#Rik Worth

[downthetubes]

Coming Soon: Hocus Pocus - The Complete Collection (the comic that may read your mind!)

The amazing five part Eisner-nominated comic series Hocus Pocus, about the curious history and psychology of stage magic and the paranormal, has been collected into a hardback edition from Vanishing Inc

Hocus Pocus, the Eisner-nominated history of science and the supernatural written by Rik Worth and Professor Richard Wiseman, with art by Jordan Collver, coloured by Owen Watts, is released in hardback collection in August. Con-men, conjurors and occultists make up the cast of this anthology of true stories from history, in a series that does things no other comics can do, according to the…

[styllwaters]

KNIGHT DEITIES

It's been a hot minute since I posted Vivere 44 art. Been intensely busy with school for the past few months but now that I've graduated I've got a lot of time to kill! Since the Knights post surpassed 1k notes I figured I may as well elaborate on them more. I'm so blown away by how much love they're getting already! Thank you all <3

I'm gonna talk a bit about Mountain and Plains Knight religions, mythology and a snippet of evolutionary history. I will cover Polar Knight religions in another post. The focus is on two gods in particular, Uwet-Jana and Kiraiarik.

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Uwet-Jana is the demigod of good health, vitality, and inner balance. In some regions they are also the god of fertility. The name of their Host is Uwetsil, and their Helmet is Serrjana. Mainly worshiped by Mountain cultures, Uwet-Jana takes the form of a Knight whose Host and Helmet are physically merged into a singular being.

Kiraiarik [pronounced ki-rai-ah-rik] is the personification of the host-helmet symbiotic relationship. They are the god of symbiosis, rebirth, and love. Kiraiarik was the name given to two immortal partners, a Host and a Helmet, who began as a singular being born to the sea in Ettera’s prehistoric era. Ettera decided to make them Two, one half (the Helmet) ruling over the sea and the other (the Host) having domain over the land. The story goes that in every form they take, they try to find each other - for their body remembers being One.

Both gods have lots of lore to their name. Further information below!

UWET-JANA

Uwet-Jana's Host body has long spines and red stripes like a Pike, and long fingerlike paws like a Helmet's manipulators. The Helmet section sports two long horns and elegant facial markings. Uwet-Jana has an iridescent sheen on their golden fur, catching the rays of the sun in a shimmering glow.

The story of Uwet-Jana is as follows: Both Uwetsil and Serrjana were born as runts, in a dark time when sickly Knights were seen as curses and not worth caring for. Their Order, believing them to be bad omens, cast them out to wander the tundra alone. They believed that the natural forces of Ettera (the Knight’s homeplanet) would quickly end them. However, Ettera took pity on the castaway, sending them three blessings. The first gift was a bone with marrow inside that ensured one is never hungry or thirsty again. Then, Ettera sent a warm, sweet wind into Uwet-Jana’s lungs which warded off all sickness and disease. Finally, a sun shower fell, the rains cleansing them and blessing them with a coat made of ivory and gold.

Transformed into a demigod with a hybrid body, Uwet-Jana was offered a place among the deities in the sky - but they refused, preferring to stay on the ground to share their gift with the mortals. Unbeknownst to them, their Order who had exiled them was struck by three curses from the Gods to mirror Uwet-Jana’s blessings: all the rivers in the area dried up and all their hunts were unsuccessful, leaving them with no food or water. Infections and diseases picked them off one by one, and a great storm ravaged the land, destroying their home and all remaining survivors. Uwet-Jana now blesses Knight Orders who take care of their sick and ailing members, and ignores those who don’t, leaving them to the wrath of the Gods.

Although they are nomadic and always on the move, many Mountain Orders will refuse to leave any sick members behind. They may also keep ivory statues of Uwet-Jana in their bags as a token of good fortune. Sometimes these statues are filled with bone marrow, or have holes which make a whistling sound as wind passes through it as a reference to Ettera’s gifts. Occasionally Pike Helmets are born with an extra long ‘horn’ spike, and are considered a child/reincarnation of Uwet-Jana. Additionally, whenever it rains while the sun is still shining, it is seen as a blessing from the demigod.

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KIRAIARIK

Kiraiarik's Host is depicted as a small creature with a striped pelt to mirror its ancestral form, and the Helmet as an aquatic beast with long, trailing red fins. It is frequently shown twisting around the Host, sharing its blood. Kiraiarik is also often simplified as two disembodied eyes looking at each other. (And yes, the artstyle is a nod to medieval depictions of heraldic beasts!)

To understand Kiraiarik, one must be aware of how much Plains religions are intrinsically tied to concepts of evolution and paleontology.

Digression on the origins of Etteran symbiosis: 

Large stretches of Plains Knight deserts and scrublands were once submerged beneath the sea. As a result, there are countless fossil hotspots which have been unearthed over the centuries. These high concentrations of fossilised remains have lead to Plains cultures basing their religions around said discoveries. Although many features have been warped, the general timelines are strikingly similar.

For instance, a mass extinction event occurred on Ettera millions of years ago, caused by a series of catastrophic volcanic eruptions on a worldwide scale. This event is known in Plains culture as The Remaking, traditionally interpreted as the planet shedding its skin. Many species were decimated, but some groups survived; these happened to be phyla who possessed an exposed ‘Interfacer’ organ, a precursor to the specialised Integrator organ which connects the Host’s brain to the Helmet’s. Before The Remaking, there was no prior record of the deep symbiotic connection which Knights possess (scientifically deemed ‘Hyperadvanced Mutualism’). The Interfacer organ was used in the phyla for species to communicate simple stretches of data to each other, such as health and reproductive status. After the extinction, populations of these species were dwindling. To ensure their survival, an odd phenomenon occurred in which many individuals began to interface with different species who possessed the same organ - strangely enough, some were able to successfully exchange information. These individuals survived and passed on the practice to their offspring, eventually culminating in what would be discovered as a very primitive form of mutualism. Host and Helmet ancestors (pictured above) were some of the first species to achieve this.

As the planet recovered and populations increased, the relationship continued to solidify and become more complex, with symbiotic species sharing memories, emotions and complex thought. In modern times there is now an entire class of organisms on Ettera which possess an Integrator organ for Advanced Mutualism, including Knights.

Kiraiarik is said to be a manifestation of this relationship. After The Remaking, their two halves finally managed to find each other again, eternally locked in a joyous dance of love. (Side note: the love in question is not platonic nor romantic, but a deeper kind which is indescribable and not easily understood. Due to their intricate nervous systems, Knights have a higher degree of emotional intelligence and can experience sensations we would consider alien). When a Plains Knight is experiencing inner turmoil, they will often pray to Kiraiarik to restore a healthy connection. The god’s blessing is also called upon when an infant Host and Helmet first Assimilate.

