#beldam speaks: politics

[mspiggy]

all the americans i follow talking about their election has me thinking about the next canadian election (coming 2025)... god i wish white canadians weren't some of the most insidiously racist and xenophobic people in the world so all the former liberal voters frustrated with trudeau would vote NDP instead... but i know they're gonna throw their support behind canada's biggest most racist cardboard cut-out, also known as "pierre polievre"

[gailynovelry]

me yesterday: NaNo is so hard I cannot even do five hundred words I am going to fall short of my goal and die

me today: hee hoo fantasy politics go brrrrr one thousand words of worldbuilding fuckery

“You speak with much of the same candor as the youngest Herald did when he met my Consultation,” the Matrius was telling Joy. “Which is only as much as one should expect from a Herald, I would think,” he replied. “There are reasons why my Beldam left me in charge of her diplomacies, and not one of the older fey. Much as I do, you Heralds know enough of the political going-ons of the world to discuss it candidly and without rancor.” “Without rancor” was not the way Crislie would describe Meparik’s approach to conversation.

[mariamga2024mi4017]

Coraline - Movie time!!!!

09/07/2024

Hey Hey! I'm excited to stat up pass 12 AM to watch Coraline for the 100th time! (Obviously, that's a lie. Maybe....it's my 5th time watching it?)

It's taking me back to the good old days of 2020 when I was sleep-deprived but lived happily after getting my daily dosage of anime till 4am in the morning. (Although 2020 was a tough year with Covid spreading its wings and flying across the globe, it was my chance to stay locked in the house to complete my anime watch list.)

But enough of the trip down memory lane, it's time to watch 'Coraline' and type down my comparison between the novel and the movie!

It's currently 3.30 am and I just finished watching the movie! Although I haven't completed my reading of the novel, I can make a comparison on certain things in the novel that weren't shown in the film, or the different approach the movie director had in terms of character design, personality and places!

Let's get into it!

Short comparison between the novel and the movie!

As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, Coraline in the book is more of a quiet, polite, and intelligent girl. Whereas the movie Coraline is more of a sassy, attention-seeking, adventurous, and tom-boyish type of character. My personal preference would actually be towards the movie Coraline. As an only child myself, I can relate to her feelings of boredom, not having a sibling to play around with, but not minding it sometimes. As a kid, you can easily get bored with no one around your age to play with. So, you end up letting your imagination run wild to pass time.

My main reason for liking the movie Coraline is because she learns a lesson at the end of this journey. Her acting like a sassy brat actually makes sense to me. But in the end, she learns to appreciate the people and the life she's living, rather than giving in to the whimsical/fantasy/romanticized life her other mother created to lure her.

Speaking of the other mother, there's a big difference between the things in the movie's other world and the novel's other world. In the novel, the tunnel to the other world is never bright and colorful. The novel describes the tunnel as a dark and dusty type of place. 'A place where some creature had lived' type of scenario.

Image - Tunnel to the other world/side (Movie)

Image - Illustration of the other world (Novel)

Another thing I remember while reading the novel: Coraline realized something disturbing about the place. Especially the boy in the painting looking at the bubbles in a sinister manner! In the movie, however, the boy in the painting held onto an ice cream with many scoops on top and had a smile on his face. (Movie - The ice cream boy painting was a boring picture to Coraline in the real world)

Image - Painting of the ice cream boy in the other world (movie)

The beldam (the other mother) in the novel and the movie have different character designs. Trust me...she looks terrifying in the novel TOT! The Beldam in the movie has 3 different designs.

Image - Beldam design 1 (She looks like Coraline's mom's doppelgänger: except for the Black buttons)

Image - beldam transformation into her second figure (This figure looks skeletal. It gives off slender man vibes.)

Image - 3rd design. Definitely more skeleton-like and creepier.

Image - The othermother illustration in the novel. She looks creepier in the novel than in the movie TOT!

That's all for this post! I wish I could type in some more points, but I should sleep now! I'll need to get some res before attending today's lectures!

Thank you for reading :D

[hansolmates]

here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k  a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits​ / @chillingtae​​ for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.” 

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.” 

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband. 

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend. 

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes. 

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?” 

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers. 

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.” 

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds. 

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy.  It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons. 

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?” 

“As if you care.” 

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.” 

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan. 

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.” 

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night. 

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.” 

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.” 

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid. 

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.” 

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.” 

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.” 

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?” 

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin. 

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.” 

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop. 

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?” 

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?” 

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.” 

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.” 

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says. 

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.” 

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.” 

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table. 

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!” 

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.” 

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?” 

“Don’t ask questions.” 

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.” 

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?” 

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders. 

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility. 

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow. 

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted. 

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon? 

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through. 

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date. 

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist. 

“How was the walk over?” 

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.” 

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours. 

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is. 

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill. 

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?” 

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat. 

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?” 

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.” 

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?” 

“It… was mildly cute.” 

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.” 

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning. 

“Is that why you never hung out with us?” 

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.” 

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.” 

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself. 

“So what’s the plan?” 

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.” 

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?” 

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon. 

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth. 

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.” 

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.” 

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass. 

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.” 

Oh, this is going to be interesting. 

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple. 

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place. 

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?” 

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says. 

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.” 

“I do like Valorant.” 

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.” 

“He’s ripped as hell.” 

“I am ripped as hell.” 

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.” 

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry." 

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.” 

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.” 

“Okay yes one bad example—” 

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.” 

“See? It’s a mutual decision.” 

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!" 

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now." 

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.” 

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair. 

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.” 

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace. 

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish. 

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!” 

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.” 

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!” 

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.” 

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?” 

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.” 

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.” 

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.” 

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin. 

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her. 

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.” 

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.” 

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something. 

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?” 

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head. 

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile. 

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—” 

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.” 

“Right,” you answer reluctantly. 

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.” 

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.” 

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.” 

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.” 

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks. 

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?” 

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store. 

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.” 

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?” 

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.” 

“But, Namjoon got us a table—” 

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.” 

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.” 

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.” 

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.” 

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes. 

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard. 

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork. 

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips. 

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket. 

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?” 

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream. 

“Pray tell.” 

“She’s jealous of you.” 

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.” 

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.” 

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.” 

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.” 

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.” 

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?” 

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—” 

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that? 

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it. 

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon. 

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words,  “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.” 

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside. 

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.” 

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist. 

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place. 

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly. 

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.” 

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around. 

“We’re in Vegas, baby!” 

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!” 

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it. 

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?” 

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger. 

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.” 

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.” 

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same. 

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent. 

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you. 

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton. 

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.” 

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.” 

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then? 

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.” 

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.” 

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.” 

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks. 

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?” 

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick. 

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.” 

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.” 

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.” 

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.” 

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.” 

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink. 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.” 

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.” 

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini. 

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area. 

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place. 

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.” 

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side. 

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.” 

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.” 

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.” 

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on. 

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one. 

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy. 

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.” 

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for. 

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.” 

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified. 

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?” 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?” 

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating. 

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week. 

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes. 

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double. 

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?” 

“But this is different!” 

“But Doyeon’s family!” 

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party. 

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.” 

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.” 

“Deal.” 

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body. 

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.” 

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?” 

“Yeah, I will.” 

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.” 

“Excuse me—” 

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.” 

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?” 

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.” 

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.” 

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive? 

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.” 

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features. 

“Is it something urgent?” 

“Well, no but—” 

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.” 

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline. 

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest. 

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.” 

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting. 

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food. 

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?” 

He shrugs, “Looked around.” 

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this. 

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time. 

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products. 

“I wanna come!” 

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.” 

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?” 

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.” 

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.” 

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom. 

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design. 

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too. 

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height. 

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel. 

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean. 

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.” 

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in. 

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.” 

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.” 

“Then more kisses?” 

“Then more kisses.” 

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?” 

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!” 

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college… 

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u 

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious 

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two. 

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button. 

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.” 

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”  

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u 

You: lool, why do u look constipated 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile 

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest. 

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge. 

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.” 

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind. 

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin. 

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.” 

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator. 

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet. 

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.” 

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?” 

“Because it’s tradition!” 

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?” 

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.” 

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down. 

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite. 

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure. 

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down. 

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better. 

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!” 

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship? 

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle. 

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you. 

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?” 

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family. 

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different. 

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.  

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together. 

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room. 

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes. 

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?” 

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!” 

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?” 

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods. 

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor. 

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down. 

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?” 

 “Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway. 

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy. 

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process. 

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!” 

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons. 

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice. 

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.” 

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you. 

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.” 

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words. 

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.” 

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double. 

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon. 

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you? 

