#drafted this post in the middle of the night I guess I’ll release it into the wild now

[cospinol]

Knowing that the source material for super crooks covers only the final heist/arc& the whole front of the show is Anime Original sheds so much light on the specific ways it doesn’t work for me… i’m naturally t*mesk*p averse but this one feels counterintuitive to the purposes of a timeskip, its construction is just Off in ways that don’t make sense until you know the first 3/4 of the show were retroactively bolted onto this standalone arc lol; we get so much information from both parts and yet it still feels like the whole narrative is told not shown, because all they’re doing is working around/often against each other. I think the second-to-last heist is really good in its own right but it and the source material actively ruin each other when they’re presented like this..

Obviously i’m mainly talking abt how little sense it makes for praetorian (functionally the main villain of the first part of the show, who most of johnny’s personal conflict is with in this part) to have his fall from grace/takedown Entirely Offscreen; if seeing him on tv as a disgraced ex-hero was our first encounter with him as viewers and we just Knew this obviously fucked up (uninhibited, at rock-bottom, nothing to lose) guy had bad blood with the protagonists (which I think must be the case in the comic) he’d be a scary figure for a single fight or so but in the anime he’s impossible to take seriously in the final arc because it’s such a step down from the type of scary he was in previous arcs; the thing that really worked for him as a villain /was/ the squeaky-clean image+the fact that he was getting away with everything he did. The reveal at the end of the second heist about his true alignment and the sequence of taunting scenes following it are sooo good, but that character work is a total waste because it literally disappears in the hard cut to the next part of the story… the ways in which he acts as johnny’s personal villain are pre-defeated off-screen to the point that fighting him at all in the final arc seems like a narrative waste of time, especially since we *didn’t* see any of his interactions with gladiator pre-timeskip so it felt like payoff with no setup

But also aside from him there are lots of other jarring things that are Explained by the last arc being the beginning of the actual story, like johnny’s literal eleventh hour transformation from world’s biggest idiot to strategic mastermind, and the intros for most of the team being not in the least informed/affected by the prior arcs such that this might as well be the audience’s first time meeting them (this is true of the entire supporting team, imo)… everything we need to know is contained in what we get here, the first 3/4 of the show is totally extraneous. The only real exceptions are kasey (mostly just because she’s the only character of any substance in the first arcs, but even she suffers a bit… her male fantasies speech i can see being really excellent as a character intro at the beginning of a comic book but in the context of the timeskip it feels lazy, shorthand for character work we were actively denied) and gladiator (a whole other can of worms, not just in terms of the way he’s Applied to the praetorian situation not matching up with his prior scenes.. i don’t think he’s really worth getting into I’ll just say Johnny sucks and leave it at that)

What a bummer though. The first few eps of the show (the first half..?) are mostly unsalvageably weak in their own right but if we’d gotten a three-episode ova that really committed to either the count orlok heist on its own or the casino heist on its own, this could have easily have been an 8/10, but bolting them to each other ruins both. so much time spent with these characters and yet it still feels like everything important happened offscreen

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 15

new year, new chapter c: it's been a while since i've worked on Chronicles—December Mood dips are Not Delicious, plus i started streaming regularly, which has been fun! ((i’m omnistruck on Twitch if you want to check it out 🥰) but rest assured i intend to see it through to the end. i hope you've been well <3 take care, and enjoy!

From: itsdjbubbles

My dude, if your stage presence is anything like this flyer, y’all are absolutely gonna kill it at La Tortue.

Well. Luka doesn’t know about that.

It’s not like Kitty Section is totally obscure. They’ve had a stage in Paris’s annual pop-up music festival or more than one occasion. And sometimes Juleka’s tagged along to street corners with him so they could duet in hopes of more than just pocket change. And, of course, there was that whole music contest with Bob Ross and XY, but that had only ended in fiasco: their music was stolen, Rose’s vocals ripped right off the track. Luka argued up and down over the phone until he was red in the face, nearly biked down to the studio and let them have it, but he could hardly prove it. And he cared too much about it jeopardizing Juleka’s happiness to follow through.

Total corporate bullshit. He didn’t know how Jagged Stone did it. When he said so at dinner the night he gave up, his Ma only tousled his hair and said, “You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

Sometimes he thinks that’s the strongest, bravest, he’s ever been. That all his audacity peaked years ago, and he’s only gotten worse since then.

Bubbles isn’t corporate bullshit. Luka feels like he’d be able to figure out something like that from conversation alone. But their talks have been friendly—and more than that, supportive. He’s even shown a few messages to the band, just to check that he wasn’t losing his mind. And he saw how their faces softened in approval, or lit up with excitement. Even Juleka’s.

Besides, Bubbles makes music. And when he samples something, he actually credits it. He knows how to play the game. And it feels like they’re on the same side of the board.

Bubbles has that stage presence; the fact that he only needs that one shadowy picture on his profile is more than enough of an indicator. And Bubbles has a reputation that precedes him. So even if they’re on the same side of the board, it feels like Bubbles is always just a couple of steps ahead.

At least his bandmates are on the same side, and at the same step. All it took was a casual mention, during a late-night band practice, of “the bakery he keeps getting their snacks from” being all in on getting them even more exposure. They didn’t exactly do a good job of hiding their excitement, but he wouldn’t have wanted them to, anyway. Even Juleka, after practice ended, had to admit, “You did good.” And then, with perhaps a bit more snark, “Maybe she’s the one trying to impress you. “

“Stop,” Luka said with a roll of his eyes, but he couldn’t help thinking about it once the partition between their beds was up. There was no way Marinette Dupain-Cheng was trying to impress him.

…Was there?

By now, nearly a day later, Luka’s still asking himself that. Still hemming and hawing like they have more than just two weeks to get their act together. Pacing below deck with his phone in his hand, thinking about pear tarts and pretty faces instead of going to see them in person, and staring at Marinette’s phone numbers until he thinks he’s accidentally memorized both of them.

He doesn’t recognize the pattern or the area code of one of them, so he can only assume that it's an American number. But he still hasn’t mucked up the courage to text or even save the French one in his phone. Why does he need to be scared in the first place? It’s a phone number, and this is strictly business, and everything between them has been strictly business.

Well. Nearly everything. Nearly strictly.

He thinks.

Okay. Okay. All he has to do is say… what? Hi? Who just starts texting someone for the first time with “Hi?” But he can’t go writing a whole essay either, even though at least now he has the power to edit his words instead of just saying them and hoping for the best.

This is harder than it needs to be. And yeah, maybe he’s just making it harder than it needs to be, but it’s not like his brain and the shake in his hands are giving him much of a choice in the matter.

Luka switches back over to his message thread with Bubbles and shoots off a quick reply—flatterer—because maybe answering something easy will make the hard stuff more tolerable. He finds himself looking toward his guitar as though it might lend him strength… well, what the hell. It couldn’t hurt. He plays a doodle or two, idle notes, and catches himself before his fingers can drift toward the beginning of the ocean-blue song. At this point, it’s neither perfect nor good, and he can’t tell if it’s personal dissatisfaction or the numbers that the latest draft has been doing online.

Both. It’s probably both.

Messaging Marinette ends up being just as hard after his attempts at centering as it was before—because as it turns out, the whole music-giving-him-unbridled-confidence thing really only works while he’s playing it. So now he’s left still staring at the blank NEW MESSAGE screen, the cursor blinking almost tauntingly at him because of course it is. Because somehow, he can write a note telling a girl her eyes are pretty and survive long enough to see her smile about it, but he can’t send that same girl a text. It’s not like he can even see her reaction this time, anyway; that just gives him even more of an advantage.

Okay. Okay. He can actually do this. Maybe. He thinks—no, no, he has to.

With a deep breath that he holds longer than he releases, Luka opens a new message.

To: Marinette hey. it’s luka.

And like an idiot, he hits SEND before he’s even put the rest of his message together. So now he has to make a mad dash to come up with something so he doesn’t seem like a total creep for messaging her out of the blue.

For fuck’s sake. This is exactly why he writes his messages in the notes first.

To: Marinette sorry, hit send before i could finish. anyway, just wanted to tell you the band is cool with the postcard idea. i can pay you next time i come to the bakery, if that’s cool.

To: Marinette anyway, it’s really cool of you to offer your help like this. sorry if i didn’t say so yesterday, it’s kind of been... a wild time.

Luka locks his phone before he can agonize too much over what he’s sent, stuffs it away and starts pacing again. It’s not a frantic, shaky thing; no, he’s learned to keep the shakes on the inside until no one’s around to see them. He jumps when his back pocket vibrates, and he nearly drops his phone trying to fish it out. It’s only Bubbles, and he can’t tell whether he’s relieved or disappointed until his phone buzzes again. Twice. And this time, it actually is from Marinette.

From: itsdjbubbles Sorry, I was getting some stuff ready for my next project. Listen, I’m just saying. Don’t sell yourself short as this stuff. Paris is gonna hear you up there, and it’s gonna lose its collective fucking mind.

From: Marinette hi luka ☺️ no worries, i do that too sometimes. here’s the mockup for the postcard. let me know what your band thinks, i’ll do some tweaks and send it to print. sound good?

Luka balks, both at the tone of the message and at the picture she sent. It looks almost exactly like the flyer, same color scheme and everything. The only difference seems to be in the composition, which makes sense; she’s got more of the eye for this stuff, even for someone who only “dabbles.”

To: Marinette wow, this is... thank you? that was fast. and this is really well put-together. i think they’re gonna love it.

you really weren’t kidding, huh.

Luka finds himself sinking onto his bed and staring at the message thread instead of actually doing something productive. And strangely, he’s fine with that. The more time passes, the less scary it is to see her typing back, again and again and again.

From: Marinette course i wasn’t kidding. “help” is practically my middle name to the people who matter.

and i mean, there’s only a little bit of time until your show, right? so, gotta get movin.

anyway, i gotta run. my friend needs help for his summer class and i promised i’d go visit today.

Keep me posted about your band!

♥️

There is far too much in that message for Luka to need to process. “People who matter?” “Keep me posted?” The literal heart emoji at the end? He reads their messages over and over, mostly to confirm that this really, actually just happened, but he’s not going to push his luck. Maybe she just talks to everyone like that, and more importantly, the two of them haven’t been much more than a series of transactions anyway.

A... lot of transactions.

That she’s been doing a lot of giving for.

Luka tries and at least sort of succeeds at shaking the thought from his mind; he can’t read hers, and he shouldn’t try to. He sends her one last text—cool, have a good one—and switches back to Bubbles before he can worry if his words were too casual.

To: itsdjbubbles Thanks for the vote of confidence. I guess you’re not the only one? the bakery I go to, they’re offering to help too.

or, I mean, CBG is offering to help.

Bubbles’s reply doesn’t come until a few hours later. It’s presumably after that project work he mentioned, and definitely after Luka’s had some time to play out the rest of the shakes before he goes busking. His phone buzzes with the notification just as he’s about to leave, and what Bubbles has to say makes his stomach churn and his blood run both hot and cold.

From: itsdjbubbles wait. wait wait wait. hold on i just scrolled your posts.

CBG is *Marinette Dupain-Cheng?*

ohhhhhhh my dude you are in for it now.

[escapewriter]

Hey There Delilah

pairing : seungkwan x reader

synopsis : if only you got his address right, maybe he wouldn’t have been that salty.

genre : fluff, humor, slight angst

word count : 3.3k

warnings : none

posted : 01/16/21

a/n : IM SO SORRY THAT I HAVENT UPDATED THIS FOR A MONTH. BUT I GOT INSPO BECAUSE HIS BIRTHDAY WAS COMING UP SO HAPPY SEUNGKWAN DAY!!!!

TAGLIST : @vibecheckvernon @beomiebear5 @lightoflife @skylions-den @noniesgirl

won’t let me tag : @pandora1834

send me an ask/dm if you would like to be on the taglist

pieces of love masterlist // playlist // main masterlist

“Do you have to leave so soon?” Seunkwan pouted as he held your hand and rolled your luggage in the other. “I mean, you have time to stay a little longer.” He looked down at your intertwined fingers, slightly swinging it.

“You’re telling me this now? If you told me earlier, I could have gone later but I already got my ticket and we’re literally standing in the middle of the airport.” His mouth fell open as you giggled, releasing his hand to cup his face in your palms. “Don’t worry, Kwan, I’ll be back before you know it. And remember our deal, okay? Only letters.”

He sighed but repeated your words in a defeated tone, “Only letters.”

//

“Man, fuck these letters.” Seungkwan groaned in annoyance as he crumpled the 5th piece of paper into a ball and threw it into the trash bin. Jun looked up from his phone where he was seated on the couch, a concerned, yet amused, look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Can’t spell their name right?” Laughing at his own joke, he didn’t notice his friend swiftly turn in his chair to glare at him, shutting him up with a cough. He cleared his throat and nervously sat up straight, “Seriously, what’s wrong? Don’t know how to spell something or what?”

“No that's not the problem, and even if it was, I wouldn’t be asking you how to spell something.” Seungkwan turned back to his desk, resting his head on the wooden table. “I haven’t gotten a letter in a month. Do you think something’s wrong?” Jun hummed again, listening as he scrolled mindlessly on his phone.

“I don’t think you did anything wrong, they’re probably just busy. I mean, New York is a busy place and they gotta pay attention to some things, I guess.” Seungkwan turned around again, looking at the coffee table Jun had his feet propped up on.

“I don’t think I did anything wrong. I’m saying, maybe something is wrong.”

Jun looked up, eyes staring at Seungkwan’s furrowed eyebrows, “Wouldn’t their family tell you though? I honestly don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Just write the letter and ask them what’s wrong and if they don’t reply, then... there's your answer.”

“Aren’t you such great help.”

//

Seungkwan slammed the pen on the desk, finally finished writing the letter to you. He doesn’t really know why you stopped sending letters; it was usually a one to two week delay. Nevermind that, Seungkwan is sure that after you get this letter, you will definitely reply to him.

“Jun, can you read this for me? See if it sounds good?” He turned to the male who was eating on the small table, holding out the letter for him to take. Reaching over, Jun retrieved the letter from Seungkwan’s grasp, scanning the neat handwriting before reading:

Hey there,

How are you? Are the people treating you nice there?I sure hope they are because you’re too kind for this world. What’s it like living there so far? I’m sorry for all these questions, I’m just curious because ya know, it's New York City!

So… it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a letter from you, but maybe you’ve been busy. I mean, this internship, it’s a big deal so I wouldn’t want you to worry about sending letters all the time. Plus it probably keeps you occupied so don’t worry about anything, I’m just glad you’re happy doing what you love.

Anyway, uh, I heard back from Vernon. He said that he can show you around since he’s in town visiting with his mom. I don’t know if you’ll get this in time, but maybe he’ll contact you about it!

I really miss you. I know it was such terrible timing for me to have confessed. Just two weeks before you had to leave. Ah I wish I could’ve done it sooner. Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. Don’t overwork yourself and stay safe, okay?

Remember, time square could never shine as bright as you. I know it’s cheesy but I’ll always say it because that was my best pick up line ever. Okay, now get back to work! I’ll see you soon! I’m counting down the days!

From, Seungkwan

Jun put down his arm that was holding the letter and looked at Seungkwan who was munching away the food on his plate, “‘Time square could never shine as bright as you?’ MAN, and I thought Mingyu was the cheesy one in our group.”

Glaring at the elder, he snatched the letter from his hand, muttering something under his breath. “It’s from a song. An inside joke you wouldn’t understand.”

Jun took a sip of his soda, sighing as he set the can on a coaster, “Well, whatever it is, cross your fingers in hopes that they mail you back,” He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans, “I’ll take my leave, gotta go cleanse my apartment.”

Seungkwan nodded, looking at the letter in his hands. Of all the things, it had to be letters.

//

“Seungkwan, get up.” He mumbled in his sleep, trying to shoo away the intruder that was waking him up. “Seungkwan, have you gotten mail from them yet?” He groaned again, not aware of his surroundings as he rolled over, arm hitting a hard surface beside him. “Man, you really are a pain. Anyway, I have a letter for you.” Seungkwan shot up, squinting at Jun who towered over him in his bed.

“You have a what for me? I’ve been waiting for almost three weeks for one, did one finally come in?” Jun’s eyes widened, not realizing sooner that he didn’t receive a letter from you.

“Oh, uh, you see, um, I was just… kidding.” Seungkwan narrowed his eyes before making a frown and crashing back head first into his pillows. “Seungkwan, come on man. The letter probably got lost in the mail or something. You never know.”

Sitting up, he stared at what’s ahead of him; a bookshelf. The shelf had various books, photo albums, picture frames, etc. Mainly, it had a picture of the two of you hanging out the day he finally confessed — just two weeks before you had to leave. He doesn’t remember that night, though he wished he did after staring at the photo for so long now.

“Seungkwan! What are you looking at?” Jun leaned over, trying to take a glance at what his friend was eyeing, though it appears it is something that won’t make him feel any better. “Okay, enough is enough. You helped me during my break up, so I’m gonna help you through this letter drought, okay? Okay. Now, up you go!” Jun lifted the man from his bed, dragging him to the middle of his bedroom before plopping him down on the rug. “You're not gonna help me out Seungkwan? Come on, please.”

“What if they met someone,” Jun thought for a moment, hoping what Seungkwan said didn’t turn out to be true. He had to stay positive and make sure his friend does too.

“Hey, don’t think like that, okay? Now get up and wash up, we’re going to get food.” Seungkwan sighed, finally deciding to listen to his friend.

//

“Jun, I know you meant to go out to get food, but I didn’t think that I would pay for it AND we eat it at my place.”

“It’s the thought that counts, and thank you for paying. The food? Muah.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes and put a piece of meat into his mouth, staring at the desk that was against the wall. He eyed the papers, pens, and pencils; a wave of sadness crashing over him. He couldn’t help but think that you actually had moved on. All the doubts he had in the beginning when you left resurfaced as he thought that maybe you just used him for those last two weeks you had spent with him. But why would you do something like that? It didn’t make any sense, but maybe Seungkwan doesn’t really know you.

“Hey, Seungkwan what’s the date today?”

“Not sure, why?”

Jun hummed, noticing that Seungkwan hasn’t been keeping track of the days recently, so he decided to keep this valuable information to himself, “No reason, just wasn’t sure.”

//

Seungkwan sat at his desk, thinking about how he should start the next letter to write. He used to write every week to you, but now he hasn’t written to you for over a month. He swirled the pen in his hand, attempting to gather words to form a sentence in his head. Finally, that imaginary lightbulb lit up, his eyes sparkling with ideas.

Hey there,

How’s New York City treating you? Have you taken care of yourself? Eating all your supplements?

Scratching his head, he scribbled on the paper and decided to use this as a rough draft and to rewrite it later.

How’s New York City treating you? Have you taken care of yourself? Eating all your supplements?

I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you’re safe over there. It’s getting more and more difficult for me to go so long without seeing you and hearing your voice. I miss you.

He thought maybe it was too cheesy, or maybe he was so in love he couldn’t control it. Nope it was too cheesy.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you’re safe over there. It’s getting more and more difficult for me to go so long without seeing you and hearing your voice. I miss you.

Taking a small sip of his coffee, Seungkwan closed his eyes, thinking about the situation he was in. He used to be so good at saying all the right words in his letters but now he couldn’t even find anything to say. He doesn’t even know if you're reading them or not. That hurt his pride a bit because of how much time and dedication he spent to write and think these out to send to you, only to not get a letter in almost two months. That’s the crazy thing about love; one would do anything for the person they love.

Snapping his eyes open, he checked the time only to find that it was no use because the clock was broken. The ticking of it irritated him and it always felt like it was getting slower and slower.

Focusing on the paper in front of him, he decided that if you weren’t going to send any letter, then he wasn’t going to either. It sounded like a great idea, but it was also bad at the same time. He didn’t know why, but he chose to ignore the bad part.

//

Jun could sense that Seungkwan was feeling a bit better than usual, but that's what freaked him out the most. Seungkwan hasn’t been this active ever since he got his first letter from you, so he guesses that his friend received a letter. Jun wanted to ask, but the fear of the thought not being true made him hesitate and not ask at all. He didn’t want to see his friend in despair again. After all, you are coming home in a few hours.

Seungkwan hasn’t felt like he has right now since a few months ago. It could be the weather, the feeling of the air, the food, anything. He just knows that today is a good day.

“Jun, what are we gonna do today? I’m feeling great so we should go out.” Jun pursed his lips as Seungkwan looked at his friend, waiting for an answer. Jun looked up in thought, but his mind just wandered back to his bed or the couch because he was feeling a lazy day.

“I don’t know, I’m not really in the mood to… go out.”

“Why? Are you feeling okay?” Seungkwan raised his hand to touch Jun’s forehead, only for Jun to smack it away.

“I feel fine, I’m just a bit lazy is all.” Jun thought to himself, thinking about how you’d for sure want to see Seungkwan and to talk to him about everything. Well, that's what he thinks and hopes. “Can we stay here for a bit and then head out?”

Plopping down next to him, Seungkwan turned on the TV, clicking through the channels before keeping it on one show. “Let me know when you want to leave.”

//

Seungkwan soon fell asleep on the couch, laying on his right side. Jun looked at him and then to the clock. He set a reminder on his phone before you left on when you would come back and what time.

It was currently 3:10pm and on his phone, it says you arrived at 1 o’clock in the afternoon. The airport is quite away and you probably are feeling tired after the plane ride, but Jun can’t help to look back every time he hears a car go by, hoping that it’s you to see Seungkwan.

He sighed, glancing at his sleeping friend before getting up and placing a blanket over him. He’s had it rough for the past couple of months, the thoughts of his brain eating him alive. Oh how he knew the feeling all too well.

Hearing a car door shut, Jun peeked outside, seeing you approach the house. Quickly and quietly, he opened the front door and closed it, meeting you halfway.

When you saw him, you immediately smiled, “Jun!” He raised his hand up to his lips, shushing you.

He began to whisper, “Where the hell have you been?” You eyed him weirdly, but shrugging as it was only Jun in front of you. “Do you know how much pain Seungkwan was in? He’s been waiting so long for you to reply.”

You were confused, “What do you mean? I was the one waiting for him to reply back to me. I came here to see what was wrong.” Jun sighed before signaling you to Seungkwan’s home.

“You go in. He’s asleep on the couch and will probably wake up hungry.” He gave you a soft pat on the head, “Glad to have you back, now I’m gonna go. Also, he’ll probably get mad, so don’t mention me.” You giggled before giving him a small hug.

“Thanks Jun.”