Note: Many Plains ‘saints’ and deities have palindromic names which can be read both forwards and backwards, an indicator of holiness. Fun fact, the word Kiraiariku means “Your heart and mine are very old friends.”

Thank you for reading! More Knight content coming soon ;)

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 4 (June 23)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none, and comment if you can - a convincing sentence is worth a dozen votes! You’re also welcome to just choose the one that sounds the worst :D Book descriptions below the cut, see my pinned post for more info.

Stars Uncharted by S.K. Dunstall

Three people who are not who they claim to be:

Nika Rik Terri, body modder extraordinaire, has devoted her life to redesigning people's bodies right down to the molecular level. Give her a living body and a genemod machine, and she will turn out a work of art.

Josune Arriola is crew on the famous explorer ship the Hassim, whose memory banks contain records of unexplored worlds worth a fortune. But Josune and the rest of the crew are united in their single-minded pursuit of the most famous lost planet of all.

Hammond Roystan, the captain of the rival explorer ship, The Road, has many secrets. Some believe one of them is the key to finding the lost world.

Josune's captain sends her to infiltrate Roystan's ship, promising to follow. But when the Hassim exits nullspace close to Roystan's ship, it's out of control, the crew are dead, and unknown Company operatives are trying to take over. Narrowly escaping and wounded, Roystan and Josune come to Nika for treatment--and with problems of her own, she flees with them after the next Company attack.

Now they're in a race to find the lost world...and stay alive long enough to claim the biggest prize in the galaxy.

A Prince Without a Kingdom by Timothée de Fombelle

(description taken from book #1, Between Sky and Earth)

A breathless adventure from international award winner Timothée de Fombelle charts a desperate search for identity across the vast expanses of Europe.

In a world between wars, a young man on the cusp of taking priestly vows is suddenly made a fugitive. Fleeing the accusations of police who blame him for a murder, as well as more sinister forces with darker intentions, Vango attempts to trace the secrets of his shrouded past and prove his innocence before all is lost. As he crisscrosses the continent via train, boat, and even the Graf Zeppelin airship, his adventures take him from Parisian rooftops to Mediterranean islands to Scottish forests. A mysterious, unforgettable, and romantic protagonist, Vango tells a thrilling story sure to captivate lovers of daring escapades and subversive heroes.

The Dark Days Club by Alison Goodman

London, April 1812.

On the eve of eighteen-year-old Lady Helen Wrexhall’s presentation to the queen, one of her family’s housemaids disappears-and Helen is drawn into the shadows of Regency London. There, she meets Lord Carlston, one of the few who can stop the perpetrators: a cabal of demons infiltrating every level of society. Dare she ask for his help, when his reputation is almost as black as his lingering eyes? And will her intelligence and headstrong curiosity wind up leading them into a death trap?

[vampemoqueen]

My thoughts on VTMB2

Yeah, I think we're all thinking the same thing. This isn't the Bloodlines 2 we were originally promised and were looking forward to. This is something entirely different. While the previous version by Hardsuit Labs was never going to be a AAA or even a AA game to begin with, this one by The Chinese Room looks and feels like even more of a budget title. The footage and assets are several years dated now and the gameplay still looks like a WIP. That's not necessarily a bad thing given they only have so much to work with in a limited amount of time. But what makes me feel really "meh" about the title is instead of taking what the old team did (with Mitsoda's writing, Rik's soundtrack, etc) and finishing it up, The Chinese Room had instead chosen to rework it into their own thing, only recycling the old art assets and not much else. I can tell from the recent trailers, their blog posts, and their games portfolio that they're not going to make it faithful to the original Bloodlines. The tone of the game and their ideas don't match up with the gothic punk aesthetic that BL1 went for, instead going for an urban fantasy neo-noir vibe. It's not going to be a true Bloodlines game, rather it's going to be a Vampire the Masquerade V5 game in the style of The Chinese Room. I'm not mad about it. I just wish they'll be honest about it and choose to rename the game to be some other series instead. "VtM: Seattle" or whatever. Nonetheless, I'm disappointed that the studio cares more about juxtaposing their own image and style into this title rather than staying true to the original. Seems weird to say since every artist is entitled to their own expression, but this isn't what we waited years for.

I'm going to play it regardless because I still think there's worth to this game in the franchise. If it conveys the current World of Darkness and isn't not completely broken at launch, I will probably find things to like about it still.

[pisupsala]

One for The History Books [Chapter 17] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top-secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words] 4k

[Index] All Chapters | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Epilogue

[Library]

Chapter 17 - Sinking

You’ve been on pins and needles all day: tapping your foot under your desk, shuffling in your seat, fidgeting with papers. Bradley is coming back today. Your boss shoots you an annoyed look from across the conference room.

Tucking your hands under your legs like you’re back in primary school, you will yourself to sit still and listen to the presentation. If only it wasn’t so boring. Your mind wanders of its own accord to places more interesting.

Emboldened by Bradley’s reaction to the lingerie set you bought last time, you picked up another set to welcome him back—this time in black. You even splurged on matching garter belt and stockings.

Ok, is it insane to wear a skirt and stockings in January in D.C when you’re taking public transport?

Very much so. But you are also very much convinced it’s going to be worth it.

You idly wonder if Bradley will change into regular clothes before he comes to pick you up, or if you get to see him in uniform again. God, you hope it’s the latter.

Sometimes you think back to that first time you saw him again, when he pretty much materialized in your office in that khaki uniform. God, you were so angry then, but now that you have distance from the situation, it’s Bradley in that uniform that still sticks out.

A little bit too much on some nights.

You rub your thighs together unconsciously.

“Miss Williams, what is your perspective?”

Eh?

Oh.

Uhm.

The presentation.

Right.

“I think…,” You pause for a second, licking your suddenly dry lips. “…I think it’s pretty solid, but it would benefit from more specific cases studies. It’s a little abstract in its current form.”

Goddammit Bradley. He’s causing you trouble when he hasn’t even made landfall yet. You seriously glance at your watch. Another hour at least until his ship comes in.

You see your boss nodding as he takes notes. Good, so it was the right things to say. Birch better not be onto you—the last thing you need at this point is another talking to about professional conduct.

Riks has been out of your hair mercifully, at least after you threatened to file an official complaint for his digging around into your personal life, through Seresin no less.

