#I don’t know why this is breaking through the anti depressant wall but it really fucking is my dudes (gn)

[mellaithwen]

Me: I’m fine

Also me: *crying over my puppy getting his first big haircut next week*

[sleepystarsiri]

Bad Sans Poly w/Error

I was given a prompt to ramble about and... Ended with a drabble instead of a small ramble...

A drabble of 2536 words... Written over the course of 11+ hours. Fun!!

————

Error was unsure of the BSP, happy for them, but unsure why he was jealous. Yes, he was single, but... He was happy being alone. He didn't have to risk another relationship ending by being glitched out if he was single...

He lost his first love that way. So why... Why when he was with the others did he feel like he was going to cry when he saw their soft, gentle affections toward each other? It hurt... It made his chest ache and his sockets sting with tears.

He ignored it, pushing the emotions down whenever they surfaced. He could sense the confused, wary looks from Nightmare, but he ignored them. He started to distance himself, holing himself away in the Anti-Void. He barely had the energy to keep up his job, but he managed to.

Instead of visiting the castle to check in, like he usually did, he just laid around in his section of the Anti-Void, bundled up in blankets and watching UnderNovela. That was how Nightmare and the gang found him when they got worried enough to break the unspoken rule of staying out of Error's 'home'.

It was... A chaotic mess, not the normal neat area Error preferred.

Error was asleep in his beanbag chair, curled into a small ball, wrapped in his blanket. He looked terrible. His sockets had bags under them and his scarf was messy, frayed and stained with chocolate.

Concerned, Cross reached out to touch Error's cheek before the others could stop him. Instead of crashing, like they expected, he nuzzled into the hand, purring sleepily. Cross stroked the bags beneath Error's sockets and Error yawned and slowly opened his sockets. His eyelights were hazy and unfocused until he blinked...

Then he gave a glitched screech and jumped backward, tumbling over the back of his beanbag chair.

Cue a freakout and panicked apologies from Cross... Followed by a pause as they saw what was in the beanbag chair. Error had been cuddling up to hand-made dolls of the BSP. He glitched, sputtering, and made his strings yank the dolls up to the tangle of strings and dolls that made up the 'ceiling'.

He hissed at the poly, glitching and blushing vibrantly. He tugged his scarf up to hide his face, emotions all over the place. Embarrassment, panic, affection, love, sadness, pain, anxiety.

Nightmare’s confused, shocked expression morphed into one of realization at Error’s emotions. He stared at Error with a wide socket and Error caught his gaze, tensing up. Shame flooded Error’s emotions as he looked away, his glitches increasing in number.

“Error...” Nightmare said gently, his voice cutting through the air of the Anti-Void, and the glitch tensed up.

“I d-don’t want t-to taaa-talk about it, N-Nightmare.” Error growled lightly, his voice glitching more than it had before.

“Error, we’re going to talk about it. One way or another. You look horrible. When was the last time you washed your scarf? When was the last time you left the Anti-Void?” Nightmare growled back, stalking toward him as his tendrils flicked angrily. Error winced slightly at his approach, feeling the weight of his anger, his concern.

“Yyyy-Yes-Yesterdayyy.” He grumbled, curling up and tucking himself into his coat. “I’m fff-fine. D-dd-don’t need ttt-to talk about iiii-it.”

“Error.” Nightmare’s tone went gentle as he knelt in front of the glitch. “Please. We need to talk about this.”

The glitch just twitched, shaking his head. He growled faintly, twitching violently, before he exhaled a soft mist of shimmering blue, red, yellow, and green. It dissipated moments after he exhaled it.

“I ddd-don’t want to ttt-ta-talk about it.” He muttered irritably, curling up tighter. He pressed his face into his knees, trying to remain calm.

“Error, please.” Nightmare repeated gently, reaching out and holding a hand toward him. Error glitched out, then muttered mutinously, but gently placed his hand into Nightmare’s. He fizzled at the touch, then calmed. It always happened when he was awake, if he didn’t outright crash. Nightmare’s lack of a traditional Soul meant his touch wasn’t as overwhelming or as painful as everyone else’s. “Thank you.”

“Sss-still don’t want-ant to talk a-abou-out it.” His voice glitched out a bit before he sighed and closed his sockets. “...But… F-fine. I’ll ttt-talk.”

“Thank you.” Nightmare repeated, clearly relieved. “Come on, Error. Let’s get you into clean clothing, fed something other than chocolate, and into a comfortable place.”

He gently pulled Error up, the glitch swaying slightly on his feet before he steadied himself. He winced and reached up to rub his skull, sleeve sliding down and revealing scratches and burns up and down his arm. He didn’t really care, since he usually was covered in scratches and scrapes. Ink’s paints were a bitch to deal with…

Nightmare gently grabbed his arm, pushing his sleeve up and Error blinked, eyelights hazy, before they focused and he looked at the scrapes.

“Oooh-ohhh… Ink caaa-caught me. Fresh-ssshhhh had to come ggg-get me.” Error said, reaching up to rub his face tiredly. Nightmare narrowed his socket, doubtful of his explanation, but not wanting to call him out. “Don’t give mmm-me that look, Nnnn-Nightmare. I’m not an iiii-idiot. I know whaaaa-at they look like, wh-when paired with my sss-state. You can asss-ask Fresh if you dddd-d-don’t believe me.”

He rubbed his arm, glitching as he tried to heal it. It healed a bit, then glitched back to how it was. He grumbled slightly, squinting at his arm in annoyance.

“...Alright, I believe you.” Nightmare sighed before he gently healed Error’s arms. The other glitched a bit at the influx of magic, then settled. He was trying to ignore the concerned (and suspicious) stares of the others. Killer’s stare was the most suspicious, but he was slowly starting to realize what was wrong.

“Glitchy.” Killer called lightly, firmly, and Error slowly looked over, staring toward where Killer was. His glasses were nowhere to be seen, so he was hard-pressed to see anything, especially not that far away. He made a glitched sound of acknowledgement. “You’re depressed, aren’t you?”

“Whaaa-aat Sans isn’t?” He quipped back, rolling his eyelights, but nodded slowly, making Killer’s sockets widen a bit.

“Are you depressed because of us?” Killer clarified and Error shrugged a bit, the reaction noncommittal. Killer rubbed his face, sighing loudly. “Are you depressed because we’re so affectionate in front of you?”

Error shrugged again, closing his sockets. He swayed in place, trying to stay on his feet. Nightmare moved and scooped Error up bridal-style, making him glitch out and nearly crash. He clung to his scarf, curling his fingers hard into the fabric. It took him a few moments to calm down, blinking away the error signs that popped up in his sockets.

“It’s not because of us, per se.” Nightmare told Killer and the others, adjusting his grip on Error and opening a portal to the castle. They walked through, the portal closing after the last of them was through. “Error, don’t fall asleep now, you need to clean yourself up and change… And eat.”

Nightmare gently tapped Error’s cheek with a tendril, but he growled and lightly nipped it, earning a startled moan from Nightmare. It took a moment to process and Error crashed while Nightmare flushed. The others started laughing at the two, while Nightmare huffed and continued to walk. He put Error down on a bed before backing off. Moments later, Error rebooted and his face flushed brilliantly.

“Sss-so-sorry-” He stammered to Nightmare, tugging his scarf over his face. Nightmare blinked, then started laughing.

“You really do have it bad for us, don’t you?” Nightmare sighed and Error hissed at him, glitching out wildly, then forced himself to calm. “Oh, hush, don’t get so defensive.”

Error just growled at him, carefully rolling to his feet. He staggered a bit, then caught himself. He blinked a few times, then squeezed his sockets closed, shaking his head wildly to clear it.

“Uuu-ugh. Ffff-fuck-fucking Voices...” He rubbed his head, then glared at Nightmare, crossing his arms and trying to ignore his embarrassed flush. “And ss-sh-shut up. I don’t waa-want to cause aaaa-any ripples.”

“Ripples?” Cross piped up and Error nodded, motioning vaguely between the members of the poly. Cross blinked, then deadpanned. “Wow, you’re more oblivious than I was.”

Error narrowed his sockets at him, growling lightly, and Cross rolled his eyelights.

“You’re an idiot if you think we don’t want you to join, stars, glitchy, we’ve been dropping hints for AGES!” Killer complained, throwing himself onto the bed, pouting at Error, who glitched in surprise.

“W-what?” He sputtered, confused, and Dust snorted, amused at him.

“Go get a shower and we’ll talk after, while you eat.” Dust ordered, Horror staring sternly at Error and nodding sharply, firmly. Error knew that stare, it meant he was to obey… Or Horror would bodily force him to do so.

Error sighed and nodded, then slowly made his way toward the bathroom to get a shower. He paused to take his scarf off, stroking the fabric nervously. Dust moved over and gently took it, knowing how it felt to be attached to a scarf.

“Go shower, I’ll wash this myself.” Dust told Error, who nodded, then headed into the bathroom. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but he managed. He closed the bathroom door, then stripped and carefully headed into the glass-walled shower. He closed it and turned the water on, huffing softly. The walls were made of frosted glass, so he was only a vague dark blur behind the glass.

He stepped carefully under the stream of water and began to wash his body, careful of all of the injuries littering it. He was more injured from Ink than he’d let on, and didn’t want to let on. He heard the bathroom door open and paused to glance over, not that he could see. But… It was just one of them getting the clothes Error had left piled in the middle of the bathroom.

Error focused back on cleaning himself before he cut the water off and opened the door to the shower. He leaned out, grabbing a towel and pulling it back into the shower. He dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around his hips, walking toward the door. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped, turning to stare at the long, irritated red gash across his torso. It went from his right shoulder to his left hip. He sighed, reaching up to touch it.

“Fff-fucking squid. Stupid f-fucking-ing Soulless abomination...” He growled lightly, pressing his fingers against the gash, scratching harshly at it. That was a mistake and he clapped his hand over his mouth, rushing to the sink. He doubled forward, spitting and gagging into it. The noise made the others rush in.

They were met by the sight of Error coughing and spitting blood into the sink, a long gash across his torso trailing vivid red down black bones. He groaned, bracing himself on the counter as he slowly recovered, chest heaving from his coughing and gagging fit.

“F-fuckkk-king abomination… N-need to figure out w-where the hell his c-coding core i-is-sss...” He huffed to himself, then pressed a hand to the gash, focusing. His torso began to glitch, dark pixels began to slot themselves into the gash, sealing it and hiding it from view. He sighed in relief, then wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, spitting the last of it into the sink. He washed it out, then turned to leave, only to pause at the sight of the others.

Oh. Fuck.

“...Error. What the fuck was that?” Nightmare tried to ask it gently, but his voice was shocked and confused.

“...Eh-hhhh. Geno isn’t m-mmm-my bro. I was Gee-Geno. I’m ffff-from an alternate tttt-timel-line, a darker o-one.” He tried to explain, scratching at the back of his skull. He was trying to ignore the lack of clothing on his part. “Iii-it’s hard to expla-aaaain.”

“...Sooo- You’re wary of being with us because you’re still in love with Reaper?” Killer asked blankly and Error glitched and shook his head.

“Oh, n-nooo. No. I haven’t l-lov-loved Reaper since I beee-became Error. I los-ssst my memories from-mmm before for a looo-long time… So the o-only-yyyy emotion I feel for h-hiii-him is fond remembrance fo-ooor a past love.” Error clarified, shrugging and lowering his hand so it dangled by his side. He shuffled slowly toward the door. “I neeee-eed clothes...”

“Huh? Oh, right! S-sorry!” Cross sounded confused before the group shuffled out. Dust left a pile of clothes, topped by Error’s scarf, on the counter. Error closed the bathroom door and dropped the towel, pulling the clothes on. Ah, the usual ‘Sans’ outfit… He hated it. At least he had his scarf. He put his scarf on, tucking his face into it, before he shuffled out.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, twisting his scarf around, in his fingers.

“So… Why are you wary of being with us, Error? If not because of holding feelings for someone else?” Dust asked, leaning against the wall and playing with a knife he’d stolen from Killer.

“...’s because ya lost… Yer first love… When ya turned ta Error?” Horror asked slowly, tilting his head as he looked at Error. He looked startled at being read that easily, but he nodded.

“Yyyy-yeah...” He sighed, closing his sockets as he rubbed his face. “Thaaaa-at’s one reason.”

He flopped backward onto the bed, throwing an arm over his sockets.

“What are the other reasons?” Dust was now interested, moving over to sit on the bed near him. He leaned down to stare at him, looking curious.

“...Ttt-tou-touch.” Error moved, staring blankly up at Dust. “T-touch-ch hurts. Nightmare ddd-doesn’t-n’t have a traditional Soul-lll so it doesn’t h-hurt as much… Nor i-issss it as overwhelming...”

“Cross could touch ya earlier.” Horror pointed out and Error shrugged.

“Ddd-don’t know why… Uuuu-usually I crash from tou-uuuuch.” Error stated, then froze as he felt a hand on his. His sockets filled with error signs, but he blinked them away. “Ow.”

He turned his head to see who was holding his hand. It was Dust. He stared, shocked, then turned his hand to gently hold Dust’s. He marveled at it, a static-y purr starting up in his chest. He couldn’t help it… Even with the pain, he was touching someone aside from Nightmare!

Sure, it was a bit painful, but nothing he couldn’t handle, nothing that he didn’t deal with daily. The glitching hurt sometimes… But… Stars, he missed touching people…

Nightmare smiled, looking away as his tendrils swayed happily. The happiness Error felt was clear on the glitch’s face and in his aura. He suddenly snapped his tendrils out, catching Error and keeping him from pouncing on Dust.

“Error, don’t jump the gun, you’ll crash. Small touches are the only thing we know are okay, we don’t know how you’d react to hugging, let alone cuddling.” Nightmare chided gently and Error slumped in his hold.

“I mmm-miss being able to-oooo hold, hug, ccc-cud-cuddle, etc others…” Error sighed, looking down.

“Baby steps, Error, baby steps.” Nightmare reassured, gently stroking Error’s skull with one hand. Error sighed and nodded slowly.

[r0zyp0zy0zy]

✾A.J.- Like a Teen Again?☼✶

Master list

Words: 2968

Warnings: masturbation, overstim, bit o’ begging, smut

Pairing: Amajiki Tamaki x FEM!reader

Summary: Tamaki gets hit with some sort of mood enhancement quirk, and it’s effects are questionable 

===NSFW BELOW THE CUT===

You weren't totally caught up on Tamaki's situation, but you did know his predicament revolved around a mood type quirk. You didn't know what to expect when you arrived at the hospital he was in. Apparently he was in great physical condition, which didn't really shock you. It also didn't shock you when Tamaki was leaning his forehead against the hospital wall, and you had to reassure the nurses that this was normal.

He was let out soon after you arrived, and the doctor filled in more of the details.

"This quirk isn't powerful," the doctor explained, "Just enhances Amajiki-kun's emotions; his moods are that of a fifteen year-old boy, basically."

You nodded along, not worrying too much about Tamaki. He would just be a bit more nervous and worrisome than usual; he'd have to take a few days off to recuperate. The doctor prescribed some medication if it got really bad.

"—typical teens have sudden waves of depression, so if he shows any serious symptoms he should take one of these in the morning. You shouldn't need to use them, but it's better to be safe than sorry," the doctor smiled, handing you a small vile of what you assumed to be anti-depressants.

You thanked the doctor, and Tamaki just gave a stiff nod as he followed you out of the building.

"I-I don't feel particularly different..." Tamaki stuttered, curling his pinky with yours.

"You just seem a bit off, is all," you flashed him a smile.

"Uh- hn," he stammered, his face flushing a bright pink. You didn't think much of it when you hopped into the car with Tamaki, but you did have to help him with his seatbelt because his hands were shaking.

"Why are you so shaky, Tami?" You placed your hand on his, and his eyes widened and he seemed to freeze.

"—uh, um. Ghn," Tamaki sputtered, his cheeks becoming impossibly redder. "S-so... so... you're so hot!"

Your jaw hit the floor, and you analyzed his terrified expression. He didn't mean to say that, you realized. Was he.. really like a teenage boy right now?

"I- oh my g-god. I didn't- I, I'm so sorry," Tamaki whimpered quietly, tears forming in his eyes.

"Oh butterfly, don't cry!" You leaned forward and cupped his face in your hands. "It's ok for you to say that, I'm your girlfriend, bub."

You bit your lip trying to think of what Tamaki was like in his first year of UA. How should you comfort him? Has he always been like this?

"O-ok," he gulped, wiping away his tears.

He was silent the rest of the way home, staring out of the window and probably overthinking what he did two minutes ago. His cape surrounded him like a blanket, and his face was hidden in his hood. Damn, was he really like this all the time? You wondered.

Tamaki practically ran out of the car when you finally got to the apartment, hardly waiting for you as he strode up the stairs to your guys' room. You caught up to him a few moments later, and he stood at the door waiting for you to unlock it.

"I would ask 'what has gotten into you?', but I already know," you said as you let him in.

"Y-you do?!" Tamaki sweat dropped, and he looked as though he was going to faint.

"Tami," you deadpanned, hanging up your coat, "not twenty minutes ago did the doctor explain to me your state of mind."

"Oh, r-right," Tamaki whispered, scratching the back of his neck. "I-I'll just be in o-our room."

You watched, flabbergasted, as he disappeared into your room, not quite closing the door behind him. Aaaalrighty then.

After you started prepping dinner, you realized that you probably shouldn't leave Tamaki alone for too long, incase something happened. You quickly finished chopping the carrots, and put down the knife. You hung up your apron and opened the door to your room a crack. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull; there Tamaki was in all his glory, hero outfit stripped to the floor, sprawled out on the bed with his hand on his cock.

"B-bunny~ p-please, oh you feel so good," he whimpered, eyes scrunched tightly shut.

Oh. Now this was a rare sight. Tamaki was usually very careful to not masturbate with you in the house, fearing that you would be disappointed that he didn't just come to you instead, (Only when you walked in on him and he started crying did you realize how he felt; integrating mutual masturbation into your sex life made him feel better about doing it).

"Oh fuck, y/n," Tamaki stumbled, his toes curling. "S-so good~ your hands— so.. good."

You couldn't help but walk in and close the door behind you. The sound of your arrival startled Tamaki, and his face reddened yet again, "I-I... uh.."

"It's ok Tami," you purred, edging closer to the bed. "Do you want me to... touch you?"

Tamaki could only nod, shock still in his eyes. He gulped as you crawled towards him on the bed, taking off your shirt and reaching out your hand to his cock. His head threw back once you teased a finger along his length, fisting the bedsheets under him, "I-I'm close."

You didn't tease Tamaki, instead you encouraged him, "c'mon, Butterfly. Come for me."

You gripped him loosely, using your other hand to gently rake your nails up and down his chest. His breath quickened, and his eyes hid behind his hair, trying to conceal his desperate state. You flicked your wrist in the way you knew he liked, and he came with a long groan. You licked his cum off your hand and his chest, not breaking eye contact with his awed expression.

