#it’s been a good break but I’m back and ready to critique music cuts and cry about repetitive warhorses

[leahthedreamer]

Excited to get back into watching skating again after detoxing during off-season.

[chalkrevelations]

Huh.

Well, this is not the next episode reaction you were expecting, but a while back, in the middle of the night, while I was ready to cry from working on a pharmacology paper, out of nowhere, Youtube threw up Street Dance of China S3 Ep1 at me. And yeah. I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show. (There are enough SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal that I feel there’s no point denying this.)

So – no, actually, wait. FIRST of all, I do NOT believe the “towel vote” we ended up being given for the opening routines from the four captains. That was the most blatant bit of bullshit chicanery I’ve seen in my LIFE, and I say this as a person with a ton of SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal, and I also say this not because Wang Yibo ended up last (well, not entirely), but because I saw Wallace Chung’s routine. As someone closer in age to him than to the other three captains, I have to give him props for trying, but come on, man. The critique that Yibo got from random contestants – if the subtitles are to be believed, so I realize this needs a grain of salt - basically boiled down to “it was too good for the stage lighting.” :hands: Also, I saw your face at the reveal, Wallace, and you were as shocked as I was. No way you got more towels/votes than Wang Yibo. Not unless there’s some super wild undercurrent of nostalgia propping you up, which, I guess could happen, because literally all I know about pop culture in China, current or otherwise, is filtered through Tumblr and Youtube, both notoriously suspect, but … anyway. There’s got to be a TON of behind-the-scenes manipulation going on for Yibo to be rock-bottom with last pick of teams but then also to end up with THAT pool of possibles. Are you kidding me with this?

ANYWAY, what I wanted to say is that I actually really like Wang Yibo here, and it’s not just because he’s the only captain I have even a sliver of familiarity with, and it’s not just because Lan Wangji was banging Wei Wuxian. I do realize all of this is influenced by whatever edit they’ve decided to give a particular captain or contestant, but I’m impressed with the way Yibo immediately starts team building by getting his group into a warmup, getting them dancing together, getting them dancing with him before they have to worry about dancing for him. (I mean, come on, Jackson Wang. The way to get people to stop being nervous is not to say “Stop being nervous! It will make you fuck up!”) The way Yibo immediately recognized and responded to his group’s concerns about that one dude copying someone else’s routine probably also bought him a lot of return investment. He’s dressed to work it, in his sweats and his flannel (what IS that fake-leather TAC vest and random leg holster-looking thing, Jackson Wang?). He’s convincing me he really loves to dance, he can’t hold still while he watches the contestants, he’s wandering over into other captains’ turf when it sounds like there’s a dancer performing who he might like to see, he’s being the best Yibo he can be, and I’m grooving along, wind in my hair, totally down for this ride. He’s also adorable at the beginning when all the other captains are like, my goal for this season is to slaughter the competition and dance on their graves! And he’s like, well, I’d like to … make some friends? And learn some new stuff? I don’t know if the perpetual Humble Student schtick is natural or persona, or whether it’s general or specific to dancing, but it’s working for you, my dude. This is also made better (read: ironic), by the fact that it’s immediately before the towel reveal, when he flips over to utter disbelief and gets all sulky for a while over the “fact” that his dance routine got the least votes.

Also, OH WAIT. This is where that clip of Yibo dancing with his crew ALL OVER HIM came from that I saw floating around a few months ago, isn’t it? You’re telling me those guys had never danced together before and had like, three minutes to throw together that routine? I’m even more impressed than before. Meanwhile, the towels symbolize courage and challenge, Mr. Emcee? OK, fine, cheesy reality show blah blah whatever. Can we get to the dancing now?

I’m going to put the rest of this behind a cut, because it got super long, because it turns out, when you watch in 5-minute increments, it takes two and a half weeks to get through a single episode, but you actually can see and have opinions on all 5,328 contestants, plus every single one of the captains’ battles. Meanwhile, I’m trying to convince myself this is not going to be another series of episode reactions, but 1) I do have the benefit of not having a ton of hometown media giving me a next-day play-by-play, so even though this is six months old, everything’s a surprise; 2) I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show; and 3) it’s easy to watch in 5-minute increments between researching drug interactions in hypothetical hypertensive patients with stable ischemic heart disease, erectile dysfunction, and seasonal allergies. So, I guess we’ll see. It’ll be slow going, though, because I don’t ever have two and half hours to sit down and watch an ep cover-to-cover – if it happens, it will likely keep happening in 5-minute increments. Meanwhile, there is a metric shit-ton of nattering below the cut, so caveat lector. No, seriously, I kept adding to this little by little until it became a monster. Hashtag long post (remorseful).

OK, I am generally out of my depth here, as this is not at all my area of dance not-really-expertise, but some reactions:

Team Wang Yibo: I can see why he didn’t want to choose between Colin and Dian Men – Colin might have been a touch better technically and a better showman, but Dian Men didn’t seem to have a single wasted move – but, also, my dude. Yibo. You maybe should look a little bit less stunned and overwhelmed by the mere presence of Colin, it’s giving me ideas about your taste in men. Continuing with the powerhouses, I probably shouldn’t even attempt to critique Klash, but I did feel like he was a bit stiff in some of his footwork; that final V kick, though, shit, that’s what having that kind of upper-body strength is for. Bouboo … I mean, excellent flexibility and control, of course, but mainly I’m just terribly amused that Yibo got last pick of teams but somehow ended up with the guy who’s literal world champion, and who’s just as useful for getting into the other captains’ heads – without even trying – as he is for his talent. And then there’s a montage of Yibo giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you cannot keep up this pace. There are still too many dancers to see, and you don’t have that many towels. AAANNNND Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Jackson Wang: I do like Gai Gai, although that may be influenced by the fact she’s working in the twilight area between hip-hop and contemporary that I have more familiarity with - but also, I suspect she’s pretty good in her genre. I thought Xiao Jie was inconsistent and didn’t stick the landing on his initial attempt, so I have to give you that hesitation, Jackson, even though you’ve somehow ended up the villain in my inner narrative for this show, for no particular reason I can yet discern. Maybe it’s that you’re the direct competition for Yibo’s team in the towel battles. Good enough. Anyway, Xiao Jie definitely stepped up his game for the battle with Bingo, so I can kind of see why both of them got a towel, but we’re not even halfway through this, and most of y’all are giving away towels like you have an endless supply. Yang Kai is a fucking menace with fantastic musicality, and I’m just gonna say it and take the fallout - I think he gave a better performance first time out of the gate than any of Yibo’s powerhouses did. Whatever power Klash has got, whatever skill Bouboo has got, Yang Kai feels more explosive and engaging, at least in these initial showings. He’s going to be one to beat, I’d hug him too, if he was on my team and was going to help me WIN. Yibo’s probably lucky that happened during his little stroll over to check out the competition, so that he can see they’re definitely competitive and be prepared for it. Also, Jackson, I have to admit - that face you made when Chao really kicked in? That was the same face I made, because wt actual f, you have a literal secret weapon – secret because he CAME FROM NOWHERE and NO ONE EVEN KNOWS him, how is that even possible, how did he get that good – fluid, creative, controlled, incredible musicality - without anyone having any idea who he even is? And then there’s a montage of Jackson just giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you need to slow down. You can’t just be like, “THEY LOVE DANCE WITH ALL OF THEIR WHOLE HEARTS!!!!1111!!!!11!” I get it, but everyone there loves dance with all of their whole hearts, and there are not enough towels to send all of them on to the next round. ANNNND, Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Lay Zhang: lol at how diplomatic you’re being, Lay Zhang – your team’s fierce roar startled you, OK. At this point, I suspect you’re the street most likely to have a knife fight break out before this is all over. I do like Alex, I think he’s got a lot of interesting, super-clean details in his moves, and he’s engaging - I cannot BELIEVE you made him battle that dude whose moves were so mushy, Lay Zhang, it leaves me doubting your ability to judge this thing. At first I thought maybe you were just looking for an excuse because you wanted to see Alex freestyle, but then you actually said something about both dancers being equal, and my estimation of you plummeted, and also sadly, my sound dropped out for the actual battle, including the part where the clearly inferior dancer fell over and then accidentally POPPED ALEX ONE IN THE EYE, and I TOLD YOU SO. I do agree it’s a good idea to make dancers in the same genre do some battling, so you can kind of plan out your towels and put together a team with broad strengths, instead of giving out towels like you’re making it rain for the first 20 contestants, and then you have 1,375 more people to get through, with 3 towels left, as EVERYONE ELSE seems to be doing, so it’s nice that at least one of you guys is thinking – if not actually acting - strategically. That was clearly not even a contest, though, GIVE ALEX HIS TOWEL and send him to the next round. Xiao Bao is hilarious, with his concern that his team captain, who’s into krump, which is “beating,” isn’t going to appreciate his waacking, which is “slapping.” I also don’t know a whole lot about waacking, so thanks for the primer, Xiao Bao, and don’t worry, your performance is just as engaging for those of us who don’t know what we’re watching as you are generally. You deserve that towel for your ability to interact with and engage your audience, alone. Lingo is a good solid performance, although he’s got his team captain strategizing edited over some of it, and here’s the thing: we are 1:56:00 into this, at this point, with another half hour to go, and all of you are starting to disappear into the sea of dancers who are very good at what you do, but at generally the same level? Anyway, Lingo, I approve of your ability to interact with your audience (read: your captain) to ensure engagement, too, so keep that up. Annnd, we actually haven’t seen that much of you guys, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

Team Wallace Chung: I’m glad Su Lian Ya insisted on performing, I thought she started off slow but warmed up, and that ending was creepily fantastic and had me spontaneously grinning at the screen in delight. Then we lose sight of this group for a really long time, actually. We go back to find Wallace putting through a couple of urban dancers who we barely see, but who apparently claim to have some choreography experience, and he really likes that. TI shows up, and they’re solid, but honestly, not as good in this performance as they were in some of the stock footage the show threw up to introduce them, but Wallace remains super-excited about the idea of choreography and sends at least choreographer Zhang Jiang Peng through to the next round. And then, we really haven’t seen that much of you guys, either, which maybe doesn’t bode well, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

FOOTNOTE 1, aka TOWEL BATTLE ONE, Team Yibo vs. Team Jackson, 3V3 freestyle: First of all, I have to say, I love Yibo - Mr. I Just Wanna Make Some Friends And Have Some Fun - being all, “I have three crappy white towels I’m stuck with for coming in last place that I can’t use to send dancers to the next round and that I DO NOT DESERVE, and I am getting BACK the colorful towels that ARE RIGHTFULLY MINE. I am coming for whoever is in my way.” Team Yibo is Bouboo, Klash, Dian Men, and OK, given what we’ve seen so far, that’s the safe choice, but honestly, I think we’re just taking some things for granted right now, and I’m not sure they actually have given the best performances so far. Yeah, I said it. Team Jackson is Yang Kai, Chao, and Xiao Jie, and … ok, on that last one, I think you probably could have substituted Bingo, but all right. Yang Kai is a definite yes. Chao will be great if he can stay out of his own head and not psych himself out, but given what we’ve seen so far, he’s an obvious pick. First round, Yang Kai vs. Klash, and Yang Kai is still a fucking menace, with super lines. Klash definitely stepped up his game for the battle, and I can’t get over the upper body strength he’s got, to get that kind of airy bounce in his moves, but to be honest, I can’t even be mad the first round went to Yang Kai and Team Jackson. Second round, Yang Kai is still … y’all, the beautiful lines from this guy in his poses, I can’t get over them, but I think he doesn’t have the stamina, his footwork is getting sloppy. Bouboo also steps up his game for an actual battle, his fluidity and control is amazing, and yeah, round to Team Yibo. Round three, Xiao Jie gives it a decent effort, but the polish isn’t there; meanwhile Bouboo is still in champion mode, and I was kind of surprised this was a split vote and went to another round. Xiao Jie absolutely surprised me, coming back stronger on his second try, although I suppose a more familiar genre helped, but Bouboo continues in champion mode. Round four, Chao looks like he’s going to throw up right before he steps out there, and then as soon as the music starts, it’s like, he doesn’t even think. The music just moves him. I feel like his dance vocabulary is more limited than Bouboo’s, though, and Bouboo’s flow is amazing at this point, so I feel like the judges just want to drag this out and see more dancing when we go to one more round. Strong effort all around, but yeah, round four and two towels to Team Yibo. I can’t really complain about that. I do feel like Yibo’s powerhouses have been holding back until now, though, and I’m not sure how I feel about THAT.

FOOTNOTE 2, aka TOWEL BATTLE TWO, Team Zhang vs. Team Wallace, 3V3 w/ captain: lol, Team Zhang really wants someone to pick the Sailor Moon song because they know Xiao Bao and his waacking will tear it up. Anyway, Team Zhang includes Lingo and Xiao Bao, who does not get his Sailor Moon song and continues to be hilarious in his disbelief about being chosen to participate in this battle, when he’s not looking almost as sick as Chao from Team Jackson before HIS performance. Team Wallace includes Su Lian Ya – and honestly, despite how I’m getting ready to bag on him for the entire rest of this battle recap, I like that Wallace put one of his female dancers up there for the battle - and some dude named Ba that they haven’t given us any footage of, up ‘til now, at least that I can remember and who I … don’t even know has been formally given a towel and sent on to the next round, yet? Oh wait, he must have, because there’s talk in the pause for choreography about somehow using the towels during the battle. Wallace relies on Su Lian Ya and Zhang Jiang Peng to choose Ba, and then Ba ends up choreographing a lot of the performance, at least from the edit we see. I continue to feel you may be in over your head, Wallace. This feeling … is not assuaged by your performance in the first round, which is fine, but not really up to the level of almost anyone whose name I’ve bolded so far in this entire recap. Also, using the towels was a cute idea, but it doesn’t translate well, and Team Wallace has a lot of wasted time throwing the towels around instead of actually. You know. Dancing. Lingo gets a credible solo during Team Zhang’s performance, and even though Xiao Bao is clearly lost during a good bit of his backup dancer duties, he manages not to throw up, which – given this team’s general skill level – should be enough to give them the first round, EXCEPT SOMEHOW Team Wallace gets the point from the judges, who then try to justify this inexplicable decision by saying Team Wallace had better interaction, I guess because of the hot mess with throwing the towels around, but adding that Team Zhang was more scattered, which what? More scattered than the hot mess with the towels? I’m not buying this. I can’t tell if they’re propping up Wallace or fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, but I’m having bad acid flashbacks to the many and varied ways dance show judges will try to gaslight you, telling you that things you just saw with your very own eyes did not actually happen when it’s right there! On camera! Visible, despite whatever edit bs you’re pulling! ANYWAY, they’re definitely managing to fuck with not only Lay Zhang’s head, but Xiao Bao’s, and Xiao Bao still doesn’t seem to have his choreography down, but they manage to pull it together enough to take the second round, which to be honest is kind of a muddled mess on everyone’s part. The only one who really stands out to me on this go’round is Su Lian Ya, but OK, Team Zhang might have had it slightly more together as a unit. And then, yeah, OK, I think they were fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, because we then find out that, holy shit, the song the show powers-that-be chose for the tie-breaking third round is that gd Sailor Moon song, and we can all see the writing on the wall. Poor Team Wallace is no match for Xiao Bao, who frankly, carries this entire round on his shoulders without breaking a sweat and barely needs any backup dancers to do it. There’s some ridiculously dramatic reveal of scoring, with the judges dragging out their decisions like this was any actual contest - I’m beginning to suspect that some of them grew up with Wallace Chung posters on their bedroom walls - but finally, round and towel to Team Zhang.

Cut to a little bit of Next Time On, and wow, the first two-and-a-half-hour episode is over, and we aren’t finished with the initial round yet. It’s gonna be Christmas before I make it halfway through this season.

[soulmate-game]

Part1 ... Part2 ... Part3...

Marinette blinked, tilting her head a bit. The streets around them were loud and bustling with bodies and vehicles despite the sun being right at the horizon. Gotham would slow down soon, people being wary of the darkness in the crime-ridden city,but for now it was busy as usual. Marinette and Jon stood outside the stadium that would be hosting the World Fencing Finals, but a familiar face had stopped them right before they entered.

“I didn’t know you liked fencing,” Marinette mused out loud, making Damian tsk and look away. The boy got along with Marinette alright, but that didn’t immediately cancel out his natural standoffish nature.

“Of course you didn’t, I never told you,” he retorted smoothly, the youngest Wayne moving forward to reluctantly open the door for his two friends.

“You hardly talk about yourself at all, actually,” Marinette continued, humming to herself. “Are you keeping secrets?”

Damian scoffed again, even as Jon snickered behind them. “Everyone has secrets. Even a naive child like you should know that.”

Jon couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face. He had long since gotten used to the strange way the two communicated over the past month since they first met. Marinette always seemed to know when one of Damian’s jabs were or weren’t meant as serious insults, just as Damian was somehow able to always pick up the exact second that Marinette’s caring nature switched from being rooted in kindness to coming from a place of fear.

Yet Jon was the only one of the trio of friends who could hear their heartbeats change pace when they spotted one another, or when their hands accidentally brushed. Neither Damian nor Marinette seemed to realize their own feelings yet, but Jon would be there when they did.

He just hoped their relationship didn’t develop too quickly. Both his best friend and his new sister were dangerously fragile, just in different ways. He didn’t want them accidentally breaking each other.

“Come to think of it,” Jon heard Damian say, pulling the young kryptonian from his thoughts. “You do not talk about yourself quite as much as it seems like you do. You’ve certainly never mentioned liking swordplay.”

“Ah,” Marinette gave Damian a lopsided smile, rubbing the back of her neck. “I like watching it sometimes, but I’m mainly here to see my friend. She’s one of the competitors today, she and I managed to convince her mom to let her sleepover at our place for two nights.”

“But only if she wins,” Jon added sourly. He and his dad had both heard that condition of the deal that Kagami’s mother had made loud and clear. “I’m sorry Mari, but your friend’s mom sounds way too strict and demanding. If she wins this competition, she can spend two days hanging out with you, but if she even gets as low as second place they have to go back to Japan for remedial training immediately?” Jon shook his head. It wasn’t right.

Damian raised both eyebrows at that, but seemed more intrigued than surprised. “I’ve seen stricter,” he commented casually, only succeeding in making Jon glare at him for the veiled reference to his own dark childhood. “But you are right, Kent. That is concerning treatment. Who is this friend of yours, Marinette? Perhaps I have heard of them if they are good enough to qualify for the World Finals.”

By then, the trio had already handed in their tickets and reached the stands. Jon and Marinette glared at Damian when they realized all of their seats were in the front row, right next to each other even, knowing without a doubt that the rich boy was somehow behind it. The two Kents had had much worse seats when they had first purchased their tickets online.

Marinette waited until they all sat down before answering. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you know her. Her name’s Kagami Tsurugi—“

“World class fencer from a long family line of Japanese fencers,” Damian interrupted, nodding knowingly as one of his hands raised to gently grip his chin. “Before Fencing was introduced to Japan, they were famous for their practice of kendo and katana technique. Especially considering their typically untraditional way of insisting that the females in their family take up combat. That, of course, traces all the way back to the ancient female samurai, or Onna-Bugeisha, Tomoe Gozen, one of the ancestors of the Tsurugi family before they split from the Gozen family.”

Marinette and Jon just blinked at the young heir, before Jon’s mouth slowly started to curve up in a mischievous smile. Damian’s eyes narrowed in warning.

“Kent—“

“You’re a fan,” Jon ignored the warning, gleefully grinning ear to ear. “You did your research on her and her family, that’s some hardcore biggest-fan behavior right there. Do you want us to see if she can give you an autographkfgdjgdgj—“ Jon was cut off as Damian lunged over Marinette, the only person separating the two boys, and muffled Jon’s mouth with one hand as his other tried to slam Jon’s head on the chair’s arm. Of course super strength was no joke, and Jon’s head didn’t move even an inch as he laughed through Damian’s hands.

Marinette was somehow able to separate them, and Damian sat back in his chair with a huff and straightened his button-down shirt imperiously.

“I am not a ‘fan’,” he denied primly, but not even Marinette missed the slight pink to his cheeks even through his denial. “I simply acknowledge her skill. As a practitioner of swordplay myself, it is only me being proactive to research her family history. If she is so inclined, I intend to invite her to the manor sometime before she leaves for a casual spar.”

“Oh, she’ll love that,” Marinette agreed, nodding even as the first duel started. “Kagami is always looking for new sparring partners who can keep up with her, but so far only our other friend Adrien and her mom are capable enough. But…” her voice had dropped to a whisper out of respect for the current combatants, but both boys noticed her pause and the way she worried her lip.

“What?” Jon whispered back, worried. Marinette’s nose wrinkled.

“But I don’t know if it’s a good idea to introduce Kagami to Damian. They might end up taking over the world.”

Jon slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a snort. Damian just smirked.

“Now you must introduce us. Perhaps I can finally meet someone who can conspire with me to get rid of my brothers.”

With that, the three quieted and actually watched the fights. Jon didn’t really understand the rules or what was happening, but he liked watching the footwork and the different styles that each competitor used when they dueled. Then, about the third or fourth match, a fencer in a bright red uniform walked out.

“That’s her!” Marinette squealed, leaning forward in her seat. She and Damian had occasionally whispered to one another about what they thought were good or bad calls on points, and critiquing different competitor’s techniques. It was a bit of an eye opener to Jon, who realized that he didn’t know much about what Marinette’s life was like back in Paris despite living with the girl for almost five months. In fact, he didn’t know much about her beyond what she actively showed at home.

Maybe Damian had a point earlier. Marinette had a weird way of making it feel like she spoke about herself a lot but in reality didn’t share much about herself at all. Most of what Jon knew about her came from experience. He knew her tells for whenever she started getting nervous, excited, worried, or was close to an attack. He knew how to tell when she was feeling overwhelmed or started retreating into herself because she didn’t want to intrude. But this?

