#anyway here's a fucking autobiography I guess

[nburkhardt]

Of Scissors & Wild Curls

Trying to beat out my writers block by writing an au troupe I absolutely love reading and haven’t written before. Just a heads up, it’s in modern times just so I don’t have to worry about being accurate to anything in the 80s ✌️ (this was stated on June 16th, when I started it)

anyway enjoy!

It’s the worst day of his entire life.

Right now. This is absolutely the day to end all bad days. It’ll be in his autobiography, it’ll be written in news articles and maybe a movie someday.

He wants to die a million deaths, truly.

It’s The Worst.

…. Or he might be exaggerating a bit. Just a little. Really, it’s not the end of the world.

This time at least.

Look, he’s had a long ass week and had a fight with some idiot taking pictures of him absolutely not falling on his ass. And the record label just told him that they need at least another album before letting the band take a much needed break.

Also, if he’s being truthful here, his writers block is a killer.

There’s a wall just planted in his brain, cutting off any and all lyrics the band needs for another fucking album.

Where was he again? Oh, worst day of his life.

“We’re going to stop in the next town, maybe we can find a place to- help?”

He groans and throws his head back, looking over at Gareth, “dude, my hair is a fucking disaster. There’s no helping that!”

Gareth crosses his arms with a deadpan look, “Ed, I think you’re overreacting a little. It’s just a little piece of gum! It’s not even that far in your hair, maybe this can be a little-“

“Don’t say it!”

“-trim”

He glares at him, “a little trim? This piece of shit is near my goddamn neck, Gare! I CAN FEEL IT! That fucking asshole did it on purpose too, I just know it!”

There’s a little five foot asshole out in the world, that’s his number one enemy now. Slapping him on the back with a “great show, my man!” Before walking away with a snicker. At the moment he didn’t think anything of it, too busy focusing on the fans around him trying to get his attention. His adrenaline and energy buzzing too much to realize something off with that guy.

He didn’t even notice it, it was a goddamn fan to point it out. Because they felt it when they took a picture together.

See? Worst day ever.

Right now they’re in the bus already moving onto the next city for the next concert. He isn’t even sure what’s the next one, all he knows is his hair has fucking gum in it and it’s the worst thing to ever happen to him.

“I still think you’re overreacting just a little, look, maybe there’s a way to get it out without cutting anything. We just have to find a place, there’s a two day break before the next concert. Ok?” Gareth pulls his hands away from his face, “Chris even told our driver to be on the lookout for places already.”

Sighing, he leans back and looks at his best friend, “I guess you’re right”

“I’m always right, dude.”

Rolling his eyes, he gets up and decides to take a nap face down because there’s no way he’s making it worse and getting stuck to his sheets.

Okay so, he’s overreacting a little bit. But he’s been growing his hair out for years now. It’s the perfect length and just wild enough that everyone knows him just by the hair.

It’s his thing, okay?!

A phone is slammed down and he flinches before looking towards the front, “did the phone kill your dog? Or was that-“

Robin whipped her head around a pinched look on her face, “that was goddamn Fran asking for a perm, I swear to god I don’t know how you deal with her! She actually had the nerve to praise you about letting her go so long without paying! She’s scheduled for Friday, because and I quote ‘my hair is straight as a needle’ she doesn’t do shit with her hair, Steve!”

He shakes his head and grabs his water before walking towards her, “Truthfully? I kinda zone out when I’m working on her hair.”

Robin blinked at him before she burst out laughing.

Being one of the only hair salons in their tiny town has some benefits, which is taking some customers that only pay after ranking up to nearly $300. That and he can hire anyone he wants and having a crew of just their friends is a perfect way to deal with the few crazy customers they get.

Oh, and he gets to hang out with them all the time while doing something he actually loves.

When he decided to go to cosmetology school instead of whatever place his dad wanted, he didn’t think he’d end up here. Honestly. His mom told him there was a chance it would go no where, that it’ll just be another thing to add to his list of hobbies.

Baseball, basketball, swimming, drawing and lastly cutting hair.

According to his dad, all of that was pointless. Well, not basketball. To his mom, it just made him look good for future partners. Thankfully their opinions don’t matter to him much anymore, they’re long gone from this tiny town and he’s twenty five now.

Really, he doesn’t need their support or opinions anymore.

“Woah! Dingus come here!” Robin calls out without needing to, the shop is small and he’s just at his station, “there’s your dorky kids jumping around like actual kids”

Rolling his eyes, he stands next to her to find that; yes across the street is the kids- now teenagers jumping around some parked bus. He can’t quite make out what’s on the bus, his vision is shit with letters even with his contacts in. Whatever they’re excited about is probably related to their dragons game.

So definitely nothing he’d understand. Right?

His attention is drawn away from the teens because of the door opening, he spins around with a smile already on his face. “Hello, do you have an appointment today?”

Standing half way in the door is a tiny blonde with a high pony tail and clearly not from around here. He pretty much knows everyone in Hawkins, or at least he knows everyone that comes into his shop.

This person definitely hasn’t been in before, she is adorable though. Totally Robin’s type, actually. Glancing at his best friend, and yep, there’s already hearts in her eyes.

“Hi! No, actually I wanted to see if you did have any openings?” Tiny Blonde smiles and he can see her glance at Robin, “either of you?”

If he could, he’d totally leave Robin to handle this by herself. It’d be pay back for when she ditched him at the bar a few weeks ago, but he’s not that petty. “Technically she can’t cut or color anyone’s hair, but I’m free later. I got a person coming in like twenty minutes. What did you-“

“Actually, it’s for a friend of mine!” She shakes her head and pulls her phone out, glancing at it and typing something quickly before looking back at him, “Can you do like a quick, consult maybe? Not like now, but later?”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robin nod her head as if she’s the one going to do it. Rolling his eyes he smiles and moves to the appointment book, taking a quick glance he can technically squeeze in something. “Just a consult?”

“Maybe a trim if all goes well, we could even come in tomorrow if you can’t today. We did just get into town, I’m sure my friend will understand if you can’t” her phone beeps and he can’t tell but it seems like she’s grimacing at whatever was sent, “or maybe you know another place?”

Technically he could send them somewhere else, but he’s curious plus from the glare he can feel from Robin- he glances at her and yep, she’s glaring a hole in his head.

He doesn’t need to ask her that she wants this pretty blonde to come back.

“Nah, you can come back at four. We can chat and figure out what needs or can be done.“ he smiles at her before handing over an appointment card, “I’m Steve, by the way. That’s Robin”

She takes the card with a smile, “Oh! I’m Chrissy, you don’t realize how much this will make my friend’s day. We’ll see you then, it’ll just be you two, right?”

“Yep! See you in a few hours!” Chrissy flashed a bright smile at him then Robin before opening the door and walking away.

He doesn’t even bother looking towards Robin to tell her, “You’ve got it bad”

There’s a loud shriek and then a laugh as Chrissy walks away. She smiles before looking down at her phone to text the good news.

‘Best news of your life right now, four o’clock. Dummy’

‘THANK YOU ❤️🖤’

It’s inching closer and closer to four and Steve isn’t sure if Chrissy just forgot or that her friend decided it wasn’t worth it. Either way, he’s going to clean up now because it’s been a long day and all he wants now is to drink some wine while relaxing on his couch.

He’s listening to Robin vent from across the salon, while cleaning the mirrors. “Despite how pretty she is, if they don’t show up soon I’m closing this place up!”

“It’s not even officially four yet, Robs.” He laughs and turns away from his mirror to clean the chair, “we have like five minutes before we give up on it.”

Robin let’s out a groan, spinning around to point at him with a glare, “It’s Friday night and I have plans, Steven!”

“I hope these plans don’t involve me, Robin. I have to be in here at fucking eight in the morning, I’d like to get at least five hours of sleep” he glares over at her, “the last time we went out and I had to work in the morning, I almost didn’t make it in”

Because of Robin’s loud laughter he nearly misses the door opening, he bounces up with a smile, “hi can I- Chrissy!”

Standing by the front desk is of course, Chrissy along with her is a tall guy with long wild curls standing next to her. He has a pair of sunglasses on and his hands shoved into the leather jacket he has on.

“Hi guys, sorry we didn’t get here sooner there was a crowd and this one couldn’t get passed it withou- ow! Eddie!” She glared at the man, Eddie apparently, and rubbing her arm.

It’s confusing but he’s not going to question it, his relationship with Robin is weird, probably weirder actually. So instead of questioning that he moves closer, “it’s fine, we were just cleaning up real quick. We said just a consult right or did you figure out what you wanted?”

Wordlessly, the two of a conversation right there. Hand movements, head nods and shakes before there’s a bright satisfied smile on Chrissy’s face appears. Eddie looks not upset per-say but definitely like he lost whatever was said in their conversation.

“Yep! He’ll do a trim, but there’s a little problem. You see, someone decided to put gum on his back and-”

Robin’s laughing again while he’s just horrified for Eddie. He can’t help but feel bad for the hair, well, maybe Eddie too. But he hasn’t said a word to them yet, still standing there with his glasses on and now crossing his arms with what looks like a pout on his face. Chrissy’s still talking about the gum and how it’s ruined Eddie’s day and they couldn’t figure out any other way to get it out.

He shakes his head, moving towards his chair and patting it, “well, I can’t figure anything out until you’re sitting in the chair and I get a closer look at the hair”

Eddie looks between the chair and Chrissy, before moving towards him and sitting in the chair. Sunglasses still on his face, a pout very much there as well. Up close, his hair is even more wild than he originally thought. The curls are a mess, that’s clear as he sticks his hand to figure out how much the gum is stuck.

It’s not too terrible, definitely bad but not enough where if he does cut it out, the hair wouldn’t be much different.

There is however, the fact that this guy is clearly not taking proper care of his hair. For as wild as it is, the curls are frizzy and not defined.

“Good news, I could cut the gum out and you’re hair won’t lose too much length or I could also try getting it out using some oil without taking scissors to your hair.”

“And the bad news?”

“You’re not taking proper care of your hair, these curls could be so much more”

He hears Chrissy let out a giggle and Robin’s definitely laughing with her, but his gaze is on Eddie, who’s mouth drops and nearly rips the glasses off to show that his eyes are wide with shock.

Steve can’t help himself, he smiles and lets his own little giggle out.

Eddie looks absolutely ridiculous and Steve might know him, like, at all. But he’s definitely someone he’d like to know eventually, being this dramatic over a little comment? That’s someone worth knowing, he thinks.

———

Ending it there lol.

Wanna know what’s funny? I started this to get out of my writers block and ended up getting it WITH THIS.

So I used wip wednesdays/weekends to push myself along and finally after also talking with @i-less-than-three-you & @strangersteddierthings I’ve decided to make this a two parter! I get to share what I already wrote AND give myself a way to write them actually getting together.

I also wanna shout out @artiststarme for helping me a bit too! They gave me a few suggestions and helped out so thank you to all three of them 🩷 you all are amazing and I love you!!

Tag list! (If you’d like to be added let me know)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you

@yikes-a-bee @sc00ps-ahoy @geekymagicalpotato @thesuninyaface @penny00dreadful

PS: if you made it this far you get to know that the thing with someone not paying until the bill is up to $300 is a true fucking story. There’s a lady that comes into my work (a hair salon btw) and gets away with coming in for a hair wash or color or perms and doesn’t pay! Idk why my boss continues letting her do this but she does 🤷‍♀️

[batsplat]

your sampras/agassi post was life changing... my god

(said post) thank you!! I'm really pleased by the pick up that post has gotten - I don't post much about tennis on here, but it always has and always will be my number one sport and this rivalry is one that's very dear to my heart. incidentally, I got a similar ask prompting a write up of the henin/clijsters rivalry, so when I find the time I'll talk about them in similar depth too. now there's a rivalry that definitely deserves more attention that it gets

but speaking of agassi/sampras, while I have you here... there's one particular match from 1994 I only very briefly alluded to that does also speak rather nicely to the themes of that rivalry. it's the final of key biscayne (aka miami), played at a time when sampras is the dominant world number one and agassi is still on just the single slam. the reason why this match is so notable is that it could very easily not have happened. sampras was struggling with health issues at that point of his career - and before the match was scheduled to start, agassi came upon him lying prone on the locker room floor with severe stomach pain

sampras was not ready to start the match at the scheduled start time. by rights, it should have been agassi's win via walkover. the tournament directors requested that agassi agree to a delay of the match - it's particularly awkward to have to cancel a final, after all, with thousands of spectators present to see the big match (x)

On March 20, when Agassi entered the locker room before the final, he witnessed a very unusual scene: Sampras was lying on the ground, suffering from a stomach ache. There was no way Sampras could be ready to start the final on time, which would make Agassi the Miami champion. However, the world No 1 thought he would be able to play if Agassi agreed to delay the final by an hour. Agassi agreed. “It’s not about winning the tournament; it’s about taking pride in what you do,” Agassi explained later, according to The New York Times. “If I couldn’t beat Pete healthy, I didn’t deserve to win the tournament.”

delaying it by A WHOLE HOUR is just objectively extremely generous from agassi - though of course the expectation was that sampras surely wouldn't be particularly competitive anyway. sampras got an IV drip that managed to at least get him back on his feet and ready to take to the court. so at last, after all the fuss and delay, they manage to get the match started. here's agassi in his autobiography describing the delay:

