#i know it isn’t the format for everyone but to me it is crack fuckin cocaine omg

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

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[sapphicflower-ao3]

I just noticed that with the last chapter of taof you broke 100k words!! Congrats!!! 🥳 that’s a beast of a fic!

yesssss when i realised my chap count had reached 13K i was so excited to finally break the 100K mark 🥹🥹

i can’t believe i finally got to write the giant slow burn fic of my dreams, i used to think i would never have the patience or motivation to continue smth for this long but look at where we are now!

on another note, i do find it hilarious how we’re 100K in and bkdk are still deep in denial about their feelings for each other. (like i said, the GIANT SLOW BURN FIC OF MY DREAMS!!!!)

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter nineteen

-Stay-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine//ten//eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen//sixteen//seventeen//eighteen

Chapter Summary: Predictably, Tommy doesn’t cope well with the latest news from Birmingham. But Alfie might slowly be learning how to help. 

Wordcount: 4400

Warnings: hallucinations, disordered eating, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, self harm

The night in Margate is blue. Tommy thinks of that each night. In the bedroom back at Arrow house darkness was just black, lined with heavy curtains and solid walls closing in around him. Here, it’s blue. As if the sea has crept up from the shore and engulfed everything. A cold, deep, deep blue. Out here especially, far away from the comfort of the fireplace.

The wind catches in his thin shirt and he curls up tighter where he sits on the steps leading up to the house from the beach. The cold stone under him chills his bare feet. He doesn’t really feel it, but he must be cold because he sees his hands tremble as they clutch the newspaper. The black lettering on the page is blurring before his eyes. It’s too dark to read it out here. Was already difficult without his glasses. But it doesn’t matter. The voices know the words by now. Because he couldn’t stop reading it, like scratching a scabbing wound, refusing to let it heal. Over and over until the voices remembered. They keep repeating them, making them seep into his nightmares, into every crevice of his mind where they sink in, sharp like shards of broken glass that make it hard to form coherent thoughts.

He tries to reason with them, the voices, but it’s not much use. No use in arguing when he knows they’re telling the truth. When he knows they’re right. They’re not searching. They don’t want him back. They’ve moved on. They’re happier without him. He can hear them behind closed doors, whispering amongst themselves. They’re relieved. One less thing to worry about-

“You couldn’t have gone back to them anyway, Tom,” John says cheerily where he sits on the railing above him, a dark outline against the night sky, cigarette in hand and with the blood soaked shirt clinging to his chest. The wind catches in his hair and he flashes his teeth in that carefree grin he somehow still had after the war. “Right? They were sending you to the loony bin. Don’t get why you’re so upset about it.”

Tommy clenches the paper harder between his fingers. Looks down at the words, hears them echo in his head, listing all his failures and missteps, the bodies he’s stepped over to get where he is-

Get to this.

Some cold, blustery stone steps in Margate. Outside a house that isn’t his own.

Alone.

“What was it all for, Tommy?”

He shakes his head at Grace’s softly spoken question. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t fucking know.

It seemed so important at the time.

Always chasing, never slowing down, climbing higher and higher, proving himself over and over until there was no one left to prove wrong. Fill that empty hole in his chest with something, anything before it swallowed him and everyone around him.

“In the end, none of it mattered, did it?”

“I did it for them,” he says, hearing his voice crack brokenly. “For you.”  

“That’s a lie and you know it. But that’s all right. It doesn’t matter now. Not if you come with me.” And Grace reaches for him, inviting promising.

“Who would miss you? You saw, you heard them-“

“It would be better for everyone if you disappeared.”

He hushes the voices, wraps his arms around himself to keep his hands away from his head, knows he’s not allowed to scratch, it won’t help, there’s no bullet there to dig out. Nothing there but he wants to dig his nails into his skin so badly, tear, scratch wants it to hurt…

“It’s better that he’s gone,” Lizzie tells someone whose features he can’t make out. “The kids are happier.” She turns and looks at him with those sharp eyes. Doesn’t matter if he closes his eyes, covers his ears. “Ruby is different when you’re not around.”

Yes, it’s better this way, he knows. He doesn’t have a place in their world anymore. Maybe not in any world. The feeling from the field overwhelms him again, the bone deep hopelessness, nowhere to turn, no firm ground to stand on just this pitch black abyss, tethering on the edge of it, ankle deep in wet, cold mud…

“Hey there, Tommy.”

Esther’s voice is full of warmth, instantly recognisable among all the others. Grips onto the fragile threads anchoring him to reality and pulls- He opens his eyes to find her in the doorway, a knitted cardigan wrapped tightly around her against the chill and with a blanket in her arms. Not his blanket, it lies forgotten in the bedroom.

When did he get out of bed?

She approaches slowly but without hesitation and sits down next to him on the steps, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Squeezes them gently before rubbing her hands along his upper arms.

“Oh, you poor thing, you’re freezing. Did you have trouble sleeping?”

He manages to nod in response, isn’t sure if he’s slept, if the voices chasing him out of bed were a dream or not. Esther pulls the blanket tighter around him. Keeps the arm over his shoulders, holding him close.

“Look at all those stars,” she says and looks skyward. “Do you know any of the constellations?”

Mum used to tell them stories about the stars. Now he can’t seem to remember a single one. He shakes his head.

“Mister Solomons knows them all, he claims. I’m sure he could tell you plenty of stories. I only know a handful.” Esther squints up at the sky, searching and then points to a small cluster. “That’s Orion, the one over there with the three bright stars in a row. Orion’s belt. Supposedly it’s a hunter with his bow.”

He looks up at the tiny, distant lights, following along as Esther points. Tries to find the formations she tells him about. Shut everything else out.

Esther’s eyes eventually turn from the sky to the paper he’s still clutching.

“I wondered where that had gone. I noticed it’d disappeared from the bin.”

She reaches out for the paper and he holds it closer, can’t let her see. Can’t let her know. She’ll hate him, just like them. He can’t bear that -even if he deserves it he can’t bear Esther hating him. Esther puts a hand gently over his where he clutches it against his chest, but doesn’t try to take it away.

“Mister Solomons asked me to throw that out,” she says softly. “I think that would be for the best.”

The paper crinkles in his convulsive grip. Esther’s thumb rubs gently over the back of his hand, but he can’t let her read it, can’t let her see, can’t-

Maybe she already has? No, that doesn’t make sense, she wouldn’t want him here, then. But Esther is kind. Perhaps she lets him stay out of pity. His gaze drifts, can’t bring himself to look at her face and see the truth there.  

Grace is standing on the beach down by the water, a white speck in the midst of all the black, by the edge where the waves are crashing in. She’s looking back at him, reaching, promising that he’ll be safe with her, that she already knows about the gaping hole that swallows anything that comes to close. Her hair is oddly still where it frames her face. As if the wind splits around her. Sweeps up towards the steps, blows straight through him and making him tremble. Esther wraps her arm around his shoulders again. He can see her do it but the arm feels like nothing, all his nerve endings have been cut and he can’t feel anything except the cold, cold mud, cold water around his feet.

“It’s awfully cold out here. How about we go inside?”

He folds inwards on himself at Esther’s question, can’t stop shaking.

“Tommy?”

Can’t move his legs. Esther squeezes his shoulders, cups his face, worried eyes only inches away. Her mouth is moving again, but the words are patchy. She repeats them, slowly.

“I’m going to get Mister Solomons. Alright? I’ll be right back.” She nods, urging him to do the same and he does, nodding frantically. Alfie-

The warmth disappears from his side and leaves him trembling harder in the wind. The waves crash against the frozen shore in the distance.

Grace’s voice.

Then, as if no time has passed at all, familiar, heavy footsteps approach. The relief washes over him. Alfie’s here now, he’ll make everything okay.

“Nothing will ever be-“

The voices don’t matter. Alfie is here.

“Out looking at the stars I hear, aye Tommy?” Alfie’s deep voice comes from above. A familiar scent envelops him as he wraps another blanket around him. “Could’ve chosen a warmer night for it, though. Fuckin’ freezing out here.”

He sits down next to him, warm and solid by Tommy’s side. Tommy unfurls a little, forcing his numb limbs to cooperate as he shuffles closer to his larger frame.

“Figured you’d do some reading I see,” Alfie says. “Think there’s been enough of that.” He tugs the paper out of his hands. His eyes flicker over the page, eyebrows twitching. He tears it out. Rips it to pieces before Tommy can make his numb hands reach out to take it back. When Alfie tosses the pieces over the railing, the wind carries them off like wilted leaves. He watches them disappear.

“There we go. No need to fret about that anymore, eh?”

One of the pieces have caught on a branch in a nearby tree. Soon, that disappears too.

But the voices remember.

“And who the hell cares what a paper is writing? Always full of shit, innit? And you obviously won’t go back or have any contact with those ungrateful bastards. I don’t know why you’re so fucking upset.”

Because there’s no one now. No ties left to the real world, the one where he mattered in some way, where he had a place, a purpose.

Nowhere to go.  

He should’ve fucking realised it earlier. Stupid so fucking stupid. No one came, no one-

Picked up the phone

Came through the closed door, or out onto the field

until it was far too late.

“You pushed them all away, what did you expect?”

“Oi, Tommy, you listening to me?”

Did they have a funeral? Put fire to an empty caravan, stood around it, silent and clad in black.

“They wouldn’t bother with a funeral. Why have a funeral for someone no-one mourns?”

No one-

“Tommy, look at me,” Alfie says and grabs his jaw. Holds it tightly as he forces his head up and towards him. “He’s a fucking piece of shit, that cousin of yours. And that article is bollocks.”

“It’s true,” he whispers. So quiet Alfie shouldn’t be able to hear him.  

Alfie scoffs. “True? Yeah, yeah sure. But what does it fucking matter? Haven’t you given your family big houses and maids and more money than they could’ve ever dreamt of? The fucking opinions of some reporter, someone who’s never had to look a man in the eye and put a bullet between said eyes to put food on the table for his family, are of no fucking importance.”

The fingers around his jaw are so tight they hurt. He doesn’t like it when Alfie touches him that way. But he’s forgotten how to- how to say things like that out loud.

“You and me, we’re exempt from the rules of mere mortals,” Alfie says, words as firm as his hand. “So that we can do what needs to be fuckin’ done, eh? And didn’t your family take the fucking money and the fucking houses and the maids?”

“But what does it matter now when you can’t give them anything? Look at you.”

His thoughts are always fractured, illogical, can’t even tell apart what’s in his head and outside of it. He’s got nothing to offer anymore.

Just this empty, ugly shell.

An empty grave where no one goes.

“No, Tommy, eyes on me,” Alfie squeezes harder and he finally lets out a choked sound in protest. His eyes meet Tommy’s, unwavering. “Fuck them. They can sit on their high horses all they want. Talk about the old fucking days. As if that wasn’t what got them where they are. This guilt ridden self torture doesn’t suit you. It‘s fucking below you is what it is. You did what you did. Now you have to live with it.”

“I can’t,” he whispers. A trembling, quiet sort of sound that catches in the wind.

“Well, you’ll have to fucking figure it out.”

Grace is standing by the foot of the steps, arms open invitingly. “You’ll be safe with me, Tommy. This is where you belong.”

The sapphire hangs around her neck, crimson runnels seeping from its centre, staining her clothing. She’s already bloody so it doesn’t matter that his hands are too.

He closes his eyes. He can’t do what Alfie asks of him. For short moments he can fool himself, but all he’s doing is postponing the inevitable, clinging to a piece of scrap wood in a stormy sea waiting for rescue that isn’t coming…

A searing pain spreads through his chest, a dull ache growing in strength until it leaves him breathless, forcing guttural whines between clenched teeth as it searches for a way out, too much to fit in his chest anymore. Alfie’s hand slides to the back of his head and guides him forward until his nose is buried in soft cotton that smells like Alfie. He pulls the scent into his nose.

Alfie is talking again, words floating together and Tommy isn’t sure they’re making sense at all. But he breathes the safe scent in.

Alfie keeps him safe.

He buries his shaking hands in the fabric of his shirt and bunches it up between his fingers. A warm, heavy weight settles around his shoulders as Alife wraps an arm around him

Grace keeps telling him to come. But the arms keep him here.

“Shh, ‘s alright, you’ll be alright,” Alfie hushes him. “I’ve got you. You’ll be alright.”

Alfie gets him back to the bedroom. Leads him with steady hands (not fucking carrying you, remember?) and tucks him in between warm blankets and soft pillows, pulls him against his chest. Then he is talking about something, muttering softly under his breath. Tommy can hear the rumble in his chest beneath his ear, but can’t piece the words together. Even among all the other voices, his is the only one he clings to.

…

He wakes up late the next day to the wind whistling outside the window, head pounding and with lead seeping through his veins. Alfie’s side of the bed is empty. He rests his palm on the cold sheets, eyes catching on the packet of cigarettes on the nightstand. But he finds he can’t muster up enough strength to even reach for them. The mud lies over him like a heavy blanket, pressing him down into the mattress, making it difficult to breathe.

He doesn’t dare looking towards the chair in the corner, can’t bear seeing Grace there. Too weak to resist the temptation of falling into the offered embrace, follow her wherever she asks him to go.

“Are you not tired, Tom? Don’t you want to rest?”

And he wants to. He so desperately wants to. Closes his eyes. Wants to fall back into the darkness. Breathes. Listens to the mud and the dirt shift around him.

The door creaks.

He recognises Esther’s steps, steady and lighter than Alfie’s. The mattress dips as she sits down and he forces his eyes open.

“Good morning, love.” She smooths his hair back and he clings to the touch. It grounds him a little. “Mister Solomons just went out for a short walk. He figured we should let you sleep.”

She waits for some kind of a response but even making a hum seems to be too much effort today.

“I’ve lit the fireplace in the living room. You can have breakfast in there if you’d like? It’s nice and warm.”

It should sound tempting, escaping the lonely bedroom, and he knows he has to leave the bed, follow the routine, but it’s too difficult. All he can manage is pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Today’s not a good day, hm?” Esther says, without expecting a reply this time. “That’s alright. I can bring your breakfast in for you.”

She does. Then she builds a pile out of the pillows and helps him sit up when his feeble attempt at doing so himself fails. While he tries to eat she sits with him on the edge of the bed, talking softly and mending a hole in a sock with nimble fingers. Once he’s managed a few spoonfulls of the porridge and he curls up under the blankets again, she takes the bowl away with a soft sigh. Runs her fingers through his hair and tells him she’ll be back soon.

He sees the exhaustion weighing on her as she leaves the room. Just as it did on Lizzie. She tried to hide it at first, but it quickly began seeping through the cracks whenever she’d look at him.

“Tommy, please you have to try,” she pleads, voice cracking as she grasps at his face, his shoulders, tugging and shaking as if she could physically pull him out of the mud and the fog. “Why won’t you talk? Why won’t you even fucking look at me?”

Shakes him, fingers holding onto his shoulders with bruising strength. Demanding things of him he can’t give.

“Tommy, fucking look at me!”

The hands are becoming frantic in their desperation, violent, and he’s longed so much for someone to touch him, but not like this

Someone starts whining, terrified, gut-wrenching noises like a wounded animal.

“What am I supposed to do?” Lizzie’s voice raises to a cry to overpower the awful sound and he clutches at his head, digs his nails into his skin until it breaks. If he could only find the bullet, his head would start working again- He could fix everything. Fingers around his wrists, tugging at them and he’s too weak to resist them.

“Stop that, God damnit Tommy, stop-“

Hurried steps run across the hardwood floor.

“Mrs. Shelby, please, you’re scaring him. Let me take over for a little while. You need some time to breathe. Go on.”

He scrambles away when he’s finally released, fighting against too heavy limbs and the blankets tangling around his legs. The figure above him is dark, as if a shadow has broken free from the corner- should be familiar but he can’t place the features. She reaches for him.

“Shh, shh, Mrs. Shelby is worried, that’s all. Do try to calm down-“

Firm hands try to push him back onto the mattress and it gives way under him. The dirt closes in around him. He shuts his eyes, lets himself be swallowed by the darkness and smell of wet mud.

“Morning sleeping beauty. Still in bed I see? And I hear you’re being difficult again, with the whole food issue.”

Dragged back to reality by the sound of Alfie’s voice, Tommy opens his eyes and glances up at him over the edge of the blanket. A knot forms in his belly when he waits for his reaction. Alfie hates it when he lies in bed like this.

Alfie crosses his arms over his chest and studies him.

“This still about that fucking article, eh? Is that what’s got you so upset?”

He shakes his head. A pathetic attempt at a lie.

“Really? Because it sure fucking seems like it. But you know the rules, can’t lie around and sulk all day. Go on. On your feet.”

Alfie grabs his shoulder and pulls, but it’s gentle. Not like that time he dragged him out of bed. But that would be the only way of getting him out of it today. He closes his eyes again and waits. All Alfie does is sigh deeply.

Then the mattress dips and it prompts him to squeeze his eyes open.

Alfie has laid down next to him, fingers interlaced on his stomach and face set in a thoughtful frown.

“No need to look so fucking confused,” he grunts. “Can’t a man lie down in his own bloody bed without being scrutinized?”

He turns his gaze towards the ceiling with another grunt. Tommy keeps his eyes on his hands.

Alfie has nice hands. Strong and firm but with something of a delicateness to them. Perhaps it’s the rings? Or the way he always moves them when he speaks, fingers dancing. Tommy pulls the sleeves down over his own.

“Saw a deer, I did,” Alfie says, unprompted as always. “On my walk. Pretty things, aren’t they? Yeah. Well, at least until they make those noises… Whoever decided that was the sound a dear ought to make sure got a brilliant sense of humour.” He scratches his chin and the rings glint in the light.  “Might get some more snow tonight, it‘s fucking freezing out. Fuck knows I prefer this distinct lack of it, but you like it, don’t you? The snow. So I suppose it’s fine.”

Alfie glances at him, furrowing his brow. Sighs. Then he reaches out, cradles Tommy’s head and holds it gently, as if it were something precious. Instead of broken and useless. Runs a thumb right below the hollow of his eye, the touch so soft Tommy thinks he might be dreaming. And he looks at him. It makes him want to curl up closer, wants Alfie to surround him completely. Consume him until there’s nothing left of his hollow shell.

“Fucking hell. Wish I could just… crack your head open and pluck that useless article out of there. Though I suppose if I started rooting around in there I’d do more damage than anything else…”

The hand slides down over the back of his neck, his shoulders, eventually looping around his waist and tugging him closer, until he’s nestled against his chest. His breath catches at the sudden embrace. Alfie usually limits touch like this to the darkest parts of the night, when he seems to be out of other options. He barely dares to breathe, doesn’t want to do something to upset Alfie, make him pull away.

“Relax, will you? You like this,” Alfie says, as if to remind him. Yes, Tommy does like this.

He’s safe here.

They lie in silence. For a long, long time. The weight of the mud seems to melt away little by little, easing his breaths. Alfie’s heart beats steadily under his ear and the sound lulls him into blissful calm.

“Tomorrow’s a new day,” Alfie mutters. “That’s the thing about days. They just keep comin’, don’t they? Suppose it’s alright to spend one or two in bed.”

He pulls him even closer. Rests his chin on the top of his head. As if to tell him he’s not going anywhere.

“Got a few neighbours a mile or two away. Not too far. And they have some pretty horses they let out in the pasture come spring. I’ll take you there when you can stay on your feet for that long. That’s something to look forward to, innit? Springtime when it gets all warm and pleasant. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve sat in a comfortable chair by the water when the sun finally burns away all the damp fog, doing absolutely nothing useful. When the breeze is warm and the skies are as blue as your eyes.”  

Mustering up enough courage to return the embrace, Tommy wraps an arm around Alfie’s chest, clutching at the back of his shirt. He can imagine Alfie sitting there in the sun, eyes closed and with the light catching in his beard. Content. Can for the first time even imagine himself there, even if the picture is faded at the edges and hard to hold onto.

When Alfie speaks again, his voice is far away:  “I recall saying something very wise to you the other night. About fucking living with it. The fact that you’ve done all that awful shit. Easy there, you’re not going anywhere-“ Alfie holds onto him when the unease makes him squirm. “Even if you say that you can’t, you don’t really have any other options. See, Esther is very fond of you, and it’s of utmost importance to me that she stays happy, as that makes my own existence a fair bit easier. Gotten used to having someone to dote on properly, she has. And admittedly, I- Well, the thing is that I’ve always enjoyed my own company. Lived alone by choice and all that. But I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re not too much of a bother.”

