#blah blah this is so incoherent and vague

[aliasnz]

there's something about an "excuse me" coming from the person that you would least expect it from that is very ✨️💫✨️

sneeze, sneezing fit, cough, choking, nose blow, throat clear, sniffle -- you never predicted them the type to even acknowledge it, but they do and they do it so dreamily 💖

it shows a side of them that seems so polite and opposite to the character they maintain in all other circumstances, around all other people, that is about as revealing and vulnerable as the display of symptoms itself.

[wardensantoineandevka]

What's hopepunk bc i stg i can never get a clear answer. Isn't making things better usually just like. Whatever

Hopepunk is posited as the opposite of grimdark.

Grimdark is another genre that is useless as a conception in my opinion because one of the major definitions builds its concept around ASOIAF by completely misunderstanding ASOIAF thematically and more characterizing the novel series as if it is identical to the TV adaptation. This is a whole OTHER post about grimdark and whether it's a viable genre category and whether it makes more sense as a simple adjective blah blah, but I say that to you to help illustrate how much hopepunk as a concept is doomed from the start.

The general concept of hopepunk is a work that focuses on cooperation and amity over conflict and discord. It focuses on softness, gentle tones, optimism, empathy, and radical kindness with weaponized optimism and an emphasis on positivity and justice. It is intended to be uplifting and restorative.

From there, you start to lose shape. Some insist that hopepunk does not NECESSITATE a happy ending, simply one where perseverance and hope endures. Some insist that hopepunk cannot have suffering in it and the ending must be happy. Some insist that hopepunk requires an element of constructive rage, and others feel that rage requires too much bitterness and blood in the teeth to be hopepunk.

Ever since the term was coined, it's become more and more and more nebulous and increasingly distant from the idea that it's about fighting the bleakness of reality and holding on grim determination to believe in making the future better and increasingly a twee vibe of soft and gentle radiant light where bad things don't happen. The fact that you're struggling to get a consistent answer on what it IS genuinely is like, yeah.

In my opinion, it's a silly genre to accept to conceptualize because it basically distills down to "the heroes endure through the hardships to hold on to hope and continue fighting for meaningful change" and that is.... most stories of scope. This is just... so incredibly broad as a concept. This is so broad as to be useless. Having Harry Potter (lmao), Snowpiercer, The Man in the High Castle, The Good Place, and The Great British Bake-Off all in the same alleged genre really proves that.

The sheer massive vagueness of that concept has contributed a lot to why the concept has become increasingly just sentimental feel-good soft uwu aesthetic where everyone is pure of heart and evil is paper thin and the win is always uncomplicated and there is no bad feelings ever, especially not for the audience and not even during the struggle itself. As stated before, this not the ONLY conception of hopepunk (and not even the original), but it's become one of the biggest interpretations and conceptions of it here on Tumblr and, ngl, it's insufferable.

Hopepunk as a concept is, like, trying to create the diametric opposite of another genre that is itself incoherent and disputed to exist. The fact that The Last of Us has been described both as hopepunk and grimdark says a lot.

You can't get a clear answer because the concept is incoherent and was doomed to incoherency from the start.

[badlydrawn-brostrider]

To Mod Sylv directly. The like. Ajfjshds "I didn't expect this many people to like my Bro" I'm silly about it. I'm silly. Like. Vague gesture. I think as a system who introjected Bro some time between when I followed this blog and now. I'm pretty sure the input of this blog is the reason he has redeeming qualities since I ended up seeing it as a source of comfort. Blah blah vague rambles your Bro is good. -galacticCollective (💗🔪)

/ / I'm--

/pos HHH. I'm always so surprised when people say my blog and Bro are a comfort to them, it makes me very happy to know!!

Gosh I wanna say more but. Currently incoherently sobbin.

[feedyourdeadnametothevoidfish]

kinda starting to feel like an outsider in my community again

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter One

“He looked at her for a long few moments, scanning her up and down like he was trying his darndest to telepathically learn her life’s story. ‘You have nowhere to go,’ he finally said. He stated it as if he knew for sure, and she hated him at that moment, just because he was right.” 

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter Two

She had scoured through every single ‘roommate wanted’ ad in the paper, and all of them had turned out to be worthless. The first girl, Anne Something-Or-Other, had found another girl from her school. Carl Sturm was almost fifty and a total sleaze, not to mention how much his apartment smelled. The next guy kept touching her, even after she threatened him. Two more girls had already found roommates, and the last turned out to be some sort of a drug exchange thing. To say the least, she was pissed off. 

The heat and humidity, even now at midnight, made her clothes stick to her skin, and her skin stick to the uncomfortable metal bench at the bus stop. She didn’t even know why she was sitting there since she didn’t actually have enough money on her for a bus fare. Part of her knew she could always go back to Go City, and her brothers, and the thankless life of a superhero, but a bigger part of her would rather be homeless than have to sheepishly return and listen to Hego- Heath- lecture her about the importance of always letting him know exactly where she was at all times and blah, blah, blah. 

Just as she began to think she at least was lucky enough to be alone, another person came walking down the street. In the shadows, his slumped shoulders and slow, shuffle of a walk seemed eerie and vaguely threatening. As he stepped into the light of a street lamp, any fear she felt vanished. He looked like a real poindexter type, young, scrawny, and fidgety. He wore khakis and a dark blue shirt with long sleeves, despite the heat. His geeky ensemble was completed with coke-bottle glasses which, even from twenty feet away, she could tell made his eyes look beady and small. He held a stack of books in his arms and seemed to be struggling not to drop anything. A pencil fell from a hole in his backpack, and she watched him as he stood there and watched it roll away. 

Even all that, however, wasn’t what made her fear fade away. No self-respecting creep of a guy that she had ever known would let themselves cry in public. Not that there were many other people out and about at this time. Maybe he just expected to still be alone, she reasoned. But even with that thought, she couldn’t bring herself to feel nervous, she didn’t even feel like she would need her plasma powers to fight this guy off if something happened. 

Without a word, he sat down on the bench as far away from her as he could possibly sit. He clutched his books to his chest, letting out the occasional sniffle. Just to be safe she watched him from the corner of her eye, but he only shifted the books and checked his watch. He glanced at her once, though she couldn’t be sure he had meant to look at her, or if he was watching for the bus past her. And then he went right back to fidgeting with his books.

Just when she was beginning to question whether or not she should ask him what his deal was he asked, “Do you know if the Eight-Four bus came already?” He hadn’t even looked at her when he said it. 

“Well, I know the one at three this afternoon came,” she said. She’d meant it as a joke, but instead of smiling like she’d hoped he shot her an offended sort of look.

“Whatever,” he muttered after a few awkward seconds of silence. He pushed his glasses up his face to rub his fist over his eyes and looked away from her again.

“I was here for almost an hour before you got here, and I’ve only seen the Seven-Three.” She shrugged as he looked at her again.