Jon watched as Marinette stood up and cheered for Kagami when the red-clad fencer scored swift points.

He didn’t know the things that she liked to do besides designing. She mentioned listening to Jagged Stone, maybe that was her favorite kind of music.

Whatever. Jon wouldn’t let himself dwell on how Marinette didn’t open up as much as he would like—it was his job as the older brother for once to put some effort in too. Besides, with everything else Marinette had been through over the months it made sense for her to be a little closed off.

Jon moved his eyes back to the floor. Kagami lunged forward right then, ruthless as she slashed and didn’t allow her opponent a moment to do anything but scramble to deflect. But the red-uniformed woman was too fast, almost violent in her strikes, and she landed three hits on her opponent within one second.

Yeah. Now that he knew what was going on, he knew how to gently, slowly, learn more about his sister. Sorry Kon, but Jon had his eyes on the Best Brother prize.

Kagami won, without her opponent winning a single point against her.

“You know, Kagami’s fighting reminds me of someone,” Jon spoke up, ignoring the venomous glare Damian sent him. His sister looked over curiously as the fighters swapped out and Kagami was led to the back, where a locker room of sorts was set up for the competitors.

“Really? Who? I’ve only ever seen Kagami fight like that. Maybe her mom, but that’s different.”

Jon smiled, knowing he’d get some shit for this stunt later when he went on patrol with Damien but decidedly not caring.

“Robin. The newest one anyway, you can find videos online from different sightings of him around Gotham. He uses a sword.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, obviously knowing that he partnered with Robin a lot as Superboy but not knowing that Damien was also intimately aware of that fact.

“Huh, that’s weird. Ryuuko, one of the Paris heroes, also uses a sword. But it’s a Miraculous weapon, so it’s a bit different than a normal sword.”

Jon winced. That backfired, he and his dad weren’t quite ready for the rest of the JL to know about the Paris situation. So much for the plan to bring it up later, when Marinette was better settled into life in America.

“Paris has heroes?” Damian asked, eyes sharp. All it took was one glance from the green-eyed boy for Jon to know that this would definitely be brought up to Batman. Great.

At least the next match started, distracting both of the fencing fans from continuing the conversation. For the moment.

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette was the loudest voice in the stadium, standing on her chair without shame as she cheered for her friend, Kagami’s lips twitching in the slightest hint of a smile before she bowed her head to accept her medal.

Marinette was not surprised at all to see her friend win first place in the whole competition. Damian was pleased, and suitably impressed. Jon was just happy that this meant Kagami’s mother couldn’t keep Marinette from spending time with her friend.

Hopping down from the chair, Marinette turned to her friend and brother with a large smile. “Come on! Kagami and her mom are going to meet us in front of the building once everything is done, but I don’t want to fight the crowds.”

Jon cringed, nodding and standing up immediately. Marinette didn’t do well in crowds nowadays, though it could certainly be worse. Inside buildings like the school wasn’t so bad, it was mainly outdoors. Jon and his parents never missed how Marinette would constantly hold Lois’s hand or stick religiously to the woman’s side whenever they walked outside around tall buildings or through thick crowds. None of them mentioned it.

Damien picked up on it, having observed Marinette’s behavior firsthand during the only time he had went outside with her somewhere other than school. They had merely gone to buy Damian a new tie that Marinette approved of, but the girl had scarcely gone further than a foot away from him the whole time they were outside in the city. Only the stern glances from Jon had kept him from commenting on it.

Moments later, the two had found themselves waiting outside the stadium at almost ten at night, though none of them seemed particularly uncomfortable. Marinette seemed downright at home, besides her occasional glances up at the building next to them and her refusal to leave Damian’s side. They waited a good half hour in the slight chill of the night air before Kagami Tsurugi, completely changed out of her uniform, walked up beside her mother Tomoe Tsurugi.

The older woman was, to Jon’s slight shock (Damian’s research was VERY thorough), blind. She tilted her head when she and her daughter stopped in front of the trio.

“Miss Marinette?” She asked in flawless English. “How have you been?”

Marinette smiled, the expression oddly soft compared to her usual beaming grin. “As well as I can be, Madame Tsurugi. With me are my adoptive brother, Jon Kent, and one of my new friends, Damian Wayne. If it is alright with you, we would like to go to Damian’s house for the night. My guardians and his father already approved.”

Jon and Damian blinked, never having heard Marinette speak so properly before. It truly said a lot about the kind of woman Tomoe Tsurugi was. The woman gave an icy smile, pleased but distant. She raised one delicate eyebrow.

“I am getting old, but not dumb Miss Dupain-Cheng. I know very well who the Waynes are, and referring to his home as a mere house is a gross understatement that you couldn’t hope to fool me with in a hundred years,” the woman remarked with subtle humor. Marinette chuckled.

“It was worth a shot,” she defended herself with a shrug. Tomoe shook her head in amusement before settling both hands on her cane and straightening her posture.

“If you vouch for your… friend…” Tomoe said with deliberate slowness. Marinette was quick to nod.

“I do. Damian is trustworthy, and I won’t leave Kagami alone, Madame Tsurugi.”

Tomoe’s mouth flattened, and she was silent for a moment. “You know that you are one of the few people I trust with my daughter, Marinette. I will trust your judgement this time as well. However, Kagami must still call me in the morning and when she does reach your new home as well. And you remember her vacation training schedule?”

Both boys looked at each other, wondering why Kagami did not even try to speak up even though they had their own suspicions. The Japanese teen found that to be the moment she was done being silent however, and sighed.

“Mother,” Kagami spoke, back straight and tone level and proper. “I am perfectly capable of sticking to my training on my own. I do not need Mari-hime to remind me.”

Tomoe pursed her lips, but nodded nonetheless. “Alright. Mister Wayne? I trust your father is alright with Kagami bringing her fencing equipment?”

Damian nodded, despite knowing that Tomoe would not see it. For some reason he got the feeling that she was fully aware of the gesture regardless of her lack of sight.

“Of course. I am actually a fencer as well, though not competitively. I was hopeful that Kagami would humor me with a spar, our manor has a rather nice gym that would provide a more than sufficient space for such an activity.”

At that, Tomoe seemed rather pleased. “That is, of course, up to Kagami since she has not seen Marinette in quite some time and likely has plans for her time already. But I encourage any opportunity that my daughter finds to hone her skills.”

“The competitors today were skilled, but lack knowledge of real battle,” Kagami added, locking gazes with Damian. “My mother trains me as if I were actually fighting, so I seldom find fencers able to match my reactions. If you believe yourself capable, I would be honored to cross swords with you.”

“Oh no,” Marinette stage-whispered to Jon even as her eyes stayed on Damian and Kagami. “This is where the world domination starts.”

Even Tomoe couldn’t resist a small grin at that, and it wasn’t much longer before the trio were picked up by Damian’s butler, who introduced himself as Alfred Pennyworth. Inside the limousine, Kagami visibly relaxed. Her back was still straight, though not overly so, and her face was no longer stringently stoic. Once they pulled away from the stadium, she wasted no time pulling Marinette into a tight hug.

“I am sorry I could not be there for you, Mari-hime.”

Marinette laughed, returning the hug enthusiastically. “Don’t be silly! You were at the funeral, and you video chat with me at least twice a week. That’s plenty.”

Kagami shook her head, tightening her hold. “My mother would have been more than happy to take you in. Sometimes I believe she likes you more than me,” Kagami finally pulled away, turning to level a hard stare at Jon. “But that obviously did not happen, so you and your parents better take good care of Mari-hime, or nobody will find your bodies.”

“Kagami!” Marinette immediately reprimanded, aghast. “The Kents are wonderful! And what did I say about the death threats?”

Kagami rolled her eyes. “My cousin’s family still makes traditional katanas. I have plenty of available arms to carry out my promises.”

“Kagamiiiiiii.”

“If they treat you well, then they have nothing to worry about.”

Marinette groaned in despair, dramatically flopping over until she was draped over the side of Kagami like a limp towel. “I’m gonna get you a spray bottle, and every time you threaten somebody with violence I’m going to spritz you.”

Kagami’s eyes narrowed in playful challenge. “You will have to catch me first.”

Damian was smirking, enjoying this interaction a bit too much. “I believe the two of us will get along just fine, Tsurugi. Do you have a favorite katana craftsman, by any chance?”

—*—*—*—*—*

“They’re so tiny!” The man did not seem to realize the danger he was in with that statement. He was apparently one of Damian’s older brothers, Jason Todd. Both Kagami and Marinette, the “tiny” people in question, glared daggers at the man. “Okay, you,” he said to Kagami, “You’re at least intimidating. Don’t unsheathe that sword please. Bruce already told us that you won the World Finals, and I would rather not die today.” He held his hands up in surrender. Kagami just smirked smugly, and crossed her arms.

Marinette narrowed her eyes. “And me?”

Jason blinked. “What about you? You’re tiny and adorable, even when you’re glaring at me!” He boldly came forward to rustle her hair. “Like a little pixie.”

Kagami covered her smile with a hand, eyes dancing with amusement. Bruce, who had been the first to welcome them all in and introduce himself to Kagami, was pinching his nose next to Alfred in the background. Damian’s other brothers were also gathered. Apparently they all had wanted to meet his new friend and Jon’s new sister.

“Be careful, I’m not the one you should be worried about. At least without my sword I am not as dangerous,” Kagami warned. Everyone blinked at her, and her expression quickly turned confused. Her eyes darted to Marinette, who was too busy glaring at Jason with puffed-out cheeks to notice. “Mari-hime… you didn’t tell anyone?”

Marinette finally looked over, shrugging. “I mentioned it to Jon, Clark, and Lois.”

“What are you talking about, Miss Tsurugi?” Bruce asked, curious after the warning from the fencer. Kagami looked up, and slowly a devious smile spread over her face. It was small, but sent shivers over Jason’s spine.

“Jason and Marinette should spar. Mari-hime is quite the combatant when she desires to be.”

Jason crossed his arms, raising his brow and looking Marinette up and down. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’m about double her size—“

“Hey Jon, why don’t you call Lois?” Marinette interrupted, turning to look at her brother with a small smirk. “We’ve got her a huge story— burly biker is too scared to spar a girl half his size.”

Cackles arose, the other two of Damian’s brothers leaning on each other as they guffawed. Bruce and Alfred even stifled chuckles of their own, and Damian’s smirk was infuriatingly prominent. Jon was much like the other two Wayne boys, nearly bowled over in laughter. Jason, after a brief moment of shock and offense, straightened up and grinned. He shrugged off his leather jacket with a small huff of laughter of his own.

“Alright, that was pretty good. You want a spar that badly, you got one. But you’re gonna have to really impress me if you want me to take back what I said about you being adorable and nonthreatening.”

“I’m putting fifty dollars on Marinette,” Kagami bet loudly, raising her hand. “Who wants to bet against me?”

Jason and Marinette both shook their heads in amusement, the big man leading Marinette to the family fitness room (the public one anyway, outside of the Batcave) as everyone besides Bruce and Alfred energetically placed their bets on who would win the spar.

Dick and Tim were betting on Jason, for obvious reasons. Damian withheld from betting, but it was clear he was hoping Marinette would somehow win. Jon just stayed quiet, refusing to share any opinion on the matter. But once Jason and Marinette started heading to the sparring mat that was already laid out, he stopped her.

“You sure about this?” He asked, pulling her away so that nobody else could eavesdrop. “I know I laughed and everything, but you don’t have to spar. Jason won’t hold back if you tell him not to, but he’s not a pushover in any respect.”

Marinette frowned. She had gotten a little caught up in the moment, but at the same time… she wanted this. “You guys are great,” she replied to her brother, voice equally soft. “But you and Clark don’t focus on combat technique. I haven’t had a real fight, at least not one where I don’t have powers to fall back on, in a long time. I need this.”

Jon sighed, but nodded. He squeezed her shoulder for a moment, before smiling at the shorter girl. “Then show everyone what you can do. And I suggest telling Jason not to hold back, or you won’t be able to show off as much as you want.”

Marinette bounced on her heels happily, leaning up to kiss Jon on the cheek. “I’m winning Kagami some money today!” She yelled with a fist-bump before jogging over to join a very amused Jason.

“Was your bro giving you some tips?” He asked, stretching out his arms as Marinette giggled.

“Kind of! Jon suggested that I ask you to not hold back!”

Jason froze, gaze sliding over to the young kryptonian, who only smiled back enigmatically. He might not have spent much time around the youngest Super, but he hung out with Kon often enough and he knew that Jon was fully aware of what he was capable of as Red Hood. He wouldn’t suggest that Jason not hold back unless he was actually confident in Marinette’s skill.

The rest of his family seemed to pick up on that as well, also frozen in shock. Jason was one of the most ruthless fighters of all of them, fearless and brutal.

“Kent better know what he’s doing,” Damian hissed under his breath, to which his father and brothers could only nod to silently.

“So the pixie wants me to not hold back? Alright,” Jason agreed to after a moment of stunned silence. Immediately most of his jovial manner drained away, replaced with focus as he spread his legs and sunk into a stance that came naturally to him at that point. If Jon and Marinette both wanted him to treat her like a real threat (without forgetting that this was just a spar, anyway) then he would. Maybe the girl had super strength or invulnerability like the other Supers. That would explain why Clark was so quick to take her in.

“Oh I hope we don’t regret this later,” Bruce groaned before stepping into the center mat and raising one hand. “Alright. Winner is whoever can pin or otherwise subdue the other first. Please, don’t break any bones or skin. I do not need an angry Lois Lane on my doorstep tomorrow morning. You can use the whole room as long as you don’t risk hitting or involving any of us innocent bystanders. Ready?” Bruce backed up off the mat. “Start!” He wasted no time backing away to a wall.

There was no moment of stillness. There was no waiting with baited breath or looking for an opening. As soon as Bruce called Start, Jason attacked.

He jumped over the distance separating him and Marinette, bringing his knee up to try and end this in one strike like he would have in the field.

Only Marinette wasn’t there to take the hit. Just as quickly as Jason had lunged, she had jumped. Instead of Jason kicking her in the stomach, the small Asian girl had leapt up, and landed on the upraised knee balanced on only one nimble foot.

Suddenly, they were face to face. They grinned at each other, and then they were nothing but movement again.

—*—*—*—*—*

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg @more-or-less-human-i-guess @myazael @ladybug-182 @buticaaba @dast218 @maribat-is-lifeblood @elspethshadow @fandomsaremylifeline @moonlightstar64 @whats-she-gonna-post-next @toodaloo-kangaroo @maybemanymuffins @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @legendaryneckjudgestudent @goblinwhoships @yin-390

Part 5

This got long, so the majority of the spar will be in the next part so that I don’t get cut off. :D OMG, StOrY DeVelOPmeNT?! Who am I?!

More good stuff next chap.

[dobsmoneylake]

Prudence. Corazon. First actual date. (Or, it doesn't have to be a DATE-date...but the two of them as a pair for the first time.)

AN: I am so sorry that this took so long (Corazón wasn’t talking to me until I insulted him), I hope it was with the wait! Thanks for the prompt!! <3 I own nothing. Also thanks to the Historian for beta-ing for me.

At the sound of footsteps, Prudence looked up from where she was laid out in a sunchair on the deck of the Joyful Damnation, attempting to enjoy some of the sun. “I see you’re alive,” she called out to the owner of the footsteps, causing the sound of them to stop before starting to head toward her purposefully.

“Alive?” their owner proclaimed. “Of course I’m alive! It takes more than a few drinks to keep this pirate down!” A head popped into her view. “Honestly, Prudence, who do you think you’re dealing with here?”

Glaring at Corazón, Prudence took one hand and shoved against his shoulder, “Get out of my sun,” she warned.

Stumbling back at the force of her hand, Corazón straightened up and put his hands on his hips, looking around. Instead of the busy sight of their remaining companions that he expected, he instead saw a deck that was empty of everyone but Prudence. “Where is everyone?” he huffed. “We were supposed to set sail first thing this morning!”

“Well, you probably should have thought about that before sleeping the morning away,” Prudence said, smirking. “Now, I need to go into the town myself; are you going to sit around and sulk all day, or will you be accompanying me?” She stood up and stretched before reaching over to grab the robe that she usually wore, casually shrugging it on.

Corazón felt his cheeks heat up and he quickly looked away. “I don’t know, I have some things to do around here to make sure we’re ready to go as soon as you all get back,” he told her. “It takes a lot to get a ship as incredible as The Damnation ready to go, you know.”

“Yes, but how often do we get to spend time in public without having to talk Egbert out of blowing something up or making sure Dob doesn’t run off with all the gold?” she asked.

When he looked up, she was smiling. “You may have a point,” he conceded, “And I do deserve a vacation after all the work I do for you guys.”

“Exactly,” she said, brushing by him as she walked off the ship and looking over her shoulder at him. “Why don’t you say we have some fun?”

‘Fun’ led them to the market, which was in a little bit of a disarray when they arrived. Prudence immediately took off towards the most lethal looking stall, which was full of various sharp and pointy objects. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Corazón disappear, presumably to make use of the last bits of chaos from whatever had happened before they had arrived.

Letting all thoughts of her partner for the day leave her brain, Prudence started looking over at what this stall had to offer. There were a few bigger weapons that she looked at with some interest (they would be such a great benefit to her rage), but they weren’t elegant enough to really fit her aesthetic. In the middle of the table were a collection of sharp knives and daggers that her eyes kept getting drawn back to.

Idly casting detect magic (and how good it felt to be able to do that again), her eye was immediately drawn to a stiletto dagger in the middle of the table, which was just pulsating with energy.

“Are you going to, like, buy something or what?” the bored voice of the shopkeeper asked her.

“Can I try out that dagger in the middle?” She asked.

“Huh? Yeah, whatever. Just don’t steal it or anything.”

Picking it up, Prudence couldn’t help but let a grin spread over her face. The dagger was perfectly balanced in every way-- in fact it was perfect in every way. “How much for this, then?” she asked.

“That? 500 gold pieces.” The shopkeeper was still looking at her nails.

Prudence deflated. There was no way the party would be okay with her spending that much. She put the knife back on the table, but kept eyeing it, debating how much work it would be to just take it.

“Prudence!” Corazón said joyfully, walking up to her with his arms full. “Would you like any of these delicious artisan meats?”

“Sure,” she said, absentmindedly taking one.

“What do we have here, anything good?” he asked her.

“Nope,” she said.

“Really?” he asked skeptically. “Because you’ve been standing here for quite a while, and usually you would have left in disgust at this point.”

She glared at him. “Honestly, it’s all rubbish,” she said, “waste of my time.”

“Okay, if you say so,” he said. “Although if you really wanted something, I’m sure that we could afford it.”

“I said IT’S FINE,” she hissed at him before storming off towards the tavern. She needed a drink.

********

Corazón met up with Prudence just outside the tavern, which she was staring at for some reason. That reason became clear when the noises from inside the tavern drifted out as someone else entered-- specifically the sound of two familiar voices and the even more familiar sound of chaos.

“Oh, great,” Corazón said. “There goes our relaxing day.”

“Hm.”

“Hm? What do you mean ‘hm’?” he asked, pointing dramatically at the tavern. “That doesn’t exactly sound relaxing.”

“Yes, but this isn’t the only place to get drinks,” she reminded him.

He thought for a moment before sighing. “You want to go to the nice restaurant.” When she nodded, he threw up his hands. “But Prudence! It will be expensive! They’ll expect us to actually pay! Please, think this through!!!”

“I have thought this through,” she told him. “I’ve thought that I don’t want to go in there.” She pointed at the tavern for illustration, where a conveniently timed crash happened for emphasis.

Corazón sighed. “Pirates don’t do fancy establishments,” he told her.

She took off walking. “Okay, I’ll go by myself then,” she said. “There might be someone I meet along the way who would want to get a nice dinner with me.”

He jogged up to her. “I never said I didn’t want to get dinner with you!” he said.

“Oh good,” she took his arm. “Then you can buy me something nice.”

Looking down at the top of her head, he smiled. “Don’t push your luck too far, I never agreed to pay.”

*******

Dinner went well. Appetizers had been served, main dishes had been critiqued, and dinner was on its way out when music started and other people in the restaurant got up and made their way to the dance floor.

Corazón watched as they started to dance and scoffed. “Honestly, look at those idiots,” he said, never taking his eyes off the couples as he started moving his finger to the beat of the music.

“Why, because they’re dancing?” Prudence asked.

“Because they’re dancing horribly!” He said. “Honestly, look at that form! Dob could do better than that-- and I definitely could do better than that!”

Prudence took a sip of her wine, hiding a smile. “You’re sure about that, are you?”

“Am I sure about that?” He rolled his eyes. “Believe me, Prudence, I could dance circles around anyone in this restaurant-- no, around anyone in this town!” He sat back in his seat. “Honestly, ‘am I sure about that.’”

“Well then,” she said, setting her wine down, “You’ll just have to prove it to me.”

His eyes went wide. “Pro-- prove it to you!” he let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t need to prove it to you-- if anything, you should prove your dance skills to me!” He nodded decisively. “Yeah, Prudence, why don’t you prove your dance skills to me?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay,” she told him simply.

“What?” His eyes went wide. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“Okay, I’ll prove it to you,” she said. “Let’s dance.”

“You’re joking,” he told her.

“Well, unless you can’t dance after all,” she told him.

He stood up suddenly. “I am going to dance with you so hard you see stars!” he told her, holding out her hand.

“I’m sure you will.”

Still holding onto her hand, he led her out onto the dance floor as a tango started, pulling her into a picture perfect position and desperately trying to remember the steps of the tango-- for some reason, it was hard to focus when she was so close. He was so busy running through the steps in his head that he didn’t notice how quiet they were.

