#seriously what is your BOE name?

[thewayuarent]

Boston is the worst

And how we get into stupid game of compared morality that doesn’t actually exist

This moment got me thinking. A lot. Mostly something like “Sand, honey, are you okay?” but also about how it doesn’t make sense for Sand to say that. Like even Ray was like “Hmmm, babe, actually, no”.

And then I got it. It’s not about why Sand says it, it’s about why narrative implies it so often.

But why is it constantly implied by narrative that Boston is the worst? Not just bad, or shitty, but actually the worst of all of them? And I kind of feel that I got it. But first, let’s go through the whole list of Boston saying be gay do crimes and compare it to other characters. And yes, I know that all those situations and motivations were different. I understand that this is not the same situation playing out the same way every time.

1. Boston recorded Ray and Mew intimate moment.

So as Nick recorded Boston and Top and Top recorded Sand and Ray. And Drake’s character I forgot his name again did with Boston.

2. Boston shared it with Top.

So as Nick, Sand, Ray and Mew did with BostonTop tape and Mew did with TonDrake clip (I kind of get Ray a half-free pass in that cause in my opinion he was more a tool than active participant but I still remember him).

3. Boston manipulated Nick’s feelings for his own goals.

So as Mew did with Ray on several occasions, and Sand did with Ray that one time to hurt Top, and Mew did with Top and the whole using sex as a test thing. (Also Ray kind of tried it with Sand but Ray sucks at manipulation and failed miserably).

4. Boston slept with Top when Top was in a relationship with Mew.

So as Top probably (?) did with Boeing. And you know who also did this? Yep, Sand. With Ray. Who also was with Mew.

5. Boston chased Top against his will.

So as Ray constantly chased Sand since ep 2, and Top constantly did with Mew since they broke up. And Nick did with Boston at the Halloween party. And Atom now doing it with Boston.

(Honestly, the only normal reaction to that in my opinion was from Ton who was like fuck off to Nick and Atom. But it kinda worked for both Sand and Mew so good for them I guess?)

6. Boston took an advantage of Top on several occasions.

So as Ray with Mew - twice, Ray with Sand (seriously bro stop it) and Top with Mew (and yes, hugging your unconscious ex who can’t give his consent and who told you several times to fuck off is not okay, I’m sorry. Try to put yourself in Mew’s place - not cool)

7. Boston outed Ray’s personal information.

And so as Ray did to everyone in the bar, and Mew did with Top and Ton in the Halloween disaster party TM.

8. Boston gets violent with Nick.

And so as Sand and Top, and Mew with Ray, and Sand with Ray, and Ray with Boston, and Top and Ray, and Mew and Boston, and literally everyone to everyone except Nick who is apparently hippie.

9. We all know that Boston didn’t cheat on Nick, right? Their relationship was communicated pretty clear. But I’ve seen those takes so.

Yeah, Top and Ray both did it with Mew.

10. And don’t even let me start to talk about slutshaming and purity culture. Ton is constantly dragged down for his active sex life both by other characters (Mew, Cheum, Ray, Nick) and the audience.

And yeah, Top is the same, and Sand is the same, and they never told us about Ray but did you see that guy? He’s the same.

And what distinguishes Boston from others is that he actually always - since the very beginning of the show - owns his shit. He’s almost never remorseful (for now), because he knows who he is. Bitch and proud, I would say. And I believe that it’s actually the case - because it’s way easier to feel superior towards someone who’s not denying their wrongs.

And this is about characters, but also about the audience. Every week, whatever happens in the show, Boston gets his amount of hate. Ray was winning after episode 8, but somehow Boston was still there. Boston, who actually didn’t do anything since episode five. It’s nine episodes aired already, can we leave him alone, please?

Every character in this show does shitty stuff. And it doesn’t make any of them bad irredeemable people. It makes them complicated, and young, and stupid, but not evil. This is not the “who’s the worst” competition. But somehow, for whatever reason, Boston keeps winning it.

Because the audience kind of get used to it. Because he doesn’t look remorseful. And who cares that he was punished by narrative way more than once, right? That he is isolated from his friends group - the only friends he has, and we can see that it affects him. That he was betrayed by Nick who he trusted. That he was a victim on revenge porn not once, but twice. That he did his best to clarify his boundaries but still get the creepy stalker behavior both from Nick and now from Atom.

Why does he need to change his personality to get some level of understanding and compassion? Why is he’s the only one who doesn’t deserve it? Because he’s a slut. And a bitch. And a bad person. Because while we have Boston it’s so much easier to apologize whatever other character we want. Because while Bostons exist it’s way easier to compare ourselves with them and keep winning some moral high ground points.

Because instead of thinking about these characters as complicated and trying to understand the motivation behind their sometimes morally wrong and questionable behavior, it’s so much easier to brush it off saying “Well, at least they are not Boston”, right?

[eldoria-radio]

FILE 5

[Good evening, dear listeners, and welcome back to another episode of "Whispers in the Aether". Truly, what a lovely night! And the rain stopped too! Now there really isn't anything holding us back, is there? How brilliant that I've prepared another lovely story then! Let's not waste anymore time!]

anx

[Have you heard of Illusia Eclipsa? Rumors say that a woman has been haunting and collecting dreams. According to my darling witnesses, who as always rely on your trust to gain reliability, a woman has been putting people to sleep. Yes, a tall slender figure in a flowy robe, with long dark hair. Word says that her face is that of a porcelain doll, delicate and beautiful. Still, it is best to keep your distance. For if Illusia Eclipsa lays her eyes upon you it shall seal your fate.]

[This monster from the beyond tends to target people without company. Once put to sleep she will steal your dreams, collecting them for her master in the beyond. What they do with them? Well, more and more people have been found unconscious near Pollux corner again.. I'm not sure about how yet, but something is strange about that, wouldn't you-]

[Isa, we need you in the office quick! Nisha isn't doing well and we can't calm her down. I know your show is running but-]

[Fae! Oh goodness! Oh dear.. Yes of course! I'll be up in a second.. Would you mind uhm.. Script is there, I'll be back soon. Thanks Faelan! Kisses!]

xwihsnswi

[Wait you want me to-.. Isa I can't just-........... Oh stars. Well uhm.. Where were we... Illusia.. E.. I'm not reading that.. This is ridiculous.]

[That's not the script, my dear, is it?]

[Holy shit Lav! You gotta stop doing that! Seriously gonna give me a heart attack one of these days..]

[I apologize, my darling. Do you need help? I know her handwriting can be.. Tough.. And you're not the biggest fan of these things.. Let me help you, Janielle. Lean back, relax.. Good. Very good. Now then.. Let's see here. Ah yes. The people near Pollux corner. Quite peculiar, isn't it? I believe that place has been mentioned before.. It appears to be quite a Hotspot for strange occurances. Very interesting, wouldn't you say, dear listeners? So? Are you curious yet? I'm sure there's lots so see around there.. I hear there's invites going around for a peculiar festivity as well. Keep your eyes and ears open. You wouldn't want to miss it. So! On that note I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short. Thank you so much for listening. My name is Lavender Auris, and this was "Whispers in the Aether". You're listening to Eldoria Radio.]

ypait

[Thank you, Lav.. Really you saved me here..]

[Don't mention it... We're still on for dinner, yes? We've had that reservation for weeks.. You've been so excited to go..]

[yes.. Yes. Of course we're still on. Stars, I can't wait to get out of here tonight. Oh shit the recordi-]

[_________________________]

[Pi nz. J xpvme mjlf up bqpmphjaf gps uif joufssvqujpo, nz cfmpwfe qbttfohfst. J'n tvsf zpv xfsf bmm rvjuf dpngpsubcmf mjtufojoh, zft? Pi xfmm! Cvtjoftt dbmmt. J ifsfcz csjoh zpv pomz uif cftu pg uif cftu. Bo jowjubujpo up uif nptu nbhjdbm, njoe csfbljoh, ujnf boe tqbdf efgjbou qbsuz zpv'mm fwfs xjuoftt jo zpvs tipsu, ujoz mjwft! Zft, uibu't sjhiu. Uif boovbm Tpvm Tzoejdbuf Cbmm! Gvsuifs jogpsnbujpo xjmm sfbdi zpv jo b ejggfsfou gpsn. Cvu gps opx, xf bqqsfdjbuf zpv nbljoh ujnf gps vt.]

[Nvdi mpwf, uif Dpoevdups.]

[tomomiisasleep]

i never pointed it pu but it's been on my mind for a long time: shouldn't Pyrrha's body fix her nicotine dependency ?

wouldn't Nona's disguise be more successful with facepaint?

and why does Ianthe care about Cam anyways? or is it Gideon who cares? is she even there?

and this is an important but late question: why does the sixth want to open the locked tomb? or do they ?or do they just want to help BOE? I don't understand why. Pyrrha's not a war criminal.

why is it that Ianthe can't see Pyrrha's eyes have changed?

“You challenged the Sixth for its keys,” she said eventually. “You named the time. You backed down, but I had right of reply. We didn’t consent. Or reject. I accept the challenge of the Third.”

wow

“Stop being so fucking dramatic—”

“Staaahp being so fucking dramahhhtic,” Crown mimicked, in a high-pitched voice.

uh

Crown was pleading, “One fight … one last duel. You challenged her with Babs, you know, back on Canaan House. I didn’t do it. So follow through, for me. You always do things for me, don’t you? My heart’s own … my necromancer.”

Prince Ianthe Naberius shuddered.

wow I bet they fuck each other raw everynight

the weird sexual tension between them is suffocating me

seriously

“Yes, Warden, I will always know you.”

ahhhhhhhhhh

“Personally? She’s the last thing I have left of a woman I tried to trick into loving me, and got played myself. And for you? She might be you, kiddie.”

wow Wake really got some game. but she killed her.

The corpse looked at her in such mute, helpless appeal—spoke to her in her first language—that Nona did not have to think about what she did next. She leant down and laid a kiss right on that cool, dead, crooked mouth.

uuuuggghhhhh

that's your first kiss? come on!

ok fine that's like the first time their bodies touched after Gideon died, it is romantic

a living desire to take the corpse in her arms like Kevin’s wanting desire with his dolls. To own, to squeeze, to cosset and destroy.

wow ok Pyrrha uhhh landmine redheads am i right

Harrowhark Nonagesimus couldn’t have rolled aside that damned rock unless it was fresh out of the vat.”

so Pyrrha actually knows that it's open???

“Not my girl. Unlike some of us, I’ve never much seen the allure of an evil cougar,” he said crisply. “Good morning, Gideon.”

I will never look at Cytherea the same again

It was in Kiriona’s every movement—the bright, swift flexions of her arms, and the way she swung her legs, big and brash, and the weirdly easy, light grace with which she moved her dead body.Nona had never seen anyone so sad in her whole short life. It made her nearly afraid to die.

*crying*

“Gideon … G—, you died for nothing.”

they have pre-resurrection memories?

so Nona's not Griddlehark merged spirit, but A.L. and Harrow merged spirit??? is that it??

“Maybe that’s for the best,” said Pyrrha. Then she opened her mouth and said quietly—“A…”

I knew it... Pyrrha did say that she didnt hate her like the others do

“Don’t, don’t, don’t. Don’t do this to me, Pyrrha … Pyrrha, just let me die. It’s nicer. I can’t bear it.”

