#&&. promo ( they belong among the stars )

[starsweepers]

blue, alien hedgehogs still count as people, right?

                    i think so, too. ...i think.

independent and selective multimuses featuring tom ( written by @storybounded ) and maddie ( written by @starsweepers ) wachowski from the s.onic the hedgehog cinematic franchise.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

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You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,�� Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

[lean-mean-demon-genevieve]

“amazing…*laugh*…beauty…beautiful!…bounty…bountiful!…fritatas…I feel very lucky” that fancy degree from NYU coming in full swing along with that thesaurus she must have gotten from one of her many favorite bookstores in Austin.

Lol! Thank you for bringing this up. I have so many thoughts that go unposted because I’m like, “nah, that’s too much, let that one go.” And then they stay in the drafts.

But since we’re here!! 🤣

Yes, watch our gal as she struggles with the basic directions and then reminds us that she’s not on the call sheet because of any grand effort. Luck…nepotism…same difference, right?! “I feel very lucky.” …so valid.

Also of note for the Extra Petty among us: Gen was an afterthought as evidenced by everyone else being filmed on set and Gen coming atcha from her car. Can’t forget the boss’ wife! And Charlie would never. Big thanks to Charlie for filling her in on the frittata joke so she looks like she belongs.

Bonus points to the co-stars who gave up their social media passwords to Charlie for the sake of cross-posting the promo:

Look, I don’t mean to be cynical, but if anyone knows of any other way for this “Collaborator” title to occur with simultaneous postings, please let me know. I’m just here to remind you that social media managers exist and that not everything you see is 100% genuine. Somebody’s minion could be posting terrible puns to your fav’s account because that’s his literal job.

[markedmage]

in your breath (our words collide)

Pairing: Zutara

Rating: EXPLICIT

Summary:  Loving Zuko, she notes, has always been an art. She paints their love across his skin like a canvas, love pressed into his temple and his lips, love burned into their intertwined fingers. But that's an innocent love, love meant for the eyes of others. This love, this raw, bared love they're sharing in this moment, with parted silks and gasping breaths, is something entirely different, and yet tastes just as sweet.

Notes: Hello friends, sorry for being so MIA on here- grad life is H-A-R-D. That being said, here’s a little self promo for the smutfic I wrote for the Zutara Smut Exchange from discord. Please show this fic lots of love, and also everyone else who participated! Excerpt below.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765065

He enters, soft and quiet, like a wisp of smoke. She sits, sheer silk draped over her shoulders, and his eyes are like twin embers. She shudders under his heated gaze, her body heated from his eyes alone, as he draws near. Zuko walks with a purpose, powerful, confident, and the way his skin glistens in the firelight reminds her of the southern star.

"Katara," he whispers as he settles before her. He's wearing a simple silk tunic, blood-red and tinged with gold, and as he leans down, she tastes the spiced wine that lingers on his breath. "Katara."

She smiles, touching his chin, curling her fingers over his jaw. He leans into her touch, eyes fluttering close, and his chest rumbles as he shifts closer. "It's something so surreal," she murmurs, and he opens gentle golden eyes that seem to pierce her to the core. "I can't believe-"

"I know," he murmurs, and his hand wraps around her leg. "Earlier, when you were walking down the aisle, with Sokka and your father by your side-" he chokes, and there are tears in his eyes as he leans in, "-I thought I was dreaming. Who would have ever thought we'd be where we are today?"

She remembers a time where she and Zuko were on opposing sides of a war, a time when fire and ice fought tooth and nail, all for the sake of finding their place in this world. Looking at him now, she still sees that fire child, the boy who dances among the lightning strikes, and she wonders if there was ever a chance where it wasn't her and him, at the end. Because she can't, for the life of her, imagine a life where she doesn't belong to him, and he doesn't belong to her.

Maybe because Katara and Zuko were always meant to be.

She smiles. "You were always special to me," she says, and he catches her hand, pressing the barest brush of a kiss across her knuckles. "But being able to finally-"

"I know, love, I know," he tells her fiercely, and he drops down, resting his chin against her thigh, and the brush of his scar against her skin has her trembling, heat pooling in her core. "You and me, like it was always meant to be."

"Zuko," she returns, curling a hand around the nape of his neck, reaching for the silk tie holding his hair back. His eyes don't leave hers, and he trails a hand up her arms, tantalizing and soft. His hair falls around them both like the night sky as he kneels, the silk tie falling down to the floor, and he presses a kiss to her wrist.

"You look beautiful," he tells her. His fingers twine through hers, scarred and calloused, but all hers. "Before, at the ceremony, draped in the furs of your people, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her throat, and she sucks in a breath, his lips dancing across her skin like a whisper of wind. "But now, looking at you here in my- our- room, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever known." His free hand rises, reaching for her face, gracing over her cheekbones, before going for the tie that keeps her crown in check. "Firelady Katara."

[winetae]

:: modern loneliness

⇨ prompt : android!hoseok x reader. 2205 words. drabble with a possible follow-up. it’s been 38 days since you’ve last seen and interacted with a living, breathing person and you’re slowly going insane.

.

[Week 1 of lock down.]

At first, you’re optimistic. 

Working from home comes with its own set of non-negligeable perks. Notably, no more commute time! No more squeezing in between sweaty men on the subway during rush hour just to get home. The new arrangement means that you’re no longer obliged to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to blow-dry your hair or meticulously put on makeup while stuffing a bagel into your mouth because you’re short on time. 

On Day 1 of quarantine, you roll out of bed and don’t even bother to change out of your pajamas. It’s quite the sight. Not that you care whether or not your hair looks like a bird’s nest or if there’s a small hole in your shirt. You’d gladly take your flannel pants and old university sweatshirt with the coffee stain by the collar over the rigid pencil skirt and stupid obligatory heels they force you to wear to the office. Ironing? You don’t know her. 

That’s not to say there aren't any inconveniences but as of now, the pros outweigh the cons. For one, you’re now allowed to add as much sugar into your coffee without susciting your coworkers’ judgement. You can blast angry rap songs while finishing your reports and no one will stop you. The list goes on. 

With all this newfound time on your hands, you have no more valid reasons to procrastinate. You start off by cleaning out the kitchen cabinets you’d been meaning to re-organize for months. Then you rearrange your wardrobe, dust off the top shelves of your bookcase that you usually skip over because no one can see them, and water the potted plants you’d been neglecting. 

It feels great to be so productive. Your friends tell you via FaceConnect that your productivity streak won’t last long, but you’re quick to shake off their doubts. 

“I’m a new me!” You insist when Mia’s laughter echoes around your empty apartment. “My life is back on track. I feel like a proper adult now that I’m not struggling so much to get everything done.”

“Sure,” she humors you. “Just don’t get upset when I tell you I told you so.”

.

[Day 8 of lockdown.]

Now that your apartment is cleaner than it’s ever been, you need to find other means of entertainment. According to the internet, now is the ideal time to learn a new language or acquire a new hobby, like crocheting or playing the guitar. But while it might be technically possible to learn a language, you’re definitely not an overachiever. You’re aware of your own limits. 

Today you try your hand at baking. To some it might not seem like a big deal. But for someone like you who solely uses the kitchen to boil ramyeon packets and chop the occasional vegetable, today’s venture into the world of cooking is the equivalent of a quantum leap. 

The molten lava cakes that come out of the oven 15 minutes later don’t look like the picture advertised in the online recipe. They don’t taste like how you’d expected, either. 

You try not to be too disappointed with your failed attempt. After all, it’s only your first try. Dry cakes aren’t that bad in comparison to the horrors that could have occurred. At least nothing is burnt and your oven is still intact. You’ll try again tomorrow with hopefully a little more success.

.

[Day 16 of lockdown.]

It turns out that baking is not for you. After numerous trials and errors you learn a few days later that you have no vacation to be a baker. You end up abandoning all attempts to acquire a new hobby and instead look for new ways to pass the time. 

Thankfully, your home server is offering free VOD for a limited amount of time, so you’re not short on distractions. You consume around half a dozen cult movies, the kind people always reference and quote without actually watching, before you finally begin crossing TV series off your to-watch list. 

You yawn. It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night and you’ve just finished binging the entire season of Tiger King. It’s the third show you’ve watched from start to finish since quarantine began and now you’re wondering whether you should start a fourth. 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you say before a grimace crosses your face. “Oh great... Now I’m talking to myself.” 

That can’t be a good sign, you think to yourself. How long has it been since you’ve last talked to someone? You used to call your parents every day but when there’s nothing new to report, the conversations become repetitive and dull. 

You should call Mia. Just to see how she’s doing.

.

[Day 24 of lockdown.] 

YOUR WEEKLY BASKET FROM FOODCONNECT HAS ARRIVED. ALL PURCHASES WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR MONTHLY EXPENSES CARD. REMINDER THAT DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES, CONNECT CARDS ARE ALLOWED A 5000 EXCESS OVER FIXED LIMIT. TOTAL EXCESS HAS NOT YET BEEN REACHED.

.

[Day 38 of lockdown.] 

You’re browsing BH, hoping to restock your vitamins. Lately you’ve been feeling tired and mentally drained, despite your workload not being what it used to be. Why you’re so exhausted is a mystery you’ve yet to solve. In all logic, your energy level should be at an all time high now that you’re working less and spending all your free time lounging on the couch surfing the internet. 

According to the national health guideline, you’re supposed to be exercising an hour a day minimum in order for your body to remain in good condition. Your BODYCONNECT watch monitor beeps every hour to remind you that you haven’t completed the suggested activity. 

Ugh. 

You press the button on the side of the watch to turn the reminder off. It’s the fifth time you’ve had to silence it today but you can’t bring yourself to work up a sweat right this minute. You keep telling yourself that you’ll exercise later but like all things lately, later ends up being never. 

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself slacking off. Where did all your motivation during week 1 of lockdown go? You don’t even have the strength to do ten jumping jacks anymore; it’s like your bones belong to a person three times your age - feeble and brittle and threatening to break at a moment’s notice. 

LOW ON SEROTONIN? WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED. Flash promo over in 00:32:43! Limited offer while supplies last.

A bright yellow advertisement flashes on the top right corner of your screen. Intrigued, you follow the link without expecting much. The last thing you expect is to be brought directly to BH LAB’s homepage. 

“Um… I don’t think I have the budget for this…” You mutter under your breath and prepare to exit out of the page. 

Androids are usually employed by the government but the ones for sale to the general public are known to be exorbitantly expensive. 

A message reads: EXCLUSIVE 1 HOUR PROMO, 40% OFF YOUR FIRST PURCHASE. Click here for more details. Offer valid for new customers only. 

You pause and decide to click on the link. Looking around won’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not like you’ve decided to buy anything yet. 

The seven Dwellers available for sale are just as good looking as you expected them to be. Their unnaturally good looks and vibrant green eyes are what makes them easy to pick out from the crowd. 

You skim through each Dweller’s description. It seems that apart from the physical differences like their facial features and build, they each have their own specialty and characteristics. One of the best-selling models boasts the cooking ability of a 5-star chef, which you admit sounds very tempting since your skills with a knife are pathetic enough to make Gordon Ramsey cry. 

Another best-selling model specializes in...sex. You blink, your cheeks warming as you read over the model’s description (the “thick, vibrating cock that guarantees an orgasm every time!” comment makes you choke on your saliva). You can understand straight away why this particular model would be so popular. All of the models are pretty, but this one’s face doesn’t look like it’s from this world. Confinement would make anyone horny, and when promised a godly sex bot equipped with a vibrating dick, well…

Too bad you’re too tired these days to even think about having “mind-blowing sex for 5 hours straight.” Having such intense intercourse would probably make you pass out on the Dweller’s artificial cock, and there’s no way in hell you would want someone from CONNECT to intervene after receiving distressed signals from your body monitor. That would just be embarrassing. 

