#at some point he wanted to refer to me as lana. because easier

[slavicwetcat07]

i for one wouldnt complain if gwen bouchard took lena kelley out by brutal pipe murder or suchlike. everytime lena's name is mentioned i prick up because lena is my legal name which i use and i think someone wants something from me. and they dont even pronounce it correctly (at least by polish standards)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

[rainofaugustsith]

Secrets of the Enclave - Thoughts

As always, Viri's clone 1.0 went through first. Story spoilers will be behind a cut. I will also try to update my prediction post because ooooh I have a few.

This is Viri's expression for most of the flashpoint.

I really liked poking around in the Enclave. They did a great job on the design. There are a few places to get lost, but it's like a very easy hedge maze - you don't get hopelessly turned around.

Combat: they seem to have learned from Spirit of Vengeance. There were a few points with some very heavy mobs but it was much easier and much less tedious than SoV.

Companions: you have two here, which makes things easier. However: aside from anything else, I hate the forced companions that are not our normal constant companions. I hate that this is what they seem to want to do now and they won't shake that. From a story perspective it makes no sense to me. The Alliance Commander is an assassination and abduction risk. There's no way she would be going anywhere alone. She'd have a second. She'd have bodyguards. In fact you're told she has bodyguards (Veeroa Denz says she is one). And yet whether it's Ossus or Meridian Complex or Dantooine, your Commander just keeps waltzing off with complete strangers who may or may not have her best interests in mind. Why would she just keep doing this?

Quick story thoughts and predictions behind the cut.

THE OLD MUSIC IS BACK THANK YOU Viri was allowed to have a brain cell in this. She questioned Rivix several times on how he knew so much about the Jedi Enclave and Dantooine. His explanations were...overexplaining. But Viri could keep bringing it up. Viri was able to literally back Rivix into the corner and yell at him at the end of the flashpoint - and basically try to let him know that she doesn't trust him. Good. Viri was able to also express concern that the droid's directions were a trap. RIVIX USES JEDI HEALS. I SAW IT. Seriously watch him when he heals. HE DOES THE JEDI HAND GESTURE I HATE SO MUCH. Red lightsaber my ass, this guy is a plant. That's how he knows so much. I still believe that Rivix is Acina's tool to try to "kill the Alliance through coercion" but I think he has another master that Acina might not know about and that it might even be the Jedi hoping to implode the Empire and Alliance. How is it that Intelligence got a holo of Aryn Leneer talking about Malgus on Dantooine? Unless one of Satele's students is a plant, IMHO it's probable that the holo was given directly to Rivix. And that goes back to the idea of Gnost-Dural and Satele Shan having different ways of doing things and a schism in the Jedi order - one wants to annihilate the Empire and Sith. The other does not. Anyone else notice that Satele is now looking a bit...different?

I hate that Viri is being referred to a member of the Hand and an Imperial. THE. ALLIANCE. IS. SUPPOSED. TO. BE. INDEPENDENT. It's like any good for the galaxy she did in the Alliance is all gone. It's disappointing. Malgus wants to kill the Alliance commander too? Or does he want to take over the Alliance since he keeps saying he will never have a master and will not go back? Shit, man. No. We went through this with Saresh already. Don't go there. Hmm. No Lana, no Theron, no Koth, and Hylo the underworld rep is our quest giver. *slow clap* Well done. All the hate on one companion getting any screen time and yelling for line for line equality...they're all equal now, isn't it great? All gone. Well done.

[likeadevils]

hey! for your post about sun moon and rising but with taylor albums, can you list out the characteristics of each album? i'm having a hard time associating them and it'd make it a lot easier, if you could do that :)

oh totally! Its really all about your personal association, so i’ll give vibes for the era and the album. a good rule of thumb is to read the prologue if you want the tone for the era quickly. honestly, there’s no set system, go wild

taylor swift (2006) “debut”

era: blue and teal and brown. cowboy boots and sundresses, wild curly hair, trucks and mud and wildflowers. very 2006, very high school, very country

album: swings between pining from a distance and wanting to destroy a boys whole ass life and feeling like you have no friends and no one understands you in the whole world. like I said, very high school, but also full of whole ass bangers

fearless (2008)

era: yellow and white. 24/7 prom. she’s got the fairy tale aesthetics set in high school, she’s got calling your ex boyfriend out on national television, she's got so many headbands. god to be 8 years old when the joe jonas/taylor swift drama was going down

album: again, fairy tale set in high school. lots of crushes, lots of realizing men aren’t shit. it’s about the pull between childhood ideals and real life tearing them down, and deciding how much you should cling to your dreams and how much you have to let them go. it’s also a pull between knowing that these little moments are kinda ridiculous but also taking everything so goddamn seriously

speak now (2010)

era: purple purple purple. she’s starting to grow up! her look has evolved out of sundresses and prom dresses and into a more preppy style. she’s moved out of fantasy and into this like. circus aesthetic? 30s movie type thing? watch the mean music video, idk how to explain it. her hair is still curly and but under control, and she’s solidly Famous at this point. the idea that she can’t sing is Big, and the man-eater stereotype is starting to get popular 

album: she’s starting to grow out of country. she’s experimenting with rock, but her pop sound is starting to take off. it’s all about Dramatics: she’s experienced her first heartbreak, broke someone else’s heart, and was in an emotionally abusive relationship all within two years. she’s moved out of her parents house and is both infantilized and forced to grow up to fast by the media.

red (2012)

era: its 2012 hipster style. her hair is Straight and she’s wearing vintage dresses everywhere, and she’s posting sketches of red lips and quotes from fitzgerald about heartbreak and finding yourself on instagram. she is dating and breaking up with harry styles Very Publically, and its the last major relationship she’ll have for two more years. the idea that she dates to much is everywhere, and she’s being slut shamed to an insane degree, while also being dismissed as a goody-two-shoes

album: it’s designed so each song has the opposite emotions of the song before it. it’s dramatic and it’s heart wrenching and it portrays these relationships that were toxic and messy and captivating. has the last vestiges of country, some more rock, and the first pure Pop songs, all nestled against each other to give you the epic highs and lows of being 22

1989 (2014)

era: its the height of her stardom, and she’s more beloved then she’s ever been and (probably) will ever be again. she’s cut her hair and moved to New York, she’s wearing high waisted stuff and taking polaroids, and she’s been single for two years and it’s has given her the freedom to find a “tight” group of friends and herself. shes talking about third wave feminism all the time, she’s papped every day, and she started dating c*lvin h*rris; they date for a year, he was the first boyfriend to be posted on social media, and the one she was with the longest (until her current bf). publically, she’s the happiest and most successful she’s ever been. personally, it’s more complicated, especially by the last few months. “she lost him, but she found herself and somehow that was everything” and “from the girl who said she would never cut her hair or move to new york or find happiness in a world where she wasn't in love”

album: single handedly brings 80s pop into the mainstream. (like seriously, her only contemporary influence is lana del rey, and even that is only on a few tracks. listening to this when it came out was a religious experience). it sounds basic now but only because she influenced all of the pop music that came after her. its also her first sonically cohesive album since fearless. subject matter wise, its very 80s movie. it’s the first album without a break up song that ruins a man's whole career— no cold as you, dear john, or all too well type. the relationship is on and off again, but more muted and mature then the tumultuous ones portrayed on red. its very star crossed; two people who just can’t find the right time. she’s also writing about how fame has affected her— blank space, shake it off, and i know places all directly reference it, but the idea that the whole world is watching is woven all throughout the album

bleachella (2016) 

this isn't an album but its definitely an era

taylor has become so oversaturated that people are starting to turn on her, and her mental health is suffering. her relationship with c*lvin h*rris is falling apart, she's changing her hair every couple of moths (most notably she bleaches it, and goes to coachella. so like bleachella), and then all of a sudden The Phone Call happens. kim and kanye release edited footage of a phone call that makes it seem like taylor swift is a liar who intentionally plays the victim to stay in the public’s good graces, and the world pounces on it. between that and the idea that her friend group is super cliche-y and exclusionary, her reputation is ruined and she goes in hiding for months. before going into hiding though, she breaks it off with c*lvin (he throws a FIT on twitter) and starts a whirlwind romance with tom hiddleston that includes them flying all over the world on vacations and meeting each others parents super quickly. this all happens in one summer.

reputation (2017)

era: black and white and gold. very edgy, very rich, lots of snakes and casual wealth. there’s the aesthetic of her being very hurt and defensive and lashing out, but the reality of her being the happiest she’s ever been. she’s still famous, but she’s learned how to have a private life and healthy relationships. the tough times have shown her who and what’s important to her

album: pretty much that. the first half is brash and bombastic and playing off what people expect her to be like, how they expect her to fall in and out of love quickly and manipulate those around her to see her as a good person (while exploring sounds that no one expected her to explore) and the second half slows it down and shows her falling in love more explicitly and sweetly and under cover. “in the death of her reputation she felt truly alive” and “finding love through all the noise”

lover (2019)

era: bright pink and pastels and bright colors and happiness and butterflies!! she’s in love and beloved by the general public again, but all of her past albums have been stolen from her by a man she thought she could trust. sadly cut off short by covid. “step into the daylight and let it go”

album: her messiest album (sonically) since red. a popular saying when it first came out was that it had the writing of speak now but the sound of 1989, which is... understandable? its the kind of thing you have to form your own opinion on. it’s on the surface all bubblegum pop and being in love, but it has some of the absolute saddest songs of her entire discography. a 18 song long rollercoaster

folklore and evermore

preface: these are definitely two separate albums and there’s a definitely a difference but this girl has so many albums and it’s taken me an hour to answer this ask and it’s 1am right now so i’m gonna smush them together. go listen to them, and we’re in the era right now

eras: it been covid so all we’ve got are a couple performances and the album visuals. cottagecore, a return to the small town setting of her first two albums, very understated and timeless. one noteworthy element is that both albums were surprise releases (especially after lover had almost a year of build up that kinda worked against it). she’s reached a level of artistic respect that she’s never had

albums: folklore is a level of sonic and thematic cohesion comparable to 1989, as well as having a similar feeling of like. oh god we’ve been waiting for you to make an album like this for years and you’ve still exceeded every exception and made it surprising. evermore is mostly a continuation of its sound, though it’s a bit more experimental. both albums are incredibly mature, and move into non-autobiographical storytelling for most of the songs. it’s easy to build your own world based on one or both of the albums. their main themes are also mostly divorced from relationships, and more tied to personal identity and mental state (though there is quite a bit about divorce and heartbreak in both)

[imcrushedbyarainbowoffical]

Janus’s Playlist Analysis

Since Janus is my favorite Side I thought I’d have some fun and do an analysis of his playlist. 

Enjoy~

Black Hole Sun (Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox, Haley Reinhart)

A. Janus is depressed by his own existence and the existence of others. He doesn't believe anyone in this world is good and wishes a black hole would suck away the pain he feels and the emptiness inside that is filled with nothing but desires and greed. He also misses his youth and yearns for the sweet fruit of the past where everything was easier and you didn't realize how horrible the world truly is.

B. We live in a societyTM

It Seemed Better That Way (Leonard Cohen)

A. Janus's view on religion and faith, in general, is that it's painful and earns you nothing but confusion and doubt. One can believe that these things make them a good person or that there is truth in the Bible, but no one really knows for sure.

B. Even religion is filled with hypocrisy and lies and no matter how faithful one is to something, it doesn't count for the many hardships and broken hearts one faces on account of that faith.

Anywhere (The Scarring Party)

A. This is a prod at optimism and Patton, as Janus doesn't believe the world is beautiful despite what is said by Parents, Teachers, and Priests. It's a dog eat dog world out there and if one tries to fit themselves into the box society has made for them, they will be fortunate sure, but will also be sent to an early grave once they're no longer needed.

B. Janus doesn't want Thomas to star in society's tv show but rather be the star of his own show. He wants Thomas to live as he wants and to be happy without trying to hold onto pointless optimism.

Talking at the Same Time (Tom Waits)

A. You can't trust anyone but yourself, as people have a tendency to push others down in order to get what they want or to gain some sort of control. So it's either you trust yourself and fight or you trust others and die.

B. Janus feels as though he and the others got the short end of the stick once Virgil got accepted and knows that they will have to fight in order to get a seat at the table.

all the good girls go to hell (Billie Eilish)

A. "In an interview with Vulture, Finneas confirmed the track is indeed about climate change. I read somewhere that some fans think that ‘All the Good Girls Go to Hell’ is about climate change. I love that they think that.” I was like, “That’s ‘cause it is.” - Genius Lyrics

So uh, "trees....?"

This is Janus's spiel on how the world is burning and climate change is happening but no one seems to care.

B. Janus believes that no matter how "good" you are or pretend to be it won't matter in the end because any person can lie and say they're good when really they aren't. Plus, since your going to sin no matter what you do, what's the point of going to extreme measures to be "perfect" when your wasting time and energy to do so.