After dispatching Becker, I’m in the final. My opponent? Pete. As always, Pete. The match is slated for national TV. Brad and I are both keyed up as we walk into the locker room, only to find Pete lying on the ground. A doctor and a trainer are leaning over him. The tournament director hovers in the background. Pete brings his knees up to his chest and groans. Food poisoning, the doctor says. Brad whispers to me, Guess you just won Key Biscayne. The director takes Brad and me aside and asks if we’d be willing to give Pete time to recover. I feel Brad stiffen. I know what he wants me to say. But I tell the director, Give Pete all the time he needs. The director sighs and puts his hand on my arm. Thank you, he says. We’ve got fourteen thousand people out there. Plus the network. Brad and I lounge around the locker room, flipping channels on the TV, making phone calls. I dial Brooke, who’s auditioning for Grease on Broadway. Otherwise, she’d be here. Brad shoots me an evil glare. Relax, I tell him, Pete probably won’t get better. The doctor gives Pete an IV, then props him on his feet. Pete wobbles, a newborn colt. He’ll never make it. The tournament director comes to us. Pete’s ready, he says. Fucking A, Brad says. So are we. Should be a short night, I tell Brad.

now, I reckon by now you should be able to guess where this is going. you can find the full match on youtube (samprasfan1987 one of the absolute goats of historical tennis match youtube), though unfortunately only with german commentary. here's three minute highlights with truly horrendous quality:

and I'd recommend it as a match to experience in its entirety. it's........ it's not the best match you'll ever see. it's not the best match those two have played. it's certainly a match those two have played. but, y'know, the thing about tennis is that sometimes it just isn't the best matches that are the most compelling... sometimes it's the matches where both players are fighting their demons. sometimes it's compelling to watch the demons win

because of course sampras can't do the decent thing and just roll over and die. he just HAS to come out swinging, clearly rattling agassi with how he can actually somehow play proper tennis in his condition. this match is such a fun little case study of what an absolute bitch it is to play a physically diminished opponent. the spectators, the commentator, you the viewer, and agassi himself - everyone knows that agassi SHOULD be winning this match. of course he should!! sampras was lying on the FLOOR an hour ago, he's had to IV his way back to his feet, agassi is giving him the "newborn colt" descriptors. and this kind of set-up does run the risk of making you feel like it's a lose-lose situation. if you win, you only won because your opponent was off your game. if you lose, then you're a fucking moron who couldn't even put away the weakest version of your rival

and it's clearly affecting agassi, who plays poorly at the start of the match. he quickly goes down 2-5*, double break to sampras, not finding his rhythm and reeling off a litany of cheap errors as sampras ticks up his games with typical metronomic efficiency. agassi might be making sampras' life easier, but sampras certainly isn't playing like a man who'd lain stricken with agony a short while earlier. then, however, agassi rallies - finds his game, loosens up, probably because he was already down on the scoreboard. the worst case scenario was already happening. the momentum switches quickly and it looks like sampras might be ailing physically after all. agassi still isn't playing his best - but he takes it to sampras, cleans up the error count a little and takes five consecutive games to win the first set 7-5. which, well. a physically healthy sampras generally does not get broken three service games in a row. not with his serve

so going into the second set, it looks like... well, maybe sampras had only about half an hour of decent tennis in him. now he's run out of steam, it's basically game over, right? agassi can cruise home to take the match and the title - probably shouldn't have let the first set get so spooky, but all's well that ends well. spectators got their show, agassi doesn't fall apart against a guy who might keel over any minute

except... except. first set to agassi, and the pressure's once again on him... once again, he's the guy who's supposed to be winning. sampras is down, might be out - he has no reason not to swing freely in a match he probably should be losing. and unfortunately for agassi, there's no guarantee sampras might not recover again physically somewhat after all. energy levels can wax and wane - if you're trying to manage some kind of physical issue, you might be struggling for a while before suddenly clicking back into gear again. agassi has the momentum, sampras has nothing to lose

you know what happens next. sampras gets better and better. agassi gives up a cheap break early in the second - by the third, sampras does manage to find a strong level. it's basically one way traffic. sampras takes the victory. agassi takes another blow

or, as the washington post would put it in a true all timer sports headline:

lovely

here is sampras' description of that episode:

Meanwhile, in a development I kept secret from everyone, I was battling physical problems of my own, although they were paltry compared to Tim’s. For more than a year, I had been struggling with bouts of nausea and an inability, at times, to keep food or even water down. The situation started sometime in 1993, and was so aggravated by the spring of 1994 that I was unable to make the start time for the final of the important Key Biscayne tournament, in which I was to play Andre Agassi. In a gesture I still appreciate, Andre agreed to postpone the scheduled 1 P.M. start of the final for an hour, while I took an intravenous glucose drip. I had been throwing up all morning, which I blamed on the pasta dinner I’d had the night before. The IV did the job, rehydrating me, and I went on to win the final in three sets. At the time, I wanted to believe that the episodes were somehow related to dehydration.

and his immediate post-match comments:

“I woke up at 7 feeling nauseated, heaving and gagging; I didn’t think I’d be able to go out and play,” Sampras added. “But I feel a lot better now. As the match wore on, the adrenaline started kicking in and I started to think I could win when the chips are down. That sort of showed me I’ve got guts.”

guts that were nearly spilling out of him at one point, one might note

and on agassi's side:

“Once he got in front, he started serving big, and that was it,” Agassi commented. “Part of me was saying there was no way he could stay out there for three sets…. I was wrong.” During the trophy ceremony, tournament founder Butch Bucholz thanked Agassi for his sportsmanship, and the runner-up received a standing ovation from the crowd. 

I'm sure agassi felt better getting a standing ovation for having been made a fool of

and that's the problem, isn't it, hinted at by agassi's own line - playing a diminished opponent forces you to think far far more than you should be. it increases the stakes. it makes you feel like you should be winning. it saps at your concentration. it requires you to resist feeling any sympathy or even pity for your opponent when they're struggling. it makes you wonder if you should be taking advantage of your opponent's condition, make them move around the court more, prolong the points, change your style of play to better suit the situation. it makes you wary of celebrating too much, partly out of respect and partly out of a sense of dignity, messes with your motivation levels. makes you think too much about how people are reacting to the match when you should be focusing on how you're playing it. it makes you try and peer into the future - wondering when their level might drop off, if you just need to hold out until their legs give way... all these extra considerations, eating away at your concentration and mental strength. on the flip side, it can make everything easier for the struggling player: they know they only have limited options to pull off the win, they know they probably shouldn't be winning, so they can opt for simplicity over turmoil

it's a universal dynamic in tennis, happens to the best of us - but this specific scenario does also feel like it just happens to be perfect for this specific rivalry. as always, pete; as always, denying andre. sampras, who could swing freely and fight as hard as he dared and show his guts and emerge victorious. agassi, plagued by doubts, second guessing himself as he lets his inevitable rival inevitably snatch away another victory. from right under his nose. after having been lying prone on the locker room floor in front of agassi's own eyes

as ever, of course, agassi himself puts it best:

But Pete does it again. He sends his evil twin onto the court. This is not the Pete who was curled in a ball on the locker-room floor. This is not the Pete who was getting an IV and wobbling in circles. This Pete is in the prime of life, serving at warp speed, barely breaking a sweat. He’s playing his best tennis, unbeatable, and he jumps out to a 5–1 lead. Now I’m angry. I feel as if I found a wounded bird, brought it home, and nursed it back to health, only to have it try to peck my eyes out. I fight back and win the set. Surely I’ve withstood the only attack Pete can mount. He can’t possibly have anything left. But in the second set he’s even better. And in the third he’s a freak. He wins the best-of-three match. I burst into the locker room. Brad is waiting for me, seething. He says again that if he’d been in my place, he’d have forced Pete to forfeit. He’d have demanded that the director fork over the winner’s check. That’s not me, I tell Brad. I don’t want to win like that. Besides, if I can’t beat a guy who’s poisoned, lying on the ground, I don’t deserve it. Brad abruptly stops talking. His eyes get big. He nods. He can’t argue with that. He respects my principles, he says, even though he doesn’t agree. We walk out of the stadium together like Bogart and Claude Rains at the end of Casablanca. The beginning of a beautiful friendship. A vital new member of the team.

such an impressive act of sportsmanship. so completely unrewarded. god, I LOVE the wounded bird trying to peck agassi's eyes out description. can you IMAGINE how annoying that must be if you're agassi? what a thorn in your side this one guy must be? what does it TAKE to put this bloke away? doesn't even have the decency to lose when he's needing an IV drip to take to the court. always, always, ALWAYS catching agassi by surprise. in their first slam final when agassi should've been the favourite, in that 2001 uso quarterfinal when agassi was in far better form, in their last ever slam final and match... even here, when sampras should have been a shell of himself. somehow sampras finds something, somehow he has an evil doppelgaenger to send out in his stead. no wonder he kept scrambling agassi's brain. what a nightmare to deal with

[just-a-random-person24]

On a Rail episodes are next and I have SO much to say about those eps, those notes are gonna have more things to them but rn here's eps 15-22

Episode 15

“I last ate like, what? A day ago?” PLEASE EAT SOMETHING MY GUY

“Fucking hamdogs. That's racist.” He's worried about being racist to the literal aliens???

Casually picks up a shotgun off a dead security

“That is NOT a normal way to die!” The man violently ragdolled, that's definitely not normal

Episode 16

babygirl you've said fun 5 times too many

“I warned your kind what would happen if you jump me like that again.” I really don't think they can hear you

“A plain exposed door leading to where I need to be? Am I getting punked?” That door's always been there

“I wouldn't call 2 people a group.” What would you call them then?

“And by mental, I mean break down and cry.” I quote this way too much lmao

Episode 17

Logo change!!

Just, this whole beginning part. ‘Descent into madness schtick’

Just vent my man you need to </3

“The design for turning on the fan is balls.” It really is cause why is it under the fan blades??

“The amount of dead people in a single area may correlate to its significance. As dark as that may seem.” That is such a fucked up way at looking at it

“You know, I actually could go for a smoke right now.” Canonically smokes cigarettes (r.i.p man if the military doesn't get you)

“Now I have to look for scientists like they're lost 5 year olds. Fucking a.” He's a single mom 💔 (/j)

“They actually look pretty cute.” They're sleepy little puppy dogs ☹️

“Hopefully 2010 doesn't have me kickstarting the second apocalypse.” *que Half Life 2*

“But right now I am the judge, as well as jury, and executioner. With that in mind I hereby declare you all guilty!” He's losing it

Episode 18

“My autobiography isn't going to write itself.” THAT'S your biggest concern at the moment???

“Okay, fine, I'll do that. Since nobody would want to know what your condescending ass is here anyways.” YOU'RE BEING SUCH A DICK??

“I may not have the best sense of smell, but god this is rank.” ???

“I think they'd do well in the world of cinema.” For some reason I vaguely remember something about Mindrian wanting to be an actor or something. They should make a homemade movie together

“Jesus christ thats hot!” I hope fire is hot!

Episode 19

“I was originally gonna say that the guy who designed this ladder in particular should be fired. But that's a bit on the nose.” *ba dum tss*

“Guess I'm going the way of the radioactive road. Or the Seabird Street. The Transiuratic Turnpike. The Breckwell Boulevard.” I'm not putting all that bit here but you are saying a lot of things I do not understand (I also know I probably misspelled something)

“The n in fun stands for nuclear.” ??? that is not a saying my man

“That's uh… okay.” Again I just like the delivery he just, sounds small? you know?? Like shrinking down on yourself (I'm gonna shut up now)

Episode 20

“What are these? Cameras?” I have no clue what cameras you've seen but they do not look like cameras

“‘No smoking’? Thanks, I don't need any stress relief right now.” he's, such a dork sometimes

“Shame there's no rocket engine though.” I really don't think fire is effective against fire here

“Intruder spotter. *shoot* And subsequently eliminated.” God I hate him <3

“If you're really trying to kill me then try harder!” Don't hold your breath!

“I'm not taking your guns though, cause of blood and other bodily fluids.” But, the ammo that was also covered in that stuff is fine??

Episode 21

Give his ass a map please

I'm… not even going to attempt transcribing what he just said, boy I get it YOU'RE A SCIENTIST GOD DAMN

“Trauma doesn't have a beneficial impact on the human mind as far as I'm concerned.” Give him a therapist too, and a map

“Maybe I can stack dead aliens and use them as a ladder.” That's your first idea???

