#i never got around to finishing his ref page though

[kingcrow01]

DC/Marvel Pool Noodle Party 2024

Week 5 | Mercs & Murder Husbands

Marc Spector & Harley Quinn, 0 fics!

@dc-marvel-crossovers

Here’s the outline of the event for those interested. TLDR, This event celebrates relationship tags that have less than 30 works on ao3, both platonic and romantic. The rarest of rarepairs!

Inspired by Harley harassing interacting with Marc and Damian in chapter 20 of in labyrinths of reflections by @blackkatmagic, specifically these lines:

“Fuck the hell off,” he growls, and gets a hand on her face as she tries to kiss his mask. She’s wearing a lot of lipstick, and he'd rather not run around the rest of the night with a black lip-print on his face. 

and

Harley blinks at him, big eyes and blond pigtails and smeared makeup that makes her look like a raccoon with a hangover, and then laughs. 

Ho-ly-shit, I cannot begin to express how happy I am with this piece! Initially I was having a hard time with MK’s suit, to the point that I was contemplating just dropping the whole project. (I hate drawing superhero suits, why do I keep on doing this to myself) Like always, all it came down to was retaking my ref and utilizing that handy-dandy line of action, and I finished it pretty easily after that.

Damian was a last minute add-on, and I wanted to draw him on Marc’s right side and a head taller (kids are bigger than you think!) but I ran out of room on the page. I ran into the same problem with Harley’s mallet; I wanted it to be bigger, but with the angle it had to sit at to rest against her thigh, I kept it on the smaller side. 

This piece has made it very clear how limiting my sketchbooks’ size is. For example, I have an idea for another week in this event, but it literally wouldn't fit in this sketchbook so I’m not going to make it. Digital art 1: traditional, 0.

I tried out a new lining style as well, and I’m never going back. Before, I was making every line the same width, but it’s SO much more impactful with alternating line thickness! I attached the lined final sketch below. Do you see how much of a difference it makes?? (Written early May, so I've been using this style since.)

Details:

I think it’s silly that Harley’s boots are covered in blood, but not her actual weapon lol

Harley is as tall as she is because she’s standing on her toes in platform boots

The tattoo on Harley’s midsection is of ivy leaves (though, it’s not poison ivy) as a sort of homage to Ivy. Not that she’s dead or anything. They’re just. Lovers. So, tattoo.

I got to put NO WORK into shading the black parts of MK’s suit, and that was FABULOUS

I wanted to give her colored shoe laces, because I love small details like that. I would love to give characters any color of laces, but some of them seem to have negative meanings, especially on Doc Martens, so I went the safe route and gave her purple laces, which represents gay pride. Yes, I know she’s bisexual, but I felt like I didn’t have many options.

[sednonamoris]

let me love the lonely out of you

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: Faced with your first off-duty Christmas in years, you’re excited to go home and see family. When it seems like Price doesn’t feel the same, you make sure he gets his fill of holiday cheer by coming home with you.

Warnings: Language, pure unfettered fluff with little to no plot lol

Word count: 2,162

A/N: Technically follows the events of this fic, but you don’t have to have read it to get the point

—

It starts off, as so many things do, with an innocent question.

“And how do you celebrate Christmas, Captain?” from Gaz across the rec room where he’s tormenting everyone with similar interrogations over his game of ping pong. 2-1 right now. Soap is losing.

Tucked into a loveseat in the corner of the room with a book you’ve been trying to finish for the past month, their banter has mostly been background noise. Now your ears perk up, though you keep your eyes on the page.

Price lets out a puff of air from where he stands reffing the game, drags a hand through his beard. His silence is punctuated by the tic, tac of the lads’ current stalemate.

“Quietly,” he finally says, “and away from you lot.”

Gaz and Soap both start in with their heckling immediately, which Price reciprocates in his usual manner. But a quick peek over your paperback reveals a strained humor in his eyes, and you suddenly wonder if he has anyone back home to celebrate with. A frown twists your lips at the thought. Cold-blooded killer you may be, but no one should spend the holidays alone.

Especially since you and Price are… well. You’re something. Sneaking around base to have sex without alerting the other members of your squad hardly needs a label, but it’s more than that. To call him your boyfriend feels juvenile, and ‘partner’ is terrifyingly official.

So you call him ‘Captain’ in public and ‘John’ in private and wonder if Christmas in Ireland might suit him instead.

“What about Hound?” Soap turns the question on you. Gaz takes the opportunity to score again.

You shoot a flat stare over the top of your book. “What about me?”

“Come on,” he drags the syllables out, “how do you celebrate?”

“Not in fucking England, I can tell you that.”

Gaz gasps in faux-offence. Soap cackles and manages to win a point while his opponent is distracted.

It’s Price who looks over at you with a question in his eyes, one that you tilt your head towards the door in answer. Five minutes later he tells the lads that this has been fun, but he’s got paperwork to attend to. Surely they can manage the score on their own from here. 5-4. Soap is still losing. Ten minutes after that you mark your book, have a stretch, and leave the tic, tac, tic of the ping pong game and Soap’s impassioned defence of MacTavish holiday traditions behind.

Price waits for you in his office. He’s perched with arms folded on the edge of his desk. You lean in the doorway to admire his broad frame and the way he looks at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in the air. You’re not sure how to say this.

“What is it, love?” he asks.

You duck your head at how easily the endearment rolls off his tongue, cross the room and cup a hand to his cheek. His whiskers are scratchy beneath your palm. You spend a moment idly rubbing your thumb across his skin just to feel the texture when he reaches up with his own hand to cover yours, warm and calloused and terribly sweet. When you look into his eyes you think you could melt into that blue, let the cerulean sea whisk you on its currents with no lifeboat or anchor.

“Come home with me,” you say. It doesn’t come out a question so much as a request.

He blinks in surprise. “Neither of us has had leave over Christmas in years.”

“I know, and if you have plans with your family I would never keep you from them. But if you don’t,” you forge ahead, mustering up all of your courage, “you’re more than welcome to join mine.”

For the holidays. Forever. You’re not picky.

John Price looks down at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like you’re a wonder. A smile he can’t seem to help tugs crooked at his teeth as he melts further into your touch.

“I’d love to.”

--

You’ve completed covert operations in sweltering desert conditions and full gear without sweating this much. Quite frankly it’s embarrassing, especially given the cool December temperatures that have everyone else buttoned up and rosy-cheeked.

It’s just that you’re nervous. In all your years on this earth you’ve never once brought someone home to meet your grandfather.

The house that normally feels so welcoming looms ahead as you linger at the end of the drive. There’s a bushy wreath on the door that you’re sure Mrs. Murphy from nextdoor brought over, and the lights young Davey on the corner hangs every year glow soft and warm in the early evening light. The ‘Welcome’ sign you gifted your grandfather three Christmases ago leans up against the post box that’s still crooked where you backed into it as a wild youth on a brand-new license.

Nostalgia sinks its claws into you, but still you can’t take that first step.

“Does your granddad know we’re coming?” Price asks. His distraction is perfectly timed, coupled with an arm around your shoulders. He takes the leap for you both, and you can feel some of the dread ease out of your body at his touch.

“No.” You never tell him when you’re coming - his favourite surprise, he calls your visits.

“Are you trying to give him heart failure?” his brows are raised, caught between surprise and amusement.

“Your man lived through a World War. Showing up at his doorstep unannounced on Christmas Eve is hardly the worst surprise he’s gotten.”

Price laughs, but there’s a stitch of concern between his brows when he looks over at you.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks softly when you reach the door.

“I’ve… never done this before,” you admit with an awkward smile.

He mirrors the expression with a tenderness in his gaze that makes your heart ache. “Me either. Shall we?”

You square your shoulders and give the old mahogany three smart raps that your grandfather would know anywhere. There’s a commotion behind the door as he shuffles to get it, and then it opens to your favourite gap-toothed smile in all the world.

“My darlin’, you made it!” he exclaims.

“Happy Christmas, Old Man!” you say with a bright smile. “I brought you a Brit to bully.”

Nerves forgotten, you all but launch into your grandfather’s waiting embrace. When you pull apart he’s quick to give Price the same treatment.

“This is Captain John Price,” you introduce as they clasp hands, “and this is my dear Old Man.”

“I’ve heard all about you, son,” your grandfather says with a twinkle in his eye. “This one says you’ve been enjoying my biscuits.”

You cough awkwardly and move everyone along inside, but don’t miss the shade of pink that dusts Price’s cheeks and the tips of his ears when he mutters a yes, sir, thank you, sir.

“Come in, come in, I’ve just put on a kettle.” Your grandfather eyes Price with the disdain and suspicion only a true old Irishman can muster. “We’ve no English Breakfast, so best get used to an Irish brew.”

You cackle bright and loud as he wastes no time taking the piss out of poor Price, who looks like he can’t decide if this is the best or worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

The kitchen is just as half-clean and kitschy as it’s always been. Mismatched dishware and loudly printed wash rags occupy every space that’s not taken over by unread mail or plates of holiday goodies the neighbors have dropped by. The kettle sings on the stove, caught just in time, and you make sure to snag the chipped candy cane mug that’s always been your favourite.

You turn to find Price staring.

Not at you, but everything. The walls are littered with pictures of you; as a child lined up for your first (and last) Irish Dance recital, as a teen with bad hair posed next to the clunker of a car you bought yourself, as a beaming young soldier with your squadmates after a successful mission. Your medals for exemplary service are inlaid on velvet and framed next to an old Polaroid of your grandfather holding you as just a wee thing, still in nappies.

There’s so much love in this house, hanging on the walls and poured in steaming mugs and squished into too-tight hugs.

There are other pictures, other children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but it’s painfully obvious who reciprocates that love. Who still comes around and who keeps the table and heart of an old man full. When he turns to meet your gaze Price has a misty look in his eyes that punches the air from your lungs.

Did he ever feel this kind of love growing up? Is it too late for you to give it to him now?

Your grandfather shuffles back in with his arms full of something bright and hideous to break the moment. He holds them out to reveal the ugliest jumpers you’ve ever seen.

“Can’t get in the Christmas spirit without a proper set of civvies,” you grin and toss the larger of the two over to Price.

It’s fire truck red and has a knitted reindeer pattern complete with bells sewn onto sleighs. There’s a soft jingle as he clutches it to his chest. Yours isn’t any better; an alarming shade of green covered in dancing elves.

You’re both quick to change. Price steps out with his arms wide for inspection, one he passes with flying colours if the smile on your grandfather’s face is anything to go by. He’s being a terribly good sport. You can feel how sappy your own smile is as you watch them together.

He herds you and Price back into the kitchen where somehow a space has been cleared for baking gingerbread men. It’s a Christmas Eve tradition that has carried on from year to year, but neither you nor your grandfather are particularly suited to the task.

You make up for it with attitude.

Somewhere between, “That’s too many eggs,” and, “Are you sure we have enough molasses?” and, “Get your fingers out of that bowl! We haven’t even rolled the dough out yet,” you manage to get a viable batch on a baking tray. They are perhaps the most misshapen, lopsided effort yet, but when you see the smile on Price’s face when he bites into one fresh out of the oven you decide they’re the best all the same.

As you stand around the kitchen waiting for the last batch to finish, your grandfather chatters away about all the neighborhood gossip you’ve missed out on lately. You gasp in outrage at all the appropriate moments, and even Price chimes in with a smart remark or two that send you all into fits of laughter.

You thought it would be jarring, seeing him in your childhood home like this, but it fits. In a way you can’t explain, Price belongs here.

You only hope he feels it, too.

As the evening grows older everyone migrates from around the kitchen counter to the sitting room, where Nat King Cole sings Christmastime into the air through the old record player your grandfather has had for decades. The tree lights up the room, plastic branches gleaming with multi-coloured lights and an eclectic assortment of ornaments. On sunken couch cushions your old man regales Price with wild tales from your youth. You’d be embarrassed if they didn’t look so happy. Content, even. Price hasn’t been this relaxed in a long, long time now. You try to memorize how it looks on him.

It’s well into the night when your grandfather announces he’s off to bed. There’s a twinkle in his eye when he tells you to behave, both you and Price stuttering out awkward reassurances that only make him laugh.

“Thank you,” Price says into the quiet when just the two of you are left.

The lights from the tree shine in his eyes as he looks at you with something treacherously close to love. You hope it’s love.

“What for?”

“Everything. I haven’t had a Christmas like this…” he smiles in that self-deprecating way that breaks your heart. “Well, it’s been a long time.”

You reach out to squeeze his hand. “I couldn’t let you be alone. Not on Christmas.”

Not ever. Not if you can help it.

He squeezes your hand back, then slowly pulls you to your feet. His sleigh bells jingle softly as he walks backwards and leads you into a clumsy dance. ‘The Christmas Song’ croons in the background. The dance ends up an unpracticed sway, your arms wrapped around each other and your head tucked into his chest. You stay like that even after the song ends and the scratchy sound of empty vinyl takes over.

“Happy Christmas, John,” you kiss the words into the fabric of his jumper.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

[sonayesul]

Junior Thesis

some stuff I worked on for my junior thesis project earlier this year. Ill share the full finished comic later on but for now enjoy these character designs and such 🫶

the watercolor version of the cover looked too much like bradley james when that was like, not the point of the assignment, which is why the finished digital version looks so much different. I still prefer the original watercolor version but i tend to always favour my watercolor versions of things

In depth explanation below cut

the junior thesis assignment was the adapt a book into a six page comic and we could have creative freedom with certain things and the book only ever mentioned the color of guenever's hair and eyes, NOT her skin color or features and so I had my fun with her design. the ONLY description they give lancelot in the entire book is that hes ugly and beauty is subjective so i gave him "non traditional" features. In one of my original sketches for him, he was going to have crooked teeth, but unfortunately i do not draw teeth well LMAO. I wanted Arthur and Lancelot's designs to contrast each other as well. Arthur is shorter and stockier where Lance is taller and thinner, Arthur keeps his feelings quiet while Lance wears them on his chest, and then i wanted there to be the stark color difference too between them.

Morgause and Mordred were fun, but they both had a lot more descriptive descriptions in the book, so I didn't get as much creative control outside of their outfits. I assigned the Lot family the color blue and the Camelot cotizens red to try and contrast better throughout the story and it was kinda fun cause it made mordred look like an ice prince or something.

also despite gwen lance and arthur being around the same age at the point of my comic, i wanted to try and make arthur look the oldest, sort of visually show how much being king and his decisions has weighed on him, especially since the scene I adapted was pretty heavy.

also i did have a reference page for gwen but at some point it got deleted? so in this its just a fun drawing I did of her holding excalibur instead. I do also have a full reference drawing for exacalibur in my files that was useless because i never ended up drawing it in the comic LMAO

the last photo is the cornwall sisters, Elaine, Morgan and Morgause. With their designs i had fun trying to make them look related to each other, to Arthur and their parents but also try to not make them all have the same face. Elaine looks like her mother, Morgan looks like her father, Morgause looks like a mix of both (Uthers hair color but Ygraine's hair style, Uther's face but Ygraine's eye color) and Arthur looks like a perfect blend of both too. I sort of did the same with Mordred where I took features from both morgause and arthur to make him look related but like his own person. Ygraine and Uther are only in one panel so there's no proper ref for either of them.

This project was a five month process, six if you count writing the script to fit within a six page comic without losing any details from the book and creating my pitch for my professor (all of which was done over winter break)

The project took FOREVER and I definitely am not happy with the final result but its due to the fact i had frequent doctor visits and hospitalisations and wasnt able to work on it as much as I had wanted, PLUS i had an eight page comic for another class i worked on also over the same five months (and i was more focused on that one as it was my own original characters)4

regardless though, i do still like it, just wish it cane out better in the end lmao

will prolly post the full comic in a day or two :3

[graedari]

Have some WIPs that are just siting in my art folder until further notice :)

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 013

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

Hey all!! Evie attends a party to get back into the swing of being a messy teen and the night doesn't go as expected. Billy opens up about his past in California with a story Evie finds all too familiar. TW: Slight sexual refs, teens drinking/smoking, talk of past s*icide/death, and addiction. TAG LIST OPEN. Always open to chatting about the fic, thanks!!

Chapter 13: Almost Paradise

   “Are you sure about this?” Heather spoke over Evie’s shoulder.

   “We always hit the mid-winter break parties. Why wouldn’t we, Heath?” Evie applied her favorite shade of cherry in the mirror. Makeup still only covered so much that next night. But, with the swelling down, she hoped it wasn't that bad.

   “Figured you’d be hanging with Billy.”

   “We haven’t done anything...much. His dad is grinding him to stay in. He'll...also be at the party I'm sure.”

   "That why you put on the new bra?"

   "It's not new..." Evie fixed her sleeve to hide the black strap. Blushed a whole garden of strawberries. "Like I said...haven't done anything."

   “Haven’t had the chance, hm.” Heather plopped down and stole some mirror space. Relenting as she applied a lustrous pink shade to her lips that matched the scrunchie holding her curls high. “I know you’re hopelessly into him. All the eye fucking over the movie last night. If you hadn’t have passed out on the couch-”

   “Would...you be mad?” Evie looked up.

   “I’m just coming around to him again. If you trust him, I will.” Heather smiled. “I just have to be the bitchy best friend. Make him sweat it out for my own enjoyment. Cute how he tucked you in last night through, looked like he might not leave you.”

   Evie lowered a brush doused in gold glitter from her eye.

   “I am sorry...about the whole-”

   “You don’t have to be sorry about him, Bowers is the one that should be sorry.” Heather frowned. “I’m not mad you didn’t tell me. Honest. I get it. I can’t imagine what I would have done.”

   “You wouldn’t be in that situation because you’re smarter than me.”

   “No, I’ve made poor boy choices too. We both know that.” Heather beamed. “Can I borrow your earrings? The little cherries you made.”

   “Sure, keep them. You get more mileage out of them than I do. I can make more.”

   Heather squealed and went to steal them. Evie thought it funny, her friend would rather wear her craft projects than the baby diamonds in silver and gold her parents were always buying.

   “Hey, I… My mom’s been lying to me. About my dad.” Evie admitted. “He’s trying to call and give her money, I think. I don’t know if he asks about me. Where he is. I’m just… I don’t know what to do with it all, Heath.” Her voice broke and leveled out. Slowly the brush came up again. “You ever feel like you remember things differently? Like maybe we never see things as they are, we just see things as we are?”

   Heather turned to see, still putting the earrings in.

   “I’m sure Mona’s trying to protect you. She’s always been so much.” She pressed her lips and tilted Evie’s face to check her work as she always did. “Covered it nicely. How’s your head?”

   “No pounding anymore. Not getting dizzy, I think I barely avoided a concussion.” A beat. “I just wonder what exactly she’s protecting me from. It’s eating me.”

   Felt like too appropriate an expression.

   “We’ll figure it out, but you put way too much pressure on yourself like you’re alone, Eves, and you’re not.” Heather pulled Evie in to hug her. “You have me and Steve. Friends at school.”

   Blue hopped up on the desk to meow loudly, both girls broke to giggle. 

   “Yes, you too, cutie.” Heather scratched the kitten’s chin. “And Billy, I guess. Whatever.”

   “Yeah, I don’t know what we’re doing. But, I don’t mind it so I guess I’ll chase that.” Evie thumbed Heather’s lipstick at the corner. “You’re set.”

   “You, too. Let’s head out.” Heather winked and stood up.

   Blue trailed after them so Evie filled her dish. Grabbed a prized jacket she used to be too afraid to wear for how loud it was. Red leather and fringe. Bitchin'. A signature piece of clothing. Undoubtedly Evangeline. Fredrick didn't like it so it was packed away with all her sharp edges.

   Heather beamed as her friend donned it. Completed Evie's look with a black skirt and graphic shirt tucked in. Vaguely mesh pattern tights and her warm boots. Gold hoops gleaming and her little music note necklace. Plucked piece of juicy fruit and a hard pit for good measure. Curls bounced, almost obscene.

   “Think Brock and his shitheads will crash?” Heather waited for the door to be locked before they got into her car.

   “I’m not worried about Brock after what happened with Fredrick.” Evie stared at the empty place in the Hargrove driveway where Billy’s Camaro usually sat. No doubt he was already there raging. Evie got annoyed with the flame in her stomach that flickered at the thought of running into him there with all the dancing they’d been doing. Every little maybe and almost. Syllables rolling off tongues to tangle.

   Loch Nora rangers were undoubtedly the best.

   Evie still liked parties. Liked the stimulation. The noise. That beautiful overlapping noise to wash her world out. The drunk idiot teens wandering to dance or do dumb shit. All technicolor. Even liked them better than what Fredrick would take her too. Annoying how Fredrick had become this constant life point of comparison. Physically out and still here to set the scales.

   Time for some liquor.

   She peered around and realized Steve never came to them anymore. Heather even asked him and he just declines too politely. Three drinks sank into her stomach so Evie went out back to where some meathead with no shirt was pouring. Moved through sprightly bodies to get another cup. Smoke and sweat in the cool night air. 

   “Fenny, you hear Tannen got a DUI?” Nameless meathead poured.

   “No, shit?” She took her plastic cup back. Black and gold glitter nails clicking the artificial red. 

   “Swear to god! His dad’s basically paying everyone to make it disappear.” The guy chuckled. “Lucky, the idiot didn’t crash into anyone.”

   “Yeah, he’s a mess.” Evie tipped her cup in thanks and watched teens bop around the covered pool to booming music. Rich house on a hill, no one was calling the cops. Cold and slush weren't stopping the festivities, it only made them turn up the noise and heat. Her outfit combated the lingering winter well enough. Perks of being a bigger gal. Thick skin to combat the weather and assholes. “Thanks.”

   “Plenty more to go around.” 

   Evie caught a bunch of metalheads thrashing around a huge trampoline. Jumping from the lowest part of the roof to it and climbing all over. Billy among them spitting beer and cackling. A hungry wolf against the bright moon. Readied to toss his head back and-

   “Evangeline!” He howled and she rolled her eyes below, drinking. Cup lifted to acknowledge them. Billy flashed his teeth, glowed there at her. Still among his following.

   "You clean up well, Fenny!" One boy cooed so Billy shoved him into one of the many seat cushions that had been stolen to line the perch.

   "Why not join us? Stay awhile." Billy crouched at the edge. Admired Evie glittering and that outfit. Tassels constantly in motion, she looked like a song leaping off unworthy pages. They echoed the calls and she laughed outright, went back inside to a chorus of whines wanting her to stay and indulge them in their debauchery.

   “They out of the hard stuff already?” Heather approached and offered a tiny joint to Evie that she caved and puffed. “Tammy’s asking. I’m switching to water.”

   “Beer only it looks like. It’s raining boys out there though.”

   “Oh, maybe I’ll catch myself one.” Heather winked and wandered outside with the smoke.

   Evie got squished in between her and Tammy moments later. Talking school and beauty and graduation getting closer. Across the way, Billy had a whole room entertained with his California stories. Evie lingered to see his eyes flicker over to her.

   The strange radar he had when she was around. Always on high. He smiled bright and animated his tale, kept them all hooked and laughing because he was just too badass. Too good. A firework in this boring town. Perched on the table with a smoke in hand.

   Spinning tales around the way he spun her under confetti.

   And they kept peering at each other. Billy got more persistent as Evie made it a point not to look. To stay reeled into Tammy gushing about the car she was almost saved up for. This baby pink bug she dreamed about. Robin joined them and Tammy blushed as they shared a freshly rolled joint. Heather and Evie shared knowing looks.

   Billy decided he wanted attention from Evangeline and left the stories behind to cross toward her. Evie felt sparks when he plucked up her hand, nodding aside. One tug and smoldering eyes. She didn't move and played a pout.

   “I’m having an important discussion with the girls about the principal's clearly fake mustache, Hargrove.” She lifted her eyes, biting her lip as if that might curve her intoxication. Curled a smirk he matched.

  "Thrilling. Something tells me it ain't getting mileage." Billy didn’t take his eyes from Evie. “Ladies?”

   “We just finished actually, Evie was about to get herself another drink. You look like just the soul brave enough to help with that.” Tammy, oblivious but a wingman to the end, cut in so Billy pulled Evie up.

   Heather flashed a guilty smile as they went off because Evie was aimlessly bickering. They didn’t go out back for a drink. Billy climbed the steps with her hand. Slowly Evie adjusted to lace their fingers. They moved over bodies and went down the hallways into a vacant TV room with beaten couches and thick screens.

   “What are you doing?” Evie dropped her arms as Billy bit his tongue with intent eyes and crossed into her space for a kiss. Tasting of some green apple schnapps the boys outside had downed with all the hard stuff.  

   “Just something I thought about for a while.” He cupped her face for another and Evie felt dizzy for the first time after her drinks. Billy and his lips. Tasting her. Pulling her back into a couch with him.

   “You mean like a day?” Evie had giggled. Breaking the kiss to see his pupils spread.

   “Hey, it was a long, long day.” Came a shrug, eyes on her pretty tights that were sending him. “I can only say so much over the phone.” Hands worked under the skirt. Melted Evie down while she came in for more of him. 

   Straddling Billy’s hard thigh, she combed his hair back and ravished him in turn. What could she say? She liked to kiss him. Liked his mouth and his palms and his heat against her. Scorching. Billy adjusted, taking her hips to press his leg up into her.

   Evie rocked unconsciously. Gave him a little moan. Let him untuck her shirt. She came out and felt his hand on her bra. Fingers sunk under the fabric while they locked eyes. Rolled her nipple until another moan lulled. Evie still pulling at his hair, lips opening.

   “No bad kisses yet, hm?” The hum hitched as Evie pressed into him. Kissed him deeper. Not worried she might squish him with the shameless, signature way he touched her. 

   “Let’s try a few more.” Evie about whimpered into his tongue. Brow furrowing. Breath quicker. Something ready to churn in her belly.

   Billy gripped her hips to encourage her on. Shifted down the line of her jaw. Silken mouth trailing to release warm sighs. Evie had her hands pressed against his grey tee. Skimming under the leather jacket to feel the hard lines. Miles of him to trace and explore. Shifting, one hand came to his left shoulder. Finger pressed and Billy gave a jerk, breath catching as he pulled back to hiss.

   Evie narrowed and yanked away the moment he looked in pain. Avoiding her eyes as if he wasn’t just trying to turn them over and finish this.

   “Are you okay?”

   “Fine.” Billy leaned back in for a kiss she barely responded to. Thoughts racing. “It’s nothing.” He cupped the back of her head. Lips all over Evie’s neck. Fingers slipped to push his jacket aside and Billy grasped her wrist. “Evie, it’s nothing.”

   “You’re hurt.” She frowned. Billy gripped her arm still, searching. He opened his mouth to speak and the door burst open, giggles sounding at the same time Evie threw herself out of Billy’s lap. Practically to the other side of the couch. Shamefully tucking her shirt back in.

   “Oooh, this one’s taken,” Tommy backed up and processed who was in there again with Carol under his arm, “Billy and Fenny? No fucking way, you two. Ha!” He cackled and Billy gave an agitated breath.

   “We’re busy, shut the door, man.”

   “No shit, you’re busy. I’m shocked. I thought Fen wasn’t speaking to you ever again after-”

   “Hagen, we’re talking.” Evie slid her eyes to Carol who’d gotten dead silent. Eyes bright and full of hate. Piles and piles. A tremendous build of fire and loathing directed at Evie for existing in the same space.

   “Talk away. Have fun, kids!” Tommy only found it funny. Jeering in his annoying way before Carol shoved off him and stomped out. “Hey Carol, what’s your problem?” He smacked the door shut following his upset girlfriend down the hall.

   “Shit, asshole.” Billy rubbed his shoulder. “Where were we?” The purr made Evie turn her head, thoughts elsewhere. Billy crawled to kiss her again and Evie stood. “Hey, where’re you going?”

   “I just, I feel weird now.” Evie stumbled around the coffee table. Cheeks bright and rosy. Not sparing him a glance because Carol’s eyes gnawed her. Created an incessant buzzing around her brain. Billy jolted to follow but she was out the door. Looking around for Carol and Tommy’s loudmouth. Boots hurried down the steps after Tommy, still trying to coax his girl back to the festivities.

   “Carol, hey,” Evie pushed beyond Tommy once Carol was out a sliding door, “Hey, can we just talk?”

   “You are such a fucking loser, you know that?” Carol spun on her heel to direct some teenage rage in Evie’s direction. A few outside by the kegs noticed the tiff, pausing to see. 

   A crack.

   “Why do you hate me so much?” Evie dropped her shoulders. Billy slipped out and stepped up behind Tommy, pausing at the standoff. Carol staggered. Clearly intoxicated. Cracking a huge, watery smile. Reckless. She stepped toward Evie so a burst came. “Why! I'm not mean to you! I've never been mean to you! I only talk back and I still feel guilty, but you're so... Why?”

   "You're nice to me?" She made it sound unreal and laughable.

   "Yeah, actually! I don't understand it, I've tried to be kind to you." Evie felt a tear slip down and stayed level. "No one deserves to be treated the way I see you treat others. So, why?"

   “Because!” Carol shot back, welling too. “You’re so fucking kind and...playing innocent...and you're good! And I..." She stopped with another deafening crack. So loud, it rang. Carol really stopped to reflect and hated what she saw looking back at her. But, Evie was here looking too so the hate rerouted.

   "Good?" Evie breathed and so much ugly spread in her veins like a disease.

   "And...And you get all this attention! Acting like you don’t know! And just look at you! Do you really think you’d get that attention if these boys didn’t feel sorry for you?” Carol stumbled and pointed a finger in Evie’s face, furious and shaking. Too close.

   Evie got silent. Dropped everything she felt.

   “You’re the one I feel sorry for.”

   Carol buzzed with rage and reeled back to slap her so hard, the force sent her into Tommy.

   "Girl fight!" Came some yelps.

   “What the hell, Carol?” He caught Evie on pure instinct, not understanding either. Billy charged forward and Carol kept pushing as Evie found her footing.

   A chorus of shocked gasps and awe came from the drunk teens near the pool. The music blared.

   “Hit me back, you bitch! Yeah? Do it like you did to Tannen. Think you’re any better than me!” Carol was near sobbing. Eyes crinkling with tears as she shoved before Tommy got in front of her. Looped an arm around her waist.

   “That’s enough, Care, c’mon.” He and Billy separated the girls, but Evie wasn’t trying to hit back. Just stared with huge eyes and a palm against her hot cheek.

   "Hey. Hey, you okay?" Billy stood in front of her now, tugging. Evie wasn't budging. Enthralled. Stuck. Sinking. Not good. "Let's go. She's wasted."

   “Evie!” Heather was racing across the grass to help. “Carol, back off her.” She planted her feet between them and Carol sneered, struggling against her boyfriend.

   “Ooh, Princess Heather to the rescue. Admit it, you just like being the pretty friend.” More hissing channeled out.

   “Just, shut up!”

   “How about you tell Fenny why Tannen even tried to chase her skirts that night? Yeah?” Carol broke free and tackled Heather into the grass. "Tell her what a shit friend you are, baby!"

   “Another girl fight!” Teens howled across the way. Billy and Tommy shoved in to pull the clawing women apart as they rolled around and pulled at hair.

   Evie heard herself shouting to stop, barely audible over the crowds that closed in on them to cheer and chant.

