#like he's just a guy. A Guy Trademark. Some rando I would see once on the street then never think about again.

[anarkhebringer]

Every time I see something about that JoCat guy on Twitter, it's always people losing their shit because a man dared to respect a woman like they performatively preached (demanded)

[cow-smells]

Touch pt. 2 (Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz x reader)

Requests: 1.(anon) touch was so sweet oml🥺a pt 2 with hawk would be awesome, with him and his rough exterior but him going soft and submissive in private😚 

2. (@fantasy-addict354 ) 6x10 with Hawk😜 

          6. “I could just pull your bottoms to the side, no one will notice.”

          10. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

A/N: This time with Hawk! The touch-starved thing is a bit more subtle in this part, more in actions then in words. It’s more about some of Hawks insecurities and in general just a rotting fluff piece (:

Words: 1108

    “Hawk, stop!” you screamed, paired with a giggle as your boyfriend – currently holding you up by the waist, your back pressed against his front – marched you both deeper in to the ocean water. Realistically you knew he was only taunting you, he wouldn't bring you to the really deep waters – he wouldn't dare getting his hair wet in public – but you struggled against him regardless, laughing all the while.

The sun was setting behind you, some of your friends still on the beach getting the bonfire going. Not far from you were Miguel and Sam, acting out elaborate karate moves in the water as Yasmine stood aside sending judgmental looks at Sam, not giving attention to Demetri who was awkwardly attempting to flirt with her.

    Hawk had finally let go of your waist only to have you quickly grab on to his shoulders instead when the water was too deep for you, Hawk still comfortably standing with his shoulders above the waterline.

    “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you,” you grumbled as you hooked your legs around Hawk's hips for better grip.

Hawk smirked and held you up by your thighs, not that you needed it. “No idea what you're talking about.” he finished with a kiss on your lips, which, as was the usual for new Eli, quickly escalated to ravishing you.

    “Hey,” you pushed back, your hand on his bare chest. Hawk only took this as an opportunity to attack your neck instead. “maybe we should hold off until we get home,” you said with a smirk, chills running down your spine from the combination of Hawks ministrations on your neck and the increasingly cold water, the sky already dark above you.

    “What for?” Hawk parted from your skin to say, looking back at your friends who were too busy amongst themselves to pay attention to you two. “You know, I could just pull your bottoms to the side, no one will notice.” Hawk whispered huskily.

    “Eli!” you slapped his shoulder lightly, your expression scandalized but smiling. “what kind of girl do you take me for?” you unhook your legs from around him and swim a couple of meters until you can safely stand again.

    “My girl,” Hawk answers and follows you to the shoreline.

    You're a few meters ahead of Hawk when you reach the sand. You stand and stretch your arms up relieving the tension as you wait for Hawk to catch up.

    You don't even notice the guy that blatantly stares at you as he walks by – but Hawk does.

    “Hey,” Hawk calls out menacingly. “the fuck you think this is, a show?”

Without hesitation he marches up to the guy and shoves him.

    “Hawk!” you yelled, hoping to sound like a warning. The last thing he needed was to get in to an unprompted fight with a rando. “Don't!”

The guy scrambles to his feet as Hawk continues, obviously ready to get physical. “That's my girlfriend you're staring at! Have some Goddamn respect!”

Within an instant Miguel is by his side, holding him by the arm. “Let it go man, it's not important. Come on, let's get back to the bonfire.”

Hawk exhales deeply and gives the man a final warning glare before turning back to you to hold out his hand. You take it despite your annoyance.

    “So I beg you to stop and you disregard me completely, but Miguel comes along and you let it go?”

Hawk shoots you a trademark smirk, one that is all Hawk and no Eli. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” At this point Miguel feels safe to deattach himself from Hawks side, rejoining Sam where she stood warming up by the fire.

    “I'm serious,” you say, not completely convinced yourself of your seriousness.

Hawk shrugs. “It's a guy thing, I can't explain it.”

You decide to let it go for now. Hawk sits on some driftwood and pulls you to sit on him, choosing to remain as so while you continued conversing with your friends. Hawk looped an arm around you, drawing circles on your hipbone as he talked to Miguel. You had to admit, one of your favourite things about his personality transition was his newfound confidence to touch you in public (though sometimes, it would seem, that confidence would get a little too high).

    It was late in to the night when you two pulled up by his house. Hawk shut off the engine of his bike and you climbed off it, removing your helmet. He did the same, kissing you instinctively once both your helmets were off.

You tiptoed through the houses corridor until you reached Hawks room where you could finally relax after he shut the door behind you two.

    “Okay, but, seriously though... What was that, at the beach?”

    “You're still on that?” Hawk groaned as he took off his hoodie and grabbed a t-shirt out of his closet for you.

    “Well, yeah,” you took the shirt from him. “I mean... kinda seemed excessive. Dude was just looking.”

    Hawk sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes half-lidded in a sad way that reminded you of who he used to be. “I...”

Seeing him struggle to find words, you stood knee-to-knee with him, taking your hands in his. His shoulders fell from their tensed state and he raised his eyes to yours. “I just...” you ran your hand through the short hairs at the side of his head, prompting him on. “I'm so afraid, all the time. 'Cuz if they'll look at you they'll talk to you, and if they'll talk to you you'll figure out you can do so much better than me.”