"I'm sorry!" Tamaki squeaked, sitting up and pressing his knees to his chest. "I didn't— I just— I c-came super fast, a-and that was r-really weird and e-embarrassing-."

"Tama, baby, it's alright," you comforted, scooting closer to rest a hand on his exposed knee. "I'm always honoured whenever I make you cum. Doesn't matter how quick."

Tamaki peeked up at you through his hair, and gave you a shaky smile, face heating up considerably. You saw his eyes widen, and you knew immediately that he was getting hard again. Tamaki squeezed his legs closer together, attempting to hide his growing erection.

You leaned down to whisper in his ear, "let me finish making dinner, and after we eat I'm all yours for the night."

Tamaki's breath hitched softly, and he gave you a slight nod, gulping down his nerves. You rubbed his knee before standing up and walking towards the bedroom door. He let out a hefty sigh once you closed the door as you left, relaxing his legs and running his fingers through his hair.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. He was the horniest he'd been since high school, and he didn't know how to cope. It was so sudden, and his body was so overwhelmed with feeling. He tried to relax and close his eyes, waiting for you to be done with dinner.

Tamaki padded down the short hallway, now clothed with sweatpants and a T-shirt, to eat with you. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, the short nap he had taken made him feel a tad bit better.

"Hey, Butterfly!" You cheered from the sink, a dishcloth on your shoulder, "dinner is just on the table. I'll be there in a sec."

"Thank you, Bunny," Tamaki blushed, pulling out a chair to sit in. "I-It smells really good."

You hung up your cloth and smiled at him brightly, "of course, Tama-chan!"

You steered over to the table, (hair askew, and) some flour on your cheek. Tamaki couldn't help but admire your slightly disheveled appearance; he felt wrong to think of such lewd things at your flushed face. He felt his own cheeks heat up again, and bowed his head down to his meal.

Tamaki listened to you ramble about your day, a small smile adorning his face at your enthusiasm. He couldn't finish his food, too flustered about what was to come later. "let me finish making dinner, and after we eat I'm all yours for the night." He shuttered at your words, sort of restless and impatient.

You giggled at your spot by the sink, watching Tamaki drown in his thoughts as you slowly started to undress. He hadn't even realized that you took his plate from him, chopsticks still in his hand. Once you were completely naked, you tied the apron back on and continued cleaning the dishes.

A clatter from Tamaki's chopsticks sounded a few minutes later, and you assumed that he had finally come back to his senses, "can you pass me your cup and chopsticks please, Tami?"

You could practically feel the heat radiating off of Tamaki from behind you, his utensils being placed beside you on the counter. You took a few more minutes to clean up, enjoying the tension in the air. When you finally turned around to face Tamaki, it was like he'd hardly moved. He was leaning against the table, cheeks completely red, head bowed to the floor, and a raging hard-on in his pants.

"Don't you have room for a little dessert, Tama?" You teased, leaning your forearms behind you on the countertop.

You saw him visibly gulp, and nervously look up to you. His knuckles were white, still gripping the edge of the table. Usually he wouldn't be too scared to step closer and engage in a kiss, but tonight was different. You had to initiate. You slowly walked towards him, reaching out a hand to lay on his shoulder. He was tense under your gaze, and looked to the floor again.

"B-bunny, I-I-," Tamaki shook. "I'm s-so overwhelmed. I'm so- t-turned.. on. I can barely function."

"Just try and relax, Butterfly," you cooed, stroking his cheek. "How about we start off here, by the table, hmm?"

Tamaki's eyes met yours, wide and dilated. He gave a stout nod, and swallowed harshly. You guided your hands to his hips, signalling him to sit on the table. He did as he was told, now around the same hight as you. You grasped his shirt with one hand and leaned in to kiss him, causing Tamaki to let out a muffled sob. A little bit of sanity came back to him and he wrapped his arms around you, eagerly deepening the kiss.

Your hand inched lower, hovering over his sweatpants' strings. Tamaki chirped when you grazed over his cock, bucking his hips up in an attempt to get more friction. You could feel him begin to pull away, prepared to apologize, but your other hand came up and fisted the back of his head, forcing him to stay put. Tamaki whined loudly, his crotch bucking up continuously to make contact with your hand. With another rut of his hips he let out a glut of groans and whimpers, desperately clinging to your figure.

You pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, and you peered down to examine Tamaki's stained pants.

"Oh Bu-Bunny~" Tamaki said in a daze, head lolling to the side.

"Second time today, huh?" You ribbed, patting the wet spot with the pad of your finger.

"N-no," Tamaki shook his head. "Third time. I-I had a wet dream after you left and I took a n-nap."

You grinned at him, marvelling at the afterglow on his flushed face, "hm, maybe we won't even need to continue~."

"W-wait," Tamaki's eyes widened desperately, "I- I can go a few m-more rounds. Please."

You bit your lip at his puppy-dog eyes, pretending to think about his plea, "well, I don't see why not. You do have tomorrow off..."

"Thank y-you, Bunny," Tamaki cracked a wobbly smile, "I love you..."

"I love you too, my little Butterfly~," you kissed the tip of his nose, "y'think you can come to the bedroom with me?"

Tamaki nodded, hungrily licking his lips. You guided him to your room, hand interlocked with his, and lay him down on the bed. He was already semi-hard again, grasping the sheets beside him. He looked at you longingly as you slowly unraveled your apron, taking care to fold it neatly and setting it on your dresser.

Even though you stood butt naked in front of him, you still felt powerful from his zealous gaze. You took a slow turn, walking towards the dresser and pulling out a tube of lube. You placed it on the bedside table and went back to Tamaki. His chest rose and fell unevenly, elated from his past orgasms. His wide eyes watched as you slowly dragged down his soiled sweatpants, stuttering nonsense when you saw that he wasn't wearing any underwear.

"I-it was just, um. I, uh— well, y'see.." Tamaki rambled.

"S' ok, Butterfly," you soothed, throwing his pants in the laundry basket. "I was wondering why you looked so much more delicious this evening."

Tamaki whined when you gripped his tumescent cock, gleaming with leftover cum, "I-I'm so sensitive. It almost hurts, b-but I want more. So, so b-bad, bunny."

"Hm, how about I fuck you real good? How's that sound?" You asked, picking up the pace of your pumps.

Tamaki nodded eagerly, "yesyesyesyesyess pl-please."

You sat up and positioned yourself above his twitching cock, eager for his gorgeous moans and whines. You slowly dropped your hips, quickly adjusting to his size, and bottomed out.

"F-fuck, bunny," Tamaki cried, throwing his head back against his pillow. "You feel so-ho good!"

Tamaki's indigo halo of hair was spread out; sheening with his sweat. He looked dazed, his body sprawled out on the bed, and his thighs slightly sticky with cum. He sobbed in pleasure as he watched you bounce on his cock, his hands were too weak to even grip the sheets underneath him. He rubbed his hands along your thighs and waist, squeaking out moans and jumbled sentences.

"You look so pretty like this, Butterfly," you lulled, swaying your hips in teasing motions, "you're doing so well, baby. I love you."

"Iloveyoutoo~!" Tamaki griped in reply, hardly able to decipher your words. He felt like he was wrapped in a cocoon of clouds and pleasure. Is that what they mean by 'cloud 9'? He didn't have enough brainpower to think about that; or much of anything, really.

You reached over and grabbed your vibrator, having a feeling that you wouldn't be able to come from the slow pace you were set at for Tamaki. Soft buzzing filled the room as you pressed the button a few times, and you pressed it to your clit.

"Feels so good, Tama," you moaned deeply, trying to egg him on.

He seemed to stir, eyebrows scrunching up, and letting out a small whimper. Tamaki honestly felt like he was dreaming, or maybe even in Heaven. He squinted his eyes open, gazing at your blurry figure riding him. He weakly bucked his hips up, wanting you to bounce harder.

"Please," he whispered, "h-hard— harder."

You did as he wished, laying the vibrator on his stomach so you could get more leverage. Your pussy clenched deliciously around Tamaki's cock whenever your clit made contact with the vibrator, practically forcing groans and whimpers out of Tamaki.

He felt his abs clench once again, alerting him that he was close. Again. His abs were sore as hell, but he still wanted more. He wanted you to absolutely ruin him, ride him into oblivion, and milk him completely dry of his cum. Your pussy felt so good, and he thought he could feel his tongue lull out of his mouth. So... good...

A long keen left your lips as you watched Tamaki's face contort in pleasure. He was so fucked out, babbling pleads and whines. You scrambled for your phone, still riding him, and snapped a few pictures. Your little Butterfly was so hot.

You gripped the vibrator again, pressing it against your delicate clit, desperately chasing the upcoming high. "You're being so good for me, Tama. Come again with me. You can do it."

Even though your voice was muffled, your words urged him on. Tamaki nodded helplessly, not sure whether he was sobbing or moaning, (probably both).

"Please, Bunny," he tried to call. "Cum. Want you to cum on m-my cock."

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, rocking your hips faster. "Oh fuck, Tamaki. So good, so good~"

Tamaki couldn't tell if he was coming once again, or if he was just feeling really good. He heaved out a sharp whine, squirming and bucking up from under you. Yeah, he was coming again.

"Yes!" You hollered, eyes rolling back and legs uncontrollably shaking. "Yesyesyesyesssss~ Ta-ma-kiiiiii."

"Thank you thank you thank you," he pleaded, vision turning white and fuzzy. "I- cum- I came so h-ard."

You switched off the vibrator, and tossed it on the bed. You weakly lifted yourself off of Tamaki's now soft dick, a few glops of cum falling onto his stomach. Tamaki was a trembling mess, whimpering 'thank you''s, and 'let me come one more time'. You sneakily snapped a picture before rushing off to grab a warm soapy cloth.

"How are you feeling, Butterfly?" You soothed the cloth carefully around his pelvic area, cleaning up dried cum and sweat.

"A-again?" He mumbled weakly. "Please?"

"No, not until you rest up. You're over your limit and you're way too out of it to be thinking clearly," you explained, wiping his face clean of drool and sweat, "I'll get you some water and then we can cuddle."

He nodded weakly as you left for the kitchen, and you made a mental note to phone the doctor that you were pretty sure this wasn't any normal mood quirk Tamaki was hit with.

[anonil88]

Malcolm and Marie live blog

I don't usually do liveblogs for movies but yea.

Spoilers ahead!!

I love that its modern timed but very 70s stylized.

A tune indeed.

When you are high and drunk on success and

How the white critic reacts is why I feel like gatekeeping my scripts. At the same time some things I do make are about race or involve.

Marie sitting on the patio smoking is a mood whenever men are talking.

So he's pretentious and unaware.

Whoever chose the music for this, I feel like we would be Spotify mutuals.

Can this nigga stop pacing.

Also can he stop talking;

Marie is so tired and unimpressed.

Also little booties matter and are to be bitten.

Oooo the tension and the jazz.

Title Card over mac and cheese.

Shitty boxes mac and cheese but still mac and cheese.

Tbh i always wonder if spouses/significant others get upset when their spouses don't acknowledge them during speeches.

John sounds so much like his dad but I really hope his acting style differs from his dad a lot.

Guilty confession?

He did not profit off of his partners backstory and then not even acknowledge her.....I.....

If that ever happened to me catch me cussing my partner out during the beginning credits, the end credits, in the car, and at home.

GASLIGHTER!

The way I'm excited for Zendaya to give me some, oooo can she work with Regina King. Please on my knees I pray.

Um no that's not your job to coddle your lead.

He's a dick and the type of dick who makes himself look like a good person around other people.

If Sam Levinson is trying to make his viewers more of misandrist, it's working.

I feel like Marie has her flaws probably a lot of them and we will surely see as this continues, but Malcolm needs to learn how to apologize sincerely.

70s vibes! 70s vibes!

Them kissing and talking about criticism and dreams makes me miss a partner. A partner that I've had and haven't had.

Women really are behind every great man.

Yea sir you fucked a happy moment.

Oh visual allegories for looking in from the outside and cat and mouse chasing and looking from the outside in.

She's saying she doesn't feel noticed by you.

Gas lighter :0 he called her an emotional support dog, bruh.

I would LOVE to co-write or take a writing class held by Sam Levinson. The fights i write are very much in this same realm of reflection and anger and monologue.

Sam.....sam.....are all the sides inside of you doing okay sir?

The ugly side of dating and being in a relationship with someone who struggles with their own demons.

Honestly I could close my eyes and listen to this script being read without seeing these characters visually. Just close my eyes and get a sense of these characters like it was a radio story.

Oh. Oh this is a new wheelhouse of Zendaya acting; a different voice is like breaking through here and her expressions aren't the same we are used to. You can literally hear another character in there....hmm.

Mans is outside really fighting with his invisible demons lmfao.

Selfish ass, how after everything she said you came out of it thinking about your own craft and self instead of how you hurt her.

So she's conditional.

Me: did sam (a white man) say nigga this many times in his script or are the actors adding their own inflections. Not just the lingo used but the topic of race and directing etc. being written by a white writer about black characters is always gonna be a critique when you're writer is a white person.

Alexa play Broken Girls by Saba

He is so hurtful.

A clown nigga a clown look in the fucking mirror you bozo head ass looking like you need some Mehron clown white and a size 16 in clown shoes.

John is doing a really swell performance and reading of these lines.

He is reading her for her insecurities by bringing up his experiences with other women and that.....is yikes.

Arguments can get messy like this in real life but it takes a lot of maturity and control to either not let it get to this point or have a healthy conversation afterwards.

This film is really shot on some very crisp lenses.

They sitting there like 🚬🧍‍♀️🧍‍♂️.

Leftover Mac and Cheese and unfinished cigarettes.

The nyt etc. pay walls are so annoying, but there is a work around look at the articles on incognito or add a period at the end of the url.

He sounds like his daddy so much here, weird, this is the only part I'm eh on the dialogue it feels real but a bit out of pace in how they are bouncing off one another.

Nail scissors? So the end is not the only part he based off of Marie. 🙄

ITS A GOOD REVIEW YOU DINGUS but also its a full review they are going to critique things. She isn't wrong though he did profit off of a woman's story that was not his own to profit from.

Yes Malcolm because unfortunately all marginalized people look through a lens of life that is inherently political because of the world they live in.

He is so mad and upset and had a lot on his chest. But I think he Malcolm and Sam are talking about something thats an issue and a non issue. Being critiqued for you art is hard but also Malcolm is not super self aware. He's like a stand in figure of for example rich depop sellers who wanna be oppressed so badly they yell at others instead of examining their own personal behaviors and ethics.

Oh Marie, when you know the spark is gone and you pick fights because.

He ain't even ask her to read?

One critic I have for most of hollywood actors is they learn their cry and that is it. A change from this is Margot Robbie, I adore her fluctuations of crying being similar but the crying is carried differently for each character. If I had to say any actor that does a cry scene amazing its this woman right here (Amy Adams)

You stole her story from her and gave it away, she has a right to be upset and angry and a rubber band ball of emotions.

Citizen Kane, not the cinematography, but the story is it even that good? (Unpopular opinion but meh, maybe in my rewatch it will be better.)

But that is what people want authenticity and whatever authenticity means to them. What is real for one is false for another.

To be honest look at the criticism of Euphoria, well earned, but a lot of people were like this isn't real even though he literally wrote about his own life. People said it was inauthentic like....wtf.

Ahh the smoking is just a habit, he quit and she didn't.

CAST ZENDAYA IN A HORROR MOVIE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING. Get Lupita and Zendaya and some more black actors preferably less known ones in a horror movie. One with a interesting script and story, directed by Regina King. Please and thankyou.

I love Marie yep that was amazing.

Behind every great man is a greater woman, one that deserves her credit for how she has stood behind. I wonder the stories of those women, what they have sacrificed or not sacrificed. Their thoughts and feelings when the world is surrounding their partner and views them as a plus one. (I'd write a short script about this but I think do I have the time, can I, or am I equipped ?)

He is a shitty person for bringing up his exes, like she even said I don't wanna know any of that.

Imagine being on anti depressents and rarely having a sex drive and then when you do your partner starts talking about their exes and tearing you apart for all your faults.

I love when you see peaks of Zendaya's cadence in roles.

Tension, what if's and he didn't even bring her up in his speech.

Marie to herself and the audience:

He is not afraid that he will loose her but as my character says in my unreleased story, "i can't wait til you give me a fucking reason to leave your ass." Malcolm expects everything in order for not even doing the bare minimum and she is only asking him for something as simple as consideration. She just wants him to be considerate. He wants to get married and considers their relationship like rolling down a hill at full speed and he cannot apologize, he cannot be considerate, and he cannot admit his wrongs. He can only offer her I love yous that he probably does mean but he does not back up outside of what he's done for her in the past. The past which was more of her experience than his and he sees his part in it as a burden. He doesn't use his own vantage point of the past to further his career he uses her. He does all of these things without a real apology or thankyou because he is not afraid to loose her.

The restrictions of quarantine and the panorama have made Sam's writing very no frills. I wonder how other films from other directors and writers that are filmed in small contained crews like this will be structured. But this was a very good movie gonna add to my letter box 3.3-3.5

Oh shit this is my song,

Ratings/overall thoughts:

Script is like a C+, B- : I could go into my heavier big brain thoughts on the script but I don't feel like it. You catch hints of it above it centers conversation on race and privilege, mainly the writers and questions i have that won't be answered but Sam did make me grow disdain for Malcolm over a short time. Which is sometimes hard to do because im one sympathetic person but the sympathy i have for Malcolm is at 0. Maybe a 2 at some scenes but then it quickly goes back to 0. Some parts of the dialogue miss the mark or hit the are off balanced. While some of it like Malcolm's bathroom speech albeit mean is really strong or their conversation when he comes back from peeing really shines for me.

Performances: B+ to A- because they carried the script further than it could of gone with less talented actors. The monologues do well to showcase their current skill levels which are already high af and leave room for anticipation in where these actors go next.

Zendaya holding a knife: A+ with a gold star. That switch on and off and on is delectable.

John being a shitty boyfriend but following Marie like a lost puppy: B+ with a good job written at the bottom of the paper, Malcolm being nervous a frantic dialed up with more realistic nervousness would have sold me completely on Malcolm's anxious waiting.

Cinematography: A and a participation award.

The mac and cheese: A+ for the easy mac. Wish it was like Annie's or Velveeta.

Cigarettes: Participation award and their picture hung up for student of the month. Why the grill lighter? Everytime Malcolm opened up his mouth Marie was like sparks fly.

The music: A++ with a prize. Whoever picked the music probably makes good Spotify playlists.