Alfie pauses for a long time as if he’s said something very important, Tommy tries to detangle all the words without much success.

“Granted you’re a fucking handful. Bit like having a very demanding pet, innit? But even if you have a spoiled cat who only deigns to sit on your lap every once in a blue moon, well you do fucking appreciate those moments, yeah? When the cat wants to… to sit there. You know? The spoiled little fucker.” Alfie’s hand strokes up along his spine, up the back of his neck until it eventually comes to rest on his head. He hums to himself. “Strange fucking creatures, really. Relying solely on you for survival but still acting all high and mighty. Still, suppose you sort of get used to having them around and then all of a sudden it’s hard to imagine them… not being there. You get my point?”

Tommy manages a tiny sound, even though he doesn’t fully understand. Alfie seems pleased.

“You’d be surprised what you can survive,” he says quietly. “Say having half your face shot away by some cunt and being left for dead on a deserted beach with only the seagulls and your bloody dog there to help you. Even that. So, I’d say your chances are quite good.”

Alfie’s fingers are running through his hair. Soft and warm and firm all at once. He pulls in the safe scent of his shirt into his nose. The heat radiating from his body seeps into Tommy’s own. Slowing his heartbeat. Helping him breathe.

And a thought crosses his mind. It’s a foolish one, of course. Utterly impossible. Wrong. But for a fleeting moment he thinks it with complete clarity: If there’s still a place for him in this world, he wants it to be here.

[33v0]

First hand account of police behavior during the protests in KY, from the /r/louisville subreddit

“Sharing the experience of a Louisvillian from last night that was shared with me.  I hope people will continue to share their experience to keep the truth alive.

I can’t help but give my full account of what happened last night as I saw it. It is actually legitimately hard to believe, but bear with me. Though they may not have seen it all as clearly, I’m certain that people who were around me at various points of this can confirm it. This is probably the most important story I will tell for the rest of my life.  

I went to last night’s protest in a P-100 mask, a full-faced respirator with two particulate filters. I wore it because I’m extra vigilant about Covid and this seemed like quite a breeding ground for upset or careless people to forget there’s a pandemic killing people. I’d unfortunately learn later that it’s capable of filtering out tear gas, a lot of it; but that isn’t why I wore it, and I had it on the entire time.  

I got there around 8:30 with some good friends, and we went to 6th & Jefferson, in front of the courthouse, where most of the protest was taking place. It was passionate and collective, but overall peaceful. A friend and I took a lap around the courthouse, there was graffiti but nothing out of hand. I’d walked into that courthouse every day for a couple years, so I was really taking in the spectacle of how different the whole area looked under the circumstances. But there *were not broken windows, there wasn’t an angry mob gathered at the courthouse door, or any of these other images the government is trying to conjure. It was a peaceful protest by all standards.*  

Around 9, our group decided to take another lap. We were gonna come around the Chestnut & 6th side of the courthouse to not have to walk against the crowd, because people weren’t really gathered on the Chestnut side. As we rounded the courthouse, though, at 7th & Chestnut, the police had started to line up in formation in full riot gear, they were doing these kind of weird ceremonial lineup drills. At the time I thought it was a really silly spectacle. It seemed so unnecessary that it was a little funny, my friend joked that it looked like JROTC was in session, and it did. I was really amused by it and wondered like, is this for the news crews, or are they just kind of running a drill, or trying to remind the crowd of their presence? Initially it actually looked quite goofy and not as menacing as I assumed they wanted. Nevertheless we didn’t do that second lap as it seemed pretty clear we weren’t allowed to walk that direction on that public sidewalk at that time.

So this Cop Conga Line keeps adding to its ranks down towards 7th & Chestnut, then marches up to the west side of the 6th & Chestnut intersection. This is increasingly a weird spectacle to me, because the protest is really taking place in earnest a block north of there, and at first the cops are basically gathering by themselves, just standing in a menacing line in riot gear, even though there was no riot.

This achieved LMPD’s desired outcome of herding the crowd in front of them, so the scene you often see in protest coverage, a crowd of protestors opposing a line of riot police. I can’t use the word spectacle enough, or the word herding, which becomes a surprisingly common theme. Eventually the protest moves completely to in front of the police, as naturally it would since it’s a protest of the police.

It continues peacefully there at 6th and Chestnut for 15 minutes or so before a friend I came with tells me that the police are also lining up like this behind the crowd and looked to be preparing to squeeze us in. This was all just.. perplexing to me. Why, when they should be actively working to rebuild community trust, were they doing this weird posturing. It almost felt like just a photo op for their riot brigade. After 30 minutes or so of the cops lining up this way, the tension even seemed to die a little bit and the crowd was in a bit of a lull.

The whole time I’m thinking, this is a strange flex by the cops here, but assuming this protest keeps this tone, they’re just gonna stand around like this. Silly me.

*The first round of tear gas was so sudden, and wasn’t preceded by any commands to disperse or violence or chaos, that amidst this human stampede and the plumes of smoke, I thought they’d just let off some smoke canisters to disperse the crowd, which I thought on its own would’ve been wildly inappropriate. It was only as I noticed that everyone around me was choking and gagging and crying that they’d actually just tear gassed this whole crowd. And not only did they gas us, they herded the entire crowd to one intersection, waited til just about everyone had gathered there, and only then did they attack. It appeared to be nothing short of a war effort. *

Okay, if you thought a bunch of riot police herding peaceful protestors into an intersection and launching a coordinated tear gas assault was wild, put on a helmet and grab your favorite beverage, it’s only just begun. As you can imagine, sudden explosions into a crowd of at least 1,000 causes some serious chaos, and most people sprinted away since.. you know.. they were choking on tear gas.

The police had set up these barrier lines, riot cops with their shields, these big armored SWAT trucks that I honestly don’t even understand why LMPD needs one nvm 20 of them to begin with. They’d set up all these lines prior to firing their first shots, took ‘em a solid half hour to get in position, just as a military force would do for a tactical siege.

Myself and only 2 other people I saw in the entire crowd had immunity to the tear gas, so my need to retreat was a lot lesser than most, and I was just so shocked by what I’d just witnessed that I stood there a few minutes taking it all in. And at this time, if you’re familiar with downtown Louisville, there’s a grassy courtyard across from the courthouse, and because of the way the police lines were set up, across it to the northeast was the only path of retreat. To my absolute surprise, LMPD continued to hurl tear gas into the courtyard at fleeing protestors.

There was really only one way for everyone to go, which would be towards 5th & Jefferson. Guess who was waiting? A surprise line of riot police that’d previously been hidden to us by the Hillyard Lyons building. Because I didn’t have to retreat as quickly, it took me 5 minutes or so to get over there. Along the way I saw these war zone images, stunned crying people dousing themselves in milk and saline solution and water. There’s a metaphor with privilege to be had here about how lucky I felt to have a gas mask on but let’s not get into that.

By the time I got to this intersection, the remaining protestors had again gathered in front of the police line. Tension was obviously much higher now and people were yelling at the cops and such, but surprisingly, what a good majority of the protestors did was kneel directly in front of the riot line and put their hands in the air. You can’t get much more peaceful. Even after they’d attacked us once, nobody was breaking windows, nobody was violent. Peaceful protest had resumed, just much more intensely.

5th & Jefferson (I was honestly pretty disoriented so I can’t say for sure but I think that’s where we were) then becomes the epicenter, and we see what had happened at the first incident start to swell up again. The cops pinch in the protestors with riot police on 3 sides of us, they’re moving those big SWAT trucks into position, flanking like a military operation. It begs the question: if dispersion was ever the goal, why did you cut off the retreat paths? More on that in a second.

So this builds at this new spot for another 20 minutes, peaceful all the while, as the cops keep moving into position. I’m standing on, again I’m pretty sure but not totally, 5th street, on the north side of Jefferson now. The riot police are positioned on all sides of the protest. I had a moment of naivety where I thought, okay, maybe something happened back there that I didn’t see that warranted the gassing. It was continuing peacefully and again I think we were all kind of lulled into this idea that if we weren’t violent, they wouldn’t be, though they just had been.

*Where I was standing, there was a large concrete sign just behind me. I saw protestors kind of scurry out from behind it and behind me, and looked to see what was going on. A small group of cops had snuck in behind us and set non-projectile tear gas canisters behind the sign. As they began to fog and people began to feel it, BOOM. The riot cops threw a flash bang grenade just over the heads of the knelt, peaceful protestors along Jefferson. *

This paragraph is the kicker. I hope someone else saw or noticed this, yet because of my mask I worry I’m the only one who did. Recall that the police had lined off all paths of retreat but one, which was to go north on 5th street. So of course, after this timed ambush, people are fleeing up 5th, choking again on their second round of tear gas, tripping over each other. I wouldn’t say calmly but, clearly I was able to watch this unfold, because I was about the only person who could see. Parked in the middle of 5th street, along the only path of retreat, was one of those blacked out armored SWAT trucks. It was hiding in wait. As this mass of confused, gassed, panicked people flow by it, I see the passenger door crack open, and a projectile tear gas grenade slips out and onto the ground at the feet of fleeing protestors. Nobody was aggressing the truck, they were already reeling from being fuckin tear gassed again. It was malicious, and unnecessary, and planned, and it served one purpose: cause chaos. The panicked crowd didn’t know where the new canisters were coming from, because they were coming from amongst us. They bombed the path of retreat like a war adversary. They never wanted people to disperse; they wanted to cause a riot.

Even after the first gassing, the rioting didn’t begin. Even after the second, it didn’t. Even after THIS incident, where they once more cornered and ambushed us, the rioting didn’t begin.

This continues on similarly at a third location, the protest builds back up, with increased intensity, because now it’s also a protest against the response to the protest. At this point I was incensed. It became clear to me that the police were tactically funneling the protest wherever they wanted it to be, letting people realize that’s where it’d moved to, then mercilessly gassing it once they got into position. After the third such incident, I felt that I was too angry and upset to avoid putting myself in position to be executed by the police, which they clearly wanted someone to do, and I have a daughter, so I left. I can’t attest to what happened next and never saw the fires start or the windows break. But I can say very definitively that everything that happened was by the design of the LMPD, and there’s no plausible deniability on their part. I watched them ambush us. I watched them cut off and attack our retreat. Their only goals were to start a riot and inflict harm on the city, which they achieved.”

The following comment thread:

[goffilolo]

Revival of Midoriya Izuku chapter 3

It’s been 84 years huh? As always the fanfic is up on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/52652386

also im aware of like some formatting issues with the fic when it comes to tumblr, so reading it on ao3 might be better if you particularly care about like italics and what not, but otherwise it’s all the same stuff.

“Move your ass Boom Boom Bitch, I wanna get there early!” shouted Izuku, as him and Bandit sat on rather stylish, but uncomfortable couch in the Bakugous’ living room that was probably worth more than both of them put together, which probably wasn’t even that much anyway since they’re both garbage, but it’s about the principle of the thing.

“Shut your mouth you Trash Twink, I’ll get there when I get there! And what the fuck are you doing in my house?” screamed Bakugou all the way from upstairs, although with his voice being as explosive as his quirk he might as well be standing right next to you considering the damage he does to everyone’s eardrums.

Speaking of hearing damage “Katsuki!!! Is that how you talk to our guest you rude brat?! Get over here!” exclaimed Aunt Mitsuki.

“Shut it old hag! Deku’s not a guest, he’s just an annoying cockroach that invites himself wherever he wants and does whatever he wants!” which is a fair point, considering Izuku has invited himself to Bakugou’s first day at UA for less than wholesome reasons. Some people might see it as the ultimate bitch slap to Bakugou’s ego (partially true), but for the most part it’s merely a testament of how far Izuku has come, considering he now only sees UA as a place where he can flirt with Tensei’s hot brother, rather than a means of accomplishing some bullshit dreams... But it’s not like Kacchan knows any of this, so he can fuck off.

If you were to ask Izuku what his deal with Bakugou was, he would reply “Best friends, duh” with enough sarcasm to last you the next ten years. If you were to press for any specifics his reply would be more along the lines of “I dunno, get the fuck out of my apartment” followed by having Trash Bandit sent after you. The bottom line was, his relationship with Bakugou was complicated, as were most thing in Izuku’s life, but that’s not unusual.

Izuku’s presence at the Bakugou household though? That’s quite unusual, yet more likely than you’d think.

And although the screaming match between the two Bakugous was ever so entertaining Izuku had places to be, and guys to seduce, so “Leave it Auntie” he exclaims in a dismissive manner “We don’t want to rile him up too much, otherwise he ain’t gonna get that 30-day chip from the anger management that he’s been gunnin’ for” he adds half-jokingly.

“I know, I know” she says “But you’d think he would act a little nicer by now, after all these months of therapy.”

“Wouldn’t expect miracles if I were you Auntie, you know what the say; Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree ” replies the boy with a shiteating grin as he motions towards Bakugou descending down the stairs, not missing the way Mitsuki flinched ever so slightly at his rather obnoxious comment.

“And to think you used to be such a nice boy yourself, I used to always tell your mother how great it would’ve been if Katsuki was more like you” she says in a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and regret.

“Yeah well, considering the shit I got for being nice , I think from now on I’d rather be a bastard and then some” exclaimed Izuku as he got up from the couch with Bandit in tow and made his way towards Bakugou. The other boy was getting ready to leave as well and his excitement for the day was concealed even more poorly than his mother’s discomfort at the current conversation “Have a good one Auntie!”

And with that, the two teenagers and one (1) sheep were on their way.

“Kacchan please , not everything is about you” said Izuku exasperatedly, hurrying over to the only empty seat on the train.

“Like hell it isn’t! This was supposed to be MY DAY, my first day at the school of my fucking dreams, and you’re trying to ruin it by following me around dressed like a dollar stripper!” replied Bakugou in a whisper-scream. He may have anger issues but he wasn’t a dumbass and the two of them were already drawing enough attention as it was. It wasn’t exactly easy to remain unnoticed on a train while carrying a green sheep; a task which fell on Bakugou, because Izuku was a weak-noodle-arm-bitch.

“First of all, I’m flattered that you think I’m worth a dollar” said the weak-noodle-arm-bitch in question “And second of all, this is my best outfit.” Said best outfit consisted of a worn out tank top that had THE HOES written on it in what once was a glittery pink; a pair of booty shorts with ENEMY OF STATE hand stitched onto the backside and rainbow patterned knee socks. The look was completed with a pair of pink platform crocs, because Izuku had standards ... and because he was short.

“God I hate you” murmured Bakugou.

“Don’t I know it Kacchan?”

The rest of the train ride was spent in silence.

It wasn’t until they actually reached the gates of the school that Bakugou had a thought; one that he probably should’ve had before they even left his house, but having a coherent thought while carrying a sheep and bickering with the sheep’s owner about whether the sheep should be referred to as a dog or not is in all fairness not possible.

“They won’t let you in” he said, voicing the sudden epiphany.

“Sure they will” replied Izuku.

“Oh yeah? How? Deku, you don’t fuckin’ go to this school, you don’t go to ANY school!” shouted Bakugou, because they were no longer on the train, therefore arguing with a lunatic stripper looking guy was now acceptable.

Izuku for the most part did not have a problem with that, because not only did he love having petty fights with people, he also loved proving them wrong, especially when everyone and their grandma accuses him of being a high school drop out.

“Shinjuku Metropolitan would beg to differ” he says, dropping the metaphorical bomb on the unsuspecting dipshit that is his childhood friend, after which he continues to walk, crossing the gates of UA High like he owns the damn place.

After about a minute of Bakugou standing frozen in shock, he finally snapped out of it when Bandit decided to start chewing on his uniform “Oi, hold the fuck up!” screamed the blond as he followed Izuku inside, while the sheep was being dragged along like a betrayed ragdoll  “Did you just say Shinjuku Metropolitan?!”

“Kacchan, you know I can’t hold you, you’re too heavy” replies the other teen, while pointedly ignoring Bakugou’s question and the looks he’s been getting from the students.

“Don’t change the subject shitty Deku! How the fuck did your ass get into a top non-hero high school in the whole damn Tokyo you bitch?”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I fuckin’ swear to God-”

“Do it! Pull the trigger piglet!”

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

Their pointless quarrel, which was on a steady way into becoming a straight up brawl (Izuku having already pulled out his axe and lighted a cigarette using one of Bakugou’s warning explosions) came to a stop when they were interrupted by one of UA’s teachers, although in Izuku’s opinion she made a wrong career choice, considering being a Dominatrix probably paid more.

On another note, when someone asks you ‘what’s going on?’ that doesn’t mean they’re actually interested in whatever is happening at the moment, it means ‘stop’, therefore Izuku’s answer to that question, which usually involves something along the lines of “You see, I’m small, horny and full of rage, and I have no outlet for these emotions” is rarely appreciated. That is not to say that the lack of appreciation is going to stop him from spawning whatever dumb shit comes to his mind when faced with the judgement from authority figures. If anything it makes everything worse.

“That’s just how we flirt” replied the teen instead, all the while looking THE Pro-Hero Midnight dead in the eye and putting out his cigarette on Bakugou’s uniform jacket. Bakugou, for the most part was unable to even be mad at the cigarette burn considering he was busy recovering from being metaphorically punched in the kidneys by that line.

“And why aren’t you wearing uniform?” she asks suspiciously, pointing at Izuku’s attire.

“Oh, I don’t go here” he replied casually.

“Then pray tell , why are you in this school?”

“To get laid”

“TO WHAT?!” screamed Bakugou in surprise.

At this point Midnight took out her phone (no, her costume doesn’t have pockets, please don’t ask where she keeps it) and clicked on one of three contacts she keeps on her speed dial.

“Principal Nedzu, we got a situation…”

After telling Bakugou not to worry and that he will see him later in class, Izuku was dragged to the principal’s office by Midnight.

On the way there he tried cracking up another joke, telling her that his safe word was ‘avocado’. She did not appreciate that one either. For those of you wondering what happened to Bandit, the sheep ended up following Bakugou, much to the blond’s dismay.

Now, being sent to a principal’s office, especially of a school that you don’t even attend is usually a sign that you have royally fucked up. Not for Izuku though, because he had a plan! Contrary to the common belief, Izuku is not dumb. The fall didn’t kill off any of his brain cells, only his ability to give a shit, which made life much easier since he no longer had to worry about things like: people’s opinions, social norms, laws and heteronormativity.

Anyway, back to the plan. Izuku was not dumb, therefore even he knew that wandering around UA while not attending the school would not fly. He needed a way to stay, and for that he needed the guy who runs the whole shitshow; Nedzu.

Which is why the moment Midnight opens the door to the office Izuku stomps in like a man on a mission and stops right in front of an animal of questionable origin in a suit that is allegedly UA’s principal. A little unusual, but if a scumbag like Endeavour can hold the title of No. 2 Hero in Japan, then an animal can run a school.

The principal in question was calmly sitting on a couch and drinking tea, totally unconcerned with whatever bullshit Izuku was about to throw at him.

“Now, what seems to be the issue with this young man?” asked Nedzu.

“This young man-” said Izuku, pointing to himself in a rather cocky manner “has a message for you!”

“And what would that message be?”

The principal’s question was answered with what Izuku can only think of as the ultimate power move, or in this case; a literal ace up the sleeve. The boy proceeded to pull out a Monopoly “Get out of Jail” card out of his shorts (since he technically wasn’t wearing any sleeves) and slam it on the table right in front of Nedzu.

While to an outsider the current situation might seem absurd, it is important to remember that Izuku had a plan; one that could’ve never come to a fruition without a little help from the most unexpected person, which is why that card was no ordinary Monopoly card, but a very specific reminder that only Principal Nedzu would know the meaning of, and when he picked it up and flipped it around, the neatly written message on the back made its presence known.

It read: “You owe me one. - Hisashi”

“My dad says ‘Hi!’ ” exclaimed Izuku, taking one look at Nedzu’s face and knowing that he already won.

Was cashing in on a favour that his dad secured like 10 years ago a morally good decision? Debatable, but it got the job done so he’s not gonna complain. All that mattered was that Izuku now had a pass to enter the UA grounds whenever he pleased and nobody could stop him, and so here he was about to enter the classroom where Kacchan is supposed to be in. The bell hasn’t rung yet so he still had some time and who knows, maybe the handsome guy from the police station was in the same class?

With that in mind he opened the gigantic door and made his way into the classroom and was met with what looked like a pissing contest between his crush and his childhood friend.