NO she's just a baby why why why

Then she leant down—she kissed her brusquely and briefly on the forehead—and, startlingly and even more briefly, on the mouth. Nona, who even then could never ditch the lessons of the hand and the mouth, watched that kiss and felt very sad. It was like watching Pyrrha stealing something she didn’t want to take—reaching out for the juicy, cherry-red part of the oven, even when she knew that all it could give her was a burn. And Nona saw Camilla, with her cold, navy blue mouth, and could tell that Camilla understood.Camilla said, “Could you try not to be such a chicken hawk, Pyrrha?”

what if like John had not actually been seperated from A.L.'s soul the whole time and no one coould really be seperated(*sleeptalking*)

[workbusiness]

What Is The Name Change Policy For My Airline Ticket?

Eurowings Airlines Name Correction/Change Policy

Eurowings Airlines Name Change/Correction Policy: It is an unavoidable part of aviation experiences to change your reservation prior to departure. If you are faced with a situation to change the name on the ticket, this is the place for you! This blog will share valuable insights on the Eurowings name change policy to help you at critical times. Be sure to read the post till the end to capture the essential guidelines and scenarios of the policy.

Customers can also connect with experts on the 24-hour customer support number (toll-free).

The airline industry is being overwhelmed and evolving across the planet every other day. Passengers seek innovative aviation services to explore global destinations as per budget allowances. At the same time, aviation service providers also act professionally to excellently meet the needs of the visitors. They offer a larger package of services and renowned policies to ensure that clients enjoy the pinnacle of travel. The possibility to correct/change the Eurowings name is one of the main initiatives offered by airlines in the sector.

About Eurowings

Eurowings is one of the most valued and reputable airlines in the sector based in Germany. The low-cost service provider is committed to helping clients with superior travel solutions that comply with global standard protocols. Before continuing, it is sensible to share opinions about the airline itself:

Eurowings is a major aviation organization in Germany.

It was born in 1990 but started operating in 1994.

The carrier's main office is located in Düsseldorf.

Furthermore, Eurowings is a subsidiary of the Lufthansa group.

The low-cost carrier is home to a fleet of more than 90 aircraft, including Airbus and Boeing vehicles.

Currently, Eurowings manages to serve passengers in more than 130 destinations around the world.

Understanding the Eurowings Name Correction Policy 2022 | Detailing Major Highlights & Rules

Flying with Eurowings? Fantastic!

Do you need to change the name mentioned incorrectly on your Eurowings reservation?

I prefer to continue more!

The German airline Eurowings is a top-tier aviation company when it comes to offering its customers reliable solutions. They will take your matter seriously when you submit your name change request to the airline. The airline's customer-driven name change/correction policy allows users to make essential name changes to the reservation prior to departure. Customers shall abide by the rules and laws described in the rule book.

Be sure to closely monitor the following key indicators to gain a better understanding of the policy:

With Eurowings, travelers can initiate the name change request on the reservation before departure.

The airline considers requests that are generated through authorized channels only.

In addition, passengers can make minor name corrections of up to a few characters.

It should be noted that the German airline only allows critical name changes in special circumstances.

Eurowings customers can use the digital method, as well as any traditional channel, to submit the name change request.

When your name changes due to marriage/divorce, you can approach the airline with the legal document that supports the request.

Remember, Eurowings does not accept requests for tickets booked through third party travel agents. You should contact the interested party directly.

How to Modify the Name on the Booking of Eurowings?

You may relate to this segment as it outlines multiple channels and outlets that users can take to raise a concern. The German-based airline is committed to offering passengers state-of-the-art travel services around the world. He makes honest and dedicated efforts to provide maximum comfort and entertainment for customers. Presenting a combination of several procedures to modify the name is part of this approach.

Eurowings Name Change Online

It is an age of digital technologies. Well, the German airline also allows users to use online services to make flight modifications. Several crucial steps that you need to take are as follows:

Start the procedure by visiting the official website: eurowings.com.

With the registered email address and password, you can log in to your account.

Now move on to the important window name: Manage Reservation.

Please provide your last name along with the reservation reference number for more information.

On the next page, you can find the list of reservations.

Eurowings Name Change Offline

When you decide to farm traditional tactics, you will have several options to choose from. Eurowings accepts name change/correction requests through the following means:

Airport Ticket Counter

Customer Helpdesk Number 

Eurowings Name Change Fee

Eurowings will charge a Eurowings name change fee for changing the passenger's name on a price ticket. The rate varies by rate type and vacation location. It is essential to verify that the name change fee is similar to any fee distinction that may apply. The fee is non-refundable and must be paid at the time the alternate name is requested.

Eurowings Name Change Policy:

Eurowings allows passengers to change the passenger's name on their ticket, a problem in favorable situations. Business naming policy varies by rate type and vacation location. Here are some key points to note about Eurowings' name change policy:

Name changes are not allowed for all rate types. Passengers must test their fare policies before creating a name exchange request.

Name changes are allowed only for the entire itinerary and no longer for male or female flight segments.

Name changes are allowed only for the original passenger and not for a new passenger.

Name changes are only allowed for the same course and on the same travel dates as the single booking.

Name corrections can be made within 24 hours of booking your flight.

The charge varies by fare type and vacation location, so passengers should contact Eurowings immediately to verify the price.

Name changes are only allowed for the same passenger on the same flight and cannot be transferred to another character.

It's critical to note that not all fares are eligible for a name change anymore.

It's also worth noting that it may not be possible to change the name for some reservations, as well as organization reservations; In these cases, passengers must contact a third-party travel site to request a refund or cancellation.

Eurowings Name Correction

If you have made a small mistake in your name, including a misspelling, you can ask Eurowings for a name correction instead of a name change. A name correction is priceless and can be done through the same process as a name exchange. However, name corrections are issued for approval through Eurowings and are best allowed for minor errors.

Can I change my Eurowings flight booking

Am I allowed to change my Eurowings flight booking?

We are all aware of the fact that change is the only permanent thing in our lives. Changes can happen suddenly and if you have some plans, you will need to do some modifications. If you have booked your flight with Eurowings, this article is for you.

You can make changes to your plane ticket before the web check-in closes. You can change the plane ticket whenever you want the modifications for you. However, you should be aware of some of the Eurowings flight change policies listed below.

The flight change policy of Eurowings

Change condition: You can make corrections to the name, date and seat change, but you cannot change the flight route. You cannot transfer the airline ticket to another person as well.

Flex Light

If you are a Flex Light member, you can make changes for free in the first 24 hours of booking.

The locker room is open to you no later than 45 minutes after the departure of the flight.

Flex Premium: If you have the Flex Premium membership, you will have unlimited free reservation changes until the web check-in closes.

Change fee:The change fee depends on when you choose to change the itinerary details.

Therefore, this is the Eurowings flight change policy that you should be aware of before requesting any changes. If you want more information about the changes, you can contact the airline's customer service. You can also ask them to guide you on the Eurowings flight change process.

Conclusions

In the end, if you want Eurowings to change the name on the ticket on your Eurowings ticket, the best system is to do it online through the "My Reservations" option on the Eurowings website. However, it is essential to consider the name change policy and applicable fees. If you have any questions or concerns, you can contact Eurowings customer service for assistance.

[wvsteria]

Was that [ALISHA BOE]? Oh no no, that was just [ISLA HUFFLEPUFF], a [ORIGINAL CHARACTER] from [HARRY POTTER]. They are [TWENTY-TWO] years old, use [SHE/THEY], and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long. {ooc: moon, 24, cst, they/she}

how long has your character been here

isla has been in dc since the beginning of the new year

what is your character's job?

finance student

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom

harry potter

has any magic affected your character

no

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know!!

isla is the daughter of helga hufflepuff and twin of isolde hufflepuff. sorted into gryffindor. isla takes her studies seriously, being the daughter of the founder of hogwarts. she’s also determined to prove her placement in gryffindor despite her last name. constantly being one to speak her mind, stand up for what’s right and shows courage even when she’s uncertain. 

[harrowharksoup]

MBTI and astrological signs are cool and all, but what’s your BOE name?

[skeletalheartattack]

Does Boe have any other pets?

unless you consider the infomaniac to be a pet (non-canon), nope! just Budd!!

i don't think Boe could handle another pet, i.e. having to focus his attention between two animals in his home. i also feel like, Boe would be like ''if i get another pet, will Budd feel bad? i can't let that dude feel any ounce of bad feelings. he's done so much for me, i can't hurt his heart like that''. Boe's kinda lonely, but I imagine Budd is enough for Boe to feel less so, yknow? plus i have this whole headcanon in my brain of the fact Budd eats the literal trash in his house (pictured below)

(cont.) and. its a metaphor for like, Budd cleaning the cobwebs out of Boes life, and just kinda helping Boe live a cleaner life yknow, like literally (or, cleaning the depression out of his life to the best of it's ability). and i feel like at first Boe doesn't understand that, but like at some point it clicks. and he looks at this single creature. and is like "you know what you're doing, don't you." AND THAT'S THE WHOLE REASON I WANTED BUDDS NAME TO BE INSTANTLY UNDERSTOOD, like!!! i want you to hear his name and understand "oh that's Boes buddy!!! he loves him so much he named him buddy!!! hes that special to him!!!" like i think that's what's special about Boe having this pooch. it's not just "oh that's my baby boy :) that's my sweet little man", it's "this guy has seen what ive been through and how i live, and does his best to help clean me up. he deserves the best, and ill give him what i can." LIKE THAT'S IT!!!! THAT'S WHAT IT'S ABOUT BABES!!!

But yeah! I think Boes perfectly content with Budd/Buddy. I don't feel like Boe would want him to feel any ounce of jealousy or envy. like these two creatures look at eachother like "this entity is the silliest dude ive ever seen. they know me in and out. i love them". and i think that's just enough for Boe right now :...)

[johngaiussimp]

Locked Tomb UQuiz Masterpost!

Hellllooooo. I make a lot of uquizzes on Twitter for fun. i post/make them at various levels of seriousness, so they are mostly the farthest thing from professional and pretty horny and silly.* But if you want to take a bunch of locked tomb personality quizzes made by a silly nerd, here’s a list from over the years!

Every quiz is probably NSFW lol. More recent ones have Nona spoilers (at the bottom of list)

There are also other quizzes that are by other amazing people, take their quizzes too (too stoned to figure out how to find all those) (if you want to reblog with your own quizzes pls do so)

here you gooooooo. 

Which Ianthe vibe are you?

Which Griddlehark quote/moment are you?

Which goth Harrow nickname are you?

Which name does Harrowhark Nonagesimus call you?

How fucked up are you? (based on a very specific TLT measurement) 

Which hilarious Mercymorn insult are you?

What does your TLT House say about you as a lover?

What sexy Cytherea moment are you?

What TLT meme are you?

Which article of Harrowhark’s clothing are you?

What type of cavalier are you?

How quickly would you die in Canaan House?

What does Ianthe call you?

Which TLT woman are you going on a hot date with?

Which Third House au plot point are you?

Which Ninth House feature/element are you?

Which fake TLT academic journal title are you?

What makkachinning Griddlehark AU are you? 

Answer would you rather questions and get assigned a TLT wife!

How well do you know Ianthe Tridentarius? 

Analyze this Gideon and Ianthe banter scene and I’ll guess your astrological sign incorrectly. 

Choose your own adventure TLT au (which original Lyctor are you?)

Which piece of TLT underwear are you?

Answer FMK - get assigned a strange TLT au of my own creation.

Which cursed TWT fan TLT moment are you (would you rather)

Which certified TLT stoner are you?

Answer some Qs and get assigned a TLT hottie and a Taylor Swift song 

Which BOE prisoner are you from “As yet Unsent”

Which brat Ianthe moment /emoji are u???