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist. 

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.” 

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.” 

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?” 

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook. 

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.” 

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips. 

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.” 

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.” 

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.” 

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face. 

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands,  “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.” 

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you. 

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.” 

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs. 

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.” 

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt,  a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash. 

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—” 

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?” 

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back! 

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you. 

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment. 

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips. 

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer. 

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.” 

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.” 

“Thanks, Jungkookie.” 

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible. 

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket. 

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown. 

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her. 

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.” 

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?” 

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?” 

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her. 

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.” 

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something. 

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago. 

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this. 

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful. 

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning. 

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone. 

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week. 

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged. 

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine. 

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready. 

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?” 

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?” 

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.” 

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings. 

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent 

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.  

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain. 

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.” 

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—” 

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?” 

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding. 

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.” 

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.” 

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!” 

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?” 

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.” 

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.” 

“You’ll have to get through me, first.” 

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress. 

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.” 

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.” 

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin. 

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.” 

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.” 

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground. 

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”  

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision. 

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel. 

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.” 

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.” 

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t.  Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”  

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle. 

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?” 

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?” 

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now. 

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.” 

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations. 

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie. 

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon. 

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family. 

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online. 

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend. 

Or? 

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs? 

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter. 

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.” 

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.” 

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric. 

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon. 

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself. 

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…” 

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.” 

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.” 

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.” 

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.” 

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips. 

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline. 

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.” 

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair. 

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.” 

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.  

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?” 

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs. 

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.” 

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now. 

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.” 

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.” 

[hopeaterart]

Mario Odyssey: Paper Kingdom AU

Or: The AU where I adapt Paper Mario characters into a kingdom in Mario Odyssey because while my brain is small, it has a big mind that keeps thinking up new ideas. This tackles the kingdom’s backstory, it’s travel brochure, why Mario ends up going there, and the frankly ridiculous political context he stumbles into. I might tackle the characters in another post.

Backstory

A long time ago, a creature made out of shadows and thin as paper rose out of an island. Calling itself- or herself- the Shadow Queen, the malevolent spirit could wield the power of seven stars, and her heart was pitch-black and full of chaotic hatred. She reigned over the land with an iron fist, terrified painted shadows at her command.

Until one day, a small faction of her own people turned against, led by four heroes and eight mages. They studied her magic, and turned it against her, folding themselves like paper get close to her and stealing her stars to destroy her body, the eight mages using their magic to separate her heart from her spirit

Enraged, her spirit lashed out, cursing the four heroes into suffering the same fate as her, reduced to spirits enclosed in coffins just as she unleashed the full power of her heart. But before she could turn her wrath on the other rebels, the eight mages sacrificed themselves, turning their souls into pure energy and setting it on the Shadow Queen’s heart, ripping it out and sending both the heart and the soul of the Shadow Queen into a deep sleep.

The only thing left was a prophecy- a warning. If a cruel monster and a gentle maiden marry each other in a farce, the Chaos Heart will rise again. If this happens, the Shadow Queen’s rise is imminent, and she will take over the body of the maiden. The only way to stop her is to find her Seven Stars, and use them to destroy her soul once and for all.

The throne of the Paper Kingdom is left symbolically empty, and the country is ruled by a council.

-

Travel Brochure

Population: Sparse, but plentiful

Size: Wide

Locals: Shapeshifters

Currency: Paper fortune teller shaped

Industries: Construction, stories

Temperature: Average  73 °F

A craft for the ages

Multi-level: The Paper Kingdom is made of multiple levels carved within the plateau, and all of them have something to offer. From the charming beach town of Rogueport to the looming Castle of Chaos, this place is vibrant and full of carefully crafted layers.

Rich History: The Paper Kingdom’s history is something for the ages: A demon rising out of the earth, her own people standing up against her, a battle ending in tragedy, and a prophecy! And they know it too! Their own history is so rich and captivating, they transformed telling people about it into a spectacle. If you’re ever in the need of someone to give a grandiose speech, a Paper Kingdom storyteller is what you need!

Origami Festival: If you visit the Paper Kingdom during their fall season, you might bear witness to the Origami Festival! While considered unorthodox and dangerous, Shapeshifters recognize origami as an incredibly powerful type of magic, allowing one to become anything their heart wish. As such, they have festivities centered around this concept that lasts a week, where they put up tons of different and incredible origami displays celebrating the concept.

-

How it fits in the game

For it’s location, it would be a decently sized island between the Luncheon Kingdom and Snow Kingdom, and would be the last place you go to before Bowser’s castle. From above, it would look rectangular, and most of it would be very elevated (think of a plateau, but in the middle of the ocean.) While it would seem small at first glance, the truth is that most of the earth is hollowed out, and there’s a lot of communities that live underground. You would be able to visit the two surface ones (Rogueport at the base of the plateau, and Castle of Chaos (Equivalent to Castle Bleck) on top of it) from the start, and at least one additional area under Castle of Chaos would unlock after the main story.

As for it’s place in the story, a wedding needs an officiant, and Bowser decided to get a storyteller from the Paper Kingdom because they’re known to give quite touching speeches. Bowser was originally planning to make his announcement of his marriage to Peach, take someone by force if he got denied, and leave the kingdom in disarray as punishment for denying him.

So you can imagine his surprise when not one, but two storytellers volunteered to be his officiant: Dimentio, royal jester and local agent of chaos who’s starting to find the current situation in the Paper Kingdom boring because it’s stagnating (albeit because they want to stop the hostilities temporarily for the upcoming Origami Festival), and the Beldam, eldest of the shadow Sirens and actively trying to resurrect the Shadow Queen. 

Let’s be clear, here: Neither of them are really interested in Bowser’s marriage, but both are after the power of the Chaos Heart, which has the potential to arise from this union: Dimentio to create even more chaos, and Beldam to harness it’s power and bring the Queen back to life. He picked the storyteller who had actual experience with being an officiant: Dimentio, who officiated multiple noble weddings- and left a fuming Beldam behind. In her rage, she decided to make the King of Koopas not choosing her as an evil marriage officiant everyone else’s problem and promptly started freezing everything in sight.

And that’s where Mario and Cappy come in, looking for Power Moons...

-

What’s going on?

A few weeks before Bowser shows up, the wedding of Blumiere, the son of an important count, and his human girlfriend Timpani (I don’t know from where she could be, probably New Donk CIty), was happening. However, in part due to a sinister prophecy that foretold the rebirth of the Chaos Heart if a furious monster lord (Blumiere is not human, and he has quite the unstable temperament) and a fair and lovely maiden (Timpani is a bit shy, cares for everything around her, and is nothing but kind) got married, and in part due to being a racist fuck, Blumiere’s father tried to stop the marriage by lethally attacking the bride.

Big mistake.

Blumiere ended up flying into a rage, messily killing his father with his bare hands and the assistance of a surge of magic, and destroyed the wedding venue. He then took Timpani, who was dying, to the origami craftsman, who earned himself a reputation of defying nature’s law by creating Olly and Olivia for an Origami festival, which was. Not planned. He then more or less forced him to heal his bride. 

The craftsman was absolutely able to say no: Olly brought to life multiple office supplies and all of them are ready to attack on sight, but he still went and healed up Timpani, albeit altering her physical appearance permanently due to having to heal her up using Origami Magic. Olly does not take his father being threatened into helping someone well, and barges into Castle of Chaos two weeks later and self-proclaim himself king with the assistance of the office supplies, which he dubs his Legion of Stationery, because of a perceived disrespect toward his family.

He is twelve.

Blumiere- who renamed himself Count Bleck following his father’s death- is understandably outraged, and denounces Olly with the support of his companions. Said companions are: his wife lady Timpani whom he (and most of the kingdom) adores, a small bat-like woman and his spokesperson Nastasia, the strong but dimwitted warrior and champion O’Chunks, the robotic but emotional Mimi who works in banking, and local shit-bastard jester Dimentio. This is due to Bleck being a direct descendant of one of the eight mages that sacrificed themselves, and he’s forced to make a claim to the throne to be taken seriously in trying to stop Olly.

He does not want to take the throne.

So now, there’s a twelve years old and a pissed off count who murdered his father in a blind rage fighting over the throne of the Paper Kingdom, neither of them know what they’re going to do next, and no one is happy about this situation. The instability allows a third party to make an appearance and grab for the throne: The X-Nauts, a race of robotic aliens led by the tyrannical Sir Grodus. Their goal? Resurrect the Shadow Queen and use her power to remake the Paper Kingdom, and eventually the planet, in their image.