“Oh,” he moaned, his head thumping down onto his books. She wasn’t particularly used to seeing people cry, and the stray tears he’d wiped off his face before sitting down had been jarring enough, but actually seeing him actively crying shook her to the core.

“What’s your deal?” She asked, realizing only moments later how tactless and rude she sounded. She felt a flash of guilt, before justifying to herself that she hadn’t really been allowed to speak to people outside of her brothers in half a decade. 

He shot her a teary-eyed glare and shot off the bench. Without thinking, and sure as hell without knowing why she stood up and followed him as he began walking down the street. It didn’t take her very long to catch up with him. When he noticed her trailing a step behind him he yelped, and the books finally came tumbling out of his arms. 

He let out a short frustrated half-scream before bending down to pick up his books. “Are you just going to stand there,” he snapped, “or will you help me?”

She fought the deeply ingrained instinct to help whenever she was asked, reminding herself that she ran away for a reason. “Why should I? They’re your books!”

For a moment he sputtered out strange incoherent sounds before managing, “Well, then leave me be.” 

Only as he said this did she finally realize that he didn’t know who she was. For years she hadn’t been able to leave the house without being noticed, asked for autographs, or help in some manner or another. At first, she’d enjoyed the attention. Now, at sixteen, she hated it. And here, for the first time in half a decade, stood a person who actually didn’t know who she was—and somehow she hated that too.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, in lieu of asking how the hell he didn’t recognize her. Sure, she’d changed out of her jumpsuit, but even when she walked around Go City with a hat and oversized hoodie on, she would be surrounded before she could even take a breath of fresh air. 

The guy swiped a fist over his eyes again, wiping away a final stray tear. “I said leave me alone.” All of his books back in his arms, he began walking away from her again.  

She couldn’t explain why she made the decision to keep following him, hell, she couldn’t explain why she’d started talking to him in the first place, but she did. 

After a minute or so of her trailing behind him, he stopped. “Are you just going to follow me like some stray puppy? Go home, kid.”

“I’m not a kid!” She protested. 

He turned to look at her. “How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen? You look like a kid to me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Says the crybaby.”

“It’s been a very long day, I’ll have you know!”

She shrugged “Same here, still don’t see me crying.”

“Whatever. You’re still a kid. What are you even doing alone around here? You could get hurt.”

“What do you care? And I’ll have you know that I could defend myself way better than you could, poindexter.”

He looked at her for a long few moments, scanning her up and down like he was trying his darndest to telepathically learn her life’s story. “You have nowhere to go,” he finally said. He stated it as if he knew for sure, and she hated him at that moment, just because he was right. “If you got kicked out, I can’t say I blame them.” He looked smug, and then immediately looked guilty. But he didn’t apologize. 

This time, when he began walking again, she walked next to him. “I didn’t get kicked out, I ran away.”

“Good for you. Leave me alone.”

“Nope, now I’m having fun annoying you.”

“Well, if you’re going to follow me all the way home, at least make yourself useful and carry some of these books. They’re heavy.” 

Without much thought she grabbed a few books off the top of his stack, muttering, “weakling.” Despite the insult, he actually smiled at her. Almost, at least. The barest hint of a grin flashed across his face. Still, seeing him smile made her feel good in a way that hero work had stopped making her feel a long while before. 

“Why’d you run away?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is if you don’t want me to phone the police the moment I get home.”

Anger flared through her, sudden and fast, a burning fire in her veins, and she chucked his books to the ground. Wrapping the front of his shirt in her fist, she pulled his face close to hers. He seemed startled, but not afraid. Why wasn’t he afraid? Didn’t he realize that she had even the worst of the worst villains at her feet begging for mercy within moments of her arrival?

“Call the police, and I’ll kick your ass,” she snapped. 

“Yes, well,” he pulled away from her, “you wouldn’t be the first person to do so, but I assure you, you’re the least threatening.” He fixed his shirt, redoing a button that had come loose. “Besides, if you tell me why you’ve run away, I won’t bother.”

“You’re acting like a real martyr for someone who’s what- twenty? It’s not like you’re my father. Or even one of my brothers.”

He shrugged and picked up the books that she had thrown. “Are your brothers why you ran away?”

“Sure.”

He glared. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Are you going to keep asking questions?”

“If I feel like it. Are you going to answer any of them?”

“I’m not telling you my name.”

“Alright, then don’t. I’m Drew.” The boy awkwardly twisted one a hand away from his stack of books, which she proceeded not to shake. Instead, she continued walking the direction he’d been going before. 

“What are we walking for anyway?” She asked as he caught up with her. “Weren’t you going to take a bus?”

“First of all, we aren’t walking anywhere. I’m walking. You’re following me, not that I understand why. And second of all, the Seven-Three only comes to that stop after all other buses have completed their routes for the night.” He shot her a glance. “Have you never taken the bus before?”

“How long is it going to take to get to your place?”

His voice squeaked like a pubescent middle schooler as he shouted, “You’re not coming with me!”

“Well, why not?” Even as she said it, simply trying to see how far she could push this guy, she began to wonder what the harm would actually be. It was somewhere to go, and he seemed safe enough. Now she just needed to gather up the humility to beg for a night on his couch. 

“Because I’m not letting some random runaway brat live in my apartment with me!”

“Will you let me stay the night if I tell you my name?”

He stopped walking again, to just stare at her. “You really have nowhere to go, do you? Don’t you have any friends your own age?”

For the first time, she couldn’t make herself look into his eyes when she spoke. “Let’s just say I haven’t had many opportunities to talk to people outside my family and leave it at that.”

“That seems obvious.”

“Just answer the question, Drew,” she snapped, turning her gaze up to glare at him. 

“Nngh…fine. But just one night! And then I want you gone!” They stared at each other, her, trying not to show the relief that she felt at having somewhere to sleep. “Well?” Drew goaded, and she remembered her end of the bargain.

Well, fair was fair. “Fine. My name is…” Her voice trailed off as she debated with herself which name to give. The public had known her strictly as ‘Shego’ since she was ten, and she was admittedly curious to see if hearing her name would make him recognize her. On the other hand, the whole reason why she ran away was to escape being Shego. She’d been fighting with her oldest brother about the use of their superhero names inside the home for weeks- the twins, almost ten now, barely even remembered that they were two distinct entities, let alone their real names! 

“My name is Shea,” she eventually mumbled. 

“Hm. Well, meeting you hasn’t exactly been pleasant. Nonetheless, I’m a man of my word. It’s going to take another hour at least to get home.”

Yikes. No wonder he’d cried about missing the bus. 

She meant to thank him, but instead what came out was, “you keep calling me a kid, but you don’t even have a car.” She began kicking herself as the words escaped her lips.

“I take it your from a wealthy family, then.” In the twenty minutes or so since she’d begun to annoy him, she hadn’t heard his voice sound so bitter. She wanted to apologize, but she’d never really learned how. Thinking back, she couldn’t recall any time she, or any other member of Team Go, has actually apologized for something. Not the blown-up buildings, not the damage they caused to civilian property, nothing. Were they really all that good, if they couldn’t even take responsibility for the things they had done?