//

Seungkwan groaned, sitting up as he looked around the room, trying to spot Jun. Finding him nowhere, he sighed thinking about how he never went out. Turning to put his feet down, he lifted his arms to stretch, a yawn escaping past his lips. Mid yawn, he sees you at the doorway from the kitchen with a tray. He blinked a few times, not sure if you were really there or if it was just Jun. He rubbed his eyes as you came closer and set the tray onto the coffee table.

“About time you woke up, I’ve been here for an hour.” Seungkwan said nothing, his mind still thinking that this was all just a hallucination. He glazed over at the clock on the desk and saw that it was almost 4:30pm.

He heard you clear your throat, his mind now processing that you were indeed actually there with him in the same room. You began to walk around the small table, “I made your favorite soup,” Sitting down next to him, you looked into his wide eyes, “Why are you so surprised? I should be the surprised one here.”

Blinking a few times, he finally said your name. Lifting up his hand, he caressed your cheek lovingly as you smiled bitterly. But then he remembered how you never responded to him, and how you had the audacity to come into his home as if nothing was wrong.

He narrowed his eyes, taking his hand away from your face before standing up abruptly, “Why didn’t you mail me back?” Your eyebrows shot up and so did your legs, but wanting to one up him, you stood on the couch.

“I could ask you the same thing, Seungkwan! I haven’t received a single letter from you.” A shocked look flashed over his features as he looked up at you.

“What do you mean ‘haven’t received’ a single letter? I sent a few asking you why you didn’t respond. But what did I get? N. O. T. H. I. N. G.” You glared at him, not believing the words you were hearing. You sent so many letters with no information as to why he didn’t respond back to you.

“Really Seungkwan? You want to play victim?”

“Victim? I am the victim!” You scoffed, getting off the couch and walked around the table to put some distance between the two of you. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re accusing me of not responding when I did.” You rubbed your temples, pacing in front of him as you took small glances at his messy desk filled with crumpled papers. You walked over, picking up a ball and unfolded it, reading what he wrote before tossing it aside.

“I told you I wrote. And I did stop, I admit, but that was only because you never responded. I did write to you.” You looked at him, trying to think about what went wrong before an idea popped in your head.

“Seungkwan, what was the last letter you got from me?” He looked around his desk, scanning the messy area before pointing to the only neat pile. You picked up the letters, reading each date and word on the envelopes. However, you immediately knew what the mistake was.

You sighed and closed your eyes, biting your lower lip in frustration. Turning to Seungkwan who was sitting on the couch and eating the food you prepared, you debated if you wanted to hurt your pride by telling him what you did wrong.

He looked at where you were standing with the letters in your hands, as clear sadness in his eyes. You thought about the pain you may have caused him because of one stupid mistake. If only you got the address right.

“Okay Seungkwan, I know what happened, but hear me out.” His eyes narrowed, but he motioned you to continue, “So, when we write letters to each other, we put our address on it, right?” Nodding his head, he took a sip of the warm soup, “Well, the people I was working with moved me to a different department which relocated me to a different city which was far from my apartment.”

You watched his eyes, seeing the expression that tells you he knew nothing about it, “Yeah, you knew nothing because in the letter that I wrote to you, I put the wrong address. I put a 5 instead of a 6.” You looked down, too ashamed to face him and his hard eyes. Seungkwan was surprised, he didn’t know how to process the information, so all he did was laugh.

“I can’t believe how stupid you are.” You let out a soft laugh, hiding your face in the letters. “But I have a question still,” He tried to look at your face, but couldn’t see anything except your nodding, “If we wrote our address, why didn’t you just look at my old letters?”

Placing the letters on the table, you let out a loud groan, softly stomping over to the couch and sitting right next to him. Leaning against his shoulder, you sighed, “Like you said, I can’t believe how stupid I am.”

Seungkwan laughed, moving his arm to wrap around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, catching his familiar scent that you missed so much.

“Seungkwan?” He hummed, loving the feeling of having you in his arms again, “I’m sorry I got your address wrong.” He smiled, rubbing your back as a soothing gesture.

“I know. But just remember I’m never letting you live this down.”

[tripstaysnoided]

Flow Just Like Water

Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

[maxwellatoms]

The Dead Meat Script (from the Quarantine Book Club)

TL;DR: Here’s the link:

https://documentcloud.adobe.com/link/track?uri=urn%3Aaaid%3Ascds%3AUS%3A9e2aa451-e04a-433a-b76f-a47f295aadcf

And here’s more about the script and the project, if you’re so inclined:

Remember that time I tried to make a movie about a dog in quarantine and a society that runs on toilet paper?

Back in the decidedly quaint year of 2013, I was suffering through a bad career move. And a messy breakup. My world seemed to be coming apart at the seams. I didn't know where my next job was coming from, and all of the prospects looked bleak. So I decided to break myself out of my rut and just make something. I then proceeded to drive myself insane for the next seven years.

I wrote Dead Meat as a satirical take on action movies at the time, the decay of American society in general, and my own self-loathing. Some of the jokes weathered the years better than others, and every year or so I'd go over the script to see how I felt about it. What you're seeing here is the most “final” version I produced.

Honestly, not much changed from the original 2013 draft. I did one big addition pass in 2016 because the script was only 88 pages at that point, and I wanted to make sure that I broke the 75 minute barrier for home video. I also felt like Dead Meat and Suzuki's relationship was a little anemic, and (like the violence) I felt like it was very important for the relationship to feel real. Or as real as you'd want a relationship between a woman and a puppet to feel. So I added the scene with Suzuki and Dead Meat talking in the bus while heck is sleeping. That later led to the Black Mirror, which made Suzuki's struggle more visual than it had in the early drafts.

The electoral college joke was a jab at the 2000 election. It's probably important to remember that this was all written before 2016. And before Fury Road. And before the Happytime Murders and the current glut of post-apocalyptic ultra-violent comedies and real-life people hoarding toilet paper. Anyway, the Electoral College line was going to stay until I could see it in context, and then I'd decide it I needed to cut it. The goal was to be subversively satirical, and not painfully on-the-nose. This dilemma would recur in another dozen forms over the course of the production.

What would have been shocking and uncomfortable revelations are now probably pretty pedestrian. Heck(!), I mean the whole thing starts out with a torture scene. At the time, it was a reaction to a smattering of torture scenes that started to crop up in late night dramas like “24”. Now I don't think I can even turn on a teen CW show without seeing someone tied to a chair getting their fingers cut off. We've become as desensitized as the characters in the story, so I think that some of the impact has been lost.

“Bieberism” has been through a lot of iterations. It's unlikely that Justin Bieber would've made it all the way through production. The idea was that there's this other wasteland religion based on some appropriately dopey celebrity. That's another decision that would've been made in the final days of shooting to make sure that the gag was relevant. But hey.. The Biebs is on a comeback, so who knows?

When I read Dead Meat now... I still feel things. Assuming you read it, hopefully you will too. I'm releasing it to the internet today because... well, because I may as well. We're all trapped at home (stay home you bozos), and if this script can bring a chuckle to even a few people, I'll take it!

As most of you know, Dead Meat became too expensive in terms of money and personal time for me to complete on my own, so while I do plan to make the trailer and hopefully sell the idea somewhere, this is as good as it's gonna get. At least during Quarantine.

As always, thanks for sticking with me!

ENHANCING YOUR MEAT:

If you do decide to read it and want the “Premium Experience”, here are a few tips:

MUSIC:

This is all fantasy now, but I was going to try to license two songs. One for the opening credits and one for the end.

When you get to the “DEAD MEAT TITLES” on Page One, play “Bloodstains (original)” by Agent Orange, and then stop playing it right in the middle of the crazy scream.

When you get to the top of the last page, start playing “You Make Lovin' Fun” by Fleetwood Mac. There's no way I could afford that song, but since we're just fantasizing... I think Mick will forgive us.

VISUALS:

I have a ton of stills and gifs on my Tumblr, though Tumblr's admittedly a slog. I'll try to find some time in the coming weeks to get a collection of pics and gifs together. What you won't see is what I was planning for the color correction. I wanted to have the tone be a fairly typical green, de-saturated wasteland most of the time. But when the violence kicked in, so would the color. A lot of the environments (including my kitchen) were designed to support this idea.

And the violence itself was meant to be rough. Like... fucking horrific. I felt like we needed to see just how awful the world had become, and just how blasé' everyone was about it. I wanted the final battle to reach “Dead Alive” levels of gore.

There are a lot of other things you won't “see” in the script. There's no mention of a couple of the characters pitched in the Kickstarter (like Mew-Tant) because they were going to have ad-libbed dialog during the action scenes. As with my animated projects, I like to give the actors room to play. Potentially any of the dialog or action in the script could've been replaced with some brilliant moment ad-libbed by the actors. There are also some purely visual moments that exist only in the storyboard or in the unfinished footage. Like any project, Dead Meat grew beyond what was on the printed page.

I guess I'm just saying... As long as you're using your imagination, imagine big. ;)

As always, if you have any questions about Dead Meat or screenwriting or the dangers of independent filmmaking... you know where to find me!

XO,

Maxwell

[that-shamrock-vibe]

Movie Review: Mulan (2020, Spoilers)

Spoiler Warning: I am posting this review the week following the movie’s release on Disney+ worldwide, so if you haven’t yet seen the 2020 live-action Mulan do not read on until you have.

General Reaction:

I had a very hard time deciding what I thought about this movie. I firstly had time to wait to see the movie as I didn’t watch it on Disney+ on the Friday it was released but instead got to see it for free the following Sunday night. But in that time all the reviews were coming out and while some of them were positive, a lot of them were negative.

I guess my feelings can be categorised into three pillars just as the oath sworn by the imperial army...loyal, brave and true, the first pillar is loyalty as in my thoughts on the original animated Mulan and how this movie holds up.

I will say, had I not seen the original I would probably just like this live-action remake fine enough but because I have not only seen the original 1996 animated version but have a strong connection to that version with it being the first movie I ever saw in theatres but also one of my favoured soundtracks of all Disney movies growing up, it’s difficult as we are literally comparing new for old.

That being said, a lot of what made the original so good for me has been completely gutted in this version. No Mushu, Cri-Kee or even Little Brother. It would be so easy to simply have a Shar Pei or a Shih Tzu roaming around Mulan’s home because they already had a spider taking the place of Cri-Kee in that matchmaker scene but no...we get the horse who isn’t even called Khan in this movie because the main villain’s surname is instead Khan rather than Shan Yu like the original, and a phoenix that...despite all the exposition and my movie trivia knowledge of what a phoenix can do...simply just flies around almost like one of those box kites and acts more like a drone than an ancestral family protector.

Also the grandmother from the original, who I loved because Disney has a habit of doing these elderly cooky women traditionally for comedy but also with some heart, is omitted from this version and instead seemingly replaced with a younger sister for Mulan. Now it’s not like the grandmother was integral to the original story other than giving Cri-Kee to Mulan and without Cri-Kee there is no need for her but if you’re going to replace her replace her with something interesting...this sister does absolutely nothing.

As for the songs, Everyone knew right from the off that this wouldn’t be a musical and so all those great songs from that soundtrack that I said at the time was one of my favourite Disney soundtracks were obviously out...but the way in which the score incorporated the main song “Reflection” is something we’ve already heard in the trailers and used very well played out here, then also two of the other songs “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” and “A Girl Worth Fighting For”, while not scored are referenced as lines from the songs are spoken by the Imperial Army soldiers at times.

Then speaking of ditching characters, Shang who is the main male lead of the 1998 animated Mulan is here split into two different characters. The commander of the Imperial Army played by Donnie Yen and then a soldier recruit in said army who acts as Mulan’s love interest...I think. I get the fact that these were the two sides of Shang’s character in the original...with the addition of dealing with the murder of his father...but it would have made more sense maybe to have the commander be “Shang’s” father rather than literally having Shang A and Shang B.

But while other fan-favourites were omitted, one new addition stole the show for me and that was Gong Li as Xian Lung aka The Witch as she’s referred to throughout in this movie. I thought the addition of magic to this adaptation was an interesting take because the original stands out for not relying so heavily on the fairytale aspects. I mean yes we have a talking dragon and ghostly ancestors, who also aren’t in this movie but are referenced a lot and responsible for the box kite phoenix, but the movie didn’t need magic per-say...here it is almost like the secret sauce for how the major players thrive.

This brings me onto my second pillar, brave...as in this movie takes some big old swings in the dark to not only try and stand out from the original but also be mature. Going back to the magic angle, chi is a massive part of this movie and it seems to be that if you’re an important fighter, you have it man or woman.

The only issue with that being the 1998 animated version of Mulan, despite being Disney, was one of the more grounded Renaissance movies as it didn’t rely heavily on the fantasy angle other than the talking dragon and ancestors.

So when you flip that around and tell me that not only does Mulan effectively have superpowers but also there is a major antagonist in this movie who can not only shapeshift but perform matrix-style Wire-Fu action which she somehow teaches the Rouran army, then it loses what made the original version special in that it didn’t rely so heavily on those fantastical elements.

That being said, despite a major problem with other Disney Live-Action remakes like The Lion King being that they rely too heavily on the source material, this remake is practically a different movie to the original 1998 version.

However, while a lot of the beats of the first half of this movie, and even the second half are met such as the Matchmaker scene, joining the Imperial Army, the avalanche battle and the Emperor being captured, the true emotional moments of the animated movie are completely gone.

That incredibly powerful scene after Mulan and her father argue and she is next seen crying at the Great Stone Dragon statue while watching her ailing father before deciding she must take his place and cuts her hair, disguises herself and leaves home in the middle of the night in the rain...here replaced with Mulan wielding her father’s sword, next she’s in the armor, then she’s travelling to the army camp...no powerful music, no visible emotion at how she comes to the resolve of leaving her family, nothing.

Even though there are no songs sung in this movie, the scene “Reflection” is originally sung in makes the song one of my favourite Disney Princess songs because of the fact it lyrically and visibly shows Mulan’s inner torment at being the outsider within her family and longing to be able to truly express herself. Here you have any resemblance of that scene taken out and instead go straight from the Matchmaker scene to the Imperial Army drafting scene.

As for the comedy, I understand the original animated version was more of a comedy-action movie as opposed to this one which is action-drama, but I don’t think I laughed once while watching this movie.

Yes, the original had Eddie Murphy as Mushu and that’s taken out here, but it also had the likeable funny trio of soldiers in the army. Here there are 5 of them, Shang-lite included, Yao and Chien-Po I think try to be despite not spending enough time on any of them to know who is who. There’s this newish character called Cricket who is supposed to be the substitute for Cri-Kee...but is a recruit in the Imperial Army instead of an insect and I had to look up to make sure it wasn’t Ned from the Spider-Man movies because they look so similar and try to force comedy despite not being particularly funny. Even the river shower scene from the original which was rather funny due to Mulan trying to hide the fact she’s a woman from the three guys, here it’s just Mulan and Shang-lite (Chen Honghui) and is played off more as some weird and awkward romance scene.

It is truly brave of Disney to try and appeal more to China than to Western audiences who loved the original movie and the comedy etc and this brings me on to the third pillar which is True, as in Disney trying to be true to China, it’s culture and respecting Mulan as a legend of China rather than a Disney Princess.

That being said, we definitely got more Chinese culture in this version than the original. Obviously you see a lot of China in the animated movie as the Imperial Army moves around a lot like they do here, but it’s never quite as cinematic as it is here. The 2020 live-action Mulan demands the attention of the big screen because for me watching it on my laptop, you can tell a lot of the establishing shots and landscape scenes were intended to be viewed on the silver screen.

Particularly the shots of people running up and down that vast staircase leading up to the Emperor’s palace, just imagining that in theatres impresses me.

Even shots like when you see wide views with either the phoenix or the witch in bird form soaring across the sky, you can tell it was meant to be viewed first on the big screen just to get that feeling of wonder because on a smaller screen it isn’t that impressive.

However, on the subject of “True” I do not understand how in-keeping with the original Chinese legend involved Chi being utilized as some sort of superpower equivelent to Avatar: The Last Airbender whereas in the original animated Disney version, which should really be the one emphasising the fantasy element, you’re either a good fighter or, in Mulan’s case for that movie, you’re not and have to train.

I understand how legends and mythologies can include fantastical elements because that’s what makes them as such, but if Disney want to tell me that in this movie Mulan is practically Wonder Woman because that’s how she is said to be in the legend then where the hell was that in the 1998 animated version because that Mulan is classed officially as a Disney Princess despite not being royalty or marrying royalty and having this type of power would at least qualify her to stand alongside the likes of Pocahontas and Moana.

Getting off the rant and moving to a compliment for a moment, I did appreciate the movie staying true to Chinese fashion because that really puzzled me about the original movie, how every man, woman and child effectively looked like they were wearing the same robes just in a different colour with maybe some different styling depending on if they were royalty or officials in some way.

But here, the Emperor definitely looked regal, the Witch looked regal but in that nomadic styling which was true to her character, and even though all the soldiers were wearing the same uniform, they all had something different enough about it.

Characters:

Alright so I’ve gone on enough generally, now I’m going to be more specific in terms of character, but because most of these characters aren’t fleshed out enough to warrant their own section, I’m listing who I feel are my three stand-out characters and then grouping the rest.

Mulan:

Obviously the movie is about Mulan so I have to start with her, and despite all the negative stuff which to be perfectly honest with you doesn’t overly concern me in regards to how Yifei Liu has been so adamantly in support of the Hong Kong Police drama, I’m judging her solely on how she plays the character here.

She was okay.

I mean this in the best way possible but, in a similar way to last year’s The Lion King remake, Yifei Liu was practically stone-faced the entirety of this movie. Good things happened, no expression, bad things happened, no expression, sad things happened, no expression. Especially when she was pretending to be a guy in the army camp it felt like her acting choice was “If Mulan was to show expression, it may give the game up”, it was just so rigid it made it hard to like her.

Speaking of her “undercover guise”, I know the original movie was animated and therefore the animators can get away with slightly altering the look of the character to make it believable and voices can even be changed as evidenced here with Jet Li...but I did not believe for a single second that Mulan could actually pass as a guy looking like how she looked. She didn’t cut her hair, her clothes weren’t particularly masculine, barely changed her voice and aside from having that leather brace/corsit to hide her chest there was no evidence as to how an entire army camp could not tell the second they saw her...maybe with the exception of Chen but I’ll get to that when I get to him.

Also, I touched on the Chi power thing beforehand, why was she was born with it? Why was it so powerful in her from an early age? None of this was explained, they hammered home the dangers of her having such strong Chi and that was also personified beautifully with Xian Lang aka The Witch as a kind of Ghost of Christmas Future visage, but the reason the original animated version worked so well was because she was flawed, clumsy and awkward yet also caring, strong-willed and outspoken. Really all they did here was take away all of those qualities that made her...you know...human and added the Chi power thing from the start so she didn’t have to learn to fight, she didn’t have to make this massive sacrifice as you know she’s probably going to prevail and again it made her unlikeable because there was no growth or real character development.

All except for the very end when the Emperor offers her a position on the royal guard rather than as an adviser like he does originally, and she rejects it here like she did then as well...but then she is asked again maybe two days later and we don’t get an answer but she probably says yes.

It’s quite clear they’re trying to tee up a sequel by the end of this movie, but there is so much negativity both to the movie and specifically the leading actress that I really don’t see this happening.

If a sequel was to happen it would most likely be Mulan’s struggles with being a female member in the emperor’s guard or even leading the team, but we saw her do that for the second half of this movie.

Literally the halfway point in this movie after a confrontation with Xian Lang, when Mulan’s father narrates how Mulan’s lie died but she herself lived and so she then decided to appear in front of the Imperial Army as a woman despite the obvious consequences I found stupid.

In the original it’s a mistake that she’s found out, it’s towards the end of the movie and she has to fight just for acceptance. Here she pretty much states the obvious in what she knows the villains are doing, suddenly she’s leading the fecking army...despite being told that if she shows her face again she will die...no death but just a promotion.

Finally while talking about Mulan, I can’t really not talk about that fantastic Ming-Na Wen cameo at the end of the movie. It was so great, I had heard prior to seeing the movie that she was going to be in it and so my eyes were peeled throughout the movie.

I love Ming-Na Wen and I do think she is one of very few to hit a Disney trifecta with being a Disney Princess, an MCU hero of sorts and a Star Wars character, though having recently finally seen The Mandalorian I have to say her part was exaggerated a bit considering the one episode she’s in.

It never dawned on me until it was brought up that I even needed Ming-Na to appear in this movie but having seen her I have to say I would be disappointed if she didn;t. Originally I would have suggested she maybe play Mulan’s mother as a type of passing on the torch, but the very fact that her one line and duty in the movie is to introduce Mulan to the emperor it does seem to have the same effect.

Xian Lang:

As I say, the Witch was my favourite character in this movie. Everything about her from when I first saw her in the trailers just worked for me. Her look was stunning, Gong-Li’s acting was on point, her story despite being a secondary antagonist based on the villain’s pet bird from the original movie was very compelling. The parallels between Mulan and Xian Lang were fascinating to see particularly with Xian Lang being a potential future cautionary tale for Mulan.

The first major scene when we see her use her powers was my favourite scene in the movie. I love a great power-set piece and we got to see a lot of the different fascets of Xian Lang’s power. From that gorgeous blend of coloured powders to act as a smokescreen for her shapeshifting, the weapon manifestation, using her sleeves as whips. It all worked so well and Mulan wasn’t even in the scene.

That being said, my next favourite scene is that confrontation between her and Mulan where Xian Lang is trying to get Mulan to admit who she is but she’s insistent on stating she’s her male name, so Xian Lang says “then you will die a lie” and knocks her into a rock which Mulan’s father then narrates “Mulan’s lie did die but Mulan lived”, it’s such powerful stuff and I wish the rest of the movie was as clever as that.

The Emperor:

The only other character I can really single out is Jet Li’s Emperor of China. I’m not a massive Jet Li fan, but I have seen him in a couple other movies and to my knowledge always in non-English speaking roles. However, I have also seen him in interviews so know the voice he has...this wasn’t it.

It was really distracting all the way through this movie because he looked regal, everything around him looked regal and powerful, but then he spoke and I was sat there pondering “Why is that not his voice?”. I mean I know how Hollywood likes to dub voices if the actors they hire don’t fit the roles vocally but do physically, but doing this not only to Jet Li who is one of the more famous Asian actors in Hollywood but any Asian actor in an entirely Asian cast does seem like a huge step backwards in representation particularly after Aladdin.

It reminded me a lot of Ray Park who is one of my favourite underrated actors. In some roles you see him and hear his voice like Toad in the first X-Men movie, however famously you only see him physically as Darth Maul in the Star Wars movies but have his voice dubbed by other actors.

All that aside, the actual character was a lot more fleshed out than in the original movie. I mean all you really need to know about him is that he’s the Emperor of China but here, because he’s Jet Li apparently in body only, he also has some kick-ass martial arts scenes.