That meeting was… something else. You are usually not one to get nervous giggles, being well practiced at keeping a straight face. But Birch, strained, in a deadly serious tone told Riks:

“Whatever lieutenant Bradshaw and Miss Williams get up to in their free time is their business, and I would be incredibly grateful if it stays that way.”

He paused, face pained, before continuing: “It’s neither the purpose nor goal of this department to uncover every roll in the hay service men or women have.”

“We’d need to double the Pentagon budget for just that.” Birch concludes under his breath.

He probably didn’t mean for you to hear him. But you were so embarrassed you could barely contain your laughter, tears filling your eyes. It wasn’t a funny situation in the least.

Just so so awkward.

You check your watch again. It’s barely lunchtime. The discussion in the room is still ongoing. No, but for real, how much is there to discuss about ammo logistics in during the Civil War? You half expect you’d be bored to tears even if you weren’t passionately hoping time would hurry the fuck up already.

Ah, finally. As you gather your things from the table, one of the presenters comes up to you.

“Miss Williams—would you mind sharing your notes from the presentation? I’m sure it will be incredibly useful.”

“Ah, yeah -” You would mind, actually. You would mind on the account that you didn’t actually take any notes and that the page in your notebook you had in front of you is full of mindless squiggles and doodles.

“I’ve given you all my feedback verbally just now, my notes don’t really add more to that.” You smile apologetically.

Before the presenter opens his mouth again, you interject: “Also, I have terrible handwriting, sorry!”

Clutching your notebook to your chest, you leg it out of the room. Jesus. You really know how to embarrass yourself well. Mercifully, you can hide in your office for the rest of the day to work on the reports for the Senate committee. That should tide you over to the end of the day.

Hah.

It’s not even 4:30 yet, and you’re pacing around your office like a caged tiger. You cannot even pretend to focus on your work anymore. If you have another coffee, you are pretty sure your heart is going to explode out of your chest.

God. You should have driven down to Virginia Beach despite Bradley’s protests. At least you’d be doing something more useful with your time than… pacing and daydreaming.

Your bag is already packed, your winter coat hanging from your desk chair. Bradley texted you when he disembarked and let you know he was on his was. You know he’ll text you once he’s parked, but, ugh, everything is taking too long today.

When your phone buzzes, you have your coat already half-way on before you see it’s just an email. You sink back into your chair, the momentum sending your chair spinning. Letting it turn you around, you idly wonder how many turns would equal one minute.

Oh Christ, enough already. You are acting like a teenager. Not even when you had your first crush at 14 were this hopeless, and if you were, that memory has fortunately been lost to time. To you. Probably not your sister, though.

Shrugging your coat back off, you grab one of the folders on the pile at the corner of your desk. Tapping your pen against the paper with more force than strictly necessary, you will yourself to start reading.

You are a goddamn adult, and you get paid to do this shit.

The last vestiges of your self-discipline burn out in the 45 minutes before your phone buzzes again. The moment you spot Bradley’s name on the display, with the simple message you’ve been waiting for all day—just “here”—you practically fly out of your office, coat unbuttoned, scarf loosely hanging from your neck and bag still open, slamming the door loudly behind you in your hurry. At the elevator, you push the button in rapid succession, trying to speed up the machine.

Calm.

You can’t run through the fucking Pentagon like a crazed woman.

Be professional.

Vaulting yourself into the empty elevator, you feel like there’s electricity coursing through your veins. It’s a nervous energy that been building in you all week—every breath a little bit closer to this moment.

It’s misty outside today—the fog you saw that morning still hasn’t cleared up as you look over the throng of people leaving the Pentagon at the end of the day. You join the too slow for your liking moving mass, trying to peer over the heads to see the exit to no avail.

You can’t very well push through.

The glass door finally come into view. Between people dispersing towards the parking bays and public transport, you see one figure cut through the mist, walking towards the Pentagon.

Your heart knows it’s Bradley before your head catches up, launching you forward, your feet moving by their own accord as you burst through the exit. The heels of your shoes echo against the stone pavement as loudly as your heart is beating in your ears, while your still unbuttoned coat flies behind you.

Bradley, in his dress blues, navy wool overcoat and white cap on his head, is walking down the pathway head held high, gait purposeful, every bit a Naval officer.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s so close.

The moment your eyes lock, he comes to a standstill, reaching out to you. Your momentum propels you forward straight into his waiting arms, where he catches your body easily and lifts you straight off the ground in a twirl, your bag forgotten at your feet. Your arms lock around his neck as you let out a surprised yelp, which he easily cuts off with a heated kiss.

Bradley’s lips taste of the wonderful winter cold as you melt into him.

“God, I’ve missed everything about you.” You mumble against his lips. His warm skin through the biting cold, the smell of his cologne, the brush of his neat mustache against your face. Catching Bradley’s mouth in another searing kiss, telling him more than words ever could, his grip on you tightens.

Breathless, Bradley sets you back down on your feet. You drink in every part of him as your fingers skim through the short hair on the back of his head. His cap is askew on his head, as he breathes heavily, his eyes searching over you, like he can’t believe you are really here.

Slowly, you press another kiss on his lips, as if to assure him and yourself that this is actually real.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He breathes so softly, you feel it more against your skin than that you hear it.

You giggle as you run your hands down the front of his coat, the dark wool soft under your fingers. He grabs your hand and presses a quick kiss against your fingertips.

“Let me take you home, darlin’,” Bradley’s murmurs in your ear, his voice has a delicious raw edge to it. “I’ve had to miss you for far too long.”

Nodding eagerly, you pull away long enough to retrieve your bag from the ground. A shiver overtakes you as you suddenly notice how cold it is now you’re not pressed up against Bradley anymore. As sharp as ever, he is already a step ahead of you and buttons up your coat with nimble fingers, wrapping your scarf around your neck.

It’s only now, that you actually manage to get your bearings again a little bit, you hear the oohs and aaws from passerby’s. Normally you would want the ground to swallow you whole for making such a spectacle, but today? You cannot find it in yourself to care, too wrapped in Bradley.

“Son, you better fix that cover.” A gruff voice comes from your right. No, okay, maybe you do care a little bit about your boss witnessing this. Birch is determinedly starting in front of him as he passes you.

“You have an admiral incoming on my six.” He adds, not sparing you another look.

“Yes sir, right away, sir.” Bradley choruses with practiced ease, as he moves his cap back into a respectable position on his head. You chuckle an apology, but Bradley just shoots you that winning smile of his.

“Let’s go sweetheart.” He says simply, as he presses a kiss against your forehead and takes your hand.

His large hand is warm against your already cold fingers as you start making your way to the visitor’s parking bay. You wrap your free hand around Bradley’s arm, leaning against him as you walk.