“REMOVE YOUR FOOT FROM THAT DESK! SUCH AN ACTION IS INSULTING TO THOSE WHO CAME TO UA BEFORE US AS WELL AS THE CRAFTSMEN WHO MADE THIS DESK!”

“LIKE I CARE! WHAT MIDDLE SCHOOL ARE YOU FROM, YOU EXTRA ?!”

Ah yes, pissing contest at its finest, which meant that Izuku had options . The most obvious course of action would be siding up with Tenya and taunting Kacchan, which is not something Izuku would ever say no to. However , it also happens that the object of his affections had a massive boner for rules and authority, which is the exact opposite of everything Izuku stands for, so siding up with Kacchan it is.

And so he made his way to the pair of bickering teenagers and promptly pushed Kacchan’s feet off the desk, earning a scoff from the blond and an approving but baffled look from Iida, which only lasted for about 2 seconds, because Izuku being the gay disaster that he is simply HAD to ruin it all by claiming the desk as his sitting spot and giving Tenya the most ridiculous bedroom eyes that had Kacchan fake gagging like his life depended on it.

“Umm...Izuku, was it?” asked Tenya, feeling awkward under the other boy’s intense gaze.

“It sure was” replied the boy, feeling happy about leaving enough of an impression to be remembered from all those weeks ago “Fancy seeing you here, huh?”

“Indeed-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Deku!” exclaimed Bakugou, completely fed up with the cringeworthy display in front of him “Just tell four-eyes that you came here because you wanted to see him and be done with it!”

“WHAT?”

“Kacchan, not now! I’m trying to put on some moves!”

“Well your moves are shit-”

“Hey, aren’t you that guy from the news who stabbed a villain in the eye with an axe?!” shouted one of the students while pointing at Izuku. There was something ironic about the fact that it was his stunt on live TV from 2 weeks ago that got everyone’s heads turning and not his iconic outfit, or inappropriate behaviour, or literally anything else about him. Like that’s just rude ok? And interrupting him while he’s trying to flirt? Also rude.

“Bitch, I might be” he replied anyway, because his reputation was on the line and because at this point literally everyone has gathered around the desk that he sat on, so things were way past the point of return. People were throwing questions and accusations at him left and right, Trash Bandit is nowhere to be found and his quil flask is not full enough for this bullshit. At this point Bakugou simply got up from his seat and sat at the back of the room, as far away from this nonsense as possible.

“It’s you!”exclaimed the boy with dual coloured hair and equally mismatched eyes “You’re the guy who keeps T-posing in front of my house. Can you please stop?!” he asked with the most deadpan face Izuku has ever seen despite his voice being filled with desperation.

“Look, I T-pose in front of a lot of houses so you’re gonna have to be more specific” he replied sarcastically — despite knowing exactly who he was talking to — since it probably wasn’t a good moment to mention that you’re besties with that person’s mom because you were both stuck in the same loony bin and so you already know all the family drama and have dedicated a good portion of your time to harassing her abusive piece of shit husband…especially with like 20 people around you.

“You’re the one who egged my limo!” shouted one of the girls at the back. She was a very tall girl with long, dark hair tied in a seemingly gravity defying ponytail and a kind face. She had an air of a distinguished lesbian about her, which Izuku could respect even if she was rich if the limo comment was anything to go by. He egged several limos in his lifetime because seeing rich people out in public makes him go apeshit, as it should, so really how is he supposed to remember everyone?

“And I will egg it again!” promised Izuku “When I see rich people out and about it triggers my fight-or-fuck response”

“Don’t you mean fight-or-flight?” she asked.

“No”

“Are you ok?”

“Not in the slightest”

And with that more people joined in on the conversation, including a particular girl who very much looked like an alien with her bright pink skin and black sclera who ended up complementing his outfit, which thank fuck someone here actually had good taste , as well as a guy who ended up being Ms Shouji’s son, and the only reason he found out was because the guy recognised his antics based on the gossip his mom told him and isn’t that a small fuckin world? And in the middle of it all laid an inconspicuous yellow sleeping bag that has been conveniently ignored by everyone for the sake of the plot up until now.

The sleeping bag began to seemingly unzip by itself and soon enough Bandit’s head poked out of it.

“Bandit! There you are”

“Baaah!”

“Guys! Look at this dog!” exclaimed one of the students who Izuku thought looked like a personification of weed, but he wasn’t going to say that. At least the guy knew what he was talking about.

“I’m pretty certain it’s a sheep-” added Tenya, taking his role as the last standing voice of reason in this room very seriously, even though his voice has practically drowned in the sea of teenagers chanting ‘good doggo’, similarly to how one might feel if they were standing at a dance floor while Baby Got Back started playing.

It’s also important to note that while all of this was happening, Bakugou who has sat himself at the back of the room was forced to witness the chaotic force that is Izuku interacting with multiple people at once while being able to convince about 20 of them to refer to his sheep as a dog, and in that moment he turned around staring into the void and asked himself “Am I having a fuckin stroke?”

“Nah, he’s always like that” replied the one person who was sat at the back along with him that Bakugou previously did not bother to notice.

“And how would you know, you damn extra?” asked Bakugou somewhat offended, because sure him and Izuku were not on the friendliest terms and the whole incident from last year really changed him and what not. But they still knew each other their whole lives, so really that had to count for something and Bakugou was not willing to compromise on that with some random extra who looked like a Tinky Winky humansona on drugs.

Unfortunately Bakugou was not able to get an answer because the entire class was interrupted by a homeless looking guy coming out of the yellow sleeping bag to shame student kind. “If you’re here to socialise, then get out” he said. Soon enough the room was filled with a tense silence as the students were unsure of what to expect next.

“It took 8 seconds for you to quiet down. Time is a precious resource. You lot aren’t very rational, are you?” asked the man as he walked to the front of the classroom, making it very clear that he was in fact their teacher. The man was rather tall and unkept, his hair was long and slightly curled, similar to Izuku’s own and the outfit he wore could only be described as a goth onesie. There was something very familiar about him but Izuku couldn’t quite make out what it was supposed to be.

However, just because Izuku’s memory aligns very closely with a slice of swiss cheese doesn’t mean that the same can be said about the teacher in question. As soon as he turned around to get a good look at his new class his eyes fell on Izuku and his face has swiftly shifted from that of practiced disinterest to shock and recognition that Izuku honestly was not expecting.

“What are you doing here problem child?” asked the man with a certain degree of disbelief in his voice. Once again there was something very familiar about him and the way he addressed Izuku and wait a minute did he just call me a problem child? That can’t be-

“Uncle Shouta” exclaimed the boy in a way that felt uncertain, yet childishly hopeful “Is that you?”

“Of course it is brat, who else would I be?” he replied with a hint of amusement.

[migleefulmoments]

Abb/y has something to s/ay

Let me premise this by reminding everyone that Abby -like Trump-doesn’t “get” comedy. They literally do not understand jokes, punchlines, or humor. So a satirical show about the Hollywood song writers falls flat. Her time away did nothing to sway her conspiratorial aspirations or her misogynistic hatred of Mia. She watched Royalties not once, but twice... not to enjoy Darren’s creativity and performance, not to support the celebrity she stans, and not even to crack up at the humor, no she watched twice because she was looking for confirmation bias. She wanted to document all of the ways Darren wrote his CrissColfer truth into Pierce’s life and she obsessively listened to all of the diss-tracks he wrote to attack his wife.  

Let me also premise this by saying I loved the show. I thought it was funny and the songs are so damn catchy.  The lyrics are quintessential Darren- funny, very clever, and raunchy.  

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R/oyalties, the Tale of Two Shows with a Heaping Side of Meta

ajw720. So I just finished watching R/oyalties for the second time, this time solely focused on the meta.  Look, we all know, the show is not good, it was not well written and the short format didn’t help as there was no option to develop character or plot.  But D knew it would not be good, he apologized for it back in January 2019.  And I think the effort he put into acting was the effort it deserved. Ok.

But his songs were genius.  As were the videos, hence why i call it the tale of two shows.  It truly was like watching content made by completely different people. I concur with MH, D is “intensely talented.”  And the part of this show he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into, the songs, are evident of this.

But this is a post about that Heaping Side of Meta. I think D, knowing that that show would not be made in the manner he envisioned, instead used it as a vehicle to make some bold statements and parallels with his career and public life.  Shall we begin?  And please, unlike the perfect song, this is not a perfect post and after the second round of watching i canceled my Quibi subscription and never plan to look back, so please feel free to add. I know some of these have been pointed out but I thought it was valuable to have one post.

One idea to inpsire the song?  A tiny FROG on a dime.

D’s shirt 1st seen in Episode 2: “It is hard to soar like an Eagle when you are surrounded by turkeys”

And of course “Call me Goldilocks bitch”  Remind you of something?

How about the entirety of Episode 3 when we are told that an artist is completely the product of the team.  That no matter what the artists expresses they want, it doesn’t matter because the Label/manager/publicist/on camera agent/legal will always have a say. And how it will play in America or the Foreign market are key metrics of how the product is produced and presented.  I love the line of the songwriter that tells P/ierce and S/ara to “get out while they are young.”  Or the line by one of her team “we don’t want something different, we want something the same that is different.”  And in the end P&S simply took one of KK old songs and reworked it, making something different that is not different and her team loved it.  

And of course, the line that was an utter slap in the face to the most over praised “director” of an indie band video ever when D reminds her of the real director in his life, the man set to direct major motion pictures, “you know who would be perfect to direct? C/hris.  C/hris would shatter this.”

Not much in Episode 4, but the gorilla suit in my opinion was mocking of a certain MMR video where we watched Swiller and a banana in a song about a gorilla.  Images I never need to see in my head again.

Episode 5, a gem, I am still so fucking proud of D and how he mocked her throughout the entirety of the episode.  New lines I love of that amazing song he wrote about her (in addition to those i posted previously here) “Some people say I’m a  genius, which comes from the greek word for Latin, and other people will say, alright in fact i’m a fuckin’s genius” “I’m not saying I’m a god, but I’m not saying I’m not a god.”  Mocking at its finest made all that much better by the band’s name “Switchback Jacket” that D describes as “butt rock emo” that is performed by a band that doesn’t actually sing, they are just the public image.  He literally told us that what we see is an image created for the public and that it is completely fake.  And he used his beard to make this statement. Just brilliant.  I cannot praise him enough for this, stealing her moment in the sun and making her look like an utter fool, telling us just how narcissistic she is.

Also some wonderful lines from that episode that are beyond telling:

“Power, it felt good to remind Kevin that I hold power over him. You always want to be the one with power”

“p/ierce wouldn’t know where to take a shit if I didn’t tell him.”

“she is like my wife except we don’t have sex and we are friends.”

“alright boss, I am ready to record that song, but where should i take a shit?”

“You will do anything to succeed.”

Episode 8 starring “Poly Amorous and the Unicorn Guild” an episode used to shine a light on how absurd it is that people believe D&PBB lived with platonic roomie B/enny for something like 4 years.  3 grown ass adults, all of whom have money to spare lived together in a relatively small house for four years.  It is pure comedy that anyone would believe that this is normal.  But hey these are the same people that explained away the infamous arm around her while at an awards show with D looking on:

And the cherry on top of this episode, the inclusion of C/huck (for some background, see my post here).

I really like the one bit of dialogue between P&S, where D pretty much tells us once again that M will use anyone to get what she wants:

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe just maybe, I don’t like where we are now? There were a lot of really great things about the way things were.  Things that are worth preserving.  Not that you just take and use and through out.”

Episode 9 had some really impactful lines:

“you think i wouldn’t steal for my career? You think I wouldn’t lie?  I would do anything.”

The Neils being the nameless individuals, nothing more than a number, who are the ones who actually create the product.  And then the song, some of the translations are D telling you how he feels, because sometimes i think in terms of his public image he is just a Neil trying to escape the cage that has been built around him:

“I dream about getting away, I have been locked up in this cage wishing i could make my escape. I hate that I need you.”

And finally Episode 10, where we learn the Neils get no credit and no royalties. This reminds me of a script C wrote that never saw the light of day but suddenly the next season of AHS had the same theme as his script.

And that is all i got, if you have more please add. I think the fact that D took what he knew would be a mediocre project and projected his voice and story throughout it was pretty genius and a smart way to utilize this vehicle, that was clearly payout for so many that have used him for years and to shine a bright light on the truth.

elicc  The “perfect song”’s performer is called Bailey Rouge, a clear link to TLOS.

He is a genius.

ajw720   @elicc damn, that was on my list and I forgot. And we all know who Red is inspired by, so seems fitting Bailey Rouge would get the perfect song.

ajw720. Just adding one more I thought about putting in my original post but admittedly think it’s a stretch. But maybe not? Just adding here for fun.

When Theo tells P to bottle up all his romantic feelings I couldn’t help but think of a certain chapter in a book

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Oy Vei! Abby didn’t use her time away getting any therapy or perspective.  She hasn’t learned any lessons. I have no doubt she’s been reading just as much as she did before and she’s speaking to Cassie, Flowers et al all day. It’s really sad. It’s sad that she can’t see how silly she sounds, what an asshole her version of Darren is. If she could restrain herself even a little bit it might come off less unhinged because turning every single moment of Royalties into some crisscolfer wet dream reeks of desperation. 

Abby hates Royalties. In last week’s “Dear D” she had the audacity to say 

....Fans that are beyond devoted and mainly because of the way you have treated fans with respect and a level of caring that far surpasses the majority of public figures.  And while I am not enjoying the show itself, the music shows how diverse you are as a writer and how you can virtually write for anyone or any genre. The songs are fantastic.  Memorable.  And really fun.  

She knows the the Langs wrote the show and Darren wrote the songs but what she can’t seem to comprehend is that Darren IS Royalties. Everything in the show is Darren’s.  

Staying in the closet would be less painful than trying to express oneself through a short-form satirical comedy.  Can you imagine trying to express your devastation and pain through Kick Your Shoes off or Break It In? 

“I’m the king of the hard fuck....pile drive the bed like a young buck...if you like feathery shit thats pretty cool but I don’t need that...people say I fuck too soft, saying that I can’t please a woman” 

BTW Abby- “call me goldilocks bitch” isn’t a reference to TLOS it’s a reference to Goldilocks and Three Bears because because he fucks perfect, not too soft, not too hard. It’s much more believable that he is referring to a random nursery rhyme than it is to believe he is referring to a children’s book his lover/husband/boyfriend wrote 8 years ago. You might love the book but Chris has moved on and written new things. 

Darren wrote funny lyrics. I loved Kick Your Shoes Off because it’s written by a man whose watched his wife and female friends wear painful shoes for the same of fashion even though its painful as fuck.   

“Yeah, I’m a bad bitch so don’t be mad bitch. I turned the room into a catwalk like a sad bitch. I can’t feel my toes in these stilettos. when I walk out my roomate says you’ll regret those....Beauty is pain but oh I look amazing.  You won’t hear me complaining but oh my instep (inside?) is screaming...kick your shoes off (kick em off) ooooooo I do what I want..(Kick em off) ooooo Hey I can’t walk in these, blisters start to bleed now both my feet are swollen. Kick your shoes off (Kick em off).....It’s like i feel so good when my shoes are on, but like i also feel sooooo good when they are off” 

Abby’s convinced I am So Much Better Than You is straight up about Mia because Mia is in the video. She listened to it on repeat the day after it came out. In her “Letter to D” last week she said 

Especially after you made an effort to mock her for the entirety of Tuesday when her episode aired (and for the record I am still really, really proud of what you did with that episode and how you handled the roll out, that is the fighter I admire and that inspires me.  I listened to I am so much better than you on repeat on my drive home from work yesterday).   

Good Lord  The lyrics are as silly as all the other songs: “My mirror wants to bone me (but it can’t because it’s a mirror)” How did Abby miss the obvious TLOS mirror/ Halloween costume reference here?  

“You keep doing push ups while I get buff eating mac and cheese (with overpriced lobster and truffles because I’m worth it)”  

“Some people say I’m a genius (which comes from the greek work for latin) Some other people will say yeah I’m right I’m a fucking genius (I’m not saying I’m a god but I’m not saying I’m not a god). 

“And even when you sneeze, God blesses me, he blesses me. And even when you sneeze, god blesses me, he blesses me, he blesses me”

“I’m am so much better than you at everything”. 

She believes Darren would be- and stay- married to a women that he publicly ridicules and attacks. I don’t get why she thinks that is something admirable . 

She thinks Also You is referring to Ben living with them.  Where to start with this one? She says

“Episode 8 starring “Poly Amorous and the Unicorn Guild” an episode used to shine a light on how absurd it is that people believe D&PBB lived with platonic roomie B/enny for something like 4 years.  3 grown ass adults, all of whom have money to spare lived together in a relatively small house for four years.  It is pure comedy that anyone would believe that this is normal.  But hey these are the same people that explained away the infamous arm around her while at an awards show with D looking on”

I’m gobsmacked.  Also You is about Polyamory. She doesn’t even understand her own theories if she thinks that is the message Darren wants to share about Mia and Ben.  In no world would someone try to proclaim their wife was cheating on them with a live-in houseguest by writing an episode called Poly Amorous and the Unicorn Guild.  Also, someone needs to explain cuckholding to her because her theories about Ben and Mia make Darren a cuck.  

OMG I just realized that Darren is a cuck and Royalties proves it.  He hired Kether to be his costar in Royalties,...Kether is in You’re the Worst as Lindsay.  Lindsay cuckholds her husband. Bam! mic drop.   

Why isn’t Perfect Song about Mia, you know, if we are playing confirmation bias “No one is as good as you because you're my perfect song” 

[kaaramel]

every shakespeare reference in wilba’s speech file (that i could find) by play

this.... this is what i choose to spend my time on

the majority are, fittingly, Hamlet quotes, but she quotes something like 20 different plays, and also the one sonnet that everyone knows, you know the one

i probably didn’t get them all? there are SO many. 

also i assigned plays from memory on a lot of them because i can’t be sitting around googling every single quote so if some are misattributed that’s why but i feel pretty confident in my shakespeare trivia

i didn’t list repeats unless they were significantly different or funny so please please don’t swan into my inbox telling me i missed one of the 9,000 “wherefore art thou”s

if you don’t know what the original quote is then i’d be happy to give context. my original intention was to do that but that was 200+ lines of misquoted shakespeare ago

yeah..

yeah, i spent like two hours on this

this isn’t in any kind of order or nice formatting really, just fyi, because i’ve already spent two hours on it

Hamlet ANNOUNCE_NOSLEEPONFIRE = "WILBA DOTH FWOOSH TOO MUCH, METHINKS!" MANDRAKE = PICKED = "IT DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH, METHINKS" PIGMAN_STOREOWNER = "HER HAIR DOTH TOO MUCH, METHINKS" ..doth what wilba

ANNOUNCE_MORETREASURE = "MORE THINGS IN CHESTS 'N EARTH!"

ANNOUNCE_CHARLIE_ATTACK = "WHAT ROGUE AND PEASANT SLAVE AM YOU!" PEAGAWK = GENERIC = "WHAT A ROGUE AND PEASANT SLAVE AM EYE-BIRD!"

SPOILED = "SOMETHING ROTTEN IN WILBA TUM TUMS" ROTTENEGG = "MMMM...SOMETHING ROTTEN" WARN = "SOMETHING ROTTEN IN STATE OF WILBA HEAD"

ANNOUNCE_BEES = "IS BEE OR NAUGHT IS BEE?" WORMHOLE_LIMITED = "T'WILL BE OR NAUGHT T'WILL BE?" BACONEGGS = "TO EAT OR NOT TO EAT?" BEE = HELD = "TWO BEES? NOPE, NOT TWO BEES" PUMPKINCOOKIE = "COOKIE OR NOT COOKIE" JUNGLETREESEED = GENERIC = "TO PLANT OR NOT TO PLANT" TUBER_CROP = "TUBER, OR NAUGHT TUBER"

ANNOUNCE_HOT = "WILBA AM TOO MUCH I' THE SUN" DRYINGINRAIN = "IT TOO MUCH I' THE RAINS"

WILDBORE = "LITTLE MORE THAN KIN, LESS THAN KINDA" LEATHER = "LITTLE MORE THAN SKIN AND LESS THAN HIDE"

RESURRECTIONSTONE = "IS'T TICKET BACK FROM UNDISCOVERE'D COUNTRY" TUMBLEWEED = "THE UNDISCOVER'D RUNT TREE"

DUNGBEETLE = DEAD = "HAS'T SHUFFLED OFF MORTAL PLOP BALL" CHICKEN = DEAD = "WADDL'D OFF THIS MORTAL COIL" JELLYFISH_DEAD = "HATH DEPARTED MORTAL COIL"

ROWBOAT = "THE ROWS OF OUTRAGEOUS FORTUNE" SLOTMACHINE = "HATH OUTRAGEOUS FORTUNE"

ARMORSEASHELL = "WILBA READY FOR SEA OF TROUBLES" BOATCANNON = "WILBA TAKE ARMS AGAINST SEA OF TROUBLES" ENCRUSTEDBOAT = "WILBA MAKE ARMOR AGAINST SEA OF TROUBLES"

BEEFALO = SLEEPING = "PERCHANCE IT DREAMS?" (also for sleeping frogs) CORKBOAT = "FRAILTY, THY NAME IS'T CORK BOWL CANOE!"