After a long few minutes of guilt-ridden silence, filled only with the sounds of Drew’s feet shuffling as he walked, he said, “I don’t understand. If you are from a wealthy family, why on earth would you leave? I mean, it would have only taken a few more years for you to be sent off to some college somewhere, that mommy and daddy would surely pay to get you in.”

“I’ll have you know that I don’t need them to pay to get me in! And…” it was weirdly easy to open up to him, probably because he was the first person in a long time to actually ask her about herself, “and besides, my family wasn’t planning on letting me go to college.” Her voice had dropped to just above a whisper, and she kicked a pebble off the sidewalk. 

He gave her the sort of sympathetic look that she hated. “Are you from some old-school family, then?”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who keeps claiming to find me annoying.”

“I do find you annoying.”

“Then stop asking me questions.”

“Fine!”

Thirty minutes later, her feet ached from all the walking and she was beginning to miss the Go-Car. Drew hadn’t spoken, and she wondered if he felt as weirdly un-awkward in the silence as she did. Still, the silence had given her the benefit of getting to really watch him, without him paying her much mind. 

He really was a geek. Mighty Martian comic books were interlaced between upper lever robotics and chemistry textbooks. Briefly, they reminded her of Heath, before the comet. He had been obsessed with Fearless Ferret. One of Shea’s favorite childhood memories was Halloween when she was maybe six, and he had convinced her to dress as one of the main villains from the comics. She had spent the evening saying mean things about Fearless Ferret and he couldn’t retort because it was exactly what the villain might say. Plus, she got extra candy because everyone thought the siblings wearing matching costumes were adorable. 

She hadn’t gotten to go trick-or-treating since she was eight. The twins had never even been. She almost asked Drew if he still went out on Halloween, but she couldn’t exactly start asking questions herself after yelling at him for it. 

As she continued to watch him she noticed more and more about his appearance. Like how his ears were really quite big, but for the most part, the way he styled his hair hid them. She wondered if that was deliberate. His glasses were incredibly thick, even more so than the old-bat of a nanny that had taken care of her when she was young. And she had been blind without her glasses on. He had to be utterly useless without his. 

The one thing she hated noticing as they walked, was the fact that she found him… gah, she actually found him cute. Not like, model or famous actor attractive, but he had a genuine sort of natural cuteness about him. She couldn’t even place why she thought it. Maybe because he was the first person in six years that wasn’t one of her brothers, or someone trying to kill her who actually acted like she was a real person. He hadn’t even commented on the fact that she was green, although she figured that might be because in the dim lighting she just looked pale. He was pale, and she wondered when the last time he saw the light of day was. 

She’d never had a crush before, and she couldn’t be sure if this was one, or if she just vaguely liked the way he looked. She did know one thing for sure. Every time he yawned it both made her want to break his jaw and made her find him even more adorable. 

Unusual to her typically stubborn self, Shea broke the silence at the end of the half-hour. “How much further?” She asked, in what must have been the whiniest voice she’d ever used. He jumped, seemingly startled by her speaking. “I’m tired.”

“Crybaby,” he snapped, throwing her earlier insult back at her. 

“C’mon, just tell me how much further!”

“Twenty-” he interrupted himself with a yawn, “twenty minutes. Now quit whining.”

“Oh please, there’s no way half of those yawns haven’t been for attention.”

“I’m tired too, you know!”

She nudged his arm with her own. “Crybaby.” She saw his eyes roll, behind his glasses, but she thought he didn’t look all that annoyed. After another few minutes of silence, she asked a question of her own. “Why are you actually letting me stay with you? You’re clearly not afraid of me.” Even as she wished he would find her threatening, she was glad he didn’t. “And you’re not doing it because you like me or anything, so what’s the deal?”

She saw his eyebrow raise a bit. “Why would I be afraid of you? Because you threatened me?”

“I guess.” 

“You’re not exactly frightening, even compared to other kids.”

“Then why are you letting me stay with you?”

“I guess cause I’m not going to leave some kid alone in the middle of the night around here,” he said with a shrug. “Besides how much harm can one night do?”

“I mean, most murders happen in just one night.”

He glanced at her. “You know, I still don’t have to actually let you stay.”

“I didn’t say I was gonna murder you. I mean, most babies are born in one night too. Most life-changing events happen in a short time.” Like a strange glowing comet, striking a treehouse and turning the kids inside into freaks, she thought. 

“I suppose that’s true.” 

“Do you have roommates?”

“No.” His voice had gone bitter and dark again. “I was meant to, but he bailed on me.”

“So, you’ve got an empty room?”

“Until I can find a new roommate.” Before she could suggest herself, he added. “One actually old enough to pay rent.”

The seventeen cents in her back pocket seemed heavy, all of a sudden, stopping her from trying to protest. “Whatever you say, poindexter.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s not my fault you’re dressed like a geek. I mean- Mighty Martian? Really? The only thing that would be dorkier is if you’re a fan of Fearless Ferret too.”

“Well, I’m not, if that pleases you to know. Not that it should matter.”

“Still. Mighty Martian?”

“Well, what do you like? Aside from being a pest?”

Shea realized, not that she hadn’t really known before, that she had no way of answering that. She didn’t really get to go out or hang out with people her own age. She read a lot of books, but she couldn’t just say that after making fun of him for being a nerd. Well, she didn’t read a whole lot of science fiction or fantasy, but even reading the classics was too nerdy to say now. What else did she do?

Finally, she settled on saying, “I’m a martial artist.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. She did know martial arts. A number of different styles, but she wasn’t going to tell him she had superpowers that made fighting a lot easier. 

“Aren’t martial artists meant to have discipline and self-control?”

She shrugged, trying not to show that she was actually a bit offended. “I have ‘em. Just choosing not to use ‘em right now.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. That building there,” he paused, pointing up and ahead of them, “is where my apartment is.”

It looked miles away, and yet deliciously close. She just wanted to lie down, although she was starting to wonder if anyone had even noticed she was gone. She was miles from home, about to go sleep in some random college kids' apartment. For all she knew, he was a serial killer. Or worse. And yet, maybe nobody cared enough to think about the danger she could be in. 

“I want food,” Shea said, mostly as a way of interrupting her spiraling thoughts. Though once she said it she realized she could eat.

“That isn’t my problem.”

“Can’t we go in there?” She pointed off to her left, at a brightly lit up 24-hour diner. 

Drew pulled a face, as soon as he saw where she was asking to go. “Oh, certainly, if you’d like to spend twenty dollars on undercooked chicken, or molding pancakes. I’m not eating there.”

“Well, where can we eat?”

“Do you have money?”

“I mean… not really.”

“Then you can go a night without eating! I barely have enough to feed myself, let alone you.”