“Maintenance and pest control? I don't get paid nearly enough for this!” Well, you would if you didn't take a $150 bribe

Episode 22

“That's just a theory though.” A GAME- 💥 (The immediate explosion after makes me absolutely love this line cause man)

“I may have killed myself a while ago.” HEY?? 💔

“Anything to take down ‘The Free Man’ I suppose.” I cannot with him

“ Cut the bravado, you're not fooling anyone! It's just ME! I can HELP you! So either LISTEN TO ME, OR YOU'RE GOING TO-... going to… god damn it.” Anion when I fucking get you god damn

“I can't let you die. I won't let anyone else die, not again. Not now. Not ever. Please, listen to me.” ANION WHEN I FUCKING GET YOU

He ran for 5 seconds and he ran out of breath, fucking Alan Wake ass stamina

“TAKE IT ALL AND DIE!” oh my god

I don't know how to explain it, but there's like. A shift this episode? I don't know, this one and the On a Rail eps feel so different from the other episodes (in a good way)

The immediate laughter after killing something??? good for him

“The first act ends with not a climactic victory, but a somber progression.” God let him be happy

[submalevolentgrace]

i've been thinking a lot about gunpla lately, hell i am so gunplilled all i can think about is gunpla, but like it's good to have a hobby right? whenever i say that i just keep remembering "i think it's great you have a hobby" which is a line this guy says to his girlfriend about her getting involved in the women's lib movement aka 2nd wave feminism, it's from this like 60's british crime drama about a gay gangster, i think it might be based on a real guy and his autobiography? it's such a brutal belittling of her involvement that she sleeps with the female student he's having an affair with, and the main character is played by that guy, he's not the one that says the hobby line to his girlfriend btw that's a side character and the main character is gay as i said, he's played by that guy, you know, he's been in a bunch of stuff, he was the power hungry bad guy in shazam and also the power hoarding bad guy in john carpenter of mars, which i only know because i literally just watched it tonight with my girlfriend, because she got a new ereader recently right and it has access to all these public domain books for free, so she was reading princess of mars and i was like oh i have heard of that, did you know they made a bad movie from it, so we watched it and yeah it was pretty bad, bad acting bad cgi bad like structural editing, so my gf was then telling me all about how the movie butchered the book, which by the way she wasn't even super hot keen on, but she did point out that it has a cohesive theme about war and turning away from violence and how important it is that it's on mars, mars the god of war, theme of war etc, and the movie butchered it so bad and also it wasn't even called john carter of mars, just john carter, because the marketing team, apparently, decided nobody would see it if it had mars in the title because hollywood is just insanely dumb and it didn't matter because nobody saw it anyway, and apparently there were 2 sequels planned and got cancelled when it bombed and last year the director talked about those sequel plans, which i guess got it into search term lists or something because, and this is so fucked up about our modern culture and it makes my blood boil, if you lookup "john carter trailer" on youtube there's a fuckton of videos titled "john carter 2 teaser trailer" with the same thumbnail that are just, complete lies, there is no sequel or trailer, they just exist to literally bait your clicks and hopefully get ad revenue, because nothing matters anymore, you know i read a thing a while ago about someone struggling with centrelink's bullshit to get unemployment payments, and their job services people kept telling them they needed to be a productive member of society, but their last job had literally been doing mail merge setups for spam email for some shady startup that was almost certainly a scam, and they were just exhausted by like, the system punishing them for quitting that job when it was literally anti-productive, literally making society worse, and that's all those fake trailer videos are, that's all most of the internet is now, but we're still here, still struggling, so much struggling, i am always struggling,

did you know when i spoke to my gp like probably 7 years ago now about getting a referral for adhd assessment, she literally said to my face, this woman with a medical degree, "i don't know why you'd think you need that, you have no problem sitting still in the waiting room", and i was speechless, but i composed myself and begged her to write the referral anyway, and she did except it wasn't for adhd, it was for [redacted] that everyone told me i had but everyone was scared of even touching, and i knew any psych that saw that would rush right past even looking at adhd and nobody was helping with [redacted], so when i saw my copy of the referral cc'd in an email back to me i called her up and was like hey this isn't what i need, i need adhd referral, and she legit said "but dealing with [redacted] is much more important, it could cause you serious bodily damage and even cost you your life if we don't address it" which was the most real and honest thing a doctor had said, so ofc i was like yes fuck it might! that's what i've been saying! so are you finally going to start looking into treatment?? and she said "no, treatment is bad, you could become drug dependent" and i was like, limit my scripts then, do a monitored trial, come on. do something. there was this back and forth like, so you acknowledge it exists and need treatment? yes. and you acknowledge that without treatment it could harm or even kill me? yes. so what treatment is available? oh i can't give you treatment that's dangerous. and i just, couldn't even cope anymore. i stopped seeing that doctor at all, i didn't have a doctor to see. i called the psych i was referred to and they told me they wouldn't see me, taking on a patient with [redacted] would be too risky for their professional reputation. timelines are fuzzy to me, but i'm almost certain that in under a year from that going down i'd end up in hospital needing major surgery, except they didn't do the surgery i needed to repair the damage to my body, they overrode my right to consent and experimented on me instead doing a surgery they wanted to do and i still don't really know what their motivation were, beyond just speculating, ego and ableism, the lawyer told me, off the record, that they'd jist close ranks and use my past teenage trauma against me to defend their removal of my right to consent, as if that had anything to do with what they did….

anyway i'm really into gunpla lately, it's basically all i can think about. just ordered some new weapon packs. gonna have a four-armed assassin girl mech - yes 30 minute missions still counts as gunpla - with matching quad-wield pistols, i've gotten really into the idea of a four-armed gunslinger lately because of this game i've been playing, fun but runs like shit and crashes a lot, and it has a four armed pistol girl in it, and strangely enough there are aliens in john carter (of mars!) that are four armed too, but it's not because of that, it's because of star renegades, the green martians are just coincidence, but man, fuck those fake trailers for a nonexistant sequal of a bad movie, just a drain on society. did you know the guy that helps run the unemployed workers union had to do work for the dole at the ballarat cemetry and centrelink paid private investigators to drive by and make sure they were all doing their mandated unpaid work, is there a word for mandatory unpaid work under constant surveillence?, but he also still had job services appointments to go to which were scheduled during workhours and if he didn't attend he'd have his payments cancelled, but he wasn't allowed time off from his mandatory unpaid work to goto them or he'd be marked noncompliant with work for the dole and have his payments cancelled? homelessness is illegal. that's how you make a productive member of society. how much money do you think centrelink pays the private dicks that spy on the unemployed mandatory unpaid workers? more than unemployment benefits i'm guessing. i know i'm lucky not to be in that system anymore, to be in the disability system instead. lucky. out of the unemployment system because my disability cost me a hand. recently got told that i'm not on the ndis as an amputee, i'm on there for [redacted]. don't know how true that is. i don't even think i have [redacted], they never ran scans, they didn't do tests, it's supposed to be a diagnosis of exclusion, but they didn't bother to exclude anything else first. lucky. there's something deeply wrong with my body and i'll probably never find out what, because last time i tried, i ended up hospitalised under constant guard with no right to consent, no right to withdraw my consent for the experemental shit they did to me, the awful things they put me through to try and make their ego project work. totk got 2nd spot on a youtuber's goty list this week, that's nice. people are scared of [redacted], that's why i don't say it. can you believe people used to be scared of people with cancer, like it was contagious? i remember princess di hugging aids patients, barely. if i don't have a chaperone people in public pull their children away from me, as if my amputation is contagious. they don't even know about [redacted] and they're scared of me, unless i have a friend. i think my nub responds to barometric pressure changes kinda like arthritis, it hurts more when there are sudden shifts in weather. i don't actually know what it's like to have a hand crushed by a frigid hydraulic press, but my brain is assuring me that's what's been happening constantly for three days now. i've been thinking a lot about gunpla lately. i also got a rocket launcher for my beloved dilanza sol, and the kit also comes with a scale mobile worker, which i'm stoked about because ibo kits are hard to come by, and i really enjoyed ibo. it had some problems definitely worth dissecting, but also way more homoerotic tension and overt text than wfm did, even if all you want is yuri i still reckon kudellia and atra have more chemistry than suletta and miorine, fight me. i wonder if that'd get me death threats like my totk post did? also mikazuki is thematically linked forever in my head with-- no i don't want you consolenscences. the reason i refuse to post selfies is that my third worst nightmare is going in to he bakery or fish and chip shop one day and the respective old ladies that work there recognise my tattoos and go "submalevolentgrace???" and know all this

my top two worst nightmares btw are medical torture and child rape.

i've been thinking a lot about gunpla lately.

it's nice to have a hobby.

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Early Arc 3, Ari has just joined the Resistance

But Can You Teach Her To Think? [ First | Prev | Next ]

Reyan provides pen and paper. Ariadne just brings herself and the contents of her head – and whichever book Reyan lent her last, to hand back in like homework.

She doesn’t understand why she has reading homework.

The latest is a tatty paperback autobiography of a soldier in Russia during a war Ariadne isn’t old enough to remember. She understands enough to know that she’s supposed to have opinions on it. She’s probably supposed to be drawing parallels to something about modern America, but she doesn’t have the faintest idea what.

She’s too tired all the time for fucking… reading comprehension.

But life and obligation have never accepted tiredness as an excuse, and that’s not about to change. She does her homework. She reads what she’s given to read, and when Reyan hands it back to her she knows by now to expect the inevitable question : “So what did you think?”

“Siberia is very cold,” she says, a touch of sarcasm as close as she dares get to disrespect. “I wouldn’t want to go.” She chews the inside of her lip, searching for the right phrasing. “War is hell, I guess. They had a hard time of it.” “Were they in the right?” “The Russians?” 

Ari frowns, trying to decide if the Russians are the warlocks in this metaphor, or the feds. The book barely touched on why they were fighting, only the grim reality of trench foot and starvation rations and forced marches and all the regular atrocities of war. 

“... I don’t know. They were fighting for their homes, I guess. For their country.” “Their government told them it was necessary,” says Reyan, “and they believed.” Ah, so Ariadne’s the Russians. She nods. “They followed a lot of… unpleasant orders,” she agrees. “So did the Germans.”

Ariadne looks at Reyan blankly, unsure what her opinion is supposed to be.

How were the soldiers supposed to know what was right? They only had one side of the story, and it was all a colossal mess anyway.

“I’m not sure,” she says slowly, studying the cover of the book in Reyan’s hand, “they thought much about whether it was right or wrong. They just wanted to shoot the other guys before they got shot themselves.” “Mmh,” he says. 

He never gives her a clear answer on anything she puts forward. She hates not knowing whether she’s passing or failing these little tests.

“What did you think of the General?” “Which one? Leontyev?” Ari clasps her hands behind her back so as not to fidget while she thinks. “Not a good leader,” she decides. “He… had no respect for his people.” “He sacrificed a lot of soldiers.” “Not just that.” Sacrifices are sometimes necessary. A soldier’s job is to die on command, if that’s what the wider strategy demands. Leontyev…

She had something to say, but faced with Reyan’s expectant stare, she can’t remember it. The words fall right out of her head. 

Frustration and irritation make her skin prickle. It’s demeaning, being quizzed like a child. And maybe that’s the point, and she sure as hell doesn’t have any grounds for complaint but – it’s hard sometimes, to swallow her frustration.

No one ever said this would be easy.

The silence drags until it’s painfully obvious that she doesn’t have anything intelligent to say.

“Sit down,” Reyan says. “Let’s get to work.”

So she sits, and they get down to the differently miserable business she’s really here for.

It’s something between debriefing and interrogation. Reyan asks questions, and Ariadne talks in as much detail as she can come up with. He makes notes, or she does, or they both do.

They’ve long since covered all the concrete facts she knew he’d want when she signed up for this. Site plans and personnel lists, names and locations and plans and policies. Her intel is out of date, but it’s still a gold mine for Resistance operations.

They’ve worked through a list of agents and officials of particular interest to the Resistance, and she’s given up everything she knows. Now they’re working through a list of warlocks, and she discusses what the feds know or suspect about each one.

She’s still not sure if she’s doing the right thing.

This is easier than when she was selling out specific people, but it all leaves the same sour taste in her mouth.

People will die because she turned. People will be injured. Maybe some of them will end up broken like she is broken, jumping at shadows for the rest of their lives.

This is how she pays her way here. 

No. That’s not the reason. 

If it was just about survival, she wouldn’t do it. She’s not that selfish. If it was just about survival, she wouldn’t be here, she’d be a hundred miles away living in a small-but-comfortable apartment somewhere, working two jobs to make ends meet but safe.

This is how she pays Alex back.

She said she’d do anything and – this is it. This is what he wants. And if he thinks this is the right thing… Well, Ari sure as hell doesn’t trust herself to know right from wrong.

He says that she is providing information that will help the Resistance help more people in need, people like Alex. He says they do more good than harm. He promised that the people she sells under the bus won’t suffer the way she did.

What happened to her was… not standard operating procedure.

She has to believe him, because who the hell else can she trust?

If only believing was as easy as deciding that she’s going to.

Sometimes as she talks about the work she used to do – the torture – Reyan looks at her with such disgust that she thinks he might shock her, or throw her at the floor with his magic. 

She’ll mention the number of people interrogated about a certain POI – not because she wants to remind him but only because it’s relevant to the question at hand – and Reyan’s lip will twitch and his eyes tighten with a flat loathing that serves of a very sharp reminder of just how unwelcome she is here.

His disapproval sets her pulse racing and she hates that, she hates how frightened and cowardly she has become.

It’s not that she doesn’t deserve disgust. She has never pretended that the work she did wasn’t monstrous.

It’s just… the way he takes the moral high ground rankles, sometimes. As if his hands are clean. As if she’s supposed to forget that he tortured her, too.

She will, if that’s what’s required of her. She’ll forget. It’s a small thing to forgive, compared to everything Alex has forgiven her. 

It’s just difficult, some days. She doesn’t think forgiveness is in her nature.

Her sessions with Reyan typically take an hour and a bit, sometimes two. Most of it’s a simple exercise in recall. He usually asks her to speculate or extrapolate a little, but for the most part she’s simply dredging her memory for information – and then rating her confidence in everything she recalls.

It shouldn’t be particularly taxing. But between the intense focus and the constant, sick knot of dread and self-disgust in the pit of her stomach, the interrogations never fail to leave her feeling wrung out.

When he’s done with her, Reyan puts a new book into her hands – fiction, maybe, this time, from a brief glance at the cover? – and dismisses her. She’s more than glad to get out of his office.

She wants coffee, and to be in her own space, or maybe to run until her head is empty.

These small rituals are about all that’s left of the person she used to think she was. There’s not much else. Not loyalty, not courage, not love of her country. Not the oaths she took, not the will to fight, and certainly not conviction that she’s on the right side of history.

She isn’t sure who she is anymore, and she isn’t sure she cares enough to find out.

But Alex cares. 

Alex who meets her at the door to drive her home because he knows she’ll be tired and sulky after meeting with Reyan. Alex who chose to share an apartment with her rather than with his sister because otherwise Ariadne would be alone and vulnerable.

Alex sees something in her, some potential to be better than she is. 

She puts her faith in him.