   “Tell her, sweet pea? Tell her that her dear B-F-F set her up with some animal. I was at that party, I heard you, bitch!” Carol skidded as Tommy pulled her off. Billy had Heather by the arm, trying to yank her up from the grass. She began to sniffle. “Perfect Heather. Little priss who can do no wrong. Perfect body. Perfect life. The teen dream. Tossing bones to us lowly folk when you're done.” 

   Carol laughed and cried all at once. Even the crowd slowed to watch her. Evie felt a coldness spread at the display.

   “Oh yeah, Heather, you’re a real carpenter’s dream!” Carol mocked relentlessly. “Flat as a board and needs a screw! Go on and tell Fenny what a great friend you are. You brushed Tannen aside and pawned that puppy off on someone easier.”

   “I didn’t know he was like that yet, okay! It was stupid.” Heather admitted, tears falling. Evie froze at that, didn’t move toward her.

   “Heath, what’s she talking about?” Evie hated how wounded she sounded.

   “I just thought maybe he’d cheer you up, we all were drinking and, Tannen, he...he was nice at the time. So I thought. I just...you know-”

   “Just, what?” Evie leveled out. Billy let Heather go once he brought her up from the grass so she came to Evie. Crowds all but hushed.

   “Can...Can we not talk about it here?” Heather tucked her hair aside, sounding too small.

   “No, I love an audience! Talk.” Evie’s spine went rigid.

   “I just...nudged Tannen your way. You just broke up with that guy over the summer and your dad left. Tannen was, I don’t know, it was stupid. He was nice and...and good looking. I thought he’d make you feel better. I didn’t know he was like that yet. I just was trying to hook my friend up.”

   "Please, you alluded to owing him a favor after. He ate that up. You talked up a desperate animal in need of a hot beef injection. You said Fenny could barely thread a needle these days." Carol bellowed. More shock. More awe.

   "I was super drunk!" Heather covered her eyes to rub them

   “So, you told him to try fucking me! Told him I was desperate for it!” Evie’s voice rose and Heather quelled with shame.

   “You were so sad...I thought he’d give you a good night.” The tone trailed off.

   “I’m fat, but I can get laid on my own, thanks. I don’t need your fucking help, how little do you think of me?” Evie’s curls shook around with the same fervor. Heather just held herself and stared at the grass. “Do I really seem that pathetic to you?”

   “No, it’s not that at all-”

   “It feels like that,” Evie stepped back, “keep me around because I make you look like the Queen Bee and toss some asshole with a reputation my way out of pity if I cease to function.”

   “Evie, it’s not like that!” Heather wept and got her hand shoved off when she tried to touch her friend. Evie wiggled through the crowd because it split for her fury.

   “Get off me,” she went around the house, “get away from me, Heather! I don't need you!"

   Heather stopped on the lawn and just stood there to see Evie follow the street lamps off.

   Carol watched them go, sagging into Tommy who was definitely too drunk for this.

   “Jesus, what’d you do?” He pulled her in another direction. Back to the house. Away from the excitement resuming. “Shouldn’t start that shit.” They got back inside so he led his girlfriend into an empty bathroom. “You okay?”

   “I am now. Bitches. I just...I can’t fucking…” Carol sniffled and cleared her throat. "I don't know why I hate her, okay, I just do! She just gets...everything."

   “This is about your mom getting back with that asshole.”

   “It’s not about that!” Her defense went up. “I’m just tired of Fenny acting like she can get everything she wants. Throwing herself at Billy, fuck. Wondered why he all but dropped everyone else. I thought he and Vicki had something. Gotta be kidding me.” Carol crossed her arms to lean back into the counter as Tommy washed his face with cold water, nauseous.

   “I don’t even think Fenny’s gonna go for him when she’s already got a thing with…” He perked. Lips sealing. Carol noticed.

   “Thing with who?”

   “Nothing, I just...I saw something...and I’m drunk. I’m fucking drunk, Care.” He got his shirt tugged.

   “Tommy.” She sucked her cheeks in and he knew he’d be caving. “What did you see?”

   “Evie’s been seeing Bowers, I saw her leaving his place all roughed up. Not the first time, I live a street away. Saw them in his driveway shouting at each other once. It was so dark. They kissed and she...well, her head dropped down for a bit. Thought I was having a nightmare there. I tried to forget it and just act like... I didn't believe it was her until I saw her on that bus. I'm drunk, fuck...” Tommy blurted in one breath. Carol’s lips opened.

   “No fucking way.”

   “Listen, I could be wrong-”

   “We can’t let them get away with that. I mean, he’s a teacher. What if he really hurt-”

   “You’re not doing it to save, Fenny, you’re doing it to make her life worse. Just...forget I said anything. I’m fucked up. Shit. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.” Tommy rubbed his eyes. Let them dart. Carol slid her gaze away and crossed her fingers behind her back.

   “Fine. Whatever you say, T. We'll forget it.” Another pull brought him in for a kiss. Tommy caressed her arms and felt Carol trying to make herself small. “Can I stay at your place tonight? I can’t go home to Jason on our couch again. I just...I can’t. I can't do it, Tommy.”

   She trembled so he tucked her under his chin.

   “You know you don’t have to ask, babe.”

*** ** ** 

   Evie was down the hill still stomping under barely lit streets. Teens ranging to music still in the distance. Forgetting her. Intent, she marched over frozen sidewalks covered in slush. The tip of her nose and ears grew chilled pink. Heather had shouted after but stopped the pursuit at the end of the lawn. Ruefully, Evie wouldn’t weep, she already cried enough this damn week.

   She just wanted to be better. Higher. Then all of it.

   The unmistakable rev of Billy’s Camaro rolled up behind her.

   “Evie, don’t make me come out to steal you. Just get in.” The window came down. “You can’t walk home in that skirt with the snow. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

   She paused to hear him. Eyes on the wind sweeping frosted shrubbery about across the perfectly trimmed lawns. Rich people. Cozy in their homes burning bags of money on nights like this.

   “Are you going to be all the same to me, Billy? Tell me right now, I swear to god. Pretty face trying to get its way with words that are just...empty. You gonna get mad if I don’t put out and try to grab at me like Tannen? Why are you bothering with me?” Evie sniffled, hands out and dropping as he watched her. Brow furrowed. “You saw them looking at us funny.”

   “Evie.” He reasoned. “Where am I right now? Am I back there shotgunning free liquor or am I freezing my balls off coming after you? Again.”

   “You’re here with me. But, how do I know this isn’t some weird game for you with a prize at the end. Kids like us, we don’t go together. Are you trying to win a prize so you can move to the next? Can’t blame me for thinking it.” She approached the car. Still guarding herself. “I can’t let that go.”

   “I like you, Evie, and I can tell you that a hundred times. But, it means nothing if you won’t let me.” Billy leaned over to click the door open. “You don’t let anyone like you.” He waited as she didn’t move, hands gripping the wheel before he sighed. “Didn’t notice the other kids, if you really care. I’m the Keg King.”

   A cold breath puffed out her nose, almost amused.

   “I was enjoying the view.” Billy drew those glittery blues to her expression.

   “What makes this a view?”

   “You.” A shrug pulled along with her heartstrings. “Get in, let’s go somewhere.”

   “Where?”

   “Anywhere you like. Just as we planned, remember?” Billy winked at her and Evie’s walls lowered. She looked back at the house party echoing and got in to buckle herself.

   “How much have you had to drink?”

   “Relax.” He sped off. “Barely anything and I even drank water. You proud?” He fiddled with the radio. “Wasn’t feeling it tonight.”

   “Looked like a party on the roof.”

   “Well, I still gotta impress the following.” Billy gestured to the glovebox. “Put a tape in, will you?”

   “You and your hair metal...and...oh?” Evie skimmed the selection while they whirled away from Loch Nora. “What is this? Fleetwood Mac. I’m so impressed.”

   “Ugh, that must be Max’s, she keeps leaving her tapes in my car. Throw it out.”

   “Wow. Apologize to Stevie.” Evie gasped and mocked. Cupped her hands over the sacred tape. “He didn’t mean that.” Billy peered over to crack a laugh at her jabbing. “Alright, alright. Can’t go wrong with a little Queen.” 

   “Fair enough.” Billy let her slip the tape in and mess with the volume so they could still hear each other. “You really mad at Heather?”

   Evie went flat.

   “Yes and I’ll stay mad at least until school starts back up.” She crossed her arms, relaxing as the heat picked up. Too good just as Carol said.

   “Where am I taking you?” Billy turned down another road, flying beyond the trees and Evie stared at his profile. Intent on the road for once. 

   “You opposed to a little more cold?”

   “I have blankets in back. Might have to get cozy.” He slid those eyes over and Evie sucked her cheeks in. 

   “Take a left up here. I know a secret spot.” 

** ** ** 

   “You didn’t say anything about hiking through a dark forest,” Billy whined with his arms full of blankets. "If Michael Myers reams my ass-"

   "Maybe I'm a Thing like the movie and I'm taking you somewhere to assimilate." Evie teased ahead of him.

   "I actually like the sound of that, Angel. Proceed. Assimilate with me all night long." Suggestive.

   She just laughed, loathing him.

   “It’s not far. I'll protect you, Billy. You hear the water and ice cracking? Chicken.” Evie flicked a flashlight they snagged from his car after parking in the thrush. “Just up there. C’mon. I promise it’s worth it.” She hurried up, leaving him behind to watch her silhouette in starlight

   “Someday, I’m gonna stop chasing this girl,” Billy uttered under his breath, hurrying to follow because that was the biggest lie he'd ever told himself. “The whole ‘no murder’ deal stands.”

   “Naturally.” Evie giggled and stepped over a log. “Here.”

   They walked along the train tracks going both directions. Came upon the cliffs where the bridge was laid out. Billy looked out at the frozen water yards below. At the moon and stars bathing the space in an ethereal glow. Frozen water framing the rocks. Looked like a castle full of magic.

   “Down here.” She went to the edge and climbed down under the steel and wood tracks. Into the space that was suspended over the great fall.

   “This is your spot?”

   “You'll see why.” Evie reached for his wrist so he didn’t trip. Snagged the blankets from him. “Prettier with all the icicles. Look.” Billy did. Admired the iridescent, dewy glimmer. “And now we wait.”

   “Wait?” He came to Evie, lighting a cigarette. “For what?”

   “You’ll see, I said.” She settled a blanket around her shoulders and gave him one. Playfully covering his shoulders.

   “Wait to freeze to death.” Billy had grumbled as Evie paced farther, stepping over boards and balancing on steel beams.

   He saw the moonlight stream through the tracks into her curls. Admired her when she peered back to press a genuine smile. His cigarette dropped. Cherry glowing all the way down. Air whistled.

   "Tell me more about yourself, Billy Hargrove." Evie cocked her head at a dewy spiderweb. "Favorite fruit? Favorite insect? Are you fonder of chocolates or-?"

   "You think I'm interesting." He decided.

   "I think you're here with me." Evie curled around a steel post to see him.

   "Tangerines," Billy replied after a beat, "and favorite bug? Do scarab beetles count? Just think they look cool as shit."

   "Naturally. Good choice, I suppose." She sized him up and tapped her chin when Billy gestured across the way. Neither moving. "Pineapple and luna moths."

   "Luna moths?"

   "Yeah," Evie hummed to herself and hid away behind the beam, "I always thought they looked like they were fluttering straight out of our dreams. Don't you?"

   Billy took one step. Really watched her shift in ethereal lights. Luminous and bathed utterly.

   "Evangeline." He mused as she teetered across a board and came to the edge. Eyes on the water far below. "Why a singer?"

   "Hm?" She faced away from him. Seemingly in a dream herself. Billy imagined moths glowing around her pretty hair. Fluttering to follow her into the dark. He wished she'd extend a hand to him so he could join. Follow her right into it.

   "Why do you want to be a singer?"

   "Always liked it. Growing up, I just felt right, I guess. The most like me. This girl I wanted to be and she's on a stage under too many lights. Singing her heart out to miles of crowds. Touching them all in a way. Connecting." Evie trailed her fingers over chains that hung down, clicked them together like wind chimes. Billy edged up after her. Not getting too close. Wondered about what was ticking in Evie's soul.

   "Nice to be heard when you put music out into the world," Billy observed and she seemed to like that. Curls bouncing softer with her voice. Evie unfurled for him there and she was breathtaking.

   “I wanna write music that lifts people so high, they’ll have to look down to see heaven." Evie gasped gently, heart-soaring while she came to the other edge on the opposite side. Almost leaning too far.

   "Yeah?" He felt her tug tender cords in his soul. Didn't take his eyes away.

   "I want to write something that makes others understand they’re not alone. Not small. You know? One great song before I...” Evie trailed off with a sober sort of melodic call beckoning and looked far below to the great fall that was one stumble away. One step. Fingers opened. Her arms lifted enough to drop the blanket behind her and feel the wind. “You think I can write a song powerful enough to help me fly over this bridge, Billy?”

   One hand lifted higher, lips open and unable to stop. Unable to look away from the edge. Steady as can be, Billy slid his palm against her. Skin awakening. Reminded her that she was here. That he was with her. That they weren't alone and the song was alive. Fingers laced and Evie seemed to reel back to him, brown eyes glinting to see his face there. Freckles all glowy. Curls spun of gold shifting just right.

   "You're beautiful." She observed there.

   Billy surely would have followed her to the edge, but he didn't want her to go. Stay.

   "You're strange." He'd found this sentiment before and it sounded all the more lovely tonight. Billy gently pulled her from the edge. “Come here, Angel, warm me up.” 

   Billy draped himself in the other blanket again. Shifted her under it as if it were a cape. A shroud that would keep them both from harm's way. From the edge.

   “Okay, Dracula, easy.” She stumbled into him. The diamond lines of Billy’s chest cut into her. “Wait, you feel that?” She watched his earring shift while he looked around. “The vibration.”

   “Yeah, I do.” He muttered suggestively.

   “Not that kind. Just listen. Feel it.” Evie stepped out, almost giddy as she plucked her blanket up and felt around. Billy welcomed it in his chest. The smooth vibrations generating from above. “Get ready.”

   “Ready?” He laughed, coming toward her again. Billy stepped into her space as Evie reached back to curl her fingers into his leather jacket.  Head tilted up toward the tracks. 

   “Lie down with me.” She began to tug and Billy felt this drunkenness take him over at Evie and her smile brightening. They reclined together wrapped in blankets and Billy realized it as the horns called over Evie’s wild laughter.

   “You’re full of surprises, Fenny.”

   “It helps to scream it out, whatever you want. Just let it go with the train.” She kept snickering as the bridge really began to shake. Billy watched her face. Alight and wild. Red lips against the moonlight pooling to spill over her and illuminate the glitter in her makeup.

   “You’re beautiful.” He said then. Unsure if she really heard him over the howl of the oncoming cars. 

   Billy laughed with her. The roar of a train began to charge above. Blaring horns and steel wheels cranking fast. Her nose crinkled as the windswept their hair. Lips opening to scream with it. Billy couldn’t help joining her. Both of them calling out against the rumbling that never seemed to end.

   Icicles fell around the edges and reminded Billy of confetti. Falling so slow and sweet to decorate the space. Shattering colors. That night he first danced with her and kissed her long and hard. Spinning round and round.

   Evie pulled herself up and climbed higher into the beams. Head tossed back to give a call like a siren.

   “Fuck you!” She saw Billy stand and peered at him. “Keep yelling! Anything you want at anyone! Really let ‘em have it!”

   “You first!”

   “You left mom and me, you selfish fucking prick!” She raged up into the air for her father that wasn’t around. Hair whirling up into the gust of wind. The train took her syllables with it. Shouting back. "You can't just make people and then abandon them! They'll think they did something wrong forever!" Billy felt his chest tighten. Joined her. Heart bursting.

   “Why didn’t you just let me fucking save you! Why wasn't I enough!” He didn’t yell for Neil who beat him senseless. Perched upon steel Evie saw Billy tense. Burst again. “I hate you!” He cried that. Evie's fingers pressed harder into steel. Lost in him. Billy heaved for fresher air. Having never faced it all.

   The train ended as they stared at each other. Both breathing into the frozen air. Heaving to gasp.

   Evie slipped down and tossed her arms around Billy’s shoulders. Kissed him back into cold steel as if she was trying to comfort him. Kiss him all better. Luna moths landing delicately on their bodies to open and close their lovely wings.

   "Why'd you do that?" Billy asked of her for the first time. Evie beamed at the turn in the phrase.

   "Because at that time, you weren't going to." She brought him back in. Wanting more. Cupping his face. “Feel any better?” Evie drew out, leaving him to look fluttered. Unsure, Billy swept in so he didn’t have to reply yet. Miles of kisses hot like the cherry of his smoke he let tumble below.

   “Felt good.” He murmured, pulling her into him. “If anything.” 

   “You can’t tell anyone about this place. It’s my secret. Our secret.” She pecked his lips and Billy drew out because they both were too cold to continue. The heat in her belly wasn’t enough. 

   He tilted his forehead against hers, lulled forth when her weight shifted back and the loss. The loss of her ached Billy down to his marrow. This almost paradise they constructed together.

   Curls fell into his face before he lifted to glimpse Evie once more. Wondered how she’d look swaying with lush moonbeams in her hair always. Pretty goddess draped in starlight. Painted in pearly shimmers. 

   Enough to take his breath, Billy gasped for it back and gave this distant chuckle. Nodded to promise he wouldn't tell a soul. Evie caught him wincing as her hand moved over his shoulder again so she left him completely.

   “Sorry.”

   “It’s nothing.” He turned to go, eyes elsewhere. Anywhere else they could dart. Not on her. “Let’s just head back.” Billy felt like he was in a dream. Spinning and dizzy all the way back to the car. He realized as the locks clicked that Evie had been speaking.

   “Are you alright?” She swallowed and Billy looked at the car keys in his hand. Little scorpion keychain glinting. “Were you talking to your mom back there?”

   “Yeah. I just…” Billy shook his head and turned the engine on. “I don’t know where it came from.”

   “I thought it’d be Neil.”

   “I guess I can’t even stomach dreaming of him.” He replied. “I know it’s not a dream if he’s there. Even if he’s getting his. You know?”

   “Yeah. I, uh… Do you…?” Evie squirmed in her seat, worried he’d close up on her as he stared at the road and drove at a steady speed for once.

   “Do I, what?”

   “Hate her?”

   “No.” He skidded at a red light, almost sounded defensive. Shoulders fell. Knuckles went white on the wheel. “Sometimes.” Evie felt her cheeks burn and tried to sound even, it still came out as an airy whisper.

   “What happened to her, Billy?”

   “She just died.” He sighed to calm his own tone from sounding hot. “She died when I was fourteen.” Finally, he corrected himself. “She killed herself.”

   “I’m sorry.” Evie tried not to stare at him. Fear it made him uncomfortable quelled, but she couldn’t look away. Billy closed his eyes at the next red light to breathe, opened them.

   “It happens.” He said. “People wake up one morning and decide they don’t want to wake up ever again...and they act on it. And they succeed.” It felt like he started to drive slower the closer they got to Cherry. “Doesn’t matter who they leave behind.”

   Evie carefully extended her hand over to touch his in his lap. Because it does fucking matter and it always will. The fingers on the wheel flexed and Billy didn’t tear away.

   “She had a lot of problems. Like my dad. Maybe they tried to fix each other once. I don’t know.” Billy continued. Too tender about it all. “They divorced when I was nine. All the back in forth. The visitations. Courtrooms making me choose and I just...I wanted her. I wanted it to stop too. I know she was messed up, but she tried to get better… You believe me, don’t you?” 

   His blue eyes glistened. Jaw tensing. Billy pulled up between their houses and neither moved as he cut the engine.

   “Yes, I believe you.” Evie found the syllables around her tongue.

   “You believe people can get better, Evie?”

   She almost welled with him. It struck her heart with lightning.

   “I really hope so.” She had to or she was lost just as well. Evie sniffled and tried to be stone again when all the emotion came into her voice to cloud it.

   “She never hit me though. Dad drank and beat the shit out of her. Made her drug habits worse and worse. Liked when she was some coked-out zombie. Pills and needles, it just… Fuck, Evie, she just kept falling back. They fought for custody the whole time and I really thought she was getting better. Dad acted like a fucking hero, rescuing me from an evil druggie.”

   “You’re worth getting better for.” Evie felt Billy slip from her hand so he could clear his throat and rub his eyes.

   “I found her, you know?” He shuddered and stared at his open palms in his lap. Saw red on them. “It was her weekend and I took the bus home from school like I always did. We were going to go to the boardwalk.”

   His head tipped back and he gave this grim smile. They never made it to that boardwalk, Evie realized. 

   “The smell of that house, I’ll never… Just rotten...and I couldn’t even see her face at first because of all the flies.” It was Billy who reached out aimlessly for Evie’s wrist. Something to stay rooted, she figured. “My mom was beautiful and she always smelled like oranges. Like the big orchard she worked at. But, the fucking house just smelled like shit and piss and vomit and rust when I came in. Like death. I found her in the bathtub all bloated and ugly and the water was already brown. She sat in there alone decaying and no one...”

   Billy kept rubbing his eyes again until they were too swollen to cry. Evie had his hand in both of hers, clamped tight to keep him alert. Unwavering.

   “I didn’t know what to do so I called for help. I couldn’t lift her out, I wasn’t strong enough and I kept screaming...  Then, I tried my dad three times, and...fuck, I ended up calling Susan. They’d started dating a couple of months before and I didn’t like her. Or her kid. But, she was too nice and gave me a number to call if I needed her after they’d gotten serious. I don’t know why I kept it in my backpack. She came when they were loading my mom up. Kept trying to hold me and I wouldn’t let her until I was too weak to fight it.”

   “She does care about you. She’s scared, too.”

   “My dad cleans up his act well from time to time. Plays the perfect father and boyfriend, she fell for it. In too deep now with no way out. He'll bleed her dry, too. My dad, he likes it when people don’t have a way out. Mom found a way though, spite him.” Billy dropped his head back again, chest sinking before he looked at Evie. Quivered there. “I just get...so mad.”

   “I know.” She sank into the seat a little to watch him.

   “She left a note that said sorry. That she loved me. Left this for me, too.” Billy fingered his pendant. “Wasn’t enough. Sometimes, I walk into my own house now and that smell… I can’t escape it. I’m always in that house. In that room with the flies covering everything.”

   That shook Evie. They weren’t perfect kids, but they didn’t deserve to be trapped in that house. In that room. Where trauma was fed on a loop. A haunted house where they were the ghosts doomed and trapped to wander. To relive what killed them from the first.

   “I tried so fucking hard to make her better, I took care of her and I wasn’t there. I let my dad drive her to-”

   “Billy, it’s not your fault.” Evie had his hand pressed against her chest at that. “It’s not.” Both painfully sober, they just looked at each other. Leveled out. “I’m sure she tried so hard for you. Some people, they just… Addiction is…” 

   Evie felt this ice swell up her stomach. Addiction is a harsh cycle. It never really ends, you work at it and fight it, but it’s always there in the back of your memories urging. Once you start, you’re always an addict. Recovering or not. You can’t stop.

   You can’t stop.

   “Getting help is so hard when you’re sick.” Was all Evie could manage. Unable to portray how profoundly she understood. “Your job was to be a kid.”

   “All I wanted was to go back to California and now, I’m not sure if I ever can. Just knowing she won’t be there again. Sometimes when I’m here, I just pretend she’s alive and still picking oranges on long, hot days.” Billy swallowed. “My dad just...shut down for the first time when he showed up to get me from Susan’s. I asked him if he was gonna hug me. Susan had for a long time. And he just tensed and told me not to be soft. That I can’t act like a pussy and mom was just too fucking sick to get better. But, I knew she had a chance. I knew it was enough. I...” Billy’s voice cut over. He tried to gasp for some clear air so Evie pulled him over the seats into her arms.

   “You’re enough.” She said. Plain and simple. So easily.

   Billy vibrated in response.

   "Sometimes I think you navigate the world like something bad is coming for you and you're waiting for it, Evie," he muffled into her, "and I don't want you to go, too."

   "I won't go." Evie held steady, eyes flickering beyond him at dead space. "Promise."

   Hands came up like he might shove her off before Billy shattered. Melted into her heat. The soft slopes of flesh. Arms went under his so she could hold him close. Billy hitched a sob and stopped anything else that dared creep up his throat. Fingers wrung into her clothing. Evie let him squeeze her tight. Within inches of breath. Make her a balmy slice of paradise he could sink into.

   Billy closed his eyes. Face pressing into the line of her collar. Inhaling perfume and lotion. Flames bubbling up from her skin. 

   “Come to bed with me,” Evie’s lips touched his ear, “nothing funny. I just don’t want you to sleep alone tonight.” Billy felt himself relent, only nodded into her hair. 

   They snuck out under street lamps and went into the Fenny house. Cleaned up without words to dress down for bed. Blue wiggled in with them atop the pillows and Billy faced away.

   Evie wished she had something better to say, but she just told him goodnight. Gently murmured it against his spine as she tucked in behind him. 

   “Evie.” Billy shifted after a long beat. Turned over to face her there. Barely awake at that point, her eyes cracked.

   “Hm?”

   “Thanks.” Billy moved again on his back because it always seemed to get her nuzzling into his side. “What I told you. Don’t tell anyone else. Please.” Arm stretching so Evie could take her place and mumble something he didn’t catch, a nod followed. Nose pressing to the cotton tee he left on, Evie slipped away first. Left Billy to his thoughts as he watched the dim lights pull between the blinds and curtains to make patterns along her ceiling. 

   He knew he was consumed and he wasn’t sorry. Not one bit. Evie tumbled deeper into her dreams. Not stirring as fingers played with her curls. Petting them softly. Billy mulled over it all and he just wasn’t ashamed and he couldn’t figure out how to make her see it. But, he was willing to keep trying. Evie was worth trying for, too. Plain and simple. Sighing out, Billy let himself begin to slip too.

   “Anyone…” He couldn’t help uttering, almost melodic. Lashes fluttering. “...who knows what love is…” 

   Billy peered down at Evie’s face, peaceful and relaxed against his chest. Cheek pressing hot through the fabric as his fingertips ran a barely-there line down the silky skin.

   The rest of the lyrics never came. Tangled into his heartstrings where they made a cozy home.