She wanted to be angry with him, she really did, but even so, she couldn’t be. She knew that wasn’t his fault. “At least I’m not just some runaway brat anymore.”

“Oh don’t worry, you still are.” After Shea didn’t respond he sighed and they lapsed back into an oddly not uncomfortable silence for the remainder of their walk.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Repeat After Me: I Need A Vacation

Characters: Spencer, JJ and family, Emily, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Penelope, OFC

Word Count: 2014

Warnings: Fluff and friendship :)

Summary: I was on vacation and then I was thinking about what they would be like on vacation and then I pushed my loneliness and need for love onto Spencer and this is essentially gonna be super fluffy and probably corny and just roll with it. Am open to taking constructive criticism as well as scenario suggestions! Because I have some semblance of plot laid out but that pesky middle bit is non existent at the moment. So enjoy your fluffy team bonding on a beach with eventual Spencer love interest! This work is cross posted on AO3 and FFN.

“In light of the recent events, I’m putting your team on mandatory leave. Six weeks. Starting now.” AD Barnes’ voice was strict, and emphatically not to be argued with. However, it betrayed her lack of profiling experience, because convincing Prentiss that she and her team needed a vacation was not what one would call a challenge at this point in time. They had been kicked so hard recently, Emily knew she needed to get her team out of the heat for a while. Or, she thought, into the heat depending on where they decide to go get that vacation.

“Thank you ma’am.” Emily nodded and exited the de-briefing as swiftly as she could without being obvious that her goal was to get as far away from Barnes as quickly as possible. She called the elevator bring her back down to the bullpen and her team. Even though she had dismissed them, Emily was sure not a one had left, and they were anxiously waiting on Barnes’ assessment of their most recent arrest. It hadn’t gone smoothly, per se, and the team could feel the ragged nerves hanging in the air between them.

They were huddled around JJ’s and Spencer’s desks, speaking in hushed tones of worry, anticipating the worst their sentence might result in. Luke seemed to exude the most obvious jittery energy. He’d never been on the wrong side of the establishment before he joined the BAU, and he hadn’t accustomed himself to the trips to the principal’s office quite yet.

Knowing her news was actually a positive scenario, Emily stopped short of the group and savoured their pregnant silence before she granted them their reprieve. “Six weeks mandatory leave guys.” The concurrent exhales soared through the air at her announcement and the giddy high of relief surged through the assembled agents. Garcia and JJ actually made small fist pumping motions before tapping each others’ knuckles. Matt, Luke and Tara exchanged relieved smiles, and Rossi just settled back more firmly in his chair, flipping through his phone. Spencer was the only one who still looked vaguely irritated. He didn’t know how to stop working as effectively as his team mates. Emily smiled brightly, her eyes shining in an echo of her team’s consolation.

“Okay everyone, get out of here!” Emily made shooing motions, and she didn’t have to tell them twice. The gaggle began to gather their belongings and filter towards the elevators in pairs and trios.

“Does anyone want to get pizza?” Garcia threw out the option as they crowded an unwise number of team mates into the elevator cabin.

“Oh I could murder a pepperoni right now,” Emily’s voice leaked with what might be considered an inappropriate amount of desire based on the conversation topic.

“We can order to my place? Girls night?” Penelope reached out for JJ’s hand and swivelled around to catch Tara’s eyes.

“If you have wine to go with that pizza then I’m in,” Tara smiled. “JJ?”

“I think I can spare some time before I get back to my boys,” she weighed. “They’re about to be stuck with helicopter mom for six weeks after all.”

“All right, girls to Garcia’s!” Emily shouted as they filed out of the elevator in the parking garage. “Any boys want to petition for an exception?” Emily called walking backwards to her car.

“Not tonight,” Rossi called back. “You ladies have fun.”

“I’ve got my own ladies’ night waiting for me at home, but thanks!” Matt chuckled.

“Spence, Alvez?” JJ prodded.

“You know what, I think I’m gonna go see the new Avengers movie,” Luke answered checking his watch. “I didn’t think I’d be home for the release but it’s only nine, plenty of time to wait in line.” The girls all laughed as the characteristic excited puppy expression crept onto Luke’s face. “Reid, how ‘bout it?”

“You know what, why not.” Reid nodded and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Text me the theatre address?”

“Done and done. See ya there man,” Alvez moseyed to his car, tossing his keys between his hands as he went. Spencer waved back in acknowledgement, heading towards his own car.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Three varieties of pizza and several bottles of wine later, Emily and Penelope were draped across Garcia’s couch, while Tara took over the armchair, and JJ huddled into the bean bag next to the coffee table, cradling her glass of wine close to her chest.

“Emily,” Penelope drunk whispered (so the volume was really more suited to stagecraft than intimacy), “we should just stay like this forever. We should just spend our vacation on this couch, with pizza and Sergio and never leave.” Emily laughed, stoking Garcia’s hair like she was a cat herself.

“I should go to a beach,” JJ mused. “I haven’t been to a beach that didn’t involve corpses in years.”

“Ugh, I know!” Emily commiserated. “I thought for sure we could sneak in some time last time we were in California but no…” Emily drew out the vowel in a long mocking complaint. “‘Get your unit back right away chief. We want your report on the AD’s desk before tomorrow night chief.’ Blah blah blah.”

Garcia giggled at Emily’s robotic impersonation of the office bureaucrats. Then she nearly rolled off the couch in her excitement as her intoxicated brain attempted to communicate her newest scheme. JJ and Tara jumped to catch her, as Emily’s own laughter essentially pushed Garcia further towards the fuzzy carpet. “Guys, guys we should go! We” Penelope’s drink free hand flailed around to indicate she meant the friends surrounding her, “should go to the beach! Like, on a vacation!”

“You know,” Tara mused, “I could be up for that. Sun, sand, shirtless men…” she trailed off and swallowed any elaboration on her point with her next drag of wine.

“Exactly!” Garcia pointed her finger enthusiastically. “What she said!”

“Just a girls’ trip? I don’t know if I want to go away for too long without my boys, we get so little time off as it is.” JJ cut in.

“No, no, them too!” Penelope’s drunk excitement hadn’t been dulled but the planning oriented portion of her brain pushed past the alcohol wall to actually push her idea into the realm of a viable option. “All of us, girls, boys, JJ’s boys, like BAU goes to the beach. Like together!”

“If we can go somewhere close-ish I’m in, I just don’t feel like flying, we spend too much time on a jet,” Emily put in.

“Road trip! Even better!” Penelope clapped her hands incredibly enthusiastically as she ran to grab her laptop from the formica countertop of her kitchen, bringing another bottle of red with her in the same trip.