Because if he’s right, if she does have the potential to become someone worth knowing… then maybe she wants to see that happen.

[Next]

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

1) After I wrote this post, I ended up flipping through bits of that book again, and reminding myself of how good it is. It’s one of my favourite, among the comedian autobiographies I’ve read and/or listened to (not quite up there with the top ones, which I think are probably Sandi Toksvig’s and Fern Brady’s, but above a lot of them). I really like his writing style, and I like his approach to the book, covering a lot of detail about the comedy industry and his career and glossing over some other stuff. I also liked the gimmick of notes from a psychologist between chapters, a cool way to work in some introspective stuff without making the tone of the book feel odd.

I also got out one of my older hard drives, and moved over some stuff that I downloaded early in the days of this blog, back in summer 2020. WILTY was the second thing I watched in my Britcom journey – I started with Taskmaster in March 2020, then did WILTY. And then I got so attached to that that I ordered David Mitchell and Lee Mack’s autobiographies, and read them both in a row (I enjoyed David’s, but liked Lee’s better). And I downloaded and watched a bunch of their other work, which has been sitting on that old hard drive since then. But now that I have my big 5TB one where I’m consolidating a lot of stuff, I thought it was time to bring that over. So I’ve moved my big Mitchell and Webb collection on to there, and I’ve filled in the Lee Mack folder with Not Going Out and The Sketch Show. The latter of which I’ve also been re-watching this morning, and it’s quite funny. If anyone wants to see Baby Lee Mack in 2001 with Tim Vine and Roni Ancona and Jim Tavere and Kitty Flanegan doing their little sketches, it’s all on YouTube.

I was also reminded that I had watched the first 99 episodes of Not Going Out, but not the 100th, which aired a few weeks ago as a 2023 Christmas special. So I fixed that, and added it to my collection, which is now on my main hard drive, and I am so glad I decided to spend the money on the 5TB one. Though I am a bit concerned about it failing, now that it has so much in one spot. Nearly everything on it is backed up somewhere else, though.

Look at this. There are too many files for me to capture them all in one screenshot, but I can get all the sub-folders in there, sub-folders being things that comedians get once I have more than one show of theirs to keep in one place. I might end up deciding it's worth spending some money on cloud storage just to make sure that having it all in one spot gets preserved. It's such a beautiful collection. God, I love having properly labeled and organized media. It brings me disproportionate happiness.

(Disclaimer: Just because a comedian has a sub-folder on here doesn't mean I endorse that comedian, at a quick glance I'm seeing two men just in the A section whose work I have saved but that doesn't mean I cosign their views, technically three since I also don't co-sign the views of Alan Partridge, maybe four if you count the fact that I agree with a lot of Adam Hills' views and still broadly like him but got sufficiently sick of his pro-monarchy stuff that I stopped following The Last Leg in mid-2023.)

Anyway. What was I talking about? Yes, I really enjoyed the 100th Not Going Out episode. I really am impressed with Lee's total commitment to refusal to change with the times, making a gag-heavy sitcom with a studio audience laugh track and self-contained episodes and common tropes and farcical plotlines, in 2024 (well, most recently in 2023, I guess), no matter what the rest of the industry is doing. I'm glad sitcoms in general have moved toward the more realistic with some depth and continuity, but I think Lee Mack alone should be allowed to keep doing his thing forever.

I mean, I guess there's been a bit of experimentation in the last year, having two episodes with some genuine horror elements. The one last year where he was trapped in a coffin, which I thought was a great episode but what the fuck, Lee? And now this 100th one where they (spoiler alert) did actually kill a guy. Lee Mack is not messing around, apparently. I found it really funny.

2) I would like to apologize for my initial post on this subject, in which I made a list of all my pieces of evidence that Lee Mack and Daniel Kitson exist in the same universe despite being very different people, and by ending the list when I did, I committed "this picture from what I'm almost sure is the 2003 Melbourne Festival" erasure.

Sorry about that. Can't believe I forgot about it. How could anyone ever forget about that one?

I read Lee Mack's autobiography in 2020, when I did not have the knowledge of comedy to have recognized the person he's talking about in this passage. But a friend of mine is reading his book now, and has reminded of this very nice passage from the book:

I actually vaguely remember reading this passage in 2020, and vaguely thinking maybe I should look that guy up, and then not doing that. Did not get into Kitson until two years later. But I'm glad I got to read that story now that I can appreciate it more. The last line of the second last paragraph, about wishing he could say that even more now that he knows how offensive it would be, made me laugh out loud.

He was talking about this, by the way:

The 1999 BBC New Comedy Awards, with finals that were shown on TV and are now on YouTube, featuring Lee Mack and Daniel Kitson as finalists, Barry Cryer as a judge (as mentioned in Lee's book), and (spoiler alert) Julian Barratt as the finalist who ended up winning. It's a pretty fun watch if you're interested in any of those things.

And we do, of course, know that Lee Mack would go on to get to know Daniel Kitson better. Due to The Greatest Video On All Of YouTube.

The video doesn't even actually feature Kitson because he seems to have not been there that day, but it is of a league that he organized (and it was filmed in the sports complex just down the road from where Kitson was living at the time, don't worry about why I know that or how many locations that were frequently referenced in old stand-up shows I've looked up on Google Earth), featuring Lee Mack hitting soccer balls with his head.

Hang on, I have another piece of evidence of Daniel Kitson and Lee Mack technically existing in the same universe, despite being wildly different people. According to this clip from The Bugle, they were still playing soccer together by the day Obama was inaugurated in 2009:

This post has devolved into any excuse to post vaguely Chocolate Milk Gang-related content (Lee Mack was very much not Chocolate Milk Gang, but I enjoy finding tiny morsels of his crossover with them as it seems like an unlikely combination), but the point is that that story about Kitson from his autobiography is quite funny and worth reading. That was the point.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

hello this isnt abt batfam or batman but i saw your age and was wondering how do i survive till 23? i am 18 now and 5 more years is very hard to survive please help

Interesting question. I turn 24 in ten days, and sometimes even I’m not sure. I guess I’ll talk about how I personally stayed alive this long before I try to give advice.

The very first thing I would say is that I am religious, and that worldview makes a difference. I don’t mean that in a “everything happens for a reason” kind of way, and as a matter of fact, I very much dislike that line of thinking. It does a lot of damage, and I’m aware that it rightly puts a lot of people off from religion in general. 

I hold two beliefs that I think are helpful in terms of survival. First, I believe that humans are by nature bad. Counterintuitive in this conversation? Stick with me. Every day, but especially at my lowest moments, I hate the things that I am. In a metaphorical sense, my mind whispers to me that I am selfish, that I am cowardly, that I think bad things and I am capable of worse. I’m hateful, I’m terrifying, and I am absolutely broken. At my core, there is something fundamentally wrong, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix it. 

I am disgusting. I’m several thousand evil things in a trench-coat pretending to be anything but myself, and I’m not fooling anyone. 

Well, yeah. Yeah, I’m all those things and more: manipulative, lying, self-obsessed, angry, unforgiving, and judgmental. I could, of course, go on.

Here’s the thing-- everybody is. I am no better and no worse than any other person in the universe, and though I am ever abhorrent thing, I am. I have the same dignity, the same worth, and the same life as any human anywhere. The dark things are part and parcel of my humanity, but although I am not good, I do good. 

I will never be perfect because that just isn’t possible, but I can be kind. I can be loving, I can be strong, and I can be wise. 

Shit, doesn’t that set me free?

There’s a lot more to this conversation, and the rest goes, in brief, like this: at the bottom of the darkness that is every soul, we have one great fear-- if I am truly evil, no one will ever love me. Good news on that front, there is a God who does. If that’s something you want to talk about, hey hit me up. I’ll evangelize on my own time. 

Back to it. My second belief is a kind of understanding about the passage of time, and it’s sort of hard to boil down into a few sentences, but I’ll try my best. I believe in a grand struggle between good and evil. I know the beginning of that struggle. I know the end of that struggle: that good will win. I am a part of the middle. 

I see my role in the universe as extraordinary small but absolutely necessary. I have a two-fold purpose-- love God, love humans. I interpret both as a call to help others in any way I can, and I think in the way my life has worked out so far, that’s really the most important thing keeping me alive. 

I see all of this through the frame of my religion, but I would argue that everything I’ve said so far is applicable outside of that frame, because a lot of folks get to the same place from a fully secular point of view. I cannot be perfect. I should care about and fight for other people. That’s really all we’re working from here. 

A few years back, when people asked me this question-- how do you stay alive?-- I used to answer “spite,” and that’s not untrue. I am a very angry person, and the grand majority of that anger is directed at what I perceive as unjust acts. I have a deep-seated hatred of establishments (including the established church), and you’d be shocked at how much of a motivator that can be. 

I grew up in an environment that was very intentional in teaching me to identify injustice. Though I have radically departed from many of the teachings of my childhood, the part about fighting for others was something I learned at day one, and that bit has stuck around. For the most part, I grew up in an environment where everyone was on the same page about it. 

And theeeeeeen I went to undergrad. Hello, Texas A&M. I hit campus as an 18 year old fully incapacitated by anxiety. I was the kind of person who didn’t-- in fact couldn’t-- speak in front of others. I had always lived my life in a way that minimized myself, because if I never spoke, if I never disagreed, if I never drew attention, I would never make anyone angry. I knew from experience that angry people hurt me, and I was afraid of pain. 

Then I experienced the absolute shenaniganry of conservative Texans. The culture shock sent me to space and back, and on the return trip I decided that I couldn’t be quiet anymore. 

I learned to speak my freshman year so that I could scream FUCK YOU. It was incredibly painful, and I can’t tell you exactly how I managed it other than I was angry, and I didn’t want to lose. 

I fought a similar battle on my homefront against parents that didn’t know how to deal with a daughter that disagreed, or even worse, a daughter that wasn’t okay. I wasn’t a perfect child anymore. I knew I had anxiety, I knew I was depressed, and we all knew who I blamed for that. They hadn’t been the perfect parents they thought they were. 

I found myself growing, little by little, into a person that could write and argue and hold her ground. That’s personal growth for sure, but it didn’t necessarily help my mental health. As a matter of fact, my health declined all through undergrad, and in my third and final year, I cracked.

I was desperate. I was isolated. I was flooded by fear and despair, and I was falling apart. I don’t remember huge chunks of undergrad because I was so depressed that the memories didn’t stick, but I do remember my tipping point.

It was something small. The ceiling fan in my bedroom was broken. The lighting chain worked fine, but if anyone pulled the fan chain, the whole thing would stop working. I mixed up which chain was which, pulled the wrong cord, and broke it for the fourth time. 

For some reason, that was it. I lay down on my floor and cried for an hour, and while I did, my mind went to, as the kids say, a dark place. Finally, I called my mom and begged for psychiatric medication, something I had always been afraid to ask for. At the time, my parents believed that antidepressants were overprescribed, and they mocked parents that let their children take them. 

At around the same time, I was deciding what to do with my life. I was about to graduate, and I had always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. Instead, everyone in my life pushed me towards law school. I didn’t know what to do, but I began fantasizing, not about going to law school exactly, but about being the kind of person that could go to law school. 

I knew that law school would be entail public speaking and constant conflict and the kind of work that would be hard for a person who sometimes couldn’t leave her bed. I wanted to be someone who could do all of that, but I didn’t believe I was.

Enter Donald Trump. Post-November 2016, I struggled to understand how something like that could happen, and I watched everyone else deal with it too. I began confused, moved to distraught, then returned to what I always am: angry.

January 2017 was the inauguration and shortly afterwards, the “Muslim ban.” I read the news on my bedroom floor, and there was one specific part that stuck out to me. There were pictures of lawyers flooding the airports. There was a court case headed for SCOTUS.

I suddenly realized that one group-- one very select group-- was doing what I was powerless to accomplish. I hated establishments, and there was one group that could challenge and change them. Some people could fight in the way I wanted to, and those people were lawyers.

I have a very distinct memory of looking into the bathroom mirror of my third-year apartment and thinking, “I will be miserable for the rest of my life, no matter what I do or what career I pick. I might as well be a miserable lawyer.”

So I took my antidepressants and I went to law school. I’m not going to rehash everything that happened there in this particular post, because in this topic, I don’t think it matters. The relevant part is that I went, and I had my reason why.

Sure as hell can tell you that law school wasn’t good for my health. The last three years have been, in terms of sheer stress and despair, the worst of my life. I picked up a self-harm habit, endured consistent humiliation, cycled through six different antidepressants, had horrible relationships, and developed a psychotic disorder. Don’t get me wrong, there were good things too. I met people that are important me, and beyond that, I grew. 

I know that 18 year old me would be absolutely flabbergasted by the woman I am now, cracks and flaws included. I wouldn’t say I’m healthy or okay, but I am more healthy and more okay. I’m coming out of this mess with the institutional power I wanted, and now I get to decide what to do with it. 

I was wrong three years ago when I looked in that bathroom mirror. I know now that I won’t be miserable for the rest of my life. I’m going to be happy someday, and to the parts of me that say otherwise: fuck you. I’ve learned to say it now. 

I graduated law school this week, and this month, I’ve felt better than I ever have before. I’m singing again, I dropped two medications, and suddenly, everything is so, so funny. I’ve been laughing so hard my face hurts the day after. 

This is a huge turning point in my life, so I’ve been meditating on my past. I’ve come to the conclusion that in most of the ways that matter, I won. My family has been forced to accept what I am. I became the person I wanted to be, even though I thought I wasn’t capable of that. 

I know for sure that there will be times in my life where I hit rock bottom again, and that’s not gonna be fun. It’s likely that with my mental health issues, I will always have to work harder than my peers to get the same results. That’s unfair. 