[televisionboy]

Anti-Gentleman

A note from the author: this is in celebration of NINE HUNDRED WONDERFUL HUMANS WHO DECIDED TO JOIN ME AND MY CHAOTIC JOURNEY. YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PEOPLE EVER! this is 100% dedicated to the love of my life @ciriswife for putting up with me and helping me through thick and thin, being the godmother to my dogs and blessing me with her pets and tiktok links. THANK YOU MY LOVE YOU HAVE MY HEART

taglist: @my-haunting-romance @thatsonefishyboi @punkgeekcryptid @pierrespandas @valterras @prvtbullshit @liebegott @jackswilder @order-of-river-phoenix @himbowelsh @real-fans @pierrespandas @vintagelavenderskies @snafus-peckuh @sydney-m @warrior-healer @starkiddasilva @neverendingstories00 @3milesup @noneofurbusinez @sunnyshifty @meteora-fc @gutsandgloryhere @band-of-bitches @murphyism @wexhappyxfew @we-always-hit-our-ass @lovingunderratedcharacters @contrabandhothead @alrightnicelighter @georgeluzwarmhugs @sodapop182 @hoosiers-blanket @justwant-samu-ass @stressedinadress @ciriswife @ohmydazee @mavysnavy @rayofshanshine @band-of-brothers-headcannons @easy-company-tradition @happyveday @saritanotserena

The first time you saw Floyd Talbert, you nearly dropped the two bags of groceries you were cradling in your arms like babies.

His jaw nearly dropped to the floor, forgetting to be a gentleman and pick up the fruit that had spilled in your bag during this process. Not that anybody could call Floyd a gentleman anyways.

“You’re gonna catch flies. Close your mouth, gentleman” you muttered, picking the dropped oranges and lemons off the ground and setting the bags on the ground so you could look for your keys.

His mouth shifted into a smirk “Aren’t you a charmer” leaning against the wall slightly, watching you struggle to find your keys in your purse was just pure amusement. “What are you doing here, Floyd”

“Walk of shame”

“I guess I’m stupid for not jumping immediately to that conclusion” finally finding the apartment key, you rolled your eyes and opened it. Shoving the bags into the corridor and turning around slowly. “You’re usually the one kicking girls out, I’m surprised that this girl you probably forced to sleep with kicked you out”

A smirk slowly etched its way on to Floyd’s face and he crossed his arms, his body leaning against the door frame of his one night stands apartment. “I’m a gentleman now, did you not pick up on it already?” His all too familiar teasing tone that you thought you escaped lit a fire deep inside of you.

“Fuck you, Talbert”

The door slammed so loud it could have woken up people on the floor above you.

The second time you ran into Floyd was when a storm had happened the next Saturday night. Needing to use somebody’s phone, you went into the first apartment building you could find and knocked on a door. Fairy lights adorned the top of the door, flowers at the entrance. It looked like someone nice lived there, oh how wrong you had been.

“Well well well. Look what the cat dragged in. Seems like the universe really wants us to he together, huh?”

You had to pinch your skin to resist from rolling your eyes, taking a deep breath and sucking up to Floyd so you could ring your date. “Look, I just need to call someone and I knocked on the nicest apartment door. D’you mind if I use your phone?”

His eyes followed you as you walked in to the apartment, looking around, it was nothing special. A brown couch, white side table, two photos on the wall and a few on the mantle, barely anything was on the kitchen counter. You nearly felt at home with his odd design styles.

Dialing Greg’s number was a little nerve racking, Floyd was right behind you attempting to grind coffee beans, making your phone call helpless. “Hey! Turns out I’m not going to make dinner after all. It’s raining cats and dogs outside.. but I can still make it over tomorrow morning. We’ll make it a breakfast date then?”

Murmurs of oh fuck and piece of shit oven made you roll your eyes and hang up the phone. Pushing Floyd to the side and insisting of making him coffee so he’d shut up. “Don’t want your apartment getting burned down, then you’d be showing up at my doorstep all the time”

And there he sat drinking his coffee like a smug son of a bitch. He really hadn’t done anything wrong since he came back in your life, things between the both of you were strong even when he was at war. Until he wrote you that he wanted to break up, that he had fucked other women, that you needed to move on.

How dare he.

To say you were over it would be a complete lie. It haunted you at night, he was a solid building block of who you were.

“I missed you” he softly said, it wasn’t cocky, it wasn’t a joke. He was genuine and it pissed you off.

“You just miss the idea of me. The idea of having a girlfriend so you can reject any ugly girl who hits on you” it was unfair, but it was what he deserved.

“Why do you hate me so much, Y/N?” His mug was empty, yours was full. He sat there concerned and you stood in the kitchen angry. His apartment was small and depressing. Yours was vibrant and welcoming. Everything about him, every move he made, every decision he had done made you rage.

“Because fuck you, that’s why. You left me for some European women to fuck for one night. I loved you and committed to you for 4 years. And for what? For you to cross having sex with German women off your bucket list? I’m here making coffee for my ex fiancée, missing a date, trying to get over you and you ask why.”

You really don’t know why you hadn’t left by now. Maybe it was fear, maybe you wanted him to see how you were doing. But more importantly, the monster ate at the bottom of your stomach. Reminding you that you never responded to that letter. You didn’t say anything, you had even continued to dust the photos of the two of you, continued to wear the engagement ring, continued to talk to his mom and sister. It haunted you how in denial you had been.

But you had long since decided that living well was the best revenge.

“I don’t love you anymore. Maybe in another life we’ll meet again and it will be different. But I’ve since found peace, and it’s something you can never take away. Thank you”

So you gave him a side hug, and settled on seeing him in another life

[xz1005fanblog]

2021-02-27 Some things I want to say

WARNING LONG POST

Context first, translation of his post above will follow:

Disclaimer: I have no interest in other artists other than Xiao Zhan, and I am merely explaining the situation of the fandom in China that led us to the fiasco in March 2020. I do not care for bjyx, I ship WangXian but I do not ship real people as a basic principle.

My opinion as an international fan of Xiao Zhan and as an AO3 user (yes, I am not Chinese nor do I live in China, I just happen to be able to read Chinese) is that C-entertainment industry is TOXIC and celebrities are not free targets for you to cyberbully. They are human just like you and me. 

Everyone needs to learn a bit more about compassion. 

I am sure all of you read about the cyberbullying Xiao Zhan went through last year. There were multiple factors that started all of this, most of which XZ doesn’t talk about in this letter because of how sensitive the topic is in China. I’ve never explained entirely what happened because I personally thought that this is not something overseas fans should worry too much about. Especially since most of you don’t have a wb or db account, there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. But since Xiao Zhan himself decided to post a letter to respond to this subject, I’ll put in my 2 cents just that so everyone is on the same page.

Basically, after The Untamed aired in China, the show fandom split into 3 groups. XZ fans, WYB fans, and CP fans (or bjyx, whatever you wish to call it, those who love shipping these two real people together - not just the characters in the drama). Of course there are still people who would watch the show without becoming a fan of the actors.

At the beginning, most people thought they were good friends with each other, with all the short BTS clips from The Untamed. However, fans slowly discovered that it wasn’t the case. Some unofficial BTS clips emerged where WYB said XZ was shooting multiple dramas at the same time = 轧戏 (which is very frowned upon and a disrespectful thing to say to an actor), whereas in reality, XZ only asked for a couple of days days off during the shooting for The Untamed because his scenes in Joy of Life had to be redone and he was bound by contract. On the contrary, WYB had to ask for most weekends off because he was participating in Produce 101 at the time. Other clips shows them fighting about somethings WYB said about WWX, which made XZ mad. So this broke a lot of CP fans’ image of their relationship, and they either stopped shipping/became XZ or WYB fans only. This angered WYB’s fans, of course, which made them blame XZ for the entire fiasco.  

Other incidents continued to happen after the show which increased the friction between these 3 fan groups. XZ fans and WYB fans would fight about various voting charts, and fight with CP fans because they don’t like seeing the two actors together. In the meantime, CP fans continuously feminize and weaken XZ in order to ship the 2 actors together (it’s rather an unhealthy trend in China, I’ve been in multiple other western fandoms before - not real person shipping - but we rarely glorify weakening/feminizing the bottom of a ship, because of the underlying prejudice against real homosexuals, who are not synonymous to transgenders).

Some incidents added oil to the fire afterwards. It’ll take me too long to explain everything, so I’ll just put here the main ones to explain why there’s so much bad blood between these 3 groups of fans.

On XZ’s birthday, some CP fans found XZ’s parents’ apartment building and yelled BJYX is real. This angered a lot of XZ fans, because of how disrespectful it was towards the old couple and the clear breach of privacy. WYB fans and some CP fans were also angry that XZ didn’t reply immediately to the birthday wish on wb that WYB sent at midnight (??? XZ was busy shooting a drama, can you blame him for not being on wb at midnight? Give the guy a break.)

In November 2019, WYB filed a lawsuit against some of XZ’s fans (instead against of his own haters!) for dissing him (although I’ve never seen any proof, and a few of those fans remain active on wb now, one of whom has even defended WYB's portrayal of LWJ before...). This angered a lot of XZ fans and CP fans who didn’t understand how he could have done this to his “friend”, and further proved that their relationship wasn’t that fantastic to begin with. WYB fans felt justified in hating XZ and all XZ fans as a result, and openly bullied XZ fans on the grounds of the Nanking CQL Concert. 

In January, The Untamed was named to Beijing Journal Drama award. CP fans and WYB fans were unhappy that XZ was named to the Best Male Lead category and WYB was named to the Best Male 2nd Lead. They attacked the award committee wb by spam commenting all their wb posts and the entire drama was pulled from the nomination afterward. XZ fans were especially angry that they started all this only for the nomination to be pulled out - because the only possibility was one Male Lead per drama, and anyone would agree that if chosen between WWX and LWJ, the character with the most scenes and importance in the story is WWX. 

Yadda yadda yadda, fast forward to February 2020, it started with a fanfiction written by a CP fan that depicted XZ as a prostitute transgender woman and WYB as a highschool kid (UNDERAGE) = AKA very sensitive material in China. It was posted on AO3, but the author posted the link of said fic on wb and a lot of CP fans broadcasted it around, so much that XZ fans became aware of it. Due to how sensitive the material is and how badly it would taint XZ’s image for his future roles, some XZ fans started reporting the wb post that contained the link (NOT AO3) and the author’s wb page. This is common practice in fandom on wb, usually done to get the wb posts taken down. This caused panic in the CP fans crowd because they thought XZ fans were reporting AO3 and that they were gonna lose the website (which is impossible, because AO3′s servers are in Sweden and not subject to Chinese laws anyway). 

Because of how sensitive AO3 was in China and how haters tried to pull in antigovernmental into their crowds, the subject quickly became too dangerous for XZ fans to get involved in. Official fan groups in China unanimously decided to ask all fans to stop participating in the online debate and stay within the fan group circle only. 

Someone on AO3 made a commentary about this incident that you can find here. She dug up a lot of info on the companies feeding money to the trolls online, but as I am an overseas fan and cannot really verify her info, I will not comment on those statements. 

Sometime in the middle of this fiasco, someone started spreading the notion that XZ fans hated fanfiction and were trying to report anything that goes against their image of their idol... And subsequently people who were not CP fans or XZ fans became aware of this problem when they couldn’t access AO3 suddenly because too much curious fans where trying to access it and they crashed the servers. However later on, people could access the website without any problems. I am not personally in China right now so I can’t verify these claims of the website being walled or not for real, but I know from various reliable sources that on March 1st it was only an overload of the server, and people could still access afterwards. 

With this however, haters (which include previous CP fans, WYB fans, and other idol’s fans) attacked XZ for not telling his fans to stop reporting, for not saying anything. They attacked XZ’s endorsements and spammed hate speech on the products he was promoting. They would rate 1 star in all his dramas and songs on db, and then buy accounts to further rate 1 stars (yes that thing exists in China, everything can be bought in China, don’t ask me why.) The reason why I believe that all this wasn’t coincidental, is that barely the day after the fiasco started, someone posted on db the exact list of all his sponsorships, detailing exactly who to call to protest, what words to spam in the comment sections of various official brands’ wb accounts. This entire thing was too well planned to be just a normal fandom fight. 

Whether it was other actors’ fans who organized this to cut down competition, we will probably never know for sure. The following year was laden with fake rumors, hate speech blasting from multiple directions. They attacked his personality, saying that his polite manners are just for show (when the reality is that he has always been a gentleman even when he wasn’t popular). They attacked XZ for faking donations to Wuhan, forcing him to show his donation certificate to prove himself. One of his friends couldn’t stand the cyberbullying anymore and revealed publicly that his grandfather recently passed away (the date on this drawing is 2020.03.03, he couldn’t post this last year). 

His friend defending him from the cyberbullies, saying that he had plenty of reasons to stay silent. That his grandfather passed away recently and his family has been planning his funeral. 

(Sources also said that his mother was hospitalized a few days afterwards. And that haters went to his mother’s hospital to harass her and her nurses)

Haters saying that XZ is using his grandfather’s death to excuse himself (??? is he not allowed to grieve like a normal person???)

Haters wishing that XZ becomes depressed from the cyberbullying and kills himself, wishing that he was dead, wishing that his fans were dead too. Photoshopping his picture into a funeral portrait to curse him

Haters admitting they are cyberbullying XZ, but rejoicing in the fact that they are so many so XZ can’t sue all of them. They have also reported his upcoming dramas for various reasons just so they cannot be aired. 

The airplane incident I’ve already talked about here.

A picture antis made to diss on XZ fans: AO3 can be still accessed even if it’s walled, Lofter can be still access even if it’s taken down from the app store. Your gege’s picture are still accessible even if he died. 

I’ve only posted here the tamest screenshots, there are far worst ones that I won’t be posting because the amount of vitriol give me nausea just looking at them. 

In all this fiasco, antis gave him the tag of “idol who didn’t manage his fans well”. But Xiao Zhan never thought fans needed to be trained, he thought of them like normal people, and their love, something to be treasured and not used. But some people in China still blamed his fans for starting all this mess, and partly him and his studio for not being able to stop it. 

Below is the translation for XZ’s letter, posted on the wb post above

Some Things I Want To Say

Today, I have something to say to everyone. I’ve thought of a lot of ways to do this, but in the end, I chose the simplest way to tell everyone about all my feelings and thoughts in the past year. These opinions, maybe they won’t be able to represent anything, nor won’t they be able to change anything, but I still wish to say this today. 

On this day last year, the incident happened very quickly, as if a bomb exploded on my face - endless phone calls, never ending message notifications, everyone’s opinions and questions came in like a tsunami. I wanted to say something back then, but I didn’t know what exactly. I was apprehensive of making a statement, afraid that one wrong word, or one wrong sentence would be taken the wrong way and end up adding oil to the fire. This is why at that time, I chose not to say anything. 

I never thought that the online fighting would grow bigger and bigger like an avalanche, getting larger crowds involved, and gradually leaving one person’s control. Even though afterwards I made repeated statements to make amends, it could not develop as I wished it to anymore. 

This life filled with broken protests and tumultuous noise continued to this day. And I felt I was going through a very dark and never ending tunnel. Unrest, ruminations, turmoil... I have also asked myself what did I do wrong exactly, why did everything after that day became as if it were an uncontrollable vessel. 

I spent a lot of time to digest, and then spent a lot of time to understand, understand everyone’s words and actions. Slowly, I started to understand what everyone was criticizing about me personally. The moment that I chose not to say anything, I lost that window of opportunity to reason with everyone. So I was wrong, from the very beginning. 

At that time, I wasn’t yet able to clearly understand the entire incident, to understand everyone’s feelings, nor did I know what kind of responsibility I had to carry as a public figure. Thus, I missed that opportunity to communicate with everyone, and wasn’t able to withstand the responsibility of letting these antagonizing feelings grow. Now, I can clearly recognize that throughout this year, this criticism that everyone had against me of “Idol Who Lost Its Voice”, was correct. During this year I reflected upon this repeatedly, as a public figure, I have to not only improve myself within the boundaries of my profession, but also have to carry the social responsibility that comes with my influence. To influence those who like me, who follow me, towards the right worldviews within my capacity. Even though my studio and I have already expressed some opinions through wb and interviews, but scars that this incident that brought such antagonistic emotions between different circles are still difficult to heal. 

No matter how late, my own problem has to be corrected. I would like to express my first comment: Xiao Zhan, would like to apologize for “losing voice” towards those who have been affected by this incident. This is my first responsibility towards the public, face the problem and admit my faults. 

Also, I would like to use this opportunity to speak with my fans. This is my second responsibility. In one of my interviews last year, I have said, I do not really agree with “managing” my fans (some celebs in China have hired people to manage fan groups in order for them to behave in certain ways for their purposes. Antis tried to spread the false rumor that XZ also had those people and that they directed their fans to start this mess), because everyone is an individual. No matter my studio nor myself, we do not have the authority to “manage” them like some would manage workers in a company. Afterwards, I reflected many times, maybe I cannot use the word “manage” to define my relationship with my fans, but I do have the responsibility to “correctly influence, and actively advocate”. So today, I would like to tell my fans, everyone has the right to like or hate something, and it should be respected and allowed within their own space. Of course this right should be reasonable, should not hurt anyone else, and remain within the boundaries of the correct values and norms. I hope my fans and friends can understand that no matter which profession, no matter what age, one’s own preferences or actions should not cross the line for one’s professional ethics or disrespect basic principles. 

(Here he is referring to reports of teachers using his name in class or asking children to say his name to cheer for him. This is a problem that occurred also with other celebrities in China, and for which he has already expressed himself previously.)

No matter online or in real life, everyone should be responsible for their own words. I also hope that we are not represented tags like “xx’s fans”, that we do not set this as the basis of where we stand on a topic nor do we let this determine what’s right or wrong. Everyone have their own hobbies and interest, respect everyone’s choice and freedom of speech. No matter whether they like me or hate me is their own right. Passion, this should be a source of strength to everyone, I do not wish for it to consume or hurt anyone. Perhaps I cannot change this kind of environment, but at least for you and me, today is a new start point. 

At last, I would like to talk a bit about myself. Ever since I came into this field, until today, I have always been defined by some tags. But the reason why I originally stepped into this circle was my passion for performance and music. And this is why, I will keep working on becoming a better actor and singer. The sudden criticism of “having lost voice” made me realize that, other than what I have always focused on professionally, I have to also be able to carry the responsibility of a public figure and an idol. I was born in a normal family in Chong Qing, and have lived a normal life, like many other people, for more than twenty years. Today I will also use this opportunity to apologize for the words I have said before as a normal person (I’ve already talked about it here), for the people I have inadvertently hurt. As I work hard on studying to become a better person, I will try to become a better “public figure”, so that these two Xiao Zhan can blend in together, for a better self. 

This past year, no matter big or small, I have to be responsible for the incidents that happened because of me. I can demand this for myself, but I have no right to force it on other people, so I can only hope that those who really like me can really listen to me: please be a bit more reasonable for things outside of personal preferences. Live a healthy life, put more time and energy onto one’s real life, and less on the senseless fighting behind fake IDs and unreliable online world. Only to become a better self. 

