#unrelated but holy FUCK is driving so scary

[m1d-45]

kaeya having his mandela catalogue moment seeing the copy of his brother… can’t wait for him to meet shade! that definitely won’t fuck him up at all! - teddy anon

oh he’ll totally leave that interaction 100% sane (lying)

brief note, diluc and shade would be over in .2 seconds. putting aside the impossibility of shade leaving your side willingly, diluc has long since memorized the microexpressions on kaeya’s face, and knows that he isn’t him.

brief note two, shade is much better at passing as kaeya than red is diluc. aside from the very obvious detail of red borderline growling at people all the time, red carries himself differently. diluc, while often awkward and sometimes unintentionally cold, is still approachable, a trait that red could never manage. shade, however…

shade is a bandit. a master of disguise mixed with kaeya's already clever personality, able to mask himself as kaeya—and has, on occasion, to lead a patrol away or to snatch some medical supplies from the city for you or nikki. the difference is that he has a diluc to fall back on, one that he can trust with his entire self. kaeya can't let himself be honest with diluc and vice versa, but shade and red can. who better to tell your homicidal urges to than your fellow reflection?

imagine with me. post hunt. you're entering mondstat, without red at nikki's request. you, nikki, momo, and shade, making your way toward the gates. everyone knew about the old copy of diluc you had made, about the mirrors your friend taught you to use to summon the archons of old. even night, elusive as she was, was known throughout the knights.

but shade was new. shade was quick on his feet, always swift to pull you through the impossible tangles of forest, into thickets that would knit behind you so the patrols couldn't follow. shade was a well kept secret, only glimpsed in rumors throughout the city that the cavalry captain was occasionally seen in a new set of formal wear.

kaeya had heard these rumors. he'd also known that your 'diluc' was your closest guard, and had himself witnessed him going into the city. he'd thought nothing of it, assuming the people had simply seen someone that looked like him. they hadn't.

once youre close enough for him to actually recognize shade, its like his whole world falls apart.

"divine one..." jean, at his side, likely also recalling the rumors. "your company..."

"this is momo and nikki," you introduce, "and this is shade."

shade. some part of that feels ironic.

hes not surprised by the talking cat, barely registering nikki's polite hello as he locks eyes with shade. same height, same hair, same patch over the eye and sharp smile when he knows he's won.

"shade, say hello."

shade blinks, then flashes a fake smile. "greetings."

the meeting is a blur for kaeya. all he can see is shade, shade and how clearly you and him are attached. his hand held in yours, the adoring look in his eyes as he watches you speak-

he'd passed as kaeya. his mask was so paper thin someone he's never even met could imitate it flawlessly, putting on his identity like a costume on the world's stage and doing it better.

shade was the one at your side. shade led you away with a polite smile—you didn't see the way it dropped so he could shoot kaeya a glare—and a hand around your waist. shade was the one that believed you, that kept you safe.

kaeya had invented the frostwind swordsman. he'd crafted his persona by hand, making a shield out of his words and behavior, and yet it was somehow shade that had perfected it.

#m1d : [chats] #teddy anon #the shining nikki saga #sailwind shadow #i wanted to include shade last post but ran out of time #unrelated but holy FUCK is driving so scary #my teacher had us go on the interstate today… YIKES MAN #55 on highways. fine. we ball. the SECOND i hit sixty every nerve in my body enters fight or flight #the human body is NOT meant to operate something going that fast #thank the lord it was only for a brief stretch of time any longer and i honest to god would have had to pull over #you can’t handle the uber reflexes of my uber autism. observe: [has to engage manual breathing once i reach 65mph]

[chaoticrobotics]

So, Monty what are some of the craziest hijinks you and moon gotten into? On a totally unrelated note, how close would you say you are to moon?

Monty: I thought I already answered that last part. Moon and I are really close, we're best friends! And for some of the crazier stuff we've done? Hmm...

Oh! I know! There was a huge storm like a year or two ago, it cut off the power to the WHOLE building! The recharge stations have emergency power, so they're not important, what IS important though is that the lights were off! Throughout the WHOLE building! For like 2 whole days! It was amazing! AND there were no security guards because none of them could reach the Pizzaplex in the storm!

Anyway, what ended up happening was that we had the bright idea to take apart one of the go-karts, and it wasn't easy let me tell you! We ended up breaking one... er, well, I ended up breaking one, so we went to another where Moon was in charge of taking it apart.

Well, we got a shopping cart and I put the little engine thingy inside and then Moon set up like a little rod to the wheels and connected the engine to it along with a remote control... uh remote. Heh, and then we tested it out and it WORKED! Like holy shit Moon is fucking smart to do that! I thought only Roxy knew about fixing cars and shit, but NO! Moon came in with that awesome brain of its! And a charged battery pack thing.

Okay, so, we know it works, but driving around a well-made and preserved race track is so fucking boring, so instead, we sneak it pass all the others and I carry it up to one of the upper floors. That thing was heavy let me tell you! Moon tried to use they wire but the power being out made it not work.

So, well now we are on the top floor just scooting around! I'm sitting in the basket with the engine to my back and Moon on my lap, he's steering and all that... And then we have a BRILLIANT idea!

Hehehe. I take the cart to the very top floor and we go into Mazercise! And, as you know, Mazersice has a lot of boards and junk like that. Well, me and Moon grab a TON of them and go to our one super long escalator! We uh... we no longer have that escalator because of this, BUT IT WAS COOL! So, we take those boards and start placing them on the stopped escalator, using random shit to keep them secure and not fall down, then we head back up once our ramp is ready!

By this point, the other's realize we are doing something AMAZING and gather to watch us. Freddy, being the party pooper he is, runs up a free escalator and tries to stop us once Moon and I are positioned at the top in our electric shopping cart! Freddy and Chica are yelling, Roxy is encouraging us, and Moon is telling Sun to calm down.

Well Moon hits the go button or whatever and we GO! I have NEVER gone that fast in all my years of operating! Even when me and Roxy go over the speed limit racing! I'm pretty sure Moon added some extra juice or took off ANY kind of limiter! That or the ramp helped! It was awesome!

Until we tipped over. Hehe, oh it was so fucking scary! Halfway down the boards moved or broke or SOMETHING and Moon and I just went FLYING! I wrapped myself around Moon and turned so that I took most of the damage, but thankfully we flew onto the second floor and not all the ways down to the first! I was dented some but otherwise fine. Moon didn't get hurt at all but was in a clear panic worried about me! It was nice to see hehehe. Heck, even some of Sun's rays were popping out a bit, but they were blue so it's not like he was trying to take control of the body or whatever, Moon was just popping the rays out from anxiety and fear.

The cart was wrecked, so was like half the boards and some of the glass walls on the escalator. Pretty sure one of the kiosks got fucking domed by the thing and was completely destroyed. Freddy and the others came to make sure we were okay and then Freddy made us clean all the shit up. Pretty sure Moon would have cleaned it anyway, but being TOLD to clean fucking sucked! I didn't want to because of that, but I wasn't gonna make Moon clean alone, because I knew he would. As bad as the Fazfuck's lecture can be, I can't BEGIN to imagine how bad it was for Moon being stuck listening to Sun for hours as we cleaned.

Well, heh, that was probably our craziest story with the two of us! It was so much fucking fun though! Roxy was PISSED once she realized that we fucked up her carts though. Also staff was not happy with us either. We WOULD have gotten away with saying someone broke in if it wasn't for Freddy and Sun telling the truth to staff. Buncha losers.

#questionnaire #glamrock monty #noart #asks #i had SO much fun writing this #writing monty is just how i talk #and it is so fun to do #and make up stories like this #these two are fucking menaces! #XD #you would THINK moon would have been the reasonable one #but having full reign of the body for a long time #was too much for her to handle not having fun with it!