“Virginia has beaches, we can drive there, they literally have a place called Virginia. Beach. That’s totally a place we can go.” Garcia settled herself on the couch again with here laptop on the coffee table so everyone could see the screen while she googled options for beach rentals in Virginia Beach. JJ was already texting Will about asking for a week off.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

At the indecently early hour of 4:30 Spencer’s phone began vibrating against the base of the lamp it was resting against with entirely too much energy. The violent clattering sound jolted him awake and he grasped blindly for the offending noise, hoping to stop it before anyone else woke. This was not accomplished, however, as jerking his phone from the tabletop caused thee charging cord to topple the lamp onto the hardwood below, very effectively waking up the dog sleeping at the other end of the little room.

Roxy’s growling and Reid’s swearing and scrambling reached Luke in the next room, who stumbled incoherently towards the sleep disrupting noises.

“What the hell, man,” Luke grumbled, pulling a hand over his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes. His search for the noise lighted on Reid trying to untangle his phone from the lamp, while Roxy paced around him trying to grab at the wires as if they were chew toys. Luke batted Roxy away from Reid as the other agent finally managed to disengage his phone from its cable in order to answer it. The Caller ID on thee screen informed him who was making this irritatingly early call and he groaned.

“Garcia, if you tell me we have a case right now, I swear, I’m quitting.” Reid grunted as he settled himself on the floor with his back leaning into the couch that had been serving as his makeshift bed.

“Reid we’re on leave, we can’t have a case.”

“Well then there is no good reason for you to be calling me at-“ Reid pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time, “4:32 am.” Spencer was unconsciously mimicking Luke’s earlier gesture of rubbing his hand across his face to encourage his muscles to reawaken and help him process what the hell was going on. He caught Luke’s eye as he was petting Roxy on the other end of the couch.

“Garcia?” He mouthed, ruffling the fur behind Roxy’s ears. Spencer nodded and put the call onto speaker just as Penelope was protesting.

“No, this is a good reason. A totally good reason, I promise.”

“Garcia, how much have you had to drink?” Luke cut in, his louder than necessary voice causing Spencer to flinch.

“Wait why is Luke there, are you guys having a sleepover?!” Garcia squealed and ushered all the girls on her end closer to the phone.

“His couch was closer than my bed. Calm down.”

“No but you’re bonding, that’s great!”

“Garcia, was there a purpose for this call?” Spencer groaned, smooshing further into the cushions behind him.

“Yes, yes there is, vacation. We’re going on a family vacation!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Vacation. Us. BAU family. At a beach. BAU goes to a beach.”

“Genuinely, Garcia, how much have you had to drink?” Spencer laughed.

“That is immaterial to this discussion.”

Luke raised his eyebrows, impressed at Garcia’s ability to recall both that vocabulary and that serious tone this far into the wine bottle he assumed she had stationed next to her at this point.

“Pipe down newbie, I can hear your eyebrows from here.” Luke’s brows moved even further back into his rumpled hairline if that was at all possible. Spencer snorted his laughter into his fist. “But, you have distracted me from my totally awesome plan, which is vacation, which you’re coming to.”

“Where…” Spencer had long ago learned the prudence of being cautious but optimistic about most of Garcia’s plans for team morale and bond building.

“Virginia Beach.”

“Why…?” Spencer didn’t really understand what hat she was pulling this out of yet.

“Because we’re on leave and we all need a break and the beach is great and it’s not that far.” Penelope huffed, she didn’t like being doubted. Her plan was brilliant.

“You know, I’ve never actually been to the beach,” Spencer mused. A chorus of ‘what!s’ and exclamations shot through the tinny speaker on his phone, met with a completely perplexed expression from himself and Luke.

“What do you mean you’ve never been to the beach?” JJ slurred accusatorially.

“I mean, it’s not like Las Vegas is on the coast, guys.” Reid shrugged, he hadn’t thought of it as a big deal, clearly he was about to be corrected.

“Well that settles it” Garcia said, “the pasty professor is coming, he doesn’t get a choice anymore. You in newbie?” Spencer looked over at Luke, who was sitting fairly stunned, idly petting at the air where Roxy hadn’t been for a solid thirty seconds at least.

“Um… I guess?” His confirmation definitely sounded like more of a question but that didn’t stop Garcia.

“Great! I’ll text you the details and car pool set ups when I finish. Night night sleep tight!”

The line went dead and a discordant dial tone rang out for a moment before Spencer hung up on his end as well, shaking his head in amusement and exasperation but primarily exhaustion.

“What just happened?”

.....

[etirabys]

// incoherently getting this out before going for dinner

there's a twitter user who I believe is a friend of a friend – shows up on my feed sometimes, generally makes funny and enjoyable posts. Once made a post that was like, "when men have messy apartments I'm like yeah okay, but when women have messy habitats I'm a little freaked out and I judge them more"

I was. amazed by this. My dude, this is literally sexism! You have wrapped around all the way and returned to normal sexism! How do you not recognize this! I almost pointed this out, but decided we didn't have the rapport / character limit for this conversation to have P>0.8 of going well, and scrolled on. And my read was that they made this post because they exist in a milieu where it is normal and accepted to react differently to men and women. (Tumblr is like this as well – c.f. bisexuals going "when men do blah it's gross, when women do the same it's different and cute, idk why?" I wonder why indeed.)

almost everyone in my extended irl and internet sphere wants Equality in some vague way. they want the Dynamics to not Be Fucked, but they mill around doing things that are not "literally trying to treat people the same way regardless of gender". And my axe to grind is that (1) anything other than genderblindness will tend to deposit you back into Literal Normal Sexism land, (2) even if you're in some New Weird Sexism land, it's still sexism and you should cut that out.

when I was younger I used to be a hardliner on "literally treat people the same way". then I became more corrupt or less autistic or whatnot and now recognize this isn't possible, but I still think genderblindness should be the starting point. And people seem so freaking interested in doing anything but this. They want to analyze gender differences and digest them into different gender-based treatment. They themselves have personal or social incentives for wanting or giving certain kinds of treatment. And those incentives will win out over (my) (genderblind) ideology

I was hosting a party last week, and found out a potential woman attendee had (1) drunkenly gone around grabbing men's asses at a prior event, (2) made public posts complaining about being shot down unnecessarily cruelly when one of them declined to cuddle with her. Said guy was telling me this in an uber back from buying alcohol and I was amazed, like, wait, you're relaying this so casually – don't you want her banned? Should I ban her?

And he didn't want that. He said that while he now disliked her, and felt slightly violated, he didn't mind that much, and he didn't want her banned just because a man in her position would have been banned. Fairness was not near the top of his priority list the way it is on mine. (Which is his prerogative.) It was one of many moments when I perceived that very few people on any ideological branch are on board with the idea that seems obvious to me, that we will not have equality until we are willing to treat people equally. The forces of unequal treatment are just that powerful.

Everyone else in the car (iirc including another harassee) was also like "yeah nah don't ban her", so I acquiesced, but I feel passionately that every exception to equal treatment we make because we just don't feel like it undermines the whole project – a culture that won't ban her cannot defend the norm of banning male harassers either.

sigh. I'll soon shut up and hit post and go out for dinner, and probably during dinner I'll start squirming about participating in culture war and delete this

but. come on! I know this isn't 100% possible, but can we shoot for 90% or 80%? Can people not see that new double standards, of any kind, are not the way out?

internet user pedestalizing young attractive women or interpreting their behavior much more charitably than they would for another demographic: being nicer to women is feminism, yes? I am fighting the incentives that make things weird and bad?