Denial (The Vaccines)

A. Janus knows what Thomas is capable of and wants him to hold the world in his hands and to be so much more. He also knows that Thomas is lost and is trying to provide some direction to him but is always ignored or turned away as a villain.

B. Janus is denying his feelings about Virgil and is hanging on by a thread. He knows that Virgil wanted so much more and despite everything Janus did for him, it wasn't enough. Now, Janus wants to talk to Virgil and doesn't want to be shut out without explaining his true feelings.

Trust in Me (Scarlet Johanson)

A. Janus wants Thomas to trust in him and know that he is safe as long as he is around.

B. As Deceit, it is easy to manipulate people and get them to do what he wants.

Razzle Dazzle (Richard Gere)

A. In SVS, Janus believes that by putting on a show/scenario he can easily persuade everyone to go to the callback.

B. Janus is a dramatic boiTM and believes that by being dramatic and overzealous, he can hide his true nature (and perhaps his insecurities too).

When the Chips Are Down (Anais Mitchell and The Haden Triplets)

A. Janus has always had to trust himself when it came to decisions and fighting for what he believes in.

B. Janus believes it's important to ensure your own survival before ensuring the survival of others. When your own life is at stake and/or there's a big opportunity you have to think about yourself and be "selfish."

Mandy Goes to Med School (The Dresden Dolls)

A. Janus doesn't think he's really qualified to do his job and perhaps wonders if he's doing anything right.

B. He's good at faking it until he makes it and doing things on the fly.

I Put A Spell On You (Nina Simone)

A. Janus is a huge flirt and just likes playing around

B. He has a crush/affinity towards one of the Sides and likes them but they perhaps don't reciprocate the feeling.

Evil Night Together  (Jill Tracey)

A. Janus loves doing evil things and enjoys being a villain.

B. (Platonic or Romantic) This is Janus and Remus's song and how they enjoy spending time together. Janus and Remus also like to flirt and talk dirty to eachother. (Also, can you imagine these two dancing to this song? That would be so cool!).

Cabaret: Don't Tell Mama (John Kander)

A. Janus is good at keeping secrets and fits into whatever role he must play.

B. This could be in reference to Thomas's sexuality and the fact that he was raised Catholic and thus being homosexual is a taboo. So, Janus kept the fact that Thomas was Gay a secret for fear his parents and/or society would get mad/reject him.

You're A Cad (Fiona Apple)

A. Janus sees through the lies Virgil is telling himself about being good and forcing himself to be better.

B. Janus knows he's worse than Virgil but also knows he isn't lying to himself in trying to be solely good. He's always going to have an element of darkness in him and unlike Virgil, he's learned to accept it.

As Far As I Can See (Phantogram)

A. No one cares about the others, as they're all seen as evil and villainous. So, whether there crying out or are being pushed down to the deepest darkest levels, no one will ever be there to save them.

B. Janus doesn't believe he's loved and or is needed since Thomas doesn't listen to him. He feels like he's falling down a plight of stairs and/or is crying out in pain, yet, Thomas and the Sides push him away without a second thought.

Criminal (Fiona Apple)

A. Janus is able to use his charisma to get what he wants and to be heard in some capacity.

B. He feels like a criminal and doesn't believe he can ever have redemption. He's sinned against so many of the Sides that he feels he can't ever be "forgiven" or "loved" because of what he's done. Yet, he does care about the Sides and Thomas, he just doesn't know how to show it without everything coming out wrong.

Change (Lana Del Rey)

A. Janus can feel a change within Thomas but knows it will take a while for it to come, as the Sides have yet to truly understand each other.

B. Janus is a tired snake boyTM and feels that change is coming but finds it meaningless and pointless. He wants to be more honest and to be able to hold Thomas up but at the same time is so bitter about everything he's losing his will to live. He wants to be here but at the same time doesn't understand what any of it's for. Besides, if no one cares about him then why should he care about himself?

The Devil’s in the Details (Bright Eyes)

A. Janus is starting to be accepted but is scared because he knows that things aren't that easy and everything can fall apart at the drop of a hat. He's trying to be better but because of his own duality, he knows he is only fooling himself into being good when in reality he may always be a villain.

B. Janus knows that he's wronged Virgil in some way but can't seem to make it better and everything has only gotten worse. He wants Virgil back and for them to forgive each other but knows he may not get what he wants without some significant change/understanding.

Come Little Children (Erutan)

A. He is responsible for taking care of the others and as such tries to keep them from harm. Also, Janus knows that Thomas would never accept them and so decided to keep the others hidden away.

B. Janus is the protector and the leader of the others and is now starting to let the come out to play.

Into The Unknown (The Blasting Company)

A. Janus misses Virgil a lot and likes to remember the adventures Remus, Virgil, Orange, and he used to have.

B. Janus is nostalgic for the past and misses the sweet bliss of youth, where the world was deemed beautiful in his eyes and filled with wonder. During a time where friendship and love were something, he could hold onto and not yet know that these memories would be nothing but lovely lies in the future.

[badboys-imagines]

Lie to me

Pairing : Tom, Reader

PART VI

Summary : A complicated story in which Y/N and Tom already know each other from work.

Y/N : Your Name

Y/L/N : Your Last Name

A/N : Sorry it took so loooong ! Hope you like it. xxx

Y/N woke up earlier this morning, almost sure Tom would cause her to be late again.

As she entered the kitchen, she saw him typing on his computer, but he instantly looked up at her,

"Hello," he paused, gauging her mood, "How are you doing ?"

Grabbing a bottle into the fridge, Y/N slightly shrugged and took a sip of milk.

"Today I'm feeling cloudy, with a chance of sarcastic."

"Can't you use a glass ?" Tom sighed, but immediately corrected himself, "Never mind."

A satisfied smile curved Y/N’s lips and she sat in front of him as he typed furiously on his keyboard. It felt so unusual to be here with him, in an almost peaceful atmosphere. Closing the lid of his laptop, Tom looked at her for a moment.

"I didn't know working with Ken could make you so happy though." he chuckled, referring to the smile on her lips.

Y/N frowned. She hadn't even realized she was smiling. But it had nothing to do with... What was his name again ? Suddenly, the young woman felt angry at how Tom's attitude influenced her own thoughts.

A proud grin appeared on his lips and Tom took a sip of his coffee,

"Oh dear, you don't even remember his name, do you ?"

Y/N flushed. No, she didn't.

"Of course I do, he’s my assistant."

At this point, the young woman was nothing but a constant state of internal cringing.

"Well ?" he insisted.

"Tom, if karma doesn't come around and hit you in the face, I will."

Tom Hiddleston was like the weather. One minute he was sunny, the next, he was pouring down with rain. He could be an ass around her, but the rest of the time, it was all about Tom's polished, plummy accent combined with the rich timbre to his voice. The effect was completely obscene.

Tom was never just being irresistible, and the tabloids loved that. They also loved that he'd temporarily moved in with Y/N and it didn't take long until fake news popped into magazines.

It was Sebastian who handed her the first article where her building appeared on a picture, Tom apparently walking out. Near him, a bold title dramatically read: "New girlfriend ?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, wondering what the press could possibly say.

"After writing his first book about her... Taking a step further... New girlfriend..."

Her eyes widened as she read.

Tom wrote a book ?

All day long, Y/N couldn't think about anything else. Tom had already left set and she was eager to find out what Tom frantically typed on his laptop every morning.

After a moment searching in a library, she found it.

The Remedy for Love, by Tom Hiddleston

Cocking an eyebrow, Y/N couldn't keep a laughter. She turned the first pages. Science, science, love.

Apparently it wasn’t exactly a fiction.

Without thinking, she bought it and continued her lecture in the subway.

"Human behavior is linked to genetic. All actions, every move, every love story has consequences on the gene pool and can be scientifically explained."

Hm, boring Tom, she thought, turning another few pages. This didn't sound like him.

"You might think, 'this doesn't sound like Tom Hiddleston'. In fact, it didn't, until I met this woman."

Her eyes widened and she felt her heart racing. Y/N skipped a few lines and stopped breathing as she read her own words,

"You don't know anything Hiddleston," she said, "you just act like it." (...)

She turned another page,

"Now, how to make the right choices when they don’t make you a happy person (...) happiness seems to be a condition to humanity. However, finding it without love is quite possible. (...) This is what you learn from a heartbreak (...) to stop loving someone is easier than you think."

The last words echoed in her head. Slowly then, she replayed the past few weeks in her mind. How Tom behaved. How he clearly seemed to hate her now.

Legs shaking, Y/N slowly made her way back home. As she pushed the door,

"Tom ?" she called, "Tom come down !"

Hearing his footsteps in the stairs, she sighed deeply. As soon as she saw his body shape appear, Y/N threw the book at him. A surprised look on his face, Tom shot her a glance,

"Well, I see you've found something to read."

"You owe me 15 box." Y/N sniffled.

She stood there for a while and contemplated discussing with him about love, but renounced. It was too late after all. Instead, she started to laugh,

"Oh god," she cleared her throat, "This was the most terrible thing I've ever read."

She saw his blue eyes widen at her words and Tom tilted his head, as if he hadn't heard her well,

"I beg your pardon ?"

"You don't really believe what you wrote, do you ? It was just for the fame, wasn’t it ? Tell me it was just for the fame, Tom." Y/N scoffed, balancing on one leg to pull a stiletto off her foot.

"I do believe every word I wrote in this book, Y/N.” For a moment, Tom seemed hurt. 

"It’s worse than I thought, then. Aren't you getting tired of your own bullshit ?"

"It’s not... bullshit.” he scoffed, shocked, “This book received an award by the way.”

"Yeah, so did Goebbels for his research and he was still a nazi. I'm serious Tom. It feels like it has been written by a four times divorced 45 year old woman. And the fact that you used these things I said... Damn it, you could have asked."

Tom looked straight into her eyes, his blue gaze becoming colder as she talked.

"What ?" Y/N grumbled.

Suddenly, he took a few steps closer, enough to bring his face inches away from hers, "I love it when you rant to me." he said, closing the book at once, "How delightful, to be entrusted with your hate. That’s all I wanted, Y/N."

Tom splayed a hand on the wall behind her, leaning further so she could feel his breathing against her mouth and the heat emanating from his body.

He plunged his deep blue gaze into her lost eyes, "Your kink for nice, perfect guys like Ken is completely unrealistic. People make mistakes when they are in love, and they forgive each other."

Y/N blinked in confusion, heart pounding against her ribcage as she felt the electricity coursing through her whole body, craving his touch. To the blush on his cheeks, Y/N could say he’d felt it too.

"What ?" Tom clumsily asked, as if he’d admitted some enormity.

Y/N slowly shook her head, her voice barely coming out of her mouth,

"I..." she pressed her hand on Tom's chest, long enough to feel his heart pounding under her fingers, "V-vital space..." she managed, causing him to move back.

For the first time in months, Tom had let his guard down. Y/N released a deep sigh, throwing her head back against the cold wall, her body still shaking from the uncontrollable, painful attraction she felt towards him.

Tom started to pace in front of her like a wild animal, as if he wanted to make a confession, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

“Do you realize what you’re saying, Tom, that Sebastian doesn’t have real feelings for me ? You don’t even know him.”

“What I’m trying to say is...” he stopped near her and looked down, his chest lifting up quickly. For a moment, Y/N thought he was finally going to admit how he truly felt, but Tom’s eyes fluttered, “I think he’s not right for you.”

That was it.

“And who’s right for me, Tom ? You ? I've met some pricks, but you are the fucking cactus." Y/N growled.

Tom sat down on the couch, crossing his legs as he stared blankly into space. Maybe she’d gone too far, but he had too.

After a moment, the young woman cleared her throat,

"By the way, I didn't know you were being followed by paparazzis. Now I see you like a Lana Del Rey song that took human form."

Tom's own cynicism burnt off like morning dew,

"What are you talking about ?"

"What did you expect after writing this book ?" Y/N scoffed, "Apparently, you moved in with your new girlfriend,” she waved her hand in a theatrical gesture, “me."

Tom rolled his eyes and she was about to throw an awful comment when he raised his finger up,

"Watch out. I'm strong enough to carry your corpse to the woods."

Cynical Tom was back.

"Look, Tom,” Y/N inhaled deeply, “you might be used to paparazzis because you are an A celebrity..."

"I'm not."

She released a sigh,

"Tom. I’m serious.” Y/N paused, “I think you should find another place to live while we shoot the movie."

There, she’d said it. Tom didn’t move or look at her until he narrowed his eyes,

"You didn't read my book until its end, judged it by its cover, and now you’re kicking me out because of paparazzis."

"You definitely need anger management classes." Y/N sat next to him on the couch, winning a cold glare from him, “Yes Tom, it is too much for me.”