You’re about to exit out of the page, curiosity sated, when the last model catches your eye.

SEROTONIN BOOSTER. Low on energy? Feeling sad or depressed? Need a companion? 

This model is perfect for you! Model JHS is equipped with emotion sensors. They will fulfill your every need even when you’re not able to vocalize them. Stressed? They specialize in massages and are proficient in: Swedish massages, Aromatherapy, Shiatsu massages, Reflexology, among others. 

Personality : This model is energetic. They are very active and therefore requires a minimum 6 hours to recharge. They are extremely tactile and will easily engage in skinship such as hugs or holding hands. They are talkative and will hold passionate conversations with you about almost any subject. 

Likes : cleaning, working out

Dislikes : horror movies, strong smells

When reading the description, it feels they’re talking about a person rather than an android. You’re surprised to see that the Dwellers are programmed to have a certain personality that caters to specific needs because the only androids you’ve ever come across before are the government ones, and they’ve always been stoic and devoid of any distinguishing characteristic. 

It would be nice, you think, to have a companion. Someone you could talk to for real instead of through a pixelated hologram. As much as you enjoy your time alone, each passing day locked in your apartment makes you realize how much you long for a hug. You miss holding someone in your arms, feeling their heartbeat against your cheek and the rise and fall of their chest as they squeeze you back. 

Model JHS looks like he could fill that vacancy. Their smile is blinding, like they’re physically radiating sunshine through their expression alone. You don’t doubt their capacity to bring positive energy into your life. 

Before you can think twice about it you’re adding the model to your shopping cart. The site asks you if you want to pay more in order to customize them. For an additional fee, you’re able to tweak the Dweller’s personality or modify their physical attributes to your liking. You skip over the option. For one, you don’t have the funds to afford a vibrating dick enhancement and two, you’re more than satisfied with your Dweller as they are.

It’s not until you finish supplying all your information including your Connect Card details and shipping address that you realize what a monumental purchase you’re about to make and how empty your account will be by the end of it.

You stare at the price listed at the bottom of the screen and weigh your options. Even with the 40% reduction, it’s not a negligible sum. You could buy several models of the new Birkin bag you’d been saving up for with this money. 

Why purchase designer bags when you can’t even go out and use them? a voice argues. And - uh. Fair point. 

In any case, you’d have to stop shopping, eating out all the time and going on frivolous trips overseas. Not that you really have a choice, given the circumstances. 

You look at the laptop screen again. Are you seriously so touch-deprived that you’re willing to fork over that much money for a live-at-home android? Really? 

Fuck it. 

You click on [VALIDATE PAYMENT] before rationality has time to kick in and you change your mind again. Just as the screen changes and the new page loads, you feel your heart leap to your throat but it’s too late to back out now. 

PROCESSING ORDER …

...

CONGRATULATIONS! 

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ORDERED (1) DWELLER - JHS MODEL. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE. 

(!) Your order is eligible for Instant Shipping (delivered to your door in 24 hours or less). 

(!!) Due to exception circumstances, your order might encounter delays. We are taking multiple steps to ensure the safety and hygiene of all products and shipments. For more information click here.

(!) All BH products are covered by a limited two-year warranty. Please refer to warranty details regarding your product in the Dweller E-HandBook, free for download here. Please register your product after purchase in order to qualify for future claims, returns, and support.

You expel the breath you’d been holding. Your father will throw a fit once he finds out you’ve blown all your money on a bot. The criticism is warranted.

What are you even supposed to say to defend yourself? You’ve bought a  Dweller on a whim while browsing for Vitamin C supplements.

Quarantine is really making you lose your goddamn mind, huh.

[fromtheringapron]

Royal Rumble ‘90 Fan Picks: A Review

Last year, I graded promos of the participants in the 1990 Royal Rumble match. It was a super fun time, but we’re not done with all the early ‘90s goodness yet. While the pre-match promos are an excellent piece of character work, the more enlightened among us would know they weren’t the only ones who went public with their thoughts on that day’s event. If you owned the Coliseum Home Video release (which I assume would be everyone), you’d see an exclusive segment where the fans in attendance give their picks on who’s going to win.

Needless to say, this is an utterly delightful segment. It’s a raw, honest look into what human beings were like at the start of the ‘90s. Years and years from now, when we’re all dead and buried, this will be in a time capsule as one of our last vestiges to a particular time in history. Also, thankfully, it’s a glimpse into the absurd mark-dom of early ’90s wrestling fans, unblemished by Internet snark and social media savvy. Their thoughts are pure and ridiculous and perfect for riffing all at once. Bless them all.

Anyway, let’s take a look and see who the masses in Orlando thought would go all the way in the Rumble 30 slappin’ years ago:

The Man in Black: We start with a fairly boring young man who thinks The Ultimate Warrior is going to win because of his strength and wrestling experience. Um, okay? About as basic and unimaginative as his opinion is his fashion sense. Entirely draped in black, could easily be mistaken for one of those goths who popped up around the mid ‘90s for the Undertaker. Also, what’s up with the Canon shoulder strap? Surely he must’ve taken some photos. I want live photos to surface of Saaphire striking Queen Sherri mid-slap. I demand it.

Potential Murder Suspect: Honestly, I don’t know whether to find this dude endearing or creepy. The tone of his voice says fun and flamboyant, but the eyes being covered by those massive sunglasses gives me the heebie jeebies. What are you hiding from us, my dear sir? Anyway, he says Hulk Hogan will win because of his 24-inch pythons. His next TV appearance, I’m guessing, was on America’s Most Wanted. 

Fighting Frat Bros: So next we get two guys who just came from the nearest keg party to argue over whether Hogan or Warrior will win. I’m not sure if the producers forced them to do this to hype WrestleMania VI, but I will say you can’t possibly script some frat dude saying the Warrior will win because he’s “a monster wrestler.” The pro-Hogan one of the pair argues the Hulkster will because of, you guessed it, his 24-inch pythons. People in 1990 were really fascinated with the pythons. Neither bro is the star of this bit, however. That honor instead belongs to the the clueless dude in the Bret Hart shirt behind them looking totally befuddled and seems to have wandered to the Orlando Arena by accident. What a gem.

Most Hated Woman in America: Literally all this women says is that Mr. Perfect is gonna win the Rumble to get absolutely crapped on by everyone around her. She was then presumably disowned by her family off-camera. Also, she’s wearing a Hulkamania shirt as she says this and it’s like, um, sis, whose side are you really on? The chorus of boos is led by a tie-dye clad fellow who seems to be under the impression he’s attending a Grateful Dead concert.

Smarky Smarks: Ugh. Look at these smug little shits. You just know they get off telling all the marks about the latest Meltzer scoops from the Wrestling Observer. Give it 10 years and these would probably be the same dudes on the Net ranting about how Taka Michinoku and Dean Malenko should be main eventing WrestleMania, could wrestle The Rock out of his boots, blah blah blah. They pick Mr. Perfect to win because of course they do.

Our Lady Peace: Wait, who’s this? Who is this sentient being arisen from hairspray and cigarette ash? She swoops in with the fervent call of I’M SORRY TO DISAGREE WITH YA that immediately swallows our smark bros whole. She asserts that Jake The Snake is going to win. This queen has rescued us from their nauseating self-satisfaction with her tried and true Jake fandom. Ma’am, if you’re still bopping around south Florida somewhere, you’re a hero. Maybe you still think Jake is gonna win the Rumble, I don’t know. We’ll always have this document of your good deeds to remember you by.

Bill Eadie’s #1 Fan: Easily the most random pick comes from this gentleman who, um, picks Demolition Axe because “he’s the only one that can beat Andre The Giant.” His friend appears to be on the verge of laughter. I can’t tell if this is a deliberate troll job by these dudes or what. Funnily enough, I could actually see Bill Eadie with some sort of cult following amongst smart fans who knew of his extensive pre-Demolition career, but as our Rumble winner? Come on now.

Hit Girl: So this youngster picks Bret Hart because “he’s really neat and has a good chance.” This is chilling to watch. She has no idea how hard her hero will disappoint her. He will fail, having his elimination barely on-camera. Her world view will become jaded. Years later, she will enact revenge on him and orchestrate the Montreal Screwjob. If you’re looking for the real mastermind behind it all, look no further. Vince was just the fall guy.

Shady Lady: This woman, who appears to have stolen Gorilla Monsoon’s glasses, predicts Roddy Piper is gonna win because “he’s got great legs, even if he does wear a skirt.” We’ll need to unpack this. First off, I really want to know how Piper’s gorgeous gams will lead him to victory, although if he came there to chew gum and kick some ass, the legs may help him out with that. Then, in the second bit of that statement, she suddenly turns heel. Even if he does wear a skirt? Is that shade? Did she take notes from Bobby Heenan? To go from thirsting after Hot Rod to dragging him in a single promo is some legend shit. The Attitude Era began right here.

Silver Fox: Wait, so this guy clearly works at the arena, right? Look at how he’s dressed. There’s a name tag there but, alas, the Orlando sun leaves me unable to read it. Anyway, he thinks “Jimmy Superfly” is gonna win because “he is the best.” And then he does a hilariously pathetic Jimmy Snuka impersonation, which I can only assume was so awful that he was fired from his Orlando Arena job later that day.

Pretty Fly for a White Guy: This guy never stops to catch his breath at any point during this bit. It kinda stresses me out. He thinks Randy Savage will win because the Royal Rumble is named after royalty and the only king is Savage himself. Clever reasoning, my dude! He then holds up a piece of abstract art resembling a sign. It’s supposed to depict Sherri, but we only get Sherri’s eyes looking directly into our souls. Fans in the early ‘90s were avant-guard trailblazers in their own way.

Saaphire’s #1 Fan: This child picks Dusty Rhodes to win because “he’s got a really good manager.” That manager, as if I need to remind you, is Saaphire, who isn’t a manager and is actually a crazed Dusty fan who was picked from relative obscurity. It’s so easy to mock this, but I appreciate the pure innocence in his answer. Plus, I like the idea that Saaphire has this amazing wrestling savvy to bring Dusty to the winner’s circle. Did you know that Saaphire invented the Canadian Destroyer and the Spanish Fly?

And that’s a wrap. Woof, what a segment. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore. So, who do you think will win this year’s Royal Rumble? I’m picking Demolition Axe. After all, he’s the only one that can beat Brock Lesnar. 

[butshewantstofight]

I was creeping and I saw you said you had a theory on why Harries are acting the way they are rn.... and id like to hear it lol 👀

I don’t know if it’s so much of a “theory” as much as watching a long...excruciatingly slow...car crash happen. lol  So, get comfy. I’m going in...

If we’re all gonna be 100% real there’s been a little pocket of toxic Harries since XFactor and they have never liked Niall. It started with posting all over social media that he was ugly...and moved right onto “he doesn’t belong in 1D” They drug him for looking 12 and having crooked teeth and his bleached hair...being scrawny. They hadn’t even gotten off the show yet. 

Moving on...1D went away to record and during that time Niall got braces and Directioners REALLY became a thing. Harries went a bit quiet. Because if they got salty...they had 4/5 of the fandom on their ass. Now they started low key dragging Niall (and Louis)....but sprinkled with some “haha” so they could say it was a joke. 

Moving on again.....something shifted around mid to late 2013. Everyone was shipping and now a big chunk of these Harries became....Zarries. They only had to post about Harry and Zayn. If they didn’t post about the other three no one noticed. They continued to be shady always framing it as “jokes” BUT now accounts started showing up on twitter and Facebook. I remember one in particular on Facebook. I think it was called “Niall doesn’t belong in 1D” Run by a Harrie. Charming. 