GLOMMER = "AY, THERE'S A BUG" ROC_NEST_BUSH = "AY, THERE'S THE SHRUB"

BLUBBERSUIT = "TOO SOLID FLESH NAUGHT MELT"

WALRUS_TUSK = "YOUR OWN SELF BE TOOTH" SOLD = "TO MINE OWN HOUSE BE TRUE"

WHIP = "BREVITY IS'T SOUL OF WHIP"

TRAWLNET = "WHEREIN I'LL CATCH THE FISHIES OF THE SEA" (a biiig reach but it has the same meter at least as 'wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king')

DORSALFIN = "OF IN-FIN-ITE JEST" PIKO = GENERIC = "FELLOWS OF INFINITE JEST"

JELLYBUG = "MOST FOUL, STRANGE, AND UNNATURAL"

TOPHAT = "WILBA MOST EXCELLENT FANCY" PIKO_ORANGE = "OF MOST EXCELLENT FANCY TAILS" TALLBIRDEGG = "MOST EGG-CELLENT FANCIES"

WEBBERSKULL = "ALAS, POOR SPIDER" ABIGAIL = "ALAS, POOR GHOST!" BIRDCAGE = SKELETON = "ALAS, POOR BIRDY" PIGMAN = DEAD = "ALAS, POOR PIGGY!" ANCIENT_ROBOT_HEAD = "ALAS, POOR ROBOT" SKELETON_PLAYER = "ALAS POOR WILBA!!"

SCORPION = DEAD = "DEATH WILL HAS IS'T DAY"

ANIMAL_TRACK = "SWEET PRINTS!"

BUSHHAT = "THERE METHOD TO WILBA MADNESS" INSANITYROCK = ACTIVE = "THERE IS A METHOD IN'T"

Winter's Tale BEARGER = "EXIT WILBA, PURSUED BY BEARGER" FABRIC = "'TIS THE FABRIC OF MINE FOLLY'"

All's Well WALL_STONE = "WALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL"

Merry Wives SNAKESKIN = "IT HEART WAS MIGHTY, IT SKIN ARE WHOLE" GRASS_TALL = PICKED = "THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT"

AYLI PIGEON = GENERIC = "HEY DING A DING DING!" PANGOLDEN = "NOSE HIMSELF TO BE A FOOL"

RIII PIGTENT = "'TIS WILBA'S DISCON-TENT" now that's a stretch. STEADY = "NOW IS WINTER OF WILBA DISCONTENT" FROG_POISON = "POISON'DOUS BUNCH-BACK'D TOAD" GENERIC = "THOU LUMP OF FOUL DEFORMITY!" RUG_CATCOON = "LUMP OF FOUL DEFORMITY"

Midsummer BEE = GENERIC = "WHAT FOOLS THESE MORTAL BEES!" DAWN = "WHAT VISIONS HAS'T WILBA SEEN'D?" DUNGPILE = GENERIC = "WILBA AM SICK WHEN LOOK ON THEE"

Macbeth CATCOON = "'TIS THRICE BRIND'ED CAT" GOATMILK = "MILK O' GOATY KINDNESS" SMASHINGPOT = "OUT DAMNED POT!"

MOOSE_NESTING_GROUND = "THE STICKING PLACE" MUSSEL_FARM = STICKPLANTED = "WILBA SCREW IT TO THE STICKING PLACE" ROC_NEST_BRANCH1 = "'TIS BIG STICKING PLACE"

all PUPPETs (non-Max throned characters) = "BUT A WALKING SHADOW!" TIGERSHARKSHADOW = "BUT A SWIMMING SHADOW" DIVININGROD = HOT = "SOUND AND FURY!" VOLCANO_ALTAR_TOWER = "FULL OF SOUND AND FURY" CANDLEHAT = "ON, ON, BRIEF CANDLE!"

ARMORCACTUS = "BY THE PRICKING OF MINE ARMOR" MAXWELL = "MR. WICKED THIS WAY COMES" FIRERAINSHADOW = "SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES!" WAXING = "SOMETHING WICKED'D THIS WAY COMES!" wicked'd... COCONADE = BURNING = "SOMETHING BOOMING THAT WAY GOES" POG = "SOMETHING CUTIES THIS WAY COMES" TALLBIRDEGG_CRACKED = "SOMETHING BEAKY THIS WAY COMES!"

GREENAMULET = "DOUBLE, DOUBLE TOIL" PIG_SHOP_ARCANE = GENERIC = "TOIL AND TROUBLES"

FROGLEGS_POISON = "TOE O' FROG" SNAKE = "'TIS FENNY SNAKE?"

Much Ado GENERIC = "AS LONG AS THE DAY IS MERRY" GNAT = "MUCH ADO ABOUT GNAT-ING"

R&J BOAT_TORCH = "WHAT LIGHT!" ANNOUNCE_ENTER_LIGHT = "LIGHT THOUGH YONDER DARK STUFFS BREAKS" YELLOWGEM = "WHAT LIGHT THROUGH YONDER GEM BREAKTH?" SLURPER = "WHAT LIGHT THROUGH YONDER FUR BREAKS?" FIREFLIES = GENERIC = "A LIGHT THROUGH YONDER BUG BUTT BREAKS" FLUP = "WHAT EYE THROUGH YONDER GROUND BREAKS?"

there's a handful of "WHEREFORE ART YOU?" "WHEREFORE ART THAT?" SLURPER_PELT = "WEAR FUR ART NOW?" PIG_RUINS_ARTICHOKE = "WHEREFORE ART-ICHOKE?"

WALL_MOONROCK = "IT BE NAUGHT LIKE INCONSISTENT MOON" insufferable pedantry: it's "inconstant moon," actually MULTITOOL_AXE_PICKAXE = "IS'T INCONSTANT TOOL" yeah, like that

several "BUT SOFT, 'TIS SOFT BUTT!" for rabbit tails, bearger fur etc

CUTLICHEN = "CAVE ROT BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD TASTE AS SWEET" GUANO = "PLOP BY ANY T'OTHER NAME" FULLHONEY = "YUMS BY ANY OTHER NAMES" BEEFALOWOOL = "WOOL FROM ANY OTHER BEAST WOULD SMELL SWEETER" CORAL = "A ROCK BY ANY OTHER NAME" TOUCAN = "A NOSE BY OTHER NAME 'TIS CALL'D A BEAK"

RUBBLE = "THE COURSE OF BUILDING NEVER RUN SMOOTH"

SWORDFISH = "PUT UP THY SWORD"

BEEHIVE = "A PLAGUE ON BEES HOUSES!" WORMHOLE_LIMITED = "A PLAGUE UPON IT"

Tempest ACTIVE = "WHAT BRAVE NEW WORLD DOS'T THIS LEAD?", BEDROLL_STRAW = "'TIS STUFF DREAMS ARE MADE IN" PIGGYBACK = "'TIS SUCH THING AS WILBA MADE ON" KNIGHT_NIGHTMARE = "STUFF BAD DREAMS ARE MADE ON" PLAYER_HOUSE_GOTHIC_CRAFT = "SUCH STUFFS AS HOUSES ARE MADE OF"

ONEMANBAND = "WILBA PLAY'TH SWEET AIRS" (maaaybe?) BELL = "DING-DONG, BELL" (phrase is also in Merchant)

Merchant of Venice TRANSISTOR = "ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD?" BLUEGEM = "ALL THAT GLITTERS 'TIS COLD" GNATMOUND = "ALL THAT BUZZES IS GNAT HOME"

HONEYHAM = "'TIS POUND O' FLESH" TELEPORTATO_BOX = "A POUND O' BOX" TELEPORTATO_CRANK = "A POUND O' CRANK" TELEPORTATO_POTATO = "A POUND O' POTATO" TELEPORTATO_RING = "A POUND O' RING" ELEPHANTCACTUS_ACTIVE = "YOU PRICK WILBA, SHE DOST BLEED!" SNAKE_POISON = "IF YOU POISON WILBA, WILL SHE NOT DIE?" ANCIENT_ROBOT_CLAW = "HATH NAUGHT A ROBOT HANDS?"

Lear POWCAKE = "BLOW, CAKE!" IRONWIND = "BLOW, WINDS" WIND_CONCH = "BLOW, WINDS, WILBA CRACK HER CHEEKS" ANNOUNCE_VOLCANO_ERUPT = "SPIT-ETH FIRES! SPOUT-ETH RAIN!" VOLCANOSTAFF = "WILBA SPIT FWOOSHING, SPOUT RAIN!" HAIL_ICE = "SPIT ICE! SPOUT, RAIN!" HOUNDSTOOTH = "SHARPER THAN A SERPENT'S TOOTH" NOHONEY = "NOTHINGS CAN COME OF NOTHINGS!" SOMEHONEY = "HAVE MORE THAN THOU SHOWEST?" PIGMAN_ERUDITE = GENERIC = "SPEAK LESS THAN SHE KNOWEST" RELIC_3 = "IT SPEAKS LESS THAN IT NOSE-EST" TREEGUARD = "COME NOT 'TWEEN A TREE AND HIS WRATH!" DRAGOONDEN = "COME NOT 'TWEEN THE DRAGOON AND ITS WEIGHTS" TRAWLNETDROPPED = "FORTUNE SMILE ONCE MORE" WOODLEGS_CAGE = "LET'S AWAY TO PRISON"

Henry IV PIRATEHAT = "UNEASY LIES HEAD THAT WEAR PIRATE HAT" PIGCROWNHAT = "UNEASY LIES HEAD THAT WEAR-ETH THE CROWN" KRAKEN = "UNEASY LIES THE HEAD 'NEATH THE WATER!" PEAGAWKFEATHERHAT = "EASY LIES THE HEAD THAT WEARS PRETTY HAT"

SNAKE_AMPHIBIOUS = "A BOLTING-HUTCH OF BEASTLINESS" SLEEPING = "O GENTLE SLEEP!" BILL = GENERIC = "'TIS A FUSTILARIAN" ADULT_FLYTRAP = GENERIC = "I'LL TICKLE YOUR CATASTROPHE!" HIPPOPOTAMOOSE = "THOU ART AS FAT AS BUTTER!" RUG_PORCUPUSS = "'TIS BOMBARD OF SACK" i havent seen what this is ingame but i'm not confident that klei knows what that means

Henry V SPIDER = "WILBA UNTO THE BREACH!" SPIDER_WARRIOR = "WILBA ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH!" ANCIENT_ROBOT_LEG = "THE ROBOT IS AFOOTS"

Julius Caesar GENERIC = "LET SLIP THE PIG OF WAR!", PREY = "WILBA CRY HAVOC!" WARG = "'TIS DOGS OF WARG" SOLOFISH = "LET SLIP THE DOGS O' SEA" FLOWERSALAD = "'TIS FOR SALAD DAYS" SPIDERHAT = "FOR SPIDERS TO LEND WILBA THEIR EARS" EARRING = "WILBA LEND IT MINE EAR"

Taming SCORPION = GENERIC = "THEREBY HANGS A TAIL" ANT_CAVE_LANTERN = "THEREBY HANGS A LIGHT"

Othello PUGALISK = "BEAST WITH ONE BACK"

12th Night several "FOOD BE THE FOOD OF LOVE!" "ALL FOOD BE FOOD OF LOVE" etc MAXWELLPHONOGRAPH = "FOOD OF LOVE?" OX_FLUTE = "WILBA PLAY THE FOOD O' LOVE" ZEB = GENERIC = "'TIS HORSEY O' A DIFFERENT COLOR"

Timon of Athens, now THERE's a deep cut MEAN_FLYTRAP = GENERIC = "WOULD IT WERT CLEAN ENOUGH TO SPIT 'PON" ANTMAN = GENERIC = "WILBA WOULD BEAT THEE, BUT T'WOULD INFECT MINE HANDS"

misc SPEAR = "WILBA SHAKETH THIS SPEAR" RAINFORESTTREE = GENERIC = "SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO ANOTHER TREE?" lOTUS = "SHALL WILBA COMPARE IT TO SUMMER DAY?"

i don't think "o'er-peer the oceans" is anything because the only use of "o'er-peer" is apparently in coriol-fuckin-anus, but: SUPERTELESCOPE = "WILBA CAN'ST O'ER-PEER THE OCEANS"

CROCODOG = "'TIS A WHITE-EYED MONSTER" miiiiight be othello?

[britneyshakespeare]

you know i’m not generally an ariana grande fan, i don’t really like most of her music or her personality (as a pop star, i’m not gonna pretend to know her as a person). nor do i generally give a damn about her personal life, but she was kind of unavoidable in 2018. from her multiple music releases, to her relationship, engagement, breakup w pete davidson, to everyone and i mean everyone (from stans to antis) making the conversation about mac miller’s death about her, instead of, oh i don’t know, drug abuse, mental health, or mac fucking miller. and her fans are just everywhere on the internet making memes out of everything she does.

and i don’t really let it affect my judgment of her. she’s still just a pop star i don’t opine much on. she’s a good singer but i don’t like her style or her songs. that’s it. i don’t really do much to consider evolving that take, personally, because i don’t care for trend-hopping on pop culture discourse.

but then she drops thank u, next out of nowhere. and i think that’s really cool, actually. so briefly after a highly-anticipated album release, she releases a NEW single for a NEW album??? man, she’s working her ass off. and it’s about her personal life, right at the height of everyone talking about her every move. and it’s positive, uplifting. i’m not gonna take any of that away from it. i immediately sympathize w it. i think, on my first listen, ‘what a good pop song.’

but, like, by the next week it all just feels flat. the ‘one taught me love/one taught me patience’ prechorus almost feels like a nursery rhyme, but you know what really grates on me? the chorus itself, which should be the thesis of any pop song. ‘thank u, next,/thank u, next/thank u, next/i’m so fuckin grateful for my ex’ and repeat, has the exact same structure of an old folk song, and not even a good one. ‘jimmy crack corn and i don’t care,/jimmy crack corn and i don’t care,/jimmy crack corn and i don’t care,/my master’s gone away.’ ‘what will we do with the drunken sailor?/what will we do with the drunken sailor?/what will we do with the drunken sailor?/early in the morning.’ ‘give me that old time religion,/give me that old time religion,/give me that old time religion,/it’s good enough for me.’ 

examples of that very basic, very annoying structure for a song go on, but mostly in old tunes written and shared by the illiterate and underprivileged en masse, formatted in such a way that they could spread widely within those classes and be easily remembered. but thank u, next has six credited writers, was almost a certainty to be a hit (given the star-power), and it’s the best they can do?

overall it just got stale for me very quickly and it was only the spectacle of ariana’s personal life that made it interesting in the first place. i can commend it for its positive message, and i’m not going to say the singer herself has not had a difficult couple of years.

and you know what else lingers in my head about it? this seems like it’s supposed to symbolize for miss grande’s career exactly what piece of me meant for britney spears in the 2000s. an attention-grabbing move of a song to profit off of the already overwhelming amount of press surrounding the life of the singer in the current pop moment. spears’ situation isn’t quite like grande’s is now (for better or for worse, i’m not going to say), but there’s the unashamed, autobiographical, tabloid-shunning concept. the “you people don’t really know me like you think you do, and you never will” premise. and that’s easily appealing.

but where piece of me succeeds is the same place thank u, next expires quickly. piece of me is an elaborately written song, lyrically. in virtually the same length of time, britney sings biting and unforgettable lyrics like ‘i’m miss bad media karma,/another day, another drama./i guess i can’t see the harm in/working and being a mama,/and with a kid on my arm,/i’m still an exceptional earner’ and ‘i’m mrs. most likely to get on the tv/for stripping on the streets/while getting the grocerys—/no, for real, are you kidding me?/no wonder there’s panic in this industry,/i mean, please.’ sure, they’re more provocative in their insights than anything in grande’s song by design, but they’re also more detailed. more free-flowing and cathartic. faster and more exciting. none of those are qualities that would ruin thank u, next, but strengthen them. 

and that’s. my lukewarm take. on that song that’s everywhere on the radio right now. by that singer i don’t usually listen to. i’ll give it props once more for being thought-provoking as a topic of discussion.

[dockofkinkshame]

yeah i watched dramarama

it’s so weird not having an established narrative structure from the get go, like every other season spends the first episode going into detail on how the show works and sets up season long arcs and goals. i’m still really bummed that they’re ditching the reality show aspect of the show when that’s the POINT of total drama, the one thing setting it apart form other cartoons. if they’re not gonna kill off a toddler every episode, i thought this ep would at least be the first day of daycare or something so we see the characters meeting for the first time and there’d be some end series goal like a toddler graduation ceremony or some shit idk!!! just jumping into the middle of it when everyone already knows each other and there’s not any acknowledgement of why a chef is running a daycare or anything like i found it so hard to get into the ep. maybe it’ll turn out this is just a random episode that leaked and not the first episode? idk

im so bummed there isn’t ANY competition aspect to the show :( like even if it was one of them gets sent to time out by the end of each episode, or someone gets a gold star every week and whoever has the most by the end gets smth, WHATEVER! god like give me stakes. who VERSUS who are we doing it VERSUS

and with the confessional cam bits like they don’t make sense anymore if it’s not a show?? they could’ve done a mockumentary style format like the office crossed with dance moms where we’re watching chef try to handle all these fockin kids or whatever. there are so many PLACES to take the reality tv parody cartoon format in 2018 since reality tv looks really different now compared to 2007, there aren’t many competition shows anymore but there’s tons of that fly on the wall format. god there are so many ways they could have done this show to appease me personally and they didn’t pick one i hate fresh

the pacing is so bizarre like simultaneously way too much happening at once and also nothing? lol? and also so few of the jokes landed for me, i was laughin with chef ragging on noah but that was it really. and not even that the jokes were targeting a younger demo or anything, but the writing just felt lazy like i’m sure owen has delivered each of those punchlines at other points throughout the series.if he’s gonna be the main character again p l e a s e give him new shit to say,,

it just blows my fucking mind that this show has eight series now and fresh still don’t know how to write a fucking cartoon like jsakh;jlh why are they straight up choosing when and where to put effort in. who is paying them to continue. it’s such a non-toyetic franchise and i can’t imagine any season picking up new audiences literally how does td make money.

the animation is REALLY nice, wonder if they have a higher budget for it with doing 11 min episodes? the designs are cute enough, i like the redesigned outfits that most of the girls got. i realise that most of them prob got redesigned cause their original teen outfits would’ve been too sexualised lmao fresh,, i wish they just overhauled everyone’s designs though instead of shrinking everyone else like duncan looks so fuckin bad hgdgsfhxnf

i really can’t figure out who this show is for. td was always trying to appeal to a teen audience so whoever has that nostalgia fondness for tdi from 2007 is gonna be TOO fuckin old to care about this muppet baby reboot or are gonna be a dweeb on tumblr and blog about it. and i can’t imagine this inviting new audiences cause there’s a baby with a fuckin green mohawk and choker that no one is addressing. these were all existing problems anyway im ramblin

if fresh know what a nintendo switch is we’re definitely getting babies with smartphones and they WILL be making dated meme refs, harold will dab.

i can’t believe that leaked script was real and duncan did just? steal chef’s eye? i hate when ppl are like haha the animators must have been on drugs when they came up with this cartoon but honestly fresh is it crack? is that what you smoke? you smoke crack?

im still yellin that they pulled jude in from an alt universe and he doesn’t even have a line in the first ep like. gag.

idk im happy with new td content honestly and i hope it’ll inspire more fanwork like havin backstory fodder and all. i feel like i’ve only said negative things so far LMAO but honestly i knew this wouldn’t be my cup of tea so much so i’m not too bothered since i didn’t have huge expectations or anything. probably gonna keep watching in october or whenever cause i’m interested in character interactions at least and i wanna see more chef. also did they change chef’s voice actor? he was still good but :(

[p101recaps]

Broduce 101: Episode 11 (Livestream Recap)

I removed the ‘quick’ in the recap title for the last episode because I saw a comment shading me for that since these are anything but quick lol

This post contains spoilers.