She shot him a glance and shook her head,

"What ?"

At that moment, she saw the light in his eyes disappear, but Tom kept his usual calm and cynical voice,

"There is not enough therapy and liquor in the world to undo your effect on me." he grunted, sinking into the couch as he turned the TV on, unable to hide the desperate look on his face.

"I know, you can't stop thinking about me." Y/N smirked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Hmhm. I touch myself whenever I think about you." Tom muttered, causing her to blush until he added, "More specifically, I constantly have to rub my temples because I get a headache every time I do."

"Sh-sh." Y/N hushed, gently kicking his arm with her foot as she grabbed his book and lied down, extending her legs so they were resting on his thighs.

Silence fell between them, as it always happened every time their bodies touched. After a while, Tom cleared his throat, his voice softer than before,

"So, you really want me to leave ?"

At first, he didn’t look at her directly.

Of course, Y/N wanted him to stay. But she couldn’t live like this for another two weeks. The last days they’d spent together had been painful, and what she’d read about his conception of love had finished to break her heart. Tom looked up at her, and she quickly nodded,

"It will be better for both of us."

A heavier silence settled in the room and Tom leaned back. He wasn’t even watching the TV screen anymore.

Y/N skimmed through the first lines of his book once more and released a series of sighs, making faces at each new paragraph.

After what seemed an eternity, she realized he was observing her and her eyes fluttered. For a moment, he just searched her gaze, until she shook her head,

"I intend to read it, entirely." she paused, "You're pretty quiet tonight."

"No one plans a murder out loud." Tom retorted, focusing back on the TV screen.

A smile crossed her lips and she rubbed a foot against his abs, then pressed her toes into it, causing him to chuckle. The sound filled Y/N’s chest with a warm feeling and she smiled. Tom grabbed her by the ankles, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin.

"Why do we fight over such stupid things ?" he suddenly whispered.

Not lifting her head from the book, Y/N felt a fluttery feeling invading her whole stomach and she flushed. Because I love you, idiot.

Slightly shrugging, the young woman gulped the lump in her throat,

"Because you say stupid things."

His smile didn't fade away and his voice softened. There were so many stupid, romantic things Tom wanted to tell Y/N.

He wanted to stay by her side, he wanted her to finish his book and he wished she could understand how much he loved her. Tom also wished she knew he had a hard time talking about his own feelings and the last thing he wanted was to see her with another man. All those things, he wanted so hard to tell them to her.

Instead, Tom chuckled, hiding the pain behind a smile.

"Go to Hell, Y/L/N." he simply muttered.

In the morning, Tom was gone.

TAGS:

@medussaurora, @nataliehasgrace, @hakuoyuki, @candygui, @im-not-having-your-baby, @toaster-strudel-witch, @midnight-queen-1​, @hufflepuff-flufflepuff, @irinabatsy, @hiddlestoner3059, @lilyrosebae​, @sarahivi​, @kirstieflowerslove-blog, @veerniks, @kasiarella​, @honey-anon​, @dormousse​, @keenkryptonitedelusion​, @devilbat​, @addyliners​, @islaylivesinshire, @little-me13​, @t-a-l-i-n-a-l-a-n-i​, @nwmtagsb, @aaminah12, @super-who-locks-world, @acidic-nectar, @smexylemony, @sebstaned-loki-ed, @theojjjames, @cookies-and-cream-forever, @jamilelucato, @mikithekiki, @alizayalove, @marveloushiddles, @goodbyebabes, @hiddlestonstansworld, @jozza1bro, @lokilvrr, @multifandomdump, @diana-parker02, @toastystrudleblr, @hiddlestaan, @thundermaximoff, @naniky, @midnightdragonzero, @yokaimoon

[vanessavalenzuela]

September Consumption

So I haven’t typed up a post in a month due to double-work days and a constant barrage of last minute plans.  Oops.   But considering all the driving I’ve had to do to get to each place, that means I’ve had plenty of time to listen to albums and podcasts.  So let’s get into my favorites:

Albums:

Norman F*****g Rockwell- Lana Del Rey

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I’ll admit, I didn’t like this album on my first listen.  But it *clicked* when I was having a bad day and needed to let off some melancholic steam.  I believe this is Lana’s most well-rounded album.  It serves as a realization of sorts- that the American Dream she idolized for so long was only ever an illusion, and that the sun-soaked, fantastical vision she held of California didn’t exist either.  Darkness lies underneath the idealizations of these lands, of these people, and the promises they perpetuate.  Her lyricism is blunt, relatable, and shrouded in 1970s references.  Sonically, this album lines up closely with Ultraviolence and Honeymoon due to its alt-rock, folksy elements.  Currently, my favorite song off the album is “California.”  It’s soft, grungy, dramatic- basically everything I could want in a Lana song.

Charli- Charli XCX

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We’re all living in 2019 while Charli XCX is casually living in 3082.  Her last few mixtapes have been heavily influenced by the record label PC Music, who are recognized for creating highly-feminized experimental pop.  In fact, the label can be credited for practically creating their own genre of music, because their complex layering of bubblegum pop, electro-house, industrial grime and vocal shifting result in what can only be heard as futuristic sounds.  Knowing this might make it easier to dive into the album because it veers far away from traditional pop.  I would say the most traditional elements of the album borrow from the 1980s, namely new wave and power ballads.  My favorite song is “Cross You Out” featuring Sky Ferreira because their vocals complement each other SO well, and I’m also a sucker for synths.

Podcasts:

1619- The New York Times

Nikole Hannah-Jones takes us on a dark journey through American history to explain how systems like capitalism, healthcare, and entertainment have oppressed Black Americans since the dawn of slavery.  The most illuminating pick for me is Episode 3: The Birth of American Music because I still don’t think people understand how powerful pop culture is and how it can influence our perceptions of those who are different than us.  It will definitely make you think more about honest representation in the modern age.

Nice Try!- Curbed

Season 1 is called Utopian and focuses on stories about those who have sought perfect worlds or attempted to create them throughout time, with all of them ultimately failing in different ways.  My personal favorites are Episode 3 (mid-century American suburbs) and Episode 8 (Disney World.)

Songs:

The Man- Taylor Swift

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Yes, I talk shit on Taylor Swift.  Yes, I still listen to her songs and Speak Now and 1989 are my favorite albums.  WE EXIST.  Also I’ve overplayed this song to an embarrassing degree.  But it’s not my fault she made so many points.  She summarized sexism and hypocrisy in a span of three minutes.  It’s also catchy as hell?  10/10, honestly.

Babushka Boi- A$AP Rocky

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This song was inspired by Rocky suddenly wearing a $495 Gucci babushka in September 2018 because he had scar on his face.  That’s it.  There’s no need for a deeper meaning because it bangs and I’ve had it on repeat.  Also the video is SICK and pays homage to Dick Tracy (1990).  I can’t ask for more.

[schostakowitsch-remade]

it’s just more fucking goddard shit

miranda pryce has zero (0) people skills

she doesn’t even know most goddard employees’ names; she keeps mixing up jacobi and kepler

she refers to kepler as cutter’s pet and they both hate it

jacobi is “the loud one with dr. maxwell”

“miranda, at the very least you need to learn my favorites’ names”

“why”

“so...so you can talk to them, miranda”

“why”

“miranda please”

it’s gotten to the point where she will Adamantly Refuse to address anyone who isn’t cutter, rachel, clark, or maxwell by their actual name

cutter is pryce’s only and best friend but damn does he really test her patience sometimes

like she has no goddamn clue why cutter chooses to hire the people that he does

“miranda, miranda, i made a new friend today!”

“i’m your only friend, marcus”

“that’s not — hey, you acknowledged that we’re friends! i’m so touched, miranda!”

“shut up, marcus”

“aaaanyway, this is rachel! or she will be rachel. right now she’s andrea nash; HR is still coming up with a last name for her. i pointed a gun at her and she laughed at me!”

“why are you like this”

when cutter told her that he hired someone straight out of prison, she threatened to scramble his brain into something easier for her to deal with; she is so fucking done

cutter has weekly meetings to go over progress and such and each one is just fucking chaos

they’re basically free opportunities for cutter to terrorize his subordinates one by one

cutter usually asks kepler a few shallow questions about work before viciously attacking all of the smallest flaws in every single one of his choices, thus figuratively ripping him to shreds

he interrogates jacobi to hell and back about anything and everything to do with work guidelines and the SI5 handbook and the dssppm, going as far as to make him recite pryce and carter tips off of the top of his head in rapid succession

if he isn’t satisfied, which he never is, jacobi is rewarded with an extra tall stack of paperwork, delivered very joyously by rachel

cutter saves maxwell for pryce to tear into and let me tell you, pryce isn’t just vicious, she’s spiteful and maxwell suffers every single day of her life because of it

he and rachel tend to just go back and forth threatening each other since she’s not scared of him anymore

rachel has really come to master the part of the polite and terrifying superior and cutter couldn’t be prouder

rachel is cutter’s favorite; let’s be completely transparent about this

oh, the meetings are also for tests of homicidal intent between coworkers!

spoilers: there’s a lot of it

the way that goddard, especially cutter’s little inner circle, works is that pretty much any behavior, any threat, and any active assassination attempt is, by an unspoken rule, permitted so long as it is personal rather than discriminatory and you don’t get caught

if you want to come to a questionable compromise with your superior in order to be promoted? well, that’s just fine as long as no one else finds out

do you want to organize an assassination of one of your coworkers? go on ahead! just make sure it doesn’t lead back to you

there are only two rules:

what you do cannot disrupt the work of others,

and you must be ready to face the biased and possibly fatal consequences in the event of getting caught

it’s not illegal if you don’t get caught!!!

once rachel is through with cutter’s How To Be A Scary Superior lessons, she usually zeroes in on kepler to insult him with her newly-expanded offensive dictionary

kepler takes it in stride about as well as when he was promoted to major aka Not Well

they typically go back and forth for ten-ish minutes before rachel makes an underhanded personal attack on kepler’s character

to which kepler cuts it all short by insisting that a man of my caliber does not answer to middle-management bureaucrats like you

after fucking murdering kepler and giving him a good reason to inflict the whiskey speech on anyone unlucky enough to be near him, she does the same thing to clark and good fucking lord

these two have quite the...tumultuous relationship

read: they want each other dead, stat, and have ever since they first met

maxwell and jacobi have a bet going on who’s going to eventually kill the other first

jacobi thinks that rachel will snap first because she’s scaaaary, lana!

she is scary; one time he snarked at her because it was two in the morning and he still had work coming to him that had to be finished by the start of the following workday and she slammed a letter opener between his fingers and into his keyboard

maxwell is deadset on it being clark because that man is five feet and five inches of pure, concentrated spite, jacobi

one time early in her employment, maxwell found clark sifting through her files, unaware that pryce had told him to do so, and she called security on him and he has never let her live it down

give him some credit, lana; i think at least 30% of his bloodstream is coffee now

also heights:

pryce is 6’0” flat

cutter is 5’11” and three quarters of an inch and he loathes every second of it

clark is 5’5”

rachel is 5’4” and three quarters of an inch and she loathes every second of it

anyway! despite his very nice paycheck, clark really is not paid enough considering the staggering amount of effort it takes to restrain himself from actually throttling rachel in front of everyone

“david. tell me. how does it feel?”

“how does what feel, miss young?”

“how does it feel to be left behind?”

“i have...no idea what you are talking about, miss young.”

“oh? then i’ll be blunt. how does it feel to be second to me?”

“.....you are being...ridiculously childish.”

“am i? i didn’t realize.”

“.....do you think that i hate you, miss young?”

“i’d like to know that myself, david. do you?”

“..................not :) in :) the :) least :) :) :)”

this one is cutter’s favorite show because clark knows he can’t kill rachel or it’ll immediately be traced back to him so he just Suffers and Dies

honestly, they could be like pryce and cutter successors with how goddamn scary they could be together, but they just try to kill each other whenever they’re stuck in the same room for more than fifteen minutes; neither of them can wear ties or scarves anymore because they’ve tried to strangle each other with them too often

they hate each other So Much good god children stop it

enlil low-key tries to kill everyone when cutter uses his plane; he just wants to see what will happen

he doesn’t actively dislike or actually want anyone on the plane dead; he’s just a very experimental pilot and he likes to see what he can get away with

hence why he’s so passive-aggressive about the mandatory safety video

cutter finds it absolutely hilarious and he likes to threaten to recode enlil’s personality just because he likes to be scary

pryce fucking hates him though so whenever she’s onboard he’s on his Best Behavior

marcus, why would you give him such a big personality; marcus, this was not necessary; marcus, his voice is too lilting and cheery; yes marcus, that is an insult against your voice as well; marcus, i hate him; marcus —

this entire company is so fucking corrupt i hate it

[bobbystompy]

My Top 120 Songs Of 2017

Previously: 2016, 2015, 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011

The one saving grace is we do have 12 fewer than last year.