[billie-ford]

The Day Will Come When You Won’t Be

1

“I am going to beat the holy fuck, fucking, fuckity fuck outta one of you sorry fucks.”

Those crude words had been the last Billie had heard before looking between her family; kneeling in the hard gravel, sweating, illuminated by the yellow head lights of the heavy duty trucks surrounding them and shaking from the unrelenting cold. It was the cold - or it was the fear. Billie had given Maggie her coat, but even the fur lined denim couldn’t seize the quake of terror in her bones. Her eyes, wide and glossy, didn’t follow the man as he paced in front of her group, only catching the reflective glint of barbed wire as he passed her by. She wanted to look at him. To square her shoulders like the ginger brute to her left and stare with an unwavering anger before standing, fighting them all off like the hero in all of those action movies.

But she wasn’t their hero. And she was so, so scared.

His pacing continued, his boots kicked gravel into their laps and he waved his weapon of choice frivolously while uttering:

“Eenie, meenie, miney, mo..”

Maggie, hunched over in pain, searched the gravel to her left. Her hand found Billie’s and she gave it a tight squeeze, somewhere between fear and comfort. She heaved and whimpered, snot and hot tears and sweat dampened every inch of her face and the hand she so desperately grabbed was an anchor to keep her from completely doubling over - preparing herself for the worst. They were out here for her, warranting her safety, now she couldn’t ensure theirs.

“-and you...are...it.”

The rapid beating of her heart reached her ears, blocking out all other sounds as if she were suddenly thrusted underwater, hands around her throat. Drowning and choking. It was heartbreak she was feeling. Maggie gripped her hand tighter and her breath drew sharply.

“You can breathe. You can blink. You can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doing that.”

The first crack of bat on skull met her ear. So vivid and echoing that she questioned if she had been the one to receive the blow. But as the blood splattered on her clothes, on her sweat soaked skin, and she listened to the repeating squelch of brain matter and cracking skull she felt nothing but dread. Unfortunately, she was not the one taking the blows. Now she had to watch as her older brother’s head was beaten into an unrecognizable pulp.

1991

Little feet stomped along the carpeted hallway from the stairs to the dead end. “Abraham? Are you awake?” The seven year old’s shaky voice couldn’t have been louder than a mouse as she knocked carefully on her older brother’s bedroom door. Another sharp crack of thunder caused the child to yelp, banging on the door this time and yelling his name.

The door creaked and with a hand scratching at his curly red fro, Abraham was half awake and staring down at his kid sister. The paper she had taped to his door within the year said it all - B.F.G.

He was looming - all six foot two of him - but his smile was soft, and as another crack of thunder startled the child he guided her into the room and let her bury herself beneath his multitude of quilts.

“Aren’t you too old to be scared of thunderstorms, pup?” 

He was already in bed, eyes closed and half muffled by his pillow before she could unveil herself from the quilt. She wormed her way in the crook of his arm and laid staring at the shadows that danced on the ceiling, her arms crossed evasively. “No..”

“What’s so bad ‘bout ‘em anyways? I think they’re calming..”

“It’s so quiet..then it’s so loud. Like scary movies.” She wasn’t a big fan of scary movies.

“You shouldn’t be watching scary movies.” “But I watch them with you.” “Well I ain’t your daddy.”

Another crack. Despite his teasing, Abraham’s arm instinctively tightened around his little sister and a calloused paw - good for catching a football or starting fights with the other college students - stroked her wild curls.

“I would beat those storms up if I could, ya know. And I’d tell ‘em Big Bad Billie sent me. Maybe I’d let you get a good few kicks in too.” This got a smile from the child. She believed him.

“I wish you could always be around..”

Abraham sat up, his head in his hand and frowned down at the child who glowed dark blue in the moonlight. There was a melancholic air to her naturally, perplexing for someone her age, and that cloud of sadness only seemed to grow heavier with the days counting down to his return to campus. He could see it now; their father holding the back of her shirt tightly as he pulled out of the driveway in his beat up hand-me-down truck. She’d scream and cry and kick and eventually break away from his grasp before running after the truck yelling over and over, “take me with you! just take me too!”

He would just have to keep driving or else his rain cloud would burst too.

“I’m always here for you, pup. Even when I ain’t here.” “That doesn’t make sense.”

He chuckled. “I mean I ain’t never gonna leave you forever. Think about it; I’m only gone for a few weeks until the next break then I’m right back here. When I am gone I call you every night. I send you those little cards from campus. When I’m gone, off to school or work, I’m always thinkin’ aboutcha. When I come home I don’t leave your side. You know I’m always here for you, pup. That means I’ll always protect ya. You know that right?”

“Yeah..” “Y’know you’re tough too right?” “Guess so..” “Betchu didn’t even notice the storm died out.”

Like a dog hearing the mailman she perked up and looked outside. No thunder, no lightning, not even a sprinkle of rain. The trees now danced slowly with the wind and a branch just beyond the glass waved at her lazily. “I didn’t even hear it stop..”

“‘Cause you ain’t all that scared. It’s just all in your head, pup.” “Can I still sleep in here then?” “Well yeah. Or less you done woke me up for nothin’.”

2

Dawn had broke more than an hour ago. The truck was filled with uneasy silence. Faces were dried with blood and tears and breaths were ragged. Sasha sat in the back seat, stroking Maggie’s still damp hair as her head rested, exhausted, in her lap. All three women were emotionally and physically drained. Sasha stared blankly at the back of Billie’s head, every so often attempting to open her mouth and speak but the only sound that managed to come out was a strangled gasp. She drove in stunned silence. Never looking at the two women in the back seat. Her muscles looked lack, spent, as she loosely gripped the steering wheel and her tired eyes brimmed with sadness while focusing on the road ahead. At least she looked to be focused, Sasha had grown use to the far away look that overcame Billie from time to time; when she had switched into autopilot and let her muscle memory guide her to where she needed to be.

“How are you?” Sasha finally croaked after what felt like hours of silence.

“No better than you.”

Sasha had only been dating Abraham for a handful of months, but she had known him for much longer. Loved him for much longer. She loved him like she had known him her whole life and in terms of before and after - she almost did. In his final moments, she had been the only one to receive his recognition - maybe Billie too - but Sasha wouldn’t look away. Only until she had to. Only when the sound of his brutal death made her lunch churn in her stomach and rise to her throat did she find the gravel beneath her. A simple hand gesture, a trademark peace sign, was all Abraham had to send one last goodbye to the two he loved the most.

“Are you going back?” “I have to make sure Maggie’s a’right first.” “What about Rosita?” “She has the others.”

Sasha fell quiet with a nod. Billie was lost, that much she could see. That thousand yard stare usual came with a silent racking of her brain. She didn’t say another word the entire drive, turning her attention back to Maggie who was now looking up at her through half-lidded eyes.

3

“You were out...out here for me.” “We still are.”

Billie followed Maggie on wobbly legs. She was sobbing, Billie’s last statement only making it worse. She reached out for her, her hand brushed off as Maggie kneeled in front of what remained of her husband, the father of her unborn child. Glenn Rhee. The pizza boy that convinced Billie to join him and his group when she was on her own. 

She owed him everything.

“I can make it now, I need you to go back. I can’t have you out here - I can’t have you all out here I need you to go back.”

Billie crouched down beside her, hands squeezing comfort into her trembling shoulders. “I’m not leaving you out here alone,” her voice cracked. “I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.”

Billie hurt for Maggie. Maggie hurt for Billie. They hurt for everyone and everyone hurt for them.

“I’m taking them. I’m taking you too.”

4

Hilltop opened their gates upon recognizing the face behind the wheel of the pickup. Looks of confusion morphed to frowns of sorrow when Billie emerged from the truck, revealing the headless bodies laid in the bed with the simple muttering of, Negan.