Although, similar to the TV series Arrow, I do not understand how magic allows people to catch arrows fired at them, yet somehow Jet Li does and to be fair redirects it in a rather bad-ass way with Mulan doing a flip kick sending it straight into the chest of the main villain guy.

Hua Family:

As for Mulan’s family, I thought they were okay. Again I got more emotional from the original movie and I did miss the grandmother this time around and do not understand how the younger sister was a worthy substitute, but the actual parents were at least acted well.

It was great seeing Constance Wu in a dramatic role after seeing her in Freaky Friday, Tzi Ma was a surprisingly central role this time around as Mulan’s father with a lot more drama put on his character, in the original version you know Fa Zhou is injured from war so when he’s drafted again you can guess he may not survive. Here, Constance Wu states “Be brave for he won’t return this time”.

Imperial Army:

I didn’t like any of these guys, we spend little time getting to know any of them as individuals, maybe with the exception of Donnie Yen’s general character. Having said that, Chen either had to know that Mulan was a girl or simply be attracted to Mulan as a boy. But there were so many looks and so many times where you could tell that he knew but maybe wanted to protect her so didn’t let on.

Rourans:

I didn’t like the Huns in the original movie but at least they had individuality about them, the Rourans had nothing. Jason Scott Lee was obviously the Shan Yu of this movie but he did not have the intimidation factor that he had and really didn’t have a lot else to him.

The one plus about the Rourans is they seemed to take lessons from the Dothraki in Game of Thrones in how to not only ride into battle but battle while riding. It was very cool visually.

Recommendation:

By the time this review posts if you haven’t seen the movie yet you may not be inclined to and I don’t know if this review is really a promotion for it, but when someone asked me for my recommendation I did say it’s worth at least one viewing.

However, I would not pay the excess fee for it. I watched it for free and I feel $30 or however much it is here in the U.K. would feel a bit of a rip off despite the fact Disney+ allows for multiple users and so multiple viewings.

Overall I rate the movie a 6/10, it’s visually gorgeous, Gong-Li is the best thing about the movie and it is interesting to see what is different between versions. I just wouldn’t rank it up there as one of the best Disney Live-Action remakes, too much doesn’t make sense.

So that’s my review of Disney’s Live-Action Mulan, what did you guys think? Post your comments and check out more Disney Movie Reviews as well as other Movie Reviews and posts.

[starsfallings-archived]

Hello!

I’m Samantha. Random facts until you get a clearer picture of me:

I love books. My all-time favs are: Throne of Glass - Sarah J. Maas, the Dregs duology and King of Scars - Leigh Bardugo, the Infernal Devices and the Eldest Curses - Cassandra Clare, the Folk of the Air - Holly Black, Miss Peregrine’s - Ransom Riggs

I’m a cat-loving hufflepuff. And I worship Crookshanks.

I write fantasy and fantasy only, though other genres are often incorporated into my stories

I live somewhere in Asia

I’m straight but I support anyone who identifies as LGBT+. You will be forever welcome here. 

This writeblr aims to:

provide a larger platform, so more people can read my wip

allow me to have more fun writing

inspire more writing (but I don’t create prompts, merely prod your imagination a little)

TLQ will be released on Wattpad in August [you can find me at awritingcat]. But before then, there’s plenty of goodies I’d like to share with you, here, that readers on Wattpad won’t get to see (unless I decide otherwise, I guess).

So, you must be wondering, what’s TLQ about?

Well, it’s a found family-type trope (yay?) in a science fantasy setting. It takes place on future Earth and the Dome, a place specially created for the story. I have six differing POVs, four female and two male. (We’ll get into this later.) Four of them are immortals, by which I mean they have a quadrupled lifespan of about 400 years compared to the average human lifespan of anywhere from 60-100 years. The story follows their journey as they come together under difficult circumstances to save the world before the determined antagonist ruins it.

Now, that was a little vague. Over the course of the next month, I’ll be revealing more about my characters (these will be titled Character Cheatsheets, or CH^2) and facts about the Dome (these will be labelled Worldbuilding, or Wb). You will get facts, snippets of various drafts in various states of vagueness (but never incorrect grammar), and little secrets that may or may not eventually come up in the story itself.

Every week, you will be shown one Ch^2 and one Wb. These will include the snippets and secrets. When I release them will be completely random. Occasionally, you may see a Bonus post that can include anything from more snippets to completely random out-of-context quotes I came up with in the middle of the night.

I’m new here, and I need accounts to follow. So, if you see this, and post about any of the following, please either reblog (preferred method) or send me a message.

writing tips

WIPs that are about fantasy of any kind, and those that include faeries

WIPs that are about dystopian worlds

WIPs that include LGBT+ characters, because the more I know about this community the more well-written certain characters will be

anything remotely related to writing (even if they’re just hilarious memes and the like)

Thank you so much for reading all the way here, I really appreciate it :)

Edit: A (somewhat) daily section will be uploaded, called Writing Log (or WL). In it, you’ll be able to see how many words I wrote and for which draft and chapter.

Second edit: I’m starting a taglist, so if you want to skip straight to all the TLQ posts, send a message or ask!

[chiefnooniensingh]

I Won’t Hesitate (for you)

Chapter 1: I've been waiting for this moment (all my life)

Summary: Alex Manes, renowned Private Detective, is resting after solving an open-and-shut case in Istanbul aboard the Orient Express, when tragedy strikes and one of the passengers is discovered murdered in his locked cabin. Knowing he might be the only one who can solve this locked-room mystery, he takes it upon himself to solve this - seemingly - simple case.

Things quickly take a turn for the complicated as a 10-year-old murder case becomes connected to the current victim, the passengers turn out to be less trustworthy than they seem and Alex runs into a few old acquaintances.

The case may not be as simple as Alex first assumed, and soon he is faced with an impossible choice.

Will Alex solve this case, or does a murderer walk free?

Based on Dame Agatha Christie's novel and the most recent movie adaptation of Murder on the Orient Express.

A/N: And here it is!

I started this way back in July, the first story idea that stuck with me for longer than ten seconds. Instead of starting to write immediately, like I usually do, I started by outlining all the chapters. Based on that, I have managed to finish the entire story, before giving into the temptation of posting it. I plan on posting a chapter at least once a week.

I hope you guys like it!

Also who can guess the songs that inspired the chapter and story titles?

A special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter and @ladymajavader for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

In this chapter: We meet Alex Manes, Private Detective and control freek, after successfully having closed a case in Istanbul. On a whim, he decides to return to Paris by Orient Express. On board, he runs into some old acquaintances.

[also on ao3]

Late August, 1920

It was the month of the ratification of the 19th amendment. Whilst women throughout America were celebrating a resounding success (though most were not allowed to vote until well into 1921), a local New Mexian newspaper reported a tragic story:

Ortecho Family Drama Unfolds: Rosa Ortecho (11) disappears in the dead of night. Police suspect foul play.

The Ortechos were stellar chefs of Mexican descent, moving to New Mexico to open their first US-based restaurant. While the country wasn’t as welcoming to them as they had hoped, the food spoke for itself and soon Ortecho’s Bistro had built a faithful customer base.

Mr. Ortecho ran the restaurant alone, after Mrs. Ortecho was committed to a mental institution, and raised his daughters with the pride and flair worthy of a cook. Their youngest, Liz, was 9 when the drama unfolded. Rosa and Liz shared a bedroom and their sisterly bond was as close as it could be. Liz adored Rosa.

So when she woke up on that faithful night, awoken by a cold draft from a window that had most certainly not been open when Mikey had tucked them in, and she looked over to find Rosa’s bed empty, a part of Liz died on the spot. Screaming, she quickly woke up the entire house, and within a few hours, the entire town was up and looking for Chef Ortecho’s eldest daughter.

Detective Valenti of the local sheriff’s department was put on the case, but the bedroom held no clues other than an open window and the land surrounding the house was large and not easily traversed. It was commonly agreed that the kidnapper could not have gone far.

“After two weeks of silence, Chef Ortecho finally allowed reporters on his property, to appeal to the kidnappers and anyone who has any information on the whereabouts of his daughter. ‘Please,’ Chef Ortecho pleads, desperation clear in his voice, “Please, Rosa and Liz are all I have. If I lose one of them…please, return my daughter, Liz’s sister. She’s just an eleven-year-old girl.’ Afterwards, Chef Ortecho was too overcome with emotion to speak, and Detective Valenti shooed the reporters out of the house.”

Not long after the interview was released, Detective Valenti brought terrible news; the body of Rosa Ortecho was found a few miles from the house, half-buried in a forest. The kidnapping had become a murder.

The Ortecho family was wrecked. The restaurant closed indefinitely and Chef Ortecho and his only remaining daughter were barely seen in public.

Detective Valenti stayed on the case as long as he could. He had solved all cases that came before, even if they were deemed ‘unsolvable’ and was driven to solve this one. But the longer he went on, the colder the trail got. Several suspects were named, but none had clear motives, and all had believable alibis.

The case grew cold.

Present day, 19th of October, 1935

Alex Manes shook hands with the Police Captain of Istanbul’s biggest precinct. He had just assisted in solving a very complicated theft and the thief was now safely behind bars. This is what he loved about his job; he got to travel to all kinds of places to help people.

“Teşekkürler, Mr Manes. We could not have solved this case without you,” the captain said.

Alex smiled. “You had all the facts already, all that was needed was to put them together. The world is built on logic, one just needs to learn to see it.”

The captain shook his head with a smile. “As you say, Mr Manes.” The two of them stepped outside, into the warm autumn air. The city was bustling with people, the air filled with delicious smells of spices and coffee. “Will you be enjoying our grand city, Mr Manes? The Haga Sofia is open for tourists now.” The captain couldn’t withhold a small hint of disapproval at the city’s decision to turn the greatest mosque into a museum.

Alex shook his head, shrugging on his coat and putting on his cowboy hat, the only thing he kept from his childhood years. “No. There’s a case waiting in New York. I’m planning on traveling to London tonight, so I can be in New York in time for Thanksgiving.”

“If I may be so bold, take the Orient Express,” the captain said, his face lighting up. “The wife and I saved up enough money a few years ago, and we went by Orient Express to Paris. The ride is beautiful.”

Alex looked the captain up and down, noting the crooked tie and the dishevelled hair. The captain was busy and criminally underpaid, yet he seemed like a decent fellow. “I thank you, Captain.” He held out his hand again.

“And I, you, Captain.”

“Just Mr Manes now, I’m afraid,” Alex corrected. He straightened his hat and began to walk towards his hotel, enjoying the walk in the early autumn sun and a city in bloom. If his father knew he was in Turkish country, he would not hesitate to call Alex a traitor. But Alex wasn’t in America anymore, and neither was he in the Army. His father had no control over his life anymore, and Alex preferred it this way. Jesse Manes’ racist and discriminatory lifestyle was not something Alex wanted anything to do with.

At the hotel, he tightly packed his suitcase and took a taxicab to the train station. A line was forming at the Bucharest ticket booth, but the Paris ticket booth was line-free. Alex walked right up. “Good afternoon. I was wondering if there were any tickets left for the 10.31 to Paris?”

The man looked up and they both did a double take. “Alex?”

“Flint?” Alex stared open-mouthed at his older brother, who was in full Orient Express costume, looking extremely bored. Flint and Alex hadn’t gotten along in their youth, but when they were both in the Army, they rekindled some of their brotherly bond. After Alex was honourably discharged, they lost touch.

“Little brother!” Flint boomed, making several passengers look around in surprise. He jumped up and pulled Alex into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s been a while, what you been up to?”

Alex chuckled and patted his brother’s back. While he had grown fond of Flint in their three years on the force together, it was still uncomfortable to be greeted this way. Flint had been the worst bully of all his brothers. “Oh, you know, solving some cases, travelling the world. How about you?”

“Been working here for a year now. Father is the new director of the Compagnie.”

Alex scoffed. “The French must love that.”

“It wasn’t the most popular decision, no. But you know Father, once he sets his mind to something, he gets it.” Flint rolled his eyes, and Alex felt a strange sort of warmth. He had always been the only one to be at odds with their father, and it was strange to share this with his brother. “Anyway, after I was discharged, I really needed a job and he landed me this one. The work is boring but living in Istanbul is a dream. Did you know they opened the Haga Sofia to the public now? It’s stunning.”

“Yes, I did, but sadly, I did not have time. And I have to return to New York before Thanksgiving. So, can you get me a ticket to Paris?”

Flint clicked his tongue, looking remorseful. “Sorry, Alex, everything was fully booked weeks ago. But if you really need to go to Paris, I can put you on the Belgrade car. There’s a direct line to Paris from Belgrade as well, on the Arlberg-Orient Express, and the transfer is only a couple of hours.”

Alex sighed, but took out his check book. “Well, I could complain, but what would that help?”

“Tell that to all the passengers to whom I had to deliver the same message.” The two brothers laughed as Alex wrote out the check. “Here’s your ticket, little brother. Don’t lose it, or they’ll toss you out halfway to Sofia. Even if you’re the boss’s son.”

“I think being Alex Manes makes me more likely to be tossed out, but I’ll keep it safe, nonetheless. Thanks, Flint. It was good seeing you.”

“Same to you, man. If you’re ever in Istanbul again, don’t hesitate to visit.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. See you around!” Alex took up his suitcase and carried it over to the Belgrade carriage. He worked his way through a crowd of people, all of them were ready to board the Paris carriage. A young, dark woman was supporting a middle-aged, frail-looking woman who could only be her mother. A blonde, high society woman was ordering her and her husband’s suitcases to be brought on the train. Alex almost tripped over a man who was tying his shoelace. “Oh, excuse me,” Alex said, side-stepping the man. A white coat was hanging over his arm. A doctor, Alex deduced easily, then moved on.

A man helped Alex haul his suitcase on the train and find his cabin. It was a single cabin, and Alex exhaled. Sharing a cabin was murder on his senses, which were always in overtaxed at the end of the day, and there was nothing better than reading a good book to wind down, with no distractions. “Thank you, kind sir,” Alex said, giving the man a generous tip. The case in Istanbul had paid very well.

“The dining carriage is that way, just pass through the Paris carriage and you will find it there. Breakfast is served at 8.30am, lunch at noon, tea at 4pm and dinner at 7. Should you need anything else, you can ring this bell and the conductor will be right with you.”

“Is there one conductor for the whole train?” Alex asked, incredulously. That seemed too much work for one man, as several carriages would be added in Venice and Lausanne.

The man laughed. “Certainly not, sir. Every carriage has its own conductor, who has a small cabin at the end of each carriages. At night, the doors between carriages will be closed for safety reasons, but everyone still has a right to call upon the conductor at all times.”

“That’s excellent, thank you very much. Enjoy your day.”

“You as well, sir.”

The man closed the door behind him, and Alex sank into his bunk with a heavy sigh. His leg was aching. He swore. He’d been walking around too much on it and the scar near his knee was acting up heavily. Alex stretched his leg with a groan, just as the whistle outside sounded and the train shocked into movement.

Alex looked out the window as the pulled out the train station. Istanbul had been nice, but after the chaos of the city, Alex was looking forward to a restful week on the train. He needed to recharge before his major case in New York.

He watched the city centre turn into the less populated outer cities and then into wide open nature. With another groan, he opened his trunk and took out his book. It had been locked in his trunk ever since he arrived, and now he finally had the time to read the newest murder mystery.

Just as Alex had gotten emerged in the story, a knock sounded, startling him. He blinked, reorienting himself, then said, “Come in!”

The door slid open and a man in a conductor’s uniform stepped in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but a cabin in the Paris carriage just became available and my boss has off – ” Alex froze as he looked up at the man, and their eyes met. “Alex?” The way his name rolled of the conductor’s tongue catapulted Alex straight into his teenage years, and his heart soared and sank all at once.

“Michael?”

The silence stretched between them for a full minute, both of them staring, the echoes of years long past the only thing that made any noise. Finally, Michael blinked and cleared his throat, “As I was saying, my boss has offered you the empty cabin. Now I know why.” The bitterness in Michael’s voice made Alex feel like he’d been slapped in the face.

“Michael, I – ”

“If you’ll follow me. Sir.” Michael turned on his heels sharply and walked out, leaving Alex to struggle to his feet, pick up his trunk and drag it along with him to the next carriage. Michael’s silence was icy, leaving Alex feeling uncomfortable the entire trip. Michael stopped in front of a cabin roughly in the middle of the carriage, opening the door with a bang and standing aside. “Your cabin, Mr Manes.” Michael never looked at him once. “Courtesy of Master Sergeant Manes.” He turned to leave.

“Michael, wait.” Alex dropped his suitcase and grabbed Michael’s arm. Michael froze, but didn’t turn back. “I haven’t seen or talked to my father for two years.”

Michael scoffed. “I don’t care anymore, Alex. You enjoy your trip.”

Alex recoiled as if Michael had slapped him. Speechless and with a constricted throat, he watched Michael walk to the dining carriage and disappear. Feeling his eyes burn, he blinked rapidly and turned to enter his new cabin. He was stopped short when he heard an all-too-familiar voice. “Alex.”

Alex was once again catapulted into a past, but this time not a past he’d care to remember. He squared his shoulders, snapped all his walls in place and turned around. “Father.”

“Flint said there was a guest wanting to go to Paris on the Belgrade carriage. I did not realize it was you.” Master Sergeant – no, Compagnie director Manes looked as disapproving and strict as ever. Alex hated looking at his face more than anything else.

“Guess he wanted to spare you,” Alex said curtly. Then, as to not be discourteous, “Thank you for offering the cabin to me.”

Jesse Manes simply made a non-committal sound. “Are you still solving other people’s problems for them?”

“A private investigator, you mean?” His father had never approved of his career choice, but then again, he’d also been disappointed when Alex was medically discharged after only three years. “Yes, I am. I just helped solve a major case in Istanbul. Not that you’d be impressed, it didn’t involve actively trying to kill someone.” In the old days, a comment like that would’ve resulted in a vicious beating. But Alex was a grown man now, with several years of combat training under his belt, so all Jesse Manes could do was ball his fists and grit his teeth.

“Welcome aboard my train, Alexander.” Director Manes turned on his heel and left the carriage. The door next to his cabin opened, and the blonde woman from the platform stuck her head out the door.

“Is everything alright out here?” She had an American accent.

Alex managed a smile. “Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, I keep running into old friends.”

“A fellow American! A pleasure. My name is Isobel Bracken, and this here is my husband.” A dark-haired man wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she smiled at him with affection.

“Noah Bracken, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Manes. Alex Manes.” The two men shook hands. Alex felt an unexplainable shiver run up his spine, so fast that he might have imagined it, when he looked into Mr Bracken’s eyes. Alex couldn’t put his finger on the feeling, but he felt his guard raise slightly.

“The private detective?” Isobel straightened, an expression on her face Alex found difficult to read. “I read about the case you solved recently in Algiers. Unbelievable, how such a tiny detail can solve such a major case. Impressive!”

Alex smiled indulgently. He didn’t much care for the fame his work brought him, he enjoyed flying under the radar, and people recognizing his name would only make his work harder in the long run. “Thank you, Mrs Bracken. If you’ll excuse me, I was just relocated to this cabin and I’d like to unpack.”

Mr Bracken nodded and went back inside, but Isobel lingered a single moment longer, frowning. “I was told a Miss Cameron would be in the adjoining cabin.”

Alex shrugged, his mind already wandering. “I guess she never showed up. Good afternoon.” He went inside his cabin, unpacked properly this time and sat on his bed, staring out the window. Running into Michael on a train he never even planned on taking before earlier today had rattled him in a way he never expected.

It had been ten years since Alex had seen Michael. A lot had happened since then. He’d built up a new life for himself, a life that didn’t include Michael, and while it had hurt more than he could possibly say to make that choice, Alex thought he’d gotten over Michael.

Apparently not.

[amphtaminedreams]

We Voted for Murderers

65.2%.

That’s the percentage of people who voted for the Conservative candidate in my constituency, and I feel completely heartbroken. See, things have properly gone to shit. 

If we’re talking numbers?

Local councils estimate the number of people sleeping rough on any given night between 2010 and 2018 has risen from 1,768 to 4,677, a 165% increase. The Trussell Trust, the UK’s largest food bank charity, has reported a 5,146% increase in emergency food parcels being distributed since 2008. An 8% cut in spending per school pupil since 2009. Funding from central government to local government cut by 60% in that same period. £37 billion less spent on working-age social security compared to over a decade ago by 2020. A 90% fall in the number of social homes being built since 2010. A £7,300,000 decrease in funding for women’s shelters between 2011 and 2017. Don’t even get me started on the government’s treatment of the NHS.

I’ve heard stories of individuals applying for PIP due to mental illness being berated about suicide attempts and the likelihood of another as part of a “formal interview” process to see whether they qualify. People collapsing in job centre queues, freezing to death on the streets and the elderly in their homes, suicides whilst on never ending mental healthcare waiting lists. In fact, 17,000 sick and/or disabled individuals have died whilst waiting for PIP payments to come through, and in total, UCL researchers have linked 120,000 deaths to austerity (I’m not going to comment on the irony of my former university that’s notoriously lacklustre when it comes to giving a fuck about the wellbeing of its students publishing this unless...I just did?). 8 years of negligent homicide of the most vulnerable people in our society under the Conservative government and we voted them back in.

So I ask, are people really stupid enough to believe that the politicians responsible for this mess are the ones who are going to fix it just because they make a few characteristically empty promises on TV or does the British public at large really give even less of a fuck about other people than I thought? As in actually not give a fuck about people dying?

I have to tell myself it’s the former. The press’ treatment of Jeremy Corbyn and Labour was scathing. 

Corbyn, a man who has stood by the same principles of fairness, justice, and equality, for the entirety of his career, was criticised by the likes of The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Telegraph, for being indecisive and a threat to this country whilst Boris Johnson, a man who can barely string a sentence together when he is asked to give a straight answer to something and blocked the release of a report covering Russian interference in British politics, was held up as the one people should put their faith in. 