How long could you stay married with Ianthe?

Which false homestuck reference in TLT are you?

Match a reaction image to TLT characters and get assigned a TLT ex-gf

Which TLT cat are you? 

Which form of Alecto are you going to date?

What interpretation of Mercymorn’s drawing of a RB are you?

What is your TLT toxic trait (character edition)? 

What is your TLT love language? 

What is your job during the Great Jizz Heist? 

What’s your toxic tlt trait (fandom edition)?

Top, bottom or switch, TLT edition

Which arcane x tlt ship are you?

Which line from the Nona book summary are you?

who is your TLT secret santa and what do they get you?

R u hole or slick or knot? decorate a christmas tree.

What Tor nona cover promotion tweet are you?

What Nona cover detail are you?

Which horny TLT moment are you?

Who is your TLT one night stand?

Who in Bridgerton are you? (TLT x bridgerton )

which Locked Tomb villain are you?

What kind of ass would Ianthe flesh magic onto you?

Whose strap are you []ing tonight?

Who is your 2022 TLT pride crew?

Are you top bottom or switch (nona edition)? 

Which name does Pyrrha call you? 

*Please note that these quizzes are made by a freak who is friends with freaks and doesn’t fuck with trying to police other ppls shipping choices lmao. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Facebook vs Robert Bork

Unless you're a certain kind of conservative, you probably haven't heard of Robert Bork, but he's one of the most important people you've never heard of. The best way to understand Bork is that he was Ronald Reagan's court sorcerer.

Reagan was an empty vessel with the hands of ruthless plutocrats shoved up his asshole*, operating him like a hand puppet for their collective will to power.

He served as a kind of dowsing rod for policies that would transfer wealth from the 99% to the 1%.

*Hence the polyps

That dowsing rod pointed straight at Bork. Bork was an alternate history writer, a fabulist with a unique and wildly improbable theory of antitrust statutes: that if you studied the Sherman Act and the Clayton Act with Qanon-style fervor, you'd find hidden messages in them.

Specifically, you would discover that the lawmakers who drafted, debated, amended and passed these laws thought monopolies were good, actually. They were only concerned with a small and possibly mythical minority of monopolies that were "harmful."

Not just any harms: Bork said that these ancient sages were worried about *consumer* harms, which, practically speaking, means monopolies that use their power to raise prices. This, he said, was the only thing that the government should step in to prevent.

Since it is nearly impossible to prove that a given merger or tactic would result in higher prices before the fact, and *also* it's nearly impossible to prove that a price rise after the fact was attributable to monopolism we should probably just forget about antitrust.

Reagan loved this. By shifting antitrust's focus from *democratic* harms (like reducing choice, distorting regulation, hurting workers, etc) to *consumer* harms, he could demote "citizens" (who have a role in shaping policies) to "consumers" - mere ambulatory wallets.

Reagan tried to get Bork a seat on the Supreme Court, but there was a little problem. Bork had committed a string of disgusting crimes while serving as Nixon's Solicitor General, and the Senate refused to confirm him for a seat.

(Conservatives were outraged that committing crimes at the highest level of government disqualified you from the Supreme Court and coined the term "Borked" to describe rich, powerful people who had to face the unfair prospect of being held accountable for their actions)

But Bork - along with the Chicago School economists - went on to completely revolutionize the world's conception of anti-monopoly enforcement, as neoliberal leaders all over the world (Thatcher, Mulroney, Pinochet, Kohl, etc) took up his theories and tuned them into policy.

Bork was a fringe figure, but he was preaching a gospel that stood to make the richest people on Earth *so much richer*, and they bankrolled the hell out of his theories.

For example, 40% of US federal judges have attended "continuing education" seminars at an annual lush Florida junket where they are initiated into the bizarre world of "consumer harm" theory.

https://crookedtimber.org/2018/10/18/law-and-economics/

40 years later, monopolism has surged in every industry, from bottlecaps to pharma, from poultry to pro wrestling, from eyeglasses to emergency rooms, from oil to car parts, from music to publishing to movies to online services to telecoms.

All driven by mergers, all resulting in higher prices (so much for "consumer harm") all wildly distorting of public policy (the decision to let Boeing self-certify the 737 Max is repeated in thousands of ways across hundreds of industries), all brutal news for workers.

It's a disaster, but it's one that we have been powerless to avert or address for so long as "consumer harm" ruled antitrust enforcement.

Finally, that's changing.

In 2019, Dina Srinivasan published a landmark paper: "The Antitrust Case Against Facebook," which made *incredibly* clever arguments showing that FB's democratic harms were also consumer harms, meaning FB could be sued without first undoing Borkism.

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3247362

But the magic of this work was in revealing the poverty of the consumer harm standard: she laid out the innumerable ways in which FB is bad for society and showed how a sliver of these harms were technically illegal, raising the question: why isn't *all* this stuff illegal?

Today, Facebook was hit with *two* antitrust suits, one from the FTC and the other from almost every US state (including California!).

The complaints say that FB's acquisitions of Instagram and Whatsapp were anticompetitive.

https://www.theverge.com/2020/12/9/22158483/facebook-antitrust-lawsuit-anti-competition-behavior-attorneys-general

Of course, they *were* anticompetitive. We know, because Zuck - who specializes in tripping over his own dick - sent out memos extolling the acquisitions' anticompetitive advantages, proving he hasn't learned a thing since he traded incriminating IMs about founding FB.

https://www.esquire.com/uk/latest-news/a19490586/mark-zuckerberg-called-people-who-handed-over-their-data-dumb-f/

The complaints build on Srinivasan's work and they carry the same flavor: claiming "consumer harms" in the acquisitions, but winking and nodding toward a broader, more democracy-focused (and less consumer-focused) critique of monopoly.

It's a weird tightrope act: they want to win, so their argument is designed to balance on the single, fragile hair that borkism stretches across the chasm of monopoly enforcement, but they wanna make sure we see that big sturdy bridge of nonbork antitrust right there.

If there was any doubt, it was erased by the remedies demanded in the complaints. The prosecutors aren't asking for money damages - a fine is a price, after all - instead, they want FB to sell off the companies it bought for illegal purposes.

And they want FB to get regulatory approval for future acquisitions (though the states will let it buy companies for less than $10m without approval). These are not "consumer harm" remedies - they're "democracy" remedies, aimed at removing the company's source of power.

Facebook has stood up a website explaining why it's a cuddly mom-and-pop business that's being bullied by mean government meanies:

https://about.fb.com/building-to-compete/

The argument's pretty similar to the one laid out in a leaked memo in October:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#dnr

Basically: it would be really hard for us to unwind these illegal, anticompetitive mergers. Seriously, it would cost a bundle and take so much work!

This is an unserious argument, and it shows how badly FB has misgauged the mood.

All of FB's arguments are garbage, really. Take the line that ex-British-Deputy-PM-turned-FB-salesdroid Nick Clegg has been peddling: "STOP TRYING TO BREAK UP FACEBOOK OR THE CHINESE WILL WIN!"

https://www.cnet.com/news/facebooks-nick-clegiden-must-unite-global-powers-to-shape-internet-amid-china-threat

The company's best arguments are about "market definition" - to claim that they don't have a monopoly because of all the competitors they face, provided you define FB's market broadly enough.

Like, "Here at Facebook, we are in the 'using computers' business. Now, just think of how much time you spend using a computer without interacting with FB! Your car has a computer and it's not on FB! How can you say we have a monopoly?!"

If you want to see someone making this argument as well as it can possibly be made and literally getting laughed at by a University of Chicago (!) audience, check out this debate from 2019:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_Jp-GJ9LM0

Forcing FB to divest itself of Whatsapp and Instagram is a no-brainer. The company lied to secure those mergers, broke the promises it made to get permission to make them, and the penalty for that should be unwinding those mergers.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/07/dont-believe-proven-liars-absolute-minimum-standard-prudence-merger-scrutiny

And if FB fights this for a decade the way IBM fought its antitrust action, fine - IBM outspent the entire DoJ antitrust division every year for 12 years (Bork called it "antitrust's Vietnam"), but even though Big Blue wasn't broken up, they had their spirit broken.

It was fear of another tangle with antitrust regulators that caused IBM to sit idly by while Phoenix cloned the PC ROMs and created the PC clone industry, which became the US computing industry.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/08/ibm-pc-compatible-how-adversarial-interoperability-saved-pcs-monopolization

And it was the same fear that caused IBM to hire an outside company to make the OS for its PCs, getting a couple of nerds named Paul Allen and Bill Gates to supply one for them.

IBM's 12 years of antitrust hell focused the attention of every tech giant of the age, letting them know what was on their horizon if they acted like IBM had. It created the US tech industry.

Today, VCs call the businesses that Big Tech dominates "the kill zones" because they know that monopolists have the market power to destroy any startup that tries to compete with them.

There is an entire - better, more pluralistic - tech industry that's been suppressed by Big Tech. If FB and Goog and Apple and the other tech giants spend the next decades throwing billions at the FTC and the states attorneys general, it will be money well-spent.

Because it will be money that these companies don't get to spend destroying the next wave of tech companies, co-ops, and platforms.

[blueskrugs]

That Don’t Sound Like You | Brock Boeser

title and inspiration come from the Lee Brice song of the same name. I like country music, okay? takes place roughly September 2015-August 2019. all games and other teammates are accurate.

because @captainkreider​ said “what if you write this for Brock” and I immediately had to rethink my priorities on who I will and will not write for. and then this happened. 

length: 4.7 words 

Girl, I’m glad you called

You met Brock early in your freshman year at University of North Dakota. He was always surrounded by people, popular and charismatic, even as a slightly awkward 18-year-old, but it seemed like he could, and would, talk to anyone who would listen.

You found that out for yourself when he plopped down a couple seats from you in some 100 level English lecture before leaning across the empty desk between you to introduce himself.

“I’m Brock,” he said with a grin.

You took a moment to assess him. His blond hair was tucked beneath a backwards snapback, looking every bit like a douche college athlete, but his blue eyes were kind, and his smile seemed genuine. You shot him a quick smile of your own before turning back to your notes.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered. Brock was still watching you closely; you flipped the page of your notebook.

Any further conversation was cut short by your professor coming in, his typical five minutes late. It was already the third week of class, and Brock had never sat near you before, usually choosing to sit more near the back, but you buried your confusion in favor of focusing on the lecture. 

Brock kept sitting next to you, though, would start a conversation with you most days. It was a week and a half before he asked for your phone number, another week before he actually texted you to complain about how he didn’t understand an assigned reading. In the meantime, you’d learned that you hadn’t grown up far from each other in Minnesota– just a couple towns away from each other outside Minneapolis, his favorite color– blue, but only one highly specific shade, and how he’d been drafted by the Canucks but was still trying out the whole college thing.

“So,” Brock started one day in October. You hummed in response, not looking up from your notes– you were trying to review for the test you had after this lecture was over. Brock nudged your elbow, but you still didn’t look up at him. “Hey. Y/N.” Brock was starting to whine now, so you glanced up at him. “So, uh, we have our first home game this Saturday.”

You raised an eyebrow at Brock. He looked nervous, fidgeting with a hoodie string and chewing on his bottom lip. You poked him in the arm with your pen. 

“Got something you wanna say, Boes?”

“Would you, y’know?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, Brock, I don’t know. Spit it out.”

“Do you wanna come to the game?” he finally managed.