We start off with some old trainee videos from school performances and company auditions (hello lil Samuel!) then move into the first intro vids and interviews. 

This is where we cry about their hardships like Mnet isn’t making billions of won off their dreams and haven’t axed more than half of them on the way here.

Special shoutout to chubby cheeked baby Sewoon!

BoA starts us off with a prelude to the season finale. I’ll miss seeing her on a weekly basis and we’re told to vote for our favourite trainee before last week’s ranks

The live broadcast has the first ever Nayana stage set up too, its beautiful

Last season’s winners, the IOI girls are attending (for the reaction shots ofc) but they all look so pretty!! Look at my girl, solo artist Chungha.

Yes NAYANA LIVE LETS GET HYPE look at these cuties grinning away

Whoa its centre Daniel! He has his babiest baby smile on

Samuel has purple hair for the finale, its a better look than the blond

That hall is full kids. This season has raked in that cash. The CEO can probably buy a small country.

IT’S MY ELIMINATED BOYS! The stage is cramped af 

The group name is Wanna.One 

NOOO RIP BOI

Cut to pre-recorded content for the stage prep, starting off with vocal check in for Super Hot. 

Seokhoon praises Hyungseob’s improvement, Daehwi’s consistency, Byeongari Seonho’s progress.

Centre battle time with the contenders all singing the ‘killing part’. Seonho is unexpectedly not bad, and he says grew taller as his vocal skills did too. Dead.

Sungwoon and Baekho are good, Daehwi takes the key down to hit the notes. Samuel is shaky but fine. Youngmin is also good, and Shin Yumi says he sounds like Jaehwan, prompting Jaehwan to emit a soulless, scornful HA HA before getting up to sing the other team’s song just to show him up

Sewoon is made to sing the line too and he makes up for the little crack in his voice with a funny hand dance

Hands On Me does their check in and then centre competition.

Ong-ssi’s voice wobbles and Jaehwan literally slits his throat because ‘killing part’. Daniel tickles his own chin lol 

Bae Jinyoung is the most surprising because of how clear he is

Jihoon is Centre Jihoon as always (Auntie Jisung is impressed)

Dance check in next! They’ve done their own choreos for the songs for this mission.

Super Hot goes first, and Kahi applauds their effort because its hard to devise formations and choreo 

They all perform the choreo as centre one by one. This looks exhausting, btw but they all do their own little bits to stand out

Hands On Me goes next and their choreo passes muster too.

Next they all try centre choreo. Honestly, all of them have distinct appeals, how do you even pick.

Kahi tells them that centre will be picked based on the vids that were uploaded recently, with every trainee in both groups performing as centre one by one 

They go to pick the centre in the same room that the coaches used for their level evals w/ Nayana performances

Super Hot team goes first, watching every vid. Youngmin’s voice cracks in his vid and Samuel’s eyes widen in response in the background lol

I just realised all of Nu’est but Minhyun is in this group. Baekho falls into a natural leader like role just because he seems to have a lot to say 

They then do an emotional verbal appeal for the centre position, all of them feel like they need it for this last leg of the journey, and then vote.

It comes down to Sungwoon and Samuel, and the live performance reveals who won

IT WAS HA SUNGWOON! Get it, boy!

The actual performance was fine, all of them dressed in red and white. This song is a bit iffy (seriously), but they all perform well. Megaton bomb is the obvious highlight. The choreo is enjoyable, very energetic and gimmicky, the kind that leaves plenty of room for the trainees to insert personal gestures

Lol Cube Chicks do another Troublemaker reference. Jonghyun and Sam do a bit of a dance in between

There’a a bit of choreo that looks vaguely like a Seventeen stage. It’s like a revolving door? I remember seeing it elsewhere. 

Very cute, all in all. The total effect is similar to Oh Little Girl from last mission

They have a lot of cuts to the eliminated kids as the coaches talk to BoA

Sung Hyunwoo’s there, his eyes are glazed over when the camera pans to him lol 

Kwon Hyunbin has dark hair again while Kim Sanggyun has his deep blond slicked back. 

Oh! Kim Taemin is in the stands! He’s lost so much weight!

First reveals are for trainees currently at 11-14. 

This anticipation is the pits. It just drags on and on endlessly. Kenta’s almost crying again

Sewoon, Jisung, Bae Jinyoung, Daehwi are potential trainees. 

I’m losing hope for Auntie.

And then cut to Hands on Me team in the viewing room for centre voting.

Yoon Jisung is jealous of Park Jihoon’s face and expressions lol 

Bae Jinyoung is at peak Sasuke Uchiha levels, coolly and sharply flipping his jacket around. 

Everyone is amazed at how handsome Ong is on screen while Jisung pulls out every bit of his trainee experience in his video. Ong says Jisung’s clever with expressions but expressed it weird lol

Cuts of them working hard and talking about the need to be centre before they vote. It’s down to Ong-ssi and Bae Jinyoung for centre. 

Live performance reveals it to be Bae Jinyoung!

The boys are dressed in sharp suits, which is how you know which one is the stacked team. They all look good, and scrounge up every bit of their charisma for the performance. This song is a lot more enjoyable, and has a choreo that’s more smooth rather than gimmicky, with a lot of jacket flapping. I can hear Minhyun, Ong and Jaehwan’s voices a lot although they all perform well.

There’s a bit of breakdown in between for the rappers’ benefit

Ong-ssi is wearing a pretty choker while Sewoon looks like a boy at his first prom. Bae Jin does the now patent Yoo Hwiseung lip swipe.

There’s a lot of loud yelling for Park Jihoon. It’s so distinct.

THIS ANTICIPATION IS THE FUCKIN WORST

Cut to a large thank you letter the trainees wrote BoA. She’s moved by their sincerity and laughs at the cuteness. It’s really rather sweet, even if it is filler content. She was a phenomenal representative - I watched this season for her, and she was so much more invested in actual training than Jang Keonsuk. That guy annoyed me the most last season.

The trainees also send a video letters to their other coaches, thanking them for their help and for teaching them over the last few months.

Cut to the trainees recording with the composers of the token ballad song this season, called Always 

Check it out if you’re keen, it’s meant to be this season’s Downpour I reckon. The boys perform it under soft white and pink lighting. Minki looks like he’s crying at one point, so does Seonho. Sungwoon, Baekho and Jaehwan hard carry the vocals.

BoA closes live voting. 

That’s of the Seventeen members in the crowd! The leader kid! I might have to confirm this later.

Cut to pre-recorded footage of the trainees all gathering together to talk. 

Ahhh it’s product placement for Naver’s streaming service. They listen to their concept eval songs.

Then they talk about their first appearances on the show, and they play their P101 countdown intro videos to all their embarrassments. Guanlin sings All of Me loudly and increasingly out of tune while Sewoon dances Pick Me. Jaehwan dances Seventeen′s Boom Boom lol. 

...I don’t even know what Emperor Hwang is doing.

Then sad video messages to their families for the tears, with that mournful Nayana intro in the background. Then footage of their families watching the video letters and sending one back.

Yoon Jisung has his mum’s eyes, and Samuel has his mum’s mouth exactly. Youngmin looks startlingly like his dad.

My heart aches, ugh. Mnet, you bastards. 

OH IT’S DAEHWI’S MUM FROM AMERICA! IN PERSON! THEY FLEW HER DOWN!

I wish I could fly down to see my mum too :(

All the ugly tears. Seonho is bawling straight up. 

Haknyeon’s mum is there too! And Guanlin’s dad and sister! 

Aw, his sister knows Ong-slate and Yoonjhumma’s clapping. 

Back at live stage, popular model Kwon Hyunbin gets coerced into filling some air time by BoA, so does Kim Taemin, who had to leave because of his sudden illness. Lee Euiwoong gets some screentime to himself to thank everyone for their support and help.

Dorm footage from their last stay with the kids imitating Hyunbin singing Downpour lol

More of that Nayana piano instrumental as they reminisce about their last few weeks in the dorm with the other trainees. A neat little shot of the set with the chairs, then shots of them practicing. 

Back to live for final rankings.

My heart can’t take this. The eliminated kids are all praying too.

Seriously, how can they waste airtime like this.

Trainee at number 10 is C9 Bae Jinyoung. He looks pale and relieved, thanking his fans, parents, and the Mnet staff. 

Number 9 is Pledis Hwang Minhyun!! 

Pristin Nayoung is thrilled while the Pledis CEO looks unimpressed. Why do they even invite these old bastards. 

It takes Minhyun a bit to start speaking to thank people, his words less smooth than normal because of how overcome (lol) he is. His mum cries constantly, I hope he can buy her something nice soon! 

BoA’s making a lot of tiny mistakes off her script because of the live broadcast burden. It’s cute.

MMO YOON JISUNG MAKES IT AT NUMBER 8 AND I FINALLY START CRYING AS HE WADDLES TO THE CHAIRS

Weird clapping forever! Oh, his dad calls up his family to tell them the good news while the eliminated MMO trainees cry in relief. 

He says in his thank you that he really had given up hope, but he’s so appreciative of all the support he received. It’s so cute that all the trainees are so excited, clapping his weird clap and laughing at him. He starts ugly crying again when he sees his dad, and same tbh. 

Everyone loves him so much!! I love him too! My Auntie! He made it! Yoonjhumma! I’ll actually follow this Wanna.One mess because of you Auntie Jisung! 

CUBE Lai Guanlin makes the final group at number 7!

He and Seonho are going to be able to help Hyuna keep Cube from the shredder!

Sweet Byeongari Lai Guanlin first thanks people in Mandarin (a lot of shots of the Chinese Yuehua kids+Kenta), then in English (it’s so terrible but so cute), and then he thanks everyone in Korean. He keeps saying ‘jinjja’ a lot, and his accented slurring gets worse because of how excited and nervous he is. BoA prompts him to thank his dad, which he does in Mandarin. He also gets to do his awkward audition dance. 

Trainee number 6 is Brand New Music Park Woojin! Good on you my wolf boy! You deserve it!

He starts his thank you with a full waist bow, then thanks his voters, BNM family, Rhymer, the P101 PD-nim (the audience protests this - dead but same tbh) and staff, the teachers and his family. He apologizes for worrying people when he was sick - pls. Like people need to feel more entitled. 

Woojin and Guanlin give each other massive bear hugs when they meet at the chairs. 

Trainee number 5 is Fantagio Ong Sungwoo!!

He’s immediately smothered by hugs, his mum is sobbing and his CEO looks happy. Doyeon gets a solo shot as she claps too.

His voice wavers when he starts his thanks, to the staff, Fantagio people, his parents. He does his really, very hyperbole, dramatic and earnest and promises to work hard before ending it with a waist bow. BoA asks him what position he would like (besides the slate) and he says he’ll try to maintain team balance and spirit and then does his Get Ugly meme face. He’s so excited!!

Ah, with him and Yoonjhumma in, you know the group will do well in variety.

You can see the hope leave Daehwi and Sungwoon’s faces as resignation sinks in :((

Trainee number 4 is Kim Jaehwan!!

He gets body slammed by the trainees and his mum looks visibly relieved. Chaeyeon looks shocked as she claps in genuine appreciation, so clearly surprised that the camera pans to her twice.

Jaehwan mentions that he didn’t have much hope as an independent trainee and thanks his parents for supporting him as he rehearsed alone. He promises to be a hardworking vocal and thanks everyone for their support so he can improve.

At number 3 is Brand New Music Lee Daehwi! 

He instantly collapses in shock, his trainees crowd him. His mum begins to sob, so does Jeon Somi. He jumps up and waves at her as she cries in relief.

Obviously grateful, he thanks his BNM crew, the p101 staff, and the usual, as well as everyone who voted him in as Nayana centre to start with. His mum, who flew in from the USA, gets a personal thank you telling her to not worry and thanking her for his support. 

Sat in his chair, he cries a little. I’m so relieved for him too, he’s so incredibly well rounded and talented for a sixteen year old.

Spots for number 2 and the main centre number 1 are between MMO Kang Daniel and Maroo Park Jihoon.

We’re all surprised, I’m certain. I’m more shook by Nation’s Leader Angel Wartortle GodJonghyun not appearing so far. The vote reset must have shaken his ranking up. 

They walk to centre stage for the announcement, the two issue makers of the season. 

Dead at how SM bought NCT a promo ad slot during P101 airtime

The truly expected yet unknown battle of votes between these two leads brings us MMO Kang Daniel at number 1, with Maroo Park Jihoon behind him at 2.

Daniel takes a while to speak, his throat dry from nervousness, saying he was grateful to be able to be in the top 11, much less be centre . Yoonjhumma is rubbing his arms at the revelation, while Daniel’s mum cries. Little Lee Woojin gets a shot. Daniel can barely speak, satoori slipping out as BoA teases him for becoming GodDaniel. He says he loves his voters in satoori, and even BoA giggles.

Park Jihoon speaks next, poised and polished as ever as he rattles off his list of people to thank. He doesn’t mind losing the spot to Daniel at all, and rounds off by doing his adorable Shugo Chara aegyo with the crowd. 

Daniel does a few full waist bows standing at his number one crown chair before sinking into it, finally.

I suddenly remember the MMO kids sitting on the chair like it was the family couch first episode, just so they could know what it was like. It’s been a whirlwind journey.

Time for final spot number 11, between Baekho, Sungwoon, Sewoon and Jonghyun. 

Sungwoon has no expectations. Baekho isn’t sure what to think. Sewoon is nervous too (not as much as Gwanghyun in the crowds though). Jonghyun thanks everyone and anticipates the results.

BoA looks pained being made to draw this out too. 

Nation’s Leader Angel Wartortle GodJonghyun is 14. Resetting the votes and spooking Pledis voters with Minhyun’s rank probably unsettled him. What a shame, I’d have put my money on him as a sure debut bet what with the edits and his general manga boy personality.

Sungwoon looks like his soul has left his body.

Sexy Bandit Pledis Kang Dongho is number 13. What a shame. The crowd screams in support for him anyway.

Gwanghyun and Taehyun are both increasingly worried in their seats. 

How crazy would it be if it turns out to be Sewoon. It was the same for Yeonjung last season, and they’re both Starship vocal kids.

ARDOR AND ABLE HA SUNGWOON IS NUMBER 11

I cannot believe it but I’M SO HAPPY MY BOYS!! Taehyun is fully ugly sobbing in his seat, the trainees around him are trying to comfort him but he’s truly a softie, poor Scratching Ajhusshi.

Sungwoon thanks everyone after running to the stage in excitement, emotional and grateful for everyone who believed in him, and promising to work hard. 

Sewoon, who was close, gives a very well worded and neat speech at the end, put together even through his disappointment. I look forward to seeing him debut as an idol. He’s going to be great.

Kang Daniel leads the last greeting to the viewers and BoA bows out for the season finale.

Well. This has been emotionally draining and completely unexpected. I never thought I’d have so many of my faves in the final line up, I’m going to have to keep following this group even if they put out crap music because there are so many reliable singers too! They sure showed my pessimism, but I’m not complaining. 

For the final time, below is a comprehensive list of the final ranking for Produce 101 Season’s 2 group, Wanna.One:

Kang Daniel

Park Jihoon 

Lee Daehwi

Kim Jaehwan 

Ong Sungwoo 

Park Woojin

Lai Guan Lin 

Yoon Jisung

Hwang Minhyun 

Bae Jinyoung 

Ha Sungwoon 

It’s been wonderful on this blog with you guys! As always, please let me know you spot in any errors!

[animorphs-liveblog]

this one goes out to the cool dude who requested i review book 2 as a whole *finger guns*

it was fucking phenomenal.

like. ok. you probs want more detail than that, but,

ok. jesus. where to even start. so, admittedly, it lost me a lil in the beginning. i mean, i understand!! it’s for children, and it’s written with the assumption that maybe you dont have access to the first book(which is great!! because children often DONT have control over which books they can access, so allowing them to benefit from your series with some VERY brief and honestly decently-crafted exposition is awesome, and framing it as each character telling their version and understanding of events is BRILLIANT to working towards characterizing everyone, and also making the same information palatable to repeat-audience, and also informing you of who knows what! so if they keep this format, as things go on and secrets are inevitably kept, it’ll become VERY interesting seeing the same situations from different perspectives, from people who hold entirely different puzzle pieces! so it’s all good!!!) but holy jesus mother of CHRIST ALMIGHTY does the recap fucking MURDER me each and every time!!! my adhd ass cannot Handle it and i start to skim because im a big weenie baby

but i can acknowledge that it is completely functionally sound, is solidly crafted, and lends itself well to a unique and interesting writing style. it isn’t badly made or poorly constructed in any sense, it’s just a Thing that happens not to click exceedingly well with my personal reading style

i really, really loved how much the book expanded on like… like what its like to be morphed. as in, mentally, that you have multiple consciousnesses(theres a fuckin scrabble word for ya lmao) that are not only vying for dominance, but also have murky boundaries. the cat and rachel are distinct, but when she morphs she becomes the cat AND rachel. almost like two bodies of water sitting next to each other have suddenly been merged, and the water can flow back and forth seemlessly, and it’s very hard to tell sometimes where one begins and the other ends, but they are inherently distinct(in a way)

or maybe even- like two ponds next to each other, and theres a small hole in the wall separating them. but the longer you stay like that, the more you force water through the crack in an effort to get control, the more you WIDEN THE HOLE, which eventually results in a melding that can’t be undone; i.e. tobias. his “pond” and the bird’s “pond” have mixed so thoroughly you could never hope to separate their consciousness. you can put droplets of blue and yellow food coloring in a glass, and MAYBE you could very carefully scoop them back out, but if you slowly stir it, the water will turn green and there’s no turning back

i also like the way animals and their emotions are represented… sort of. this happens more in book three, but like, occasionally there’ll be some statement about how animals just “dont have those feelings[mourning, grief, missing someone, intense sadness]” and i… ok, these books were written a while ago, and these are CHILDREN who might not have a strong enough grasp on their own feelings to entirely understand the animal’s feelings and how they’re different!! but we KNOW animals mourn. many species bury their dead. koko the gorilla spiraled into a depression when her baby died, and got better once she was told she was getting another baby… but then what she got WASNT HER ORIGINAL BABY, and she got angry, she wouldnt accept it, BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT THAT SOMEHOW WE HAD BROUGHT HER BABY BACK AND FIXED IT, AND SHE WOULD GET /HER/ BABY BACK(im going to cry btw?? im Big Baby and im going to cry?????) and i just… i know thats a fairly obvious case of a Smart Animal but i just refuse to believe that animals cant mourn. maybe they mourn differently, maybe it would feel different, i’ll accept that, and i’ll even accept “this specific species cannot feel xyz”, but i just refuse to accept “animals dont mourn” because you are telling me a Lie right to my Face

OK WELL IVE DONE ENOUGH TALKING AROUND THE ISSUE. TIME TO GET INTO THE ACTUAL MEAT OF THE STORY

SO. IT WAS INCREDIBLY FUCKING POWERFUL. like, it did everything it needed to and more to win my heart and convince me of just how high a caliber applegate was/is writing at. i mean, just… the nuance of the morality of the yeerks, the incredible lengths the chapmans go to to protect their daughter, how deeply melissa’s pain was and how brilliantly it was portrayed, the way rachel deftly comforted her friend in the only way that could truly keep her safe AND save her from her suffering even if only in the smallest of ways, the deeply scared and flawed and NOBEL rachel who knows what she must do and doesnt care how scared it makes her because she can do this. it isnt much but she can die silently, this is something she can do, she can die with the biggest FUCK YOU burning in her heart as she forces her mouth and her brain into complete silence, she is ready, good lord she will go down fighting even if it looks like silence because her defeat is the possibility of victory, because she knows this, because of melissa and her parents and rachel’s parents and because of tobias and jake’s brother and every single person who had to suffer through the feeling of their llved one slipping away and they dont know why this is happening, and because FUCK. VISSER. THREE.

the only POSSIBLE complaint i can truly lobby against the book is that i believe in rachel’s note to melissa, she says “your FATHER loves you”, which is true!! and it makes sense to highlight just how incredible it was that he was able to stand up to v3 just because of how much he loved her… but the mother fought back as well. she was weaker, but that doesnt make her fighting any less impressive because SHE TRIED TO CHOKE HERSELF TO DEATH

MELISSA’S MOTHER TRIED TO KILL HERSELF BEFORE SHE ALLOWED THE MONSTER CONTROLLING HER BODY EVEN A CHANCE TO HURT HER DAUGHTER

melissa’s mother fought against the yeerk in her brain and wrapped her own fingers around her own goddamn neck and squeezed with the intention of DYING. she loves her daughter so much she was ready to die, and he loves his daughter so much he’s prepared to LIVE- live through hell, live through being a traitor to humanity, ready to live in a box in the back of his own mind. they both love her more than words could ever even hope to express

ok well i’m done for now because i made myself cry and now my nose is all runny and gross??? so. yeah. i’ll add more thoughts if/when they come to me

[clockworksampi]

‘Squeeze’ Commentary

Longer works always present a problem for me, which is why I so seldom write them. They exist in a separate formula entirely from the academic technicalities of one-shots, and it’s a formula I have zero insight on how to balance. Therefore, I took a lot of time and asked more people than usual to pre-read this to make sure I perform to the extent of my abilities. Theme and pacing are the two things I’m the worst at. The only thing I ever set out to do is write some gags and make some people laugh. Every time I consciously attempt to write something with a theme, it just looks preachy. Whenever I attempt pacing, it all seems slow and uninteresting. And I don’t know if the characters I write can sustain attention for longer than ten minutes. I still try, because the art of storytelling is one that is truly wonderful when done correctly. Even if I’m a long way off from doing that. I don’t want to be the pontifical asshat edifying the blithering masses because I’m so much worldlier than everyone else on this ball of mud floating in space (which is aggressively untrue), but theme and revelation are vital aspects of storytelling. Every story, even Touhou fan-fiction, needs emotional and intellectual engagement to be great. I tried to make the theme a pretty simple and transparent one. In the immortal words of the venerable Mitch Hedberg: “I’m not a fuckin’ genius for christsakes, y’know, fuckin’, just tryin’ to tell some jokes. Shit! Who the fuck are you!?” I try to live my life by that shining ethos.