I know, the press are never going to be completely neutral. But shouldn’t they at least be committed to integrity? And the truth? Isn’t that the WHOLE FUCKING POINT of journalism? I’ve been hearing the phrase “post-truth world” thrown around a lot and it’s probably an indication of my privilege that it was only with this election that I properly understood what that meant; it was found by the NGO First Draft just 2 days before the election, damage way past the point of done, that 88% of the Conservative Party’s Facebook ads (compared to 0% of Labour’s ads) contained misleading information. The repercussions were non-existent. After Boris Johnson’s claim that Jeremy Corbyn wanted to raise corporation and income tax to the highest levels in Europe was publicised, only Channel 4′s Factcheck website published the actual statistics (France, Belgium, Portugal and Greece all have much higher corporation tax rates than Labour’s proposal). Similarly, in many constituencies, the Lib Dems were posting fliers where Labour candidates were, in the previous election, the runner ups to the Conservative candidate, claiming that it was instead THEIR party’s candidate who had the highest chance of unseating the latter. Days before the election, the headline of one of Britain’s most highly circulated papers claimed that a Corbyn government would plunge us into a crisis the likes of which “we haven’t seen the Second World War”, which is kind of wild considering that 130,000 preventable deaths have been linked to austerity under the Conservative government compared to 70,000 civilian deaths in said war. Not that either is good, obviously, and I can’t believe I have to point that out. But then, right-wingers did paint Jeremy Corbyn as a monster for passing up watching the Queen’s Christmas Day speech to volunteer at a homeless shelter, so I thought I’d just cover my back, y’know. 

Shouldn’t there be standards that the media is held to? You know, like not making slanderous statements about some politicians that have no actual basis in fact whilst brushing over the statements of others. Whilst the PM’s father Stanley Johnson was on nation television calling the public illiterate, and Jacob Rees-Mogg was blaming the Grenfell victims deaths on their “lack of common sense”, and Michael Gove was stating that people who needed to use food banks had brought it on themselves because they were not “best able to manage their finances”, it was Jeremy Corbyn who was being called an enemy of the people, accused of trying to plunge us into a “Marxist hell”...I mean, if Denmark and Norway and Finland with some of the highest living standards in the world are “Marxist hell”s  then sure, that’s what he’s doing. But that’s a hell I’m sure a lot of people would find much comfier than a freezing cold pavement. Before Labour had even released their (fully-costed!) manifesto, barefaced lies were being published about how much it would cost and how it would plunge us into trillions of pounds worth of debt, as if it hasn’t increased from £1 trillion to £1.8 trillion in the years since David Cameron took office. Meanwhile, when Labour did publish their manifesto and the Financial Times published a letter signed by 163 prominent economists and academics backing their spending plans? Crickets. Nothing sums it up better than the debate around Jeremy Corbyn’s alleged anti-semitism, discussed ad-nauseam whilst Boris Johnson’s actual racism, islamophobia, misogyny and classism, RIGHT OUT OF THE HORSE’S MOUTH, was completely ignored by most news outlets. 

You know what, maybe people earning £85k just DON’T want to pay an extra £3 in tax a week to make sure children get an education. Maybe everybody IS just as selfish as that one twat on Question Time who got all red in the face over the prospect of having to give up an amount less than the cost of a tub of Ben and Jerrys a week. But if that’s true, this isn’t a country I want to live in at all, or a planet I want to live on, really. I hope it’s not. I hope it’s a case of a need for some kind of collective realisation that the Sun ain’t shit. Merseyside did it. The younger generation are catching on. And look at the results there.

Labour probably couldn’t fulfil ALL of their promises. No political party is perfect. I was told again and again how unrealistic those promises were as if that was enough to make me go ”oh...I guess I’ll vote for 4 more years of people dying in the streets instead”. Yes, in an ideal world, the entire manifesto would be made a reality, but it depended on far too many rich people being good and honest. Let’s be real-the elite will always find a way to avoid paying their fare share on the premise that they “earned it”, as if anybody earns billions by sheer hard work alone and past a certain point, not off other people’s backs. As if there aren’t nurses and teachers and firemen and other public sector workers who don’t put in just as much energy and as many hours and emotional labour as CEOs and business owners and investors. But the point is that Labour under Jeremy Corbyn acknowledged this, and their manifesto aimed to give the power back to the average person, from the vulnerable to the supposedly middle class still struggling to make ends meet, and give them the quality of life they deserve. It was built on the simple premise that the people should use their government, not the other way round, and that everybody deserves the basic human rights of shelter, nutrition, safety and dignity, regardless of their fortune in life. However many of Labour’s policies would actually have been fulfilled, it would’ve been a shift in the right direction. 

Now the election’s been and gone and I’m scared. Already, the narrative is being rewritten by the billionaires in control of this country that a manifesto like the one we saw this year will never sit right with this country, when it is what so many desperately need. The people putting this information out there know the truth: that Labour’s membership trebled in size under Corbyn (more people voted for him than for any Labour leader since Tony Blair), that most of the safe labour seats were lost because of Brexit, and that if the manifesto had been represented accurately, there’s a good chance that Boris Johnson would no longer be our Prime Minister. I’m scared a person like Jeremy Corbyn will never front Labour again. 

Because I do not want a tory painted red who’s friends with Jacob Rees-Mogg behind the scenes, I do not want a war criminal who thinks that bombing innocent people is ever acceptable, I do not want a person who doesn’t see people of colour as part of the working class and indulges in the occasional bit of TERF-ism.

Already, the Conservative party are backpedaling on the few promises they made to increase NHS spending, and I am scared. I am scared for myself, in the event that I need urgent mental health care again, and I am scared for those less privileged than me who don’t have a family to support them, who don't have a roof over their head, who weren’t fortunate enough to be born in a country with relative economic and political stability, who cannot physically go out and work to earn a living. I am worried about the bigots that this election has already emboldened, the Katie Hopkins and the Tommy Robinsons of the world, who think the things that blind luck have graced them with they somehow earned, who pride themselves on ignorance and cruelty and selfishness.

So for now, what can we do? 

Join trade unions. Organise. Write to your MPs. Bring attention to those who are vulnerable. Be vocal with your criticism of the establishment. Call out those in politics for an ego-trip hiding behind “personality”. Do your research. Keep an eye on the numbers. The “it doesn’t matter who you vote for, just vote” sentiment is old, because it does. No “as a feminist, I exercise my right to vote for whoever I want”, because as a feminist, you should care about ALL women, not just the white, middle class, able-bodied ones. 

And if anyone has any more suggestions, let me know. Because I am sick and tired of living under a government who doesn’t give a fuck about the people it’s supposed to protect.

Lauren x

[DISCLAIMER: The photo is not mine. Just devastated and trying to find the words to express it.]

[kanasmusings]

[Translation] VAZZROCK bi-Color Series 2nd Season Vol. 1 - Drama Track 2

Second track is up~! I hope you all enjoyed Mamiya’s new CD as much as I did because, my god, the things that I have discovered about both VAZZY and ROCK DOWN are enough to sustain me until Sho’s CD releases wwww

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission. Please just like/reblog them instead ^^

Oh! And if you can, please do consider buying the CD here to support the artists ^^

Anyways, under the cut, enjoy~!

Track 02: 『お疲れ様の一杯を』 “A drink for our hard-work.”

                                        »»————-　★　————-««

[0:00]

  (Door opens)

  OWNER: Welcome—Oh? Taka-chan, you brought someone this time?

MAMIYA: Yup, table for two~ Is the tatami room available?

OWNER: It is.

  (Mamiya and Sho start walking)

  SHO: Oh~ This shop’s got great ambiance.

SHO: It’s for the general public but it’s very elegant.

MAMIYA: You should tell the owner that directly. I’m sure he’d jump for joy if he heard that from you.

SHO: (chuckles) You’re exaggerating.

(Mamiya and Sho settle themselves in the tatami room)

MAMIYA: Alright… Should we order some draft beer first? Or maybe wine?

SHO: Hmm… Draft beer maybe~? I want to know what it feels like to enjoy it after work~

MAMIYA: Roger that~

MAMIYA: (opens the sliding door and tells the owner) Owner, two draft beers and whatever you’d recommend to eat!

OWNER: Got it.

(Mamiya closes the sliding door)

SHO: This is the shop that Ouka told me you frequent, isn’t it?

MAMIYA: Yup, that’s right—Wait, you talk about things like this with Ouka?!

SHO: We do~ You become our topic of conversation a lot, you know~?

MAMIYA: Uwah… I won’t ask what you talk about then…

SHO: (chuckles) That’s such a waste~

MAMIYA: (smiles) Really now.

OWNER: Here, thanks for the wait.

(Owner starts serving them)

MAMIYA: Oh~! I was waiting for that~ Woah…! They look so delicious!

MAMIYA: These wings really pair well with the alcohol, ya know~?

MAMIYA: Sho, can you hand me that plate over there?

SHO: Sure.

(Sho hands Mamiya the plate)

SHO: You ordered so much. Are you sure we can eat all of this?

MAMIYA: Hm~ You’ll know once you start eating~

MAMIYA: Ah, Owner. Please bring us some nihonshuu later on, too.

OWNER: You got it.

(Owner leaves and closes the sliding door behind him)

  MAMIYA: Alright then, should we toast for now?

MAMIYA: Thank you for your hard work today, too!

SHO: And to you as well~

(Mamiya starts drinking)

MAMIYA: I feel so alive~!

(Sho starts drinking)

SHO: Uwah~ That’s so delicious.

MAMIYA: Are you actually the strong type, Sho?

SHO: I wonder~ I don’t have any plans about finding out whether I’m weak or strong to alcohol.

MAMIYA: About how many glasses can you drink if it’s wine?

SHO: Hm… About two or three?

MAMIYA: (laughs) That’s great! Are you fine with nihonshuu, too?

SHO: If it’s not too harsh for my taste.

MAMIYA: I see~ This place has a great selection of nihonshuu so, you can just choose later.

SHO: I’m looking forward to it~

MAMIYA: Welp, let’s go eat something before that.

(Mamiya prepares a plate for Sho)

MAMIYA: Here you go.

SHO: Thank you. I’ll prepare you some of these on a plate, too, okay?

MAMIYA: Sure, thank—Ah, no, wait!

MAMIYA: Haruto advised me before to only let you eat and to not let you serve food so uh—

SHO: I don’t think I’m that clumsy though.

MAMIYA: No one thinks that you’re clumsy. It’s just… There are things that people are not suited for, you know?

(Mamiya starts serving the food instead)

SHO: Takaaki watches over people even when we’re not all together, huh.

MAMIYA: (laughs) It’s not like I’m doing all of this consciously though. I guess it’s just because I’m surrounded by a lot of accident-prone people.

SHO: Does that include me~?

MAMIYA: (laughs) Yes, it does.

SHO: How strange~ I thought that we were supposed to be in the same situation~

MAMIYA: You mean, us being leaders?

SHO: Yup. A leader who takes care of his family of six~

MAMIYA: (finishes serving Sho the food) There we go.

MAMIYA: We’re actually a huge family of 12, you know?

SHO: (chuckles) A really big family, huh~ Even though it took quite a while.

MAMIYA: That’s true.

(Mamiya starts eating)

MAMIYA: Mmmm~!! This is so delicious!!

SHO: (chuckles) It’s that good? Maybe I’ll have some, too~

(Sho takes a bite)

SHO: !!! This is~!!

MAMIYA: It’s so good it makes you want to just exclaim, right? Then, if you drink alcohol after this, it’s—

(Mamiya starts drinking)

MAMIYA: It’s the best!

SHO: (laughs) You really look like you’re deliciously enjoying it, huh~

MAMIYA: Not “look,” I really am~!

SHO: Let me try it then~

(Sho starts drinking)

SHO: (chuckles) It truly is the combination of happiness, isn’t it~?

MAMIYA: (laughs) You look like you’re enjoying, too~

MAMIYA: We should do a commercial for beer now.

SHO: (chuckles) A privilege for those over 20, huh~

MAMIYA: Alcohol drinking is exclusive for those over 20, y’know?

MAMIYA: Looking at your image, it’s unexpected that you’d like beer so—we might really be able to make it work.

MAMIYA: Maybe I should try telling my manager that…

SHO: Do you keep thinking about things like that even on your days off, Takaaki?

MAMIYA: It’s not like I always do. But, I can’t help it…?

MAMIYA: Whenever I find something unexpected about our members, I kinda think that maybe we can use that as a selling point, too, or something.

                                        »»————-　★　————-««

[05:05]

  SHO: Oh~! I might have something not about me.

SHO: The other day, I went to a local district with ROCK DOWN. It was a roundtrip only but, Ruka kept on saying that he wanted to go sight-seeing.

MAMIYA: (laughs) Sounds like something he’d do.

SHO: Even more so since it was a hot springs district. But, we couldn’t find that much free time to roam around.

SHO: Just when I was thinking of having Gaku calm him down, Reiji already started asking the locals for information.

MAMIYA: He’s good at things like that, huh?

SHO: In an instant, he found out about a footbath that only the locals were familiar with. We all boarded a taxi and headed there afterwards.

SHO: Even though we only had two hours before we had to go on the plane.

MAMIYA: (laughs) Ayumu didn’t object to that?

SHO: About that~ Even Ayumu got excited about entering the hot springs since we were there already.

SHO: Everyone was of one spirit and we headed to the footbath~ (chuckles) And that footbath was the kind that had small, sharp pebbles in it, too.

MAMIYA: And then it was pandemonium~

SHO: (chuckles) Exactly~! Ayumu was screaming in pain but Ruka kept pushing on his feet. When Ayumu couldn’t bear it anymore, he started riding on Gaku’s feet.

SHO: And, when I thought that Haruto was looking like he was fine, it turns out that he couldn’t even move a foot~

SHO: Reiji took a video of all of us during that time~ Of course, one where he’s included as well~

MAMIYA: Ah, I can totally imagine it~ Wait, that seems like something that’d happen in a variety show.

SHO: That’s right. I was thinking that it would seem fun to do a show like that with everyone after Reiji showed us the video.

SHO: You meant something like that, right~?

MAMIYA: Yeah! Being with those guys, even normal things seem interesting that I just wanna show them off to people, y’know?

MAMIYA: But, a hot spring’s super nice~ I wonder when we’ll get that kind of chance.

SHO: What happened when you went to the local districts?

MAMIYA: It was a roundtrip, too. The only thing we did was maybe eat the famous boxed lunches in bullet trains.

MAMIYA: Plus, Ouka sent his manager back in advance so we barely even managed to buy them. That’s it.

SHO: It’s difficult when you can’t find that much free time, huh.

MAMIYA: I wish we could do more next time.

MAMIYA: Ah, but, doing something with all the members is good on its own, too.

SHO: Even if it’s just in the common room?

MAMIYA: Yeah. Just the other day, Issa was saying he wanted to eat some salt and butter bread (shio pan).

SHO: Salt and butter bread?

MAMIYA: You don’t know? It’s kinda like a croissant. The texture’s soft like a French bread and it’s got a bit of a salty taste with lots of butter.

SHO: I think I kind of get it now.

MAMIYA: But, that was at midnight.

SHO: I don’t think… any bakeries are open at that time, huh…

MAMIYA: And I’ve never seen them being sold in convenience stores, too.

MAMIYA: Plus, he was being all spoiled and saying that he didn’t want it if it’s not freshly baked. He hit Futaba awake and told him to make one from scratch. When Futaba told him that he didn’t have the ingredients, Issa went all the way to my place.

SHO: Well, he can, since we’re in the same apartment complex~

MAMIYA: But, getting asked for some flour and stuff at midnight should be out of the question, right?

SHO: (chuckles) It should, huh~ So, did you make some?

MAMIYA: Oh, we definitely did. But he got mad since we didn’t have any butter so he went to get Yuma. And then, Ouka got mad because he got woken up by the noise. He brought with him Naosuke because, according to Ouka, “Naosuke would definitely sulk if no one woke him up.”

SHO: So, you all made bread in the middle of the night?

MAMIYA: Yeah. Futaba was the teacher and we were all kneading dough.

MAMIYA: Really, what an evil thing~

SHO: Did Issa participate in the bread-making class, too?

MAMIYA: That’s just the thing! He’s the one who wanted to eat it but he said, “I’m sleepy so wake me up when it’s done.”

SHO: Ah…

MAMIYA: He fell asleep in a corner in the room so I went ahead and played a prank on him~

SHO: (chuckles) What did you do?

MAMIYA: I curled his hair oh so thoroughly with a curling iron~

SHO: (chuckles) I’m surprised he didn’t wake up~

MAMIYA: It’s me we’re talking about, you know? His hair got so fluffy that it would make him 3x more hostile if he saw it.

SHO: He didn’t find out even after he woke up?

MAMIYA: No one generally looks at a mirror at midnight, right? The bread was just done too so, he was happily enjoying his bread with his fluffy hair~

SHO: (chuckles) That side of VAZZY is really great, too, huh~

SHO: I want to see that kind of cooking show, too.

MAMIYA: Hm… I want to try it too as long as Ouka doesn’t get to hold a knife.

SHO: It’s that bad?

MAMIYA: I wonder now… I think it’s the same level as Haruto not wanting you to hold a knife.

SHO: That’s… Well, that’s reasonable~

MAMIYA: (laughs) Don’t say that~!

SHO: (chuckles) I can’t get enough of talking about our members~

MAMIYA: Oh man… We should have talked about this on the broadcast.

SHO: Ah…!

MAMIYA: Well, let’s talk about it next time~ Let’s take that opportunity to appeal to make a TV show, too~

SHO: As expected~ You don’t miss any opportunities.

MAMIYA: I am very honored by your words of praise~

MAMIYA: Now that we’re in the mood, wanna go for the nihonshuu~?

SHO: Sure~

(Mamiya opens the sliding door and places an order)

MAMIYA: Owner, some nihonshuu, please! Oh, the not too strong kind.

OWNER: Got it.

OWNER: Here you go.

MAMIYA: Eh--?! That’s fast! What’s this~? Did you already prepare it and was already waiting for us?

OWNER: Yeah, I got a hold of some good stuff, see?

MAMIYA: Heh~ Sho! You can expect that it’s good if the Owner recommends it.

SHO: I can already smell how good it is~

OWNER: Alright then, please enjoy your stay.

(Owner closes the sliding door)

  SHO: It’s unusual for it to come with a small cup, huh?

MAMIYA: It feels as if it’s meant just for drinking alcohol, right~?

MAMIYA: Then, once again.

SHO: That’s right~ Cheers~!

                                        »»————-　★　————-««

[10:47]

  SHO: Oh… This is…

SHO: It’s delicious.

MAMIYA: I’m glad to hear that~

MAMIYA: Ah~ It’s so good! He really got a hold of something good with this!

SHO: It feels gentle to the lips but the aftertaste is very distinct…

SHO: I feel like I can drink a lot of this~

(Sho starts drinking more)

MAMIYA: There’s a saying that good alcohol shouldn’t be wasted so, drink as much as you’d like.

MAMIYA: It’s alright, it’s just us leaders here anyway.

SHO: We won’t be troubled if we see each other drunk, huh~

MAMIYA: That’s right. Since we’re here drinking good alcohol, why don’t we talk about things that we can only talk about as leaders?

SHO: Like what?

MAMIYA: Hm, let me see… For example… How did you feel when your CD was first released?

SHO: You mean, my solo song?

MAMIYA: Yeah.

SHO: I really felt… nervous about my first song.

SHO: Of course, I did feel a little bit excited about it, too.

MAMIYA: Same here. I’ve been super nervous about it starting from how people would feel about it until the time I actually saw it on sale.

MAMIYA: But…

SHO: But?

MAMIYA: Hm… It’s just a little bit but… I was scared, too…

SHO: That’s… That’s unexpected. In what way were you scared? Was it because the expectations were too much?

SHO: Or because yours was the first one released?

MAMIYA: Hm… There’s that, too. I mean, I was first in line for the VAZZROCK Project, right?

MAMIYA: I had it in mind that I can’t fail at the very beginning.

MAMIYA: Plus, in my case, I have history with an old unit so… I was thinking about how the old unit’s fans would feel if I released a song without the old members. I got too worried about that, too.

SHO: I see. You’d be curious about how your old fans reacted, huh.

MAMIYA: I guess I was, even though we got newer fans, too.

MAMIYA: That’s why, I totally couldn’t sleep on the day the CD was going to be released.

MAMIYA: And I can’t really yawn during the release event so I had to use some super cold eye drops so early in the morning.

SHO: (chuckles) So you did something like that, huh?

MAMIYA: For real.

SHO: I didn’t know… You just seemed so relaxed to me before and after your CD’s release.

SHO: I guess that’s a part of your character, too, huh.

MAMIYA: Then, my feint worked. It’d be nice if I managed to fool the others, too.

SHO: At the very least, you managed to fool me~

MAMIYA: Well, I’m glad about that. (sighs) I can really only talk about these kinds of things with you.

MAMIYA: I mean… I don’t think that we have to be perfect because we’re the leaders but… There are times when we can’t show the members we’re nervous, right?

SHO: Yeah, I know…

MAMIYA: I know that even leaders feel lost or weak sometimes but… Ah… It makes me wonder what would happen if my members see me like this or something…

MAMIYA: As someone who should pull them along, I don’t want to show them any unnecessary anxieties that I feel.

SHO: That’s right. And not just as leaders. We’re the older members too so, there are times that the younger ones get influenced by us.

MAMIYA: Exactly!! That, too! My unit’s got more people who just debuted unlike ROCK DOWN, right?

MAMIYA: If I say this in front of people who just entered the industry, I feel like they’d be disillusioned by what the people around them do or say in the future!

SHO: That’s true, it is a specialized industry after all.

MAMIYA: In an unstable world like this, the only ones you can count on are your friends. Specially the leader who leads the way. To them, we’re the bright light that guides them along.

SHO: They’ll feel uneasy if the light becomes small or unstable, won’t they?

MAMIYA: That’s exactly it. No matter how strong the winds may become, the light should never disappear.

MAMIYA: Even if we have to desperately protect the light, you know?

SHO: So even you think of things like this, huh, Takaaki…

MAMIYA: He-he~ Being shameless means that I’d be great at hiding secrets, too~

MAMIYA: Well, I can say these things now because of a certain someone.

SHO: A certain someone?

MAMIYA: I can only open up about this because I’m with you, Sho. A unit leader just like me.

SHO: (smiles) I’m honoured.

SHO: Then, I guess it’s my turn to reveal some secrets.

MAMIYA: Heh~ You have something, too?

SHO: Of course, I do.

                                      »»————-　★　————-««

[15:23]

  SHO: Unlike VAZZY, our average age is not that young. And we have a lot of members who have already been in the industry before.

SHO: So this is from a slightly different point of view but…

MAMIYA: Like, how you had difficulty trying to be in charge of people from different fields in the industry?

SHO: I won’t say that I didn’t have that in mind but...

SHO: But, I guess I did feel some… anxieties, maybe? about why I was chosen to be the leader.

MAMIYA: Eh? Why so?

SHO: You know? I’m the type who thinks that it’s okay even if the oldest member is not the leader.

MAMIYA: Hm… Well, that’s true. In the entertainment industry, sometimes it’s the career history and not the age that’s the deciding factor.

SHO: Exactly. I wasn’t familiar with that kind of common sense in the entertainment industry.

