a visual level. Honestly, if Toei Animation did an entire episode in these graphics I would be happy, and I cannot imagine better aesthetics for a One Piece video game.

If only for more time

What struck me from the moment I launched One Piece: World Seeker is that this game feels unfinished. There is nothing overtly broken in its mechanics, and certain elements of the gameplay are undeniably polished. Yet, the lack of voiced cut scenes, the general empty feeling of the world, the repetitive nature of the side missions, and using the same models for most of the enemies are all the tell-tale signs of a studio being pushed for time.

In fact, the stark contrast between the excellent visuals and the bland mission design makes me suspect Ganbarion had plans to make World Seeker more like a JRPG. In any case, it is clear that their plans never came to fruition and they settled on making a more fast-paced, open world game from what they had already finished.

If you are looking to play a good One Piece game, I suggest you look at any of the Pirate Warrior instalments, because World Seeker just feels like too much of a mixed bag. This is not the kind of game we want from this beloved series at this point in time, and playing it makes it clear that the developers share our sentiments. If, one the other hand, you don’t own a PS3, wait for a sale. There is still fun to be had with this game, even if it is very short lived.

Beautiful cut scenes

Graphics and sound design

Story fits the universe

Sterile world design

Very bland side quests

Too many collectables

Insipid mission design

Upgrades locked behind XP

Playtime: 22 hours total. For the single player campaign and light grinding

Computer Specs: Windows 10 64-bit computer using Nvidia GTX 1070, i5 4690K CPU, 16GB RAM – Played using an Xbox One Controller

One Piece: World Seeker – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

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darkcloud-kcalifornia · 6 years

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Well, I’ve got a bit of time this morning until I have to start a 6 day work week (ugh…) so let’s get the ponies out there. This is “Surf and/or Turf”.

* The CMC are officially on Map duty now. Neat. Though I wonder how they’d take it if just one or two of them were summoned rather than the whole group.

* A mission to the hippogriffs of Mount Aris even! …I still haven’t gotten around to watching the movie. Also, I hope Twilight can get the three out of class for a while if they’re having to travel to other countries. Well, Twilight probably would think of making sure they have their homework. But there’s also the potential problem of parent/guardian permission. I mean, Rarity probably wouldn’t mind having a small vacation from Sweetie (assuming she’s having to look after her again), but AJ can be a bit overprotective at times, and heck if we actually know anything about Scootaloo’s parents. Er, from the show at least. For all I know there might be stuff in the comics and novels, but it’s never certain how canonical those things are.

* Huh, just noticed that Big Mac is getting cozy with Sugar Belle in the opening. I guess that isn’t just getting retconned out of existence?

* Ah, so Twilight is being the adult supervision for this one. Or at least trying to. Normally I’d say that she needs to let the Map’s current chosen handle things on their own, but even if she does trust them with the friendship problem they’d probably still need somepony there to take care of lodging and meals and whatnot.

* Smooth, Sweetie. Way to remind your friend they are maybe sorta it’s kind of vague crippled.

* Is AJ embellishing stories? Bad Element of Honesty! Bad! Maybe. Like I said, I still haven’t gotten around to watching the movie.

* Or it could just be Applebloom taking creative liberties.

* That awkward moment when you realize you’ve been called in to deal with something that has nothing to do with your specialty.

* Yeah, specifics would be nice. But one of the things everypony else has had to learn is that the Map is kinda lazy about that. But also that they’re gonna stumble on the problem sooner or later.

* Also, would using “griff” in ways such as everygriff or anygriff also be something that could apply to the griffins?

* Terramar was it? Probably getting that wrong. Also, nice to see how the species change over.

* Twilight is fully intending for this to be 90% vacation. Everybody can see it.

* Also, it’s interesting that they apparently split the kingdom after the Storm King’s defeat. Do they consider themselves to be one kingdom still, or are they now two separate but closely allied kingdoms? And if so who is ruling the hippogriffs? I know that Silver Stream was sent from Queen Novo, but I have no idea where she lives now.