As you arrive at his car, you automatically turn to the passenger’s seat. With a mischievous grin pulls Bradley, you back to face him, his lips ghosting over your jaw. You run your fingers over the lapels of his coat as you sigh at the sensation of his hot breath caressing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“I’m kind of tired from the trip, darlin’,” He murmurs, sending shivers down your spine. With a soft jingle, Bradley pulls out his car keys from his pocket and presses them into your hand. “Why don’t you drive us?”

“Really?” You ask, strangely breathless. Bradley just hums in response as your fingers wrap around the keys.

“I’ll even let you play Taylor Swift.” He adds, and you can just hear the mirth in his voice.

“That—that -,” You splutter. “Was my sister’s music.” “Of course.” Bradley chuckles. “That’s why you know all the words so well.”

“I’ll make you regret that offer.”

“Try me, sweetheart.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bradley’s brain has been in a state of short-circuit since you flew into his arms. No scenario he had imagined tasted quite as sweet as that first kiss when he saw you again. Climbing into the driver’s seat of his car and adjusting it made your skirt ride up, and Bradley caught sight of what he was pretty sure was the top of a stocking.

Fuck.

He strongly considered pulling you out of the driver’s seat into his lap and fuck you right there in the parking lot.

The drive home was torture, and Bradley couldn’t keep his hands off you for more than 10 seconds— tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, grabbing your hand as you reached for the gear shift, running his hand up your leg—bad idea.

Shit, he could feel the line of your garter belt through the fabric of your skirt, teasing against the palm of his hand as your leg moved, manipulating the gas pedal.

The small smirk gracing your lips betrayed that you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

It’s on your couch, with you straddling him, your fingers threaded deliciously painfully in his hair as you roll your hips at a tortuously slow pace, Bradley is pretty sure his brain is just completely giving out.

He runs his hands blindly over your body, squeezing your flesh and looking into your eyes. Your hair loose, face flushed, pupils blown by desire, you look back down on him as you ride him in that agonizing pace you’ve set.

From almost falling through the front door, pulling at each other’s clothes in a heated frenzy, and tripping over your shoes, the raging fire in you both was unstoppable. The lingerie set you had specially bought ended up somewhere in the maelstrom of clothes left in your path from the door. It doesn’t even matter.

You pushed him onto your couch as he was sliding your panties down your hips, eyes raking over your form. You drank him in. There was no need for words as you sank down on him, gasping in delight as you stretched around his length. Bradley threw his head back, eyes scrunched close, cursing under his breath.

It was like the raging fire spread into smoldering embers from the moment you connected.

Now you want to savor every moment and every touch. You need it. The intimacy you have been craving, the touch you have been missing, you want to drown yourself in him.

Bradley’s fingers skim down from your throat, over your collarbone, just ghosting over your nipple—tearing a moan from you—down your stomach, pressing his thumb against your clit, drawing slow circles.

Your hips stutter, desperately trying to increase the friction.

“Bradley - please-,” You plead incoherently between gasps and moans. His mouth is on your nipple, teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh. It’s sending your senses into overdrive, spurring your movements on, muscles tensing.

“Fuck darlin’, you’re so tight.” Bradley grinds out. He can feel your walls tightening around his cock—you are close. Just a bit more. Your movements are turning erratic. Bradley grabs your hip with his free hand, bucking against you.

“Don - don’t stop - please, Bradley…”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over you moaning his name like that, with those eyes full of lust, riding him within an inch of his life. Selfishly, he doesn’t want you to look like that for anyone else ever again. He wants your eyes only on him.

Your lids start fluttering as your movements start stuttering more and more—Bradley can feel how close you are. He tightens his grip on you, setting a relentless pace, his thumb increasing the pressure on your clit.

“Cum for me darlin’,” He gasps. “Show me what I’ve missed.”

His words alone would be enough to have you come undone. His voice, so warm, so close after those cold months, feels like sliding into a hot bath, relaxing every nerve in your wound body. It pushes you to release, head lolling back in pure ecstasy, his name caught in your throat.

Bradley catches your body as it tips back, pulling you against his chest.

“Fuck.” You bring out weakly, breathing heavily. But Bradley doesn’t give you very long to restart your brain, effortlessly flipping you on your back and hitching your leg over his shoulder. Dazed, you squeal in delight, giggling as he presses kiss after kiss against your calf.

“How much did you miss me, darlin’?” He asks between kisses.

“So - so much.” You breathe.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart.” He says with a devilish smirk on his face as he drags the tip of his cock along your slick pussy lips, teasing against your sensitive clit. You moan without abandon.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” You choke out. “Everything about you.”

“Tell me.” Bradley demands as his lips latch onto a ticklish spot in the hollow of your knee.

Words start falling from your mouth—you’re not even sure you’re making sense—it’s almost a stream of consciousness.

“I - I’ve missed you from the minute you left,” Your breath hitches as Bradley gently bites down on your thigh. “It feels empty without you here. The bed is cold. I want you to kiss me awake…”

“Just kiss?” Bradley asks, as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance. You suck in a breath before a giggle bursts from your lips.

“Do you really need a full report when you have me in this state already?”

“I happen to know you are very thorough, Miss Williams.” Bradley smirks.

“I’ll write you a list later if you so desire, lieutenant.” You shoot back, still half-dazed, grasping for him. “But you’re stalling—how much did you really miss m-”

Bradley laughs and finally fully slides into you in one fluid move, effectively cutting you off. Setting a punishing pace that makes you see stars, Bradley easily wipes every last thought from your brain. Suddenly slowing down and bending over to you, filling you to the hilt, he whispers:

“For the record, I missed you so much it hurt.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are moments when you actually stop and think, usually at a quiet moment at work. It’s actually insane how quickly you fall into a comfortable routine with Bradley, the relationship growing steadily. He has two weeks before he needs to report back on base, and in the meantime, he seems to revel in essentially playing house with you.

As you get ready for work in the morning, Bradley makes you coffee. When you tell him he should make most of his free time and sleep in more often, he just shrugs:

“Making most of my time is spending it with you.”

Some days he drives you to work and picks you up at the end of the day.

Without fail, your heart feels like it’s about to burst when you see his Bronco parked in the visitor’s bay.

Well, some aspects of your relationship are growing.

Bradley is still incredibly guarded when it comes to his family. When you ask about his trip to Nevada to see captain Mitchell, he talks about tinkering on Mitchell’s plane in the workshop, but never anything deeper about what they talked about.

Maybe it’s incredibly private—all Bradley has mentioned is that he’s known Mitchell since childhood. How or why? When you actually gather the courage to ask, Bradley just ignores the question and changes the subject.