She assisted Sasha in bringing Maggie to her feet and led her further into the compound. “Get her to Carson.” Billie croaked. “You go with her, Sash. Make sure she has a familiar face to wake up to.”

“What about them-” “I’ll handle it. Please go.”

She was apprehensive, staring at Billie with worry and only beginning her trek to the infirmary when Maggie’s weight slumped over on her. “Anything we can do to help?” A number of Hilltop members surrounded her. Those who have been so kind to them all, dead and alive, before this.

“Show me where I can bury them.

#the day will come when you wont be #chapter one #writing #fanfiction #twd #oc #billie ford #abraham ford #sasha williams #maggie rhee

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Watching The Husbands of River Song for the first time

(When I started writing the post I messed up my typing and the title said “Watchgin the Husnabds of REierv Sogn for the fitrst time”)

-Oh dear, one episode closer to catching up to the show, and one step clser to a yet unknown source of heartbreak.

tf is this flying dish

Wait, they’re celebrating Christmas in 5343?

-Wow Jesus looks like you’ve really outdone yourself

-TARDIS

-TARDEEEEHS

Why is the music all doom-y and scary like this is something bad That is the best note ever

-HEEEEyyyyy it’s the bald guy from the Series 10 trailer!!

-He looks like he’d be a mouse or a hamster if he was an animal

“Is there anything on my head?”

-YES THERE IS

-OH GOSH

IT’S CONTAGIOUS

-I MUST RUN BEFORE RED CHRISTMAS RUDOLPH ANTLERS SPROUT UP ON MY HEAD

-well hello alien santa under the hood

-RIVEEEEEEER

-WTF

-WHAT THE FAAAAAAAAQ

-wait why is she so pissed-- OHHHHHH

-IT’S BEFORE SHE wait hold on a minute

-This is the first time she’s seeing his twelfth incarnation in-show, yes? No?

-*checks Wikipedia* Yes I’m right but...

-I think I’ll have to watch more before jumping to conclusions

-By the way, this.

A time travelling alien as old as time and also a fluffy grinning cat.

-”My husband is dying.”  Doctor: wtf is going on am i about to cross my own timestream or what

-”wtf river”

-Ah yes, flurry snow in the middle of a bajillion cogwheels, brilliant intro.

-Oh shit it’s Moffat

-Poor Twelve must be confused so much.

-River looks like she’s faking though. She’s not the kind of person who coos at people like that.

(unfortunately I could not find a stock photo of a cat looking exactly like this. pity.)

-No, seriously. Look at this cate.

-Anyway who the fuck is that guy in that disproportionately large armor, like, where in the actual sarlacc butthole did he come from

-River Song’s Drama has increased by 100!

-uhhh lemme see I think that’s a mix of Megaman, the old Transformers cartoon and ahh what’s that one videogame I swear there are videogames with people wearing hulky armor like that

-DAMN TWELVE DROPPIN IT

-I don’t even

-I don’t even know what I’m watching

-And yet there’s this lingering fear in the back of my mind that’s still scared of the text “Written by Steven Moffat”

-Wait, if she’s talking to the people in the little screens and they react accordingly to her gestures, then it means they’re watching her too, but where’s the camera?

-Doctor: “the fuck”

-”Do you recognize me?”  “No”  So the Doctor said no because of something unrelated but I swear a part of him just wanted to get back at River

-HE’S WHITE DIAMOND, GEMS HAVE GENDER, WHITE DIAMOND CONFIR-- nevermind wrong show

-”You’re talking about murdering someone!”  “No I’m not, I’m actually murdering someone.”

-”Do you know who you remind me of?”   “Yes, probably of a chap with a big-” (he means big chin, don’t get any ideas)   “My second wife!”

-The dialogue is top notch in this episode

-Oh no, it’s the robot king who doesn’t look like he can eat his enemies very efficiently and his legion of...

...sword-wielding Jawas.

-Heck, they even sound like Jawas.

-what the effing head

-”I wondered why we didn’t share a bathroom”

-Well for me it explains the nonsense body proportions

-”Decision overruled. Recommendation: Chill.”

-I love how the robot suit says “Chill”, it’s just so.. chill. It’s actually chilling out. It’s the chillest robot in robot history.

I have paused at just the right moment

They’re nerding out together

-Aw the Doctor’s laughing

-He’s having so much fun

-”I haven’t laughed in a long, long time.”  There. All the more merrier because of that.

-Oh god

-Okay how many people are River Song gonna hang around with in this episode

-”He only has twelve faces” OHHHHH BECAUSE RIVER DOESN’T KNOW THAT THE TIMELORDS GAVE HIM A NEW REGENERATION CYCLE DOES SHE

‘Little do they know the BBC wanted to continue the show for another fifty years.’

-noooo not the bald guy nuuuuu

-What a cynical robot

-DOCTOR JUST TELL HER THAT IT’S YOUR TARDIS

-Poor Doc

-”Oh yeah I’m SURE I’ll get SOOOO surprised”

-”It’s my girl.”

-The sarcasm is strong with this one.

-”Oh it’s BIGGER on the INSIDE how SURPRISING because I’ve NEVER seen one beFORE”

I’M DYING ASDGSDJSA;;

-”Wait, my Tardis had a fridge?”

-Sooooo when River was with Eleven she was the better driver (in terms of comfort; no offense to Eleven’s Timelording skills in general) but now Twelve is probably the calmest drver so far and River’s, well... not so much.

-”Of course I’m NOT getting frustrated by you doing everything wrong and trying to give you instructions because it’s CLEARLY not my Tardis how can you even SUGGEST such a thing”

-”Yes thank you I am a quick learner and NOTHING else, NOTHING like I’ve flown this Tardis countless times before”

-So if the Tardis can’t take off while someone’s both in and out, then this wouldn’t work, huh.

(From one of the Bunny Suicides books)

-”What sort of medical school did you go to?”

-A king does not unnecessarily endanger the lives of his people... Unless he is cross.

-LOGIC

-OH SHIT THAT GUY’S HEAD GOT CHOPPED OFF TOO

-”Death initiated.”

-The fuck kind of Star Wars cantina did they walk into

-”They’re still digesting their mother.”

-”--I will rip you open and devour you--”    “It’s my stomach.”

-Even the guy whose wife got eaten by his kids is going ‘wtf’

-The fuck kind of CGI was that

-”This is where genocide comes to kick back and relax.”    Oh boy, that’s gonna get on the Doctor’s nerves.

-”Why are you frowning?”   “How’d you know?”   “It’s audible.”

-”The man who gave me this was the sort of man who’d know exaclty how a long a diary you’re going to need.”  “Oh yeah that’s definitely not me”

-I SAW THAT EYEBROW RAISE, RIVER SONG, YOU CHEEKY LITTLE TIME TRAVELLER

-Annnnd River’s supposed to be paid by a Voldemort with a nose.

-WHAT THE FUCK HIS HEAD OPENS UP

-JEEZ!

-YOU HAVE A JAWBREAKER IN YOUR HEAD??!?

-OH MY FUCKING GOD EVERYONE HAS CRACKED UP HEADS

-For some reason, Credits seems to be the common term for whatever currency is used vaguely in scifi universes. They have Credits in Star Wars too!

-Whoever is playing that pale guy is going to have a royally sore throat by the end of the episode.

-”Hail Hydra”

-You should probably just give him the head...

-To be fair you crackhead guys did creep them out

-The thing.

-Did the head just run away or something, why are the Doctor and River so uneasy, do they really just don’t want to witness a brain surgery or am I missing something here

-Dang it Doctor.

-”The skyyyy shall crrrrrack”

-Well the head is there...

-what. the. fuck. is. happening.