(Here he’s referring to an online fight that an anti called 晨小晨 started. I’ve already explained a bit here.  #微博管理员回应晨小晨事件# )

Sorry for any grammar errors, this post was really long to make and I didn’t proofread. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to translate the entire thing for overseas fans since you don’t understand the entire context, and because I wanted my wb records collection tag to be complete, I felt I had to... and I got carried away trying to explain everything. Tried to summarize it as much as I could.

As a fan of Xiao Zhan and also an AO3 user, I would still like to apologize for how this bullshi*t ended up disrupting respectful and peaceful users of AO3. The Untamed tag did not contain hate fics before all of this happened, it is unfortunate that a place where there used to be only love, ended up being tainted by antis and haters.

To the anonymous person who asked me a few months ago if I supported bjyx, this is my answer: You have the right to like whatever you want within your own corner, as long as it doesn’t bother anyone else and isn’t against basic principles. I ship WangXian as characters from a novel, but I have never liked RPS as a principle. 

[bixisarusher]

Bix Reviews: Call Me Kat (Season 1, FOX 2021)

I thought a lot about how I feel about this show, and there are lots of words, so it’s gonna go under the cut.

In summary: I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as I hoped to, and i discuss why I think that was. BUT there are great things in this remake, and I want to name them as well!

There are two ways to look at Call Me Kat: As it’s own thing, and as a Miranda remake. As a Miranda Hart stan, I’ll have a lot more to say about the latter, so let’s start with the show itself.

On It’s Own

That felt appropriate, nvm me

It’s a cute show. It’s not a groundbreaking concept, and it’s not re-inventing the genre, but it has some really good things going for it:

Kat is happy and confident in her quirks, but doesn’t have it all together - so she has room to grow and is very sympathetic, all the while encouraging the viewer to celebrate their own quirks. Lovely! Also Mayim is a treasure and it’s great to watch her perform.

The show openly discusses “taboo” topics, like using anti-depressants and their side-effects, freezing your eggs, comparing yourself to a hallucinated version of your crush’s ex...  The show isn’t a trailblazer, (partly because there have been many great shows in the last couple years) but I thinks it’s awesome to see them further treading out the ground and normalizing these topics.

It has a nice set of characters that go through their indepent stories, I found myself excited for any new episode and enjoying the varying storylines. (Most of them Randi.)

And, although the last episode dragged it right back into the romantic territory, Kat has a genuine friendship with Max and I value that a lot. Neither of them harbours secret feelings, instead they are open and honest about it. The only thing they overdid here was to have an exchange of “Do you remember, when we were in college together and [blank] happened?” in at least every other episode.

Another thing on the down side: Neither the writers nor Mayim seem to fully know what to do with the fourth wall breaks. I don’t mind the thing, it just doesn’t feel fully rounded out - like how much they want to use it, what purpose it really has, ...

I think it’s due to the circumstances of the filming (pandemic restrictions and all), but more on that later. So much for the show itself.

As a remake

First of all: Do I love Jim Parsons for looking at this absurd british gem of a TV show and deciding “the world needs more stuff like this”? Absolutely! Because I agree! There were two or three moments that leaned on Miranda a little too much for their own good, but overall: it is content inspired by Miranda, but neither correcting, it nor copying it. More power to this concept.

More power to celebrating the silly joys in this live, to celebrate not being normal, more power to amazing friendships and women who find their own path. Call Me Kat does all of these things.

However, it doesn’t quite live up to it’s Mothership. Let me elaborate.

There is a myriad of reasons why Miranda works and I will not attempt to list them. However there’s one thing that does stand out to me in the original, and that I really miss in the adaptation: Miranda didn’t just write “a plot” and salt it with “a few jokes”. She carefully built tensions and different storylines to culminate together. Sometimes it’s a funny word that the character hears in the first act, and later nervously blurts out in the wrong moment. Sometimes it’s a parade of characters she met through the episode that all meet in one spot at the end. Or there is a throw away comment in the beginning of an episode that sets up a revelation toward the end.

I could swarm you with examples, a good one is in 1x03 Job: trying to impress Tilly, trying to deny waitressing, and then: the multiple “You weed in a ball pool?” and Gary in uniform walking in right on time to sell the lie about being an undercover commander. Another one of my personal favorites is in 2x04 A New Low, when Miranda in the end tells Gary that he lost her trust, and he’ll “never get to see her naked sweep” - and then he find’s the portrait Tamara did of Miranda’s “naked sweep”. Just hit’s right.

That is a testament to how well crafted the episodes are. In Call Me Kat? All Nighter and Gym had moments like that, and Double Date very early on set up Kat’s dream to use the sound system, but it just never reached that same level of mastermind.

But, in defense of CMK: Miranda was crafted over ten years with a full of 20 episodes airing (21 if you count the radio series) and the cast worked together a good year before they filmed the first series of 6 episodes. Compared to that, work on Call me Kat started around 2018, the cast was assembled in the first half of 2020 and started shooting in late October. They then shot 13 episodes in their first season. (which is more than half of the total episodes of Miranda, just saying) Sources: english wikipedia articles for Miranda and Call Me Kat, as well as Mayim’s Youtube. (Jep I did research for this.)

Also the CMK episodes were written and directed by a variety of people, while the Miranda episodes have all been at least co-written by Miranda Hart and all except for the last two were directed by Juliet May.

These are - as much as I as a humble consumer with a bit of wikipedia knowledge know - basic differences about how shows are made in the UK vs. in the US, and neither formula is any way of guarantee for the quality of the final product. However I think somewhere in those facts is the reason why the Miranda ship feels a lot more in shape and ... coherent. The pilot that we know and love is the fourth time they recorded the script, and I don’t even want to know how many times the script had been edited in between. The cast knew each other well, the material had been tested in front of multiple audiences. Call Me Kat had neither of these luxuries. On the contrary, CMK has been put together under restrictions due to the pandemic.

So on the one hand, I am majorly grateful that this show even got to see the light of day! That means that a full cast and crew had jobs in these trying times, and it means that we were provided with good entertainement.

On the other hand, the circumstances are showing in the final product. The cast had an awkward chemistry with each other, and the comedic timing, though not horrible, could have been a lot better.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I think studio audiences can be a blessing. There is something about the actors having a genuine connection to real time observers that helps me as a screen audience connect to it. And for this staged multicam show that includes glances at the camera? I think a real audience would have grounded the concept. And it would have given the team a direct feedback as to which moments were working comedically and which weren’t.

What I’m trying to say is: they had big shoes to fill, and the odds were not really in their favor, and so it doesn’t really hold up in comparison.

That’s sad. But that doesn’t mean that it’s a horrible show. As I said in the beginning, I love that this show is done in the spirit of Miranda, even if it’s not just as good.

I have no idea how the show’s chances are to get a second season. If they do get renewed - I’ll keep watching.

-----

Now, let me finish with a few gifs that I feel like they can be applied to the whole “they remade Miranda and it went both ok and less then ok but at least the word is being spread, right?”-situation.

because Kat/Max is good but could anything ever be Miranda/Gary?

Not really...

ok that one’s a bit rude. but you thought it, too.

Jim turning in bed at night overthinking if Mayim was the right choice. But she was. Much like Stevie was for Miranda.

Honestly a very good part of the remake is Mayim and Cheyenne performing together! I personally think this moment above is responsible.

Trying to match the CMK characters to the Miranda characters like: I thought Phil is supposed to be the Customer but turns out Phil originally was supposed to a Phillys? So Phil is Stevie, but then who is Randi? Tilly? So many questions.

And with that, dear Caller, back to you.

[recentanimenews]

SPOILER-FILLED REVIEW: Talking About That Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Ending

  A note on safety: The following movie review undertook the strictest of safety procedures to watch the anime film in cinemas in Japan, including washing hands with disinfectant before and after, sitting in seats apart from others, going to a cinema outside of the busy metro area, and wearing a mask during the entire runtime of the movie. We strongly urge everyone to follow the recommended safety protocol in your country and always wear a mask when in public — not just for your sake, but everyone else’s as well.

  For those who are outside of Japan and want to know how the latest (and final) Evangelion film stacks up, we have already published our completely spoiler-free review. For those that want to know more, please read on.

    After the airing of the NHK documentary which followed Hideaki Anno and the four-year production of Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time, the unofficial “spoiler ban” was lifted by Studio Khara on March 22. This means, as much as Khara is concerned, we are free to discuss anything and everything Evangelion: 3.0+1.0, like how [omitted for spoilers] kills [spoilers] and LCL [spoilers]. 

  Seriously though, if you don’t want to read any spoilers for Evangelion: 3.0+1.0, then leave. Immediately. Close the tab, don’t scroll down.

  This is a warning.

  I’m not kidding.

    I’m putting an image here as a buffer. It's sweet right?

    If you scroll past the next image you will be spoiled for everything in the film. This is your last warning.

  "Asuka" as a kid

  Welcome to Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time where I may have lied in my previous review, cause things go tumbling down — but in a good way. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t recall the exact right terminology here on out: between the Doors of Guf, the hundreds of Evangelion models and ships we see, and that ending, it’s hard to keep it all in one head. That’s why this film has four directors. 

  If you’re already here, you’ve probably read the synopsis going around the internet right now. Yes, it explains what happens on screen, but experiencing it is a different story. Evangelion 3.0+1.0 takes a lot of cues from The End of Evangelion in its final act, but prior to that it is mostly a story of growth for Shinji, where he rejects being depressed (after a heart to heart with black-suit Rei, who then turns into LCL), learns that things aren’t 100% his fault. Shinji goes on to tackle his source of depression head-on; owning up to his past mistakes and taking down his father, who is now literally just a vessel of his own desires.

  Unholy Gendo

  Something truly missing from Evangelion 3.0, and one of the reasons I loved Evangelion 2.22, was just the gang hanging out together and interacting with the — very scarred — world around them. That scar has vastly grown throughout the 14 years Shinji was missing from the actual 3rd impact (the one at the end of 2.22 was a “near-impact event”) which saw the world covered in the red haze we saw in 3.0. Luckily, WILLE has purification pods that keep the core-ification of the world at bay. We saw that being used in the 12-minute preview, but throughout the film, they’re used extensively to keep the Evangelion wandering the landscapes on the red earth away from the villages that are helping the WILLE cause. They need to get food from somewhere.

  This is where we spend a lot of time learning how the characters from Shinji’s class all survived, got paired off, and that Asuka is staying (and is probably in love) with Kensuke. She confesses to Shinji that she loved him when they were kids, but 28-year-old Asuka can’t keep loving someone who hasn’t changed in 14 years. Shinji does accept the confession, saying to her that he loved her too, and she turns into LCL — though that’s in the Anti-Universe and after Asuka meets the “original” Asuka (I’ll get into that). As I said, it’s The End of Evangelion 2.0.

  Rei discovering herself in the village

  One of the nicest parts of the film is black-suit Rei discovering human emotion and society in the village. Being a clone that likely spent all of her time locked in her room (and without the love of the now inhuman Gendo, which original Rei got), it was unlikely that she learned anything that makes humans human. The concept of “hello” and babies from Toji and Hikari confuses her as she finds a place herself in this village. Admittedly, it was sad to see her go and turn into LCL (from a lack of LCL exposure), but serving as the catalyst for Shinji to get over himself and face his demons was worth it … I guess?

  After this, Shinji grows up. Even Mari on a re-introductory sniff claims as much. During his time in the village, he discovers how the settlement stays afloat and that the 14-year-old son of Misato and Kaji (the latter perished in the real 3rd impact) helps keep the village alive. A picture of Shinji and Kaji Jr. helps warm Misato’s chilled heart and gives her the confidence to let Shinji pilot Unit 01 again, much to the disdain of multiple members of the WILLE crew.

  All of this is nice. Unlike the despair and hopelessness felt in 3.0, the entire first three parts of the film are uplifting and bring moments of joy. Seeing black-suit Rei smile as she came to terms with herself was just utterly beautiful.

  Then Shinji decides to get in the robot. 

    This is where I’m going to get into the Hideaki Anno talk, because this film, as well as the rest of the anime versions of the Evangelion franchise up to this point, is basically just a self-examination of the man’s mental state. In the spoiler-free review, I called Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 the antithesis of Evangelion: 3.0. And that’s true, but it is also an antithesis to The End of Evangelion: A rejection of the depression Anno felt while creating the 20-plus-year-old film. There’s no doubt in my mind that the journey of Shinji through these Rebuild films is the journey of Anno creating Evangelion, with 3.0 being the lowest point.

  But this isn’t just felt in the story of 3.0+1.0, it’s also felt in the way it was presented. The entire final act of the film is basically a happier version of the “tumbling down” scene from The End of Evangelion, just with some more interesting aspects to it along with some inventive filmmaking — including making Lillith’s face live-action. That was haunting.

    This includes the above scene, which got a lot of flak on social media for being very poorly animated when it appeared in a trailer. Even I was confused over the inclusion of such poor animation in what is one of the most hyped anime films of all time. Funnily enough, it was Anno trolling. The scene comes from the ending, where the two Eva’s fight through the history of Evangelion, with this scene either representing a testing stage for CGI or one of the many Evangelion video games. The poor animation makes sense in the film … mostly.

  Over multiple film-like sets, the two Evangelions duke it out — one with Shinji, the other Gendo — over their ideals. This takes them to Misato’s apartment, the school, and even where Pen-Pen (or his offspring, I don’t know how long Penguins live) resides in 3.0+1.0. Before cutting to each of the different scenes, an Eva smashes through the set wall and onto a production stage. 

  I also said in the spoiler-free review that Anno “takes everything he knows about animation and filmmaking to deliver the perfect end to Evangelion,” and it shows when you see the (animated) production stage filled with props, miniature cities, and controls that you’d probably see on a production stage for a live-action Evangelion. Again though, this part is animated.

    Mari at the End

  The surrealness doesn’t end here. When Shinji “wins” and chooses to reset the world without Evangelion, the animation breaks. Shinji devolves into key animation, then layouts, then into a storyboard, which is then broken by Mari bringing color back into Shinji’s world on that beach. No “how disgusting” here, only happiness.

  The film ends with an adult Mari and an adult Shinji at Ube Station. As the music of Hikaru Utada’s “One Last Kiss” swelled up through the speakers, the animated backgrounds slowly transitioned into a live-action drone shot of the area surrounding the hometown of Hideaki Anno. 

  A poster for Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 showing Shinji on the tracks outside Ube Station, which I discussed when the poster was first released. 

  This is how I know Hideaki Anno is done with Evangelion. While yes, he has said he is done and feels no personal connection to the franchise anymore, the end of the film is a deeply personal one that clearly shows the anime creator cares about his creation and is now happy enough to see leave home and become its own thing — if anyone else chooses to pick it up.

  Shin Evangelion (the Japanese name for the film) is the true form of Evangelion that Anno set out to create over 25 years ago. While it wouldn’t have looked anything like it does now, the emotion poured into one of the longest animated films ever made makes that point as clear as the bright blue sea.

  Some other various interesting spoiler points:

  I’m not sure if character designer Yoshiyuki Sadamoto was lying about him not knowing Mari’s story and just making that one-shot chapter of the Evangelion manga on a whim or whether Anno took what Sadamoto wrote and expanded on it, cause Mari was right there in school with Gendo and Yui exactly as the chapter laid it out. Unless she’s also a clone...

There’s a really good shot of CG Asuka trying to force-feed Shinji, which was a direct evolution from this test footage back in 2018.

On the topic of Asuka, she had a small version of a purification pod in her eye that, when opened, unleashed an angel, and in turn let her meet her “original.” It’s not explained whether the original is Langley Soryu from the TV anime series or not.

Also, she’s a clone, like Rei and Kaworu as part of the “Shikinami” series. Interestingly, Mari Makinami also has “nami” in her name...

Ritsuko did nothing but shoot Gendo, mimicking the scene from The End of Evangelion. The shot was as useless as her character arc in the Rebuild films.

This film has to be set in at least the third continuity of Evangelion, as the TV series is directly referenced in the production stage and thrice does mean three...

Sakura is one of the most grounded characters in the film, with her asking the true question of “why the heck are you letting him in ANOTHER Evangelion?!” Let’s hope the live-action world she is now in is good to her.

      Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is currently showing in theaters across Japan, there’s no word on an international release at this stage.

        Daryl Harding is a Japan Correspondent for Crunchyroll News. He also runs a YouTube channel about Japan stuff called TheDoctorDazza, tweets at @DoctorDazza, and posts photos of his travels on Instagram. 

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features.

By: Daryl Harding

[sadselfhelp]

Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks. 

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me. 

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing. 

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble. 

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one. 

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me. 

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 18

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, fluff

; Word Count: 3.4k

; Warnings: Description of depression, use of antidepressants, side effects of antidepressants

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Again, this chapter might not be the one for anyone who has struggled with depression, anxiety etc. It’s not as intense as the last chapter but it deals more with the ‘after effects’ of taking anti-depressant medication and stuff! I swear the next chapter is happier haha

; Flower Masterpost

-

A noise in your apartment jolts you from your sleep, body twitching as the sound finally filters in to your sluggish brain. Blinking, you try to focus your eyes only to see that your bedroom is dark. You have no idea what time it is, but given the curtains aren’t closed and the sky is black, you presume it’s either evening or night.

You’d fallen asleep sometime around 2pm, giving way to the severe lethargy and drowsiness that had clouded your mind and deadened your limbs. And now you were so nice and warm beneath your covers, comfortable without any intention of getting out of bed.

It was even nicer as you were on Hoseok’s side of the bed, which was an amusing concept given just over eight months ago you’d never even considered sharing your bed with anyone else. But now it was just...it was his side. 

Normally you’d feel weird about sleeping there, but today you’d happily nuzzled into his pillow while pulling the covers tighter around yourself. It smelled like him, the sheets and pillow cases saturated in the unmistakable scent of your beloved boyfriend, so familiar and soothing to you. Given he hadn't been here, you’d consoled yourself instead with that one bit of comfort.

But now you’d been woken up and you had no idea why. Maybe Kasumi had knocked something over.

Curling up tighter, you closed your eyes and buried your face into the soft pillow some more. It probably wasn’t anything important and she hadn’t come running in fright so you doubted it was anything really big.

You don’t even realise you’ve dozed off again until you feel the bed dip backwards, your body rolling slightly to follow the movement and you groan quietly, body unwilling to get up. Shifting slightly, you wince as you open your eyes and realise that the lamp on your bedside table is now turned on, the small bedroom illuminated.

Hoseok had encouraged you to finally move the furniture around in the little space, allowing the bed to be moved until he could actually get into it without having to crawl in alongside you. While he hadn’t minded being next to the wall, you understood why he’d wanted to be able to get out with ease. He did get up before you after all.