Now, UND took hockey as seriously as some colleges took football, and you’d spent more than one conversation with Brock discussing hockey, so he knew you liked it. Of course you’d be at the game on Saturday. But Brock wasn’t asking if you were going as a hockey fan. He was asking if you’d come to see him play.

You grinned, and Brock ducked his head and refused to look at you. His cheeks looked a little pink. You poked him with your pen again, this time just below his ribs, and he squirmed and snatched the pen from your hand. 

“Yeah, Brock, I’ll be there,” you assured him. 

He threw your pen at you. 

Brock scored a hat trick in front of the sold-out crowd and swept you up in his arms outside the arena.

That became the new normal for you two. You went to every home game to watch as Brock tore up the league as one of the best freshmen anyone had ever seen. He’d meet you outside the arena, and you’d end up at a diner with the rest of the team with Brock’s arm draped around your shoulder. The team accepted you into their fold easily enough, teasing and chirping you just as they would any other player. There was time spent alone with Brock, too, or as alone as you could get in a dorm building. It had started under the pretense of studying together, but over time, it usually ended under a pile of blankets and Grey’s Anatomy playing on one of your laptops.

Brock kissed you for the first time in early December, after the team swept the weekend against Denver. It was cold, and his breath brushed across your face in a white cloud when he leaned in, but his lips were warm against yours. 

Not much changed after that, not really, except for the fact that Brock got much less shy about always wanting to be near you or touching you in some way, whether it was your knees pressed against each other beneath a table on a date, or a hand on your hip or linked with yours when you were hanging out with others.

He did trip over his own feet the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, though. 

You surprised Brock in Tampa in April for the Frozen Four finals, where he had the game winning goal, and three more assists to boot. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him smile as big as when you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist after the game, Stretch and Drake and everyone else still screaming somewhere behind you.

Truck tires on a gravel road Laughing at the world, blasting my radio Cannonballs splashing in the water

Brock called you one afternoon in June, after life had settled down into the lazy days of summer. “What’s up, babe?” you asked, absently throwing a tennis ball for your dog out in the yard.

Brock hesitated. “Do you still wanna come out to the lake with us?”

You had talked about it, a little, back when it was still ungodly cold in North Dakota, and Brock had mentioned that his family was going to try and rent a place on a lake for a week or two in July. It had seemed so far away then, as distant future as graduating or Brock heading off to Vancouver, which feels foolish now, with July creeping closer every day.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

The two of you talked about the future for the first time that week at Minnetonka, between bets of who could make the biggest splash, or turning up Brock’s playlists as loud as you could, yelling the words to country songs up to the clouds.

Brock wanted to stay at UND another year, use it to develop his game, but he whispered in the dark one night that he was scared of making it all the way to the NHL and not living up to expectations, no longer a bright star, but a supernova, left to fade into nothing. 

You had dreams of your own, too. Graduating and getting a job in a big city, getting away from Minnesota and small towns where everyone knew everyone. California, maybe, or somewhere on the East Coast like D.C.

(Brock had made a face at you for that.)

You realized for the first time, too, that you just might be in love with Brock. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization, though, just tucked your face a little tighter into Brock’s shoulder, tried not to think about what you would do if Brock ever asked you to follow him to Vancouver. You weren’t sure you could give up your life plans for anyone.

July passed with days in the sun and nights near a bonfire, drowning in one of Brock’s hoodies as you sat in his lap under a blanket. You wished you could live in moments like those forever.

Sophomore year was different for both of you. You were busier with classes, and Brock was more focused on hockey than ever, determined not to let his freshman season be a fluke. 

Not that anyone thought it would be.

Brock became an alternate captain. Continued to dominate on the ice, came back stronger after a couple of injuries. Brock Boeser was making a name for himself, and it was only a matter of time before everyone started paying attention.

The day after the team lost to Boston University in double overtime, the defending champs going out on their very first game of the tournament, Brock was home in Minnesota, signing an entry-level contract, and playing his first game as a Vancouver Canuck.

He had kissed you goodbye on Thursday before the team left for Fargo, with an “I love you,” murmured against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair, the promise of “see you soon” unspoken but understood between you.

But you sat on your couch and watched as Brock took to the ice for the team that believed in him against the team he grew up watching, you started to wonder just how soon that would be, and if you’d ever get your Brock back, or if you’d lost his love to the city of Vancouver.

Brock scored a goal that night. You’d always known he would fit right in in Vancouver. 

Brock broke up with you that summer. You had seen it coming, maybe since last July, when you realized that your lives were heading in different directions, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. You were supposed to go up to Minnetonka again, but you never made it that far before he was standing on your doorstep, hands shoved deep in your pockets.

Part of you wanted to insist that you could make the distance work, and maybe you could, maybe Brock thought it, too, but you couldn’t think of the words.

“I love you,” you said instead. 

You dropped a Target bag full of Brock’s things on his parents’ front porch, hoodies and beanies and other things that were too hard to keep, before you headed back to UND for the fall.

You kept in touch some, congratulatory texts (you) or pictures of the weather (him). You received dozens of Snapchats during All-Star Weekend in 2018, especially of the adorable dog he ended up adopting– you had vetoed changing his name from Cider– but you were pretty sure he was sending them to everyone.

Until you got one simply captioned “would be better with you here.” You stared at the picture– the view of Tampa outside his hotel room window– until the time ran out, and it disappeared. Then another came in, and you opened it quickly, unthinkingly. “Not quite like the last time we were in Tampa together tho.”

The only time you’d been to Tampa had been nearly two years before for the Frozen Four.

The picture disappeared again, and you didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t.

You graduated a semester early and made plans to move to the East Coast and get a job, start your life for real. No one commented on how you were about as far away from Brock and Vancouver as you could get.

You were doing laundry at your parents’ house, packing most of what you owned in your car to move, when you came across a green UND hockey T-shirt. It still smelled a little like Brock, even though it had been buried in your room for years. You spared half a thought to wonder if Brock ever even missed it before you throw it in the washing machine. 

You were surprised, then, when you got a text– a real one, too, not a Snapchat message– from Brock later that summer. You had never responded to those messages he had sent during the All-Star Game, and he had stopped sending things after a while. That had been over a year ago. 

Brock’s message was simple, just a “hey, how have you been?” You wondered if he even knew you moved, and you were immediately suspicious of ulterior motives. 

You left him on read for a couple of hours, before responding, and your message was short, curt. Your suspicions were proved right when he responded within half an hour.

“so” “Some of the guys from UND are coming up north for a couple days” “and they’ve been making some noise about seeing you”

You sighed. You were too tired for playing games, talking coyly, pretending like you were anything more than a couple of exes, practically strangers at this point. You pressed the call button below Brock’s name, realized for the first time that you’d never removed the green heart emoji from his contact. 

“Y/N?” Brock sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t been the one to text you first.

“Why now, Brock?” you asked. Why do you still care, is what you didn’t.

“Stetch won’t shut up about wanting to see you, and some of the other guys picked up the chorus,” Brock said. He sounded as tired as you felt. It may have been years since you had last seen some of his teammates from UND, it certainly sounded like they haven’t changed much. 

You went quiet, chewing on your bottom lip. Brock rushed to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to come. I just- I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have texted, I’m sorry.” His voice faded slightly, like he’d pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up.

And, well, you were going to blame what you said next on the fact that it was well after midnight and that you’d been awake for too many consecutive hours. 

“When is everyone coming up?”

Brock was silent, not even the sound of his breathing coming over the line. You checked to make sure he hadn’t, in fact, ended the call.

“Uh, second week of August,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Brock echoed. You could picture the crease between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, ‘okay.’ I’ll think about it,” you said. 

You didn’t know why you said that.

You didn’t know why you booked a flight to Minneapolis, or why you were actually looking forward to it. Even when Brock texted to warn you that some of his Canucks teammates would be there with the old faces from UND. 

You didn’t know what you were doing as you stood in the entryway of a lake house in Minnesota. Out on the deck, you could see some familiar faces, but you had never felt so out of place in your life. 

This was a bad idea. No, it was a terrible idea. You weren’t in college anymore. These weren’t your friends, your people. They had all moved on with their lives, and so had you. A weekend on a lake in Minnesota would only bring back the memories and the regrets of years gone by. 

You were just debating turning around and pretending that you had never even come when Brock stepped in and saw you standing there, looking like a fool. He looks surprised to see you. You take another step into the house.

“Hey, Y/N!” The surprise is gone nearly as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with what looks like genuine happiness. “C’mon, everyone’s outside.”

You follow silently, taking in Brock’s bare, tanned shoulders, the way his hair looks blonder from hours spent out on the lake. For a moment, you’re both 19 again.

Stetch yells when he sees you first, and then you’re being mobbed by hockey players. You only know a couple from UND– Stetch, Drake, and Josty, to start– and the rest are from Vancouver, introductions blurring together in a mess of faces and nicknames– Tuna, Petey, and Chris, who had definitely been called Dad by at least three different people.

You finally manage to break away and head for a drink, but Brock follows you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, and you believe him, look into his eyes, painfully earnest and real and blue like the reflection of the sky on the lake. You offer a weak smile in return, not sure if you can say the same, not yet. Brock steps closer and opens the lid of the cooler you’re standing next to. “Jess says you ended up in D.C. after all. How is that? You happy?” 

His question catches you off-guard, and you hesitate, too long. “Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, it’s great.” Everything I’ve ever wanted, except you’re not there, is what you don’t say. You wonder briefly if he can still see right through you.

Brock’s head is buried in the cooler as he digs through the ice, but you can still see the way his shoulders go up like they always do when he’s frowning. That’s a yes, then. 

“What’s the difference between a White Claw and a Truly, anyway?” he muses instead of calling you out, before surfacing with one of each in his hands. He offers them both to you, and you take the Truly– wild berry, your favorite, not that Brock would have any reason to know that– and leave him the White Claw. He cracks it open and takes a long drink. You tear your eyes away from the line of his throat as he swallows.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?” Brock asks pointedly. Damn, he still follows you on Instagram.

You take a drink yourself instead of answering right away. “Couldn’t get off work,” you say. Which isn’t a lie, not really, but you hadn’t even asked, just told him you would be visiting home for the week. You didn’t think he’d love the idea of spending a weekend with a bunch of hockey players, especially when the one who’d invited you happened to be your ex-boyfriend.

Brock just blinks at you for a moment. “Well, I’m glad you could make it,” he says again, just as honest as before. 

When the next person asks if you’re happy in D.C., you’re not quite as off-guard, and you manage to smile when you answer this time. Brock is watching you from across the deck, though, and you wonder if the smile looked as fake as it felt to everyone else, or if it was just Brock. 

You’re arguing with Josty about something ridiculous, when Emma, Troy’s girlfriend, sees you for the first time. 

“Oh my God, you cut your hair! It’s so cute!” she said before wrapping you up in a hug.

When she lets you go, you sweep your hair over one shoulder, an old habit from when it hung halfway down your back; it barely brushed your shoulders now.

“Thought it was time for a change,” you say, “and my boyfriend really likes it this way.”

Next to you, Tyson frowns and mumbles something about finding Brock. You and Emma both watch him go, a little confused.

I know it’s been a while, I don’t mean to pry But when I asked you if you’re happy, I didn’t hear a smile,  and that don’t sound like you

You’re sitting on the dock with your feet in the water that night when Brock settles next to you. Up at the house, everyone is either asleep or on their way to it. You’re both quiet for a moment, just the sound of crickets and the water lapping against the dock. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Brock says lowly. 

You breathe out a laugh. “I wasn’t either, not until I was actually here,” you admit. 