   Billy immersed himself in burning amber, closed his eyes to follow Evie into absolute darkness. Almost paradise.

~~~~~~~

Thanks guys for being so lovely! This is probs my fav chapter to date. Leave words in my ask or replies if you have them! Love to hear from you all xoxo

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch​ @nottherightseason​ @orxhidshavana​   @alagalaska​ @alongcamedolly​ @kellyk-chan​ @10blurredsmoke10 @stanley--barber​ @charmed-asylum​ @unmistakablyunknown​

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter one

[ao3]

have i ever mentioned my britpop au? i don’t think i have :) this is quite literally the definition of self-indulgence like genuinely this is so self-indulgent that it probably counts as a deadly sin and i have literally no justifications for it 

before anybody comes for me for starting another chaptered fic: i have 50k of this lined up and i’m still going at the speed of light (as sam can attest to) fear not we’re going to get there with this one i promise also for anyone still waiting for the soulmate au thats going to get finished too once this is out of my system 

i have an inordinate number of people to thank for putting up with me/this fic so let us begin: @tirednotflirting​ deserves every single ounce of praise and love i have to offer for reading this whole thing, listening to me talk about it, bouncing ideas with me, being so patient and kind about it, coming up with such brilliant ideas and for just generally being an all-round sweetheart. @calumftduke​ also deserves excessive praise and thanks for reading a big old chunk of this and being so sweet about it. @killingangels​ genuinely breathed life into this fic and cheered it on to the place it is today thank u for diving into a britpop phase with me. @ashesonthefloor​ and @clumsyclifford​ listened to me whine about this fic even though neither of them care and i truly owe them for that. @kaleidoscopeminds lets me thirst over the gallaghers but keeps me in my place about it which is truly the vibe check i need and also listened to me talk about this fic over the past few weeks and is just generally such a joy to speak to. i’m certain i’ve forgotten someone my brain has not been switched on in weeks now but anyone who’s listened to me talk about this over the past few weeks deserves a ticket straight to heaven honestly 

quick bit of vocab: our kid is a term used by siblings in manchester. not sure why i don’t understand mancunian culture myself but the gallaghers are always saying it in interviews and my mancunian friend concurred that it is correct so idk what goes on up there 

warnings: heavy drug use (its oasis and blur in the ‘90s theres a lot of coke/weed/alcohol) and lots of swearing (including the c word because they’re british)

-

He’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

-

or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

Liam had once asked Calum if he believed in fate. 

“D’you think it’s all real?” he’d said one day, out of the fucking blue. Calum, though, used to Liam beginning conversations in the middle after two long years of knowing him, had just looked at him. 

“Do I think what’s all real?” he’d asked. Liam had indicated up at the sky with his eyes and cigarette. 

“Fate, and all that,” he’d said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. Calum had watched as his cheeks hollowed around it, turning potential answers over and over in his mind. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he’d said eventually, and Liam had raised his eyebrows and nodded as he’d exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that had blended in with the sky and the council houses. 

Calum thinks he probably should have known then. Maybe Liam had been trying to make a point, in that strange way he sometimes does - what are the odds you’d end up here, with us? Calum hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, just rolled his eyes and nudged Liam’s foot with his own and said Noel’s going to do his fucking nut if we’re not there in ten, and that had been that. The conversation never even crossed his mind again until it was too late, until fate had already had her way with Calum. 

In Calum’s defence, though, fate never showed her hand. She never threw him any hints, no flashing neon signs that said Calum, your destiny is this way. Fate came piecemeal, came in short snippets of conversations or flashes of familiar faces or, on occasion, Liam and Noel swearing loudly at each other as they stomp up the stairs in Calum’s house.

“I’m arsed,” Liam’s saying loudly, when he barges into Calum’s room. Noel’s hot on his heels, midway through a spiel he’s clearly prepared which Liam’s having none of, and he turns to Calum when they get through the door, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“Tell him he’s a prick,” he says. 

“Why?” Calum says, setting his magazine aside, because he needs to know what he’s supposed to be endorsing before he picks a side in an argument between the Gallagher brothers. 

“Our kid wants us to miss the match tonight and go to some fucking gig,” Liam grumbles, throwing himself down on Calum’s bed and picking up his magazine. 

“It’s not ‘some fucking gig’, Liam,” Noel says irritably. “It’s the fucking Boardwalk. We’ve got to hear what else is out there right now.” 

“I told you, I’m fucking arsed what else is out there right now,” Liam says, flicking about five pages on from the article Calum had been in the middle of reading. “I don’t write the fucking songs, do I? Go on your fucking own. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Noel rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Calum’s Gallagher Explosion Incoming senses start tingling, followed swiftly by his Peacekeeping Skill Set activating. 

“Look,” he says hurriedly, before Noel can say something that’ll lead to a couple of black eyes, mostly because neither of the brothers have ever cared much about collateral damage and Calum values his bruiseless skin. “What if we start the match, and if City look like they’re going to lose, we go to the gig?” Noel closes his mouth, and then opens it again, and then closes it again. 

“Fucking whatever,” Liam grumbles, which is the closest they’re going to get to acquiescence from him. Calum stares at Noel beseechingly, because this is the best idea he’s got and pretty much the only one he thinks Liam’ll agree to, and Noel rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, but then nods reluctantly. 

“City won’t fucking lose,” he mutters, as he sits down in the chair at Calum’s desk. “Not to a bunch of Scousers.” 

“Lost to Liverpool not four weeks ago,” Calum reminds him, and Noel scowls. 

“That second goal was fucking offside,” he says. 

“Ref was a fucking wanker,” Liam chimes in, from where he’s lying on Calum’s bed, still thumbing through the magazine. “‘Ere, what’s this, then?” he adds, with a grin, and turns the magazine around, tapping on the page. It’s a picture of a (very pretty) boy spread across a motorbike, and Calum rolls his eyes, snatching the magazine out of Liam’s hands. 

“Fuck off,” he says, but Liam’s just laughing, head tipped back on the bed, all full lips and bright blue eyes and long, dark lashes. If Calum hadn’t been doing lines with Liam for half of last night, he could almost believe the angelic innocence the boy gives off. 

“Looks like our kid,” Noel says, sitting down on the chair at Calum’s desk. Liam raises his head far enough to give Noel a two-fingered salute, but he’s still grinning, and Noel’s grinning too when he flips Liam off in return. 

Fucking hell, Calum thinks. It’ll take more than his three O Levels to fucking understand those two. 

 -------

 City end up conceding three goals in the first twenty-five minutes, and Liam’s the one who stands up, voice already hoarse from screaming at the TV, and demands they go out. Noel, never one to resist pressing buttons that only he can find on Liam, makes a snide comment about it, and Calum, to keep the peace, makes a comment about United, giving both brothers something to spend the entire bus journey to the Boardwalk ranting about. 

Noel gets them in for free, because he knows someone who knows someone who’d been a roadie with a band who had been on tour with the Inspiral Carpets for like, half a second, or something. Calum doesn’t really care how they get in for free, whether Noel gets them in by knowing someone who knows someone or by hiring a hitman on the bouncer, as long as they do get in for free, because he’d rather save his money for weed. 

The band that’s playing are immediately declared to be boring little fuckers by Liam, who beelines for the bar and only has to flutter his lashes twice before the pretty girl behind the bar sidles up to him with a coy look on her face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t linger after getting the drinks, weaving through the crowd to Noel and Calum with a mixture of shouted insults and threats at anyone in his path, three overfull pints balanced precariously in his hands. 

“You’re paying me back for these,” is how he greets them again, taking a sip from Noel’s before handing it to him. Noel just rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage and raising the pint to his lips. 

“Am I fuck,” Calum says, taking the other beer out of Liam’s outstretched hand. Liam scowls, but lets him take it, taking a sip from his own glass. 

“I’ll just smoke your weed, then,” he says, like he doesn’t do that anyway. Calum just shakes his head and turns back to the stage, where a new band are setting up, fiddling with their amps and mic stands. 

“D’you even know who these pricks are?” Liam asks Noel. 

“Don’t even know if they’re worth knowing yet,” Noel says. Liam shrugs, like that’s a fair point, and then a squeal of feedback makes all three of them (and the rest of the crowd) jump, causing loud swearing from at least eight people in the vicinity as their drinks slosh over them. 

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters, shaking his hands off. 

“Evening,” the lead singer says, voice deep and rich. “We’re Blur, and this is Popscene.” They immediately launch into something that’s all guitars and overdrive and beat, and Noel’s soon tapping his foot along in interest, spilled beer forgotten, as the singer starts jumping around enthusiastically. They’re not standing anywhere near the stage, and the distance and bright lights combined with the movement are making the singer look more translucent than opaque, which is making Calum’s head hurt. He chooses to focus on the bassist instead, because Noel’s kind of got a point that they should be listening to what else is around, although he’s probably just looking for more people to nick ideas off. 

By the third song, though, Calum realises he’s really stood far too far away to get any benefit from watching the bassist - he can’t even tell whether he’s using a plectrum or not, and his eyes are already starting to hurt from squinting - and lets his gaze wander across the stage. There’s a guitarist wearing glasses, which Calum’s pretty sure Liam’s going to have a comment about that’ll involve the words ‘fucking’ ‘not’ and ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, with maybe ‘cunt’ chucked in for good measure. The drummer’s so far back that all Calum can make out is a shadowy figure behind the kit, and when the singer stands still long enough for Calum to see more than just a hazy figure all he can vaguely make out is what looks like very pretty features and blonde hair. 

It’s the other guitarist, though, that makes Calum stop, his heart stilling in his chest for the briefest of moments. 

He looks so familiar, messy blonde hair sticking up at all sorts of angles that Calum’s only ever seen on one other person, that it makes Calum’s stomach lurch. He’s got his face down, focusing on whatever they’re playing, so Calum can’t really see - not that he’d be able to tell from this distance, anyway - but there’s something that’s so achingly known to Calum that it makes him swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Even the guitarist’s posture is familiar, a little tense, a lot focused, with an edge of something cool and relaxed. 

Calum’s so mesmerised by the guitarist, heart hammering in his chest, that he barely even realises three more songs have come to an end until the band all stop, gather together at the front of the stage and do an awkward half-bow-half-wave to the crowd. There’s a smattering of applause as they straighten up, and the lights are too bright for Calum to see properly, but he sees a flash of a smile that looks so much like one he hasn’t seen in almost four years that it makes something electric shoot through him before he’s even processed it, and then they’re turning around and heading off the stage. 

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. 

It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. 

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. 

 -------

 They stay to watch three more bands, and then Liam’s in a fucking mood and even Noel’s had enough of the music, so they head back to Noel’s flat to drink and get high. Liam and Noel bicker the whole way there, first about whether or not Liam should be paying for all the weed Noel buys that he smokes, then about whether or not Liam had actually slept over last night or whether he’d been at home, then about whether or not the shirt their mam had bought Noel for Christmas had been green or blue. Calum offers his input on all of them, siding with Noel twice and Liam once, but gets snapped at to shut the fuck up by the both of them each time, making him roll his eyes as he kicks stones along the pavement. 

(“Noel’s a fucking cunt,” Liam had said to him once, fuming, after a particularly nasty argument that had ended in every bag of frozen peas being dug out of the freezer. 

“Yeah,” Calum had said. “So are you, though, mate.” 

“Don’t call my brother a cunt,” Liam had said, and Calum had rolled his eyes, picking up the now-defrosted bag of peas on the table and taking them back into the kitchen, where Noel was nursing his own black eye. 

“What the fuck is his problem?” Noel had said furiously. 

“You’re both twats,” Calum had said with a shrug, tossing the peas back in the freezer.

“Hey,” Noel had said sharply. “That’s my fucking brother.” 

Calum’ll never pretend to understand them.) 

They spend the night lying on Noel’s living room floor, pleasantly drunk and so stoned that Liam and Noel forget to argue for about three hours. Calum drifts in and out of sleep, listening to Liam and Noel mumbling to each other and remembering to speak once every twenty minutes or so, until Noel nudges him at what must be about five in the morning. 

“What’d you reckon?” he says, looking thoughtful. 

“About what?” 

“That band, tonight.” They saw five bands, so Calum would be well within his rights to ask which one, but somehow, he knows. 

“Good,” he says. “Interesting. Sounded new, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says, rolling on his side to face Calum. He hums, like he’s thinking Calum’s words over. “Liam reckons they’re not rock ‘n’ roll enough.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Liam reckons the fucking Stones aren’t rock ‘n’ roll enough,” he says, and Noel snorts, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Calum giggles, which makes Noel burst out laughing, and soon they’re cackling on the floor, tears streaming down their faces as they gasp for breath and clutch at their stitches. Liam, who’s been sleeping soundly, looking peaceful and tranquil and not at all like the guy who’d threatened to knock Calum’s teeth out for suggesting City should have played a different formation not six hours ago, stirs and opens his eyes, blinking blearily. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, and then rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Noel glances at Calum, flushed and panting from laughing, eyes bright and gleaming, and that one look is enough to make the both of them collapse in laughter again, cheeks and sides and throats hurting. 

The next morning, when Liam wakes Calum up by nudging him in the ribs and saying get up, lazy bugger, we’re late for work, that’s what Calum remembers from the night before. He remembers laughter, Noel’s living room going blurry around the edges, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, weed and two of his best mates thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t remember the boy on guitar in the Boardwalk.

 ------- 

 The next time fate has her way with Calum is a good year and a half later. 

They’re recording their first album, which Noel seems to think means he’s recording his first album and everyone else is just there to complement his fucking genius. He’s not managed to stop being a cunt for about six months now, and, not one to let Noel beat him in anything, Liam’s getting equally insufferable. The studio is a fucking battleground, and Bonehead always takes Liam’s side and Tony’s just fucking useless, and Calum thinks to himself at least twice a day: is this really worth it? Maybe I should’ve just stuck with construction. 

They’re getting there, though, and when it’s good, it’s fucking good. They can all sense that there’s something there, something new and bold and, as Noel in all his endless humility declares it one night, groundbreaking. They’ve recorded Supersonic, a song that Noel somehow wrote in about half an hour, recorded a video for it on the roof of some warehouse in London, and there’s something about it that none of them can quite put their finger on, something that feels almost overwhelming, feels like it’s bigger than them. They’ve even been on the radio a few times, been playing bigger and bigger venues, got a contract and management and all that nonsense, and for all the flaws that combine to make up the Gallagher brothers, Noel’s got a fucking knack for songwriting and Liam’s voice is unlike anything Calum’s heard before. 

The problem is that lately, it’s been bad more than it’s been good. They’d done sessions at Monnow Valley which had sounded like absolute shit, too clean and thin, and with every day that passed and every track that couldn’t be used Noel got more and more frantic, snapping at everyone who dared speak to him. Liam, never one to resist a fight with his brother, had risen to the challenge, and the fallout had been messier and dirtier and involved more collateral damage than even Calum had expected. It had culminated in a trip to Amsterdam which had ended before it even began after a fight broke out on the ferry. Calum remembers seeing Liam zooming past, a happy grin on his face, heading right for the middle of the action, and then twenty minutes later zooming past again, bruised and bloody, still grinning, being chased by a policeman. It had ended in Liam being deported, handcuffs and all, and a screaming match between the brothers in which both of them quit and were fired by the other at least twenty-three times. 

Since that, though, things have got a little better. They’ve started recording in Sawmills in Cornwall with Noel as a co-producer, and Noel and Liam have started talking again, and everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief when Noel had announced he was going to head to the shops and Liam had wordlessly got up to join him. Slowly but surely, things have started looking up. 

It’s in the middle of one of those sessions that everything changes. 

“Eeyar, Calum,” Noel calls, from the corridor outside. “Your mam’s on the phone.” Calum sighs - fucking hell, what does his mum not understand about we’re recording an album and I’m twenty-two years old, I’ll call you when I fucking call you - but puts his bass aside and gets up grudgingly, trotting outside to see Noel holding out the receiver for him. 

“I want you back in in ten,” he says warningly, like he’s Calum’s dad and they’re eating dinner soon, and Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, which is as good of a yes as Noel’s going to get. Noel sticks his tongue out at him and heads back into the studio, probably to yell at Bonehead from the soundboard for being too loud, or maybe too quiet, or maybe too middling. He’ll find something. 

“What?” Calum says, a little irritably, lifting the receiver to his ear. 

“Hello to you too, Calum,” his mum says smartly. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week.” Calum rests his arm against the wall, and his forehead against his arm, and stares at his shoes. 

“I’m recording an album, mum,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too annoyed. “We’re busy.” She makes a small hmm, a you should have stayed in a real job kind of hmm, but doesn’t push it. 

“Are you eating well?” she asks, a stern undertone to her voice, like she knows Calum’s diet right now is entirely liquid. 

“Yes,” Calum lies. He gets another disapproving hmm for his trouble which sounds like it might be the prelude to a speech about how he should stop wasting his time and come home and do a proper job and eat some vegetables, so he decides to change tack. “How’s home?” 

“Oh, home’s good,” his mum says. “Janet next door’s got a new man, invited us to the wedding next month - can you imagine? A wedding in March? I said to her, I said ‘you’ll be wanting to move it to May’, and she said ‘oh, we want an indoor wedding anyway’.” Calum hums noncommittally, because he has absolutely no idea what that’s supposed to mean. What the fuck’s wrong with an indoor wedding in March? “Anyway, your dad and I have decided to go. Janet extended the invitation to you, too, but I said I didn’t know if you’d be back from your recording session.” 

“I don’t know either,” Calum says. “Noel’s being a right cunt about the whole thing.”  

“Calum,” his mum says reprovingly, like she wasn’t the one he picked the word up from in the first place. “Well, regardless, you’ll be home by April, won’t you? I told your dad you’d help fix the wall in the garden.” Calum groans, because that’s pretty much the last thing on the list of things he wants to do, including having Noel claw his eyeballs out for fucking up the bass on Supersonic again, and his mum tuts. “You’ve got experience in construction, Calum. You should put those skills to good use.” 

“I’ve never fixed a fucking wall, mum,” he says. 

“Well, the wall needs fixing,” she says, like that’s that. The wall needs fixing, so Calum’s got to suddenly develop the skills to do it. 

(For her, though, Calum’ll do it.) 

“What’s wrong with it?” he says, already mentally ringing up the cost of the bricks and mortar he’s going to need. “Looked fine last time I was home.” 

“I think the ivy must have loosened the cement,” his mum says. “I was watching TV the other night - I saw Michael on Top of the Pops, actually - and then-”

“Hang on,” Calum interrupts, because he only knows two Michaels, and one of them’s here in Cornwall with him. “Michael who?” 

“Michael Clifford,” his mum says, like it’s obvious. “Anyway, then I heard a huge crash outside, and I told your dad to go and take a look, and he said the wall had caved in. Just a bit, you know, near the shed, but-” she’s still talking, something about foxes and de-weeding the garden, but Calum’s not listening. 

Michael Clifford, she’d said, like it was simple and obvious. Like it stood to reason that she saw him on Top of the fucking Pops. Like it made sense that Calum’s childhood best friend, his fucking everything from the age of seven to seventeen, was on a British music show. 

“Michael Clifford?” he repeats, in the middle of whatever his mum’s saying. 

“Yes,” she says, sounding a little annoyed that Calum’s not listening to her impassioned speech about ivy. “Anyway, your dad said he’d need some help with it, and that it can wait until you’re back. But I want it done as soon as you are, because I don’t like the idea of Janet being able to see into our garden. Oh, that’s the chicken done. Call me in a few days, let me know how things are. Give the others my best. Love you.” She doesn’t even wait for a response, just hangs up, leaving Calum staring at the floor with a dial tone ringing in his ear and a name bouncing around in his mind. 

It can’t be him. She must have been mistaken. What the fuck would Michael Clifford be doing on Top of the Pops? What the fuck would Michael Clifford even be doing in Britain? The last Calum had heard from him, about a year and a half after he’d left Sydney, Michael had been sure about becoming a policeman. He’d seemed so dead set on it, had signed himself up for the academy and everything. Calum might not have heard from him in almost half a decade, but he’s pretty sure nobody would stray so far from ‘policeman in Sydney’ to end up at ‘musician in Britain’. No, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall with his arm, his mum must have been wrong. She hasn’t seen Michael since they’d moved from Sydney five years ago either, so it’s understandable that she’d mixed him up with someone else. 

But, a little voice says, as he heads back into the studio and is greeted with the sight of Liam sprawled across the sofa, laughing at something Noel’s just said, both of them looking far too high-spirited for Gallaghers, she watched Michael grow up. She knew his face better than you ever did. 

“‘Ere,” Liam says, interrupting the voice in Calum’s mind as it’s about to start reeling off a list of times Calum’s mum had spotted Michael in a crowd or down the road or in a photo before Calum had. “Noel says he’ll sprint around the house naked if Tony doesn’t fuck up his drums on this take. What d’you reckon?” 

“I reckon it’s a good thing Tony can’t fucking play drums then, isn’t it?” Calum says, as Liam drops his feet to the floor to make room for Calum on the sofa. Liam snorts, and Noel scowls, but his eyes are still lit up with amusement. 

“Well, I reckon you’re both cunts,” Noel tells them, and Calum grins, hoping they don’t see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and reaches over for Liam’s beer to try and calm his churning stomach. 

 -------

 Calum can’t sleep that night. 

He’s usually so drunk that Liam’s gentle snoring doesn’t even register to him as he throws himself down on his bed, often fully-dressed, and falls right asleep, only waking up to fumble around for paracetamol in the middle of the night when his throbbing headache overpowers his exhaustion. He’s not used to lying there, stomach still unsettled, mind racing, staring blankly up at the ceiling, growing more and more frustrated by the noise of Liam sleeping. 

Liam rolls over in his sleep, mutters something under his breath, and then his breathing evens out again, and Calum times the minutes passing by the way he breathes in, out, in, out. The moonlight’s getting brighter - or maybe it’s the sun rising, he’s not sure - and eventually, when Liam rolls over again and smacks his lips in his sleep, Calum’s had enough. He gets up, pads out of the room and down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen for a drink. 

He’s surprised, though, when he pushes the door open, to find Noel sat at the breakfast bar, a sheet of paper in front of him, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. He turns around at the noise of the door opening and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a greeting to Calum, who grunts back at him as he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. 

“Can’t sleep?” Noel asks, and Calum raises his eyebrows over the glass of water he’s gulping down. 

“No,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter. “You?” Noel shakes his head. 

“‘S Bonehead’s fucking snoring,” he says, by way of an explanation, but Calum’s known Noel for five years now, and knows him better than that. 

“And that’s why you’re still dressed?” Calum says shrewdly. 

“Fuck off,” Noel mutters, raising a can of beer to his lips so he won’t have to say anything else. Calum sighs and shakes his head, but chooses not to push him on it, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs. 

“You writing?” he asks, and Noel looks down at the sheet of paper under his hand, and shrugs. 

“Trying,” he says. Calum hums, and the two of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a while. 

It helps, Calum finds, to be with Noel. He’s never been a man of many words - neither him nor Liam have ever been particularly gifted in that area - but Calum knows he’s always safe with Noel, thrives in the quiet comfort of Noel’s presence. Noel never asks, never pushes, but he’s always there if Calum ever needs anything, and even though they never speak about it, they both know the same is true vice versa. 

(Calum can count on one hand the number of times he’s needed Noel, and can count on one finger the number of times Noel’s needed him.)

That’s not to say Noel doesn’t have his moments, though. He’s obstinate, brash, loud, arrogant, thinks his opinion is worth at least twelve times as much as anyone else’s, and takes himself far too seriously half the time. Calum’s had some of his most memorable arguments with Noel, edged out only slightly by how spectacular his arguments with Liam have been. Both of those, however, are eclipsed by how fucking nuclear the arguments between Noel and Liam are. The two of them bring out both the worst and the best in each other, grating at each other’s virtues and soothing each other’s flaws. They don’t know how to be happy unless they’re dancing along the line between love and hate, and Calum’s not sure it’d work any other way. He’s seen them in their brief, private moments of peace - Liam’s head on Noel’s chest, Noel’s arm wrapped around him, Liam murmuring something about a song or a memory that makes Noel snort, which in turn makes Liam’s lips curve up in a proud smile - but neither of their ships could sail anywhere without a restless sea to guide them. They need the fighting, need the bickering, even need the punches, to keep the wheels turning. A conversation’s not really begun if Noel and Liam haven’t called each other cunts at least twice, Calum thinks, and if Calum’s not been called upon by both of them to call the other a cunt within ten seconds of the inevitable argument breaking out. 

It had been an argument like that a year or so ago that had led to them traipsing to the Boardwalk to watch that band play. Calum remembers the energy they had, raw and a little off-kilter but something there all the same, remembers the lyrical shouting of the singer and the way he’d bounced all over the stage, but not as much as he remembers the guitarist. 

He’d looked so familiar, blonde hair and posture combining to make Calum’s heart ache like no music had ever quite managed to. It couldn’t have been him, though, he’d told himself. There was absolutely no way that Michael Clifford could have been playing in the fucking Boardwalk. Michael was in Sydney, back home, probably sunning himself on Bondi Beach and laughing at something Ashton was saying as Luke grinned at Ashton with wide blue eyes. Michael wasn’t in Manchester. 

Except, a little voice in his head says, maybe he was. Maybe Calum’s mum hadn’t mistaken some guy in a band on Top of the Pops for Michael. Maybe it was Michael. 

“D’you know that band we saw, a few years ago?” Calum says, out of the blue, before the thought to say the words has even crossed his mind. Noel looks up at him, thick brows furrowed. 

“Seen a lot of fucking bands,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what Calum’s actually asking. Calum half-considers dropping the subject entirely, but Noel’s been in the business far longer than he has, and if anyone’s going to know, it’s him.

“The one in the bar. After the City match.” Noel purses his lips, brows creasing further, before nodding thoughtfully. 

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. They’re famous now, they are.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, and swallows. That’s not what he expected - or, he finds, wanted - to hear. 

“Yeah. Heard their first record. Or maybe it was their second, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that.” 

“What’re they called, again?” Calum asks, hoping the question sounds innocent, but Noel’s eyes narrow a fraction. 

“Blur,” he says. 

“Blur,” Calum repeats, testing the word out, letting it sit on his tongue. 

“Why?” 

“No reason,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not to say something, but then seems to let it go, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking odd one, you are,” he says, which is the nicest thing he’s said to Calum in months. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, with a grin. “Good-looking, too.” 

“Don’t push it,” Noel warns, and Calum laughs, swinging his legs. 

“What’re you writing, then?” he asks. Noel looks back down at the sheet of paper. 

“Don’t know, really,” he says. “Just can’t seem to get it right.” 

“Want me to take a look?” Calum offers. 

“You?” Noel says sceptically. “You barely even play a fucking instrument.” 

“Bass is a fucking instrument, you prick,” Calum says, only half-incensed. 

“You’re up there with the fucking tambourine player,” Noel says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Fuck off,” Calum says, and Noel leans back in the chair, grinning. “You’re the one who bought him that fucking tambourine, anyway.” 

“Little twat might as well do something worthwhile,” Noel says, like Liam’s voice isn’t one of the two indispensable elements they’ve got. 

“At least I can play guitar,” Calum counters. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“Playing?” he says. “Well. If that’s what you want to call it.” Calum scowls and flips him off, and Noel just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute in return.

“Go on, then,” he says, shoving the piece of paper to the edge of the breakfast bar. “Let’s see how much damage can be done to my genius.” Calum rolls his eyes but reaches over to pull the piece of paper towards him. There’s barely anything on there, just two lines: I can’t tell you the way I feel/Because the way I feel is oh so new to me. Fucking hell. 

“I’m off to bed,” Noel says, like he can sense the questions bubbling under the surface of Calum’s frown, and pushes himself back from the breakfast bar. Calum looks up, catches the brief look of don’t you dare fucking ask me what that’s about that flits across Noel’s face, just the most fractional chink in his armour, and nods, hopping off the counter and tucking the sheet of paper into his pocket. He should probably try and get some sleep too, if only because he’s going to have to be in the best frame of mind possible to deal with how insufferable Noel’s going to be tomorrow on three hours’ sleep. 

“I’m going to smother your brother if he’s not stopped snoring,” he tells Noel, following him out of the room. Noel snorts as he starts up the stairs, that strange mixture of derisive and fond that the Gallaghers manage so well. 

“You’ve got more of a fucking chance of him waking up a bird than you do getting him to stop snoring,” he says. Calum sighs, all long-suffering, like this is news to him, even though he’s been sleeping in rooms with Liam since they were seventeen and sixteen respectively.

“Good thing the tambourine player’s expendable, then,” he says, and Noel laughs, soft and quiet in the stillness of the night. 

“You’d be doing the world a fucking favour,” he says, but there’s a strong edge of pride and fondness that Noel only ever gets when talking about Liam, and Liam only ever gets when talking about Noel, and they never get when talking to each other. Calum thinks they’d probably both rather switch to being United fans than ever admit any semblance of love exists between the two of them, but it hums lowly beneath the surface, visible for anyone who bothers to look beyond the black eyes and hurled insults and weeks of refusing to even look at each other. No one can deny that the two of them fucking hate each other half the time, but without the push and pull of their relationship, without the back and forth and the give and take, the band couldn’t work. If the two of them ever lost that, if one of them ever pulled or pushed too hard, that’d be it. It should probably concern Calum more than it does that his entire career is poised on the knife’s edge that is Liam and Noel’s endless tug-of-war, but he's yet to lose the strangely settled feeling in his stomach every time Noel quits or fires Liam that tells him they'll be alright. You'll be alright. There are still better things to come. 

“You’re just saying that because you want to sing,” Calum retorts. 

“Nah,” Noel says with a grin, hand hovering over the door handle of his and Bonehead’s room. “I’m saying it because I want more royalties.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too. 

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he promises. 

 -------

 As Calum had predicted, Noel’s a fucking nightmare the next day. 

He snaps at everyone who dares come within a ten metre radius of him, and, when everyone stops going into the same room Noel’s in, he specifically goes out of his way to find Liam to start an argument that ends in Liam complaining that one of his teeth is loose. 

(“It’s not fucking loose,” Bonehead says, and then decides to leave the room, presumably because he doesn’t want to deal with Liam’s moaning and whining. Calum can’t really blame him, and starts to shift surreptitiously towards the door himself.

“Since when are you a fucking dentist, you cunt?” Liam shouts after him, and Bonehead flips him off as he walks away. “You’re coming with me to the dentist, you are.” He’s rounded on Calum now, blocking the path to the door, and Calum sighs. 

“If we get more beer on the way back,” he bargains, and Liam nods.) 

That’s how Calum’s ended up in some posh dental surgery, spread out across a leather sofa and looking very incongruous in his oversized shirt and baggy jeans amongst the glass and the fancy-looking plants, waiting for Liam to come out of his appointment. It’s taking far longer than he’d expected - he’d thought it’d be a quick your tooth’s not fucking loose, you knob, you’ve definitely had worse, like everyone else had told him, but Liam’s been in there for a good fifteen minutes now, and Calum’s getting bored. 

The receptionist keeps making eyes at him, and Calum can’t tell whether they’re I want to fuck you eyes or whether they’re you look like you’re going to try and rob this dental surgery eyes, so eventually he picks up the nearest magazine off the coffee table and flicks it open to a random page just for something to look at that isn’t her. 