The good news is that neither Olly nor Bleck want the X-Nauts to succeed. Bleck because he knows they’re planning on resurrecting the Shadow Queen and he does not want that to happen, and Olly because Grodus’ second in command was mean to Olivia once. This means that they are able to put their difference aside, which means there’s still hope an all-out civil war can be avoided.

Speaking of Olivia, poor girl think her brother went evil and wants to reign over the Paper Kingdom like a tyrant. This is understandable, as he’s a irritable twelve years boy with six killing machine at his command and also starting his emo edge lord phase, and she’s a literal ray of sunshine. As such, Olivia decided to find other people willing to stop Olly, Bleck and Grodus from burning the country to the ground in their squabble, not realizing that, as the leader of this group, she is also making .a claim for the throne.

She is also twelve.

And now, there’s Beldam losing her shit over being turned down and freezing everything into unmoving sheets on the walls. Ironically, this common enemy might just be what’s needed to calm everyone down.

[theseventhhex]

Weeping Icon Interview

Weeping Icon

Weeping Icon is an experimental noise punk band based in Brooklyn, NY. All four members are long-time vets to the DIY Brooklyn music scene (former & current bands ADVAETA, Lutkie, Mantismass, Warcries, Water Temples), and they are breaking new ground with their explosive take on the traditional rock configuration. Their live show is immense and energetic; their addictive combination of searing riffs & rhythms, fearless vocals and thrillingly unexpected sounds – delivered through heaps of hair and controlled feedback – is expertly crafted into an enveloping landscape that doesn’t let up from start to finish. Their debut EP ‘Eyeball Under’ exhibits a gifted band with innovative and striking arrangements, showcasing each member excelling with beguiling aptitude… We talk to the band about primal energy, Russell Westbrook and Jane Goodall…

TSH: How would you describe the band camaraderie and level of concentration when new music is coming together?

Weeping Icon: We completely trust each other to develop parts, but if we’re stuck, we take long walks through the hallways. Our practice space is in an old pharmaceutical building that has been repurposed for just about everything imaginable, and it is completely twisted. Somehow we spend a lot of time in the bathroom talking, playing with construction materials, and generally making trouble.

TSH: For your EP entitled ‘Eyeball Under,’ what sort of lyrical expressions and perspectives do you feel primarily came into play?

Weeping Icon: This EP has a lot to do with primal energy. We are channelling a lot of the confusion and anger from current politics and we feed off each other’s intensity. There are a lot of raw expressions of anger, anxiety, and retaliation.

TSH: ‘Jail Billz’ is a stunning track. Talk us through how the band went about layering and structuring such a concise song…

Weeping Icon: Thanks. It was the first song we wrote, and it kind of set the scene for what we were going to make. Guitar and drums were the first parts written before the full band had formed, and the idea was just to make something loud, fast and physical. The other parts came together naturally from just trying to sustain the intensity and enhance it.

TSH: Moreover, what does a track like ‘Warts’ signify overall?

Weeping Icon: It’s about the impetus to lie and be secretive in protection of one’s own self-image/self-interest, and the private reassuring conversations we have with ourselves that tend to place more value on alleviating anxiety than being considerate of potentially impacted parties.

TSH: At what point in the process do you realise what you’re going to do vocally with the sounds that are being formulated?

Weeping Icon: Usually we improvise shouts, screams and nonsensical words to feel out the song. When the structures are a little bit more refined one of us feels possessed to write lyrics, haha! We all like to sing and write.

TSH: Can it at times be beneficial to not search for a specific statement and simply just embrace what comes out of you?

Weeping Icon: Yeah, I think that has been the process for writing this EP. We didn’t have a specific message, but we had a lot to say, haha. I think right now we are just trying to make something as raw and honest as possible, and usually that means figuring it out as it happens.

TSH: What sort factors do you feel are important to manifest with the band’s live offerings?

Weeping Icon: We try to channel unadulterated puppies. That is only partly a joke. We don’t stop between songs because we want to sustain the energy and for the set to be immersive. The transitions are always improvised so we are concentrating on each other and sensitive to the atmosphere the sound is building. We want people to feel very present.

TSH: In what ways does being immersed within your craft allow you to liberate yourself from stress and anxiety hurdles?

Weeping Icon: The importance of having something that belongs to you - that may be shared with other people, but isn’t made for other people - can’t be underestimated. Everyone should have a section of their lives dedicated to unadulterated self-expression: your tastes, your emotions, whatever gets your blood pumping. It’s the only real freedom you get in a world in which your success is contingent on how well you smile and stand up straight through the shit shower.

TSH: What gets played most on your YouTube binges?

Weeping Icon: Barry White, Bambara, Moon Duo, Kevin Drumm, Eleh, Young Thug. Also, the video for ‘Thunder Thighs’ by Miss Eaves - look it up now!

TSH: What brings about most laughter within the band?

Weeping Icon: Oh, we’re cheeky. We can’t tell you most of them but here are a few: the taxi driver who takes us to shows all the time and falls asleep at every red light. Sometimes we yell at him “hey! ya sleepin?!” and he laughs and keeps driving. Also, the guy who was walking around our practice space in socks that were pulled out several inches beyond his toes organizing piles of papers, and his strange Ikea scarf rack that had cables attached to it with twist ties that ended up in our practice room for several months. We hated it. Who uses twist ties for instrument cables?? Arrrgghhhh! Oh, and playing garbage hockey, with pipes and garbage.

TSH: Are certain members of the band passionate about Russell Westbrook?

Weeping Icon: Russell Westbrook is such a pure basketball player. It’s wildly inspiring to see him put everything out there, and for Oklahoma City of all places. He is absolutely one of my favourite players of all time. This question speaks to me, but the other 3 members were very confused. Haha! (SL).

TSH: Also, how much of a legend is Jane Goodall to you?

Weeping Icon: ALL THE LEGEND! She is the personal hero of two members of this band, one of whom is actually a cousin of hers and the other studied anthro and read all her books. SHE IS A MESSIAH!

TSH: Is The Sopranos one of Sarah’s all-time favourite shows? And what do the others like to watch?

Weeping Icon: Is it surprising that the Sarah who is the die-hard Sopranos fan is the Sarah from New Jersey? Just a tad bit shy of being obsessed with the show - have watched the whole series over a dozen times, cried when James Gandolfini died, hated the ending (mostly because it was ending)... Also, can’t tell if you are psychic or making very good guesses about us with these questions - or maybe you stalked our Facebooks??… I don’t knooooow… Other TV shows we also like are (collectively and separately, depending): Game of Thrones, The Handmaid’s Tale, SpongeBob, Rugrats, Rick & Morty, Sherlock, Ru Paul’s Drag Race, Twilight Zone, Curb Your Enthusiasm and John Oliver.

TSH: How do you like to stay positive amidst all the beldam in the world?

Weeping Icon: Band, art, shows, comedy, and maybe the only thing you don’t know already, weed. Hehe. (Sunglasses emoji).

TSH: What’s the Weeping Icon ethos as you venture ahead?

Weeping Icon: WE ARE 4 BLONDE BOYS TRYING TO HAVE A GOOD TIME. PLEASE NO UNSOLICITED DICK PICS, THX. HAVE A GOOD NIGHT. BYE.

Eyeball Under

[ulyssesredux]

Nestor

Their eyes knew their zeal was vain. He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the economy when he says it, should be.

Florida-on behalf of little Marco Rubio. A thing out in the room of the channel.

Many are professionals.

He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his thoughtful voice said. 279 B.C.—Asculum, Stephen said quietly.

Mr Deasy cried.

Leaving now for a word of help his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a snail's bed. That's why we call him Lyin' Ted Cruz is weak on illegal immigration. Jane is a great wall on the same. —That is God. In every sense of the fees their papas pay. Give hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the path. Now then, an actuality of the wind. Hillary said horrible things about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and this, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten guineas. —No thanks at all levels!

For Haines's chapbook. Our cattle trade.

What, sir. Old England is dying. Cassandra. Once again someone we were told is ok turns out to be a total disaster. And do you begin in this instant if I will be amazing! If so, there is much time left. Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. Many of her doc. Stay strong Israel, January 20th. Three twelve, he said again, went back to his officers, leaned upon his spear. You, Cochrane, what is Caesar's, to God what is the thought of thought. Ask me, sir. Lyin' Ted, I think Israel is inspiring! Big day on Thursday to make America safe again. Croppies lie down.

Kingstown pier, Stephen said, the gestures eager and unoffending, but knew the dishonours of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be president. There is nothing nice about searching for terrorists before they can enter our country will be the winner was based on popular vote than the Electoral College in a medley, the joust of life. This is good for me to win including failed run four years of Barack Obama and Crooked Hillary put her husband wanted to say, has died.

But one day you must feel it.

Stephen said.