It broke your heart hearing him speak. Although Hawk had held up a meticulously confident front every now and then he'd show you the layers underneath, the ones not yet dealt with; the lack of self confidence and self love he tried so hard to bury.

    “Hey.” you said sternly, taking Hawk's face in your hands. “There is no better than you.” you sunk one leg by his side and then the other, straddling him. “You,” you kissed his forehead, “are all” his cheeks, “I” his nose, “want.” you finished with a kiss to his lips. Hawk dragged his fingers against your sides to your back until he engulfed you in a tight embrace.

    “I love you,” he said softly.

You buried your face in his neck as he kept his tight hold on you. “I love you too.”

[oreoambitions]

In Which Boobs Get Kara Into Trouble

There will come a time later, when Kara is standing on the roof of Spherical Industries with a gun to her head, when she will wonder how she ever got herself into such a mess. The rain will pour and the city will roar, oblivious, far below while Kara tries to piece it all together. And it will end as it began: with a pair of brilliant green eyes and a sad smile.

Kara spies her at the hotel bar and, if she's being honest, the first thing she notices are the boobs. I mean, can you blame her? The cut of that dress is scandalous at best and the woman wearing it is a vision, truly. Kara, lingering in the doorway in her slacks and buttondown, tired and a little unkempt from a long day on her first field assignment as a junior reporter, almost forgets for a moment that she's shy and awkward and Definitely Straight Thank You Very Much. She flashes her brightest smile almost before she realizes it and, to her surprise, the woman with the boobs looks up and smiles back.

The second thing Kara notices is the older gentleman leaning in across the bar, his hand lingering on that dress somewhere just north of inappropriate as he reasserts his position at the center of the boob woman's attention. The journalist in Kara says: I wonder what their relationship to one another is. The Definitely Straight Thank You Very Much side of Kara says: I should go rescue her.

There will come a time when Kara curses the fact that she's somehow inherited that trademark Danvers penchant for heroism and trouble, but this is not that time. This is the time when Kara strolls up, one hand in her pocket, heart pounding in her ears, to flash that million dollar smile one more time and adjust her glasses. She glances dismissively at Just North of Inappropriate as she inserts herself into the situation with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

"Sorry I'm late," she says brightly. "Just a little bit of traffic on the bridge. Shall we get a table?"

The plan, if you can really call it that, has just about formed in Kara's mind by the time she finishes speaking. There are, she assumes, roughly two possible outcomes. Either the boob woman doesn't need rescuing after all and Kara is about to suffer an incredibly humiliating encounter, or she does need rescuing and they can head to the hotel restaurant together where Kara can see her delivered safely to wherever it is she'd like to be. What actually happens is neither of those things.

"Darling," the boob woman says, a sad smile on her lips. "I was just about to call. This is Jack, the gentleman I was telling you about. Jack, this is my wife..."

It is to Kara's credit that she only hesitates for a moment. She did take an improv class for half a semester in undergrad; she's about as well prepared for a curveball like this as anyone could reasonably expect. She extends her hand and says, "Kara. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Jack replies, his eyebrows high. "Forgive me; Lena didn't mention you were coming."

Lena slides an arm around Kara's waist so casually that for one insane instant Kara wonders whether this woman has confused her for someone else. "You know how it is," Lena is saying. "Work doesn't always allow for travel; I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up."

Travel. So Kara, Wife of the Woman with the Boobs, is not supposed to be from here.

Jack fixes Kara with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. "I hope the flight wasn't too difficult."

"Somehow it always feels shorter than I expect," Kara says, mind scrambling. Where is she supposed to have flown in from? Is this a test? Is there something she should know to say?

Jack chuckes. "Well, Metropolis to National City is a short trip compared to what you're used to, I'm sure. If you'll excuse me, I'll just let them know we'll be needing an extra place at the table."

Lena is hissing as soon as he's out of earshot. "It took you long enough, goddamnit. I called for backup an hour ago! I think he has the asset here, at the hotel. If we're lucky we can- shit. Hope!"

And just like that Lena is all smiles and warmth but for her white knuckled grip on Kara's hip. She waves to a woman lingering in the doorway and Kara finds herself tangled in pleasantries and small talk, playing the part as best she can.

Now the plan is: get out of this as soon as possible.

It becomes clear that 'as soon as possible' might be a while coming when Jack returns and the four of them are escorted not, as Kara had assumed, to the hotel restaurant, but into the elevator. Oh. They are dining at the private club on the top floor, and all at once Kara is conscious of the fact that her entire outfit is likely worth less than the average glass of wine here, that her hair is coming a little undone in the back, that she didn't put makeup on this morning because she was hoping that seeming a little more like 'one of the guys' might earn her a more favorable quote at the conference she was working this afternoon. This is trouble, and if Kara's gut is right, it's dangerous trouble at that.

The menu doesn't list prices but Kara navigates the social waters by ordering just about whatever Lena does - although she kips the salad appetizer in favor of egg rolls - and fumbles through conversation by saying as little as possible until the conversation drifts to the Kaznian refugee crisis and Kara begins to shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"Well, you know as they say in Kaznia," Jack is saying, "Without work, there is no desert."

He says the phrase in Kaznian so smoothly that it would have passed by perhaps anyone but an actual Kaznian refugee without comment. But Kara has never been the best when it comes to holding her tongue and so she corrects him almost without thinking about it. "Bez prace nejsou kolace. Without work there is no cake."