There’s a very pretty guy staring back at him when he looks down, blonde and blue-eyed and grinning inanely at the camera, and the caption reads BLUR: the cocky rebels you’re allowed to love. 

Blur. That’s what Noel had called the band from that bar in Manchester last night. They’re famous now, they are, he’d said.  

Calum barely even notices the way his heart speeds up as his eyes fly across the page, scanning the article for any mention of Michael before he really realises what he’s looking for. The author and the singer - Damon, apparently - keep referring to a Mike, an Australian Mike, which puts Calum right on edge, but Michael had never gone by Mike. He fucking hated it, corrected anyone who called him anything other than Michael, refused to respond to any teachers who tried to call him Mike, threw glowers at any classmates who did the same. He’d barely even let Calum call him Mikey in his most vulnerable moments, rubbing small circles on his back soothingly as he coaxed him to throw up all the cheap booze they’d nicked from the corner shop. 

Calum’s fingers are slick with sweat as he’s turning the page and his eyes are starting to water from how little he’s blinking, and he’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing, whether he wants Mike to be Michael or not. When he reaches the bottom of the second page, however, Calum’s heart stops. 

There’s a picture of the whole band. Damon’s standing second from the left, right arm holding his left bicep, head tilted upwards, looking lazy and effortlessly beautiful, like he fucking knows he’s worth looking at. It reminds Calum of Liam a little bit, the way he plays into the camera, the way he knows that with a small tilt of his chin and a slight lowering of his lashes he’ll have half the fucking nation on their knees for him. Maybe that’s just the way singers need to be, Calum thinks, eyes flitting to the ginger guy to Damon’s left, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then to the guy directly on Damon’s right; tall, broody-looking, dark hair swept across his face. To his right is a shorter dark-haired man, looking tense and on edge, and to his right is-

Michael Clifford. 

There’s no mistaking him. He’s got the same blonde hair still sticking up at all sorts of angles, the same sleepy, sea green eyes, the same pretty lips slightly parted in a pout. He’s holding himself confidently, miles away from the slightly scrawny teenager Calum had left behind, staring into the lens of the camera like it’s a challenge. Come on, Calum. Tell yourself I ever stopped mattering to you, go on. 

Calum doesn’t need to read the caption to know it’s Michael, knows it from the way he’s clutching his right wrist with his left hand, but does it anyway, one final, desperate grasp at a straw - from left to right: David Rowntree, Damon Albarn, Alex James, Graham Coxon, Michael Clifford. 

Michael Clifford. 

The words seem to sort of swim in front of Calum’s eyes, like they’re not really there, like his mind’s superimposed them on the article somehow, but the picture’s still there, clear as day. Michael, a hint of stubble on his jaw, face more angled and figure fuller and shoulders broader and God, he looks so fucking good that Calum’s stomach flips and drops and flips again. 

“-fucking hell, Earth to fucking Cal,” Liam says, sounding sort of muffled, and Calum nearly drops the magazine in shock, yanked back into reality so suddenly and jarringly by the sound of his voice. 

“What?” he says, looking up to see Liam with an irritated expression on his face, cradling one cheek in his hand. 

“Let’s fucking go,” Liam says, already halfway to the door. Calum stares after him for a moment, mind trying to process Liam wants to leave over the tangled jumble of Michael Michael Michael currently winding its way through every cell in his brain, before he jumps up, magazine still in his hand. 

“Sir,” the receptionist calls immediately, like she’s had her eye on him the whole time. “You can’t take the magazine with you.” Calum looks down at the magazine, and Liam turns around from the door, a slight tension in his posture that Calum recognises as the one he gets when he’s spoiling for a fucking fight. Christ, he’s not about to deck the fucking receptionist, is he? 

“Or what?” Liam says, a little menacingly. “You gonna fucking stop him?” 

“I just-” 

“What the fuck do you want with the fucking magazine, eh? Fucking paid enough for the appointment, buy yourself another." 

“C’mon,” Calum mutters, rolling the magazine up and hurrying over to Liam, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Let’s go.” Liam hesitates for a moment, like he’s torn between going to get beer or shouting at a receptionist, but eventually the alcohol seems to win in his mind, because he settles for throwing her one final glare and letting Calum guide him out of the door. 

“What’d they say?” Calum asks as they walk out, his hand still on Liam’s back, because he knows Liam better than to trust he won’t just change his mind on a whim and go storming back in to give the receptionist a piece of his mind for not wanting Calum to take a fucking magazine. 

“Don’t fucking know,” Liam mutters, pushing open the door to outside. Calum shivers a little when the cool late-February air hits him, and decides that Liam’s probably safe now, letting go of him to wrap his arms around himself as they head back to the car that’s been waiting for them. “Sounded like he said something about my flaps.” Calum snorts. 

“Bit forward of him,” he says, and Liam grins. 

“Why’d you take that fucking magazine, then, eh?” he says, rounding the car without looking into the road and flipping off the car that has to screech to a halt to avoid running him over. 

“What?” Calum says, a touch shiftily. “Oh. Saw a good article in it. Wanted to finish reading it.” Liam throws him a look over the top of the car, a look that’s unnervingly shrewd, but then shakes his head and ducks into the car. Calum does the same, taking a moment to tuck the magazine into his pocket and feeling it weigh down one side of him, unbalancing him just slightly. It’s kind of apt, he thinks as he gets into the car. Michael had always made him feel a little unbalanced, too. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” Liam announces, and Calum grins, trying not to think about the way the magazine feels pressed between him and the seat. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” he agrees.

 -------

 Calum doesn’t look at the magazine again until a good week later. 

He’s drunk, and maybe still a little high, which is the driving force behind the whole evening. They all are, because Liam had scored some great coke off some guy called Neville, which Calum had declared to be the funniest dealer name in all of history, leading Bonehead to admit that his weed dealer used to be called Barnaby. Noel had sided with Calum, claiming Neville was far worse than Barnaby, and, predictably, Liam had jumped straight in on Bonehead’s side, and after about two minutes of shouting Tony had mumbled something about not being drunk enough for this and slipped out of the room. 

“Fucking useless,” Liam says derisively, as Tony walks out. “I should fire him.” 

“I fired you two days ago,” Noel says, pointing at Liam with the card he’s using to cut up the coke. “You can’t be firing anyone.” 

“It’s my fucking band,” Liam says, incensed, like it’s not actually Bonehead’s band that Liam had wheedled his way into. 

“Who writes the fucking songs?” Noel counters. “You just play the fucking tambourine and look mardy.” 

“Fucking greatest frontman in the world, I am,” Liam says indignantly. 

“You’re too fucking high to find the front of the stage half the time,” Noel says contemptuously. 

“I know where the front of the fucking stage is,” Liam says, pointing at Noel with one hand and Calum with the other. “‘S between knobheads numbers one and two.” Noel rolls his eyes, too busy cutting lines to flip him off, so Calum does it on both of their behalfs, and Liam grins, swigging from his beer. 

“Save us a fucking line,” Bonehead says to Noel, who’s just bent down to hoover up at least four of the thin white lines on the table. 

“Get your fucking own,” Noel grumbles, like he’s the one who’d scored it, not Liam, but he lets Bonehead push him aside, slumping back against the sofa. 

“Greedy cunt,” Bonehead mutters, and Noel swats him upside the head, handing him the card. 

“We should have a fucking celebration,” Liam declares grandly, gesturing widely with his beer bottle. 

“For what?” Noel says. “Album’s not even fucking finished yet.” 

“Sounds fucking great, though,” Liam says. 

“Well, you’ve clearly not heard it then, have you?” Calum says with a snort, accepting the card Bonehead holds out to him and leaning over towards the coke. There’s not much left, but Liam’ll fucking do one if he doesn’t leave any for him. “Fucking hell, Noel. You a fucking vacuum?” Noel just grins and shrugs at him, cocaine clearly starting to settle into his veins, and Calum rolls his eyes, cutting two thin lines for himself and leaving enough for the same for Liam. 

“It’ll sound great once it’s mixed,” Liam insists, as Calum bends down.  

“That’s what you said last time,” Bonehead points out. 

“No I fucking didn’t,” Liam says, even though he’d literally spent about a week bouncing around saying it’ll sound fucking great when it’s mixed, just you fucking wait. It’ll be fucking biblical. Calum straightens, wincing slightly and pinching the end of his nose, and throws Liam a look. 

“You fucking did,” he says. Liam scowls at him, and motions for the card. “Come over here. No way you’ll reach the coke from over there.” Liam rolls his eyes but complies, heaving himself up and then throwing himself down next to Calum, making a noise of outrage when he sees how little is left for him. 

“What the fuck, Noel?” he demands, and Noel just cackles. Christ, he’s blitzed out of his fucking mind already. 

“We should fucking celebrate,” Noel says, like he hadn’t shot down Liam saying it not two minutes ago. 

“Celebrate what, you prick?” Calum says, wrinkling his nose as the bitter cocaine drips down his throat. Fucking grim. At least his mouth will be too numb to taste it soon. 

“Fucking all of it,” Noel says. “Us. Recording an album. The fact that we’re going to be number fucking one.” Calum snorts, but he’s starting to feel a little giddy, a little warmer, and he leans back with a grin. 

“Number fucking one,” he repeats, and Liam nods solemnly next to him. 

“Fucking right,” he says, like it’s what they’re owed. Calum catches Bonehead���s eye and grins, knows he’s thinking exactly what Calum’s thinking - yeah, us two fucking deserve it for putting up with the both of you. 

“Just wait ‘til we release Supersonic,” Calum says, shuffling up a little to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s arm comes around him, warm and comforting, and he squeezes Calum absent-mindedly as he hums contentedly. Calum lets his eyes flutter shut, euphoric and a little overheated, grinning to himself as he lets himself fantasise. Number fucking one, he thinks to himself. Fucking imagine. 

“Knock those Blur cunts off the top,” Noel says, and Calum’s eyes fly open. 

“What?” he says. 

“Their new song,” Noel says scornfully. “Fucking, what’s it? Girls who like boys who like girls who like boys, something like. Fucking shite.” 

“New song?” Calum echoes, mind trying to work around the cocaine to process what he’s being told. 

“Am I the only one who fucking listens to the radio?” Noel demands. “That’s our fucking competition, that is. We’ve got to knock them off the top spot.” 

“Competition,” Calum says slowly. Competition. Michael Clifford is his competition. 

And, fucking hell. Does Michael even know Calum’s his competition? Does Michael even know Calum’s in Oasis - does Michael even remember Calum? It’s been what, four fucking years now since the letters had petered out, since Calum had got too caught up in his new life of Liam and Noel and drugs and music and Michael had been too busy with his family and friends and the fucking police academy. Michael might not even recognise Calum, might not even remember his name. 

(Something tells him, though, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol, that they could never forget each other. After all, it says, who forgets their first kiss? Who forgets their first fuck? Who, it says, a little too knowingly for Calum’s liking, forgets their first love?) 

Liam seems to have sensed something’s up because he’s frowning, waving a hand in Calum’s face, and Calum blinks, shakes his head abruptly and sits bolt upright. He stopped loving Michael. He fucking did, no matter what the churning in his stomach might be telling him. That’s just the fucking booze.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Liam says, sounding annoyed.

“Don’t feel great,” Calum says, which isn’t entirely untrue. The high’s too high, and the alcohol’s making his stomach clench and contract, and he’s sweating a little too much, and his hands are clammy, and- 

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, a little faintly, and lurches to his feet, crashing into the bathroom next door and only just making it to the toilet bowl before he’s throwing up everything he’d ingested in the previous twenty-four hours. He’s glad he’s still high because it means he can’t quite taste the bile in his throat, can’t entirely feel the way his stomach’s heaving that he distantly registers is going to absolutely fucking kill tomorrow. 

Halfway through his retching someone appears behind him, kneeling down beside him and rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. Calum feels fucking pathetic, slumped over the toilet bowl with tears leaking out of his eyes, someone making quiet, soothing sounds behind him, all because of fucking Michael Clifford. 

(That thought makes him retch once again.)

“Waste of fucking coke, that is,” the person says mildly when he’s finished, leaning up and flushing for him, and it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. No one else would willingly spend their short high in a tiny, cramped bathroom watching Calum throw up. Noel would probably lock him in and turn off the water supply, maybe grab a camcorder for good measure. 

Calum huffs out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like more of a sob as he sits back, wipes his upper lip and forehead and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Liam sits down opposite him, legs pressed against Calum’s because they’re both too fucking big for the bathroom on their own let alone together, and blinks at him. 

“Fuck brought that on?” he says, more curious than anything. Calum’s stomach lurches again, images of Michael smiling at him sleepily on a Saturday morning, of Michael with his head tipped back in detention, laughing at something Calum had said, and the picture of him in the magazine, so much older and yet so fucking familiar, flashing through his mind in rapid succession. 

“Probably just overdid it,” he says weakly. Liam gives him a hard stare. 

“A fucking baby would’ve had a hard time getting high on what you snorted,” he says. 

“Baby wouldn’t’ve drunk five fucking beers beforehand, though,” Calum says, coughing slightly and wincing as he tastes the echo of acid at the back of his throat. 

“Depends whose baby it is,” Liam says. “Pretty sure mine would.” Calum snorts, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he starts to come back to himself a little, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself as he realises how cold he is. Fuck, he’s all clammy. Gross. 

Almost as though he can read Calum’s thoughts, Liam nudges Calum’s knee with his own. 

“You’re fucking rank,” he says. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, not opening his eyes. 

“Take a fucking shower.” Calum pulls a face. He’s not in the fucking mood to shower. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s not like Liam’s never done the same. 

“You’re fucking rank, ” Liam tells him again, like he’d not thrown up in the sink two nights ago and left it there overnight, but he puts his hand on Calum’s shin and pats it, and Calum offers him a weak smile. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says. 

“What, go back in there and listen to our kid break his neck sucking his own cock? Don’t fucking think so,” Liam scoffs. “I’ll be fucking sober in five minutes, anyway, given the amount of coke you pricks left me.” Calum smiles again, a little less wobbly this time. 

“Sober?” he says. “You drank twice as much as me.” 

“Not all of us are fucking Aussies, though, are we?” Liam says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice. “Might as well be a fucking southerner, you.” That makes Calum open his eyes a fraction, enough to glare at Liam. 

“Piss off,” he says. “You and your fucking Irish blood. I’d drink anyone else under the fucking table.” 

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Never met anyone who could outdrink me, let alone an Aussie.”

“You’ve never met any except me, you prick,” Calum says, and Liam grins. 

“Well, most of you fuckers are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and sunny and the birds are fit, aren’t you?” he says. “Only the stupid ones end up here.” Calum scowls, and kicks at Liam’s leg half-heartedly. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “Didn’t choose to move here, did I? Got dragged kicking and screaming.” 

“But you’re still here,” Liam points out, and Calum finds he doesn’t have an answer to that. At least, he thinks, not one he’s willing to give Liam. 

“You must miss it,” Liam says when Calum doesn’t answer, a little surprised, like the thought’s only just crossed his mind after five fucking years of friendship. Which, knowing Liam, is probably the case. 

“Australia?” Liam hums his assent. “Dunno. I guess. I miss Vegemite.” He hesitates, before adding: “Mostly miss my mates, though.” 

“Oh?” Liam says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You still talk to them?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. After all, it had been him that had ignored the last letter Michael had sent him. He’s the one who hadn’t written back. 

“No,” he says. “Phone calls are too expensive, and none of us are fucked writing letters.” 

“Ah, well,” Liam says, stretching out on the tiles and sighing contentedly. “Just you fucking wait ‘til we’re number one. You’ll see them then. We’ll be touring Australia three times a year, and that.” Calum can’t help but snort. 

“Three times a year?” he says. “There’s only five fucking cities worth playing in.” Liam grins. 

“And you’d better have friends in all of them, mate,” he says. “Not bloody paying for hotels if I can help it.” 

“My mates are all in Sydney,” Calum says, and there’s a little tug in his chest as he realises that actually, that might not be true anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to Ashton and Luke, either. If Michael can go from police cadet in Sydney to fucking famous musician in the UK then Ashton and Luke are probably, like, astronauts, or something. Maybe he should check with the ASA. 

“What?” Liam says curiously, clearly seeing the expression on Calum’s face, and Calum hesitates.

He’s not sure whether he should tell Liam. What the fuck would he even say? My ex, sort of, is in the band Noel’s lining up as our competition? You know Blur? Yeah, I fucked one of the guitarists. Liam wouldn’t get it. Great, he’d say, eyes gleaming. Eeyar, you must have some good stories about him. You can embarrass him in the press. Or maybe, get in, mate. Infiltrate them, eh? Fucking good thought. Oi, that Damon’s alright, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll have it on with him. He wouldn’t understand the weight behind it, what Michael meant to Calum. Means to Calum. Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore. 

“I think a mate of mine might have moved over here,” Calum says eventually, when Liam raises an expectant eyebrow. It feels fucking weird calling Michael a mate. The word doesn’t feel quite complete in his mouth, like maybe there should be a soul prefixing it. 

“Oh aye?” Liam says, raising his other eyebrow too, like he knows what Calum might mean by ‘mate’. “Where’s he living?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum admits. Liam hums, like he’s thinking it over. 

“D’you want to know?” he says, in that strangely perceptive way he sometimes does. Calum shrugs, and hopes Liam doesn’t catch the tension in his shoulders. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Dunno. Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t ask him to. Instead, his emotional capacity probably filled for the night, he claps his hand on Calum’s thigh. 

“Want to see if we can get Noel to piss himself?” he says, eyes bright, and Calum can’t help but snort. 

“‘Course I fucking do,” he says, getting to his feet. Liam braces himself on the sink as he pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and grins. 

“Ten quid says he does,” he says, and Calum snorts. Noel had pissed himself once, three years ago, and Liam can’t fucking let go of it. 

“You don’t fucking have ten quid,” he says, following Liam out of the room, still feeling a little light-headed and woozy, but no longer nauseous. 

“Neither do you,” Liam counters, pushing open the door to the living room, and Calum has to concede there.

“How about the loser sucks the other’s dick, then?” he says, grinning, and Liam throws his head back as he laughs. 

“You’re on,” he says over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. 

“Who’s getting who to suck their dick?” Noel demands. 

“You’re helping me get Calum to suck my dick,” Liam tells him, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Noel and resting his head on Noel’s chest. Almost instinctively, Noel’s arm comes around him, holding him close. Calum could almost be fooled into thinking they’re in some sort of a truce, that the booze and cocaine have broken down the barrier of hatred between them and left only the underlying love, until Liam reaches forwards, picks up a bottle of beer and holds it to Noel’s lips with a wicked grin. 

“Drink up.”

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfukimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @makaylaa1113 

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chapter two

[danwhobrowses]

AEW Full Gear 2020: Review

Didn’t watch it live but I still have the time to review the next day, after the problems All Out faced Full Gear was definitely something fans were hoping won’t repeat the same mistakes, so it’s time to see if it delivered Spoilers for Full Gear of course

The Buy-In Most of the Buy-In was just the video packages save for a MJF and Kingston Family promo (though props to Alex for interviewing the Lucha Bros in Spanish, that was a nice touch), which I feel was a bad move. The promos were of course fantastic but my qualm was the video packages: the packages are on the countdown show anyway, there could’ve been 2 matches at least and a few segments that could’ve set up the TV feuds considering that it was over an hour. NWA Women’s Championship: Serena Deeb (c) def Allysin Kay (Submission via Serenity Lock) A solid pre-show match, Deeb and Kay are crisp given their veteran history. Kay worked on her height and strength while Deeb worked on her yoga-based flexibility. There was a lot of good chain wrestling as you’d expect from the NWA alums, a shift to an Octopus Stretch, Deeb working the Leg with a Dragon Screw and Kay still managing to muscle out of Deeb’s offence. After a Kay salvaged herself from what looked a bit like an elevated Styles Clash with a leg on the rope, Deeb forced her to tap with a Serenity Lock on the worked leg. While the match was fine the intrigue came after when Thunder Rosa wearing all the tassels she could to make Shawn Michaels blush came to the ring to challenge Deeb for a rematch. With Rosa gesturing the AEW ring it is clear that the AEW/NWA partnership and Thunder Rosa’s time with the Elite is far from over.

Main Card Of course with JR coming to commentary the main card is scheduled to begin. Unfortunately, I had been spoiled some results in advance (no thanks to Youtube or the 2 hour PC update that allowed the youtubers to reveal this while I was waiting to update) but a handful were in line to how I predicted them, so it didn’t fully harm the outcome. Don Callis though came out as well, they’ve hinted at it with Kenny but to actually see Don on commentary was definitely a surprise. AEW World Title Contendership Tournament Final Kenny Omega def. ‘Hangman’ Adam Page (Pinfall via One Winged Angel) Omega came out first the same way he’s done all the tournament, the cleaner dancers and the very long-winded braggadocios introduction. Pyro but no cosplay, Omega oozed confidence as proven by his plate as the leader in most victories in AEW. Page however paced towards the ring with nervous energy with the hilarious plate of ‘Focused Yeehaw Man’, less show but still drive, which really perfectly divulges the styles of both men as wrestlers. A snubbed handshake by Page did lead to back and forth, chops and counters as both men anticipated the stylist moves of the other. Hangman took over the early offence with strong moves, big boots, fallaway slams and a superplex did hint at some potential for the Hangman to gain the advantage. But then Omega with a moonsault from a railing put Kenny in control, Kotaro Crusher at 2 and a belated You Can’t Escape (he slipped after the first part but landed the sault after a pause) for 2 as well, then into the usual repertoire, the tope con hilo, the Back Head Missile Dropkick. Both men almost set up a One Winged Angel but then a V Trigger shut down a Buckshot but got bombed on the ramp after a series of counters, another pop-up bomb at 2 for Hangman.  Trading blows, a Rolling Elbow was broken even by a V Trigger and then a Tiger Driver at 2 for Kenny. Back and forth as both escaped Suplexes, both hit Rolling Elbows but Hangman then got the clothesline, he lands the deadeye...but does not get the 3. Buckshot reversed to a crucifix but Hangman sits the pin for another 2, Dragon Screw and V-Trigger on the ropes for Kenny gives him the energy to roar back, ducks the vicious swing of the Buckshot and hits 2 V-Triggers, Hangman tries to fight out of the One Winged Angel but the move hits and that’s 3.

Destiny comes true for Omega, he had to fight for it though. Definitely a physical match, the emotional layer didn’t all reflect on the match but Hangman definitely reels in disappointment afterwards, more isolated, more alone, and set to descend to new lows as Omega returns to the main event picture.

Orange Cassidy def. John ‘4′ Silver (Pinfall via Beach Break) Two cult heroes for AEW, Silver on BTE and Cassidy on Dynamite, fighting as a side story to the TNT title picture, JR gets props for calling Silver a “Human Bowling Ball” as both men enter with their respective faction members. Silver continues to play to OC’s jokes as he protests OC’s pockets, before being annoyed by OC’s counter wrestling - especially screaming ‘It doesn’t hurt!’ to OC’s monstrous kicks. Silver literally depockets OC for monster heat - no seriously he rips the pockets out of OC’s jeans! A lot of bravado follows from Silver’s power moves, throws and kicks to keep the heat going. Silver’s power also impressively suplexes out of OC’s swinging DDT attempt but the crowd chants definitely get to Silver as OC counters Silver’s irish whips with some turnbuckle shots, a crossbody and the swinging DDT, Silver though powers back, a one-handed Gorilla press into the ropes, a back head boot as he sets up the Spin Doctor, but then OC gets the headscissors, Michinoku Driver for 2 as the wrestlers at ringside argue the count of 2 or 3 (Heels and Faces kept either side). Silver rolls up OC trying the Orange Punch, counters again but gets hit with the stunner, counters again and lands the Spin Doctor but it’s another 2! Silver motions to homage Mr. Brodie Lee with a discus but it’s dodged into an Orange Punch and Beach Break for 3. Best Friends come to the ring to give the people what they want, the hug with the rainmaker zoom. A nice fun match, it really gave Silver some props to hang with OC as both characters shone through. I was surprised that Dark Order didn’t try to get involved and no post-match stuff.  TNT Championship: Darby Allin def Cody Rhodes (c) (via Pinfall) TITLE CHANGE! Allin rode in with a painted car and a half-painted driver before smashing his skateboard (with ‘The New Face of TNT’ emblazoned on it) into the windscreen. Sporting a veiny style of paint, no words are written on him like previous title matches, it’s all business. Cody (using his surname now) rolls in with his grandiose gates and pyro with Brandi beside him before being flanked by all the remaining members of the Nightmare Family - including Gunn Club and Lee Johnson. He’s also promoting a new shirt. Mike Chioda is announced as the Ref for this, giving a bigger fight feel to this title match.

Cody flaunts his strength advantage early on, knowing full well that Darby has never beaten him, but Darby is defiant to his insulting ‘politeness’ and cockiness - slapping Cody in the back of the head to wake the champion up. Encouraged to ‘muscle around’ Darby by Arn, he almost gets baited into a pin, he leaves the ring but gets suicide dived from his back (after a Ricochet-esque moonsault feint), in retaliation Cody just dumps Darby on back first on the ramp, harming Allin’s left elbow. Cody hones in on that injury with wrist locks and stomps, Darby also selling by being unable to use both his hands to pull the heavier opponent with an irish whip and being unable to lock the arm for a backslide - the latter getting him into another submission. Taunting the injury by exclaiming ‘that arm is trash’, Cody doubles down the arm, using it to ground any of Darby’s counter efforts. But every time Darby refuses, Cody grows more frustrated, an avalanche shoulderbreaker and a cross armbreaker attempt selling that Cody is using things outside of his usual moveset, but the missed moonsault gifts Allin a respite. Yoshi Tonic is Darby’s first signs of a rally but he’s shut down by a superkick, Darby pulls off the middle turnbuckle pad resisting Cody’s Cross Rhodes attempt and Cody is dazed by running into it but a rollup is at 2. Assured that he’s in control by Arn, Cody lands an Avalanche Cross Rhodes but Darby’s arm is under the rope, he counters a backpack sleeper by dropping from the turnbuckle which rolls Darby out the ring - Arn demands Darby stay down but he breaks the count. ‘Stay Down’ barks from Arn and Cody from continual powerslams but Darby refuses, even inviting Cody to continue. Frustrated, Cody brings that small white belt to the ring but is told by Chioda to not use it, dropping it behind him, Darby uses it to sweep Cody into a jacknife pin for 2, counters Disaster Kick with a Last Supper for 2, Flip Stunner and Coffin Drop follow, but also 2! Cody tries a Cross Rhodes but Darby counters with a Sunset Pin, Cody sits on him, 2, Darby rolls him, 2, Cody pulls back, 2, Darby rolls again, 3! Post-match, Cody hands Darby the title on one knee as Allin finally claims his first win over Cody and his main prize. Tazz however walks up to promo against the emotional moment as Cage and Starks blindside both men. However, dissension appear when both Starks and Cage both tussle for holding the TNT title, Tazz grabs it and gestures to Darby, with Cage carrying Darby outside of the ringside, Cody tries to fight back but fails, Darby thrown through a set piece and laid on the car he came in, they attempt to slam the door with Darby’s arm in between but Will Hobbs with a chair chases them down. It was a good title match, good narrative throughout. I think the finish could’ve been a bit more spectacular, Cody does seem to exude a Hogan-esque philosophy to losing at times, this one did feel like he wanted the loss to feel like a fluke. Darby’s win is deserved but the FTW shenanigans did dampen it, I expected Tazz and his crew to show during the match but in post-match it just kinda killed some of the wind in Darby’s sails. Interview Segment The Natural Nightmares - instead of backing up Cody - promo against Butcher, Blade and Bunny, specifically Allie for her using of QT to set up their Dynamite match, Dustin reveals that it’s gonna be a ‘Bunkhouse Match’. Dustin is a great promo but I have no idea what a Bunkhouse Match is, plus this is the segment you would see on the Pre Show. The Dynamite card is also revealed with Penta vs Fénix 2 as previously revealed and new match Conti vs Red Velvet. AEW Women’s Championship: Hikaru Shida (c) def. Nyla Rose w/ Vickie Guerrero (Pinfall via Knee Strike x4) Nyla rolls up with Vickie Bluetista style with a blue and cyan gear which really didn’t suit, Nyla’s gear has always been a mixed Bag The longest running Women’s Champion adds more colour to her Tifa Lockhart gear, her name plate finally on the belt (as detailed on her youtube channel, the name plate is more difficult to put on given its curved shape). Shida and Nyla are ready to go even before the bell as they trade blows, the Champion putting pressure on Rose with knee strikes and dropkicks but noticeably fails on the lift. Shida keeps her advantage of cutting Nyla down and landing the apron knee while Vickie screeches. The chair launch is cut off by a clothesline from Nyla but her attempts to pull a table is refused, giving Shida the chance to land the chair launch and sending her through the rail. Vickie though blindsides Shida’s knee with a kendo stick, giving the Native Beast the advantage she needs. Nyla uses the underneath frame of the ring to wrench Shida’s knee, then the ring post and a chop block to limit Shida’s use of the Tamashii (formerly called the Tamashii no 3 Count). Nyla continues to hone in on the leg, splashes and single leg crabs, even biting the knee to maintain her advantage. Shida rolls out of the senton and muscles a suplex for 2. The Tamashii is blocked by hitting the injured knee but Shida crossbodies, the knee continues to be the focus as Nyla keeps grasping and dropping Shida on it. My favourite Nyla Move, the Beast Knee is smashed into the injured knee for 2 as Nyla uses her weight against Shida’s injury. The champion pump kicks Nyla to the ramp after some turnbuckle shots for a corner dropkick, then a second in the ring at 2. The leg gives out on the Tamashii again so Nyla can powerbomb but foolishly pulls Shida out of the count, adding insult she lands the Tamashii, but only gets 1! A Back body press gives Shida the energy she needs, an Avalanche Falcon Arrow follows but Shida then breaks the pin, she tries the Tamashii but Vickie psyches her out (it was a botch but not a bad one), Vickie tries to kendo Shida while she’s hoisted and Shida just throws Nyla into Vickie. A half-hearted Falcon Arrow hits 2, Tamashii lands but another 2, second Tamashii and 4 Knee Strikes end the match. Being carried out of the ring by Aubrey, Vickie and Nyla are left in the ring as Guerrero screeches venom at Nyla, slapping the former Women’s Champion as she leaves.

