#because there is a mountain of garbage to sift through

[bananonbinary]

i keep seeing people compare AI to the machine-generated books in 1984, and i don't think it's entirely fair for 2 main reasons:

in 1984, media is controlled by the state. the books are not just written by machines, they are specifically engineered with an agenda to control the masses. current AI books may be slop, but they are not malevolent slop. at least, not any moreso than any other corporate garbage. we should be paying attention to what propaganda may be in these books, but then, that's true of normal books too.

in 1984, EVERY book is written this way, which is what makes it an effective form of control. i truly don't think we're in danger of that here. AI books ARE slop, and are never going to replace real writers as long as we have freedom of expression. they are getting churned out now because they are a novelty, and cheap to produce; they aren't really seriously competing with actual intentional books. or preventing writers from making new art, because writers LIKE making new art.

the problems in 1984 were never the specific tools, it's the system of oppression and how it uses those tools. AI books may superficially be similar to what's described here, but they just aren't part of a wider system that can have that sort of impact. they're just kinda. there. being bad books. we can survive bad books.

[kharmii]

Wow Someone asks nicely for you to remove *their* posts and you throw a callout post at it complaining? FYI, theyre not scared, theyr uncomfortable. A feeling someone is allowed to have when it's their stuff you're associating to incest. Yes it's fictional but some people can still find it disgusting. Its one thing to post in your own little corner but as a reposter, just nut up about artist's wishes about their art LOLHow a proshipper can be an anti at the same time I have no idea. You try so much to act like the rest of the shippers are degenerates for liking what they like that you're projecting at someones polite dm :)

I'm not associating an artist who does ralts line art with incest. This came out of nowhere, btw, as the artist has this for their Twitter profile:

This is an example of the sort of work they do:

Ya know, edgy teenager art from someone who is barely an adult. There's nothing about blankshipping making them uncomfortable because they probably don't give an a/b/o micro-dick of damn about the train twins. They're obviously playing stupid shipping politics, otherwise they could have just had their friend tell me to take the post down without a long, drawn-out explanation. Other people have done that, and I've shrugged it off and did what they asked. I just get tired of accusations of being along the lines of a pedo groomer, just because I have this one obscure fetish about cartoon identical twins who dress the same way and have a psychic bond (that's it. That's the specific criteria). It's not like I'm going to fuck my bro irl or groom irl twins to fuck each other. I made the point of writing in the cockroach wife post.....either admit it's all dreck and everybody is retarded or erase your delicate flower ass off the internet for being overly sensitive.

Another hot take on this issue comes from the 'proship was the fandom norm' post where I wrote that I don't have to play politics because both sides have aspects that are retarded af, and I don't have to, say, support pedophilia and gross-ass werewolf dick smut, just because I think psychic identical twins are hot. It gets to the point with proshipping that only the people into the most extreme fetishes are comfortable posting, so a lot of times, one has to sift through a mountain of gross, negative garbage just to see their otp being cute once in a while. That's why I aim to make a mostly cute blankshipping blog with only a pinch of edge.

On that note, it's bold of everybody in the Submas fandom to assume blankshipping isn't the default. When I got into this, I was like, "Wait a minute.....are antis trying to say that these middle-aged autistic train clowns in adorable matching train conductor traffic cone costumes aren't fucking?! WEEEIIRRDDD........" I mean, come on..seriously. It's not like people have to be crass about it. Blankshippers can play the brother fucking smooth, like where they sneak a kiss here and there when nobody is looking and do their dirty deeds behind closed doors. It's not like I'm going to write a fanfic where Emmet be all like, *does endzone dance in the battle car* "I have won against you. -So now I'm going to celebrate by packing my own brother's ass like I'm going on a month-long vacation. -Because I am a Subway Boss. I am Emmet!" *does toy soldier march to Ingo's battle car*

Actually, that might work if someone is into non-con, like a few seconds later, one might hear a tussle with Ingo yelling, "SWEET MOTHER OF GIRATINA! NOT AGAIN!!1!!1!" *extra big frowny face*

LOL, How a proshipper can be an anti at the same time I have no idea. You try so much to act like the rest of the shippers are degenerates for liking what they like that you're projecting at someones polite dm :)

Again, there's a lot of negativity and gross crap in the proshipping community, and yet, certain things are deemed more acceptable than others (see my two links about cockroach wife and such). Again, it's all garbage and everybody is retarded. I'm allowed to not like certain things and complain (this or that) trope gets used too much. I think some content creators are more into the trope than they are the fandom.

There's also a lot of negativity and gross crap in the antishipping community as well. Why is it that cartoon fictional character twincest is taboo, but again, someone can take a human character ship and turn it into two-dick werewolf knotting cumflation morbidly obese furry bullshit? I'd rather have a fetish that's immoral in the context of irl than one that's stupid and disgusting. Do that many people want to see furry fetish plastered everywhere? -Or is it a case where the vocal minority shouts the loudest? Someone on a gardevoir discord once told me one individual single-handedly ruined a ralts line 4chan channel by posting huge-booty inflation smut that nobody wanted to see but the one person.

[1358456]

Throne of...

That Scarlet sketch reminds me of...

I tried that game recently. A Pokemon sweatshop game? Hehehe. Of course. Unfortunately it was just a 1-hour trial so I never got to build up an empire using sla- ahem, volunteering pals. Nothing stops them from leaving whenever they want. In that vein, nothing stops me from chasing after them with a bat again.

It was a fascinating experience. A lot more hands-on than the whole Sujimon thing in Yakuza 8. In that game, you recruit Sujimon by either pulling them from a gacha machine, at which point the Sujimon are released from behind bars (they're criminals, after all), or you run into them in the streets, beat the crap out of them, and then give them a gift so they fight for you and work at your sweatshop in Dondoko Island, where all they get for their hard work is just a pat on the head, and even that is optional. Fully grown-ass men, sifting through mountains of garbage for salvageable screws and metals, and all they get in return is a pat on the head.

But in Palworld, I recruit more workers by first beating them with a bat and then stuffing their near-dead bodies in a ball. Just like in Pokemon, their health can NOT be all gone in order to be captured. Which was something I learned pretty quickly. "Oh, so despite the cutesy art of swirling eyes, they're actually dead so I can't catch them. And that's why I got meat off of them." ... I beat a lot of chickens with a bat in that game. Yakuza Ishin's chicken racing trauma hasn't gone away yet even though it's been over a year at this point. Flustercluck, you son of a-

In a Pokemon game, where the Pokemon have more power than you, the whole friendship crap is actually necessary to get these things to listen to you. Or have one very strong Pokemon that you actually take care of, and the rest are expendable thus coerced to obey. But in Yakuza 8, the Sujimon are forced to listen to you because either you saved them from jail, or you already beat the crap out of them once before and nothing stops you from doing that again. So in that vein, in Palworld, I made sure to establish my dominance first by beating them up with a bat, and killing a few of their friends. "Huh, 3 cat things over there. I have one Poke... er... Palball. So I'll beat one to death, let one run to tell its friends what happened here, and then catch the last one, which would be all too eager to prove its usefulness."

Heh. In Pokemon, any unnecessary extras are simply released into the wild, merged with some other creature to create an abomination before being let loose in the wild, or traded to a game whose save file is about to be erased so they are lost in the void for all eternity. In Yakuza 8, the unnecessary extra Sujimon are sent to The Committee, where what happens next is "strictly confidential". And in Palworld, the unnecessary extras are... eaten. I never got to test if the chickens in that game would eat grilled chicken. "Remember your friend that was slacking off all the time? ... This is that friend."

A shame I never got too far in the game, since it was just a trial. I'd eventually tech up to rifles. I don't know if a sniper rifle is in the game, but... hehe. A sniper rifle, an assault rifle, a bat, and a dagger, and then I'd be all set to make my own version of Majima Construction.

"I'll kill ya first!"

Hehe. Welcome to 135's Palworld, where the pals are inspired and motivated by listening to Majima Construction Anthem, and have their safety assured by the overlord, who watches from her sniper tower with her sniper rifle, who also leads by example with a bat and a dagger. Remember, pals, your safety is your concern!

[dfroza]

the mail has to get through…

A scene shared by my sister Today (i shoveled this path last night and the day before)

a lot of communication has gone digital and there is a lot of “junk mail” online, including scammers and people who entertain falsehoods.

there’s a lot of literal trash (garbage) that people shouldn’t even see nor listen to. we have to sift through the things in this world to find the genuine. discarding the fake. turning away from idolatry.

we have to be on guard over the heart & spirit

(and we need the Spirit of our Creator to abide within our own)

it is nice to have access to things like music online, yet the internet practically destroyed the livelihood of musicians. just as writers of books since people can so easily get things for free online.

people don’t have to worry about money in Heaven but they certainly need to have it in this world. we’re all “working” for something, yet not all achieve financial security. Love and trust and wisdom is real wealth, in the knowledge of the eternal.

(more precious than gold)

we are living in temporal bodies that are prone to feeling the effects of the curse that befell earth through the first Adam. but the purest “gold” is found in the inner room of the heart (inside, Anew) just as the sacred Ark of the Covenant was placed in (the inner room) of the Tabernacle and the Temple in Jerusalem (and in the heavenly Temple)

this is gold refined by inner Light (True illumination) that reclothes us in grace just as a snow-crowned mountain or the way it falls afresh upon the branches of the evergreens

And we can see it in words written in the paper snow

(illuminated letters of the heart)

i want to illumine the Spirit of God from my inner room

will you see this clear?

One day, we’re promised new bodies that won’t have to deal with all of this, what this world is and its lust of sinful desires. we’re promised a soon-coming Sabbath day’s rest of a thousand years on first earth, yet even at the close of this there will be another rebellion sparked against our heavenly King (just as we now see with many things in this world being anti-Christ in nature, anti-Word)

and so people need to choose for themselves where they belong, to whom they belong.

either in Love, or forever separated from Love’s presence.

because A new pure earth will be made in A grand end of time and it will be a peaceful “Home” where everything will be real (and True) again

(Amen)

[earaercircular]

Garbage that is not garbage: the circular economy gives a second life to waste in Paraguay

Citizens of the capital register to be part of the families that contribute to the environment since the summer of 2022.

Civil society and private companies organise to manage waste, given the lack of effectiveness of public institutions

It is estimated that we generate more than 2,000 million tons of solid waste per year, but only 55% is managed in controlled facilities. “Humanity treats our planet like a garbage dump, we are destroying our only home,” declared the Secretary General of the United Nations, António Guterres, on March 30 on the first International Zero Waste Day[1], that encourages people, companies and Governments to prevent and minimise waste, promoting the circular economy. The UN highlights that this mainly affects the impoverished population and especially the almost 4 billion people who do not have access to controlled waste disposal facilities.