You conceal how much that hurts you—because it shouldn’t. It’s none of your business. Selfishly, you want to know Bradley better than anyone in the world.

But you need to really accept that it’s his choice how much he really wants to share about himself. No matter how unfair it feels.

You start talking about your own family less, feeling like you’re oversharing. Again, Bradley probably is just not that family-oriented and might just be humoring you. There is no sense in dwelling on these things, you admonish yourself.

Realistically, how long have you been dating? You haven’t even broken the 6-month mark yet, and he was deployed for three of those. And there will be more deployments, more time spend apart. You need to stop your brain from spinning and take things as they come.

It’s another one of those winter days when the sun doesn’t even get up from bed, and from dawn till dusk there are just monochrome gray skies, like it’s perpetual twilight. The air is bitingly cold, stinging every bit of skin not covered. You practically skip to the parked Bronco, seeing Bradley’s silhouette through the driver’s side window.

Climbing into the passenger’s seat, he greets you with an immediate kiss.

“You spoil me.” You smile at him. “What am I going to do with myself once you’re back in Virginia Beach?”

“You’ll drive yourself, which you are perfectly capable off.” Bradley grins back. “But in the meantime, let me take care of you.”

“Can we stop by the store?” You ask as you buckle up and Bradley turns the engine on. “I think we’re running low on a few things.”

It’s not terribly busy on the road, and it’s a short trip to the store. Preoccupied with finding the right playlist on your phone with your cold fingers, you only spot the car in front of you suddenly swerve wildly in your periphery.

You snap your head up, but the words on your tongue die the second the back of the Bronco suddenly slips violently to the right. Black ice. Your head cracks against the door. A million curses fly through your scrambled brain, but there are more important things.

“Keep steady! Don’t counter-steer!” Your voice is high with panic. You’ve slipped on black ice before, just never in D.C and never when you weren’t the one driving.

Bradley is loudly cursing, trying to get the car under control. You are so full of adrenaline, time seems to have slowed down.

You see Bradley in hyper focus, knuckles white against the steering wheel as he shifts down, slowing the vehicle down. In reality, the slip takes only seconds and as the Bronco regains grip on the tarmac.

Your head is pounding from knocking against the window and sheer stress.

“Darlin’, are you ok?” Bradley looks at you from the corner of his eye—his voice is steady, like he’s completely unshaken. On the other hand, you look terrified—eyes wide, white as a sheet and breath coming out in short, panicked bursts. He pulls into a side street and parks.

Heart clenching, he reaches out to you. “Sweetheart, are you hurt?”

Mutely, you shake your head, biting your lip, trying to steady your breathing. Bradley simply reaches out to you, hand caressing your cheek.

“Are you sure?”

“Ye- yeah.” You force out, leaning your head into his palm, kissing it. “I… I don’t even know what came over me.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you continue words falling out of your mouth like a waterfall.

“It’s not the first time I’ve slipped on black ice in a vehicle, it just never happened to me as a passenger, but you’re a goddamn fighter pilot, of course your reflexes are amazing, and you keep your cool… like, what am I even worried about?”

You try to smile, but the corner of your mouth just shakes.

Bradley leans in and lightly kisses you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I trust you.” You reply, voice still lightly shaking. “And sorry for backseat driving.” You add in attempt to joke.

Bradley just chuckles in response, but he is sure of one thing. He doesn’t want to ever want to see that terrified look on your face again. It has already burned itself in his brain along with your panicked voice.

That night when you are in bed, you already in deep sleep, Bradley wraps himself around your naked form, pressing light kisses against the column of your neck. Every time he closes his eyes, your face flashed before his mind’s eye. Smiling, blushing, frowning as you think, sleepy in the morning —but it always ends up morphing into wide-eyed terror.

He spent the evening trying to scrub the look from his mind, filling his vision with your blushing, love struck face, mouth open as he had you cum for him over and over again.

Bradley sighs dejectedly.

Another one for the collection.

[note]I have this problem that I think of all the plot beats I want to put in one chapter and then I always end up overwriting so much that I pretty much always have add another chapter to the plan. Again, this was supposed to be five chapters lmao.

[taglist] @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15

[kmpsideposter]

[ohfallingdisco]

Mike and Phoebe Cates parallels in Drop Dead Fred

I was looking into actors name-dropped in Stranger Things, as one does, and I came across one name mentioned over and over again. You have your Season 1 Farrah Fawcetts, your Season 4 Weird Al’s, and then Phoebe Cates—who gets named so much throughout Season 3 that an incredible amount of sites did full reviews on the “80’s It Girl” in the wake of its release.

She’s also the actress whose cutout appears in Family Video in Season 4, and the actress featured in at 53 minutes, 5 seconds of Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

This isn’t a full analysis, but it’s some stuff I thought was interesting about a different movie of hers.

And that’s my point: Phoebe Cates also stars in another cult-classic movie. One with a particularly significant title, I’d say.

It’s called Drop Dead Fred. Ha…

The movie’s synopsis, according to Wikipedia, goes like this: An unhappy housewife (Phoebe Cates) gets a lift from the return of her imaginary childhood friend, Drop Dead Fred (Rik Mayall).

None of these are my gifs (I couldn’t find sources, please message me and I’ll credit or remove if they’re yours), but aren’t these lines interesting:

You see it, right?

There’s also some interesting visual parallels:

But, the most damning evidence of all…

It’s also funny/worth mentioning how disgusted Mike looks when Dustin calls her “hot”:

There’s also this cute parallel between Phoebe Cates and Suzie in the ST3 finale:

Factor in that Mike literally went to her house in Season 4, and, well…

Leaving that here, I’m signing off lol. Season 5 is going to be interesting.

[sauvryn]

Woke up at 3am and then couldn't get back to sleep because apparently this essay was needing to spill out of my brain.

An Intersection of Philosophy, Psychology, and Rik Mayall

I woke up last night at 3am to get a drink of water. As I lay back down to sleep, I began thinking about what would later become the subject of this line of inquiry and, as a result, I could not fall back asleep for three hours. I later supposed that if this was of such significance to warrant such a quantity of lost sleep, that it was worth writing an essay about. If you, dear reader, are the…

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

What was the rick mayall comedy with ade that rheyre two old fucks living in an apartment together... ik thats so vauge but im trying to remember the name of it to watch it again 😭 i just re watched all of tyo and neeeddd to find it again lol

Also hope your doing well its been awhile since ive been on tumblr to see or ask about ur page but i think abt u occasionally and im like yeah i hope theyre doing well keeping the tyo fandom alive

Also is there no charictor limit on these asks now????