[kivaember]

Tumblr Prompt: Memory with a relative

(I accidentally answered private to @lumei-xiv because i’m a fucking moron so pls imagine this as a reply to an ask with the prompt: Memory with a relative

CW: mental health’s discussed quite a bit in this) 

Sometimes, Bluebird felt so out of her depth with the hot mess that was her brother.

It was three in the morning and they were both sitting in the far corner of the Forgotten Knight. Only the hardcore alcoholics and depressed assholes were still mooching about here, keeping quietly to their own tables. It smelled like shitty ale and smoke and Bluebird hated it. She just hated Ishgard in general, with how it was grinding Aza’s spirit into dust and fucking them over with new dramatic shit at each turn. Aza had been getting better when they came to Eorzea, and now…

Her brother always had a drinking problem, but it was manageable. They just made sure to have one of them soberish with him at all times, and they weren’t afraid to wrestle him away from the bottle and bundle him into bed to sleep it off. This time Aza just… well, he’d been drinking, but Bluebird had no idea how much. She just found him like this, sitting at the table holding a half full tankard of ale and just staring at nothing. He hadn’t said a word when she sat down next to him, and he still hadn’t said a word or even moved after her staring at him for the past hour.

She recognised this behaviour, though she hadn’t seen it in a good, long while. When Aza was upset enough, he just… shut off. He blocked everything out and disappeared inside his fucked-up brain, thinking up fucked up things, and coming to fucked up conclusions that were so wildly wrong and damaging that Bluebird just wanted to beat him around the head until she smacked the illogical crazy out of him.

Even after all these years, seeing him at his worst, at his best, she just didn’t understand him. She couldn’t predict his moods or thoughts. One day he’d be fine, then something would just set him off and he’d brood or get quiet or weird and snappish, and it drove her nuts. It wasn’t his fault, though, she knew that. He tried his best, he had coping mechanisms, and they worked most of the time, but other times he had unhealthy coping mechanisms, and just tried to destroy himself and it was… exhausting to try and keep up.

Bluebird had no idea how he was keeping up with it.

It was a little after three when Aza stirred out of his blank staring, and Bluebird smiled tightly when his unfocused gaze slid over to her. “Oh,” he rasped, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bluebird said breezily, acting like nothing was wrong. This was normally the best way to go, she found, even if she had to smile with gritted teeth and clenched hands, “Rough day?”

Aza made some vague, incoherent noise in the back of his throat, “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Aza looked back at his tankard and said nothing.

Bluebird took in a slow, deep breath, “Okay.”

She refused to sit here in silence again, though. Telegraphing her movements, she scooted her chair towards him, letting the legs scrape noisily over the floor. A few of the loser drunkards gave her irritated looks, but like she gave a fuck what they thought. Aza was looking at her irritably too, which she liked, because it was better than that creepy, blank staring. Irritated Aza was an aware Aza.

“Could you be any noisier?” he muttered.

“Yes,” Bluebird said, settling her chair next to his with a triumphant clatter. She bared her teeth in a wide smile at Aza’s wince, his ears flicking back, “Do you want me to do it louder? I can go back and do it again.”

“Don’t,” Aza groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked drained, “What time’s it?”

“Three or four in the morning, thereabouts,” Bluebird rested an elbow on the table, her cheek pressing against an upturned palm as she observed her brother with heavy-lidded eyes, “You were doing that creepy staring again.”

“It’s not creepy,” Aza said, abruptly pushing his tankard away. Bluebird quickly claimed it for herself, before he changed his mind and decided to chug the whole thing. He looked… alarmingly sober, “And I was… thinking. Deeply.”

“Hmmm…” Bluebird dragged the sceptical hum out, “About?”

“Nothing.”

“You were thinking deeply about… nothing,” Bluebird drawled, “Geeze, Aza, are you saying you’ve got just empty air in between those hairy ears of yours?”

Aza grimaced, and Bluebird smiled a little more sincerely at the childish expression. He hated walking into traps like those.

“C’mon, tell me,” she ordered.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Aza said snippily.

Bluebird poked him in the ribs, carefully gauging his mood. Normally it was difficult to tell if he was in a ‘I will break your hand if you so much as exist in my close proximity’ mood or ‘ugh I’m not in the mood but fine I’ll tolerate you because I love you for some inexplicable reason’ mood until one made physical contact and had to rapidly save their fingers from being broken. Luckily Aza just glowered tiredly at her. Tolerable mood, then.

“Tell me,” she poked him again, grinning when Aza’s upper lip curled enough to bare very sharp fangs at her. It was like baiting an ill-tempered dog, she loved it. But, there was a time and place for Aza-baiting, and now wasn’t it, sadly, “Or I’ll start guessing.”

Aza watched her warily but said nothing.

“Fine,” Bluebird sat back in her seat, tapping her bottom lip. What had happened recently? Too many things, honestly. There was Estinien running for the hills without so much as saying goodbye. Thancred was back, edgier and broodier than ever, and so was Y’shtola, except now blind. Minfillia was one hundred per cent dead (in Bluebird’s expert opinion when someone says ‘she no longer has a physical body as she now serves as the Mothercrystal’s voice’, it’s pretty much the same as ‘she’s pretty fucking dead, bro’). Haurchefant had also joined the Dead Peoples Club, which was a shame because she never got a chance to rematch that arm-wrestling contest with him and win back her title as Having The Buffest Arms In Ishgard. The Warriors of Darkness were now a thing, being edgy tryhards and interrupting sexy dinner dates with sexy Lord Commanders…

Hmmm.

“Those Warriors of Darkness sure are cringey, huh?” she tried, “They’re so transparently bad at being, well, bad.”

Aza’s shoulders relaxed a fraction – damn, her blind shot missed, but she was rewarded with her brother’s mouth curving into a very amused smile, “You think so too? I almost gave myself an aneurysm rolling my eyes at them. So edgy.”

“Clearly not natural born villains like us,” Bluebird scoffed, “You’re more menacing after just waking up with serious bed hair.”

“Crisp says I’m a monster before morning coffee.”

“Ugh, a bitey monster,” Bluebird muttered, bearing many scars on her wrists and hands when she, in her stupid youth, thought it was fun to bait a just awakened Aza. She very quickly learned otherwise, “But they, uh, don’t bother you?”

Aza shook his head and started picking at a scratch on the table, “Well, they do, but… compared to Nidhogg imminently burninating the entirety of Ishgard…”

“Point,” Bluebird said slowly, narrowing her eyes – she skirted close to what was bothering him then, she could sense it, “They haven’t really done that much to us, have they? Well, they almost poisoned Alisaie, yeah, and interrupted your dinner date with the Lord Commander-”

There. Aza twitched.