“Why did you come?”

“Why did you invite me?” you counter. It was the thing that kept bothering you about all this. Why had Brock decided to reach out now, after so long, after you’d moved on?

Brock sighs. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while.” It’s almost defensive, the way he says it. 

“Not like you tried very hard to catch up ever,” you say, and it’s mean, because you had stopped responding first, but you hadn’t known what else to do, how else to handle the heartbreak you had to relive with every text. 

“You fucking stopped talking to me!” Brock says, and, yeah, you deserve that, deserve the anger in his voice. You don’t expect to hear sadness, too, but you do. 

“What else was I supposed to do, Brock? Keep torturing myself with every text I sent?” You can’t bring yourself to be mad. You tilt your chin to look up at the stars instead, pretend you can’t feel Brock’s eyes on you. The stars are so much brighter out here, back home. “You were off chasing your dream, so it was time I went after mine.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “Why’d you come here, Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One last hurrah for when we were all in college? For freshman year when the future seemed so bright? For when I still thought having a good job in a good city with a guy who loves me would make me happy, but sometimes I feel like I’m in the wrong city with the wrong guy?”

You get up before Brock can answer and leave him sitting on the dock in the dark. 

Morning comes, and you’re not sure the conversation with Brock even happened, except for the fact that Brock is alternating between watching you intently and refusing to make eye contact. Chris makes everyone breakfast, and you now understand why everyone was calling him Dad. You settle next to Troy, lean your head on his shoulder. 

“Did I somehow do something to make Petey not like me?” you ask, watching him talk quietly to Brock at the other end of the table. 

“Nah,” Stetch says, taking a bite of bacon. “His English still isn’t great, and his default resting face makes it look like he hates everyone.” He pauses, takes another bite. “Well, and the fact that you broke our boy Brock’s heart. He’s sensitive, don’t ya know?” His tone is light, teasing, but his words make you freeze.

You gasp, too loud for the morning air. A couple people glance over at you, but you’re turning to Stetch, who at least looks like he realizes his mistake.

“Brock broke up with me,” you hiss.

Troy barely glances down the table at Brock, but you still catch it. For a split second, you consider just getting up and leaving, but settle for glaring at Brock, who doesn’t look up. His cheeks still flush like he can feel your eyes on him.

“I no longer want to be a part of this conversation,” Stetch says, making a move to get up, but you grab his wrist. He winces but stays sitting. “Look, he came back for his rookie year and was always kinda quiet-” You scoff. “-but none of us asked any questions, and then after All-Star he said you’d stopped responding to his texts.” Stetch finishes with a shrug. 

“I stopped answering because I was still in love with him and stuck in North Dakota after he broke up with me that summer, dumbass. What the hell else was I supposed to do after he told me he wished I were at the All-Star Game with him? I was never going to be able to follow Brock to Vancouver, and he made it pretty clear he never really wanted me to, anyway.”

You didn’t realize that most of the conversations around the table had gone quiet until it was too late. Brock had gone pale. You had never wanted a confrontation, not here, but it was looking inevitable. Everyone else seemed to sense this, too, because soon the table was cleared, and it was just you and Brock. 

“Why do you stay if you’re not happy?” is what Brock says first.

“I- what?”

Brock smiles at you, but it’s sad. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

“I am happy,” you say, defensive. And you are, or you will be one day, once you can finally stop thinking about Brock, about all the what-ifs, the possibilities that are long gone. You were getting there, too, before you came back to Minnesota for this weekend and everything came crashing down around your ears. Still, maybe this is the closure you needed.

“Oh yeah?” Brock says in return, and it's a taunt, really, mean in a way that he’s never been with you.

“Since when do you have any right to my happiness? What do you want me to say, Brock? That I always knew we were never meant to work out, but I fell in love with you anyway? That I went to D.C. and got everything I wanted, but once I had it, it didn’t seem right anymore? They say you never forget your first love, and, dammit, it’s really hard when yours is living his dream and tearing it up in the NHL. Is that what you want to hear, Brock? That I’ll never really get over you, even as I fall in love again, resign myself to the fact that someone else is going to fall in love with you someday, and be everything for you I couldn’t?”

Brock is frozen at the other end of the table. You want to jump in the lake, stay underwater until your lungs burn and your tears are hidden. You want to get in your rental car and drive, drive all the way to Minneapolis and keep going until you’re out of Minnesota and never look back. You want to kiss Brock, for old time’s sake, and you never want to see his face again. 

He still hasn’t said anything, so you turn and go inside, past everyone pretending like they hadn’t just been watching everything. You’re throwing everything back in your bag when Brock stumbles up the stairs. You pause, cross your arms, and raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Shit, wait,” he pants.

You can’t hold back the smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional athlete?” you say, almost without thinking. 

Brock flips you off as he leans against the doorframe, but it’s half-hearted. 

“You can’t just say shit like that and then fucking walk away,” he says, and it comes out more like a whine. “I just- I had no idea. Should’ve probably, yeah, but-” he stops, collects his thoughts. “What did you mean when you said you could never follow me to Vancouver?”

“Would you even have asked,” you say, which isn’t an answer at all.

“I don’t know, you were always talking about all of your plans, and I never wanted to stop you. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to follow me.” And, finally, for the first time in years, it seems like you two understand each other.

“Of course I did,” you say softly, and Brock looks up at you, surprised. “I just didn’t know that then. And then I didn’t think you wanted me, not when I was just some girl from college.”

“You were never just some girl from college,” Brock says quickly. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna know why I asked if you were happy? You cut your hair.” Brock sounds pained, and you remember all the times he would play with your hair while you cuddled on the couch or in bed. “Since when do you change something like that for a guy?”

“And I wouldn’t have had to change for you? After I’d graduated, if you wanted me to come to Vancouver for you?” 

Brock’s recoils, your words like a slap to the face, but it’s not as vindicating as you thought it would be. “It’s not just the hair. It’s the way you talk, the way you smile. What happened to the girl I knew?”

And that’s the problem. You’re not the girl he knew, not anymore. You’ve both grown up, lived life a little more. You might still love Brock, but you love the Brock from North Dakota, not the one who’s been in Vancouver for two years. You don’t know that Brock, and maybe you could love him, but that’s not for you to find out. It’s not fair to anyone. It just took you coming out to the lake to realize that. 

So you smile at Brock and say, “She got her heart broken and left North Dakota behind.” But you follow Brock back downstairs, spend the day out on the water, feeling settled for the first time since you got there, maybe since you had last spoken to Brock way back in 2018. 

That town, that job, that guy You can leave them behind, girl, you know you’re better than that

The boys build a bonfire after dinner, as the sun sets over the lake, and someone breaks out the ingredients for s’mores. 

“Y’know,” Brock says, resting his hand on your knee after you’ve settled into a chair. His hand is warm through the blanket draped over your lap. “For what it’s worth, there would always be a place for you in Vancouver.” 

Maybe there would be, but you weren’t sure that that place was somewhere you belonged. You don’t say that, though, just settle your feet in Brock’s lap and take the marshmallow that’s being offered to you. 

There’s a life waiting for you on the other side of the continent, and it just might be the one you were always meant to have. 

[malikmata]

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like  “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

[brockboser]

Prince Charming and the pauper PT #1

AN: this is my first fan fic so let me know what you think and if you want another part! Suggestions are always welcome

Words: 2,400

About: Brock Boeser finds an unexpected love intrest....

YOUR POV

It was a pretty normal December night in Vancouver, Cold and snowy and all I wanted was to be hanging out with my friends around a fire drinking hot chocolate but of course I was stuck at work.. My name is Y/N I’m 22 years old and I work full time as a waitress at the Parlour in Yaletown. Now normally my shifts went by slowly and painfully, each day an exact copy of the day before with the occasional cute boy or maybe even a celebrity but for the most part my days blurred together as one. Work all day, sleep, repeat just so I could afford to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world, part of me didn’t mind, Vancouver really was an amazing place to live.

Today however was different. Every year the Vancouver Canucks hold their end of year dinner party here at the Parlour, I’ve been lucky enough to avoid it at all cost. Unfortunatly for me my luck has run out and I was scheduled to be one of 3 waitresses serving their party. Some girls would kill for this opportunity, serving rich professional athletes, but not me. I’ve served my fair share of hockey players and they all turn out to be assholes who don’t know how to leave a tip.

BROCK’S POV

I couldn’t really believe that this was my third end of year dinner as a Canuck, time has gone by way too fast. It was almost 6PM, I was waiting for Quinn to pick me up, he said he would be here by now and If we’re late I will beat his ass. He knows how much I hate being late. As if on que I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. The Screen read “Huggy Bear” I chuckled to myself as I am still thankful that isn’t my nickname and I answered the phone. “hey you here?”. “Yeah hurry up, Green will kill us if were late” Quinn said so fast I barely caught what he said and the line went dead. I said goodbye to Coolie and Milo and I made my way to Quinn’s car.

Once I got into Quinn’s car it was only a 5-minute drive to the restaurant. Yaletown was our favourite place to get food, they have way too many places to choose from but the Parlour was one of the best. We walk up to the host and let her know we’re here for the dinner, she escorts us to the back room where the rest of the team was already seated. You could hear the boy’s voices echo through the whole restaurant. Guess that’s what you get with 20+ drunk men at one table. “yo that host was smoking, I’ve seen her here before and she was definitely interested in you” Quinn teases me but I do my best to ignore. Not to be cocky but girls tend to flirt with me all the time but on the contrary to what people think I’m not a player. I don’t flirt unless I’m interested which I never really am because it’s hard to know people’s real intentions when you’re a professional athlete, besides I’m not really looking for anything right now. I leave the flirting up to Jake.

5 minutes go by and we all finish looking at the menu, I always get the same thing a BBQ burger with a hey y’all as my drink but doesn’t hurt to look. As I put the menu down I notice three women walk into the room, we all drop our tones so we can tell the waitresses our orders. Two of them are the same as last year but one I did not recognize but wow she was beautiful and I don’t say that lightly.

YOUR POV

6PM rolled around quicker than I would’ve liked but I just wanted to get this dinner over with. Once we knew all the boys were seated and ready to order we went into the room, notepads in hand. We decided we would split the table in three and make it easier for ourselves that way. I’m not a hockey fan but I don’t live under a rock and I do recognize most of the boy’s I’m serving. I go from left to right, and to my surprise the orders are basic and the drinks are all beer which makes my life a lot easier and on top of that they all seem to be pretty nice. I finally reach the last two boys in my section of the table. Both look somewhat younger. One has dark brown curly hair with dark circles under his eyes, I don’t recognize him, he orders a burger as well as a beer, I furrow my eyebrows debating whether or not to ID this boy as he barely looks 17 but I decide against it as I know it would embarrass him and probably cost me a good tip. As I’m writing down his order I notice the boy sitting next to him eyeing me. I look up and make direct eye contact with two very blue eyes staring at me. I shift my feet and he look away. That’s Brock Boeser I recognize him from my friends fangirling over him last time we went to watch the hockey game. My stomach twists and I suddenly got nervous. He was kind of hot. I take a step away from the tired looking boy closer to Brock to take his order. “W-What can I get for you” I stuttered slightly, and I NEVER stutter when taking orders. What was wrong with me this boy isn’t anything that special, although his hair does flow kind of nicely. “Um can I please get the BBQ burger and a Hey y’all” he said softly. “yeah good choice, can I please see your ID?.” As soon as those words left my mouth I instantly regretted them and I felt my cheeks get hot “my bad umm don’t need to see your ID never mind  I’m just going to go put these orders through” I said before I practically ran out of the room more embarrassed then I have ever been. I just asked BROCK BOESER for ID and not the 17-year-old looking kid sitting right beside him, I am such an idiot. I walked to the kitchen and put in the orders and just prayed he would still tip me. As I waited, I felt my mind drifting to him I had to shake it off as 1) I was at work, I have to be professional and 2) hockey players are bad news.