Moving on again to 2014...Harries have a weird relationship with Zayn. They not only think that he’s the only one in Harry’s league...they also think of him as competition. When Zayn starts flaking on promo they are a little giddy...and a little brave. They’re the ones speculating the most and when Zayn leaves in Feb 2015 they are fully empowered.

This is when they REALLY start doing the thing. Harry’s now the “star” of 1D. He’s “carrying” 1D. They start making “jokes” about Harry and the Pips...Harry and “the backup singers”...haha. Harry and Niall’s friendship becomes a real solid thing during OTRA tour...right up till the last performance at XFactor. 

Then we have New Years, Kendall, the boat and loads of rumors of Harry signing a recording contract...on the boat. Now Harries are empowered and we see the first REAL shade accounts and troll Harries. They are FULLY expecting Harry to be the Justin Timberlake and they are giddy.....right up until Niall drops This Town and then they drop ALL pretenses. They FULLY go after Niall. When SOTT and Self Titled drops we also see an influx of new solo Harries join the mix. 

Now. These new Harries don’t like that Harry is associated with One Direction. It’s not cool and they are embarrassed by it. They immediately start disassociating Harry from them. The only problem is Larries and Narrys. Larries they dismiss pretty easily. They call them crazies and drag them. Narry’s aren’t so easy. Most don’t ACTUALLY ship them. It’s more of a bromance thing and there is the fact that Harry was the closest with Niall especially at the end. They went golfing. They hung out outside of the band. They flew together. They rode together. The whole of 2015 was just them being really close friends....and then there was the fact that Niall was the only one Harry publicly congratulated and said that he liked their music. Niall reciprocated. Niall had to go. 

Now we have former 1D Harries and new solo Harries aligned. NOW’S when you start to see the rewriting of history. Niall was “so mean” to Harry. Niall was always “hanging” on Harry. Niall was leaching off of Harry. Niall was a “pest” and never let Harry breathe. Niall was trying to be Harry. Niall was using Harry.  Then they started to believe their own shit and any new Harries were told all the history rewrites and that’s what they believe so now they hate him too. 

And now we’re caught up to pretty much present times. Still trying to disassociate Harry from 1D and it’s members. Still believing their made up version of history. Still trying to drag the other members down to fulfill that Justin Timberlake fantasy. Only now they’ve moved onto stans too. They stalk, troll and harass groups of stans. On twitter. On tumblr. On Instagram. Where Zayn and his stans were once a part of their “in” crowd...now they have decided they’re better than that too apparently. So, now he’s currently being fazed out among the majority of Harries. 

They were sort of kept in check during 1D because they would get called out and told that “we support all our boys” yada yada. The One Direction mantra. But now there’s no one to call them out. Not even the Harries that don’t like their behavior. They just turn a blind eye to it and the toxic Harries now can say “I’m not a Directioner. I don’t care” and that’s exactly what they do. 

Thus concludes “The History of Toxic Harries” lol It’s long winded and I expect that I will have an epic fuckton of them descending on my blog to tell me off and let me know how full of shit I am. I also expect that I’m not going to care and that the “block” option in my settings will be used generously and often for the remainder of the night. 

~ The End

[daegurp-blog]

WELCOME TO DAEGU !!

loading dossier on IM AREUM —— please be sure to take a look at the checklist before venturing around town.

BASIC STUFF.

FACECLAIM: jennie kim. MUSE’S NAME: im areum PRONOUNS: she/her. GENDER: cisfemale AGE: 21

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, caring, and dedicated NEGATIVE TRAITS: detached and closed off MUSE AESTHETICS: hands covered in rings, staring at the stars, and meditation QUOTE: but this, me, is the best that i could do with what i had to work with.

BACKGROUND. tw: sexual assault.

Im Areum born December 25, 1997 into a wealthy family, her mother’s family owning a cosmetic brand that only become more popular with time and her mother being a major shareholder. Her father, working his way up in a pharmaceutical company which by the age of 10, he became the CEO of. Areum was the first daughter of the couple and their youngest child. She was born and raised in Busan where she spent a majority of her childhood before moving to Seoul at the age of 12.

One day, a major entertainment company was doing its rounds of their auditioning process and for no reason but admiration of these idols, she auditioned. Her parents were shocked when she told them the news of her acceptance and after much discussion they agreed she should go. They wanted their daughter to be happy and as much as it pained them to watch their little girl go they wanted her to pursue her passions.

Areum spent the next four and a half years training to debut, and at the age of 17 years old her debut was set. Promos were coming out of her in the group, she had participated in predebut activities (being on variety shows, singing shows and even taking a few roles in web dramas). (the sexual assault tw will be in this paragraph, if a sensitive subject please skip to the fourth paragraph) Her debut date was set, endless nights were spent practicing until one night a higher up within the company had managed to find her alone practicing by herself. The older man sexually assaulted her, easily overpowering the girl who tried to scream and fight her way out of it.

(END OF TRIGGER WARNING)

For a week, she disappeared which caused panic within the company before reappearing, only to meet with the CEO of the company. They worked out a deal that what happened would stay private and go unreported as long as he let her out of her contract and got that person fired and black balled from the industry. Two days later, she moved back home to Busan causing a stir within the media. What happened that suddenly Areum dropped out on the edge of the debut?

For a year, she was quietly tutored at home, only occasionally leaving the house and walking among the streets. Her parents wanted to do more, get the law involved but there had been no way to prove what happened so they focused on their daughter and trying to help her heal and move on. For a year, Areum slowly began to heal and move forward before feeling comfortable to start a new.

At 18, she moved to Daegu and began studying at Yeungnam University, double majoring in Arts & Design and Media & Communication. After her first year, she began to work at a small boutique in the center of Daegu where she’s worked ever since.

INTERVIEW.

1. what do you do for a living??

"I’m a full time student who works part time at a popular boutique in downtown Daegu.”

2. how and where do you see yourself being in 5 years??

“Career wise, I hope to have launched my clothing line and work full time on it. Financially, I don’t really care about how much I make, as long as I can make ends meet independently. My family comes from money and my parents have put shares in my name in both of their companies, so there will always be some flow of money no matter what. However, I don’t want to rely on that, I want to show my parents that I can be successful all on my own. As for a relationship, I hope that I’ll be in a steady one by 26 but I’m not set on it. I’ll still be young and, to me, it’s more about finding the right person and taking my time over rushing something and being unhappy with the end results. Finally, connections wise, I hope to be in contact and on good terms with my family and friends. While, also forming new connections both platonic ones and ones that relate to my business and work life.”

3. where do you fall on daegu’s societal hierarchy spectrum??

Technically, I belong to the upper class in Busan, but prefer to live a more humble life in Daegu. I can see life from both sides, but I’m definitely privileged and I’m aware that I am. I have no sense of pride in the hierarchy, but I’m not quite sure how to go about making a change, that’s why I prefer to live my life as someone from a middle class family.”

4. how do you feel about where you personally fit in the social hierarchy of the town and what are your intentions because of this??

“Again, I has no pride in the hierarchical system nor do I enjoy the privilege I have from it. As much as I’m upset and frustrated at such a system, I don’t know how to go about and change it. One person can’t dismantle such a massive system by themselves and even if I could, where do I start? So, I live in it, go to marches and support legislature or movements that will help create equality, but I’m not a leader by any means.”

5. what are your goals and aspirations for the future??

"My goals in life are (1) to launch my own clothing line and become successful in that field, (2) to be happy as much as humanly possible and (3) to spread happiness to the people around me.”

[starsweepers]

sometimes the impossible can become POSSIBLE... if you’re AWESOME.

amber && kylie.  roleplaying these two since 2014. various other tied together muses including other canons and ocs.

[kantobite]

“A shock to rival all shocks! Good? Or evil?” (South Korean marketing post 2)

@sleemo

Link to the post, on the official Star Wars Korea blog here.

[Watch the TV spot embedded at the top of the page before proceeding; it’s not very different from another one we got so far, and there’s no new footage, but the text below describes and analyzes the spot in some detail.]

The TV spot opens with the Millennium Falcon. This lil guy is the poster child for the original trilogy, and also the symbol for the sequel trilogy’s theme, “the collaboration between the past and the present”. Come to think of it, in “The Force Awakens”, Rey’s primary role was to assemble the main players of the past: she met Han and Chewie aboard the Millennium Falcon, found Luke’s lightsaber, and reunited with Princess Leia, C3PO, and R2-D2. Only Luke himself wasn’t present. But Rey set out to find the owner of the lightsaber, and Luke made his grand appearance in the finale. In the trailer for “The Last Jedi”, we see her handing the saber to its original owner.

In this TV spot, Luke meets yet another old friend, the Falcon. Unlike in the trailer for TFA, however, when Han was laughing aboard the Falcon, the setting feels much more somber. Luke seems to be mourning the loss of his friend, while also seemingly blaming the one responsible for the family’s tragedy.

Let’s look back on who Luke Skywalker is. Luke is the son of Anakin Skywalker, the main character of the prequel trilogy, and in the OT, he prevails over his father, who is now Darth Vader, and even beats the Emperor himself, ending the war. If Luke were to step up now, the conflict between the First Order and the Resistance might be solved.

He is a great Jedi, who defeated the Dark Force with his own Light Force. But he is also the child of Anakin, who fell to the Dark Side and became Vader. Even his nephew, Ben Solo (Kylo Ren) is succumbing to the Dark Side. Luke himself was not immune to the waves of hate and anger he felt as he battled his father. At the time, he managed to keep his integrity as a Jedi, but he must have felt the temptation of the Dark Side his whole life. Maybe that temptation isn’t over yet. That the lightsaber Rey delivers to Luke originally belonged to Anakin is a reminder of the family’s destiny.

“Let the past die. It’s the only to become what you were meant to be.” Kylo Ren’s words. We can’t be sure if they’re addressed to Rey, or to himself. He wields a great Force but is not quite a skilled villain, nor is he completely good. In this sequel trilogy, Kylo Ren’s growth story will take center stage. His back-and-forth interactions with Rey will make the two of them grow into their rivalry.

Snoke, the pinnacle of evil, said “Darkness rises, and light to meet it.” This is of course also about Rey and Kylo, but whether it is of their apparent good and evil, or their inner struggles, will determine the course of the rest of the series. And Rey finds herself struggling with her identity. We, the audience, are very curious about her identity as well. Did she hear something from Luke that she didn’t understand, or something she didn’t want to hear? Will Rey take Kylo’s outstretched hand and look into the Dark Side?

Kylo Ren is from a blessed heritage, one that descended from the past trilogies, but is destroying his own roots. Rey, on the other hand, is bringing the past to the present. So we might predict that Rey is descended from someone who was the main player in a past tragedy, or someone who was cast out [/isolated, the meaning is a bit vague here].

The final scenes from our TV spot foreshadow a shocking scene. Luke is on the ground, shouting, “This is not going to go the way you think!” Then, Rey seemingly raises her saber at Luke. Is this real? Rey, attacking Luke? Is our last Jedi going to be betrayed by both Rey and Kylo Ren? Is she being controlled by Snoke?

The main poster for TLJ arranges the cast of characters in differing sizes and in a symmetrical shape. It looks a bit like the one for Thor: Ragnarok, but this feels more classic and melancholic.

The biggest character in the poster is, of course, Luke Skywalker, the titular Last Jedi. He stands at the apex of all the other conflicting characters. Everyone is under his influence. Rey and Kylo Ren are two of his apprentices, but in the poster they stand back to back, and as enemies.