“You know, you’re right,” she said, breaking the silence. “You are a very good dancer.”

He smirked confidently down at her. “I told you so,” he said.

“But I think you’re overlooking some of the benefits of being not so perfect,” she continued.

He raised a confused eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” she said with a smile, allowing herself to drift even closer so they were pressed together.

Corazón’s steps stuttered as she pressed closer to him, and he started moving with less confidence. “Prudence,” he said softly so only she could hear. “What are we doing?”

“Do you trust me?” she asked him.

Corazón didn’t even have to think about it. “More than anyone.”

“Then just keep doing that,” she told him, pressing her face to his chest.

*******

As they walked down the path back to the ship (Corazón had ended up paying), Corazón grabbed Prudence’s hand. “Wait,” he told her, bringing her to a stop.

“What is it?” she asked, turning to face him.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but here,” he said, slipping out the dagger from earlier and shoving it into her hands. “You were obviously into it.”

She looked down at the dagger. “Please tell me you didn’t pay full price for this.”

“What?” he scoffed. “No. I nicked it. The shopkeeper was absolutely oblivious.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she told him.

“Don’t say anything.” When she went to open her mouth, he continued. “Really, don’t say anything. Let’s just agree to never bring it up again.”

“If you say so,” they made their way up to the ship. “Well, thank you so much for the lovely date,” Prudence told him.

Corazón stopped in his tracks. “Date?” he asked, his voice rising. “What do you mean, ‘date’?”

“Oh Corazón, you really are an idiot sometimes,” she said, shaking her head and grinning.

“What?” He sputtered, “I am the smartest member of the--”

He was cut off by her lips.

“You kissed me,” he said when she had pulled back.

“Well,” she smirked, “I certainly didn’t kiss myself.”

With that, she pressed her lips against his again. Corazón froze for a moment before slowly lifting his definitely not shaking hands to brush against her cheeks. When she didn’t pull back, he relaxed down into her, giving her the angle she needed to wrap her arms around his back.

After a few moments, Prudence pulled back and smiled almost shyly at him. “Have a good night, Corazón,” she said before walking into her room.

Corazón watched her go with his mouth half open before he closed it into a smile, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of his head. Suddenly, there came a rustle from above and the cat form of Merilwen jumped down to sit in front of him. If a cat could smirk, she was definitely making the facial impression.

“Oh, you shut up,” he told her irritably, turning around and walking into his captains’ quarters. He let the door shut behind him before leaning against it with a grin on his face.

[nightklok]

Title: 'Cause I've been hurt so many times, I need someone who will try to soothe me, and not use me Pairing: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Pickles the Drummer Rating: E (For one future smut scene but chapter one is T-rated) Tags: Fake dating, Additional tags on AO3 Summary: Abigail considers herself great at her job; she knows how to make a successful album and her track record shows it. Dethklok proved to be the biggest challenge yet but she learned to overcome any hurdle thrown her way. However, what she didn’t anticipate was Seth’s second wedding. Specifically, Pickles’ mother getting on his case about finding a date to the wedding. Logically, she decides to be his fake date for the wedding. Just fake a relationship for a few months until the wedding then 'mutually' break it off; should be easy enough. It’s just the most renowned music producer and most popular musician fake dating. Surely no feelings or trouble will rise out of this.

Chapter One on Ao3 Here! Chapter one is also under the cut

Abigail had learned quickly that working with Dethklok was oftentimes like walking through those Halloween hay mazes blindfolded. Years upon years of working with pretentious celebrities, tight deadlines, and challenges that were thrown her way would never prepare her for working with them. For a group of five who lived together and knew each other the best, it didn’t always mean that they thought the same way and one would think they finally learned what worked best for them after years of working. But for some reason, they continuously went with the same method that never worked out because it seemed like the best to them. And clearly, it wasn’t.

She was no stranger to challenges so when Dethklok proved to be one, she did her usual process of breaking through to them. And that was asking questions to the right people. Charles stated it was just how they were. Knubbler said they were a bunch of dumb jackoffs so she had to hold the least amount of expectations for them...and lower it. Melmord had offered her weed because it would be the only way she could ever handle working with them. Twinkletits had suggested unresolved trauma and perhaps banana stickers would solve it.

She would find soon enough that everyone was right in their own suggestions but it didn’t mean she followed through with any of them. It didn’t take long to figure out that scheduling private sessions with each individual band member was a lot better compared to them being together only to yell at each other. Within a few days of the focus being more on private sessions, the difference being made was incredible. They seemed to thrive better under one-on-one time and having the group meetings at the end of the day so they could go over their progress had helped incredibly.

The only problem that she couldn’t solve was their old habits. Most of the time the sessions were either forgotten or recordings had to take a week or longer just to make sure the sound was perfect. They were still five people with different ideas of how the album could be better; it would be hard to find common ground and even harder to get them to be responsible under her schedule.

It didn’t mean every member was a thorn in her side though. Pickles and Skwisgaar were some of the more responsible ones compared to the rest. They’d sometimes forget to show up but that was expected.

Skwisgaar did have a certain way of speaking about music she couldn’t quite understand but she found herself slowly understanding him the more they recorded his sessions. It became like learning a new language but less on the fun part. Luckily, he was never one to speak much regardless; music did the talking for him and that was a good enough language for them to understand.

And Pickles, despite his years of experience under the spotlight, wasn’t the pretentious celebrity she expected him to be when they recorded together. He did his work without much complaint, left when she was satisfied and his first-week recording for a song would be the last as there generally wasn’t much left for him to retake. He normally trusted her judgment and any criticisms offered were never given for the sake of belittling her. It came from a place of experience and knowledge and it became something she quickly respected him for. He still occasionally missed his recordings, however, but with how time felt so rapid in getting things in order, she didn’t notice he actually began showing up more often.

He couldn’t show up one day due to a last-minute scheduling conflict that day and since he had a valid excuse, she didn’t expect him to show up at all. Deciding to not let those hours go to waste, she spent it contacting Knubbler for a quick meeting. He sent her the tracks he finished for her to listen to and she offered her critique. They were tossing track after track at one another to see what sticks and eventually something did. After sending him the latest track to fix-up by the end of their meeting, she checked her email to go more into the boring parts of her job.

She loved her job without a doubt but it didn’t mean there were some parts she actually dreaded doing. Emails were one of them; business language, having to wait up to a day for a response, and everything else just to show she was a professional despite her name being tied to so many influential things. Maybe she was famous enough to sign off her emails with a ‘k thx’ but didn't quite know if it was even worth the impending backlash soon after. She was known for her professionalism, not lack of.

But the album wouldn’t be finished for quite a while so she simply had to make do with what she could. Regardless, the marketing director wanted to listen to one of the demo songs. The day was winding down, she just had to spend an extra hour or two in the recording studio, then she could grab food, take a long bath and watch a movie until she fell asleep.

The motivation of food and a chance to relax was enough to look through her emails once more as she played the finished track. She didn’t hear the knock on the door but she did hear the door opening but didn’t turn around. She had expected it to be a klokateer doing some late cleaning.

“Abigail?” A voice all too familiar filled the silence. As she turned around, Pickles closed the door behind him quietly as if to not disturb her (even though he already did). He seemed a bit sheepish as he put his hands in his pockets to play off a calm attitude, “I just wanted to know if you still needed me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time you didn’t show up to a session, Pickles.” She answered a little too bluntly. It came off harsher and she had almost expected him to be offended by it but he shrugged instead, “Charles told me you wouldn’t have been able to come today, anyway.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s true I have bailed out on a few sessions, but I was planning on showing up to today’s session. I promise.”

She folded her arms, leaning back against the chair. It was new territory having Pickles actually show up when he wasn’t meant to. It didn’t seem like he was there for anything else too, “And you really mean that?”

He casually held up his right hand in a three-finger salute, “Scout’s honor...if I was a Boy Scout, that is.  But I’m here now. That should be enough proof, right?” He grinned at her before he walked to the recording booth, “I got this beat stuck in my head I wanna get out of my system. Won’t take too much of your time.”

She glanced at the clock; it was still early enough to record a few takes and he did seem excited to record. Might as well give some time to humor him, “Alright, you get one hour to impress me.”

“I’ll make it count,” He finished her sentence as he closed the door. Taking the drumsticks and headphones, he took a seat in front of the drum kit and quickly prepared, “This is for uhhh...what did we call 8?”

“ Uncensor My Songs On The Radio You Fucking Tool. ”

“Yeah, that’s it! Anyway, I think I figured out why it doesn’t fit on my end. Can you play from the beginning?”

“Sure, get ready in five seconds” It took just a few clicks to get to the song he wanted. She let the metronome play for just a few seconds for him to get the beat before hitting the record button as soon as the song played.

As soon as the song played, Pickles began without hesitation. The sound was much different compared to his other takes...and it fit perfectly as he had said. She waited though; listened to every hit and snare intensely for a mistake to come and screw his take over. But that moment never happened and before she knew it the song was over.

“How did I do?” He grinned at her as he wiped his sweaty forehead with his arm, “Not bad for one take, right?”

Impressive. “Not bad at all. I think this might be just the parts we needed to get the song to be finally done,” She answered as she hit the record button to pause the recording. She made sure to save the file and backed up the file into her work email. (Charles had requested she make backup copies of each recording without the boys’ knowledge when she began working. Just in case).

She watched as Pickles removed his headphones but quickly stopped him, “It’s great but I think another take would be good to have, right?”

“Oh C’mon! Isn’t it great as it is?!” He pleaded. He was foolish to think he could impress her with just one take.

“I’m not denying that it’s great but I’m sure you would be able to do another take if you got it all memorized, right?” She answered. The tone of her voice just shifted slightly enough to indicate a challenge and that’s all that Pickles needed to hear from her.

“Don’t think I can do it, huh?” He smiled back at her as he put the headphones back on.  It was a challenge he could easily win, after all, but she was never one to even let him believe it would be easy. The rush of it and the feeling of adrenaline starting to kick in made it all the more tempting,  “Well get the song playing again. I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.”

“You’re gonna end up tiring yourself out, Pickles.”

“You can let me off the hook then if you’re so worried about me.” He answered with the signature lopsided grin he gave out as freely as sweets, “I think there are some restaurants around that we can go to if you still haven’t eaten yet.”

Bargaining and banter had become something that they learned to communicate with. If there was anyone else in the room, there was no way she would be talking so loosely with him. They were alone however and would be for a long time so it became easier to shake off the layer of professionalism she had to keep up with all day. However, the remaining part of her brain that was still in work mode rejected his offer despite the temptation being far too great, “Not a chance; you walked yourself into this one...But if you wow me just early enough, I might take you up on your offer.”

“Get the song playing again and tell me when to stop.”

The truth was she was already satisfied by the third take but she did let him keep going at least two more times for good measure. By the time she said he was finished, Pickles’ legs were sore but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Five takes weren’t bad at all and he found himself confident in the progress.

“Not bad, Pickles. I think there’s something there I can take for the recording.” Abigail answered with a grin that he tiredly returned.

“Hm, not satisfied yet, or just wanna keep my ego down?”

“Maybe.” She watched him put the headphones and drumsticks away before exiting the recording studio.

“I wanna hear it though. Play the best track.” He went to the mini-fridge and offered her a beer which she declined.

“Just get me a coke. The drink, I mean. I’ll play the best track in a second,” She had already labeled the track files by a number scale and taken notes so she didn’t need to relisten. He set the can of coke beside her as he watched her take a few moments to look through the notes before finally deciding on the best track. She quickly spliced it in with the demo and hit play.

Pickles already flopped on the couch, on his second can of beer already somehow (She didn’t know if it was impressive or horrifying). He didn’t say anything while the song played, leaned back against the couch. When it ended he asked, “Is that the best one?”

“Well, I think it is. It’s the one that doesn’t even need much editing. The others are just as great too, in all honesty,” She answered as she checked her notes briefly. She could go into great detail over the tracks, maybe even explain why the tracks were a perfect fit for a song but she didn’t want to ramble. And besides, he seemed a little bit bothered, “But what do you think?”

“Hm. Not as good as I thought it would be,” He said a little sullenly, “Nate’s gonna wanna delete it. I just know it.”

“Are you sure?  I don’t think he’d want you to delete them especially when he knows you’re having a hard time with this song. They’re all pretty good but if you want to talk with Knubbler since he’ll be doing most of the editing, just give him a call tomorrow.”

“Do you even think it’s good?”

“Of course. If I wasn’t satisfied enough, I would’ve had you still record a few more takes.”

That was an answer that seemed to satisfy him at least as he didn’t say anything else in retaliation. He only asked to play the track again, and finished his second can of beer, “I guess if you think it’s fine, I’ll take your word for it. It’s probably getting late isn’t it?”

“Come in tomorrow and you can listen to it again. If you really aren’t satisfied with it, you can try again,” She offered. She checked at her watch briefly; 10:45 PM. How has it been almost two hours already?

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a plan. We can put a stop to it for now. But uh, sorry for wasting your time.”

She shrugged, “You’re not, Pickles. Don’t worry about it. I would’ve left around this time anyway.”

“Okay, if you say so.” With a shrug, he shifted his mood and stood up. He didn’t seem to sulk longer than he usually did, probably because it was already late and they were both tired, “Did you still wanna eat?”

“Don’t you usually eat with your bandmates?” Usually, mealtimes were the quickest and easiest ways to find them if she needed to. Having memorized that schedule, she knew that dinner was about a few hours ago...or a few hours from now depending on what they did that day.

“Yeah but not today; Offdensen really had us doing interviews all fuckin’ day. I don’t think I’ve eaten lunch yet and I guess you didn’t get dinner either?”

“Nope. I was planning to, anyway.” A late dinner invitation was not rare to get but it was rarer to get one by someone she wouldn’t mind having dinner with. Their relationship with each other was always professional, and he also had years of experience in the music business outside Dethklok. It always felt refreshing to talk to someone who shared the same interests as her. She put her laptop away in her briefcase once she saved all her files; her night was officially done, “Is there someone even able to make dinner at this time?”

“There should be. If not, there are probably leftovers in the fridge. Or we can order pizza, it’s completely your call.”

She slung the briefcase over her shoulder, following him to the hallway. After shutting and locking the door to the recording studio (Charles gave the only keys to her and Knubbler), she walked with him to the kitchen where the conversation of dinner slowly shifted to music and almost anything they could cram in the next two hours.

And by the end of that night, the late dinner invitations became frequent and she had accepted every single one. He always hung around by her last hour of work, even if it meant staying up late. It only meant ordering food to be delivered to them as Pickles convinced her to watch a film she hadn’t seen in years or her convincing him to watch one of her favorite guilty pleasure sitcoms.

For the most part, it was assumed she was just working with him on the album. No one really needed to know about the breaks where they shared a beer and gossiped about the celebrities they had interacted with before. As far as Knubbler and everyone knew, she was using most of the two hours to perfect his recording.

But just a few months later, the hangouts and late-night dinner invitations stopped in their tracks with no warning whatsoever.

She wondered at first if it was something she had done. But then it began affecting his work and it was clear he was distracted about something. She knew and learned enough about him that he was a perfectionist when it came to the drums; he was always a person who wanted to do his job correctly when it came to something he really did care about at the end of the day. Music was his passion, after all. And if he didn’t have passion for the things he cared about the most, then something was going on.

“Do you want to take a break, Pickles?” She asked. It was currently her fifth time asking the same question that week alone.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s keep going.” He answered as he picked up his drums and waited for her to press record.

She didn’t say anything else after that and she let him leave after a few hours. He left before she could get a word out and she would be met with the rising feeling that something bad was about to happen and recordings that not even Knubbler could salvage.

A few days later, she figured out what happened. It took a text from the staff group chat and an email that contained a video to piece the puzzle together.

“Hey, Neon Genesis Evan gail ion. It’s me, your coworker, Seth.”

She did not watch the rest of the video (sober) and instead asked about the video in the group chat. Seth was never invited to the chat for the same reason Melmord was not invited to the second wedding of Seth and whatever poor woman he got roped up with.

Just by that video and conversation, she had connected why Pickles might be upset. It had something to do with the wedding, sure, but what specifically about it? Was it that he had known the girl Seth planned to marry? She wanted to ask so many questions but limited herself to three. But even those three questions were quickly narrowed down to one, then none at all when she realized it would be harder to pry anything out of him.

But, as advised by Knubbler, it was best to keep going. He’d probably breakthrough midway through a recording session. Being someone who knew to listen to others, she listened to his advice for at least a few more days.

She waited those few days and then two more. It was clear whatever was bothering him was still going to continue bothering him until the end of time probably. She had to talk to him against their better judgments; it felt like the only option available to her.

It was a session that lasted over seven hours and she was sure both of them were getting frustrated on their own ends. No amount of coffee or whiskey could even cure the boredom and annoyance that was of a session that would lead to nowhere. It was better to just cut things short and talk about it. If not even the drums could help him feel better, how serious was the situation?

She pressed the intercom button when the song finished and she immediately hit delete. There was no way to salvage the song, “Pickles, would you mind if we talk?”

His expression was perplexed for a moment before he resigned to his fate, not giving much of a protest, “Alright,” he answered with a sigh. He set his drumsticks down as he walked out of the booth, taking a seat by the couch.

She was never all that good at talking to people about feelings in all honesty. And he seemed like a rather emotional guy, to begin with. There were a few moments of awkward silence between them as she tried to find what a good way to start the conversation would be, “I think we know that you seem distracted lately. What’s been bothering you?”

And despite all her mental preparations that he would find it hard to pry open, he actually opened up quite honestly, “Well you know about the wedding right?”

“Yeah, he invited me too.” She answered as she thought back to the weird video message Seth had sent her. She wondered if she should even make a comment about that but decided against it, “You don’t want him to get married or something?”

“I don’t care about that. He could get married as many times as he wants; He’s still getting a fucking Vitamix.  But it’s not about that,” He answered, “It’s my mom. She’s been blowing up my phone all week asking about who I’m bringing with me to Seth’s wedding. Keeps talking about how I should settle down, find someone to marry, or whatever. But I don’t have the time to date!”

She stared at him and didn’t say a single word until he caved in.

“Okay, time’s not the problem but dating while you’re this famous is fucking hard. You must’ve seen that public divorce in ‘89 right?”

She definitely remembered. She was on college radio at the time and had taken over someone’s show. It was either some debate or public opinion show and that was probably one of the more shows she had ever experienced. Did it help that she was a fan of his music back in the day? No, but she would not admit that “I kind of knew about it. It sounded like it was an awful divorce for you. But you were only nineteen, weren’t you? You shouldn't stop yourself from dating for something that happened when you were just a teen.”

“Nineteen, thirty-five, ninety, does it matter? It was as awful behind the scenes as it was in public. I’m not gonna bore you with that but basically, I’m done with dating. And she won’t see that!”

“Well...maybe one of your bandmates can be your date?” She offered.

“Nah, been there, done that, it didn’t work out. And plus, would you even fake date any of them?”

She thought for a moment, “Yeah, smart choice.”

“It’s gotta be someone she has never met before to make it more believable.”

“I see,” Abigail paused. She had waited, expecting almost, for Pickles to look at her, drop the ‘except…’, and plead for her to be his fake date but he didn’t. He only reached into the mini-fridge to pull out a beer, offering one to Abigail who accepted. She didn’t like the beer and had to hide her disgusted look as she took a sip and tried to set it down casually.

The conversation had died out like that. She kept on sipping the beer and hoping he would say something. But he didn’t and it became clear that she had to be the one to speak up. There was only one possible solution to it and it felt like the most obvious., “If you can’t find anyone else, I can be your date.” She offered.

Pickles looked at her like she had asked him to play the drums with his mouth, “I respect you too much to get you involved with my family. They’re like...leeches that suck the fuckin’ life out of you! This is a me problem, you don’t need to fix that. ”

“Well...it’s affecting your drumming too.” she pointed out as she looked at him, “And trust me, I know what I’m getting into. I can handle it, Pickles. I work for Dethklok and I’ve certainly been through a lot more than just a wedding party. I appreciate your concern, but let me help.”

“Abigail...” He almost pleaded.

“I owe you, remember?”

He clearly did remember, “but-”

“He invited me anyway, Pickles. I’m still going out of work obligations; I promise this won’t bother me at all.”

“But you know it’s gonna have to be a lot more than just going to my brother’s wedding right? My mom will want to meet you and who knows what other folks are gonna try and meet you too.”

That was one thing more terrifying than the branding ceremony. Was it even worth it to complete the album?, “Then basically we’d just be faking a relationship until the ceremony?”

“I guess yeah...and that’s...three months from now? You really don’t-”

“As I said, I know what I’m getting into. I want to help you and if we have to do this for a week, months, or a year, it’s okay with me.”

Pickles said nothing for the longest time. He held the half-empty can of beer, nulling over his options that probably didn’t help with him being slightly intoxicated, “You won’t hate me right?”

It caught her off guard almost but she remained on track, “Of course not. I promise,” If she hated him, that would mean there would be no more all-nighters together but she wouldn’t admit that.

“Okay. Just so you know you can back out of this anytime, I won’t be offended if you do.” He said finally and that had sealed the deal, “But we need to keep this a secret which I know is probably obvious enough. If the guys find out, they’ll never stop teasing us about it.”

“But if all we really need to do is just please your parents, I don’t think that will be a problem. Don’t worry about me, Pickles; it’ll be fine. I promise that I will back out if I don’t want to do this anymore.”

It was clear he was unsure still and she didn’t know how much more convincing he would really need. But perhaps that was something to let sit and process; and hopefully, in time, he’d warm up to the idea enough to feel like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

There was nothing else she could really do at this point she knew. It was a quick resolution but a slow payoff and she had done what she could for the day, "How about you take the rest of the day off? If you wanna give recording the song a shot tomorrow, we can."