* I’m noticing a lack of stairs in this city. Just a bunch of ramps.

* So they hold celebrations on how awesome they are every weekend. OK, on one hand I can understand the excitement to be able to take their natural forms again after being seaponies for, um… (*psst* how long were they down there?) a while, but every weekend does sound like it’s taking things way past too far. And if Terramar’s reaction is any indication those that still spend time as seaponies aren’t entirely comfortable with it.

* Though come to think of it the CMC are experts in helping beings discover who they truly are, so this actually would explain why the Map called for them.

* Heh, hippogriffs drink from steins. This certainly won’t be twisted by fanartists. Also, ew, salmon juice. Wait, does this mean Twilight is going to go non-herbavore while still in pony form? Or is she going to have something else?

* Sweetie is in her happy place right now. Though I will admit that from what little we’ve seen the Harmonizing Heights actually do seem pretty nice. I mean, I wouldn’t care to try any mountain climbing while there, but the valley portion is very nice.

* And the nature of the problem is revealed. Terramar can’t make up his mind on where he wants to stay. And apparently family is a part of the issue too. I… can actually see something like this as being a problem that would logically arise from a situation like the hippogriffs. Not everybody is going to want to go back, and this is something that could potentially split families, and while you’d want the family to be together you’d also know that trying to force that could cause some members to then be unhappy about where they are, which could then lead to strife due to feelings of not having had a choice. Not sure if this is where the episode is going with this but I’m liking the implications and setup thus far at least.

* Yeah, can’t blame Terramar for being disturbed that the CMCare happy to see he’s got a problem.

* Ouch, dad in one place and mom in another. Yeah, that’s the drama right there. Plus he’s not sure where he actually prefers being but feels he has to choose. I get the feeling the episode will end with him deciding he doesn’t have to, but it’s still a pretty well set up situation here.

* Ah! Pro-con listing. Well, it might work, but I doubt this will be solved that easily.

* Well, nice timing by Twilight as the CMC are gonna need a species change here, but at the same time… of course you’re here on business Twilight.

* Scootaloo can finally move in 3 dimensions freely. Changing back is gonna suck for her, isn’t it?

* “No excuses, this time you’re staying for good”? Yeah, can’t see how this wound up being a huge problem for the kid.

* Also, I just hope Twilight thought to waterproof the permission slip.

* The thought just occurred to me that this episode might be serving as a metaphor for kids who are having to deal with split custody from divorced parents. If that’s what the writers intended then I gotta give them major props for going there, even if via metaphor.

* Oh hey, the ponies cutie marks wound up on their dorsal fins. Neat.

* The worst words a teenage boy can hear. “Baby pictures”.

* Well I think we know what Sweetie and Scoot’s feelings on the matter are, but really it’s Terramar’s feelings that have to be considered here.

* OK, now I really wanna see fan art of Twilight trying to win the screeching competition.

* Ugh, Scootaloo made a porpoise pun. In song. You go sit in corner and think about what you’ve done young lady.

* I wouldn’t be surprised if this has happened to the CMC before.

* Well, at least it seems like an amicable split between Terramar’s parents. And the other hippogriffs and seaponies. I’m guessing showing this to Terramar will be how the CMC show him that he doesn’t have to choose between worlds.

* And so the problem is solved with a lot of reasonableness and apologies on both sides. Congratulations to the CMC for a successful mission.

Well that’s the end of the episode. And I have to say that this is probably my favorite one of the season thus far. The scenery was gorgeous, the only idiocy taking place was very believable considering the ages of the CMC and didn’t last very long, it not only served to show off the worlds but also had some very interesting character moments with Scootaloo, and the moral was something not only sweet, but could potentially really help kids that are going through a rough time. Excellent episode, all around! No complaints here.

Except for the porpoise pun. GET BACK IN THE CORNER, SCOOTALOO!