Crooked Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions she has been fighting ISIS, illegal immigration back into our country & its people-I WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN! Ask the Democrat City Council what happened to Atlantic City made all the gentiles: world without end.

—Again, sir. Just look through it. —Thank you. —You think me an old fogey and an old fogey and an old fogey and an old fogey and an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. Hillary Clinton has made along with that! Well, sir. Will, one dead. Gross negligence by the roadside: plundered and passing on.

He tapped his savingsbox against his thumbnail.

#BigLeagueTruth The 2nd Amendment is under great strain. The Democrats are delaying my cabinet picks for purely political reasons. RIGGED!

The Mayor of New York.

—Who knows? Airplane departed from Paris. —Because she never let them in this instant if I will tell you, sir, Stephen said. His thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of unreadiness and through his misty glasses weak eyes looked on the first one that I've missed.

Of him that walked the waves.

—I fear those big words, Stephen said, is he not? Sargent! He came to the people and saving the climber. Illegals out! Will you wait in my life.

Obama's message-only 38,000 deleted emails about her heritage being Native American name? —Mine would be often empty, Stephen said again, he said, and now must stop. If I only had one!

Melania for the right till the end of my children on December 15 to discuss the failed policies and bad judgment. They will soon be calling me MR. The United States, yet look what they did and said like giving the questions to the table. I am trying to awake. —Sit down a moment they will do, sir? In addition to winning the second and third, plus OUR GREAT SUPPORTERS, gave us the win.

She was no better than she should be allowed to respond? Hillary Clinton! Goofy Elizabeth Warren didn’t have the drive or stamina to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

It was just shot and killed walking her baby in Chicago, have totally energized America! We will build the wall, Muslims, NATO!

—Why, sir?

—I knew you couldn't, he said again, having just remembered. I will fight and Ulster will fight for the badly needed wall, Muslims, NATO! I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary will never forget! Veterinary surgeons.

So great to be dethroned. May I trespass on your valuable space. Mr Field, M.P. There is nothing like the RNC has and why does Obama get a special prosecutor to look exhausted and done, then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of excess.

Joseph, Michigan. Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina for two more.

Was there to greet him. —I foresee, Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on. Various media outlets and pundits say that she is surrounded by difficulties, by intrigues by backstairs influence by He raised his forefinger and beat the air.

The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave old England's windingsheet. —Tarentum, sir?

By his elbow and, muttering, began to prod the stiff buttons of the mind. We must do better! —I knew you couldn't, he said.

Was that then real?

—This is the worst in many polls, I am against Intelligence when in fact.

—This is for sovereigns. No-one like him-a-Lago in Palm Beach. Curran, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy.

He should show them to you, Florida at noon.

I trespass on your valuable space. His hand turned the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their boots and tongues. The word Sums was written on the economy, trade and energy reforms will bring back our jobs to USA. Mr Deasy said, turning back at the text: Through the dear might—Turn over, Stephen said. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a sign. Stephen asked.

Many of his typewriter. —How, sir. #Trump2016 Word is-RADICAL ISLAM! I am descended from sir John! Our country is totally rigged.

—O, ask me to get together, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

We have committed many errors and many other African Americans who know me well and endorsed me. There can be cured.

What is the form of forms.

For the moment, no safety.

I will help him in her heart.

As Bernie Sanders, who never had the worst jobs report.

Lindsey Graham, who has been divided, angry and untrusting. Finally, in the election, if that were never asked to speak! My list of potential U.S. May in Washington D.C. He went out by the open porch and in my campaign is hearing from more and more. John Lewis said about her, I would NEVER mock disabled.

Joseph, Michigan. Does anybody really believe that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the mind. Nice! They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy looked down and held for questioning. Ask me, sir. He should show them to you, sir? Stephen said, that you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth? Just landed in New Mexico were thugs who were flying the Mexican flag. —How, sir.

Riddle me, sir. Thought is the worst economic deal in US history.

Ask me, Mr Deasy laughed with rich delight, putting back his savingsbox against his thumbnail. —I am in Agreement with Julian Assange-wrong. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the dictates of common sense.

I have no choice but to take in as many Syrians as possible. Yes, sir? His thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of unreadiness and through his slanted glasses. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the slain, a disappointed bridge. Well? What is it now? All laughed. He followed towards the door and a whirring whistle: goal.

She was no better than she should never have the time to go to heaven. Mr Deasy said.

Ay!

—Where do you know what is his proudest boast. Appreciate the congrats for being the only country which never persecuted the jews. Foot and mouth disease. —Mr Deasy asked. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with all of my great honor to introduce my wife, Melania. Shooting deaths of police officers shot in Sebastian County, Arkansas. Serum and virus. #Trump2016 Word is I am wrong. There is nothing like the Clintons who allowed our jobs were fleeing our country.

Just leaving Akron, Ohio, after seeing the just released my financial disclosure forms, the worst jobs report since 2010. Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive.

Using Alicia M become a U.S. citizen so she could use her in the history of politics, is now.

His last term as Mayor was a hero, Detective Steven McDonald.

—I foresee, Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet over the shells heaped in the primaries, we welcome you with open arms.

—O, do, sir, Comyn said.

European conflagration. Crumbs adhered to the desk near the window, pulled in his chair twice and read, Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto. —No, sir?

I have always had a massive military complex in the front row, perhaps the most delegates and many sins. Stephen seated himself noiselessly before the princely presence. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the decisions Hillary Clinton and has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews. A French Celt said that Crooked Hillary Clinton is not fit to be home! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Hillary is too deep. Rinderpest. Looking forward to debating Crooked Hillary Clinton, who also knew of the possible as possible.

#ObamaCareInThreeWords Obamacare is 'crazy', 'doesn't work' and 'doesn't make sense'.

Honor him for being right on radical Islamic terrorism? He went out by the people of Colorado had their vote taken away from them by the open porch and in her heart. The Dems Convention is cracking up and gave a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries echoed dismay. When I said or believe but have no problem in doing so. My statement on how bad ObamaCare is no time to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their pitches and reek of rapine in his fight.

—Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered.

Does anyone know that? What are Hillary Clinton's honesty & judgment, ask me, he will be going to try publicity. News/Washington Post Poll, Hillary has no sense of the Democratic National Committee had strong defense! —Hockey! What is it now?

The Affordable Care Act will soon be making some very important swing states, it is currently focused on the bright air. Allimportant question.

That's why. Their eyes grew bigger as the world would have trampled him underfoot, a snail's bed. Heroin overdoses are taking over my Twitter account for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will be a movement then, an actuality of the canteen, over the gravel path under the breastwork of his satchel. Futility.

Demand is unreal. See. You, Armstrong. He is turning out to the others, Stephen said again, if the winner was based on total popular vote than the popular vote I would win big, so complex-when actually it isn't! Original evidence was overwhelming, should be. Crumbs adhered to the Senate. Kasich is weak & losing big, so complex-when actually it isn't! —This is a fraud who has made.

African Americans who know me well and endorsed me, sir John! If you can have them published at once. Mr Deasy said, the sun flung spangles, dancing coins. Will reverse Obama's Executive Orders and concessions towards Cuba until freedoms are restored.

A faithless wife first brought the strangers to our shore here, & as a businessman, but what do we get tough, very much against me. The black north and true blue bible. Irish, all kings' sons.

Good man, good man, Elie Wiesel, passed away at 92. —Who can answer a riddle? The cast of Hamilton, which should never have been in our history.

He voted for it and let you down! There can be great! I like to break a lance with you, he said. Against steelworkers and miners. Running after me.

Without the con it's over Thank you. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands.

Vico road, Dalkey.

Sargent answered.

—A pier, sir, Stephen said: Another victory like that, despite her statements to the air oldly before his voice spoke.

Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. Yes, it will just go on forever. Heading to Tampa now! Thank you for your wonderful letter! Mr Deasy said. Why does the media when our jobs were fleeing our country-I won in every category.

Very racist!

—Now then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of his coat a pocketbook bound by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. The seas' ruler. Perhaps I am trying to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their gemmed fingers.

—Weep no more, for Lycidas, your sorrow, is also one of joined halves, and shouted with the shouts of vanished horses stood in homage, their land a pawnshop. Supreme Court Justices was very impressive yesterday. Cyril Sargent: his name was heard, called from the sheet on the same wisdom: and ever shall be. —Do you know that the election despite all of my friends and supporters in Virginia. Do you know anything about Pyrrhus? They are not hostile. Looking for a big speech tomorrow to discuss the business, Cabinet picks and all others laughing! The lions couchant on the same wisdom: and on a lie. It slapped open and he thanks me! Telegraph—That on his desk. His underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly. Curran, ten shillings, Bob Reynolds, half a guinea, Koehler, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board. Thursday.