Carrie Fisher, whose role as Leia in this film is her last, is at the very center. A fitting placement to honor one who has passed. She is, after all, also the general of the Resistance. There is a strong light cast upon Leia’s face--the left is the side of the Light, and the right, the Dark.

Around Leia, the 4 younger main characters of the ST are placed in an X formation. At first glance, it seems the left is the good side, and the right is the bad side. It’s quite worrying that Poe Dameron is placed just under Kylo Ren. You might interpret that as Rey, Finn and Poe closing in around Kylo Ren, but that seems like a bit of a stretch. Perhaps we might have to steel ourselves for a betrayal from Poe.

[some more description of the Praetorian Guards and Phasma]

Under Chewbacca, we see Rose Tico. She’s played by an Asian actress named Kelly Marie Tran, and is a mechanic for the Resistance. With the main character Rey as a woman and Finn as a black man, we saw some diversity among the cast. Now, there’s an Asian woman added to the mix. She features quite prominently in various TLJ promo material, so she must be quite important.

But we don’t see Snoke, leader of the FO, on this poster. Maybe it’s a marketing strategy to not show us the Big Bad so soon, but we could also interpret it as Snoke not being the main villain.

Then who will replace Snoke as the face of evil? Is it a new character? Benicio del Toro will appear as a mysterious character called DJ; will he make a surprise entrance at the theatre after months of being under wraps? Or is it someone already on the poster? Whoever it is, they must be skilled in the Force, and should be in an important position on the poster. Perhaps the identity of the villain might be the movie’s big plot twist.

[thebastardofgloucester]

all the posts collating reactions to The Empire Strikes Back or writing mock Rotten Tomatoes reviews to imply that the criticisms of this film aren’t worth paying attention to are just…so missing the point

exactly two works that said what ‘Star Wars�� was existed at the time of Empire’s release in 1980: Star Wars (not yet renamed ‘A New Hope’) and Alan Dean Foster’s 'Splinter of the Mind’s Eye’ (a sequel written in case Star Wars was a flop that could be filmed on a shoestring budget and without Harrison Ford. It’s Wild and puts the lie to the idea that Lucas had any idea where the Skywalker story was going; highly recommend)

in the year of our Lord 2017, The Last Jedi was released as the third film in a revival of a six film, single creative vision franchise, with the added baggage of over two decades of novels, comics, video games, and other media (the only thing ever fully expelled from canon was the infamous holiday special, which, honestly, had greater creative merit than some of the stuff that got to stay)

what’s the point? Expectations. No, not people who didn’t want anything to change and are Mad About It or whatever facile narrative the authors of those blog posts and reviews are using to explain why this film is probably more divisive than the goddamn prequels. The problem is that not only does The Last Jedi clash with decades of fandom, it is even at loggerheads with its sister films in this particular revival. and it doesn’t get the same benefit of the doubt that ESB got because that’s not how franchises and fandoms actually work. you don’t get to ignore everything that came before to tell your own story. they have to work together. 

Sure, not everybody read the EU (and trust me some of them are better off for it). But almost everybody saw The Force Awakens, most of them saw Rogue One, and a fair number of them, old and young fans alike, eagerly consumed the New EU content that offered glimpses into how the events of The Force Awakens came about and what mysteries were set up in what was effectively a reboot rather than a sequel. Generally, you know, regardless of how much you hate 'puzzleboxes,’ it is reasonable to expect that what one film sets up will have a payoff in the next, particularly when the first film takes such care to be sensitive to what the fans want (as JJ and Kasden did with TFA) - because while this is a money faucet for Disney, sure, there’s no point in bringing this franchise back without those fans (and of course, their kids) - and what they got from Rian and the Lucasfilm story team was…a confirmation that they had been wasting their time. It’s all well and good to pull the rug out from under the audience (as this film does incessantly) but it’s cynical bullshit to basically bait them with promo material and the preceding canon and then to deliver on basically nothing and expect everyone to just be okay with it. This film effectively penalizes the people who cared the most and spent the most time engaging with The Force Awakens and rewards people who may not have really been here for what Lucas was selling to begin with. As one review put it, it ‘does not care what you think about Star Wars’.

But when you set expectations as deliberately as Kennedy and the Lucasfilm Story Group did in JJ and Kasden’s TFA, it’s not great writing to blow them to pieces mid-narrative. It’s just lazy. the idea that Rey has no connection to the Skywalker line? a good idea, potentially, but clumsily executed, as it is played out less as an important revelation and more an excuse to not actually give any kind of answer to how Rey came to be Ben’s equal on the Light (or why she even is ‘Light’ honestly; I love Angry Rey but there’s seemingly no danger in her temptation) or where she got a skill set rivaled in this franchise only by literal Space Jesus Anakin Skywalker. Snoke is a one-noted villain; having him be betrayed by Kylo in the midst of his own villain arc? a very good idea. it belongs as the climax of the film, not the end of act 2 so there is no time for anything to breathe, just more never-ending crises and hardship.

Like, spare me the 'force visions are unreliable’ (Rey’s was unlike anything we had seen before, it wasn’t Anakin’s nightmare or Luke on Dagobah) bs; the film didn’t say that what Rey saw was wrong for x reason, it just pretended that it never happened and Rey didn’t say anything about it); spare me ‘our heroes have to fail and sometimes all the plans don’t work out’ we know that, we live in the real world of 2017 but while making your clever point you have wasted the presence of three extremely talented actors of color, and let down the audiences waiting for a chance to see people who look like them be the heroes for once. instead it turns out they didn’t actually matter all that much, but maybe next film! 

It’s not clever. It’s not visionary. It’s cheap, it’s cowardly, and it isn’t actually that original because the film leaves us exactly where we expected. Poe is the leader and Leia’s heir to command, Finn is a newly-committed Rebel brimming with unrealized potential, Rey is a Jedi character (amorphously defined) who we know exactly as much about as we started, Luke is gone, even if he went out in pretty spectacular fashion, Carrie’s death means that Leia will be leaving us soon, and Kyle Ben has become the big bad. That’s the only real development - Snoke’s death and Ben’s rejection of his redemption - and it’s buried under Rey, our erstwhile heroine, being a vehicle for the villain’s character development. The only character this film particularly cares about is a white fascist who gets every chance to be redeemed and rejects them while the film expects us to keep caring. 

So, yeah. People are mad. Not because of the same ‘the series is changed forever now’ shit that the haters of ESB were on about. Because the real changes? Ben being the real villain, the smallfolk of the galaxy being the source of light and conduits of the Force? I don’t see anyone complaining all that hard about them. 

the complaints are about the damage done to beloved characters for…not all that much of a payoff. the misuse and marginalization of the characters of color. the disdain with which the script treats the nostalgia of the Force Awakens. the unrelenting pace of the film that just grinds the Resistance (and the audience) down and just tells them to trust us, even as more and more and more is taken away. Rey’s parentage isn’t the only thing cast aside - promises of developments in Finn’s story - his identity, his potential to cause a revolt in the First Order, even his force sensitivity (you want a force user from nothing? how about a child soldier from a nameless family who as we are continually reminded used to be on sanitation crew) - are broken. Rey has her dream of family taken away…and replaced with…well the film doesn’t really bother to say because she’s a plot device for most of act 3. We don’t get to see her reject Ren and leave him. Because this isn’t her story; it’s his. Kylo is unconscious, so the scene is over. Tell me how that is a satisfying arc for our erstwhile protagonist? Poe’s character is completely uprooted from what we’ve seen before to make him an obnoxious hotheaded menace whose emotions threaten the survival of the Resistance if two old white women aren’t able to keep him in check. Rose says a lot and gets to do almost nothing. Luke…Luke is torn down to justify the fall of Ben Solo, never given the chance to establish a meaningful bond with his erstwhile successor, and is only given the chance to atone by acting as a diversion to give the others time to escape. he dies alone, a failure, even if he is at peace with how things turned out.

last year we were shown a movie in the wake of one of the more traumatic political events in the life of the people on this website where a diverse and sympathetic cast fight hard and are entirely wiped out. But their deaths come in a spectacular and charged finale that carries the desperation and grief and pathos through into the beginning of the story we know and love. it all feels worth something. Rogue One has its flaws as a film but it comes together in a way that The Last Jedi does not. In the end, what Jyn and Cassian and the others do is just enough to get the plans away, to start the sequence of events that will lead to the Empire’s destruction.

Here?

there’s just not enough left. not enough of the Resistance, not enough story, not enough hope. 

to have that hope repeatedly stripped away and cynically exploited through a narrative that drags the characters from crisis to crisis without bothering to justify itself or its role in the story (while retreading the highlights of Episodes V and VI without the emotional depth to back them up), and in so doing wears down the audience as much as the characters is not why I have devoted so much of my life and emotional energy to this series about space wizards and their galaxy-destroying family squabbles and eventual chance for redemption. for all his many, many faults, George Lucas understood that.

you can’t just talk about hope. sooner or later you have to see it. You have to feel that what you are suffering will be worth it. The text needs to tell you as much. it’s clumsy and cliched and it is necessary. In the Empire Strikes Back, after Han is captured and Luke is beaten, the turning point is Lando. Lando changes the course of the movie, rescuing Leia and Chewie, who rescue Luke. They live to fight another day, and at the end they are wounded but among friends. 

the moment in The Last Jedi where that could have happened was when Leia’s signal went out. How terrific would it have been if after being betrayed by a scoundrel the original scoundrel with a heart of gold, Lando Calrissian, arrives at the head of a fleet made up of all the alien races so inexplicably missing from the sequel trilogy so far, fending off the First Order long enough for the Resistance to escape with most of the survivors on Crait?

But Rian had to have one last twist of the knife. so nobody came. only Luke, and only as a distraction to buy time that ultimately cost him his life and reduced his legacy to giving everything to atone for his past sins. there is no Lando moment. there is no turning point, no moment where a larger victory is hinted at. and no, a single stable boy far, far away from the war is not the same thing. It makes an interesting point about the force and the metanarrative of Star Wars. It is not what this film needed after everything it put its characters and audience through.

and so at the end I’m not hopeful. I’m just tired. So, very tired. And I miss what made me fall in love with this series about space wizards and the Skywalker family in the first place

[inspirationquote]

Mehmet Quotes In English || Mehmetcik Kutul Amare  || Kutul Zafer Quotes In English

Introduction 

Mehmetcik Kutul Amare  || Kutul Zafer

This drama has been made on the special order of Tayyip Erdogan … Its importance and lively scenes can be gauged from the fact that when its first promo was released, Tayyip Erdogan was overwhelmed while watching it.

………………

This drama is about the time when the Ottoman Empire was in decline and the hungry infidels on all sides fell on it … It was the burning time of 1916 and the Great War … And that fascist power belonged to Britain and the British … They were fully prepared to overthrow the Khilafah and attacked the Ottoman Empire from all sides …. The first attack in this regard was on Istanbul through Chanak Fort And then the scope of the war was extended to the Middle East Arabian Peninsula.

by that time! The Turks’ highest priority was to somehow invade the holy sites of the Holy Hijaz, the shrines of the Ahl al-Bayt and Sahaba in Iraq, and the brutal British invasion of the ancient Muslim city of Baghdad (where the shrines of Imam Abu Hanifa and Sheikh Abdul Qadir Jilani are located). The purpose was to protect the Islamic lands that had been the symbol of the greatness of Muslims and Islam since the time of the Holy Prophet.

Mmehmetçik Kut'ül Amare Quotes || Kutul Zafer || Mehmet Quotes In English

 mehmetcik kutul amare quotes in english

01:“ The heart of a soldier is bigger than the common Man, Because it is difficult to keep the homeland in the heart.”