SHO: Even though I was introduced to the agency, it was as a violinist, not as a talent.

SHO: Even though I knew what kind of world I was entering when I became a talent, I never once imagined that I would be a unit leader.

SHO: It made me feel uneasy a lot.

MAMIYA: Heh… I’m sorry to say this but—I never really noticed since you always seemed so relaxed!

MAMIYA: And, from my point of view, you always seemed so elegant.

SHO: There were times when I just laughed it off to make it seem okay, you know?

SHO: I’m so glad that my feint worked~

MAMIYA: That just means that we’re both good at keeping up appearances.

SHO: (chuckles) That seems to be the case.

SHO: But, I’m glad I got to talk about this with you.

SHO: It made me remember that it’s okay for leaders to experience troubles, too.

MAMIYA: Me, too. I feel so relieved that I’m not the only one who felt lost at times.

MAMIYA: Well— (softly) This is just between you and me, okay~?

SHO: A secret just for the two of us, huh~

MAMIYA: Totally~ Then, let’s praise ourselves for getting us all the way here, shall we~?

SHO: Agreed~

SHO: Now then, leader~ Thanks for your hard work.

MAMIYA: To you as well, leader~ Thanks for your hard work.

  ==END== 

                                      »»————-　★　————-««  

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission. Please just like/reblog them instead ^^

If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a ko-fi here to support my work if you want. (o^▽^o)Thank you!!

[solest]

I...may have written something like a drabble (?) or a short draft-thingy of an GO-AU idea I had while listening to When you were young by The Killers. I’ts just a scene and it takes me quite some nerve to even post it, but I’ll give it a try anyways. I try to explain it a bit.

I never wrote any fanfiction before and I tried to get this out of my system in the middle of the night.

It’s a Human-AU where Aziraphale get’s a position as a substitute teacher at his old boarding school. Coming back there let’s him contemplaiting of his last years and his crush, that he could just never forget. This scene is what stuck the most with him, it’s just a flashback. Aziraphale is supposed to be pranked but Crowley won’t let that happen and sees a chance of getting what he want’s without embarassing himself too much.

Well..enjoy i guess?

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

Sneaking out of the dorm was by far easier than Aziraphale had imagined. It was already quite dark outside, stars starting to appear on the deep blue sky, when he made his way to the school garden. With every step he took, uncertainty crept up his collar, making its way into his mind and slowing his pace. What if this was a dumb joke after all? What if he went to the garden, thinking something utterly cheesy and romantic like a meeting in moonlight would take place, when in reality Gabriel and his band of brainless admirers would wait there, laughing and exposing him? His feet came to a halt at the last corner he had to take. Aziraphale closed his eyes, took a shaky breath and tried to clear his mind.

Yes, this was still an opportunity. He was a target of Gabriel’s mockery in the past and he still did not know where those notes came from. He reached into his trousers pocket, fishing the little paper out and staring at it, even though he was not able to read a thing. He didn’t need to right now; he had internalized them already, after reading them like a hundred times in his room.

Change of plans; come to the gardens at 10:15 pm. No flashlight! Wait at the raised bed with the tomatoes.

This one was quite more specific than the others. But what really had driven him out of his room and a good book at this time of night, the driving force behind this complete nonsense was this little hope he had. The tiniest spark of hope that whispered ‘this could be him. What if he wrote this? What if he wrote all of them, all along?’

Aziraphale heard himself releasing a faint sigh. Those were high hopes; such things didn’t happen in real life. But maybe, even if it wasn’t Crowley, maybe there was someone who really liked him. And maybe he could be a bit brave, just this once in his life. Even with the risk of being mocked and humiliated. He took a deep, reassuring breath and checked the time, it was 10:10 pm. “Well… here goes nothing “he told the cool night breeze and continued to walk to the high bed.

In the dark of the garden, a bright little note stood out, like a little beacon of light. As he came closer, asking himself how he should be able to read that bloody thing, he could make out the outline of something standing on this note: a small flashlight, the ones you could put on your keychain. Aziraphale took it and read the note: Use the blindfold. Please. Bewildered he used the small light to check the wood on which he had found the piece of paper; a strip of dark and thick fabric was lying there. “Good gracious….” he mumbled to himself, picking the strip up and pondering for a second if he should really do this. Curiosity and the thrill of anticipation won, and so he blindfolded himself, standing there in the dark, and waiting.

It felt like a second and an eternity at the same time.

He stood there, not knowing what would happen to him next; his heart beating in his throat. Then he heard it. Little branches cracking under feet, the sound of footsteps on the grass. Aziraphale’s breathe quickened, nervousness making him shake. The Person, that must have hidden in the lush bushes behind him all that time, came to a halt. Aziraphale swallowed audibly, he wanted to say something when a hand cool, but quite sweaty hand took his and pulled him gently forward. Shocked by the sudden movement all he could do was follow. Maybe he was imagining things, or it was just his own shaking, but he thought for a second that he felt a slight tremor in these cool fingers that were grasping his.

They were walking quite some time, Aziraphale was not sure if they were still in the garden or not, the blindfold and the omnipresent nervousness making it hard for him to orientate. They came to a stop at last, the other person’s hand letting go of his. For a moment, panic rose in the blindfolded boy as he lost the physical contact. It felt like the other one was standing near, but what if they weren’t? “You…you’re still..?” Aziraphale managed to spit out as he reached out with his right hand, touching fabric. The other person was standing in front of him; he could feel the fabric of the blazer all of them wore for their uniform.

Before he could to continue stuttering anything else, one of those cool fingers brushed his lips, coming to a rest on them to shush him. Aziraphale was sure his heart would pop right out of his Adam’s apple, right this moment.

Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion after that.

The finger brushed along one side of his lips, joined by the rest of the hand and cupping his face. He felt the other one coming closer, warm breath ghosting over the visible part of his face, animating his blood to rush into his cheeks and heating them up; eyes wide in shock underneath the fabric in front of his eyes. And then there it was. The warm brush of lips against his own; very gentle and hesitant at first, but eager to push even closer.

Aziraphale frozen in shock; he wouldn’t be able to run or do something, anything in this moment but standing there and letting it happen. This was his first kiss, with some stranger in the dark, in (presumably) the school’s garden. Something like this only happened in cheesy romance novels or stupid teen films, or in some plays. Apparently Aziraphale seemed to be starring in one of those things right now.

But none of these brief thoughts could occupy his mind now, the soft sensation of those lips where overwhelming and pushing everything else out of the way. After what felt like a millennium Aziraphale was able to muster the courage to answer the kiss, his hand coming up to cover the other one’s on his cheek. The boy, Aziraphale was pretty sure now that it was a boy, let out a small hum, the blindfolded one’s actions spurring him to deepen the kiss, just a little. So they stood there, in the cool air of a late spring night, kissing. Time seemed to have come to a stop.

But all good things come to an end eventually and at some point the stranger withdrew himself from Aziraphale, taking in a shaky breath and letting his hand linger a moment longer on the blonds rosy cheeks. Then the sensation of those cool (and long, Aziraphale noticed) fingers faded. It felt like the unknown boy was standing there, watching Aziraphale who was panting a bit now, before the latter could hear the steps again, going in the opposite direction of him and creating more distance.

Aziraphale didn’t move till he was sure he was alone. Slowly, still in a shock of awe, he removed the blindfold and blinked in the darkness. It took some time to get a hang of where he was, till he recognized the small apple trees on the outskirt of the garden. He stood there for a while, looking in the direction the steps had faded, before he began his slow journey back to the dorms, his mind just blank till he laid down in his bed, starring at the ceiling and trying to understand what had happened to him.

[hurt-care]

Behind the Scenes

So, @salamanderskin and I had the pleasure of writing together again for the first time in ages! This one features her OC, Frank, who you can read about here and my new OC, Hugh. This is set in England in the late 1940s, post-war. Enjoy!

----

The end of another show. The cast filtered back into the dressing rooms to change, chorus dancers stretched out muscles, musicians wrestled instruments back into cases and the magician's glamorous assistant worked cold-cream into her stubborn stage makeup. Most of the Cabaret cast were keen to leave and find a pint at the bar while it was still serving. Soon enough, backstage was nearly empty, the lights dimmed and costumes folded more or less neatly away for the matinee the next day. Only one performer was left, leaning against a counter with his head propped on his arms. His dark hair had enough gel to hold it in position despite his angle, still in a smooth side-parting away from a handsome, good-natured face. Frank Westmore, fast asleep.

Hugh Morris pushed the dressing room door open with his hip, arms full with a bucket, mop, and rags. Whistling quietly to himself, he set down the bucket and sloshed the mop in. The deserted dressing room glowed softly under the vanity light bulbs surrounding the varied mirrors. Pausing to check his reflection in the glass, Hugh suddenly felt the rush of startled fear as he saw the man on the opposite corner of the room.

The mop clattered out of the bucket, spilling the water onto the tiled floor. Hugh spun around, his heart racing.

“Oh my god, sir, I’m sorry,” he stammered, rushing to gather the mop and bucket. “I thought you was a ghost for a moment. They said everyone had gone and it was alright to start the cleaning. And they told me the theatre was haunted, but then again, aren’t all theatres haunted? S’what I’ve heard, anyhow.”

“Hmm?” The ghost in question raised his head, holding a hand in front of his eyes against the light. He shook his head groggily. It took a good few seconds to establish where he was, then he offered Hugh a disarming smile.

“I- no- it’s just me. Is it late?” His words were interrupted by ticklish cough smothered against his shoulder.

“Half-past ten,” Hugh said, consulting his watch. “The others haven’t been gone too long. I heard a few of ‘em discussing going down to the club around the corner. But I don’t know who they were. I just started last week and this is my first shift after a show.”

He stepped forward, extending his hand towards Frank.

“Hugh Morris,” he said with practiced politeness that seemed stuffy coming from his otherwise rather bohemian air. His trousers were a size too large and slouched on his thin hips, cinched with a belt. And the auburn hair that framed a lightly-freckled face was a touch too long and it curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck.

The other man rose and shook hands. “Frank.” He looked Hugh up and down. The man looked like he would fit in at the theatre just fine. Was it really half ten already? He thought he’d only laid his head down for a few moments. Speaking made him cough again and he had to clear his throat before continuing.

“How are you liking it so far? Did you see any of the show?”

“Only the last bit with the magician,” Hugh replied, taking up the fallen mop and leaning on it. “But it seems like a nice spot. I just moved into town to help out my uncle but his business is a bit...well, a bit conservative for my tastes. I figured I’d find more of my sort of people here and I like to keep busy, so the night shift suits me fine. I’d like to be a stagehand, really, but they had a spot for a cleaner. That’s alright though; I’ve worked pretty much every job under the sun.”

“What about you?” he asked. “How long have you been here? You’re a performer?”

“Dance in the chorus.” Frank explained. “It’s a pretty good gig, you’ll soon find your feet. It’s my first season and everyone welcomed me in straight away. Here, let me move my stuff and you can talk and mop, or we’ll be here all night.”

He gathered his waistcoat and jacket from the the floor at his feet and returned them to his hanger. Then without further warning and no shame at all, he unbuttoned removed his shirt and hung that up too. He turned to rummage for his street clothes with only his undershirt on, rubbing his upper arms for warmth. As he bent over into his bag his shoulder shuddered in a sudden sneeze. “hWRSHuh!-WRSSHue!... excuse me.” He continued dressing, shaking his head muzzily.

“A dancer, huh?” Hugh said, sloshing the mop into the bucket and starting on the floor. “I wish I could dance. I think I might have two left feet.”

He glanced up shyly at the back of Frank as he removed his shirt.

Looks like a dancer, he thought to himself, admiring the smooth lines of the man’s torso as he bent to look for his clothes. And that bum…definitely a dancer.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden double sneeze.

“Bless you!” he said, pushing aside a clothing rack with his foot and sweeping the mop behind it. “It’s a drafty place, this theatre. I think I should probably bring something warmer next time. You alright?”

“Fine, I…” Frank’s voice cracked and he released a rushing “hWRSHuh!” into the back of his wrist.

“Think I might have caught whatever’s going around.” He shrugged, with a smile to show it wasn’t serious. He certainly didn’t want the new cleaner to avoid him or create any awkwardness. Frank finished dressing in a hurry.

“Bless you,” Hugh repeated. “Going around, eh? I guess I ought to clean extra well.”

He finished his work on the floor and turned to scrubbing down the sink in the corner of the dressing room. Glancing up into the mirror, he watched Frank as the man finished buttoning up his shirt. It was hard to believe that someone as handsome as that was only in the chorus.

“I’m nearly done here,” Hugh said, running the tap. “I was going to put a pot of tea on in the green room before I head home. Did you want some?”

The dancer looked as though he was about to decline, them shrugged and gave Hugh another warm smile. “Why not?” He grabbed a cloth from the counter and helped Hugh finish the last few jobs, then the two walked to the green room side by side.

He heating in there had been turned off and it the air had an icy edge that set Frank coughing again. While Hugh put his bucket away he took a moment to blow his nose and try to rearrange himself. There was no denying the tight threads of a headache behind his eyes and he was sure he must look groggy and half-asleep. Perhaps he could sit and put his head in his hands just for a moment, while the kettle boiled. That was how Hugh found him when he returned.

“You look like you should be home in bed,” Hugh said when he re-entered the green room. “I won’t keep you.”

He poured the boiling water from the kettle into an old, chipped Brown Betty and set it to steep.

Settling into the couch opposite Frank, he stretched out his legs and rocked his neck side to side, feeling the pull on tight, tired muscles.

“So, where were you before you came here to dance?” he asked, leaning forward to pour the tea into mugs. He passed a steaming cup to Frank. “Sorry, I looked but there’s no honey.”

“What-? Oh, that’s sweet of you.”

As he took the tea he gave Hugh a thoughtful look, meeting the man’s eyes. Kind eyes, he thought, liking them immediately. “I’ve been dancing a few different places. London mostly. Brighton. I was drafted right at the end of the war, got to France and got sent home again. Lucky really. My old lady didn’t really want me home again, so here I am.” He says it’s lightly, like it’s nothing. It only stings a little these days. He hopes Hugh will understand the unspoken implication. The theatre is as safe as place to be queer as any, the rest of middle England not so much. He watches Hugh carefully, to gauge a reaction.

“Here you are,” Hugh said, smiling. “A fellow soldier. Though I suppose most of us were involved somehow. I was in the Merchant Navy, myself. Stationed down off the tip of South America. Didn’t see much action there beyond dodging icebergs and chasing the occasional penguin off the deck.”

There was no action in South America, but the way home had been a different matter altogether. He rarely talked about the U-Boat attack, or the hours in the frigid Atlantic waiting for the rescue vessel, or the way his left leg ached to the point of a limp when it rained. He did not talk about Jack, who had been his closest confidante on the ship, and the fact that he didn’t make it out of the water that day.

Clearing the thoughts of the war from his mind, he focused on his cup of tea and the handsome man sitting across from him. He did not respond to Frank’s comment about his ‘old lady’ not wanting him home. Hugh was fairly certain he understood Frank’s meaning, but this sort of thing was a delicate dance and the last thing he wanted to do was offend a new colleague.

Frank actually snorted his tea when Hugh mentioned the penguin. “You’ll have to tell me the whole of that story when I’m awake enough to listen.” He watched Hugh’s face, wondering if he really caught a moment of sadness on there. He, too, did not want to offend.

His tea finished, Frank stood and stretched. His nose was tickling something fierce and scrubbed it with the heel of his hand was no longer making any difference.

“Thanks for tea but I’d better be go-oh-ing…” he managed, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I think that’s probably for the best,” agreed Hugh. “I’ve just got to shut out the house lights and lock check in with the door guard and I’m good to go. What direction are you headed? I’ll walk with you a bit, if you’re headed down towards Brook Street.”

“Yes, that’s…” It was no good. Frank’s voice hovered up an octave as he tried to continue. “That’s-“ he gave up and managed a “sorry, gonnasneeze…”which bought him just enough time to pull out a white handkerchief before a heavy fit overtook him.

“hmptCHSsshhoo! CHSSsshoo! hWRSHoo!!”

It took the man a minute to get his breath back. He shook his head and gave Hugh an inquiring look. “Are you sure? M’not exactly good company… I feel like a mess.”

“Bless you,” Hugh offered sympathetically. He patted his trouser pocket, hoping to find a spare handkerchief to offer, but he’d left it in his coat. “It’s alright. I’m walking that way anyhow. Might as well go together.”

He gathered his coat and bag from a nearby storage room and put away the tea things while Frank gathered up his own belongings. They walked down the hallway and up the stairs to the back of the theatre orchestra seats. Hugh reached for the panel of lighting and switched off the breakers for the house lights, plunging the room into darkness. Alone in the middle of the stage, the ghostlight shone just enough light to make out the arch of the proscenium and the gilded footlights along the front of the stage.

“Besides being all lit up for a show, I think it’s the most beautiful in here like this,” he said, staring up at the light.

“Wonderful.” Frank agreed, voice soft. It wasn’t the stage he was looking at.

The walk home went too quickly. Frank enjoyed his new friend’s chatter and contributed as much as he could, but most of his attention was focused on minding his now dripping nose, subtly wiping it whenever Hugh’s attention was diverted. He muffled a series of sneezes into the sleeve of his coat but managed to keep walking and listening to the man’s pleasant voice. It was much colder than previous days and he found himself wishing for gloves and a scarf.

At the corner of his street he paused. “This is my stop. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in around eight, actually. They asked if I could take care of concessions for the intermission. I guess the usual guy is out.”

He shrugged and grinned.

“I haven’t worked food since I was sixteen slinging popcorn at the local ballpark, but I think I’ll manage.”

He thought about extending his hand to shake Frank’s, but one look at his reddening nose made Hugh think twice. Poor guy. Instead, he settled on a nod and a smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Get some rest.”

He watched Frank retreat down the side street before strolling onward to his flat above his uncle’s office. It was a sparse but cozy little spot furnished with a twin bed, an armchair, and a desk along with his own sink for washing up. The toilet and kitchen were shared with one of his uncle’s clerks who lived at the opposite end of the flat, but he was away visiting his ill mother for the week.

Hugh limped slightly up the stairs, feeling the strain of a day spent on his feet. He settled into his arm chair, massaging his sore knee while his thoughts drifted to the handsome dancer. Fingers crossed that he’d get more time to talk to Frank tomorrow.

-

By the time five o’clock rolled around the next day, Hugh was eager to leave the office and to get to the theatre. He didn’t mind the work in his uncle’s firm, but it was boring columns of numbers and figures calculated alongside a dozen other men who had no discernable passions or interesting personalities. The theatre was a much more colourful cast of characters.

He ate a quick dinner in his room, had a cat nap, washed up and changed, and then headed down to the stage door. The show had already begun and Hugh peered in through the back audience doors, craning his neck for a glimpse of Frank among those assembled onstage.

It wasn’t long before his patience was rewarded with a tap dance from a few members of the men’s chorus line. They were smartly turned out in black tailcoats that span outwards as they turned. Of the three, one caught the eye; for the sharpness of his movements and for his genuine, handsome smile which recanted all the way to his eyes. The shadows under his eyes and pale sheen to his cheeks were only noticeable if you knew to look for them, which Hugh did.

Poor Frank looked just as ill as yesterday, but you wouldn’t know it from the dancing. Hugh watched, transfixed.

“Have you fetched the bottles of wine from the cellar yet?” a voice behind Hugh whispered sharply. He spun around to see Mr. Thompson, the house manager.

“No, sir,” Hugh said, shutting the theatre doors from the lobby quietly. “I was just about to.”

“We aren’t paying you to watch the show,” Mr. Thompson chastised.

“No, I know, sorry,” Hugh apologized, rushing to prepare the intermission concessions.

Soon the lobby was filled with patrons enjoying a glass of wine and a cigarette between acts. Hugh managed well enough but was relieved when the bell chimed to signal the patrons to return to their seats. With the second act underway, Hugh tidied up the concessions stall and wandered towards backstage, digging in the closet for a broom and biding his time sweeping the back hall by the dressing rooms. He wasn’t technically scheduled to start his cleaning shift until after the show was over and the actors had gone, but he had an ulterior motive to the early start: he was hoping to chat with Frank again.

In the distance, he heard the roar of the applauding crowd. The show was just finishing up. Soon, a stream of singers, dancers, and other acts flooded into the hall and Hugh stepped aside, leaning casually on the broom as his eyes scanned the crowd.

He heard Frank before he saw him. There was a terrible, damp-sounding cough from around the corner and then Frank appeared, still in his top hat and tails.

Unaware he was being watched, Frank turned away towards to wall to cough hard into his handkerchief. His other hand rested on top of his breast-bone, nursing a tightness that wouldn’t seem to shift. When the fit subsided he looked up at the other man, startled. His pupils were huge in the low light.

“Hello! How long have you been standing there?” He waved a hand to show it didn’t matter, but a distinct blush rose in his neck and the tops of his ears. He would have preferred to pull himself together and ‘accidentally’ run into his new friend at a time of his own choosing. Oh well, too late now. To make matters worse the prickling need to sneeze, which had never been far away throughout the performance, fanned to unavoidable levels and he could only draw a quick panting gasp before doubling into the handkerchief, stifling it as much as he could.

“ah-dZsch!”He recovered with what he hoped was a casual smile. “You should do a better job with your cleaning. It’s awfully dusty down here.”

“Long enough. You look dreadful, but somehow I don’t think my cleaning is to blame,” Hugh said gently. “Cold not improving? I can’t believe you didn’t call out of the show. I saw a bit of your number and there’s no way I could do that with a clogged head.”

He smiled sympathetically.

“The kettle is on in the green room if you want some tea. I just heard the stage manager say so.”

The dancer laughed a soft, almost shy, “hah” at the news that Hugh has seen his act. About himself he replied, “It’s really nothing. But tea sounds great. Do you have time for one before you start? It’s freezing down here.”

“I need to wait for everyone to clear out of the dressing rooms,” Hugh confirmed. “So I have a while. You want to get out of your show things and I’ll pour us some cups?”

“Deal.”

Frank changed as quickly as possible. The moment where he was naked between changing shirts made his skin stand up in gooseflesh with shivers that reached his teeth and made them chatter. It was a relief to put on the thick jumper he’d brought with him and he added his overcoat too. He pulled a comb through his hair and let the pomade already in there do it’s work. Close enough. His nose was really stuffed now. He tried blowing it with very little success and wished he’d brought another handkerchief with him, but they were at home and he wanted to put off going home for as long as he could.

Hugh’s auburn hair made him easy to spot in the green room. Frank accepted the cup of tea gratefully and curled his fingers around the mug for warmth.