In Paraguay it is not recycled at origin. Less than 1% of households do so. There is a lack of environmental education and there are hardly any differentiated containers. There are also no official facilities to separate waste in an organised way. Collection does not reach all areas or does so infrequently and the garbage ends up burned, buried, in open fields or in the channels of the many Paraguayan rivers. In the best of cases, it reaches an official landfill, where the hands of thousands of people who work informally dissect it in search of the precious recyclable materials that they will sell to earn their bread. They are the so-called gancheros, the lowest link in the Paraguayan recycling chain. According to data from the Moisés Bertoni Foundation[2], of the 111,000 people who are dedicated to the waste recovery sector in Paraguay, 100,000 are basic recyclers and waste pickers. Both obtain recyclable materials and sell them for little money to recovery companies, intermediaries and recycling centres.

Gancheros[3] at the base of the recycling chain

Dominga Céspedes is 64 years old and has been a garbage collector for more than two decades in Cateura[4], the Asunción[5] garbage dump, the largest in Paraguay. Every morning she climbs the mountain of trash in front of her house with gloved hands to sift through other people's waste. “I like my job, although it is very hard because it is very hot from 8 in the morning. We work with sun, rain and mud.” She is the leader of the Municipal Landfill Workers Association (Asotravermu)[6], one of the three main organizations of gancheros in the area, along with Cosigapar and Sigren. “In total, we are more than 500 members, women and men aged 18 and over. We have regulations and statutes, so as not to kill ourselves over material. If someone has bad behaviour, they are suspended for a few days,” she explains. Cateura is in the belt of misery that surrounds Asunción, in Bañado Sur, where, like Céspedes, thousands of impoverished people live who subsist with irregular and precarious jobs. The garbage dump gained international fame thanks to the renowned Cateura orchestra, with instruments made from waste[7] in which the children of those who barely make a living sifting through the garbage play. It opened in 1985, and has reached maximum capacity. Since 2020, it has operated as a Transfer Plant, an intermediate point where valuable waste is separated before taking the rest to the final place for disposal, in the nearby municipality of Villa Hayes.

Cateura accumulates environmental disasters, such as the fire in September 2020, when a huge cloud of toxic smoke affected the entire city. Since the late nineties there have been municipal projects to close the landfill and environmentally recover the area. But hundreds of people who survive thanks to being surrounded by garbage fear to lose their source of income. “In Bañado Sur we live by recycling and I hope it never ends,” says Céspedes, who asks for more institutional support: “We want our work to be dignified and for the Government to help us. We would like them to set up a recycling plant and work as a cooperative, collecting the garbage that people separate from home,” she says. What worries gancheros most lately is the international smuggling of recycled materials, which is causing prices to plummet. “They bring recycled materials from countries like Argentina to sell cheaper to companies and that affects us. In recent years, I have gone from earning about 1 million guaraníes -127 euros- a week, to earning about 400 guaraníes -50 euros-”, claims Céspedes.

Environmental protection

Cateura is very close to the Paraguay River, in a flood-prone area. “It was installed there nothing more and nothing less than on the recommendation of the World Bank, but it is very dangerous,” says David Cardozo, graduate in Environmental Sciences, professor of landscaping at the School of Architecture of the National University of Asunción (UNA)[8] and Director General Environmental Management of the Municipality of Asunción until 2020. There is a risk of leakage and it is highly flammable, due to the type of waste and the gases concentrated under the ground. "We should not occupy the water territory, not even with human settlements, much less with a landfill." He recognizes that, although Paraguay has had a robust Comprehensive Solid Waste Management Law since 2009, there is a lack of control and it is not enforced.

A lot of garbage ends up anywhere and without proper treatment. Poor waste disposal is associated with several urban problems. For example, in trash-filled streams, stagnant water hosts mosquitoes that transmit tropical diseases. Paraguay has recently suffered several dengue epidemics and the 2023 chikungunya epidemic was the largest in the country. Furthermore, when it rains, the flow carries garbage and clogs storm drains. “First we destroyed our natural waterways and paved the entire city, and then we clogged them with garbage. That generates a lot of flooding,” explains Cardozo, who maintains that cities must be thought of taking the environment into account. He quotes the concept of biodiversity, promoted by CAF-Development Bank of Latin America[9]. Cities that incorporate local and regional biodiversity in their planning to restore the balance between urban management and nature.

Although Cardozo is one of those who thinks that the best thing we can do to combat the increase in global garbage is to reduce consumption and would prefer to trust public institutions rather than what he believes are possible false solutions, he is aware of the Paraguayan reality and welcomes the recent appearance of several recycling and circular economy initiatives. “Garbage that isn't garbage,” he calls it.

Circular economy: the business of recycling

“In the wrong hands, materials are garbage, in the right ones they are resources,” says Mauricio Solalinde, civil engineer and manager of Circular Economy at the Moises Bertoni Foundation, which has been dedicated to sustainable development for 32 years. “Faced with the inaction and void of Paraguayan public policy, the private sector is mobilising,” he explains. In 2021, they launched the My neighbourhood without waste initiative[10], that promotes recycling in Asunción. “In Paraguay there are other waste circular economy initiatives such as Latitud R[11] or Ecological Solutions[12], but this is the largest waste recovery project in the country, by volume of investment, results and presence,” he maintains. According to data from the Moisés Bertoni Foundation, in 2022 they recovered more than 4,000 tons of materials, reaching 400 homes, 100 companies and 20 recyclers who can be contacted via WhatsApp to request a home collection service. The 2023 goal is to reach more than 500 homes, 150 companies, increase the number of recyclers and recover 10,000 tons of materials such as plastic, metal, paper and glass.

The first thing they did to enter the recycling ecosystem is to be clear about the national panorama. “In Paraguay there is a lack of data and what there is is obsolete. The Ministry of the Environment does a study every 10 years in one of the 263 municipalities,” argues Solalinde. He says that the institutionality of the Moisés Bertoni Foundation enabled them to obtain data directly from private organisations under a confidentiality agreement and, after analysing it, in 2022 they began to develop public policy as a group promoting the circular economy in Paraguay. “We brought together the ministries of Industry, Commerce and Environment, and we coordinated a multi-sector space with public institutions, the productive private sector and civil society. We work on four strategic axes: sustainable production, responsible consumption, inclusive recycling and public policy,” he concludes.

They have the support of the Paraguayan Government, the United Nations and the IDB (Inter-American Development Bank), but the correct management of garbage is not only a social and environmental issue, it also generates a lot of money. Companies such as Coca Cola, Nestlé and Tetra Pak are behind the My waste-free neighbourhood initiative, which         explains that it works thanks to the market economy. Large companies are interested in investing to recover the precious raw materials that are hidden in garbage bags.

Source

Paula López Barba, Basura que no es basura: la economía circular da una segunda vida a los residuos en Paraguay in: El País, 7-11-2023 https://elpais.com/america-futura/2023-11-07/basura-que-no-es-basura-la-economia-circular-da-una-segunda-vida-a-los-residuos-en-paraguay.html

[1] The United Nations General Assembly on 14 December 2022 formally recognized the importance of zero-waste initiatives and proclaimed 30 March as the International Day of Zero Waste, to be observed annually beginning in 2023. Zero-waste initiatives can foster sound waste management and minimize and prevent waste. https://www.unep.org/events/un-day/international-day-zero-waste-2023#:~:text=The%20United%20Nations%20General%20Assembly,and%20minimize%20and%20prevent%20waste.

[2] The Moises Bertoni Foundation was established in January 1988 in memory of Moisés Santiago Bertoni, as an environmental foundation and conservation, aiming to contribute to the protection and sustainable development of natural resources in Paraguay. The Foundation is a nonprofit organization that specializes in sustainable development and manages the Mbaracayu Natural Forest Reserve, the largest continuous remnant of the Interior Atlantic Forest in Paraguay. The foundation focuses on promoting environmental, social, and economic development, in an effort to overcome the dominant paradigm of conservation as something separate from human activity.[

[3] A "ganchero" is a person who goes through trash looking for recyclables.

[4] Cateura is the name of the landfill of Asunción, created in 1984 by the municipality of the capital of Paraguay, whose name comes from the Cateura lagoon, which is located near the property, private access, which has become landfill.

[5] Asunción is the capital and the largest city of Paraguay. The city stands on the eastern bank of the Paraguay River, almost at the confluence of this river with the Pilcomayo River. The Paraguay River and the Bay of Asunción in the northwest separate the city from the Occidental Region of Paraguay and from Argentina in the south part of the city. The rest of the city is surrounded by the Central Department.

[6] Asociación de Trabajadores del Vertedero Municipal (Asotravermu)

[7] Read also: https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/670483604574437376/the-orchestra-that-transforms-garbage-into-sound?source=share

[8][8] https://www.una.py/english

[9] The Corporacion Andina de Fomento (CAF) – Banco de Desarrollo de América Latina y el Caribe (Portuguese: Corporação Andina de Fomento (CAF) – Banco de Desenvolvimento da América Latina e Caribe, is a development bank that has a mission of stimulating sustainable development and regional integration by financing projects in the public and private sectors in Latin America and the Caribbean, and providing technical cooperation and other specialized services. Founded in 1970 and currently with 20 member countries from Latin America, the Caribbean, and Europe along with 13 private banks, CAF is one of the main sources of multilateral financing and an important generator of knowledge for the region.CAF is headquartered in Caracas, Venezuela.

[10] Mi barrio sin residuos. My Zero Waste Neighbourhood. It is a platform that offers a comfortable and simple alternative to implement the habit of recycling in neighbourhoods of Asunción. We seek to connect homes, businesses, companies and educational institutions with recyclers who carry out the collection of recyclable materials. The objective is to achieve a cleaner, greener and more sustainable city, and to support the work and economic support of various grassroots recyclers and associations of recyclers existing in Asunción. https://mibarriosinresiduos.com.py/

[11] Latitud R is the main regional platform for the articulation of actions, investments and knowledge regarding Inclusive Recycling. Its purpose is to contribute to the development of inclusive recycling systems with economic, social and environmental sustainability throughout the continent, contributing to the formalization and improvement of conditions for grassroots recyclers, and the development of the Circular Economy in Latin America. https://latitudr.org/quienes-somos/

[12] We are a social company specialized in the management of Recyclable Solid Waste, betting on inclusive recycling and the circular economy. We seek to raise awareness and citizen participation about the correct management of solid waste, from how it is generated to recycling. https://www.solucionesecologicas.com.py/soluciones-ecologicas-nosotros

[saifa-ao3]

I have a request for femslash february, if you're still taking those! Pairing: Catty/Bratty - prompt: Catty and Bratty discuss Burgerpants, Mettaton, and whoever else, but at some point during their gossiping Catty accidentally lets it slip she likes Bratty (or vice-versa).