Bir askerin kalbi sıradan insandan daha büyüktür, çünkü vatanı kalbinde tutmak zordur.

mehmetcik kutul amare

02:“What inspires a patient is the power of his heart” - Hasro Pehlwan

“Bir hastaya ilham veren şey kalbinin gücüdür” - Hasro Pehlwan

 Ghazi Anwar Pasha Quotes

03:“ War is Also Fought in Minds.”Ghazi Anwar Pasha

“Savaş Akıllarda da Yapılır.”Ghazi Anwar Paşa

Ghazi Anwar Pasha Life 

04: “Instead of fighting among ourselves, we must protect our land, our religion and our dignity.”

“Kendi aramızda savaşmak yerine, toprağımızı, dinimizi ve haysiyetimizi korumalıyız.”

 mehmetcik kutul amare in urdu

05:“ These are our dreams that have kept the Islamic World.”

Bunlar İslam Dünyasını koruyan hayallerimiz. “

Related Quotes:

01: 100 Ertugrul Ghazi Quotes in English

02: Top50+ Ertugrul Quotes In Urdu 

03: Suleyman Shah Quotes From Ertugrul

06:”Where there is faith there is possibility"

“İnancın olduğu yerde olasılık vardır”

kutul Amare Quotes

07:“ The pain of my homeland is my greatest Pain.”Mehmet…

Anavatanımın acısı benim en büyük Acım. “

Mehmet …

Mehmet Quotes In English

08:" The victory belongs to Allah that He is the Possessor of Absolute Power  "With our blood and faith we will kindle the fire of the enemy” - Mehmet

“Zafer Mutlak Gücün Sahibi Olan Allah'a Aittir” Kanımız ve inancımızla düşmanın ateşini yakacağız “- Mehmet

Sulaiman Al Askari Quotes

09:"Our tyrant! Now is the time to tremble because these voices are the footsteps of freedom.” - Sulaiman Askari

“Zalimlerimiz! Şimdi titremenin zamanı geldi çünkü bu sesler özgürlüğün ayak izleri.” - Süleyman Askari

 Mehmetcik kutul Amare Drama

10:“Defeat is not that you lose on the battlefield, but defeat is that you lose your faith and belief - Scaplo Ali

"Yenilgi, savaş alanında kaybetmemeniz değil, yenilgi ise inancınızı ve inancınızı kaybetmenizdir - Scaplo Ali

Best Inspirational Quotes

11: "One Mehmat has been martyred, but a thousand Mehmats will be born! Our blood will be the hope of life in this country” - Commander Ali Scaplo

“Bir Mehmat şehit oldu, ama bin Mehmat doğacak! Kanımız bu ülkede yaşamın umudu olacak” - Komutan Ali Scaplo

Sulaiman Askari 

12:“These are our dreams that have kept the Islamic world steadfast so far Sulaiman Askari Pasha

War is also fought in minds!

Bunlar İslam dünyasını bugüne kadar sabit tutan hayallerimiz Süleyman Askari Paşa

Savaş akıllarda da yapılır

Motivational Quotes

13: "There is no room for despair in our hearts!” Sulaiman Askari

“Kalbimizde umutsuzluğa yer yok!” Süleyman Askari

 Mehmetçik Kut'ül Amare Series

Kot al-Amara is a town in eastern Iraq where the Ottoman Turks inflicted a humiliating defeat on Britain in 1916 … According to British historian Christopher, this was Britain’s greatest defeat in World War. Lost a large number of its soldiers and generals This feat was performed only by a handful of Turks whose hearts were full of faith ….. and these Turks proved that by faith the world’s greatest Great power can also be defeated

This army was led by General Khalil Pasha and this victory was achieved through a special organization (Ottoman Secret Service-Agency).

Due to this war, Britain became very confused and extended the scope of the battlefield to secret conspiracies “Divide and Rule”

 Shia Sunni and Arab and non-Arab riots in the Middle East tribes will be set on fire (a prominent role played by ’Mr. Percy Cox’) after which the Arabs revolted against the Ottoman Empire,If the Arab tribes revolt If not, maybe the outcome of the World War would have been in Turkey’s favor and the world map would be different today.

This series is about the conditions of the time, the brutality and oppressive colonialism of the British, the traitorous chiefs of the Arab tribes, the Arabs believing in the Islamic Brotherhood, the jihadist soldiers of the Turkish forces, and the brave commanders full of intelligence. presents such a living character that the spirit of faith in the corners of the heart and soul is awakened

His Making and Scenes are of very high and international quality and his music is touching to the strings of the heart the lovely acting of his characters has surpassed even the actors of Dirillis Ertugrul,

The most important thing in the series is curiosity each episode makes you very curious the characters get stuck in a situation from which it is impossible to escape alive but on the basis of faith instincts they The teeth are so sour that he is left staggering 

The most important point of this series is “Faith and Hope” that no matter what the circumstances, no matter how much the whole world turns against you, you have never let the flag of Islam, truth and justice be lowered until the sky. The sun rises until the stars twinkle at night, which means there is still hope,

“Final_Words”

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[softambrollins]

i can’t believe that people are actually saying roman felt out of place or like he didn’t belong or didn’t try hard enough to put himself at the focus of that segment with joe and brock. he literally tried to kill a man the night before. he didn’t need to say anything more than he did. his character work was fucking brilliant there, like it has been recently. he’s so smug and above all the petty squabbling going on in the ring. that’s roman reigns: a fucking badass who says exactly what he needs to say with his actions. by retiring the undertaker, by almost murdering the monster among men. and what he did say was the absolute truth and 100% effective (just like his five-word promo of the year on the raw after wrestlemania). roman reigns is a fucking star and savage and one tough son of a bitch, and he doesn’t need to shout or get in anyone’s face to prove it.

[avanneman]

Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time In Hollywood: not entirely the all-out misogynistic gore-fest I had been expecting!

When Quentin Tarantino was a young man, he had dreams, as young men do. These are among the things that Quentin Tarantino dreamed:

That he would kick Bruce Lee’s ass;

That he would save Sharon Tate’s ass;

That he would have a pitbull that would bite people on the ass (also the nuts);

That he would share a “moment”—an extended one, actually—with an insanely precocious eight-year-old girl, like that Eloise of the Plaza girl or maybe that Esmé girl in that Salinger story;1

That he would have maybe murdered someone (like his wife, just for example);

That he would beat the crap out of some dames; and

That he would be a bottom.

Tarantino reveals his dreams in a meticulously tricked out mélange of fake reality, real reality, fake dreams and reals ones, all basking in the warm California sun that shines over the capital of dreams, fake and real, Hollywood, California, the place that makes Oz seem normal. Tarantino subjects us to an elaborate collage of fake and real film clips, fake ads for fake tv shows, fake promos for fake tv shows, fake versions of real tv shows, fake movies, real movies, even fantasy versions of real films, in the service of four separate story lines, all set, naturally, to a carefully honed and seriously swinging sixties soundtrack, much of it heard on car radios, complete with “period’ DJs, jingles, and ads.2 But despite all the artifice, once the narrative gets going, the whole story is very simple, despite all the detours, which generally come off as self-indulgent and sentimental, since Tarantino is self-indulgent and sentimental—except when it comes to dames.

I’m sure that the idea for Once Upon A Time must have been kicking around in Tarantino’s head for years, if not decades, but the film’s basic vibe still seems heavily influenced by James Franco’s recent semi-classic The Disaster Artist, the now-legendary tale of Tommy Wiseau and Greg Sestero,3 two star-struck shaggy-dog scooby-doo dudes adrift and a-dreamin’ in the LA LA Land shark tank who escape eating only because they aren’t worth the consumption. Tarantino’s leads, Leonardo DiCaprio as “Rick Dalton” and Brad Pitt as “Cliff Booth”, are a little bit further up the food chain. Once upon a time, Rick was a star, with a big house and the whole schmear, the star of the TV western Bounty Law that finished its run in 1963. Six years later, he’s still got the big house, but the career is flagging. In fact, he’s so down on his luck his posse consists exclusively of his main man/stunt man Cliff, who chauffeurs Rick around (because, of course, Rick lost his license), listens to his frequent tales of woe, and tries, ever so gently, to keep him on the straight and narrow, while always assuring him that he’s still the Man, and always will be.

We first pick up on Rick and Cliff, the first two strands of our story, via what strikes me as an, well, insanely unnecessary device—a black and white TV “featurette” on Bounty Law when the show was still running, featuring both men, in which Rick explains to the folks at home just what a stunt man is and why they’re so necessary—as if audiences in 2019 need to know this. The Bounty Law stuff is intercut with the third thread—a Pan Am jet arriving in LAX bearing a pair of obvious big shots, a short dude and a tall blonde who stride through the place surrounded by a crowd of paparazzi before transferring to a cute little vintage MG TF, whose 1250 cc engine bellows like a Ferrari 12 cylinder sans muffler4 when they hit the freeway.

After the black and white clip ends we catch up with Rick and Cliff in real life as Cliff drives Rick to a lunch meeting with agent Marvin Schwarz (Al Pacino, actin’ all Jewish on our ass and clearly having a ball), both Rick and Cliff enjoying lushly photographed mixed drinks in the grand tradition of Hollywood eye-openers while they wait for Marvin to show. When Marvin does, Rick introduces him to Cliff, “explaining” that his car is in the shop, so Cliff is filling in as his wheel man. “A good friend!” exclaims Marvin. “I try,” says Cliff.

Marvin and Rick have a sitdown and Marvin does a lot of talking, his spiel giving us more backstory on Rick, and it ain’t pretty. After Bounty Law died, Rick made a few movies (Tarantino naturally shows us some clips, including one of Rick incinerating some Nazis with a flamethrower) that died at the box office, and we even see a “kinescope” of Rick singing a fifties oldie, “The Green Door”, on Hullabaloo.5 Now he’s reduced to appearing as a “guest star” on other TV westerns, the villain du jour whose job is to be plugged by the real leading man. “Face it, Rick,” Schwarz tells him. “You’re in the rear-view mirror in this town, fading to black. Italy’s the place, and spaghetti westerns are the future! Give me the word and I’ll make it happen! But give me your decision soon, ‘cause I ain’t getting’ any younger, and, more to the point, neither are you!”5

Rick staggers out into a California sun that ain’t so much warm as scalding, throwing himself bodily into Cliff’s arms. I’m fucked, motherfucker! Fucked! I’m a fucked-up fucking former cowboy star who ain’t worth a damn! Italy, for Christ’s sake! Italy! Fuckin’ Italy! That’s all I’m goddamn good for any more! Goddamn fucking Italy!

Gently, Cliff talks him down, as he clearly does once or twice a week. Take it easy, big guy. You’re still the man. You’re still the man! And so they head out in Rick’s Caddy, Cliff at the wheel, a classic case of LA co-dependency, a West Coast version of Joe Buck and Ratso Rizzo, two guys chasin’ that dream, that dream that don’t seem to be getting all that closer, but, well, when you’re headin’ down La Cienega6 in a sweet Caddy, rockin’ those sweet sixties tunes, it still seems like it could come true.