 The ending fight scene with Mokou and Flandre was originally very, very different, in the sense that it didn’t exist and involved pocket dimension snowmen. It was changed several times to arrive at what it currently is. Not even joking. You can figure out for yourselves how the narrative arrived at that. I’m not sure myself. A shame, considering the original draft was rather well-written; too bad it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

 Fun Fact: Remilia calls Yorihime ‘Yo-yohime’ because I, me the writer, actually forgot what Yorihime’s name was. 

 This work marks the first thing I’ve done where characters are actually in a relationship. I usually don’t like shipping, for the sole reason that very little of ships across the Internet are predicated upon the canon of the primary source. Although I will admit I am not without my predilections, hence why Hecatia and Junko are implied to have crushes on each other in Judgement Call. As far as I’m concerned, the only pairing in the Touhou Project that could be construed as canon is Miko and Tojiko, as they are based on two real life people who were real life married. Mokou and Keine are a thing in this because Mokou having a strong relationship with a human (well, sorta human) is an important motivation point. I pray you can forgive me for shipping.

 Of course, here am I acting all high and mighty about canon with all the liberties I took with the characters’ powers. If there’s one thing I learned from super hero comics, bending the rules and giving people power they should not have either goes over mediocre, or disastrous with little middle ground. Since progression and iteration, and the benefits and dangers that go along with them were some of the major themes of the story, I felt compelled to give the characters a little more. I did try to connect the more outlandish of things to official sources, or give them what I thought to be appropriate buildup. These things need to be sold, and I hope I sold them well enough. But maybe I’m wrong on that, and I will capitulate fully to anyone disagrees. I know Touhou canon is held extremely sacredly in fan works.

 That was sarcasm, but this is one thing I do want feedback on. Let’s get into some of the more interesting choices I made for the characters.

 Can Flandre destroy abstract concepts? Probably not, but I went with ‘she can, but hasn’t figured out how.’ And I’m pretty sure I misinterpreted how the whole ‘Eye’ thing works. I did make Eyes of abstract concepts fundamentally different than Eyes of physical things, because they are different, and they should be different to destroy.

 I agonized over giving Remilia a resistance to rain, but I hope I sold it well enough. She has shown several times in canon that she has an aversion to it, as a vampire should, and is something cataclysmic to Flandre in the work. By all accounts, this resistance should not exist, and I will admit that. However, Remilia has also shown that she has been building up a tolerance to sunlight and claims that her body is not weak. I don’t think it’s so far-fetched to assume that she is not entirely powerless to water.

 Remilia Scarlet is my favorite character, hands down, in all of Touhou. I therefore had to make doubly sure she was not given much in the way of favor. Which was a little difficult because in this work she played a puppet master, exposition style character who set up the plot of the story and, as a result, knew everything that was going to happen because of her broken-tier power. She seemed built for the role. I really don’t think I succeeded in pulling her out of the spotlight as much as I wished. Lessons for next time. I based her part largely on Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully and Lord Vetinari from the Discworld series, as the one who commands sensibility with an iron first, can be bullheaded at times and embodies the central theme of whatever story, with Sakuya being the Ponder. I’ll be honest, I don’t think I pulled the archetype off as well as the late Sir Pratchett. Here, I would probably make a joke about how his legacy living on in a fan-fiction of a bullet hell video game with an entire cast of little girls is exactly how Sir Pratchett would have wanted it, but I respect the man too much to sully his name like that.

 I think Keine got the short end of the characterization stick. She really doesn’t feel like much of a character me, more than she is a vessel to push the plot forward and exist. She’s somewhat stiff. She has a few jokes, but they’re few and far between. I don’t think I did a good job with Keine.

 I am likewise unsatisfied with how I portrayed Sakuya. She comes off as a little too serious, I think. But at the same time, she was understandably frustrated with serving Cirno.

 Speaking of Sakuya, I’ve always been a fan of the theory that she started as a vampire hunter who Remilia defeated. It strikes me as a very Remilia thing to hire the people who tried to kill you because it makes your life interesting. Have you ever noticed how Remilia’s two greatest defenders command silver knives and the rain? Makes me wonder if Meiling didn’t try to take a crack at Remilia back in the day.

 Also speaking of fan theories, I rather like the idea of Mokou smoking (don’t smoke, kids, it’ll kill you). But I even more like the idea of hand-rolled cigarette over ones from the pack; rolling your own just has a certain class to it I can’t help but admire.

 Why can Meiling make rain? Isn’t her ability controlling qi? Yes, it is. However, she is also (according to the interpretation I chose for her) a rainbow dragon. Rainbow dragons can probably control the rain, right? Flandre has the ability to destroy anything, but she is still a vampire, with all the strengths and weaknesses that comes with. Besides, don’t Meiling’s danmaku patterns revolve around plants, rainbows or rain? It seemed like a logical thing.

 I don’t know what Cirno’s accent is. This is why it changes every ten seconds.

 There are five things I specifically want critiques on: Did I go too far with artistic liberties? How was the pacing? How was the theming? Were the characters interesting throughout? What was your favorite pun? My favorite pun? Definitely a toss-up between vampires not being predisposed to reflection and Mokou solving the Incident before it got into later stages. Equivoques galore! I especially like the second one because it’s very Touhou specific. Which one was your favorite?

Also my first time doing a multi-chaptered thing. Hopefully I got the formatting down on the first go.

[ouijasurfboard-blog]

a very first-drafty sample chapter from the middle of EACAG

Chapter 39: A Blanket Fort of Nonsense

(because of tumblr formatting, things previously in italics may no longer appear as such. gee, that sucks. hopes it still reads okay thanks for reading

)

Cody burst from the shadows and into the streetlight, clothes sodden and dripping, thinning hair pinned to his face. His left eye was squinted by a swelling purple bruise and his lip had been torn open. His hands were bloody, half of them clutching his ribs. Furthermore, and most importantly, he’d lost his glasses. “The hell happened to you?” He stumbled forward, gathered himself, and put a hand on the streetlight to keep steady. “Ellie—have you been following me?” There was stagger in his voice as well as his balance. “Dude, no, I—” “Stop following me! God! I’m never alone! Why is everyone obsessed with me? It’s like, ew, I can feel you staring. Sorry. We were having a good time, and then I threw up on you with words. I’m so sorry.” He hunched over and vomited off the curb. “Ew. Anyway. It’s cool that you were following me. I get it. Sorry for freaking out. You’re like… my cool, wacky mom who’s younger than me.” My idiot son wasn’t done vomiting. I moved closer. “Cody, buddy, baby, your glasses—” “Sooo, here’s what happened. Did I interrupt you? Sorry. Don’t care. I mean, I do care, but, like, oh right, so, my glasses. So here’s what happened to my glasses. I was out with the boys.” Cody definitely met all of these boys no more than eight hours ago. “And we were at this club, then the song comes on, you know the one, and then I sing along, and everyone’s like ‘woah Cody we didn’t know you were bleeblerhblerhwhatever’ because I don’t, anyway, so this girl is like, ‘blerhblerh hey youuuerrr good singer me and the ladies going to a karaoke bar’ and I was like, ‘hell YEAH’ so I get in this van, and they’ve got like beads and shit and erm-ermpheta-amphetamines and at first I’m like, ‘naaaw dude’ but then they’re like, ‘yaaaw, dude’ and so I’m gonna, but they, so like, my badge, my fake badge, ‘aaagh oh shit a cop’ so I get the SHIT kicked out of me by this old guy and these three girls and this HUGE guy, and I’m coughing up blood but THEN the BOYS show up, drag me back to the first club, and then I’m like, to uh, the bartender, ‘hey can I a doubleblerhblerhblerh’ and she’s like ‘duude yourr fuckin face go to a mirror’ so I go to the bathroom and my face is straight fucked to shit, Ellen, and, uh, like, my glasses, where are they, not on my face, that’s where, but it’s party time let’s go beast mode so I pound a few with the boys and then they’ve got this shit that’s on fire but the fire’s purple but so like what the fuck and I get something called a curb stomp and that might be where I went wrong but anyway so me and Ian are outside wrestling and I’m punching him and he’s punching me and I punch him in the face and I hear this crack and I’m like oh shit I just fucked up his face forever bye so I’m running and the boys are chasing me and I think I lost them a few blocks ago? Who knows anyway I missed you.” His whole body began titling forward, and I put a hand on him to keep the pavement from flying upwards into his already sufficiently fucked face. “So, how many boys are there, total?” He counted on his fingers, muttering names to himself, lost count, swore, started again, and answered, “uhh… six?” Whilst contemplating my ability to somehow arrange the inconspicuous deaths of six people, what I had previously disregarded as over-vigorous rainfall turned to be foot steps fast encroaching. A man came into view from behind Cody, looking only half as frazzled but thrice as bloodthirsty. “HEY YOU! DEPRESSING HAIR GUY!” Cody’s eyes went wide as insert tired simile. He grabbed me by the shoulders. “I AM GOING TO DIE.” I took his wrist and bolted. I made it about five steps dragging him as a sack of half-blind whining meat before realizing we wouldn’t get anywhere. That he had managed to evade anyone at all was a miracle. The man tore Cody away from me and forced him against a wall by his neck. It all happened at once: I went for his eyes with my fingernails, he booted me in the shin, I took his ear in my teeth, he dropped Cody and kicked me in the ribs, I fell away with a bloody ear in my mouth, air having departed my lungs entirely. I thought sadly to myself, whoops Cody was right on this one. I clutched my ribs and curled up on the pavement. This massive pug-looking guy raised his foot to stomp the life from me when Cody’s fist emerged from the shadows like a hairy angel and, at the very least, distracted him momentarily. He recoiled his fist in pain, probably having shattered something if his agh! was any indicator. “I’m sorry. I’m very drunk and nerdy and skinny,” he said, wincing with every breath. Cody got himself socked in the gut. “Why are you doing this? I thought you didn’t like Ian.” “Your face annoys me. It’s a real punchable face.” Cody sighed. “Okay. I get it. So—” He stopped mid-sentence to vomit. The man raised his fist. “Nononowait! Just… thirty seconds. Oh my god. So, yeah, sorry about your shoes, and sorry about my face. It just came this way. And… you can punch it until it isn’t annoying, but please don’t hurt my dumb friend Ellen.” “Dude! She bit my ear off!” “Yeah, she’s really, really dumb. She’s so dumb that I bet she learned her lesson just from those ribs you broke. You don’t even need to break her legs or kill her. Also, she, like, only has one hand and stuff, and she’s like, super super short, so it wouldn’t really be a fair fight.” “You think I care?” Cody glanced down at me. “Ellen. Bernie. You gotta—” He was interrupted by another blow, but I took his meaning well enough. There was a scared little kid in danger out there, and this jowly cunt wasn’t going to stop me from finding him and then subsequently hugging him and never letting go again. I forced myself off the ground, drawing attention away from Cody long enough for him to just kick this dude right in the balls. He recoiled only just very briefly, which was nearly enough time to evade him, but not quite. He kneed Cody in the groin. I was on my feet and this point, and with a stroke of luck, managed to once again kick this dude in the balls before he plunged his fist into my gut. Everyone involved, at this point, was very angry and in pain. Unfortunately, drunk Cody lacked the manic superhuman strength of heroin Cody and even the admittedly subpar coordination of sober Cody, so our combined force didn’t amount to much. Fortunately, pug-boy’s testicles seemed to be in a pretty hefty state of distress, and I saw his determination begin to falter. Unfortunately, the pain only made him angrier, and the anger only made him punchier. “I’LL KILL YOU!” he screamed. I tugged Cody away. “You gotta run, dude,” I told him, as though it would persuade his balance to be more compliant. He tried his best. He really did. The large and shouting man was ever on our heels. I dug my fingers into Cody’s ridiculous flannel shirt and held on for (his) dear life. He stumbled on every slight abnormality in the sidewalk. Every bump, every crack, every shred of litter was a hurdle. In the seven years that we’d known each other, Cody had lost his glasses twice. Once after passing out at an otherwise underwhelming party to find them two days later sunk in a half-eaten nutrient slab, and the second time after accidentally leaving them at his then-girlfriend’s cell to retrieve them the following week when she finally found them behind her desk (one of many small unfortunate happenings that ultimately culminated in their breakup). Both times, their absence had put his life on halt. I swerved around a corner, dragging Cody, who’d become a tearful limping disaster. This wasn’t really the place to admit that I’d forgotten where I was. The hotel was definitely on the same plane of time and space as us, and if we were lucky, within the same ten mile radius, too. Finding it again was a matter of endurance and favour with our respective personal deities. Cody and I scrambled wildly from street to street, looping around familiar sign posts sometimes deliberately but sometimes definitely not deliberately and ultimately just getting ourselves more lost in an effort to lose slobbery hulking pug-boy. Cody was panting and heaving like he was in labour. I expected him to collapse at any moment, and I wasn’t entirely confident in my ability to lug around one hundred and twenty-four pounds of bored astigmatic stoner over my shoulders whilst also running for my life. As was to be expected at this point, a dumb idea occurred to me. I swerved into an alley, optimistically refusing to check over my shoulder, and flipped up the unfortunately crusty lid of a dumpster. “Hop over,” I said to a barely lucid Cody. His immediate reaction was to take advantage of the sudden interlude in our running to throw up. He had the good sense to wipe his mouth afterwards, at least. “What?” I slapped my hand against the dumpster in frustration. “The dumpster! Get it the dumpster!” He nodded slowly. “Dumpster… yeah… good thinking, Helen.” His eyes fluttered closed. I shook him by the shoulder. “I’m gonna boost you up, okay?” He nodded vigorously. “Boost me up, Scotty,” he said, drooling and struggling to keep awake. I clumsily took his foot with the one hand and propelled him upwards with all the strength of five determined meerkats. He tumbled into the dumpster like a sad domino made out of jelly. I followed after him and let the lid clatter shut over our heads, pinching my fingertips as it closed. “It’s dark and smelly in here,” whispered Cody. It was reassuring to hear that he hadn’t passed out. “It sure is, buddy.” “We have to find Bernie.” I took this matter very seriously. “Or die trying.” He patted his hand around until it landed on my shoulder. “Don’t die for a goat, Ella.” I shrugged. “Gotta die somehow.” He withdrew his hand. Time crawled by at a drugging pace. There wasn’t a comfortable way to sit in a dumpster. I waited, distracting myself with memories and hypotheticals, occasionally nudging Cody to make sure he wasn’t dead. After my awkwardly-positioned legs and the odd metal shape jutting into them became completely unbearable, I decided it was as good a time as any to leave. “Time to sneak out, huh?” It was hard to draw a coherent image of what his non-verbal cues might’ve been in the dark, but I assumed he was shrugging. “I guess,” he said. I slowly raised the dumpster lid. Cody’s arms flailed over the side and he dragged himself out, limbs moving in a fashion more akin to an octopus than a think-piece writer. “Oof,” he muttered, tailbone hitting the pavement. I followed after him, stopping to help him to his feet. “We’re good, right? Yeah. We’re good.” I glanced around, scanning every detail of our surroundings that wasn’t obscured by darkness. Maybe we weren’t good. There wasn’t really an effective metric by which to tell. “We’re so good,” I reassured him, making the mistake of patting him on the back. He shrunk away. “Agh! My ribs,” he whelped. “I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Are you okay?” He seemed stunned that I cared. “Uh… I guess I’m good.” He evidently was not good. “Like I said! We’re good! Totally good!” Cody pouted, lip trembling. He folded his arms and stared down at his feet. “I wanna go to bed,” he said, voice straining as is its wont before one breaks down into sobs. “I really just wanna go to bed. Where are we?” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Everything hurts.” He kicked his toes into the side of the dumpster, biting back a sharp gasp of pain as the joints in his foot staggered and crunched. The dumpster didn’t seem to mind, much, at least. “I got beat up by so many different people. Is my face really that punchable?” Cody fixed his eyes on mine, waiting for an answer. His features were crusted with blood and tightened in just, like, the saddest frown. His already prominent eyebrows were spiked in odd directions by the fray and beaded with raindrops and sweat and blood. His busted lip had stopped bleeding but promised a scar that wouldn’t be, I don’t know, pleasant. The rainfall and the brawling had done nothing for an already unfortunate hair situation. The spots above his temples and on the back of his head where his hair had begun to abandon him entirely weren’t quite as obscured by the eccentric volume of the rest of his hair, having been flattened and soaked. The real essence of his punchability, I decided, came from his facial hair, which crawled all the way up his cheeks and down his neck and always looked vaguely unkempt in a flippant I don’t even care, I’m just so cool and aloof and stuff kind of way that really miffed some people. He just looked smug. And as long as we’re bashing Cody’s appearance, his ears were a little on the big side. On top of it all, he was naked without his glasses. Truly, the man who always resembled a sad, hipstery less-hairy ewok had become the saddest, hipsteriest less-hairy ewok ever to ewok sadly. He didn’t really need to hear all that. “Not at all.” Not to me, at least. “You’ve got a super normal face.” You’ve got weird eyebrows. I mean, I like ‘em, but, buddy… And your eyes are kinda sunken. “Don’t worry. You’re cute.” “I’m cute?” “Yes. Absolutely.” He sniffled. “But, like, just nerdy cute, right?” “Yeah. It’s the glasses.” “But I lost my glasses…” “That’s okay. You’re still stoner cute.” “Stoner cute isn’t a thing.” “Uh, yeah it is.” “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Just, like, take a finger and fix your eyebrows.” He nodded and tried to smooth them into place. “Cool. Better.” I mean, his face was still bloody and swollen in places, but, eh. “Cool.” “Cool.” He sighed. “But, I’m not, like, hot, right?” “Eh.” He straightened his shirt. “Cool.” He swallowed another heavy breath to stop his quivering. “Cool cool.” Still unsure about his balance, I walked carefully and close so I needn’t reach far should he just, fuckin, like, fall right the fuck over. The buildings weren’t so unfamiliar now that they were more than just a blur in my periphery. We had made it more than a few blocks away from the hotel, but we hadn’t gotten ourselves as hopelessly lost as I had feared. We were just normal lost. “How bad’s your vision?” I asked. He looked down at me, face pale and still a little shell-shocked. “Like, bad.” “’Kay, but, like, bad bad or just straight fuckin blind.” “Uhh… I can’t read, can’t do details or things that are far away or things with small parts or operate machinery or coordinate well or grab things or write… uh… Actually, I probably could read if the letters were really big, but, uh, yeah. That’s it.” He would periodically reach to adjust glasses that weren’t there, dropping his hand sadly upon being reminded. Finding them became more immediately imperative than whatever other bullshit we were up to. Something to do with an organ harvester? Who knows. Bottom line was that Cody was, while not useless and still better company than no company (sixty percent of the time, at least), in very desperate need of his dumb thick-rimmed trendy-ten-years-ago glasses. “Can you still contact your optometrist guy?” “Optometrist? Dude, no, okay, shut up, it’s a good story, though, listen. So, I was walking… this was like, twelve years ago? Oh shit, I’m old… so, uh, I was walking… I already had glasses at this point, by the way. The school counsellor got me these shitty ones… anyway… So, I’m fourteen, walking on the docks, and there’s this bucket, and I’m like, oh a bucket, but then I got closer, and I was like, oh shit, this bucket is full of glasses. Mostly broken ones, right? So I’m trying them on, ‘cause, why not, and this guy starts yelling, ‘hey kid uuhhh so, like, that’s my bucket’ and he’s a scavenger, right? Because there’s like, also a bucket of shoes lying around and a bucket of tea strainers and whatever… So, I’m just grabbin a handful of not-broken glasses and running away because, like, I’ve just been coasting by at this point by cheating in school and I hold papers really close to my face… anyway… So, one of the pairs, like, work, I know, what the fuck, ayy, Mazel Tov, Cody can see. And, uh, yeah. I kept ‘em. Duh. The end. How have you not heard this story?” “I don’t ask you about—” “You don’t ask me about myself as much as you should,” he finished for me. He scoffed. “I dunno why, I’m preettyy interesting.” This wasn’t entirely true. The uh, me not asking him about himself part, not the him being interesting part. Actually, never mind, neither were entirely true. I felt like I knew more about Cody than anyone should know or care to know about Cody. There was a filing cabinet inside of my brain labeled ‘bullshit nonsense about Cody’s life’ take took up a vacancy once occupied by, who knows, how to negotiate a pay raise or how to budget properly instead of just hoarding money like a sad(der) Smaug. “You sure are, Cody.” “I bet that’s why I got beat up.” “Because you’re interesting?” “Because I’m interesting.” I nodded in agreement. That put a dumb short-lived smile on his face. He must’ve had some faith that I knew where I was going, since he didn’t seem to question it much. I was confident, perhaps (probably) over-confident in my sense of direction. It’s a finite space, I reasoned, and we can’t possible be getting further away. We could. In large, square-ish letters, the sign read INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE, flashing pink and accented with gold baubles. The door below was an archway woven with flowering vines and patterned ribbons, among them a smattering of just the most pretentious butterflies. The building itself was robed in an elaborate mural depicting a panel of dapperly-clothed animals seated at some sort of senate, all gathered below a three-eyed goat. The goat was crowned and sat upon a throne at the head of the senate floor. I felt viscerally unnerved. Cody squinted at the sign. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s some Noam Chomsky magic realism boho nonsense,” I assured him. We’d arrived in some sort of strange hellish Halsey-esque plaza where the stores were either barren and abandoned à la zombie apocalypse or teeming with aesthetically-bohemian taken-back-by-the-earth-and-also-Portland life. Roses crept down from windows and thistles jutted upwards from cracks in the pavilion. Entrances were attended by delphiniums and hibiscus sprouting beneath fern umbrellas. Ventilation shafts sighed baby’s breath into the corridors and blew nettles amongst the ghosts and husks of furniture. Christmas bells hung from streetlights and lilacs pooled amidst a collapsed fountain. Geraniums and lavender and ominous oleander waved us towards the Warehouse Hole. It was all very eco-chic. Cody ventured further into the flowery nonsense strip mall. “The colourful stuff is flowers, right,” he said, unimpressed. Pink light glittered against the blood and rain that painted him. “This is dumb. Like…” He gestured wildly at everything. “This is dumb. Are we lost?” Yes. “Pfft. No.” “We’re gonna find my glasses, right?” he said, talking to a mannequin. “It’s our number one priority.” He stumbled trying to follow my voice. “Okay. Cool. Good.” “Are you gonna be okay?” “Who knows? Maybe.” I brushed my hand along a white bouquet of Star-of-Bethlehem. “You know what? Not a fan.” The flowers looked to be watching me leave, which was the opposite of an appropriate flower activity. “It’s bright, it’s spooky… not a fan. Uh, not on board with this one.” Cody lost his balance on a root curving up from the pavement, catching himself on a wayward clothing rack. “Haha. Walking: hard mode.” He puked into a corner of unsuspecting irises and daisies. Regaining his footing was a matter of crunching a broken window beneath his sneakers and nearly becoming impaled upon an unfortunately-positioned upturned signpost. “Ellen, uh, seriously, where are we?” Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole. “A blanket fort of nonsense.” He staggered away from the broken glass. “Oh. I hate blanket forts.” Drawn by the flashing lights, he veered towards the entrance to the Hole. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve been here. We’re lost, aren’t we? Uugggghhh, Elleeennn…” “We’re not lost! You can only get lost in the desert and in the ocean because everything looks the same. Everywhere else you can just backtrack.” “WE DON’T KNOW WHERE WE ARE!” “YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!” “I’M LEGALLY BLIND!” I filled my lungs with pollen-dusted air, raising my hands in a calming arc, and sighed, ultimately doing nothing to lessen the tension. “Let’s just… go back the way we came, and figure it out from there.” “We’re going to the hotel, right?” “Hotel. Yes. Sleep. Then glasses.” I turned by back to the flowers, not without a pinch of regret that I wouldn’t sate my curiosity as to what the hell, I mean, just, like, what the hell, right? What’s going on here? The mural? What? Cody and I fumbled our way free of the Warehouse Hole pavilion. There seemed to be more flowers surrounding the exit than there’d been when it was our entrance. Watchful irises eyed our escape. The feeling of being spied upon lingered on the back of my neck. “Spooky, right?” “I don’t know, Ellen, my vision is shit right now, call back at a less shitty date, thanks.” The sign read ‘Zlotys St.’ but there was nothing zloty about it. A strange mingling of sprawling weeds and rain-freckled trash bags and masonry stained by a dazzling selection of mystery fluids coagulated, as it were, to form the district before us. Confused seagulls squawked overhead from the buzzing heads of streetlights. The first establishment past the plaza was a barber shop called Snippy’s which was attached to a laundromat called Swishy’s that itself was followed by a family-owned deli shop called Slicey’s. What humour! While the quirky fixtures of the city were as delightful as they were smelly, they remained unfamiliar and were of no help when it came to finding our way back. “You know, I should’ve bought a map,” I said, padding along, ducking beneath the odd awning to evade the rain. “You’re an idiot,” said Cody, who had had enough of life. “Nothing idiotic about being reflective of one’s past failings, amigo.” “You just never turn it off, do you?” “It’s called a coping mechanism, Cody. Look into one some time.” He sighed and picked up his pace, hand clutching his ribs as to, I assume, keep them from falling out of some open wound whose existence I wasn’t yet privy to. I caught up to him. “Are you good?” I asked. He remained visibly in pain. “I don’t know. No? Probably not. I just, ugh, I want to sleep it off, okay?” I frowned in pity at him. Whenever something adverse befell him on our dumb stupid completely necessary endeavour, I couldn’t escape my share of the blame. I was most worried in this moment that he’d finally gotten himself into a truly lethal pickle with those fisticuffs. Obviously, whatever happened, it was the boys’ fault, but obviously, it was really Cody’s own fault, but obviously, it was more than a little bit my fault for dragging him out here in the first place. “I know you’re gonna die no matter what and whatever, but I’d be pretty bummed if you died… soon…” “Thanks, I guess.” “So, please don’t die as a result of your injuries. The guilt would eat me alive, and it’s hard to effectively find a small, defenceless goat after you’ve been eaten alive.” “If you say don’t die or I’ll kill you, I will actually punch you.” Through the darkness and the downpour, it was hard to discern anything glaringly off about his appearance from the bored and tired norm. It was similarly hard to discern buildings we’d passed from ones we hadn’t. You could see the source of my predicament. I toyed with the prospect of returning to the Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole for little reason beyond that it remained nearby and intriguing. “So, those flowers, huh?” I brought up out of nowhere. Cody scowled. “Hippies.” “But it was kinda neat, right? It was stupid—” “It was dumb as hell.” “…but kinda neat, though, right?” “I WANT TO GO TO BED.” I sighed and tugged my lips in a sympathetic smile. “Bed it is, Codes. Maybe tomorrow—” “Uugggghhhh, tomorrow suuucks.” “… after we find your glasses, we’ll, uh, we’ll pop by the warehouse.” The three-eyed-goat from the mural lingered on the back of my eyelids. Anything goat-related, at this point, seemed worth investigating. We turned a corner and Zlotys Street became a vaguely familiar cobbled road marked by a signpost that read Hellspring Rampart. To the right of us were brick-and-mortal buildings that stood as one long, undivided stretch of masonry, separated by interior walls rather than alleys. To the left was nothing but ocean. The sidewalk metamorphosed into the halfhearted suggestion of a pier underfoot. The black sky had waned into a dim grey and dawn loomed far off upon the waters. I knew Hellspring as the rickety cousin to the main docks where we’d arrived. I was confident that we were closer, now. “So, Codes…” “Ugh.” “What was the name of the club where you, uh… where you went?” “Uugghh… Uh… Okay. It’s called Boys Only Club, but it’s liiike, just the name. It’s not actually boys-only, right.” The whole situation was ruthlessly atypical of Cody. It was beyond strange for him to go out partying with strangers, let alone strangers of overbearing and loud masculinity. That was, until now, strictly my dominion. Of course, it was more than probable that the night’s unfortunate happenings had extinguished whatever curious appetite he might’ve had for the sort of debauchery he’d found. “How’d you end up there?” He scratched his head. “I probably walked.” “Yuh-huh. How’d you find, uh, the boys?” He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, in a past life. “I have no idea!” His foot took a wrong turn and he nearly swerved into the ocean. I pulled him by his sleeve to my other side so I might act as a buffer between his shit balance and the sharks. “And what about, uh, those karaoke girls? What bar did you go to with them?” He gave me a long, condescending stare. “You think I know?” His glasses were lost as fuck. The brick buildings parted into the first alley we’d encountered for an irresponsibly long distance. It appeared as a long blue gash in the red walls. Banners and triangle flags and paper lanterns dangled on sagging strings overhead. A sign bolted in the bricks read LONG ALLEY. If you squinted, smaller letter inscribed below read *Beware rats; they’re not more afraid of you than you are of them. Quite the opposite, actually*. I shrugged at the warning. The end of the alley was bright and bustling, and the pier reached a dead end not far from where we stood. I decided on chancing the rats. Long Alley carried a thick, sickly, cinnamonny flavour in its breeze. Pipes coursed as veins along the walls, rusted and dripping. Cody trailed a hand on the bricks as he walked to keep from tripping again. The bricks soon gave way to doors and beaded archways into shops and things categorically near enough to shops to make no difference. Freckles of orange began to tinge the grey sky. “Hey Ellie,” said Cody with awkward, slow syllables. “What?” “You know what’s dumb?” “Probably.” “Well… I’ll tell you anyway…” He stopped, took hold of a low-hanging pipe, and threw it an accusing finger. “I can’t see or stand so good, but that is definitely a rat, and it is definitely following me.” The good and bad news was that he hadn’t been hallucinating from blood loss and exhaustion. The rat, a grotesque snow-white red-eyed creature of unusual size, glowered hungrily at Cody. It stood hunched on the rusted pipe, undaunted entirely by our presence per the foretelling of the sign. “Ohh, that’s a creepy baby right there,” I said, twiddling what few fingers I had in its direction. The rat stood still and stoic as a Buckingham Palace guard. “I don’t like you, pal. Don’t like those eyes,” Cody told the rat. “Go eat a cheese, ugly.” The rat wasn’t moved by his insults. “This is a nasty boy, Ellen. Let’s leave.” Cody shot the rat a venomous, knowing squint before shuffling along. The rat scurried across the pipes, following like a magnet. As we drew nearer to the end of the alley, more rats began to spring from the pipes and cracks in the mortar. Cody kept to the middlemost point between the walls, arms crossed crossly. Soon flowers began to wind down from the cracks as well, one for every new rat that bounded into view. My skin crawled. The alley spat us out into an overgrown pavilion bathed in the flashing pink light of INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE.