Bluebird grinned broadly, “That’s it, isn’t it? The dinner date.”

“Bluebird,” Aza said in a very strained tone, “Drop it, please.”

“No,” she dug her heels in, scenting blood. When Bluebird saw weakness, she went for it no matter what, “Now, let me think on why you would be sitting here, sulking-”

“I’m not sulking!”

“-after having a dinner date with the hottest bachelor in Ishgard. From what I heard, you two were having a good time… even flirting, according to some…”

“Bluebird,” Aza hissed, starting to go a rather damning shade of pink. Bluebird’s grin eased into a very lazy smirk.

The thing was, while Bluebird didn’t understand Aza, she did know him. While she couldn’t follow the fucked up twists to his mind to see how he came to his stupid conclusions, she could kind of guess things or recognise certain behaviours and tells. This… the last time she saw him like this was when he and Haurchefant got half-drunk and slept together, and Aza had a near meltdown when he realised he liked him. Really liked him.

Aza was fine with casual flings… in a way. He was very particular, and only on certain days when he was in certain moods, but he did have casual sex. But that was it: it was casual. Anything resembling a relationship was treated as some terrifying thing that needed to be handled like it was an unstable bomb. Aza had too many issues to pin it on one specific thing, but long story short he had a veritable cocktail of traumas and issues that meant Aza and romantic relationships were as compatible as oil and water.

Still, Aza got cravings, she supposed. Everyone had a desire to be loved and cherished, even abused, scared children like him.

“He seems decent and he really likes you,” she said, gentling her tone, “I bet he’s the kind to write disgusting love poetry though.”

Aza looked away from her, putting his elbows on the edge of the table and burying his face in his hands.

“I can’t,” he whispered into his palms.

“Why can’t you?” Bluebird asked, then grimaced because she could think of several reasons why, “I mean, aside from the obvious stuff like, he’s the Lord Commander and blah blah blah?”

Aza dropped his hands, puffing out a short breath as he muttered, “Those are pretty big reasons why.”

“Well, yeah…” Bluebird trailed off. Right, the Lord Commander was more firmly in the public eye than Haurchefant ever was. While one could ignore what some bastard son of a noble was doing under his own roof out in the frozen countryside, the Lord Commander was always scrutinised and needed to keep a very impeccable reputation what with his opponents keen to sling mud at him. Taking a Miqo’te to bed would… ruin that, wouldn’t it?

“Just drop it,” Aza said, looking so worn down at the edges that Bluebird didn’t have the heart to needle him further, “I know it won’t go anywhere. So, don’t… please don’t speak to me about it anymore.”

Bluebird hesitated. It kind of rubbed her wrong to let Aza give up before he even tried but, she was also painfully aware that pursing Aymeric would hurt him too, if it went all wrong. Aymeric clearly liked him, you’d have to be fucking blind to miss the looks he gave Aza, the way his voice dropped an octave when he spoke to him – but Aymeric was also so utterly devoted to Ishgard that he was willing to kill his best friend to save it. If Aymeric had to choose a potential romance with the Warrior of Light, and serving Ishgard, Bluebird knew which one he’d choose.

Maybe it was for the best, for Aza to give up on this one?

This was so beyond her abilities to puzzle out, Bluebird thought exhaustedly. It was too early in the morning to try and figure it out. She’ll hassle Crisp with it later…

“Fine, I’ll drop it,” she said, mentally tacking on for now.

After all, while she was out of her depth dealing with Aza’s bullshit, that didn’t mean she shirked from it. As frustrating and confusing he could be, he was still her little brother… one that she genuinely wished to see happily in love with someone so they could help him out too. Bluebird was just one woman here, and she could only satisfy his emotional needs in one way. So, maybe, they could try with Aymeric...? Possibly, if she...

“C’mon,” she said, nudging her brother’s shoulder, “Let’s get you to bed. You can cry over your pitiful love life tomorrow.”

“Tactful as ever,” Aza grumbled, but he looked relieved at her dropping the issue.

How cute. If only he knew what she had planned.

[runecestershire]

I have a Ridiculous Gaming Story to share. Once upon a time (about nine years ago), when Moria was endgame in Lord of the Rings Online, there was a particular rare drop (the Brass Anvil) from this one dungeon which was the end all and be all of tank pocket items and oh golly did I want it. So I ran that dungeon over and over and over in the hopes that it would drop.

Finally, it drops, and the darned Runekeeper (magic DPS, has absolutely no use for any of the stats on a tank pocket item) rolls need and wins it. And then when the entire rest of the group goes “dude, WTF?!” he proceeds to pitch a fit about having only gotten vendor trash and something something incoherent blather about my tanking and the healer’s healing sucking and blah blah, and then after we disband the group he keeps sending me tells (which I’m not even responding to) for like an hour.

That was that. Presumably. I never did see it drop again until several patches later when it was obsolete.

And then, about two years ago (so seven years and forty levels and over a dozen expansions after the incident), I was relating this tale in a global channel and someone whose name looked vaguely familiar piped up with “no way! I was the healer! I still have nightmares about that run!” and we bonded all over again.

And that is why I’m glad that FFXIV only lets relevant roles roll need on gear.

[thesinglesjukebox]

KATY PERRY FT. MIGOS - BON APPETIT [3.53] In which the Jukebox is told it's not getting any dessert until it's finished its Monday singles...

Rachel Bowles: Musing about cunnilingus is the finest thing a person can do, if she's good at it. Narrowed down to just vagina-as-food songs, Perry's extended mixed-metaphor is still easily outclassed, even by Iggy Azalea. As evidenced in this list, cunnilingus anthems have been largely pioneered and perfected by Black women (Janet Jackson, Lil Kim, TLC, etc.) those with the double curse of misogynoir proudly contradicting the patriarchal capitalist message that vaginas are disgusting and only for fucking. A good cunnilingus song makes women high five on dance floors, feel sexy and genuinely empowered. Personally, I prefer obscene instructional songs (Khia, "My Neck, My Back") over those with faux-coquettish metaphor (Christina Aguilera ft. Nicki Minaj, "Woohoo") but in Blow, Beyonce found the perfect balance: sexy imagery with a direct order, delivered with female solidarity in the echoed "Turn that cherry out!" "Got me spread like a buffet" to some generic summer EDM synths just doesn't compare. [3]

Iain Mew: Weird to hear a Katy Perry single where the lyrical issue isn't awkwardly cramming in sexual references, so much as incoherence as a result of failing to properly commit to the obvious cunnilingus angle. The low-key sweetness of the production and her restraint still makes it a better listen than most, and the two note-four note hop-skip in the chorus works even better than it did in Anne-Marie's "Ciao Adios." [6]