But right now though, Hoseok was watching you with a careful frown painted on his pretty face. The dim lighting from the energy saving lightbulb you used painted him in a subtle golden glow and you gave a soft smile as you note how strands of his hair have a brown tinge. They’re messy overall though and you realise he's probably been running his fingers through them.

He’s been doing that more often lately.

After managing to pull yourself out of the panic attack that you’d suffered at work and talking it through with Hoseok, you'd finally taken yourself to the doctors. It had been excruciating admitting what was wrong, how you were struggling and how your mental health had been so negatively impacting your life.

But you’d been a little surprised to discover your doctor had been fully supportive and concerned. He hadn’t made out that you were lying or were seeking attention but had instead taken you entirely seriously.  After a discussion with him about how your depression and anxiety was affecting you both mentally and physically, he’d prescribed you with a course of antidepressants to begin. 

For a moment, in the doctor’s office, you'd felt a little shame at having to take them but you'd pushed that thought away firmly. You knew that there was no shame in seeking help, and sometimes help had to come in the form of medication. If it would let you feel a little happier and more content with your life, then you were willing to try.

You just desperately wanted to feel more normal in your day to day life; to feel happiness without the fear of anxiety coming to ruin it all. The very idea of being able to enjoy big events or happy days without a crushing fear of the depression overload that would inevitably follow was so foreign to you, yet so exciting.

Your doctor had made it very clear to you that the medication he was prescribing wasn't a cure and that you shouldn’t consider yourself ‘cured’ by taking it. It was merely a way to stabilise your body and let your mind have a breather without your body actively working against you. 

He'd also suggested that you try and get some therapy with a professional but you simply couldn't face the idea of talking through your emotions and issues to someone you didn't know.

You couldn't even talk properly to Hoseok or your best friends about it; even your parents made you clam up with anxiety. Why you felt such an incapacity to talk about yourself, you didn't know.  But the very idea of it was terrifying, actually trying made your body practically seize up. You were still beyond surprised that you’d reached out to Hoseok like you had.

So you had instead accepted the medication happily, following his orders to take a half dose for the first week before upping it to the full dose of one tablet a day. A warning from him when he’d been writing out the prescription had frightened you; he'd told you that the medication might make things worse at first as your body got used to it and balanced itself out.

There was also a chance of a whole multitude of side effects. The list on the medication leaflet had been eye opening in just how many side effects you could potentially have but you’d still swallowed down that half tablet on the first day without a second thought.

You wanted to at least try and overcome your negative thoughts, to work at being happier with yourself and your life. For once, you didn't want to let them beat you. Too long you'd allowed the demons of self hatred, depression, anxiety and stress to beat at your crumbling walls until you'd slowly closed yourself off.

The board game night with Soyeon and Chungha had long been the only thing that you would allow yourself to do on a work night, any other social activities had been strictly limited to the weekend. You'd allowed all the bad habits your mind had formulated over the years to build and spread until you felt anxiety if you didn't shower at a certain time and more.

And you'd told yourself that it was okay. You liked to be alone. You liked doing things by yourself. You were independent; it didn't bother you that your friends went out and had fun, made other friends and dated freely.

You didn't mind it all because your limited lifestyle had appeased the anxiety monster that lived deep inside your head. It meant you had control over what little of your life you could actively control.

But it had been a lie. Like everything else your mind had created, it had all been a lie. You weren't happy being alone. You didn't enjoy how your mind and body had repeatedly conspired against you to keep you trapped within the walls of your apartment as soon as you left work. You despised how the clock had seemed to rule over your life, ticking loudly even if you couldn't hear it with each movement reverberating in your chest; louder, tick, faster, tock, louder, tick, faster, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, louder, faster, louderfasterlouderfasterticktockticktock. 

You hadn't been strong enough to break it, hadn't had the willpower to push past the fear and the roiling anxiety that plagued you when you didn't do something by a certain time, when you went out on a weeknight. And that wasn’t even considering the extra problems that arose from your complete and utter self-hatred; your disgust at your own body and life.

The feelings of uselessness, of how pathetic and stupid you were and so forth. They weren’t true, you knew that deep down. But when those emotions and thoughts batter themselves at you for long enough, eventually you start to believe them.

Until you’d met Jung Hoseok.

He would never let you claim that he was the reason for you finally seeking proper help, truly seeking help from a professional who could monitor your situation. In turn, you didn't want to claim that he had been the sole reason either, because he wasn't. What he had done though, was that he had made you finally get the will to try and fight, to try and get better for yourself.

His support in your moment of complete weakness, when you were at your most broken and vulnerable had meant more to you than he could ever know. The patience he had kept while he dealt with your hysteria, your anxiety and stresses had let you know that it was okay to not be okay. The relief that you’d felt upon telling him what you were feeling had been overwhelming and you knew that without his support, you likely would not have reached out to the doctor.

Not only that, but you knew that getting help for yourself would be better not only for you but also your relationship with him. You weren’t stupid, you knew that you’d somehow hit the jackpot of boyfriends with him. And you wanted to make sure that you didn’t ruin that.

You wanted to spend time with him without being assailed by thoughts of negativity; the fear that he didn't actually like you, that he was doing it for a bet, that he could do better, that he was cheating. None of that was true, you knew that and it embarrassed you to know that you had those thoughts as you knew that Hoseok would be hurt to know you thought that, but it was hard to push it out of your mind once the thought buried itself deep inside. 

No, you wanted to get better so that you could experience the life he offered you outside of the safe haven and prison you had made your apartment. He terrified you because he lived a life you didn't understand, and while you didnt want to become fully integrated into it...you wanted to at least enjoy what you had with him.

You wanted to not freak out about going to the movies on a Thursday night, to enjoy a meal out on a Tuesday. You just wanted to enjoy being in a relationship, with the only downsides coming from arguments about stupid things. Not because your mind has convinced you that he was going to leave.

And above all, you wanted to finally start to become happier in yourself. Get the energy to finally go to the gym like you’d always wanted to but had been so afraid of the looks and comments you might get. You didn’t exactly want to get to a certain shape, but you knew that you wanted to have a healthy body to go with a healthy mind.

Those things went hand in hand right?

So here you were, six days into the antidepressants. And you were so, so ill.

You could hardly eat, your stomach so bloated it felt like you'd swallowed a balloon most of the time. It was tender to the touch too, and you'd vomited frequently because of the rolling nausea that came and went as it pleased. And that was nothing compared to what came out the other end unfortunately, as horrifically gross as it was to say.

Headaches that felt like you were being hit in the head with a pick axe made you whimper even when you weren’t doing anything. And over it all was an overwhelming fog of tiredness that was making you so, unbelievably bone weary.

You felt so lethargic all the time, with such little energy that you didn't even want to move. If the doctor hadn’t warned you that everything was likely to get worse before it got better, you’d be afraid. But you’d at least been warned. Didn’t mean you had to like it though.  It was like your muscles had simply given up, unwilling to do their sole function while a foggy haze filled your mind.

It was hard to think a lot of the time, words and thoughts appearing in your mind and then vanishing away in wisps. On top of that, you didn’t even want to think too much, it seemed to tire you out even more. In fact, all you wanted to do was sleep.

And so you’d done a lot of that. You'd taken some time off work to cope with the side effects once it had become apparent that you were indeed suffering some of the negative ones, almost falling asleep on the job until your boss told you to head home. And in turn, Hoseok had spent the last few nights over at yours, taking care of you as best he could.

Whatever food and drink he could get down you he did, along with any painkillers you were willing to take. And then he made sure to keep your place clean, taking care of Kasumi when she wasn't curled up against you on the bed.

You'd never been more thankful for him.

"Do you need anything, baby?" He asks softly, running his hand along your side gently. You knew that he probably missed actually interacting with you given that you slept so much lately. And despite the fact that he’d just woken you up from what must have been a good few hours nap given he was here, you just wanted to go back to sleep again.

A negative sound leaves your lips while you shake your head, eyes falling closed once more. You hear him sigh deeply, his hand resting firmer on your shoulder before he's moving off the bed.

Sounds come from within the bedroom before he heads out, a sweet and high pitched male voice floating through to you as he talks to Kasumi and the cute meows that he's answered with. Despite your tiredness and pain, you can't help but smile at the sound of it.

You love that he loves Kasumi too, and that she likes him in return.

The mattress dipping again causes you to blink away, frowning as you realise that you’d obviously drifted off to sleep once more without even meaning to. The fluffy duvet shifts on top of you, a waft of cold air causing you to shiver as it runs along your back before it's replaced by the firm, warm body of your boyfriend.

"Hobi?" His nickname leaves your mouth quietly, the sound husky with the sleep that's plagued you all day and you feel him sigh against you. A solid arm wraps around your waist, carefully avoiding your sensitive stomach and shifting until he finds a position that's comfortable for both himself and you before he settles.

"Yeah baby, I'm here. Go back to sleep if you need to. It's okay." Hoseok murmurs softly, the fingertips of his hand brushing in the most soft and gentle manner over your stomach, his touch soothingly warm even through the fabric of your pyjama top. Despite the pain and tiredness, you feel an immense wave of emotion towards him given how easily he cares for you.

There's no doubt that someone like Hoseok could probably have a girlfriend prettier than you, smarter than you and so much more. Someone who was less work. Someone who would go out with him without question, who would drink with him, go to his gigs with him, who would listen to the same music as him and much more.

Yet here he was, in bed with you at an early hour on a Thursday night so soon after he’d gotten home from work. All without a complaint, because you were suffering badly from the symptoms of your antidepressants and he knew that. He’d seen you in ways that you never wanted anyone to see you in the past week, from breaking down so completely to all the different illnesses he’d nurtured you through.

And he was still here. He’d supported you the whole way, with a happy and positive attitude that said you could rely on him. Even if he went to work in the mornings, you fell back asleep with  surety in your bones that he would come back to you.

You felt gratitude towards him, affection and something far stronger than you were not entirely sure you could put a label on just yet, even though it had been over eight months at this point. Because he didn't run at the first sign of a girlfriend who was a lot of work. Instead, he just got down in the dirt with you and told you that he was ready to support you.

Your hand moved down to trace the skin on his wrist, mind already drifting off before you even realise it as you feel the steady movement of his chest behind you. Fingers pressing down on his hand lightly, you can't help but smile softly as you realise that you might be ill and still suffering the negative effects of the other week, but right here...in his arms...you finally feel hopeful.

-

Hoseok laid there quietly, feeling the way your body relaxes against his and your breathing slows down as sleep grips you once more. The peace you slip back into contents him, the knowledge that you’re no longer suffering or feeling the effects of either your illness or depression soothing him deep inside.

His own depression from his teenage years had taken a different form compared to yours; self-destructive behaviour that refused to acknowledge what he was feeling. It had been a constant rollercoaster of emotions back then; from anger to happiness, guilt to joy and more. He’d struggled with it, unable to accept his own grief and feelings until college.

But he would never say which kind was worse, neither were worse than the other because they had both tormented each of you in turn. Hoseok was just happy that you’d sought help from your doctor and were now taking antidepressants that would hopefully be of some help to you.

And he would be here for you. A few years ago he probably wouldn’t have been. He was mature enough to admit that he’d been exceptionally immature back then. The Hoseok of early college would have run at the first sight of anything that looked like work in a relationship, not willing to put up with your depression and anxieties.

Back then, he’d liked his girls easy, open and willing. The concept of actually having to put in effort would have horrified him.

He was glad that he’d grown as a person since then, evolving in his mindset and tastes until the idea of not staying with you was painful; the idea of missing out on you hurt his chest. So did the idea that other people might give up on you because of something you couldn’t control. He knew that you thought it made you unlovable, that you were convinced that you weren’t worthy or didn’t deserve it.

You were wrong, and he would happily spend his time proving you wrong.

Running his hand slowly along your stomach, your body so warm and solid against him, he sighed quietly and pressed his lips to your head. A tiny noise left you, shifting slightly before settling once more and he smiled as he pressed his nose into the back of your neck.

He’d never felt like this to anyone, which he supposed was a good thing. But everything about you fascinated him, drew him in like a moth to a flame. Your little habits, some spurred by your anxiety and some just natural, your love of all things cute and anything that made you happy and so much more. On paper, this relationship probably shouldn’t work given the differences, but he’d never been with someone he liked this much.

So if you were struggling right now, then he was going to be right here with you until you feel better again. That’s what you do when you love someone.

[satanloveschicken]

Midnight thoughts -B.C.

-Bang Chan

This is a comfort one shot i wrote for myself bc i was sad so i hope it cheers u up bc it worked for me. This was originally an entire fic idea but i’m not sure i want to write a whole ass fic rn but if yall want the entire thing just lmk. also i totaly turned this in as an assignment for my creative writing class. I’m such a clown. omfg

warnings : mentions of suicide, theme of self degrading thoughts, angst

word count : 1,017 

-

“Maybe I should kill myself,” the girl leaning on the balcony rail mumbled to herself. She in fact should not kill herself. But oh, did she so desperately want to.

           The light of the street lamps cast a soft glow over the girls face as she admired the sight below her. Scattered blobs of color from other houses and apartments shone around her. Stars twinkled far above as a light breeze brushed through her hair. The smell of fresh spring rain lingered. God, did Faryn love that smell. It always brought the comfortable reminder of home, but not tonight. No, tonight she hated it. Tonight it brought the reminder of her dead parents.

           Faryn’s hands slipped from where they were resting on the railing to her sides, lying limp. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

           Why did they have to die? Why did they have to leave us so early? I don’t know what to do without them.

           The cement of the apartment’s wall was cool against her clammy back, her sinuses started to sting. A pressure built up behind her closed eyes. Felix can take care of himself. He has a life here. I shouldn’t have intruded. Faryn didn’t have a choice though. It was either move in with Felix in a new country or stay in Australia where everything reminded her of her parents. Maybe she didn’t want Felix to be alone, or maybe it was really her that needed him more than he needed her.

           It’s just him and her now. Two siblings against the world. She didn’t want it to be just them though. She wanted to be sitting at the dinner table laughing, surrounded by her mom and dad and Felix on family game night. She wanted to be baking a traditional recipe with her mom. She wanted to be working on broken cars with her dad. She didn’t want to be sitting on her younger brother’s apartment’s balcony crying. Yet here she was. Doing exactly that.

           A car honked far below on the street and Faryn flinched. Images flashed in her mind. Blinding lights. Screams. The smell of spilled oil. Fire.

           Faryn slammed her palms into her eyes, as if she could rub out the memories. “No, not now! I don’t want to. Not right now!” She whispered. More tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, gradually sliding down her cheeks.

Faryn shifted on the hard concrete carrying the sound of her pills moving with her. She froze. With a shaky hand she dug the bottle out of her pants pocket. Everything seemed to fade away as she stared at the bottle full of tiny little anti-depressants. Maybe she was delusional but the bottle stared back at her. Taunting her. Egging her on. Wanting her to pop the lid and throw them to the back of her throat.

Yet something stopped her. A voice in the back of her mind. Screaming at her not to do it. But she shoved that voice down. Down, down, down into the deepest parts of her mind and locked it up. A dumb idea really but she clearly wasn’t thinking straight.

Faryn’s thumb freed the pill bottle’s lid from its attachment. The tiny white pills spilled into her hand like a rushing waterfall.

The sliding glass door crashed open and Faryn whipped her head in its direction. There stood her neighbor, staring down at her folded form with sad eyes. His eyebrows were creased in what Faryn might’ve thought was worry. She looked up at him. Her eyes wide and questioning, filled with tears.

He took a step forward, and then another when Faryn didn’t react, up until he was sliding down the wall to sit next to her.

She knew who he was. She knew that he was Chris, Felix’s best friend and now her new neighbor. But what she couldn’t fathom was that he was here. Trying to comfort her when he could be anywhere else. Doing whatever else he wanted. She didn’t understand why someone would value her. She didn’t get why he would pull her into his arms. She couldn’t figure out why he let her cry into his shoulder or why he rubbed comforting circles on her back. She didn’t know but she didn’t care. She kind of liked being held.

The pills that were seconds away from being taken now lay discarded on the floor. The white a stark contrast against the dark gray. They stood out the same way darkness does against light.

Soft sobs spilled into the night. Followed by hiccups and sniffles. They stayed like that for a while. Just sitting. Faryn crying and Chris comforting her.

He wished he could do something more for her but he didn’t know what. He knew not to mention cars or board games but maybe, just maybe, baking something could help her feel better. Probably not one of the recipes Faryn and her mom would make, but maybe a simple chocolate cookie. Cookies almost always cheered people up. They sure seemed to do the trick for him.

Chris’s voice was just above whisper when he spoke, “Cookies? I can make you some cookies and we can put on a silly movie.” He held her tighter, like she might break any second.

The hiccuping slowed down as Faryn took deep breaths. In through her nose and out through her mouth. “Yeah.” Her voice broke on the one word but she smiled anyways. “Yeah,” she repeated, nodding her head that was still lying on his chest.  

“Chocolate chip or sugar?”  

“Chocolate chip.” Faryn’s head moved back so she could look at Chris and his grip loosened a tiny bit, “Please.”

Her smile was breathtaking and her eyes lit up for the first time in a week. Even with snot and tears running down her face she looked like she was gonna be alright for a little while longer.

Chris’s own mouth turned up into a lopsided smile, “Alright, sounds like a plan.”  

After all, a dying plant can still recover with the help of tender care and love.

[fandom-necromancer]

Coffee, crushes and Complications Prequel

This was prompted by an amazing anon! just a warning, this short got dark real quick. So please, heed the warnings and stay safe! It has a happy ending, but I have said in the other parts Gavin hit rock bottom, so I had to make him hit rock bottom. He does recover in the end and gets back on track that has him being happy as we know from part 1 and 2. It’s just a hard contrast, therefore I wanted to warn you. I hope you still enjoy heavy angst!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Characters: Gavin Reed, Tina Chen (Warnings: depression, description of depressive behaviours, Character thinks about suicide, implied suicide attempt (that doesn’t happen, not even the attempt!), suicidal thoughts) If you want to skip the suicide related part skip from “It was two weeks...” to “Tina! Tina, don’t say anything!”

[Part1]   [Part2]   [Part3]   [Part4]

‚Hey, Boss, what’s up?‘ Gavin marched into Fowlers office with a grin and a spring in his step. He had all his cases solved in record time and had finally endured the cry-babies of machines that had come in lately with stories of assault and attempted murder. What had they expected simply stopping to work to looked like? But he had done nothing wrong, at least nothing Fowler could prove, and that was the most important thing. ‘You are fired, Gavin.’ Gavin blinked. He must have misheard something. ‘The phck?’ ‘You are fired, Detective Reed. Hand in your badge and pistol and pack your things.’ ‘What? Why?’ ‘Why?!’ Fowler stood up and leaned over the table. ‘You really even dare to ask that?’ ‘Errr…. Yes?’ ‘Well, then sit down and get comfortable, because I have a whole fucking list!’, the Captain shouted. ‘And I finally can say what I wanted to tell you for so long, because I will finally get rid of you now!’ Gavin did sit down, but not because he wanted to. His knees had suddenly failed him.