I also know that high points exist, and I will have them. I am having them, and I will again. 

I guess in recap, I know that I have deep flaws and ugly parts, but I am at peace with that. I know that I must help others, and in pursuit of that goal, I became a person I like more than the girl I used to be. 

You have exactly the same potential. I want you to know that whatever you are now, that’s not your forever. Circumstances change, and you will change too. We’re human, you and I, and that’s an exciting thing to be. 

Your worth comes from your humanity itself, both evil and good, not the things you do or the fights you win. You never have to compare yourself to others because you are exactly the same as everybody else-- no better, but certainly no worse. You’re a person. That’s enough. 

I’m telling you all those things, and as advice, I’ll say this: get angry and fight. Fight for others. You can help them, and you should. Fight for yourself. You are worthy of respect, and everyone else should give it to you. Fight yourself. Any part of you that preaches despair is wrong. 

Find the thing that makes you angry and use it. Things are fucked up! There’s a lot to be angry about. I put it this way to my classmates, now my attorney peers: you get one hill to die on. What’s your hill? Go and defend it. 

Here’s an interesting thing, anon. Your hill can be yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re right. Five years is a lot, and all the years beyond that are more. Take your antidepressants and go.

[sitp-recs]

Omg PLEASE do a Harry x Draco x Teddy rec list

Your wish is my command, one (1) enabler was all I needed to go ahead 😂 full disclosure, I’m first and foremost a Harry/Teddy shipper and this triad comes second in my heart, but I love it all the same. Hope you enjoy these delicious treats just as much as I do!

Theirs by @malenkayacherepakha (2020, E, 1.1k)

Teddy wants nothing more than to be shared by them.

treat by @onbeinganangel (2021, E, 1.3k)

If anyone was going to figure it out, Teddy knew it would be Draco.

An Irresistible Invitation by @veelawings (2021, E, 1.3k)

A nightcap to celebrate and send Teddy off to Romania sounded casual. Until it wasn’t.

One More by @lqtraintracks (2018, E, 1.6k)

Harry gets Teddy going – and keeps him going; Draco helps finish him off. But with feelings.

we open at the close (hold me close) by @glittering-git and ChuckAl (2021, E, 1.8k)

Teddy gets what he’s always wanted.

It's Okay by @slytherco (2021, E, 2k)

Harry's too afraid to ask for what he really wants. Thankfully, Draco knows him well enough to guess and together, they can take care of Teddy in a way he's wanted them to for a long time. And that's okay.

Heart Is Where the Home Is by @lqtraintracks (2021, E, 2k)

Draco hates Ministry balls. Potter, Draco knows, isn’t too keen on them either and never has been. It’s the only thing they seem to agree on and share. One of the only things.

Sway by @lqtraintracks (2015, E, 3k)

Teddy's been away at work for a month and arrives back home a week early to surprise his lovers.

Three series by @unmistakablyoatmeal (2013, E, 3.4k)

Draco's never one to miss an opportunity. Especially when it comes twice in one night.

Five Years Since Bimbleswats by tryslora (2017, E, 4k)

It’s been five years since Bimbleswats, and Draco thinks that is definitely something worth celebrating.

A Form of Fire by @lqtraintracks (2019, E, 5.7k)

A smutty tale in which Teddy has an authority figure kink—and gets more than he bargained for, the Whomping Willow birch rod really enjoys its job, and damn Draco Malfoy looks good in Harry’s Auror robes.

Teddy, My Beloved series by @nv-md (2021, E, 6k)

Harry's birthday party is the perfect time for everyone to get what they've always wanted.

Happy Birthday Teddy Lupin! by @ladderofyears (2019, E, 7k)

A small tale where Teddy Lupin gets the birthday present that he's wanted forever.

Toeing the Line by @shiftylinguini (2017, E, 8.3k)

Draco wasn’t sure why watching his partner fuck Teddy until he screamed was somehow less morally iffy for Harry than just doing it himself, but Draco wasn’t about to judge. Not when he was balls deep, anyway.

Stopper & Reeve by @vdoshu (2023, E, 10k)

Teddy gets his very first knot stuck in his fleshlight. And somehow that’s not the worst part of his day.

My Name in Your Mouth by @lqtraintracks (2019, E, 19k)

Sometimes, he likes to be owned.

And if you’re feeling particularly naughty, here are two scorching PWPs (I mean, what isn’t a PWP in this list??) with Teddy/others 🔥

Charlie Weasley's Fuck Autobiography by @lqtraintracks (2014, E, 14k)

Charlie doesn't think that this is his Fuck Autobiography. But it so is.

Beg and A Working Night by Anonymous (2018, E, 29k)

Teddy has spent the last fourteen years in America. When he comes back to spend his last year at Hogwarts, he quickly forms one goal: to have Harry and Draco as his Daddies.

[phoneybeatlemania]

Hi, did you see Elliot Roberts' retrospective of John Lennon's discography? Any thoughts? I've seen it twice and still don't know what to think about its accuracy though I shared a lot of his opinions (musically).

Hiya @starlablog!

I really like this ask, since Ive been meaning to talk about Elliot Roberts for awhile now! Im actually quite familiar with him, since Ive been watching his Beatle videos since he started creating them! I think Ive seen all his videos so far? 

[Prefatory note: Ive seen all his videos I think, but cant remember most of them That Well, so im mostly going off of what I recall from his John Lennon video here since that ones still fresh in my mind]

Opinion time: I think theres definitely a gap in the YouTube market, in terms of Beatles content. Theres lot of people who discuss their discographies very analytically, but without being emotionally tuned in to other facets of their work (i.e understanding their works autobiographically/psychologically). As someone who cant read sheet music and frankly refuses to learn (my brother calls it “ugliness on a page” lol), this is SO FAR from the type of content I want to see—I love talking about their music, but Im always more interested in discussing how elements of their own emotions and psychologies and autobiographical circumstances etc. relayed into their discography. There are a few youtubers who Ive seen making videos focussing on their autobiographies, talking about the Controversial stuff (i.e Cynthia and Julian; Yoko) that we typically discuss on different forum platforms—but these videos are all about 5 minutes long, which really isn’t enough time to get a nuanced and well-sourced perspective on anything.

Even if were refraining from talking about their personal lives in a lot of depth, I still thinks it’s just way more FUN to discuss how creative they actually were in their music, and how they came to make their songs (i.e John telling George Martin he wants A Day In The Life to sound like the end of the world), instead of: “and then they used a C major!”. Like who cares??????? Not me :/

This is essentially why I Quite Like Elliot Roberts—because he’s the only YouTuber I know of who makes videos vaguely resembling the type of Beatles-content that would cater to me: not overly-analytical, employing elements of their autobiography into understanding them, and emotionally tuned in. Plus, he brings a bit of Fun and Personality to his discussions, that I don’t typically see with the (boring) music-analyists. 

However, I think his discussions of the band can be lacking in some respects: the main thing for me I think is that his understandings of the actual relationships between the band can be fairly surface-level, I guess. I like that he’s a little more emotionally-tuned into the dynamics between them then other youtubers, but I still think he could delve further into this element :/

I know Ive gone off on SUCH a tangent here, but this all essentially leads me to my opinion on his John discography ranking: I, like you, shared a lot of his opinions musically (I would say my favourite JL album is Plastic Ono Band; Whatever Gets You Thru The Night is a stone-cold SLAP etc.)—but again, its just........missing some things Here and There (and everywhere) in terms of analysis. Almost had to throw my laptop across the room when he demoted mother-fucking-I Know (I Know) to being just  a “cute” song. At least pick up on John literally lifting the opening rift to that song from Ive Got A Feeling, Elliot I am *begging* you (I will pay you real cash!!!!!!!!!). 

Personally, Id love to see YouTube videos with content more similar to the types of things we hear talked about on Beatles-podcasts or in books! Hence why in the summer, Im planning to maybe give this a go? I don’t think id make a particularly good YouTuber, but idk man, somebody’s gotta do it, so I guess I will lol. 

Anyway, not sure if Ive articulated this quite the way I wanted to, but please share your thoughts if you have any! :) 

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #28- I Sure Hope Y’all Like Megatron

“Dark Cybertron” is finally over! Woohoo!

Who’s ready for a return to hijinks and mild peril?

I know this guy is!

Hold on a second-

We start our foray into Season 2 of MTMTE with a little meta-humor-

-and then it’s right into the swing of things, as Brainstorm uses the thin, fragile wine glass of faction-based morality to hold his personal need to make instruments of violence. Nautica disapproves, but then why wouldn’t she? She’s not been steeped in the militant ideologies of the Autobots for millions of years.

It’s six months after the convoluted events of “Dark Cybertron”, and our beloved ship, the Lost Light, is back on track for the Knight Quest. Nautica’s joined the crew, which is neat, but there are far more interesting things going on.

Like Rung actually doing his fucking job for once.

Wow, look at that little creamsicle man go.

It would seem that in the last half-year (by Earth standards) Megatron’s somehow gotten himself into the esteemed position of Captain of the Lost Light. This likely means that Rodimus has been defeated in battle, or perhaps fucked off on yet another space yacht to run away from his responsibilities. I suppose the narrative will have to fill us in on just what exactly happened.

Or, at least, I hope it does. Wouldn’t be a terribly good story if I had to guess on how exactly this dude’s in charge of a whole-ass Autobot crew.

Yes, yes, I know he switched sides, but goddammit, it takes a little more than saying sorry and changing your wardrobe to excuse the murder of half of NYC.

I mean, we can do both. Both is an option. I’ll break out The Communist Manifesto right now, let’s fuckin’ gooooooooo-

Six months prior to Megatron’s therapy appointment, Rodimus is ready to high-tail it off of Cybertron yet again. This is because, as established in previous posts, Cybertron kinda sucks butt. He bursts into the meeting Optimus Prime called- even though he’s really not leader of anything anymore, Starscream is- bids everyone farewell, and is about to run back out of the room when he’s stopped.

Turns out that the populace of Cybertron want Megatron to stand trial. That makes sense, given what all he’s done. Of course, the Autobot pals we’ve got in the room want to skip due process and go straight to the part where Megatron pays through the nose for the last four million years.

Which doesn’t feel terribly heroic or good guy-ish, but I think by this point you’ve probably caught on to the fact that everyone in IDW Transformers is morally gray at BEST.

Because Megatron’s had a rough time the last few years, in relation to his bodily integrity, spark extraction- that thing that High Command lied about in relation to Overlord- isn’t an option. It would just kill him dead.

Uh, excuse me? Optimus Prime, sir? Monsieur Premier?

Guess Optimus hasn’t been keeping up with exRiD.

Anyway, yeah, since Tyrest fucked off in “The Sound of Breaking Glass” and also tried to commit a genocide, we’re gonna need someone to cast judgement.

Course, a military trial isn’t exactly ideal, but as long as it’s open to the public, it should be fine.

Probably.

Anyway, Prowl’s also going to help. Ultra Magnus has been assigned the task of representing Megatron in court, a job which he’s positively delighted to have, if his face is any indication.

The gang breaks for lunch, and Rodimus and Optimus touch base on how the Knight Quest is going.

Because Rodimus’ half of the Matrix had the map for finding the Knights of Cybertron in it, they’re gonna have to go with Plan B.

Oh fuck yes, I love Plan B!

Unfortunately, finding the ideal romantic partner for all Cybertronians is going to have to wait until after the trial, because Optimus really wants Rodimus here for this. Though perhaps there’s a way to make things move a little faster…

Back in the present, Megatron’s had just about enough of Rung being a psychiatry joke, and is about to walk out of his appointment. Ravage is here, which is neat. Rung asks Megatron about the three most important people in his life, and how he met them. One of these people is, funnily enough, Rung.

Rung, if you’ll recall, was thrown into Megatron and Impactor’s table at Maccadams waaaaaay back in The Transformers #22, the first issue of the IDW run that Roberts wrote solo. It would seem that getting arrested and subjected to police brutality ruined his once-idealistic worldview. This is just a lightning-round recap of the events of the “Chaos Theory” storyline.

Being reminded of how hard he got dunked on makes Rung break out his copy of Megatron’s autobiography, Towards Peace. Of course, Megatron has to be “that guy”, and makes it out to be far more than it actually is. My dude, you used your writing to tell all your proto-Decepticon buddies to go beat up Whirl in prison. Let’s not make things sound more grandiose than they are.

Anyway, it turns out that Rung is actually just as much a nerd as he looks, as he reveals that he’s in possession of one of the only few copies of the original version of Towards Peace. And then he takes off his glasses and the fans go bonkers, even though he’s just got that Milne Same-Face going on, just like everyone else.

There you are, you animals.

Rung discusses Revisionism, I’m reminded that the first publication of Eugenesis had a dedication to Roberts’ son of all people, and we get the question of who Terminus is to Megatron.

But alas! The X-ray vision’s been turned on, and it’s time to see… nude robots? An in-depth anatomy lesson?

Robots are confusing sometimes. Anyways, major props to Milne for drawing all that detail. Dude does the technical stuff with a ferocity that must be awe-inspiring to behold.

Megatron’s decided that it’s time for lunch, and then he’s going to do captain stuff.

Because he’s captain of the Lost Light.

I’m convinced Rodimus is dead. That’s the only way this is happening.

Six months ago, Swerve was being awful Swerve-like, with his new buddy Crosscut- guess he finally learned the guy’s name- and Riptide, who we’ll get to a little later on. These three wonderful lads are holding a sort of “crew try-outs”, and it looks like the requirements needed for entry on Megatron’s Lost Light are stiff.

Still, maybe our new friend Nautica will make the cut.

Oh, you are simply delightful!