As they pass down La Cienega, or wherever they are, they pass a bunch of dumpster-divin’ hippie chicks, setting up what will be the fourth strand of the story. After that, well, it seems that time passes, because all of a sudden it’s gettin’ dark, and Cliff takes the Caddy up a winding private drive, dropping Rick off at his big house, giving Rick a chance to fill us in on some more exposition. You know the secret of LA? Real estate, my man, real estate! Own, don’t rent! Then you belong here. Right on cue, the MG we saw earlier rumbles up the drive. It’s Rick’s neighbor, who, unlike Rick, has a gated entrance. See what I mean! You know who that is? Roman fucking Polanski, that’s all! Hottest director in Hollywood! What did I just say? What did I just say? In this town, you’re just one pool party away from the big time!. Cliff nods, as if he hasn’t heard all this a dozen times before, and then lectures Rick on the need for punctuality, for like tomorrow— “7:15! 7:15 out the door! 7:15 in the car”—before taking off in his sweet ride, a Karmann Ghia, which, by the sound, also seems to have had a Ferrari implant, replacing its stock four-cylinder VW mill with a V-12.7

Cliff blasts down the mountain-side in total LA bad boy mode, top down, hair ripplin’ in the wind, and heavy tunes blastin’ on the radio. Fuckin’ LA, man, fuckin’ LA! This is how we roll!

Well, this is how Cliff rolls until he gets out of the car, because LA is all about the wheels. Cliff doesn’t live in the canyon. He lives in the serious low-rent district (that is to say, Van Nuys), in a trailer, with both a pumping oil well and a drive-in movie theater to create a little noise pollution, which he combats, once he’s inside, with a black and white tv featuring Bob Goulet belting out “MacArthur Park”! The horror, man, the goddamn horror!

But he does have some company, in the form of “Brandy”, perhaps the world’s best-trained pitbull.8 To let us know that we’re watching a Quentin Tarantino movie—we were starting to wonder—Quentin ups the grossisity level considerably by having Cliff feed Brandy “Wolf Tooth” dog food (“raccoon” and “rat flavor”, no less), which looks exactly like shit, letting the slop drop plop in the bowl from about waist level. Two cans of the slop, plus a pound or two of kibble, make quite a mess, but real men ain’t neat. Cliff makes himself a saucepan of mac and cheese, pops open a beer, and plops in front of the tv. Life is good!

Life is good because Cliff is really happy that Rick is a loser. If Rick were a star, a real star, he wouldn’t need Rick. He’d use him, because that’s what stars do, but he wouldn’t need him. And Cliff needs to be needed.

Rick, meanwhile, is slurpin’ whiskey sours and learning his lines for the morrow’s shoot, the pilot for a new show called Lancer, while floating in his elegant, kidney-shaped pool, which, remarkably enough, has a killer view,9 as Tarantino’s elegant camera work will elegantly reveal.

Next door, things are a bit more lively. Roman and Sharon (she isn’t named, but of course we figure it out) slip on their glad rags and head for just the hippest place in town, the Playboy Mansion! Which didn’t actually exist yet in 1969, but whatever. One could wish—a little—that poor old Hugh Hefner were still alive (alive and, well, sentient) to see his old haunt pictured as the place where all the cool kids hung out back in the day.10 For whatever reason, Tarantino actually labels some of the big shots present so we’ll know who’s who, including Steve McQueen and Michelle Phillips and “Mama Cass” Elliot,11 the female singers of the sixties group The Mamas and the Papas.12

The shindig at the Mansion turns out to be the most carefully choreographed shindig I’ve ever seen. Everyone can dance—even the folks in the pool—and everyone’s in perfect time! It’s also the most chaste Playboy Mansion shindig I’ve ever seen—not a nipple in sight. But, even more strangely, we get a sour disquisition from wallflower Steve McQueen, no less, staring at Sharon’s sweet, swingin bod and moaning strangely about her strange taste in men, that leaves him shit out of luck. Hey, lighten up, Steve, and join the party! Why Tarantino thought we needed to know all this is beyond me. (Whether Steve really did have the hots for Sharon is also beyond me.)

The next morning, Roman is up, bright and early—at around 7:15, as a matter of fact—enjoying an outdoor French press while Sharon still slumbers—slumbers and snores, actually, because when you get up close, all chicks are just a little gross.13

Rick actually is up at 7:15 as well and heads off to the shoot with Cliff, though he clearly feels, if he does not exactly look, like shit, bent over double with one coughing fit after another and hacking up so much phlegm we figure he doesn’t have to worry about lung cancer because he won’t live long enough to get it. He tells Cliff that, no, he won’t be needed on the set—and he knows damn well why—so he might as well go back to Rick’s place and fix Rick’s tv antenna, because it needs fixin’. Cliff nods and takes off.

Rick stumbles through the set of Lancer looking for wardrobe. When he finds it he soaks his face in ice water—gotta tighten the damn pores, after all. Any star knows that. Plus it might help him remember his name, or even his lines. While Rick is still no more than half conscious, director Sam Wanamaker (Nicholas Hammond) bursts in, maybe not gay, but seriously exquisite. “Rick Dalton! Have I got plans for you! This is going to be amazing!”

Sam rattles and prattles on in a fit of aesthetic ecstasy, while Rick stares in semi-conscious horror. He doesn’t need this much enthusiasm. He’s here for a paycheck and this dude is talkin’ about “zeitgeists”, whatever the fuck they are. Seriously! Zeitgeists! And it’s waaayyyy too early for fuckin’ zeitgeists!

While Rick suffers, Cliff heads back to the canyon, running into the hippie chicks once more before reaching Rick’s place. It what seems like a parody of gay porno, he straps on a tool belt, and then leaps to the top of first one wall and then another until he’s up on the roof, much like a cat and not at all like the 40-year-old man he’s supposed to be. Then he pulls off his shirt, lights a cigarette and dons a pair of work gloves. Ready for action? Hell, yeah!

But before he starts to work Cliff has time for an extended reverie on just why he isn’t welcome on the Lancer set. Earlier, he had a job as Rick’s stunt man in an (imaginary) tv series starring Bruce Lee. Bruce, played by Mike Moh, comes off as a pretentious asshole, prompting Cliff to give him some serious sass. In real life, one suspects, sassing a star would get you not merely booted off the set but out of Hollywood forever, but instead Bruce and Rick agree to a genteel face-off, no punches to the head, just knock the other fellow down, best two out of three. Cliff goes down the first time, but then throws Bruce bodily against the side of a Lincoln Continental, causing a dent that looks like it was made by a 500-pound wrecking ball rather than a 130-pound Asian. That’s what you get for stealing our jobs, hot shot!14

But that isn’t the only reason why Cliff isn’t welcome on the set: there’s this crazy rumor that he killed his wife, which Tarantino encourages us to believe is true by showing us a flashback—whether Cliff “remembering” or Tarantino showing us “the truth” isn’t clear—of Cliff in skin diver gear on a boat listening to his bikini-clad wife bitching her head off about what a loser he is and Cliff maybe pointing his spear gun at her. Uh, so what is the point of all this? It has no payoff in the rest of the movie, leaving us to feel that Tarantino sort of wishes that people, especially women, would be afraid of him. You know that guy, Quentin Tarantino? Oh, yeah, he looks harmless, but I hear he killed his wife! Seriously!

Once Cliff finishes his reverie, he has a glimpse of the future instead of the past: a weird, hippie-lookin’ dude at the Polanski place asking about the previous tenant. We aren’t clued in, but if you know your back story you know this is Charles Manson.

While all this is going on in and out of Cliff’s head, Rick is having multiple adventures on the Lancer set. The whole Lancer episode is a curious mish-mash of fact and fancy. The “real” Sam Wanamaker did direct the pilot of Lancer. Whether Sam was as exquisite as portrayed seems a pretty open question. The actual Lancer series was a short-lived rip-off of Bonanza, which Tarantino sort of follows and sort of not, and sometimes it seems that Rick’s character “Caleb” is the good guy and the Lancers are the bad guys, and sometimes the other way around. We see several large chunks of the show, presented to us as the audience would see them—no crew or equipment visible—and in fact what we see is not at all what a sixties tv series would look like but rather a sort of ideal spaghetti western that Tarantino probably dreamed of making back in the day.

Before we even get there, however, Rick, dressed in character as “Caleb” has several “pregnant” conversations, the first with the stunningly precocious (and precociously PC) “actor” “Trudi Fraser” (Julia Butters), already in character as “Maribella”. Rick can’t eat lunch because of his makeup and “Maribella” likes to stay lean and hungry before a shoot. “We aim for 100% efficiency. We never achieve it, of course. But it’s the pursuit that counts.”

Rick, conveniently hocking up another loogie, looks like there’s nothing he’d like to pursue other than a whiskey sour or two and maybe a nap, but he takes a seat next to her to read his paperback western—a little surprising since I never saw him as having much appetite for print. Maribella, after correcting Rick’s pronunciation of his character’s last name (it’s not “Dakota”) and generally playing the eight-year-old dominatrix to a tee (though, as an “actor”, she would object to the feminine suffix), asks him what his book is about, and Rick launches into an extended précis: see, there’s this guy, he used to be just the coolest, toughest bronco buster around, but now, well, he’s getting’ old, his back ain’t so good no more, and every day he gets up knowin’ that, every day, he’s less of a man.

Rick tears up/chokes up as he’s delivering this thumbnail—because it’s his fucking story, get it? Maribella, as conveniently obtuse now as she was prescient before, misses the subtext. “It sounds like a really good story!” she exclaims, thinking he’s moved purely by the power of art. “In 15 years you’ll be livin’ it!” Rick gasps, and fortunately she doesn’t get this one either. And so she comforts him, not knowing just how very much he needs her solace. It’s sort of ironic when you think about it. But, you know, touching!

Somewhere about this time we cut to Sharon, who’s finally in motion in a spiffy new Porsche, heading to, where else, a book store! To get a first edition of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles as a gift for Roman!15 Which may be true, or may be the biggest whopper in the movie. Anyway, who would figure Tarantino for a “reader”? Not me!

Once Sharon gets her book, she spots a movie theater showing The Wrecking Crew, one of the “Matt Helms” sixties flicks ripping off James Bond, starring the very tongue in cheek, and semi-over-the-hill Dean Martin, but co-starring, yes, Sharon Tate!16 When she’s inside we see clips of the real film featuring Sharon, first a meet cute with Matt/Dean that features clumsy Sharon falling on her ass and showing us her panties, and later a fight scene between good Sharon and evil Nancy Kwan, with Nancy falling on her ass and showing us her panties! Take that, Asian bitch!

Well, it’s always good to see chicks’ panties, but Sharon’s repeated piano key smiles as the audience conveniently laughs and cheers her on get a little self-congratulatory for my ass. Sharon is clearly depicted as the “new Marilyn,” speaking in the same breathy, little girl voice, utterly stunning and cool, yet innocent and sweet, a combination not often found in the real world.

Rick, meanwhile, is having his second serious sitdown, this time with the budding star of Lancer, Timothy Olyphant as “James Stacy” as gunfighter “Johnny Madrid”, Since James Stacy is supposed to be the new kid on the way up, he might be expected to look younger than Rick, and thus intimidating. In fact, Olyphant is six years older than Leo and pretty much looks it, and Stacy treats Rick with surprising respect. (Surprising to me, at least. Aren’t young actors supposed to be assholes?) But the real point of this is for Jim to ask Rick if it’s true that he was once up for Steve McQueen’s role in The Great Escape, the film that made Steve a star?17

Rick modestly denies the story, or at least strongly soft-pedals it. Me in Steve’s big part? No, not really. Brief possibility, that’s all. Very brief. But then we see, more or less, “Rick’s dream”—clips from the real Great Escape with Leo/Rick visually dubbed in to replace Steve. It could have been him. He could have had Steve’s career. Bullitt? The Thomas Crown Affair? It could have been him. It could have been him. He coulda had class. He coulda been a contendah.18

The thing is, Rick has never been presented to us this way. He’s been the big, strong, good-looking boy with the big, strong shoulders, who could get on and off a horse without falling on his ass, and that’s it. Rick is the kind of pretty boy who cruises through life as long as everything comes easy and then crashes in middle age, like Erik Estrada, not the relentless egomaniacal striver who never takes no for an answer no matter how many times he gets it, like William Shatner.