I’m late. But I did it! I’ll get to the other requests hopefully soon.

H e y,  c h e c k  i t  o u t. 

Rating: General Audiences

Title: I wanna, like, totally be your garbage!

Summary:While scavenging for garbage to sell, Bratty thinks over her feelings for Catty. Will she confess her feelings to her best friend?

Relationships: Catty/Bratty

Tumblr version under the cut.            It had been a while since anything new could be scavenged, and it looked like Bratty and Catty were the first ones to arrive this morning. Bratty laid her tired eyes on the new mountain of tangled debris that had fallen into the garbage dump during the night. Her keen eyesight was accustomed to the cavern’s darkness and gave her an advantage in spotting what the other monsters usually missed. The mound was comprised mostly of plastic bags and other useless synthetic and rusted debris. Among the musty dampness, there was a pungent, rotting smell wafting from the pile. Looks like whatever was salvageable would require a deep cleaning. The goods Bratty and Catty sold might be garbage, but it was premium quality garbage.

            The ankle deep water sloshed from Bratty’s approach. Carefully, she tugged at a handlebar from a bicycle to test the mountain’s stability. When nothing rained down, she shook other metal pipes and tires in search of a loose area to begin her excavation. The debris proved stubborn. In fact, barely anything seemed to budge save for a few empty aluminum cans. It seemed their salvage operation would be a tricky one, so it was best to get the easy pickings at the base first. Squatting down, she felt around in the water for anything interesting.

            “Like, ew, this mound totally reeks, Bratty!” Catty said, breaking away from their shopping cart while covering her nose with a grimace.

            Bratty gave her best friend a toothy grin. She loved the way Catty’s nose wrinkled from the smells in the dump. It was incredibly cute and the sight was one of her favorite parts of scavenging. “Like, totally, Catty. But just think of, like, all the garbage we can sell!”

            “Like, you’re so right, Bratty!” Catty giggled, covering her mouth mischievously with a paw.

            Bratty giggled too, but for her own reason. Catty’s laugh was bubbly and incredibly infectious as it bounced off the cavern walls and ceiling. There was a light chime to it like the high notes on a xylophone that made her soul flutter. That realization dawned on Bratty when she found the instrument on their last excavation. She had watched Catty curiously tap on the bars with a makeshift mallet and listened to her friend laugh playfully while composing a signature jingle for the two of them. It was then that Bratty associated Catty’s voice with music.

            “Oh, did you, like, find something?” Catty asked. She looked over Bratty’s shoulder and extended her whiskers. Grabbing their old, reliable shopping cart, she parked it next to the mound. “Chuck it in the cart here.”

            Bratty held up a figurine of a humanoid character dressed in pink with hair and cat ears to match. In her opinion, Catty was way cuter than this figurine. The girl wasn’t even entirely a cat, but definitely not a monster. Bratty had no idea what this character was, but she knew one thing. Catty had prettier ears. Besides, Bratty prefered purple over pink, and something told her this character would never be caught dead in a garbage dump.

            “Oh my god, like, isn’t this one of those things that Alphys likes?” Catty asked. She leaned over and rested her chin on top of Bratty’s head while her paws settled on Bratty’s shoulders.

            “Like, wow…” Bratty blushed when she felt the warmth from Catty’s paws and the soft fur tickle the scales on her neck. The warmth from her friend was a delightful comfort in the damp darkness. It took her a moment to snap her attention back to the conversation. “Uh… I totally think you’re right. What was it called again?”

            “Um, like, animu?”

            “Yeah, like, for sure animu.” Bratty said, placing the figurine in the cart. ”What even happened to Alphys anyways? Nobody has seen her for, like, ever.”

            Catty straightened and shrugged glumly while kicking at the water.

             Bratty looked from her friend to the figurine. They both missed Alphys dearly, but Catty took Alphys’ disappearance from their lives especially hard. Seeing her friend so glum about losing someone she considered an older sister, Bratty did her best to cheer her up. In Alphys’ absence, the two monsters had grown closer to the point of being inseparable and Bratty began to notice her favorite things about Catty, such as the way her friend’s whiskers would twitch out of curiosity or her pupils would widen when she saw something she adored until her irises were thin, golden rings. If only Catty would look at her the same way as when her friend found that empty gun and hoard of junk food. That day Catty was so excited for their find, and Bratty had to admit that was one of their most successful scavenging excursions yet.

            “Oh my god, Catty, maybe we could go to the lab and drop this off for Alphys. Like, pay her a visit, you know?”

            “Oh my god, Bratty, you really think she would see us?”

            “Uh, like, totally! We got this animu after all. You can give it to her and say, ‘Hi, like, what’s up?’ you know?”

            “Oh my god, Bratty, that’s such a cool idea,” Catty giggled excitedly.

            “For sure,” Bratty said with a wink. “Let’s see if there is anymore of this animu junk.”

            The two set to work sifting through the water, tossing aside rotted wooden planks and shredded fishing nets. A few waterlogged DVD cases and fishing poles later, Catty decided to brave the mountain. Using tires as footholds and secure metal rods to grasp, she scaled the mound agiley with ease until she reached the top. While Bratty sorted her way through the surrounding base, Catty set to work on attacking the pile from the top and removing the shoddy goods. Whenever there was an intriguing find, she would toss it down to add to the shopping cart.

            “Like, come on!” Catty grunted as she struggled to pull out a shower curtain rod. She dug her heels into the soggy magazines and crushed cans and tugged hard. When she finally ripped the rod out, a mess of stained fabric and fishing line wrapped around the pole followed.

            “Oh my god, careful, Catty!” Bratty shouted up. She circled around the back to catch her should she fall. It wasn’t often this happened, but on more than one occasion Bratty had broken her friend’s fall. Honestly, she never minded whenever this happened, and they would lie in the water together having a good laugh, then pick up where they left off. The first time Catty fell into her arms was when she finally noticed how warm, soft, and silky Catty’s fur was.

            Catty waved her arms in an effort to fight against gravity as she leaned backwards precariously on one leg. Her tail twitched wildly in an effort to regain her balance. At last, she thrusted the end of the pole into the mound and pulled herself forward. Sighing heavily in relief, she grinned down at Bratty and covered her grin with a paw. “Like, wow, that was a close one, huh?”

            “Uh, yeah,” Bratty said, smiling in relief. “You, like, totally were about to fall. Did you find anything interesting at least?”

            Catty leapt from the top and landed in the water with a splash. She held up the pole and pulled a pair of scissors from her pocket to snip away the massive knots of fishing line to get at the fabric. Holding up the unfurled fabric, she and Bratty squinted at what appeared to be burger patterned pajama pants.

             Bratty rolled her eyes and scoffed at who this article of clothing reminded her of. “Oh my god, Catty.”

            “Oh my god, Bratty, are you thinking what I am thinking?”

            “Like, Burgerpants, that creep?”

            “Yeah!” Catty’s eyes lit up and she shot Bratty a grin. “Like, we should totally give this to him!”

            Bratty folded her arms and tilted her head. There was a pang of jealousy in her soul that crept up everytime Catty brought up that guy or suggested hanging out with him. What did she see in Burgerpants anyways? After all, she thought he was a creep too, but that didn’t stop her from suggesting saving his life with their friendship and coolness. Catty was always so happy though, and Bratty didn’t have the heart to ruin that. “Uh, like, why?”

            “Because it totally suits him, duh! He could, like, be indebted to us and stuff. I mean, the guy doesn’t even have clothes other than the ones Mettaton makes him wear. I mean, have you seen the stuff he has to dress up in? Totally yuck! He’s gonna look totally cute in these.”

            “Uh, like, you really have no standards, do you?”

            “Nope!” Catty giggled, tossing the pants into the cart.

            “You would really pick Burgerpants over our robot husband?” Bratty asked in hopes the topic would change.

            “Oh my god, our robot husband. Do you think Burgerpants could, like, convince Mettaton to sign my butt after getting us Glamburgers?”

            “Uh, maybe?” Bratty said, uncommitted. All she wanted was to move past this conversation. She didn’t want Catty to see her wrestling with this jealousy. “Hey, what do you say we catch the new episode of The Robot Bachelor tonight?”

            “Oh my god, that’s tonight?” Catty asked brightly. “Like, absolutely! I can’t wait to see which dating option Mettaton will pick.”

            “Uh, yeah, though all the options are Mettaton,” Bratty grinned both in relief and excitement for the new episode. Of course, Catty’s laughter lifted her spirits too.

            “Oh my god, if I was on that dating show, I’d totally choose Mettaton, and then he can finally be my robot husband! What about you, Bratty? Like, who would you choose?”

            “Mettaton, obviously. He’s, like, totally my robot husband too.” Bratty paused as she considered other monsters she could choose from if she were on the dating show, but Catty’s bright laughter intruded upon her thoughts. “Like, actually, I think I’d totally pick you,” Bratty said under her breath. The words had tumbled out before she could catch them.

            Catty’s ears swiveled at that and her laughter stopped abruptly. Her paws flew to her mouth as she stared at her friend with wide eyes. “Oh my god, what?”

            Bratty stared back at Catty, uncertain of what to say. When she finally found her voice, it betrayed her with a crack. “Uh, like, I’d totally pick Mettaton, duh!”

            “No, after that! You’d really pick me?”

            Bratty’s hands fidgeted together nervously. What could she say, that she never wanted to be apart from her best friend? Every time she caught Catty, she never wanted to let go because the best garbage in the whole underground was in her arms. The faintest brush of Catty’s fur warmed her scales in a way Hotland never could. Forget pink no matter who was wearing it, whether it be that anime girl figurine or their shared robot husband. Purple was the coolest color the Underground had ever seen. Even if they never saw the surface, Catty was all she would ever need.

            “You really mean it?” Catty asked, extending her whiskers out of curiosity. Her eyes were two golden rings encircling night.

            “Like, yeah…” Bratty blushed. “You’re really cute and…”

            “Aw, Bratty!” Catty beamed. She embraced her friend tightly and nuzzled her cheek. A low purr formed in her throat that only increased in volume.