As always, criteria and info:

This is a list of what I personally like, not ones I’m saying are the “best” from the year; more subjective than objective

No artist is featured more than once

If it comes down to choosing between two songs for an artist, I try to give more weight to a single or featured track; not the ultimate factor, but it typically makes sharing the music easier

Speaking of… each song on the list is linked in the title if you wanna check any or every out for yourself

Oh, also, off the suggestion of Mike Gilkes -- and a few others -- I made this whole thing into a Spotify playlist, which you can peep here (includes 114 of the 120):

Let’s go?

120) Big Sean & Metro Boomin f/ 21 Savage - “Pull Up N Wreck”

Some mediocre, listenable rap made by dudes who know a bit better (well, at least 2/3rds of them).

119) Maroon 5 f/ Future - “Cold”

This song makes me feel mostly nothing... but the first minute of the video does have some solid Adam Levine alone-in-the-car acting.

/oh my god it has 119 million views

This was a lot easier to enjoy when I assumed it went unnoticed. Bonus points for the Wu-Tang shirt at the end.

118) Bleachers - “Hate That You Know Me”

Closed out 2017 undecided as ever on one Jack Antonoff. Should we hate him for dating Lena Dunham? Somehow respect him more? Give him mega credit for his big time pop songwriting collabs? Or is that a ding? Is he a nerd or the coolest guy in the cocktail bar? I do not know the answers to any of these questions, and this song is merely OK.

UPDATE: THEY GAWN

117) B.o.B f/ T.I. & Ty Dolla $ign - “4 Lit”

Real bad song with a mindless/terrible/misogynistic chorus. Yet... something about professional musicians sitting in a room and coming up with “4 Lit” as some sort of escalated to catchphrase to “lit” is just hilarious.

116) Prophets of Rage - “Unfuck The World”

Sure, this hits a lot of the same beats as Rage Against The Machine’s “Sleep Now In The Fire” from 18 years ago, but in these increasingly polarized, political times, I welcome their voice.

115) Kacy Hill - “Like A Woman”

This song is so chill and ethereal that it seems almost unfeasible for my punk/hip-hop/XX chromosome havin’ ass to completely sync with its wave.

114) The Decemberists - “Ben Franklin’s Song”

What happens when pop indie teams up with the lyrical stylings of Lin-Manuel Miranda? Well, this. I’m not sure if The Decemberists drop f-bombs in any of their other songs, but it pleases me to think it only happened here.

113) Offset & Metro Boomin - “Ric Flair Drip”

Mostly here for the beat.

112) Hurray For The Riff Raff - “Hungry Ghost”

A cool song that’s hard to put into a box. Indie? Pop? Rock? Forget labels, just enjoy.

(Minus a few points for the low hanging “girl/world” rhyme)

111) Wavves - “Dreams Of Grandeur”

I was pretty let down by the new Wavves LP, but this song sounds enough like the old stuff to be a net positive (despite being, like, 70 seconds too long)

110) Culture Abuse - “So Busted”

Culture Abuse got on my radar with last year’s all-timer, “Dream On”. It was an unrelenting, robotic pulverization. “So Busted” is more of a drug comedown; a ballad, even. While “Dream On” wanted to seek you out and kill you like a terminator; “So Busted” just wants a cuddle.

109) Trey Songz - “#1Fan”

This song is so dumb and funny and pseudo competent. Really not sure how the R&B guys get away with this shit.

108) The Killers - “The Man”

Is this in a movie? It should be in a movie. It’s kind of, like, a better version of what Arcade Fire has been trying to be.

107) New Lenox - “Protest Sweater”

A good song for the ending 2017 -- or any year, really -- and its run time (1:30) would make Joyce Manor proud.

106) Logic - “Everybody”

This is really good, but it reminds me so much of Kendrick that it becomes distracting.

105) Gorillaz f/ DRAM - “Andromeda”

Didn’t spend enough time listening to the new Gorillaz record, but I actually put the blame on them: it was long, man. So while I woulda loved to pick one of the songs with a cool cameo (hi, Vince Staples!), this is the one I actually had around the most. It’s all we’ve come to expect from this cartoon band -- kinda British, kinda futuristic, very undisturbed. Also, if it gets you back to the album before me, I heard that Damon Albarn told all collaborating artists to record their parts like the world was ending tomorrow.

104) Dropkick Murphys - “Blood”

If you know me at all, you know I historically have not been a fan of this band. But for whatever reason, this one connected -- bagpipes and all.

103) Captain, We’re Sinking - “Books”

CWS was never, ever going to top the falling-apart-desperation of 2013′s “The Future Is Cancelled”, but this song comes pleasantly close.

102) IRONTOM - “Be Bold Like Elijah”

My buddy Crooks rec’d this band, and the guitars give me Queens Of The Stone Age vibes in the best possible way. A bio on lastFM compared them to Arctic Monkeys, and you know what? I agree with that, too.

101) Jidenna - “A Bull’s Tale”

This song feels primed to explode and makes you wanna rip the shirt off your chest; only we don’t know if the bomb’s gonna blow in the middle or at the end.

100) Jeff Tweedy - “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart”

Yeah yeah, the original version of this dropped in 2002, and yes, it’s just a cover by the dude who originally sang it. I... do not care. It made me appreciate the confessional regret all over again.

99) Talib Kweli f/ Yummy Bingham & Jay Electronica - “All Of Us”

It was all bad just a week ago

Kweli and Jay Elect are a collab made in conscious rap heaven, so this song was more than a pleasant surprise.

98) Rise Against - “House On Fire”

This song could have been on “Revolutions Per Minute”. Or maybe I’m just saying that because of the hand grenade lyric in the chorus.

97) HAIM - “Want You Back”

Can’t imagine there being a lamer song on this list. HAIM and Bleachers should get in a wuss rock beef that ends with pistols.

96) The Bigger Empty - “By Its Own (So What)”

My producer plays bass in this band. This song is super solid, and, maybe most importantly in these completely divisive times, unoffensive and approachable. Kinda Hush Sound-y.

95) Little Big Town - “Lost In California” (note: link is to live version)

From the bros and broettes who brought us “Day Drinking” comes this much more subdued track. If you squint, it doesn’t really even seem like country. Granted, if they sang “Alabama” instead of “California”, you could probably call that claim out immediately.

94) Lana Del Rey - “Heroin”

Another beautiful/dreamy song from an artist who’s near-perfected that niche.

93) Wavves & Culture Abuse - “Up And Down”

Wavves and Culture Abuse have already made appearances on this list, and we haven’t even cracked the Top 80. Fortunately, their collaboration scored a little higher than their individual outputs. Shout out to their uplifting outro “I’ll just get high and I’ll die alone”.

92) The Chainsmokers & Coldplay - “Something Just Like This”

This song played at my gym all the time, and I was positive it was Coldplay. Then someone told me it was The Chainsmokers. Then I looked it up on YouTube, and it says “The Chainsmokers & Coldplay”... so what’s the deal, assholes?

91) Lil Peep f/ Lil Tracy - “Awful Things”

I hadn’t heard of Lil Peep when I found out of his passing in 2017. After looking up some pictures, I was nearly 100% positive his music was not for me. This was incorrect. I haven’t really listened to songs that sound like his; it’s kind of like rap that treads this line of being bad while also kinda sounding like alternative rock; destructive love song that doesn’t flinch.

90) AFI - “Dark Snow”

Nothing new, but Davey Havok can still sing circles around almost anybody.

89) Dashboard Confessional - “Love Yourself” (link is to live, partial version)

Well, Dashboard covered Biebs, and we all lived to tell the tale.

88) Garrett Dale - “2016 Was...”

This song would be a blast as a singalong in a late night hotel room. There’s something calming about celebrating -- or at least acknowledging -- everything sucking.

87) Katy Perry f/ Skip Marley - “Chained To The Rhythm”

Got more than a few issues with this song, but it’s catchy, so they’re mostly forgiven. Even though it’s Katy Perry, I was pretty surprised to see it racked up 444 million views.

And seriously who the hell is Skip Marley?!

86) The Ramblin’ Boys Of Pleasure - “Glug, Glug, Glug”

Now is probably a good time to plug the lead track from my band’s b-sides record that came out this year (ten years in the making, baby!). Mandatory listening if you’ve ever bonged brandy, partied in Champaign, or counted down in a country voice.

85) Charly Bliss - “Glitter”

It’s been nearly a year, but it’s still somewhat difficult to calibrate this singer’s voice. Is it a little too saccharine, too childlike, or just perfect? You be the judge.

84) Emperor X - “Wasted On The Senate Floor”

This singer is real god damn frenetic.

83) Father John Misty - “Total Entertainment Forever”

/obligatory “yes, this is the one with the Taylor Swift lyric” reference

FJM has such a pro’s pro voice and makes super sound music... but it’s also kinda hard to have an overall opinion. The more 50-50 I get, the more I think it’s not all that great. The video is a microcosm. Like... why is Macaulay Culkin paying Cobain? Is this a commentary on capitalism? Oooh, nah nah nahs are nice! As divided as I still am, I’m pretty positive this song is good-if-not-great.

82) St. Vincent - “New York”

This song is further proof that soft, radio friendly music can still benefit from a well placed “motherfucker”.

81) Andrew McMahon In The Wilderness - “Dead Man’s Dollar”

As long as Andrew McMahon’s project is called “Andrew McMahon In the Wilderness”, I will make fun of him like clockwork.

This song is nice. I sometimes sing “I want Thon Maker” when he says “I want to make a” in the chorus.

80) Kele Okereke - “Streets Been Talkin’”

Kele’s most impressive feat was sneaking “bae” right into the chorus without me noticing until literally right now.

79) Rick Ross - “Summer Seventeen” 

How the hell did this dumbass song get so high up on the list? I have no explanation. Classic Roazy though -- aim high, fake it till you make it. When I started my new job in August, IT reset my password to “summer2017″, and I had this song’s hook in my head nearly every time I typed it in. All told, a pretty hilarious way to start a work day.

78) Michelle Branch - “Best You Ever”

This song sounds so dark and sultry, but I’m not totally sure why. Branch rules.

77) Calvin Harris f/ Pharrell Williams, Katy Perry & Big Sean - “Feels”

The best way to ruin this song for anyone is to point out how much the hook sounds like Katy Perry singing “Don’t be afraid to catch fish”.

76) Morrissey - “Spent The Day In Bed”

This is a very low maintenance lyric video. So you can either make fun of that or the “I spent the day in bed / I’m not the type, but I love my bed” line.

75) Red City Radio - “If You Want Blood (Be My Guest)”

The “We don’t need a god damn thing from you” chorus is a little punk cliche to win me over, but the Oklahoma City reference (”where our dreams come true and die”) is the line I’ve been waiting for since I found out RCR was from there.

74) Sam Coffey & The Iron Lungs - “Talk 2 Her”

The closest we’ll get to a new Clash song in 2017.

73) Bad Cop/Bad Cop - “Womanarchist”

Factoring in the 2017′s themes (#MeToo, Harvey dead, etc.), this has to be the song title of the year. I smiled ear-to-ear watching this music video.

72) The Movielife - “Mercy Is Asleep At The Wheel”

Hey, The Movielife reunited!

71) The Rocket Summer - “Gone Too Long”

Unlike that lazy ass Morrissey, The Rocket Summer gave us a lyric video that basically passes as a legit music video.

70) Miguel f/ Travis Scott - “Sky Walker”

Me, every time I listen to this song:

“Ooh, beat is pretty solid.”

“Ah yeah, the hook’s good. I thought I really liked this song though...”

/falsetto part

“AW YEAH.”

69) Queens Of The Stone Age - “The Way You Used To Do”

Had never known about the Josh Homme/Elvis comparisons, but after hearing this, I totally get it now. Also: god damn it, man.

68) Macklemore f/ Skylar Grey - “Glorious”

What can we do to make Skylar Grey more famous? She Ginger Rogers’d for Em on “SNL” -- seriously, she played piano and sung Dido, Beyoncé, and Rihanna hooks (that’s a solid ass trinity!) -- has unarguably awesome songs, and never takes anything off the table. I honestly don’t care if she has another hit... let’s just, like, all Venmo her five bucks or something.

One of my fav music videos on the list so far. Be as skeptical of Macklemore as you want, but when his grandma offers him a drink (haha) then says she wants to “do it all” with their day together, it warms the hearts.

67) Direct Hit! - “Blood On Your Tongue”

Direct Hit! continues to be the best modern version of Green Day, The Ramones*, and themselves.

(* - without being Ramones-core)

66) Boyd & The Stahfools - “Party Penguin”

I’ve been in the game for a long while, but, for the first time in my career, I finally was part of a music video. If you told me it was a 2Pac parody that advertised craft beer, I’d, well, I’d believe you. We got Dave Hernandez on the hook, Mike Healy as Dr. Dre, and yours truly as Makaveli.