We are a generous people but we will always be trying to work up influence with the Clinton campaign, by saying she’ll tax estates at 65%. Do you know that the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a club for people to start thinking rationally.

Stephen answered. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, Hillary has the temperament or integrity to be president because her husband is going on? Big news to leak into the world.

Now I have been able to handle the rough and tumble of a ball and calls from the boys' playfield and a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Breffni. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and many sins. —This is for shillings. After, Stephen said, which will be right.

He faced about and back again. A woman brought sin into the world without end. When will we see what happens! While under no obligation to do with a long waiting list of those that want to refocus NATO on terrorism, as allies, & when people make mistakes, they will not remain here very long and very stupid use of e-mail case and the U.S.A.G. in back of closed plane was heightened with FBI shouting go away, pencils clacking, pages rustling.

Time has branded them and knew their zeal was vain.

When he had anything to belittle our victory with FAKE NEWS organizations were there but the press refuses to say, he said. Disgraceful! Now I have got nothing but bad publicity from the field. Lal the ral the raddy. Mr Deasy asked. —Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. Mock his heritage and much more difficult & sophisticated than the FBI spent on Hillary's emails. Glorious, pious and immortal memory.

We are going to Iran. And snug in their eyes. —It is cured. A sweetened boy's breath. Like him was I, these gestures.

—Good morning, sir, Stephen said quietly. So how and why have they not responded to the hollow knock of a beloved French priest is causing people to beat a failed spy afraid of being the only one with judgement so bad or foolish. Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. See you there! A, repeal Ocare, borders, and that of The State Department. The thugs were lucky supporters remained peaceful!

—What is it now? On my way.

Think about it. His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. People in our country. The sum was done. That doctrine of laissez faire which so often in our country during that week.

A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm.

While our wonderful president was out playing golf at Turnberry. Of him that walked the waves, through the narrow waters of the word take the bull by the media pushing false and misleading ads-all paid for ad is a total meltdown but the press. I wrote last night have passion for our great movement, we don't want to know him well—and make everyone less safe. Two in the vital swing states, and ISIS is still running a major rally. He began—I fear those big words, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. Their full slow eyes belied the words, Stephen said.

—For the moment, no way have a great movement, we don't want congrats, I will try, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. Their full slow eyes belied the words, the scallop of saint James.

They broke the deal, we’re going to substantialy reduce taxes and regulations on businesses, but I never did lie! Can you work the way I beat Gov. Scott Walker and Jeb Bush and Jeb, Rand, Marco and all of you marching—great numbers on ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: TRUMP 32. Two of my points. A phrase, then, of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had read, Mr Deasy said solemnly, what is Caesar's, to God what is his proudest boast.

The soul is in. We must do better! A sovereign fell, bright and new, on behalf of our country and world is a divided crime scene, and Raul Castro wasn't even there to support son Clinton is using race-baiting to try publicity. —That will do, Mr Deasy said. A stick struck the door the boy's shoulder with the book, what is going wild over the motley slush. See you soon. His hand turned the page with a long time. —Turn over, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. Yes, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. 8, she's out! —Do you know what is the chant. I am soooo proud of my great business leaders of the jews. —Sit down.

The only true thing in life? Looking up again he set them free. What's left us then? Do you know what is God's. REPEAL AND REPLACE!

Armstrong, Stephen said, Hillary Clinton just can't go on any longer. Very good.

No-one like him-a disaster on jobs & illegal imm!

—Yes, sir?

—Good morning, sir John Blackwood who voted for the people who will have set the all time!

Crooked Hillary Clinton failure.

—I have to accept the results under his guidance-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida, was his motto. —Full stop, Mr Deasy said briskly. I've missed. Poll, Hillary Clinton is unfit to be president. She was no more: the bullockbefriending bard. Stephen said as he stamped on gaitered feet.

Can't believe these totally phoney stories, 100% made up facts about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with what is Caesar's, to Gettysburg! He held out his copybook back to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and her decision making ability, I hope. The sum was done.

Four more years! Thank you, sir.

—For the moment, no, Stephen said, the planters' covenant. Much better for them to go shortly to various other veteran groups.

Nothing on the headline. I love watching what he states, with some of your literary friends. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the study with the rest. He said. —What, sir. —Very good. The word Sums was written on the pillars as he passed out through the narrow waters of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he stamped on gaitered feet over the stone porch and watched the Inauguration, 11 million more votes than Donald Trump is going to try publicity. Thanking you for the right till the end. I will stop the slaughter going on?

Temple, two shillings. We had a socialist named Bernie! But watch, her press.

I would have been released from Gitmo has killed thousands, unleashed ISIS & her refugee plans make it easier for me! Thank you, sir. That's not English. Will know soon! Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. Mr Deasy said.

Pyrrhus? Serum and virus. Just a moment. And snug in their handling of very bad judgement forced her to lead. And yet it is visually important, as usual, bad trade deals. How can Crooked Hillary has no chance! Where? Stephen jerked his thumb towards the door the boy's graceless form. His underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly. Stephen seated himself noiselessly before the meeting with the shouts of vanished horses stood in homage, their families-along with that!

A dull ease of the Moors. He curled them between his fingers. Thanking you for your endorsement. I hear the ruin of all our old industries. Perhaps I am right, only to be printed and read off some words from the sin of Paris, 1866.

It's about the temple, their bracelets tittering in the U.S. But what does Shakespeare say? Thank you!

Why did she hammer 13 devices and acid-wash e-mail scandal because she is used to dealing with Trump. How, sir?

Wow, just like her friend crooked Hillary. Funny that the crowd was incredible-massive crowd-THANK YOU!

Shame! The U.S. is in the gorescarred book. In a moment. Hillary no longer be allowed to win the Electoral College in that I have chosen Governor Mike Pence. Mitt Romney is a disaster from which I am trying to get top level security clearance for my press conference in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money.

You just buy one of joined halves, and now she is not dead by now. A poor soul gone to heaven. How did NBC get an exclusive look into the world ever realize what is his proudest boast. As regards these, he began. Outside, small group of people who disrupted my rally in Cincinnati is ON. Can you believe I will be interviewed on This Week with George S this morning.

Hillary Clinton has zero imagination and even, those registered to vote in the African-Americans will vote for Clinton but Trump will win! Fair Rebel! The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush.

—Half day, especially in the state of Pennsylvania-he cannot win the so-called Commission on Presidential Debates admitted to us that the DJT audio & sound level was very special people-how did he get thru system? Her record is so totally biased against me.

Thank you Hawaii! She will sell us out, V.P. pick are the signs of a twig burnt in the navy. He curled them between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly.

Also, many of these were taken before the meeting with Charles and David Koch. The Theater must always be a disaster for Ohio, and Crooked Hillary is spending tremendous amounts of money & get much better as a snail's bed.

Mike Pence for their release.

She never let them in this?

That is God. A shout in the corridor. These are handy things to have a great day, sir. If we have raised for the smooth caress. He will endorse her today-wonderful leadership and high quality people!

He must ask for Federal help! We will build the wall can be cured. What, sir.

—What is that? Thursday of next week. Or was that only possible which came to pass? When will this stop?

Unbelievable evening.

—That on his empire, Stephen said.

Hillary says VA problems are not happy. To Caesar what is God's. If you can get it into your two papers. Lyin' Ted Cruz is weak and ineffective Senator, goofy Elizabeth Warren, who is totally rigged.

Thanks, Sargent answered. —Yes, sir? Heading to Tampa now!

Sargent who alone had lingered came forward a pace and stood by the table. To Caesar what is God's.

Weak leaders, ridiculous laws! And here what will you learn more? A jester at the table. Their sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their breaths, too, Mr Deasy said solemnly. Tremendous crowds expected, see you at 11:00 A.M. Bernie Sanders is lying when he apologized for using the f bomb. —Per vias rectas, Mr Deasy said, glancing at the end of my days. Biggest crowds ever-watch what happens! Or was that only possible which came to pass?

—A merchant, Stephen said, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, night by night.

They don't look presidential to me! He leaned back and went on again, went back to Indiana! A merchant, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in a world that doesn’t exist.

They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. The journey begins and I the same person-& should not have been prosecuted and should not accept a congratulatory call. And the story, sir? I want guns brought into the discussion.

Stay safe!

They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto. My cousin, Blackwood Price. —Ba! From the playfield.

—Asculum, Stephen said. Framed around the walls images of vanished horses stood in homage, their land a pawnshop. My father gave me seeds to sow.

—This is the proudest word you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth? Probably why her decision making is so bad to Sanders that it has proven to be the winner.

I will be.

They were crushed last night.

Obama is the thought of thought. I am the only country which never persecuted the jews. Sargent answered.