            Bratty felt the heat from Catty’s cheek and embrace, though the warmth felt more intense than any physical contact she had with her friend before. It chased away the damp chill from her body, leaving her to wish this feeling would never leave. Never before had she realized how soothing Catty’s rumbling purrs were until now. Truly, it was a new melody she never wanted to hear the end of. The vibrating notes and trills rippled across her skin and sank into her. Once again, Bratty found herself reluctant to let go.

            “We’re the coolest girlfriends forever!” Catty cheered. “Like, wow, I totally never would have thought I’d find the best garbage ever today!”

[dramaphan]

so much gay/trans fanfiction on the internet is written by adult ass cishet women who were never taught that it's gross to fetishize gay relationships. That stuff just teaches kids that every gay guy is just there to participate in your sexual fantasies and trans guys are all just 'uwu soft bois who need to be protected' which is ridiculously toxic and unhealthy for both communities. There just needs to be more lgbt rep in actual children's content so kids don't have to resort to that stuff

I completely agree. And I’m not trying to bash fanfiction as a concept because some of it is genuinely well written, accurate portrayals of the lgbt experience that can be genuinely helpful for teens who are questioning. The problem is that you have to sift through mountains and mountains of hot sexualized garbage in order to find it.

I think in general, it’s just a good idea to call out problematic shit when you see it. Writers aren’t obligated to make sure that their writing won’t scar a kid. That’s why I say that kids need to be monitored online. How many of us saw so much shit we shouldn’t have at such a young age because we had completely free access to the internet? Kids need to be monitored, and parents need to parent. Because you can’t count on strangers on the internet to make sure that they’re not doing something problematic in a space where kids who don’t know any better will see it.

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 2

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4000

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, some smut mentioned, language

A/N:  This story is going to be Trope central so buckle in babes.

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Unpacking was quick, and quiet. Though with Sam silences weren’t particularly unsettling. There were hundreds of occasions where it was just the two of you left alone with a bottle of whiskey and a mountain of lore to sift through. You never felt like you had to make small talk to fill in the gaps, you never really felt like there were any gaps and when the chats did come up they flowed naturally and without expectation. Being with Sam was just comfortable, he was easy to exist beside. Which made him easy to fall for, easy to love.

Dean was always open about his designs toward you. More often than not you figured he was being facetious, but he hit on you frequently enough that it was obvious he’d go for it if only you’d ask.  Sam on the other hand was always respectful, even when he had full opportunity not to be. Last year he’d found a particularly exciting tidbit of information that apparently couldn’t wait to be shared. So he walked into your room without knocking, when you’d just stepped out of the shower- hair wrapped in a towel and nothing else. You screamed at him in surprise, hitting the floor behind the bed to hide your bare ass. It took only a split second to register and he turned away just as quickly, face red as a tomato as he covered his eyes, calling: “Sorry! I should have knocked! Sorry!” He left and never brought it up again. But for the rest of the day he couldn’t look you in the eye without red creeping into his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but grin a little. From then on out he made doubly sure that he knocked before entering whatever room you were lodged in. If he didn’t hear a response he’d just wait, patiently, and knock again.

Though you’d never barged in on him, you were guilty of sneaking peeks at him where you could. You liked watching him, he was strong, and tall, and elegant. It wasn’t as if watching him hang his giant shirts was anything particularly invigorating. Still you enjoyed the view. His shoulder to waist ratio alone was enough to drive you crazy. And you’d seen him without a shirt on, you knew what was hidden under layers of canvas, plaid and cotton. A golden expanse of taut rolling muscle, all firm and warm and inviting. You were practically dripping at the thought of running your fingers through the soft hair on his chest.

Sam turned his head in your direction and you snapped your eyes back to your bag as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire world. Oh shoes, fucking fascinating. Socks, amazing. Underwear, such nice material! You’d deny it if you were asked, but you packed your nicest panties. Not that you had much in the way of lingerie, but like everyone you had the ones you wore on your period, the ones you wore any random day, and then you had the nice ones. The ones you wore when you wanted to feel sexier, the ones you wore when you were trying to get lucky or show off a little.

He could have sworn he’d caught you looking at him, but brushed it off as wishful thinking. Taking your preoccupation as a moment for himself to gaze at you and appreciate the curve of your ass when you bent at the hips to carelessly shove your bag under the bed. Strong thighs and shapely legs, the kind he’d like more if they were draped over his shoulders.

Dropping into the bed with a sigh you rolled to your back allowing yourself to sink into the bed that was almost too soft, too fluffy, too comfortable. It was a complete change from the norm, where you weren’t sure if the sheets were actually washed, and the bed was so hard the floor was a more comfortable option. But you were not one to complain about the tiny offerings of luxury your life occasionally offered. Wiggling your hips you settled in with a pleasured groan and let your eyes fall shut, only for a moment, to appreciate the most comfortable bed you’d ever get the chance to sleep in.

Sam watched you enjoy yourself with a grin. When the soft moan escaped your throat he found himself trying not to think about the sounds you make as your fingers gripped the blankets or nails raked red welts down his back. Or your teeth sinking into a pillow to stifle the pornographic cries that would fall from your lips. The way your hips would move and roll in tandem with his until all you could do was hold on as he fucked you into that bed and fell apart beneath him. He would make you forget how to speak, the only thing you’d be able to scream would be his name and a flurry of barely intelligible curse words in desperation. “Sam..! Uuuhhn-fuck, Sam!”

“Sam!” You shouted as you smacked him in the arm jerking his attention back to Earth as he turned to look at you, upright on your knees still in the bed. Surprise and embarrassment written on his face, cheeks flushed pink. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Hmm? What? Uh-yeah.. Of course.” He scoffed and stumbled through his words as he sank into the edge of the bed beside you, crumpling the large plaid shirt in his hands into a ball in his lap to hide his frustration. Cocking your brow in amused confusion at his uncharacteristic fluster you handed him a nicely laminated printed card.

“What were you thinking about?” You quizzed. There was no price too high that you would pay to sneak a peek into his head. It wasn’t terribly often that you’d catch Sam spacing out, he was always pointed and focused. Even if you couldn’t tell exactly what was rolling around in his mind you could guess, and 90% of the time it had something to do with whatever crisis was being dealt with at the time. On occasion though you’d see him like he just was, obviously off in la-la-land somewhere, and those were the times you wanted desperately to know what he was thinking.

“Nothing.” He defended a little too quickly as he snatched the card from your hand ready to change the subject to literally anything else. There was no force on this Earth that would get him to admit the perverse things he thought about you- let alone to your face. The idea of how your expression would change to uncomfortable disgust at the notion made him cringe. He was looking at the card but couldn’t tell you what a single word said. “What did you say?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention!” You affirmed your accusation poking your index finger into his rib. Tapping the card in his hand you continued. “Firstly, I don’t know how to tell you this, because I don’t want to break your heart or anything but- no wi-fi. Secondly, look at this itinerary! You don’t actually expect me to do this tonight do you?”

No wi-fi would be a problem, that meant limited research. It was to be expected though, the place was set so remotely he didn’t think there would be much signal of any kind, so he didn’t show up naked entirely. He brought his Dad’s journal, and a few other books, and he’d had quite the collection scanned and loaded on his computer. Hopefully whatever it was they ran into would be somewhere in the materials he brought. If not, you’d be taking a trip to the city for internet access. Skimming over the card to follow what you meant he let out a snicker.

“This is what you’re worried about?” Sam asked flatly as he held the card up. You gave an exaggerated shrug, not sure what was so unclear about what you were saying. “A cooking class? Really Y/n?”

“What, Sam? I don’t cook! I can burn water.” You stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t true necessarily, you’d never burnt water, but you’d also never successfully cooked anything in the way it was actually supposed to be cooked. It wasn’t like it was your fault! Everything you ate was microwavable. Besides the fact that you hadn’t grown up around a functioning kitchen. Frankly cooking was the least of your worries. You were basically a human garbage disposal anyway. As long as it was cooked all the way through, and at least mildly edible you were good. Carbs were carbs. Calories were calories. No one was expecting you to be a gourmet chef when you were regularly covered in monster viscera.

Sam gave a soft laugh shaking his head and turning to look at you as he nudged you with his shoulder giving you a sweet smile. Those dimples. God, you could have drowned in them.

“Y/n, I have the utmost faith in you. You can attend this stupid cooking class and you’ll kick it in the ass.”

“You’re sweet. But you’ve never tasted my cooking.”

“Hey, no matter how terrible it turns out, I promise I will lie and say it is delicious.” Sam reassured you with a grin. You smiled back in mock offense and shoved his shoulder as you plucked the card from his hands, and stood.

“Wow, Sam. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.” He snarked watching you start to pace, your eyes glued to the text.

“I mean look at this crap- is this really what normal couples do for fun?” You paused dropping your hands to your sides. He only answered with a shrug, neither of you exactly had much to compare with. You turned your attention back to the card and continued. “Wine tasting.”

“What’s wrong with Wine tasting?”

“Who drinks wine? Rich people, Depressed Mom’s and Lonely Single Women- that’s who.”

“I like wine.” He defended. Your face twisted in skepticism.

“I have never seen you with a glass of wine before. Whiskey, Bourbon and Scotch- sure. But Wine? C’mon Sam.” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you continued to the next item.  “Dancing on Thursday. Do you dance, Sam? Because I don’t dance.”

“Now- that’s not entirely true.” He interjected with a suggestive grin. He’d seen you dance before, a few times. Usually after a few shots, and with some lucky local you’d pick up for the night. Sober you may not dance, but drunk you certainly knew how to move those hips. Heat crept into your cheeks and you moved on, not even wanting to dignify his comment with a response.

“Friday night Movie night. They have a movie night.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly excited either, but it can’t be all that bad.” Sam offered. Half trying to convince himself. From the flat side-eye he earned it was apparent there was no thrill to be had on your part.

“I mean you’d think there’d be stuff on here like hiking, or yoga, or a couples spa.” You huffed and dropped the card on the table beside the bed. “Can we just… go wander around and scope the place out instead?” You asked, you could think of a thousand things you’d rather be doing than attending some stupid cooking class. Just about anything sounded like a less painful option. You’d rather be bound and gagged by something trying to eat you than have to figure out what the fuck a Souffle is.

“I’m sure we’ll be back from checking out the property in plenty of time. If there’s anyone else staying here they’ll probably be there, it’ll be a good chance to talk to some of the others here. See if they’ve heard anything.” Sam reasoned, always logical, and usually right to your displeasure. With a groan you let your chin tilt back and your shoulders slump, a little light bulb going off in your head. Rolling your head up to a tilt you gave him a flirtatious smile. He opened his mouth to speak and you placed your index finger over his lips. They were soft, and warm, and you wondered if he tasted as sweet as his cotton-candy pink mouth looked.