‘First of all: You are a real asshole.’ ‘Yes, I know but-‘ ‘I don’t mean it in a funny way!’, Fowler interrupted. ‘You are a true asshole. A bad person. You treat your co-workers as if they personally attacked you. You are unable to work in a team without sabotaging the whole mission for your benefit. You actively try to make others look worse than you are so you seem like the best one. You are so obsessed with getting promoted you fail to do your work, you are constantly breaking protocol and don’t think I didn’t realise! I did. I just never said anything because, shit, sometimes that was an advantage. But this was the final misstep, Reed! I can’t tolerate your shit any longer!’ Gavin swallowed, then threatened: ‘And what should that be exactly?’ He let his anger speak for himself, but deep inside his guts had twisted into a tight ball.

Fowler leaned back. ‘Your anti-android behaviour. Fucking hell, I thought you would learn with time. I thought you would catch up to the others. But no, you continue calling androids names, calling them “it” instead of he, she or they and treating them like malfunctioning machines. These people come to us for help and you laugh them in the face!’ Gavin huffed amused, then outright laughed in Fowler’s face. ‘Captain, that’s a good joke. You don’t actually believe… They are not human. They will never be. Phck, I wouldn’t even consider them persons. They are some fancy part of machinery, so complexly programmed that maybe they even believe themselves to be persons. But they are not! They are objects, robots. And some fancy revolution and new laws can’t change that simple fact!’ ‘And that’s why I have to fire you. I can’t have you interrogating someone knowing you will personally dismantle them if they don’t talk! They are machines. But they are persons too. And you have to respect that. Fuck, Gavin, what did you think?’ ‘I thought and still think they are not alive. It doesn’t matter what you do to them, it’s just simulated. They don’t feel a thing.’ ‘Are you really sure about that?’, Fowler asked, weirdly calm considering he had been furious just before. ‘Even after Connor?’ ‘Connor is a big reason for me being absolutely certain’, Gavin said.

‘Then hand in your badge and service weapon.’ Gavin stared at the outstretched palm. ‘Oh, come on, Jeffrey, you can’t do this to me. I’m your best man!’ ‘I can, I will and I must. And you haven’t been my best officer for a long time. Hank is back – thanks to that apparently lifeless android Connor – and the RK800 is the best Detective you can wish for. Now, I won’t repeat myself.’ Gavin was sitting there completely numb. He didn’t even have energy left in him to complain and that was saying something. He pulled his pistol out of the holster and handed it over, before unclipping his badge. He looked down on the polished metal with his name on it and thought back to the day he had been handed it. How proud he had been. How much of his pride still was engraved in this piece of metal. He had worked hard for this and by now… Shit, this little piece of leather and metal basically was his whole identity. He pushed his thumb over the letters. G. Reed.

‘The badge, Reed.’ He blinked, took a deep breath, held it and pressed the badge into Fowler’s hand. Then he stood up and pressed out: ‘That’s all?’ ‘That’s all.’ Gavin contemplated saying something. Something witty maybe, or something mean, something that would hurt and gave him that little satisfaction of revenge, even if it didn’t mean much. But he couldn’t think of anything, his head was filled with cotton and everything tingled with numbness. So, he just nodded and left, trying to keep up his composure. It was hard without the added weight on his hip that had made his step a bit broader than it normally was. He stared at the ground not to have to look into their faces. Would they laugh? Would they care? Or worse: would they pity him? Whatever they might feel towards him leaving, he couldn’t face it and so he just took what little possessions he had decorated his table with and left. ‘Hey, Gavin, what’s-‘ That was Tina, but Gavin had already passed the security gates and as soon as he was outside the building he ran to his car, dropping his things on the passenger seat and starting the engine to speed off. He was just moments away from a total breakdown, the fact that others might see him and that he couldn’t drive in that state the only thing keeping his composure up. He parked the car messily in front of his apartment, took his things and stumbled up the stairs in a hurry. He barely managed to unlock the door, dropping his keys once and failing to pick them up first try as his eyes had blurred over.

Then finally he was inside, had closed the door and dropped his things on his sideboard, before leaning on it heavily finally allowing his feelings to spill over. He knelt in front of the small wooden furniture, his hands holding onto the edge to keep him steady somewhere. How could this happen? He was untouchable. He was good at his job. He was damn good at his job. He wasn’t good at anything else. He had only ever been a Detective and… Oh god, he didn’t have a job anymore. He wouldn’t be able to pay his rent. He could make it a few months, but he would have to find something else soon and oh god, what if he had to give his cat away and phck he didn’t have a job anymore and… Did the whole world hate him?

He half kneeled, half sat there, crying, his stomach cramping and heaving and trying to keep his meal down through it all. His shoulders shook and he didn’t trust his hands or his legs for that matter. Standing up was out of question. He crawled over to the wall to prep himself up against it and the sideboard, that was about all he did that day, crying until no more tears would come, his nose was hurting and the muscles of his abdomen aching from overuse. He was thirsty, but at the same time it didn’t matter. He was cold but hell, what did that mean? He needed a shower to get out of his partially wet clothes and maybe feel human again. But he knew he wouldn’t even make it to the living room. So why bother? He didn’t move and tried not to think.

He woke up still in the same position and sat up with his back cracking. Something warm shifted against his legs and stretched. He looked down on his cat, who looked up to him as if asking why her human was so upset. ‘I phcked up, Bready. I’m sorry.’ He scratched her behind the ears. ‘And I haven’t given you anything yet, have I? Sorry. You must be starving. Come on, daddy will get you something.’ With that he finally managed to stand up, but still had to lean against the wall, waiting for his circulation to catch up. He carried himself into the kitchen, gave Bready her food and threw himself a frozen pizza into the oven not wanting any poor delivery guy to see him like this.

He rubbed his forehead that by now hurt like a thousand needles from his dehydration headache. So, he opened the fridge and his eyes fell on his liquor collection. Should he… But it would only make things worse. Could things go worse? To be honest, he just wanted to sleep. He should save the alcohol for tomorrow when he would need it. He ate his pizza, drank his water, forced himself to take a shower and dropped into bed. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

-

It wasn’t. He was awoken by his alarm, had sat up and halfway left the bed as he remembered that right, no work to go to. Rubbing his face and scrunching it up as he rested his face in his hand, he thought about what to do. In the end he did stand up to give Bready her food and retreat back to bed. She soon joined him, a welcome weight against his legs. As he woke up hours later, she was still there, and Gavin watched her for a while. Damn, why couldn’t he have been born a fat, carefree housecat? He fetched his phone, tried to switch it on and sighed as it wouldn’t. He struggled to get the charger out without disturbing Bready. When he finally could switch on his phone, he immediately was bombarded with messages and missed calls from Tina. He read over them but deleted the notifications from the calls and left her on read. He didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like anything at all. In the end he flicked through the same apps on his phone, fell asleep and circled them through again once he woke up. He stood up to get his cat some food, then went straight to bed. He didn’t want to eat, so he didn’t.

The next day he managed to eat breakfast, but only because he had switched off his alarm and his cat woke him up with screaming. He threw some water in his face, then returned to bed. Tina had called again. Had messaged too. Gavin put his phone on his nightstand face down.

In the evening he couldn’t lie in bed anymore, never feeling comfortable and always sore. He faced his fridge again and took the next-best bottle. When he fell asleep on the couch hours later it was empty.

The hangover was hard, but Gavin liked the sobering pain. He didn’t like throwing up in the toilet first thing in the morning though. He skipped breakfast and lunch lying in bed. As Tina had called for the millionth time, he finally got the energy to answer the call, shout: ‘Phck off, don’t wanna talk!’ into the mic and drop it back down. Dinner was some instant noodles. With lots of alcohol.

When the weekend came, his reserves had been depleted. He was left to water and stale coke. Maybe that was something good? Gavin didn’t think in these categories anymore. Then the doorbell rang. And it rang again. And again. Gavin would have appreciated it staying this way of it ringing and him not answering, but then the call came from outside: ‘Gavin, you absolute fuck, I know you are home and you know I will kick down this door, now open up before you have to pay for a new door and lock without a job!’ Way to go Tina. Gavin just sighed, but obeyed, opening the door. He had planned to tell her to go, but she somehow already had made it past his sluggish reflexes. ‘Holy fuck it reeks!’ The first thing she did was opening the windows, letting in fresh air. ‘How the fuck did you live like this?’, she asked pointing at the dirty plates on the floor. ‘And fucking hell, you look like death!’ Gavin just shrugged. ‘Feel like death too.’ She took him by the back of his shirt and pushed him towards the bathroom. ‘You will take a shower and if I have to watch you do it!’ Gavin tried to protest, but somehow he was already standing under the stream fully clothed. His hoodie began to weigh him down, but he didn’t care. ‘Gavin, I won’t mother you. You will get out of your clothes on your own. Call me if you need anything, I will cook you something.’ Gavin shook his head violently. ‘Tina!’ She turned around to look him in the eyes sternly. ‘You should go. I need more time.’ ‘You got plenty of time. I won’t let you destroy yourself like this! You got fired. That’s all. No one died. No one is ill. You will find a new job and better days will come.’ ‘Someone died’, Gavin disagreed. ‘I did. I died when I handed in that badge, Tina.’ ‘Oh fuck off you melodramatic asshole. I am speaking to you right now. So you fucking are alive and need to wash yourself. And you need food, so I will cook. And then we will talk.’

She had left, but Gavin still winced as if she had struck him with a knife. Talk. Oh, please, anything but that.

‘Any plans what to do now?’ ‘Any idea what kind of job you would like?’ ‘How about going out to a movie tomorrow?’ ‘Gavin, fucking talk to me!’ Gavin swallowed hard. ‘You should leave, really. Thanks for the food and for kicking my ass, but I’m not ready yet. This job was all I ever wanted and all I ever had.’ ‘Bullshit.’ ‘No! No bullshit! For once I’m completely serious Tina! What do you think I have except for it? Everyone phcking hates me, I can’t do anything else and I don’t have anyone to help me! All I have is this flat and my useless phcking cat! I. Have. Nothing! And I’m sorry if a few nice words from pity-party Tina won’t suddenly make me function again!’ ‘Pity-party?’ ‘That’s what this is, isn’t it?’, Gavin shouted. ‘You secretly enjoy it, don’t you? Oh, look someone that has phcked up! Let’s pretend we actually like the guy and don’t just profit from him! Then we can say: see? See how he got better? That was me!’ ‘Gavin!’ ‘What?’, Gavin spat back. ‘Tell me that’s not what you are trying to do! Tell me you mean it, it will be a real nice joke, I can tell you that!’

Tina stood up and in exactly that moment, Gavin had realised he had made a mistake. Another mistake. He had wanted to be angry, about who and what didn’t matter. But well, it did. ‘You know what, Gavin Reed? I’ve been your friend for a long time. Do you really think I listen to an asshole like you, to talks like this and fake being your friend? What weird twist of logic is that? I wanted to help! I really wanted to. But if this is how you respond to that, I clearly wasted my time! Goodbye.’

And Gavin’s days turned back to lying in bed with his cat and stupid phone games, getting up only when he needed to pee, when Bready needed food or when he couldn’t postpone eating any longer himself. One day he actually went out to get some canned food that was easy to prepare, food for Bready and alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

It was two weeks after he had been fired, that he sat in the corner of the living room, a bottle next to him and the shards of a broken glass in his hand, that he carefully pulled out. He didn’t even feel the pain. Not really. Should he… It was tempting. He had no one, he had no job, no goals… Was it even worth it? He had looked far too long at the blood pooling in his hand and the largest shard in his other. It was just a movement after all. But then Bready’s head suddenly appeared and Gavin cursed. ‘No, bad! Shoo! This is dangerous! Damn cat!’ He let the shard fall to the ground and picked up his cat with his uninjured hand, carrying her over to the kitchen and keeping her busy with some treats. Once he was sure she was occupied, he returned to his corner outfitted with a dustpan to pick up the shards so Bready couldn’t step in them.

Only when he saw the bloody shards, he flinched back. He had seen these pictures far too often. Had filed them away as evidence. Had asked himself how people could do something like this, often leaving family and friends behind. And now… Phck no! Phck no, not him! He wouldn’t… He had always been a fighter, hadn’t he? Then why had he given up just moments ago? No, he wouldn’t… He would. He would finally get his ass up and act! What had Tina done last weekend? What had she done…

Open the windows. He retraced her steps after he had gotten rid of the shards and bandaged his hand. He opened the windows, looked to the ground and fetched the dirty plates. He put them in the dishwasher. He cuddled his phcking lifesaver of a cat extra-long and took a shower – this time without his clothes. Then he took his phone from the shelf he had put it on to ignore it and sat down on the couch. He dialled the number on autopilot and waited until he got an answer. It didn’t take long.

‘Tina! Tina, don’t say anything! I don’t know if I can build up this courage again if you say something. Just listen, please. I was an idiot. I was a total asshole to you, and I understand you completely if you don’t want to talk to me or ever see me again. But I really need your help and I want to make up to the terrible things I said to you. I may not have much left, but I have my fantastic cat, I am still alive, and I hope I still have you. I need someone to kick my ass and I know you are best in that. I need you right now. I want to look for a new job, I want to start again, and I don’t want to lose you as my friend.’ He pressed his eyes closed and waited for an answer. ‘Tina?’ ‘What? You told me to shut up and listen! I’m already on my way over to your place with job offers from a few newspapers, you giant asshole. Should I get takeout? Are you hungry?’ ‘You are not mad?’ ‘Oh, believe me, I am mad. But I am also proud of you, Gavin. And if you think you can get rid of me, you don’t know me!’ Gavin audibly exhaled. ‘Oh, Tina, I don’t know what I would do without you.’ ‘Yeah, sometimes I wonder, too. I’ll hang up now, okay? Gotta go place our order. Just wait for me, okay? We’ll fix this shithole of a situation you are in in no time, believe me!’

Gavin smiled, the first time in two weeks. The call had already ended, but he still whispered: ‘Yes. I believe you.’

[>next part]

[365days365movies]

February 24, 2021: Annie Hall (1977) (Part 1)

Well...Woody Allen.

I, uh...OK, look, I could get into the whole Woody Allen thing, but INSTEAD of me doing that, I’ll just say this: look into it. Because there is a LOT on this subject, and it’s controversial as HELL. At the end of the day, I’ll recommend this upcoming series on HBO, and just recommend that you look into it.

Because, uh...yeah, it’s not great. That’s all I’m gonna say, because I need to educate myself on it more as well. Instead, let’s talk for a few seconds about divorcing the art from the artist. But ONLY for a few seconds.

I understand why some of you might be surprised I’m doing this one. Because, again...Woody Allen. But, yeah, I always try to do my best to divorce the art from the artist. Because some people suck, but they still make nice things, or at the very least, things that should be open to interpretation and appreciation.

“Superfreak” is a classic song of 1981, and everybody’s heard at least some of it, but Rick James fuckin’ kidnapped two women and kept them in his basement, WHERE HE TORTURED THEM. Edgar Degas made beautiful paintings of ballet dancers, and was also A MASSIVE ANTI-SEMITE. And before he was (RIGHTFULLY AND JUSTIFIABLY) outed as a roofie-ing piece-o-shit...I grew up with - and genuinely enjoyed - this guy’s comedy.

And you can judge me for this, but...I still think his stand-up was and is genuinely funny, and I still appreciate the cultural impact that The Cosby Show had on society’s perception of African-American families, divorced from the stereotype of the ghetto. Fact of the matter is, works themselves deserve to be separated from the artist who made them. That’s my philosophy, and I’m sticking with it Entirely fine to disagree with me, by the way, I get it.

But in that spirit, I’m watching Annie Hall, despite its creators likely transgressions. After all, this is technically his magnum opus, and it’s a good look into the man himself. And so, with that in mind: Annie Hall! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) is talking directly to us about his outlook on life, and his view on the potential future. He tells half of a joke, then an amusing anecdote, and a bit more until telling us that he’s broke up with Annie, and he’s still thinking about it, trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong. He goes back to the beginning, which is punctuated with flashbacks.

He grew up in Brooklyn in World War II, and a young Alvy (Jonathan Munk) is with his mother (Joan Newman) at the doctor’s. He’s depressed after learning that the universe will one day end after a period of expansion, and is having his first real existential crisis. I had mine around the same age, actually, went I learned that the Earth will one day get swallowed by the sun. And THEN came the realization that I’d be dead by that point. AND THEN came the realization that I’d die one day, and that was a WHOLE NEW crisis to...anyway.

He grew up under the Coney Island rollercoaster according to him (although his analyst says that he exaggerates), and that’s what he blames for his “nervous personality. He’s also got an active imagination, often blurring fantasy and reality. His Dad ran the bumper cars on Coney Island (a place that I’ve never been, but desperately want to go).

He continues on talking about his former schoolmates, and not really that well. While in class, young Alvy kisses a...little girl...ahem. And then, when reprimanded by the teacher, current Alvy notes that he was always...like that...and he also says this to the little girl, and they talk about Freud’s latency period, and Alvy said he never...had...one...that’s uh...that’s fuckin’ SOMETHING, now isn’t it?

OK, well, shoving that forcefully aside as hard as I can, Alvy wonders aloud on where his classmates now, and one of them says this:

This also involves a little girl saying she’s “into leather,” which is...awkward as FUCK, but WE’RE GONNA MOVE THE FUCK ON. Alvy recounts his paranoia, and was so even after he became a famous comedian (which we say after a VERY good joke about qualifying for the army as a hostage). He speaks to a friend, Rob (Tony Roberts) about potential anti-Semitism from a person in a passersby meeting, then heads to meet Annie.

Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) arrives at a movie theater, late and in a bad mood. The two are late to their intended film, argue briefly, then head to another film that they’ve already seen, The Sorrow and the Pity. In line, they’re in front of a man loudly soliloquizing on film, much to Alvy’s annoyance.

Annie and Alvy continue to argue a bit, while Alvy openly berates the casual film critic. In the middle, he talks to the audience about it, only to be followed by the crtiic himself, who also acknowledges the audience! Huh! Anyway, he’s a professor at Columbia, and starts continuing his line speech, this time on the work of Marshall McLuhan, one of the most important early media theorists ever. And then, Alvy brings out Marshall McLuhan (Marshall McLuhan) to debate him on it, only for Alvy to turn to the audience and wish aloud that life could really be like this!

I’m beginning to understand why people like this film. It’s metacontextual before metacontextuality was really a thing in film. It’s a fourth-wall breaking movie in some fantastic ways. But will it still hold its muster after breaking the fourth wall’s become so commonplace? we’ll see, I guess.