In spite of it’s short build it was a good match, the final section was a little sloppy on the vicious vixens’ part but Shida sold her knee wonderfully. Expected Vickie to have more involvement and the post-match seemed to back out on Nyla turning on Vickie but maybe there’s more tale to tell. As a personal preference I hate when wrestlers willingly break their own pin, especially in a title match, it’s just a daft strategy but it was good to see that Shida’s stock has elevated to the point where she didn’t need the DQ stip to win like she did when she won the title, her early dominance would give her extra confidence and extra heat for who I think will be her usurper, Dr. Britt Baker DMD. Next time though, give Shida and her opponent Dynamite feud building. AEW World Tag Team Championship: The Young Bucks def FTR (c) (Pinfall via Superkick, Matt to Cash) TITLE CHANGE! With Matt previously cleared to compete, the Bucks strolled up in Black, Yellow and Purple to their usual money rain, but the pomp and confidence is limited, Matt noticeably slower up the ropes as he nurses his ankle. The champions roll up in White jumpsuits with Tully - who the Bucks protest on since he’s banned from ringside due to his prior attacks, he does leave on his own accord. A nice touch from FTR are the star colours; red, blue, yellow and gold, aka tag champs in Raw, Smackdown, NXT and AEW. Mind games of ‘Greatest Tag Team of All Time’ as well also there to get into the Bucks’ heads. Matt was confident to show that his ankle was fine by going first, Cash going for the injury but being out-wrestled to his frustration. FTR’s quick tag action is halted by the Bucks rushing them to a stalemate in 2s. Nick and Dax trade some chain wrestling with again the Bucks frustrating them, the Bucks almost seem to be playing FTR at their own game plan, until Nick is punched in the face. Both teams take to the ring leading to the Bucks doing a Rana into a ground pound on the champs before sending them out of the ring with their patented tandem offence. Dax busts open his hand hitting the ring post after Matt dodged, reeling from the ankle attack, the Bucks relish the opening to equialize on Dax’s hand for catharsis. A bit of a miscommunicated spot followed where Matt’s moonsault was ‘dodged’ by Dax not paying attention, and his throwing Matt into the ropes looked ugly as fuck as Matt nurses his ankle and Dax tags out for Doc Sampson to dress his hand. When he returns he quickly goes for vengeance on the ankle in mostly a same manner as Nyla did to Shida prior. Cash jumps for Nick to pull him away from the Hot Tag which grants Dax the opening for a Superplex but Cash gets knees from the follow-up splash. The hot tag again thwarted after Cash hit the railing but Dax throws him in ring to tag in, the two men stand between the brothers as Cash flies over the ring post to the floor and Dax is baited into the DDT, Nick storms into the hot tag, wriggling out of FTR’s grapples with kicks and the dual clothesline/bulldog but is eventually caught by FTR who land the Hart Attack. Nick regains advantage with a Cheeky Nandos Kick when FTR were setting up the Powerplex, blind tags Matt who spears the baited Cash and gets a knee in the face, but it’s only 2. Matt’s involvement leads to the knee giving out on a lift, leading to an Electric Chair bulldog combo from FTR, they go for Goodnight Express but Matt superkicks Cash, then Dax, Cash rolls out of ring leaving Dax alone to the Bucks, 3-D! Twist of Fate! Swanton! 2! Lovely homage to the tag team greats. Superkick Party is called, but Cash sweeps Matt’s ankle and Nick gets a rebound powerbomb, but Matt is legal and get 2 on a sneaky pin. Dax gets overzealous with the Dusty Punches and uses his injured hand, but Matt also gets overzealous and uses his bad ankle, both men use their injured limbs for a punch/superkick trade-off, but Dax beheads Matt with a lariat. Homaging DIY they meet in the middle but only get 2, they try the Spike Piledriver but Nick throws Cash off, a tandem move and a swanton onto the ramp leaves Matt room to use a Sharpshooter on Dax, Dax gets to the rope but Nick superkicks the injured hand before Sharpshooter on Cash, FTR clutch each other’s hands but get pulled away but Matt’s ankle gives out to continue the hold. Matt pulls a finger break on Dax’s injured hand (an awkward spot given the scrutiny Marty Scurll is under right now with the SpeakingOut movement) leading to the BTE Trigger, but Cash cannons himself to break the pin. Matt brings out the chair but it’s not legal, Dax goads Matt to hit him but Nick tells him not to, Matt relents and sets up the Meltzer Driver but Cash grabs Nick for a Powerbomb through a ringside table, a very well done twist by Dax leads to the Spike Piledriver but the leg Cash hooks drops onto the rope. Furious, Cash takes Matt’s shoe off, leglock and stomp leads to an inverted Figure Four and ankle lock, but Nick is rising and Cash sees it! He tries the suicide dive but Nick ducks it, breaks the submission with a 450 but Matt only gets 2. Cash superkicks Nick out of the ring, gesturing Two Sweets to Matt before another superkick, but Cash keeps looking at the top rope, he misses the 450 and Matt hits the unbooted Superkick for 3. Kenny came to congratulate the Bucks afterwards as Hangman hovered by the tunnel - wanting to congratulate his friends but still feeling isolated. This is one where I would’ve benefitted not being spoiled, but thumbnails are a bitch. With the narrative that Bucks needed to win to keep on competing and were already at a disadvantage definitely sold the stage to be for Matt to shine. Personally I thought time would run out and there would be some semantic fenagling but it was clean as a whistle. A great match as well, definitely delivered on its build, FTR definitely lacked the presence of Tully to keep their heads in the game in a narrative sense, it’s a shame their tag reign was short but the story has always led to this moment, there was no way Cody AND the Bucks would not be able to challenge for their main titles. I would have one criticism though, the early stages of the match did feel like it was just 1v1s, the tag match needed more tag team offence. Elite Deletion: Matt Hardy def Sammy Guevara (DELETION via Pinfall) The cameras shift to North Carolina where Sammy rides ominously on a golf cart to the Hardy Compound, but Matt also seems to be sorting out business on the phone saying that Sammy’s on his way - fearing that he may need backup if the numbers go against him. Neo 1 confronts Sammy, providing a hologram of Matt welcoming him to the compound and disabling the golf cart. Having crushed a toy monster truck on the way in, Sammy’s face drops at the revving of a full sized monster truck next to him helmed by BROKEN Matt, who flattens the cart before exclaiming that the act was ‘orgasmic’ and ‘now that was a squash job’. Setting the zany tone, Sammy goes all around the truck and hits Matt with a trash can to begin the match. Moonsault off the Truck’s tire as he hammers Matt across the woods. Commentary kinda took you out of it as they tried to fill the silence with their ‘state the obvious’ as the fight sprawled to the front lawn. Sammy doing some great taunts such as saying ‘it’s my house now, daddy’s home!’ and trying to drown Matt in the fountain but Matt grabs the ‘Scepter of Mephistopheles’ to hit Sammy with, missing only the headshot as they go to a backyard ring. As Matt reminds Sammy that he asked for this, Sammy takes advantage with the ring work until a Side Effect is hit and a powerbomb through the table. The pin however is broken by Santana and Ortiz, who double on Matt. Through a walkie talkie though Private Party are called for support to negate the former LAX - though Matt gets hit by a Street Sweeper and a Twist of Fate in the meantime. ‘Roman Candles’ are next on Matt’s mind as he and Sammy both grab a few to fire at each other while PP and Santana & Ortiz tussle in the ring, PP using some of the patented offence of  the Hardy Boyz. The latest ‘Sammy Run Away’ meme appears as Sammy is chased by fireworks before slipping in some mud, flattened by a Twist of Fate. As Matt prepares to throw Sammy into the Lake of Reincarnation, a Gangrel (yes, Gangrel! From the Brood) threatens The Hurricane (yes, Shane Helms, the Hurricane) as a hostage, claiming that Matt never gave him any loyalty while in the Brood, PP arrive to help free the superhero, who asked why it took 2 years - leading to Hardy to funnily quip ‘I’m sorry, long-term storytelling, I had to go to AEW just to finish this’ leading to Hurricane’s famous catchphrase. Hurricane almost gets Sammy with a chokeslam but he throws him in the lake, saying ‘What’s a Hero to a God? A Spanish God’ before trying to throw Matt in. Shane Helms the reporter then comes in, asking if the feud is cursed, but he gets thrown in too (this one seen as he flails around the shallows). Hurricane reemerges to help PP fight Santana, Ortiz and Gangrel but Santana saves Sammy by hitting Hardy with a pipe as the two wander into the darkness of the woods, the heel allies in control as they follow.  Sammy stalks Hardy with a hammer with his friends also in view, but Hardy calls for Skarsgard, Sammy quickly rolling out of the way from the dilapidated boat’s all-or-nothing dive, Neo 1 is also in sight though, and Hardy commands him to lock Hardy and Sammy inside the ‘dome of deletion’, locking Sammy’s allies out. A ring, tables, ladders, chairs, mowers of lawns, wheels of chairs, a pram, a casket, the dome has it all, but Sammy instead unhooks the ropes to hit Hardy with the Turnbuckle bars, choking him with the middle rope. Sammy lays Matt on a Table near a ladder as high as the roof, landing the swanton but only gets 2. Hardy gets a Twist of Fate which seems to hurt his neck, Hardy then spears him into tables outside the ring, where we see Sammy with a small blood pool behind his head (a worked one, the camera angle on the dive ensured you didn’t see the concrete so it was definitely safe) Sammy struggles to stand as Hardy sets up a chair, hitting him on the head with the edge like his legit injury, telling Sammy ‘You made me what I am’ he cracks Sammy with a Con-Chair-To for the pin. After the match, Matt calls Private Party in to ‘take out the trash’, putting Sammy in a wheelie bin, a cut to the outside allows Sammy to be swapped out for kayfabe, as the bin’s loaded into the back of Senor Benjamin’s truck (Benjamin getting a huge pop) as Reby ends the match playing the piano to some highlights.Matt, PP, Skarsgard, Reby and Hurricane then celebrate to fireworks. As cinematic matches go it was good for ending the feud and continuing the Hardy Compound narrative, commentary did sometimes take you out of it and there were less supernatural stuff going on in this one, it was more found footage than the usual cinematic Deletion matches, but lots of quips, lots of fourth wall winks and both men did really well, can’t complain. Intermission Promo After the deletion match, commentary is told about Lance Archer being on a rampage backstage, which leads to a promo by Jake and Lance as he is wasting some jobber against the wall. Jake notes how they are tired of training and that they’re demanding that someone stand up to Archer, Archer waxes lyrical about his intent to break everyone in AEW because Everybody Dies. Archer’s promo game continues to be on the up, which will make you wonder about how long can the Snake coil around him? Right to Join Inner Circle: MJF def. Chris Jericho (Pinfall via Roll-Up) MJF claimed that he would do ANYTHING to beat Jericho, he began with the mind games by doing the Y2J pose in a fairy light robe, getting the fake pop from the fans who were expecting the Demo God. Jericho does get the pop by cutting MJF’s music short in a skull-themed spiked jacket as Diamante wins the ‘Incoherent Judasing’ moment of the night using Ivelisse’s hand as a mic. The chorus of Judas echoing as the limited crowd echo the arena to Jericho’s subdued delight. Sparing a thought for Aubrey though, who has to call this match despite both of them hating her XD MJF tries to start by feeding from the crowd, but the crowd only boo him and cheer Jericho, he gestures to a handshake amidst ‘You Suck’ chants but Jericho slaps him instead. Jericho held an early advantage but MJF got some advantage with a few clotheslines, but his adversity to the crowd once again gives away the advantage. Jericho pulls his camera middle finger spot after powerslamming him on the outside (shout out to KiLynn King as well for all her crowd enthusiasm). Dodging a Judas Effect leads to an injured arm to Jericho after his elbow hit the very busy today ring post, which he focuses on since it’s key for his Salt of the Earth, biting (which has also had a busy night) also ensues between both men but MJF capitalises on his counters and submissions. The heel nature comes out in Jericho with an eye poke, shoulder barges and a lionsault fire up the crowd and a Frankensteiner turning back the clock. MJF though returns to the arm with that double stomp while Jericho’s holding the rope, shoving the veteran as he spouts insults at him, a back and forth leads to MJF locking in the Salt of the Earth on the injured arm but Jericho shifts him into the Walls of Jericho as MJF chews the crawl to the rope. Aubrey’s enmity of both men comes into play when MJF uses her to shield him from Jericho’s kicks, a failed Heatseeker leads to a mid-rope Codebreaker instead from MJF, followed by a successful Heatseeker for 2. He tries the Lionsault but lands on his feet, and instead gets hit with Jericho’s Codebreaker for 2 as well. An Inside Cradle for 2 leads to Jericho trying the Judas Effect, but MJF catches it and cinches in the Salt of the Earth, but Jericho makes it to the ropes. Wardlow was noticeable absent from ringside at the start, having left after MJF’s entrance, but he was called to the ring by MJF to give him the Diamond Ring, his presence distracting Aubrey, MJF misses though and Jake Hager (who was also noticeably absent from the Elite Deletion) reveals himself on the other side throwing the Painmaker Bat to Jericho, Jericho winds up but MJF gives him the finger and drops Eddie Guerrero style. Aubrey turns to see the supposed outcome leading to Jericho turning his back, roll-up by MJF with a handful of tights gives him the win and membership.

Post-Match, Jericho cuts the music as MJF offers a handshake again, Jericho though this time takes it, hugs him and welcomes him and Wardlow to the Inner Circle. Wardlow holds the ropes for MJF, MJF holds the ropes for Jericho but nobody holds the ropes for Hager - who continues to stare off with Hager.

As a wrestling match it was good, for the situation I felt it was a little underwhelming. MJF said he’d do anything but we didn’t see anything outside of his usual tricks. Narratively it works to see MJF and Jericho stick together and we can only wait and see what stories will come out of it. AEW Revolution promo & Best Friends Interview The first PPV of next year is hyped for a February 27th showing. Dasha interviews Orange Cassidy asking his thoughts on his win, OC replies that he ‘has no thoughts’. Miro, Kip and Penelope however roll up as Kip demands an apology from OC for almost putting Penelope in harm’s way during a prior Dynamite. OC does apologise but Kip slaps him, saying that it wasn’t good enough, OC stops the Best Friends about to jump Miro and Kip and says ‘cool’ before walking away.

AEW World Championship ‘I Quit’ Match: Jon Moxley (c) def. Eddie Kingston (Kingston quits via Barbed Wire Bulldog Choke) Kingston rolled up in a shirt saying something that cameras failed to highlight despite his gesturing, (commentary later reveal that it was in homage to the late Tracey Smothers who recently passed away) his eyes like vengeance. Moxley struts in a Goldberg-esque entrance without the security, once again coming from the side of the stadium - this time no dumbass fan trying to charge him. Kingston stares daggers and shouts bloody murder at him during his entrance as Mox tries to get in his groove. Bryce Remsburg is also reffing this match, adding the personal level since Eddie revealed after his last Moxley match that the three go back.

Moxley got the first part of the venom, hammering punches until Kingston got to his knees, chops were traded as Moxley tried a takedown, only to get his ear bitten (biting man...) by Kingston. Slap trades follow as Kingston works on throws and cutting Moxley at the legs, Moxley hitting a tope when Kingston went to get a chair. Moxley then twists Kingston’s fingers key to his finisher, a suplex on concrete leads to the first ask but Kingston refuses, a Crossface/Bulldog Choke is countered by Kingston biting the arm. Throwing 2 chairs into the ring, a busted Moxley retaliates with the Barbed Wire Bat before kicking down the chair setup. Eddie also is busted in the mouth, then the forehead when the bat is pressed against his head - Moxley claiming that he ‘don’t wanna do this’. Kingston disarms Moxley with some Backdrops and throws a chair at Moxley, Moxley then gouges both eyes of Kingston but the Mad King throttles him. A small botch at Kingston was meant to drop Mox on the bat was rectified with more chair shots, Kingston hurts himself by wrapping barbed wire over his hand to pound into Moxley as he laughs maniacally, Uranken and a Kimura follows so Moxley has to break the hold the best way to hurt someone at Full Gear - Bite Him! Kingston restores the chair layout he had before, setting up for a suplex, Mox swaps though and lands Kingston on the flat of one chair. Kingston clotheslines Moxley to get time to get a black bag, which JR quips ‘well, it’s not a bag of chocolate’ - I mean you don’t know that JR! But alas, it wasn’t, it was your traditional thumbtacks, those silver hershey’s kisses (so hey it is a bag of chocolate), after trading suplexes Moxley snaps a vicious clothesline all away from the tacks, Moxley tries a Paradigm Shift on the tacks but Kingston does a twisting Urinage, planting him back first into the tacks - half on the elbow, half on the back. Kingston returns to the Rubbing Alcohol from Doc Sampson’s desk after learning that Moxley didn’t quit, low blows hurt Moxley but the champion only gives him the finger, Eddie then uses the alcohol on the punctured back (which I said at the same time as commentary). Kingston again hurts himself punching Mox with a handful of tacks, he goes for the barbed wire a second time but again changes his mind, going for the Bulldog Choke, Mox refuses still, with thumbtacks still in his head as Kingston lays in on the head shots, he dodges a knee and hooks in the Rear Naked Choke, turns him into the Suzuki Piledriver and then the Bulldog Choke, knowing that Kingston needs to be conscious Moxley changes to a Paridigm Shift, locating the Barbed Wire as he tells Kingston there’s ‘No Other Way Out’, asking him not to make him do this as he wraps his hand around the wire, Kingston only gives him the finger. Moxley considers turning away, but then launches into the barbed-wire enforced Bulldog Choke, Remsburg pleading with Eddie to quit as a vacant expression covers Moxley’s face, telling Kingston that ‘it’s done’, Eddie finally quits and Mox immediately lets go, a somber look on his face as his friend lays fallen.

Post-Match, Moxley tells the camera that ‘that’s what makes a champion: heart, blood and soul - Blood and Guts!’, whether that alludes to the special we were meant to have pre-COVID is yet to be seen. He then pulls Kingston up but Kingston sways away, leaving the ring on his own. Omega then comes out to the ramp to remind Moxley of his presence and their championship match in the due future.

A hard-hitting match, you knew that Kingston and Moxley would deliver on the hardcore level and a little on the emotive level. Sadly this match did suffer from WWE giving fans an inch-perfect I Quit Match in Hell in a Cell, so the bar was very high and it unfortunately could not reach that level. Again I’m surprised that factions didn’t get involved, Kingston’s family didn’t even go with Eddie to the ring, a surprise PAC appearance was hoped but we can’t be too torn up about that. Overall it was still a good title match, albeit an inevitable outcome given that Moxley and Omega have more history.

Conclusion Though there were a few small mistakes, there was not a weak spot in this PPV. On the other hand there wasn’t a match that blew me away, it was overall a well-done PPV: worth the money but there could’ve been more. There was meant to be a tease of a debut as well but I guess that was just rumor rather than an actual promise by the company. I will critique the Team Tazz stuff again because it really puts down Darby’s championship win, some matches could’ve ended more emphatically and the Buy-In needed more matches. Also just a personal thing but they overdid the biting spots, spots like those have a 2 match threshold at best on a card. But narratively we got a lot going on, a lot of consequences for the matches on the card including the Buy In and the Bucks did make good on their FTR promise by being Match of the Night. Elite Deletion and Silver/OC was a bit of light fun, the Women’s Match was strong, the opener hard hitting and we begin our build to Revolution.

[wrestlingisfake]

Full Gear preview

Jon Moxley vs. Eddie Kingston - Moxley is defending the AEW men’s world championship.  (He’s also the IWGP United States champion, but that title is not at stake.)  This is an “I quit” match, so the only rule in effect is that the match cannot end until one participant verbally concedes the match; the other participant thereby wins and will be the champion.

Kingston is an unlikely headliner for such a stacked show.  Despite a long and storied career, he’s mainly known for his work on the indies, and his reputation among wrestlers who hold his work in high regard.  It took him until 2020 to get to this level (when he was on the verge of retiring), and even now that he’s in the majors he’s not a top contender.  Lance Archer “eliminated” him to win a September 5 battle royale for a title shot, but the elimination was a blown call.  Kingston bellyached about the finish until he was granted a title match of his own, which Moxley won by ref stoppage.  Kingston continued to make excuses, and had his “family” beat down Moxley.  At this point, Mox is so pissed at his former friend that he’d probably demand this second title match even if Kingston hadn’t issued the challenge.

A big part of this match is that wrestling fandom has woken up about how great Eddie always was, and there’s a lot of excitement about him possibly disrupting the AEW topcard to score a rich reward for 18 years of hard work.  But to me the real selling point here is that it’s an “I quit” match where I genuinely believe both guys would rather die than say the words.  When WWE does these matches, they usually have a heel give in to cowardice, or a babyface surrender to save a friend in distress, or some screwjob with a tape recorder.  I don’t think any of that stuff is going to happen here.  These guys are going to endure some sick shit just for the sake of pride.

I think Moxley has to win and retain the championship, which means he has to make Kingston verbally quit.  I don’t know what the fuck Mox can do to achieve that condition, but it should be fun/gross finding out.

Kenny Omega vs. Hangman Page - This is the final match in an eight-man elimination tournament to determine the next challenger for the AEW men’s world title.  Page defeated Colt Cabana and Wardlow to get here, while Omega defeated Sonny Kiss and Penta El 0M.

I was gonna run down the whole Hangman Page saga, from the day he lost to Chris Jericho to the day Omega walked out on him.  But then AEW did that “Don’t Know What You Got (Till It’s Gone)” video, so now any summary I can provide seems superfluous.  The point here is that Page fell into depression and let his friends down, so Omega broke up their tag team to return to singles competition, and now they’ve managed to cross paths once again.  Is Omega slowly turning heel?  Will he complete that apparent heel turn by mercilessly destroying Page?  Or can they work out their problems in the ring and shake hands when it’s over?  We’ll soon find out.

The smart money is on tonight’s show setting up Jon Moxley vs. Kenny Omega.  However, I don’t think AEW needs to get to that destination right away, so we could potentially see a Page win here to keep the story going.  Expectations are high for this match being very, very good.  Will the story be enough to put it over the top?  I’ve got a good feeling that it will, and that the icing on the cake will be an upset by Page.

Cash Wheeler & Dax Harwood vs. Matt Jackson & Nick Jackson - Wheeler and Cash are FTR, the AEW tag team champions.  Matt and Nick are the Young Bucks, and they earned this title shot by winning a four-way match on October 21.  Matt Jackson has vowed that if the Bucks cannot win this match, they will never again challenge for this championship.

This match has been in the making for years, going back to when Wheeler and Harwood (as Dash Wilder and Scott Dawson, the Revival) emerged as rivals for the Bucks’ status as the top tag team in pro wrestling.  “Fuck The Revival” became a running joke on the Bucks’ Youtube show, right up until Wheeler and Harwood got their releases from WWE in order to come here.  FTR stands for the kind of old-school wrestling that the Bucks thumb their noses at, and FTR’s gimmick is that they bitch just like the kind of old-school wrestling fans who thumb their noses at the Bucks.

The Bucks have been trying to win the tag title since it was first introduced, but they’ve always managed to come up short.  After FTR manipulated Hangman Page into screwing them out of a potential title shot (clearing the way for FTR to win the gold), the Bucks snapped and started trying to regain their edge.  This hasn’t really made a lot of sense, though, because instead of getting more ruthless and intense against their opponents in the ring, they’ve just been behaving like dicks to non-wrestlers backstage.  If their bad attitude had directly led to them getting this match, I think the story might have landed better; as it is, they were selected literally at random to enter the 10/21 four-way, so it didn’t really make any difference.

The stipulation has people buzzing because a) Cody Rhodes had a similar stip a year ago, so we know it’s not a joke, and b) Matt Jackson is working through a knee injury, so it may not make sense for him to win a championship right this minute.  I suppose it’s possible that Matt knows his in-ring days are numbered and this stip is the beginning of the end of his career.  But I think it’s more likely that they just want to set up a scenario where we know the Bucks are behind the 8-ball, to build to more drama when they finally win the belts.  The knock against a Bucks title win is that it’s too soon for FTR to drop the title, but then again I think it would work for the two teams to trade the championship back and forth for a few months.  I’m going with new champs here.

Hikaru Shida vs. Nyla Rose - Shida is defending the AEW women’s world championship, after somebody finally remembered Rose exists.  I’m fine with some major title matches in AEW being thrown together without an epic drama behind them.  But in this case it’s just annoying because everything in the women’s division feels thrown together without much consideration.  I’m guessing Shida retains to keep everything on the same treadmill it’s been on.

Chris Jericho vs. MJF - This is a rare heel vs. heel battle.  If MJF wins, he will be permitted to join Jericho’s stable, the Inner Circle. I was curious what MJF’s next move would be after losing to Jon Moxley on September 5, and this is it.  He’s been angling to get into the group through a series of goofy skits, and he’s assured Jericho that he will do anything to win this match.

The main intrigue here is that the Inner Circle seems divided on whether they even want MJF to join.  Sammy Guevara and Ortiz are so down on MJF that they tried to take him out so he couldn’t get to this match.  Jake Hager and Santana are apparently cool with him, or at least uncommitted.  Jericho acts like he sees MJF as a kindred spirit, but he’s too wily to trust the guy, so his real intentions here are unclear.

The easy way to book this is for MJF to do “anything” by way of convincing some (or all) of Jericho’s lackeys to help him win the match and kick Jericho out of the group.  I think the only fans who aren’t expecting that are the ones who think it’s too obvious.  Of course, any such breakup doesn’t have to be on this show, so everything could be civil here and then the big angle happens in six weeks, or six months.  One way or another, though, we’re going to see how far MJF is willing to go to win, and we’ll be starting the next chapter of the story.  And I really think that chapter has to begin with an MJF victory.

Cody Rhodes vs. Darby Allin - Cody is defending the AEW TNT championship.  This will be their fourth match; Cody currently leads the series 2-0-1.  It feels like they’ve been building up to Darby getting a big win over Cody, and I don’t see the point of going back to this match now unless that win’s finally going to happen.  If Cody retains I think it’ll leave a sour taste in everyone’s mouth, regardless of whether it sets up a Darby win down the road.  So I sure hope Allin wins, because I can’t imagine what else will work in this context.

Matt Hardy vs. Sammy Guevara - This is being billed as “The Elite Deletion,” and I’ve heard it was pre-taped, so I’m guessing it will be a mini-movie kind of match like Undertaker vs. AJ Styles.  Matt Hardy fans will of course recall that he was doing that kind of nonsense before it was cool, going all the way back to 2016′s Final Deletion in TNA and 2018′s Ultimate Deletion in WWE.  (How many deletions can one guy have?)

Everybody knows Hardy and Guevara have had a string of bad luck in their feud, with blowoff matches getting cut short or botched spots leaving Matt injured.  They were supposed to settle things once and for all on September 5, but that turned into a trainwreck so I guess they decided to call a mulligan on that.  The best thing you can say about this match is that, because it’s pre-taped, you can be assured that if anyone got severely hurt it would already be in the news, which makes it easier to watch.

I can’t remember Matt ever losing a mini-movie match, and I don’t think he’ll lose this one either.  Even if I’m not sure how one wins an elite deletion.

Orange Cassidy vs. John Silver - After going 2-1 with Chris Jericho, Cassidy made three unsuccessful attempts to win the TNT title, so he really needs to regain some momentum with a win.  Silver is a prelim guy, so he should be perfect to put Orange over...except there’s a lot of buzz around Silver lately, which is probably what got him booked for this show.  I don’t think Silver can win here, but watch for them to do some stuff to let him look good on his way to doing the job.

Serena Deeb vs. Allysin Kay -  This has been announced for the pre-show.  Deeb is defending the NWA women’s world title, as part of an ongoing collaboration between the NWA and AEW.  What makes this unusual is that Deeb recently signed with AEW, and Kay recently announced her NWA contract has expired, so no matter who wins the belt will be in the hands of an outsider.  I expect this is something of an AEW tryout match for Kay, and if so I doubt she would win here, but I’m rooting for her to do well because the women’s division can use all the help it can get.  I think Deeb retains, although I have no idea what that means for the future of the NWA women’s division.

[bothsandneithers]

Day 3327

I need to hurry up and write this, because I am forgetting how miserable I was. This is not part of an effort to ensure that I don't repeat this process over again (perhaps as some may be tempted to do after childbirth). Instead, this exercise is consistent with my tendency to ask my friends to describe the most uncomfortable and unfortunate parts of their vacations. Who wants to hear a story that could more succinctly be conveyed within the narrow pages of a travel brochure? To adapt this question to the present situation: Who wants to hear a series of events that could be more adequately summarized by a few pages in a student handbook?

I’m sure that someone could have a field day by drawing parallels between giving birth to a child and writing a dissertation. While this is not my story to tell, I have described my experience by drawing upon the image of a mother who harnesses supernatural strength to lift a car off of her child. The listener is then immediately confused, and I then have to clarify that, in this metaphor, I am both the mother and the child, and that the dangerous, debilitating, threat of the car, is my dissertation.

It may be more effective if I am more direct: I want everyone to know that I (as the small child) was quite miserable, and I (as the mother) accomplished something that I thought was more than I could handle.

I imagine that if a car did end up on a small child, then the entire situation would invoke so much stress on the mother that she may not ever be able to recount exactly what happened during those subsequent moments. In a different way, of course, and for reasons I am still trying to understand, I too remember very little from the summer and early fall leading up to my defense.

In the place of memories, I find myself relying on artifacts to represent months and events that I cannot recall. One such set of artifacts are the six or so issues of The Atlantic magazine that have been set aside into a small pile; each one received a small verbal promise that I would open the pages after my defense. Now, as I review the covers, I imagine that they may never be read. Below are some of the stress-inducing cover stories of these abandoned issues:

How to destroy a government: The president is winning his war on American institutions.

How QAnon is warping reality and discrediting science.

The election that could break American.

How did it come to this? Why the virus won.

In the early days of lockdown, when the virus was beginning to take hold of its victory, I read this explanation for why most of us are not thriving right now: In order to flourish, one must be able to play several different human roles over the course of the day -- something that is arguably impossible when we rarely leave our dwellings.1

After reading this explanation, I starting clinging to the argument that the overwhelming reason why completing my dissertation had become so difficult was because of an absence of variability in my human roles. Even though none of my other typically played human roles were terribly interesting (commuter, friend, peer, coffee shop customer, gym patron), each one offered me respite from the singular human role that I was stuck with: The neurotic graduate student.

The neurotic graduate student human role was difficult to be around, because she was always worried about so many things: that her arguments weren't good enough, that there were errors in her code, that she should be able to understand certain concepts that were still evading her, that more time-intensive analyses were still required, and that overturning new stones would reveal that previous analyses or assumptions were wrong or incomplete. More simply, the neurotic graduate student human role was always worried that she was not good enough.

This persona can be debilitating, and I found that the act of writing a dissertation included a lot of time not actually writing, but rather, a substantial amount of time was devoted to sitting in paralyzing anxiety, not able to do anything.

Even though many of the weeks leading up to my due date were a blur, I do recall choosing this time to watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Perhaps I did this because misery loves company. I decided to view this odd movie choice in a particular odd format, whereby I watched the movie in 15 minute intervals, across several nights, as if savoring a segmented Toblerone.

I watched the first few segments in stoic sympathy with the characters, but I eventually found myself amused when Jack Nicholson realizes that almost all the residents are “voluntary”:

You can go home any time you want? You're bullshittin' me. He's bullshittin' me right? Cheswick, you're voluntary? Scanlon? Billy, for chrissakes you must be committed, right? I mean, you're just a young kid, what're you doin' here? … I mean, you guys do nothing but complain about how you can't stand it in this place here and then you haven't got the guts just to walk out?

I remember smiling for a few moments at this scene; it was a gentle reminder that I invited this stress into my life, and that I could, indeed, bring it all to an end if I really wanted to. The smile was fleeting, and felt similar to when you are crying, and your friend says something that is true and funny to try and make you feel better, and you laugh and it feels really good but it also reminds you of how bad you feel, and how far away you are from feeling like yourself.

Yet again, someone else might have a field day drawing parallels between today’s academic environment and a fictional mental institution from the 1970s. I can't do this, in part because, aside from that one scene, I don’t actually remember what happens in the movie.

I did, however, voluntarily lock myself in a hotel room to write, because the suffocating familiarity of my home was preventing me from generating any new sentences. A sticker had been placed between the room's door and its frame, denoting that the room had been thoroughly cleaned. Surely this was only intended to be a symbolic seal to provide some peace of mind that it was safe and acceptable to be outside of one's house.

Once inside the room (that seemed no cleaner than in the absence of a pandemic), I did not immediately initalize my plan to write incessantly. Instead, I desultorily found myself on a support group on reddit that was dedicated to "PhD stress." Feeling compelled to write anything that was not my dissertation, I made a post targeted at those who were also writing their dissertations during a pandemic:

What you are doing right now is really, really hard.

Under "normal" conditions, you would be facing a sheer amount of uncertainty with your work (e.g., not knowing how analyses will turn out, not knowing what your advisor will think of your progress, etc). Under these new conditions, you are dealing with the uncertainty of the state of the world (pandemic), the government (upcoming election -- if in the US), as well as your dissertation! These are absurd conditions, whereby any one of these things would undoubtedly have negative impacts on your well being.

For many, you went from having an entire support group of peers, to sitting in your bedroom, day in and day out, trying to come up with novel ideas and effective ways to communicate these ideas.

As such, I urge you to take care of yourself. I urge you to give yourself permission to ignore unwanted criticism that, while in other circumstances you may work hard to address. Now, in this current context, just don't. Give yourself permission to stop perpetuating the idea that your work and your psyche should not be impacted by the fact that nothing is the same right now.

Defend your ideas, yes. And do good work (-- nah, do good enough work). But know that you are defending your work under surreal circumstances. Account for this when you wake up tomorrow, move four feet from your bed to your desk, and try to do the same thing over again.

Overnight, this became the most popular post in the subreddit’s history. Admittedly, there aren’t a lot of members in this particular community (it should also be noted that this post was recently surpassed in popularity by a post entitled, “PhD has destroyed my mental health”). Still, several users responded with something along the lines of, “Thank you. I needed to hear this.”

I needed to hear those words too -- that is one reason why I wrote them. But I was also desperate to play another human role; one who ambiguously could have already made it to the other side of the dissertation defense, and was able to offer encouragement to those close to the finish line.

Soon after my hotel stay, where I eventually did find motivation to write, I was set to defend my dissertation. This was met with the opportunity to transform into another human role: someone who was nearing the end of her graduate student career, and had no choice but believe that her work was good enough.

The dissertation defense took place via video conferencing. I sat at my desk in my make-shift office in my bedroom.

Five kind and smart professors asked me kind questions that made me feel smart.

And that was it.

After the defense, the stress began to fade away. I recalled the wise words that my therapist once said, “It’s remarkable how, after the defense, people just won’t need anything from you anymore.” I made edits to my dissertation and submitted my final version. I dismantled my “home office” and replaced it with a reading chair and a plant. A new issue of The Atlantic arrived in the mail, and now with time, cognitive space, and optimism that this issue would not be as depressing as the others, I started to read.