BROCK’S POV

The whole room went silent, and then everyone erupted into laughter and proceeded to tease me about what had just happened. “Mr. Sensitive getting ID’d sitting next to Quinner that’s classic” Taney shouted across the table. I felt myself smile as I thought about what had just happened, I could tell she was flustered and it was standard practice to ask for ID although I do look about 30. She ran away with the orders before I could even ask for her name. she was beautiful, long blonde hair, blue eyes and a lot shorter than me I’d say about 5’4 I couldn’t stop smiling and the boys started to notice. “ouu Boes is day dreaming” Petey joked “at least ask for her name” he said while giving me a nudge “yeah yeah I will” I replied

About 25 minutes went by and we were all a few drinks in, the girl still hadn’t returned I assumed she was avoiding me. Next thing I know the food starts to get brought in.  A part of me really hopped she would come back just so I could admire her again and maybe ask for her name. Moments later I see her long blonde hair turn the corner. She’s looking at her feet avoiding all eye contact. She approaches me and places the plate down in front of me and starts to walk away. All the boys were looking at me, waiting for me to make a move and ask for her name but I couldn’t seem to speak. “Hey miss!” I heard Petey yell. She turned around and looked at me and just as fast looked away and towards Petey. “Brock over here wants to know your name” he smirked and I felt my heart sink and bile rise to my throat, did he seriously just throw me under the bus like that. I was pissed. At first she didn’t say anything, she just stood there like she didn’t know what to do but her eyes shifted to mine as she said “ Y/N, my name is Y/N” and just like that she was out of the room before I could even ask her anything else. My emotion soon turned from happy to pissed off really quick. “Way to throw me under the bus Petey, she probably thinks I was talking about her now or something” I scoffed and sank into my chair like a child. “you should be saying you’re welcome, if I hadn’t said something you never would have”. Part of me knew he was right. I’m pretty shy and reserved and I like to keep to myself unless I know you.

YOUR POV

Did that really just happen. Did Brock Boeser really want to know my name or were his teammates just messing with me? Either way I can’t seem to stop smiling. I came into this night wanting nothing to do with it or these boys and all of a sudden the one boy I find attractive in there wants to know my name?.

The night is coming to an end, I’ve avoided the room as much as possible, I’ve been in and out grabbing plates and refilling drinks, no more comments have been made just many stares. We’ve made eye contact once or twice a small smile included but my time is up and it’s time for the bills. I go around my side of the table one by one receiving a very drunk thank you from each of them until I get to Brock. Apart of me wants to say something but knows its unprofessional. I hand him the card machine, brushing hands as he takes it from me and we both look at each other. Het lets out a small laugh, I could tell he’d had some drinks but not nearly as many as the rest of the boys which weirdly made me feel relieved. He puts his passcode in and hands me back the machine, I take out the receipt and notice he tipped me 200$. As he stands up to put his coat on I say to him “You must’ve made a mistake, it says you tipped 200$ maybe you mean 20$?” he turns to me a flashes a smile “No mistake you deserve It” I almost felt like crying of happiness as 200$ to me means a lot more then to him. “oh, wow um thanks you so much, I hope you have a good rest of your night” I say barely being able to suppress a smile.

“yeah about the rest of the night, I’m having some friends over and I wanted to know if you wanted to umm maybe join?’ he said somewhat hesitantly. Almost as if he was nervous.

“I finish shift in an hour” I replied more confidently then id expected. “oh, great okay here’s my number text me after for the address” he replied almost surprised I had said yes. I tried to keep my cool but inside my stomach was doing flips. Brock Boeser what are you doing to me…..

[calypsoff]

Thirteen. Part 2

I know Chris is annoyed, but if I clear that and clear my schedule I will be his throughout his birthday, all his but he doesn’t know that “so I haven’t seen you in weeks and you say I have a day with you?” he questioned “maybe two?” Chris shook his head “oh wow, queen Rihanna, I may get two days with you. I am so obliged, thank you!” he shouted “don’t be like this with me, it’s busy when I roll out an album. It is not easy for me either, I miss you so much. If you actually come with me then we can always be together, but you refuse to do that because I am taking the masculinity off you, right!?” let me not shout “follow you like a dog? That ain’t me, that ain’t my life Robyn. But I have to suffer because you have to bring out an album, you come here and I am on a timer, how is that fair!?” I feel him, I get why he is upset, I do and I can tell he just wants to spend time with me like I do him “it’s not and I am sorry” I can only apologise “this sucks because I had things planned but now we can have sex tonight and then that’s it yeah, that is it. Sex on the low, a nigga got feelings too. You have a jet you could come” he just wants sex “then fly back, when do I get a break? It’s hard on me Chris, you probably don’t want to hear it but I am indebted to my record label, and I need to get out of it. I am not the richest person yet Chris, I need to get out of the claws, you don’t get it but I do because I am in it. I am stuck between two worlds, once I figure it out I can leave and I will be my own woman but right now I need you to be my escape, where I can just relax with you. It is not ideal, but it will get better and I promise you that, can you just calm down” walking over to him slowly, he is very uptight. Rubbing his arm, he isn’t looking at me because he is annoyed and I get it “I love you” Chris wrapped his arm around me, I can tell he does that is why he wants me here.

Holding up the Ace of Spades box, I forgot to get this out of my suitcase for them. I really do love his apartment; his bedroom is nice too. It is way better then his old one, so much space and air “you coming?” Chris said, I ran back in the room to get this “I got you boys this” walking towards Chris “for us!?” he spat “or you” I chuckled, he took the box from me “this is fancy baby, thank you. We can open it now. Celebrate you’re here too and the apartment” Chris placed his arm around me as we walked off “why not, I am so happy for you Chris. You look so much happier, you are you. You’re free too, I feel it in your heart” TJ looked at me all wide eyed, he can’t get used to it but he will “look what Robyn got us boys” Chris held up the bottle “wow, you spending. Thank you!” Barry said “we going to pop this shit now” TJ got up “yeah bro, open it” Chris held it out to him “I got the wife here so open it now” TJ took it from him, he’s cute. I know he is fed up and wants me to be around, Chris hugged me close kissing the top of my head “I love you so much” he is the sweetest and he is showing me so much love “bro, I don’t blame you being so in love” hearing Barry say “she is a good woman” he is making me emotional.

We cheered as TJ opened the bottle “put your lips on that we are fighting!” Chris spat “I ain’t doing shit, I will pour the glasses evenly too” Chris grabbed my hand “sit down, come” he pulled me along “I will bring the drink to you” I have missed this so much, I have missed a man spoiling me. This is what I deserve in life, sitting down on the couch “if you told me I would have Rihanna on my couch I would be like fuck off, this is crazy but how you been? I am glad you are here; Chris is like a lost puppy. We been hearing his sick ways, now we can see his ways in person. He out here being sad and shit, but on a real. He missed you, that time last week when you were supposed to come and you didn’t, he cooked you a meal” Chris came up behind Barry “shut the fuck up! You might as well tell everything” I didn’t know that “leave him, he did? I didn’t know he did. I feel awful” he cooked for me “that day I was scared to cancel, and I was trying to find way to get here but he cooked for me?” Barry nodded his head “the food was nice though, we ate it with him, but he been waiting for you to come here and look at that, you’re here” I feel such a bad person “Robyn ignore this fool, he is just talking. I was happy you ain’t come” Chris is such a liar, I believe Barry “anyways, drinks!” Chris made his way over to me.

Taking the glass from Chris “here is to my baby being here after all this time, here is to us all having a new future we all deserve. I am super excited for what is to come, and I love all of you that are in this room, thank you for this drink too. But yeah here is to us” I cooed out, we clinked glasses “also to me getting some pussy tonight” Chris cackled “not with those pubes” I drank the contents “you didn’t really tell me you were coming so quick; I wasn’t ready. But I think you niggas may go out tonight, I need to spend some alone time with this one” Chris winked at me “is that all I am to you? Somewhere to dock your penis” Chris sat next to me “don’t be so dramatic, I love you” he patted my leg “so how is Robyn? What you been up too in California?” Barry asked “work, I know it seems like because we are famous that we don’t work but it’s pretty fucked up in the industry. When I went there and got the record deal, I practically signed my life over but I was young and didn’t understand it. I am like indebted to them, so I am trying to release so many albums to get out of it, but I have plans to get out of this. The things you see I have and stuff, it’s mostly free but I do have money but not to the extent people assume but I promise you I will get out of this, so yeah. Things are hectic at the moment, then I will be on tour for seven days, seven countries, seven shows which I am not excited about, but it will be fine. I am having fans with me, like people that can come with me to see how it is, the record label are paying out for a whole Boeing to be packed for this and I ant to ask if you guys would like to come? I can get you places; well I would like Chris to come” looking over at him “seven countries!?” Chris spat “yeah, I really want you to come” I hope he does “we will discuss it later, I mean I didn’t even know of it at all” letting out an oh, it’s like a battle with him. Drinking from the glass “I think it’s good, we should go?” TJ said “we will see” rolling my eyes “if you two want to come then I will put your names down, if he wants to be stubborn then he can stay here” he really can “don’t test Chris, he will end up staying here” Barry laughed, he frustrates me.

TJ filled my glass again “least Gabby can leave you alone now” TJ laughed looking at Chris and then the smile slowly faded “Gabby?” I repeated “who is Gabby Chris?” TJ slowly retreated “do you ever just shut the fuck up bro?” Chris said to him “no I would like to know, TJ tell me” sipping my drink, TJ looked at me “I thought he told you, he said you knew” well this is awkward “is that something to do with the group picture I found out?” looking at Chris, he is glaring at TJ, he angry but for what “I will knock your ass out, seriously. You know I can beat you up, you just open your mouth for fucking what!? The shit was irrelevant, Gabby is some girl that has been harassing me. She wants my dick yeah she knows I have a girlfriend, but she has been after me, like finding me on social media. I didn’t tell you because it made no fucking sense to tell you but this loud mouth nigga did” Chris is so angry, he needs to relax “I think you and I need to talk, but in private. We have a lot to speak about, just leave TJ alone” placing my glass down “I thought you said we would speak more, didn’t we speak on that? You also told me that, you’re angry not at that. You haven’t seen me in so long and we do have a lot to speak on, in private but you need to calm down” Chris got up from the couch in a huff, he is angry at me.

Chris is angry at me I think, he has been angry since I told him that I am only here for a day or two but what does he want me to do, watching him walk off outside “he is worse than a woman” TJ took his place and sat next to me “you trying to take his place already?” Barry joked “I can’t help but like her, I mean look at her but anyways! Fuck you” TJ put a finger up at him “we joking Rihanna, we don’t want to offend you” waving him off “it’s ok, I understand. How has he been though? Truthfully? I know he is your boy, and you are down for him, he could cheat on me and I know you both won’t snitch on him, but I just want to know how he is, has he mentioned anything?” I just would like to know but these do ride for him “he was pretty pissed off that day when he cooked for you and you didn’t come, I think it knocked him. Chris is closed, I mean I know that. We both know that so for him to do something for you he fucks with you, like he ain’t been that same nigga we know when he was in school. He was live, now he is grumpy. He does get those moments; he does like to be in his room a lot though. Noticed that, he lives in that room but yeah. I know he does love you, funny because like we say something for a joke. We said oh you set, you have Rihanna and he got angry at it, oh he is his own boss. He is his own enemy” nodding my head, he is.