-”At last I am whole again”  Well I wouldn’t really call it whole if your body’s a robot but...

-Okay.... that happened.

-*hastily muffled Steven Universy screeching*

-SCREW YOU CATFISH BUG MAN

-Why do his eyebrows make a squeak sound

-”A picnic at Asgard...”  MARVEL/DOCTOR WHO CROSSOVER CONFI-- nevermind

-jesus christ why is that guy so intent on reading River’s diary out loud

-’The Angels Take Manhattan’ was three seasons ago. And yes, that episode was written by Moffat too.

-”An infinite number of faces”   Well, I wouldn’t say it’s infinite per se...

-Besides, if there’s only the head left, wouldn’t that kind of hinder the regeneration, if not stop it altogether?

-Wait, since when was the robot the king and not the head?

-I don’t like the catfish bug guy with the French mustache. In fact, I am liking him less and less by the second.

-WHOA WAIT THAT ROBOT COULD STORE MULTIPLE HEADS IN IT? I THOUGHT IT JUST TOOK ONE OFF AND PUT ON ANOTHER

-Dammit River why would you want to hurt him like that HE IS RIGHT THERE  ;_;

-;_;

-*CRYING EMOJI INTENSIFIES*

-”Two hearts, stupid clothes--”  Well the latter changed a bit.

-MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

-DAMMIT MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

-HE IS RIGHT THERE

-DAMMIT MOFFAT

FUCK YOU MOFFAT

-TAKE MY HEART AND RIP IT APART SOME MORE WHY DON’T YOU

-”I’m an archaeologist from the future.  I dug you up.”

-DAMN

-”What do you think of my new body”  “I’ll let you know, I’ve only seen the face”  Okay it’s either me or Moffat that isn’t aware that this is a family show.

-She caught it in her f-cking boobs

-HER BOOBS

-FAMILY SHOW

-”FAMILY SHOW”

-”So, King Hydroflax?”  (idk how tf it’s spelled)  “I married the diamond!”  (”wE ARE THE CRYSTAL--””SHUT UP!!”)  “So you say.”  “Elizabeth the First.”  “Ramone.”  “Marilyn Monroe!”  “Stephen Fry!”  “Cleopatra!”  “Same thing!”

-IF YOU HAVEN’T GUESSED ALREADY, I’M DYING

Glowing cables.

-”Crashing spaceships, that’s my job.”  I feel like I should write a sentence that rhymes with this, but unfortunately I can’t.

-OH THE TOP PART OF HIS SCREWDRIVER ROTATES

-”I’ve been doing it longer!”  “I do it better!”  Like how you drive the Tardis, for example.  (I can also see the above dialogue used in a very, very, wrong, scenario, but I’ll just keep quiet and hope that it wasn’t Moffat’s intention.)

-river u ok?

-k

Looks like one of those audio equipment machines.

-Reminds me of the ‘Profit’ memes.

-1. Crash ship  2. Look outside  3. FIRE  4. Nope the fuck outta there and travel forward in time  5. ??  6. Profit

-1. Visit some yet-to-be tour spot  2. Give money to a random guy and tell him to set up a restaurant  3. Travel forward in time  4. ???  5. Profit

-River why aren’t you closing the Tardis door

-THE GOD DAMN BOT

-Oh look Nardole’s alive too

-”Now that, my dear, is a suit.”  Gotta agree.

HOLE-LEE SHEE-EHT

-THAT’S THE SCREWDRIVER FROM ‘SILENCE IN THE LIBRARY’

-THAT WAS SEASON FOUR

-MOFFAT

-YOU’VE CONSTRUCTED A PLOT STRING THAT SPANS FIVE SEASONS YOU BIG ASSHOLE GENIUS SPIDER

(Screencap of webpage http://www.chakoteya.net/DoctorWho/30-9.htm)

-HOLY FLUKES HOW DARE YOU

-”Are you crying?”

-i-- yes yes i am  blame moffat not me

-”There are stories about us, you know.”  “Oh, I dread to think.”  Been looking around AO3, have you River?

-m o f f a t   y o u   m o t h e r f u c k e r

-asdflsdhglljfhslhHSAHG

-ASJDAFLHGLASDJHGFALSDF

-sglsdhgflWEGyglhsghsgFLH;;1 LDG lJHGJLHAGLJhglhgljhglhHS DFHS5134 GLHFGLSDHFGh 454123gshdHFJHgjGSJDFL

-$^B&C%TB#%*&#BWKUWURH#$VB&*#B*:#V:B&*$&*B#&VBBBEYBYEBYFF

Moffat you deceitful fuck, I won’t trust you until the very end

-But thank you for sparing us from saying goodbye to her face

You forgot to say ‘forever’

-Please just let them stay together happily for those 24 years

HA I spelled it right

-Overall one of the best Christmas specials in my personal opinion, and top-notch acting by Capaldi. Really, top, notch.

#watching for the first time #doctor who #dw series 9 #the husbands of river song #twelfth doctor #river song #peter capaldi #alex kingston #doctor who christmas special #reaction #review #whovian #long post #nardole #moffat #fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck #king hydroflax

[tshirtfashiontrend]

Meet Lena Dunham’s Podcasting Partner, True Crime Zine Queen Alissa Bennett

Link Buys Now: https://kingteeshops.com/meet-lena-dunhams-podcasting-partner-true-crime-zine-queen-alissa-bennett/

Meet Lena Dunham’s Podcasting Partner, True Crime Zine Queen Alissa Bennett

“You know what rich people love? Fucking Egypt,” says Alissa Bennett, director at Gladstone Gallery, zine queen, Lena Dunham’s newly minted podcasting partner, serial muse to artists like Alex Bag, ex-model, and ex-ex-wife of Banks Violette, the bad boy breakout artist of the early aughts. (They married and divorced, twice.)

Gesturing at the majestically tacky granite sculptures of sphinxes flanking the entrance, Bennett murmurs in her wry deadpan, “I can’t believe no one leaves this bitch any flowers.” We’re marveling at the hulking Egyptian revival mausoleum of Barbara Hutton, famously dubbed “Poor Little Rich Girl” by the press for throwing a deb ball at the Ritz during the Depression that would have cost $842,000 today. (Within a few years, Woolworth Girls—the little-appreciated cogs in the machine that was Hutton’s father’s well oiled fortune—would lie in wait outside hotels to throw eggs at her.)

I’ve tagged along to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx for Bennett’s annual pilgrimage to celebrate the socialite. Bennett dedicated one of her zines about bad behavior to Barbara Hutton, out of reverence for the heiress’s belief that money should be spent, and happiness can be bought. The grave’s opulence mirrors its inhabitant’s distaste for boredom and being scaled, and highlights her yen for exoticism, largesse, and trinkets. For one wedding—she married seven men—Hutton demanded Cartier make her a “Balinese wedding tiara of tortoiseshell, with a diamond pattern identical to the blossoms of her wedding veil.” (Later, she bought Catherine the Great’s jewels.)

This isn’t Bennett’s first time in a graveyard. In fact, most of Bennett’s interests start with a dead body. As a young fashion model with bleached eyebrows, she was locked in Père Lachaise, in Paris, after drinking too much champagne on Chopin’s grave with “two boys, one of whom was later hit by lightning and died.” She remembers, as an ex-model, “hauling my gigantic pregnant body past 29 Avenue B” to see the building GG Allin died in. When that baby was in elementary school, she guiltily stalked a memorial using her “young child and his poor skateboarding skills as a means of moving closer to the gathering in the park.” (The next day her anonymous sources at the memorial clandestinely sent her the “holy grail” of postmortem ephemera: “A link to a 13-page typed transcript of the seven eulogies delivered at the funeral.”)