And all jokes aside, “On vacation like Bev D’Angelo” is one of my favorite penned lines.

65) Rancid - “Telegraph Avenue”

I like when Tim sings about grabbing his left-handed guitar.

64) Big Sean f/ Jeremih - “Light”

Sean Don made a forgettable 2017 album with many throwaway tracks -- but “Light” ain’t one of ‘em. I liked this song even before the touching video cemented its power.

63) blink 182 - “Parking Lot”

This is that weird mix of what makes all new blink really good and really eh at the same time -- Skiba involved (for better or worse), inspired Mark (for better or worse), and Travis’ overplaying (for better or worse). It’s for sure easier if you just turn your brain off and go with it.

Why does he reference Chicago in the verse then California in the pre-chorus?

I SAID “OFF”.

62) New Found Glory - “Your Jokes Aren’t Funny”

This song doesn’t break a ton of new ground, but it’s got this circular, easy chorus that keeps me coming back.

61) Teenage Bottlerocket - “Goin’ Back To Wyo”

Similar to Red City Radio writing about OKC, I can’t get enough of TB writing about their home. Did I blast this song while driving across the entire state alone this summer? Do you know me an ounce?

60) Frank Turner - “The Sand In The Gears”

A little dissatisfied with the current administration? Frank may be from across the pond, but he’s with you on this one, man. One of my favorite parts of this song is when he breaks the rhyme scheme just to angrily say “I thought that we were winning the war against the homophobes and the racists”.

59) Billy Bragg - “Not Everything That Counts Can Be Counted”

Billy Bragg is here for all of us, with perspective, wisdom, and insightful guidance in tow.

58) Dave Hause - “The Flinch”

Send this one to an old flame if you’re hoping, you know, to maybe rekindle.

57) Selena Gomez f/ Gucci Mane - “Fetish”

That’s right -- “Bad Liar” got beat out by this significantly less popular single featuring one of my least favorite rappers.

/looks up play totals

”Fetish”... 130 million

“Bad Liar”... 214 million

Comparably popular, I say! For me, this one is all about the chorus -- and that beat’ll get you swayin’.

56) Jay Electronica - “Letter To Falon”

‘Cause who gon’ save them babies? / And finally put a definite to all those maybes

Death, taxes, maybe death again, and Jay Electronica never releasing a full length album. Our man has been on Roc Nation for nearly ten years. I hate him so much. /anxiously awaits his next move

Jay Electricity in his zone on this one; so comfortable, in full operation within the confines.

55) Laura Jane Grace - “Adore”

I don’t know who Amy Shark is, but LJG covered her song and punted my heart into Lake Michigan.

54) Russian Girlfriends - “Antidote”

Upbeat, direct song that starts kinda Metric-y with the riff but then gets more pop punk as it progresses.

53) Brian Fallon - “If Your Prayers Don’t Get To Heaven”

My fiancee laughed when I looked up how to play this song on the guitar and the guy who tabbed it out wrote “Typical Brian Fallon open chords” in the intro.

52) Cloud Nothings - “Enter Entirely”

If “Womanarchist” is the ‘best’ song title of the year, “Enter Entirely” is certainly the coolest. And please don’t let the very boring music video fool you -- this song gets after it, man. If you are a fan of rock music, it would blow me away if you found this song remotely objectionable.

(After seeing CN open for Japandroids on back-to-back nights this November, it feels criminal to have such a slow song represent the band, as their drummer is the Russell Westbrook of the indie scene. That dude does not tire and comes off as more machine than man.)

51) Conor Oberst - “Napalm”

Oberst released a 10-song album in 2016 that was super brooding and piano-y... then he released another album in 2017 (17 songs) that had every track from his previous record and seven new ones. Kind of a weird move, no? This is one of those seven; suffice to say it’s a little more upbeat.

50) Sorority Noise - “No Halo”

You could tell me this song came out in 2002, 2007, or both -- but not 2017. How is this not a time capsuled rival of Taking Back Sunday or My Chemical Romance? I don’t know, but if you like a lot of death, this one’s for you.

49) N.E.R.D f/ Rihanna - “Lemon”

Let’s lighten the mood back up with some RiRi rap. My buddy Crooks’ take: “That's how every 2017 hip-hop beat should sound.”

48) Kesha - “Praying”

It’s damn near impossible to talk about this song without talking about The Note. It occurs at 4:21, and it will make you a little faint.

Kesha dusts herself off and gets beyond empowered in this one. This song could legitimately soundtrack the entire #MeToo movement. When the drums kick in halfway through, you’ll be ready to fight back too.

When I’m finished, they won’t even know your name

47) The Smith Street Band - “Laughing (Or Pretending To Laugh)”

This soft, hopeful love song is almost *too* respectful when it comes to interactions with the opposite sex. I’m not sure there’s a more endearing 2017 lyric than “And I don't wanna marry you just yet / But at least let me get you a cider / And I don’t even think I’d have to pay for it / Hopefully there’s a couple left on the rider”.

46) Run The Jewels - “Legend Has It”

Whenever I think of this song, I will always have that image of El-P holding up that gun to the bunny’s head. This song is braggadocious, each line one-upping the previous in perpetuity. Man, they probably rule live.

45) Vic Mensa - “Say I Didn’t”

Vic Mensa's Roc Nation debut (CAN YOU HEAR ME AT ALL, JAY ELECTRONICA?!?!?!?!?!?) was real strong, and this one gives you a good taste of what he’s about. He’s intense but controlled and even gets a little soulful. And depending what sphere you come from, you’ll either be extremely more or extremely less interested after he drops a Weezer reference. If that gives you trepidation, maybe the Nate Dogg namedrop will reel you back in?

44) Kendrick Lamar - “HUMBLE.”

I like Kendrick Lamar and will always recognize his talent, platform, and body of work (there’s a real case to be made that his “Control” verse killed hip-hop, and it’s just been an animated zombie ever since). Having said that...

He doesn’t always make it easy. The all caps song titles, the weird high pitched flow, the massive reliance of “bitch” in his choruses... yet, he’s the same dude who begs for stretch marked butts and body positivity. I don’t know, man. By the time he hits the “I make a play fucking up your whole life” line, I’m nearly all the way back in.

Last complaint: that organ-y keyboard thing could be so much louder. The beat almost feels diet because of that decision.

43) PKEW PKEW PKEW - “Cold Dead Hands”

This song is about how you can’t freeze this band to death, because they’ll party their way out of the situation.

42) Weezer - “Any Friend Of Diane’s”

This song puts me in a trance; they sing the same chorus lyric a million times, and I still almost want more.

41) Taylor Swift - “I Did Something Bad”

If this song isn’t a hit in 2018, then I do not know anything. For as uneven and questionable as her new singles were, this song has none of that. By the time she’s rolling on the tremendously magnetic “over and over and over again” part, you’ll feel like it’s 2009.

Maybe the old Taylor is still alive after all.

40) Best Ex - “Someday”

What’s that, you want your pop with a lot less baggage? This song is currently at 1,042 views, which is further proof of no justice in this world. I remember grocery shopping with this in the headphones, and you woulda thought it was the happiest moment of my life by the expression on my smiling, dumb face.

39) White Reaper - “Judy French”

“There are no good new rock bands wahhhhh”

Nah -- you just suck at finding music when it’s never been easier in human history, I guess?

38) Anti-Flag - “The Criminals”

This band has always lived in this dramatic life-and-death world, and it’s been going on for so long, that it’s like their vision of what they were always rebelling against was willed into existence.

37) French Montana f/ The Weeknd & Max B - “A Lie”

My dislike of French Montana is so high that I sometimes think about having to answer for saying something heinous about him. Kinda like when Kevin Garnett was accused of calling Charlie Villanueva (who has alopecia) a “cancer patient.”

KG’s all-time response:

“I am aware there was a major miscommunication regarding something I said on the court last night. My comment to Charlie Villanueva was in fact ‘You are cancerous to your team and our league,’" Garnett said in a statement to the media on Wednesday.

Hahahaha.

French, you are a cancer to hip-hop and our league. His verse even references stupid Karl Malone, because why wouldn’t it? The good news is we have The Weeknd on the hook *and* in the first verse, so you can basically just pretend it’s his solo song with a few regrettable cameos.

36) The Penske File - “Oh Brother”

The Penske File make it look effortless sometimes. After hearing this song and doing a Malört shot with their singer, I have higher hopes than ever for their 2018 full length.

35) The Front Bottoms - “Don’t Fill Up On Chips”

TFB’s new album didn’t give me everything I wanted in terms of uptempo bangers, but the lyrics, sentiment, and craftsmanship are all still very much present.

34) Vince Staples - “Big Fish”

The Juicy J chorus might not win a Pulitzer (”I was up late night ballin’ / Countin’ up hundreds by the thousand”), but Vince is rapping invincible, and by the time the lyrics call back his monster single (“Norf Norf”), you won’t be questioning anything anymore.

33) Julien Baker - “Shadowboxing” (link is to live version)

I know that you don't understand 'Cause you don't believe what you don't see When you watch me throwing punches at the devil It just looks like I'm fighting with me

I swear, Julien Baker might be one of the only people on this planet with the power to shut us all up and listen.

32) Paramore - “Fake Happy”

Paramore is a band that does dumb shit all the time. Infighting, legal drama, horrible makeover after horrible makeover. Seriously, this is real:

But through it all, there’s that unbreakable Hayley voice, and it’s like everything is gonna be OK again. I mean, no, it’s not -- but let’s still enjoy these fleeting moments, full blown pop transition or not.

31) Nothington - “Cobblestones”

This song briefly sounds like Lucero before turning into no nonsense despair punk.

30) Lorde - “Perfect Places”

Such a phenomenal album closer; great to have her back in the pop music fold. Car, headphones, party, whatever -- this song goes all around you.

29) Remember Sports - “I Liked You Best”

If Kesha’s high note in “Praying” was pop music’s peak vocal moment in 2017, I’d like to nominate the “You made this me-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-hess” (2:37) part as punk’s.

28) Phoenix - “J-Boy”

This band makes such gorgeous music.

27) Drake - “Free Smoke” (no link)

Drake’s full album output, in minutes, for the last four years:

2013: 59 minutes 2014: N/A 2015: 108 minutes 2016: 81 minutes

And this doesn’t include stray singles, diss tracks, or cameos (2014 had “0 To 100″, for example). What I’m saying is, despite high quality material, Aubrey has saturated us with music for nearly half a decade. So even though I dig him lots, it was like “Really?!” when I heard he was releasing 2017′s “More Life” and “WHAT” when I found out it was another 81 minutes (the same length as 2016′s “Views”). Though the record is stylistically very different -- I keep hearing people use the word “grime”, though I have no idea what it means -- it’s still got bars. My favorite stray lines (they add up):

- “More life, more everything” - “I dunk text J-Lo / Old number, so it bounce back” - “Hilton rooms, gotta double up / Writin’ our name on a double cup” - “I fall asleep in sororities / I had some different priorities” - “Women I like was ignorin’ me / Now they like ‘Aren’t you adorable?’ / I know the question rhetorical” - “I make too much these days to ever say ‘Poor me’” - “I wanna move to Dubai / So I don’t never have to kick it with none of you guys”

But, it wouldn’t be Drake without making fun of him some. The song beings with, well, him sampling himself at an award show. The sample: 

And more chune for your headtop So watch how you speak on my name, you know?

Which begs the question: did he do the weird Jamaican accent knowing he was gonna sample it? It treads this weird genius/calculated doofus line. All I know is it makes me laugh.

26) Tigers Jaw - “Favorite” 

This song could make me pensive and unhappy on the sunniest of days.

25) Tee Grizzley - “First Day Out”

Like many, I first heard of Tee Grizzley from a LeBron James Instagram workout video. It was an easy sell: Detroit, ferocious beat, and the dude goes *hard*. I got a little too excited and emailed my hip-hop friends: “What the fuck is this? This is GOOD.”

This was before I realized he kinda sounds the same in every song. It’s no matter -- we’ll always have “First Day Out”, a brief time in June 2017 where I thought Tee Grizzley could be the next to run the game.

I can’t even be in public with my hoodie on

24) The War On Drugs - “Strangest Thing”

It’s very difficult to write about The War On Drugs without mentioning how transcendent it is to listen to them in the car. Everyone is right about that, but, for me, I also have to mention how much this dude sounds like Dylan. People say Springsteen, but I hear so much Bob. You don’t necessarily have to get “past” it, but you do kinda have to get used to it. Once you do, the lead guitar will carry you into the clouds. This music will make you contemplate and reflect.

23) Foxing - “Night Channels”

Let’s keep the mood contemplative; you almost feel sleepless if not completely locked in to this one.