“Alright,” He threw out the half-finished beer can, beer spilled from the can, some of it splashing into the sides of the trash can and leaving a potent smell of beer. She made a reminder to herself to have a klokateer replace the trash can later. But it would be quickly forgotten when he spoke up again, “I uh, appreciate it, Abigail. I really do."

"It's not a problem at all. I hope you know that you can always turn to me if you need anything?"

"I do, yeah, and uh the same right back," He paused for a moment, "I'll take you out to dinner sometime if you want. It's the least I can do."

"That would be nice but I don't need a big fancy dinner. I'm fine eating here, and watching a movie." She answered. She wanted to speak more but her phone began ringing and she saw that it was from Charles, "I should probably take this."

"Oh yeah, go ahead. And uh, if you wanna grab some dinner again you know where to find me. I'm sorry I bailed out on you this week, I'll make it up to you." He quickly left before she could speak.

All alone in the studio, she took a moment to compose herself. Refusing to give herself even more time to let what she had gotten herself into sink in, she answered the phone.

It was only three months but somehow this new task felt like it would end up being the hardest task yet. But, she had an album to finish. It was just part of the job, right?

[soundofseventeen]

We Belong Together (Part Five)

Hi! I finally bring you Woozi! I am also here with erin! (not irl but we still skying, lmao)

Word count: 1416

Jihoon wasn’t sure who gave his bandmates permission to use his house to get read, especially so early in the morning, but he was still in bed, listening to everyone’s footsteps. (Mingyu...or Minghao probably invited them. He was pretty sure that had to do with the fact they owned just about everything that helped them prepare for special occasions) Some were running between rooms, searching for god knows what and some just walked to where they needed to go. He could hear Jun and Seungcheol fighting over who was gonna shower in the spare bathroom (next time they decided to move into a bigger dorm, a third bathroom was definitely a requirement.) And then he heard them cursing at Dino, followed by a slam so he pieced together that the youngest beat them to it.

He tossed and turned for a couple more minutes, hoping to sleep the day away, or even just half. He hated that the sleeping pills he took the night before had little effect on him. He threw the comforter over his head, groaning and hoping he could drown out the noise to have some kinda peace before announcing his presence, but when Hoshi accidentally walked into his room, backed out slowly and closed the door a little harder than necessary, he sat up again, looking for something to throw at his best friend when he saw him, but he didn’t find anything. He hated when one of the boys went into a cleaning frenzy and left nothing in their wake.

Jihoon put on his favorite robe, the only thing he kept in good condition since his trainee days and his newest slippers that he received as a birthday present from...he couldn’t even remember who anymore. He wasn’t prepared for the mountain of clothes littering the hallway, and tripping over a belt in the process but he finally made it to the kitchen where Seungkwan and Joshua were sitting at the table, sipping their coffees and gossiping over whatever was on Seungkwan’s phone. Jihoon nodded at them and poured himself a mug, and although he enjoyed the warmth of it, he didn’t like how this was the coffee you got him hooked on once upon a time and eventually became his favorite. He could remember many times when you’d go out of your way to bring this to him when other brands didn’t cut it for him and how he threatened the members if they had some without his permission, and how you had to smuggle some so he wouldn’t kill them.

“Good morning Hyung,” Seungkwan greeted him happily when he sat next to them.

“Morning.”

“How’d you sleep?”

Jihoon nodded. “Same as every other time.” He had a sip, hating the flavor and he wanted nothing more than to throw it in the sink and buy a different brand. One that different leaves bitter taste in his mouth, no pun intended.

Joshua smacked the younger boy, either to get him to shut up or to focus on what was happening, but either way, he didn’t acknowledge him again.

He did notice that while Seungkwan was sweaty, he hadn’t showered and probably wouldn’t until everyone did. Joshua was also still in his most comfortable attire, not seeming in a rush to get ready anytime soon.

While many other times, he reveled in the silence when he was around his friends, today it seemed too much so he headed into the living room to play a video game. He tried acting as unbothered as possible, focusing more on knocking out his opponent in Mortal Kombat so he could proceed to the next level. Every so often the doorbell would ring and then he’d hear a new voice greeting him and then running into a room. At one point, Soonyoung walked out of the bathroom, dripping wet, sans towel, asking if they had more shampoo because the bottle ran out. 

Though he didn’t miss the glares Soonyoung threw at him. Jihoon knew that his best friend’s long simmering anger would eventually erupt and he knew he’d have to take it all until they could be on good terms again. Soonyoung hadn’t been particularly warm towards Jihoon since he found out you’d gotten engaged to Jooheon and he probably heard every conspiracy theory that Hoshi had spewed, trying to see what really happened. Though it wasn’t fair to you or him, he merely said it didn’t work out between you.

He sighed in frustration, trying to concentrate. He would not focus on the betrayal of his brothers ditching him. He had much better things to do than to think of why they were leaving, like work on his music, and go to the new ramen place that opened up. He could ask Beomju if he wanted to….no, Beomju already had plans to go too. Whatever, he didn’t want to hang out with him anyway. Jihoon could also reorganize his bedroom space. It needed a serious cleaning….actually, he didn’t want to touch anything. Some of your stuff was still mixed in with it and he wasn’t sure what you’d still need. He wasn’t petty enough to burn your belongings, but he also wasn’t a big enough person to return them to you in person. He hadn’t seen you in awhile and he thought it’d be weird if he just showed up out of the blue, especially because he wouldn’t be in the state to remain calm. The mere thought often sent him into a panic or anger attack, and then he’d mope. Well, not mope, but he’d eventually spiral into a web of things that made no sense and he’d try tto figure the riddle out.

Chan sat down next to him, brushing his teeth while trying to style his hair. “Hyung, aren’t you gonna get ready yet?” The foamy paste was all over his mouth and Jihoon hoped it wouldn’t get on anywhere except the sink.

“I’m not going,” he said simply, more focused on how to survive the round without taking any more hits. “I have to work on my music after this and possibly move things around in the studio. It’s gonna be a busy day.” When his opponent delivered the fatal blow on screen, he threw the controller on the floor with a little more force than necessary, scaring Chan. “Goddamn it!”

“Hyung,” he said quietly, “are you okay?”

“Yeah! I’m fine. I’m just hungry. Do you want anything? Are you sure? I offered.”

Jihoon stood up, stretching in the process and then made his way to the kitchen where he found Jeonghan helping Wonwoo with his contacts. At this he sighed in annoyance. Since when were you important enough that Wonwoo would ditch his glasses? You always said Wonwoo should be comfortable with you at all times, no matter the time, place, or occasion. 

“Don’t move so much or I’m gonna poke your eye,” Jeonghan warned.

“It burns. This probably wasn’t a good idea.”

No shit. “Is it even necessary?” Jihoon found himself asking. “No one’s gonna care either way. It’s not like we’re having this epic concert….” he trailed off awkwardly, realizing it wasn’t his place to critique his friend.

“Ahh, the rumor’s true. You’re really not going.”

He shook his head at Jeonghan, giving him the same excuse. “I’m busy. Things to do and deadlines to meet.”

Wonwoo patted Jeonghan’s shoulder in thanks and the older boy disappeared with a wan smile directed at both. “Let me go see if anyone needs help adjusting their ties. Wonwoo, I’ll have the solution in my pocket for when you need it. Jihoon….just don’t overwork yourself.”

Wonwoo then decided to turn his attention to the producer, walking towards him until he turned Jihoon around and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, hugging his back. 

“What are you doing?”

“You look like you need a hug so I’m giving you one.” Wonwoo rocked him side to side, humming whatever came to his head.

“Why? Nothing’s wrong. I’m not sick or dying.” Jihoon resisted the urge to break away from him.  Why couldn’t anyone see that he was okay? Sure, he was gonna be by himself for the day and no one was gonna check in on him, but he was a grown man.

Wonwoo squeezed his shoulders once more before letting go. “Why couldn’t you just have gotten your shit together?”

At that, he had no response, because he wasn’t sure if it was his question to answer.

[apollo-writes-random-shit]

omg!! please please please do gasoline with race!!

Ahhhhhh! Sorry, this took so long! I wrote this like three or four times and I’m still not 100% happy with it lol. I did some research and it turns out the song is actually about Halsey’s struggles with mental health while being in the spotlight so I used that but don’t worry! This has a happy ending!

Song requests

AO3 copy

Are you insane like me?

He was pretty sure every kid at some point had wanted to be famous and here he was. Gone from causal dancing to acting and singing, all thanks to a small show that had been secretly visited by a talent scout. Multiple doors had opened for the young teen but with the fame came extreme expectations and with those expectations came extreme stress. 

Everything seemed to be dictated by his manager, one William Snyder. As grateful as he was for the jobs Snyder had landed him, he was driving Race insane. Every single little thing was scrutinised, from the things he ate and drank, to even his hairstyle when he went out. His smile had to be perfect every time to 'keep up his image' but it got tired having to look perfect all the time. 

Don't get him wrong, he adored his fans but at the same time, he wished he could go out without being stopped every five minutes for photos and videos, being made to repeat lines constantly. 

Been in pain like me?

Every day left him exhausted, even if he had only been shopping. Everything had to be perfect to make sure he avoided any bad publicity. He was still young so why ruin his career so early? 

Sighing, Race stared at his schedule. Countless practises for both dances and an upcoming audition filled every day, leaving him with almost no time for himself. He had only a few hours after evening practice and he knew he'd spend most of that sleeping. 

He could already feel the pain that would come with everything. Today's practise had already wiped him out, body flowing with pain. After being scouted, Race had discovered muscles he didn't know existed thanks to the pain that came with the job. 

However, he could deal with the physical pain but the mental pain? Not so much. He knew the others were getting worried about him but it didn't stop him from following all of Snyder's strict rules...Even if it caused him to throw up some mornings and night before practice. 

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Well, he followed most of the rules but Race liked to have fun, even if that meant drinking some nights, whether it be cheap beer or expensive champagne, he'd take it, only to pour whatever remained down the drain the next morning in shame before scrubbing his teeth to get rid of any hint of the alcohol that was forbidden.

That's what he was currently doing, letting the taste of his toothpaste take over the taste of morning breath and expensive champagne. Rising the toothbrush, he chuckled softly as he licked his lips, savouring the artifical taste of bubblegum. Despite the event happening over a week ago, Race could still see Jack's face when he walked out of the bathroom carrying it. He knew he wasn't a kid but that wouldn't stop him from buying the 'kiddie' toothpaste, no matter how 'disappointed' it made his older brother. 

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

Walking out to the kitchen, he noticed the damp paper resting on the table, causing him to shake his head. He had spilt a little of his drink on the table and mopped it up with the closest thing which appeared to be the bill he opened last night. 

Not that it mattered, he could still read it which meant he'd be able to know who to pay. That and he had read it last night and despite getting drunk, his sharp mind still remembered every word. 

He would concern himself with that later, instead focusing on making his breakfast smoothie before rushing out that door, hoodie pulled over his head to hide his face in the short run down his driveway. Sure, no one was around but that didn't mean he wasn't paranoid about being spotted. He already had to deal with stalkers and so far, none of them had found his house and he'd like to keep it that way thank you very much. 

Softly singing along to the radio, he grinned to himself as set off, heading towards the dance studio. Sure, Snyder was going to be there to see his progress which meant he'd have to work harder. At least Romeo and Tommy always gave him good criticism instead of berating him when they taught him a new move. Even in Tommy Boy would jokingly kick his feet into the right position while telling him to keep up. Out of everyone he had been taught by, the two were his favourite. Tommy would teach him the dances while Romeo took care of the acting and like almost everyone, they thought Race should get rid of the man. 

Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?

Shaking the thought out of his head, he pulled into the car park, flipping his hood back up before speedwalking inside. 

It was only when he got inside the studio that he relaxed, something that always happened. Sure, most of the time sometimes he'd walk out and there would be a small crowd outside the building which he found awkward considering he was still all sweaty and smelly. There was only so much a towel and deodorant could do until he had access to a shower. Sure, the dance studio had showers but honestly, Race didn't like them. He also felt awkward showering in a building where his fans might find a way to sneak in. He might love his body but he didn't feel like having nudes of him spread across the internet where anyone could access it.

"Damn, look who finally showed up."

"I'm late by one minute Tommy Boy. Traffic was horrible." 

"Whatever, warm-up you dork." The Australian chuckled, scrolling through the playlist, trying to decide which routine to have his friend start with. Subtly, he clenched his jaw as another presence filled the room. He really didn't like when Snyder was in the studio but unfortunately, he had no say. He knew the man liked to see that his client was actually making progress. Sure, some of his dancers would have their manager show up occasionally but Snyder came twice a month to take notes on Race before taking the teen to the side to lecture him, almost like he was trying to undermine everything he had been taught. He really hated him in all honestly but hey. He couldn't fire him, only Race could and considering the number of gigs Snyder had landed him, he doubted he'd be let go anytime soon. 

Race shook out his limbs after stretching, pretending that he didn't sense the tension between his manager and instructor. If he ignored them, he could actually focus properly. He had learnt during the first few sessions that Snyder had sat in, that if he let the tension distract him, he'd slip up and get a long lecture about how he had to 'focus more if he wanted to nail a role'. So, he just pretended to be alone, letting the music flow through him. As cheesy as it sounded, Race liked to pretend that he was one with the sound. The noise was his dance partner, the leader of the pair. He followed its gentle coaxing willingly, allowing it to control every step.

It gave him a high that nothing could replicate, no matter how hard he had tried in the past. Dancing gave him something that he couldn't explain. Something that couldn't be described. He was addicted to it.

He allowed himself to come to a stop, his partner leaving him with a gentle caress and smile. Race grinned at himself in the mirror, slowly coming down from his high, allowing himself to relax, calmly walking over to his duffle bag, yanking his towel out before wiping his face off. As much as he loved dancing, he didn't like the sweat that came with it. 

Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?

Tommy's compliments were cut off by the clearing of someone's throat and the two turned to look at Snyder who was lounging in a chair in the corner. "Your turns were sloppy Higgins. You fell out of a few turns, your feet weren't pointed during one of your jumps and your arms looked strange. You need to work on those."

"With all due respect sir, I believe he did quite well."

"Clearly you weren't paying close enough attention to your student Manchester. We all know he can do better. If he nails this video, even more doors will open for him and surely you want that for him."

"I do but."

"Then you'll allow me to critique my client. I want what's best for him after all." 

Race sighed. "I'll work harder. It's okay." Sure, he knew he was overworked as it was, but he could always try harder. There was always room for improvement after all.

Tommy just shook his head, knowing what Snyder wanted was a fat paycheck. Race wanted to please everyone and that included Snyder, even if the man pushed him past the point of breaking. Once discovering that Race had an empty basement, Snyder had pushed him into turning it into a mini studio for extra practice and would often visit to watch and offer more 'corrections' when really, he spent most of the time on his phone, only sparing glances up at the mirrors, pushing the teen to almost the point of collapse before lecturing him at the way he had become so wobbly. He didn't care that the boy was tearing himself apart in hopes of earning the praise he had been craving all his life. Race lived to entertain people and so far, he had failed to fully impress Snyder. 

Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?

Buttons sighed as he listened to the faint sound of music, vibrating through the wooden floor. He was there to do final adjustments to Race's costume for the video tomorrow and wasn't surprised that he'd be found in the makeshift studio. Whispers floated around not only Race's friends but some of Buttons' friends in the clothing industry. Race seemed ready to fall apart and it was a waste of talent. He was being pushed too far and from Buttons had learnt, had recently been pushed into modelling as well, taking up even more of his time, leaving him more exhausted than normal. 

Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me? And all the people say...

Shaking his head, Buttons headed down steps, rapping on the door to inform the other of his presence, watching as he stumbled slightly. Race had been sucked into the whirlwind of fame, dragged into an uncaring industry, one deadset on farming out copies and copies, ones that would give them the cash they craved. 

It destroyed every member they took in, ruining their minds and bodies until they were dumped, left to eventually fade away, replaced with a newer shiny version. As famous as someone was, it was surprisingly hard to be remembered. Making something that everyone remembered for years to come might be somewhat easy, but having your name in everyone's mind for years? That was much harder. 

Fame was a dream for a lot of people but that dream would turn into a nightmare quickly. 

You can't wake up, this is not a dream, you're part of a machine, you are not a human being.

Buttons loved seeing his work in videos but looking at the way his crafts looked on Race's skinny shaking body made him feel sick.

"Really. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Gotta look my best Buttons." Race just grinned, brushing off the concerns like normal.

"Tony seriously. Everyone's telling you the same thing. You need to eat more." The tailor shook his head, scanning the other's body to spot anything off with it. "You always look ready to collapse and you're shaking!"

"Buttons...I'm just following what's set out for me."

"Don't you think it's going a bit far?"

"Nah. It's fine. After all, it could be worse." Race just shrugged, holding his arms up when prompted. 

With your face all made up, living on a screen.

While talking to Buttons was always fun, Race was relieved to see him leave. Whenever he spoke to someone alone, they always told him to drop his manager. That he looked like he was five seconds away from being rushed to the nearest hospital. 

It didn't help that Snyder had become stricter later, criticizing his body and form more than normal, not caring that he was breaking his spirit. He was one of many, easily replaceable in the mind of the industry, something that Snyder liked to remind his client of constantly, claiming that it was 'in his best interest that he followed everything to the letter', forcing him to practise harder whenever he strayed from the harsh guidelines he set out.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

Requesting time off just brought another lecture. Hell, Race had to beg and fight to be allowed to take his birthday off and out of everything the man had done, that's what pissed Race's friends and family off the most. Jack had been close to demanding the man's address or phone number, only for Davey to stop him. It was no secret that Jack and Snyder had bad blood, disagreeing over what was best for the dancer/actor. Jack had known him all of his life while Snyder had only known him for roughly two years. 

Race hated the relationship between his manager and older brother but did his best to never let it trouble him. He desired to be on his A-game at all times after all and any form of tension would throw him off, only causing him to work harder than any other day. Snyder constantly likened him to every other young celebrity out there, reminding him all the time that he was replaceable, that he had to work harder if he wanted to keep up with the industry. That he was...Already stumbling behind. 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

The man acted like Race wasn't trying at all...That all the hours he put in meant nothing. That Race was acting like he 'didn't care about his job'. Like he was...Broken in some way and that strict behaviour just increased when he had handed him a slip of paper given to him by a professional. A diagnosis for depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder. He hadn't been super happy to find out that his client was mentally ill and that the paperwork even pointed out that he was overworked and just pushed him harder. 

Voices pushed at him from both sides. Drop him some said. He's working you too hard others chimed in. You need to work harder if you want to succeed in the industry kid one kept saying and for some reason, he kept listening to the single voice, despite the fact he knew he wasn't meant to. He needed to drop him and he would, after this music video and movie audition though.

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

Race sighed, shaking his head. Focus Higgins. In a month, you can find someone new. Darcy, Bill and Kath can find you a new one. He stretched, smiling at himself in a mirror. He'd be okay, he could last a month. 

He pretended Snyder's not so subtle jabs at his diagnosis. The man hadn't been pleased when he found out about Race's ADHD, clearly 'trying' to hide the way he felt about the whole thing. That he didn't think Race was 'unstable'. That he was 'broken'.

Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?

He growled in annoyance when he fell out of a turn again, glad he was alone. It wasn't his fault he was so stressed! He was being pulled at every end, each person claiming they just wanted the both for him. With his mental health 'issues' dumped on top of that, Race wanted to scream and tear his hair out. He hated this. Hated the worried looks from his friends and family. Hated the harsh tone from Snyder used when he was giving him 'constructive' criticism. 

He wasn't at fault here! He was just trying hard so why did it seem like everyone was trying to pull him to their side? Sure, what he was doing wasn't the healthiest but he had to work hard to keep up with the fast pace workforce. Sure, he could stand to gain a few pounds but he could always do that later. 

Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? Pointing fingers 'cause you'll never take the blame like me?

"I'm just worried Race..."

"I know Jack. I know you hate Snyder, that he's an asshole, that you think he's ruining my life. But, without him, I wouldn't have gotten so many gigs."

"Tony, please. You need to drop him. You don't look healthy, you're never able to go out anymore, you're being worked to the bone." Jack frowned as he looked at his brother. "I get that you love your job but you need to take time for yourself as well."

"Look. I'm already planning to drop him after this audition...It's just a month Jack. Please. Give me that and I'll drop him."

"Promise? I'm sick of his bullshit Tony..."

"I promise."

And all the people say, you can't wake up, this is not a dream.

"Again." 

Race nodded, restarting the music before throwing himself into the dance again.

"You're distracted, Higgins."

"Sorry, sir. Just got a lot on my mind lately..." 

"You need to focus. If you don't you'll fall behind and fail. Restart."

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being. With your face all made up, living on a screen.

Race honestly wasn't sure if Snyder even knew what he was talking about when it came to his dancing but still, he took his words to heart, letting them crash through his weak walls again as he started the dance yet again, letting the music wrap itself around him, allowing it to bring him both a familiar rush and familiar comfort. 

The comfort that came with the music was his favourite kind of comfort. He never had to seak it out. Never had to send a text or make a call. All he had to do was press a button and it was there, ready to hug him and bring him a calm distraction from whatever was bothering him, sometimes wiping away any tears that would run down his cheeks, drawing a watery smile from him.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

"What the fuck do you mean you're firing me? I'm the one who got you this damn role! You would be a nobody without me Higgins and you know that!" 

Race looked at the man's angry face. "Leave my house, Snyder. We're done here. While I am thankful for the work you have done, I need to focus on what I feel is right for me and I believe what is right is us parting ways."

"You're making a big mistake Higgins. I can ruin your damn life! I got you that role and I can fucking take it away from you! You'll regret this! I'll fucking leak your damn address!" 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

"You can not ruin my life, Snyder. You even try and I'll make sure everyone knows what you've been doing. I'll let everyone know how hard you've pushed me. How you've forced me to dance right after throwing up. Believe me, Snyder. I can and will let them know. I've dealt with this for too long."