I should mention that—besides having a rolodex of people who want to talk about dead people—Bennett is whip-thin and translucently white as a ghost. And that her dear friend, the artist Bjarne Melgaard, put a picture of her brushing her teeth on the cover of a book called Alissa Bennett: Laying the Ghost? And that we were originally introduced, one person removed, by a decorator who selected rosewood closets for Larry Page’s house, only to get an irate call that the scent was “killing him.” (The decorator has since died, unexpectedly, of unrelated causes.) And that she’s published an entire series of zines about criminally-minded fuck-ups, many of them now deceased, with the cult avant-garde publisher Frank Haines, a psychonaut from Florida who moonlights under an alter ego anagram of Ted Bundy.

This year, she launched The C-Word with Lena Dunham, a podcast that trawls through binders of dead or forgotten women dismissed by society as crazy, cataloging crimes and misdeeds, from murder to merely having once been alive. The opening line of the podcast? “I’m internationally reviled celebrity Lena Dunham, and I’m Alissa Bennett, historian of bad behavior.” Who better to talk about women society hates—from Judy Garland to Johnson and Johnson heiress, Casey Johnson—than a celebrity we all love to hate, and a woman who dedicates her free time to stalking dead people?

The podcast is a savvy marriage of Dunham’s mood—the distillation of years watching people online say she’s nuts—and Bennett’s life’s work, a series of true crime revisionist zines: Dead is Better (2016), Legalize Crime (2016), Bad Behavior (2017), I Expected Something Nice (2017), and Pretend You’re Actually Alive (2019). I say revisionist, because Bennett plays a sympathetic graverobber of sorts, retelling the stories of those who have been subject to the “drive we have to exsanguinate public women.” It might be more accurate to call Bennett a eulogist gone off the rails, in that she addresses the dead directly. She’s written “short devotional texts” personally addressing Michelle Carter (the teen who texted her boyfriend to kill himself), Anna Nicole Smith, Heidi Fleiss (Hollywood madam), and artist Theresa Duncan (“You began attending 9/11 truth movement meetings…people still wonder if we will ever get to read the 27-page legal document you were preparing for your Scientology lawsuit”).

Bennett takes a non-consequentialist tack in writing about her heroines’s tragedies. She appreciates, above all else, a story girded by a kind of tragic, even poetic, optimism. “I appreciate your commitment to the idea that a new life is just a Greyhound bus ride away,” she writes. “Oh I have dabbled in reinvention myself—I have pretended to be studious and organized and ‘engaged.’” Activities someone else might write off to derangement, Bennett celebrates as creativity: “Your interrogation tapes are incredible…You used the euphemism ‘nose job’ to describe the initial gunshot to Ryan’s face.”

It’s important to note that she doesn’t frame anything as a cautionary tale. They’re more like sendups, as if she’s submitting a post-mortem application for her subjects’s icon status. Of Elizabeth Siddal—the 19th-century artist’s model who miscarried “rowing a boat around a lake at night and writing a poem to the dead baby” inside her—Bennett writes, “I understand why you finally had enough and overdosed by your fireplace with a note pinned to your nightgown.” Her subjects aren’t A-list celebrities, or rarely. “There are always going to be people who are interested in investigating culturally significant people. I’m more interested in failure. I relate most to disappearance,” she says. Spectacular failure, really, is her subject, and it throws her into a “death obsession lustmord.” (Of Peaches Geldof: “I read that Reddit feed about the time she did heroin with a stranger and then took him to the Hollywood Scientology center where they took tons of Niacin and sat in the sauna…”)

Much of Bennett’s scholarship occurs in semi-abandoned corners of the internet flat with the dust of understimulated hit-counters. She scours websites like Bestgore, Websleuths; FindaDeath.com (“Amanda [Peterson] you are special to me as the only celebrity I ever commented on in a public forum. I would call this forum a must read.”); dead people’s mother’s blogs; even self-published, unauthorized, fan-written scandal biographies. In Bad Behavior, she addresses “Call Girl Killer” Alex Tichelman, the woman who accidentally killed a Google executive: “In my experience, the parents of murderers are not reliable judges of character, so I felt very lucky when I stumbled upon a 46-page-long Topix forum… One of the most remarkable things about these comments is that almost everyone who knew you as a teenager uses exactly the same word to describe you, and that word is off.” Bennett happily watches YouTube tapings of 48 Hours, Dateline, Hard Copy, Dr. Phil, E True Hollywood Story; Nancy Grace; Lifetime re-enactments of crimes; Candice DeLong’s “Deadly Women”; episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. She sources National Enquirer post-mortem photographs; she reads non-fiction books like Mike Sager’s Scary Monsters and Super Freaks and Suicide in the Entertainment Industry (which she read while attending “a pathetically produced murder mystery weekend in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania”); and pornography forums.

She notes that a Yahoo group dedicated to Brittany Murphy claims that she picked up her Vicodin under “Lola Manilow,” and uncovers a website Murphy’s ex created after her death “where he posted a lot of horrible photographs that he took of you [dressed] as a clown.” She finds someone selling the handles from Judy Garland’s casket.

At the end of the day, though, the most interesting person in the zines, again and again, is Alissa herself. Like most obsessives, she’s worth obsessing over. It’s hard not to view her as a little touched. A snapshot of her 20s (I’ll let you find out about the rest of her life in the zines): Seventeen-year-old Alissa follows an older man to New York from Rhode Island after high school. He dumps her, so she rents an apartment in Brooklyn with the money she steals from her cashier job at a hair salon downstairs from the Saint Mark’s Hotel. (“A real loser job for 1996.”) Within a year, she’s discovered by a model scout, who cuts her hair and sends her to London to meet Edward Ennufil, who books her for two shows on the spot: Junya Watanabe, and the now infamous Hussein Chalayan “Burka show,” with models dressed in successively diminishing fabric. (“I was the cut-off before Zora Star showed full bush.”) She’s twenty years old. Steven Klein starts booking her for dozens of magazines. She moves to London, where lands the cover of i-D, and Dazed and Confused, and Juergen Teller includes her in his famous Go-Sees portrait series. She meets her future ex-ex-husband Banks Violette, the catalyst for an epiphany that “this guy is so smart and I’m like a stupid idiot.” This is the kind of epiphany, for a normal person, that would lead to a new hobby, or something.

But Alissa, incapable of doing anything halfway, quits modeling and moves back to New York to become a “passionless shop girl at If Boutique.” It’s just more dignified. For a few years, she actually believes this. She marries Banks, and gets another shopgirl position. But watching people spend money all day is demoralizing. Her whole life was suddenly demoralizing. (Banks was getting “really, really famous and I’m like, I’m just a loser who works at the Alexander McQueen shop.”) In a fit of panic, she applies to college at the New School, where she…meets a virginal 18-year-old Lena Dunham, crying in a bathroom stall after their Fashion and Identity Formation seminar. (Lena transferred to Oberlin soon thereafter, but their friendship was clearly written in the stars.) She graduates, and Banks gets her a better job, working at the gallery Luxembourg/Dayan. They divorce, remarry, and divorce again. She’s still in her twenties, by the way, and coming to the only worthwhile lesson from that decade: it’s just easier if you make something of yourself than to be somebody’s +1.

“Not only did I feel contaminated by the failure of a marriage that I had been counting on to save me from ever having to accomplish anything myself, but I also suddenly understood that I’d been foolish to believe that a rich person could like me on my own now that I was without an art-star husband,” Bennett writes in her newest zine.

It makes sense, in retrospect, that someone so committed to seeing herself as a loser, a word Bennett uses a lot to describe herself—despite everything always being, in my opinion, kind of glamorous—would become a historian of fuck-ups and bad behavior. (For the record, Bennett remains in the art world to this day; she has the same job as Jennifer Lawrence’s fiancé.)