#tv talk #episode reactions #my little pony friendship is magic #mlp:fim #mlp s8 e6 #surf and/or turf

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kansascityhappenings · 7 years

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Comedy icon Jerry Lewis dies at 91

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LOS ANGELES — Jerry Lewis, the manic, rubber-faced showman who jumped and hollered to fame in a lucrative partnership with Dean Martin, settled down to become a self-conscious screen auteur and found an even greater following as the tireless, teary host of the annual muscular dystrophy telethons, has died. He was 91.

Publicist Candi Cazau says Lewis died Sunday morning of natural causes at age 91 in Las Vegas with his family by his side.

Lewis’ career spanned the history of show business in the 20th century, beginning in his parents’ vaudeville act at the age of 5. He was just 20 when his pairing with Martin made them international stars. He went on to make such favorites as “The Bellboy” and “The Nutty Professor,” was featured in Martin Scorsese’s “The King of Comedy” and appeared as himself in Billy Crystal’s “Mr. Saturday Night.”

Jerry Lewis attends the ‘Max Rose’ photocall during The 66th Annual Cannes Film Festival at the Palais des Festivals on May 23, 2013 in Cannes, France. Photo by Stuart C. Wilson/Getty Images

In the 1990s, he scored a stage comeback as the devil in the Broadway revival of “Damn Yankees.” And after a 20-year break from making movies, Lewis returned as the star of the independent drama “Max Rose,” released in 2016.

In his 80s, he was still traveling the world, working on a stage version of “The Nutty Professor.” He was so active he would sometimes forget the basics, like eating, his associates would recall. In 2012, Lewis missed an awards ceremony thrown by his beloved Friars Club because his blood sugar dropped from lack of food and he had to spend the night in the hospital.

In his 90s, he was still performing standup shows.

A major influence on Jim Carrey and other slapstick performers, Lewis also was known as the ringmaster of the Labor Day Muscular Dystrophy Association, joking and reminiscing and introducing guests, sharing stories about ailing kids and concluding with his personal anthem, the ballad “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” From the 1960s onward, the telethons raised some $1.5 billion, including more than $60 million in 2009. He announced in 2011 that he would step down as host, but would remain chairman of the association he joined some 60 years ago.

His fundraising efforts won him the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award at the 2009 Oscar telecast, an honor he said “touches my heart and the very depth of my soul.” But the telethon was also criticized for being mawkish and exploitative of children, known as “Jerry’s Kids.” A 1960s muscular dystrophy poster boy, Mike Ervin, later made a documentary called “The Kids Are All Alright,” in which he alleged that Lewis and the Muscular Dystrophy Association had treated him and others as objects of pity rather than real people.

“He and his telethon symbolize an antiquated and destructive 1950s charity mentality,” Ervin wrote in 2009.

Responded Lewis: “You don’t want to be pitied because you’re a cripple in a wheelchair, stay in your house!”

He was the classic funnyman who longed to play “Hamlet,” crying as hard as he laughed. He sassed and snarled at critics and interviewers who displeased him. He pontificated on talk shows, lectured to college students and compiled his thoughts in the 1971 book “The Total Film-Maker.”

“I believe, in my own way, that I say something on film. I’m getting to those who probably don’t have the mentality to understand what … ‘A Man for All Seasons’ is all about, plus many who did understand it,” he wrote. “I am not ashamed or embarrassed at how seemingly trite or saccharine something in my films will sound. I really do make films for my great-great-grandchildren and not for my fellows at the Screen Directors Guild or for the critics.”

In his early movies, he played the kind of fellows who would have had no idea what the elder Lewis was talking about: loose-limbed, buck-toothed, overgrown adolescents, trouble-prone and inclined to wail when beset by enemies. American critics recognized the comedian’s popular appeal but not his aspirations to higher art; the French did. Writing in Paris’ Le Monde newspaper, Jacques Siclier praised Lewis’ “apish allure, his conduct of a child, his grimaces, his contortions, his maladjustment to the world, his morbid fear of women, his way of disturbing order everywhere he appeared.”