Jack raises his eyebrows, but it's Hope who comments, "Are you from Kaznia too? Is that how you two met?"

Kara is frozen, processing the implication that Lena may also be a Kaznian refugee, but Lena is already answering. "Our fathers knew one another, yes, but we actually met at a bar. It's a terribly mundane story. There I was, enduring the cumbersome attentions of some ape, and she simply swooped in for the rescue. The rest is history."

Kara almost laughs. "Really, it was love at first sight," she says. "Coming to the rescue was the least I could do. Even if I did turn out to get rather more than I'd bargained for."

Lena's smile is sugar sweet as she leans over to press a warm kiss to Kara's cheek. "I'm worth it," she promises and, mercifully, she changes the subject.

They make it most of the way through dessert before the conversation finally turns to business.

"How long are you in town?" Jack asks. "Not just for the conference, I hope."

Lena hums, noncommittal. "Maybe a few days longer. There are a few business meetings I'd like to take care of while we're here."

"Well I hope you'll save one of those meetings for me. Spherical Industries has made a breakthrough, I'm sure you've heard, and while I've obligations to the board to hear a few proposals the real prize would be a partnership with L-Corp.  We could do great things together, you and I."

A number of thoughts cross Kara's mind in quick succession.

The first: Jack's tone is so overtly predatory, so intensely suggestive, that Kara is absolutely shocked that he would speak to Lena in such a way in front of her (supposed) wife or in front of his own spouse.

The second: If Lena works for L-Corp, Kara has gotten herself into the middle of something very complicated indeed.

The third: Jack is, as Kara has suspected for the better part of an hour now, not just some rando putting his hands on a woman in a bar. He is, in fact, none other than Jack Speer, as in Spherical Industries, as in the man responsible for the conference where Kara has been working. The conference where she was hoping to hear something that might confirm a rumored breakthrough to which Jack just openly admitted. And, if Kara's sources are to be believed, Spherical Industries has gone to great length to keep the details of that breakthrough out of the hands of the authorities. Kara would give just about anything to find out why.

"You know I always have time for a few drinks with an old friend; I'm sure something can be arranged," Lena says. "It really is lovely to catch up with you both. And isn't your anniversary coming up soon?"

"One year on Sunday," Hope replies.

“Well then an early congratulations to you both.”

When dessert has been consumed, coffee sipped, and the check paid (by Spherical Industries, at Jack's insistence), it's time for the long walk to the elevator and down the hall to what is presumably Lena's room.  Jack and Hope walk them all the way, and the small talk lasts another excruciating handful of minutes while Lena fiddles with her key until, at last, Hope suggests that everyone must be tired.

Kara's mind is reeling. Jack and Hope aren't walking away and so, in order to keep up appearances, she follows Lena into the hotel room.

It's almost - almost - not a surprise when, as soon as the door shuts, Lena pulls a gun on Kara. There is still something a little inherently startling about finding herself on the wrong end of a firearm but, well, that's been looking like the almost inevitable end result of this evening for a little while here and Kara figures the best thing she can do is handle it as calmly as possible.

"Who the fuck are you," Lena demands, "and who the fuck do you work for?"

"I can ex-"

"You are definitely not the backup I called for. Are you with Edge? How did you find me?"

Kara raises her hands in the universal symbol for surrender. "I don't work for anyone," she explains. "Well, I work for CatCo, actually, but the point is, I think we might be on the same side."

Slowly, her eyes never leaving Kara's face, Lena lowers the gun and engages the safety. Kara's gaze drops to the boobs. If there has ever been a time not to be distracted by boobs it’s this moment but, well. Kara may be Definitely Straight Thank You Very Much but even she can appreciate the absolute goddess standing in front of her in a sinful dress with a loaded weapon in hand. She swallows and forces her attention back to Lena's face and to the knowing smirk that says her distraction has not gone unnoticed.

"I'm listening," Lena says.

[volturialice]

Spork Haven chapter 23: salt fucking peter

welcome to spork haven, where I spork the EL James fic you’ve never heard of

previous chapter | next chapter | contents

previously on Spork Haven:

actor!Edward got an outlandish fucking award and became Best Actor!Edward! hotel maid murder witness cello prodigy orphaned ““cajun”” heiress!Bella was his date to the awards show! Ed looked into Emmett’s dark burning eyes and had a Moment! Bella felt dizzy and then went missing! will the Volturi mafia succeed in murdering her? let’s hope so stick around and find out!

warning: this chapter is incredibly long. please check the tags for content warnings—there are a lot! it’s eventful, though, so we’ll give it a pass. but settle in and make yourself comfortable. maybe go get a drink or something. I know I needed a drink after I read this garbage.

chapter 23 opens with Edward attempting to process the fact that Bella has disappeared. he does this in what I have to admit is a pretty seamless fusion of el james’s and stephenie meyer’s trademark styles (negative space here preserved for authenticity):

wow. eat your heart out, New Moon.

once we’ve experienced that bit of totally original typesetting magic, Edward leaps into action! 

just kidding. he’s “totally fucking immobilized.” paralyzed with fear, he “stifles a sob” and toys with whether to “wail, scream, and tear his hair out with impotence”

luckily, he’s very good at giving himself pep talks:

this bracing self-administered kick in the pants unfreezes him, allowing him to summon the mental faculties to go get Emmett.