These voices won't leave me alone.

"You've let those people poison you! They know nothing!"

"Romeo and Tommy have been working in this industry for years. Longer than you have and I trust their judgement."

"I'll get their places shut down!"

"Keep talking Snyder...You're just digging yourself a bigger hole."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Race smirked, holding up his phone. "I've looked up the laws. We have a one-party consent law here meaning I can record this conversation without your permission and that's what I have done. I recommend you leave now."

Snyder scoffed, storming out. "You'll regret this!"

"And you'll regret being so strict! Goodbye William~" 

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

[dlwritings]

Who Do You See? | Tom Holland

masterlist found here

pairing - Tom x reader word count - 2,086 warnings - SAD TOM IS SAD AND I’M SAD A/N - This was inspired by an excerpt from “I know What You Think of Me” by Tim Kreider for the New York Times -- this is for @your-1up-girl @little-elizabeth @racewife2004 and @tragicluver who voted for this!

summary - Sometimes all the comments get to Tom. All the press and the fans and that opinions coming in from the world. And sometimes, he just needs some of your wise words of affirmation to bring a smile back to his face.

You were the one who advised Tom to take a break from social media. You could see it was draining him, trying to please the fans all the time. He wasn’t good with technology, and constantly trying to figure out what to post and how to post it correctly was exhausting.

And people were just so critical of him. During Civil War, he wasn’t fit enough. During Homecoming, he was fit but not muscular enough. During Far From Home, he was too muscular. He felt weird in his own skin, knowing that people were scrutinizing every ridge and divot across his body. At what point did that become an interesting or appropriate conversation topic? Sure, he pretty much signed his life away to Marvel, but did that mean his body too?

And he hated talking to anyone about it, because things like that weren’t supposed to bother men. They weren’t supposed to bother him. Who cares what people say about his body, right? It shouldn’t matter.

But it did bother him, and you knew it. Some days, you would see him standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth, turning his body at different angles like he was studying himself. He always had a little crease on his forehead like he was thinking too hard, which he was. He started to wear his shirt around the house way more than he used to. Some days he’d be in sweatpants and a sweatshirt even if it was hot outside (He would just crank the AC.) like he was hiding his body away. If he was on the couch scrolling on his phone and you walked past him, you could see he was reading comments on his Instagram pictures. Something that he used to enjoy now only made the crease on his forehead a touch more permanent. Tom wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was easy to see when he was taking things personally.

So you suggested he delete Instagram and Twitter from his phone for a while and block the sites on his laptop’s internet browser. “Just take some time away,” you said to him. You had caught him pity scrolling again and sat beside him on the couch. He rested his head on your chest, and you brushed your fingers through his soft curls.

“Don’t wanna upset anyone,” he mumbled. His eyes were closed, and he wrapped his arms around your torso.

“No one’ll be upset,” you said. “And fuck ‘em if they are.”

Well, Tom couldn’t argue with that.

And for a few days, it was good. He didn’t have any projects he was working on, so the two of you got to spend a lot of time together. Without being under the microscope of a million fans, you could tell he was more relaxed. He was back to your goofy boyfriend who was shirtless way more than he needed to be and stood beside you while you brushed your teeth just so he could wrap an arm around your torso and stare at your reflection instead of his own.

And then, it wasn’t good. He wasn’t good. Because Tom was still human, and sometimes the insecurities crept up when he least expected it: after a workout, after a date night, cuddled up with you on the couch, taking a shower, waking up, going to sleep…

And he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t not think about it. What were people saying when he was offline? What pictures surfaced of him during his social media hiatus that caused the fans to analyze and critique him? He had to know. It was like an itching in his fingers that he could only scratch by scrolling.

The curse of growing up in the age of technology, he supposed.

There was no harm in googling his name. It wasn’t Instagram or Twitter. He probably wouldn’t even find any relevant hits. Nothing but his Wikipedia page and social media links, he was sure. So while you were out picking up lunch, he let his curiosity win out.

After the expected hits, he saw news articles. They all had something to do with his hiatus or a trip to the gym or do fans prefer Homecoming Tom Holland or Far From Home Tom Holland or or or-

So he locked his phone and went into the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror, that familiar crease growing on his forehead. Had he gotten too muscular? Who did he prefer: Homecoming or Far From Home Tom Holland? Or Civil War Tom Holland? Or pre-Marvel Tom Holland? He knew, technically, he was currently Far From Home Tom Holland, but what did that even mean? Had his identity officially been reduced to what movie he was currently promoting? Or how big his muscles were during each film shoot? Honestly, looking at the news articles and fan polls, he didn’t recognize any of those Tom Holland’s. Even the one in the mirror felt like a manufactured copy of who he once was.

He wondered then which Tom Holland you saw when you looked at him. You had known him longer than anyone in his life, so you experienced every Tom Holland. Who did you like the most? Who were you most comfortable with? Who did you find the most attractive? Who were you in love with? Who did you see when you looked at him now?

You came home to silence. You expected the TV to be on or music to be blasting, but there wasn’t. When you left to get food, Tom was showering. Was he still getting ready? Or had he gotten lost in his mind again? You assumed the latter but hoped you were wrong. So you set the food on the counter and headed into your bedroom. Tom was still in the adjoined bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, and staring blankly at his reflection. His hands were gripping the countertop, his eyes squinting like he was criticizing every flaw, and that crease etching itself into his forehead.

“Was it Instagram or Twitter?”

Tom jumped when you spoke. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard you come home. “Neither,” he said, finally looking away from his reflection. He leaned up against the bathroom door frame and folded his arms across his chest. You raised your eyebrows at him, and he shrugged. “Google.” You sighed and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his chest. He hugged you back, but it wasn’t his usual tight bear hug. It was hesitant, like he didn’t want you close to him.

Like he was afraid you’d feel a ridge or divot you didn’t like.

You pulled away and put your hands on his shoulders. He hung his head so he didn’t have to meet your eyes. His curls fell in front of his forehead, so you brushed them away and urged him to look at you. Tom didn’t cry very often. When he was sad, he just looked exhausted. His eyes would get red (not teary, just red), and he’d be sporting bags under them. That was how he looked then, and it was how you knew that he wasn’t good again.

You pressed your lips into a tight line and took Tom’s hand, leading him back into the bedroom where you had a full length mirror. You sat on the floor in front of it and patted the ground between your open legs. “C’mere,” you said. He hesitated but did as you said. He faced the mirror, and you wrapped your arms around him and put your chin on his shoulder. You peppered kissed across his skin, and Tom hung his head again. Just as you were ready to say something, he spoke first.

“Who do you see when you look at me?”

You looked up at him and cocked your head to the side. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean-” He sighed. “Who do you see? Everyone talks about Civil War Tom Holland and Homecoming Tom Holland and Far From Home Tom Holland, and I don’t even know which one I am anymore. Or which one I’m supposed to be. Or which one you want me to be. It’s like-” He cut himself off, annoyed for getting so emotional over something so stupid. Something that men were not supposed to be bothered by.

“It’s like what?” you asked, rubbing your thumbs across his soft skin.

He sighed again. “It’s like I don’t even recognize myself when I look in the mirror anymore. And I’m scared that one day you won’t like this Tom Holland. I’m scared I won’t like this Tom Holland.”

You were quiet for a long time. Tom worried he had said the wrong thing. Maybe you hadn’t thought about whether you liked this Tom Holland before, but now he brought it up and you were considering it. Maybe he had ruined everything just like that. He was preparing himself for you to say the worst.

“I read something once about a guy who dreamt about a weird invention.”

He hadn’t prepared for that.

“It was a staircase where you could go deep underground, and you’d hear recordings of everything people have ever said about you- the good and the bad. The catch was, you had to pass all the horrible things in order to get to the best things at the very bottom. I don’t even think I would make it four steps down, but the guy explained the logic behind it: if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

You brushed your fingers through Tom’s hair, and he relaxed against your chest. “You’re a star, Tom,” you said. “And you have to handle the really bad things in order to reap the benefits of being famous- as much as that sucks. And your staircase would be so much longer than mine because people think they have the right to say whatever they want about you. But if you want to reach the bottom of the staircase, you have to be secure enough in yourself to hold your head high through the horribleness.” You paused. “But you know what else?” He met your eyes in the mirror. “You’re not going down this staircase alone. I think that’s where it’s logic fails. It thinks that we’d have to go down on our own, but we wouldn’t. Because I know I’d want you to be with me when I heard whatever good things have been said about me at the bottom, because that’s a joy I wouldn’t want to celebrate alone. And you’d help me through all the horrible things, so it’d be worth it. And I’d do the same for you.”

You nuzzled your face against Tom’s neck and kissed him. Your thumbs were still rubbing soft circles on his stomach.

You loved all his ridges and divots.

“When I look at you, I don’t see Civil War Tom Holland, or Homecoming Tom Holland, or Far From Home Tom Holland. I just see Tom. I see my beautiful West London boy whom I love with my whole heart, not despite the flaws, but because of them. Because you’re not perfect-” You scoffed. “-and thank god, because I’m an absolute disaster.”

Tom laughed, the smile on his face more genuine than it had been in ages. He turned around to face you, so you were sitting with his thighs crossed over yours. You giggled and draped your arms over his shoulders, curling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss you shared was so soft and so caring and you were both so so in love.

“C’mon,” you said, moving your legs from under his and standing up. You reached your hand out to him and helped pull him off the ground. “I went to the sandwich shop on the corner.”

“Yes!” he cheered, pulling you in for a playful yet bone-crushing hug before you hit his shoulders and made him let go.

“What a weirdo,” you said. He laughed and slapped your butt as you walked ahead of him to go back to the kitchen.

Sometimes, Tom just had to be reminded that, despite the films and fans and critiques and polls, he would always just be Tom. And he liked that guy more than any Tom Holland the world had opinions on.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

TAGLIST

@bangtan-serendipity | @planetdemon | @the-singing-clown406 | @tomshufflepuff | @bluelalal | @grandloser | @jackiehollanderr | @mindset-jupiter | @bisexual-sk8r | @feel-like-gold | @runaway-apple | @miraclesoflove

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Constructive Critique

  ‘Hiiiii-’ Joan swung herself into Maggie’s cabin, narrowly avoiding the myriad of shoes and cigarette packets that littered the floor, and flopped down onto the bunk. ‘Are you ready to go?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Maggie didn’t look up from her laptop.

  Joan was used to this- when Maggie was in her ‘creative zone’ (otherwise known as the ‘fuck off and dont talk to me zone’), it sometimes took her a while to be able to leave it.

  She settled in for a wait and made herself comfy on Maggie's bunk- as usual, the bed was unmade. Unable to help herself, she twitched the covers into place before she sat down.

  No response.

  Hm. 

  That was odd. Maggie usually hated anyone tidying up after her.

   Joan could still remember the time she’d relegated Anne to sitting on the floor for having the audacity to fold up her pajamas for her. Granted, Joan was never subjected to quite the same level of temper as everyone else….but still, even she was used to being ordered sharply to ‘just leave it alone Joan, jesus-’.

  She smoothed out the bedspread. 

  Still no response.

  Weird.

  Biting the bullet, she rolled onto her stomach, rearranged Maggie's pillows and started to order the bits and pieces scattered on the bedside table, expecting every second for Maggie to look up and bark at her to stop.

  Nothing.

  Sitting up, she looked at Maggie more closely.

  She was staring intently at her laptop screen, but she didn’t look how she usually looked when working- the peaceful faraway look was gone. She wasn't typing or clicking through. Her hands were in her lap. 

  In fact, they were clenched into fists.

  ‘Maggie?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Mags- are you ok?’

  Joan crawled off the bed and came over.

  ‘Mags?’

  Maggie jumped as if waking up when Joan touched her arm. ‘What? Oh, sorry-’

  ‘Are you ok?’

  ‘Fine...did you want something?’ Already, her eyes were drifting back to the screen and Joan felt wrong footed.

  ‘I just….we were going to get something to eat?’ She wondered if this was Maggie's way of letting her know she wasn't in the mood- a bit of a change from her usual ‘Fuck, can we take a raincheck?’ but still a possibility. ‘We don't have to if you don’t want-’

  ‘Oh-’ Maggie seemed to catch onto Joan’s hesitancy, to notice the way her fingers twisted anxiously ‘Sorry- of course we were....’ She shook her head. ‘Of course we can-’

  But her tone was off- Joan was more used to Maggie's flat affect than anyone, and she could tell what was normal and what wasn’t. This….wasn’t.

  She put out a hand to pause Maggie in the middle of her perfunctory hunt for her wallet and keycard. 

  ‘Mags? Something's up. Tell me? Please?’

  Maggie got her stubborn look for a moment- as if planning on flat out denying all and making Joan fight her over it- but then she sighed and shrugged.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Honestly. Really really stupid-’

  ‘What?’ The suspense was killing Joan. She was seconds away from breaking her new year's resolution to give up biting her nails. (Three months in and going strong. Maggie’s- to give up smoking, at Anne and Joan’s joint request- had lasted all of two hours and twenty minutes.)

  Maggie bit her lip, obviously debating whether or not to actually finish.

‘-someone left a review on my last recording-’

  ‘Oh!’ Joan bounced happily for a moment. She knew how much reviews meant to Maggie- despite her repeated claims that her music was for her not for anyone else, Joan knew that the rare confirmations that someone else had actually noticed the piece of herself that she’d thrown into the void of cyberspace were precious. ‘What did they say?’

  In answer, Maggie tilted her laptop screen so that Joan could read for herself.

‘-know you’re only starting out as musician….constructive criticism….whoever taught you really missed out on a few things didn't they?.....irritating tendencies….poor technique...know you’re sensitive…..would be happy to point you to some online resources….’ And then the sweetly poisonous ending ‘Please know this comes from a place of wanting you to be better and improve...’

  There was no name, no address, no picture icon.

  The first time she read it, the faux-concern and almost paternalistic tone made her want to laugh.

  Then she read it again- and looked at Maggie, drooping in her chair and looking so very tired- and hot anger took over.

  ‘It’s...polite, isn’t it?’ Maggie quirked an eyebrow in her usual sardonic manner but her hands didn’t unclench. ‘I didn't think people talked like that any more-’

  ‘Oh Maggie-’

  ‘I feel like blaming my teacher was a bit harsh….poor Mr Greyson isn’t even here to defend himself. And it’s hardly his fault I never paid attention in class-’

  A muscle gave a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch, just under Maggie's right eye.

  ‘Mags-’

  ‘Nice of them to concede I’m still learning though. I guess. Although-’ Maggie turned to face Joan properly for the first time. ‘They think my technique is bad? Imagine how much worse it is for me, I’m the one actually trying to play despite it, jesus, like c’mon, cut me some slack-’

  ‘Maggie!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fuck them!’

  Maggie blinked at her. ‘What?’ It wasn’t often that she was able to surprise the other girl, and Joan made a mental note to let Maggie know just how adorable she looked when she was really, truly taken back, when things were less fraught.

  ‘Joey?’

  ‘Fuck them, Mags! Fuck whatever patronising little-’ she paused. It wasn't that she was reluctant to swear, more that she was afraid of Maggie laughing at her for her choice- she’d never heard the end of it when she’d frustratedly called a queue-jumper an ‘inconsiderate dick-face’. 

Ironically, it had been an attempt to prove to everyone that she was adult enough to swear if she wanted to. The attempt had, she had to admit, backfired spectacularly well.

  ‘Go on-’ There was an amused quirk to Maggie's eyebrow- obviously their thoughts had followed a similar vein. ‘A little-?’

  ‘Never mind. Point is-’ She stabbed a finger at the laptop screen. ‘I cant believe anyone would have the nerve to say shit like that- as if they’re the arbitrator of what good music is, when they’re not even brave enough to come off anon!- and to then call you sensitive!’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘Constructive criticism and all that-’

  ‘No! Constructive criticism is-’ Joan groped for a good comparison. ‘When I tell you that I want tips on how I can make the others listen to me. Or when I direct you guys during rehearsal. Not….this. This….’Oh I’m such a good person, I’m so wise and talented, let me point out all your faults in a really unnecessarily nasty way and then call you thin skinned’...if they really care, why aren’t they linking you to their own page? So you can get tips from them, if they’re so good. Or even so you can ask them questions privately?’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘Maybe they just don't want to- I mean, they don’t have to-’

  ‘Maybe they know exactly how nasty the message was and don't want to face any consequences from it, you mean-’ Internally, Joan wondered if it was bad form to snap at someone when trying to stick up for them. Oh well. She’d ask Maggie later, Maggie would know. ‘Maybe they just like patting themselves on the back by pointing out non-issues or things you’re already aware of and are working on by presenting themselves as this master musician, but in a way that means you’ll never ever be able to respond to them! Well, I have a response-’ she leans forward ‘Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck your help and advice!’

  She was breathing a little harder by the time she’d finished: Maggie was leaning back slightly in her chair.

  ‘Um…..wow....are you….ok?’

  ‘Yeah….’

  ‘....I already wrote a response, you’ll be sad to hear. It was a bit different to yours.’ On the screen, Maggie's finger pointed out her polite, calm message of reply: ‘Thanks for your interest….always appreciate feedback...thanks for listening’.

  Joan suddenly felt foolish. Maggie clearly didn’t care that much. What was she even doing, ranting and raving when what Maggie probably wanted was just to forget about it? 

  She probably wasn’t even all that bothered by it- sure she’d seemed a little off, but Maggie was the absolute pinnacle of taking things on the chin, she’d probably barely registered the thing. Stupid Joan, overreacting; stupid overemotional Joan….

  Hic-

  Joan had never wanted to die more. Hiccups- was it possible to have a more childish marker of distress?

  ‘Yeah…..’ She tried to hold her breath surreptitiously and then gave up. ‘Sorry, just….I got cross…’

  ‘I can see….’ Maggie's lips twitched. ‘Pity whoever wrote that if they come across you, huh?’

  ‘Yeah….’ Her face was burning. Why was she so stupid? Why couldn't she have just passed over it like Maggie obviously had?

  Because you’re thinking about how you’d feel, the little voice in her head responded immediately, because you’re imagining how you’d feel if you got a message like that, how you’ve felt when you have got messages like that- like you don't want to make anything anymore, like you're embarrassed for people to see any of your work-

  She shut it down. That was her, not Maggie- cool, collected, talented Maggie. As if Maggie would be affected by a stupid review.

  She shook away too the image of Maggie hunched in her chair and staring sadly at the screen. She’d probably imagined most of it.

  ‘Shall we go get food then?’

  As if in evidence of her okay-ness, Maggie almost bounced out of her chair, grabbing her phone from the floor and stuffing her keycard deep into her pocket as she made for the door, Joan trailing behind.

  ‘Ok-’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ Maggie pulled the door firmly. ‘We got pizza the other day, so I’m feeling maybe Thai- or ramen, we haven’t had good ramen in ages-’ She paused. ‘Are you ok?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Joan nodded quickly. ‘Fine-’

  ‘Cool- so….maybe ramen? Unless you’re not feeling noodles….also there’s that creepy guy who works there and I think I heard he works extra shifts now so maybe not-’

  Half way down the corridor, Maggie suddenly stopped. Joan wondered if she was going to say she’d forgotten something, but instead, she grabbed Joan's hand and squeezed it hard.

  ‘Joan?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Thank you-’

  Joan felt a bit nonplussed. ‘What for?’

  Maggie looked at her as if she was an idiot. ‘For….you know….’ She gently bumped her shoulder against Joan’s. ‘For caring enough to get angry on my behalf? For saying fuck a million times- it was funny, cheered me right up-’ Her expression sobered. ‘Just...thanks. I know it’s ridiculous to let some internet random get to me but….yeah.’ 

  She gave Joan’s hand a parting squeeze and let go, straightening up, back to normal again. ‘As you say, fuck them, next time i’ll just let you reply and save myself the trouble…’ Her lips twitched and she tilted her head. ‘Anyway…back to important stuff….food choices and that.’ She looked at Joan ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Yeah-’ Joan hid her smile and started down the corridor. ‘Let’s go.’

[monotonemanday]

A State Fair-y Tale

Another commission completed and posted! This was a commission for @rossyele Thank you so much for commissioning me, Bebe! I hope everyone enjoys. If you are interested in commissions or want details, send me a DM or an ask. (: Another Jumin Fic, coming at ya!

Upbeat circus type music could be heard in the distance in one direction and in the other there was pleasant music coming from a small stage, most likely a local band. Children running around, laughing, chasing one another, teenagers walking around hand in hand, parents enjoying a bit of a break from wrangling up kids all day. 

The sun was out and there were only a few big bright fluffy white clouds in the beautiful light blue sky. You looked out across the huge field spotting so many different sectioned off areas, families with their spots set up in the grass, a small roller coaster, a large ship that rocked back and forth, something spinning at an alarming speed, a ferris wheel and a sea of different tents and booths for local vendors. 

It had been awhile since you were at a State Fair. Ever since you had moved away from home you were constantly in big cities, and at present day, there was nothing small or rural about your life. 

You had returned to your home town because one of your favorite cousins you had grown up with was getting married. You thought it would be the perfect opportunity to bring along your partner, your boyfriend. Show him off a bit. 

The wedding went off perfectly. A beautiful ceremony and he had charmed everyone in attendance. Even your cousin, the blushing bride, had a few words of envy for you about how lucky you are. And you knew it to be true. You loved that you could show off your man. But now...here at the fair. It was a bit much. People couldn't stop staring.

With your blanket in one hand and his hand in the other you gave a side glance to your boyfriend. He insisted on wearing that three piece suit. His normal attire, but at a state fair? Well...it looked like he was running for mayor of the town or something. Trying to make a good impression.