In the meantime, finally, Cliff makes actual contact with one of the hippie chicks, the cute ‘n wanton Pussycat (Margaret Qualley), swinging her tight little butt around like she owns the world. The thing is, she probably does.19 He agrees to give her a lift, but won’t let her give him a blowjob, “explaining” that he doesn’t want to go to jail, although we can tell that the real reason is that he’s a gentlemen. Cliff has the definite vibe of the old-fashioned B-movie cowboy hero that I grew up watching on tv, utterly chaste and emotionally devoted only to his horse (Cliff has Brandy, of course), too complete in himself to even consider sharing his essence with anything as, well, as common, as a woman.

Cliff gets a jolt when he learns that Pussycat is living at the “Spahn movie ranch”, where Cliff and Rick used to film Bounty Law. He explains to her that he used to be a stunt man there, allowing her to explain to us that stunt men are the real heroes, because what they do is real, they aren’t phonies like actors. Just in case we couldn’t figure that part out for ourselves.

Well, back to Rick now, I think, and get to see an actual chunk of Lancer, filmed far more extravagantly, and elegantly, than any tv western would have been, yet with a pretty much standard script, though with some pretty spectacular behind the back shooting from Johnny Madrid, putting an uppity “businessman” in his place. Better stick to your ledgers, pencilneck!

The bit rumbles on, with plenty of moody, “intense” attitude from Rick, a seen it all, done it all, existential cowpoke who might remind some us of another Rick, the one who ran Rick's Café Américain down Casablanca way. But midway through the scene he starts blowing his lines and ends up stalking back to his trailer (but would he really have one?) to explode at himself in a predicable yet enjoyable scene. You goddamned asshole! You’re going to quit drinking, you hear me, you goddamned alcoholic! God damn it!

Well, back to Cliff, I think, in what is easily the most impressive section of the film, the visit to the Spahn ranch to see Charlie’s angels. The girls are beautifully creepy, staring at the intruder like so many marmosets, Dakota Fanning particularly memorable as ruthless boss lady Squeaky Fromme, who in real life was not involved directly in any of the murders but became notorious as the “spokeswoman” for the Manson family during his trial, and more notorious several years later when she tried to assassinate President Ford.

Squeaky sends a girl to fetch “Tex”, Charles Watson, played by Austin Butler, who played the lead role in the Sharon Tate murders, to check out the new guy. Tex arrives on horseback, suitably enough, and, in some serious dick measuring, Cliff reminisces about his visit to Houston, where he spent two weeks on a chain gang. “That was the last time I broke a policeman’s jaw, I can tell you that!” Although I expect that if you broke a policeman’s jaw in Houston, Texas back in the fifties you probably wouldn’t live to talk about it.

Pussycat really digs guys who break cops’ jaws, and it must sound good to Tex as well, so he rides off, getting back to his job as guide for dudes who want to visit the mountains. But once he’s gone, Cliff starts to get a little pushy. Is old George Spahn still around? Sure would like to visit old George and see how he’s doing. The girls all tell him no, clearly infuriated by his decision to penetrate beneath the surface of their groupthink. Word gets back to Squeaky, holed up in what Cliff knows is George’s old house, so she sends all the girls away and tries to face down Cliff, but he faces her down instead and finally has a thoroughly creepy conversation with old George (Bruce Dern), blind and helpless and utterly dependent on the girls.

Cliff, utterly frustrated by George’s utter dependence—he can’t be “saved” because he doesn’t want to be—strides out to meet the glaring, feral eyes of the assembled family. As he passes, Pussycat leaps onto the hood of a car and screams “George isn’t blind! You’re the one who’s blind!”

Cliff keeps on walking, only to find out that Rick’s Caddy has a flat, thanks to a giggly, half-naked Jesus clone with hillbilly teeth. Definitely time to kick some goddamn hippie ass! Something Tarantino clearly digs almost as much as smelling chick’s feet.

Cliff grabs the punk by the hair and pummels him half to death. That’ll teach you! Now fix the goddamn flat! “Gypsy” (Lena Dunham) sends one of the girls off on a horse to get Tex—something she might have thought of earlier—and Tex comes riding up in an excellent display of horsemanship, that is as gratuitous as the beatdown Cliff gives the Jesus dude,20 because by the time he gets back Cliff is gone.

Finally (I guess), we cut back to Rick, headed back on the set for one last shot at redemption. Spaghetti western “bullfighter/showdown” music blares operatically on the soundtrack, as Rick walks through the soundstage for the final showdown, the one between Rick Dalton and ... Rick Dalton! Can he cut it, or is he history?

In Rick’s big scene, he’s kidnapped Maribella, holding her on his lap with his six-shooter pointed at her head while he holds forth in a swaggering conversation with “Scott Lancer” (Luke Perry in his last role, as the actor Wayne Maunder). Since Rick/Caleb clearly has the upper hand, fancy-pants Scott (he apparently went to Harvard) can do nothing other than listen to Caleb’s trash talk, which Caleb concludes by throwing Maribella violently to the floor in a display of his ruthlessness. Cut! Cut! Rick made it all the way through the scene! In flying colors!

“I didn’t hurt you, did I, darlin’?” Rick asks.

“I’m fine,” Maribella reassures him, popping up to show him her arm. “See, I have padding!”

Sam Wanamaker (Sam the director) rushes up.

“Rick, you were fabulous! Exactly what I wanted! Evil, sexy Hamlet!”

Rick sits there, a little stunned by the outpouring of passion he’s achieved.

“Rick, Rick, your adlibs were amazing! ‘Beaner bronco-buster’?21 Why, that’s triple alliteration! And throwing the little girl on the floor! Beautiful!”

Yeah, but, uh, if the toss was an adlib, why was Maribella wearing padding?22 Anyway, tossing an eight-year-old around like a ping-pong ball as an adlib sounds a little dubious to me. Good thing her parents weren’t around!

But Tarantino isn’t done gilding the lily. Trudi/Maribella, whose dedication to her craft makes Stanislavski look like a slacker, tells him “that’s the best acting I’ve ever seen!”

Which is all a little silly, because no one, but no one has ever suggested that he had any real talent as an actor, and he’s never expressed any interest in his “craft”, other than not looking like an asshole and not losing his paycheck. But Tarantino somehow can’t resist violating Rick’s real character in order to make him look heroic, a goddamn Laurence Olivier in chaps!

After all this, we have a grotesquely awkward “transition”, narrated by Kurt Russell, about Rick and Cliff’s excellent Italian adventure, which one can very easily believe was originally intended to take up a good chunk of the film, probably extending its running time to something close to three and half hours, but, for whatever reason, that doesn’t happen. Instead, we get a few cutesy movie posters, and a few little anti-PC snickers directed at American Indians, who seem to rub Quentin the wrong way for whatever reason, and also Rick gets married to this Italian broad, who snores a lot, just like Sharon. As for “acting”—evil, sexy Hamlet and all that—well, Quentin seems to have forgotten all about it, and Rick is back in character as the self-indulgent bad boy who loafs through life, traveling first class thanks to his broad shoulders and pretty face, while devoted Cliff sits in coach and chugs Bloody Marys, because, it seems, Rick’s cutting him loose. Can’t afford a wife and a bottom at the same time!

Once Rick and “Francesca” (Lorenza Izzo) are installed in Rick’s old place, Russell continues his tiresome narration, setting up that fateful night when all four story lines will coincide. Rick and Cliff head out for one last celebratory drunk and then head back, Russell constantly stressing to us, for some reason, that Rick and Cliff are like totally blind, stinking drunk, even though they don’t really act that way. Francesca’s already in bed (she stayed home, naturally), Rick’s mixing margheritas, and Cliff’s taking Brandy for a walk. S/He’s there, for some reason (really, of course, for plot reasons). Cliff decides he’ll smoke this LSD-soaked cigarette that Pussycat sold him, even though, the web informs me, “smoking” LSD destroys its hallucinogenic power (because the heat causes it to break down chemically).

While Cliff’s gone, Tex and three of the Manson girls—Susan Atkins (Mikey Madison), Patricia Krenwinkle (Madisen Beaty), and Linda Kasabian (Maya Hawke)—arrive to do the Polanski household in, pulling up in a noisy, busted muffler car. Rick stumbles out with his carafe full of margheritas to tell those goddamn hippies to get off his goddamn private drive and smoke their goddamn pot someplace else. Tex, apparently not wanting to have to kill this guy, backs the car down the drive, while Rick takes his margheritas out to one of his favorite retreats, the chair floating in his kidney-shaped pool.

The hippies reconnoiter. “You know who that was? Rick Dalton!” “Rick Dalton? Rick fucking Dalton?” “Rick Fucking Dalton!” “Fuck! You know what? Guys like that, they taught us to murder. I say, let’s murder the murderers!”

As it turns out, Kasabian bails, driving away in the car,23 but Tex, with a six-shooter shoved in his pants, and Patricia and Susan, armed with knives, head up the drive.

Cliff, by this time, is back inside the house, fixing Brandy dinner when the kids show up. After some cutesy, high on LSD antics, the action finally starts, Tex pointing his six-shooter at Cliff’s head. Brandy, flying through the air, disarms him and then fixes her teeth in his balls while Cliff brains Atkins with a can of Wolf’s Tooth. Krenwinkle stabs Cliff in the thigh, causing him to grab her by the hair and smash her face into a variety of unyielding surfaces, which starts to look a little sadistic on Tarantino’s part after the third or fourth smash. Somewhere along the line Brandy switches from Tex to Atkins, dragging her around the room like the shark in the beginning of Jaws. Tex stumbles to his feet and tries to stab Cliff, but gets stabbed instead, then gets knocked down and then (I think) Cliff breaks his neck. But then Atkins gets hold of Tex’s gun and shoots Cliff, causing him to fall over as though he were dead. The girl staggers to her feet, her face covered in blood and screaming like a maniac, and stumbles out to the pool, waving Tex’s gun and firing off a round or two, finally catching Rick’s attention. Guess what, headphones!

Atkins crashes into the pool, still firing the gun. Rick sobers up quickly and, finding his trusty flamethrower—you didn’t see that coming? Amateur!—roasts the bitch.

The police arrive to figure things out. Guess what? Cliff ain’t dead! Sounding awfully coherent for a guy who’s drunk, high on LSD, stabbed in the thigh, and shot, he tells Rick not to come to the hospital with him but tend to his lady. Because greater love hath no bottom than to give up his life, not for his top, but for his top’s lady!

“You’re a good friend, Cliff,” Rick tells him.

“I try,” says Cliff.

Hey! Didn’t we hear that line before?

But the good news isn’t over yet! Jay Sebring (Emile Hirsch), one of Sharon’s houseguests, hears the commotion and asks Rick what’s happening. Rick fills him in and, one way or another, Sharon hears their conversation and calls down on the intercom to invite Rick up for a drink. And so the gates to the magic kingdom—the magic kingdom of A-listers and Playboy Mansion attenders—open for Rick. Let the pool parties begin!

Afterwords I Movie Violence

When I first heard that Tarantino was making a movie about “old” Hollywood starring Leo and Brad I was intrigued. When I learned that Leo would be living next door to Sharon Tate, not so much. I hated Tarantino’s chef d'œuvre Pulp Fiction, and I detested Kill Bill Volume I, and one thing I did not want to see was Tarantino’s take on the Tate/Manson murders. When I learned that Quentin was rewriting history—in tune, really, with my own squeamish predilections—I thought I would take a chance. In any event, there are lots of violent films that I do like, including Bonnie & Clyde and Terminator 2. What’s the difference between “good violence” and “bad violence” other than the eye of the beholder?