No one tell her she’s cool; the work would suffer.

#Meet Lena Dunham’s Podcasting Partner True Crime Zine Queen Alissa Bennett

[kingteeshops]

Meet Lena Dunham’s Podcasting Partner, True Crime Zine Queen Alissa Bennett

Link Buys Now: https://kingteeshops.com/meet-lena-dunhams-podcasting-partner-true-crime-zine-queen-alissa-bennett/

Meet Lena Dunham’s Podcasting Partner, True Crime Zine Queen Alissa Bennett

“You know what rich people love? Fucking Egypt,” says Alissa Bennett, director at Gladstone Gallery, zine queen, Lena Dunham’s newly minted podcasting partner, serial muse to artists like Alex Bag, ex-model, and ex-ex-wife of Banks Violette, the bad boy breakout artist of the early aughts. (They married and divorced, twice.)

Gesturing at the majestically tacky granite sculptures of sphinxes flanking the entrance, Bennett murmurs in her wry deadpan, “I can’t believe no one leaves this bitch any flowers.” We’re marveling at the hulking Egyptian revival mausoleum of Barbara Hutton, famously dubbed “Poor Little Rich Girl” by the press for throwing a deb ball at the Ritz during the Depression that would have cost $842,000 today. (Within a few years, Woolworth Girls—the little-appreciated cogs in the machine that was Hutton’s father’s well oiled fortune—would lie in wait outside hotels to throw eggs at her.)

I’ve tagged along to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx for Bennett’s annual pilgrimage to celebrate the socialite. Bennett dedicated one of her zines about bad behavior to Barbara Hutton, out of reverence for the heiress’s belief that money should be spent, and happiness can be bought. The grave’s opulence mirrors its inhabitant’s distaste for boredom and being scaled, and highlights her yen for exoticism, largesse, and trinkets. For one wedding—she married seven men—Hutton demanded Cartier make her a “Balinese wedding tiara of tortoiseshell, with a diamond pattern identical to the blossoms of her wedding veil.” (Later, she bought Catherine the Great’s jewels.)

This isn’t Bennett’s first time in a graveyard. In fact, most of Bennett’s interests start with a dead body. As a young fashion model with bleached eyebrows, she was locked in Père Lachaise, in Paris, after drinking too much champagne on Chopin’s grave with “two boys, one of whom was later hit by lightning and died.” She remembers, as an ex-model, “hauling my gigantic pregnant body past 29 Avenue B” to see the building GG Allin died in. When that baby was in elementary school, she guiltily stalked a memorial using her “young child and his poor skateboarding skills as a means of moving closer to the gathering in the park.” (The next day her anonymous sources at the memorial clandestinely sent her the “holy grail” of postmortem ephemera: “A link to a 13-page typed transcript of the seven eulogies delivered at the funeral.”)

I should mention that—besides having a rolodex of people who want to talk about dead people—Bennett is whip-thin and translucently white as a ghost. And that her dear friend, the artist Bjarne Melgaard, put a picture of her brushing her teeth on the cover of a book called Alissa Bennett: Laying the Ghost? And that we were originally introduced, one person removed, by a decorator who selected rosewood closets for Larry Page’s house, only to get an irate call that the scent was “killing him.” (The decorator has since died, unexpectedly, of unrelated causes.) And that she’s published an entire series of zines about criminally-minded fuck-ups, many of them now deceased, with the cult avant-garde publisher Frank Haines, a psychonaut from Florida who moonlights under an alter ego anagram of Ted Bundy.

This year, she launched The C-Word with Lena Dunham, a podcast that trawls through binders of dead or forgotten women dismissed by society as crazy, cataloging crimes and misdeeds, from murder to merely having once been alive. The opening line of the podcast? “I’m internationally reviled celebrity Lena Dunham, and I’m Alissa Bennett, historian of bad behavior.” Who better to talk about women society hates—from Judy Garland to Johnson and Johnson heiress, Casey Johnson—than a celebrity we all love to hate, and a woman who dedicates her free time to stalking dead people?

The podcast is a savvy marriage of Dunham’s mood—the distillation of years watching people online say she’s nuts—and Bennett’s life’s work, a series of true crime revisionist zines: Dead is Better (2016), Legalize Crime (2016), Bad Behavior (2017), I Expected Something Nice (2017), and Pretend You’re Actually Alive (2019). I say revisionist, because Bennett plays a sympathetic graverobber of sorts, retelling the stories of those who have been subject to the “drive we have to exsanguinate public women.” It might be more accurate to call Bennett a eulogist gone off the rails, in that she addresses the dead directly. She’s written “short devotional texts” personally addressing Michelle Carter (the teen who texted her boyfriend to kill himself), Anna Nicole Smith, Heidi Fleiss (Hollywood madam), and artist Theresa Duncan (“You began attending 9/11 truth movement meetings…people still wonder if we will ever get to read the 27-page legal document you were preparing for your Scientology lawsuit”).

Bennett takes a non-consequentialist tack in writing about her heroines’s tragedies. She appreciates, above all else, a story girded by a kind of tragic, even poetic, optimism. “I appreciate your commitment to the idea that a new life is just a Greyhound bus ride away,” she writes. “Oh I have dabbled in reinvention myself—I have pretended to be studious and organized and ‘engaged.’” Activities someone else might write off to derangement, Bennett celebrates as creativity: “Your interrogation tapes are incredible…You used the euphemism ‘nose job’ to describe the initial gunshot to Ryan’s face.”

It’s important to note that she doesn’t frame anything as a cautionary tale. They’re more like sendups, as if she’s submitting a post-mortem application for her subjects’s icon status. Of Elizabeth Siddal—the 19th-century artist’s model who miscarried “rowing a boat around a lake at night and writing a poem to the dead baby” inside her—Bennett writes, “I understand why you finally had enough and overdosed by your fireplace with a note pinned to your nightgown.” Her subjects aren’t A-list celebrities, or rarely. “There are always going to be people who are interested in investigating culturally significant people. I’m more interested in failure. I relate most to disappearance,” she says. Spectacular failure, really, is her subject, and it throws her into a “death obsession lustmord.” (Of Peaches Geldof: “I read that Reddit feed about the time she did heroin with a stranger and then took him to the Hollywood Scientology center where they took tons of Niacin and sat in the sauna…”)

Much of Bennett’s scholarship occurs in semi-abandoned corners of the internet flat with the dust of understimulated hit-counters. She scours websites like Bestgore, Websleuths; FindaDeath.com (“Amanda [Peterson] you are special to me as the only celebrity I ever commented on in a public forum. I would call this forum a must read.”); dead people’s mother’s blogs; even self-published, unauthorized, fan-written scandal biographies. In Bad Behavior, she addresses “Call Girl Killer” Alex Tichelman, the woman who accidentally killed a Google executive: “In my experience, the parents of murderers are not reliable judges of character, so I felt very lucky when I stumbled upon a 46-page-long Topix forum… One of the most remarkable things about these comments is that almost everyone who knew you as a teenager uses exactly the same word to describe you, and that word is off.” Bennett happily watches YouTube tapings of 48 Hours, Dateline, Hard Copy, Dr. Phil, E True Hollywood Story; Nancy Grace; Lifetime re-enactments of crimes; Candice DeLong’s “Deadly Women”; episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. She sources National Enquirer post-mortem photographs; she reads non-fiction books like Mike Sager’s Scary Monsters and Super Freaks and Suicide in the Entertainment Industry (which she read while attending “a pathetically produced murder mystery weekend in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania”); and pornography forums.

She notes that a Yahoo group dedicated to Brittany Murphy claims that she picked up her Vicodin under “Lola Manilow,” and uncovers a website Murphy’s ex created after her death “where he posted a lot of horrible photographs that he took of you [dressed] as a clown.” She finds someone selling the handles from Judy Garland’s casket.