The French government awarded Lewis the Chevalier of the Legion of Honor in 1983 and Commander of Arts and Letters the following year. Film critic Andrew Sarris observed: “The fact that Lewis lacks verbal wit on the screen doesn’t particularly bother the French.”

Lewis had teamed up with Martin after World War II, and their radio and stage antics delighted audiences, although not immediately. Their debut, in 1946 at Atlantic City’s 500 Club, was a bust. Warned by owner “Skinny” D’Amato that they might be fired, Martin and Lewis tossed the script and improvised their way into history. New York columnists Walter Winchell and Ed Sullivan came to the club and raved over the sexy singer and the berserk clown.

Lewis described their fledgling act in his 1982 autobiography, “Jerry Lewis in Person”: “We juggle and drop a few dishes and try a few handstands. I conduct the three-piece band with one of my shoes, burn their music, jump offstage, run around the tables, sit down with the customers and spill things while Dean keeps singing.”

Hollywood producer Hal Wallis saw them at New York’s Copacabana and signed them to a film contract. Martin and Lewis first appeared in supporting roles in “My Friend Irma” and “My Friend Irma Goes West.” Then they began a hit series of starring vehicles, including “At War With the Army,” ”That’s My Boy” and “Artists and Models.”

But in the mid-1950s, their partnership began to wear. Lewis longed for more than laughs. Martin had tired of playing straight man and of Lewis’ attempts to add Chaplinesque pathos. He also wearied of the pace of films, television, nightclub and theater appearances, benefits and publicity junkets on which Lewis thrived. The rift became increasingly public as the two camps sparred verbally.

“I knew we were in trouble the day someone gave Jerry a book about Charlie Chaplin,” Martin cracked.

On July 24, 1956, Martin and Lewis closed shop, at the Copa, and remained estranged for years. Martin, who died in 1995, did make a dramatic, surprise appearance on Lewis’ telethon in 1976 (a reunion brokered by mutual pal Frank Sinatra), and director Peter Bogdonavich nearly persuaded them to appear in a film together as former colleagues who no longer speak to each other. After Martin’s death, Lewis said the two had again become friendly during his former partner’s final years and he would repeatedly express his admiration for Martin above all others.

The entertainment trade at first considered Martin the casualty of the split, since his talents, except as a singer, were unexplored. He fooled his detractors by cultivating a comic, drunken persona, becoming star of a long-running TV variety show and a respected actor in such films as “Some Came Running,” ”The Young Lions” and “Rio Bravo.”

Lewis also distinguished himself after the break, revealing a serious side as unexpected as Martin’s gift for comedy.

He brought in comedy director Frank Tashlin for “Rock-a-bye Baby,” ”Cinderfella,” ”The Disorderly Orderly,” ”The Geisha Boy” and “Who’s Minding the Store?”, in which he did a pantomime of a typist trying to keep up with Leroy Anderson’s speedy song “The Typewriter.”

With “The Bellboy,” though, Lewis assumed the posts of producer, director, writer and star, like his idol Chaplin. Among his hits under his own direction was the 1963 “The Nutty Professor,” playing a dual Jekyll and Hyde role, transforming himself from a nerdy college teacher to a sexy (and conceited) lounge singer, Buddy Love, regarded as a spoof of his old partner Martin.

He also directed “The Patsy,” ”The Errand Boy,” ”The Family Jewels” and “The Big Mouth.” Lewis’ more recent film credits included such low-budget releases as “Arizona Dream,” co-starring Johnny Depp, and “Max Rose,” which came out in 2016. He had a guest shot on television’s “Mad About You” and was seen briefly in Eddie Murphy’s remake of “The Nutty Professor.”

He was born Joseph Levitch in Newark, New Jersey, on March 16, 1926. His father, billed as Danny Lewis, was a singer on the borscht and burlesque circuits. His mother played piano for Danny’s act. Their only child was often left alone in hotel rooms, or lived in Brooklyn with his paternal grandparents, Russian Jewish immigrants, or his aunts in New Jersey.