Well, not much, obviously. The “sword blade through the milk carton and the mouth and out the back of the head” shot from Terminator 2 is “classic”,24 but you wouldn’t like it if someone did that to you, would you?

Much of the violence in Once Upon A Time is gratuitous in that it’s clearly wish fulfillment on Tarantino’s part, but there’s little that I found outright sadistic, which is what I really object to. It’s notably less sadistic than the coming features that I saw advertised with the film—It Chapter 2, Hide and Seek, and Joker. Obviously, audiences like sadistic.

Afterwords II Helter Skelter Despite the “massive” sixties soundtrack, in one sense the silence is deafening, because there is, unsurprisingly, nothing from the “White Album”. Like several million other people, Charles Manson thought the Beatles recorded this famous double album just for him, and that every song had a particular meaning. “Helter Skelter” (in Great Britain, an amusement park ride) was for Manson the signal for the start of a race war in America, which would some how allow him to seize power, in some manner. The Tate murders were intended, more or less, to provoke that war because the police were intended to believe that black revolutionaries had committed them. Vincent Bugliosi, the district attorney who prosecuted Manson and the others, wrote a book, with Curt Gentry, Helter Skelter, about the case, which was later turned into a television mini-series.

Esmé was thirteen. Making “Trudi Fraser” eight seems really a stretch to me. ↩︎

Did Tarantino invent “fake” sixties tunes as well? Not impossible, but it seems unlikely. ↩︎

Word can spell “Sestero” but not “Wiseau”? Tommy won’t like that! Greg’s book, The Disaster Artist, which he co-wrote with Tom Bissell, revealed to the world the bizarre backstory behind Wiseau’s cult classic di tutti cult classics, The Room, and is definitely superior to Franco’s film, which derives half its considerable charm by simply recreating classic scenes from Wiseau’s ineffable creation. ↩︎

Dunno if Tarantino just wanted the car to sound cool or if he was parodying this frequent device as used by other directors. Anyone who knows anything about cars knows that tiny, underpowered English sports cars do not sound like this. As dubious car enthusiast Mort Sahl put it, “MGs are great if you don’t mind being blown off by housewives in Plymouth station wagons.” Jews are into cars? ↩︎

Marvin says “kinescope” rather than “tape” because consumer videotape machines didn’t exist in 1969. The networks used tape, but Marvin would have needed a film version, a “kinescope”, which is what the networks used before the development of videotape, to view using a projector. *Once Upon A Time” is filled with anachronisms, but film buff Tarantino gets this one right. However, the “Hullabaloo” clip is filmed in wide-screen, which of course is totally inaccurate. Leo’s performance looks as though it were based on the persona of fifties super-square Pat Boone. ↩︎ ↩︎

I have no grasp of LA geography, so I have no idea of where Rick and Cliff are. ↩︎

The Karmann Ghia was simply an Italian-bodied Volkswagen bug. If Cliff had the “big” engine (presumably, he did), he could hit 90. If not, 75 was probably the top. ↩︎

Brad addresses Brandy as “man” in this scene even though the actual dog, "Sayuri", is a female and is referred to as such in the final scenes. ↩︎

A place like Rick’s would of course require constant upkeep to avoid turning into a mess, but, as is so often the case in film, the place somehow cleans itself. ↩︎

Jay Leno described his one Mansion visit as “a lot of middle-aged men hitting on a lot of young women.” ↩︎

Cass Elliot grew up in Alexandria, Virginia, which is next to Falls Church, where I grew up. On the M&Ps’ cover of the Martha and the Vandellas hit “Dancin’ in the Street”, the M&Ps fade out the song with the list of the cities where they’re, you know, dancing in the street—“Baltimore and DC now”—with the following barely audible dialogue: “Alexandria?” “In Virginia, Virginia.” “Falls Church?” “Never heard of it.” Both are suburbs of Washington, DC. Falls Church is supposedly the setting for at least two tv shows, JAG and The Americans. ↩︎

Three of their songs are heard on the soundtrack, though they only sing one of them—“Twelve Thirty”. Both “Twelve Thirty” and “Straight Shooter” are explicitly about heroin addiction, while the third and most famous, “California Dreamin’”, strongly hints at it. The sheet music for “Straight Shooter” was found on a piano at the scene of the actual Manson/Tate murders. ↩︎

“Stella shits!” exclaimed Jonathan Swift regarding Esther Johnson, his life-long obsessive love, whom he first met when she was eight. Quentin seems to hate women yet want to smell their feet. ↩︎

In an interview, Tarantino has “explained” that in “real life” Cliff would kick Bruce Lee’s ass because war hero Cliff was a Green Beret. Since Cliff, like Rick, is supposed to be pushing 40, he would have to have been a “war hero” in Korea. Combat operations in Korea ended with the 1954 armistice. Special forces troops never wore the green beret until 1955, and it was almost immediately discontinued until revived in 1961. They received enormous publicity in the sixties. I don’t know why they’ve been supplanted by the Seals as the ultimate bad asses. ↩︎

Anyone who likes books likes first editions, but I very much dislike the use of first editions as a way to make books expensive status symbols. Go Kindle! (And, in any event, if I had a copy of a 90-year-old first edition, I wouldn’t carry it unprotected in my sweaty little hand, as Sharon does.) ↩︎

I rented one of Matt’s/Dean’s films for some purpose—I can’t remember why—and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t The Wrecking Crew, but it was so slow-paced and boring that I couldn’t watch it, il Dino wandering around like he’d had more whiskey sours than Rick Dalton. ↩︎

McQueen started out in tv as the star of Wanted Dead or Alive, the very obvious “inspiration” for Bounty Law. McQueen, a very big star in 1969, thanks to Bullit and Crown Affair, which were in fact his only two films to be remembered, was supposedly “targeted” by Manson as part of his plan to cause the U.S. to erupt in a race war. Which may be why he’s such a presence in this film. Or not. ↩︎

“Instead of a bum, which is what I am”—Marlon Brando’s lines from On the Waterfront, once among the most quoted in American film, bitterly complaining to his brother, played by Rod Steiger, that his career as a boxer was ruined when he was forced, by his brother, to throw a fight. ↩︎

Qualley, who has had extensive ballet training, is probably the best dancer in the whole film. ↩︎

It would also likely leave the horse exhausted for the rest of the day. Horse races only last a mile or so because horses can’t gallop for much longer than that. ↩︎

Not exactly that, probably, anyway, three “b’s”. ↩︎

Also, the camera backs up to keep Maribella in the shot, which it wouldn’t have done if Cliff’s action had been an adlib. ↩︎

In “real life”, Kasabian did not drive away but remained behind as a lookout. Kasabian was involved—always as a bystander, she claimed—in many of the murders committed by Manson and his followers, but was able to avoid prison time by serving as the key witness against the others. ↩︎

“God damn it! How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t drink out of the carton?” It’s “nice” that the T-1000 stays in character as the past her limit housewife as “she” pulls her blade/hand from the dumb shit’s head. ↩︎

[ghjco]

Zuul Takes the ROM

On a day of record-breaking snowfall in Toronto, we gleefully leapt at the opportunity to leave our igloo and journey to Hill County, Montana... 76 million years in the past.

Have we mastered the art of space and time travel? No, not quite. Our journey was thrilling nonetheless—we visited the latest exhibition at Toronto’s Royal Ontario Museum, Zuul: Life of an Armoured Dinosaur, presenting sponsor Sinking Ship Entertainment.

The (rock) star at the centre of this exhibition is Zuul crurivastator—or just Zuul to close pals like us. Pro Tip: say it like “school.”

Speaking of School… For Lesson #1: Who is Zuul?

If the name rings a bell, it might be because Zuul was named for the dinosaur’s passing resemblance to the monster in 1984′s Ghostbusters. (We too love a good 80s throwback.) The species name of this creature (that’s the ‘crurivastator’ bit) means “destroyer of shins” in Latin. 

Zuul roamed the Earth about 76 million years ago, during the Late Cretaceous Period. At 6 metres long the dinosaur would have weighed about 2.5 tonnes, and belonged to a wider family of armoured dinosaurs known as ankylosaurs.

Fun fact: these dinos are rarely found by palaeontologists (only about 5% of all found dinosaurs are ankylosaurs), and Zuul itself is an even rarer find—its tail was still attached to its body—making this exhibition particularly groundbreaking!

Plus, Zuul’s remains are remarkably untouched, thanks to the speed and depth at which it was buried. There were even portions of Zuul’s skin that remain preserved, offering huge research opportunities for the scientists working with the find.

So how did Zuul earn the moniker “destroyer of shins”? Well, at the end of its long, spiked tail is a bony club, which it would have swung at any potential predators for self-defence. And defend itself it certainly did—over the years, the remains of other carnivorous dinosaurs have been found with damage to their shin-region, many even showing signs of fracture and repair. Zuul was not to be messed with!

Best of all? If Zuul was still roaming the Earth today, we think we’d get along famously—just like us, Zuul had a penchant for plants. As a herbivore, its diet consisted solely of plants. Ferns in particular were a favourite meal, which Zuul would have munched on with its toothless beak. Psst! All this plant talk left you hangry? Try our ZUUL-APPROVED SMOOTHIE BOWL.

The Exhibition

The ROM’s exhibition is the very first time the dinosaur’s fossilized remains have been put on public display, so visitors can boast they are among the first in the world to meet the fearsome dino face-to-face.

After a short video about the discovery of Zuul, including interviews with the team that found the dinosaur’s remains, the ROM’s exhibition continues with an introduction to Zuul’s wider family. No, there are no embarrassing photo albums; instead expect a series of skulls, hands-on brass models, and fact-filled posters about ankylosaurs!

Rounding the corner, we entered the main room of the exhibition to find Zuul and a Gorgosaurus locked in battle! Thankfully, the carefully poised skeletons pose no threat to visitors, but those exploring the exhibition can watch the duo fighting in a cinematic, CG-reenactment of the fight on a large screen nearby.

Rounding the corner, we entered the main room of the exhibition to find Zuul and a Gorgosaurus locked in battle! Thankfully, the carefully poised skeletons pose no threat to visitors, but those exploring the exhibition can watch the duo fighting in a cinematic, CG-reenactment of the fight on a large screen nearby.

This short video is just one of the ways this exhibition breathes life back into 76-million-year-old Zuul using the wonders of modern technology. Visitors can fight in an arcade-style game (now we’ve really lived our best 80s fantasy, with an abundance of button mashing and enthusiastic joystick maneuvering), and there are plenty of 3D renderings of bones, skulls, and other items found alongside Zuul for visitors to interact with and learn more about.

We’ll make no bones about it—this roar-some exhibition is undoubtedly worth stomping to the ROM for. Zuul’s club is one we’re proud to be members of!

Zuul: Life of an Armoured Dinosaur, presenting sponsor Sinking Ship Entertainment runs at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto from Dec. 15, 2018, to May 20, 2019. Entry to the exhibition is free for ROM Members (rom.on.ca). And until May 20, 2019, you can get 14 months for the price of 12* on a 1-year Family/Dual or ROM Social Membership using promo code: GREENHOUSE. Visit rom.on.ca/membership to get your Membership today.

PLUS, from March 9 to 16th ROM Members can pick up a free Plant Protein Bar at any Greenhouse own-location with the purchase of a quad pack. Simply present your Membership card to our team and give us your best Zuul roar. Limit one per customer, while supplies last.

*Cannot be combined with any other offer or discount. To enquire about this offer by phone call 416-586-5700.

[galaxykeixh]

&&. tag dump