Emmett clears the ladies’ room and calls for backup. He and Edward search the restroom and are joined by a rando Local security guard as they discover—gasp!—a secret second exit to the bathroom (shoutout to the phoenix airport womens’ room, amirite?) leading into a service tunnel.

the Local security guard informs them that the tunnel leads to an alley, but the alley’s only exit is onto Hollywood Boulevard. you know, the street currently clogged with limos, paparazzi, cameras, and fans. idk about y’all but I’m starting to think this kidnap attempt may have been just a tad poorly conceived. why kidnap her at all? they had ample time to kill her, dump her body in the service tunnel, and make their escape unencumbered.

as Ed, Emmett, and Local race down the service tunnel, Emmett radios for Jasper to go around and cut the Bad Guys off in the alley. Edward is the slowest of the bunch

so he quickly falls behind the other two.

he’s trying to catch up when—wait! what’s that on the ground? something...sparkly?

that’s right: he pauses in chasing after Bella and her kidnapper in order to notice “six thousand dollars’ worth of earring” lying on the ground.

then he stops and picks it up.

now, I know what you’re thinking, guys—is he seriously stopping to pick up a lost earring when Bella’s life is in danger?—but keep in mind, these earrings were twelve thousand dollars. also, Edward loves earrings! they make him horny! what else is he supposed to suck on at Bella’s funeral?

I mean, yeah, if your worst fear was that Bella might lose an earring.

what indeed, Edward. what indeed. 

imagine for a second that you’re Emmett in this fic. you’re a law enforcement professional racing to protect your charge’s life, bellowing into your walkie for backup, preparing to apprehend an armed and dangerous suspect in an area full of innocent civilians...when suddenly, from somewhere far behind you in the dingy gloom of the service tunnel, you hear the sniveling, British-accented voice of the bitchass manchild celebrity who’s tagging along:

“I’vE fOuNd hEr eArRiNg!”

jesus.

still ahead of Eddie boy, Emmett and Local burst out into the alley, guns drawn. Edward hears gunfire and is terrified for Bella as he finally catches up and arrives at the scene.

this is about where erika’s writing gets...incredibly confusing. and not in a POV, “we’re in the character’s head experiencing the chaos with him in real time” way. more like in a “several dozen drunk blind amputees playing Twister” way. this is my cute way of saying “it’s bad” and “I had to read it four times before it began to make sense.”

in the alley, all is chaos. a gun has just gone off

I’m sorry. salt...peter? saltpeter? did someone shoot off a Ye Olde Civil War Musket? I know fuckall about firearms and even I know they phased that shit out in the fucking 1880s.

and while we’re here, fun trivia fact about saltpeter: in Olden Times, people would ingest saltpeter in order to nuke their sex drives. silly Olden Times! if it’s a bonerkiller you’re after, all you have to do is read this fic!

ok, back to the alley. security are cordoning it off, keeping the “fucking jackal” paparazzi at bay (already?)

the LAPD are arriving (already??) 

but perhaps most interestingly,

real quick before we get into whose body it is, why we’re sexually objectifying it, and what it’s oozing, I just wanna draw your attention to the construction of that sentence. the artistry, if you will. below, I have replaced some of the nouns so that we may all appreciate the sheer poetry of the syntax:

“there’s a fucking meatball lying prone on the floor, all covered with cheese, a dark cloud oozing under the meatball.”

sitting a few feet away from the Skirt & Heels Body™ is Jasper, cradling the unconscious Bella. you could be forgiven for thinking that first body (you know, the oozing one) was Bella’s, because that’s what the narration wants you to think. the effect is somehow both enhanced and ruined by the fact that Bella’s actual body is mentioned in the next sentence. erika really tried to have her suspense cake and eat it too, with the result that by the time I finished reading this paragraph, I had absolutely no idea how many bodies there were or who they belonged to, which ones had on a skirt and heels, which ones were oozing, and where.

another excerpt I should probably share is the paragraph where we describe Edward reacting to this tragic pietà.

here’s our text, raw and unedited:

I can’t even begin to list all the ways this paragraph makes me uncomfortable, so I won’t attempt to.

anyway. remember how in the last chapter, there was an incredibly gay bit where Edward looked into Emmett’s dark, burning eyes? fasten your seatbelts because we’re about to blow that bit out of the water.

ｌｕｍｉｎｏｕｓ ｈａｚｅｌ ｅｙｅｓ

filled with

𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒

the next sentence tries to take us back into heterosexual territory with

are we meant to understand that Jasper’s luminous hazel eyes are saying “don’t you just wish it was you getting to cradle Bella’s unconscious, injured body?” yes, that is exactly what we’re meant to understand. this attitude continues as Bella is loaded into an ambulance. at first, Jasper tries to stop Edward from coming, then the paramedic says they can both come but only if they sit on opposite sides of the ambulance like kindergarteners in Time Out.

l o n g i n g l y

the paramedics also checked the other body (you know, the oozing skirt and heels body) and Edward made a startling observation:

though oozing, the mystery person is still alive, and a second ambulance hauls off

and here I was thinking all this story needed to make it complete was some veiled transphobia! what a fun new direction for erika.

once at the hospital, Ed is banished to the waiting room with Emmett, Jasper, and Taylor. the doctors won’t let him see Bella, even when he tells them he’s her fiancé.

hmm. is it just me or is there a movie about this exact scenario?

yep, there are at least two movies about this exact scenario.

after the “fiancé” thing, Edward picks up on some bad vibes from Jasper

interesting. can you feel MY animosity hit you like a brick fucking wall? I guess it’s more of a brick fucking skyscraper at this point.

things we learn at the hospital:

Bella was roofied! so if you voted “poisoned” in the poll, I’m gonna give you this one. congrats on your victory.