“Thanks.” He said, sitting himself on the edge of a sofa and patting the seat next to him for Hugh to join him. “I could do with something warm. The heat’s off at my house again, really need to get it seen to.” Another round of damp coughing rather proved his point. He learned away from Hugh as best as he could, careful not to spill his drink.

Hugh sat down with his own mug and frowned at the admission.

“Your heat’s off?” he asked. “But it’s been so cold and damp out. I mean, more than it usually is...you know, England and all that nonsense about our climate. But really...it’s a terrible time of year to go without heat.”

And there was that brutal cough again. Hugh resisted the urge to put a hand on the man’s back to comfort him but instead he dug into his trouser pocket for the clean handkerchief he’d packed that morning.

“Here,” he said, passing it over. “I can’t believe you spent a night in a house with no heat and with a cold too!”

Before he really knew what he way saying, the words tumbled out.

“My flat’s really quite cozy and the heating works almost toowell sometimes. There’s one of those big steam radiators in my room and it clunks and clatters all night long. Why don’t you come and stay there until you heat gets repaired? I can’t let you go home like this knowing you’ve got no way to get warm.”

Frank accepted the handkerchief with ease and a grateful smile, but hovered over the invitation. He eyed Hugh, trying to gauge if it was a genuine offer, because it was certainly tempting. “I mean… are you serious?” He thought of his cold, damp room and the prospect of somewhere he could actually get some rest, and some pleasant company to boot. “What are you, an angel?”

Hugh laughed loudly.

“Far from it,” he said. “But I know what it’s like to be in a place without heat and you seem like the sort who won’t rob me blind. So, it’s all yours.”

He fished into his pocket for his key ring and removed the single gold house key from it.

“It’s 13B Mountsfield Ave. Go in the door to the left of the office front and upstairs. My room’s the one on the right. My flatmate Stephen has the room at the end of the hall but he’s up in Cardiff for the week, so don’t worry about disturbing anyone. Kitchen’s through the sitting room and the loo is down the hall before Stephen’s door.”

He dropped the key into Frank’s hand.

“There’s a kettle in the kitchen and tea in cupboard beside the stove. And there should be some food in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you like. Spare handkerchiefs are in the box on top of my dresser, if you need one.”

He drained his mug of tea and gave Frank one last friendly smile.

“I should start on the cleaning. Usually the principals are clear of their rooms by now. Make yourself at home and I should be back by eleven at the latest.”

“You’re really sure? Thanks a million. That’s brilliant.” Normally he might have protested more and been more effusively thankful, but honestly Frank was too exhausted to overthink the offer. All he could do was accept the key, and the smile, and shake his head in happy puzzlement as his new friend left on his rounds.

………..

Frank Westmore stood in front of the kettle in Hugh’s little flat, waiting to muffle the sound as soon as it began to whistle. He made himself a cup of tea, trying hard not to pry into Hugh’s sparse living arrangements too much.

As Hugh has promised, it was pleasantly warm inside, a wonderful contrast to the outside air where a fine drizzle was beginning to fall. Frank had on a thick woollen jumper that had been knitted for him by the mother of a friend. His hair was tousled from it’s usual neatness and fell to one side of his face, the darkness contrasting his pale skin. He may have been warm but he honestly felt awful. When he first let himself in to the flat he had been stifling his outbursts of sneezing, not wanting to disturb the neighbours through the thin walls. It soon proved impossible and he surrendered himself to sneezing thickly into a borrowed hankie every five minutes or so. He was well aware he sounded dreadful and was too tired to care.

He sat down on the sofa and listened to the sound of the rain on the window and the unfamiliar creaks and gurgles of an unfamiliar house, fingers gripping the mug for warmth. He felt weak and shivery enough to wonder if he had a temperature and fervently hoped not. He was causing his new friend enough trouble already. He had been home with plenty of gentlemen after less that acquaintance than this, but this was a different matter altogether. As soon as the tea was finished he found a blanket on the back of the sofa and tucked it over his legs, curling his tall frame into the sofa. Perhaps he could close his eyes for a few minutes…

Back at the theatre, Hugh went about his cleaning duties. When he’d emptied the last of the trash cans and swept the dressings room, he bid farewell to the stage door guard and stepped out into the rainy night. A glance at his wristwatch showed the time to be nearly eleven. The streets were quiet on his walk home and he hurried along, eager to be out of the rain. With his spare key, he let himself into his flat and climbed the stairs slowly. The damp weather always aggravated his old war injury and his knee throbbed insistently.

He reached the landing and shed his coat, hanging it on the coat rack alongside Frank’s. Then, with careful steps, he crept into the small sitting room.

On the sofa, Frank snored softly, sounding completely miserable with congestion. Hugh frowned and stood watching the man for a moment. He chastised himself for not offering Frank the use of his bed, where he’d be far more comfortable. Frank’s position on the couch was an awkward cramming of limbs that looked like it might result in a sore neck in the morning.

Still, it didn’t seem worth it to wake the sleeping man for that. Even in the dim moonlight, Frank’s face looked pale and exhausted as he slept, his mouth hanging open slightly in a battle for air.

Hugh went down to the kitchen and poured himself two fingers of Scotch. He wandered into his own room, pausing to look at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall. Looking back at him was a tall auburn-haired man with lines beginning to form around his eyes and a shadow of stubble on his chin. He yawned and then stuck his tongue out at his own reflection. Who was he kidding trying to woo someone as handsome as Frank?                                            

“ah-dZsch!”

His thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse, congested sounding sneeze. Then another, then another. Frank struggled to sit up on the sofa and helplessly cupped his hands over his nose and mouth as the ticklish sensation flared. “ah-dZsch!dZsch!--dZsch!”He tried to give his host an apology but his breath caught in an unsteady inhale and a heavy, “hWRSHoo!! … ugh.”

There was still a sneezy, irritated look around his eyes but he managed, “Hugh! How -snf-was your shift?”

“Christ, man,” Hugh said, come out into the living room and catching the end of the brutal fit. “Bless you.”

He sank down into the armchair opposite the sofa and shrugged.

“It was alright. One of the girls spilled her setting powder in the dancers’ dressing room. Took me ages to get all of it cleaned up.”

With a lop-sided, sympathetic smile he added, “Better question is how are you?”

“I’ve been worse.” He was actually feeling better for the sleep, well enough to tease Hugh a little.

“Don’t let me keep you up if you’re going to bed. The sofa’s just fine. Though I have to ask… do you invite all the dancers back to your flat or just the really charming ones?” There was no doubt in his mind that any chance he might have had was ruined now Hugh had seen him like this, but it was his nature to at least give it a try. He finished the statement with another ticklish sneeze and a wry smile.

“Hey!” Hugh said playfully. “I told you it was my first week on the job. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

He was certain this was flirting. What he wasn’t sure about was whether Frank was one of those cads who flirted with anything with legs, or if this was genuine. Frank certainly seemed genuine enough, so Hugh pushed his luck a little.

“I promise you,” he said with mock seriousness. “I only ever invite handsome, charming ones back but they’ve been awfully hard to find. I had to find one with broken heating as an excuse to get him to come over. Can you believe that?”

“Times are certainly hard, when this is best the theatre has to offer.” Frank agreed with equal sincerity, gesturing to himself with vague emphasis on his nose and throat.

He came and sat on the arm of Hugh’s chair, then asked, “Oh, are you hurt? You sit with your leg funny.” Almost immediately he realised how that sounded and his cheeks flushed.

“Err, it’s an old injury,” Hugh said, glancing down at his knee. “From the war.”

He felt a strange reluctance to admit it. There were many men who came back injured in much more serious and life-altering ways. A bit of an ache was nothing, really.

“At least I know I’ll never be a dancer,” he said with an awkward laugh.

Frank was sitting so close now and Hugh shifted in the chair, unsure of what to do with himself. He glanced up at Frank’s flushed face and they exchanged a small smile. Hugh bit his lip, gathering his courage, and slipped a hand casually onto Frank’s thigh.

“I’ll leave the dancing to you,” he said.

Frank brought his own hand to meet Hugh’s and intertwined their fingers.

“We’ll see about that.” He murmured.

There was a long moment. Frank played his thumb over the tendons in Hugh’s hands, enjoying the lean strength. He almost held his breath, savouring the moment and the possibility. Unfortunately all the pleasant company in the world couldn’t stop his nose from running. He cursed inwardly as he felt the need to sneeze again, and rubbed a knuckle hard under his nose to try and stave it off. That was easier to suppress than the enormous yawn that followed.

“Excuse me, I’m just a bit tired. Not of you.”

“It’s late,” said Hugh softly. “You should get some more rest.”

He squeezed Frank’s thigh gently and stood up, stretching out his long limbs.

“Be right back,” he said, heading for the hall closet near the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a quilt and a proper bed pillow.

“These might be a little better than the throw blanket,” he said, offering them up. “Sorry, I should’ve mentioned them before.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.” Frank said sincerely. The moment Hugh’s hand had left him, the chilled, shivery feeling had returned and he was more than happy to lie down on the sofa under the quilt. He rubbed his legs together for warmth and watched Hugh undress for bed through a half-open eye. He himself slept in his undershirt, a thick shirt and a jumper, and was very glad of all of them. Lying down was not so kind to his nose. He felt congestion throb across his sinuses and forehead, forcing him into a set of sudden sneezes that made his throat ache.

“hWRSHuh! Hi-hWRSHue!”

He honestly felt bad for his friend having to listen to him all night. And yet, despite it all, he fell into a heavy sleep.

Hugh looked up from buttoning his pyjama top to see Frank’s shape shaking under the quilt on the couch as he sneezed. By the time he had gone to brush his teeth and came back to turn down his sheets, it sounded as if Frank had fallen asleep. There was a soft, rhythmic wheeze coming from under the quilts. Hugh went to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water, sneaking back into the living room to leave it on the coffee table in case Frank woke in the night.

Then, with a yawn, he went into his room, leaving the door open a crack, and climbed into bed.

Only a few hours later he was awoken by a loud thump, a crash and stream of swear words followed by a worryingly long bout of coughing.

In the living room Frank sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa, trying to get a clear breath so he could focus on what havoc he had caused. His head was spinning. It took him a long minute to work out where he was, and the time in between made his heart race with anxiety. He’d woken up on the floor with a shock. Standing up dizzily he’d managed to knock something over- a glass?- and now the floor and his sock were wet, he was covered in sweat, it was still too dark to see properly and what was Hugh going to say? He really meant to get up and start cleaning but he couldn’t think where to start. Maybe he’d wait for the dizziness and hot clammy feeling to pass. Honestly he felt like he wanted to cry.

Hugh woke with a start, confused by the sudden clatter in the living room. His heart hammered in his chest from the rush of adrenaline and he sat up, searching the darkness for the source of the noise. He reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on. His brain fog cleared and he recognized the sound that was happening now: a terrible cough.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he rushed to the living room and fumbled on the wall for the light switch. In the dim glow of the inefficient floor lamp, he saw Frank bent over on the sofa looking absolutely dreadful. The glass he’d left on the table was a cracked and broken mess on the floor along with a pool of water but he didn’t give it a second thought when faced with the state of the man sitting nearby.

He hurried down the hall to the kitchen and filled a new glass with water, bringing it back to the living room and stepping gingerly around the glass shards on the floor. He sat down beside Frank on the sofa and held out the glass of water.

“Here,” he said gently, putting a comforting hand on the man’s back.

Frank gulped the glass of water in one go and then leaned into the touch, resting his weight against Hugh’s supporting arm. Hugh could feel his quick breaths and the kick of his ribs as the occasional cough interrupted his words.

“I’m so sorry- I woke you up- I fell out of bed then I broke- I’ll clean it in a minute.”  The low light played on his dark eyes, making them huge in his face, making him look surprisingly young. He managed a half laugh at himself. “I- I’m not doing very well.”

“Hey, hey,” Hugh said, rubbing a small circle on Frank’s back. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

He finally got a good look at Frank’s face and he frowned. His cheeks were flushed a bright pink against an otherwise pale and sweaty face. With his other hand, he reached out and gently laid it on Frank’s brow.

“Oh, Frank,” he said, feeling the heat radiating from the skin. “You’re burning up.”

He pushed Frank’s thick hair back off his forehead and the mix of sweat and old pomade made it stick up in an endearingly boyish way.

“It’s fine. I just need to sleep it off.” Frank murmured. “Do you have some aspirin or something?”

That said he made no move to pull away from Hugh.  It was surprising how comfortable he felt with a man he had met only yesterday. Even as he spoke his eyes were fluttering closed again. His head lolled against the man’s shoulder but he shook himself awake, truly intending to get up and clean the glass. In a moment. Or two.

“Yeah, in the medicine cabinet. You alright for a second?”

He carefully guided Frank’s head back against the couch and tucked the quilt over his legs.

“Be right back.”

He took the unbroken water glass and went to the bathroom. Finding the aspirin bottle and the glass thermometer in its case, he took both with him along with the refilled glass of water.

“Alright, he were are,” he said, returning to Frank’s side and putting the pills and water on the table. “First things first; let’s see what we’re up against.”

He slid the thermometer out of its case and passed it to Frank to put under his tongue.

“Hold that there for a second. I’m going to get the broom and clean up this glass.”

The other man sat obediently still, only his eyes following Hugh’s movements as the mess was swept away. Congestion made it hard for him to breathe and he had to concentrate hard on keeping it in there. Strange. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had his temperature checked this way, not since he was old enough to remember. He was determined to be a good patient but it was difficult when his nose was trickling and he desperately wanted to cough.

After what seemed a reasonable amount of time he took it out and had a look, squinting through the glass at the mercury, then passed it to Hugh with a helpless shrug.  “Is that okay?”

Hugh looked at the thin red stripe and gave Frank a good humoured smile.

“Well, the thermometer and I agree: you’re hot.”

He laughed softly at his own joke and then caught himself and blushed. He sat down next to Frank again, putting the thermometer back in its case and screwing open the aspirin bottle.

“Here we are,” he said, dosing out two tablets and holding them out.

“So I’ve- snff-heard. He was too out of it to make a good response, especially with his nose running. He held the back of his hand against it as he rifled through the sheets for the handkerchief. “S-scuse me- snf-Snff”He gave his nose a fierce scrub with the heel of his thumb. “Ugh. Sorry. It’s really itchy…” The fever made him a little weak and distracted. It was hard to think of taking the aspirin, finding the hankie and chatting with Hugh at the same time.

“It’s here,” Hugh said, reaching down to the end of the couch where the handkerchief was lodged between two cushions. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to make it better beyond aspirin and the old ‘head over a steam bowl’ trick. But somehow that doesn’t seem like a good idea with a fever.”

He looked affectionately at the struggling man and then clapped a hand lightly on his back.

“I have an idea though. Take the pills. I’ll be right back.”

He went back to the washroom and soaked a flannel in cool water, wringing it out until it was just damp and bringing it back to the living room.

“This might help a bit,” he offered.

Frank looked up with a distracted, ticklish expression. “Hang on…I-hWRSHuh!”A quick, stuffy sounding sneeze followed quickly by two more in quick succession. The motion made him dizzy again and he leaned on the arm of the sofa until his head cleared enough to take the cloth.

“Good idea. Thanks. Look, you should go back to bed. I can look after myself.”

He tucked his legs back up onto the sofa and lay down again, trying to settle the cloth on his forehead. He didn’t particularly want to be left alone in an unfamiliar house, but his host was starting to look tired too and he didn’t want to become a burden.

“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” Hugh asked. He was sure that Frank would refuse it, but he felt bad leaving a guest, especially a sick guest, to sleep on the lumpy couch.

“Let me help,” he offered as Frank reclined. He adjusted the cloth on Frank’s brow, tucking it under his fringe. The man’s face looked exhausted and a little frightened, and Hugh couldn’t help but pause to run his fingers through Frank’s hair.

Frank closed his eyes to the touch and when he opened them they his gaze was soft and unfocused. “You can keep doing that if you want. I won’t get bored.”

Hugh laughed and smoothed back the hair a few more times.

“Alright, get some rest,” he said quietly as Frank dozed off. He crept quietly back to his room and climbed into bed. The next thing he knew, he was blinking in the morning sunlight. In all the excitement of the previous night, he’d neglected to shut his curtains.

He yawned and stretched and snuck out of bed, past the still-sleeping Frank in the living room and he made himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.

By the time Hugh returned, the man of the sofa had stirred himself and even gone so far as to sit up, though he looked pretty groggy.  Frank was trying to settle his hair back into shape, a sure sign that he was doing better. More or less.

“Morning.”

It came out as a husky rasp much lower than his usual tone. “Ugh. Crikey!”  He was too congested to pronounce all the consonants, making the effect more endearing and less sexy than he had hoped.

Speaking irritated his throat and nose, and he gave Hugh an apologetic ‘hold on’ gesture as he bucked his head into his shoulder in a set of tight, stuffy sneezes.

“ah-tsgh!Tsgh!--tghSch!”

“Well, that answers my morning question,” Hugh said. “I’ll go pour you a cup. Kettle’s still hot.”

He returned a moment later with a second mug of tea and sat down next to Frank on the couch.

“Morning,” he said with a shy smile. “Feeling any better at all?”

He extended a hand tentatively and let the back of it brush Frank’s brow.

“Fever’s gone. That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Frank moved a little closer to take the tea. Their legs were touching on the couch and he didn’t mind that at all. When his host didn’t move away, he leaned into Hugh’s side, resting his head against the back of the sofa.

“I’m ok, I think. Just -snf-full of cold. Thanks for having me…” he tailed off as memories of the previous night surfaced. “Bet you didn’t think I’d be this much hard work. Definitely beat spending it alone with the heat off, though. It’s… really nice of you to take care of me like that. You’re good at it.” He coughed, a little embarrassed but managed to look Hugh directly in the eye.

Hugh gave a little smile back and chewed on his lip nervously.

“Well, I didn’t mind. It was nice, in spite of you being sick.”

He nudged his leg playfully against Frank’s.

“Good thing there’s no show tonight. Gives you a bit of time to get better.”

“Thank God.” Frank agreed. “Hey… when I’ve beaten this thing, can I take you out for a drink?”

He went to say more but was interrupted by a sudden, ticklish sneeze that made him lean on Hugh’s thigh for support. Surfacing, he shook his head and laughed at himself. “Not because I owe you for having me,” he continued, “though obviously I do. What do you say?”

“I say ‘bless you’ first,” Hugh teased. “And yes, I’d like that very much.”

A coy grin spread across his face.

“You want to know what really stinks?” he asked. “When you’d really like to kiss a guy but you’re afraid to catch the flu.”

He squeezed Frank’s thigh in a teasing gesture.

“Let’s say you owe me that too.”

[17mounteens]

Frustrations (Jihoon)

Request:

hello it is i here to re-request :) can i request jihoon + this prompt "he's all tired from work and rather,, frustrated and seeing his babygirl in too short pajama shorts isnt helping either" thank you!!!

» Smut.

» Jihoon is tired from work as well as sexually frustrated after not being able to see you for a while nor having had time to do anything himself. Seeing you again, in particular wearing short, tight pajama shorts, does nothing to help.

» If you’re using the tumblr app and can’t see the scenario, which is under a “keep reading”, please try opening the post in your phone’s internet browser (or a computer)! 💕

» 4,269 words

Jihoon held back a sigh and got up from his chair to stretch out a little. It had been yet another long, exhausting day in the middle of so many other similar days, filled with practicing, evaluating, planning and, at the end of it, locking himself up in his studio to work on some rearrangements and drafts for future songs.

He knew it was partially his own decisions that made the days get so long, but he couldn’t help it - as a dutiful perfectionist who felt like the group depended on him a lot, which it did, Jihoon wasn’t able to just relax after practice.

He had to do more, especially now that they had a tour coming up, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to work quite as productively as he wanted to for over a month.

Finally letting out the heavy sigh, Jihoon moved his eyes to the clock on the bottom of his monitor’s screen.

11:30pm.

“I guess it could be worse,” he mumbled and got his phone from the desk. Upon seeing a message from you, sent some hours earlier, he got a small smile on his lips.

I’m sure it’s been another long day today, so I wanted to send you some strength! 💕

Attached to the message was a picture of you with a kitten, presumably owned by one of your friends, and the sight of you made his heart feel more at ease, although he also felt regretful about how it had been a while since the last time he had been able to meet you for longer than an hour or two.

Biting down on his lower lip, Jihoon began typing a message to you.

Thanks, that really gave me some strength. Are you still up? Can I come over?

He put his phone down and began shutting down all the programs he had open on the computer, after which he turned off the whole thing. His phone buzzed, and yet another smile-provoking message appeared on his screen.

I’m up and you’re more than welcome. It’s been a while 💕

Jihoon hummed to himself and replied that it had been way too long and that he’d be at your place in ten minutes - it was almost ironic how you lived closer to the building he did most of his work in than he did yet he couldn’t visit you too often.

So close yet so far - all too literally.

While walking to the building you lived in, Jihoon was lost in thought, simply thinking about how his life had been for the past weeks. It had been an eternal cycle of work, food and sleep with hardly a day off, and he wanted to rest on pretty much every aspect: he wanted to just physically lie down, mentally not have to deal with anything, and even socially he just… wanted a break.

But no matter how much he just wanted to spend some quality time alone, his desire to see you, whom he deeply loved, was greater.

During the busy weeks, Jihoon had really missed your smile, your presence, your touch… you’d spoken on the phone a few times and your voice had given him some comfort, but in a way it had also only made him miss you more.

And he didn’t exactly only miss you in a cute way, which had only become more prevalent as his frustrations began growing.

Soon Jihoon was taking the elevator up to the floor you lived in, and not much later you were opening the door to him. You wrapped your arms around him as soon as you saw him.

He let out a soft chuckle and hugged you back, hiding his face in your neck. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You, too,” you said softly and held onto him as though you were still making sure he actually was there. It was a minute later that you finally pulled away with a wide smile on your lips. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Yes, please. Maybe ice tea, if you have some,” Jihoon said warmly and gave your hand a squeeze before following you into your apartment.

He watched you go to the kitchen with a serene smile on his lips; he felt like he had just come home, in more ways than one, and he loved the comfortable feeling of it.

Once his gaze fell lower on your back, however, Jihoon swallowed hard.

You were wearing a pair of pajama shorts: tight, thin and so short that he could actually see the bottoms of your buttocks, and the sight was phenomenal.

The sight made his mind race, and he was almost painfully reminded of how lonely the past weeks had been. He wasn’t frustrated only professionally but also sexually; he hadn’t had the time or energy to jack off, much less to do anything with you, and the need to come had been plaguing him for quite a while. He supposed that’s why he had started to snap easier lately, although he had been putting the blame on stress.

Turned out that it wasn’t quite that simple.