After a showing of the film, the two return home, and Alvy tries to initiate sex. But Annie’s not really into it at the moment, and Alvy complains that they used to have sex all the time, and it’s been a while since. So, I guess that retroactively awkward scene at the school was meant to foreshadow Alvy’s high libido, that will probably cause some conflict in the film. Anyway, Annie notes that Alvy once went through something similar with Allison, his first wife. Who’s Allison? Flashback!

Allison Portchnik (Carol Kane) is a graduate student in political science, working for a campaign that Alvy’s about to perform for. He’s nervous, as he’s going on after another comedian. She comforts him by saying that she thought he was cute, and he does well. But we flash-forward to a night after they’re married, shortly after the death of JFK, which Alvy’s obsessing over, entertaining various conspiracy theories.

However, Allison rightly points out that his obsession is simply a way for him to avoid having sex with her, which mirrors the present-day situation him him and Annie. Flash forward TO Alvy and Annie, and there are just lobsters...everywhere, on the floor in their kitchen. After that commotion, they talk about Annie’s past romances.

And by talk about, I mean they LITERALLY WALK THROUGH her memories. And I gotta say...I fuckin’ love this method of storytelling. One of her previous boyfriends is an actor (John Glover), and his over-dramatic prose sickens Alvy. We see a second marriage of Alvy’s to New Yorker writer Robin (Janet Margolin), who’s dragged him to a stuffy high society party of intellectuals that he has no interest in going to. Same her, Alvy. I bet the caviar’s canned.

He tries to initiate sex with her - in the middle of the party, mind you - and she turns him down. later, when they get to it in their apartment, she’s unable to, uh...reach satisfaction. From there, we flash-forward after that marriage ends to a tennis match with Rob, where he meets one of his mutual friends: Annie Hall.

And for the record, Annie’s pretty obviously got a crush on him, and she’s adorable as fuck. Also, that outfit, real talk...that outfit rules. She offers to give Alvy a list, during which he’s quite worried about her driving, but the two still get along well enough. Annie’s an amateur photographer, during a time period where photography is considered a relatively new art form. The two go to her apartment, and share familial anecdotes and personal stories about themselves. And as they talk, we also see a set of subtitles on top of each of them that betray their inner feelings and thoughts.

I do genuinely like the stylings of the movie, goddamn. This conversation leads to Alvy asking her out on a date, although they end up scheduling it after Annie auditions at a nightclub as a singer. And while it doesn’t go great, Alvy tells her she was fantastic, and they share a kiss before they head to dinner. They head to her place afterwards, and we cut to later that night, post-coitus.

And then, we get a flash-forward back to the next day, where the two are at a bookstore, and Alvy speaks on his personal philosophy of life.

I'm obsessed with uh, with death, I think. Big - big subject with me, yeah. I have a very pessimistic view of life. You should know this about me if we're gonna go out. You know, I - I feel that life is - is divided up into the horrible and the miserable. Those are the two categories, you know. The - the horrible would be like, um, I don't know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don't know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. You know, and the miserable is everyone else. That's - that's - so - so - when you go through life - you should be thankful that you're miserable because you're very lucky to be miserable.

Iiiiinteresting.

Shortly into their relationship, they admit they’re in love (or “lurve”, as Alvy says). She moves in with Alvy, which he initially isn’t the biggest fan of, having been burned in two previous marriages And already, their relationship is showing a few bumps. Alvy’s also always trying to push her to take college classes, while she uses mariuana whenever they have sex, which Alvy doesn’t agree with.

But as they have sex one night, without the marijuana at Alvy’s urging, Annie’s mind wanders - LITERALLY.

This film...this film has a VERY unique style of visual storytelling, and I am HERE for it! Seriously, I genuinely love this method of storytelling and comedy, it’s extremely engaging to me.

Soon enough, Alvy gets an interview to write for a talk show host, which he ABSOLUTELY despises. But in doing so, he decides to go into stand-up for himself, and is actually quite successful at it! But before we get to that, we’re at the halfway point! See you in Part 2!

[soccer-fanfiction]

Parker Arranges A Funeral

Hey everyone, welcome back. This is my 7th story, featuring Scott Parker of Bournemouth (although in the story, he was still at Fulham). Fast Fernando, Esther Parks and Alicia Lowell are my OCs.

Leave comments!

 IT was another normal Tuesday in London. Scott Parker had just woken up. It was a good day. He had sung in the shower, and nobody had interrupted. Unlike the day before, when Josh Maja had burst in. Parker had had to reach for what he called his “anti-public-nudity-machine”.

 Which just happened to be a bath towel.

Now he was dressed and in the kitchen, sipping a steaming mug of coffee. Secretary Esther Parks walked into the kitchen. He had just hired her that week.

“Morning, Mr. Parker,” she said, reaching for the coffeemaker.

“G’morning,” he said. “Esther, I told you already. Just Scott.”

“Okay, ‘Just Scott’,” she said with a teasing tone. “Ready to make plans?”

“We’ll need it,” he said. “If we’re going to beat the drop, I have to have a plan for every possible situation. But I need to step out first.”

“You’re a top-flight manager, Scott.”

“Even top-flight managers need to get into nature.”

Parker stepped out the back door and drew a breath. He loved the outdoors. It wasn’t that Craven Cottage wasn’t cozy. Far from it. He loved every corner of that place like the stadium was himself. But the outdoors, with the trees and sky and birds, held a special appeal to him. He slipped his feet out of his shoes, digging his toes into the gravelly soil and grass. Tiny violets shyly peeked from the grass as, one foot after another traversed the lawn as he went over to a special place, one of joy…

It was Areola who came out. Alphonse Areola, with his goatee and purple shirt, discovered the manager in the yard. He was on his knees and mumbling something.

“What on Earth is going on?” said Areola.

“You wouldn’t know.”

Areola took a step back and surveyed the scene. Parker, phone in hand, was kneeling in front of a bare patch of land. In front of him was what seemed to be a mass of dried flowers. Instantly, Areola remembered…

“They’re your sunflowers, no?” he said. The responding nod was all Areola needed to know.

 “Hello? Anybody home?” Areola called into the door of the Chelsea stadium, Stamford Bridge.

N'golo Kante popped his head out. “Eh? Alphonse! Long time, man!”

“It has,” said Areola with a smile. He hadn’t seen Kante since the international break.

“How’s life in ‘The Zone’?” Kante said, referring to the player’s common term for the dreaded 18th, 19th and 20th places.

“Not bad, actually. I kept a clean sheet last time out.”

“Oh, congratulations! I scored a goal.”

“If only I was that lucky.”

“You will--if you’re El Loco.”

“I’m not crazy, N'golo.”

“So what brings you to the Blues?” said Kante as the two Frenchmen walked through the main hall.

“Depends if you know about Parker’s flowers,” said Areola, “or not.”

“Eh, Parker?”

“Our coach.” The two stopped at a huge mural. Areola had never seen it before. In it, a bunch of guys were lifting up a big silver trophy.

“Who’s that?” said Areola.

“Oh, him? Just the greatest coach of all time.”

The two whipped their heads around. A man in a black suit stood at the other end of the hall, leaning against the wall.

“Lampard!” said Kante. “What are you doing here? I thought you left London!”

“Well, I did, after Mr. German stuck his nose here,” said Frank Lampard. He fingered the collar of his blue shirt. “But I still visit once in a while. And this is my favorite mural of O Especial, the Special One.”

Kante rolled his eyes. “Mourinho again, right?”

“You’ll never catch a break from him.” The Englishman shook his head. “By Jove, I’m in Birmingham the other Wednesday, chatting with John and who shows up? Mr. Alwaysright. He pops up when you least expect him. Me, John, Didier, Guilherme, Petr, Scott, Olivier, David-- you name it, he’s there, blasting ‘Park the Bus’ at full volume.”

“Could we back up to the Scott part?” said Areola. “What’s he got to do with Jose Mourinho?”

“He was his player, who else? Scott Parker. Only made a handful of caps. Now the chap’s over at Fulham FC and the coach. By Jove, he’s relegating ‘em faster than a shire horse on the Grand National Course.”

“So you can help me with his sunflowers,” said Areola, which was more of a question than a statement.

“Sunflowers?” said Kante. “What sunflowers?”

“Ah, yes, his sunflowers,” said Lampard. “What happened? Weeds? Pesticides? Global warming?”

“I haven’t a clue, Lampard,” said Areola. “But apparently they died this morning.”

“Parker will be gutted,” said Lampard, shaking his head. “Those were special flowers.”

“Why were they so special, Lampard?” asked the Philippinian goalkeeper.

Lampard rubbed his chin in thought. “Well…”

It was the 2003-2004 season, with Jose Mourinho as our coach for the first time. And it was February, three days before Valentine’s Day. We had just beaten Wartsmouth by two goals to nil. But it was a special day for Parker. He had scored one of those goals, his first goal for Chelsea, and he was in seventh heaven. Mourinho had come in just that moment with a gold purse. We all stiffened at his presence: me, John, Didier. We were trying not to break out into grins, for we all thought the purse was ours. It was the beauty of a purse: gold, with a red silk lining. But he passed all of us until he reached the back of the room, where Scott was.

“Scott Matthew Parker,” he had begun--and Scottie shivered, for nobody ever referred to him by his full name-- “I have something for you.”

Scott had sat up fast--Mourinho had never given him anything but a rollicking before. 

“I got this bag of Canadian sunflower seeds from my wife last weekend,” he began with a hint of a smile. “Trouble was, I never was much of a gardener. But you never say no to Matilda, and these were 100% sustainable, non-GMO sunflower seeds. So I’ve been waiting to give these seeds to the next player to score his first goal for us. That, Scott, is you.”

He had dropped the seeds in Scott’s lap. And a smile grew on his face as he realized the seeds were his!

“Really?” he had said, dumbfounded. ‘Really and truly, Boss?”

“Really and truly, Scott,” Mourinho had said, “although, I have no idea what that means.”

“And so, Parker had planted the sunflowers outside Stamford Bridge,” said Lampard. “Wherever he went, so did the flowers. And I’m guessing that now their time has come. They were 16 years old.”

“But you should have seen him when he just discovered the dead sunflowers,” said Areola. “He just knelt there. It was almost like he couldn’t believe it himself.”

“Well,” said Kante, “he should be better in a couple hours. I mean, they’re just plants--” The Malian was cut off by a high-pitched sound.

“Eh?” said the three, running outside. What they heard was beyond their brain capacity: a slow, mournful tune.

“LIEBESTRAUM #3?” said Areola. “Who on Earth plays that?!”

At that moment, Kante spied a familiar face on the path. It was--

The one and only Antonio Conte.

“Hey, guys!” he called, striding up the drive. “What’s all the talk about sunflowers?”

“Parker’s died,” said Kante.

Conte shook his head. “A life so short...and so young, too...couldn’t reach the stars, like he planned.”

“Not Parker, his sunflowers,” said Areola. “They wilted this morning.”

“Oh--well, that’s a relief,” said Conte. “I thought Parker’s funeral was going on and the sunflowers were on his wreath. Always better to lose plants than a person.”

“Antonio Conte, where do you get such ideas?” Lampard laughed. “We were talking about nothing of the sort.”

“Well, if you listened to the music you’d think it was a funeral!” Conte protested. “Believe me, I know music. Liebenstraume #3 is one of the most sorrowful pieces of music ever. Franz List was disturbed, all right. Only place I’ve ever heard it was on Very Depressing Violin Songs.”

“Where on Earth do you hear that?” said Areola.

“Channel 8 on European Radio.” 

“Well, wherever you heard it,” said Kante, rolling his eyes, “I hear that song and it’s coming straight from the general direction of the River Thames!”

Seventeen minutes later, a very round Areola stuck his head out of the blueberry-less blueberry bush he was attempting to hide in. There, where the old sunflower garden was, laid a casket!

“Are you sure I’m not right?” Conte whispered.

As soon as the words were off his lips, Parker solemnly strolled into the garden. He opened the casket and laid a wrapped bundle in it. He then closed it and was off as silently and glumly as he had come. As soon as he was gone, everybody surged towards the casket.

“Loved and Lost’,” Lampard read the label. “I haven’t a clue what he means by that.”

“Well,” said Areola, “whatever he laid to rest in there, wasn’t named. And it wouldn’t be in such an informal manner, either.”

At that moment, Kante spied Parker on the drive, this time carrying a large wreath of white and black roses. He was heading towards the garden.

“Scott!” said Lampard. “Where have you been, lad? You don’t talk much these days!”

The Fulham gaffer just stayed quiet. He laid the wreath on the casket, then wrapped his scarf around him.

“Then, come to think of it,” said Lampard, “he doesn’t talk much at all usually.”

“Just wait until you see his mouth,” Areola warned. “But no, Parker. Could I be so bold to ask you--what’s in the...casket?”

Parker bit his lip. He looked away, facing the blowing north wind. His tan scarf flapped in the gale.

“It’s--okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” said Kante, trying to be sensitive. “I mean…”

Parker sighed. He turned to face the foursome. His mouth was pressed shut. “Sunflower...sunflower is gone. My, my sun-sunfl-sunflower…” He turned his back on the group again.

Areola rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. Just great. Nice job, N'golo.”

Kante made another snap decision, as he was often called to do when with Gerard. “Okay, Emergency Guys’ Night, now,” he said. “Meet me in half an hour.”

“But then it’d only be eleven-thirty in the morning,” said Conte.

“Meet. Me. In. Half. An. Hour.”

When Kante spoke with punctuation for emphasis, nobody dared disobey him. So they all met at a nice cafe in Paris near the Eiffel Tower at exactly eleven-thirty for an emergency meeting.

Kante stood up on the table to start the meeting. “Fellows of Providence--”

“We’re in France, not Rhode Island,” Lampard protested.

“Fellows of Providence,” Kante commenced with a side glare at Lampard, “I have strong evidence to believe that something else is bothering the Fulham manager, Scott Parker.”

“Come on,” said Areola. “I know you’re practical, N'golo, but those flowers were special to him.”

“Look,” said Kante. “I know about sentimental value and stuff, but they’re flowers. They are flowers, sunflowers. You can get the seeds at any gardening store. Maybe he’d be a little wistful, but a coffin and wreath? Come on. Next thing you know he’s going to host a funeral.”

“Come on,” said Conte. “There is no way he could host a--”

At that moment, a blur whizzed in. In two seconds, Fast Fernando, the mailman, was standing in front of them, four white envelopes in hand.

“Here’s your mail, dudes!” said the eighty-four year old with a smart salute, and whizzed off.

Conte opened his envelope. His eyes scanned the letter enclosed, then his mouth dropped open. Areola did the same.

Kante looked up from his invitation. “I told you so,” he said. “Funeral I predicted and funeral we got. Invitations to one, anyways.”

“For a bunch of sunflowers.” Conte rolled his eyes. “You’re right, Kante. I admit it. We have to snap him out of this.”

“But this isn’t simple,” said Lampard. “This is like the whole Princess Diana business: mawkish sentimentality all over again.”

“Then,” said Kante, “we’ll have to go easy on him.”

That weekend wasn’t the most memorable one for anybody closely associated with Fulham. First it was another dour and lifeless draw, this time at Brighton, and then the sunflowers’ funeral.

Contrary to his attitude that Wednesday, Conte was now just a touch sympathetic for the opposite gaffer. He was the last one in the room left with Parker as the latter pulled on a stark black trench coat. Usually he rocked the color black, but today it just seemed to heighten his somber demeanor--so much that Conte wasn’t sure he’d last the whole funeral.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” said Conte.

“I have to,” said Parker. Another look away, then he buried his head in his scarf. “And if anybody, it should be me.”

Outside, two dozen people were waiting for the ceremony to begin. Among them were John Terry, Didier Drogba, Frank Lampard, and of course, Jose Mourinho.

You couldn’t get a break.

“Mysterious funeral, this,” said Mourinho. “Wonder why the coffin is so small.”

“There isn’t even a coffin,” said Areola. “That’s what confuses me.”

“Maybe,” said Lampard, “he had a private burial.”

“Before the funeral?” said Mourinho. “I don’t think so.”

Parker strode out of the stadium towards the altar. He turned to face the crowd, and it was obvious to even the usually flippant Mourinho that he was deeply sorrowed.

“The lad,” said Terry. “Never seen him like this.”

“No state for getting un-relegated,” said Mourinho, before Lampard elbowed him. “Hey, ow!”

“Shush!” Drogba hissed.

Parker shuffled a bunch of papers and cleared his throat before Contenuing. “Today we are gathered here for..a very special woman.”

“WOMAN!!!” everybody’s minds screamed at the same time. Their faces, though, expressed their shock--all but one. Conte just stayed with his eyes fixated on Parker. The younger man was obviously choked up, and trying to keep eye contact with the crowd was obviously getting harder for him. He shut his eyes, though, and went on.

“Alicia Lowell Westwood, age 31, faithfully remained at my side from Newcastle to West Ham to everywhere else. And when I came to Fulham, she remained my closest friend.” He closed the book.

If confusion was a tremble, Kante’s brain was undergoing an earthquake. “He never told us about a lady,” he protested. “Never, ever.”

“And to think it was the sunflowers,” said Areola. “You wouldn’t!”

They quieted down though, when they heard a screech.

“I’d like you to please quiet down, crowd,” said the manager. Conte was beginning to note the crack in the Brit’s voice, which had only gotten worse as the funeral had gone on. “And if you would...flip your programmes to Page 3, you will...find…that it is...time for the….tributaries…”

“It’s getting harder and harder for him to speak, huh?” said Lampard.

“I still think he’s overdoing it,” a cloy Mourinho replied, flipping his collar back and forth.

Parker took a long breath and sat down at the piano. His fingers were obviously more playful than his mood, tinkering with the keys until he had seemed to find something pleasing. The crowd was enjoying the simple, if somewhat melancholic, melody. And then the enjoyment when a squeak of a voice bounced from Parker’s throat. “When you’re in a storm/ Hold your head up high--”

“You’ll Never Walk Alone by Judy Garland?” said Areola. “That’s a famous song.”

“It’s supposed to be triumphant and consoling,” said Kante. “And yet Parker’s voice makes it sound so...sombre.”

“Walk on through the wind/ Walk on through the rain/” Parker’s voice was cracking more and more as his fingers flew over the keys in stark contrast. Conte looked on, shaking his head. That’s when a voice called out from the crowd.

“Scott!” Esther Parks climbed up on the stage. She was wearing a black suit, as always, but her face seemed especially concerned as she came to join him.

“I’ve come to join you for the final notes, Scott,” Conte heard her whisper. “In case you don’t make it.”

“I will,” he whispered. “But thank you.” The final chords struck. “Walk on, walk on/ With hope in your heart/ And you’ll never walk alone/ You’ll never walk alone…” That was all he could take. He rotated the seat away from the crowd, leaving Sec. Parks to send the crowd away. She immediately went over to Parker, who was pushing the piano in.

“This never really was about your sunflowers, right?” she said.

Parker looked up at Sec. Parks, and he sighed. The coach was obviously miserable. “No, it wasn’t,” he finally said. “You actually thought so?”