I opened to an article about a historian who predicts that the United States is about to experience a terrible decade. He blames this on the overproduction of elites. ("There are still only 100 Senate seats, but more people than ever have enough money or degrees to think they should be running the country.") These elites find alternative ways to disrupt the status quo to influence people; the elite overproduction "creates counter-elites, and counter-elites look for allies among the commoners.”2

Although the article was compelling, it did not feel like appropriate material, as one does not work tirelessly through graduate school to then be compared to Steve Bannon.

I continued to the next article which was about young adults (or old children) who post things to a social media platform I’ve never used (TikTok). Not only do they create short videos that are viewed by millions of viewers, but there is an entire industry of these individuals, and they curate their content together in the mansions that they cohabitate (I am yet to grasp the monetization of this endeavor).3

I settled into my chair. Finding myself enjoying my new human role as a casual observer to an unknown world, I thought: What an absolutely absurd life pursuit.

xx,

Amy, PhD

https://nplusonemag.com/issue-37/the-intellectual-situation/epilogue-for-a-way-of-life/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/can-history-predict-future/616993/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/charli-damelio-tiktok-teens/616929/ ↩︎

[avengersandlovers]

Training

Viktor Drago x Reader

Warnings: controlling parents, smut/18+/NSFW

A/N: REPOST FROM MY OLD PAGE PLEASE REBLOG

“I don’t understand why we came here.” Viktor huffed as he followed Ivan up the stairs.

“You want to win against Creed, this is where we must go.” Ivan stated flatly before knocking on the large metal door.

The door opened revealing you on the other side. You let the two of them into the gym before pulling the heavy door closed behind them.

Your family had been fighters for generations and your father had opened this gym before you were born. You were had basically grown up in this gym, it was like your home. It was where you went when you were angry or sad or even happy. It gave you a sense of purpose and determination.

Your father got Viktor warmed up and walked him through his new training regimen. Viktor seemed very put off by everything your father was telling him. You stayed off to the side, doing your own thing, following your own workout routine. You just watched and observed from afar. Viktor would roll his eyes behind your father’s back when he would give him instruction or he would just blatantly disregard what was being asked of him. By the time he was warmed up enough to spar you had enough of his attitude.

Viktor climbed into the ring, putting his headgear on and then his mouthpiece in before insisting on putting his own gloves on. He was so caught up in his own tantrum that he didn’t see you climbing on through the other side. When he turned around and saw you he froze, even losing his demeanor for just a moment.

“I’ll hold the pads.” You shrugged, clapping them together creating a large boom that echoed through the small gym.

Viktor shook his head ‘no’ and turned back to your father who seemed unconcerned about you being in the ring together. You walked up to him and held the pads in the air, gesturing for him to start. Viktor hesitantly raised his hands and began to hit the pads.

“Faster.” You told him.

You started to move backwards and forwards with him as you moved through the ring.

“Stop holding back.” You demanded taking a step forward as you jabbed at him with one of the pads causing him to dodge it.

Viktor looked shocked for just a second before he resumed hitting the pads.

Finally you dropped to the ground, swinging your leg around, pulling Viktor’s legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground.

He spat out his mouth guard and began yelling. “What the hell!”

“I won’t repeat myself again. Take this seriously or get out.” You threw the pads on the ground and stood over him.

Viktor shot up off the ground, standing chest to chest as he glared down at you.

“You think you scare me but you don’t.” You growled at him.

“HEY!” Your father snapped, pulling you both out of your fog of anger. “That’s enough. Go clean or something.”

He waved his hand at you dismissing you from the training session. You glared at Viktor one more time before rolling your eyes and storming off.

A few days passed with the Dragos returning to the gym for training each day. You continued to watch them from afar like you had done when they first arrived but this time you noticed a little more and almost felt bad that you had reacted so quickly.

Your father had called for them to take a small break from training while he talked to Ivan and sent Viktor outside for some air. You took a deep sigh and swallowed your pride as you followed Viktor outside. He was perched on the edge of the curb out front, his head in his hands as he mumbled something to himself in Russian.

“Here.” You poke him with the unwrapped granola bar in your hand. “Eat this, you look tired.”

Viktor looked like he wanted to say something to you but instead conceded and took the bar from you.

You sat down on the curb next to him and just stared at him for a moment.

“What?” He rolled his eyes and continued eating the bar.

“You know you’ll never beat him fighting your father’s way right?” You asked him genuinely.

Viktor gave you a weird look but said nothing.

“I see the way you look to him when my father gives you instructions, like you’re asking him if my father is right.” You told him flat out.

Viktor took a deep breath in before looking away from you.

“You didn’t lose that fight because Creed was better than you. You lost that fight because he adapted. That’s what you do when you lose. You adapt. You just wouldn’t know that because you’ve never lost.” You rested your hands on the cold cement behind you as you stared up at the sky. “And you can either keep feeling sorry for yourself or you can get pissed about it.”

You both turned to each other finally making eye contact.

“I know what the commission put you and your father through after he lost and it’s really fucked up. And I know it’s hard to believe me when I say this but we won’t do that to you. As long as you keep fighting, we’ll be in your corner. Win or lose.” You stood up, brushing the dirt from your pants before finally extending your hand to him. “You just have to learn to trust that we know what’s best, even if what’s best now isn’t what was best before.”

Viktor looked surprised for a moment before finally reaching out and taking your hand. You helped pull him to his feet as he now stood over you once again. He stood there studying you for a minute before you both heard the calls of your fathers from inside telling you it was time to get back to work but even though no more words were spoken you could feel the difference in the air around Viktor as he walked inside.

There were a few more months of training before your father set Viktor up for his first fight since his fight with Creed. He really wanted to make sure Viktor was ready before he sent him in there again. His only contingency was that Ivan wasn’t allowed to be in the corner for his first fight back, that he was to let your father handle it until he felt Viktor was ready. But when the day finally came you awoke to your father walking around like he was half dead.

“Dad you can’t go to the fight today. You’re sick.” You rolled your eyes tried to make him sit down on the couch for the 4th time.

“Pshhh. I’ll be fine. Besides who else would coach him if I didn’t?!” Your father tried to push you off but fell back down on the couch.

“I can coach him dad. I’ve been there for every training, I know what you’ve taught him.” You grabbed a blanket and threw it on him before he could stand up again.

“He doesn’t like you.” He grumbled.

“He doesn’t have to like me, he just has to listen to me.” You put a pillow under his head as he started to drift off to sleep. “We’ll be fine.”

When you showed up to the arena, it wasn’t Viktor who had the problem with you coaching, it was Ivan. Although you weren’t terribly surprised by this revelation.

“Well if your father can’t be here then I will coach him.” Ivan demanded as you wrapped Viktor’s hands.

“No you won’t. You’re going to sit in the crowd like my dad told you to.” You insisted, not taking your eyes off what you were doing.

Ivan became irate and started yelling at you in Russian. You shot up out of your chair and got right in his face.

“I won’t tell you again. You are not the coach here. That is the agreement that we made when you came to our gym. You will sit on the sidelines or you will leave, whether you like it or not. Do I make myself clear?” You yelled back.

Ivan gritted his teeth, not moving a muscle as he stared you down, almost as if he was testing you. Finally after a minute he backed down and without another word, left the locker room. You turned back to Viktor and watched as he just shook his head. You walked back over to him, sitting in the backwards chair across from him and took his hands again so you could finish wrapping them and getting him ready.

When you finally made the walk to the ring you could hear whispers in the crowd of people wondering why Ivan wasn’t with Viktor and why he had a girl as a coach but you knew better than to listen to them. You followed Viktor to the ring, standing just outside of it. You took off his robe and put in his mouth guard before grabbing his head and looking him in the eye.

“Listen to me. This guy is fast so you’re going to have to keep up okay?” You looked at each other and he nodded, smacking his gloves together. “Okay, you got this.”

You let him go and he walked to the center of the ring where the ref did the usual introductions and rule reading. You watched closely as the fight began. While Viktor’s punches were definitely landing harder than his opponent’s, he was having trouble keeping up with him. His opponent would land a flurry of punches to his side then Viktor would crack him across the face with all his might. Viktor had managed to pick up some speed while training with your father but you were starting to worry that maybe it wasn’t enough but you couldn’t tell if it was that or if he was just holding back.

The first round wasn’t anything special, the two men trading blows then went to their corners, neither one having seen too much damage. You gave Viktor some water and told him to watch out for the guy’s left hook and Viktor just nodded in response.

“Viktor, VIKTOR.” You waved your hand in his face. “Are you in this or not. Tell me now.”

“I’m fine.” He grunted through his mouth piece.

“That’s not what I asked. Get it together or I’m calling this.” You saw the ref gesture for time so you got back out of the ring and let Viktor do his thing.

It wasn’t long into the second round that his opponent landed a hard left hook across his face just like you had told him he would. You could tell that it was more shock than pain that shook Viktor when he hit the mat but it still took him a second to get back up. You could see Ivan standing up from his seat out of the corner of your eye so you turned around and glared at him until he sat back down. The round thankfully ended soon after that.

When Viktor came back to his corner he was breathing heavy and had a distant look in his eyes. You grabbed his face and jerked it up to look at you.

“Well you fucking pissed about it or what?” You yelled at him.

Viktor just continued to glare at you, no words spoken.

“Then fucking adapt.” You growled. “Or this guy, who barely qualifies for your weight class is going to kick your ass. He keeps baiting you then coming at you with a left hook. Stop playing games, stop holding back and fucking end this. Do you understand?”

Viktor’s eyes finally focused as he looked at you, this time with the fire in them that you had been looking for earlier. He steadied his breathing and nodded. You let go of him and patted him on the shoulder as you exited the ring once again.

When Viktor stood up and started the third round he looked like he was on air. He moved so fluidly, dodging each hook as it came at him, finding all his openings then after only a few minutes, he took the final swing that sent his opponent crashing to the floor, ending the match in a knockout. You turned around to see that even Ivan looked surprised at Viktor’s sudden change. It wasn’t the Viktor he had seen fight before, he wasn’t angry, lashing out like a beaten dog, he was determined, like a lion pouncing on his prey.

After the fight things went back to normal. Your father had resumed his trainings with Viktor and Ivan of course came along, being the helicopter parent and control freak that he was. Ivan didn’t give you much credit for the way the fight had went but you could tell that Viktor saw you differently now.

A few weeks afterwards, you had stayed late at the gym to do some of the paperwork when you heard a knock on the door. When you opened it up you saw Viktor by himself standing in the cold.

“Are you crazy?” You asked pulling him inside. “It’s the dead of winter and you’re outside at this time of night. You have lost your fucking mind.”

You close the door tightly behind him, shivering just from the brief draft you had let in.

“Sorry, I had to work both jobs today so I missed training. I saw the light on while walking home so I thought I would get some work in.” He apologized.

“Oh, well I guess that’s fine. You know where everything is so do whatever,” you shrugged, walking back to the office. “Just clean up after yourself!”

Viktor went to the locker room and changed before coming back out and beginning his workout. He started out just on the treadmill, so he could warm up and stretch. When he moved to the pull up bar you couldn’t stop yourself as you peered through the window of the office to watch him. Even with the 50lb weight added he still managed to pull himself up with such ease.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t watched him work out before. You saw him like everyday and trained alongside him often but for some reason this felt different. It felt oddly intimate, just the two of you in the gym, alone. No one barking out drill orders, no incessant clanging of gym equipment hitting the floor throughout the room. Just the soft sound of your music and the distant sounds of his grunting.

You tried to keep your head down and focus on your paperwork but you were finding it hard and harder to concentrate. Suddenly a soft knock at the office door startled you. You lifted your head to see a shirtless Viktor standing in the doorway.

“I know you’re busy but do you have time to spot me for a few minutes?” He asked.

“Um, yeah sure.” You waited for him to turn around and walk out before you let out a frustrated sigh.

You walk over the bench, where Viktor is just finishing adding the weights to his bar. He lays down on the bench and you stand behind him counting his reps.

“You do know that if this actually falls on you I’m really not going to be much help, right?” You joke.

For the first time since you met, Viktor smiles at you.

“I know. I just like your company.” He replies.

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by his response.

“Since when?” You tried to joke again.

“Since you stopped trying to kick my ass.” He laughed, placing the bar back on the rack before sitting up.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t deserve.” You rolled your eyes as you walked around the bench to face him.

He laughed and reached up to grab your hand. You don’t know why but you didn’t resist as he pulled you forward towards him.

“I have something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” He whispered, not making eye contact with you.

“Okay…what is it?” You could feel his calloused thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he hesitated to respond.

“I think I’m ready to fight Creed again.” He mumbled looking up at you.

“That’s great Viktor, but why tell me? You should be telling my dad this, or even your dad.” You shook your head in confusion.

Viktor paused. “I guess I just wanted to know if you thought I was ready.”

You reached up with your free hand to cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes for just a moment.

“I can’t tell you that Viktor. Only you know if you’re ready.” You took another step closer to him and pulled him towards you.

He wrapped his arms around you and rested his forehead on your stomach. You both just stood there for a minute, unsure of what to do next, but completely comfortable in each other’s embrace. But this had escalated to something neither of you had expected. So after another minute you finally pulled away from him.

“If you’re ready, you’ll know, but don’t rush it just because you think they want it.” You ran your fingers softly down the side of his face once more before you finally turned and walked back to your office.

When you got into your office you placed your palms on the desk and closed your eyes taking in a deep breath but by the time you opened your eyes you could feel his presence behind you. You turned back around and were immediately caught up in his kiss. He gently cradled both sides of your face in his hands and backed you up against the desk. You melted into his body and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You let out a sigh as his hands traveled from your face and down your body until they reached under your legs and lifted you up onto the desk. You frantically and blindly reached behind you, pushing the papers off the desk so they wouldn’t get messed up.

You wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him closer, then moaned as you felt his already hard cock pressed against you. You reached inside his pants and started to stroke his cock as he kissed down your jawline and nipped at the soft skin of your neck. He pulled you closer and ground his hips against yours while you continued to stroke him.

His hands travelled up your shirt as he palmed at your breasts over top of your bra. You hastily began to remove both your shirt and his. Once you’re both topless he laid you back on the desk and removed your pants. His hands ran up your thighs until he reached your clit. He began to circle your clit with his thumb while he used his other hand to slip his fingers inside you.

You began to call out for him as he started to pump his fingers in and out while keeping the pressure on your clit. You palmed at your own breasts and arched your back, your head lolling to the side as you relinquished yourself to the pleasure. You could feel the pressure building inside you so you grabbed his arm, your nails digging into his skin as you stared up at him, your mouth falling open in a silent moan until you finally came all over his fingers.

His eyes were glazed over and you could tell he was completely lost in the moment. He grabbed your hands and pulled you up until you were chest to chest. Your noses just barely touched as you closed your eyes and moaned as you felt him enter you. His hand placed on the small of your back as his thrusts began slowly.

You reached up and caressed the side of his face, your other hand placed on his chest. He started to grunt as his thrusting became faster. He dipped his head lower, into your neck, his hands leaving your back and finding their way to the edge of the desk.

“Fuck Viktor.” You let out in a breathy moan, your nails raking over his chest as he began to suck on the soft skin of your neck.

You wrapped your arms around his body, your hands and head resting on his broad shoulders as he now pounded into you.

“Fuck.” He growled slowly in your ear, the sound of his deep, gravelly voice sending goosebumps over your body.

His thrusting got sloppier by the second and you could tell he was getting close. He let go of the edge of the desk and his thumb found your clit once again. Your hands started to travel all over him, first touching all over his back and chest until finally they reached his face again. You pulled him into a sloppy kiss as your nails scratched the back of his head. He moaned into your mouth and he gripped both your thighs and slammed into you, sending you both over the edge into bliss.

By the time you were both done riding out your highs, you were panting, sweaty messes just desperately clinging to each other for stability. After a few minutes you regain your composure and decided it was time to find your clothes. You hopped off the desk, quickly pulling on your pants and bra when you felt Viktor grab your arm and spin you around. He grabbed both sides of your face once again and pulled you into another kiss, although this one felt much less urgent than the first one, it was just as deep.

“I trust you.” He whispered as he rested his forehead against yours, pulling you close.

You blinked for a minute as it registered what he said.

“I trust you too.” You said as you kissed him again. “Now go put away your shit or my dad’s going to yell at me tomorrow.”

He laughed and kissed your forehead before doing what he was told.

You watched him from your office as it set in just how much it meant for him to say those words to you. This was definitely the dawn of a new beginning.

TAGLIST

@amour-quinn @mypanda-kun @chewie-danvers @palaiasaurus64 @lady-thor-foster@myluvislikewow @chezzire-cat @zuni21798 @of-sebstan-and-chrisevans @keithseabrook27@depressed-comics @army2224 @xxpapasfritasxx @mintballoons @themyscxiras@sugardaddytonystark @dragosdaughter @trippinjenni @charmedluna @palmtreesallday @jesusismybarber @truequeenofnightmares @its–fandom–darling @jenthehobbityelf @tia-nax@dreamingofonceuponatime @hortonhearsahoeblr @lonelymisanthrope @blackgirloneshots@champagnesugamama @captstefanbrandt

[bunnysunnymew]

Bunnysunnymew’s tips and tricks for buying commissions

Hey people of tumblr. So I’ve been buying commissions for over 2 years now and I thought I’d give out some helpful tips and tricks for those of you just getting into it, things that I wish I had know when I stated commissioning. First advice is don’t start because it quickly becomes an addiction. However if you still want to, here's what to do.

DO

ASK! About EVERYTHING. Check their TOS and commission page first and if you can’t find information there then MAKE SURE YOU ASK! Before you pay them be sure you  know:

Their refund policy

Their estimated wait time

Their “changes fee” policy. Meany artist charge extra if they have to make a change to the drawing (or even to the sketch for some) and that can wrack up to be a handful. Avoid commissioning people unwilling to make changes after the product is given

Their policy on you using the art  and posting the art to other websites. Some Artists put tricky little clauses in their Terms of Service saying you can’t post it anywhere or with customs and adopts you can’t do certain things with the character, so make sure you know that first and avoid commissioning people with a lot of restrictions

THEIR TERMS OF SERVICE! And make sure you read it thoroughly! I know we are all used to just clicking agree when it comes to tos’s on other things but when it comes to art IT IS ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIALLY THAT YOU READ IT! Otherwise they can just wright in clauses stating all payment is final and they have unlimited time to complete it so you might wait two years and still be empty handed, and they still legally will have the upperhand on you.

If WIPs (works in progress) are induced or if you have to ask for them

Their will not draw list. Some artists have certain things that they will not draw, like not safe for work, fetishes overly complicated machines, furries, gore, and offensive content. If you want a drawing of something that is on someone's do not draw list, do yourself a favor, find someone else.This is not for their sake, its for yours. All you are going to be doing is wasting everyone's time and making the artists (and their fans when they rant about it publicly) very angry. And if you somehow do talk them into drawing it, witch 99% of the time you won’t they will do a garbage job. Trust me, there is always someone else who is willing to draw what you want. It doesn't matter how much you liked their style find someone else someone whos all about that kind of art and you will have a much more pleasant time.

Currency conversions. Not everyone does things in the american dollar so if their paying in pounds, CAD, yen or whatever know how much the american equivalent is. A Lot of people who are not american will have lower prices, however this isnt always the case

2) Utilize same day commissions

This induces in stream commissions on websites like https://picarto.tv where you can get your commission in stream! This is a guarantee that you will avoid people who take months and months to complete or never deliver at all. Just keep in mind that not everyone on those websites who tag their stuff as commissions are taking them right then and there, so you might need to fish around a little bit before finding a winner

This also induces commissions at conventions, especially ones that have multiple days, Make sure you hit up the vendor's hall before you go to any of the panels so you can get on their list faster. If they say it will be done by the end of the convention then thats a green light and your good to go. HOWEVER, IF THEY SAY THAT IT WILL BE MAILED/SENT AFTER THE CON, OR IF YOU GO TO THEM ON THE LAST DAY OF THE CON TOWARDS THE END OF THE DAY AND YOUR COMMISSION'S STILL NOT DONE YET BE EXTREMELY WEARY! Even so some of them may be genuine and honest,  just as many of them will look you in they eye and promise you your commission and then  never deliver. THIS INCLUDES PEOPLE WHO HAVE ALREADY PROVIDED YOU WITH A PRODUCT.

              ~Storytime: So one time I was at a convention and I found this person who made furry badges at a great price, so I bought one, and I’ll admit to this day its one of if not the best piece of art I have of the character that I commissioned (and believe me, I have a lot of art of this character). Because of this I felt inclined to trust the artist when they told me they would mail it out to me and not only did I buy another commission but I convinced my younger sister to buy one as well  (AND SHE PAID CASH). I was surprised when I saw them at a convention a few weeks later taking more commissions, but I was like its ok its only been a few weeks. Fast foreword to the end of the month, and I still don’t have ether commission. I contact them several times after, sometimes they reply, sometimes they ignore me. 3 months later, they sent me a WIP for my commission. I thanked for the update. I continues asking questions about my commission and my sisters commission. A month later I revived my commission. My sister on the other hand NEVER received hers. After moths and moths of integrating the artist, they claimed the art must have gotten lost in the mail. And insted of refunding her the full amount, (she paid 30 dollars) they claimed she paid 20 and refunded my paypal (because they didn't have hers) 19 dollars and 20 cents (even less than what she claimed my sister paid). You want to know why she got away with it? Because my sister paid cash so we didn't have proof and because we trusted the artist to keep their word. Do not make the same mistake!

3) Set due dates if you can. If you can get them to agree a commission must be done by a certain date or you will be refunded you are much much safer. Keep in mind meny artists aren’t willing to do this  because they claim a due date stresses them out or something so when you find someone who will hold onto that person and don’t let go. Although it's not guaranteed they won't bail on you and just stop responding, this extra insurance makes it far less likey that you’ll get ripped off

4) Search around for good prices first. Don’t just settle with the first person that has nice art, look around! Expensive artists usually are not worth it, and you will get way more bang for your buck if you take the time to search for example this:

Cost me less then 7 dollars

 It took me a while to find this sweet deal, I was searching all day on the streams for a good artist to draw me some stuff and at one point I was getting so desperate i was almost willing to just pay 15 dollars for a sketch, when I stumbled upon this lovey lovey artist. This wasn’t even the first thing I commissioned them, when I saw what great quality they had for a low prices I got another!  They are hidden, but people with great affordable prices are out there, so don’t waste your money with people who are gonna overcharge or charge you more for art than you feel comfortable with

5) Check out their other artwork first. NEVER commission someone until you have thoroughly gone though their gallery and seen examples of past commissions. Sometimes Artists will make their icons prices they commissioned themselves or only put their best work on the front page. Don't ever assume buy looking at one piece that all their art will be the same quality.

6) If your asking about the prices of something make sure you specify that you are only inquiring about the commission and have not yet fully committed. This is very important, both with emails and in person commissions. Don't let them add you to their queue until you've make payment, especially in live streams. Say you are asking for reference and you aren't sure yet in the first sentence. It will make the artist a little disappointed, but it will make them much more disappointed if they start working on your art and you back out, and if they finish the piece before they realize you were just inquiring, you can get in some real hot water.

~Storytime, one time I was at a convention and I was going around asking if artists would be willing to make a certain piece for me (that involved controversial subject matter). The artist immediately asked for my name and information which I guess should have been a bg read flag, and then they sent me a text saying they had started working on it. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I actually wasn’t interested because the prices were so high, so I ended up paying 50 dollars for something that (while they had clearly put effort into and it wasn't bad) I couldn't afford and didn't exactly value that much. Anxiety about hurting artists feelings can come at the worst of times, even to people like me who are praticuraly strong willed. Do yourself a favor and avoid the situation entirely by being extra clear up front and avoiding any misunderstandings from the get go

7) Barter prices in PRIVATE. This is one I say use with caution, because there are some artists who will be offended that you even asked. However, for every artist I’ve meet who has been like “HOW DARE YOU ASK ME TO CHANGE MY PRICES?!” there are 2 others that were like “yeah, that sounds ok”. Just whatever you do, DO NOT ASK ABOUT IT IN PUBIC! Not unless you want a ton of their rabid fans to come after you and send you nasty hate messages about committing what they view as ultimate sin against their senpai

8) Use flowery, delicate language when asking for changes, discounts and anything else extra that you might want. Artists tend to be hypersensitive people who can sometimes take it personally when you ask them to change their art.  That's why you need to sugar coat EVERYTHING when you talk to them. For example, instead of saying something like “Why did you not draw little white mittens on the end of mittens paws? Did you not read anything I sent you about his character description? Did you not look at the ref at all??? It's LITERALLY IN HIS NAME  YOU Imbecile!” Try something like “ Hey it’s looking really good so far but is there any way you can add little white mittens on his paws? I thought I mentioned that in the original message I sent you but I’m very sorry if I didn’t” Try to avoid accusing them of anything unless it's absolutely necessary because they do not react well to that at all

9) Tip if they did something extra for you, did an amazing job, or have prices you feel are to low. Providing incentive for good behavior will make it more likely to happen in the future.

10) Follow the artist on the social media platform you found them on and if they don't post regularly, do not commission them (more on that later). This will also let you know when they have sales, and any updates and delays you may be having that may delay

11) provide a ref if you can. If it's your first commission ever you may be thinking, “but bunny, I can’t draw! That’s why I’m commissioning other people to draw for me!” Let me tell you something, A POORLY DRAWN REF IS BETTER THAN NO REF AT ALL. Descriptions are ok but they allow a lot of room for error. Provide a description and some kind of drawing, even if its poorly drawn. The artist won't judge you, your paying them. If not you can commission someone without a visual ref, however be aware you may be setting yourself up for potential major inconstancys 

12) try offering them cash to speed up your commission if they aren't doing it fast enough. Not all artist will do this but some will. Cation though, I would not advise this with people who you have never commissioned before and have taken alone time with your commission with no WIP, and they might just be taking your money with no result

13)Have cation with sellers who don't speak your native language. Non-English speakers might have cheaper prices, and be super sweet. However leagues barrier can sometimes cause problem as to communicating what kind of commission you want which can cause problems

14) Check their queue first!!!!!!!!!

~Storytime. So somewhat recently I commissioned someone on furaffinity. And i checked all my boxes. They had good prices, specialized in what I was looking for, seemed active and had a consistent gallery. So I went ahead and commissioned them 30 dollars worth of art. Then I SAW THEIR QUEUE AND FELT INSTANT REGRET. You see I commissioned them in October, of this year. Their queue went back to 2016. It's been over a month now with no WIP and honestly I doubt I’ll be getting it any time soon ALWAYS CHECK FIRST!

Dont:

1) pay in cash (paper cash). If your read the story about the unfaithful commissioner above you probably just in case you should know that when you pay in cash at conventions the majority of people do not provide physical receet. Not only this but even if they do they are easy to lose. I strongly advise you pay with card and pay the extra card processing fee because that gets you a permanent non-loseable proof of precious so it's way harder for them to rip you off.

2) Commission your IRL friends. But they are your best friend and you have to be supportive, right! No! do not do it! I don’t care how good their art is, or how good their prices are, never commission your IRL close friends! It is not worth possible fights and your friendship

~Storytime: So one time I decided to commission one of my best friends in the world. I have known this person for years, they are honestly one of the funniest sweetest and best humans I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I would take a bullet for this person. That being said I will NEVER EVER EVER COMMISSION THEM AGAIN. Now I came to them about a custom character I had come up with and they said they would do a colored drawing for 15 dollars witch was a good deal. I’d also like to mention that I had commissioned them multiple times in the past with absolutely no problems. But this time I had gotten into a personal fight with my friend, I felt like they were not spending enough time with me and they felt like I was interionaly going out of my way to make them feel bad. So when I inquired about my oc, I was a bit hostel. However this person decided to take their hostility to another level. They claimed that I requested too many changes to the oc and because they helped come up with the design and draw it themselves it was their property now, then said they were going to sell MY OC as an adoptable on their page and they wouldn't let me buy it. I convinced them to sell me back MY OWN OC (and a sketch of my own OC) for the same price as the original commission was worth, then they said i wasn't aloud to make any changes or edits to the art otherwise they regain rights to the OC and If I posted the sketch anywhere I had to use the version with their obnoxiously large signature otherwise they would regain rights to the OC. When I accused them of messing up my commission out of spite for a personal feud, they admitted that was the reason and said it doesn't matter because it's their art. Eventually we both apologize and made up, but that still doesn't change the fact that my commissioner tried to steal my own oc. It was by far the worst commission experience i ever had

3) publicly criticize their prices. It’ll just tick them off and send their little minions after you. It doesn't matter how ridiculous it is, just let it be and let the free market work itself out, they never view it as helpful anyways, and not selling anything is the only way to get most of them to learn

4)commission artists unwilling to change their style. This is why you ask about changes up front, because if they aren't willing to make changes, they aren't worth commissioning. It doesn't matter how much your paying them either. I paid 60 dollars to an artist and they were still unwilling to make a basic change because it “didn’t suit their style”

5) Use friends and family feature on paypal:  see something like this?

BE SKEPTICAL! PayPal separates these options into two separate categories for a reason! AND THAT REASON IS BUYER PROTECTION! IF YOU USE THE FRIENDS AND FAMILY OPTION YOU ARE GIVING UP ALL YOUR RIGHTS AS A CONSUMER, LIKE THE RIGHT TO A REFUND IF THE PRODUCT IS NEVER DELIVERED! DON'T DO IT! Insted, just offer to pay the difference. A Lot of artists just do this to get around paypal service fee, so if you pay the service fee yourself, there shouldn't be an issue. If they still want you to use the friends and family feature back out!

6) Bug the artist too much. While it is important to get your art in a timely manner, asking an artist constantly will mostly likely make them angry. That's why you get an ETA at the beginning. If they say it will take a week it's ok to ask them about updates every other day, but not if they say it will take a month. If they don’t give you an eta then ask away because you don’t want to get scammed. They kinda brought it on themselves at that point.

7) Be a pushover: this is probably the hardest one, but if they draw something super wrong tell them. You paid money for it, at the end of the day you getting a product that you paid for is more important than their feelings being intact