Jihoon’s mind slowly trailed to the last time the two of you had had sex, and as he processed the memory, he followed you to the kitchen and sat down by the table to watch you get him a glass of ice tea.

It would’ve been exaggerating to say that he had forgotten how attractive you were, but he genuinely was taken aback by how amazing you looked with your shorts riding up even higher when you reached for a high shelf or how your shirt tightened around your chest when you poured his drink.

You looked fantastic, and it all, in particular the short shorts, had his jeans tightening and his sexual frustration making itself all the more known as he was dying to just fuck you hard and have you moan his name.

Biting down on his lower lip, Jihoon fell back into the memory of your last time together, when you had had quite likely the longest foreplay up till then. You’d done everything: touched each other’s most sensitive spots a lot, given words of affirmation, given some oral and masturbated each other while making out… by the time he pushed into you, you were drenched and desperate for your release, and he was just as eager to come, too.

It was understandably the hottest memory Jihoon had, and he felt blood rush to his cheeks when he was dragged back to reality by your voice.

“Jihoon?” you asked, sounding like you had just asked him something that he had completely missed, and let out a quiet sigh when he smiled and apologized.  “It’s okay. You just… look really tired. Are you sure they’re not overworking you?”

“Oh,” Jihoon said dumbly and quickly thanked you for the drink before sipping on the tea. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve brought a lot of it upon myself on my own, so…”

“Doesn’t really erase the other members saying that you practice around the clock,” you mumbled as you sat down next to him and pouted a little, taking in just dark the areas under Jihoon’s eyes were. “And you have so many other things to do, too…”

“Yeah,” he sighed and lowered his head to close his eyes for a moment. “It is tiring, I can’t claim otherwise, but… in the end it’ll be rewarding, too.”

“True…” you muttered, still pouting a little. “Is there any way I could make it easier for you?”

Jihoon blinked and lifted his face again. His heart skipped a beat, and he licked his lips. “Well… could I stay over tonight?”

You nodded with a smile. “Of course. Anything else?”

He was silent for a moment before placing his hand on your thigh and stroking it a little. You quirked your eyebrow and were about to ask something when Jihoon gave you a small grin. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Jihoon had definitely not been the only one who missed being intimate, and you could already feel heat starting to pool between your legs. Grinning, you placed your hand on his thigh, too. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“I think I can imagine,” he grinned and leaned in to kiss you passionately, tasting mildly of the lemon ice tea he’d just taken a sip of. You sighed contently into the kiss and placed your hands on Jihoon’s shoulders that you squeezed lightly as his hand slid higher on your thigh.

Just as his tongue began brushing your lips, you pulled back and looked at him with slightly hooded eyes. “Bedroom.”

He grinned while nodding and was quick to stand up and pull you up with himself, although as soon as you were on your feet, you took the lead and dragged him into your bedroom.

Finally in the dimly lit room with the comfortable full size bed as your destination, you turned around and wrapped your arms around Jihoon’s neck before locking your lips in a heated kiss. You poured the neediness of the lonely nights into how your lips moved against his, and Jihoon’s own frustrations became easily known through how passionate his kisses were and how quick his hands were to move to grab your ass and pull your body flush against his.

“I’ve missed you,” you breathed against his lips while starting to fumble with the button of his jeans. “And I need you.”

“I need you more,” Jihoon said quietly as he bluntly slid his hands into your pajama shorts to get a better feel of your ass. He grunted and took in a sharp breath. “Just wait and I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?” you asked playfully and pulled back, looking at Jihoon with a twinkle in your eyes while unzipping his jeans. You were fairly confident that you knew exactly what he meant, but you loved hearing him say it.

Jihoon’s lips tugged into a small smirk, and he spoke with a low voice. “How badly I need to fuck you.”

Biting down on your lower lip, you nodded and, placing your hand on his chest, began dragging it down on his body. “I can hardly wait.”

His breathing grew heavier as your hand moved lower on him, and right when you were about to palm his half-hard length lightly through his boxers, he grabbed your wrist and leaned to your ear.

“Let me be in charge.”

You merely blinked, surprised yet incredibly excited from the sudden sense of authority coming from your boyfriend, and grinned when he got your shirt and bra off you and helped you lie down on your bed. He got on top of you and gave you a long, deep kiss before starting to kiss his way down your body, pulling your shorts and panties down when he got low enough.

Threading your fingers into his newly dyed hair, you closed your eyes and focused on how fantastic it felt to feel his eager lips on your skin after such a long time, as well as his tongue gliding on your skin here and there. “Jihoon…”

Jihoon’s ears perked at the way you sighed his name, and it had him growing all the more impatient. He got your panties and shorts off you and, while kissing his way up your inner thighs, he got out of his jeans and boxers, too. Your breath hitched in your throat when his lips pressed on your clit lightly, and he grinned at your disappointed whine when he pulled back instead of giving you more.

“Not fair,” you huffed and looked at him with a pout on your lips, only to be met with his eyes full of determination.

“We’re not in a rush,” he hummed softly and began kissing your inner thighs again, stroking lightly the one that his lips were not on, and gradually moved higher again.

You breathed shakily because every kiss he placed on your sensitive skin made you grow wetter and needier, and so by the time he reached your pussy again, you were already sensitive enough for your back to arch involuntarily when Jihoon gave you a long lick.

He smirked to himself as he began eating you out, holding one of your thighs with one hand and sliding his free hand to his cock to stroke himself slowly. As he grew harder he also got more passionate and vigorous at eating you out, circling your clit with his tongue in ways that he knew had you weak as well as enjoying the way your arousal tasted on his tongue.

Jihoon loved the way you tasted just as much as he loved feeling your fingers in his hair, tugging at it lightly when you felt particularly good. However, eventually he could sense and feel how impatient you were getting, with your hips bucking against his face more and more frequently and quiet pleas leaving your lips, and so he gave your swollen clit one last lick before sitting up and wiping his face.

“You stopped,” you stated the obvious, turned on beyond belief as the only thing you could think about was just how badly your pussy was throbbing. Jihoon let out a low chuckle.

“I did,” he hummed and leaned down to kiss your neck, allowing his shaft to dip between your wet folds. “I figured we could do something else, too.”

You let out a content sigh and stroked his hair. “You sure you don’t want me to suck you off first?”

Jihoon froze for a few seconds, and you smiled to yourself when you felt him nod. “Now that you mention it…”

During the next few seconds Jihoon sat down on your bed and leaned back, supporting himself with his hands. You lay down between his legs and took his hard cock into your hand before giving it a long lick from the base to the tip.

“It’s been so long,” you mumbled half against his shaft and allowed your tongue to glide over it with ease. What you didn’t say, yet what you definitely felt was that you had missed it a lot - Jihoon himself in many ways, yes, but also his cock; how it felt in your hand, how his pre-cum tasted on your tongue, how it felt to have him in your mouth as deep as you could go…

You had missed it all.

Jihoon looked at you intently as you first merely licked his dick here and there, and when you got the head between your lips and sucked lightly, he hissed and bit down on your lower lip.

Oh, how he had missed seeing your lips wrapped around himself, especially when you simultaneously looked at him so sultrily.

“Good girl,” Jihoon said quietly and ran his hand over your hair slowly, which you took as a signal to go down, which was exactly what you did. He groaned when you took as much of him into your mouth as you were able to, moving your tongue on the underside of his shaft as you did so, and pulled your head back up with your cheeks hollowed. “Fuck…”

The hushed cuss word made you clench around nothing, and somehow it was all you needed to go all in on blowing him.

Five or so minutes later, when you were tonguing the slit of Jihoon’s length, his toes curled and you felt his hand on your shoulder. “E-enough, Y/N.”

The stuttering made you raise your eyebrows, and it was with a grin that you let his cock fall off your glistening lips. “Were you close?”

Jihoon merely nodded and let out a sigh as he held his orgasm back, and once he had calmed down a little, he ordered you to get on your knees with your ass up.

You obliged as readily as always and bit down on your lower lip when you felt his hands on your ass, spreading your cheeks and watching how your skin gave in under his touch. Soon you felt his cock grinding against your skin, dipping between the upper part of the area between your cheeks, and it made you let out a needy moan that was followed by more.

He was so close to being inside of you, and the fact that he wasn’t giving you what you most needed was driving you crazy.

Jihoon looked curiously at how perfectly his shaft was gliding between your ass cheeks, and while he was just as desperate to move on as you were, he still wanted to hear you let out that needy moan one more time.

“Please, ah… Jihoon...”

There it was.

Taking in a deep breath, Jihoon pulled back and guided the tip of his cock to your dripping entrance, figuring that since you were using another form of protection and only had sex with each other, being bare would be fine. He pushed in just a little before leaning down to press his upper body against yours. “Are you ready, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you whined and were just about to wiggle your hips a little when Jihoon began pushing into you little by little, clearly drawing out the pleasure of being encased in your warmth.

While pushing into you, Jihoon placed sloppy kisses on your upper back and shoulder blades, and only returned to your ear when he had bottomed out. “How is it?”

“Perfect,” you said quietly and looked at him from the corner of your eye with a small grin on your lips. “Go on.”

Smirking, he stole a quick kiss from your lips before standing up on his knees. He ran his hands over your ass a few times and spread your cheeks to see just how well your pussy was taking his cock, and the sight had him grunting and his hips bucking involuntarily. You moaned at the movement, which in turn made him hiss.

“God, this looks good,” he said half under his breath and pulled his hips back, taking in just how slick with your juices his cock was. You let out an appreciative “mm” and clutched on your sheets, and once Jihoon pushed back into you, you let out a moan and let your lips remain parted from sheer pleasure.

Jihoon breathed heavily as he began fucking you, loving every little detail of how it felt to finally be moving inside of you, and moved his hands to your hips so that he could take a good hold and pull your ass back against his pelvis with every thrust. Your toes were curling and you could feel pleasure starting to build inside of you hard and fast - it was all too obvious that you had needed to be fucked for a while.

He slammed hard into you time after time, and you moaned in bliss every time the tip of his cock hit a particularly sweet spot inside of you. Jihoon grunted when he felt your pussy clenching around him, and somehow both that and feeling you push against him on your own turned him on to the point where he was soon smacking your ass.

You whimpered at the sensation - just enough for it to feel sinfully good for you and for your ass to sting a bit afterwards - and found yourself only hornier afterwards. “More…”

“More?” Jihoon repeated and smacked your ass again, the sound of it mixing with the sounds of his hips hitting your ass. He grunted at the blissful moan you let out, and his hand met the tender skin of your ass some more times, working as a reminder of why the two of you loved having sex when one or both of you were frustrated: more often than not, it resulted in some more heated sex, often with some spanking and other things involved, and you both enjoyed it to the fullest.

You could hardly focus on anything else but how amazing it felt to have Jihoon moving inside of you as well as he was, with his cock filling you up perfectly and hitting all the right places inside of you. Likewise, Jihoon was mesmerized by how much pleasure he got from fucking you hard, and it was only increased by your loud moans that gave away just how much you were enjoying it, too.

“Y/N,” Jihoon said with a low voice and ceased his thrusts, merely rolling his hips instead. You let out a sound that urged him to continue, and he licked his lips. “Wanna ride me?”

“Yes,” you replied simply, and after some shifting around Jihoon was lying down on his back and you were sinking down on his cock with a moan slipping from your lips. He looked at you appreciatively as you began moving your hips on him while sliding one of your hands up to your breasts to provide some extra stimulation.

Jihoon loved the feeling of your hips moving on him, although his frustrations were still ever-so-present in him and how he still wanted to have the lead. He placed his hands half on your hips and half on your ass and squeezed it.

“Go harder,” he urged and looked directly into your eyes while slowly sliding one of his hands to your front, just enough to be able to massage your clit lightly with his thumb, which had your back arching.

You let out an incoherent reply and placed your hands on Jihoon’s chest before starting to ride him to the best of your ability, knowing exactly how to move your hips for the highest pleasure for both of you. He shut his eyes and hissed when he felt your pussy clenching around his cock a little, and the sinfully good moving of your hips only made him see more stars.

“Oh my god,” he said under his breath, and you grinned when you felt his hands hold you just a bit tighter, his fingers digging into the still slightly tender skin of your ass in a way that you loved as he guided your hips on his lap.

Yet as good as you were feeling and knew that he was, too, you knew that there was something that would essentially seal the deal.

Leaning down, you first nibbled lightly on Jihoon’s right earlobe and then smirked as your lips brushed against it. “Weren’t you supposed to be in charge and show me how much you needed to fuck me?”

His eyes shot open, and when you lifted your face, you saw how his surprised expression slowly turned into a smirk. “Yeah.”

With that, you leaned down to kiss him while he placed his feet on the mattress. When you had lifted your hips a little, he began fucking up into you hard and fast, all the while pushing you down on himself, too. He hit all the right spots inside of you, and having your hard nipples rubbing against his bare chest as well as his lips so hungry against yours added to your pleasure in ways that had you mewling as your orgasm built up inside of you.

He rammed into you desperately, each thrust bringing both of you closer to your releases. You were thrown over the edge without a warning, and Jihoon hissed when he could feel your core clenching rhythmically around his cock. A few thrusts later he released inside of you and broke away from the sloppy kiss to catch his breath.

You rolled your hips as your orgasm still continued to wash over you, and Jihoon grunted at how good it felt, as sensitive as he was. Letting out a content sigh, you got off his cock and just lay down on top of him.

��That was amazing,” you breathed and placed a kiss on Jihoon’s collarbone.

He smiled and stroked your back and thighs slowly, giving you a kiss on your temple, too. “Beyond amazing, Y/N. I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you grinned and looked up at Jihoon with one of your eyebrows playfully cocked. “I feel like something had you particularly worked up, though?”

“Your shorts,” he replied bluntly and chuckled at your surprised expression. “They hardly covered anything, how did you expect me to ignore it?”

“I didn’t,” you said with your lips forming a small smirk. “Do you think it was an accident?”

Jihoon looked dumbfounded for a moment before melting into a bright smile. “Did you seduce me without making it obvious?”

“Maybe I did,” you hummed and leaned in to kiss him sweetly. A smile remained on your lips even when you pulled back. “Are you complaining?”

“Not in the least,” he said with a low voice and shook his head a little before closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around you. “Thank you.”

You knew that his thank you was for many things, and you figured that letting him sleep over - next to you - was one of those things. With a soft smile on your lips, you shook your head and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Anytime.”

The relationship between the two of you was strong, and you had both missed one another equally much, and so it was a pleasure for you, too, to have him sleep over. It was quite a rare occasion, and especially with Jihoon leading such a busy life, you enjoyed any and all time you were able to spend with him to the fullest.

And if you got to witness him sleeping like a baby, it was only a bonus.

Admin Scooter

[spamzineglasgow]

(HOT TAKE) Notes on a Conditional Form by The 1975, part 1

In the first instalment of a two part dialogic HOT TAKE of The 1975′s latest album, Notes on a Conditional Form (Dirty Hit, 2020), Maria Sledmere writes to musician and critic Scott Morrison with meditations on the controversial motormouth and prince of sincerity that is Matty Healy, the poetics of wrongness, millennial digression and what it means to play and compose from the middle.

Dear Scott,

> So we have agreed to write something on The 1975’s fourth studio album, Notes on a Conditional Form (Dirty Hit/Polydor). I have been traipsing around the various necropoli of Glasgow on my state-sanctioned walks this week, listening to the long meandering 80-minute world of it, disentangling my headphones from the overgrown ferns, caught between the living and dead. Can you have a long world, a sprawling fantasia, when ‘the world’ feels increasingly shortened, small, boiled down to its ‘essentials’? Let’s go around the world in 80 minutes, the band seem to say, take this short-circuit to the infinite with me. I like that; I don’t even need a boat, just a half-arsed WiFi connection and a will to download. I’m really excited to be talking with you, writing you both about this; it’s an honour to connect our thoughts. I want writing right now to feel a bit like listening, so I write this listening. When my friend Katy slid into my DMs on a Monday morning with ‘omg the 1975 album starts with greta?????????’ and then ‘what on earth is the genre of this album ?!’ I just knew it had to happen, this writing-listening, because I was equally alarmed and charmed by the cognitive dissonance of that fall from Greta’s soft, yet urgent call to rebel (‘The 1975’), into ‘People’ with its parodic refrain of post-punk hedonism that would eat Fat White Family on a Dadaesque meal-deal platter ‘WELL, GIRLS, FOOD, GEAR [...] Yeah, woo, yeah, that’s right’. Scott, you and I went to see The 1975 play at the Hydro on the 1st of March, my last gig before lockdown. I’d been up all night drinking straight gin and doing cartwheels and crying on my friend’s carpet, and the sleeplessness made everything all the more lush and intense. Those slogans, the theatrical backdrops, the dancers, the lights, the travellator! Everything so EXTRA, what a JOURNEY. And well, it would be rude of me not to invite you to contribute to this conversation, as a thank you for the ticket but also because of your fortunate (and probably unusual) positioning as both a classically trained musician (with a fine-tuned listening ear) and fervent fan of the band (readers, Scott messaged me with pictures of pre-ordered vinyl to prove it).

> It seems impossible to begin this dialogue without first addressing the FRAUGHT and oft~problematic question of Matty Healy, the band’s frontman, variously described as ‘the enfant terrible of pop-rock’ and ‘outspoken avatar’ (Sam Sodomsky, Pitchfork), ‘enigmatic deity’ (Douglas Greenwood for i-D), ‘a charismatic thirty-one-year-old’ and ‘scrawny’, rock star ‘archetype’, not to mention ‘avatar of modern authenticity, wit, and flamboyance’ (Carrie Battan, The New Yorker). ‘Divisive motormouth or voice of a generation?’ asks Dorian Lynskey with (fair enough) somewhat tired provocation in The Guardian, as if you could have one without the other, these days. ‘There are’, writes Dan Stubbs for The NME, ‘as many Matty Healys here as there are musical styles’. So far, so postmodern, so elliptical, so everything/yeah/woo/whatever/that’s right. Come to think of it, it makes sense for The 1975 to draft in Greta Thunberg to read her climate speech over the opening eponymous track. Both Matty and Greta, for divergent yet somehow intersecting reasons, suffer the troublesome, universalising label of voice of a generation. Why not join forces to exploit this label, to put out a message? I’ve always thought of pop music as a kind of potential broadcast, a hypnotic, smooth space for desire’s traversal and recalibration. More on that later, maybe. What do you think?

> You can imagine Matty leaping out of a cryptic, post-internet Cocteau novelette (if not then straight onto James Cordon’s studio desk), emoji streaming from his fingertips like the lightning that Justine wields in Lars von Trier’s film Melancholia (2011); but the terrifying candour of the enfant terrible is also his propensity to wax lyrical on another (bear with my clickhole) YouTube interview about his thoughts on Situationism and the Snapchat generation. It feels relevant to mention cinema right now, if only in passing, because this album is full of cinematic moments: strings and swells worthy of Weyes Blood’s latest paean to the movies, but also a Disneyfication of sentiment clotted and packed between house tracks, ballads and rarefied indie hits. Nobody does the interlude quite like The 1975. Maybe more on that later, also.

> Where do I start though, how to really write about this, how to attain something like necessary distance in the space of a writing-listening? Matty Healy, I suppose, like SPAM’s celebrated authorial mascot, Tom McCarthy, poses the same problem of response: how to write about an artist whose own critical commentary is like an eloquent, overzealous and self-devouring, carnivorous vine of opinion?  

> Now, let’s not turn this into a discussion about who wears pinstripes better (we can leave that to readers - these are total Notes from the Watercooler levels of quiche). There seems to be this obsession with pinning (excuse the pun) Matty down to a flat surface of multiples: a moodboard, avatar, placeholder for automatic cancellation. He’s the soft cork you wanna prod your anxieties through and call it identity, you wanna provoke into saying something bizarrely, painfully true about life ‘as it is now’. Healy himself quips self-referentially, ‘a millennial that babyboomers like’. I don’t really know where to start really, not even on Matty; my brain is all over the place and I can’t find a critical place to settle. I’m lost in the fog and the stripes, some stars also; I haven’t even washed my hair for a week. Funnily enough, in 2018 for SPAM’s #7 Prom Date issue I wrote a poem called ‘Just Messing Around’ where the speaker mentions ‘pinning my eye to the right side / of matt healy’s hair all shaved / & serene’ and you don’t really know if it’s the eye that’s shaved or the hair, but both I guess offer different kinds of vision. Every time I google the man, IRL Matty I mean, I am offered a candied proliferation of alluring headlines: ‘The 1975’s Matty Healy opens up on his beef with Imagine Dragons’, ‘The 1975’s Matty Healy savagely destroys Maroon 5 over plagiarism claims’. Perhaps the whole point is to define (or slay?) by negation. Hey, I’ll write another poem. The opening sentence comes from Matty’s recent Guardian interview.

Superstar

I’m not an avocado, not everyone thinks I’m amazing. That’s why they call me the avocado, baby was a song released by Los Campesinos! in 2013, same year as the 1975’s debut. In the am I have been wanting to listen and Andy puts up a meme like ‘The 1975 names their albums stuff like “A Treatise on Epistemological Suffering” and then spends 2 hours singing about how hard it is to be 26’ and I reply being 26 IS epistemological suffering (isn’t that the affirmative dismissal contained in the title, ‘Yeah I Know’) I mean only yesterday I had to ask myself if it’s true you can wish on 11:11 or take zinc to improve your immune system or use an expired provisional license to buy alcohol like why are they even still asking I thought indie had died after that excruciating Hadouken! song called ‘Superstar’ which was all like You don’t like my scene / You don’t like my song / Well, if you Somewhere I’ve done something wrong it seems a delirious, 3-minute scold of the retro infinitude of scarf-wearing cunts with haircuts, and yeah sure kids dressed as emos rapping to rave is not the end of the world, per se, similarly I had to ask myself is there a life in academia is there a wage here or there, like the Talking Heads song And you may ask yourself, well How did I get here? Good thing I turn 27 next month Timothy Morton often uses the refrain, this is not my beautiful house this is not my beautiful wife to refer to those moments you find yourself caught in the irony loop and that’s dark ecology the closer you are the stranger it feels like slice me in half I’ll fall out with more questions you can plant in the soil like a stone or stoner, just one more drag of does it offend you, yeah? will I live and die in a band Matty sings the sweet green meat of my much-too-old -and-such-youthful experience of adding healthy fat to conference dialogue, like ‘Avocado, Baby’ was released on a record called No Blues I believe a large automobile is hurtling towards me now in negative space and the driver is crooning Elvis and reciting my funding conditions and everything feels like there aren’t not still people who believe the new culture of content is a space ‘over there’ and you can still have earnest power ballads about love if you want them =/ to cancel (too many tabs don’t make a tableau but in the future facebook has a paywall) and fame is a drag the pressure we put on the atmosphere, like somewhere you’re alive and still amazing asking wtf I’m reading this novel by Roberto Bolaño set partly in 1975 before we had internet it seems poets got laid a lot that year in Mexico City before I was born to pick up video calls with a spliff in one hand in the splendid, essential heat like a difficult knife in my side you can put me on toast, grind the pepper over me gently and say fucking hell this has taken forever.