Despite Nautica having interest in nearly every topic in the universe, on top of having impeccable taste in booze, she just misses the cut. It’s at this point that Nightbeat bursts into the room to stop this farce from going any further. The fact that nobody mentioned anything prior to this is surprising, given that portmanteaus don’t really seem the type of thing Ultra Magnus would approve of.

Back six months ago, we see what Optimus Prime’s super great idea was to expedite the judicial process- Chromedome. It’s always Chromedome. He’s gonna do that thing he promised his late husband he’d stop doing. I suppose it’s a good thing- for Rewind, anyway- that Megatron is wholly against the idea of having his memories torn out of his head. Guess we’re gonna have to do the trial the normal, non brain-pokey way.

Optimus leaves the cell, because I suppose he’s remembered that there’s a conflict of interests here, but Rodimus stays behind to let Megatron know he deserves everything that’s coming his way.

Then Megatron breaks out the puzzle-box from Hellraiser.

In the present, Chromedome isn’t so much spiraling in his depression as he is circling the drain. Nightbeat doesn’t give a shit about that though- he’s more concerned with the fact that one of the numbers on the door to Chromedome’s room is missing. But I’m sure it’s fine.

It’s fiiiiiiiiiiine.

While Nightbeat’s busy being insensitive to his fellow man’s distress, Megatron’s arrived to his room to find his door’s been vandalized by a bunch of idiots who must have just discovered what a thesaurus is. Then he gets shot in the fucking hand with an arrow.

As you do.

Whirl’s gotten ahold of a bow, and he fully intends to use it for Megatron-directed violence. And also his fists. His very pointy fists. He punches Megatron through the fucking floor into the fuel furnace, and they fall what’s probably a good 200 feet to the ground below. Whirl yells about evening the score between the two of them, and then knees Megatron in the dick.

Turns out, Megatron remembers Whirl even better than originally thought, having gone so far as to order his forces to not kill Whirl, because, in a way, he was grateful for the lesson he learned back before the war in Rodion.

Oh man, I hope Rung’s somehow listening in on this. Like, eavesdropping is obviously bad medicine, but we’ve already established that he sucks as a professional, and he needs what few advantages he can get.

Whirl, enraged by the implication that he’s been fighting fixed battles for the last four million years, punches Megatron in the gut… and his arm gets swallowed up by an errant portal leftover from all of Shockwave’s tampering. Since you can’t really fight with only one arm, Megatron wanders off to do captainy things.

Walking back the timeline slightly, we revisit Megatron leaving Rung’s office, and the idea of personal revisionism, the conversation becoming parallel with the strange happenings going on within the ship, as Rewind’s final message is altered so as not to end with “I love you” but instead a blood-curdling scream. Chromedome is, understandably, upset by this turn of events.

Over with Whirl, it’s revealed that the little fight we saw was intentionally set up. For what purpose, or by whom, is left a mystery.

Please see a doctor.

One last flashback to the trial, as Prowl lists off everything that’s standing in the way of our Sympathetic Megatron Redemption Arc.

Good fuckin’ luck, James.

Back in the present, Megatron’s slapped a bandaid on the hole in his torso, as he checks to see what’s happening on the bridge. It would appear there’s a coffin floating around in space.

Pretty fucked up.

[clumsyclifford]

I think u said that you’d still like some more prompts, so #89 “I noticed” with either muke or malum pls ♥️

well i asked pairing bot and it said muke, so there you go. thank you @allsassnoclass for helping me Establish The Setting of this fic. by which i mean Providing The Setting For Me. a gift to us all, that hazel

also as resident walking advertisement for @calumsclifford‘s fics i am contractually obliged to redirect you to her bookstore fic which is an absolute delight

read on ao3

-

Nothing hits quite like the atmosphere of a bookstore.

Shelves of books, racks of vinyls, displays advertising “Staff Picks” — the allure of the local bookstore will never not work magic on Luke. Even the pop music trickling down from the built-in ceiling speakers is charming, rather than annoying.

“Okay, go find your book,” Ashton says. “I’m gonna go in the nonfiction section if you need me.”

“Sure thing, old man,” Luke says. 

Ashton scoffs. “I like nonfiction. If that makes me an old man, then so be it.”

“Hey, I’m not judging.”

“You are judging so hard, and I don’t even care. I’m going to go browse autobiographies and I’m going to fucking like it.” With this final word, Ashton marches in the direction of the nonfiction books. Luke watches him, smirking, until he vanishes into the shelves, and then he makes for the young adult section on the other side of the shop. If this book is going to be anywhere, it’ll be there.

As always, he’s immediately drawn off-course.

The staff picks catch his eye. Normally Luke breezes past them, but this time he spies a cover he actually recognises: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, a book he’d read only a few months ago. As his gaze shifts lower, it catches on the note underneath the book, identifying the name of the staff member whose recommendation he’s enjoying: Michael. Next to his name is a short note about his choice. Luke steps closer to read it.

Philosophy and boys in love. And a general distaste for wearing shoes. What else do you need?

Luke smiles and reaches for the book. He’s already read it and he has a copy at home; he’s not going to buy the copy, but it’s nice to hold it in his hands anyway, flip through the pages and feel the air shift as he does.

“Good choice,” says an unfamiliar voice. Luke lifts his head and almost drops the book.

Woah. Cute boy alert. Extremely cute boy red alert. The levels of cute on this boy are enough to make Luke want to call Ashton over for backup. He’s terrible with cute boys, especially cute boys that also look really cool like this one, with bright red hair and a pierced eyebrow and a Nirvana t-shirt. Add that to the fact that he evidently has some degree of good taste in literature, considering he’s just complimented Luke’s selection, and Luke is flailing out of his depth.

In the deeply awkward pause before Luke remembers he’s supposed to say something to Cute Boy, his gaze travels to the nametag pinned to Cute Boy’s shirt. MICHAEL, it announces in block letters, and Luke puts two and two together.

“Oh, you too,” Luke says, which is a surprisingly coherent thing to say. All things considered it could have gone a lot worse. Which it then proceeds to do. “You’re the Michael who picked this? I guess? You — your nametag says Michael, so— I was just assuming. Which I know you’re not supposed to do because it makes an ass out of you and me, but since you said it was a good choice…”

Michael slowly smiles. “Yeah, I’m the Michael. You are?”

An easy question. Thank fuck. “Luke. I’m Luke.”

Michael hums and nods at the book. “Have you read it?”

Luke tries to take a discreet deep breath. “Yeah, I did. A few months ago. I might be due for a reread.”

“Well, it’s one of my favourites,” Michael comments. “So I’ll always be on the side of an Ari and Dante reread.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding like this makes perfect sense. It does, but God, he doesn’t have to nod like a crazy person. “Yeah. Good point.” Then, directly contradicting this concurrence, he sets the book back down on the display. “I’ve got this at home, though. I’m actually here for a different book.”

“Oh, perfect,” says Michael, straightening up. “Then I can do my real job. What can I help you find?”

Luke does not need help finding this book, but he would be a complete idiot to refuse the help of Cute Bookstore Employee Michael. “Uh, The Cursed Child. I know it came out a while ago but I just haven’t had the chance to get it and I really wanted to get it from a bookstore, rather than online, you know?”

Michael brightens. “Oh, I can definitely find that for you. Follow.” He gestures, and Luke falls into step with him as they make for the young adult shelves, completing Luke’s aborted mission from earlier. “You want my opinion on the book, or you want it to remain a complete mystery?”

“You’ve read it? Are you a Harry Potter fan?” Luke asks, far too eagerly. Sheepish, he bites his lip, sneaking a glance at Michael to see him smile. “Uh, sorry. I’m— I really like Harry Potter, like, a lot.”

“I noticed,” Michael says, nodding at Luke, who glances down at himself. 

“Oh,” he says, chuckling at his Deathly Hallows shirt. “I honestly didn’t do that on purpose. I wasn’t thinking about it at all.”

“Your subconscious enabling your love of Harry Potter, clearly,” Michael says. “Yeah, I like it. Not my favourite series, but it’s good. I mostly only read Cursed Child because I was bored, but—” He breaks off. “Sorry. Won’t spoil it.”

Luke grapples with himself. On the one hand, he is the most averse to spoilers of anyone he’s ever met. If it’s a book he’s looking forward to reading, he will ban all family and friends from even discussing it in his presence, lest their opinions on it taint his before he’s able to read it and draw his own conclusions. And this isn’t just any book; it’s Cursed Child, the long-awaited spin-off, the first official continuation of the Harry Potter ‘verse in years. No, he doesn’t want Michael’s opinion on it. He doesn’t want anyone’s opinions. He hasn’t even read the summary for the book on Goodreads. The more blind Luke goes into this, the better.

On the other hand, though.

Well, on the other hand, Michael is a cute boy who’s offering to talk to Luke about a book.

As a compromise, Luke says, “Honestly, I would really like to know your thoughts, but not until I’ve finished reading it.”

Michael glances over at him as they slow to a stop in front of one of the shelves. There’s a smile playing at his lips, a slight raise to his eyebrows, like he’s pleasantly surprised by something Luke’s done. What that thing might be, Luke has no idea. “Okay,” says Michael. “That’s fair. How about I give you my number, and when you finish reading it you can call or text and we can discuss it then?”

Luke blinks. Then blinks again. Is Michael flirting with him? He must be, but at the same time there’s absolutely no way.

And — wait. Does Michael think Luke was flirting with him? Was Luke? Not intentionally, but that’s only because he doesn’t know how to flirt and he’s fucking awful at it. Somehow, he’s managed to unintentionally flirt his way into getting Michael’s number.

Woah. Bookstores really are magical.

“Yeah, yes, that sounds great,” Luke says, clumsily digging out his phone. He unlocks it and passes it to Michael, who has an amused look on his face. “We could, um…get coffee or something?”

“Works for me,” Michael says. While he enters his number into Luke’s phone, Luke turns to the shelf. His attention immediately snags on his target: a block of bright yellow covers. Luke tugs at one, freeing it from its siblings, and brushes a reverent hand over the brand new dust jacket. 

“I mean, say what you will, but it sure is a pretty fucking book,” he says, kind of to himself.

Michael chuckles. “Yeah. The second-prettiest thing in this bookstore, maybe.”

For the second time, Luke almost drops the book in his hands. Instead he tightens his grip on it, looks up at Michael, and steels all his courage to say, “First being you, right?”

The smile on Michael’s face is worth the risk of embarrassment, Luke quickly realises. And this, he senses, had clearly been the right thing to say. Michael hands Luke’s phone back to him an says, “I’m going to let you have the last word, because I think you’re cute and that was unexpectedly smooth. If you need me, I’ll be around, probably doing work that will be less important than anything you will have to say to me.”

Luke feels a blush colour his cheeks, but if Michael notices he doesn’t say anything. With a wave and what looks like a halfway bow, he backs out of the aisle, and Luke watches him until he veers off and disappears from view.

Everything from entering this bookstore onward feels like a fever dream. Luke glances down at his phone screen, and when he sees how Michael’s entered his name — Michael (The Real Cursed Child) — the giggle of disbelief building in his throat quickly turns to a laugh. If it is a fever dream, Luke hopes it never, ever ends.

[a-jumped-up-pantry-boy]

Please excuse this thing, I decided that I should write something while running low on sleep and high on caffeine, and this was the substandard result: Remus and Sirius being Library Boys (because I like books and why not) in a few thousand words. (Also @onlydreamofmysoul kind of inspired this because your dedication with ficmas made me want to write, so I’m blaming you for this disaster) His tea is far too hot, but he gulps down mouthfuls anyway, knowing he’ll need the sugar to have even the smallest chance of actually staying awake during his library shift tonight; the night shifts are his favourite, because he’s usually free to just stack books without being interrupted, but on nights like this, he can barely stay awake. Inputting yet another barcode into the aging computer, a repetitive task that needs no brain power whatsoever, he internally groans when someone walks over to the desk. 

“Hi, I’m wondering if you can find me the worst book in here?” Remus doesn’t startle at the request, doesn’t even lift his eyes from the list he’s reading. 

“My autobiography might fill that category for you. It’s called “Why My Parents Should Have Left Me By A Motorway”, and it - oh. Fuck.” It’s only then that he remembers that people can hear what he says, and that most of his internal monologue shouldn’t be heard by other people. 

“And on what shelf would I find that book?” The guy is smiling, thank God, and Remus is sure he recognises him from a class. Probably a language, he thinks. The man opposite him definitely seems like a language kind of guy. He also seems like a very, very attractive kind of guy, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Actually, it’s still in publication - there’s still more stuff they can add to the book, you know, since my life keeps getting worse - but maybe you’d like a classic instead?” 

“I read enough classics as it is, but maybe-” It’s at this moment Lily, who’s at the end of her shift and is putting her mug back in the sink, walks by and decides to get involved. 

“Just so you know, children’s abridged versions don’t count as reading classics. Not when you’re in your twenties,” she says, grinning far too energetically for midnight. 

“Fuck off, Evans. I just want a really shit book. We’re talking My Immortal kind of shit, but published.” Remus wonders where Lily knows the guy from, and then remembers her once telling him about a strange, yet endearing, man who was obsessed with her and his best friend, and presumes the man opposite him is one of the two. 

“I’m not sure books like that generally get published, and if they do we probably don’t have them here.” Remus stares curiously at him, taking in the messy, yet somehow still perfect, hair and the tattoo - because of course he has a tattoo, all hot guys have tattoos, it seems - peeking out from the back of his shirt. “What do you want with the worst written book anyway?” 

“I’m glad you asked.” He waves his arm, gesturing to the library, and sinks into one of the chairs. “I’m doing an experiment. Both my brothers are literature nerds, and they’re becoming too poncy for me. So I’m gonna really hype this book up, make it look like everyone loves it, and then give them a shit - really, really shit - book, and see what they say.”