The glimmer in your eyes shifted changing in an instant from your usual sweet and sour demeanor to looking at him through curling lashes sultry and tempting. You hand fell from his lips to curl a long chestnut brown strand of his hair around your finger.

“What if, instead, we skipped it.” Your tone painting a vivid picture. With your cocked brow and devious smile there was no mistaking what you were suggesting. “Said we just couldn’t make it down, because we were... Busy.”

You were supposed to be newlyweds after all, and what was more convincing of a happy, healthy, lovey-dovey relationship than blowing off some bullshit class because you were too busy fucking all night?

Sam swallowed the tension in his throat, if that were an actual option on the table there would have been no need to convince him. Nevertheless he was more than willing to go along with your game, if that’s where you were taking it, two could play. His large hands settled on your hips, warm and heavy, creating gooseflesh through the thin cotton layer of t-shirt. You wanted his hands on you forever. Wanted to burn his fingerprints into your skin like a tattoo. He pulled you in, between his thighs and close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, his cologne filling your senses. The corner of his lips curling into a smile as he peered at you with those kaleidoscope eyes making you weak in the knees.

“You make a very compelling argument.” His voice smooth like scotch and just as intoxicating. Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger made your heart skip a beat, or just dead stop. You couldn’t tell, your eyes falling to his lips, nervous anticipation shooting like an electric current through your veins. The slow drag of his thumb over your lower lip made heat pool low in your belly and your breath catch in your throat. He edged closer to you close enough to feel the heat of his breath caress your face. “But we’re still going.”

Then he smiled at you, a shit-eating grin and stood up to finish doing whatever the hell he was doing. His hands dropped away from you leaving you standing there breathless and trying to recollect your wits. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head in frustration. Folding your arms over your chest you plopped on the bed with a pout, and crossed your legs tightly trying to ease the pressure that had built.

“That was a nice moment Sam. That was a nice moment, and you ruined it. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” You snarked, and by the grin still plastered on his face- he was.

Standing at the top of the long gravel drive you held a map open in front of you, Sam right behind you and able to see clear over your head without issue. Little red dots stippled the map and at the very center of them sat the Inn. Reaching a long arm around you he pointed at one of the markers.

“Alright, so that’s where the last vic was found.”

“Correction- that’s where parts of the last vic were found.” You interjected, his lips pressed into an unamused line as he looked around the property, extending an arm to the left of the driveway and into the thick of the woods.

“Right, parts. Whatever, that’s about a mile that way…”

“Every bit of remains they’ve found have been at least a mile from here. They’re not exactly grouped in one area either. Look at this, they’ve been found just about everywhere. This is a really wide net we’re trying to cast here Sam.” You expressed at the spattering of red dots all over the place. Some further out, some closer in, and everywhere.

“Right, so we go to the freshest spot and hope we get lucky.”

“Great plan and all, except the remains at that location were two months old when they were found. I sincerely doubt that whatever’s out there is going to be there still. Especially with Police in and out of there for the last couple weeks.” You said. Sam paused hazel eyes scanning the treeline as he absorbed the information you were giving him with a nod.

“Guess we’re just gonna have to pick a direction.”

“Okay.” You agreed, folding up the map and stuffing it into the pocket on the inside of your coat, cinching the button at your waist. “Which way you wanna gamble on?”

“Hold on- let me see that map again.” He asked, absentmindedly. You sucked your teeth digging back into your coat to retrieve it. “Isn’t there a lake around here?”

“Yeah, not just one though, there’s several in the surrounding three miles.” You answered unfolding the paper again, and handing it to him to study.

Looking down the winding gravel road and into the mist that seemed to breathe between a trees a chill slid up your spine. You always got antsy before hunts. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t matter what you faced or how many times, it always gave you the jitters. Even after all these years you still got scared. You would never admit it of course, and you’d mastered the poker face to keep it under wraps. But there was honestly no way for you to truly prepare yourself for whatever was out there, not when a single slip up could mean the end. Each new hunt, even with a foe you were familiar with was still jarring and nerve-wracking. It would always be until you either died or didn’t hunt anymore.

“Going for a hike?” The woman’s voice from behind you made you jump nearly out of your skin with a gasp. Hand on your chest you turned around wide eyed to see Esmeralda standing there with perfect black curls surrounding her perfectly cut face, cascading down her perfectly petite shoulders. She wasn’t asking you of course, her eyes fixed on Sam who folded up the map and tucked it in his back pocket as he turned his head to face her.

“Uh, yeah. Thinking about it.” He answered, she gave him a smile, a perfect smile, with straight white teeth and full pouty lips. She was so pretty you kind of hated her for it. Like, damn lady, we get it, you won the genetic jackpot, you don’t have to rub it in by existing and breathing air.

“Well there are a few trails if you follow the drive down to the main road. Though some of them can be a little hard to navigate if you don’t know where you’re going.”  Esmeralda explained. God, even her voice was perfect and sexy. You could have groaned, or rolled your eyes- you didn’t because you didn’t make a habit of being rude, not that it would have mattered anyway. She wasn’t paying attention to you in the slightest, you could have been a sentient tree and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. No, instead she was focused completely on Sam, placing a delicate little hand over his bicep as she pointed around the property. Because groping him was obviously necessary for giving directions. Her fingers were so long and elegant and slender you imagined they’d snap like toothpicks with the proper amount of pressure. “If you’re looking to sight-see, the paths to the North West behind the Inn take you further up the Mountain with plenty of breathtaking views.”

“Actually we’re thinking about checking out some of the lakes.” Sam replied. She smiled at him as if it was the most novel idea she’d ever heard while giving his arm as squeeze.

We get it! He’s jacked. Back off lady. You thought, gnawing on the inside of your lip, just waiting for the whole conversation to be over already. Would it be appropriate to bust up the party a little? You were, after all, supposed to be his wife for all she knew. But you didn’t want to come off as possessive, or jealous. Even though you were and it was absolutely killing you! You resolved to just crossing an arm over your chest and chewing on your thumbnail as if it were going to help you keep your composure in some way.

“To the West is Spider Lake, it’s further into the woods and up the mountain, Spider Creek feeds into it, it’s lovely up there. And to the South East about a mile and a half is Lake Kulla Kulla. It’s a wonderful spot for fishing I hear- if that’s something you enjoy..”

“Thanks, Esmeralda.” Sam replied.

“You’re most welcome Mr. Wesson. Do be careful not to stray too far from the paths, people get lost in these woods easily.” She cautioned. Her voice oozed over ‘Mr. Wesson’ as if she could have sex with the words. Her hand was still glued to his arm like a fucking magnet.“Oh and you will be back in time for tonight's activity won’t you? I’d hate for you to miss out on all of the fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, we plan on being there.” Sam assured with a smile as he stepped back detaching from her grasp and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your arms fell around his waist instantly as you leaned into him.

“We are just so excited.” You lied enthusiastically as you brought your right hand to his chest resting over his heart, making sure the little rock on your finger was near impossible to miss. Her icy green eyes cut to you with a look of pure distaste. You recoiled stunned and more than a little put off- if looks could kill. It was brief, nothing more than a flicker before she gave another radiant smile, but you caught it.

“Wonderful, we’ll see you when you return. Enjoy your hike.” Esmeralda said before heading back to the Inn. Sam turned his attention back to the map but you watched her sashay until she disappeared inside.

“The fuck was her problem?” You scoffed Sam turned his eyes to you curiously with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“You didn’t see that?” You asked jutting your thumb behind you.

“See what?”

“You didn’t see the look she gave me?”

“No?”

“Well she looked at me like I spat on her, or pushed her Grandma down the stairs for funsies…” Or like she was pissed that the hulking Adonis in front of her was spoken for. Not that it seemed to matter to her much. Sam chuckled in response, studying your body language as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chewing on your fingernail in nervous frustration, eyes like daggers on the front door of the Inn. If he didn’t know any better he might have mistaken that look on your face for jealousy. But you were always a little on edge before a hunt- you’d never admit it, but he knew.

You were pretty good at covering, but he’d known you too long not to pick up on the buzzing nervous energy coming off of you in waves. It never ceased to amuse him though. You were fearless, if there was ever hesitation about going into a situation you wouldn’t wait for a game of rock-paper-scissors, you’d just go in. He figured you did it because you either liked embarrassing them a little that you’d go in before either of them, or out of the need to show yourself that you weren’t afraid. Either way your courage in the face of your own palpable anxiety was endearing, and something he admired about you.

“What do you think- start with Spider Lake?” He asked. You answered with an agreeable shrug.

“Monster’s gotta have a watering hole right?”

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[thewebofslime]