> I guess I want or wanted to begin with this question of difficulty that rises when responding to Notes on a Conditional Form. How do you approach an album whose delayed release places it in a position of considerable hype, an album whose world tour and promotion is again delayed by global pandemic, an album shrouded in the ever-shifting controversy of Matty’s persona, an album whose length and sonic variety risks collapse into litanies of zany superlative and necrophilic attempts to revive musical category as vaguely relevant here? As beautiful as it is to catalogue the offbeat Pinegrove vibes of ‘Roadkill’, the shoegaze croons of ‘Then Because She Goes’ and the pop-punk, chord-bright euphoria of ‘Me & You Together Song’, I could keep going and going with this. I could just list and just list this. The album is a generous offering: a tribute to the album as form in an age where attention tapers away on high-streaming playlists set to conditioned, circadian moods curated by the likes of Spotify or Apple Music. The album is a Borgesian plenitude of multiple pathways, multiple timelines, infinite feed, choose your own adventure; a hypertext of cultural reference almost worthy of Manic Street Preachers at their Richey Edwards era of paranoid, intellectual peak; a metamodernist feat of oscillation between irony and sincerity, an extended tract, a drunk millennial ramble, a journey that loops from house party to club basement to the streams of sexuality repressed and expressed encounter...and yet. It is both more and less than these things. In trying to capture Notes on a Conditional Form with some pithy, journalist’s statement, I’m doing it all wrong.

> Sidenote: I recently listened to Rachel Zucker give a 2016 lecture on ‘The Poetics of Wrongness’ as part of the Bagley Wright Lecture Series. She makes a case for wrongness in poetry and critique, rejects the poem of pithy essence, the short, pretty and to the point lyric whose meaning is easily digested in a greetings card, or A Level exam paper, say. ‘Instead of the Fabergé egg of the short lyric, I prefer the aesthetics of intractability and exhausted exhaustedness’, the mistakes, lags or aporia made along the way in one of these long and winding poems. Notes on a Conditional Form is full of what some might deem mistakes, digression, exhaustion; but it is also peppered with the gloss of almost perfect pop ‘hits’ such as ‘Me & You Together Song’ and ‘If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)’. A wrong poem should be, ‘ashamed and irreverent’, which feels like a decent description of The 1975’s general orientation towards artistic conception. There is cringe and incongruity, there is by all intents and purposes ‘too much of it’, whatever we mean by ‘it’. And yet, that is its beautiful poetics of wrongness, the sound of wrongness, which ‘prefers the stairs’ to the easy elevator pitch (as Zucker puts it), that ‘prefers a half-finishing crumbling stairwell to nowhere’. I like to think about this 1975 album as a kind of exhausting Escherian scene of shifting, crumbling stairwells, shuffling and reassembling against the glistering backdrop of the internet’s inverse void, where everything, literally everything is translated to a starry excess of 1s and 0s, our collective binary data, the white hot, unreadable howl of our noise. What do you think Scott, would Matty find this image agreeable? Does that matter?

> Pushing dear Matty aside, say what you like, let’s start (again) with the title: Notes on a Conditional Form. Following 2018’s A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships, it’s fair to position these records as gestures towards philosophical statements ‘of the times’. Important to recognise the resistance to total or dominating knowledge built into the titles: these are not complete tracts or theses, but rather ‘a brief inquiry’ and ‘notes’. It’s obviously the ancient yet *hip* thing to do in capital-P Philosophy, to put out your statement on aesthetics and ethics, and I think The 1975 are playing with that tradition and its failure. You can imagine if his attention span were different, Matty Healy would’ve already written a PhD thesis on this stuff and published it as drunken bulletins on LiveJournal in 2007. As it stands, we have the smorgasbord sprawl of this eclectic record to get through in this cursèd year of 2020 — it’s not like we have much of anything better to do right now, when everything feels so futile, beyond reason and even the greatest human endeavour. Haha, woo, Yeah :’(((.

> Let’s stay in that conditional space between crying and laughter. Conditional form is interesting as a term, often used in grammar to refer to the ‘unreal past’ because it uses a past tense but does not actually refer to something that literally happened in the past: If I had texted him back, we would probably have gone to the gig that night. There’s something about the conditional as the ur-condition of the internet, the proliferating possibilities it offers and the hauntological strains of what could have been had we chosen x option over y, z, a, b, c, infinity...As millennials, we often make decisions by hedging, always caught in the conditional state of what it is to be. Hovering in the emotional shortcuts provided by dumb yellow icons, the poetics of abstraction. A verb form’s dalliance with uncertain reverb; and so we live our conditional lives.

> To push this further, we can say the internet is, as ever, Matty Healy’s natural habitat. In a recent podcast interview with Conor Oberst for The Face, Healy tells his favourite emo-country hero that ‘my natural environment by the time I started The 1975 was the fucking internet’. So how does that ecosystem play into the music? In a damning review for The Line of Best Fit, Claire Biddles concludes:

The 1975’s first three albums are ideal and distinct worlds to inhabit, each individually cohesive but situated in specific contexts — the anticipation of the small town, profundity in the face of vacuous fame, and the horror and isolation of late capitalism. Perhaps because of its broken genesis, Notes has no such common context, and ends up feeling flat, directionless and inessential, where its forebears felt vital, worthy of devoting a life to. For a band with proven dexterity in deftly capturing the nuances and quick changes of contemporary conversation, it is disheartening to witness them with nearly nothing of note to say.

That description — ‘flat, directionless and inessential’ — is kind of how I experience the internet right now, in the paradox of Web 2.0 becoming utterly essential, somehow, to how I live my life, how I love, how I am with friends. The internet as my ecosystem, my utility, my complete environment, my Imaginary — beyond the mere utility of a WiFi connection. Broken genesis might well describe the childhoods of those of us who grew up online, whose platforms collapsed around them, whose adolescent data was lost in the great ~accidental annihilation of the MySpace servers, whose identities were always already fractured, performed, anonymised or exquisitely personalised, deferred into only the (im)possible keystroke of utterance and trace, the fort-da play of MSN sign-ins. ‘My life is defined by a desire to be outward followed by a fear of being seen’, Matty says in a new short film for Apple Music, released in tandem with the album. The internet requires this chiaroscuro destiny: not to burn always with Baudelaire’s hard and gem-like flame (O to be an IRL flaneur beyond times of lockdown) but to endlessly flicker between the bright green light of presence and the shade of what once was called afk, away from keyboard. To live and burn in the gap between extroversion and introversion, to live in this conditional state of tendency. To express with emoji, send pics, is to both reveal and withhold something else, essential.

> I like albums to feel like worlds; I appreciate Biddles’ evocation of the cohesion experienced in the first three 1975 records. But perhaps it is a kind of violence to assume a world must have cohesion to exist. What is even meant by ‘common context’? What pressure are we putting on a singer, a band, a cultural moment to produce something familiar and harmonious, and to whom, at what scale? What does it mean to be the biggest band in the world...for a bit? How does that work when everything is dissonance, transience, noise, interference; both this and not-this; when life itself is lived as the flat traversal of a millioning existential terrains that seem to collapse into this nowness in which I feel myself sliding forever? Can anyone weigh-in on what it means to make music, art or writing that’s ‘worthy of devoting a life to’, because the gravity and force of that condition for good art, good pop, seduces me so.

> Maybe the point is to always be in the middle, to never quite start to write about The 1975, to find yourself always already writing about this album because this album was always already writing about your life. I have said nobody does the interlude quite like The 1975, but I was being coy, because the hottest twentieth-century philosophical double act, Deleuze and Guattari (haters gonna hate), do the interlude rather nicely. The point of a rhizome being ‘no beginning or end [...] always in the middle, between things, interbeing, intermezzo’ as they write in A Thousand Plateaus (1980). I see the musical interlude of a pop record, the instrumental moment without lyric, as a kind of middling gesture that places the listener in that conditional state of presence and absence, a hinge between songs, times and narrative moments. Maybe my favourite moment in A Thousand Plateaus is the statement: ‘RHIZOMATICS = POP ANALYSIS, even if the people have other things to do besides read it, even if the blocks of academic culture or pseudoscien-tificity in it are still too painful or ponderous’. Painful or ponderous might be a fair critique levelled at the enfant terrible vibes of Matty’s lyrics and generic pick’n’mix, but isn’t this tactic a kind of swerving punch at the categorical violence that keeps people out of academia, that keeps academic discourse so often stale in the first place? Unlike most journal articles, let’s face it, pop reaches ‘“the people”’. Perhaps Notes on a Conditional Form is the rhizomatic sprawl of the myriad we need as an alternative to institutional hierarchy, ring-fencing and the language games of academia. Surely the title is a reference to the very ‘pseudoscient-tificity’ D&G mention? I’m gonna quote Richard Scott’s blurb to Colin Herd’s 2019 poetry collection, You Name It here (not least because the indie publishers, Dostoyevsky Wannabe, come straight out of Manchester, home to The 1975, and because Herd’s poetic spirit is pure pop generosity with a platter of theory on the side), because I want to say similar things of this album: ‘Colin Herd’s poems are masterpieces of variousness. They are talismans against Macho demons. They are snatches of theory operating under lavish spills of language’. The good thing about Herd’s poetry and Matty Healy’s lyrics is that the impulse towards romantic or florid expression is always tapered by an interest in the mundane and everyday. Healy is always singing about pissing or buying clothes online or, as on ‘The Birthday Party’, singing about ‘a place I’ve been going’ that seems to consist of the lonely, infinite regress of conversations about seeing friends and watching someone drink kombucha while buying, in the convenient life of rhyme, Ed Ruscha prints.

Ed Ruscher, Cold Beer, Beautiful Girls (2009)

> So what kind of listening does this rhizomatic sprawl demand — does it expand beyond the banal or find a holding space there, a heaven of affect chilled to late-modernity’s crisp perfection? ‘The End (Music For Cars)’ is a luxurious, Hollywood ‘soaring’ moment, all strings and swells, fucking woodwind, and comes as the third track on the album, where normally you’d place it as some kind of penultimate climax, the album’s landscape pan-out or big swelling screen kiss in three-dimensional rotation. The band’s ‘Music For Cars’ era comprises their two most recent records, and you have to take it as a nod to Brian Eno’s 1978 ambient classic Ambient 1: Music for Airports (Matty recently interviewed Eno again for The Face, cool). The thing about cars is you drive around in them, you follow rules but also whims and desires, convictions; you choose to join others or you pursue the selfish acceleration (‘People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles’ goes the laconic teenage refrain in Bret Easton Ellis’ 1985 debut novel Less Than Zero). You only listen to music half-attentively; you don’t listen close enough to trade in souls. Are we being invited to experience this album as an ambient disruption of figure and ground, presence and absence, here and there, space and place, intimacy and despondency? Driving feels increasingly ‘directionless and inessential’ when the scale effects and obscenities of the anthropocene, of covid and other late-capitalist crises loom in our vision, when the sign systems we used to navigate our lives by seem to shimmer out of focus, or pixelate and deteriorate through endless memetic replication... You can’t help feel like Biddles review kind of misses the point.

Sylvano Bussoti, Five Pieces for Piano for David Tudor (1959)

> What point would that be though, in a world of rhizomatic overlap and intersecting, middling lines, a direction without seeming end? I love the approximation at work when Biddles writes, ‘with nearly nothing of note to say’, because that seems to be a possibility condition for writing in the age of the internet. To write in a way that is almost less than zero and loop back upon some kind of infinity, yet keep it in 2-step. I think back to Rachel Zucker’s image of the half-finished crumbling stairwell, and feel an amiable sense of approval towards this band who always work between the registers of diary, confession, advertising, provocative sloganeering and faux-didactics, never quite settling in to specifically tell you this particular story. It’s all mess, and it’s awful and delicious, I’m sorry. ‘Nothing Revealed / Everything Denied’ is the title of track 13 on the album: that movement between nothing and everything feels like the absolutist, absurdist conditions of ‘truth’ possibility in the Trumpocene/age of so-called ‘post-truth’. ‘Life feels like a lie, I need something to be true’, Healy sings with strained conviction in the song’s opening. But what is at stake in this truth? ‘I never fucked in a car, I was lying’, goes the line, referring back to the dramatic in medias res opening to ‘Love It If We Made It’, notable banger from A Brief Inquiry…: ‘We’re fucking in a car, shooting heroin / Saying controversial things just for the hell of it’. If lying is a pun on telling a mistruth or laying back, practically sexless in a passive state, there’s a deliberate play on apathy, agency and distortion here. It’s something Matty seems snagged on. On ‘I Like America & America Likes Me’ he collapses aesthetic superficiality, capital’s lyric abstraction (‘Oh, what’s a fiver?’) and generalised crisis into this (un)conscious desire for shutdown, expressed in fragmentary bullets of needing-to-know-and-not-know: ‘Is that designer? Is that on fire? Am I a liar? Oh, will this help me lay down?’ And then that impassioned refrain, processed through vocal distortion as if to enact the difficulty in clarity as overcome somehow by the sheer making of noise: ‘Belief and saying something / And saying something / And saying something’. It’s the endless, driving recursion of our lives online, online.

> Back to ‘The End (Music for Cars)’ which really is the middle of the beginning. It’s weird to listen to songs about driving and lying down in the middle of lockdown, drowning in the bloat of social media, on top of our ongoing climate emergency (yeah, remember that, it’s still happening), where high-carbon travel feels like an exhausted, almost impossible concept. A musician complaining about travelling is an age-old subject for a song, but this feels just as much about living in the in-between times of the internet (remember the sweet naivety of the information superhighway) as much as the great Road, for which Kerouac longed as much as Springsteen, Dylan, or Lana Del Rey. Is Matty Healy homesick though? ‘Get somewhere, change my mind, eh / Get somewhere but don’t find it / I don’t find what I’m looking for’. It’s all ‘(out there)’ as the parenthetical refrain goes, but maybe ‘out there’, outside, is the maddening supplement, as Derrida would say, to our lives online, thus revealing their mutual, entwined dependency. Imagine the M6 but tangled up crazily, zanily, like one of those Sylvano Bussoti scores. It’s not like you’re trying to get home, get back, exactly. It’s not like you can just click back on your browser and erase that trace of the touch that enacts it. That’s the weird-ass sensation of being an ecological being: ‘Wherever you go, there you are’, writes Tim Morton in Being Ecological (2018). We’re all pretty alien, even to ourselves.

> If life feels like a lie, as Matty sings, does it matter anymore whether it is or not? Or, to pose the question differently, how do we feel into, attune to something like ‘truth’, a shared reality or feeling? ‘Out there’ is only a state of ellipsis [...] a vine extended, something for the listener, user, consumer and/or human to cling to — or be strangled by. In the aforementioned Apple Music video, Matty takes away the canvas and presents the frame beneath, in a gesture that is comically overwrought with Duchampian pretention around the state and context of the artwork itself. ‘Sometimes I think what is the point of...it’s not my atheism coming out, it’s just my being human coming out’, he muses. The phrase ‘coming out’, with its connotations of closeting, shame and cocoon-like emergence is intriguing here. In a dehumanising, post-internet world of neoliberalism and its attendant microfascisms, its commodification of all kinds of art, its easythink translation of poetry-to-advertising, what would it mean to come out as human after, or better still, in the middle of all this? It’s significant that he trails off after ‘the point of…’, for surely the point itself (of the art?) would be to find yourself here, there, right in the middle of it all. And then in ‘Nothing Revealed / Everything Denied’, it’s like Matty is calling us back from that epistemological and ontological boiling point of knowing and being, like in singing we could go along, we could feel present and ‘true’ again, even with friction and difference. We gotta take hold, cool ourselves down from the rhetoric and into warm emotion, the smell of paint, erotic vibration of bass, in a manner of speaking.

> What if the mode of inquiry were not to investigate but rather to follow the lines of flight, to riff on this world where narrative arcs and chains are replaced by the multiple possibilities of hallucinatory experience, what Deleuze and Guattari call ‘a continuous, self-vibrating region of intensities whose development avoids any orientation toward a culmination point or external end’? To just desire and trace it. This, Scott, is where you come in (and I finally shut up to listen). There is so much more to write about this album, echo for echo, and I feel like I’ve only begun the tracing which was already beginning: I want to know your thoughts on The 1975 and America, on gender and genre, on bodies and football and friendship, on political engagement, those house beats, on the beautiful, sultry appearance of Phoebe (fucking) Bridgers, on sincerity, on the question of ‘What Should I Say’...It’s been playing on my mind that I will never say what I want to, or should, or would say of this album, but this perhaps is what I would otherwise have said. I give you my notes in conditional form.

Read part 2 of our review in Scott Morrison’s response here.

Notes on a Conditional Form is out now and available to order. 

~

Text: Maria Sledmere

Published: 23/6/20

[iwazuka]

it’s been a while since I engaged in good old gratuitous personal shitposting, but it feels strikingly different this time (written on mobile instead of desktop for once, so there’s that)

and I guess that’s appropriate, because I’ve been feeling so unlike myself for a long time

(and I know already something has happened, since before typing these words out on a keyboard felt like release but doing it in the middle of the night on a phone just feels impermanent and slapdash)

I didn’t think these intense bouts of self doubting and general castaway-ness were supposed to happen after puberty, after you don’t have hormones to blame any longer, but that might explain some of why early twenties seem like a fucking rollercoaster for everyone and at the same time so derided in media and pop culture

It makes sense though, that the waifish lost artist persona you’d try on when 17 years old feeling so fickle and fake now, since you don’t have an excuse anymore and you are not special

but wait this was a cathartic text post, not a derisive angry one

and I guess the root of the problem is, I’ve spent younger days with a good amount of drive and goal setting, college being the ultimate goal

and I sort of thought that college would be this engaging, inspirational experience where I might struggle a bit but eventually find the things and ideas that are most meaningful to me, as long as I stuck with my normal state of hustle

edit: looks like i’ll never finish this text post, so it’ll just languish in drafts. tl;dr college is confusing and i still need to work on finding my path. 

[daniellethamasa]

Hey all, Dani here.

It has been another decently productive week, though I still kind of wish that I had accomplished a bit more reading in that time. I’m kind of hoping to have some reading and relaxation time this weekend, but we’ll see what happens. I admit that I’m also wondering if Damian is going to surprise me with some sort of date night or something. We’re not all that big on celebrating Valentine’s Day, because we show our love and appreciation for each other year round, but I also know that the past six weeks have been a bit frustrating with us working on different shifts and not seeing each other as much.

Anyway, welcome back to my weekly post where I talk about what I’ve been doing and reading and watching and playing over the past week. I started this series two years ago under the name “What I’m Reading,” but decided it made more sense to expand the scope of the post to focus on all of my geeky hobbies, so for the past year it has been rebranded as “Weekly Wrap-Up,” and I like that this blog series has allowed me to keep a consistent blogging schedule, because I’ve had times where I’ve struggled with that. Having a plan in mind for a day to talk about manga, and a day to do discussions and recommendations, and a day to just wrap-up my week, and a day to talk about writing, and then filling in the rest of the time with reviews…it has been very helpful for me.

Okay, so watches are the first topic of discussion. I have finished up Season 3 of “The Good Place,” and now I just have to wait for the final season to drop on Netflix, or for the complete box set to drop on DVD. I’ve started my re-watch of Season 5 of “Arrow,” and I’m enjoying that so far. Also, Damian and I decided that we wanted to re-watch “Firefly,” so we’re a few episodes into that as well.

Next, I suppose I should do a quick little writing update. I haven’t made as much progress as I would have liked by this point in the month, but I do plan to set aside at least a couple hours for writing my novel this weekend, and I have hopes to make a little time for writing every day for the rest of the month. I’d love to have a solid amount of the fantasy plot of my book written, so that I can perhaps finish that up next month, and then focus more fully on the contemporary romance plot. I’m tired of putting this story off and procrastinating too much. I want to read this finished book, so does Damian, and so do some of my blogger friends, so I’d like to be able to hand a draft over to them in a couple months. That would be really cool.

As for reads, in the past week I have finished My Hero Academia Vol 23 by Kohei Horikoshi, The Unspoken Name by A.K. Larkwood, and The Warrior Heir by Cinda Williams Chima. So it’s not a lot of finished books, but it’s better than nothing, so I guess I’ll take it. I’ve also really been enjoying all of my reads so far this month, which is pretty great. I guess that happens when I have a TBR focused on fantasy…though I admit to kinda also wanting to pick up a couple cutesy romances. I have read over 1000 pages in the past week, so that’s pretty cool.

I’m still in the middle of reading a couple of books from last week. Honestly I’m trying to take my time with the Witcher books, and I keep setting the second book in the Mirror Visitor Quartet aside because it is a re-read, but I do want to make some real reading progress over the next few days. Oh, and to add to the “Firefly” mood I have been in, I picked up the first in the new series of tie-in novels, and so far it’s decently good, though so far it feels like it’s trying to hard to prove that the author knows the events of the show.

I have a huge stack of fantasy books that I want to read, and to get through more of these pages I’m going to need to focus and put in some serious reading time. Thankfully all of the books in my TBR are ones that I’ve been wanting to read, some for a short while and some for years, but I just haven’t made the time for them in my busy reading schedule yet.

It’s been interesting this year to try and balance reading with my longer blogging post goals, and trying to catch up on some of my review backlog and all of that. Plus, so many of the books I’ve been wanting to read are pretty long, which I generally enjoy big ole’ fantasy tomes, but sometimes staring at the huge TBR stack just makes the task feel pretty daunting overall. Kinda like when I look at the list of reviews I still need to write.

Okay, so I’m trying with my fantasy reads to balance adult fantasy and YA fantasy, as well as balancing re-reads with new reads, and longer reads with shorter reads, just so it feels like I have a nice variety mix going. Thankfully fantasy is such a widely diverse genre that it is a fairly easy task to accomplish. So, it’s possible that these will be my next couple of reads, balancing a darker action-packed political re-read with a new release longer YA read.

I still have such big reading and writing plans for February, so hopefully my next couple of weekly updates will have a lot more going on in them. That would be really cool.

Anyway, that is all from me for today. What are you currently reading? I’d love to know. And, as always, I’ll be back soon with more bookish content.

Weekly Wrap-Up (51) Hey all, Dani here. It has been another decently productive week, though I still kind of wish that I had accomplished a bit more reading in that time.