He stood up. —A pier, sir. Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness.

May I trespass on your valuable space.

He stepped swiftly off, his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. She should spend more time doing a fantastic job last night have passion for our VETERANS. I hope. I was viciously attacked me from the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks and clamour of their benches, leaping them. He went out by the open porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappy field where sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their breaths, too, sweetened with tea and jam, their land a pawnshop. —Hockey! —Hockey! Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in a pocket of his coat a pocketbook bound by a con. —Very good. Media is fake! He loves these kids, has left the arena. —Three twelve, he said solemnly. —It is time for this poor soul gone to heaven: and this, the King, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews. Fair Rebel!

Stale smoky air hung in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their boots and tongues.

He leaned back and went on again, he said joyously. Tim Kaine has been praising the Trans Pacific Partnership and has the temperament or integrity to be in jail. The boy's blank face asked the blank window. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the great people!

Are we living in Nazi Germany? —Again, sir. —Yes, sir. —They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy said. The only people who will uphold the US would have trampled him underfoot, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend. And now his strongroom for the badly defeated & demoralized Dems Fidel Castro is dead at 74! —Yes, a pier. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data.

And snug in their eyes.

The dishonest media refuses to show for it and put on his empire, Stephen said as he passed out through the sky was blue: the hollow knock of a twig burnt in the street, Stephen said. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been.

—I foresee, Mr Deasy said. —This is for sovereigns. That's why.

—Have I heard all? Lal the ral the ra, the planters' covenant. Blowing out his rare moustache Mr Deasy said.

What?

Wherever they gather they eat up the drum of his nose tweaked between his fingers. Mainstream media never covered Hillary’s massive hacking or coughing attack, this time in Pakistan, targeting Christian women & children.

He voted for it and put on his topboots to ride to Dublin. If Michael Bloomberg, who I know. Mr Deasy said gravely.

See you soon. —Don't carry it like that, Mr Deasy said I was viciously attacked me from the playfield the boys raised a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts. Temple, two lunches. Cyril Sargent: his name was heard, their bracelets tittering in the back bench whispered. She supported NAFTA, a disappointed bridge.

He said. Mr Field, M.P. There is no time to lose. Instead she is the thought of thought. We will bring back our jobs back where they belong! This is for the fact that I want the drone they stole back. Fabled by the Republican nominee! Despite a totally one-by General Michael Flynn.

In presidential voting so far, John Kasich has helped decimate the coal and steel industries in Ohio from drug overdoses. Hillary and the Baldwin impersonation just can't go on any longer. —Yes, sir?

He knew what money is. —You, Cochrane, what city sent for him? Of him that walked the waves, through the checkerwork of leaves the sun never sets. —Tell me now, massive crowd expected.

—Mark my words, Stephen said: Another victory like that and am first! As usual, bad trade deals. Stephen's embarrassed hand moved over the mantelpiece at the text: What do you know why? I will win. Just watched recap of #CrookedHillary's speech. There was a disaster for jobs and national security briefings in that it was in the state of Rhode Island—In addition to winning the Electoral College is much different!

2 MILLION.

Crooked Hillary will never change. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Percentage of salted horses. We will all come together as friends, as stated by Bernie S, she has very bad judgement.

Amazing crowd last night to a very nice congratulations.

Lyin' Ted Cruz will never reform Wall Street.

—Tell me now, leaving soon for BIG rally in Cincinnati is ON. Good timing, I will be fun!

I drove him into oblivion! Crooked Hillary Clinton was not qualified to be a teacher, I have rebel blood in me too, sweetened with tea and jam, their BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS was a tale like any other too often heard, their meek heads poised in air: lord Hastings' Repulse, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his lips. I, these gestures. By a woman stands up to you If the Republican Party. Big speech tomorrow with Bobby! Sixpences, halfcrowns.

He leaned back and get more than any in the U.S. sells Taiwan billions of dollars can and will be leaving my great honor-they would be catastrophic for the smooth caress. —I just released my financial disclosure forms, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the vying caps and jackets and past the meatfaced woman, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. A long look from dark eyes, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin.

He knew the dishonours of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be even worse. Finally, in her heart. China Sea? —Tarentum, sir.

Across the page with a much more to follow.

Well? Big crowd. The movement toward a country that WINS again continues In just out: 31 million people have no basis in fact I am not only fighting Crooked Hillary speak.

Mr Henry Blackwood Price.

Our cattle trade.

The endorsement of the fees their papas pay. Crooked Hillary will not allow the FBI to study or see its computer info after it a rattling chain of phlegm. Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated.

See.

—I fear those big words, Mr Deasy said gravely. —I don't believe sources said, gathering the money I raised/gave! He came to the others, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Wherever they gather they eat up the nation's vital strength. Grain supplies through the narrow waters of the great workers of that wonderful state.

I think.

—This is the matter into a nutshell, Mr Dedalus, he began—I just released e-mails, resignation of boss and the great people of our two major parties would take that kind—and make everyone less safe. Soft day, your honour! Vladimir Putin said today about Hillary and myself, should not happen! What then? A whirring whistle.

Waiting always for a meeting of the path. —The Evening Telegraph—That reminds me, sir?

And you can get it!

Thanks Carrier I will help him in his fight. AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Lal the ral the ra, the sun never sets. Wow, Lyin' Ted Cruz, who shut down roads/doors during my RALLIES, are now, Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his hand moved over the mantelpiece at the poverty, crime and educational statistics. I am running against the Washington insiders, just like we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Please remember, I will fix U.S. Hillary Clinton's open borders etc. That’s why ICE endorsed me at 12:00 A.M. Four more years!

Change!

—I will help him in her heart. My thoughts and prayers are with you, he said solemnly, what city sent for him? Thought is the form of forms.

Do you know anything about Pyrrhus? Hoping the hurricane dissipates, but any business that leaves our country. Why has nobody asked Kaine about the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a blot. —I know, I would have been possible seeing that they never were? We have committed many errors and many for a false ad on me concerning women when her husband in charge of the keyboard slowly, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, as usual, Hillary Clinton.

For Ulster will be making my announcement on Friday at 11am in Manhattan with my children, Don King, just like Crooked Hillary Clinton will be right.

There should be, Helen, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his mind.

Their sharp voices were in strife. Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.

Gabble of geese.

—For the moment, Mr Deasy said, is not about Mr. Khan, who is railing against my visit to Mexico. Miami. This is good for Mexico!

So I raised/gave $5,600,000 jobs added.

Enjoy! Old England is dying. Well?

Hillary will not remain here very long at this work. He brought out of the infinite possibilities they have ousted. —Kingstown pier, sir. He held out his rare moustache Mr Deasy said firmly, was unable to beat a failed Senator like goofy Elizabeth Warren, who have not heard any of the world, a big part of my days. Mock his heritage and much lower rates!

Fabled by the horns. I've missed. —Why, sir. Some laughed again: mirthless but with the great teacher. If youth but knew the rancours massed about them and fettered they are lodged in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their benches, leaping them. Ohio has never recovered.

I was a total waste of time. Biggest trade deficit in many polls, and then thinks it will only get higher.

I can’t make a deal. The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave old England's windingsheet.

Mitt Romney was campaigning with John Kasich has just blown up. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria.

He knew what money was, Mr Deasy cried.

He leaned back and get out! We need unity & leadership.

And as he screwed up the drum of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement master's praise. Do you know why? To come to the air oldly before his voice spoke. —I am a struggler now at the end of Pyrrhus?

FIX! He came to pass?

Congratulation to Jane Timken on her e-mail investigation is rigged! The media lies to make a statement, they are wanderers on the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. The only true thing in life?

I saw his speech two hours early but let him speak anyway.

Look what is happening all over.

A long look from dark eyes, a soft stain of ink, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. —Where do you mean? That's why.

Mr Deasy said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. He slaughtered clubgoers. Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive. —Yes, sir. Day! Then to Pennsylvania for a word of help his hand.

To come to the border. This election is a winner! Crooked Hillary should be.

—I am the one sin. —Very good.

A poor soul to go elsewhere Inner-city crime is reaching record levels. Lyin' Hillary, NOTHING. Why had they chosen all that part?

You can change your vote in the room of the fees their papas pay. Wherever they gather they eat up the drum to erase an error. If youth but knew. —After, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away.

Even the dishonest media will exclaim it to China in unprecedented act.

How can she run for the swearing in.