"Jumin?"

He turned to face towards you, the sun dancing off his raven hair.

"Yes, love?"

"Are you sure you're okay wearing a suit? It's pretty warm out, and it will continue to get hotter."

He furrowed his brows together, signifying his entering into deep thought.

"Perhaps, I should have listened to you, my dear. It seems I have severely misinterpreted what a fair like this would be like. I am stubborn to a fault." He tugged your hand, pulling you in close to him and laid a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I can simply take off my suit jacket if it gets too warm."

You gave him a heartfelt smile and rolled your eyes internally. You loved how he dressed, how he carried himself and how he was so naive too certain things. Of course having a man escort you around in a suit made you feel almost like royalty, but you were in a small rural town, for the state fair, and you were going to show him what it was like. What it was like to genuinely experience something like this. 

"Jumin, I brought a change of clothes in the car just in case your stubborn walls came down." 

The corner of his lips upturned and he gave a throaty chuckle.

"Alright, love. I'll see if I can make it work." 

As Jumin walked back to the car, you sauntered around for a bit and found the perfect spot in the grass. Unfolding the blanket you began to spread it out, when a group of women came up to you. You recognized them and greeted them kindly. They made a little bit of small talk but then immediately went into the third degree with their questions. Each one of course being about Jumin.

Once they heard the word "boyfriend" their jaws dropped. Asking if he was a politician, a celebrity, a billionaire playboy. If you were just his mistress, and if he needed another. You were becoming overwhelmed with their squawking, the heat getting to you on top of that. Feeling weak at the knees, you suddenly felt a gentle hand placed on the small of your back and a rich baritone voice silence they clucking hens.

"Good afternoon, Ladies. I hope you are enjoying yourselves. My dear, are these old friends of yours?"

Jumin was no longer in his suit but the wide eyed Mary's staring at him were still equally impressed. Now dressed in form fitting khaki shorts and a light lavender button up shirt, you found yourself staring as well. Him being so covered up most of the time, you often forgot how fit he looked. His calf muscles, his forearms, everything so toned. With a few blinks you snapped yourself back to reality and out of your day dream fantasies.

"Oh, yes this are some acquaintances that I used to know."

Jumin chatted with them amicably for a beat. If he allowed it, they probably would have talked to him the rest of the day and well into the night. But Jumin didn't waste time with such things and he also wasn't about to let a day with you go to waste.

"It was nice meeting you all, but I am afraid I have to cut things short. I am here on a date with my loved one and she has a lot to show me when it comes to these fairs." His hand once again found yours and he intertwined his fingers with yours. You both found each others gaze and smiled brightly at each other.

"Okay, let's go!" You begin to walk off in a random direction but your were stopped. Jumin had his feet planted and wasn't very...mobile. "Jumin?"

"We are leaving? But we just put the blanket down."

"Well yes, to save our spot. We will come back after we look around and get somethings to eat. This is really just where we'll come to take a break or if we get a whole bunch to eat and need to sit!"

Jumin loved your enthusiasm, but he was still a bit perplexed.

“We’re going to leave it unattended? What if it is stolen? If someone mistakes it for their own? Can someone take over this spot we have pick if we ourselves are not present”

Looping your arm through his and snuggling close to his side you stifled your giggling.

“This is a small community, Jumin. Not the big city. It will be fine here, I promise.” With a gentle nudge he let you know he was ready to go on the days adventure. 

First, the two of you walked around arm in arm, getting the lay of the land. You explained which stalls were games, which were shops, and which sold food. You showed him where different competitions took place. Those were the most confusing for him.

“A pie eating contest? People compete in who can eat a dessert better? How can you tell who is eating it best?” 

“Well Jumin, it’s whoever has the most enjoyable expression while eating.”

He blinked at you and rubbed the back of his head in inquiry.

"I don't think that is all that accurate..."

You let out a satisfying belly laugh and pecked his flushed cheek.

"Eating contests are when people try to eat the most of something in a certain amount of time. Pie's, Hot Dog's. Maybe one day we can find a Pancake eating contest and you can enter."

"Or a whine drinking contest?" Jumin asked in all seriousness as his eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas.

"I think you and Jihyun already have those at home."

The two of you laugh and make your way further down the line of sections. 

"Are these the pie's they use for the contest?" When you looked to what Jumin was pointing at you saw a table with several different pies all lined up.

"Oh! No, that is the Pie BAKING contest. That's where locals bring their best attempts at pies and then the best one wins!"

"I see. So they bring in chefs and critics I am sure. With degrees and high levels of experience?"

"Uhm. No. Usually it's like, the Mayor, or a local business owner."

"Well that won't do. That is not fair to the people who are looking to have their baking judged. Clearly they are looking for praise and critique."

"Actually I think it's more of something they do for fu- no no no no Jumin! Get back here!" You were scream whispering at your boyfriend who left your side and was now talking to the woman he had seen holding the prize ribbons. 

Hastily you ran up to them to try and diffuse the situation, when you recognized the woman. Mrs. Cook your old babysitter. 

"Mrs. Cook I'm so sorry to-"

"Is this your girlfriend young man?" She interrupted you with a big hug and took a good look at you.

"You've grown so much! I was just talking to this charming young man. He mentioned his girlfriend was from here and I am assuming that he was talking about you!" She gave you another bear like hug. "I always knew you were going to end up with someone so successful! A businessman with unparalleled good looks as well!" She gave him a cheeky little wink of her own.

"Thank you, I hope he wasn't being too harsh with you abou-" You were interrupted again by her enthusiasm.

"No No! He's wonderful. Actually, I was wondering if you two would like to be the judges of the pie eating contest." 

Looking over at Jumin, he slowly produced his most charming smile. You gently shook your head, embarrassed by his antics but for his sake you agreed. Before the competition started, Jumin asked you a few more questions. Like why do the pie's get accolades and ribbons when it was the person that baked the pie that is the real winner. You explained it's just for show in a way. He also explained to you why he asked your old babysitter for the task of judging the pies. How you are a local and fitting for the task and how he is a prominent business man and due to his high demand of fine dining with clients he has the perfect pallet for such a thing. The real reasons why he wanted to judge however, remained a mystery. But you had a hunch it was because he knew how much you loved pie. Once the two of you finished judging the pies, the contest was over, and local photographers and reporters were done swarming your boyfriend. The two of you continued on. 

Jumin bought a few souvenirs at the stalls where people were selling hand crafted goods. You had him try several deep fried things, cotton candy, junk after junk after junk. 

The two of you played some games. Jumin was perfect at the ring toss, the two of you were dead awful at the shooting range and Jumin ended up winning you a large stuffed animal playing darts. Not because he was good at it, but because he had ended up asking the worker so many questions and going over so many statistics that the worker gave it to him just so he would get out of his hair. You saw some more people that you recognized from your past and watched a couple of bands on the stage. Jumin seemed very fond of how calm and simple it was having a gentle local band performing for a crowd.

After walking around and introducing Jumin to fresh squeezed lemonade, the two of you returned to your blanket and sat down with a funnel cake for each of you.

The crispy fried bread topped with the messy powdered sugar smelt so delicious and so inviting. Familiar to you but foreign to Jumin. Ready to take an enormous bite yourself you noticed Jumin looking at his hesitantly.

"Is something wrong, hun?"

"Well..." His cheeks were a light pink and he held the plate up to his eye level. "It's just...how are you supposed to eat this? The sugar on the top is very messy. There are no utensils. And everything else we ate today, well for the most part, came on a stick."

"You use your hands, Jumin." Your heart was bursting with joy and love for this adorable man. 

Holding your funnel cake in the air, making a proper path to your mouth you suddenly felt a breeze whip by you and a bite from your funnel cake was gone.

"Jumin! You use your own hands! To eat your own food!" You burst out laughing as you catch him with his cheeks puffed out. Stuffed with the big bite he just took. He swallowed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. 

"Darling, I have learned many things today but this is where you are wrong. Eating it this way is much better." He picked his funnel cake off of his plate and held it carefully to your mouth. You took a bite and blushed once you realized the two of you were feeding each other in plain view of everyone else. 

The day was coming to an end and the two of you folded up your blanket. With the sun getting ready to set, Jumin took your hand and walked you to the Ferris Wheel. You waited in line while each basket rotated to the bottom for people to step in. When it was your turn, you got in the basket and Jumin stopped short. 

"There is no worker that escorts us in here? A driver for our basket?"

"Jumin...there's no-"

He stepped inside and gave you a smirk, with kind gentle eyes.

"I know. I was simply making a joke."

The two of you sat across each other, your basket mid way up, waiting for the actual ride to start. Suddenly you felt it shifting and sway back and forth.

"Jumin! You're making the weight un-even!" You were scolding him as you were clinging onto the front of his shirt. He had stood up and moved to sit directly next to you.

"I know that, love. But I feel better having you safe in my arms instead of across the way."

With your nerves settled the Ferris Wheel began it's journey. You leaned on his shoulder and the two of you watched the sunset in silence for several rotations. Occasionally you felt him lay a gentle kiss on top of your head. 

"Jumin, thank you for coming with me."

"Hhmmm?" He looked down at you and you looked up to see him a bit puzzled.

"We came here for my cousins wedding. We didn't have any other reason for being here. But you made time to come to the state fair, on a date with me. Thank you."

He pulled you in closer and you rested your head on his shoulder once more. "No, dear. Thank you. I never thought like this things were a necessity, and I never thought that the way I grew up made me anything but normal. I never thought I had to participate in these kinds of things to make me like everyone else. And I still don't. I learned a lot of things and had a lot of fun. I needed to come here today not to be like everyone else, but because this is a part of you and the world you grew up in. So it's important that I take part in it too."

Feeling immense light and love you craned your neck so that the two of you could share a soft kiss. Enjoying all of the sounds, the breeze, and looking back on the memories of today, you realized something. 

No matter where you are, what you are doing, how he is dressed, or if he is doing something new or something he has done a thousand times; He will always be the prince making you feel like a princess living out a fairy tale. Because no one could ever love, comfort, care for, or deliver, like Jumin Han.

[bloojayoolie]

A Dream, Bad, and Bruh: ACTUALLY, IT'S A HEY, LOOK, GREG HAS A PURSE! E. EMBROIDERED BOOKBAG. Hehehehe, Frank Griffin here! I am here to explain this funny may-may I found while browsing through the site "r/Loded Diper", place where fellow may-may experts like me share their best funny jokes about Diary of a by Wimpy Kid, a cartoon novel written hohe other than Jeff Kinney. Now, what do have here? If youre familiar with the book, youll recognize that there is Greg Heffley the middle, the protagonist of Diary of a Wimpy Kid. In the original image, Greg stitched a purse, but called it an embroidered handbag" so he won't lose his dignity. However, it doesn't work and he gets called a girl for it. this image Now that the background has been cleared up, let's look It has been posted by u/ThatSippyChicken the 18th 2019 oh may (by UTC time). This means it's very recent, compared to the even funnier Minion memes I share with my grandkids. Greg is surrounded by two unknown teenagers. The short-haired kid the left is pointinga finger having a speech bubble over him (This implies he's saying something.). to the right (probably at Greg) and The text on the speech bubble says "HEY, LOOK, GREG HAS A", and then "EMBROIDERED BOOKBAG" below, but distorted. Greg reacts with saying "ACTUALLY, ITS ONLY A PURSE!" followed by blank space ow. The last kid with acne has a nearly empty speech bubble, only saying "E". Diary of a Wimpy Kid artstyle. Oh, Greg is holding the purse I talked about previously in the image!If you look closely, you at the end. Everything is drawn in the typical thing I forgot to mention: ohe can even see that the word "Grea" is stitched on it- IS Okay, the description of the image is over. Now, let's get the analysing part. I examined every part of the image and compared it with other maymays from around the same time and site. But then, I couldn't believe what I found out! This maymay on r/LodedDiper falls under the category of modern internet memes. You may have heard of the word from your kids, maybe grandkids, and that's because it's a Millennial (yes, the Avocado eveh toast generation. / Generation Z movement. The concept of Memes itself is too complex, Ill explain it on a seperate page, but, to be short, Memes are funny internet maymays that require Some sort of insider knowdlege to be understandable. Memes are very special of humour, because, unlike other funny maymays, the humour of Memes ih terms always based on either relatability or absurdity. This can be shown is this image too: The incosistency of logic and font size makes the oh absurdity of this maymay visible. The "E" has a very complex background, but it can be said that it's referencing another modern Meme. This absurd humour combined with what used to be a page from a normal cartoon hovel is what makes this maymay funny. When I realized this, I had to LOLWHMWADCC (Laughing Out Loud While Hitting Manny With A Diet Coke Condom)! explain why I chose exactly this maymay symbolizes the change in youth humour. At last, I need to for explanation. That's because it new generation doesn't laugh though they based on either relatability or absurdity. While this change The at Minioh maymays anymore (even very funny., they laugh at modern memes that are dre to more complex humour can be considered a cultural step forwards, it can also be unhealthy for the kids. For example, Memes about depression and suicide, which are very popular, can make someone relating to it even depressed (The argument of these being a coping technique falls Alat here, that has been disproven). But, good or not, it's definetily more an important change in Internet, even the entirety of western culture. This Meme symbolizes the new age of humour, Meme humour. Besthany. And now, I finally explained to you what Memes are, Frank Griffin PS: If read this on r/LodedDiper, go check out the subreddit you r/ExplainItPeter! And the other way around, of course. PPS: is br ald Hehehehehehe, someone's here! No, it's not Frank Griffin (Right now he's busy explaining a Minion meme), it's not Sans Undertale (Off fighting Lugi), it's me: Peter Heffley! Who am I, you may ask? Well, I am the colleague and best buddy of the world famous Frank Griffin. Ah, now that I'm mentioning him, all the memories are flooding back. Whenever there was a cringe nae nae meme, a darn millennial or even a bruh moment, we stuck together. And after decades of friendship he eventually offered me a dream come true: A job in the Meme Explaining Laboratory! So, now I'm here explaining a few memes here and there (Frank does the over- whelming majority of them, though) and, more importantly, critically analysing his very own explanations, because nothing is perfect! (Except for stepping on a crunchy leaf.) Unlike him, I will use Arial instead of the official Wimpy Kid font, simply because this is more readable. Otherwise, my critique is pretty much the same. So, get ready for some high IQ text reading, because we're going to enter the Meme world once again! Alright, we finally got through the long introduction I now have several ways to begin the main part, but I'm honestly not sure where to. I could start with citing his first line, analysing his formatting or referenzing the pipe strip video. But I will do none of these things. Instead, I will dig straight to the core of his explanations, and praise or critique anything in the process. Ergo, I'll start with the nature of his text itself. It's, compared to the usual Internet posts, very text-heavy. However this isn't a big surprise since both of us know how much Frank can dive into a subject. He puts a photo of himself in the top left corner below the image he's analyzing, and his text is written solely in the "WimpyKid" font, which already is my first problem. It may have been suitable if it was used in a short paragraph or two, but using it in an entire explanation is a major design flaw. However, this is not the only problem I have with Frank's text, (Don't take it personally, bucko) which brings me to analyzing the content of his explanation, and his ultimate message near the bottom end. Okay, I'll be honest. I don't like the message. His main part of the analysis may have been on the better side, in comparision to his other posts, but this time Frank really shot himself in his cock and balls this time. Saying that "Meme humour is overtaking regular humour" is overly dramatizising and simply putting in a wrong light what is really going on inside the meme creation scene. Frank, I'm sorry to tell it to ya, but a near-sudden cultural shift in humour is not going to happen, pal. What is really happening is that younger kids like to distance themselves from older generations as much as possible, may it be via clothing, music politics or, in this case, humour. Most teenagers eventually just grow out of their phase of shutting themselves off of older people. That eventually happens either when they marry, or when they enter their 30's. I am not saying that a and progressing culture is bad, however it's a lie to say those teens will keep their culture with them as they grow old. Just take hippies, as am example Some of you may remember them promoting peace and other values, and generally having a very liberal mindset. Now, who were those hippies? This answer may be a suprise to you, but those hippies were (mostly) boomers. Yup, the same generation that is nowadays known for being notoriously authoritarian and close-minded. People can change. And those who laugh about their memes now will probably change too, once they reach a certain age. The only thing in favor of Frank's argument is the existence of the Internet. Although that argument isn't that much of a punch when considering the very likely possibility that another game changing form of media will probably pop up within the next few decades. Memes will simply not prevail, or they will be warped beyond recognition (Not as in becoming more abstract and surreal (which is also a very widely spread belief about Memes)), by having different unwritten rules for Memes. If a time traveler from 2011 saw a changing modern meme page from today, they wouldn't think those memes would be funny or should even be called memes. What we call memes now, will be forgotten in the future. To cut it short, memes will not have a major effect on culture, nor will they even be remembered in 20+ years. One more thing. Frank stated that Greg Heffley was saying "Actually, it's only a purse!" in the Meme he explained. That is incorrect, though. Greg says "Actually, it's a purse!" without the "only". I think it's highly unprofessional that he tries to deeply analyze a meme and then doesn't even quote the text correctly. It makes me feel like Frank is just doing this for the fame and money by focussing on dramaticising viewpoints instead of being scientifically accurate. This is probably the true reason Bethany left him and took the kids. Not because she "loved Chad more instead of a nice man like me", as Frank said, but because she can't stand him becoming increasingly narcissistic and delusional about his fame anymore. It's actually sickening me how he is cutting of more and more of his friends and family and doesn't even care for fans either. I know I will probably be fired by Frank for publishing this, but the problem is only turning bigger and bigger with no sight of him changing his ways. Frank should honestly take a break from his job and go visit his kids again. After all, he never bothered to see them once Bethany "took them away" from him. He can visit his children anytime he wants to, but he rather likes to work on another money milking machine again (which is ironically the reason the kids chose Bethany.) Alright, it's time to end this text. Looking back at it, it seems like it's 1/3 explanation, 1/3 critique and 1/3 open letter. I planned this to just be an extension of Frank's analysis and another lie about how we are getting along just fine, but now it turned into a half-agressive rant about him. But I just had to vent my frustations about my buddy. I know he hasa heart somewhere down below his thick skull, but for now it's simply how I and everyone else close to him perceive Frank. Hopefully he'll try to change. Peter Heffley PS: Frank, if you are reading this, please don't fire me for writing this. Try to reflect instead. PPS: Haha PP lol PPPS: I just went to r/Expla memes made me LOLWHMWADCCAEFP nltPeter, and all of the (Laughing Out Loud While Hitting Manny With A Diet Coke Condom And Eating Frank's Penis) out loud! Go visit that subreddit! Thanks for the explanation, Peter Heffley!

[indie-struggle]

The Brass Tacks: 9 Billion Thoughts and Counting...