[grizzlefur]

WWEm - M. Night Parablamyan

You’ll be pleased to hear that Comic Sans has gone on indefinite leave. Also, the formatting has now become single line spacing, until I find I don’t like it or something. Let me know if you like it/love it/don’t give a monkey’s butt.

As ever, Emma can be found on Twitter as @Waruce, usually during PPVs.

Transmission date: Monday 12/Tuesday 13 June 2017.

all up in this bitch, cos it's SATURDAY AFTERNOON RAW! raise your hands if you can't remember thing one that's been happening on raw shit, can't type with my hands raised rescind that last advance warning: if i make more mistakes than usual in this writeup, extend me some leniency on account of i can barely see straight, because it's fucking summer so my eyes are full of TREE SPERM and MUCILAGE and THE DEATH OF ALL THINGS seriously, it's a party but oversharing aside, let's watch some wrestlemans and wrestlewomans, although the raw wrestlewomans' division needs to figure out what the fuck it's doing

we open with a recap of joe talking shit to an absent devil who i think is going to be turning up this week? i say that like i care and also him choking the life out of a small portly jewish man and being the most well-spoken kind of psychopath snapping into the present, we're apparently in the cajundome and immediately hit brock's music hey, they know what the fans want now i just need to figure out why they want that so yes, the championship is here, attached to the walking embodiment of technically-legal masking agents but thankfully, only paul has a mic apparently this is the day of joe's fuckupening i paraphrase, but i wish i wasn't "Like a shark luring the chum into his domain..." paul, i think we need to take you to seaworld or some shit apparently joe was somehow abusing brock's ring, despite the whole bit where he hasn't been here in a couple of months paul is hastily retracting everything complimentary he said about joe last week and now throwing shade about the fact that joe's not part of the anoa'i dynasty? that's certainly an esoteric burn the angle is that the coquina clutch would probably fuck brock up, but joe won't be able to get it on him because he ain't shit related note: can we have a moratorium on white dudes calling poc a 'mutt' or similar? leaves something of a bad taste joe arrives, him and brock immediately unload on each other kurt sends in security, brock kills them all, so paul calls in the whole roster to pull them apart and they kind of suck at it leave security to the pros, guys all the faces are clinging onto joe like he's the messiah and end thing, apparently tonight's main event is kkb/hardyz for the title round #34982, but this time it's two out of three falls cut for ads, and we come back on a recap video of the exact thing we just watched i know i say my memory's bad, but seriously booker's still here, because shut up with your reasons

but now, here's elias and his guitar and his array of scarves weirdly, this crowd seems pretty split on him he's written a song about the brave inhabitants of the cajundome asks the crowd to be quiet while he plays, cole immediately starts talking so yeah, this is a song about how louisiana and dean ambrose aren't collectively shit so here he comes elias, please never try and rhyme 'breath' with 'darkNESS' again recap video of the deep strangeness of miz's championship celebration aka, The Day Mike Fucked A Clock With A Chair (and offended his wife) i did like the ending of it, though it's nice to have the cameramen acknowledged as something that exists in-universe elias samson is present, so naturally corey is immediately salty as fuck he hates dean, too, but seriously "The man has the vocal stylings of a pigeon that's been stepped on!" (fun fact: i would probably listen the hell out of an elias samson album) (just do acoustic covers, whatever, i just like his voice) so far, this match consists mostly of dean trying to trashweasel his way out of trouble and elias shutting him down duelling chants seem a bit harsh: "You can't wrestle!" "YOU CAN'T SING!" dean gets his usual comeback sequence comprising a strange mix of real wrestling skill and just running in the vague direction of your opponent and hoping they fall harder than you do elias stands far too close on a suicide dive, basically just grabs dean and walks backwards like oh no i am defeated dean gets the upper hand of a super slow turnbuckle spot, miz runs in to bother him elias still can't even pick up a distraction pin maryse is backing miz up, so at least they're still okay dean goes for miz, he does the wife-shaped shield thing it doesn't work at all, miz gets beaten on a lot dean gets back in the ring, elias does a nasty knee drop on his back as he comes in, swinging neckbreaker for the pin "By hook or by crook, a W is still a W!" are you in a fucking ionesco play, corey

but now let's have more of goldust doing his thing his thing, of course, beign sitting in a chair at a terrible frame rate and quoting films dude, if you just turned that chair a bit, you wouldn't have to crane your neck like that can't be good for you but yeah, vague threats in the vague direction of r-truth

but now we're backstage, and an angry kurt has words for the miz those words basically being FUCKIN' QUIT IT he has enough trouble with big samoan guys named joe miz insults kurt, alludes to his indeterminate personal problems, you could chew the tension demands dean be suspended or fired, kurt retorts with a) shut the fuck up, and b) no maryse is apparently still angry at her husband kurt walks off, miz splutters, end thing cruiserweight time now, after this video to remind yiu just how good cedric alexander is, since he's been away for a while and here's noam dar arguing with his phone backstage cedric comes in to remind noam how done he is with him and his girlfriend's collective shit she is, of course, on the other end of the phone she's injured, but she wants her scottish sleazeball to beat cedric right the fuck up tonight cedric's like fuck, fine, whatever, i'll fight you tonight, but then can you please go bother literally anyone else

so yeah, now it's time for that match noam is still on his phone on speaker as he starts his entrance they're having a barely-audible argument and the phone's casting to the tron for some reason also, noam has a new jumper, and it's nowhere near as good alicia wants to be on the line through the match, noam does not want this the ref's like dude sort your shit out we've got a match to have finally puts it down in the corner, bell rings, lumbar check, end alicia is piiiiiiiiissed that's still an absolutely vicious finisher noam is trying to salvage this telepresence argument while also going oh holy fuck my spine hype no. 58 for the main event

but up next, bray wyatt...does a thing, i guess? he's certainly present and i'm ok with that but now a video package of roman, because god knows we haven't seen so much of him see, this package makes him look good, cos it's just the big spots and not all the slow-ass bullshit between them next week, roman has an announcement about summerslWYATT CUT bray fills the screen, tells us cheerfully that the world is ending does the i'm here thing, and now he is after a randy-based wyatt cut, for some reason did someone click the wrong file? corey calls bray 'bizarre', somewhere goldust is like wait a fucking minute bray's going to kill everyone who sins, sits in apathy while people sin, or blaspheme against him apparently seth lives in a house where his architect's blueprints cover the windows and block out the sun this may just be a parable, but it's a fucking great image oh, apparently bray shattered it because it was a glass house? did you mention this before, bray? bit of a shitty twist other wise m. night parablamyan and now seth will be picking splinters of glass out of his soul for eternity that's a fucking greek god level of ironic fate so yeah, anyone who takes the dark lord's name in vain will get fucked on speaking of, here comes seth to get fucked on/pick glass out of his soul i'd be good for either he's like wait a minute dude you cost me my match because i called you names that seems disproportionate but by the way, you suck seth claims he's here to pipe bomb some truth at us, calls bray a coward don't insult him, he has a backwards tractor bray takes the opportunity to give a sermon on pride, tells seth he, too, ain't shit like lol kingslayer ain't that cute *teleports backstage* bray claims he'll win because gods live forever think we need to read you some egyptian/norse myth there

but now, charly has the hardyz in the led interview backstage corridor whatever thing the hardyz would like you all to remember that they're awesome and that jeff has an unhealthy predilection for jumping off things but now, enjoy this montage of what cena's been up to and remember that he'll be back in an episode i am unlikely to blog

but now we have kalisto vs titus, through the medium of his younger, happier dude and akira tozawa is standing in the front row, because titus wants him on brand apollo beats on kalisto, titus stands by the barricade shouting at tozawa like DUDE LOOK AT MY BOY ISN'T HE GREAT tozawa is like please stop shouting at me kalisto goes for an excessively flippy handspring springboard stunner, apollo counters to a spinout powerbomb for the win titus drags tozawa into the ring for an uncomfortable selfie with them he's just like dude stop hugging me