Strangely, the media have suddenly taken an intense interest in the case of pedophile and major Democratic donor Jeffrey Epstein. In 2005, the Palm Beach police were told by the mother of a young girl in West Palm Beach that her daughter had been brought to the Democratic donor’s mansion and asked to have sex with him for money. This kicked off an intensive, one-year undercover investigation. The police sifted through Epstein’s garbage and interviewed 17 witnesses, including the housemen, who told of sex toys and dildos left behind after the underage girls left. One of Epstein’s procurers, a 20-year-old local woman named Haley Robson, who was paid $200 for every teenaged girl she brought to Jeffrey, was cooperating with police, telling them she was like “Heidi Fleiss.” They obtained statements from five of Epstein’s young victims, who said they’d been paid $200 to $300 to engage in various sex acts with him. Police raided Epstein’s home, finding explicit photographs of teenaged girls, incriminating phone records — and one girl’s high school transcript. But when the police chief brought this mountain of evidence to Palm Beach County’s Democratic prosecutor Barry Krischer, he punted, charging the Democrat child molester with only one count of soliciting prostitution — yes, the child victims were labeled “prostitutes” — and offered Epstein probation. Perhaps Krischer was exhausted, having just spent three years hounding Rush Limbaugh for abusing back pain medication. Palm Beach Police Chief Michael Reiter exploded in rage. (Meanwhile, Epstein claimed to be the victim of an anti-Semitic conspiracy on Palm Beach.) Chief Reiter wrote an open letter to Krischer asking the Democrat to remove himself from the case. Then he turned to the Bush administration to seek justice against a Democratic donor/accused child rapist. “But pay no attention to Jeffrey Epstein and his roster of Democratic enablers — this is a Trump scandal!” As stories go, a child sex case involving a Palm Beach billionaire was pretty big. It was covered in the British press, in Florida media, at The New York Post and at Fox News. Bill O’Reilly led with the story on his Fox News show. But CNN and MSNBC did not breathe a word about a Democratic prosecutor refusing to hold a Democratic child rapist accountable. Epstein had given more than $145,000 to Democratic candidates and causes, including Bill Clinton, John Kerry, Hillary Clinton and Chuck Schumer. He was a big Israel backer. Bill Clinton and Democratic activist Ron Burkle were frequent guests on Epstein’s private plane, dubbed the “Lolita Express.” And Krischer was a hero for his dogged pursuit of Rush Limbaugh! Why bring up all this unpleasantness? Thanks to Chief Reiter, President Bush’s U.S. attorney for the Southern District of Florida, Alex Acosta, did take the case, despite the fact that only Epstein’s child rapes on his plane, on his private island or with girls brought across state lines would make it a federal case. As a result of the (Republican-led) federal investigation, Epstein was finally required to plead guilty to two state felony charges, accept a sentence of two years in prison, register as a sex offender, and pay restitution to his victims. Still no coverage by MSNBC or CNN. Inasmuch as Epstein was pleading guilty to a state charge, the matter of his confinement was out of the U.S. attorney’s hands. It was Democratic county prison officials — not the feds — who placed Epstein in a private wing of the county jail and allowed him to spend 12 hours a day, six days a week at his Palm Beach mansion throughout his 13-month “imprisonment.” In 2014, the brilliant conservative lawyer Paul Cassell and Bradley Edwards brought suit against the federal prosecutors for violating the Crime Victims’ Rights Act in the Epstein case. As bad as the U.S. attorney’s office was, at least it did something. Democrat Krischer gave Epstein a walk. But no matter how appalling Krischer’s behavior was, the Crime Victims’ Rights Act only applies to federal prosecutions. When Cassell and Edwards filed their case, they included the claims of various Epstein victims, who reported that the men at “Orgy Island,” where underage girls were being used as “sex slaves,” included Bill Clinton, Alan Dershowitz and Prince Andrew. CNN gave extensive coverage to the celebrity-filled allegations, inviting Dershowitz on to defend himself and lavishing attention on the irrelevant prince. Amazingly, but characteristically, not once did CNN mention that Bill Clinton was named in the pleadings. Only one show on MSNBC, “All In With Chris Hayes,” so much as acknowledged the bombshell case, also without letting on that Clinton had been named as a frequent Epstein guest by the child victims. But recently, the very news outlets that spiked any news about this case for the past 13 years are suddenly hot on the trail of Jeffrey Epstein. Why the newfound sense of decency? The answer is: Because they found a Trump connection. There’s a 2002 quote from Donald Trump saying nice things about Epstein and photographic proof that Epstein was one of the hundreds of thousands of people who have been to Mar-a-Lago. (There are rumors he has also been to the Grand Canyon and the Empire State Building.) This is how the modern American media work: I’ll tell the same story that we’ve been frantically suppressing for a decade, connect it to Trump — and win a Pulitzer Prize! Here is MSNBC’s Lawrence O’Donnell describing Epstein a few weeks ago in a single segment: “… a friend of Donald Trump, Jeffrey Epstein … “… child sex trafficker and child rapist and friend of Donald Trump, Jeffrey Epstein … “… a billionaire friend of Donald Trump’s …” Epstein was a “friend” of Donald Trump’s the same way he is a “friend” of Pinch Sulzberger by virtue of reading The New York Times. He’s been to Trump’s club. (That is, until Trump barred him for propositioning the underage daughter of a member.) But pay no attention to Jeffrey Epstein and his roster of Democratic enablers — this is a Trump scandal! It seems that the U.S. attorney who oversaw the federal prosecution, Alex Acosta, is currently Trump’s Labor secretary. Trump didn’t know Acosta’s name during the Epstein prosecution, but liberals think they’ve unraveled Trump’s decade-long scheme to reward Acosta for being lenient on Epstein — aka “friend of Donald Trump’s.” The silver lining is that we finally have a way to make Hillary Clinton pay for her crimes. Trump has to appoint her to his Cabinet. Then we’ll see the entire American press corps chanting, “Lock her up!”

[woke-entrepreneur-blog]

Learning to Earn

Everyone wants to make money online.  They dream of sitting at home and raking in the millions.  While it’s not quite that easy because it does take a lot of work, you actually can sit at home and create a truly profitable business.  The key is to find the right educational resources that will point you towards your dreams.

The biggest obstacle with this, however, is the sheer amount of information on the web.  The internet was created to share information, so it should come as no surprise that there are mountains of text to sift through.  Some information is simply better than others while a small percentage is absolute garbage.

Knowing who to listen to and who to ignore is the key....continue reading

[curvedroygbiv]

Tim needs to move to Day Shift with Duke for a while - to regulate his completely garbage sleep habits, get some vitamin D, and Bond with his newest brother. This adds to the Batman mythos known to Gotham city in that they believe that Robin is some sort of bizarre werewolf that is larger in the daytime and meaner at night, and leading to some (cough cough Bernard) to speculate that full moons on second tuesday’s at twilight Robin can turn into a 3rd, more powerful form that rivals superman and can read minds. 

Over this time he finds his niche in the boringer parts of detective work - forensic accounting is important but tedious. combing through international shipping manifests is tedious. sifting through 10,000 cell phone records is tedious. Somewhere in that mountain of stuff other people hate paying attention to he also finds the 4th kind of tedious minutia that aggravates his family of detectives, which is all the magic bullshit that Zatanna and Constantine usually are called in for. 

Thing is, Zantanna and Constantine hate being called for false alarms. And its sometimes hard to tell if the case in front of you is bizarre and twisted because the people involved were just unhinged, or because Real Magic was involved. So Tim, despite having no magic whatsoever, starts paying attention to all the trivial bullshit rules that Magic is surrounded by, and pretty soon is able to tell, with a little digging, if it’s really time to Call the Wizards. This being the Batfam in Gotham, there’s some family drama where they’re not communicating and the calvary isn’t called in properly and someone ends up actually summoning Ra Biin, the red and green with yellow accents flying death monster that can read minds and is there to wage war against animal abusers. It all get’s solved in the end, of course, but there’s no one in Gotham that believes that Damien Robin isn’t the earthly avatar of animal welfare, and Tim changes the costume and identity completely to distance himself from all that pile of garbage. 

Agreed that Tim needs to move on from being Robin. Problem is, what do you do with him? I can't think of anything except having him do the same vigilante stuff outside of Gotham and having a new identity (don't even know what identity he should have). Which just feels kinda lame, frankly.

I've seen some ideas for pushing him into an Oracle-esque direction, but I just don't see the appeal of another Oracle if the OG exists. What would he even do, just use the Young Justie crew as his Birds of Prey?

I think that whole what's Tim doing now that he's not Robin could be a whole story on its own where Tim trys to figure out what he should and who he is without the Robin mantle which I think you could do a lot with his character without forcing him out of Gotham but also leaving Gotham may be better for him like it was for dick I don't really like oracle for Tim just bc there only really needs to be one oracle and Tim just pigging backing off of babs is just weak

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Not Now Playing Saturday 18 December, 2021:

Big Daddy John Cougar Mellencamp (Mercury Records) (released in 1989)

Two nights ago I had a dream I was playing this album upstairs with my girlfriend.  We were dancing and drinking and laughing and just enjoying the pleasures that music can bring late at night.  I never could place who the girl was (she wasn’t my wife, who, heaven forbid she listen to secular music or even come upstairs and dance or drink evne a sip of beer) but the music came through loud and clear.  I awoke that morning wondering who my cute girlfriend was in the dream, but more importantly I went right upstairs hoping to find this album in my shelves. 

I bought it when it came out and I thought it was far superior to Mellencamp’s previous album The Lonesome Jubilee, which was the first perfect Mellencamp album I had heard.  I’d been listening to him since his debut but I always thought his albums were deeply flawed.  Mostly I liked Mellencamp for his B-Sides which were always unique to the single and I really liked an artist who embraced the B-Sides like Tom Petty, REM and for awhile, Bruce Springsteen.  Out of all those artists, Mellencamp might be the only artist whose singles I still retain. 

I remember being thrilled when Mellencamp put his real last name on the cover of The Lonesome Jubilee.  He always seemed like the last artist in the world who would tolerate some label rep manufacturing a phony name like Cougar, but obviously that wasn’t the case.  I remember being thrilled at the music on Lonesome Jubilee but that was nothing compared to what I heard on Big Daddy. 

So after that dream two nights ago I made it upstairs to look for this album even before I brushed my teeth or even went to the john.  I really wanted to hear this album bad, but of course, it wasn’t upstairs.  Big Daddy was the first CD I ever bought because I had to hear Mellencamp’s version of The Hombres’ Let It Out.  I owned the Hombres’ single forever and I couldn’t believe someone else would even think about covering that song.  (That song was one of the only songs my grandmother used to complain about when it came on the radio.  She said it was perfectly foul and embarrassing.   She’d ask me if I liked it and I always said no, but when I found it inside a pack of 45s when you could buy ten for a $1, I was beyond thrilled.  Those packages always contained weird singles, all bullet-holed through the labels, and most of them were garbage.  But you took the risk because there would always be a few you’d love, and I loved Let It Out, which I believe was parenthetically titled (Let It All Hang Out). 

I had hoped to find either the LP or the CD, knowing full well, Mellencamp’s work was one of the first to get cut when I decided I had too many records.  So today, when I’m at Record Swap, I’m sifting through their bins finding mountains of stuff to buy, but knowing I don’t really need The Mighty Lemon Drops’ World Without End or even Emmylou Harris’ first bluegrass album Roses In The Snow.  Honestly, I don’t even remember the dream I had two nights ago but then I find Big Daddy and that dream comes rushing back and I know I’m not leaving the store without this and it’s dirt cheap!  I would have believed this album (and Lonesome Jubilee) would have been far higher in cost than 11.99, but that’s because I really like both those albums.  There was a copy of Lonesome Jubilee (11.99, too) but it had a razor saw mark in it and I’ll not buy a saw marked album if I previously owned it sans saw mark. 

And while I’m writing this entry, I’m even playing this album.  I hear a song like Country Gentleman and I think what the hell must Mellencamp think of today’s world?  I remember once believing that if a musician sang about an injustice in the world, somehow it would be corrected by politicians who were embarrassed by the public airing of gross inequities and as the song plays I think what a naive fool I was back then. 