At the end of the day, though, the most interesting person in the zines, again and again, is Alissa herself. Like most obsessives, she’s worth obsessing over. It’s hard not to view her as a little touched. A snapshot of her 20s (I’ll let you find out about the rest of her life in the zines): Seventeen-year-old Alissa follows an older man to New York from Rhode Island after high school. He dumps her, so she rents an apartment in Brooklyn with the money she steals from her cashier job at a hair salon downstairs from the Saint Mark’s Hotel. (“A real loser job for 1996.”) Within a year, she’s discovered by a model scout, who cuts her hair and sends her to London to meet Edward Ennufil, who books her for two shows on the spot: Junya Watanabe, and the now infamous Hussein Chalayan “Burka show,” with models dressed in successively diminishing fabric. (“I was the cut-off before Zora Star showed full bush.”) She’s twenty years old. Steven Klein starts booking her for dozens of magazines. She moves to London, where lands the cover of i-D, and Dazed and Confused, and Juergen Teller includes her in his famous Go-Sees portrait series. She meets her future ex-ex-husband Banks Violette, the catalyst for an epiphany that “this guy is so smart and I’m like a stupid idiot.” This is the kind of epiphany, for a normal person, that would lead to a new hobby, or something.

But Alissa, incapable of doing anything halfway, quits modeling and moves back to New York to become a “passionless shop girl at If Boutique.” It’s just more dignified. For a few years, she actually believes this. She marries Banks, and gets another shopgirl position. But watching people spend money all day is demoralizing. Her whole life was suddenly demoralizing. (Banks was getting “really, really famous and I’m like, I’m just a loser who works at the Alexander McQueen shop.”) In a fit of panic, she applies to college at the New School, where she…meets a virginal 18-year-old Lena Dunham, crying in a bathroom stall after their Fashion and Identity Formation seminar. (Lena transferred to Oberlin soon thereafter, but their friendship was clearly written in the stars.) She graduates, and Banks gets her a better job, working at the gallery Luxembourg/Dayan. They divorce, remarry, and divorce again. She’s still in her twenties, by the way, and coming to the only worthwhile lesson from that decade: it’s just easier if you make something of yourself than to be somebody’s +1.

“Not only did I feel contaminated by the failure of a marriage that I had been counting on to save me from ever having to accomplish anything myself, but I also suddenly understood that I’d been foolish to believe that a rich person could like me on my own now that I was without an art-star husband,” Bennett writes in her newest zine.

It makes sense, in retrospect, that someone so committed to seeing herself as a loser, a word Bennett uses a lot to describe herself—despite everything always being, in my opinion, kind of glamorous—would become a historian of fuck-ups and bad behavior. (For the record, Bennett remains in the art world to this day; she has the same job as Jennifer Lawrence’s fiancé.)

No one tell her she’s cool; the work would suffer.

#Meet Lena Dunham’s Podcasting Partner True Crime Zine Queen Alissa Bennett

[bwicblog]

AH: ⋛⋋ it ⋌⋚ AH: ⋛⋋ is ⋌⋚ AH: ⋛⋋ TIME!!! ⋌⋚ AH: ⋛⋋ https://youtu.be/Woeao_ZLlR8?t=31 ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ ur welcome ⋌⋚

MN: thE fuck did .I just walk into

AH: ⋛⋋ magic. ⋌⋚

MN: that looks lEss likE magic and morE likE somEonE nEEds to lay off thE mEad

TT: shouldn'T you be busy (\/)rushing on your besT friend bird boy TT: lololoplololololololololo

AH: ⋛⋋ um???? excuse u???? ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ i dont have a crush on caelon thats dumb ⋌⋚

TT: you TT: heard TT: me TT: nerd TT: bird

TT: youre dumb

AH: ⋛⋋ ur dumb >:v ⋌⋚

TT: no you

AH: ⋛⋋ also MN u wouldnt recognize magic if it was right in front of ur nose ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ http://taimatrolls.tumblr.com/post/139073378698/edward-glock40-hands-finally-this-meme-gets-an ⋌⋚

MN: .I. rEcognizE thE magic of intErnEt mEmEs

AA: omgggg, that shit is classic.

AH: ⋛⋋ hell yeah!!! ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ finally. ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ someone who understands tru beauty ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ ;v; ⋌⋚

AA: y. only one flaw: therne's, like, zerno birnbs, dude.

AA: so lemme ftfy.

AA: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-TcLxlkc2pA

AH: ⋛⋋ dyhfcjfkg ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ lmao ron ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ like if u cry every time ⋌⋚

TC: Lemme smaaaaash

AH: ⋛⋋ no ron ;< ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ go find becky :/// ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ http://taimatrolls.tumblr.com/post/133649685023 ⋌⋚

TC: You wa~t sum fuk?

TT: This is The dumbesT sTuff ive seen and i've seen rikkin in person

AH: ⋛⋋ i guess u havent seen urself in the mirror lately then lmaooo ⋌⋚

TT: yeah i have and i am beauTiful

AH: ⋛⋋ (=v=) ⋌⋚

TT: even when i am asleep on sTarla's (\/)ou(\/)h i look fanTasTi(\/)

AH: ⋛⋋ so u dont mind if i post those snaps here then ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ (ov~) ⋌⋚

TT: i mean sure, i am jusT hoping ThaT you donT geT Too jealous

AH: ⋛⋋ why would i get jealous??????? ⋌⋚

TC: After~oo~ drama - ! love !t

TT: be(\/)ause i goT To be (\/)loser To sTarla Than you were able To geT To (\/)aelon duh

MN: oh .MY. god thE mEmE magic is too strong MN: no .I.m out .I. haVE to kick somEonEs ass byE

AH: ⋛⋋ ???? ⋌⋚

TC: OOOOOOHHHH

AH: ⋛⋋ what u cuddled her? ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ big deal ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ ive known her for sweeps n shes kinda cuddly to me too nerd lol ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ besides, why would i be jealous of u when i got a face like this just saying http://68.media.tumblr.com/40772c20bdf201449fb18ddc8d14d4de/tumblr_oatnerlI131sjachbo2_400.png ⋌⋚

TC: The gree~ o~e has a po!~t, they're adorable

AA: !!

AA: !!!!!!

TT: and i am adorable Too i am jusT Trying to find my phone

AA: omg, arne you the kid frnom the alley?? >:}

AH: ⋛⋋ (~vo) ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ ... ok first of im not a kid just bc im short!! im almost 8 ⋌⋚

TC: A small l!ttle w!ggler

AH: ⋛⋋ second of all idk??? who r u??? ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ ur just jealous im younger but still more beautiful ⋌⋚

AA: i am supern fucking wounded you obvs did not google my shit. like, supern supern wounded. like, knife thrnough the pumpbiscuit wounded.

TT: http://i.imgur.com/PoQgD4B.png TT: yeah i am sorry buT There is more Than one horse in This (\/)uTe ra(\/)e okay TT: and i am in The lead

AH: ⋛⋋ ???? ⋌⋚

AA: ~// HELLO CITICINS!!! \~ AA: ~// THE SPARK IN THE NIGHT HAS RETURNED AGAIN!!! \~

AA: ~// (Hi! Who are all of you? :D) \~

TC: Who the fuck

AH: ⋛⋋ i still win taskur get lost bye ⋌⋚

AA: siparna!! duh. AA: unless yrn anothern fluff topped grneenie. in which case, _lmao._

AH: ⋛⋋ and uhhh??? i mean i meet a lot of ppl in the alley- ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ OH ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ ITS U ⋌⋚

AH: ⋛⋋ :DDD :D :DD ⋌⋚

TT: hey (\/)an you guys shuT The fu(\/)k up and pay aTTenTion To me

AH: ⋛⋋ no ⋌⋚

AA: ~//I PAY ATTENTION WHEN I WANT TO PAY ATTENTION!!!\~

AH: ⋛⋋ and my name is rikkin uvu ⋌⋚

AA:~//Cool I'm Tallow :D \~

AA:~//Does anyone here like Supertroll\~

TT: i haTe all of you

AA: ~//Wildfire spots his newest archenemy\ ~ AA: ~// The likes of which can almost be compared to the aquatic atrocity \ ~

AA: see, i know a rmiccin, so I was like: nnnn that is T Ö T E S not the name, and AA: uH. >:}

AA: dnw, tt, i think the pupa likes you.