Bella is fine now

Jasper shot the mysterious kidnapper in the chest. 

that’s right, Jasper is the cause of all the oozing. well done, Jasper. good luminous hazel eye.

finally, Bella wakes up and asks to see Edward. He goes back to see her 

and

she

dumps his ass.

not for any Sane People reasons, of course. having decided she’s “too dangerous to be around,” she breaks up with him in a scene straight out of New Moon, complete with “eyes full of tortured pain” and dialogue like

“You are too precious to me. Please. Go.”

Edward spends the whole scene in panicked denial, to the point where he’s practically gaslighting Bella, telling her she’s just been through a traumatic ordeal and she can’t possibly mean what she’s saying. 

then he interrupts her mid-breakup 

to fucking propose.

🤣🤣🤣 READ THE ROOM, BUDDY. Bella is resolute for the first time in her doormat life, turns down the proposal, and firmly breaks things off with Edward. he returns her earring (you remember, the six thousand dollar earring we paused in the middle of the climactic chase scene to pick up), “inhales her fragrant hair for the last time,” and leaves.

and with that, the chapter is FINALLY over.

possibility.mp3

best “fucks”

“level fucking head”

“a fucking microsecond”

“fucking sirens”

“loud fucking noises”

“enough fucking damage”

“a soothing fucking balm”

“fucking Hale”

“fucking purgatory” (the hospital waiting room)

“pale as fuck” (bella)

“fucking lifeless” (bella)

“non-believing fucking arse” (edward)

“like a fucking idiot” (edward)

best “shits”

next chapter: fucking blinds and curtains

[jlf23tumble]

Episode 27 means there’s just one left (for now, duh duh DUH, let’s get those trombones good and fired up). I know I’m alone, but I’m gonna miss this garbage show because I’m gonna miss the SHIT out of fresh Louis (and Dermot, lbr) content twice weekly, so I decided to celebrate the penultimate episode by getting drunk with Sandy (one of my oldest, dearest friends, someone who’s not in this fandom but who watched the first six seasons of American Idol and has already gone on record as saying that Louis is way cute) and liveblogging her reactions (in quotes below). She made martinis and G&Ts with fancy-pants gin, which feels weirdly British to me, so let’s go! I’ll do tomorrow’s final ep sober, rip.

I’m still not over seeing red ribbons on this homophobic garbage fest or the fact that people don’t seemingly know what they represent, but why is everyone BUT Ayda wearing one tonight? Louis wearing a red ribbon makes me so weak; ditto Dermot.

“That’s Dermot??? He’s cuuuuute!” (Sandy’s from Woostah, so when she’s drunk, her accent is even more chowd than usual.)

“Ugh, Simon, gross, he looks like he just came out of a guttah, what's with the hair, what happened here???” Behold, beauty and the beast, and this doesn’t do justice to the weird eye wiggling from Simon in Louis’s direction, godddd, he’s the worst:

Robbie does some kind of sad medley with the losers, and why do I have to see Bella again, but Sandy nails it: “Yeah, we’re the lou-sahs, oh, here we ah… we've got big white sneakahs on, that’s who we ah.” And even from this intro, Sandy, who’s immediately team Dalton from the five seconds he’s showcased, doesn’t get why Ant’ony’s here, can’t get a bead on why Scarlett’s the best of the best of female singers, either, uncanny, right? As for me, “Freedom” as a song for a show that Louis’s obligated to do? Okay! Hopefully, this means things are looking up!

Dermot kicks off the festivities by introducing Louis as “a man so loved, I might even scream myself,” and, yeah, hard same:

I won’t get into Marky Mark’s b-roll antics, even though one of my weaknesses is footie Louis, which only proves how much I love you (cough, Kelli). Sandy calls Britain’s Marky Mark the poor man’s Johnny Bananas, and I have no idea what she means by that, but yeah, I guess. Me as her: “God, imagine Louis at 30, imagine seeing him in person, Jesus Christ. How old is Ant’ony again? Shouldn’t he be in the overs? He looks like a bridge troll, the Beatles don’t deserve this vibrato, why are Simon’s tits out, why is there a choir, shouldn’t he just be able to sing? American Idol Simon would have totally called this out for the bullshit it is, he’s an alcoholic now, isn’t he? ” And she’s not wrong on any of it, lmao.

Overall, Sandy’s read on Ant’ony: “Nah…if he had nailed ‘Let It Be,’ maybe.” (Not even then, but I appreciate her giving him a fighting chance.)

We transition from Marky Mark to Dalton, with Dermot saying to Louis, “We are back with you and your wonderful top,” lots of tittering in the arena, Sandy questioning why ANYONE with functioning eyes would consider Louis (or Harry) to be straightTM, and sigh.