but now, HARD CUT TO CLOSEUP OF RHYNO PUTTING CHEEZ WIZ ON CRACKERS we all needed that miz has come with a proposal for heath to become part of his entourage rhyno is like dude i'm standing right here miz promises to make all heath's dreams come true, heath's like well i've always wanted to be ic champ hmmmmm miz offers him a shot if he joins the dark side rhyno's like you know what fuck you dude i'm gonna go find kurt to give us a match against you maybe rustle up a friend we're out *aggressively eats crackers* so yeah

spot about that theme park competition thing, but now here's alexa our resident wrestlewoman with her shit together oh hey, a recap of last week's match so it did happen after all no, alexa, don't kick off by mentioning your match at extreme rules we're all trying to forget on saturday, we've got the first women's mitb match, but fuck that noise, tonight's about me but here's nia to take issue with the fact that alexa offered her a title shot, then whined about it and cheated out of it alexa's like i know right we should have had a great match but those two fucked everything up so here come those two mickie's redesigned her gear to play up the Native elements again chest dreamcatcher and everything mickie and dana try to remind everyone how much of a bitch alexa's been to nia in fornt of everyone alexa's like lol no i think your eyesight's going ah, cheap ageist jokes but now,...hit emma's music not that i'm gonna complain fucking love that music *beep boop beep boop* emma announces her dramatic return, demands a shot for the title alexa's just like um do you even go here and now here's sasha fuck it, everyone in the division in the segment that's how we do wrestling, right? so wait, are alexa and nia the only heels on the show? seems unbalanced sasha mocks alexa for literally everything she does, punches her in the face, cue brawl and hard cut to an advert for the episode of smackdown i'l be watching later back from ads, and we've got the 6-woman tag match we all saw coming so yeah, emma's still a heel, just one with a problem with the even heelier champ so yeah, emma's back, with weird shoulder things and boobface and everything although following a gear redesign, the boobface has gone from :) to :o it's great that she's back because she's great, but it does mean i have been once again demoted to the second coolest person to bear the name formulaic tag, sasha hot tags in to beat on emma, alexa decides to just walk off instead of letting emma tag out, bank statement for the tap this is not how you make friends

confirmed, later we have slater/rhyno vs miz/[NAME]

but next, corey talks to bayley about her utter lack of extreme after this advert for gold bond and MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY cole massively hypes it, then is like wait what the fuck am i saying that's the wrong brand smoothly done and now, have a package about how great finn is, and that is THE ONLY ORDER THOSE WORDS GO IN complete with lots of shots doing the arms and telling us how good he is

but yes, now we have corey/bayley just by his existence, corey must remind her how extreme she's not for the love of god, woman, get a tatt bayley's like hey i've never been in that situation before i'm a normal person i don't want to hurt people corey's like um have you ever wondered why you're in this business bayley does this whole motivational self-improvement thing which doesn't really work on its own cena does that, but with the understood subtext that if you get in the way of him being his best self, he will fuck your shit right up and bayley says her next thing is to get the belt back manageable steps slightly awkward hug, end interview so that was a thing

but now, here come A ONE MAN BAAAAAAAAAND (and his friend) rhyno should rebrand as a one man road crew miz and maryse arrive, wearing the mania jackets again, because all the best people read this blog (hey, mike) apparently he approached elias during the advert break, who said yeah fuck off dude so here comes his partner with music that sounds like the laughing fucking gnome of something and on a tricycle it's the bear although this bear is much taller and walks like dean ambrose corey christens him Big John Cubb crowd chant for a tag, miz is like i'm not a moron do you think i don't know who this is corey is just spamming us with spurious life facts about the bear because of his refusal to tag in a large mammal, rhyno is just fucking miz up all over the place cole makes a reference to the jbl and cole show, to reward dedicated weirdos bear tags himself in heath tries to take his mask off, bear punches him in the face good to know bears follow lucha tradition does a bearhug (naturally), heath nearly taps miz tags, then starts beating the piss out of the bear at ringside rips off the mask, revealing some dude, once again and rhyno spears miz into the netherworld throws him back into the ring, bear follows, heath tries to convince him to turn on his master, bear hits heath with dirty deeds, excessively long realisation beat, he unmasks and is in fact dean did...did we just get twin magicked by a bear? IT WAS ME ALL ALONG, MIZANIN! ahem dean goes for miz, he jumps and knocks maryse off the apron she hobbles off with a dark look dean stands there with a magnificent ooooooops look until miz turns around, when he hits him with dirty deeds and puts a still-unconscious heath on top of him for the pin slater and rhyno leave, dean puts the bear head on miz and walks off this just became strange this feels like it should be on one of those serial killer warning sign lists miz eventually rips it off, glares, end segment

hopefully we should have the main event next, if they want to give it the time it deserves oh, looks like we actually are huh was not expecting them to do the whole sensible booking thing recap video of the most beautifully-executed surprise return at mania and also this entire feud i'd forgotten how good their heel turn was, as well oh wait, never mind, neville's here phew if wwe started booking things in a sensible, organic way that gave things room to breathe, i wouldn't know what to do rich swann enters, does his usual dancing, gets punched in the back because neville's taken a bunch of levels in twat oh wait was that the neville level i get it beats swann all over the place, rings of saturn until he stops twitching demands his belt and a mic neville crouches by swann, recites a list of pretenders he's fucked on, kicks him out of his ring starts a monologue like it's good to be the king but will all you usurpers just fuck away off namechecks tozawa, hopefully kickstarting a feud that i am down for like you would not believe apparently titus tweeted that selfie and suggested tozawa might win the title the king is less than amused but now, charly interviews the kkb cesaro has a copy of the hardyz' autobiography so they can laugh and throw it away they keep getting more things on their jackets including they live OBEY patches, which is cool

and next, enzo/cass vs anderson/gallows seriously, you should really logically need more time for a two out of three match than a normal one this show has like half an hour left and we still have to see enzo do a thing or not, who knows with this angle douchebag joisey music hits, nobody is here cut backstage, cass is on the floor under some girders the revival walk past in the background, no reason cass says he went down with one blow to the head, emphasises how HARD they hit enzo doesn't want him to fight, but he insists but in the ring, gallows and anderson are here to trade secondary school burns and muttley laughs about enzo and cass hit twat music again, long beat, and here they are accompanied by a bunch of refs like seriously dude this is a terrible idea if only we had some power to stop this match happening alas, we are only lowly wrestling officials, all we can do is point and harangue corey calls enzo a trash fire masquerading as a human being, which i'm like 80% sure is a john oliver line? sort your material, dude cass beats on anderson through weaponised staggering, finally ags out enzo's 3am-behind-a-hollister style works for a bit, until anderson just kicks him in the head a bunch and tags gallows in cass is lying on the floor outside and magic killer for the pin turns out going into this match with a recent head injury was a terrible idea who knew they set him up for another magic killer, but here comes a big shooooooow to help at which point the heels run away and enzo and show awkwardly hug which is what cass comes around to see fuck daggers, he's glaring broadswords show leaves, cass comes up to his partner like the fuck dude, cut to ads

main event next, fucking finally

ok, no, we have to watch an r-truth reaction video first these have a solid frame rate at least, but that's come at the cost of things like 'colour film', and 'not having r-truth' truth quotes network, forgets to cite it, promises to get goldust got get got got get, end and now in the corridors, enzo comes up to show like dude, the clues all kind of point to you, so i have to ask show's like what the fuck you twat i...oh wait, it's your partner, what a twat calls cass sawft, walks off, end

but now we have a recap video of brock and joe from the start of the show why the fuck do we even need to see this just get to the main event already less than 20 minutes left this is not enough time for a properly-paced best of three match with build and everything oh, and now we get to see joe talking to mike mcmikemike backstage apparently this whole debacle has been exactly according to joe's plan this plan has never been clearly stated which is probably also exactly as planned we are all dancing on a large samoan's palm

but now, here come the hardyz fucking finally oh, and an advert break and that package for how great roman is again siiiiiiiiiiigh thing i didn't quite catch before this cut: is matt hardy wearing a fucking button-fronted short-sleeved shirt? that makes no sense for anyone whose gimmick doesn't include the words 'Caribbean', 'dipshit', or 'Caribbean dipshit' cut back, and now he's wearing no shirt ah well guess some things can just never be known and here are the kkb they've kept the jackets, but gone without shirts to maximise the orbital terawatt laser effect of their entrance bell rings, just over twelve minutes left in the show fucking hell, wwe trust your talent the teams clearly know time is against them - sheamus tries to open with a brogue, then immediately takes poetry in motion and a twist of fate for a nearfall and then sheamus basically just punches jeff in the face for the first fall? this match had so much potential sigh and now, let's cut away for an ad break and naom, gallows and anderson advertising pizza hut buy pizza from us, so twats can take it off you and back to the match recap of the first fall - jeff went for a twist of fate, sheamus countered, threw him into the corner, and did a slightly underwhelming kick to the face for the pin and now we have sheamus just kicking the shit out of jeff jeff mule kicks sheamus into a blind tag, matt hot tags in and starts mashing cesaro's head into all the turnbuckles does a delete, on the grounds that anthem probably don't give a shit, right? kicks sheamus off the apron, twist of fate on cesaro for the win i hope this narration is giving some sense of how perfunctory and artificially quick this is that's two falls in just under five minutes in a fucking championship match sheamus kicks jeff off the apron, kicks matt in the face, knees matt in the face, still can't get a pin turns out all my problems cannot, in fact, be solved by kicking jeff breaks up a pin, sheamus throws himout of the ring, cesaro goes for a neutraliser on matt, matt counters, cesaro counters that back into a sharpshooter, rope break nice sequence then matt goes for a small package, which kind of just seems like a dick move double hot tags, jeff does his usual spots, twist of fate to sheamus, cesaro breaks it just in time sheamus drops jeff on the ropes, cesaro uppercuts him, still no pin jeff bullfights sheamus into the ring post, hits a lovely swanton, cesaro pulls sheamus out of the ring just before 2 cue brawling at ringside aaaaaand double countout with which the cajundome is just so fucking satisfying brawl continues, because fuck you and your matches and your belts and we fade on the hardyz shouting from the ring while the kkb pose with their questionably-retained belts

so yeah that's it that's the show the fuck, guys? i mean obviously it was meant to be unsatisfying, and they're going to be doing it again, presumably at GBoF, but still you could still have done it without that shitty tease match but who knows maybe it'll be narratively significant

anyway, let's clean out that bad taste with some SATURDAY AFTERNOON SMACKDOWN! oh wait it's the setup show for a ppv roll on the shitty tease matches! setting up for mitb, so everything is ladders and tonight we have 6-man tag of the men's mitb contestants and randy and jinder 'face to face'

but now, the new day being played to the ring by their very own marching band, because we're in new orleans, so why the fuck not they could probably take shinsuke's violinist, but i'd watch it kofi opens by thanking the band even before doing their own introduction, which is good form the usos interrupt their gyrating to angrily enter and be thug at them and they can't even finish that before the fashion police turn up fandango claims to have compelling evidence hat their day one is not so h after all "If anything, your day one is...G." tell em tyler tyler gets to finish his sentence before the colóns enter to talk shit about breezango's policing skills (psst, guys) (they're not real detectives) so yeah, we're getting an 8-man tag match here although it's not immediately clear how the fashion police are allying themselves with three men wearing about 17 strings of beads between them the levelling for the announce mics is just fucked to hell tonight does smackdown even *have* a tech team, or is that how they run such a streamlined, modernised show? i do love that this push has given tyler and dango the opportunity to remind us how good they are at wrestling jbl, please stop making bead string jokes *brief shudder* xavier and tyler do a weird-ass combo move consisting of tyler doing a rana-style headscissors on xavier, then stopping at the top so xavier can throw him at primo followed by xavier joing the burgeoning dropkick to the back club the faces take everyone else out of the ring, stop for a brief trombone break and now we get to watch more american adverts i am officially tired of this shit i would much rather be watching this match than adverts about how cigarettes will fuck your mouth or this enormously fucked mountain dew advert and i can't even watch the tiny version in the corner i am very easily distracted oh thank fuck, we're back tyler's in trouble thanks to those dastardly usos jbl reminds us again how the usos are the greatest tag team in the world, and somewhere jason jordan is crying i mean, that's statistically likely at any given point, but still yeah, tyler's just getting the piss knocked out of him including a simultaneously dull yet impressive vertical suplex from epico comes back by throwing a bent-over epico at primo, then clotheslining primo so he ddts him nice, if making no sense whatsoever kofi tags in, kicks everyone, hits jimmy with a boom drop and trouble in paradise for the near-fall and tags in xavier for upupdowndown for the pin and taunt the usos as they retreat in failure

but later tonight, we have charlotte/nattie

but now, aj talks to shinsuke backstage and sami walks in like hey guys what do you want to do in this match asks for ideas, then talks over aj with his usual overthinky ring general thing does a they don't want none, goes for a high five, aj just stares, asks if shinsuke likes the plan, he just stares, sami answers himself and walks off to get warmed up long beat Shinsuke: "...I like him." AJ: "Of course you do." some lovely chemistry between those two which shoudl really surprise nobody

but now, dasha interviews mojo in some random corridor hey mojo, how did it feel to fail and not achieve your dreams last week? mojo is still wearing his watermelon hat magnanimous in defeat he's kind of happy he lost, because he responds to adversity with HYPE and we haven't seen the last of him and as he says this ZACK FUCKING RYDER appears the crowd are as stoked about this as i am he is officially back, and the hype bros are back together get the fuck in so yeah, this tag division's kind of huge

but now, here's naomi who we are reliably informed is amayayayayzing although the same cannot really be said of this new flourescent halter top she's got and she's fighting everybody's favourite leather-clad lunarian (shut up, i'll stop making that joke when and only when it stops being really fucking funny to me) bell hasn't even rung when the trash jazz begins just look at that woefully impractical dress and that super fucking awkward walk down the ramp we couldn't have brought her up through nxt and moved billie and peyton up to perform exactly the same purpose because... jbl explains the incomprehensible ascent of lana with leicester city, neglecting the fact that leicester had in fact played premiership football before that season anyway, tamina and naomi are just beating the hell out of each other tamina like i'll see your bouncy moves and leg lariats and counter by PUNCHING YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF YOUR BODY try punching her leg off of her leg i hear that works against people with legs i don't think i will ever not love that somersault facelock escape naomi does although it does kind of pose the question why she doesn't just commit to it and do a shiranui and split moonsault for the pin good match lana blindisdes the champion incredibly slowly, does a weird-ass glam slam type thing, then gets the belt off an official just by asking for it didn't know you could just do that and all jbl can say is how the belt matches her dress siiiiigh

but now, here are the singhs to introduce their boss he comes in wearing the sharpest fucking blue suit you will ever see next up in entrance music i like way more than i feel i should... the ring is sporting a fucking lovely carpet jinder briefly calls out randy, then goes straight in to calling him a coward and insulting his father maybe ramp the smacktalk up there? and now we're up to the 'promise to dismantle your enemy's legacy backward through history' step this curve feels like it's going to end up in actual bloodshed very soon starts his promo to his people/shouting at the crowd in punjabi, gets partway through, randy's music hits sends the singhs down the ramp to head him off, only for randy to run in out of the crowd and rko jinder on that lovely carpet and then he just fucks back off throught the crowd who love him for being a dickbag but somehow also a babyface dickface? yeah, let's go with that even if it wasn't in his hometown, they could not be setting this up for a 'shock' randy loss any more cue several seconds too long of randy posing and glowering in the stands

and now we have kevin coming into the locker room to brief baron and dolph who don't give the slightest shit what he has to say he's just like guys, i don't actually like either of you, but it's mutually beneficial to work together to take out the babyfaces rather than being dicks for the sake of it and shooting ourselves in the foot which...actually makes sense? dammit, kevin, stop bringing logic and game theory into my wrestling leaves to let them process this, cut to ads

up next, charlotte/nattie

but first, renee interviews randy backstage and he's just like have you even been listening talk less hit more i'm win the thing and leaves well, at least he's sticking to his epiphanies

but yes, now we have the women's match natties back to her old gear, and i'm not thrilled jbl just used the phrases "most likely" and "statistical certainty" right the fuck next to each other in a sentence dude, words mean things and you need to stop just saying whatever but yes, charlotte is here too, with new gear patterned off the terrible moulding on your grandparents' bathroom fittings shot of becky watching the match backstage pull up a fucking chair for once, someone

more wrestling in a minute, but first, YOU WATCH THIS ADVERT BREAK MOTHERFUCKER including an advert romanticising the fact that people need stimulant shots to participate in capitalist society see, this is what happens when you make me watch adverts whioe i'm freestyling i just end up veering into political/economic philosophy, and it's hard to come back from that oh thank god, we're back

we come back on natalya surfboard stretching charlotte like fuck you, i'm a real wrestler charlotte moonsaults nattie for a nearfall as we pan out to carmellsworth watching the match on a tv bigger than either of them again with fuck you i can wrestle, nattie powerbombs charlotte out of the corner for a nearfall (don't tell anyone, but this is actually a good match) naturally, as i say that, it turns into a series of cheap rollup attemtps, then natural selection for the pin but it made charlotte look desperate, which it's always nice to see side note: they've recoloured the GBoF logo so BALLS is the least eye-catching part

time for fashion files noir bitches dango opens with a gritty monologue about his terrible parents cut to him admirin his pecs in a mirror and cut to tyler, lying in the trashed fashion police office dango gets a description of their attackers "One arm....No, two arms!" dango sketches something, tyler confirms that it was them who attacked him dango hustles tyler off to get help, and we slow zoom on the pair of stick figures as the segment ends

but now, let's have an inspiration porn segment about a kid not dying of liver disease let's not get into my ranting about disability politics

moving on, dasha grabs lana backstage for an opinion lana's like i don't actually give a shit what any of you think byeeeeeeee

but now it's main event time opening with kevin's massive distorted face it's like neville and tjp selling their names for power, this is clearly a 'you can be champion if we can reveal how you look like hodor when viewed from below' situation and now here's baron, accomnpanied by a vt of him being a twat last week (but which instance? we may never know) dolph's entrance is mostly overridden by an advert for talking smack, which i won't be watching because jbl's on it sami and aj enter with less fanfare, but they still don't want none to leave time for the best music in the company but how will he enter tomorrow night the suspense whoever the tommaso ciampa-looking dude in the corner is, he is freaking the fuck out about being within reach of shinsuke cut for ads, during which the match apparently started and as we come back, i realise that i didn't fully appreciate the awfullness of those godawful cyan tights dolph iswearing only emphasised by putting him in the ring with shinsuke shinsuke counters dolph's elbow drop through his signature technique of 'being elsewhere', hot tags aj in, and he opens by basically hitting dolph with the bitter end and then an ushigoroshi, except we don't say that any more ooh, nice counter goes for a styles clash, dolph counters to a tornado ddt everyone else gets involved, cut for ads, and we come back on dolph/sami natursally, kevin immediately comes in as i type that sami counters kevin's senton with his knees, basically turning it into a self-inflicted lumbar check as often happens, this heel team seems much more concerned with shouting at everyone within range than having the match sami gets the shit beaten out of him by kevin, counters to a blue thunder bomb, can't quite flop fast enough to make the tag takes some more punishment, pulls out a big lariat and then bullfights all three heels out of the ring in succession sloooooowly flops to his corner, and just as he gets there dolph and kevin pull aj and shinsuke off the apron lovely bit of timing so sami just goes fuck it and helluva kicks baron for the pin maybe lead with that general fighting ensues and now kevin has a ladder he and dolph hit sami and aj with it "Unforgiving impact of that ladder on your flesh." byron's freestyling for his upcoming black metal album meanwhile, baron gets the ladder and fucks on everyone with it sets it up under the briefcase, climbs sloooooowly enough for shinsuke to push it over and somewhere, randy orton began to bleed kinshasa to baron, and shinsuke dramatically climbs the ladder himself and retrieves the most important business supplies in the world and we fade on him posing

so yeah, setup show, but that was pretty good and it looks like mitb should be good better than extreme rules, at any rate and certainly less of a misnomer unless it suddenly becomes clear that shane's accounts were frozen long ago and there was never actually any money but in any case i'll try and get this up tonight (Saturday), and then it's mitb tomorrow hmu on twitter @waruce if you want to see me struggle not to fall asleep and also to reconcile my excitement for MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY with the failings of late-stage capitalism (shit, it happened again)

anyway, that ends this week's show, but up next, it looks like it's gonna get a bit finnegans wake