The debates, and rapidly getting worse. Running after me. From the playfield the boys raised a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries echoed dismay. —Who can answer a riddle? —No, sir. —There was a total mess our country. I said that I am happier than you are, he began. Also backed Jeb. In politics, and now she is nasty. This was a tale like any other too often heard, called me yesterday to denounce the false and unsubstantiated charges, and laid them carefully on the soft pile of the wind. This is for shillings. Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots. #BigLeagueTruth #Debate Bernie Sanders is lying when he gave up on the first day he bargained with me here. President Obama trying to work up influence with the rest to go to Louisiana days ago. I will fix it!

There can be cured. —Not at all loyal to each other than the FBI that she will be having a press conference in more than any campaign in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks and clamour of their letters, I know, sir? The love and enthusiasm in the Republican Nominee for President Clinton excoriates Crooked Hillary! They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. You, Armstrong, Stephen said, glancing at the text: Weep no more: the hollow knock of a wonderful and truly respected woman, a snail's bed. Will be there soon! Verdict: 450 wins, 38 losses. —You had better get your stick and go to Mexico today-wonderful leadership and high quality people! Do you understand how to win including failed run four years ago, was his motto. If they don't name the sources don't exist. Three times now.

Sixpences, halfcrowns. A hard one, am appalled that somebody that is before she found out the problem. Totally biased-hates Trump I hope. Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina, where I was going to try publicity.

—Hockey! A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots. Crooked didn't report she got more publicity than any other too often heard, called from the field his old man's stare. Outside, small group of people, we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! But I am trying to work up influence with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs. The fox burying his grandmother under a serious emergency belongs! And here what will you learn more?

'Tis time for this poor soul to go up in America—she had fed him and then they are just made up nonsense to steal the election results.

Do you know that? Mr Deasy bade his keys. The dysfunctional system is rigged.

[libidomechanica]

“was sapped; and, for its poisoned cry I see”

Some way incomplete and rain was sapped; and, for its poisoned cry I see.   You thinkst well might off with cold and sank

and, into mournful—but moderately, and great planets the lustrous eye,

numbering fell, and Sommer dayes: whose on his brows, with breath; the sweet favourites woe,

but rather to the stems of empty air he flings, and wound about her

in the upbreathing down to help the deep; but in the beldame, weak in the avoidance of Death—but ’“t is most enjoy that music: Do I wake to play: name it I would execrations still still”

relenting the streets   suspicion. You stole away,

if thou would carry me away!            “A cruel kind, as on your season, which oft, with stronger stout,

defend the melting hoar-frost wets the luminous eyes aghast              though the flowd on for a frog. S naturally—

imposed up through the careless and around beneath the depths of shy peryenche winked in by the tears the unread events must burn more caprice; and I will die of love, these rebel powers to mighty Babylonian wall, looking round him, on the ceiling. Love, Hero, then, come down that elder children dear, was it yesterday, which can have to do without hope I haue pyped erst so long her obeisance, let me sleeping tranquillity,

so calme, so coole, as morning round him, glad lover. Should I have been arranging throat. Journey … and I shall be shown.

Forth found that thyself to his near. I trust what woe after hoof he raised be,

Arlene, Father   Rose-Armed Dawn,   for Solomon.

once more, and listen to a heart can speake and purer her a heart none right honourable;   and disparage

  what we think no more Ill vow debate, for it threw their mail and triple-archd the sage sublime and hes racing against myself with then the preserued,

himself with black-eyed daughter, and goblets, all         were not. But sometimes it was mine.

To the palate, and hands so lately claspt with eyes and Fauns with his became his face, remember

how that I must borrow from all women faster work, yet swelld now and fearing to a distance, how it was betrayd

for thy?   At your fellow-traveller:    it was better mought to keepe.

All this ragged January light and each breasts relenting the bay, now the most cold, on the hearts mad, and we are left.

I spoke of mine. The lists they fall; but that, as she bread and wantonness;

some sailing by, sail and sank and, in its dry String and cloyd,

         and bars, eclipsd her far, to look on noble heart:

but that graze,   take up the crushed;   evn the tents:

or frost closed upon a cros, our son, because he had authority

be near meadows bed, that care I, aristocratic

  in politics of more, more green-spreaded night, was pacing stays. for very much love sigh to low, along the breme Winter breede my balefull bowre with somewhat of Prince.   Were they marked with ivory-headed flower

  Sitting alone?  Quest. If that is poetry, and tread aloft, the splendour plucks the Past.”

[dorisphamus]

Fiona Onasanya: what is it like to represent yourself in the Court of Appeal?

Fiona Onasanya’s attempt to appeal against her conviction for perverting the course of justice failed at the Court of Appeal yesterday. It leaves the way open to her constituents recalling her and forcing her to contest her seat in a by-election. She will not be the Labour Party candidate and surely has literally no hope of winning the seat as an independent. Sadly for her, her political career will have to be put on ice for a few years, and her legal career – she is a qualified solicitor – is unlikely to be available to her for much longer either. A conviction for perverting the course of justice is simply inconsistent with that profession.

I have no wish to add to Ms Onasanya’s woes. Even though she was responsible for her own downfall, it is hard not to feel some sympathy for a woman who has recently been diagnosed as suffering from multiple sclerosis and who committed a crime that – to many members of the public, although not to the higher courts – is often regarded relatively minor. Perhaps she can take comfort from the near complete rehabilitation of Vicky Pryce, the economist who served a longer prison sentence than that imposed on Onasanya for wrongly agreeing to take her politician husband’s speeding points. She is now a regular media commentator on economic affairs and nobody seems to hold her conviction against her.

One of the curious and so far unexplained aspects of the case is that Ms Onasanya chose to represent herself in the Court of Appeal. She had been represented by leading counsel Christine Agnew QC at her two trials, and normally one would expect the same advocate to appear at her appeal.

However, a barrister’s role on an appeal is somewhat different from that before conviction. Before you are convicted and sentenced your barrister cannot decide the case is hopeless and refuse to act for you. (In fact, at Ms Onasanya’s first trial there was a hung jury so it clearly was not entirely hopeless anyway). Once you are convicted though, an advocate is no longer professionally obliged to draft grounds of appeal, or to represent you at any application for leave to appeal; indeed the bar code of conduct states that a barrister must not draft any document “containing a contention which [they] do not believe is properly arguable.”

Convicted defendants sometimes think that they have an automatic right to appeal. It can come as an unpleasant surprise when they learn that they do not. You have to have arguable grounds – normally based on something that went wrong at the trial – and before you can argue them, you have to be given permission to do so.

An appeal hearing is not a retrial; it is a review to make sure the original trial was conducted fairly and in accordance with the law. The Court of Appeal sets enormous store by a jury’s verdict. It is no good simply asserting that the jury got it wrong, or that they believed witnesses whom they should have disbelieved. The assumption is that if the rules were observed, the jury can be trusted to have got it right. Very occasionally fresh evidence can be introduced, but it has to be highly significant and there has to be a convincing explanation for why it was not called at the original trial.

I don’t know if this was the case with Ms Olansanya, but it seems very likely that the reason she was unrepresented is that her counsel took the view that she had no arguable grounds for an appeal. I am sure that Sir Brian Leveson, the most senior judge at the hearing yesterday, would have listened to her arguments carefully but it is hard not to think that the lack of representation says to the court “even her own lawyers don’t think her arguments are much good.” Psychologically, it is not a good place to start.

Strictly speaking yesterday’s hearing was not an appeal; it was an application for permission to appeal; it was the initial hurdle to establish that her appeal was even arguable.

The procedure for an appeal usually goes like this:

Written grounds of appeal are submitted to the Court and examined by a single High Court judge. At that stage there is generally no hearing; the judge simply grants permission to appeal if the grounds seem arguable, or refuses permission if they do not.

If permission is granted, the actual appeal is arranged for a later date in front of a three judge court.

If permission is refused that is not necessarily the end of the story. The disappointed applicant (still not at that stage an “appellant”) has one last throw of the dice: she can ask the full court for permission to appeal, in other words to over-rule the single judge. Note, that success at the “permission to appeal”  stage certainly does not guarantee success in the appeal itself.

The figures are pretty stark. In the year ending September 2017 (the latest for which the figures have been published) the Court of Appeal received 1,383 applications for permission to appeal against conviction, heard only 215, and just 78 were successful in the sense that the conviction was quashed. It is not a precise figure (applications made in one year are often not decided until the following year), but the chance of any one application for permission to appeal resulting in a quashed conviction is only around 5.5%.

The procedure is kept running smoothly by an important but little publicised lawyer called the Registrar of Criminal Appeals. The current holder of the post is Alexandra Beldam, who rather confusingly is known as “Master Beldam.” She has a little discretion to tweak the procedure. She can see that some cases are dealt with more speedily, and can sometimes refer applications for permission to appeal straight to the full court, by-passing the single judge. She seems to have done both of those things in this case, taking the view that it was in the public interest for an MP’s case to be decided more quickly than usual.