8)ASSUME THAT THE AMOUNT YOU PAY WILL EQUATE TO THE QUALITY OF THE ART!

Let me show you something

^ this was 17 dollars

^this was 10

and THIS (not linking bc I’m not trying to publicly attack them)

Was 60. All are about the same quality. Actually, I’d argue the 60 dolor one is worth less than the others. Sometimes you can get a bang for your buck. Other times you pay a bunch of money and get next to nothing. Don't assume because you payed a lot of money for something it will be high quality, or vice versa

9)Commission big name artists if you don’t want to pay more money

the more popular they are the more they can change, it's simple economics. Good news is it's hard for popular artists to rip people off because they are in the spotlight and have a lot to lose from doing so. Bad news, expect high prices and long wait times from the get go

10) commission someone rarely active. If you don’t see very much activity on their account that's a huge red flag they might go off the grid

11) treat the artist like a friend or get super personal with them (or flirt with them)

Treat your artist the same way you would treat any other person you'd do business with. Sure they might inspire you and you may relate to their work but that doesn't mean they wanna hear about your life problems or be your best friend. It is a profession, so keep it professional. And if you try flirting with them over a risque piece all you are going to do is make them extremely uncomfortable and get yourself blocked. Just because you pay them money does not make them your friend. It makes you their customer, the same as a lower, doctor, or local cashier.

12) buy a commission you don't want.  Do not buy out of obligation because you talked to them. You will run out of money very quickly

That’s about it. feel free to add on to this post if you guys find anything else. Sorry about all the spelling mistakes, I suck at spelling. I ran it through google docs but I know there’s a lot of stuff that wasn't caught.

[ticknart]

Second Summer: School

Summer school sucked. That's all there was to it. However, it was the only way Wendy Corduroy could finish enough credits to come to school half days her senior year. Six more weeks of school. She wanted to ring the neck of the groundhog that made that happened. It would be worth it, she kept telling herself. She'd get to work more and put away the extra money. She'd get into a good school and leave Gravity Falls for a while.

She popped her locker open and dropped the Algebra II book inside. One good thing about summer school was very little homework. The teacher basically gave them an assignment and they worked on it all morning. At the end they turned it in and would see their grades the next day. Class moved fast, but the days dragged on forever.

Days outside of summer school weren't much better. Ever since the whole Weirdmageddon thing last summer and then the "Never Mind All That" policy things had settled down in Gravity Falls. Well, actually, things had gone back to the way they were before two kids from California had shown up. It was those two kids who kept finding strange things in Gravity Falls and not forgetting them.

It was with those two that Wendy had learned that the people of Gravity Falls had memories targeted and removed. Wendy never knew if she had lost memories to The Society of the Blind Eye. When she and Soos had gone back to the museum to look for the memory canisters in the Fall, they were all gone. She assumed that everyone in town had been taken by The Society at some point.

Which was too bad because at least then people simply couldn't remember what was going on around them. Now they all choose to ignore the amazing things around them. Although, many of those had become normal, too. There are only so many times you can watch gnomes1 root through the trash or hear the manotaur war cry before it becomes normal and boring. She wondered what had been wiped from her mind. Had she dated a man/beaver? Did she have tea with a sasquatch? Had a meteor crashed to Earth bathing her in radiation and granting her superpowers that she could no longer access because the memories of using them were gone? There was no way to know unless those canisters were found. Unless she moved the canisters and wiped her own memory clean before going home. That was a questions that would sit with her for a while.

Also, it didn't help that she only had semi-regular work at the Mystery Shack. For the time when the Shack was run by Soos and Abuela, Wendy worked the weekends. (Really worked. Abuela had no time for relaxing at the counter.) Ever since Melody had moved to Gravity Falls, though, Wendy had been knocked off the schedule. Not fired, but not working, either. She thought she'd be able to pick up some hours during the summer, but that hadn't happened, yet. Hopefully soon. She didn't want to work at The Royal Ragtime Theater, but her in with Thompson could get her hired. Ugh, she should probably head over there now that school was out.

She sighed as she walked toward the doors of the school. If the rest of the year was anything to go by, this was going to be a long, boring summer. Nothing but watching gnomes go through trash and sweeping up popcorn for Wendy Corduroy. The sun blinded her as she pushed out of the building. She blinked away the brightness walking down the steps. When her eyes cleared, she stopped, causing one of her classmates to bump into her.

There, on the sidewalk in front of the school, ringing his hands and pacing back and forth, was a kid in a fur hat. Dipper Pines. Wendy smiled. Summer suddenly got a lot more interesting. He wouldn't be content with the normal weird things in Gravity Falls, no way. No matter what he thought about himself, he was a fearless hunter and he'd root out all the new weird.

She straightened the blue pine tree cap she traded him for last year and increased her pace. He hadn't noticed her and still didn't notice her as she approached. He looked a little green around the edges. And nervous. Why did he look so nervous?

"Dipper," Wendy said, stopping near the pacing boy.

He jumped, looked up at her, and blushed.

Dipper hadn't changed much over the last year. He'd grown a little, maybe, but she still felt like she towered over him. He wore the blue vest he'd worn all last summer, probably stuffed with everything he'd need to find new and interesting things in Gravity Falls; he was such a scout. On his head sat the furred ushanka she'd given him when she took his cap. His brown mop of hair stuck out in all directions from under the hat. He still wrung his hands. Also, he looked like he wanted to puke.

Smiling, she said, "Welcome back to Gravity Falls, man."

"You, too," he said and then looked down at his feet. "I mean... Well... It's good... You know?"

She put her hands on his shoulders and he stopped fidgeting. "It's good to see you, too," she said. She gave him a huge smile when he looked at her again. He smiled back, shyly.

There it was. He still had a crush on her. And it was worse than ever. She hoped she had settled things with him last summer, after the run-in with the shape shifter, but wasn't surprised that things hadn't settled. As they say, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." He was a really sweet guy who had avoided picking up his great uncle's worst habits when it came to women. He would make someone very happy, one day, but it probably wouldn't be her. She'd have to work hard this summer to make him understand and make it stick. Though, she wasn't sure how to do that without being cruel, yet, because she still wanted to be his friend, running through the woods or chasing down monsters. Friends like Dipper were important to have, and rare, because the only thing they expected of you was to be you. That was probably the greatest gift a friend could give.

"How was the bus ride?" she asked.

"Long," he said. "I didn't sleep. I was too excited to get here. I could barely eat. Mabel thought I was being stupid."

"Stupid about what?"

"About coming here," he said, "back to Gravity Falls. It's like... Look I was born in the Bay Area and have lived there my whole life, but coming back to Gravity Falls is like coming home."

She watched him as he spoke. The nervousness had disappeared. He'd stopped wringing his hands. He had a dreamy look in his eyes. This was a Dipper she could work with.

"Dang," she said. "That's not stupid."

"Yeah, but it's okay," he said, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. "Mabel fits everywhere. She doesn't know what it's like to constantly be where you don't fit. She doesn't get what it's like to finally find a place where you fit."

"Dang," Wendy said, again.

This was some deep stuff. Especially from someone so young. He had gone through some pretty intense stuff last year and she could understand how that could lead to some serious thinking. Wendy remembered how felt and thought when all that stuff with her mom happened. She was younger than Dipper at that time.

"Not that it isn't great to see you," she said, hoping to force away any thoughts of her mother, "but what are you doing here? At school, I mean. We could have gotten together later."

"Yeah, well, when we first got here and were loading our stuff into Soos's truck, I heard a couple of guys talking about weird frogs wandering the high school. One of them thought they might be leftovers from dissections. I thought, maybe, we could check it out?"

Every school year there were stories about living animals being dissected in the biology classes. Worms wriggling as a student made an incision down the length. Fish gasping for breath as they're placed on the dissection tray. Frogs hopping away before their feet could be pinned. The same old stories year after year. Wendy had never seen anything that made her believe the stories, though. It would probably be a waste of time, but summer was totally for wasting time, wasn't it?

"Absolutely," she said, grinning. "Where do we start?"

Dipper pulled a notebook from his pocket, tugged off the elastic band, and opened it to the book-marked page. Wendy noticed that there was a large "4" written on the cover because of course he would create his own journal. What she thought was most interesting about this new journal was that he hadn't opened it to the first page, which meant that he had found some interesting things near his home. That, or he was being an angsty teen filling up the pages with his worries and bad poetry. She doubted it, though.

"Okay," he said, as his finger traced down the page, "one of the guys said that he'd heard that his friend's girlfriend's sister saw one near some barn by the baseball diamond."

"The Barn2? Where the custodian keeps his stuff? Isn't that friend-of-friend thing kind of a stretch?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said, closing the notebook, "but some of the best tips that I've gotten came from hearsay, like this, or drunks."

"Good enough for me," she said, feeling happy because he had kept up his research, if that was the right thing to call it, while he was at home. "This is your show. Lead the way."

"Wendy?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know where The Barn is."

"Right. Sorry. I'm used to you taking the lead on these sorts of things. Follow me."

She led him up the walk to the entrance. She pulled the door open and, like the gentleman she was, Wendy held the door for him. He flushed and muttered a thank you. She darted in behind him.

"How was your school year?" she asked.

"Okay," he said, "we got to go to the..."

It was a shame that he still had a crush on her. Sure, she was flattered and he was cool and smart and fun, but, as she told him last summer, the age difference was just too big. Yes, there had been a larger age difference between her parents, but, come on, he had been 12 and she was 15. Three whole years apart. Three seemed like a small number, but it was a huge chunk of life. Three years had been a fifth of her life and a quarter of his. Not to mention the grade difference. She couldn't help it if she'd finished her sophmore year before they met. It wasn't her fault that she'd started kindergarten at four. She didn't get to pick her birthday. It wasn't her choice to turn five just before the cutoff. No one wanted to be the youngest one in the class. She was, though. Lucky her.

Whe she tried to let him down easily, he seemed to understand that they were friends -- great friends -- and that's what counted. They could watch movies, eat pizzas, go on adventures and it was the best. Better than it was with any of the boys she had dated. How do you explain to a kid, who'd never held hands with a girl, that things change when you start dating? Boys might say that they like that you can throw a hatchet and hit a target from 20 feet away and beat them in a contest, but once you start dating, suddenly it's a problem. Suddenly you don't dress pretty enough. Suddenly you're too tall. Suddenly you hang with too many other guys. You don't change anything that they said they liked about you and suddenly you were all wrong. If they every really liked you at all.

It's why she never should have agreed to go out with Robbie. They'd been pretty good friends since starting high school, but after they started to date, he expected her to do everything he wanted to do without a question. He knew who she was before they dated. Why did he expect her to be any different because they smooched some at the arcade instead of arguing over who could change a tire faster in Pit Stop Mayhem3? Kissing was nice, but fleeting. Arguing with a friend could last forever.

Also, though she hated to admit it, Dipper was so smart it scared her sometimes. He messed up like all kids do, but he knew so much about how the world around them worked. He actively went out to learn more. When he didn't know something he did everything he could to research. He wanted to understand. He seemed to remember everything. Wendy knew that she was smart enough, decent grades in school and all that, but she wasn't on his level. Even if he wasn't a GENIUS genius, like his uncle, Dipper was still awfully smart. If he had been her age when they met, she didn't think that she would have been able to speak to him like a person. She would have been too worried about looking like an idiot and feeling dumber than dirt.

"...gull just reached up and snatched it from her hand." Dipper laughed. "She chased after it and when it started flying she yelled, 'I'll find out where you live, you flying rat, and then you'll be sorry.'"

Wendy laughed, too. She hadn't heard any of the story, but since he was laughing she did it too. There wouldn't be a quiz about the story later on, right?

Dipper broke away from her side and ran to the small stone building they had been walking toward. He stood by the wall for half a second and ran back to her.

"Is that thing 'The Barn' you were talking about?" he asked. "'Cause if it is, it stinks. I mean it really stinks."

"You think they'd give the custodian some place that nice to work in? That's the bathroom. The Barn's behind it."

"All of the smell without the charm?"

"Exactly."

"I guess it's nice to know that some things in high school will be the same as middle school."

Wendy scoffed then said, "It's all the same, dude. The only difference is that people are taller and growing more hair in weird places. I mean, armpits? Seriously?"

"You don’t have to talk to me about weird hair. I've seen Grunkle Stan in his underwear."

They both laughed as they walked around the bathroom. As they curved around the corner, they stopped. There was The Barn. It was about the size of a two-car garage. It had two large doors. Behind one was the riding mower, she assumed. On the short end closest to them was a window, perfect for peeking through.

"The door is on the far side. I think we should take a look here," she said.

"I," said Dipper, "agree."

The ground beneath them was squishy as they snuck toward the window. Small rectangles of something were scattered everywhere. Dipper picked one up, so Wendy picked one up, too.

"It's leathery," said Dipper. He smelled it. "It smells like... kerosene? I'm not sure."

"Formaldehyde."

"How do you know that?"

"I think these are the skin flaps you get when you open up a frog to dissect them."

"What?"

"You know, you take a scalpel and cut through the chest" -- She used her finger to cut horizontally across his chest. -- "then the bottom of its belly" -- She swiped at him again, much lower this time. -- "then you go right up the middle" -- Her finger moved up the center of his body. -- "so you can pull it open" -- She pretended to rip him apart where she had traced the last line. -- "and get at the frog's insides."

Dipper's eyes were as big as his opened mouth.

"I guess you haven't dissected a frog yet."

"No."

"Look. It’s nothing. It's way easier than field dressing a deer."

"I guess... So, what are these exactly?"

"You kinda pull the skin back and pin it down. You don't cut it off 'cause the teachers gonna get pretty pissed if it ends up floating around the classroom. I think someone's been cutting the skin flaps off."

"Why?"

"That's what we're here to learn, right?"

"I... yeah, but it just so" -- Dipper shivered. -- "blargh."

"Totally blargh," Wendy said.

They dropped their skin pieces and continued to sneak to the window.

Once underneath, Dipper found the dried out body of a dissected frog and showed it to her. She shrugged back at him. Ever so slowly, they stood up just enough to peek through the window. It was open and the screen was missing. All they could see through it was an odd green glow. They rose up more. When they were standing tall enough, Dipper practically at his normal height, to see the floor, they saw a small pit surrounded by eleven candles with green flames4.

A large rectangle of light appeared at the far end of The Barn. Wendy and Dipper ducked down fully before raising up so that just their eyes peeked over the window. They watched as the light disappeared and heard heavy steps. It was the custodian. He unzipped his jump suit, pulled his arms out, and let the top part hang. He wore a white t-shirt with a messy, multicolored, eleven-pointed star, with a swirling design in the center, drawn on it. It looked like he took several Pokeys5 from classrooms and drew the star himself. He pushed a bright yellow mop bucket with his feet.

When he reached the pit, he picked up the bucket and carefully placed it inside.

"Okay. Okay. Okay," he said, puffing out his giant, drooping mustaches when he breathed out. "Here we go."

He walked around, chose a candle to stand near, and faced the pit. He spread his arms out wide and, with a loud whoop, clapped his hands together. He took a step, turning around and facing away from the pit, then took another step, turning again to face the pit and stretching his arms out. He step-turn-clapped his way around the circle until he faced the first candle, where he dropped to his knees, picked up the candle, and spoke:

"Sú to posvätný dar? Dokážem svojho najlepšieho priateľa. Neodpovedal si môj posledný hlas, ale nezáleží na tom. Viem, že ste veľmi zaneprázdnení. Všetka tráva vyrastie a bábika je hovno. Dúfam však, že máte čas, aby ste mi pomohli. Naozaj nenávidím každého, kto tu pracuje. Prineste ďalšiu žabu a strávite celý deň v sobotu, aby ste dokončili erotický román založený na živote Nevillea Chamberlaina. Dúfam, že vaša rodina uspeje a starší ľudia nevadí, že meranie je prázdne. S dobrou láskou som."

The flames on the candles surged and went out. Nothing else happened, but the custodian continued to hold the candle out in front of him. Dipper and Wendy held their breath and strained to see and hear any changes in The Barn. Wheezing. Wendy heard wheezing. Wheezing with a croak at the end of it? She heard a second wheeze-croak. A third and fourth. Soon there were too many wheeze-croaks to count.

"What the heck?" she said.

The custodian whipped around and asked, "Who's there?"

Wendy and Dipper had ducked before he saw them.

"Your not going to live to tell the world what you saw here!"

They heard a clatter and soon frogs came flying out of the window, covering them and the ground.

"GET 'EM OFF!" screamed Dipper.

Wendy reached over and brushed frogs off of him. They fell with no resistance. They didn't hop or squirm. The frogs just wheezed and croaked. The barely moved.

She stood and pulled Dipper to his feet. The frogs fell with no resistance. He kneeled and picked a frog up off the ground.

She turned to the window and said, "What the heck, man?"

He puffed out his mustache in frustration.

"You shouldn't go around dumping undead frogs on people," she said. "What did you hope they'd do?"

"Well," the custodian said, his sun browned skin blushing, "I hoped that they'd, uh, eat you?" He grinned at her sheepishly. "Or at least your brains."

"Frogs!?"

"They are zombies."

"Yeah, but... FROGS!?"

"It’s not like I could have gone digging up the cemetery, or the pet cemetery to get bodies. People visit those places all the time. I would have been caught. And there are so many frogs thrown out during the school year. I thought it was a good use of resources. Recycle, reduce, reuse, you know?"

Dipper popped up, holding a wheezing frog in his hands and asked, "How did you expect frogs to get to our brains?"

"With their... With their teeth?"

"Frogs don't really have teeth like we do, see?" -- Dipper forced the mouth of the frog in his hand open. -- "It's this hard gum thing. It kinda crushes bugs and stuff, but it doesn't cut. It pinches, but that's about it."

"Plus," said Wendy, "we live in small town Oregon. Frogs and toads are always hopping through lawns and getting squished on the roads. No one around here is afraid of frogs."

"This kid screamed pretty loud," said the custodian, pointing at Dipper.

"Hey!"

"That was the shock of frogs being dumped on him," she said. "He's not scared of frogs."

"Yeah," said Dipper, puffing out his chest.

"Whatever," said the custodian. "Now I gotta clean up this mess."

"Before you do that," said Dipper, "can I come in and sketch your ritual's design?"

"Kid, you don't want to get into this stuff. It'll mess you up."

"It's only for science. I swear. I just want to take notes. I don't want to summon ancient evils."

The custodian shook his head and rolled his eyes as he said, "Fine."

"Great," said Dipper, hopping up to hoist himself through the window. Wendy put her hand on his butt and gave him a boost. He tumbled in.

As he stood up, Dipper started to ask questions. "What's that symbol in the middle of your shirt? And the colors of the star? What do they mean? Are they to please a god or a demon? Oh, and those candles, tell me how their made. And do they have to be green?"

As Dipper continued to pepper the man with questions, Wendy turned around, placed her back against the wall, and slid down to the ground. She sat cross-legged among wheezing, undead frogs. She leaned back against the wall and smiled.

Since Mayor Cutebiker6 had announced the "Never Mind All That" police, the gnomes learned the most humans simply ignored them. Soon after, the gnomes went to war with the local racoons, they won the right to scavenge the trash cans within Gravity Falls.

There is a fear in the gnomish community that the raccoons will one day regroup and perform terrorist acts on the gnomes in preparations for a new war. Jeff, the current leader of the gnomes, does not believe the remaining raccoons to be a credible threat. ↩︎

Why it is called "The Barn," Wendy never learned. She heard the older students had called it "The Barn" when she started school, so that's what she called it. Students aren't permitted to go as far as "The Barn," so everyone did.

The truth behind the name has been lost to history and only exists in legend. ↩︎

Pit Stop Mayhem is a first person shooter (FPS) where players are members of a pit crew fighting their way through enemies, using a crowbar, their fists, or one of many different attachments for an air gun, to get the parts needed to repair the race car. When they get the part back to the pit they play puzzle mini-games to attach the parts and repair the car.

The sequel, release date undetermined, is expected to be a multi-player FPS. Pit crews will be no larger than seven team members and one pit boss, who is the only member with access to the track map. Crews will still have to repair the cars as quickly as possible, but crews will now be able to raid other pits for additional parts and weapons. A rumor persists among fans that players will be allowed to drive the car as well as repair it. Developers have neither confirmed or denied this possibility. ↩︎

It has been long understood that green flamed candles (GFC) are the creepiest and, therefore, the most likely candle to help when performing an ancient ritual that many deem "unholy." However, many "holy" deities enjoy the minty grass smell given off by the highest quality GFCs and will respond favorably to most rituals that use GFCs as well.

The highest quality GFCs are made in Edmonton, Canada by a family that has been crafting GFCs, and other candles, for more than a thousand years. This is the last Great Candle Dynasty (GCD) in North America. Many other GCDs have married their children into this North American GCD hoping to learn the secrets to their GFCs. There have been no reports of the secrets of the GFCs being stolen or leaked. ↩︎

Pokey is an off-brand dry-erase pen popular with the school districts of Central Oregon. The pens are cheap and don't completely erase off of white boards, leaving the boards in all the classrooms muddied with former lessons. The pens are odorless, which discourages students and faculty from sniffing them to distract from reality.

Pokeys are not recommended for use on fabrics. ↩︎

Mayor Tyler Cutebiker is currently considered to be Gravity Falls's greatest mayor since the accidental election of a headless squirrel dropped by a passing bird of prey.

Mayor Headless Squirrel is well remembered for keeping a light hand on businesses regulation and refusing to pass a bill that would have banned dust motes and dust bunnies. Many mote and bunny owners across Gravity Fall cried when Headless Squirrel did not win a third term. ↩︎

[scotianostra]

Today in Scottish history, 13th August 1888, John Logie Baird, inventor of the first television, was born in Helensburgh.

On a day that looks quiet for anniversaries, thank god for John Logie Baird, a post I could get my teeth into!

We all know what he is famous for so I thought I would give more details about his life and other inventions from this very influential Scot. I will delve into his memoirs as he describes his ventures himself.......

When World War I began in 1914 Baird tried to join the Army, but was unfit. So he worked in a factory. He did not like it, and felt sorry for factory workers. He went into business on his own, hoping to get rich.Baird sold medicines. He invented a shaving razor made of glass (so it would not rust).

He also knew that the trenches of WW1 meant soldiers were constantly in muddy and wet conditions. They could not change their socks as often as they would like and this led to an infection known as "trench foot". If it was left untreated it could result in amputation. So he "invented" the Baird Undersock, which promised to keep the feet of soldiers in perfect health.

His marketing of the product contained what he claimed to be "testimonials" from soldiers serving on the western front. One from Corporal H.G. Roberts said: "I find the Baird Undersocks keep my feet in splendid condition out here in France. Foot trouble is one of our worst enemies, but, thanks to the Baird Undersock, mine are in the 'pink', and I think they should be supplied to all soldiers." The product was so successful that it allowed him to give up his job as assistant mains engineer, supervising the repair of electrical breakdowns for the Clyde Valley Electric Power Company.

It was a job he described in his memoirs as "sordid miserable work, punctuated by repeated colds and influenza". He was also dabbling in electronics, he once  he attempted to produce artificial diamonds by passing an enormous current through a stick of graphite!

In his memoirs he wrote

"Diamonds are created in nature by subjecting carbon to a very high pressure and a very high temperature. I thought I might get these conditions artificially by electrically exploding a rod of carbon embedded in concrete. I got a thick carbon bar and filed it down into a thin rod in the centre, then I attached a wire to each end and embedded the whole thing in a large iron pot. I connected the wires to a switch which, when closed, put them straight across the power station bus bars. My idea was to pass a stupendous sudden current through the carbon so as to generate enormous heat and pressure. I chose a good time and then, when no-one was about, closed the switch. There was a dull thud from the pot, a cloud of smoke, and then the main current breaker tripped and the whole of the power supply went off. I had anticipated this and soon got it going again, but I did not get my wires away quickly enough and unpleasant explanations followed. Thereafter I was regarded as a dangerous character and, in the general unpleasantness, I forgot about the pot and it disappeared. Perhaps it is today lying in some forgotten rubbish heap, a pot of cement with priceless diamonds embedded in it."

His sock business was doing very well. It was booming but it was a one-man business and when he disappeared for six weeks the business disappeared too. The reason was he was once again hit with one of his very bad colds so he just closed it down at that point and discovered that at the end of the day he had got something like £1,600 in the bank.

He was not a fit man and his doctor told him he needed sunshine. So Baird went to the island of Trinidad in the Caribbean. He started a factory making jam and pickles! People passing Baird’s house were puzzled. What were those strange flashing lights? Baird was busy with experiments. He was trying to send pictures through the air!

In 1923, he moved back to the UK, he still had all these ideas in his head and a work ethic that made him want to succeed in business, his next venture was making soap, I say soap, but it was a very cheap version of it and wasn't very good, with the soap came other cleaning solutions for around the home, again I delve into his memoirs where he write.....

"One day a very vulgar and ferociously angry woman banged her way into the office. She carried a small infant, pulled its clothes over its head and thrust a raw and inflamed posterior into my face. The poor child looked like a boiled lobster. The wretched woman had washed the infant in a strong solution of "Baird's Speedy Cleaner". I calmed her down and pointed out that the Speedy Cleaner was a powerful scouring soap for floors and ship decks, and not a toilet soap for infants."

Again came  ill-health, he sold businesses and moved to Hastings coughing, choking and spluttering, and so thin as to be almost transparent [Ref 2, page 44]. He concluded that he needed to invent something. Glass razor blades were a possibility, but his experiments resulted in a badly cut face. He also considered pneumatic-soled shoes.

"I got a pair of very large boots, and put inside them two partially inflated balloons, and then very carefully inserted my feet, laced up the boots and set off on a short trial run. I walked a hundred yards in a succession of drunken and uncontrollable lurches followed by a few delighted urchins, till the demonstration was brought to an end by one of my tyres bursting"

One day he wrote to a friend, ‘I have invented a means of seeing by wireless [radio]’. His friend said, 'stick to soap’! But Baird had always dreamed of creating a television, this was no easy feat as he didn't have any sponsors and so had little cash to try and invent one. So, he scrounged whatever material he could find. Everything from glue to string to cardboard to even a bicycle lamp to create the very first TV. It wasn't without its failures though, as you would expect, to succeed with television he realised that more light was essential. He tried to produce this by wiring up a network of batteries. This led to a 2000 volt electrocution and explosion, which could have cost him his life, he wrote......

"The next day I bought several hundred flash lamp batteries and began to realise my dream of a 2000 volt power supply, by joining sufficient dry batteries end to end - a formidable task. Some days later I had finished this and was connecting the supply to some part of the cobweb of wiring when my attention wandered and I received the full force of the 2000 volts through my hands. It was amply sufficient to cause death, but I was lucky, for a few seconds I was twisted into a knot in helpless agony and then fortunately fell over backwards, breaking the circuit and saving my life. But I shall never forget the agony of those few seconds. Electrocution must be a terrible death."

Not surprisingly, this led to eviction by his landlord and a return to London to 22 Frith Street, Soho in November that year he tried to drum up some publicity for his idea of the Television, he managed to get a meeting with the Daily Express newspaper.......

"After a short delay I was ushered into a small room and the editor (at least I thought it was the editor) came hurrying to see me. "Are you interested in a machine for television - seeing by wireless?" I said. "Seeing by wireless?" said the "editor", a little taken aback. "Oh yes," said I, "an apparatus that will let you see the people who are being broadcast by the BBC or speaking on the telephone." "Astounding," said the gentleman, "I am very busy at a meeting, but I'll get one of my colleagues to take the story, very interesting," and he vanished out of the door.

In a few minutes a large brawny individual came in, listened sympathetically and with great interest to my tale, assured me that it was a first call story and advised me to be sure to get a copy of next day's Express, where I would get a first class show on the front page. And so with a cordial handshake he saw me off the premises.

Nothing whatever appeared in the Express and it was only some years after that I got the inside story from the brawny individual himself. The day I called he was sitting in the press room when one of the assistant editors came running in. "For God's sake, Jackson, go down to the reception room and get rid of a lunatic who is there. He says he's got a machine for seeing by wireless. Watch him carefully, he may have a razor hidden."

In 1924, Baird successfully transmitted flickering images of a Maltese cross for a distance of about 10 feet. He now knew his idea would work and on 2nd October, 1925 - success!

"Funds were going down, the situation was becoming desperate and we were down to our last £30 when at last, one Friday in the first week of October 1925, everything functioned properly. The image of the dummy's head [Stooky Bill] formed itself on the screen with what appeared to me almost unbelievable clarity. I had got it! I could scarcely believe my eyes and felt myself shaking with excitement.

I ran down the little flight of stairs to Mr Cross's office and seized by the arm his office boy William Taynton, hauled him upstairs and put him in front of the transmitter. I then went to the receiver only to find the screen a blank. William did not like the lights and the whirring discs and had withdrawn out of range. I gave him half a crown and pushed his head into position. This time he came through and on the screen I saw the flickering but clearly recognisable image of William's face - the first face seen by television - and he had to be bribed with half a crown for the privilege of achieving this distinction"

The world's first television broadcast!

The next year, Baird transmitted sound and images over 400 miles, from Glasgow to London, a remarkable feat! In 1928 the pictures were sent all the way to the USA, a feat many believe only became possible when satellites started being sent above the Earth 30 years later, the same year Baird gave us the world's first colour television pictures, again, many think this was a more modern innovation.

He looked west and in 1931 sailed to the USA, writing as the ship neared its destination...

"As the boat approached New York harbour I was surprised to see on the Pier a body of Highland pipers marching up and down with great elan to the skirl of the pipes. These wretched men proved to be a gang of comic opera pipers from the Ziegfield Follies. A misguided but enthusiastic American publicity agent had arranged to give me a real Scottish reception."

His many other inventions were in fields such as radar, fibre optics, and infrared night viewing.

Today Australian TV awards are called Logies in his honour.  

He was, simply,  one of Scotland’s greatest engineers.

You can read the whole timeline on this PDF with more snippets from Bairds own memoirs http://www.helensburgh-heritage.co.uk/pdfs/John_Logie_Baird_A_Life.pdf

[pwchronicle]

Ring of Honor “Glory By Honor: Philadelphia” TV Taping Report October 14th in Philadelphia, PA

I attended my first ROH event in ten months, their second-to-last TV taping before Final Battle in December. It was not a sold out show, as I noticed a lot of empty seats beyond Row 4 or 5. Fortunately, the crowd was still lively and should come off well on TV in the segments when they’re not cursing. Also, as you could see, I was very happy to finally both meet Jeff Cobb and see him wrestle in person. Heck, the last time I attended ROH, I got to hold the previous iteration of the ROH World TV Title with the champion at the time...

Future of Honor Match: Cheeseburger, Eli Isom, and Ryan Nova beat “#1″ Brian Johnson, Ken Dixon, and Joey Keys following a tandem elevated double stomp move on Dixon. Cheeseburger, Isom, and Nova formed an alliance on TV recently, and are now calling their unit “3-S.” I know Keys better under the moniker Jasper Tippins, from the Chikara tag team Dez Peloton. I thought this was okay, with enough good hands involved.

- Introductions for the announce team: Ian Riccaboni (with music out of a game show that never existed) and Caprice Coleman, as well as Mandy Leon, brought in to call the first match. As seen on TV, the announce position in most arenas, including the 2300 Arena now, is way off to the side of the entrance, with the announce team facing away from the action as they look at monitors to call the action.