UPDATE: This dropped in 2015, /sigh

22) Craig Finn - “God In Chicago”

This is more of a movie than a song -- and the visuals agree. Focus in on the lyrics, take in the story, and then do it again soon because you’ll catch new wrinkles each time. One of the year’s best videos, for sure. Punk News phrases it well: “Here he’s made a solo album of losers who have no idea they’ve already lost.”

21) DJ Khaled f/ Justin Bieber, Quavo, Chance The Rapper, Lil Wayne - “I’m The One”

No one wanted you to know he had sex in 2017 more than DJ Khaled. He made his infant son Asahd the “Executive Producer” for this video. Why? Because he’s an idiot. Khaled’s still existing fame continues to confound. He’s more faux-platitudes than man at his point. So why do the best artists in the world collaborate with someone so seemingly unintelligent? I don’t know, but this song bangs and was probably my Song of the Summer. We got JB on the hook, a dumb-but-amusing Quavo*, Wayne trying to gain footing, and Chance running across the finish line backward with Best Verse title belt. But Khaled won’t let you forget about him, blaring DJ tag and all. This song suffers for that, and it’s all his fault. 

(* - his ad lib of just repeating everything becomes charming once you start to get Stockholm Syndrome with the song)

20) Ed Sheeran - “The Shape Of You”

What a 2017 for the man behind the year’s best (super successful) pop song.  At the turn of the calendar, I barely knew who he was, but before we all knew it, there was a legitimate public outcry because he was on “Game of Thrones” for, like, two minutes. What a time. Oh, also, the “Come on, be my baby...” bridge gave me some “Real World: New Orleans” acid flashbacks.

Great meme, take us out.

19) Minus The Bear - “Last Kiss”

If the shattered neon heart didn’t give it away, this is a “the relationship is definitively over” breakup song. Seeing them play it at Riot Fest made me miss my late friend Luke; I wish he could have heard this.

18) Hot Water Music - “Never Going Back”

I’ve always maintained Chuck Ragan plays guitar and sings songs like a running back. Well, this song carpe diem’s me enough to play actual running back*.

(* - jk, would never do this unless it was against very small children)

17) Lucky Boys Confusion - “Good Luck”

My hometown heroes released their comeback album in 2017, and I’m not sure any track sums up the effort better. By the time Adam sings “Burned out, they call us / Screw ‘em, we got endless memories / Punk rock and the polish / I hope it gave you something to believe”, there are no dry eyes left.

(And yes, this could totally be an AM Taxi song, but with Ryan Fergus’ killer-fills-only drumming, I’m glad it wasn’t.)

16) Hodera - “Baltimore”

This song would likely have a Top 5 objective approval rating of any on the list.

...“The Wire” forever.

15) Iron Chic - “A Headache With Pictures”

It ain’t heavy, it ain’t heaven

If Hot Water Music is carpe diem, what is Iron Chic -- seize the life?! My favorite description of the band came from Sam Sutherland, who tweeted: “Whose day has already been derailed by the unavoidably weighty introspection of listening to the new Iron Chic record.”

They are a certified run-through-brick-walls outfit. One of my final 2017 memories of this song was subtweeting “Now I know” the night I got engaged and having my buddy Ricky think she might’ve declined the proposal. May have to include a ring emoji next time.

14) The Flatliners - “Indoors”

Had to listen to this, like, five or six times before its brilliant greatness overtook me like falling into a river. The chorus is so, so heartfelt.

Don’t sleep on the video, either (especially the end).

13) Sylvan Esso - “Die Young”

Though I have tickets to see them for the first time in 2018, I am not mega-versed in the catalogue of Sylvan Esso. But this feels like their best song. Imagine if Romeo and Juliet turned out OK.

12) Oso Oso - “Shoes (The Sneaker Song)”

Jade from Oso Oso would likely want all of the above stylized in lowercase -- but this ain’t Jade’s list. This was my favorite new band of 2017, and I do believe they made the year’s best album. It’s early-2000s emo at times, pop punk at others, and all ear candy.

11) Sincere Engineer - “Corn Dog Sonnet No. 7″

Staying in the new artist lane, I proudly introduce Sincere Engineer. This band sounds like if Modern Baseball had a little sister. By the time singer Deanna Belos sings “I’m still learning how to be”, you want to pat her on the back and give her all your best advice.

Fantastic music video -- and she confirmed to me this past weekend that it’s real mustard, not puffy paint (“I have a towel that is all yellow from cleaning it up”).

10) new.wav - “Girls”

Alright, so stick with me on this: new.wav is the band, covering The 1975′s song “Girls” in the style of “Enema of the State”-era blink-182. Confused? Yeah, I was too, but check it out. Maybe more impressive than the arrangements/performance is how they were able to match blink’s production style -- no easy task.

9) Jay-Z - “Family Feud” (starts around 5:30; partial version)

Shawn Corey Carter wants to get right with everyone -- America, his peers, and, of course, within his own home. And though I may never understand the “New n****s is the reason I stopped drinkin’ Dos Equis” lyric, I’m on board with about all else. Similar to the Oso Oso record, “4:44″ is such an album that it feels unfair to single out a song to represent all of its parts. Stripped from the LP, the song does not hit as hard, but in the groove of the record, it’s the apex. And despite Hov seemingly desiring peace, the song does have more than a few call outs:

- “My stash can’t fit into Steve Harvey’s suit” - “And old n****s, y’all stop actin’ brand new / Like 2Pac ain’t have a nose ring too” - “Al Sharpton in the mirror takin’ selfies / How is him or Pill Cosby s’posed to help me?”

In the latter stages of his career, it’s hard to call everything Jay does ‘necessary’, but “4:44″ definitely checked that box.

8) Rozwell Kid - “Wendy’s Trash Can”

Vacillated all year between this one and “Michael Keaton” and literally flipped a penny my cousin Maggie loaned me to decide. “Wendy’s Trash Can” was heads.

7) The Weeknd - “Reminder”

This one got backdoored in as a latter single from The Weeknd’s 2016 album. One of my favorite parts about Abel is how little he has had to change to succeed. Sure, it’s silky smooth, but he hasn’t sacrificed the drugs, darkness, or ego that should offend (but doesn’t because it he pulls it off so well). After bragging early in the song about he won a kids award for singing about cocaine, he calls out peers for biting his sound, blings out his entire crew, and, well:

When I travel 'round the globe, make a couple mil' a show And I come back to my city, I fuck every girl I know

/clutches pearls

6) The Bombpops - “Be Sweet”

The guitar riff in this song is why I fell in love with punk music. Also, super cool story behind the lyrics:

“'Be Sweet' is an homage to our dear friend, the late Brandon Carlisle of the band Teenage Bottlerocket," vocalist Jen Razavi told AP. "Back in 2010, we were partying in a hotel room with Brandon and Ray Carlisle. There was a guitar in the room and Brandon was showing us an idea he had for a song. He had written it for his wife, but he told us we should play it and change the lyrics to 'getting rad with my boyfriend.' He wrote down all the lyrics on four sheets of hotel notepad paper. Since then, the melody and the chord progression were forgotten, but I still had the lyrics. So we wrote our own version of the song in the studio and used every single lyric that Brandon had written down.

Did I mention the video has an “In Bloom” feel? Stop reading, go listen.

5) Action Bronson - “Let Me Breathe”

Action Bronson ain’t givin’ nothin’ up. This is my pick for rap song of the year. It’s got TV brags (”I got two shows, I’m about to pitch another”), a tight chorus (”Let me breathe for a minute / White Range Rover blowin’ trees all in it”), and whimsy shit too (“Honey bouncin’ up and down, she nearly broke my dick”). Ghostface’s disciple is having more fun than just about anyone.

4) Japandroids - “North East South West”

Only a Canadian band could get me to care this much about my own country. The Vancouver duo penned an Americana ode to the road -- but there’s a twist... they talk about their cities too. For every New Orleans, there’s a Toronto. For every California, a Vancouver.

Maybe they’ll be the ones to end all the border wars.

3) Alex Lahey - “Every Day’s The Weekend”

This is the only submission on the list I’d feel comfortable calling a perfect song. Relatable themes, a chorus that’ll tangle you up, f-bombs in all the right places, and every part maximized. She has this way of weaving between cool confidence and youthful insecurity, all in the matter of one verse.

2) Carly Rae Jepsen - “Cut To The Feeling”

When it comes to “Call Me Maybe” and its legacy, I do not fuck around. This song gets really, really, really close. Just watch this dude.

Queen Carly blessed us with another one. The chorus soars, arms go up, and clouds are your closest companions.

1) The Menzingers - “After The Party”

It's the little things my mind commits / To etch behind my eyelids

When this song dropped, my buddy Dave Rokos called it his favorite Menzos song ever. That felt like high praise, but man, he might be dead on. “After The Party” rips me in half with its lyrics of palpable desperation:

Like a kaleidoscope in vibrant hues I navigate around your tattoos Said you got that one on a whim when you were breaking up with him And that Matryoshka Russian doll That lines your shelf from big to small What a way to start anew To shed your skin and find the old you 

If Carly’s chorus flies, this one holds us down like gravity. You feel everything, you feel nothing, you feel full yet voided, but after all of this -- the life, the party, the friends, the bars, the experiences, the nights, the lights, the fights, the city you live in -- it’s still her and you. Or him and you. Or whatever it is you come home to at the end, when it’s finally quiet.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Alexandra Savior Album Review: The Archer

(30th Century); Artwork by Dana Trippe

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Plenty of artists sing about bad relationships; Alexandra Savior is able to confront them. On her second album The Archer, she reflects on both a psychologically manipulative experience with a partner and being dropped by Columbia Records, who released her Alex Turner co-written debut Belladonna of Sadness. She signed with Danger Mouse’s 30th Century Records for the album in which she’s refined her style, supplanting Lana Del Rey-like Hollywood bummer pastiche for something that’s both honest and soulfully retro. 

“My fate is in the hands of my mistakes / and that’s alright,” Savior sings on opening track “Soft Currents”, a sentiment that contextualizes the rest of the album. Yes, The Archer isn’t so much about looking forward but a document of who Savior was and is at various points in time, especially in reaction to others. When people called her breakup her “saving grace,” she countered with a song of the same title, reminding them of the pain of heartbreak. Over a blues, noir strut, she classifies such feelings as “not an angel...she is a beast.” The tremolo guitar solo in the song’s bridge emphasizes the uneasy ground on which she stands, thankful and sad at the same time. Her breakup left her a shell of herself; likewise, a song like “Howl” begins with a hollow synth instrumental but is taken over with Savior’s reclamation of herself. It’s an oddly sexy-sounding song about a manipulative relationship--she describes her ex as a “handsome dictator”--and one, like U.S. Girls’ “Incidental Boogie”, ultimately about coping.

Importantly, though, Savior never forgets from where she came. Some of the songs on The Archer were written while she was in the relationship she now looks at with pain, and others sound like they were. On the breezy, strummed “Can’t Help Myself”, sounds of the water create an informal, relaxing aura for something totally the opposite. “He wants a bit of this sweet melancholy,” Savior sings, declaring, “He can get it any time of day.” In hindsight, it’s upsetting and heartbreaking, but Savior knows it’s important to talk about. And the subject matter is easier to listen to not just because of the upbeat instrumentals but because Savior has a knack for describing separation in ways we’ve witnessed but never vocalized, referring to the “wilted edge of a lonesome mattress” on the soul-inflected “But You”. Ultimately, though, it’s the closing title track that cuts the deepest, and proof that with Savior, context matters more than ever. “You ate me right up / You spit me back out / You bit my head right off with your tiny little mouth / I licked the blood from your lips,” she sings, originally written not just about but for the person she’s describing. She looks at the song now like the illustration of the unhealthy relationship that was, finding solace and power in putting her feelings to words.

The Archer by Alexandra Savior

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Taylor you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Marlene McKinnon!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

I’m so happy that you decided to apply for someone fresh, Taylor! Your application for Marlene was deep and thought through and left me with a very clear picture of how you were planning on portraying her. I could tell how much work you’d put into thinking through her past (specifically in this rp) and how it could potentially shape her future. I love how many different roads there are to her journey, and how you completely embraced the fact that she’s a less stable character than many we have in the rp. I can’t wait to see what you do with her and to witness you bring her to life within the rp! *your faceclaim change to Madelaine Petsch has been accepted!

application beneath the cut (tw: Torture, Kidnapping, PTSD, mentions of Eating Disorders)

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

It’s Taylor! 18 (almost 19, geez.), CST, female pronouns!

ACTIVITY

Erg… normally, I’d say a 6-7/10, weekly. I can post some every week unless something comes up.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I’ve been here nearly a year now!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Oh man, uh – Ron. I do get angry and jealous, especially with those I love, but I would like to think I have a strong sense of loyalty for my friends. But there’s also a lot of deep-rooted insecurity and fear that he’ll never amount to the greatness of others that I really relate to, especially recently.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Ya’ll are angels. Pass it on.