Hi! Sorry it's taken me a while to answer this.

It sounds like you're describing Bottom, the '90s sitcom where Rik and Ade played two broadly middle aged bastards at the bottom (get it?) of society, loafing about, being pervy, and causing chaos. It isn't quite as surreal as The Young Ones, but it does feature lots of slapstick violence - Richie and Eddie have at least one very creative physical fight per episode - and there are occasions where something extra mad will happen, like the ceiling caving in, underpants being filled with custard, and fire farts (to name a few examples). Christopher Ryan also appears in a few episodes as one of Eddie's mates, Dave Hedgehog.

One of the original inspirations for Bottom was Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, which Rik and Ade both loved and thought was funny. It was one of the things they bonded over at uni, and the two of them got to star in a run of it in the early '90s (again, with Christopher Ryan).

There were three series of Bottom from 1991-1995, totalling at 18 episodes. All episodes were available on Dailymotion the last time I checked - in fact, I have a post somewhere on this blog with links to them, though it may very well be outdated by now. If you have a mooch around online, you should be able to find them.

The reason I'm guessing you mean Bottom is because Richie Richard and Eddie Hitler live together in a (disgusting) flat in Hammersmith, and there are some episodes set entirely within this horrid hovel. However, Filthy, Rich and Catflap also sees Richie Rich and Eddie Catflap sharing a (not quite as disgusting) flat, but these characters were a bit younger - and, to be honest, Bottom is the more highly regarded of the two sitcoms, though I don't think FR&C is anywhere near as bad as some critics made out.

Rik and Ade made five live stage shows for Bottom (Bottom Live) between 1993-2003. In fact, the fifth Bottom Live was the last substantial work they did together. All five of these have been available on YouTube for some years, so I assume they still are. I personally just slightly prefer the sitcom (or maybe I'm just jealous I can't go and see Bottom Live 😂), and I think a general rule of thumb is the quality does decline a little across the five (apologies to my comedy gods, although I think Ade might agree with me), but they are all absolutely worth a watch. Rik and Ade break character in them from time to time, and they're allowed to say fuck.

They also made a Bottom film in 1999 called Guest House Paradiso, which features Simon Pegg. Rik and Ade play the same characters, but now they run an appalling hotel on the Isle of Wight and their surnames are different (which Ade acknowledged when I went to see him touring with his autobiography was inexplicable). The film is not for the weak of stomach, certainly not for anyone with emetophobia, and unfortunately it does suffer from the curse of most sitcom movies apart from Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa in that it doesn't quite translate. To be fair, they didn't have a massive budget, and it happened only a year after Rik's accident (they were both meant to direct it, but Ade took on full directing duties as a result of this). Still, it's not unfunny, and I think it's available on Dailymotion; if you like Bottom, you should give it a watch. I wonder what a Bottom film set in the original world of the sitcom would've been like...

I have an inking who you are, although I might be wrong. I hope you're well, anyway. 😂 I'm fine, just trundling along, coming up to my last semester as an undergrad. Tumblr may well have changed the character limit on asks, though I honestly couldn't say for sure.

Thanks for the ask!

[dustedmagazine]

CLASS — If You’ve Got Nothing (Feel It)

Photo by Rosie Clements

CLASS, out of Tuscon, makes a punchy, anthemic punk rock that harks back to first wave bands like the Clash and the Scientists, while touching latter-day landmarks like Exploding Hearts and the Marked Men.

Not much information is available about the band or its members. Gerard Cosloy, who wrote the bio, refers cryptically to “several of American punk’s leading lights” without naming any of them, but it appears that Erik Meyer (of Sweet Tooth, Mongoloid, Rik and the Pigs and sundry other punk and hardcore outfits) plays a role. In any case, If You’ve Got Nothing follows one other full-length LP, last year’s Epoca de Los Vaqueros and a smattering of cassettes and EPs. It is very tightly, crisply produced by the Resonars’ Matt Reardon, a man who knows how to make a punk hook resonate, and it’s god-damned good.  

The songs package sheer punk aggression in the catchiest of melodies, see “Behind the Ball” which starts in a firestorm of furious strumming and progresses to a truly sing-along tune. The song is about striving and whether it’s worth it, and the bright triumphant sound of it battles mightily with words that go “Are you gonna hurt yourself or just keep trying?” It bumps crushing disillusion right up against the most fun you ever had—and it rocks.   

“Two Way Track” is similarly anthemic in that first-album Clash kind of way, with crashing power chords and irresistible hooks and an everybody-shout chorus (“it’s back and forth on a two way track”). Later “Between the Lines,” inquires, “How low can you go, just to feed that ego?” but in a way that has you all-in, jumping up and down, punching the air in agreement. Withering disdain was never such a party.

But really, it’s hard to pick favorites because every cut is a banger, played in a fury and distilled into extremely lucid, legible sound. If You’ve Got Nothing has plenty. Check it out.

Jennifer Kelly

[curioussatoru]

ensnared in your arms, an amalgamation of thoughts flitting through and through. loving you is a self-fulfilling prophecy of despair and joy all alike. one would suppose that a feeling of love equates to the feeling of freedom i feel whenever i'm with you. before you, i have no sense of recollection nor anything of the sort.

what sense of freedom is the nonalignment of the truth that so happens to ring within my ear. and i repeat; love, for who i am and for what it was worth, i shall die and recuperate in your arms, again and again until time's end. what sovereign did we have before we came to? endlessly fluttering like a leaf to the wind, stumbling through life until what is considered the end.

under the blasé of your facade, a billow of what seemed to be a crack faded out; you stare and wonder — how are we the same and alike, yet so different and complementary. to you; the one i love — i wished to kill you with these hands.

this is about half-finished, haha, tell me your thoughts?

love,

riks. ♡

the last line “i wished to kill you with these hands.” got to me i hope you know that

this was so beautifully written

[downthetubes]

Who Cares for Comics? Online event with Kay Sohini and Jared Gardner will discuss "Graphic Medicine and Comic Art"

The comics form and practice will be discussed in relation to graphic medicine in a special online event on Wednesday 12th June, presenting researcher and cartoonist Kay Sohini in conversation with Jared Gardner

The comics form and practice will be discussed in relation to graphic medicine in a special online event on Wednesday 12th June, presenting researcher and cartoonist Kay Sohini in conversation with Jared Gardner, Joseph V. Denney Designated Professor of English and Director of Popular Culture Studies at Ohio State University. This event is part of a Sadler Seminar Series led by Miriam Kent,…

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork and Reine Stewart, (in photo 4 with baby Hallie); photos 2 & 3 by Henry Diltz, photo 4 by Nurit Wilde.