I love Roman Kemp enough to squeak, “ROMAN!!” when Dalton does an interview with him. I also el oh el at the whole, “Let’s meet Louis’s sister and some rando none of us really get to hear about in Louis’s ‘house’ before at least two of them go to see Anne-Marie in Manchester.” Still, the sun…in a fake house…yeah:

Unsurprisingly, Dalton blows us all away with his impeccable vocals (AND THAT JACKET). As Sandy says, “Wow, he’s awesome, he’s not even a contestant, why is he on this show, he should be on a label at this point.”

Scarlett’s up next next, and I’m wondering if Simon will show up to mentor, but of course a) he has to (nearly done), and b) it’ll take him about two hours, tops, which is laughable when you consider how much time everyone else has put in, especially comrade Louis. Unfortunately, Simon’s involvement means more Last Showman music.

Simon emotionlessly intones, “Vote for herrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, we need her to win the X Factorrrrrrrrrrr,” and Scarlett comes out and does her trademark Adele Junior ~thing, but all I can think is, a) your mentor is creepy af:

and b) “all the luck” sounds like “all the love.” I’ll still buy this pen, sbb:

I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate Jimmy Artie, and even though Anne-Marie seems okay, nothing'll stop me from fast forwarding.

We get duets next, and none of us are interested in Ant’ony and Tom Walker (who?), but major points to Louis for saying, “Massive thank you to you, Tom, you’re an absolute gentleman,” etc. etc. (take notes if you need lessons on how to be gracious).

Dalton’s duet with Emile Sande is predictably grand, but I’m distracted by his Harry Styles cosplay:

Sandy knows my brand well because she immediately picks up on this pen display moment:

I can’t properly grab it, but at the one hour, eight minute mark, Louis springs into prime sbb and talks about how “foon” it is to drag Simon with everything he’s got, and I sob a little because this has been such a GREAT run, godddd, I’m gonna miss it.

George Ezra comes out to sing, and Sandy once again nails it by describing him as “some skinny, pale British guy with a guitar who wants to be Ed Sheerhan…I like his guitar, though, it’s cool.”

Hot take: Scarlett has to sing her duet with Robbie not because Simon’s lazy but because nobody else in the industry would agree to help him out.

God, the “crea’ive” on this tune is terrible: giant satellites for finding ET in the background? Nothing else would have worked here? Nothing from the Greatest Showman, even ?

A bit of live Renaissance art: Simon grinding his teeth while Louis composes a text to Harry and Robbie/Ayda make out:

Sandy’s PISSED that this show just wasted 90 minutes of her life, and she won’t know what happens until I text her, but yeah, sob, one more to go. Meanwhile, she loves Bravo shows, and so do I, so let’s imagine this one;

[theratprince]

idk why i’m so melodramatic

i guess i’m kinda just facing the inevitable? like i guess it hit me last night that i was just falling back on old shitty patterns and i had completely lost control of myself but god. i really tried. i really tried not to be so fucking nuts but honestly? it’s been a long time of being single after an even longer time of making myself miserable just so i wasn’t single. and like, i guess i should just accept that people are going to say whatever they want just so they can get sex. like i don’t get it. like i was totally all for just fucking and that’s what i signed up for and that’s all i needed. and i just really fucking hate that everything was fine until they started saying shit that was way too sweet and i don’t know why i’m such a fucking humongous idiot.

love is actually the worst, most useless emotion. i felt pretty dead inside and i went around just dissociating constantly. and then for a second i felt something and i finally felt okay, and honestly i am trying so hard just to be fine on my own but i just feel like my life is constantly falling apart. i fucking hate my job. i don’t know if i actually have fun anymore. my parents are losing the house. i feel overwhelmed by everything. i’m really depressed. i’m so passive and directionless that i don’t know how to function without someone giving me constant validation. what’s the point?

the next time someone says they love me i’m going to laugh in their fucking face.

i’ve been dying to go to ireland for over a year now. i was just like fuck it i’m going to go travel because i never do anything for myself because i never know what i fucking want and right now i just want to be somewhere else. i’ve never really been the kind of person to pick a direction and, by some miracle, i have held on to this plan for the longest i’ve ever thought of doing anything. and so i’m just praying that it’s actually meaningful, and that i’m not just wasting my time doing something that i hope will make me happy.

and it’s literally the day before my trip -- this trip that has kept me trudging through my miserable existence for so long -- and i’m having a meltdown just because of some fucking person that i can’t even get angry at for being another shitty dude because they’re not a dude so like what criteria can i even use anymore? why do people only ever seem to want to use me?

the last time i traveled anywhere exciting, i was going through a really stupid break up and i let it affect the good time i should have been having and WOW it would be really nice if i could muster up some trademark Libra apathy right now. I should be fucking excited. I should be happy right now, and I’m not and I’m pissed.

So this is my attempt to unpack things and get on a more rational track of thinking. Because the more i try to tamp it down, the more out of control it gets.

I’m angry for a lot of reasons. I’m angry because I feel disappointed. But I am expecting things that I was never promised, and I have to accept that. I let someone get my hopes up and I can only assume it’s because I haven’t been honest with myself in the first place. A long time ago I asked the universe to let me find true love because I have been poisoned by Disney but it’s a dream that I never let go of no matter how angry of a feminist I was or as independent as I forced myself to be. I wanted to fall in love, and it consumed me. I had this dream that I’d somehow find it if I left Kentucky, and I postponed leaving for a long time.