“I did,” said Sec. Parks. She shrugged. “And really, I thought you were overreacting. Kante told me and said to go easy on you until after the funeral.”

Parker looked like he wanted to protest, but he stood up and looked at Sec. Parks in the face. “You thought I was overreacting over the death of my ex-secretary?”

Sec. Parks’s jaw dropped. “Your ex-secretary? You mean you had one before me?”

“Yes, for a long time,” said Parker. “She was my best secretary, but nobody knew how it was. We were managing together since I was managing the under-18 squad in London. And last month, I asked her...if she would like to be my co-manager.”

“You did?” said Sec. Parks. “What did she say?”

“She said that she didn’t...she was moving away from me because she was getting married to some guy in Edinburgh. She was getting on the airplane that afternoon, but she was going to miss me. We promised to write to each other every month and we said our good-byes. And then last week, the police called me to tell me that the car she had been taking with her fiancé crashed. She was buried that same day.”

Sec. Parks shook her head. “Why didn’t you just tell us, Scott? I was honestly thinking we should turn you over to a mental institution.”

Parker looked Sec. Parks in the face. “You’re right, Esther. I should have told you the truth, but...I was afraid to look weak.”

“Weak?” said Sec. Parks. She couldn’t believe it. “To get a team relegated and bring them back up again, that’s tough, Scott. You’re not weak at all.”

“You told me that before,” said Parker. “And you also said that it’s true that the strongest people aren’t afraid…”

“Not afraid of what?” said Sec. Parks.

“They’re not afraid...to show their emotions. Strong leaders whoop when elated, scream when infuriated, whack their heads when they’re confused, and...they can sing the blues when they feel it. What I’m saying is...strong people do cry. Strong people can…”

At that moment, Parker held Sec. Parks’s hand. His face was wet with tears, and abashed, he began rubbing furiously with a handkerchief. He didn’t look up at Sec. Parks, but just bent his head. Finally, he looked her in the eye again. Of course, the Welsh secretary had been watching the entire thing.

“Well,” she finally said after Parker had calmed down, “Conte’s right. But I think you still don’t get it.”

“I don’t?” Parker was now genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“You were hiding your face while shedding tears for three minutes,” Sec. Parks explained. “Then you looked up exactly when you stopped, and you blushed from embarrassment. So technically, you’re still ashamed to cry in public.”

“I am,” he admitted.

“Look,” said Sec. Parks. “You’ve had a tough day, Scott. Why don’t we take a walk? I’d like to show you something.”

“Fine with me, Esther,” said Parker. “It’s better than me moping around all day listening to old radio music.”

 It was still a beautiful winter afternoon as Parker and Sec. Parks traversed the London sidewalks. The first snows were dusting the streets, and street constables were patrolling. They turned into a park, and bought steaming pretzels from a street cart. Finally, Sec. Parks led Parker to: a frozen lake.

“Look, Scott,” she said. “Do you remember this lake?”

“How could I forget?” said Parker. “The swans lived here.”

A whole flock of swans had set up housing in the lake and even had cygnets that spring.

“They did,” said Sec. Parks. “But do you remember what happened after?”

“I do,” said Parker. “The cygnets grew up, and some of the older adults passed on. Then last November,  they all rose in one flight and flew away.”

“And we were gutted, right?”

“Obviously.”

“But what did you tell me?”

“I told you that with every thing that leaves and grieves us, another thing comes to bring us joy.” Parker’s face suddenly lit up. “That’s right! There’s always more joy!”

“See?” said Sec. Parks. “There’s a light at the end of this dark tunnel, Scott.”

Parker turned to the secretary. “Esther,” he said, “you’ve basically been keeping me from becoming insane these past few days.”

“It’s the least I could do, Scott,” she said. “But we still have to make a plan. Fulham isn’t going to save itself.”

“All true, Esther,” said Parker. “I was thinking of pulling a Mourinho au film noir.”

“Are you sure the bosses will let that sit?” said Sec. Parks. “You know how American impatience is.”

“Ah, you’re right,” said Parker. “But a film noir would be fun to perform. Maybe a redo of Casablanca.”

“Isn’t that a little old?” said Sec. Parks.

“Filme noirs are always old. But you’re right again. I doubt Guendouzi would like a film about before Morocco was an independent monarchy.”

“True.”

“What about Humphrey Bogart? Can’t go wrong with him.”

“A little pistol-y?”

“You’re always right, Esther.”

“I know.”

The next morning, Maja answered the door. Parker and Sec. Parks burst in, laughing.

“Explain what is going on?” Maja yelled.

“Well,” Sec. Parks breathed, “we kind of spent the whole night ice-fishing. I caught a minnow, but it got away.”

“I thought you were taking a walk?” said Maja.

“We kind of stretched the park visit,” said Parker. “After fishing, we swam.”

“In the ice-cold water?” Maja reached for the phone. “I’m calling the doctor.”

Odd, right? I know. But he looked so sad in December that I had to make an explaination.

By the way, Scott Parker and Esther Parks are not in love--they’re just very good friends. Maja doesn’t understand that.

Leave comments!

[doomedandstoned]

SOLAR SONS Show Their True Colors on ‘Chameleon’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Album Art by Keir Murdoch

One of the most played songs on our new compilation 'Doomed & Stoned in Scotland' (2021) is "Jormungandr" by SOLAR SONS, and when you give it a listen you'll understand immediately why. The Dundee band, formed in 2014, has a peculiar style that blends spirited progressive metal with heavy metal bombast, virtuosic guitar solos, and the occasional stylings of regional folk music, making this a solid contender for the Scottish Rock exhibit.

However you describe them, Solar Sons are anything but predictable. Formed in 2014 by Rory Lee (bass, lead vox), Danny Lee (guitar, backing vox), and Pete Garrow (drums, backing vox), the band got serious right away and built a home studio that doubles as a rehearsal space. I bet that would be a fun place to be a fly on the wall when jamming is in session.

DIY to the core, it's not surprising to find them also producing their own records, with each album being self-released. Hell, even their music videos are a personal labor of love.

Like many of us who sat in our houses shellshocked at the beginning of The Great Lockdown, fear gave way to boredom and boredom to creativity.

Solar Sons became separated, as so many other people were during the pandemic. The extra time was put to use and the band began working on new material. Passing each other song ideas and jams, this kicked off an intense period of creating the music from the new album. One song spurring on the next, until late-April/early-May 2020, nine to ten brand new tracks had taken serious formation.

Once things eased up a bit in July, Solar Sons set to work developing the lyrical and vocal parts of the songs, having quite a bit of fun learning to play the songs as a full band.

The album is called 'Chameleon' (2021), and I didn't know until I'd given it a good, thorough listen, how appropriate that title is to the album content. A chameleon is an Old World Lizard renowned for its ability to change color.The album before us is the band's fourth and showcases the diverse command of Solar Sons has over a plethora of rock and metal styles.

Each song is a concept of its own. We gallop gallantly out of the gate with "No Idle Blade," a breathlessly-paced song which references the classic Hiroshi Inagaki film Samurai Saga (1959). It's as much a sweeping love story as it is a heroic clash of swords.

Live by the code, honour to the warriors oath Morality means less to me than duty to the sword Make savage the hand and strong of the mind Must blood be spilled in the fields tonight Many before and many ahead Those who where terrified just turned and fled Swords slashing down, we race to the end

This romping NWOBHM number is an adrenaline rush, full of thematic urgency as played out by the Solar Son's expert sword 'n skins crews who are simply electric in their heroic execution of the rhythm and riffs. Pair this on a playlist, immediately following High on Fire's "Bastard Samurai."

"Timelord" is another heavy hitter, but transports us into another world -- the realm of Doctor Who, to be precise. It continues the frenetic pace of its predecessor, with skilled drum and bass work creating a kind of vortex transporting the evil timelord 'cross the constellations to wreak havoc on the good Doctor (which in my mind will always be my first childhood connection with the word "cool," the Fourth Doctor Tom Baker).

The evil timelord he has come for us all Brought back from the past to walk among us Set forth his reckoning and spread fear among us We dare not stand alone, it is nearly upon us The hour is here, the time is now

This song races to the finish with a jazzy swirl of psychedelic picking, slowly fading away. And...scene.

As the album progresses from this point forward, the rhapsodic progression through different styles becomes all the more apparent. It's hard to believe we're even listening to the same band in the funky, "Back Again" until the Solar Sons chime in unison the chant: "Visions in my mind / The pieces fall apart."

"Molten Mountain" is a wonderful prog interlude with beautiful guitar and bass tone. I refer to it in my notes as "The Continuing Adventures of Whale & Wasp" (Alice in Chains devotees will get the reference). It's worth noting that frontman Rory Lee moonlights as bassist with King Witch, another favorite band of mine from out of Scotland.

Every well-rounded album needs contrasts. Light and dark, fast and slow, exciting and chill. Enter: "Reflections," which the band characterises as a kind of contemplative ballad.

"Captive" continues in a similar mood. As it begins, it stirs up memories of the melancholic "Soma" by The Smashing Pumpkins. Don't be lulled into a depressive sleep, though, this too has the stirring fight and might of Solar Sons written inside and out (the band calls it "the anti-ballad").

With "Revenant" the band has decided to show off what it can do as a purely instrumental outfit. Lovers of progressive rock will relish in the effortless psychedelic and math-driven passages. This is why you practice your scales and runs, guitar students. So you can one day aspire to play with the effortless style, grace, and beauty of Danny Lee. I'd love to see these guys jam with my Northwest pals Zirakzigil sometime! What a blast it would be to have the two of those bands on the same bill, maybe opening for Earthless

"Test of our Times" awakens me from my daydreaming, probably because the singing is so out of character from what we've heard up to now. The band call it a "seventies rock shuffle." It's freewheeling spirit might deceive you into thinking this is a carefree song, were not the lyrics handy.

Feeling alone as the days they slowly pass Too much time on my hands I should not complain for I know it will not last And it's easy for me A prayer to the souls who are fighting for their lives And the ones who gone And those who give care you are heroes of our time And we will not forget

Starts to surround can you feel it closing in Pressure it builds now the time is near Fork in the road with a choice unclear how Can we maintain so much doubt and fear Break in the clouds see it light it by the sun Can't go so far for this all to be undone Gathering now we breach into the night Test of our times will unite us in the fight

We're at a point in the album where the Chameleon is shifting into all kinds of far out color. Next up, "The Wolf'' returns us to the savage tone that opened the album, though this is a notch sludgier than we've encountered so far. And no wonder: it's about The Wolf of Badenoch, whom Solar Sons characterise as "a nasty bastard in Scottish history and folklore." This will likely end up a favorite of many of our listeners, with the gruff chanting of pawns. will. fall. for. Badenoch. juxtaposed with exciting guitar filigree.

"Beyond the Stars" really endeared itself to me on my second listen through the album. We're told it's about alien abduction -- "the good kind." Certainly, there's something transcendent about it. I'm reminded of similar climactic epilogues in Mastodon's 'Crack The Skye' (2009), Yob's 'Clearing The Path To Ascend' (2014) and 'They Come from the Future' (2009) by Biblical Proof of UFOs. And what a sublime ending! Breathtaking.

Fans of Mastodon, Spirit Adrift, Haunt, Age of Taurus, and Zirakzigil will dig it, for damn sure. And now, one day before the release of Chameleon by Solar Sons, Doomed & Stoned is bringing you the full album stream so you can get well acquainted. If you dig it, show the band some love.

Give ear...

Solar Sons - Chameleon (2021)

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[mxvirani]

hate me, | self para

tw: depressing as hell, addiction, overdose, suicidal ideation

This is your mother, and it's 2:33 on Monday afternoon I was just calling to see how you were doing You sounded really uptight last night It made me a little nervous, and a l... and... well... it made me nervous, it sounded like you were nervous, too I just wanted to make sure you were really OK And wanted to see if you were checking in on your medication

the answering machine beeped off in the distance as he stared at the ceiling, his fingers intertwined in a ball of elastic bands. he remembered them bounce across the ground at george’s feet when they were still preteens, that was the day that they had first locked eyes. all of the memories in darkwood were interlaced, cropped together and turned into a never ending reel. it was never the story of his life, it was always the story of george’s, the story of nina’s. mx had never been a main character and now in the shadows where he lay, he wished he could erase himself from the reel altogether. 

his mothers voice was not enough to pull him from the darkness that engulfed him, it had been one year since the fire and as he sat up, he stared at the pictures he splayed like posters across the walls. there they were, laughing. they were always laughing. mx didn’t laugh anymore, somewhere deep inside there was a pain that was tearing him apart and the only light he had ever known had been torn right out of the world.

barefooted he walked to the wall and he tore down a picture, a lighter from his pocket aflame as he watched george’s face burn out from the surroundings. they weren’t laughing anymore, now there he was, just him alone and next to him a burned void where someone used to be. that was all it was, him and his void. together forever, unchanged and alone. that was all he wanted it to be.

I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone

a night out with dean but dean never really saw the end; he saw the legendary parts, the laughs and the excitement. he saw the mx that had once been so bright as a burned out star and god, mx laughed and it shook every part of his insides. it racked his ribcage until it felt it would fall apart. he laughed so hard with dean that he thought one day his head would spin off and the world would finally go dark (or maybe that was what he wished for).

when the door slammed shoot to his studio apartment, his ribs cracked open and his body sunk to the floor. when he knew nobody could hear him he would scream in the middle of his kitchen until he fell to the floor like a scene from a horror movie. he would feel that pain in his ribcage and want to tear himself in two to make it stop. he would realise that all that laughter was never real and every part of him ached for a life that no longer lived. 

he would lay there until the next evening as if he was dead and when the phone rang about another night out he would answer and laugh. but dean didn’t know. dean didn’t know because nobody did.

An ounce of peace is all I want for you. Will you never call again? And will you never say that you loved me, just to put it in my face?

then there was that night. he stared in the mirror, opened and closed the cabinet. his anti-depressants stared back at him through his blurry gaze. they shimmied and moved and when he grabbed the bottle he poured six or seven or eight or twelve into an unsturdy hand. the walls were covered in newspaper conspiracies now, a long running joke that mx talked shit well known all around town. he never made sense. why would he? he was strung out to high hell one hundred percent of the time. 

“what are you doing?”

the voice shook him and pills spilled over the bathroom tiles, a strange clattering sound as he backed into the sink. at first he could barely figure out who was standing in front of him or perhaps he just couldn’t believe it, “nina?” he blurted, “nina? what the hell? what are you doing here? this ca-- you’re dead. you’re dead,” he’d finally done it, he’d finally blown the lid on his own delusions. he felt sick to the pit of his stomach.

“you’re acting kind of funky,” the girl replied.

when he blinked again she was gone and his head was spinning, his anti-depressants lay unswallowed on the ground and he wondered if he should take them at all. he had made two discoveries in that exact same moment, the first was that there was a sweet spot right between being high as hell and wanting to die where his brain released some kind of delusion to make him want to stay and the second was that maybe more than being addicted to being numb, he was addicted to the knowledge that he could find a place where he would see his friends again. where they were more than a burned out picture.

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made And like a baby boy I never was a man

"leave me alone, please,” mx cried, backing into his kitchen cabinets, his knuckles white against the countertop as he backed into the corner. once he had thought that this was the way he wanted to live but now he was haunted in his waking hours by his own thoughts; people that weren’t really there. people he could not get rid of because they were a part of him more than they had even been while alive, “george, i can’t do this anymore. you have to go.”

“you’re the one who keeps bringing me here.”

it wasn’t a haunting, he knew that and yet he couldn’t make it stop. he couldn’t make his brain stop throwing out these images like clockwork. he didn’t want to get better. the drugs had been there to make him numb but now he was being daylight haunted, the flickers of a life that had never existed at all right before his eyes. 

“i can’t do this anymore, i can’t fucking do this,” he ranted, his eyes screwed shut, his hands over his ears. “go away, go away, go away.”

Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand And then I fell down yelling, "Make it go away!"

when rachel came over she didn’t see what was happening to him, he never told her that when she sat at his kitchen countertop she had a dead friend on either stool. she didn’t tell him that sometimes he caught himself pouring an extra portion of cereal. he didn’t tell her that he hadn’t left the house in three weeks, that he had thrown his mobile phone out the window or that he hadn’t seen his mother in over a year. he didn’t tell her any of that because she didn’t ask. 

instead he told her about something he found on reddit with his words jumbled, he explained how his tv didn’t seem to be recording episodes (not that he’d forgotten what day, week month it was). 

he didn’t tell rachel a damn thing because when he looked at her and remembered how her eyes had been scorched out by flames, he thought, she must be a better person than me. he wanted her to stop coming. he wanted them all to. he wanted to stop seeing it again and again, hearing the voices. he wanted to be numb again and laugh with dean in a bar until his ribs cracked then cry himself to sleep but now he stared absently for hours at a television that was turned off and saw an entire show as george and nina passed popcorn over the top of him.

but the popcorn bowl was empty and there was never a move, there was never even a sofa, just a towel on the floor where he spent hours sweating off highs trying to get clean. he wanted to get rid of them so badly that it seemed like the only choice. he’d make them stop, he’d make it all stop. he’d find a way to get back out of this and get back to numb or something else. nobody had to know. nobody really wanted to; sometimes even he didn’t know if what he felt was real or fake but it crippled him all the same.

he locked everything that was left in a box and flushed the key down the toilet.

nina and george seemed pleased.

Hate me today Hate me tomorrow Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

he never quite made it, for six days he sat inside his apartment going through a pain so crippling that he thought that his insides were going to shut off. yet, it was nothing compared to the pain he had dulled after the fire. all those memories flooded back like a sea and they took him whole, enveloping like an old home. he felt like he never slept but he was never awake, he was just in a living nightmare, not quite sure what was real or what wasn’t. a hazy descent into hell surrounded by two ghosts who promised they would see him through it; that was when he finally cracked. he realised that they were just ghosts, they were just him and he had never seen himself through a fucking thing. he had never fared a storm, he’d never been through it without breaking down. if there was one person that always let him down it was himself. 

he found the box and he tried to crack it open. he used a nail file but his hands were shaking, eventually he found a novelty mug and smashed it through the wood. later his mother would return the broken pieces of a mug with dean and mx’s faces on to dean in a signed for mailed box. 

the end of his story, it wasn’t sad, it wasn’t numbing, it wasn’t even glorious. it was just about a man who knew he’d never find a way out of his own self inflicted darkness. the ghosts were gone when he stuck the final needle into his veins. in those final moments he finally saw his studio apartment as it really was; EMPTY, CHAOTIC and LIFELESS. he didn’t feel his life flash before his eyes, he didn’t see a single scene, he just stared at a torn piece of newspaper he had taped to the wall and let out a gentle laugh as he finally passed over into the darkness for good.

he hoped when rachel found him that she realised that he had never been worth saving to begin with. he had never WANTED to be.