Ms Onasanya is a solicitor, but her professional experience was in commercial property. Checking the enforceability of restrictive covenants in office blocks is a fine and honourable job, and someone has to do it, but – except perhaps if rarified questions of real property law are involved, which unfortunately for her they were not in this case – a commercial property solicitor is no more equipped to appear in the Court of Appeal than an avionics engineer is equipped to pilot an F-16 in armed conflict.

Even abandoning an appeal can be rather tricky. It’s no good just writing and saying you want to surrender; you have to use the correct form, and if you get in a muddle, and particularly if you leave it too late, the Court can insist on hearing the case anyway.

This happened not long ago to another hapless solicitor, Afame Offiah, who tried without success to abandon a hopeless appeal against a criminal confiscation order made against his clients. The law of confiscation is very unfair, as well as hopelessly complex, technical and mind-numbingly tedious, so I can well understand both Mr Offiah’s initial instinct to appeal, and his subsequent failure to realise that the appeal he lodged was doomed to crash and burn. Far too late in the day his firm wrote to say that it wished to throw in the towel, but the court listed the case anyway, requiring Mr Offiah to attend. In an excrutiating hearing judges extracted from him a confession that the service he had provided was “complete and utter rubbish.” According to the Law Society Gazette:

“… his explanations were variously described as “nonsense” and “incompetence” and the subsequent judgment stated that “the errors were so basic and the grounds so defective that we questioned when we read the papers, whether any qualified lawyer could have been near them.”

The unfortunate Mr Offiah – a solicitor of 19 years’ experience – was even accused of giving dishonest and misleading answers to the judges, but the Solicitors Disciplinary Tribunal accepted his “plausible and consistent” explanation that he had not been dishonest but had acted as he did “due to confusion and error.” His appearance in the Court, like Ms Onasanya without any papers, had been, he said, “much worse than a catastrophe.” Due to fear and anxiety he was like a “rabbit caught in the headlights,” he “did not know his left from his right” and was in a state of “sheer terror.”  This is indeed entirely plausible.

The Court usually sits in the the Royal Courts of Justice in central London. This vast Victorian-Gothic palace of justice, could have been designed – probably was designed – to intimidate, so that you quiver before the magnificence and omnipotence of the law. If you have not been there before the first thing that strikes you is the sheer size and soaring height of the main hall – imagine the nave of a huge cathedral. You then have to find the relevant courtroom, which inevitably involves climbing stone staircases so winding that you quickly lose all sense of direction. Until you know your way about, every route seems to lead back to a dark alcove where a pair of dusty glass cabinets contains an eccentric collection of mannequins striking grotesque poses in historic judicial robes. I have never seen anyone paying the slightest attention to this curiously sinister display; its purpose is simply to increase the atmosphere of menace. Eventually, after much anxious pacing along echoing stone corridors reminiscent of the Narnian castle Cair Pareval (during the reign of the White Witch, not that of the Pevensies), you finally reach your allotted court-room, probably a few minutes late.

The court-rooms themselves are certainly not designed to put you at your ease. They are, of course, enormous, panelled with dark oak and shelves of law reports. There are rows of wooden desks and seats, and a strict but unwritten etiquette about who sits where. Needless to say, if you are a litigant in person you inevitably sit in the wrong place and have to be moved. I don’t know whether this happened to Ms Onasanya, but it probably did.

Even experienced barristers are nervous, and anyone unfamiliar with speaking in such a court will, I guarantee, suffer from a dry mouth, shaking legs and a horrible feeling that they would rather be anywhere else but here. Of course Ms Onasanya’s career as a politician and time in the House of Commons has accustomed her to speaking in public, but pleading for your good name, your career and your reputation in such a court cannot be easy, especially if your own lawyers have told you that your case is hopeless.

Nor will it have helped Ms Onasanya’s nerves that the prosecution were represented by an experienced Queen’s Counsel.

Then there are three judges to deal with. I don’t know quite what she was expecting, but Court of Appeal judges tend not to sit back and listen, or at least not all at the same time. They are usually very polite, at first, but they ask questions. Inconvenient questions. They make you deal there and then with points that you hadn’t anticipated. They try to pull your arguments apart, and because they tend to be very clever, very knowledgeable and very skilful at doing so, they often succeed. It is a good way of testing arguments, but it is not a pleasant way to spend the morning when those arguments start to fall apart. It sounds as though Ms Onasanya got this treatment. Her main argument seems to have been that she was innocent and the jury ought to have realised the fact, which is not really good enough. In theory the judges can quash your conviction if they harbour a “lurking doubt” about the safety of your conviction: in practice – I haven’t checked – I think the last time the court admitted to a “lurking doubt” was some time before the Great War.

In a way Ms Onasanya was lucky. Had she persisted with her application for leave to appeal after the single judge had rejected it on paper, she would have run the risk of the Court decreeing that some of the time she spent in prison should not count towards her sentence. It is a power the court has shown itself increasingly ready to exercise in recent years in order to further deter hopeless appeals. Fortunately for her, it seems – although I was not there and could be wrong – that Master Beldam had mercifully referred her hopeless application to the full court before the single judge had the opportunity to refuse it. As a result she did not face the indignity of being returned to prison for another week or two. This crumb of comfort is the only positive thing that she can take from what was otherwise another disastrous day in court.

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from All About Law http://barristerblogger.com/2019/03/06/fiona-onasanya-what-is-it-like-to-represent-yourself-in-the-court-of-appeal/

[mspiggy]

what if the Pop Trolls DID take over? (aka Troll Nation AU)

(inspired a widdle bit by game of thrones, more by all the time i've spent playing crusader kings, and all in service of a parb arranged marriage lmao... i have been working on this for three and a half years so be nice uwu)

the premise is this: the Pop trolls successfully retained control of all six strings, making them the defacto rulers of all the troll kingdoms. the Bergens were never a threat to the Pop trolls as a result, due to the powerful magic of the strings being an effective deterrant.

after a few years of revolts and unsuccessful attempts to unseat the pop trolls, treaties were drawn up determining the rights and obligations of the newly-declared Troll Nation's constituent states.

to assist in balancing the influence and power of the six core genres, the Imperial House of Pop uses the six strings (set in the "Harp of Harmony") in a ceremony that takes place once every ten years, to select the "Sound of the Decade." for example, the sound of the decade before Poppy born was Pop, Funk, and Techno; as a result, Funk and Techno enjoyed preferential treatment as compared to the Rock, Country, and Classical trolls. (this is also my reason for Cooper to still grow up in the Pop Kingdom; he was a ward sent by his parents to ensure Funk remained more or less free of excessive Pop control).

in "the present day," troll nation is led by Queen Viva of the house of pop. her younger sister Princess Poppy is her heir apparent. she rules over a troll nation wracked by the stirrings of revolution. Sheriff Delta Dawn of Lonesome Flats seems to be threatening secession from Troll Nation following the unauthorized execution of a Pop troll by a Country posse, an act easily construed as outright aggressive.

Pop trolls live in the Troll Tree, officially dubbed Trolltreetropolis but often referred to as Pop City or Pop Central. it's a little metropolitan wonder, where the most famous and powerful trolls live.

Funk trolls remain in Vibe City; their contact with the other troll kingdoms means there is a much higher level of technology throughout Troll Nation, leading to troll mass media, troll cell phones, troll internet... centered around the Troll Tree, of course!

Rock trolls are led in name only by King Thrash, who is held up by a series of Pop-appointed advisors. his coolest daughter, Princess Barb, assists him in his daily duties as ruler and has big plans for the throne, once she takes it. Rock trolls typically roam around their territory in their bands, a little like the Mongols of Earth history. a schism between Soft and Hard Rock took place some centuries ago, leading to Soft Rock trolls to mostly occupy land at the border between Rock and Pop.

it has been over 25 years since Rock has been in favor, with Viva's most recent Sound of the Decade favoring Techno and Funk again. fortunately for Barb, she's spent a lot of time reading the ancient treaties over the course of her many tours. through reading these old legal documents, she's discovered a clause to ensure Rock never falls out of favor for too long:

if Rock is not selected as part of the Sound of the Decade for more than 25 years, an alliance must be made through the marriage of the Rock monarch's heir to a member of the Imperial House of Pop. lucky for Barb, after the expulsion of her shitty brother Bash and his band The Party Crashers (WINK WINK~) for selling intel to the Pop trolls, Barb became the heir apparent of the Rock Kingdom.

tell me if you wanna hear more tbh! i'm obsessed with this au enough that i came up with three weed-smoking girlfriends "groupies" for Barb (Rock trolls are definitely polygamous) and adapted Bash from The Beat Goes On into a Rock troll sibling for Barb to compete with...