My photos are of the album cover, the back of the jacket and the A and B Side of the label.  I need to google how to get those damn price tags off an album without ripping the jacket, but as soon as I click this off, I’ll forget all about looking that information up. 

(I would be remiss to fail to mention Mellencamp’s violinist Lisa Germano.  You can see her in the photo on the back cover, she is the fourth person form the left.  She has been recording solo albums since 1991.  Her last album, No Elephants, came out in 2013.  She had a fairly decent career and has many excellent solo albums through 4AD and Young God Records.  Her music is nothing like Mellencamp’s and I always found it weird she was in his band, but then she has a rather extensive background as a session player for a lot of artists.  She is definitely worth investigating.  And if anyone deserves having her catalog studied, Germano is.  It’s been some time since I’ve played one of her albums--and I wouldn’t have to repurchase any of them because I still have them all.)

[triumphorce]

Drawing breaths with artistry, language of thoughts fostering a nostalgic being,

sentimental siege,

All brain, all range,

Clad in plaid collages of pad paper armor,

a militia plane..

brought up from a strained mind under endless terrain,

recycled garbage,

that permeated with what i saw as empty knowledge in

 a brief education & briefer accreditation

toward two empty majors, and even briefer burst of confidence that anything I do means a fraction of what I think it does..

but I sift, gain ambition

making any situation a domain to reflect, regain strength for the fight of a life time,

per se,

my thirst trained frustration to motivation,

juggernaut toward distraught teachers who only stay cause it’s a job,

while fallen hopes betray them all, I opened faces of milli-sided halls,

Walked along, until paths became the law,

Staring into hearts of the ones who stood and taught us,

ashamed and scared to ever face the thoughts of

themselves becoming a lost cause or lost, ‘cause right when they thought that they had shit on lock,

krogan locked,

life said,

“oh, hold up”,

and dropped a thresher maw

and in reply of shock,

they wonder in awe, wandering off,

Never embrace the wisdom in days lived

No, just stay in Dis, display our failed transition, derailed intentions,

In front of Pupils, who sittin, takin in, dreaming of becoming greater than the soul before them, forever chasin,

Archin before touching the top or bottom, Circling problems, repeating hate, tried restartin,

But made it complicated, all skulls, on legendary, whilst ordained to try hardin, lost in anger,

In the fear of being forgotten, emerges a pride undefined and tainted,

Causing all in front of them to disintegrate to smithereens, pitch black pov,

Shadowed in passing past waves, condescending and ignorant, more specific,

Ignorant to the fact that they are ignorant,

Arrays of misinterpretation, radiantly radiating blame on students aging, waitin for a reason to engage in,

Or believe, instead just misbehave, but as many minds decayed, mine dismembered and delayed,

Waitin silent for the time when it was safe, training to protect and teach any who secede to conceit of others to fight back and fight with what you know is right.

Making sure drive is free of any ounce of foul bias,

Maintain a sole desire to find balance,

Weight-wise, only sided to resizing peace of minds’ states,

Seeing a single race, endless potential.

Peaks beyond our Sol’s existence.

Patrolling distant lights in skies above.

From here on I’m only speaking biased toward a pride instilled in life, no more pride in might.

Writing based on finding the right

Words to describe ideas, inscribed with The Mightiest,

Idealistic in sight’s trim, a righteous rim, finding out daily this is more of a fight than predicted,

So many objections, how to explain them becomes a drawer of cables,

Tangled cords mixed, a mess of mass discretion break away the paths’ progression,

So how to relay said hopes’n opinions with flow and rhythm has become the extract of pensive obsession

Always bounce back with direct direction, from troubles I elude by jumping up on joust equestrians to stick it out with doubt and pity, Directin weapons toward negativity to secure a victory against the likes of evil, gold medalist perfection,

Reactivate negated dreams, defibrillate any being left behind and convene in rehabilitation,

Away from lies and emerge unafraid, a lion wild when

Complying to mal-authority, forget the order of things, like a coup,

Like I’m Luke, I draw my light of truth and smite the roof caging tolerance,

Then I light the fuse leading to the point where you want to disconnect completely,

An artist’s mission; to bend “reality” around the ones leading and defend the soul without technicalities,

Non-generic talent to bring death to flawed morality, born in sin, but found that better than

Being bored, free of lore able to distinguish what is permissible

Toward myself and dismissin those who ridicule, ones who didn’t live full,

Those didn’t win fools, who focus attention on instances of chances missed,

Steady

Descending electrical currents, discharged negativity to bring

jetstream connectivity to repressed neural energy,

Trek through a universe, telepathy to the muted me, suppressed relativity of relative tales, reveal trails, look like ninetails,

My failures pale in comparison to inner murals of flames, Amaterasu lyrics, vivid paints, cel-shaded imagery to share frames of memories,

Or portraits of Watercolor flow in diction, lyrics renditions, eccentric linguist, all tomorrow and to infinity,

Distant because I’m weary to adhering decisions people try reliving,

Clearly headed to perfection and I travel gravel discarded from

Shattered mountains my mind has battled absent of intricacies,

A promise to remain a person worth the mention of words delivered,

Imprison deceit, like a prism shimmering enlightenment is released,

A schism in derivatives and who I’m changin into presently

And no more givin in, given them more than sufficient definition

Might just be a blur because of all this sprintin With letters

Resemblin a piston burst, ricocheting embedded urges off of pages, forming leaded barriers,

Thus creating that schism, separating harbored confidence and people hating,

Hoping by the time they catch me, I’ll already be ahead of

Where they didn’t think I’d step, adept enough in sabotages,

crept up like a larcenist, beg no questions, answers are always an option,

Remaining slept on but my alarm is gettin ready, bells bangin

Eyes open,  targeting instantaneously,

One above runner up, marksmen lock, C'zar in archery

When arms volley pens across tarps of bark and bleed

Words seen in endless dreams, all apart from envies, greed,

And anything tempting me to dismissing potential genius,

End up regrettin decisions, Like why I ain’t do that? Over what?

Because I believed what people said and disapproved of?

What I’m doin had me confused but not too soon after did

I see through the crafted abyss of blame, made grafted from lavish and sin did the rest become latter,

Realized the here, now I’ve appeared from dreams, clean as Casper’s seen,

Laughin while I’m rappin in my head, absent minded

To dettachments distracting me from finding time for more important matters,

typin into drafts what you view and leave the medulla interactin

With that sensation I’m attractin, producin classics, compacted in the back of minds,

Intrusive lines matched to muses alike, imported traction

To remove the fractions, causing friction, depleting factions of my blissfully factored fiction,

I abstractly live in, making peace out of the non-existent to

Apply to how I’m livin, find the light and deliver to the withered,

And despite all debatin, I ended ignorant intentions and interpretations

Erased irrelevance in a future I’m inventin, no more taking any notions

Of people’s wisdom, and I’ll admit it, what’s spoken ain’t always potent

But I stay open, so I’m given what I’m givin, disownin focus in peeps

Hopin for me to give in, consulted opinions insultin my intelligence,

Only a fifth a percent completed till I’m the person they predicted I’d be,

Redirectin high beams, still learning to finally eclipse and diminish dim

Witted people missin bigger pictures imprinted in visions emitted via

Antennas, receivin indica signals, absorbin instrumentals, mental drive,

As I instant transmission to beyond light years and I’m gone again,

Fin.

[deepseawritings]

I wish you would write a fic where things aren't always what they seem.

Sorry for the delay in answering anon, you get a ficlet about Shovel. Hope you like it:

After seeing it in person Shovel hadto admit the mountains of trash were certainly unique. Ugly, but unique.Evgenii found them fascinating and loved scavenging for pieces and other junk.It was only when they discovered that sometimes there were artifacts buriedbetween the trash that she started to dig around the piles of junk as well.

“Look, we won’t need a detector afterall,” Evgenii had laughed when he grabbed a weird rock from beneath a heap ofdebris.

The artifact glowed faintly andseemed to vibrate in Evgenii’s hand, giving the impression that it was a living thing. Shoveltouched it cautiously and found it was warm to the touch.  Huh, she wondered if it was from the faint radiationit emitted or something else.

“It’s a Stone Blood,” Evgenii’sdeclaration made sense, the artifact had a blood red colour. Then a grimthought popped in her mind.

“Is it truly made of blood?” It wasn’tsuch a farfetched idea. She’d seen what happened when a boar or a dog gotsucked into certain anomalies. The ground of the Zone wasn’t lacking in chunksof flesh and splattered blood that could end up in an artifact.

“I don’t know,” Evgneii  said, “but we could ask an Ecologist if wefind one.”

She insisted Evgenii keep the artifactsince he had found it, but he was adamant he didn’t need it right now.  Well, he was right in that they didn’t needmore sources of radiation, the trash piles were radioactive enough. So Shovel camewith the solution to put all artifacts they found in an extra bag and laterthey would decide which ones to keep and which to sell.

They spent all day sifting throughthe garbage looking for artifacts. The dosimeters warned them of which areas toavoid, but after a whole afternoon of being in contact with radioactive trash Shovelfelt lightheaded and her hands were blistered. They looked terrible, but asa farmer she was used to blister and calluses, and knew her hands would eventually heal.And maybe the slight dizziness was born of all the vodka consumed to neutralizethe radiation. Look at that, her grandma was right when she said vodka was thebest medicine! But the solution to radiation wasn’t just vodka, some of theartifacts they collected also helped counter radiation.  

Their day had been blessedly peaceful.There had been a warning about a pack of wild dogs roaming the northern portionof Garbage, but Shovel and Evgenii steered away from there. And mostimportantly, despite being famous for surprise bandit attacks, the place seemedalmost deserted today. She was infinitely grateful for that. And then, as ifsummoned by her thoughts, the unmistakable sounds of gunshots rang from justbehind the trash pile they were searching.  Their PDAs beeped softly, but Shovel ignoredit and made Evgenii help her pack up all the artifacts and get ready to runlike hell at any second. If they were bandits she wanted to be as far away fromthem as the Zone would allow, even the pack of feral dogs sounded better than bandits.

“Searchfor that son of a bitch!” A man yelled somewhere nearby. Oh crap, they werereally close to them, she realised.

Shovelsquatted behind a heavy metal crate and signalled at Evgenii to follow her. Ifthey managed to reached the main road unseen they had a chance to escape before they were found. But that was not to happen. Abulky figure came from behind the trash mountain and spotted them.

“You, getup!” the man in the red and black suit pointed his rifle at them.

“Oh thank God,it’s Duty,” Evgenii whispered at her. Then in a louder voice and keeping hishands in the air he said, “Don’t shoot! We’re just two honest stalkers!”