A long read, taking a look at Peter from circa 1969 to 1980, with very frank reflections by Peter from the early ‘80s through to 2009.

“[After the end of The Monkees] Tork found out he'd paid half again what his house was worth, so he wouldn't have been able to get back his initial investment, even had he sold it. For a while he leased it to Stephen Stills, who’d gotten over the rejection of not being selected as a Monkee by becoming a superstar on his own, first with Buffalo Springfield, then in a trio with David Crosby and Graham Nash. Tork and his girl friend [Reine Stewart], who was then pregnant, went back East with the idea of becoming organic farmers. Late in 1969 Stills moved out, with a few months of rent paid up, so Tork and his girl friend returned to finish out the decade. ‘We were there for a few months, but it was much less comfortable. Then a fellow came in and took it over, a would-be-guru type, who ran a colony there. When he quit paying the rent, it was foreclosed.’ Next they moved into a house in Beverly Glen owned by David Crosby. Tork's daughter [Hallie] was born there in January 1970. ‘We stayed there for a while, and I became involved with another woman, and my girlfriend and I broke up,’ he said. [...] One lesson, well learned only recently, has put Tork off alcohol since 1980. ‘I was able to change my course as early as I did, relative to some of the stories I've heard, because of my dabblings in Eastern philosophy,’ he said. ‘Because of that spiritual experience I had beforehand on acid (which has since been validated and expanded) and because of a few experiences in community, I've been allowed to recognize that what I really did want to  find on a day-by-day basis was spiritual surrender. Now I am not in charge, not in the sense that somebody else is in charge, but in the sense that what is in charge is larger than I can know by myself, but I have to trust it. ‘I can't ascribe my alcoholism to fame,’ he went on. ‘I can more easily do it the other way around. One of the things about alcoholics, to the extent that I've been able to make any observations, is that we are either above the crowd or below it – or both at the same time. The reason you shoot to be above is because you feel below, and the reason you feel below is because you're not part of, never one of the guys. You envy the people who seem to have a certain contentment. The character makeup that sent me into pop stardom is the same character makeup that sought to anesthetize myself with chemistry. I found that it was not until I put all of that chemistry behind me that I began to get back in touch with my place in the human scheme of things.’” - When The Music Mattered (1984)

Peter Tork: “Yeah, I was a serious substance abuser, I abused some serious substances – and they abused me in return, it was only fair. But I’d like to report now, for the sake of all those who care, that I haven’t abused a single substance in a long time. I’m actually, I’m very happy about it, although I have to say that it has nothing to do with willpower or, you know, strength of character or any of that kind of thing, which a lot of people talk about. It was just surrender, it was just giving up.” Q: “And it was expensive.” PT: “No. It was beer.” Q: “Oh. All right.” PT: “Drank too much beer.” - The Rik Turner Show, January 1994

Peter Tork: “There never was a time I couldn’t drink. My parents let me drink wine if I wanted with dinner, or a sip of cocktails or a bit of beer, nobody ever cared, and I never got too deeply into it when I was young. But it’s pretty clear that everybody’s… that alcoholics have a curve to their disease, to their syndrome, that is basically not affected by life or by anything else, just it’s genetic, it’s in their bones. And I guess my curve hadn’t taken over me, it didn’t… I didn’t even notice I was in trouble until my late thirties. One or two friends of mine knew I was in trouble before that, but not many. [It appears there’s a genetic history] My father died at 86, you know. It’s hard to say that he died of alcoholism, because alcoholics at best die in their sixties, or early sixties, you know, most alcoholics who can survive, who don’t die of anything else, who just die of the organic damage alcohol does to them, die in their sixties. So it’s hard to say, you know. But I think the best teller of the disease; well, there’s two good tells, I think. One of them is: do you drink when it’s against your better interest to do so, and when the information is there that lets you know that it is. And the other is: personality changes, you know. And I used to see my father with personality changes. My mom drank like a fish, but she may not have been an alcoholic, it’s hard to know. But almost certainly my father was. And that’s the only genetic information I have.” (x) [...] Q: “Did anybody approach you, and say, say, 'Peter, man, what are you doing?'” PT: “Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.” Q: “Wow.” PT: “Because I never... because my... listen, I have a very high-bottom story, really. You know, I would get drunk and behave badly one night, and it wouldn’t happen again for months and months and months. And everybody thought, oh, well, Peter’s just, you know, he’s just had a few too many. And it didn’t happen all the time, and, you know, like the man says, you know, 'I didn’t get into trouble every time I picked up a drink; every time I got into trouble, I’d been drinking.' But if your bouts of trouble are months and months apart, as they were with me, nobody notices the pattern until you come back and say, ‘I’m not drinking anymore,’ and they go, ‘Oh, well, that explains such and such,’ you know. A lot of my friends who weren’t drinking noticed sort of more in hindsight. ‘Oh, yeah, now that you tell me this, now that makes more sense than it did before,’ some event in their memories suddenly makes more sense, and that kind of thing. But, so nobody said to me, ‘Peter, Peter, you’re playing in traffic, and you’re going to get hit.’ [...] In my view, one of the things about my being an alcoholic is that it did keep me from applying the kind of concentration that let me be as good a musician as I want to be. In other words, it’s like every so often I would pick up a new instrument, and so if I could only play many fewer instruments and play them all all commensurately better, I think I’d be a happier musician today. [...] I picked up the trumpet the other day. [...] I really would rather concentrate on the things I can do somewhat well rather than waste time doing things I can’t do at all well.” - Take 12 Recovery Radio, (late?) 2000s

“The bottom came for me in June, 1980. Then I managed to quit drinking. The following January I had my last toke of grass and last toot of snow. Since then my career has been puttering along at a steady rate.” - Peter Tork, The Monkees Tale (1989)

“I was never inherently afraid of my situation. When I found myself [in the early 1970s] in a boardinghouse with my daughter [Hallie] in a room for twenty-five dollars a month, sleeping on a mat on the floor, I was not discouraged.” - Peter Tork, When The Music Mattered (1984)

“[In the mid-1970s] I went to Southern California and sort of assembled a family. My daughter [Hallie] from my previous marriage [to Reine Stewart] came to live with me and my woman [Barbara Iannoli], who I then married and had a son [Ivan] with." - Peter Tork, Goldmine, 1982

“[Hallie] says that she has a better relationship with me than any of her friends have with their fathers. It’s a good thing for us, and I hope that the others’ aren’t catastrophic. Because otherwise it means (laughs), otherwise it’s small praise.” - Peter Tork, WDBB, February 2006