Also, said I’d put in a new app to stick around, so here it is!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Marlene Isadora McKinnon

FACE CLAIM

Madelaine Petsch. Or, Sasha Pieterse.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

When looking through the open characters, Marlene was one that I kept coming back to. She’s one of the first Marauder era characters I ever had a true fascination with, although I’ve always done my admiring from afar, instead of taking the chance to play her myself. There’s something about her that’s so fascinating to me - after all, the McKinnon family is killed personally by Voldemort himself; but why? Surely, he’s capable of sending his followers to take care of anyone he deems a threat. So what made Marlene and her family so special to be sought out personally, by the darkest wizard of the time?

Aside from that, the skeleton here for Marlene leaves so much to be considered, and honestly I’m amazed she hasn’t been taken yet. There’s so much about  her that is left to be discovered and explored, especially in wake of the torturous kidnapping she endured at the hands of Voldemort already. The sort of pain he inflicts is bound to leave psychological marks, the sort of which can never truly be brought back from. Any return from trauma is something that can happen in many ways  - some people use it as strength, using it to build themselves into better, less fragile versions of themselves. Others use it as a way to be broken down, never returning from the brink of agony; and then there are those who fester in it, putting on a face, pretending as if nothing ever happened in the first place. The latter of which is where Marlene falls.

She wasn’t always that way; no, as a child Marlene was a wild card. That much hasn’t changed with age. She was a very bubbly, charismatic girl, someone willing to jump in head first, make friends first, ask questions second. Her addictive personality was something that could be pulled in only by her beloved twin Marcus, the true heart walking around outside her body. He was always the one person Marlene adored without reason, or promise - some may say her affections toward him were obsessive or unhealthy; but in their Pureblooded family, Marcus McKinnon was the only one to truly love her. The one to remind her that her gender and personality were not reasons to be hated. She loves him for that, more than she loves herself - but in the wake of her trauma, it’s so hard to let him in.

Trauma has become a very pivotal part of Marlene, but don’t be fooled; that is not all she is. Her addictive personality once manifested in terms of nothing but having a good time - now, it has personified into an eating disorder and a drinking problem. Coping mechanisms are how she chooses to handle it, never allowing anyone to see the habits she’s fallen into. Aside from that, so much of her personality just speaks to me. The woman she is, is someone I can relate to very much, in many ways - she’s essentially just a child, who has had to endure so much agony and terror with no choice. It’s broken her beyond relief, but she’s a phoenix, trying to rebuild herself in the ashes, find a way to exist. There is so much to the woman that is so utterly fascinating, so many paths she could travel down in respect to finding a way to not only survive the war, but to exist with the battle scars she continues to be inflicted with.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Marlene identifies as a pansexual female. Sex isn’t something she gives much thought to; if it happens, cool, but she doesn’t put many labels to it. As far as she’s concerned, life is too short to put much thought into who she shares a bed with. As for her gender, she truly hasn’t ever given it much thought; never has Marlene ever felt like anything other than a girl. It’s simply what she is.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Aesthetic 1

Mock Blog

Playlist:

Trouble - Natalia Kills - absolutely her theme song Learn your lines, get your story straight, Broken bottles gonna seal your fate Happiness is just a glass away, I’m trouble Good Time Girl by Scouting for Girls You took me in and shook me up inside. You got the stuff, the stuff that drives me wild. Carmen by Lana Del Rey She said ‘you don’t wanna be like me- Don’t wanna see all the things I’ve seen.’ Hurricane - Halsey I’m a wanderess, I’m a one night stand Don’t belong to no city Don’t belong to no man I’m the violence in the pouring rain I’m a hurricane

Just One Yesterday by Fall Out Boy Anything you say can and will be held against you And now I’m here to give you all my love So I can watch your face, as I Take it all away

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: “Well. I’m shit with names, so we’re not going to do that, but– a spell to fix hangovers. Not somethin’ many people would find ‘practical’ these days, I know, but bloody hell if it wouldn’t make things easier sometimes.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Obviously I’d want Marcus. If I’m going into that place, there’s nobody I want by my side than my brother. No bloody idea what I’d take though - wait, I take it back, I’d want my broom. Just because I’m in the forest doesn’t mean I’ve got to trample along the ground waitin’ for those damn spiders, yeah?”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? “The sort that take time - ‘least, that’s what I’m told. Guess I’m impulsive.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? “I went down without a fight. Call me a crazy bitch all you want, Merlin knows people do; but don’t say I was a coward.”

WRITING SAMPLE

TW: mentions of torture, kidnapping, and PTSD

When Marlene’s eyes opened, she had no idea where she was; she couldn’t move and her head felt as if it had been filled with static. It was as if all of her senses had been taken from her; she had no idea as to where she was, or what the date was. Any memory of what had happened to get her into the blind situation she seemed to have been put into were gone; the last thing she was capable of remembering was…gone. There was nothing.

A strong and horribly unpleasant burning filled her throat and spread to the back of her skull then, and a sharp wail of pain escaped from her before she could process the pain that shot through her. Pain welled behind her eyes and took away the already slight amount of vision that she had managed to regain. Breathing suddenly became very difficult, and Marlene became all too aware of the fact that her wrists had been shackled to a wooden chair by metal cuffs as her lungs began to feel as if they’d collapse unto themselves at any minute.

Memories began to flood through her mind then, incoherent and frazzled, none making any sort of sense in the sense that she was seeing them. Her eyes were shut and stinging from the tears that had sprung to the surface in her current pain-filled state, but she could see every memory flooding her mind clearly. As much as the physical pain seemed to be out to kill her, the things that had begun to go through her mind were much worse.

“What is happening to me…” The thought was fleeting, as it went through her mind, and another pain shot through her entire body, radiating throughout every limb and causing her to scream out in pain again. It was a feeling much like burning, and Marlene could barely form a feasible thought for what had begun to happen to her, let alone try and begin to figure out where the pain was coming from.

Pain continued to shoot through her, numbing her, until eventually the pain dissipated altogether and she drifted off back into unconsciousness.

Day 2 |

The next time that Marlene awoke — that she was aware of, anyhow — everything in her mind was hazy. She couldn’t remember what was real and what she had seen while she was unconscious; she knew for a fact, however, that she hadn’t slept in a day, at the very least. The burning had stopped sometime within the last twenty-four hours and had instead turned into a dull ache that had never gone away.

At some point during what Marlene could only assume had to have been a day, she had been untied from the wooden chair she had been forcibly spent the better part of two days strapped to, though she had yet to be released from the room she was still being held prisoner inside of. Her eyesight had returned at some point after the burning had stopped, and with that, she had managed to see that there was no way out of the dirt hole that she’d been trapped in; of course, there were doors somewhere, so she knew it had to in fact be some sort of room, but from where she was forced to be standing, there was absolutely nothing but dirt and mud all around.

There had to be doors. That much, at least, she was nearly positive of, if nothing else. How else would she have been released from the chair? How else would she have seen….but had that happened? She couldn’t remember. The line between things that had happened and the things she’d taken to imagining whenever she slipped into unconsciousness was becoming more and more blurry by the day, so much that it was nearly impossible for her to remember which things had happened even before she had ended up…wherever she had ended up.

The next day, it only got worse, as that was the day that she began to recognize the faces of the people who’d come to see her. It was the day that the physical pain became nothing on that of the pain she began to feel in her heart, the weight of which had suddenly become more unbearable than it had when she was a little girl, when she had become a disappointment. No, this was much worse than that.

Marcus appeared first. Then, her parents, James. Over and over again, until the words and the disappointment and the unbearable realization that not a single one of them truly had ever loved her or was proud of her, hit her with enough power that she doubled over. The weight of it all made her collapse, falling against the muddy floor without a second thought. The voices continued to get louder, the disappointment swallowing her whole, and her hands went to clutching at her head, nails digging into her scalp in a way to force her to focus on another kind of pain, on anything other than what she was hearing every person she had ever loved say , the words getting louder and louder by the minute.

Time continued to pass, feeling like hours, and then days, when in reality it had only been a couple of minutes. Marlene’s breathing became more and more labored as she attempted to stable and calm herself, to convince herself that none of what she was hearing inside of her head was true—but it didn’t work. The more she fought to ignore the noise in her head, the louder it got. Hot, fresh tears continued to leak out of her eyes, despite how tightly she had them shut, and eventually, she couldn’t keep the pain suppressed anymore. She let out a long and hollow, high pitched wail of pain that managed to block the noise out momentarily, before it came back altogether, this time bringing the burning with it.

When she came to again, it was thanks to her own screams. Her throat felt raw and as if it was on fire, her screams becoming more and more hoarse and hollowed with every wail that she released. Despite how dark her hole was, her time locked inside had allowed her to become used to the darkness—and she saw the blood that smeared her skin with perfect clarity, despite the darkness and her tired, drained mind. Her entire body felt as if it was made of lead, and then the voices came back again. They became louder and louder, the sounds swirling together inside of her head, while the red stains that streaked across her and mixed with the dirt stained onto her skin stood out more and more vividly with each passing moment.

The burning returned then, more vividly than before, and Marlene’s lungs began to feel as if they had stopped functioning altogether yet again. The pain all of a sudden blasted back into her, just as intense and horrible as it had been in the beginning, until eventually, she cradled her head in her hands again, paying no attention to the dirt and blood that inevitably was tainting the fair color of her hair.

A sharp, high pitched scream of agony shot out of her, so unlike the screams she’d grown accustomed to hearing herself make in the long hours in the hole. Hot tears of pain flooded out of her again, so much that it nearly surprised her—of would have, if she could feel surprise anymore. The pain grew more and more unbearable, breaking her down more so than it had before, until eventually the wailing died down and the final piece that had kept her sane until then broke. Then, she drifted back off into the darkness that came with the unconsciousness that she’d grown so familiar with.

… And then she woke up. Sweat matted long tendrils of hair to her face, salty tears swelling in her eyes as her frame shot up. Thick blankets were soaked through and clung to her legs, a reminder that she could never escape. “Bloody hell, McKinnon.” She mumbled, throat closing again. “Not again.”

[kandadiff]

Missing (24) - Pleading & Understanding

-

Hobi lead me as quietly as he could through the hallways, thankfully most of the attention was downstairs so it didn’t take much time to get to GD’s sacred office. The heavy brown wooden door carved with depictions of dragons looked more intimating then when I first saw it. He shoved me toward a corner putting his hands to my lips to shush me and pointed up. It was just below a vent. He reached his long arms up and clicked something on ... was that a camera? 

“The sound is off and over here they can’t see you.” I nodded but he sighed running his hand through his damp locks. “I can’t approve of you doing this... I swear let me just grab a bag and Jimin and we’ll leave.” I shook my head and he gave another heavy sigh grabbing my shoulders tightly and pulling me toward him pressing his forehead to mine “Please?” his voice was soft as he begged for something I couldn’t give him. I knew Negan was saying some smartass comment but I put the volume down for a reason. “Just coming in here - they’ll kill you. TOP keeps saying he won’t but I know he will. GD keeps making references like you and Katya are already dead and none of the bosses are telling anyone anything.” he sucked in a breath loosing his grip just a bit. “I … I couldn’t do anything before but I’m okay now, I can move, I can fight of I need too but I can’t take all of them and” his eyes and fingers drifted to my bruised neck. The once bright black and blues were fading to a sickly yellow but they were still prominent and he let out a strangled sob. “Look at you, look at what they did to you and I - I caused it. If I hadn’t told them” I grabbed his hands pulling them from my neck, “I can’t protect from all of them if they find you... I will try you have my word but I’m not strong enough and” his eyes went back to my neck “I don’t want to see you hurt. Let me grab Yoongi and Namjoon and Jin and Jimin and We can’t take Jungkook,” he closed his eyes in pain “but we can take Mark-” I placed my hands on his cheeks and pulled him away from me so he could see all of me. Tears threatened to run from his eyes triggering my eyes to water. 

I placed my hands on his cheeks and pulled him away from me so he could see all of me. Tears threatened to run from his eyes triggering my eyes to water. “I hear you, I do and I know you would have done anything to avoid this happening but I promised Katya that I would clean up the mess GD started. She left me in charge of that and I won’t go back on it.” He let out another cry and looked away from me. “But Hobi please don’t think I’m turning my back on you. I never have. I never will. I can’t leave with you yet, maybe one day but not today. Not until I finish what I started. Then when I’m done. I promise you and I can go somewhere, Japan, China, the Philippines, anywhere you want.” 

A few tears streaked down his face as he shook his head. “GDragon is the only one with a key in there, the door automatically locks as soon as you close it. If he catches you in there I can’t help you. I won’t be able to help you.”

“Then he won’t catch me.” I said wiping away a few tears with my gloved hands. His eyes pleaded for me not to go but I knew he could tell I was unmoving. So his eyes were cast down to the ground unable to look at me.