The manlowered his gun and Shovel sighed in relief. Duty. She remembered Evgenii’scrash course about the factions, Duty was good news! They killed bandits andgenerally protected stalkers from dangerous mutants.

“Honeststalkers, heh,” the Dutyer’s voice sounded slightly muffled because of thebandana covering his mouth. However his eyes were clearly visible, shining withamusement at Evgenii’s words. “We’re after some dangerous bandits roaming thisarea, until we find them you better go to the Train Hangar with Sergeant–”

The spray ofarterial blood drenched the knife and the hand of the bandit behind him.  Evgenii and Shovel gasped in horrifiedsurprise as the bandit pushed the dead man to the ground.

“You…,”knife in hand, dripping blood, the bandit advanced towards them. “You should…”

Shoveltook a step backwards and grabbed one of the metal pipes lying around. Throwingit at the bandit hadn’t been her intention, she wanted to use it as a club, buther hands ached with all those boils and she dropped the pipe mid-swing. Themetal pipe hit the bandit on the ribs and he doubled over, wheezingand groaning in pain. That was the opening she had been looking for. She grabbed Evgenii by the sleeve of his jacket and nearly dragged him with her, running like mad. He praised Shovel’s good aim with that pipe, and she nearly chockedlaughing because it had been a stroke of dumb luck that the pipe hit the banditinstead of falling on her own foot.

The intermittentsounds of gunshots accompanied them all the way, getting dimmer and dimmer thefurther away from the Train Hangar they went. Shovel hoped Duty caught thebandits and avenged their fallen comrade. She couldn’t bring herself to kill anunarmed person, even if it was a bandit, but she had no qualms wishing someoneelse did it.

They went back to the vehicle graveyardand the safety of Bes’ camp. The older stalker was always nice to the rookiesand Shovel liked his drive to cleanse the Zone from its nastiest inhabitants.

“Well met stalkers,” he greetedthem. Shovel managed to say “Hi” andEvgenii just waved his hand at him, they were breathless from their little race downhere. “Are you in trouble?”

“Bandits… near the Hangar,” Shovelpanted between mouthfuls of air. She tried to relax but she was still fullof adrenaline and too short on oxygen. Damn, they must have broken a record intheir haste to get here.

“Yes, I know. A gang of thosebastards has taken residence there, they use Duty and loner gear taken fromtheir victims to trick the unwary. Not many manage to escape, you’ve beenlucky.”

Bes’ explanation felt like someone had dumped a bucket of iced water over her. What? She sit down on the ground, needing something solid to rest on. Theman with the knife, he killed one of the bandits. He may have been dressing ablack jacket and tracksuit pants, but that in itself wasn’t a crime, perhaps hewasn’t a bandit. Oh God, what if she had left an innocent man at the mercy ofthose bandits? She might as well have killed him!

Thankfully Bes didn’t pry and left them space to recover their wits. Evgenii sat by her sideand they mutely contemplated the set up they had fallen for. Shovel’sthoughts kept circling back to the same idea: if it wasn’t for the man with theknife they would have gone to the Hangar like sheep to the slaughter.

“We need to start checking the PDA alot more,” she decided. Then she voiced the question that was nagging at her. “Doyou think the man I hit with the pipe escaped? He saved us from the banditand I attacked him.”

“He was carrying a knife and I was sure he was going to shank us.” Evgenii’s words mirrored her thoughts, but coming from someone else they didn’t feel like a cheap attempt of self-justification. Still, the incident didn’t sit well with her.

“I’m serious, from now on we checkthe PDA for every step we make,” Shovel insisted.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Evgenii agreed.He clapped her on the back and got up. “Come, let’s see if Bes wants to tradeone of our artifacts for supplies.”

She nodded and followed him, notwithout surreptitiously checking her PDA first. Only persons around here were herself,Evgenii, Bes and his two comrades. Good. She pocketed the PDA again, feelingbetter. Her friends had always accused her of being a bit paranoid, but clearlyshe wasn’t paranoid enough.

[theseventhhex]

Ice Balloons Interview

Ice Balloons

Ice Balloons are a New York supergroup that count TV On The Radio’s Kyp Malone, Samiam’s Sean Kennerly, Fuckemos’ Sean Powell, and Midnight Masses’ Giselle Reiber amongst its members. Oh, and they’re fronted by a giant golden fly. After releasing an eight-song self-titled EP back in 2013, they’re finally getting around to releasing a debut album, ‘Fiesta’, in August. As much a cult as a band, helmed by a golden fly, Ice Balloons celebrates chaos as fizzles and lasers pop from every broken corner of their tumbled offerings but more in a garage punk synth-noise vein than any of the bands from which the members derive. In live shows, Ice Balloons strive for maximum spectacle, with video projections (B.A. Miale), piña-colada scented smoke and a whirl of chaotic noises, all grounded by a 60’s garage punk skeleton… We talk to Sean Kennerly about patience, altitude sickness and YouTube binges…

TSH: How do you feel your musical development has progressed since the last EP?

Sean: We’ve moved slightly beyond the ‘overturned-garbage can’ phase on some songs, but we keep one toe in the garbage still most of the time.

TSH: What was the process like in getting the band together and finally getting around to releasing a debut album?

Sean: It was ridiculous at first. We didn’t know what we were, we hadn’t figured out our approach and we had some non-musicians playing with us, so often it descended into total chaos. Eventually we played enough shows and rehearsed enough so that we had some viable songs to record.

TSH: How would you sum up the energy in the studio as new music is coming together?

Sean: We rehearse a bunch before going in because it’s expensive. We don’t want to waste the engineer’s time, but then comes the noise stuff and that we try to do somewhere else so we don’t try the patience of whoever is recording. It’s best if we’re left to our own schedule on the noise side.

TSH: You’ve touched on beginning in ‘in total smoke and chaos’, how much of a key factor has patience been to date?

Sean: I imagine we’ve tried the audience’s patience quite a bit and I would like to apologise for that. Sorry. But mostly actually playing is very absorbing - I don’t get impatient except when we’re not playing.

TSH: Also, with regards to the album ‘Fiesta’ it’s been noted that the record is in some ways a study in contrasts. With this in mind, how would you sum up the styles of instrumentation that you were drawn to?

Sean: The instrumentation is constant throughout all our songs, except for the occasional noise collage. The songs sound different probably because they were recorded in wide time gaps and it just comes out different that way for us. From my perspective, we have ‘slow’ songs and ‘fast’ songs, and then there’s various lyrics draped around like sad little children.

TSH: What does this body of work personally signify to you?

Sean: Most of the songs are about insects and their torturous lives. It’s a perspective album.

TSH: Tell us more about how you landed on the track ‘The Wasp’ being about the development of parasitic wasp babies inside a caterpillar…

Sean: An early version of the song was about a cokehead I knew as a teenager in Texas, but it never felt quite right, and then I was reading about wasps that zombify their hosts and it morphed into that. I still don’t understand how the wasps evolved to remain inside the host body controlling the caterpillar’s movements - that seems so incredible.

TSH: As you fleshed out ‘Calypso Heartworm’, did you focus on a certain part most?

Sean: That song we did over and over so many times in so many different versions, I really don’t know that I focused on any of it - the whole song is really about slipping out of focus.

TSH: How tough was it for you to overcome the altitude sickness whilst you were in the mountains of Colorado?

Sean: It really sucks! I was there for four days and I didn’t adjust the whole time - (9,000 feet) feeling every 15 minutes or so that I was beginning to suffocate, which made it impossible to get to sleep for more than little snippets. I’m not sure why it happened then and I’ve never had it before or since, but when I got back to Brooklyn I slept for 16 hours straight and then woke up and Ice Balloons came to me as though in waking dream.

TSH: What do you feel is the defining feature for Ice Balloons’ live offerings?

Sean: A roll of the dice!

TSH: What’s pleased you most with regards to this album finally being completed?

Sean: Well, just that it even got done in the face of all obstacles was in itself a huge relief. Sean Powell’s cover art is amazing, Jonathan Schenke’s recording and mixing of it, that Volar agreed to put it out - I’m just glad we got an opportunity to do it at all.

TSH: Does being someplace isolated from your daily life help your music to become more singular and focused?

Sean: Yeah, I like to get stoned and walk to the park. Often I’ll turn back early because I have an idea to record, but then later it’s usually terrible. You have to sift through a lot of false starts.

TSH: How do you like to relax outside of music?

Sean: Alcoholism?

TSH: What often would you say gets viewed most on your YouTube binges?

Sean: Pet videos mostly - pets do the darndest things!

TSH: What intrigues you most about the future of Ice Balloons?

Sean: I pray that someday we can go to Japan and Spain to bring our message to the people there!

Ice Balloons - “Fallen Family”

[therapardalis]

muyrapido​:

-

He’d let her struggle because she seemed like she’d wanted to. And, he wasn’t going to lie - seeing her work on that bike was … hot.  He might have forgotten to NOT say something to the effect out loud and he’d received that equally hot, cut-throat response. 

But, she was struggling for no good reason, and he needed to make up for a comment he really should have kept to himself. 

“No. I definitely deserved that.  Listen, Chica…”   He set his mountain dew aside, pushed himself up off the chair he’d been sitting in to watch, and made his way over to the graffiti-covered, dented and rusted, Garbage Pail on wheels that was his favorite Observation Van and popped the back doors open.  “You’re going to need a 32mil for that one - Everything they sell here is in inches. Metric is a bitch to get hold of .. .so hang on.”  

He pulled open a few drawers, sifted through his neatly organized collection and pulled out three - one the size he thought the bolt she was working on was, and one size to either side. One up and one down. 

He returned, holding out the wrench sockets as an offering of apology. 

All things being equal, she should have been able to deal with this, no problem; just the tools she’d started out using were the honour-system free-for-everyone that SHIELD kept in the garage for quick fixes and emergencies. Which meant most of them were aged like Captain America, and a good bit more worn.

“Yeah, thanks ... I have my own set at home, but didn't bring it along today. Soooo ...” She clicked her tongue, picked the middle socket to start off with and went back to work. “I guess going metric makes more sense on a British bike,” The Triumph Tiger being exactly that. “The whole thing of sticking with ‘inches’ is so the men can feel better.”

... What? Was that to make him feel a bit better for the unsolicited remark (which honestly hadn’t been a great first impression) by being nasty herself, or was it just a case of mouth-filter fail when her attention was on something else?

“I’m guessing you’re a guy spends a lot of time rewinding Megan Fox in Transformers, right?”