“Somewhere along the line, it finally sunk in. Not only that I couldn’t drink safely, which I knew, but that there was no pretense, no way to pretend to you or me that there was a chance of a pretense of drinking safely. And somehow, that got through to me and I was able to turn and make some requests… and go find the help that I needed. [...] So I got a community. And with a community, who had been through ahead of me what it was I needed to go through, I was able to give up my will. So it was no longer a matter of, ‘Man, what willpower you’ve got, you haven’t had a drink in 28 years, how do you do it, man? If I had your willpower…’ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. It’s not having the willpower. It’s giving up the willpower. It’s surrendering, hopefully, to a dedicated community, for starters that — for me — a dedicated community that enabled me to begin the slow process of dealing with all the stuff that I drank about in the first place. Which is all the ways that I had, you know… because I felt like I was — I knew I was a runner-away, I’d run away all the time. And that made me a cheat. And since I knew I was a cheat, I cheated you. Vicious cycle. I cheat you, so… and then I run, and that makes me… and I know I’m a cheat, so it doesn’t matter whether I cheat, because that doesn’t change anything, so I cheat and I run, and I cheat and I run. Everything. Relationships. I was pretty good with cash register honesty, I learned that at my father’s knee. But almost every emotional honesty available to me was not available to me. And I — I’ll tell you the truth, folks, 28 years later, that emotional recovery, emotional honesty, the emotional — the honesty and depth is, right now, my biggest challenge. I ain’t got it yet. It is better than it ever was, and I’m beginning to — I feel like I’m rounding a corner. Of course, I’ve been feeling that for 28 years. But it feels like I’m getting better. And I know I am. The quality of my friendships is richer and deeper and stronger, my friends are more important in my life, and I’m more important in my friends’ lives. And I am able to hear when somebody says, ‘Is that exactly what you had in mind right there? Is that a perfectly honest…’ And I go, ‘Well, maybe not, I think I can probably do better than that,’ and work on it. In other words, because I have what I can rely upon, I am able to get better, and getting better enables me to stay sober, staying sober enables me to get better, and that cycle, which was a  vicious cycle before, is now a benign cycle, and it’s taking me to some really wonderful places.” - Peter Tork, Recovery Fest, 2009

[bestpctips]

Lenovo legion go vs rog ally vs CRKD nitro deck: Handheld consoles

Portable consoles have unlocked AAA-level gaming on the go. But which handheld comes out the best, hands down? Read our Lenovo legion go vs rog ally vs CRKD nitro deck. Words: Josh Russell, Rik Henderson, Sam Cross Photography: Phil Barker Once upon a time, AAA gaming was the preserve of living-room consoles and hulking PCs. No gamer worth their salt would buy a laptop for playing computer…

[burlveneer-music]

schroothoop - MACADAM - for a band that makes instruments out of scrap, the music is more mellifluous than I expected, favoring international grooves over skronk

Belgian junk jazz trio schroothoop (which translates as ‘junk yard’) bring together multi-instrumentalists Rik Staelens (wind & string instruments), Timo Vantyghem (bass & thumb piano) and Margo Maex (percussion). Their new album called ‘MACADAM’ will be out April 7 via Sdban Records, home of many strongholds in the lively contemporary Belgian jazz and groove scene. In 2020, schroothoop first emerged with their much-acclaimed and infectious debut album Klein Gevaarlijk Afval (Small Hazardous Waste). “Music on homemade instruments with a surprisingly good result” (De Standaard). “Schroothoop show that material limitation can be liberating and that sometimes the source of new sounds is just old junk.”(Written in music). “We assure you that this “scrap heap” is worth gold!“ (Le Grigri). On their second album, to be released on April 7, schroothoop explore the vast sounds of discarded objects found on the macadam streets of Brussels. Wooden crates turn into guitars and lyres. Scrap metal becomes a thumb piano, a cimbalom, or percussion bells. Their compelling collection of semi-improvised songs is born out of several fruitful residencies and live performances during which Margo Maex, Rik Staelens and Timo Vantyghem dive deeper into the possibilities and unique timbres of their DIY instruments. The junk jazz trio find inspiration in traditional Afro-Cuban and North-African rhythms, New Orleans second line grooves, and Arabic Hijaz scales. On Macadam, the band also explore the realms of electronic music, not shunning hints of drum and bass, dub riddims and ambient soundscapes, using pitch shifting delays or gauzy reverbs. The album delivers a mesmerizing trip through the most diverse capital of Europe, mixed and post-produced by none other than sound wizard Dijf Sanders. The trio originally met in the Brussels street orchestra scene. One night they found themselves jamming on trash cans, buckets and other illegally dumped materials. Soon after, they started building their own DIY instruments from street trash. Imagine flutes made out of pvc pipes, a scrap metal drum kit, thumb pianos made out of old kitchen knives, a tin can violin, worn-out cutting discs as gongs, and a washtub bass. Delivering their own brand of “junk jazz”, Schroothoop literally gives junk a second life by immortalizing a whole range of lost and found objects through music. The Brussels-based group effortlessly incorporates jazz, Northern African music, and Afro-Cuban rhythms, resulting in a danceable and hypnotic trip through the city’s melting pot.

[scumbag-monthly]

SCUMBAGS!!! 🔉🚨

Scumbag Monthly is endin- oh yes, you already knew that. But what don't you know? As a final hurrah, we're hosting daily watch parties for The Young Ones in early March!

Where? The SCUMBAGS UNITE!!! Discord server. If you're over 16 and interested, DM @neil-neil-orange-peel for an invite!

When? 7pm-8:30pm GMT from Wednesday 1st March to Monday 6th March. On Tuesday 7th March, to celebrate our Lord of Misrule's birthday, we'll be watching a collection of Rik's work at various points throughout the day.

The Schedule:

1st March: Demolition & Oil

2nd March: Boring & Bomb

3rd March: Interesting & Flood

4th March: Bambi & Cash

5th March: Nasty & Time

6th March: Sick & Summer Holiday

7th March: Rik Fest

If you'd like to join the party to see Scumbag Monthly off with a bang, feel free to pop by the server on any (or all) of the dates! Get comfortable with a babycham and packet of roast ox crisps as we speed run two years' worth of alternative comedy madness in a week. We'll even give you a break in-between episodes to check on your lentil casseroles.

Why should you come along? To watch this seminal sitcom with bastards as nutty about it as you. The Scumbags Discord is a welcoming place, whether you're a regular or only show your face once in every lifetime. So, come and park your bottom on the rickety chair. The Young Ones are waiting for you...