It looks long, but if you're a writer you should have no problem reading this. There are a lot of writers out there. A lot of writers out there. A lot. Think about how many writers you know and aspiring writers you come across and writers who are working on a script or even a novel, and then think about the fact you're only thinking in terms of your own country... maybe even just your state. Does the world need another fucking screenwriting book? No. There are both sides of the paradigm: McKee's Story, and O'Bannon's Guide to Screenplay structure. The only book on screenwriting that doesn't exist is the one that takes you from point A: as a complete amateur, and then helps you turn your script into a produced film for little to no budget at all, and finally to point B: a festival and distribution. Why doesn't this book exist? Because either they don't know how to do this or they're selfish and want to keep it to themselves. You think John Sayles or Jim Jarmusch wants everyone knowing point A-Z on how to go about doing what they do and get away with it? Actually, they'd probably be okay with it, but they'd never write a book. All the books out there are by hacks who never had anything produced, which is why they have the time and stamina to write them. Now back to the point. There are a fuck ton of writers out there. There are a fuck ton of filmmakers out there. Now I don't know if this is getting through yet, and I don't know if it all got more popular due to consumer product advancement and the internet, or it's always been this popular and I didn't know about it until the internet. Either way, there are way too many hacks. There is too much crap. Self-titled Youtube star: You've written 3 short scripts - not enough. You haven't put in the time it takes to understand wholly and completely the fantastically dreadful and agonizing world that writing is. You don't know shit yet. You need to put in your hours, your dues. You're not going to know enough by reading 5 screenplays and watching comic book movies over and over and over again. You're not - come to terms with that. What the hell do you have to draw from? It would be like a singer thinking they're ready to cut an album after 3 lessons, a show party, and an invite to a backstage orgy a of couple times. Here are my tips from a working, produced writer and director that has tried to help as many people as possible, but still can't seem to get it all through their thick fucking heads. And if you think I'm base or coarse, try working with James Cameron and you'll realize I'm the nicest fucking guy in the state of California - so here's 10 things: #1. Put in your hours. Like anything else, filmmaking: writing, directing, producing, budgeting, electric, gripping, etc, etc - even craft services must know how to cook the food you eat, they don't just flop the first thing they make onto a plate and say, "Well that looks edible. Good luck, everybody." But what does hours mean? It means writing, writing again, again and again and again. Taking breaks here and there, sure, thinking about story, figuring things out, reading, watching, being uncertain, and having zero to fall back on. I want to stress that last part. If you have something to fall back on you'll never get anywhere - you've already set your hindsight on a safety net so you'll never put your whole life and passion into your work. Put in the hours. Put in the years. Get film history and not just American films either - I've said this until I was blue in the face: every writer or filmmaker you idolize film history is soaked in foreign and American films dating to 1920 and possibly before. You’re not going to be like them without doing that. Period. Get to work. #2. You're going to be rejected. Say that to yourself. You... are going... to be... rejected. It is a fact of life. If there is one thing that Stephen King got right in his book to himself. It's that no matter where or who you are, or what you want to do, there will always be somebody who doesn't want you to do it. It's just a fact. Get over it, fuck them. Because if all it takes is someone to say, "I don't like it." to get you to fall to pieces, you never stood a chance to begin with. This is the only rule I know that's 100% true. You have to say fuck what anyone thinks, but still know where you lie, know your skill set, and know your place in the chain of command. #3. There is no how to do it book. If these motherfuckers like [removed] and [removed], [removed], [removed], [removed], and [removed], knew what they were talking about, they wouldn't be writing books or critiquing to make ends meet, they'd be working on the exact thing they're trying to give you advice on. Look at me for example. I've had over 5 feature films made - have I any desire to write a book about it? Do I want to write a book? Fucking no - why? It takes a staggering amount of arrogance to write a "Here’s the rules." book. Perhaps I'll do a seminar if I make it to 80, though. #4. Get offline. Leave, take a break from it. Disconnect. You need something to stimulate your mind. The internet does not stimulate your mind. This is why I hardly post, because I'm outside, doing shit, and stimulating my subconscious through conscious activities. Example: surfing, building puzzles, painting (poorly), walking around town and people watching, taking a class to learn something new, reading a novel and not falling asleep, trying to meet nice people, failing, etc. I was - and I'm going brag now - hugged by a woman who I told to get the fuck off facebook. Why? Because it's a poisonous environment. When you first wanted to do the things you did as a child - that great feeling and anticipation of doing it - did you check first to see what others might think? No, you just did it. People who spend their life on the internet, that's all they got, and it's all they'll ever have. Like assholes at the gym everyday. That's their life. And much like a book, there is no secrets that will plant you in the door to where you want to be out there that’s on the internet. You need to do the work that doesn't require anyone's opinion - especially not from a poisonous swamp. Disconnect. Trust me on this. No TV, no internet. No reading this. #5. No, you don't have a great idea for a TV show. Day after day after day I'm pitched TV show ideas, and they're all fucking terrible. "Well maybe Netflix will--" No, they won't. And if they do, great, fantastic, but what does that mean in the end? Netflix has an agenda. There are reasons you can't see things on there. Even 30 year comedians can't get specials released on there because they're too "risky" or "Dangerous" for this "climate" blah-blah-blah (Nick Di Paolo comes to mind). In the end you'll just be a stenographer pandering to smiling execs under a different logo, is that what you want? To be a tool for money? A whore? God, if my parents could only see me now. If you want to do that, then fine, have at it - but get out of my sandbox - because I bet you dollars to donuts, at the end of the day, you'll feel cheap, hollow, and empty inside if you have any insides left. Just because some random show got picked up, doesn't mean it has the weight or resilience to continue. You must know this. Even pros like David Milch have had shows ripped from his grasp by idiot studio executives that went to Brown and think they know what you want to see. It's bullshit. Netflix is even more brutal in cutting throats - they'll just stop the show, period. At least studios and production companies will say no beforehand, that's the only difference. What makes me so certain? I wrote for one of the shows on there, and I’ve worked with these people (if you can call it that). #6. You must realize that not every story is aimed at a Hollywood studio's idea of a universal audience. Just like not all music is aimed for Tower Records or EMI. Ambitions do not have to be at studio level production budgets. They don't. If that's what you like - making big action packed sci-fi what have you - then by all means have at it. But never (which is something I try never to say) judge someone else's work under a shallow pretense that it's written for the Hollywood studio system. Always keep an objective mind. And if you're not experienced enough to know what a certain story is aimed at, what budget it's written for, what audience it will appeal to (as if that's important), than ask or say nothing at all. Do not assume Sally's cute story about women and their troubles with men was aimed for a studio production, because it wasn't. And you pretending it was makes you look like an inexperienced ass. Avoid that. #7. Yes, no one owes you a read. But, just because someone read your work also doesn't entitle them to be a piece of shit for the sake of being a piece of shit. You're allowed to ignore. Personal preference is not the same as criticism. It's not - never has been. Didn’t I do an article on this? You must know how to dicern between the two. I'm on both sides of this. I've read a lot of crap, but I've read a lot of decent work as well. A lot of the crap was of stuff I liked and disliked, and same with the decent reads. It did not, however, effect my criticism - I set my personal preferences aside - and judged for what didn't work as a story. And you need to do this as well. Judge it for what it is, not what you want it to be, what you would like better, or what you think would sell to an audience - the writer doesn't give a shit anyway - so don't waste your breath on that, they want useful facts about what doesn’t work and why. You need to be explaining what you found that worked, and what you found that didn't work, or was confusing to you. This sets off light bulbs in the writer's head (one hopes), and your criticism becomes constructive. Think of it from another, power-structure perspective: you have little experience in cooking, you're an intern for a famous chef. You eat one of his meals and it's not so great, not your "cup of tea". So you decide to tell him what you would have done and what you think would be better. But, you're the intern - why should the chef give a shit? In fact, you're probably just seen as a fool giving advice to someone who knows what they're doing and instead of being helpful you’re a moron following a set of rules you picked up somewhere. Why? Because you’re not a chef yet. #8. No one is going to hold your hand through this. It's a tough, masochistic art, that sometimes isn't even art. Sometimes it's a slot machine with the idea of praying for a big winner. Fuck, I wish I could tell you it's not. I wish I could tell you that all your dreams are horrifically beautiful and fantastic and lovely and everyone cares about everyone else. But they don't. It's cold out here. You die at the end. You're going to get trampled on, spit at, kicked around, beaten and pushed until the only thing left of the person you used to be is ash with bad knees, a migraine, and a sore ego. That's the way it is. Have you ever wondered why people in the entertainment industry have astoundingly fragile egos? Why they constantly suck each other off? This is why. Things have always been separated between two things: good ones and bad ones. "I thought you were a good one.", "I was worried you were one of the bad ones." There is not enough space here to go into detail on what this means, and how it has effected and affected people just trying to live and make art since 1890, but it's awful and it's a disgrace (read Sidney Lumet’s book). In short, it's the business side. Frigid. Unless you can let things go, unless you have a great bullshit detector or can let it roll off your back. My advice to you is to be as solitary as possible, and work on what you want to work on. It may not pay, but damn it at least you'll be doing what you want to do, and you'll have no regrets in the end because it’s from the heart. #9. Everyone is different. Not everyone is into the same things as you. And not everyone sees orange as the same color you do. Only kids think this way. Doesn't matter what social media says, the media in general, or politically correct congregations. We're not all the same. The "fucks" in your dialogue will be taken by one person as anger or threatening, and another person as just normal speaking. Backgrounds are different, environments are different. Hair styles are different. White houses, or broken fences. Different. We are not homogeneous. Film is also not a soapbox, or podium for political causes and social agendas. If you want to push an agenda, make a documentary. Cinema is also not (regardless of what undeserving rich directors think) about money. Its lively hood and quality doesn't exist on whether or not a certain number of people bought a ticket. You have any idea how many geniuses over time died flat broke and are only now recognized for their feats? Anyone can feed peanuts to a hungry idiot if given the chance. They’ll gobble that shit up. But peanuts never stand the test of time.

“Nobody knows what the hell they’re doing“ - William Goldman

What cinema is about is simple: broadening minds, culturing people about things they've never seen through places they've never been, and reflecting human emotions. Real human emotions, not sentimentality. Fantasy is fun, and has its place, but nothing but fantasy is disillusionment. Ultimately, if you have nothing to say in the former regard, who or what are you doing it for? The money? The pain? Why? Cinema is not just about entertainment. That's what the circus is for - not film. If you're not trying to make an objective moral point, or reflect human nature as how it's seen in a way most can't see it, then what are you doing? What part of this is you? The money? These are the things that you will be asked by a producer or executive. #10. You're struggling, you don't know if you have it, you don't know if you've lost it. You're confused, puzzled, irritated, aggravated, disappointed, hate filled, self-loathing but polite to strangers for some reason... there is no path you can see through the forest. That’s because there isn’t one. But every creative person goes through this, you are not alone. You are not alone. I know it doesn’t help with the pain, but at least there’s that. Whether or not you keep going separates you from those who quit - as cliche as that sounds - it's goddamn true. Find your pace, and just keep going. You’ll know sooner or later if it’s in your blood. If that wasn't enough to motivate you, let me tell you a brief story: When I was a boy, I had one parent, I was emotionally abused on a daily basis by her because I looked like the man who left. My father was somewhere. I was abused by my classmates. Betrayed by so called friends. Chased by the police. Oppressed by my teachers. Sought after by gang members, beaten up daily, fought back daily. I wasn't liked. No idea why, confused. And this was all while dealing with just the growing up part, and puberty to boot. But, I escaped into a world that thankfully wasn't drugs, yet every analyst I've ever seen has told me that it normally should have been. But it wasn't. A lot of bad shit has happened to me, and I've met a lot of people. This is my personal well I draw from. If you don't have one, you usually make one just by living: being a player and not a spectator. I've lived a lot - too much, too soon. But the point I'm trying to make is that somehow I'm still alive. I am alive. I never thought I'd make it to 20. You hear that a lot, but I really didn't. I had 3 close friends, and 2 of them did not. The 3rd moved away, or ran, it doesn't matter - he forgot me, so I try hard to forget him. I had no college education, I had no picket sign with any anti-something on it. I had, and still have, whatever my pocket gives me. That's it. That’s all. And I'm damn happy to have it. Now, I'm long, long past 20. I can’t even remember it. And if someone like me who has been through the things that he's been through can heal from bruises, try to sew up wounds... then you can sit your fucking ass down and finish your goddamn script. I've finished plenty of mine. So knock off the bullshit and just do it. What are you worried about, failing? So what, get back on the bike.

[avelera]

Maggie’s Captain Marvel Review:

I’m gonna put this under the cut to avoid spoilers!

...

...

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Pros: So first off, there’s nothing not to enjoy about this film. As Marvel origin stories go, it’s one of the stronger entries. Definitely better than Dr. Strange or even First Avenger. It’s got fun, heart, strong performances, and a likable main character. It made me very excited for a second film with Carol because now that we’ve got her rather convoluted backstory out of the way, I’m ready for the angst train and some serious plot to happen. I think a second Carol movie has a strong potential to be the Winter Soldier to this film’s First Avenger if they just increase the story quality in a similar way, and they’ve got a strong team in place to pull that off.

Cons: I should preface by saying, the “cons” are all things my writer brain picked out and are criticisms of the structure of the story and not of my enjoyment. The movie was enjoyable, my time was not wasted. 

My main critique is that the story lacked a central theme by lacking a central emotional conflict for Carol to overcome, a lesson for her to learn, which in general is what delivers us our theme or main thread of the story and left it feeling rather scattered between the three acts. However, given that the last time Marvel tried to give a lead female character an emotional “Dark Night of the Soul” moment it was in AoU with Nat “lamenting” how not being able to have children makes her feel like a monster *ENDLESS SIGH*... I’m ok that Carol avoided any hamfisted or failed attempt at giving her something to break down over emotionally in the final act, in favor of just making a fun action movie.

The thing is, I spent a lot of the film squinting at the screen because my writer brain was in overdrive trying to figure out WTF was going on. The first third of the movie felt like a video game tutorial to me, trying to info dump on me all the various new alien races I needed to keep track of, Carol’s powers, Carol’s squad, etc etc, and how this had anything to do with Earth or the Marvel franchise to date. 

The second third of the movie seemed to introduce the theme of, “Trust No One” and managed to imbue a sense of paranoia into the narrative between the Skrull and the eventual reveal that the Kree, and Carol’s squad, as the actual bad guys. Part of me almost wished the “Trust No One” theme had been there a bit more strongly throughout because it was a good centralizing theme for the conflict. 

But then the last third of the movie was pretty much just a triumphant romp. The theme became, “Carol is Awesome!” We learn she was a badass pilot, she has badass friends, she’s a badass who saves the day! The humor becomes more consistent. While it was peppered throughout the film, it goes full Guardians of the Galaxy with the period 90s girl power music. She defeats all the bombs easily and scares off Ronan with a glare, then one-shots the closest individual she had to an emotional bad guy or dark mirror, then rolls off to save the day for the refugee Skrull because yeah we love adorable refugees in theory but we don’t want them in our country, right, USA? We just want them to somehow go off and find their own magical country somewhere else.

With Captain Marvel, I struggled with figuring out what the story was about. Not about in the literal sense, but the “about” of your story is what makes it bigger than watching someone punch bad guys for a couple hours. Perhaps the fact that I’m a woman and therefore “learning” that a woman can be a badass isn’t something I notice means I missed out on the lesson the story was trying to impart.

But stories generally have an XYZ. “This is a story about X (character) who goes on a physical journey of Y (the main conflict) in which they learn Z (the overarching lesson of the tale).” In Thor 1 we meet Thor, a space prince (X) who must become worthy of his hereditary weapon and throne (Y) in order to overcome his own flaws of selfishness and immaturity (Z). Iron Man has a similar emotional theme of learning personal responsibility, as does GotG, and even Captain America 1 which takes, like Carol, someone who is pretty heroic from the beginning and then has him learn the full extent of the sacrifices he must make to save the world. These moments come together and coalesce in the “Dark Night of the Soul” moment, a character’s lowest point reveals what they needed to learn all along as they suffer a fate worse than death for a portion of the narrative to show us what they most feared to lose.

Generally speaking in a plot formula the Dark Night of the Soul happens right before the Climax in the third act. It’s the moment where the protagonist is brought to their lowest point emotionally and learn the lesson they’re supposed to learn in this story, which prepares them to throw everything into the final battle. In Thor 1, for example, it’s the moment where Thor can’t lift Mjolnir. He has a literal Dark Night of the Soul in the middle of the night, sitting in the rain. He’s taken captive and Loki delivers him terrible news about how he’s not welcome back home. This forces Thor into confrontation with his own past failures and shallowness. It reforges him into a better person, one worthy of triumphing in the end. 

As far as I could tell, the only thing Carol “overcomes” emotionally is her memory loss, but it’s not a terribly dark emotional moment because the memory loss was outside her control and inflicted on her, defeating it is uncomplicated as a result. The only lesson she learns is that she had a physical inhibitor preventing her from being a badass. It’s not a personal failure based on any kind of choice she made. She doesn’t really learn any kind of personal lesson or lesson that’s super relevant to her emotional state. In part because we never got a strong sense of her connection to the Kree such that losing her trust in them is a big crisis moment for her. Even the other woman on her team doesn’t seem terribly bothered that Carol switched sides.

In the end, it’s kind of the same plotline as She-Ra, but at least in the new She-Ra reboot we get a stronger sense of conflict from Adora about learning her old life with the bad guys was a lie and that she was being manipulated to fight for the bad guys. She-Ra actually has a more intense “Dark Night of the Soul” conflict over leaving her friends and old life behind because she decides to fight for the good guys in the war instead than Carol Danvers did with almost the same plotline, even though She-Ra is aimed at small children.

My theory is, the reason Marvel chose to avoid a dark night of the soul moment is the same reason they avoided a romance. They didn’t want the headline of the film to be “Carol cries in the third act because she’s a woman!” when even Steve Rogers cried in the third act of his film, as did Thor, and Tony Stark, because the Dark Night of the Soul is when the hero cries at their lowest point. By trying to avoid any moment where Carol could be broken down by her emotional plotline, they neutered her narrative of emotional impact and a lesson that she learned which would tie the story together and make it about something. Which, hey, I understand because if you do it wrong you’ve just undermined your first female hero (though even Wonder Woman had her dark night of the soul in the third act when she saw the bombed out French village she’d just saved, so it is possible to show tears from a female hero in a way that enhances the story instead of weakening the character). 

But honestly, I’ll take it. There’s plenty of action movies where the male protagonist doesn’t have a significant emotional lesson he learns, where the theme is flimsy at best, and it’s really about punching bad guys to a bopping soundtrack, and we just call those fun action movies. Which is what Carol got and that’s totally fine. It was a fun action movie!

[bambyeol]

Diss Band (p.1)

a two-part fic  pairing/s: drummer! ong seongwoo x oc 

character/s: ong seongwoo, park woojin

genre: fluff, music (band)

summary: ong seongwoo goes to get his drum repaired only to find a girl ranting about their band - BAM . 

warning : a side story of This Band (could stand alone) 

Diss Band (final)

reference : This Band p.8 

“Person with the most fingers down by the end of the game should give us a consequence.”

“First! Seongwoo-hyung, never have I ever had to flirt with a lady to get my drums repaired for free.”

wanna one masterlist

---

The Underground seemed to be one of those places that looked increasingly better as it aged. Its rugged look, the walls thick with posters of their past performers and the doors looking like a canvas to multiple graffiti works, gave it a hip vibe that was appropriate for the audience that regularly fills this dimly-lit place to the brim.

However, the past few weeks brought significantly fewer people to the known hangout, with it being the official rehearsal venue for BAM’s Reunion. The owner so graciously offered a discount, knowing that the mere fact it was being used by BAM for their historic reunion would bring in more customers afterwards.

Ong Seongwoo now sits alone in the far front of the Underground a few minutes after they concluded their rehearsal for the day. His drumsticks propped on both of his ears as he looks at his phone, an urgent look on his sharp features.

“They just really had to break on me,” he muttered under his breath as he continuously scrolls through the search engine, glancing at the broken part of his pedal.

“Hyung, are you coming with us?” Woojin calls from the door, ready to leave with the rest of the band.

“You guys go ahead. I need to get my drumset fixed,” he said with a grunt without looking up from his phone, pointing to the loose pedal of the bass. “There’s gotta be a repair shop that’s open around the clock right?”

“I’m sure Hyuk-hyung’s shop is still open around this time.” Woojin suggests, glancing at his wristwatch.

“Ah, right! Why didn’t I think of that?” Seongwoo stands up abruptly, causing his drumsticks to topple onto the floor.

“Ey, hyung. Take it easy, you still have tomorrow.”

“And what? Listen to Sungwoon nag at me for being a delay?” Seongwoo replies as he collects his belongings and the broken parts of his drum set. “No, thank you.” he jogs to the door, overtaking Woojin who just laughed and shook his head at the older male, understanding the reasoning behind his panic.

“Don’t wait up for me!”

“We won’t!”

---

At the repair shop a few blocks away, a young part-timer struggles to stay awake through her job. It was her first midnight shift; the multiple coffee cans and the buzz of the television in front of her were the only things keeping her up.

“Can we close up? Who even goes to a repair shop at midnight...” she rubs her eyes and stretches in her chair as she addresses her brother who was strumming away at the backroom of the shop.

“Yeonrin-ah, most gigs are at night,” he explains. “Who knows if there ends up being a musician or two who needs us to their rescue.”

“Oh look here’s one now.”

Yeonrin straightens up at the sound of the door chimes and whips her head towards the direction of the sweat-stained man with a soft smile and comely features. He reminds her of a vampire, and she strangely thought that must have been the reason he enters the shop at such an ungodly hour.

“Is Hyuk around?”

She shakes her head. “Do you need any fixing?” she inquires, observing his whole stance and eyes landing on his drumming fingers on the tabletop with changing rhythm. He’s skilled. She notes. “On your drums?”

That stops him from finger drumming, and he whistles with awe. He leans on the counter, forearms atop and crossed. “Whoa, how’d you know that?”

He tilts his head, lighting accentuating his sharp features. Their distance makes her breathe his smell. Aqua mist. Strange. He smells clean and fresh, contrary to his look.

“Oh. Just because,” she trails off and raises her forefinger, “Black shirt - too thin for this weather. Rugged look. Rhythmic tics on the counter and,”

He raises an eyebrow with expectation. Ong Seongwoo is getting hooked on the girl’s careful analysis, “And?”

She blurts out her frankness leaning on the countertop too to mirror his stance, “An insufferable character. At least for me.”

He snickers and slaps his forehead with his palm . Seongwoo totally thought she’s about to drop a pick-up line or two. “Insufferable character? Now that’s the first time someone has ever said that to me,” he continues to stifle his laugh.

“See. That’s what I mean. Drummers tend to show off. “ she remains unfazed.

“Yeonrin, be nice!” her brother calls warningly from the back room. She just rolls her eyes and turns to Seongwoo with a fresh and accommodating expression as if the girl who welcomed him poorly just a few seconds ago was a completely different person.

“Anyway, is your repair urgent?”

Seongwoo doesn’t reply for a few moments, he shakes his head and smirks as if catching himself in deep thought. “Yeah. I’ll need it by tomorrow actua--”

“I’ll call Hyuk oppa over. He’ll be here in a few. Sit down please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Seongwoo bows, his cheeks still stretched with a smile of interest. He walks backward to the chair in front of the multitude of instruments hung around the shop.

BAM’s ‘The Reunion’ garners all the top spots in today’s trends

The midnight entertainment news’ low buzz still fills the place by the moment Seongwoo was comfortably seated. In an attempt to strike up a conversation, he threw in a comment about the headline. “That’s still on the news, huh?” and to his surprise, Yeonrin apparently had a lot to say about the famous band.

“I don’t get this hype over BAM. What does BAM even mean?” she said with a disapproving look.

“Beats and melody. 불안에마음.” Curious as to where this conversation was going to go and concluding that she does not recognize him from anywhere, the mischievous Ong Seongwoo leaned forward, his elbows prodded on top of his knees. “Not fond of them?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It just seems like they’re over-hyped. Even the buses are covered with their ‘coming soon’ posters, or whatever those are.”

“Have you tried listening to their music?”

Seongwoo was growing more and more amused by the second. Here was a girl who had not a single idea that he was a member of the very band she was blatantly judging. From who else can he hear such objective critique, right? He figured it was like an undercover evaluation.

“It’s probably just the same old lyrics. Repetitive melody. That might be why the public is into them.” she assesses, eyes turned away from the screen. Seongwoo’s eyebrows move to signal her to continue. “Seems like everybody blew up when they announced that reunion. Do you know how packed this shop was that day? Extremely packed. People see them on the TV and they just flock like birds.” she chucked her thumb to the screen now behind her and rolled her eyes.