1. Sumie Sakai, Jenny Rose, and Madison Rayne beat Kelly Klein, Karen Q, and Dr. Britt Baker when Rose rolled up Klein. Rose and Klein had the most beef going into this match. Sakai got worked over a lot. Baker didn’t seem to jive so well with the more heelish Klein and Q, and her refusal to accept Klein’s tag while she had Rose tied up pretty much led to the finish. This was okay.

2. Cody (w/ Brandi Rhodes) beat Kenny King presumably by disqualification. I noticed Jay Lethal come in to do commentary for this match, announced as a television main event. I thought they had a pretty good match, and the crowd was definitely into it. King played off the crowd a lot. He got involved with Brandi at ringside, including pretending to get smacked by her when ref Paul Turner was focused on Cody. Towards the end, King threw his elbow pad at Brandi, making her get into the ring and held back by Turner. With the ref distracted, King retrieved Cody’s IWGP US Title (one of three titles Cody had with him), tossed it into Cody’s hands, and fell to the ground as if Cody hit him with it. Before Turner could be played into his Eddie Guerrero trick, Todd Sinclair ran down to tell him what actually happened. King shoved Sinclair, causing Turner to call the bell, so King may have been disqualified for shoving a ref, but not the actual ref for the match. King kicked Cody in the groin right after this anyway. Brandi tended to Cody and King got a hold of her, causing Lethal to run out to the ring to stop anything from happening. Lethal told King that he’s better than this, then unwisely turned his back to King, who clocked him with the US Title. After King left, Lethal and Cody both got up, holding each other’s titles, but they exchanged them back to each other and shook hands.

3. Jeff Cobb beat Shane Taylor with the Tour of the Islands. This match exceeded my expectations. I'm a big fan of Cobb, and he was able to get Taylor off his feet a few times in very impressive fashion, but Taylor was able to hold his own and make this a competitive match. Taylor was able to hit some knees to Cobb, and followed it up with a flipping piledriver of all things and a lariat for a believable nearfall. Taylor’s attempt at the 216 was turned into a deadlift German suplex by Cobb, followed by a lariat from Cobb and the finish. I think this match is definitely worth checking out when it airs.

Afterward, Adam Page walked out and had a staredown with Cobb, perhaps telegraphing that these two will meet at Final Battle. About a half dozen ring crew guys ran out to stop anything from happening between the two, but Cobb and Page just beat up all of them. One of the smaller crew members remained, looking like a deer in headlights in front of Cobb and Page as he was nearly out of the ring. Page gave Cobb the honors to take care of this poor guy and left the ring, so Cobb superkicked the crew guy and gave him a more impactful Tour of the Islands to end this segment.

4. The Bouncers (Beer City Bruiser & Brian Milonas) beat Cheeseburger & Eli Isom (w/ Ryan Nova) after Isom was given a superplex by Milonas and a frog splash by Bruiser. The Bouncers entered the ring from presumably the concession area through the crowd. Cheeseburger and Isom had some nice hope spots, but they were to no avail. Afterward, the Bouncers gave some beers to their opponents for a toast, but Isom said he doesn’t drink and passed his beer to Nova. I guess the Bouncers are turning face? They’re separate enough from Silas Young now.

- SoCal Uncensored came out to the ring. Following crowd work from Scorpio Sky and Frankie Kazarian (who called the 2300 Arena sacred ground in the wrestling business), Christopher Daniels got serious. He spoke of Joe Koff’s promise to him and Kazarian at the beginning of this year that they’d be gone from ROH following Final Battle 2018. Daniels said he and Kazarian had since realized that Koff was right and they were wrong, so they wanted to give Koff a reason to keep them on board, which brought them to their attempt to end the Briscoes’ “reign of terror.” He talked about how they failed to do so at Death Before Dishonor, with Mark busting Kazarian open and Jay trying to break Daniels’ neck. Daniels then said that “next week,” they’ll have a 3-way with the Briscoes and the Young Bucks. He said it’s two of the best tag teams in the world standing in between them and the ROH World Tag Team Titles, but Daniels promised that they would win the titles and remain in ROH in 2019. As SCU were heading backstage after this, the Briscoes emerged from the crowd and attacked them from behind with a chair. This fracas ended with Daniels taking a Jay Driller on the entrance stage.

5. Jay Lethal, Jonathan Gresham, and Dalton Castle (w/ The Boys) beat The Kingdom (Matt Taven, Vinny Marseglia, and TK O’Ryan) after Castle hit Marseglia with the Bangarang. Announced as a main event, this was Castle’s big return as a mystery partner for Lethal and Gresham. Castle seemed to move well, though he was wearing a small back brace (partially hidden by his trunks) and a wrap around his left thigh. Taven had his “real world championship” from Death Before Dishonor with him, and stared down Lethal holding the actual championship before the match. I thought this was quite fun overall, with everyone looking good. Marseglia pulled ref Sinclair under the ring like he was Pennywise, so that Taven could hit Lethal with a chair. Towards the end, Gresham attempted to hit a shooting star press on Marseglia, but Marseglia got the knees up. O’Ryan was hit with a Lethal Injection. Taven at ringside tried to and Marseglia the chair, but Dalton caught Marseglia for the finish while he still had the chair in hand. Good ending. Afterward, there was a little bit of tension with Lethal and Castle both holding the ROH World Title, but it subsided and they shook hands.

- Intermission. Cody came out for a meet & greet with Burnard the Business Bear, who did not appear during the actual show. I spotted Facade by the backstage area, but he did not take part in the action.

6. Brandi Rhodes beat Ashley Vox with a spear. I see Vox as Oceanea on a Saturday, then I see her as herself on a Sunday. The crowd was way behind Brandi, and Vox worked a little heelish during this, fish hooking her mouth at times. Okay action.

- Next Bobby Cruise announced a Pick Your Poison Match, scheduled for one fall to a finish. Bully Ray interrupted him and explained the rules himself. He and Flip Gordon were picking wrestlers to represent them. If Bully’s guy won, he’d get to do whatever he wanted to Flip afterward. Likewise, if Gordon’s guy won, he’d get to do anything he wanted to Bully. Bully then introduced his representative, Silas Young. Flip Gordon made his entrance, and I noticed that both he and Bully were holding large envelopes containing their desired punishments for each other. As Gordon walked down to the ring, Colt Cabana popped up from the commentary position presumably and joined him inside the ring. Bully was incredulous that Gordon would pick Cabana to represent him. Cabana took the mic and said he was only out here for two reasons, to support Gordon, and to see the look on Bully’s face when he sees who Gordon actually selected. Gordon’s pick wasn’t Cabana, but The Sandman, who I believe was making his ROH debut. He did a full Sandman entrance from the crowd, as the actual Metallica song played, pouring beer into fans’ mouths and even spitting some beer into Bully’s face.

7. Silas Young (w/ Bully Ray) beat The Sandman (w/ Flip Gordon & Colt Cabana) in a Hardcore Match with Misery. “One fall to a finish” being announced at the beginning of this seemed key, as Sandman (wearing one of Gordon’s shirts) hit Young with his cane right off the bat for an early nearfall. Following more cane shots, Sandman introduced a ladder that he suplexed onto Young at ringside. Yeah, there were “You Still Got It” chants. The ladder was then set up in the corner, and Young threw Sandman into it. Young then brought out a table and set it up in another corner, but Sandman got to him first, placed a ladder on top of his prone body, and came crashing down onto Young and the ladder with a swanton off the top. The finish followed shortly afterward, and the table wasn’t even touched. A wild crowd-pleasing match before the finish brought them down, and Gordon looked dejected at ringside.

- Bobby Cruise was about to reveal what Bully Ray’s punishment for Gordon was, but Bully took the envelope and tore it up, saying it was too easy for Gordon. Bully came up with a new punishment for Gordon: ten strikes with a Singapore cane, and he insisted on using Sandman’s cane. Sandman attempted to take the strikes for Gordon, but Gordon wouldn’t let him do it, and Bully talked down to Sandman, as well as to Cabana. Gordon removed his shirt per Bully’s orders, and the strikes to Gordon’s back began. This was very reminiscent of Sandman and Tommy Dreamer in the early 90s, and the strikes were leaving marks on Gordon’s back. Silas remained at ringside for this, as did Cabana and Sandman. Gresham and Cheeseburger joined them at ringside three strikes in to lend support to Gordon. Bully said he would stop if Gordon said, “I Quit,” and Gordon refused. SCU then came out to ringside, followed by Cody, Brandi, and the Young Bucks. Cody even got in ring before thinking otherwise. Nine strikes in, Bully again asked Gordon if he quit, I’m guessing nine strikes in, and Gordon let out an emphatic “FUCK YOU” on the mic to a big reaction. He then turned his back to Bully for I assume the final strike, but Bully gave him a low blow and bailed to the floor as the faces quickly entered the ring. Kazarian got a hold of the ladder and briefly squared off with Bully before Bully and Silas left. Everyone tended to Gordon, but he got up on his own power. Despite taking its inspiration from a more famous segment from ECW, I thought this was really well done.

8. Adam Page beat Rhett Titus with the Buckshot Lariat. Page is on another level of popularity now, on par with his Bullet Club Elite friends. This was announced as an HonorClub exclusive. Good athleticism from both guys, along with a little comedy of Page deciding to wrestle while still wearing his vest.

- Dalton Castle came out in a suit and with his own mic, accompanied by the Boys. He talked about his road to recovery, and he’s now looking to reclaim the ROH World Title. He yelled out to Jay Lethal that he’s back, and he that he wants the champ. Cue Matt Taven, who once again claimed to be the real World Champion, thinking Castle must have had a concussion in addition to his other injuries if he thinks Lethal is the real champion. Castle took a seat on a makeshift Boys chair and said, “Go home Matt, you’re drunk! Like, Myrtle Beach drunk.” Taven told Castle that when he had the title, he couldn’t handle the pressure and had to go home with injuries. This led to Vinny Marseglia coming out from under the ring (cued by his balloons) and TK O’Ryan coming out through the crowd to beat up Castle and the Boys. It ended with the Kingdom giving three simultaneous chair shots to Castle, and then they posed over him.

9. Marty Scurll beat Shane “Hurricane” Helms in a No DQ Match. This was Hero vs. Villain IV and announced as the first half of a double main event. Scurll made his entrance holding the Hurricane mask. Helms’ entrance was a swerve, with Delirious appearing in Hurricane attire on the entrance stage while Helms showed up behind him in the ring, hitting Scurll with a chokeslam for the earliest possible nearfall. Scurll recovered and introduced a bunch of umbrellas from under the ring, hitting Helms with them. Helms retrieved the Hurricane mask, put it back on, and fought back. Scurll (I believe) set up four chairs together, but he went up top and Helms grabbed him by the nether regions and slammed him onto the chairs. A table was set up at ringside on the opposite side of the Arena from me, and Scurll put Helms through it with a death valley driver variant. Scurll introduced thumbtacks into the match, but he was the first one to fall victim to them with a chokeslam onto them from Helms. This only led to a nearfall, and Scurll fought back, put some tacks in Helms’ mouth and superkicked them out, and finished off Helms with Graduation onto the tacks. Another wild crowd-pleaser, also exceeding my expectations. Scurll shook Helms’ hand and put him over to the crowd afterward.

10. SoCal Uncensored (Frankie Kazarian & Scorpio Sky) beat Jay & Mark Briscoe and The Young Bucks (Matt & Nick Jackson) in a 3-way to WIN the ROH World Tag Team Titles. A fun, fast-paced match, announced as a TV main event, to close the night. Ref Paul Turner was wiped out by an errant kick in the corner by Nick, allowing the Briscoes to introduce chairs into the match. Turner was able to count some nearfalls after this but was still largely out of it, leading to some relaxed rules. It eventually came down to just the Briscoes and SCU in this. Kazarian nearly took a Doomsday Device, but Sky tossed one of the titles to Kazarian to hit Jay (holding Kazarian up on his shoulders) in the head, then Mark came off the top and took a Flux Capacitor from Kazarian off of Jay’s shoulders for a big nearfall. Towards the end, Mark had a hold of Kazarian so that Jay could hit him with a chair while standing on the apron, but Kazarian escaped, Mark took an unprotected chair shot to the head, Sky dispatched of Jay, and SCU hit Mark with a double team move involving a lungblower from Kazarian to get the pin and the big win. NEW CHAMPIONS as the crowd went wild and Daniels came out in a neck brace (selling the attack on the stage earlier in the night, but not wearing it during the Gordon caning segment) to congratulate his teammates.

- In a post-show segment, the Young Bucks hung around with SCU in the ring, and Kazarian asked them if they could take a shot closing the show. He said between all of them were five guys from southern California who loved wrestling, and he put over the Young Bucks as two guys who have changed wrestling for the better. Sky said he’s known the Young Bucks his entire career, and he thanked them for demanding that ROH give him a job year ago. He said the past year has been the best year of not only his career, but of his life. Matt took over, putting over the members of SCU, including calling Daniels their road father, and he had the crowd shout out “SCU!” one last time to end the night.

This taping lasted just shy of four hours, with matches and segments likely taped for three episodes rather than four. Granted, it’s been ten months, but compared to the last time I attended an ROH TV taping, I felt this flowed much better. A surprising amount of hardcore action (but I guess appropriate given the Arena’s history), and a number of good matches and segments to look forward to on TV. Seeds for Final Battle in December continue to be planted.

[buttdawg]

FTR vs. The Initiative (Brandon Cutler & Peter Avalon)

Pineapple Pete & Michael Nakazawa vs. Joey Janela & Sonny Kiss

Abadon vs. Skyler Moore

Will Hobbs & Shawn Dean vs. Dark Order (Stu Grayson & Evil Uno)

Corey Hollis vs. Scorpio Sky

Kenzie Paige vs. Penelope Ford

Aaron Solow vs. Wardlow

Best Friends vs. Dark Order (Alex Reynolds & John Silver)

Lance Archer vs. Frankie Thomas

Orange Cassidy vs. Serpentico

Fuego Del Sol vs. Sammy Guevara

SCU vs. Private Party vs. Santana & Ortiz

I’m watching this one right now, so I might as well throw in some liveblog commentary.

--This episode marks the beginning of the Cutler/Avalon team using the name “The Initiative”.   The implication is that they’re finally getting comfortable working as a unit.

I don’t really get FTR’s “Follow The Rules” gimmick.    This match is a good example, because they nag Aubrey Edwards about enforcing proper tag rules, but then they tried to do a hand-to-boot tag themselves during their match on this show.    And then they win using a spiked piledriver, which used to be illegal in 1989, so it seems weird that these “Old School” traditionalists would adopt it as a finisher.    Or maybe it’s supposed to be ironic, I don’t know.   They’re a great team, I’ve always thought so, but I keep losing the plot with them.

--Sonny and Joey have a new remix entrance theme.   Not sure how I feel about the music, but I like it when teams enter together.

I guess Pineapple Pete is into baby oil like Nakazawa now?  This match sees Pete oil up Naka’s back and then slide across him to spear Sonny in the corner, using Naka’s back like a homoerotic slip’n’slide.

Pete just tagged Joey even though they’re on opposite teams?   Was Pete mocking them, or did Joey think that was Sonny’s arm because they were all locked up in a hold?    Or did Pete think he was in his own corner?    So many questions.

Joey and Pete sell Naka’s thong claw like a champ.    I feel kind of bad for Sonny having to deal with all these goofballs, but he looked good out here.

--They talk a lot about how green the AEW Women’s roster is, and I’m not disputing that, though I can’t tell which women are experienced and which ones aren’t.   Nevertheless, they’ve got a lot of strong characters in this division, and I think that’s something women’s wrestling usually lacks.   Abadon is a prime example.    Maybe she’s a total rookie, but she looks so horriffic that it doesn’t matter.   She’s like Bray Wyatt but actually scary.

And then you’ve got Britt Baker’s dentist/role model thing, Kris Statlander’s alien gimmick, Rayche Chanel’s “what have I stumbled into?” character, Leva Bates, and so on.   That’s the cure for a roster with limited experience.    They need to repackage Skyler Moore as some sort of truck driver or a witch or something.

--Promo package for Shawn Spears here.   I saw this on Twitter, and it made no sense to me, because he didn’t explain what the glove does.    Basically, Shawn lost on PPV to Dustin Rhodes, and Tully Blanchard chewed him out on Dynamite, and then he gave him a black glove like it was the key to furthering his career.    

Now that I’ve watched all these Dark episodes, I finally see what’s going on here.   The glove isn’t loaded.   There’s nothing special about it, and they even have the refs make a big deal out of checking it before the bell.   But then Tully will pass a metal slug to Shawn during the match, and then he’ll load the glove.  

And this is great, because it justifies Tully’s presence (the glove only works as a cheat if Shawn has someone to smuggle the slug to him.), and it gives Shawn a winning record.   My beef with the “Search for Spears” angle was that Tully kept putting him in tag matches to audition potential partners, and they never won.   The implication was that Shawn Spears sucks and the only possible way to fix him is to pair him up with a better performer who can carry him through a tag match, except there isn’t one.

But the glove works, because it really is a coaching tool.    Sometimes, Tully doesn’t even give Shawn the slug until after the match is over, because Shawn doesn’t always need it.    So it’s not just a cheat.   It’s a secret weapon if Shawn needs it, but it’s also a confidence builder.   As long as Shawn is wearing the glove, he knows he can use the slug if things go poorly, but he also feels motivated to do his best without the slug.  

My only complaint is that they introduced the glove on Dynamite, but only explained how it works on Dark.   But now that I’m caught up, it doesn’t bother me as much.

--Not much to say about these Dark Order matches.  I looked them up the other day because I wanted to make sense of their numbering system, but as far as I can tell they never used 6 or 7, and you never see 8 or 9 anymore.   Maybe the unnnamed “spokesman” guy is 6 and Brodie Lee is 7?   I thought the whole point of Brodie Lee was that he was the Exalted One, but they have Evil Uno, so that’s shot to hell.   Is Brodie #0?   Is he unnumbered because he’s in charge?    Does Anna Jay get a number?   Does Colt?  

--It’s weird to watch Scorpio Sky’s winning streak on Dark, because I watched his TNT title match with Cody first, and I think that was supposed to be the payoff of this story.   But I sort of hope this keeps going.   Sky might as well keep doing singles matches, keep racking up wins, and take another crack at the AEW World title.    While he was fighting Cody, the announce team talked about him becoming the first Black AEW World Champion someday, and it got me thinking about how he could very easily become TNT Champ someday, and I think the World title’s only a few years away at most.    Really, the conversation should be about Scorp becoming the first AEW Triple Crown winner.   

In terms of Black firsts, would he be the first African American Triple Crown winner?   Nah, Booker T pulled that off in WCW, right?  I’m not even sure he was the first to do that, but I’d have to look it up.   Anyway, Sky looks like a guy who could win all the singles belts, and he’s already done the tag title, so he’s got a leg up over just about everybody. 

-Dig the psychology of Penelope Ford locking in a camel clutch and (illegally) hooking her fingers into Kenzie Page’s face, then turning Kenzie’s face from side to side to hide her fingers from the referee.   Nice stuff.

-Aaron Solow kind of looks like Kirk Hammet from Metallica.  Wardlow wins by KO, then keeps attacking Solow after the bell, and I feel like they really need to bring back the thing where the ref will reverse the decision to punish the heel for excessive brutality.   It didn’t get a lot of use in early 90′s WWF, but it was pretty cool when it happened.

-I really want to see Lance Archer mow down a whole squad of Dark Order guys.    That’d be pretty sweet.

Holy shit they didn’t cut off Lance’s theme song during his entrance!    First time for everything.

Taz asks on commentary how Jake can control Lance Archer, because he thinks he needs pointers on how to control Brian Cage.   Taz, Jake’s just some guy Lance Archer lets follow him around.    He’s gonna beat the shit out of Jake too; he’s just saving Jake for later.

-A lot has been made on Dark about Serpentico’s streamers.   I dig them, but I don’t know what more there is to be said.   I’m more interested in the weird protrusion from his luchadore mask.

-I dig the laid back commentary from Excalibur and Taz, including where they try to figure out what to call Penelope Ford’s leather garter (thighlet?) and whether or not “smooth as ice” would be a good figure of speech.  

-I’ve seen Sammy Guevara’s GTH a few times, and I can’t really tell if it’s anything other than a GTS.   Well, he carries the guy face-up on his shoulders, and I think the GTS starts out with the guy lying face-down on the shoulders, so maybe that’s the difference? 

-Private Party and Matt Hardy do a promo before their match.    The problem I’ve got with Matt is that he announced that he was dropping all of his characters, but I can’t tell the fucking difference.   I think he was doing a bit as “Big Money Matt”, which I vaguely remember from a run he had in ROH?   I never saw it, though.    But it doesn’t sound that much different from all the other Matts, including default Matt.   Also, he went nuts on the last episode of Dynamite, attacking a guy he thought was Sammy Guevara when he actually wasn’t.    So is that him going nuts and descending back into his Broken gimmick, or is Normal Matt just going normal nuts?    I sort of don’t care enough, is the problem.

-I like this triple-threat tag match, as it features the three teams that sort of got overlooked in this whole Young Bucks/FTR/OmegaPage thing.   Those three teams have been circling around this “who’s the best?” business, but I think Private Party, SCU, and Santana/Ortiz have plenty of business in that conversation.    Oh, and the Lucha Brothers, but yeah, there’s an embarassment of riches in this tag division.

-And of course PNP wins, because they’re THE BEST THE BEST THE BEST THE--!

[mischiefandspirits]

Spirit Sword (2/?)

Reid Alma grew up in the Region of Pacal. After defeating their own league and trying their hand at Alola, they’ve set their sights on Galar.

AO3 ~ More

———————-———————-———————-———————

2. Fated

On the south edge of Postwick was hilltop farmland. Wooloo rolled about in fields as butterfree and bird Pokémon field the skies. At the southeastern tip sat a small manor, outside of which a pair of trainers prepared to battle.

“Believe in your Pokémon! And care for them, too, with all your heart. Do those two things, and I’m certain you’ll learn to choose the moves that suit your Pokémon. And more importantly… to have a champion time battling with them!” Leon led Hop and Reid over to the battle court and took the refs position. “Looks like everyone’s on board, Pokémon and Trainers alike? Then let’s do this!”

“I’ve watched every match that Lee’s ever had!” Hop announced, taking on a fierce stance. “I’ve read every book and magazine he left behind at home, too! I know exactly what to do in order to win!”

“I’m sure you do,” Reid said, pulling out a Poké Ball. “Río, love, let’s do this.”

“A Pokémon battle it is, then!” her opponent said as she tossed the ball. He took out his own and threw it. “I’ve got two partners with me! Let’s go, wooloo!”

Reid slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone, hitting the battle app.

“Wooloo. Male. Level three. Type: Updating,” Luce, the Rotom inside, read off for her.

At such low levels, there’s not much strategy to go with, so… “Alright Río, Pound.”

“Wooloo, Tackle!” Hop called out.

Both Pokemon ran forwards, but Río was faster, bashing the wooloo with his tail before the white Pokémon barreled into him.

Reid checked the damage and frowned at how little damage the wooloo had taken. Darn, that thing’s bulky. I wish I had something to lower defense. At least it’s attacks are even weaker.

With no other options, Reid had Río continue to Pound as Hop matched the hits with wooloo’s Tackles. Two more Pounds brought the wooloo to red and another finished the match with Río still in the green.

“Experience gained. Level increase: Sobble - level six. New move obtained,” Luce announced and Reid glanced over to see that Río had learned Water Gun. That could come in handy.

“It’s not over yet! I’ve added another trusty ally to my team!”

“I… I was there,” Reid whispered to herself as Hop sent out his scorbunny.

“Scorbunny. Male. Level five. Type: Updating.”

Thankfully, Leon already clued us in on each other's types. “Río, Water Gun!”

The blast of water hit the scorbunny just as Hop called for it to use Tackle.

“Did you already know about type advantages!?” Hop asked as scorbunny managed to hit Río before it could dodge.

Nope, in all my time as a Trainer, I never picked up on such a concept, Reid thought with a snort as she checked the damage. Yellow, good, though it could be better. And Sobble was in the yellow now too.

“Río, pound!”

He shot forwards before the two could react, slamming his tail into the scorbunny and knocking it out.

“Experience gained. Level increase: Sobble - level seven.”

“And that’s the battle!” Leon called it as Hop recalled his scorbunny.

“You beat my two Pokémon with your one!? You and that sobble are too much!” Hop moaned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few Pokédollar notes. He passed them over with a smile. “If I’m going to be a real Trainer, then I pay my fares like a real Trainer.”

Reid smiled and took the money before recalling Río. “You did good.”

Hop sighed, drooping over. “Well, that was a shock! Guess I know now why Lee thought he should give you a Pokémon too…”

“You and your Pokémon all fought hard,” Leon said, patting him on the back. “Made me almost want to let out charizard and join in on all the fun!” Leon stepped up to Reid as Hop ran inside to get his Pokémon taken care of and pulled a device out of his pocket. “Good effort out there, Río! Why don’t I get you all sorted?”

Reid glared at the device as it healed her Pokémon. “One of these days I’m going to get one of those stupid things.”

“It certainly makes things a lot easier,” Leon chuckled.

“And yet far less exciting,” she muttered and took her Pokémon back.

He chuckled and stepped back. “I’ve got a favor to ask you. Be a real rival to Hop, would you? Push him, and make the both of you stronger!”

She didn’t get a chance to answer as Hop appeared. “I already want to get stronger and stronger! You’ve seen me battle now, Lee, so come on, you’ve gotta let me take on the Pokémon Gyms!”

“You? Join the Gym Challenge?” Leon asked, turning to his brother. “You think you’re ready for the single greatest competition in the Galar region? Not putting the cart before the rapidash there, little brother?” At Hop’s glare, he raised an eyebrow and continued, “If that’s really what you want to do, you two have a whole lot you need to learn. Especially your friend Reid. Barely in the region and already getting dragged into the fight.”

She smiled and shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “Before you think about getting Gym Badges, best to think about getting a Pokédex. A Trainer’s Pokédex helps them learn lots of things about…”

Reid started to tune Leon out, glancing over his shoulder as she spotted a pair of butterfree chasing each other. Yeah, she’d definitely need to upgrade her Pokédex app. She hadn’t gotten an upgrade since moving so it only included Pokémon native to Pacal and Alola.

“Right, right, we get it… Pokédexes, then!” Hop cut in and she refocused. “We’re on it! Looks like it’s off to the Pokémon Research Lab for you and me, Reid!”

“That’s the kind of enthusiasm a Trainer needs!” Leon said, walking away. “I’ll let the professor know to expect you.”

“I’m going to be the next champion, so completing a simple Pokédex will be nothing! Just another page in the tale of my legend!” Hop said, pumped. “You’d probably better go tell your mum that we’re heading out, though.”

Reid nodded. “See you on Route One.”

“Su-”

Crash!

The two turned towards the road. “Reid! Did you hear that just now?” Hop said as he started to run.

Reid followed and they soon found themselves back at the gate near her house, which was smashed open.

“The gate’s open! And the wooloo that was there…” Hop said, checking the gate. “It was tackling the fence pretty hard earlier. You don’t think it actually broke through there, do you?”

“The shepherd I talked to said he runs off a lot,” Reid said, looking around for any sign of the Pokémon.

“But it’s off limits! Nobody’s supposed to go in there!” Hop explained, looking worried. “I remember the professor's granddaughter went in once, and she came back in a real state. And that was nothing compared to the earful she got from the professor afterward!” He turned towards the weald. “We have to go help it, Reid! What do you say?”

“I don’t know… Maybe we should get your brother. Our Pokémon are still untrained.”

“Right, no one wants to get in trouble, least of all me.”

Why do I not believe you?

“But deep down you want to save that Pokémon, too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but -”

“Hope you’re ready for anything because we’re going in, Reid!”

“Hop, wait!” Reid shouted after him, but he was already running up the path. She growled and followed after him.

The further they got into the trees, the more the fog rolled in making it hard to see. Thankfully Hop slowed down as the world became nothing more than trees, grass, and fog.

“That wooloo… Where do you think it got to?” he asked, glancing around. “The fog is really coming on thick now. If we don’t find that Pokémon soon, this might be trouble.”

“Maybe we should head back for help.”

“Be serious, would you? We’ve got to go look for that Pokémon!”

Suddenly a shadow jumped out at them from the tall grass and Hop jumped back with a yelp before relaxing when he saw it was just a brown rodent Pokémon. Reid grabbed his arm and they both ran for it instead of getting into a fight. They dodged another Pokémon, this one a blue bird, before an odd cry sounded through the weald.

“Did you hear that? Was that a Pokémon crying out, you think?”

“Either that or a banshee,” Reid joked. When Hop went pale she said, “Kidding.”

Another of the rodent Pokémon ran by and Hop grabbed her arm.

“You sure you don’t want to head back.”

That seemed to reignite his fire and he stepped back from her, looking determined. “Come on, Reid! That wooloo might be in real trouble!” Then he was booking it down the path.

“Woah, hold on! Wait for me!” Reid shouted, running after him. The fog was getting thicker though, and she lost sight of him. “Hop? Hop! Hop where are you?”

The fog grew so thick, it became hard to see the trees around her.

“Hop! Stop, we need to head back! Hop! Ho-umph!” Reid groaned as she slammed into the boy and they both fell to the ground.

“This is mad,” Hop huffed as they helped each other back to their feet. “I can’t see my own hand in front of my face! I think I get now why this place is off-limits.”

“You think?” she muttered, brushing herself off. “Come on, we can’t help anyone if we get lost in this fog.”

Hop started to nod, but just then something moved in the fog and they turned to see a Pokémon standing before them.

It reminded Reid of Shunwar or a houndoom, but more colorful. It was scarred and missing part of its ear while the long pink fur hanging from its head was braided and seemed to defy gravity, floating back as if caught in the wind.

“What in the -” Hop yelped jumping back as the Pokémon got into a battle stance, staring them down.

“Lrrroooaaarrrd!”

Reid called out Río as she brought up the battle app.

“Unknown. Unknown. Level unknown. Type: Unknown.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” Reid muttered sarcastically.

“Zzzory,” Luce said, unrepentant.

Reid tried to take a step back, thinking about simply recalling Río and running, but found she couldn’t move.

“Great, okay, uh, Growl!” Reid said, hoping to weaken whatever it was before it could attack.

Her sobble obeyed, but the soundwaves from the attack seemed to pass right through the mystery Pokémon.

In fact, the Pokémon didn’t even seem to realize her’s was there, focused completely on her face with a stare that, when their eyes met, sent a shiver down her spine.

“Wha- The move had no effect on it!?” Hop exclaimed, snapping her out of the trance.

“I… Maybe it’s Ghost-type. Normal moves wouldn’t work on it. Río, Water Gun.”

Unfortunately, that had the same effect, the water passing right through it.

Is it an illusion? Like what the zorua and zormaii back home do for fun?

The Pokémon howled and the fog started to thicken up even more. So Reid could barely see her Pokémon and opponent.

“Reid! I can’t see anything! You okay!?”

Reid turned, but Hop was nowhere to be seen. “I’m okay.” She turned back to the battle and her eyes met the mystery Pokémon’s once more. I think. “Río, use Pound,” she called.

Her sobble jumped at the Pokémon, but it’s tail passed right through it like everything else.

“Río!” she yelled as it disappeared into the fog.

The Pokémon howled again, and all she could see was fog.

“I can’t see anything!” Hop yelled before letting out a scream.

“Hop!” she shouted turning towards where she’d last seen him.

Something brushed past her.

It felt soft and…

Soft…

And… and w…

Warm a…

And War…

W…

…

…

…

…

Reid opened her eyes with a groan. “What happened?”

She grabbed the Poké Ball in front of her and reassured herself that Río was safely inside. She climbed to her feet and looked over her shoulder to see Hop doing the same. She glanced back towards where she’d seen the mysterious Pokémon -- thought she’d seen it? -- with a frown. Had that really just happened? Or was it just a dream?

“Hop! Reid!”

The two turned to see Leon running up.

“Wha- Lee? How’d you manage to find your way here?” Hop asked. “You’re pants with directions. You always get lost.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear from the little brother who had me worried sick!” Leon scolded. “I’d been waiting ages for you two, and you never showed! Of course I came looking for the both of you!”

“A wooloo got loose into the weald,” Reid explained.

“Wait, where’s the wooloo!?” Hop said. “We were trying to rescue that wooloo!”

Leon smiled and stepped to the side to reveal charizard standing with the missing Pokémon.

“Meh!”

“The little chap’s just fine,” Leon reassured. “You know this place is out of bounds… But it took courage to come in here all the same. And I can understand well enough why you did it. You did good, Hop!”

“And at least the wooloo’s all right, yeah, Reid?”

“Yeah,” she agreed distractedly, her eyes darting back over to the spot the mysterious Pokémon had stood.

“I thought we’d had it when that weird fog started rolling in and that mad Pokémon attacked, but at least it wasn’t all for nothing!”

“Attacked by some mad Pokémon?” Leon asked, looking worried. “What are you talking about, Hop?”

“It seemed loads stronger than any Pokémon I’ve ever seen. And it just had this sort of presence… Our moves didn’t even touch it. I mean, really, they seemed to pass right through it!”

“Your moves passed right through it?” Leon looked contemplative as he looked around. “So, the fearsome Pokémon they say live in the Slumbering Weald… Are they actually illusions or something?” Leon shook it off and set one hand on Hop’s shoulder and the other on Reid’s.

She blinked and focused back on the brothers.

“Get strong enough and maybe the two of you could be the ones to reveal the truth someday. For now, let’s simply get out of this place. You’ll be all right now that I’m here with you!”

Reid tuned out Hop’s excited ramblings as they made their way out of the weald.

The last time she’d felt a presence like that, it was when she was returning Nebby to the newly capable Lillie.

Could that have been… a legendary Pokémon?

——————————————–———————-———————

Pokémon Explanations

Shunwar: A legendary Pokémon from Pacal based on the Shunka Warakin. A Fairy and Ghost-type, it's said to steal away Pokémon from careless Trainers.

Pacal zorua: A Fairy-type based on the trickster coyote legends. They are nocturnal and use illusions to play tricks on any who dare to cross their hunting grounds.

Zormaii: The Pacalin evolution of zorua. A Fairy and Ground-type based on the trickster coyote legends. They use a combination of clay dolls and illusions to trick wondering Trainers.