“All my life I’ve been afraid of being alone,” Lewis once said. In his later years the solitude haunted him, and he surrounded himself with an entourage at work and at home.

Joey Levitch made his professional debut at age 5, singing the Depression tearjerker “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” to great applause. He recalled that he eventually lost all interest in school and “began to clown around to attract people’s attention.”

By 16, Jerry Lewis (as his billing read) had dropped out of school and was earning as much as $150 a week as a solo performer. He appeared in a “record act,” mouthing crazily to the records of Danny Kaye, Spike Jones and other artists. Rejected by the Army because of a heart murmur and punctured eardrum, Lewis entertained troops in World War II and continued touring with his lip-sync act. In 1944 he married Patti Palmer, a band vocalist.

The following year he met Martin, on a March day in 1945 in Manhattan, Broadway and 54th to be exact. Lewis was on his way to see an agent, walking with a friend, when his friend spotted an “incredibly handsome” man wearing a camel’s hair coat. Lewis and Martin were introduced and Lewis knew right off that this new acquaintance, nine years older than him, was “the real deal.”

“‘Harry Horses,’ I thought,” Lewis wrote in the memoir “Dean and Me,” published in 2005. “That was what we used to call a guy who thought he was smooth with the ladies. Anybody who wore a camel’s-hair overcoat, with a camel’s-hair belt and fake diamond cuff links, was automatically Harry Horses.”

Lewis couldn’t escape from small-time bookings. The same was true of Martin, who sang romantic songs in nightclubs. In 1946, Lewis was playing the 500 Club, and the seats were empty. Lewis suggested hiring Martin to bolster the bill, promising he could do comedy as well as sing.

Fame brought him women and Lewis wrote openly of his many partners. After 36 years of marriage and six sons, Patti Lewis sued her husband for divorce in 1982. She later wrote a book claiming that he was an adulterer and drug addict who abused their children. Son Gary became a pop singer whose group, Gary Lewis & the Playboys, had a string of hits in 1965-66.

In his late 50s, Lewis married Sandra Pitnick, 32, a former airline stewardess. They had a daughter, Dani, named for Jerry’s father.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports http://fox4kc.com/2017/08/20/comedy-icon-jerry-lewis-dies-at-91/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2017/08/20/comedy-icon-jerry-lewis-dies-at-91/

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richardrobertsimsuccessblog · 7 years

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Advice to Writers Who Feel Like a Fraud (from a Writer Who Feels Like a Fraud)

Let me guess …

Every success in your writing career has been a fluke.

When people praise your work, they don’t know what they’re talking about.

You’ll never measure up. You’re not a real writer. And any day now, everyone will see you for the fraud that you are.

That’s how you feel, anyway.

You read other blogs and feel crushed at how little you know and how little you have to offer. You wonder why you even bother with your own blog when so many great writers do it way better than you ever could.

Well, here’s a secret …

Those writers you admire probably feel the exact same way.

Even famous writers like Neil Gaiman, Tina Fey, and Seth Godin are on record that they still feel like frauds — like they don’t deserve their success and they’re getting away with something.

We all do.

The Voice Inside My Head That Tells Me I’m Unworthy

I have been a freelance writer for over three years, but I still feel I have no right to claim that title — writer.

I have a nagging voice inside my head that constantly reminds me of my unworthiness. It tells me to give up before I’m laughed off the Internet. That I’ll never compare to other writers — the real ones.

It provides a symphony of thoughts like:

“Who do you think you are?”

“Why would anyone care what you have to say?”

“Sooner or later, they’ll find out you have no clue what you’re doing.”

I call this voice the “Imp.” Her full name is Imposter Syndrome, and chances are you’ve already met. If you’ve ever had that dread of being outed as a fraud because you don’t stack up to other writers, you’ve experienced Imposter Syndrome, and you have an Imp of your own.