Katherine St Asaph: Christ, without Bonnie McKee's involvement Katy Perry really does go right back to One of the Boys leftovers with an Anne-Marie melody. In a just world, such a demonstration of value over replacement songwriter would earn McKee something, like maybe, I don't know, sales. In this one we get midtempo blahs I guess are supposed to signify sexiness, a cursory Migos feature fresh off their Capitol signing, and likely not even a hit to show for it. [2]

Danilo Bortoli: Fabricating hatred has never been easier in 2017. "Bon Appetit" might have received all the negative press it deserves, but that happened for all the wrong reasons. Over time, however, consensus was formed: this is the most soulless Katy has been in years. Nothing works. Migos are out of place here (as a solo version proves). And, of course, the track seems like the result of a pun contest's last place entry (apparently, this is a real and tasteless thing). No joke intended -- but the song itself, that is. [2]

Alfred Soto: "Five-star Michelin," eh? I'll say this about Katy's latest amuse-bouche: it follows through on its conceit. Confirming their A-list status, Migos gets relegated to muttered quavering non-entities. [5]

Scott Mildenhall: You might feel differently, but Katy Perry singing "got me spread like a buffet" just has to be one of the worst musical moments of the year so far. As extended metaphors go, this one is executed very badly. "Table for two... I'm on the menu" -- is she advocating autocannibalism? "Bon Appetit" has the ridiculousness of Perry's worst, most affectedly wacky singles, yet sounds like it's being played with a straight face, and that's quite a weird place to be. The shimmering production is enjoyable, but the words are so egregious that they're hard to ignore. [4]

Cassy Gress: This is arguably the least sexy sex song I've ever heard. Katy Perry is singing through an A/C window unit, the song just rocks back and forth between B♭ minor and B major with no resolution, Migos stops by and contributes virtually nothing, and it's a bit too close to "GOBBLE GOBBLE" for comfort for me. It manages to come off as clinical despite never explicitly referencing sex; I know I'm sort of squeamish about sex talk, but blugh. I'd rather listen to "Touch It." [1]

William John: Katy Perry whispering unsexy, overwrought metaphors over boilerplate house reads poorly as a primer, but remains a more tantalising proposition than faded xeroxes of 80s synthpop with vacant "let's save the world" platitudes. A few extra marks for the intermittent whoops, which nod reverently to Crazy Cousins' classic "Inflation" (at least in my head) and Migos, who may have phoned in their guest spot but deliver it lithely nonetheless. [5]

Katie Gill: Turns out "Chained to the Rhythm" was just a fluke! No, Katy Perry's going to continue to make songs about sex with dumb metaphors stretched to high heaven, warped into near unrecognition. It's an even tackier version of "Birthday", where the best thing is the Migos break and the worst thing is the impossibly tacky dancehall stylings. Possibly the most interesting thing about this song is the cannibalistic implications -- "I'm on the menu"? Really? -- which has the potential to be thought provoking, so of course that means Perry's going to ignore it. [3]

Joshua Copperman: Between "lemiteiku" and "the worldsbestcherryPIe", this melodic math was a bit miscalculated. And that's before the chorus, which is possibly the worst Katy Perry melody ever, even counting "This Is How We Do". Unusual for Max Martin, as far as I can tell, the chord progression is limited to B♭m-B the whole way through -- apparently they couldn't even be bothered to use four chords. Migos' verses aren't bad, and I smiled at "appetite for seduction," but those are all the positives I could think of for this half-assed song that makes me wish a portmanteau of somnambulance and cannibalism was possible (somnamibalism?). I assumed that "Bon Appetit" would grow on me over the summer, but as it's currently flopping after just one week of existence, I'll never even get the opportunity to hate-then-enjoy it. [3]

Will Adams: Against my better judgment, I clicked on the Tasty video in which Katy Perry prepares the "world's best cherry pie" (take: this is an impossible task because there's no such thing as a cherry pie that's anything but gross). But my regret soon turned into high enjoyment as I listened to Katy ramble incoherently in some misguided attempt to create a Genius annotation live. As with "Chained to the Rhythm," there's so much effort to legitimize the nonsense pouring out of her mouth: 1. She claims there are "easter eggs" in the lyrics; I think she just means euphemisms. 2. What the hell kind of songs has she heard where "cherry pie" was not sexualized? 3. That she's trying to connect this to the cherry Chapstick in "I Kissed a Girl" shows she still hasn't realized she should probably disown that song. It's all so tiresome; "Birthday" worked because it leaned into the cheesiness, but "Bon Appetit" goes serious with its Cobb salad of food-based innuendo, a concept I've rarely heard executed well. Fold in some perfunctory Migos, overdress with the entire world's supply of reverb, and... oh fuck, now I'm doing it. [4]

Anthony Easton: I adore the gossip about Perry's fighting around her new aesthetic with the label, who apparently is worried about sales. I have no idea if this will revive her fortunes; it's not quite anonymous, but it pushes her against Migos, and Migos wins -- working against each other, doubling down on a cryptic chorus, becoming very close to being a hook singer. It's not sexy, even if it is about sex, and this kind of disembodied paen to the abstract idea of desire complicates Perry's previous perceptions. It's not quite a meal, but it does seem to have that vague whiff of nausea after eating too much candy. [8]

Thomas Inskeep: I guess, seeing that "woke Katy" didn't exactly burn up the charts, her camp/label/some-combo-thereof decided "we better go back to the clumsy sex songs, fast!" Because, you know, nothing's sexier than hearing someone say they're "spread like a buffet." (Pardon me while I throw up a little in my mouth.) I'm sad to hear Migos doing a clear cash-in bridge rap here, because they're so much better than this. Max Martin and Shellback's track isn't bad, but it's sonically awfully slight. Ironic to hear Perry saying "bon appetit," because there's no major pop star whose music I find less appetizing. [1]

Edward Okulicz: Pop stars get hot but they don't stay hot forever, and if this uninteresting ode to Katy Perry's vagina returns her to the top spot, then there is no explanation other than massive amounts of payola and a bunch of Capitol Records interns doing nothing but stream this 24 hours a day. I couldn't last 24 minutes of the title's non-punchline squeezed, against the laws of nature, into this non-chorus. [2]

Jonathan Bradley: I have a Spotify playlist of Katy Perry songs that runs for about 50 minutes. That's not an extensive running time for a ten year long career, but it contains some songs that are very good and some songs that are very stupid and also some songs that are very good and very stupid at the same time. Perry has had five songs off a single album reach the top of the Billboard Hot 100 -- as well as a sixth from a re-issued version. She's been risible and racist and homophobic and "woke" and "inspirational" and fantastic, and even birthed a meme from her Super Bowl performance, but on "Bon Appetit," she's nothing. This is a public-domain club groove and a Migos verse that couldn't deliver the rap group unto dance even as effectively as Calvin Harris did. If, immediately after "Ur So Gay" dropped, someone time-travelled to 2017, could you convince them off the strength of this single that, in the interim decade, Katy Perry had been one of America's biggest pop stars? [4]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]