Seongwoo was about to chime in, ready with his good-natured defenses but he figured he’d let her finish, letting the girl spill out her endless train of thought for nearly fifteen minutes. She talked about her schoolmates and how invested they were with the said group and how it was almost all they talk about. Yeonrin mentioned the recent controversies, saying they were publicity stunts. At one point, she even hummed a familiar tune from the radio, ranting about how many times a day they played that one song and how it is inevitably stuck in her head, to her annoyance.

It was funny how people claim not to be fond of a particular subject and yet know so much about them. However, instead of becoming offended, Seongwoo laughed at some of her comments, feigning agreement with some of them and even dissing some members here and there, to Yeonrin’s entertainment.

“I heard the lead vocalist doesn’t shower. But their drummer has got game.”

“Yeah right. You’re being biased.”

Seongwoo laughed uncontrollably at this comment, almost falling off his chair.

“It’s true! Their drummer makes sick beats.” he slaps his thighs, trying to contain the rest of his laughter.

“What?” Yeonrin glared at his overreaction. At this point Seongwoo was wiping the tears from his eyes brought by bout of laughter that just passed.

“You know, you’ll probably like their music if you try to listen to the rest of their songs besides that one that’s always on the radio.”

“Eh.” she shrugged. “How great could it possibly be? Don’t get me wrong, if you’re a fan, that’s great I guess.”

“Your call.” Seongwoo stood up and approached the counter once again. “You’re the one missing out on our hard work.”

“Our--” Yeonrin was cut off by the sound of the door chimes and a tall, lean man, who was sporting a stubble and a cap, walked in.

“Seongwoo-yah!”

“Hyuk-hyung!”

The two men quickly greeted each other with a hug and fist bump, the older male patting Seongwoo’s shoulders like a brother would.

“How’s our star drummer doing? Is BAM in prime condition for the reunion?”

“BAM? Drummer?” Yeonrin connected the dots in her head and pointed a weak finger at Seongwoo who had a wide smile on his face, obviously enjoying her current predicament.

“Uh-huh. You didn’t tell me Seongwoo was the one who needed the repair, Yeonrin.” Hyuk turned to the counter, his hands on his hips.

“I.....didn’t know.” Yeonrin sunk into her seat, eventually crouching down and slowly making her way to the back room in her daze and embarrassment, and to the confusion of her boss.

Seongwoo just restrained a smile.

--

“Thanks, Hyuk-hyung.” After almost an hour, the two returned to the shop after the repairs have been done in the Underground itself. “I wouldn’t have remembered you were open for 24 hours if Woojin didn’t remind me.”

“Ey. Don’t mention it. This is exactly the reason why we decided to have a midnight shift.” Hyuk stepped in the shop followed by Seongwoo who looked around subtly for a certain part-timer.

“Where do I pay?” Seongwoo asked.

“Over th-- Yeonrin?”

“Yes, boss?” a muffled voice from the back room resounded.

“Come out here and take care of Seongwoo’s payment. I’ll be leaving.”

Laughter from Yeonrin’s brother, who was already made aware of the situation with Yeonrin’s frantic storytelling, was heard followed by a scuffling sound and an “Ow!”

“I’ll be right out!”

Upon hearing the girl’s response, Hyuk bid goodbye to the younger male and left the shop premises.

When Seongwoo turned back, Yeonrin was still in the doorway of the backroom with a calculating expression on her face. “So…”

Seongwoo raised his eyebrows, waiting. “Is it too late for introductions?” he teased.

“...this is awkward.” Yeonrin rushed to the cash register without making eye-contact with the customer who was ready to poke some fun.

She prepared his receipt in silence until, with both palms on the counter, she finally mustered the courage to speak. “I feel really bad for everything I blurted out. I could be very judgmental, sometimes…”

“I found it very amusing.” Seongwoo had his arms crossed in front of him, a habit he seemed to have whenever he was even remotely entertained. “Thanks for the feedback, anyways.”

Yeonrin face-palmed at the boy’s successful attempts at deepening her embarrassment. “I’ll pay for your repair, if that makes up for my mean chatter...”

"Not enough."

"Not enough?!" Yeonrin’s eye bulged out of their sockets. She thought the man was going to take advantage of this chance to get a new drum set, something she would not think twice about cursing him for. “You know I’m just a student in university, right? I only work part-time and I--”

"My ego got wounded, you know. Need that to perform. Listen to our songs and I’ll have that confidence back again." Seongwoo tried to haggle with her as if they were talking about currency and not human emotion.

“Seems like you didn’t lose it anyway…” Yeonrin whispered through gritted teeth. “Fine.” She grabbed her phone from the countertop, scrolled and clicked repeatedly until she showed Seongwoo the screen and clicked ‘follow’ on BAMs streaming site. “I’ll get to it. Happy?”

“Very.” he put up both thumbs. “You’re welcome in advance.” Seongwoo winked at her before leaving the shop with a bounce to his step, leaving a baffled Yeonrin to figure out the strangeness of the recent encounter.

--

Usually, when people come across celebrities, they would immediately post their encounter on their SNS accounts, and how they were star-struck, lucky even to come across a star on a very normal day.

She’s no different if it was a normal encounter, except this time around it wasn’t. It was a rather unpleasant encounter. The worst meeting one could possibly arrange. She blamed her unneeded opinions.

To make up for it, she fulfilled her promise of listening to their songs, no matter how much it stroked her pride wrongly.

She liked their songs upon giving it a try, but she isn’t about to chase Ong Seongwoo just for him to give his satisfied smirk, and she’s content with just being another anti-BAM (no matter how sparse those people are) in his eyes. She completed the end of her deal, so she really shouldn’t feel a little bit guilty about the vicious words she uttered right to his face.

The door chimes in again at such an ungodly hour -- a deja vu. Right, then he’ll enter with his confidence. She takes a peek on the doorway, finding Seongwoo striding in with a smirk on his face just how she pictured it.  A vague feeling sets in that it wouldn’t be their last meeting.

“Broke your drum again?” she greets condescendingly.  He hums in return, dragging the stool positioned at the far edge of the counter right in front of the cashier.  

“If yes, does the free drum repair still stand?”  He rests his elbows on the counter, chin resting on the back of his hand.

“Suck it. That was deducted from my salary. “ she huffs out and shooes him away as if any other customer would actually enter in that hour, a quarter past 12.  “I already listened to your songs. And I doubt you’re back to get your drum repaired. So?”

“I need visual evidence.” he brings out his iPhone X, rests it beside the cashier and plugs the earphones on the jack. She sighs and takes the earphones, but Seongwoo grabs the other pair, inserting it to his ear. He smiles innocently, nudging her to press the play button already.

“I needed sound evidence as well.” She rolls her eyes.

“We could have just played it on speaker.”

“Clearly, you don’t understand the charm of Bose earphones. It does wonders.” he says as a matter-of-fact, fingers flicking airily, chin raised and eyes fluttering coyly imitating that of a connoisseur.

She had the intense urge to smack Ong Seongwoo right there and then, to hell be his Bose earphones and Iphone X. “So does that mean you need some auxiliary for your band’s music?” she strikes  back, a little proud over her reply.  

“Maybe your ears might miss out on our awesomeness. Woojin’s bass is insane, something speakers can’t finely deliver.”  

Mentally, she nods in agreement. She experimented on listening under different platforms, but she isn’t entertaining the idea of feeding Seongwoo’s already large ego.

Seongwoo scoots closer to not overly stretch the earphones cable. Once again, aqua mist. She likes his smell, and it distracts her from fully listening. Thankfully the earphones really did wonders, bringing out the music’s color better.

Seongwoo hums along, using the wooden countertop as his makeshift drums and some other paraphernalia that he found sitting -- a metallic tumbler, two ballpens and a lost triangle.

He makes it a duty to present Yeonrin his favorite songs, skipping along some tracks because they don’t have enough time to actually go through the whole discography.

Close to two and a half hours later, and a sore ear, Seongwoo finally closes his phone and unplugs the earphones. Pushing his phone to his back pocket, he tilts his head to Yeonrin who was pressing a finger on her ear’s tragus.

“So? It blew you away right? Right?” his tone rising with enthusiasm.

“It was….” mind blowing. exhilarating. jaw-dropping. amazing. ...

She gulps down. There is something hard to shake off against Seongwoo’s glittering eyes -- bewitching and taunting all at the same time.

“Too loud.” she concludes. Seongwoo’s eyebrows crease, a little crestfallen about her sudden remark.

“You forgot that your volume was a hundred. Clearly, you’re a drummer.” she snides.

She wins this time.

He groans, checking his phone and setting it lower this time. “Okay. One more time!”

“Maybe some other time, Ong Seongwoo. It’s closing time.”  She unhinges the lock on the counter and leaves to flip the sign to ‘closed’. 

--- notes : I swear I’m not Seongwoo biased lolololololol but writing about him makes me feel like I’m slowly becoming one 

Fanfic where the side story was based on --  This Band (p.1) This Band (p.2) This Band (p.3) This Band (p.4)  This Band (p.5)    This Band (p.6) This Band (p.7) This Band (p.8)  This Band (p.9)  This Band (p.10) This Band (p.11)    This Band (p.12) This Band (p.13) This Band (p15) B.A.M p1 // B.A.M p2 // B.A.M p3 // B.A.M final

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ walking on eggshells, trying not to burn the hell out.

date: march 2019

location: bc practice room.

word count: 1,142 words.

summary: i do not have the energy to write a summary

notes: n/a

“you don’t seem happy. on stage.”

ash doesn’t expect the other man to speak, and less than that, speak those words. ash has spent many late nights in bc practice rooms with one of his choreographer hyungs in the past ten years since he became a trainee, but the stretching is usually done in silence. it’s a dancer’s ritual ash prefers to conduct when he can be in his own head. sixteen years of dancing have taught him there’s no reason to distract himself from the pull of his muscles as he stretches his legs to the side. the burn is all the more satisfying for the silence of it.

they’re getting ready to run through choreography for his solo concert, which is sure to take a few hours at least, so he assumes the other man is preserving his energy by clearing his head like ash is. it quickly becomes apparent that isn’t the case.

“the light isn’t in your eyes anymore.” that causes ash to look up at him. it’s out of nowhere, and ash doesn’t have any idea what prompted it. “you still try, sometimes, i can tell, but you’re not dancing the same.”

ash tries to play off his shock with a laugh and breaks his self-imposed silence. “ah, hyung, i am a lot older than i was back then.” but the look on the other man’s face doesn’t change. there are no crinkles of his crow’s feet or a twitch of his lips. that’s when ash knows he’s being serious.

“the boy i used to know, the you i used to know, he came into the company expressing so openly with his body when he danced. for a kid, it was impressive how well you spoke with dance.” it’s clear he’s not lying about remembering, and ash is surprised. “your korean has gotten so much better since then, but your words could never tell me half of what your dance did. i used to get on you during evaluations for sacrificing technique for emotion, remember?” and ash does, but he doesn’t nod or say anything. “i miss that from you.”

yeah, well, i miss a lot of shit, too, ash thinks, but knows better than to voice aloud. the choreographer hasn’t given him a reason to be rude, though he hadn’t asked for constructive criticism on his overall dedication. he got enough of that from netizens.

“i’m trying,” he answers quietly after letting the silence stretch between them. “i’m doing better. people aren’t getting on my case like they were last year.” and it’s a little too raw; ash has made it too clear that the wound is still a little too open.

“it’s not about that. it’s about you. i know it wasn’t being named a lead dancer instead of a main dancer that stole that light from you, because i still saw it when i would walk in on you practicing back when you first debuted.” it feels like a slap to the face and ash avoids looking at him. is that what he thinks this is about? that ash is holding a seven year long grudge about a position that doesn’t really matter at the end of the day? ash couldn’t care less about positions. he’s been an idol for seven years. if he cared so much about positions, it all would have been even harder to bear.

“no. i was never going to be a main dancer. i knew that. i accepted it. they deserved those positions, the members that got them. they could outdance me with their hands tied behind their back back then. still can. other trainees that didn’t even make the lineup could, too. you said it yourself. my technique was lacking. still is, obviously,” ash tries to finish with a half-hearted laugh, but he’s avoiding the topic of the older man’s critiques. it has nothing to do with anyone else. ash’s passion faded naturally. it was bound to happen. not every love could last forever.

“that’s not it. that’s not what i mean.” the man means to be getting frustrated now, but he’s fighting it back. “i only want to know... did you find something else to love the way you did dance?”

ash looks up at him again, eyes wide and unsure. “music.” it’s barely loud enough to break the silence of the studio, but he knows the other man hears it. “making music. writing. producing.” he doesn’t question his answer for a second, but it’s an odd sensation to say it out loud, to confess so bluntly that the love and connection he’d once felt so strongly for dance had sprouted anew in creating music now. it’d done so a long time ago, but it’s so much safer not to speak it. admitting his passion for dance, that he wanted to pursue it all the way to a new country in an industry he knew little about, is what had amounted in its slow death. the choreographer doesn’t say anything, but ash speaks again. “it’s mine... it’s something that’s mine.” his eyes scream what goes unspoken: that ownership over dance had been taken away from him and that had been the origin of where he is today.

the absence of words stretches on so long, tension begins to creep up ash’s back.

“i’m going to cancel practice tonight.” it feels a little bit like a punishment, but the look on the man’s face is kind and ash can read that there’s no anger behind his words. the tension eases itself from his spine again.

“i’ll meet you back here the same time tomorrow, but you’re fine. over practicing will do more harm than good.”

ash doesn’t say anything. he just looks at the man as he stands up and packs his things. he’s being serious.

“wh—” ash is cut off.

“don’t stress yourself. take some time for yourself.”

it all happens too quickly for ash to completely process, but soon, he’s alone on the floor of the dance studio. he meets his own gaze in the mirror and sits like that for a while. it’s impossible to know how long. he can’t tell if time is stretching on or flying by, but, eventually, he stands. he doesn’t leave, though, not like he thought he would.

more time passes, the clock ticking by even in ash’s absence of checking it, and it’s the early hours of the morning when ash leans, sweaty and exhausted against the wall, gripping his water bottle and unscrewing the lid. he hadn’t practiced, but he had danced, and for the first time in a long time, it’d been freeing instead of constricting. for the first time in years, he’d let his heart show in dance to an audience that wasn’t there, not by force or self-flagellation, but because something within him wanted to.

[daisychains4]

Strings (3/16)

Chapter 3: Aftertaste (Masterlist)

Warnings: None

Note: Italics are song lyrics

AN: This is the Shawn Mendes x reader AU teenage heartbreak story you didn’t know you needed.

Your mum hadn’t just moved you away from Shawn’s neighborhood; she’d dragged you across the country to Edmonton. She deactivated your phone number and deleted all of your social media accounts. She would do everything in her power to keep you and Shawn apart and prevent you from repeating her own mistakes.

You were beside yourself. You were cut off from the love of your life, your friends, your school, all just weeks before the start of your senior year. Your mum was keeping you on lockdown, never letting you out of her sight. She made you go with her to work in her new office where she’d just transferred from Pickering. She stayed home with you every night and weekend.

All you thought about was Shawn, and the look on his face when you saw him for the last time.

Re—rewind Friday night

Never forget it

How you let me go.

No more lies, I'll be fine.

I know where I'm headed;

Probably should've known.

You were angry at your mother, but could only imagine how angry Shawn must have been with you. You’d left him behind without a word or a clue as to where you had gone. You told yourself he would never forgive you, even if you came back home.

And now you're gonna say, "Pretty, please forgive me."

Fool me once, told you twice you're gonna regret it,

Now you're all alone, yeah.

Turns out that no one can replace me.

I'm permanent, you can't erase me.

I'll help you remember me,

One more kiss is all it takes.

I'll leave you with the memory,

And the aftertaste.

The bitter silence that pervaded the (Y/LN) house was suffocating. Both mother and daughter spoke little; your anger spoke volumes.

After two weeks in Edmonton, your mum had finally had enough. She sat across from you at the small kitchen table watching you push your food around on your plate without taking any bites.

“Oh, (Y/N), enough of this. It’s time to move on.”

You glared up at your mother. You didn’t have the energy to yell anymore.

“We did the right thing by coming here. You’ll see—”

“We did the right thing? I didn’t do anything. You dragged me across the country.”

“It’s for your own good, (Y/N). You can’t see this now, but he would’ve ruined your life—”

“No, Mum, you’ve done that. He made life bearable. You make it a living Hell!”

You stormed from the kitchen and burst into your room, slamming the door behind you. You kicked aside the boxes of your things that you hadn’t bothered unpacking and threw yourself onto your bed, sobbing.

Close your eyes, you can't hide,

Try to forget me,

But I'm everywhere.

I'm the smell on your sheets.

You weren't ready

When you left me there.

You cried into your pillow, and swore you could still smell the faint remnants of Shawn’s cologne. You thought about your birthday — how had it only been two weeks ago that you’d been the happiest you’ve ever been?

Before you started dating Shawn, life with your mum was barely tolerable. Shawn was supportive of you where your mum had never been. She only cared about your grades, which you always worked hard on to keep your mum happy. But your passion was dance.

You took her first dance class when you were five, and fell in love immediately. You loved all of it — every style, from ballet to modern to hip hop. You loved the way you felt when you moved, and felt you could express yourself better dancing than you ever could with words.

Your mum hardly took the time to participate in your dance life, but Shawn was always there. He came to your recitals and competitions, and loved driving you to auditions, master classes, and conventions. You had found the biggest supporter in Shawn, and you never felt better dancing than when Shawn was cheering you on from the audience.

And you had left him behind.

And now you're gonna say, "Pretty, please forgive me." Yeah —

Bet it hurts, it gets worse,

You know nobody said it would be fair, oh.

Turns out that no one can replace me.

I'm permanent, you can't erase me.

I'll help you remember me,

One more kiss is all it takes.

I'll leave you with the memory,

And the aftertaste.

You thought back to the torturous drive from Pickering to Edmonton. You had stared out the passenger window while your mum hurled hateful remarks at you, blaming you for uprooting your family. She called you careless, and many worse things. She said that your promiscuity was what got you in this position, and that if you hadn’t been so foolish you could have stayed in Pickering. She accused you of throwing your entire life away for a silly boy who would have left you anyway.

You did your best not to cry — you were losing the love of your life and beginning to believe that it was, in fact, all your fault.

And now there's something in your way

'Cause you threw it all to waste

And you wonder if you could take back what you did that day

And it hurts, 'cause...

Turns out that no one can replace me.

I'm permanent, you can't erase me.

I'll help you remember me,

One more kiss is all it takes.

I'll leave you with the memory,

And the aftertaste.

Two weeks later, you found yourself walking aimlessly through Edmonton. It was the first time your mum had let you out of the house alone since you’d moved. You didn’t know where you were going, you just knew you couldn’t spend another minute suffocating in the tiny house your mum had rented.

After what felt like hours of walking without getting anywhere, a small corner building caught your eye. The building had windows on two sides, and you could see dancers, a young man and woman, inside a studio. You watched them turn and leap across the floor. In your head, you pictured the rise and fall of music you couldn’t hear, slow and soft in quiet movements, reaching a crescendo every time a dancer leapt off the floor. You could feel your muscles hum as you watched the intricate dance unfold.

You didn’t know how long you stood there watching the dancers, but it was long enough to catch the eye of someone inside. You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the older Latina woman walk up to stand beside you.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked gently.

You jumped. “I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed. “I was just— the dance. It’s a beautiful piece.”

The woman’s eyebrow arched interestedly. “What do you think it’s about?”

“I think it’s about a love that can’t let go,” you answered thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. You can feel the love between them. The way they move together tells me that they know each other. It looks like they can anticipate each other’s movements. But then, they break apart - something is coming between them. I can see the pain on their faces when she jetés away from him just there. She doesn’t want to go, but something is pulling her away. And you can see that even though you know they won’t work out, somehow you can feel this is really the end for them, and they know it too, but they can’t seem to stay away from each other, not really. Like a magnet is pulling them toward each other - but when they get just close enough to touch again, they can’t. Like when you try to force the north poles of a magnet together. You can feel the attraction between them, but no matter how close they get, they can’t come together,” you gushed breathlessly.

“You see all of that,” the woman asked, surprised. She looked at the dancers critically. “Something’s not working. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. What do you think?”

You hesitated. Even though the woman had just invited your criticism, you didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

The woman seemed to sense your trepidation. “Don’t worry, I can take it,” she smiled.

“Well… the part in the middle, when they’ve begun separating, their movement is too out of synch. It’s clear they still want to be together, so I wonder if some parallel movement between them might make the transition to the end smoother. And the end, of course, is too abrupt. Just because they’re breaking up, doesn’t mean it’s just over for both of them. Breakups aren’t like that. The pain will follow them, even when the dance is over. That doesn’t translate in the ending.”

The woman turned to you, clearly impressed with your critique. You smiled sheepishly. The woman stuck out her hand. “Tori Nguyen,” she said.

“I’m (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/LN),” you replied. “It’s nice to meet you. Is this your studio?”

“It is. You must dance. Do you take somewhere around here?”

“I do. Or I guess I did. I just moved here from Pickering, near Toronto. I’m not dancing now.”

Tori studied you. “Can you come by tomorrow? I want to see what you can do.”

“Oh, well,” you stammered. “I don’t know if I can. I can’t pay for—”

Tori put a hand up to stop you. “Just come by. I bet we can work something out.”

“Ok,” you agreed, smiling - a real, genuinely happy smile - for the first time since you saw Shawn. You thought of him again as you turned away from the studio and made your way back home.

Truth is that no one can replace me.

I'm permanent, you can't erase me.

I'll help you remember me,

One more kiss is all it takes.

I'll leave you with the memory,

And the aftertaste.

And the aftertaste.