Imposter Syndrome is common across industries, but writers are especially susceptible.

Why is that?

Why Do We Feel Like Frauds All the Frickin’ Time?

Writing is a peculiar profession.

One thing that sets us apart is that we work in isolation.

That means nobody’s around to tell us we’re doing a great job until we put it out there for total strangers to judge. We’ll often work for a while on a project with no direct feedback, so it’s easy to start second-guessing our ability.

We have nobody to discuss our doubts with, so we are locked into internal conversations, which makes the Imp’s voice sound all the louder.

Working in isolation also means we don’t have any peers around to compare ourselves with, which leads us to compare ourselves with industry giants. No wonder we feel like we don’t measure up!

This also leads to us to create standards for ourselves that don’t exist. After all, you don’t see the time and effort other writers put in. You just see the result. That blog post that seems so effortless could be the result of weeks of work. But when you fail to churn out a perfect first draft, it means you’re an amateur.

The writing profession becomes even more dangerous when you step outside your comfort zone. You may have pitched an article to a large publication, and to your horror, they actually said yes. Then the insecurity takes hold and the fear of being exposed as an imposter rears its familiar head.

Sigh …

So are we doomed to deal with this nagging voice throughout our profession?

I’ll be honest; you may never fully get rid of it.

But you can learn to live with it.

How to Beat Imposter Syndrome: 4 Tips from a Writer Who Knows How You Feel

The first step on your road to recovery is to be aware that isolation, new challenges, and pointless comparisons are common causes of Imposter Syndrome. You may not always be able to avoid them, but if you are mindful of their effect, it will help you wrestle your Imp to the ground when needed.

And here’s how to do it.

#1. End the Isolation and Surround Yourself with Writers

The first step to beating Imposter Syndrome is to tackle one of its main causes: isolation.

You need to make friends with other writers who are at the same stage in their careers. You need to have people around you who understand you, who make you feel part of the writing community instead of an intruder.

Here are a few ways to meet other writers:

Join online writing communities (forums, Facebook groups, etc.)

Find local writing meetups on meetup.com.

Attend writing or blogging conferences.

Meet writers who are your peers, see who you get along with, and then join or start a mastermind group. Get together every week with a small group of people (around 4–6) and discuss what you’ve been up to and what’s been on your mind.

Share your fears and frustrations, and find comfort and reassurance in your similar experiences. You’ll inspire and encourage each other to grow as writers.

And as you grow, give back to the community by mentoring less experienced writers. Not only will you be helping others, your confidence will strengthen as you prove to yourself you do know what you’re doing and people do care what you have to say.

It’s rewarding and empowering at the same time.

#2. Prepare for Failure AND Success (Because Both Can Be Crippling)

The Imp comes with a cruel twist. It won’t just berate you for failures; it will berate you for successes as well.

When a pitch is rejected or an article bombs, your Imp will use it to convince you that you don’t have what it takes. Having a few failures in a row can make you want to curl up in a ball of despair.

On the other hand, when your writing is successful and gets glowing responses, your Imp will convince you it was a fluke. It will make you feel like you’ve now set expectations you’ll never be able to meet again.

The effect is the same. You procrastinate.

Because no idea feels good enough. You never feel prepared enough. And nothing you write feels like it stacks up.

You get stuck over-analyzing and don’t start anything new.

But the trick to beating your Imp is to keep yourself busy. Because the more you have on your mind, the less time you have to listen to that debilitating inner voice.

So prepare for these situations by creating an action plan. Have a list of tasks ready for whenever they come up, so you won’t have time to drive yourself crazy.

For example, when a pitch is rejected, you might make a point to ask for feedback, find different sites to pitch, or come up with 20 new headlines.

When a post takes off, you might make a point to read all the comments, identify what connected with readers, and see if you can find ideas for a follow-up post.

Whatever you do, stay active, and end each plan with you writing your next post.