“Too poncy? I can practically smell the wealth coming off you, and yet you’re not poncy?” Remus sometimes thinks that maybe he should consider the things he says, and now is one of the times he regrets not being slightly more sensitive. Or, like, polite. The stranger looks shocked for a second, then smirks and hoists himself off the chair.

“That’s fair. But, they both study Classics, so they’re automatically poncier than me.” Lily walks past again as the man speaks, and stops to glare at him. 

“Are you calling me poncy? I had to work day and night to be accepted here, and I didn’t have a family name getting me in, and there was no using money to-”

“Lils,” Remus says, interrupting her before she can go on a well intentioned, but unnecessary, tirade. “He’s talking about his brothers. Don’t worry, nobody’s accusing you of swimming in bribery-money.”

“Bribery money? Is that a thing?” The man goes to take a square of Remus’ chocolate, and he all but slaps his hand away. 

“You tell us. You’re the one with all the insider knowledge of ponces and Tories.”

“Okay, I can excuse being called poncy, but a Tory? That’s too far, even for me.” Remus has the decency to pretend to be sorry, even though he’s one step away from crying with laughter; a man who sounds like he wouldn’t be out of place at Buckingham Palace, getting offended at being associated with Tories. Luckily, he doesn’t have to pretend to be remorseful for long, because Lily lets out a burst of laughter before he can apologise. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you came out wearing a blue pin button and cheering on Margaret Thatcher. You might not be a Tory, but don’t try and tell us your family has been voting Labour for years. You can’t blame us for assumptions.”

“Actually, I came out wearing a rainbow pin, not a blue one. But, I guess I get it. The majority of ponces here are Tories.” Remus feels his heart speed up - if he said that to Lily, she’d definitely start making notes to check he wasn’t having a heart attack, the dramatic woman - at the mention of the man’s gayness. He could have a chance. A small chance, admittedly, but a chance. Lily finally decides to leave, and Remus waves her goodbye as he leads the man down a pathway of bookshelves, on the hunt for the worst book ever published. 

“So, what’s your name? And what’re you studying, if not Classics?” Remus asks, inspecting the shelves for something, anything that hints at a terrible book. 

“Erm, don’t laugh, but my name’s Sirius. And I’m studying Philosophy and Modern Languages.” Remus looks up from the bookshelf, not even trying not to giggle. 

“Sirius? But no, you’re not poncy at all. I’m kidding, I’m kidding. So, modern languages? That’s where I recognise you from.”

“Recognise me? Have you been stalking the University buildings, searching for my pretty face?” 

“No, you dolt, we take several classes together. I’m doing English and Modern Languages, hence the sharing of classes.” 

“Oh, we take basically the same degree then.”

“We definitely don’t. I’d never be caught dead taking philosophy - I hate my life already, and now I’ve got to come up with bullshit theories of why?” Sirius - Remus can’t get over the name, even though his is equally as ridiculous - opens his mouth, about to protest, and then closes it again. 

“Actually, that basically is what we do. How come you’re making me evaluate all my life choices in the span of five minutes?” 

“I don’t know, maybe you should consult a philosopher to find out why. That’s what they do, right?” Although his tone is meant to be teasing, the same kind of jokes he makes with Lily, instead it comes out as flirting, though he can’t imagine Sirius minds much, because he’s smirking at him and looking like he wants to kiss him. 

“Take that back, and say my degree is perfectly valid.” Sirius takes a small step towards him, and he doesn’t step back, instead looking him square in the eye and raising his eyebrows. 

“Make me, philosophy boy.” He takes another step towards him, and Remus is certain he could feel Sirius’ heartbeat against his chest, if he tried hard enough to sense it. Instead he winks, and says, “Or don’t, and go ask why you’re searching for validation from some random boy you met in the library fifteen minutes ago.”

“In my defence, the library boy is incredibly hot.” They’re touching all over now, chest to chest, their noses rubbing against each other. Remus’ back hits the bookshelf as their mouths crash together, and he hears the distinct noise of books falling to the floor. Later on, when he’s restacking all the books, he’ll regret snogging someone right up against the bookshelf, but right now he runs his hand through Sirius’ hair and smiles against his mouth. He likes the night shift even more now. 

[frithams]

Tag 9 people to learn about their interests!

I was tagged by: @nr-studies

MUSIC

Fav genre? Probably alternative or indie I guess

Fave artist? The Vaccines

Fave song? It changes like every day but right now it’s Panic Attack by The Vaccines

Most listened song recently? No Children by The Mountain Goats

Song currently stuck in your head? It’s like always Tequila or Do the Hustle 

5 fave lyrics?

It's a chapter that you're stuck on

And you'd rather read alone

I'm a not inspiring ending

But the best you've ever known

OR

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line

Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine

If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born

Come in, she said

I'll give ya shelter from the storm

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

BOOKS

Fav book genre? Oh prob non fiction/autobiography because I’m boring haha

Fave writer? Can I pick my bestie? (K 👀)

Fave book? Oh fuck like my url is actually from a book so points if you know what book it’s from haha

Fave book series? I loved the Terry Pratchett Wintersmith book series

Comfort book? The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Rainy day book? Probably a new book

Fave characters? Too many to list here

5 quotes from your fave books? These are the ones I have noted down recently, although there are so many others. 

1. "Think of how much more time and energy we would have to focus on other things that matter if we weren’t so busy surviving."(Men Explain Things to Me, Rebecca Solnit)

2.”and billions of women must be out there on this seven-billion-person planet being told that they are not reliable witnesses to their own lives, that the truth is not their property, now or ever."(Men Explain Things to Me, Rebecca Solnit)

3. Most men and women lead lives, if not of quiet desperation, at least of desperate quietness..."(On Writing Well, William Zinsser)

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

Fave tv/movie genre? Sci-fi and fantasy 

Fave movie? There are too many. How am I supposed to chose! 

Comfort movie? Stardust, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Mummy and Paddington 1&2

Movie you watch every year? Back to the Future

Fave tv show? Doctor Who 

Comfort tv show? Doctor Who or Whose Line is it Anyway

Most rewatched tv show? House or Hustle or Life on Mars 

5 fave characters? Again, too many to list here 

tv shows or movie | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or bingeing | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

Tagging: @kolwyntjie, @booksnscience, @squisshystudy, @justanotherstudyblrinthecrowd, @peregrination-studies, @study--frog , @studium-stardust , @studyingpearl @rebelintherain (sorry if you've already been tagged and have already done it!) (also no pressure) 

[mrgrahamcracker23]

Some Thoughts On Psycholonials’ “Weird Gender Shit”

ever since chapter 3 came out people have been pretty divided on this (for good reason, might i add). some see the gender triangle scale and say “lmao true,” while others are saying that the male-nb-female-clown scale is evidence of hussie being a horrible evil transphobe who doesnt understand gender identity. so, being the fucking nerd with no life that i am, i decided to do some in-depth analysis and weigh in on the issue. 

first off, it needs to be mentioned that psycholonials is quite obviously a partially fictionalized autobiography of andrew hussie. lets lay that fact out in the open where we can all gawk at it open-mouthedly, before being swiftly pummeled with the ever vigilant hand of apathy. that being said, analyzing the meaning of ANYTHING in this story just got ~80% more difficult, since you never really know whether the things being said are coming from the characters, or from hussie himself. it keeps you guessing about the facts: is this a piece of worldbuilding and characterization, or the author’s real opinion? are we being entertained? are we being challenged? deceived? or are we perhaps getting it...

straight from the horses’ mouth? ;)

to answer: i have no fucking clue. the work of andrew hussie is a labyrinth of half veiled, possibly genuine post-post-post ironies. ive made my comments about his tenuous handling of gender-related issues in the past, and neither i nor anyone else gained much from it. and it certainly didnt shed any light on the inner workings of the problematic-language-using, shitty-take-having, questionable-business-practice-practicing, inept-yet-genius, ironically sincere, sincerely ironic author in question.

but what i can say is this: most of the posts ive seen responding to the Gender Triangle neglect the in-story context behind it, focusing solely on the out of touch nature of it. to give hussie the benefit of the doubt for a moment and say its solely an element of storytelling, i would say that the people getting mad about it are having the appropriate reaction. its SUPPOSED to be controversial. its SUPPOSED to piss people off. because it was this scale (again, WITHIN THE CONTEXT OF THE STORY) that got z canceled. its a classic case of life mirroring art: z writes some out-there take about gender in relation to their greater field of philosophy and gets canceled for it, hussie gets canceled (more like re-re-re-re-canceled) for writing it that way. 

whether or not you think this is a constructive use of offense is a matter of opinion. in fact, whether or not the offense hussie caused with this plot point was even DELIBERATE is a matter of opinion. but, seeing the psycholonials hate train building up steam and tearing into every vaguely off-color line of dialogue makes me think that maybe, just maybe, this was done to make a point. and, as ive said, whether or not that point is good or valid is up to you.

anyways, ive said my bit. just to clarify on the way out, im not writing this in defense of andrew hussie as a person, nor am i writing this to make some staunch claim of being ‘anti-cancel culture’. im just here to try and open a new view point on a story which i think has been unfairly attacked for the author’s stupidity irl. further analysis and responses appreciated.

[iceslushii]

So, I'm writing this to document what I can only assume is my sudden descent into insanity. I can't possibly be THAT bad a navigator, and yet as I write this I've been trapped in Ikea for 2 days. I haven't seen another person in the entire time I've been here. I thought it was a prank at first. Turn the place into a maze, get all the people out and see how long it takes me to get lost, then everyone has a good old laugh. Realised that wasn't the case when I tried to backtrack. Everything had changed, so I ended up lost. Instead of the exit, it was just row after row of bookcases.

So, I'm trapped in Ikea. Sounds like the setup for a bad joke. The lights went out at 10pm. Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, that loud electrical THUNK sound and then pitch blackness. Place is full of beds though and my phone has a torch on it - but no damn signal - so I found a bed and went to sleep. Spent most of the next day trying to find my way out with no luck. Did find a restaurant serving those meatballs though, so at least I won't starve. That's probably the punchline to that joke. Anyway they were still warm and fresh, but I haven't seen anyone around who could have cooked them. Made my way back to the beds before the lights cut out again since it's too dark to search with them off.

It's 9.10am now, the lights came back on a little while ago. I'm sure I've searched the entire area around where I came in now and the exit obviously isn't here, so I'm going to pick a direction and hope for the best.

Day 3 of my magical Ikea mystery adventure. If I wasn't sure that there was something seriously weird about this place before, I am now. Walked for 3 hours in a more or less straight line (insert Ikea joke here) before I came across a ladder next to one of those huge stock shelves they have here. Climbed up to get my bearings, and it looks like this place just stretches on forever. Like that scene from the Lion King, except instead of trees and grass it was all shelves and tables and crap. I did see a person moving not too far away though, so I headed over.

Thought it was a staff member at first - it was wearing the uniform. And hell maybe it was, maybe freakish 7ft tall monsters with long arms, short legs and no faces are just the kinds of thing they want working at Super Ikea. Damn thing completely ignored me though, and with no eyes or ears I can't even be sure it knew I was there. Thought about shoving it or something to get its attention, but its hands were big enough to crush a water melon so I decided against it. It just kept moving along and eventually I lost sight of it so I decided to carry on the way I was going.

Anyway, no comfy bed for me tonight. Looks like I've entered the Improbably Hard and Pointy Table section of the store. Guess I'll have to make do with some bunched up tablecloths. Phone battery died during the day too. Didn't work anyway, but I feel like I've just lost some vital lifeline.

You ever see one of those cartoons where they're going through doors in a hallway and they just pop out of another door in the same hallway? That's how I feel right now. I've seen nothing but the same identical bookshelf for 2 days now. Just row after row after row of them. I mean, come on. I love books as much as the next guy, but this is excessive. I'm obviously still moving forwards though, I can see the signs hanging overhead passing by. Too bad none of them say "Exit".

Not sure who I was addressing that question to. Lets just say it was practice for the autobiography I'm going to write when I get out of here. I'll call it "My perfectly normal trip to a regular old Ikea".

If I ever get out o

Finally found some other people! Yeah, turns out I'm not the only poor bastard trapped in here. Lucky for me, I guess. My 6th night here, 2 of those staff things came at me in the dark. Different from the first one I saw, but still messed up. Heard them coming, they were saying that the store was closed and I had to leave the building, all nice and polite like. I'm not sure which part of that was weirder, that they don't have mouths or that they were apparently trying to kill me while they were saying it. Came at me like rabid dogs.

So, I legged it. Sprinting through ikea in the dark like a fucking madman. I saw it when I cleared another stand of those giant stock shelves, all lit up with torches and floodlights. They've built a whole town in here! Got a massive wall built out of shelves and beds and tables and whatever else. I swear to god it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Anyway I guess they saw me coming (or maybe they heard my girlish manly bellows of fear), because they had a gate open and 2 people were there waving me in. Heard the staff things slam into the gate behind me after it closed, still politely informing us all that the store was now closed. They wandered off eventually though.

They call the town Exchange, because that's whats on the sign hanging from the ceiling directly above it. Exchange and Returns. All lit up against the night using lights they've found and plugged into the power lines. And there are beds and food and people. Over 50 wonderful people with regular sized limbs and a full set of facial features. It's now my 7th night here, and the first one not spent in darkness. A full week living in Ikea. There's probably a TV show in that somewhere.

Now that I'm around other people, I'm starting to feel more normal. Maybe normal isn't the word. But after a week with only the sound of my own footsteps for company, I was becoming increasingly sure that I'd just gone nuts. That I was tied up in some padded room somewhere, banging my head against the wall. But no, I feel quite sane now, thank you very much!