So I got to a point where I was okay. I was depressed a lot, but I had a vacation to look forward to. I had a huge breakdown back in February because I felt so utterly trapped in my situation, so I said fuck it and booked a trip because life will just have to figure out how to go on without me. I still mostly felt nothing, and I felt lonely, and I wished really hard that I could give a shit about something. I worked on trusting people a little more, and tried to trust myself to receive affection. I asked for a reminder of how it felt to be sexual again, how to touch another person, and promised myself that I’d remain in control and wouldn’t let it hold me back. LMAO

So, I guess I find some comfort in knowing that I got what I wanted. And I mostly didn’t lose control. I’m not self harming. I’m in control of my behavior. As much as I hope that this is a sign that I can have some sort of affect on my reality, it seems unfair for some reason. Like, loads of people never “find love” or they do find it and then it ends because it always ends. Life is shitty and then you die. To hope for anything more is selfish.

So that’s where I’m at. Just... being melodramatic.

There’s not even really anything to be upset about. I’ve literally been going back and forth every other day because I can’t deal with having something good. Maybe that’s my problem.

When I was a kid, there were days when my dad would randomly buy me gifts or give me money or praise me for no reason, and then the next day or even the next hour he would turn on a dime. He called me fat and lazy a lot. He would threaten to hide his money so that me and my mom couldn’t buy food. He was under a lot of pressure and worked constantly, and he took his anger out on me because I couldn’t leave.

My first boyfriend lived four hours away in Ohio. I could only see him once a month, but we talked on the phone all the time. He would get jealous of all of my friends, even girls. When I confided that I thought I was bisexual, he was dismissive. He told me he’d hit me if I cheated on him. One time, he dreamt that he walked in on me fucking some rando, and that he shot me. We broke up for a short time, and I had sex with a guy friend, which I told him about at some point when we got back together. In response, he  said a lot of hurtful things and cut off contact completely.

My second boyfriend was twenty-four when I was seventeen. He was interested in someone who could be a full-time slave, and coerced me into trying more than just BDSM. He would constantly compare me to other people. He made me talk about him fucking other people when we were fucking. He tried to coerce me into having a threesome with some ex-girlfriend of his. He would call me stupid and spoiled, and he constantly made me feel like I was nothing. I let him fuck me in a janitor’s closet at the hotel where he worked. I didn’t enjoy it.

My third boyfriend was as passive as my exes were abusive. He was kind, and he did anything I asked him to, but I’m not sure if he cared about me. He never defended me when his friends put me down. When I confided to him about being trans, he skirted around the issue and wouldn’t call me Nolan.

I cheated on him with the person who ended up my fourth boyfriend. He had gay parents and appreciated me no matter how I identified. I don’t know why I broke up with him. Self-sabotage maybe. I still think about him a lot. I don’t know if I was always happy, but I think for the most part I was. I think he deserved better than me.

There was a stretch of time where I fucked a lot of random people. I met them through other friends, or on dating apps. I didn’t enjoy it. I don’t know why I made the effort.

At one point, I dated this married couple. I even babysat their two-year-old once. I think the wife really loved me. I think I loved her too, but as we can see I have a history of not actually believing that people are capable of finding me important. The husband was just trying to get as much pussy as he could. He made a big show of supporting my trans-ness, but when I was blowing him he didn’t think of me that way. He was one of many men who tried to coerce me into participating in orgies. I think I enjoyed it some of the time, but it was abundantly clear that I did not matter to him.

I had another relationship with this trans girl and I think it was one of the few normal relationships I’ve had. I don’t think I was very good to her, but at least we’re still friends.

I’ve already visited this part of myself. I’ve revisited it a lot. I have tried to work past it. I’ve tried to get away from it. It feels like I can’t escape it, and I think perhaps being in the same place that I’ve always been has contributed to this. I’m sleeping in the same room where my dad has yelled at me, where I’ve cried my way through break ups, where I laid awake and wondered if I’d ever actually matter to anyone.

I dunno why I do this to myself. I don’t know why I do this to anyone else.

I guess it’s just particularly disheartening because I thought that I’d done a really great job of moving past it. I used to think I couldn’t survive being single for a year, let alone two. Also a month ago I thought “Wouldn’t it be nice to literally feel anything at all?” and WOW am I eating my words.

I’m really just feeling way too much and I hate it, and I wish I could say I’m hopeful for the future but like... just, fuck it all. I keep waiting for things to change and they just never fucking do. I wish I could blame my completely shit feelings on being hungry or tired or stressed but like? I’ve taken my T-shot, I’m hydrated, I still felt like steaming shit after I had something to eat. I’m literally about to take a trip that I’ve been anticipating for a really heckin’ long time but instead of being overcome with joy, I can’t stop crying?

What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I let this happen? Why is it like every time I try to stop this from happening, I’m just like “lol it can’t be helped” and let it fucking take over my life?

I guess....... what I’m really trying to say..... is that if I get back from this trip and I don’t have some semblance of clarity and a better sense of direction that I’ll be fucking pissed. Best case scenario: My gut was right all along and I do somehow find true love. Like, trying to be realistic has literally never helped me before so why start now? Yeah, maybe in two weeks time I somehow meet someone or have some magical experience that changes the course of my life forever. Or maybe the universe is chaos and I’ll be forced to live out my existence in this flesh prison until I am suddenly and painfully no longer able to perceive anything at all. Maybe the plane will crash and it will be very tragic but ultimately irrelevant to the grander scheme of things.