#3. Log Your Victories to Reinforce Your Self-Esteem

Most of us have an instinct to devalue our talent. When a post does well, we think we got lucky. When someone compliments our work, we shrug it off.

But those are terrible habits.

You need to take responsibility for your victories.

When a post does well, you did that. When you get a compliment, you earned that.

And you should never forget it.

So log your victories in a “nice things” file. Log accomplishments big and small. Log every compliment you receive. Print them out or store them in Evernote.

Then read them on a regular basis. It will banish your Imp and reinforce your belief that you have talent. It will reinforce your belief that people value your work. Plus, it just feels good.

It’s okay to bask in your own glory from time to time.

#4. Remember That Nobody Expects You to Be Perfect (Except You)

As writers, we put ourselves out there as experts, which can feel intimidating.

You feel pressured to put forth a veneer of perfection. You don’t want to show the cracks in your knowledge, as that would show everyone you’re not an expert at all.

Because you don’t feel like one. You’re certainly not as much of an expert as those other guys, right? Because they know more than you?

So what if someone asks a question you don’t have the answer to? What if your post doesn’t include everything an expert would know? What if everyone realizes you don’t know everything?

Well, relax. Because readers aren’t looking for the holes and imperfections in your posts. They’re more interested in what you do know than what you don’t. The only one who’s worried about the latter is you.

Readers only care whether your knowledge and experience can help them reach their goals. You may not know as much as that other expert, but if you can do that, you’re expert enough for them.

Remember that.

You Are Not a Fraud, You Are a Writer

Your successes aren’t flukes.

You deserve all the praise you get.

And you are a writer — a real one.

So it’s time you finally convince yourself.

It’s time you fight back, wrestle your Imp to the ground and say, “Enough! I am smart, I am brave, and I earned everything I’ve worked for. I AM NOT A FRAUD!”

I’m right by your side, my fellow writer friend. Let’s do this together.

Let’s tear down the walls of isolation and surround ourselves with writers. Let’s stop feeling intimidated by success. Let’s stop expecting nothing but perfection from ourselves.

Let’s promise to keep writing no matter what, and let’s take responsibility for all the victories along the way.

Are you with me?

About the Author: Mel Wicks is a freelance copywriter and content marketer. Download her free bonus ‘7 Golden Writing Rules — A No-Fluff, Step-by-Step Guide to Writing Quality Blog Posts’ and be one of the first to hear when her new blog, The Craft of Copywriting, goes live in August 2017.

Advice to Writers Who Feel Like a Fraud (from a Writer Who Feels Like a Fraud)

#Richard Roberts IM Success Mix #Advice to Writers Who Feel Like a Fraud (from a Writer Who Feels Lik

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sandranelsonuk · 7 years

Text

Advice to Writers Who Feel Like a Fraud (from a Writer Who Feels Like a Fraud)

Let me guess …

Every success in your writing career has been a fluke.

When people praise your work, they don’t know what they’re talking about.

You’ll never measure up. You’re not a real writer. And any day now, everyone will see you for the fraud that you are.

That’s how you feel, anyway.

Well, here’s a secret …

Those writers you admire probably feel the exact same way.

Even famous writers like Neil Gaiman, Tina Fey, and Seth Godin are on record that they still feel like frauds — like they don’t deserve their success and they’re getting away with something.

We all do.

The Voice Inside My Head That Tells Me I’m Unworthy

I have been a freelance writer for over three years, but I still feel I have no right to claim that title — writer.

It provides a symphony of thoughts like:

“Who do you think you are?”

“Why would anyone care what you have to say?”

“Sooner or later, they’ll find out you have no clue what you’re doing.”

youtube

Imposter Syndrome is common across industries, but writers are especially susceptible.

Why is that?

Why Do We Feel Like Frauds All the Frickin’ Time?

Writing is a peculiar profession.

One thing that sets us apart is that we work in isolation.

We have nobody to discuss our doubts with, so we are locked into internal conversations, which makes the Imp’s voice sound all the louder.