Apparently there are other towns out there. Some with more people, some with less. I found that fairly mind-boggling - how can that many people go missing with no one noticing. Surely someone would have noticed that everyone who goes to ikea seems to fucking vanish. Or maybe it's not everyone. Maybe we're just the lucky ones.

The people here just call those staff monster things the Staff. Apparently they are fine during the day, minding their own business walking the aisles. As soon as those lights go out though, they go fucking bonkers. So during the day people go out to find food, water and whatever else they need. Apparently there are restaurants and shops around that randomly get restocked. No one knows how. Maybe the staff do it. Apparently they aren't very good at their jobs though because the restocking sometimes takes a while, which means the food needs to be rationed. Maybe if they weren't so busy chasing people around in the dark they'd get more done.

Anyway when night comes the staff go nuts and everyone holds up inside the walls. Apparently it's the same everywhere in this place, whatever this place is. The Ur-Ikea, from whence all other Ikeas sprang. Or maybe we're all still just in the regular ikea and this is all some fever dream brought on by mind-numbing boredom. Who knows.

Been here for 10 days now. Most of the people I asked said they stopped keeping track a long time ago and one guy, Chris, said he'd been in here for years.

Years.

[ILLEGIBLE SCRIBBLES]

Apparently there are rumours of people who do manage to get out. And of people who see the exit, only to have it vanish before their very eyes. I get the feeling not everyone believes that, but I do. Explains how we got stuck in here in the first place (sort of). And I mean, come on. Staff monsters, row after endless row of high quality Swedish furniture. I don't know why they would find a disappearing door so hard to believe in.

Anyway, I went out scavenging for food at a nearby shop with Sandra and Jerry today. Once you learn the landmarks of this place it's not so hard to navigate. The overhead signs help a lot, but there are others; not too far in the distance a huge section of those giant stock shelves has collapsed against each other and way off in the east (we all assume it's east anyway - apparently Ikea doesn't sell compasses) is some kind of tower that looks like its made of wood, reaches all the way to the ceiling. Maybe they were trying to break out through the roof. Lights up at night so there must be people there, but its apparently a few days walk (which means it must be miles away) so no one here really knows for sure. Apparently I got incredibly lucky sleeping out in the open for a week without getting ripped to bits by the staff. That's me. Lucky lucky lucky.

We found some food in the shop. Guess the staff restocked it during the night, which was nice of them. There was a telephone on the wall, so I figured I'd try it out. There was a voice on the other end, but they were just talking nonsense. Random words strung together with no real meaning. You ever see a video of someone with aphasia? Kind of sounded like that. Didn't answer me when I spoke to them anyway. Sandra says all the phones in here are the same.

Oops, asking the journal questions again!

I was thinking last night. The ceiling on this place is pretty high and as far as anyone can tell it goes on forever. Shouldn't there be some kind of weather in here? I'm sure I read about some NASA building that was so big it had its own weather patterns, with clouds and stuff. This place is definitely bigger than that, but now that I think about it I'm pretty sure I've never felt so much as a temperature change in here.

I'll add it to the Grand List of Weird Bullshit.

The staff attacked the Exchange last night. Must have been 20 or 30 of them all just asking us to leave the store calm as you like, while trying to smash the walls down with their bare hands. Apparently this happens pretty regularly, so everyone is prepared for it. Knives from the restaurants, lawn mower blades made into hatchets, a fire axe. One guy, Wasim, even made a functional crossbow. Anyway the walls have holes in them, which I hadn't noticed before, specifically so we can stab out at the staff when they attack. Took a couple of them down myself. They don't seem to bleed, which is weird, but they go down as easy as a regular person once you start sticking holes in them.

We had to haul the bodies away in the morning. Apparently the dead ones will attract more during the night, so we had to get them away from Exchange. We have a couple of those trolley things they use to move big boxes around, so we loaded them up and took them over to Pickup. Apparently people just name everything in here after whatever sign is hanging overhead.

Pickup was grisly. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of dead staff all piled up. There was no smell, which was a blessing. Apparently in addition to not bleeding, these things don't rot either. My curiosity got the better of me while we were unloading them, so I took a look at one of the more cut-up ones. They're just skin, or something that looks like skin, all the way through. No muscle, no bone, no organs. Are they even really alive in the first place? They certainly seem like they have bones when they are moving around, pounding on the walls. And I'm sure I felt more resistance than just skin when the knife went in during the night. Maybe something happens to them when they die. Just one more thing on the ever-increasing list of Weird Shit that goes on in here, I guess.

Something occurred to me, after the staff attack the other night. Every time you see a situation like this on TV or in a film, like its the end of the world or everyone is trapped on an island or whatever, once groups like ours start to form people always seem to turn on each other. Fighting for food or dominance or whatever else. That hasn't happened here. Apparently people from other towns come by from time to time, just to check in or occasionally to trade if they are short on something. But everything is always cordial. Friendly, even. Maybe its the threat of the staff, or perhaps the constant restocking of supplies in the shops means there's nothing much to fight over.

Maybe people are just better than they are generally given credit for. That's a nice thought. I think I'll go with that one.

A dozen people showed up at the gates this afternoon from a town called Trolleys. Apparently the staff broke through the walls and tore the town apart during the night. These 12 are the only survivors out of over a hundred. We let them in, obviously. One more point in the human decency column. Later, I asked if anyone knew how many of these towns there were out there. Between us and the new folks, we managed to come up with over 20 names. 20 towns filled with people, and who knows how many beyond that.

The motto for this place should be "How Is That Even Possible". Surely someone, somewhere must be looking for the thousands of people that must be in here.

I've been here for a little over 2 months now. Not that much changes, as it turns out. A couple of new people showed up, same story as the rest of us. Nice little trip to Ikea and suddenly they're trapped in Billy Bookcase's House of Faceless Weirdos. The staff attack the Exchange once or twice a week. We kill them and haul their bodies off, sometimes they hurt some of us first. They killed a guy called Jared a couple of weeks back. It was awful, frankly. Turns out regular humans still bleed in here, even if the staff don't. We tried our best, but none of us are doctors.

Jared was a good guy. He deserved better. We all do.

It occurred to me a couple of days after that, none of us were really looking for a way out of here. I don't even know where we'd start.

One of those quad copter things with a camera attached buzzed passed Exchange today. I thought it meant that someone was finally looking for us, that help was on the way. Apparently it's not the first time this has happened, though. Same thing happened a few months ago, and everyone is still here.

No idea if it saw us, it didn't stop if it did. Just kept flying until we could no longer see it.

Note: Based on recovery time of the journal, this entry appears to line up approximately with our first successful test piloting a drone inside SCP-3008-1. Analysis of footage shows a walled settlement under a sign labelled "Exchange and Returns". Attempts to relocate the settlement failed. Origin of previously sighted drones is unknown.

I started talking to people about the stuff they miss from home during dinner today. Probably not the best idea I've ever had, everyone seemed pretty down after. A bunch of people here have families. Husbands and wives, kids. Dogs. Franklin apparently has a pet llama, though I'm not sure I buy that.

But apparently some of the people here have some seriously odd gaps in their knowledge. 3 of them had never heard of the International Space Station, 2 of them seemed to think █████ ███████ was the Prime Minister, and one of them had apparently never heard of the Statue of Liberty. I believe them, too. They seemed just as confused as the rest of us.

The more I thought about it though, the more it started to explain a few things. What if the reason no one is looking for all us missing people is because we haven't all come from the same place. This is going to sound weird (maybe that should be the motto for this place) but what if all the people here have come from different dimensions? Realities? Whatever you call it. I've seen enough TV shows to know the drill. Sarah comes from a place where there is no Statue of Liberty. They didn't launch a space station where Wasim is from. If everyone here came from different places, even from ones that seem identical, there'd be no huge missing persons panic. No mass search. We'd just be a blip, a single missing person in a world of non-stop news.

Well. That was a fun train of thought.

Just realised that yesterday was the six month anniversary of my arrival here. I wonder if Ikea sells party hats. The routine around here has remained more or less the same. More new folk show up, one every couple of weeks or so. Food supplies go up and down, but we've never actually had a major shortage. Occasionally we get a visitor from one of the nearby towns, usually Checkouts or Aisle 630. We check in with each other from time to time, occasionally trade supplies if someone gets particularly low on something. It's comforting, in a way. A reminder that we aren't alone in here, some small glimmer of civilisation. Sometimes they bring medical supplies. Apparently there's a pharmacy a few towns down from Checkouts that gets restocked every now and then, so they share out what they can. I've never heard of an Ikea with a pharmacy before but at this point I wouldn't be surprised if someone stumbled on an Ikea Organ Harvesting Lab. Would certainly explain the staff.

Speaking of our faceless jailers, their attacks have been getting worse lately. 3 or 4 times a week now, with twice as many staff as there used to be. No idea where they all come from, or why the attacks have increased. We tried following one of them during the day a few weeks ago, me and Sarah. Wanted to see if they lead back to a staff room or something. Didn't seem to go anywhere though, just randomly walked through the aisles. We had to turn back before we found anything.

We've been reinforcing the walls, trying to arm ourselves better. Certainly no lack of materials to use. Wasim has been making more crossbows, but it's pretty slow going.

Too bad Ikea doesn't sell guns.

Note: No new personnel have entered SCP-3008 at Site-██ in the time span indicated in this entry.

The attacks are getting bad now. Almost every night, and with so many staff that the bodies almost pile high enough for others to climb the walls. I think we're in real trouble here.

Exchange is

I think Exchange is done. We got hit pretty bad last night. Not many casualties, but the wall is wrecked. We finally figured out why the attacks had been escalating, too. A box of supplies had a chunk of one of the staff in there. No idea how it happened but apparently a piece of one will draw them as well as a full body. Too late now in any case, there's too many bodies for us to haul away and still have time to fix the wall before night. Candace has called a meeting. I suspect there will be talk of abandoning Exchange, maybe try and get shelter at Checkouts or something.

It's already getting late though. I don't think we'll have time to make it. Maybe some of us will. I was fine for that first week out in the dark, after all. But then, how often can I keep getting lucky.

I'm only writing this for a sense of closure, I guess. For me, or for anyone who finds this. If this is the final entry here, I hope whoever is reading this is doing so from outside of this place.

My biggest fear? If I do die tonight, I'll just wake up here again in the morning.

Note: This is the last entry. It is assumed that while attempting to reach the "Checkouts" settlement he was separated from the rest of his group by a pursuing SCP-3008-2 instance and happened upon the exit.

We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see

Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give, never gonna give (Give you up) We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye

[bourbonmetalhead]

Bourbons Bracket Matchup 31:

Wild Turkey Master’s Keep 17 Years vs. Michter’s

Song for the matchup: “No Excuses” by Thou

Wild Turkey Master’s Keep 17 Years Bottled-in-Bond advances to the round of 32 in the 64 Bourbons Bracket. Michter’s was sort of like an underwhelming, completely unspicy rye. To be honest, Michter’s got the shaft on the randomized draw. Michter’s may have had a shot of advancing in about half of the matchups. But, honestly, Michter’s just isn’t overly complex. I would guess that it is a younger bourbon in a nice bottle. I would guess that Old Tub, Evan Williams BIB, Old Grandad 114, Cooper’s Craft, and many other budget bourbons would easily advance against Michter’s.

My brother-in-law graciously gave me this Michter’s bottle as a gift and my brothers and father-in-law have crowned Michter’s ass in blind bourbon tastings that we did. I didn’t crown it, but I likely picked something higher proof — or something ridiculous like Jefferson’s Reserve. Yes, I admit that Jefferson’s Reserve has kicked some ass in blind bourbon tastings for me. But I digress.

Let’s make another digression as I have a pinch of loser’s pour. I sip on a bit of post-matchup Michter’s. Let’s talk about tunes. _Jar of Flies_ is one of the most important albums in my autobiography. It was an important bridge out of metal exclusivity for me. That EP really resonated with me as I journeyed from 11th (12th) grader into bill-paying, full-time working Playboy buying adult.

And this Thou song is not Alice In Chains. The clean vox are more Cantrell than Staley, but the fucking dripped tuning and distortion of the riffs really really works! And the growling distracted me at first, but as bourbon kicked in the growls and Cantrell vox and brutal riffs blend together expertly. As I ride the aftertaste of Wild Turkey Master’s Keep 17 Years Bottled-in-Bond and reflect on the emergence of cotton candy, cherry Tums... and no excuses that I know.

Michter’s isn’t necessarily bad bourbon. But it is bad rye. It’s kinda like rye mixed with a bit of clover honey. “And if we change, well I love you anyway,” they sing.

I must say that Wild Turkey Master’s Keep 17 Years Bottled-in-Bond didn’t knock it out of the park. It’s age showed and there was massive oak, but there wasn’t the complexity of say Booker’s or OBC 11.5 Years, or novelty of Town Branch Cask Strength, or the absolute smoothness of IW Harper 15 Years. And that delights the fuck out me. My hands aren’t bruised from breaking rocks all day, but my suburban ass has golfer’s elbow. No excuses. I didn’t stretch and I have never gotten golf lessons or even watched a video or read a book on golf swings. I just do it. Raw. Like this past. So, what I was meandering around to is that I am pleasantly pleased that Wild Turkey Master’s Keep 17 Years Bottled-in-Bond isn’t getting a bye straight to the title matchup. Yes, it’s allocated, old, and I traded a bottle of Very Special Old Fitzgerald for it... but it is going to have to show up matchup after matchup... or its ass will get bounced. If Dick Vitale were here, I would invite him to reseed the brackets. But let’s roll with what we have. No excuses! Bottoms up!