Whatever happens, I just hope I never fucking feel this way again because I’m so god damn sick of it.

AND FURTHERMORE I just want to say that I think it’s completely unfair that Chris could be so completely everything I want and to literally read my mind and to look at me with their stupid fucking googly eyes like they actually give a shit lmao who the fuck decided this? i want my god damn money back. love is bullshit the end

[buttdawg]

New Japan Cup 2020

I guess I’m caught up on NJPW, so I guess I’ll try to figure out a pick for the New Japan Cup Tournament.

Taichi vs. Kota Ibushi: Rooting for Taichi, because I want Dangerous Tekkers to win the tag belts from Golden Ace, but I suspect the Tekkers already got their heat when Taichi beat Tanahashi and attacked his bum knee like four matches in a row.   At this point, Ibushi almost has to win this match so his team still looks credible when the tag title match finally happens.

So far, the story between Golden Ace and Dangerous Tekkers is that Tanahashi is the weakest of the four, and it’ll be up to Ibushi to find a way to compensate for his teammate.   The way Kevin Kelly talks about him, you’d think Tana is on the verge of retirement.

I could see either guy winning the Cup.   Taichi would make a good challenger to feed to Naito while they set up someone more credible down the line.    Ibushi works if they want a more credible challenger right now.    Of the four guys in the WK14 Double Gold Dash, Ibushi vs. Naito is the one matchup we didn’t get to see.  

But this tag title feud seems to be the main focus here, so I won’t hold my breath. 

SANDA vs. SHO: Apparently SHO’s big story in this tournament was that he cared more about beating Shingo Takagi in the first round than anything else.    This mostly surprised me because I didn’t know Roppongi 3K actually had personalities or storylines.   Anyway, he beat Takagi, which puts him in line for a NEVER Openweight title match, so I’d say his Cinderella story is done.    SANADA wins this one.  

YOSHI-HASHI vs. BUSHI: The other guy from CHAOS vs. the other guy from LIJ.    This whole tournament was stacked with Who-The-Hell-Cares-Matches, but this just might be the least interesting of the bunch.   I’ll go with Yoshi-Hashi so he and SHO can each have a win over one of the Six-Man tag champs.

EVIL vs. Hirooki Goto: I’m rooting for Goto, because I actually buy the hype about him reinventing himself last year, but NJPW doesn’t, so EVIL’s probably going over.   This is a shame, because EVIL sucks so hard.

Out of this entire block, I’d say SANADA or EVIL is probably the best bet to move onto the finals.  I’d rather see SANADA win because he’s cool, and he’s the only LIJ guy without a championship, so it kind of makes sense to have him face Naito, even if he probably won’t beat him.    

On the other side of the bracket:

Tomohiro Ishii vs. Hiromu Takahashi: Kevin Kelly said that a lot of people were picking Takahashi to win the cup, which would be appropriate since the state of emergency canceled his big match with Naito in March.    If he won the cup, he’d get to face Naito anyway, and the titles would be on the line.  Cool stuff.

I was pulling for Hiromu myself, until I saw that match he had with Toru Yano, where he basically lost his marbles every time he saw a hair trimmer.   I get that it was a comedy match.   Hell, I was actually looking foward to it, but once it started I was immediately turned off.    This dude’s a champion and he’s scared of Yano?   Why didn’t he just kick the shit out of him like he did against Will Ospreay?  

Seriously, it’s bullshit.   I know Hiromu is supposed to be a little bit nutty, but I thought he was the badass kind of insane, not this.   All Naito has to do is hold up a photo of Yano, and he’ll just curl up into a fetal position and lose.  

I could maybe see Ishii winning the cup and getting fed to Naito, like Taichi, but, enh.  All I know is he isn’t afraid of hair clippers, because he doesn’t have much to lose up there.  

Kazuchika Okada vs. Taiji Ishimori: I got confused because Ishimori is the Bone Soldier in Bullet Club, but a few days ago I looked up Captain New Japan, because I thought he and YOSHI-HASHI were the same guy, and no, Cap joined Bullet Club and became the Bone Soldier, then left the company in 2017.   So how do we have Bone Soldier in 2020, then?   Simple, Taiji Ishimori became the second Bone Soldier, because apparently the beloved character was too important for NJPW to give up the trademark.  

Bone Soldier sounds like the action figure you’d buy in multiples to build your army, like Stormtroopers or those rando Cobra troops.   But there’s only ever been two of them, and we’re only seeing this one in the tournament because all of the cool guys in Bullet Club can’t get into Japan.   Right now, BC is down to Jado, Gedo, the pimp guy, and Bone Soldier Number 2.   Fuck.   SANADA should just join Bullet Club temporarily out of pity. 

I’m gonna go out on a limb and suggest that Okada will somehow find a way to win this one, and then beat the winner of Ishii/Takahashi.  

I can’t really see him facing Naito for the titles, though.   It just feels like it’s too soon.   What would be really cool is if it came down to Okada vs. SANADA in the final match of the tournament, thus reviving their one-sided rivalry.     SANADA beats him, then loses to Naito, but he can take some consolation in scoring a second win over Okada.    That’d be pretty cool.   

So yeah, I’m picking SANADA to win, but Ibushi, Taichi, Okada, or Ishii wouldn’t shock me at this point.    And EVIL and Hiromu probably aren’t impossible either, although I would be very disappointed if one of them won.