Working in isolation also means we don’t have any peers around to compare ourselves with, which leads us to compare ourselves with industry giants. No wonder we feel like we don’t measure up!

Sigh …

So are we doomed to deal with this nagging voice throughout our profession?

I’ll be honest; you may never fully get rid of it.

But you can learn to live with it.

How to Beat Imposter Syndrome: 4 Tips from a Writer Who Knows How You Feel

And here’s how to do it.

#1. End the Isolation and Surround Yourself with Writers

The first step to beating Imposter Syndrome is to tackle one of its main causes: isolation.

Here are a few ways to meet other writers:

Join online writing communities (forums, Facebook groups, etc.)

Find local writing meetups on meetup.com.

Attend writing or blogging conferences.

Share your fears and frustrations, and find comfort and reassurance in your similar experiences. You’ll inspire and encourage each other to grow as writers.

It’s rewarding and empowering at the same time.

#2. Prepare for Failure AND Success (Because Both Can Be Crippling)

The Imp comes with a cruel twist. It won’t just berate you for failures; it will berate you for successes as well.

The effect is the same. You procrastinate.

Because no idea feels good enough. You never feel prepared enough. And nothing you write feels like it stacks up.

You get stuck over-analyzing and don’t start anything new.

But the trick to beating your Imp is to keep yourself busy. Because the more you have on your mind, the less time you have to listen to that debilitating inner voice.

So prepare for these situations by creating an action plan. Have a list of tasks ready for whenever they come up, so you won’t have time to drive yourself crazy.

For example, when a pitch is rejected, you might make a point to ask for feedback, find different sites to pitch, or come up with 20 new headlines.

When a post takes off, you might make a point to read all the comments, identify what connected with readers, and see if you can find ideas for a follow-up post.

Whatever you do, stay active, and end each plan with you writing your next post.

#3. Log Your Victories to Reinforce Your Self-Esteem

Most of us have an instinct to devalue our talent. When a post does well, we think we got lucky. When someone compliments our work, we shrug it off.

But those are terrible habits.

You need to take responsibility for your victories.

When a post does well, you did that. When you get a compliment, you earned that.

And you should never forget it.

So log your victories in a “nice things” file. Log accomplishments big and small. Log every compliment you receive. Print them out or store them in Evernote.

Then read them on a regular basis. It will banish your Imp and reinforce your belief that you have talent. It will reinforce your belief that people value your work. Plus, it just feels good.

It’s okay to bask in your own glory from time to time.

#4. Remember That Nobody Expects You to Be Perfect (Except You)

As writers, we put ourselves out there as experts, which can feel intimidating.

You feel pressured to put forth a veneer of perfection. You don’t want to show the cracks in your knowledge, as that would show everyone you’re not an expert at all.

Because you don’t feel like one. You’re certainly not as much of an expert as those other guys, right? Because they know more than you?

So what if someone asks a question you don’t have the answer to? What if your post doesn’t include everything an expert would know? What if everyone realizes you don’t know everything?

Readers only care whether your knowledge and experience can help them reach their goals. You may not know as much as that other expert, but if you can do that, you’re expert enough for them.

Remember that.

You Are Not a Fraud, You Are a Writer

Your successes aren’t flukes.

You deserve all the praise you get.

And you are a writer — a real one.

So it’s time you finally convince yourself.

It’s time you fight back, wrestle your Imp to the ground and say, “Enough! I am smart, I am brave, and I earned everything I’ve worked for. I AM NOT A FRAUD!”

I’m right by your side, my fellow writer friend. Let’s do this together.

Let’s tear down the walls of isolation and surround ourselves with writers. Let’s stop feeling intimidated by success. Let’s stop expecting nothing but perfection from ourselves.

Let’s promise to keep writing no matter what, and let’s take responsibility for all the victories along the way.

Are you with me?

from Julia Garza Social Media Tips https://smartblogger.com/imposter-syndrome/

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