ID: let's pay even less attention to tt and pay attention to me.

TC: H! S!para

AA: ~//I'm not a pupa I'm 6 shut up\ ~

AH: ⋛⋋ omg ⋌⋚

TC: Go away Hadea~

ID: hmmm.... nah.

MD: Dude no that's still pupa age. AA: ~//Who asked you!!! >:C \ ~

AH: ⋛⋋ brb i gotta check on the food ⋌⋚

TT: ki(\/)ks dirT everywhere

TC: Gasps

AA: SDLKosdfhsdfkjf;sdf jldfskjlkjlkjlJ AA: sdlkjFSDLkAHAHAAHHHH AA: ~//THE VILLAIN HAS TRIED TO CUT OFF MY LINE TO MY ALLYS!!\ ~ AA: ~//THIS IS WHAT I MUST DEAL WITH IN MY HEROIC PURSUITS!!!\ ~ MD: Or you could try not playing dumb wriggler games in public chats MD: That works too

TT: (\/)hill

AA: arne we all rnoleplaying now?? AA: bc i'm outies, holy shit.

ID: as a guy wearing fairy wings right now.

TC: I roleplay that ! have a soda

ID: i can say you're all losers.

AA: ~//What \~ MD: What

TC: !s th!s how you do !t

AA: ... did you make a hat forn yrn lusus??

ID: no, asshole is getting enough love. people keep fucking feeding him.

AA: and n, n, you gotta say I DUMP THE CAN ON TC'S HEAD AA: duh.

ID: instead of me. it's a fucking travesty.

AA: they'rne feeding him and yrn not stealing the food??

AA: ~// Why are you a fairy? \ MD: Why are you wearing the wings in PUBLIC???

AA: wtf, it's like yrn not hungrny at all. f a K e.

ID: i don't eat hay sip.

ID: i'm fae as fuck right now.

ID: peeps keep asking me to make them wings though lol.

MD: Tallow I think we should lea:ve AA: ~// Why??? >:C \ MD: Because you're too little to hear about this AA: ~//AM NOT!!! \

TC: ! stop AA from dump!~g the ca~ o~ my head a~d the~ dump !t o~ the!r head

TC: Yay, we're roleplay!~g!

AA: ~// Wait what??? D: \ MD: Not you, dumbass.

AA: fucking success. see, we'rne prnos now. AA: beeteedubs, I totes meant TT. wtf all you peeps got TS for??

MD: Was any of that actual words.

TC: Do~'t make fu~ of S!para

MD: I'm not. MD: I'm asking what language Sipara is speaking.

ID: sip get to the faire already. =>:I

AD: oO hiiiii~ Oo

AD: oO it's looking very red in here today~ Oo

AA: I'm like an hourn out, fuck offffffff.

ID: red is best so.

AD: oO well red is very pretty so! Oo

AA: come out and fight these cullbait fucking drniverns so they'll stop drniving like they'rne petting theirn goddamn lusus with both hands, and, like, we will be therne S Ö Ö N E R. >:}

ID: tell them the fucking fairy prince will have their heads. =:P

AD: oO pfffft what Oo

AD: oO are you a fairy princess now Oo

ID: prince.

AA: n idk, ad, but you can lrnn2rnead orn stfungtfo, ikwim.

AA: >:P

AD: oO well i'd love to learn to read Oo AD: oO but i don't think you sound like a very good teacher! Oo

AD: oO but my sincere apologies for dishonoring the fairy prince Oo

AA: girnl, i am the best schoolfeed evern, soz. >:} AA: and yyy, good, will shout out abt the fairny prnince next time someone rnefuses to pass.

AA: strnike F E A RN in theirn H E A RN T S.

ID: on it.

AD: oO yes of course Oo AD: oO you cannot pass through this Oo AD: oO the court of the fairy prince Oo AD: oO who is really very scary! Oo

AD: oO may his sparkly powder sprinkles spell your demise Oo

ID: i feel like i'm being mocked. =:P

AD: oO of course not sir fae Oo

ID: good. because like. having fins is just as weird as having wings.

AD: oO hehe Oo AD: oO if you say so~ Oo

ID: totes did. is anyone here actually at the fair yet.

AA: phern is at the fairn alrneady, he got therne, like. yesternday?? AA: bc he does not believe in nornmal shit like S L E E P I N G.

AD: oO i just got here! Oo

ID: i'm having a hard time finding him. but then i haven't looked at a map. because stalls are distracting.

AA: his boytoy might be therne too, idefk. >:} uhh. prnobs the mossball.

AA: .. idk anyone else.

AA: call him!! AA: orn go chill with bubbles. strnangern dangern, whassat.

ID: i am having my stranger danger meter filled already, no bubbles needed.

SS: (I want it on record that texting and driving is, like, extra terrifying when its on a vehicle that definitely requires both hands to steer.) SS: (And on a totes unrelated note, I think Sipa might be anglin to kill us both! (\quq/) )

ID: what a way to go tho sip. i guesss i should call pheres. see what my getup is going to be.

AD: oO did you at least remember to wear your helmet Oo

TC: Psst Hadea~, what w!ll you be wear!~g there? ! wa~t to f!~d you so ! ca~ stuff po!so~ !vy dow~ your sh!rt

ID: that's implying i'll be wearing a shirt!

TC: Oh that makes th!~gs so much eas!er!

ID: =:P just enjoy the fucking faire and try to have fun for once.

ID: without hurting someone.

ID: you fucking weirdo.

TC: God ~o

AA: W E H A V E A R R I V E D.

ID: finally.

AA: don't sass me, brnah. therne was trnaffic. AA: and lal squalling in my flaps, A N D on my phone. AA: did you know he texted me to say, i was going2fast??

AA: like, stfu, stop starning at the speedometern and look at yrn damn phone. >:P

ID: i am all sass. i am the s a s s i e s t.

AA: n, soz, p surne that goes to prnisma.

ID: prisma isn't here to defend the crown so i rule. =>:P

AA: wherne you at, anyway?? AA: turns out i totes lied, btw, phern was off doing goth shit and not at his booth at A L L.

ID: no fucking wonder i couldn't find him. i'm at the shopping area.

SA: someone said my name.

SA: I woke up from my nap specifically becauseof this.

SA: I'm joking, my clairvoaynce is not that strong.

ID: are you at the fair yet?

AA: but is yrn clairavoyance??

AA: >:P

ID: i hope you didn't nap through your stop.

AA: .. how the fuck did you nap aftern drninking coffee??

AA: cappachino. w/e.

ID: maybe caffeine doesn't afect prisma too.

AA: i think he fell asleep again. so, like, obvs it doesn't. >:}

AA: orn else he needs to pourn morne down his chute.

SA: Sorry, I was unpacking. I am at my hotel now, actually.

SA: The caffiene only worked for so long.

SA: I will... change soon, and then I will go to the fair.

SA: Yes?

AA: yyyyyyyy.

#c:prisma #c:hadean #c:sipara #c:rikkin #c:taskur #c:tallow #c:cyrrus #c:canela