I thought I would join him outside, but I don’t want to argue with him at all “are you calm now?” I asked, I didn’t go to the balcony I stayed a little behind, you never know people may be looking “I am” he turned to me “you promised you would talk to him Chris, I know it’s hard. It’s hard on you, on me. On us, I am sorry that I have to be busy, but I want us to work, you think we will?” crossing my arms across my chest “I do, I want us to work but I just miss you so much. It sucks you know, I see you on social media having fun and stuff and all I Want to do is be with you, it sounds mushy and shit. But I do, I hate it and I am going to learn to get used to it. Just hard to see you on there when I can’t have you, I uhm. Probably just being annoying, talking about feelings is difficult for me at most part Robyn and I get annoyed with myself because I get angry instead, it sucks. I just also think you should just fuck your record label off too” I wish I could “I understand, I think maybe we need to talk properly before we do anything, this conversation needs to be had for the both of us yeah?” Chris nodded his head “shall we go to the bedroom?” he gestured “we shall, lead the way” I need to tell him he will be coming with me to the seven shows and that we will be going public, I need to be hard on him because the way he said I will decide on that annoyed me.

[rosegm]

[  ALISHA  BOE ,  CIS  FEMALE ,  SHE/HER  ]  shh  !  ROSE  GWENDOLYN  MORRISON ,  the  TWENTY - TWO  year  old  THIRD  year  JOURNALISM  major  from  OSLO ,  NORWAY ,  is  known  as  a  TOURMALINE  around  here.  SHE  was  invited  to  join  because  OF  HER  DRIVE  &  HER  SUCCESSFUL  DETECTIVE  WORK,  and  now,  they’re  here  to  stay.  SHE  reminds  me  of  DRINKING  RED  WINE  AND  IT  STAINING  YOUR  LIPS ,  A  FURROWED  BROW ,  &  A  PENCIL  TUCKED  BEHIND  YOUR  EAR .

hiiii  friends  !!  i’m  honestly  SHOOK  that  i’m  here  and  i’m  so  so  excited  to  have  the  chance  to  plot  and  write  with  everyone  !!  my  name  is  diana  btw  i’m  24,  use  she/her  pronouns ,  &  i’m  from  the  est  timezone  –––   here’s  my  bb  rose  lil  nancy  drew  angel  &  hmu  on  here  or  discord  to  plot  some  shiz  !!  @opalsmedia​

––– backstory

rose was born in oslo, norway to a very middle class family. she grew up reading a lot, loving to learn, and overall just someone who was kind of a people person but also loved her alone time. one would say she had a fairly normal childhood, and she was someone who matured very quickly at a young age due to her love of literature and her perceptiveness.

everything really changed when rose was in a hit and run car accident with her parents and younger brother. she was 16 at the time, and her brother actually passed away due to the accident. after that, her family could never really recover. her parents grew fairly cold and distant, the house felt emptier without her little brother’s presence, and rose spent a lot of time grieving. however, when the authorities dropped the case of looking for the drunk driver who crashed into them, that’s when rose turned her grief into action and started looking into it.

she really figured out her talents and limits when she would charm the detectives to give her records and documents, she’d interview neighbors, and basically she cracked down the case with intention and drive and purpose to help her finally get closure.

ultimately, she actually found the driver, and he did confess to being drunk and accepted his punishment, though the process of getting him there was hard and long. rose made sure her parents got the closure and justice they deserved, though they never really appreciated rose for her efforts. to them, it wasn’t therapeutic, instead brought up memories both were struggling to move on from. 

picking up context clues and putting puzzle pieces together, as well as being the one to see the truth in the situation and persevere is what made her interested in journalism. she applied to strathmore due to their excellent program, and ultimately got in due to her success story and the article she wrote that was published in her local paper about her success.

rose was brought into the society by philip, her predecessor, who is a huge role model for her. she’s curious and always asking questions and observant af, and now with poppy’s disappearance, especially someone from her year, rose is more determined than ever to solve this stuff, and won’t back down without a fight.

––– personality

actual definition of “she loved mysteries so much she became one”

she’s smart and oftentimes likes to open up just enough where people think they know everything about her but actually don’t know much.

she does have a good heart and has good intentions 

she’s probably more headstrong than other tourmalines, but she’s also an expert at reading the room

horrible cook - mostly lives off pizza and frozen food

her secret talent is that she is v v good at chess & she did some competitive gymnastics at a young age

her favorite movie is interstellar. the flavor

despite everything pointing rose to being an introvert, she really is a people person too. loves to talk when she lets loose, loves to learn about people and hear their stories

she’s pretty good at catching someone in a lie

good at deception, tbh. she’s silent but lethal in the best way possible

can be snarky, loves to laugh

she never goes anywhere without a little notebook and a pen. 

she takes her studies very seriously. like girl is a nerd

doesn’t really smoke or drink much but she’ll dabble in it 4 funsies

a hardcore slytherin & leans true neutral & gemini trash s m h

––– circlet relationships

since rose is so loyal, i truly imagine the circlet is her best friends and her ride-or-dies. even if they don’t have the best relationship, rose will always protect, even if it’s from a distance.  

wanted connections

[laureljanes]

★ ━  ( alisha boe,   cis female,   she/her )  ━ ★   just to be clear, ya didn’t get this information from me.   The person you’re lookin’ for is   LAUREL JANE WALKER (NEÉ MATLIND).  also known as   LJ.    Last I heard they were born on   JUNE - 29 - 1994   in    BALTIMORE, MARYLAND,   and they’ve been livin’ here in   RICHMOND,    for about    FIVE YEARS.   Word around the districts is,   LJ   can be  ALOOF,   IMPATIENT,   and    QUICK-TEMPERED, but alls I seen is good things, like the fact that they’re   LOYAL,   SELF-SUFFICIENT,   and    RESOURCEFUL,   but guess that depends on how well ya know ‘em.   The last thing ya need to know is that they work as an ASSISTANT MANAGER FOR CROSSROADS MUSIC and I don’t know much about what that’s like but I do know that’s all I can tell ya the rest you gotta find out on ya, own.

hi my friends! my name is lia, your resident filipin-ho (my bf made this pun) and self-designated bimbo pixie! if you wanna chat you can message me here or on discord! trixie tang 💋#5650

and this is my baby laurel, who quite honestly, this is my first time playing her and i’m so excited to flesh her out even further by plotting with all you beautiful people!

Here are a few tidbits about her:

MBTI:  ENFP PERSONALITY TYPE: The Catalyst (Innovation x Passion) COMMON ARCHETYPE: The Explorer FAVORITE MOVIE: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) FAVORITE MUSIC ARTIST: Mariah Carey QUICK BACKGROUND: Ran away from home after her high school graduation to elope and is now disowned by her parents. PETS: American Short-Haired Cat named Einstein

She is currently still legally married to her high school sweetheart who left her a month into their “marriage.” So her married name is Walker whereas she was born Matlind. 

She’s also an UNLICENSED esthetician - so do with that what you will!

She’s also a member of MENSA but she would never mention that to anybody. 

She hasn’t dated seriously since she and her “husband” split - a few hookups here and there.

She is bisexual. Little bisexual baby.

One of her favorite things to tell people when she first meets them is that  Kim Rhodes - the actress who plays the mom from The Suite Life of Zack and Cody once came into Crossroads to buy a first edition Joni Mitchell album. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

Existing/New beauty clients

Recurring customers that come into Crossroads

Friends

Roommate (maybe?)

Old hookups

Anything at all really!

[incarnateirony]

I went off on a rant to a friend about things like Gamble Era, and miscellaneous idolized past authors, and you know what, fuck it. I'm going to say it out loud. And listen, listen this is NOT going to be my normal "Whatever you like :)" post like, this is literally an accumulation of horse shit I've seen talked about in any and all lanes for years that have been driving me fucking bananas for years. Don't just read this going HAHA I HATE GAMBLE TOO and then be shocked when I slap at inexplicably favorited authors in this fandom beyond that.

------

God how can anyone genuinely like Gamble, like, literally, legitimately and 1000%, not even about her killing Cas or whatever, what kind of pure trash TV do these people intake in mass that they think Gamble was good at her job I can not emphasize enough how cripplingly disappointing the shift from S4-5 to 6-7 was I know art is in the eye of the beholder or whatever but JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST.

Fuck constructivist theory there's a point when things are just clearly trash Benefits S7 had: Just da bros uhhhh *flips through pages* Anything else? Are dick jokes art?

Her era was overrun by plot holes you could fly boeing jets through -- and I don’t mean shit like when fandom goddamn made up in their own damn head about an angelreaper retcon even though the reaper in the same episode they said was a retcon said the deadass opposite of what everybody fucking wound themselves up about, just deadass yawning voids -- it had unstable mechanics on previously established species shit, the villain plot was one giant monster of the week that tried desperately to go back to how they handled shit like Azazel as a threat but miserably failed, the monster had the dumbest weakness possible, the characters themselves were unstable in their characterizations and not even in that general "I don't like what the show is doing with them" but episode to episode Sam flipping from ripping Dean with laughter over gay jokes to woke-sounding sentiments

The cinematic style was gone and just vacant, it was neither the overexposed horror desaturated film nor the vivid fantasy of Carver, it just sat there like an unpolished lump

While later seasons also lost the classic rock vibe for budget reasons, that too disappeared in her era so we had no film energy, no story energy, no character energy, no villain energy, no structure energy, and we didn't even have the fucking cool tunez but we had dicks allergic to windex

It even lacked the elements that gave Kripke era value

Dusty americana died, all we had left was teenage girl fuckin emo sad boi drama And even that was miserably piss poor

I have never seen such a visionless fucking disaster successfully air an entire season on my fucking TV

I will never, EVER be able to outline what a fucking disappointment it was to go from S4-5 level show maturation into this negative embarrassment by season 7.

S6 Kripke was still around to some extent and that's the only reason I can deduce, S7 minded, there was any substance to it, even if her writing and editing crew at the time were a goddamn tire fire. And then people turn around and yell feminism if you criticise the giant fucking blazing slag heap that was her era and blame anyone and everyone but her and here you FUCKING go and she does half the shit all over again in the Magicians

(The friend replied: "The season only works in reverse, which is a crime on serialised TV (and just bad screenwriting)." )

That's just it though, it's like S7 we were suddenly back to fucking episodical TV like S1-2 because enough fuckbats yelled about Good Old Days. Only instead of ʷĤε𝕣є'𝓼 đα𝒹 or 𝐓Ħⓔ DεᗰＯᶰ 卄𝓐ｓ Ƥl𝓐𝓝Ş ℱⓞｒ Ⓜ𝔢 it was   ħ𝔞ⓗａ 𝓓ＩＣ𝐤ᔕ  🍆

I mean fucking sure this show started targeting late teenage women but Kripke had started maturing it forward and then Gamble fucking rolls along and it's like she's writing for 13 year old boys suddenly

Well I say that's what she seemed to be writing for but at the time the marketing was gross objectification going LOOK PRETTY BOYS WITH GUNS and that was it, that was the substance of what they gave a shit about and apparently the kind of demographic they thought constituted the sum of the SPN audience which, go get fucked guys, seriously. No fucking wonder the ratings got gouged in half over the course of a year. And fandom yells BUT FRIDAY DEATH SLOT but go sit and spin, S6 was friday deathslot too but before Kripke disappeared as the last thread holding SOME kind of cohesive value in the piece together in S6, that went to shitfuckhell in a handbag at light speed. People migrated to SPN Fridays S6 just fine. They LEFT season 7 and then people plug their ears if they don’t like that. And Carver had to fight all S8 to get it back, /but succeeded, and then-some./ 

oh and lemme head off fandom dumbfuck argument #72 about “well Dabb’s ratings are lower than Gamble’s were so he sucks and ruined it worse” go take your fucking ass and google “national primetime ratings decline” and enjoy exploring the last fucking 70 years of TV history. Pointing out a show crashes within a year because of massive failure is not the same as people being intentionally fucking daft sods to the TV universe’s decline over the last decade so like, don’t. Don’t be that person. Because you’re still embarrassingly wrong.

(The friend replied: "That's why I don't get why people care about what the vocal minority have to say. They *already* got what they wanted. It crashed and burned. Nobody in their right mind in corporate world is gonna be like, let's try that again, let's throw more money into that burning pit That's just not happening. Gay angels or no, it just ain't." )

I mean that should have been obvious when 1. Carver brought back Cas and pretty much immediately promoted him to Regular 2. Misha then got promoted to lead credits in S12, no matter what circles of intentional, willful ignorance fandom argues about what the credits mean for petty piss fights

"LOL & MEANS HE'S LESS IMPORTANT" Shut the fuck up and sit down you basement dwelling shitlord, go watch the A-Team, tell me how Mr T is the least important character

Also unpopular fuckin opinion Robbie Thompson and Ben Edlund are not That Great. Compared to what they were SURROUNDED with they were exceptional but Berens and Yockey could run circles around them both. They just happened to give fandom shit they liked during dark times so it made them fun. Robbie Thompson and Ben Edlund are basically the baseline value of our current writing team on random names. Give me Robbie Thompson and give me Davy Perez and I see no fucking difference. People compare Edlund to Yockey because of certain shit he pulled off but like, no? If there WAS a comparison it’d be like, Meredith, and even then I can’t see any way Edlund is substantially better than Meredith but could list the other in reverse?

But if we're talking about being able to write pieces with more than 1 or 2 layers of impact I'm sorry, it's rose colored glasses that makes people idolize them

Like if people seriously objectively fucking sat and reviewed the methodology and substance of their past idol authors to the demonstratable level of the current crew where I am DEAD ASS HAVING DISCOURSE WITH THE EXEC PRODUCER ABOUT BAUDRILLARDIAN CONCEPTS AND DELILLO in the middle of a hypercomplex postmodern two-directional commentary piece on some scaffolding of sociopolitical representation commentary that SAILS past the level the ‘activists’ in this fandom think about, literally, what people like is Gay Shit They Got lobbed at them or shiny visuals. And you know what, whatever, sure, like what you like IDGAF but don't sit here like Thompson was some fucking Shakespeare. No, your fucking "meta" you -- you, in any lane, anyone, any ship, anywhere, ever -- wrote by COMPLETELY randomly associating whatever storyline you could staple on to try to pretend the text was doing what you want at the time -- is not the same as author intent and actual weight and merit to the cohesive structure of what they build.

YES YES I KNOW, Death of the Author, someone just popped that up in their head, like the ten thousand posts I've made over the last 209349 years addressing how people abusive the fuck out of the term and that's fine, interpret shit however you wanna make it do jumping jacks but don't sit here entering the time you attached Little Bo Peep as some sort of intrinsic value to Dean trying to find Sam in 1492 and act like that's some deep critical shit the authors thoughtfully laced into the piece, these are not the same fucking conversation.

Big hollow voids of statements doesn’t make a better author, it makes you bust your ass harder to actually give any sort of consequential meaning to the piece, and that has nothing to do with the quality of the author or text themselves, that has to do with your interpretation in a piece devoid of genuine thematic subtext so people desperately try to bobby pin some bullshit together. Which also is probably why this fandom can’t tell the difference between coding, interpretation, subtext, and text for their fucking life anymore.

Protip the entire goddamn writing room is pouring that gay shit in your cup that's been triple brewed above Robbie or Edlund’s pots and people are still complaining it isn't enough

Another point that drives me up a wall, "LAZARUS RISING IS THE BEST EPISODE EVER" okay like lmaooooo what the fuck are you smoking Was it impressive as fuck at the time yes it was. But again, fucking perspective. I literally went back and watched it like a month ago and I realized it was a fucking void of content compared to our modern writing, it just had one of the most impressive entrances, it DID have good directing (YES MANNERS WAS GOOD, NO DISRESPECT), and it introduced a character everybody loved. Dean was still a halfass caricature

You wanna know why everybody made that shit gay right away Because there was no fucking substance around it it was a wallpaper of a cool looking episode that was otherwise blank space to run around in on dialogue they should have thought to construct better if they didn't want it to be gay

And sure since then the author room has picked up the big gay ball and started actually turning it into some shit which, great, but this is yet again a matter of structure and intent versus throwing rotten pasta at the wall and seeing if the mold makes it stick. I don't care if you have a vegan recipe that converts the fucking mold on the pasta into a healthy sauce base that isn't what it was thrown at the wall like, and no amount of complimenting the original chef's moldy pasta means it was some tasty shit before you added 10,000 ingredients they never fucking thought about or at least a second chef came along and figure out what to do with the pile of goo.

Fandom would stop being this miserable fucking putrid stinkhole if people would collectively apply some goddamn perspective to the content they argue about before even bothering to engage with uwustiel/cest dot tumblr dot com in irrelevant argument #9238428934 they use to fence off whether they should enjoy the content or try to explore it for its value or not because there is NO. MORE. PERSPECTIVE.

YOU KNOW WHAT? IT’S FINE TO EVEN ADMIT YOU LIKED THINKY-FREE TV, THAT’S FINE, THAT’S YOUR RIGHT.

But don’t SIT here acting like a lot of these former train wrecks were “better authors” or somehow objectively “better content.” No like, you like not thinking about shit that much and staring at pretty boys or whatever, good on you, but you literally like, objectively, some of the shit I’ve seen go down is like genuinely trying to compare a toddler’s fridge art to a Vasarely and hold them both up in front of people who do art for a living. They ain’t gonna shit on the kid’s fridge art, but they’re gonna go “awwwww she’s gonna grow up to be a great artist!” before breaking down on Vasarely’s vector illusion shit, sorry, that’s just how it be. I’m sure the kid had some sort of vision to drawing the triangle over the square that kinda looks like a house but the hypercomplex thought processes simply aren’t there. 

Just people STUCK in weird idolization of shit that is so far past irrelevant to the current piece in play and fighting to win arguments while trying to convince themselves they're right and secretly dreading how titanically failboat wrong they are ignoring the sound of the glacier having ripped through their hulls SEASONS ago. The ice water has already leaked onto the fucking DECK and people are still arguing about completely ridiculous shit or fancying things that were 1/10th of the value of the current content they're claiming isn't good or enough or valid compared to the shallow specters that birthed them out of old aeons. 

Dead-ASS Kripke picked shit because it “sounded cool.” I’m sorry if there weren’t some model guys fandom wanted to hump everybody would be making fun of the fedora-tipping mindset that probably is where the fucking trenchcoat came from and may have debated giving Cas -- sorry, “CASS” because “COOL” -- katanas. But sure. Way, way deeper and more intricate than the Jungian intertextual post modern piece that’s so tightly knit it’s making fandom unwittingly comment on themselves.

I thought people grew out of that shit when they were like 16 unless they were incels

(My spidey senses detected someone unironically preparing to inform me about stealing borrowing the imagery from Constantine on reflex, because you know, that’s some peak intertext right there.)

Dead ASS that writing logic is that motherfucker that wanders into your freeform RP server with Spawn knockoff miasma chainsaw arms under his leather trenchcoat shooting twin Deagles with a vague story of wanting to face his demon overlord father that’s written like a looney tunes villain, in the middle of you cowriting with your lit-savvy friends trying to make a fun fantasy adaptation rendering fascism and corporate america and then he gets upset when nobody wants him to shit lightning -- /fight me/.

SERIOUSLY FOLKS. WANNA ENJOY THE SHOW AGAIN? GET SOME PERSPECTIVE. LET GO OF FETISHIZING WEIRD WARPED MEMORIES AND LINES OF ARGUMENT INSIDE YOUR OWN HEADS ISTG IT'LL HELP.

The day I find an argument that makes season 7 legit good TV rather than, at very best, “fun junk TV I had a cool ride on”, that does NOT involve evoking arguments distinctly born out of petty shipping culture arguments and/or (generally the same) attaching their own shit with a stapler to MAKE it have some sort of meaning at the time it was airing (rather than later showrunners making it add up to something), I’ll eat my fucking arm.

𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴. Carver era had already gone through dramatic changes that deepend the scope of the show and even then, 15.09 Bobo’s The Trap held more ACTUAL commentary on this fandom than Thompson’s Fanfiction episode did as a supposed fandom-commentary episode much LESS 15.04 as an actual meta framed episode. Fanfiction was like 4 years behind and completely fucking unplugged, whereas the base of the show itself is more integrated now in these dynamics than any attempt at meta episodes back then were.

old days it took one goddamn episode of dreaming for people to 1. start talking about Freud and 2. pretend the whole everything after that was some Freudian masterpiece even when, if it were, it would have been an entire avalanche of dropped balls. But two seasons of direct citations and literal manifest avatar-bodies of Jungian psychology elements and it’s hard to pull more than a peep out of the fandom about it because they’re too busy yelling about tulpas or sirens from before most of the people around here hit puberty.

𝓕 𝓤 𝓒 𝓚

furthermore why does anyone that idolize season 7 for what they think fits their bill think season 15 is gonna end how they want when they’ve been taking the piss out of season 7 over and over and over and over again IN THE TEXT as being dumb as SHIT

𝕀ℕ 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔽𝕌ℂ𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕋𝔼𝕏𝕋

WHY SET YOURSELF UP FOR DISAPPOINTMENT

TO WIN TEMPORARY ARGUMENTS? THAT YOU’RE ACTUALLY LOSING FROM START TO FINISH?

actually you know what

rolling back to the whole “empty/subtextless stuff making people bust their ass” seems to be what you miss. Saying, “I miss empty, shallow, shitty writing” doesn’t really sound as good though so we change “what I like” into “this is talentless trash” it postures better, but it seems to be the people who have objectively fucking refused core tenets the show has evolved over the last 7 years, most explicitly the last 3-4, and absolutely refused to soak them in the form they deliver in. And they’re mad. Because it isn’t hollow. They can’t run around in fucking blank space and plug absolute horse shit into the voids and then posture like they’re supreme in this noncommital wasteland. Because everything’s built out and structured in and loud as fuck and people are debating the actual installed and even dogmatically cited work of philosophers driving the ideology of the show now and they can’t get away from it, and/or actually have to pay attention to the whole show and think about it all as a picture instead of the parts they want, so it’s “bad.”

I just sensed like 50 readers shoving their foot into that shoe. Good.

Jesus christ I’m pretty sure that’s what it is in hindsight after yelling all of this. These characters can’t be used as sock puppets anymore that people can win bullshit arguments unless they literally delete the entire principle of the modern show -- and this goes for MULTIPLE lanes really, each in their own way -- so now it’s “bad.” And that’s just not how this works.