“The vents lead into the office. I don’t know which path to take.” I nodded for a moment the air was thick with emotion and he quickly stepped closer to me and pulled me in tight, pressing my body to him and placing a gentle but passionate kiss on my lips. The kiss didn’t last long but it lingered with unresolved feelings and unsaid things that he just couldn’t get out right now. A rustling farther down the hallway caught our attention and he reached up pressing on the vent until it opened. I hoisted myself up on his shoulders and silently slipped in the metal tubing, replacing the vent as quietly as I could as I watched him look up at me with tear-stained eyes and he mouthed ‘be careful.’ I didn’t know if he could see me or not but I nodded as I retreated into the dark metal tubing hearing Jungkook’s voice coming from where I once was asking Hoseok what was wrong. 

-

“See they aren’t all bad” Amber whispered into the quiet van. Everyone who wasn’t outside was staring at the screen as though it was a soap opera looking from the screen to Negan to Shawn to Amber back to the screen. Both Negan and Shawn were silent for a moment terrifying everyone in the truck including Amber who was afraid that maybe she spoke to soon. 

“That fucker lives, remember his face everyone. If we invade that asshole is safe.” was all that came out of Negan’s foul mouth easing some of the fear in the car.

Shawn however was effected in a different way. It was easy for him to picture GD as a monster. In thinking of GD like this he also pictured much of the Red Dragon as similar monsters, all like GD, all sharing his ideologies and philosophy, all of them chanting the motto “With Fire and Blood”, all too eager to hurt the people he cared about. It always was easy to picture your enemies as horrible, vile creatures, it made hurting them easier. Deep down he knew this couldn’t be true, not all the time. You had stayed with the Red Dragon for a while and you had a reason for it. He didn’t want to think about GD being an actual human, no he wanted to keep his rage for the older man in tact but what about that girl that spoke up for you at the meeting? Lilly? Lana? Lisa? She couldn’t be all bad, her tears seemed genuine.  

He ran his hand through his hair thinking of the good times you must've had with these people. He pictured you probably laughing and joking around with that girl from the meeting. Cheering her up when she needed it and what about that other boy? He recognized him from some the social media he managed to bypass before you blocked him on everything. What was his name? Yuji? Yugi? He remembered you posting a few pictures of him and  you watching some superhero movie and a video of you two just joking around in Korean, your laugh warming his head. Your laugh probably did the same for that boy. He glanced back at his friend and saw she printed out a photo of the boy who poured his feelings out and tried to convince me not to go but helped anyway. At first Shawn thought it was a ploy to keep me out of the room but the more he spoke the desperation in his voice became clearer. Shawn’ s thoughts once again circled around the meeting and how desperate the girl sounded to just see you again, not because you were GD’S ‘porcelain doll’ but because she missed you... just as much as Shawn did. Just as much as that man missed me. 

‘No way i’m helping you destroy the red dragon.’ He felt your words echo through his head as he stared absent-mindedly at the screen. Of course you didn’t want to, not because you were still in love with GD (at least he hoped not) but because you had friends there - real friends, people you would miss if they died. People you’d hate him for if he killed them. He had to have the conversation with you too, but how the hell was he going to ask you to pick and chose which ones not to hurt? He envied his father for a moment at least he got a ready made list. He inwardly groaned trying to think of the conversation that he had to have with you. ‘hey adi, which people from Red Dragon do you want to save because I can’t save all of them. don't hate me though, that's just how things are.’ he was getting a headache.

“She's in.” Amber said and he focused on the screen thankful for the distraction.

-

“Okay” I whispered to myself as I dropped in the corner by the fireplace and turned the volume back up and looked around. It was impressive, GD’s office definatly showed his personality. It was opulent, eccentric and full of rich colors. I looked back up at the vent a little disappointed, to get back up there I would have to hop from the couch onto the mantal then pull myself up into the vent. I didn’t want to admit it but my side was starting to hurt slightly. 

“How are you feeling, princess?” Negan asked as i walked over to the large wooden desk carved with dragon designs like the door. Even his desk looked crazy. 

“I’m fine.” I lied just wanting to plant the bugs and leave. I placed one under the comfy desk chair and another just above the door and placed a bug in the computer. 

“Just wait a few minutes for it to load.” Amber said as I leaned on the desk “and as soon as its done you can get out.”

“Okay” I whispered just waiting for the red bar to turn blue, but my thoughts weren’t fully here. I tried not to think of Negan’s reaction to Hobi’s kiss, or the tears that left him as he poured out his feelings. I wasn’t dense, I knew how Hobi truly felt about me but I did not think he’d ever leave the Red Dragon behind, he even knew Jungkook couldn’t come. Not with the bunny boy basically under GD’s thumb. He words replayed over in my head and how fast he was willing just to grab a bag and just leave ... of course taking my poor hamtaro with us. The healing wounds from my chain started to ache and I inwardly cursed myself for not taking pain meds before I left. The stupid bar was still only half full so I made myself busy going through GD’s desk. Thankfully since his office was always locked and he had the only key, his desk had no locks on it. 

“Anything good?” Shawn asked and i shook my head. Boring papers of accounting, casino dealings, numbers and named in Korean littered the drawers, the computer dinged “Its done.” I huffed and closed the drawer. THUMP! Wait. I opened the drawer again and closed it. THUMP! The drawer was hitting something. 

“What did you find, baby?” Negan asked and I carefully pulled out the drawer fully and peered in the empty slot. A small blue journal like book with a lock was hidden in the desk. I grabbed at it and looked closely, the books cover was blank and a small thick lock prevented me from seeing what's inside, the lock wasn’t complicated I could probably undo it in a few minutes. 

CREAK! The nose cought my attention and I shot up. That voice did not come from me. It must be the camera’s. I felt my heart start to race and I tucked the notebook into my shirt and quickly placed the drawer back. CREAK! “shit” I whispered grabbing the USB and ran toward the couch. God my side hurt. I heard a key enter the lock and quickly jumped on the couch, then the mantel and with whatever energy I had left pulled myself into the vents, quickly fixing it over the square opening just as the door opened and GD and TOP walked in. 

I held my breath trying to steady it before they heard me breathing, they were speaking in Korean but my side ached to much for me to focus on what they were saying. I flattened myself out and slowly started to army crawl as I heard CL and Seungri enter the room. “Try and calm down, princess. Take your time, you did good.” I nodded but remembered he couldn’t see me but God it was so damn hot in these vents... no I can do this. I breathed slowly and moved through the vents even slower. I’m not sure how long it was before they spoke to me again but Simon’s voice came through in my ear.

“Kid, I’m not trying to rush you but It’s starting to come down fast and I don’t know how long you have until it stick enough where you’ll start making footprints.” I peered down the closest vent and saw I was just over Yoongis room. I pressed my ear down but heard a soft muffle of a noise but it was to steady to be a voice.

I jumped down carefully and saw what I heard, the TV was on and sitting on the small couch was a sleeping Suga, his head thrown back in exhaustion and I couldn’t help but think of the videos Jimin used to send me of him catching the older boys sleeping just to tease him. I threw a blanket over him and ran my hand softly though his hair. “keep this one safe too Negan, he helped me get to you.”

“Okay,” He replied coolly and I made my way over to the window. I could make it back to the roof by balancing on the thick metal railing. I could get over it pretty quickly. The wind whipped in chilly as I opened it looking down at the fall and sighed. “Be careful.”

“Nothing is ever easy huh?” I whispered and shivered, the cold wind chilling the room. “Okay let's do this.” I grabbed the window frame and was about to hoist myself up when I heard a groggy sleepy voice. At first I panicked before I registered who it was.

“Kay?” I turned back seeing the sleepy face of Suga, he blinked as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and I smiled. “Are you a ghost?” he sat up rubbing his eyes “Did you die?” I gave a chuckle and hoisted myself up on the windowsill, his eyes went wide and he shivered.

“Keep yourself and Joon safe, gummy, I’ll see you soon.” He rubbed his eyes again but I didn’t stay to answer his questions. I made my way on the railing shutting the window behind me and running across it as fast as I could back on the roof. “Simon” I whispered in the head piece looking out for him, but he was right, the Snow was coming down faster and large fat snowflakes were coming down from the clouds. 

“I can see ya, kid, come down here’ I got you covered.”

-

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (an SWTOR story): Chapter 18- Thicker Than Water

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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(Good grief, this one’s even longer. Full text after the cut, but I’d really suggest one of the links for best effect.) Content warning: references to and descriptions of torture.)

Chapter Eighteen: Thicker Than Water

16 ATC. Rishi.

This might be,  Nine thinks as she holds her blaster steady, finger about to switch off the safety, the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Which really is impressive, given the span of her career so far includes some pretty spectacular feats of idiocy (all the way back to assuming Darth Jadus was ever dead. She knows better now- never believe anyone’s dead until you’ve got your own fingers on their lack of pulse and even then, put a round between their eyes just in case- but she forgave herself for that long ago. She didn’t know the game back then, thought she was a back row piece on the chessboard when of course she was just a pawn and they played her like one. But even pawns get to the last rank of the board sometimes, and when they do-

She’s not a pawn anymore. She’s a fucking queen.)

But holding an armed Sith Lord at blaster-point? She’d thought she could trust Lana, but so had Theron- if she’s wrong about this, she’s very likely about to lose a hand or worse and he’s probably going to die strapped to an interrogation table in some Revanite base and he doesn’t deserve that, Republic or not.

No one deserves that.

No matter how many times she’s dreamed about burning the entire SIS to the ground, she wouldn’t wish torture on her worst enemy. On Corellia she’d known what was going to happen, in abstract if not in detail, and she had a mission to complete and failure wasn’t in the game plan; still, when the straps tightened and Hunter’s people started their work there were moments when she almost hoped for a cut too deep, a hit too hard or a dose just a little too high, anything to make the pain stop for a moment-

Theron would have never seen it coming.

“With Theron inside their base, he’ll be able to do what he does.” Lana blinks down the barrel, one eyebrow twitching ever so slightly but her expression unreadable. “Once we retrieve him, we can-”

“Did you plan this?” She cuts in abruptly, well past the point of caring about rudeness. Sith or not, she needs to know.

Another blink. “Did I- what?”

“Did you,” she says it again, each word sharp as knives, “plan for Theron’s capture? Was that why you wouldn’t wait for me?”

Eyes widening, Lana moves slowly, carefully, to clip her saber back to her belt. “You think I- no. No! It went all wrong, but if we move quickly we can still retrieve Theron, preferably alive, and salvage the situation. Do put that away so I can explain, please.”

“I think we’re just fine like this. Don’t you, Jakarro?” As the wookiee roars agreement she curls and uncurls her finger, just so, in line with the trigger. “Explain. Now.”

(Would you really have shot me? Still half-buried in her pillow nest, Lana looks up at her, head tilted.  

A question like that merits a drink- she reaches for the bottle and drains the last of it. I needed to narrow down the possibilities, and I didn’t have much time to work with. The blaster helped.

You may need to explain that one, I’m afraid.

Keeping in mind that I didn’t know you then like I do now, and given my previous track record with Sith-  Lana nods agreement as she says it-  the way I saw it there were three options. One, that you were a Revanite all along. Theron wouldn’t turn, so you had him captured and waited to see how I’d react-

When Lana’s really, honestly amused she can always tell: if she laughs in public (which she rarely does) it’s the clipped, terse chuckle that’s a native species to Dromund Kaas in its own right, the sort of laugh that doesn’t draw attention because when one grows up in the Empire’s heart one learns to conform or suffer the consequences. But in private, like now, it’s something else entirely, rising and falling, notes on a musical scale. Did you honestly believe that?

It was by far the least likely scenario- too complicated by half, and if I’d objected you’d have had to deal with me and Jakarro at the same time. In any case, you didn’t attack me when I drew on you, so that one was out.

Option two? Lana shifts over onto her stomach, chin resting on her hands and forehead crinkled in thought.

The most likely option, all things considered. You were telling the truth. The mission went bad, Theron was compromised, and you let him get captured in the hope that he’d manage to both survive and learn something useful in the process.  She shakes her head.  Risky and stupid, but you would have wanted to explain yourself. You would have thought I’d agree with you.

An eyeroll, a grumble, and a pillow tossed in her direction-  You don’t have to lecture me again, you know. I’m aware-

Did Theron ever talk about what happened? With Revan?

No. Lana shakes her head. Even when he came to Asylum, he never brought it up. So I thought it better to let it lie rather than reopening old wounds. Did he tell you?

A little. Enough. I-  she pauses. Have you ever been interrogated? Not as practice, not debriefing- actually interrogated.

A second headshake. I’ve been fortunate. I’ve seen more of them than I’d care to, given my particular talent-  her lip curls, her tone dry- but before I served Darth Arkous I spent most of my time with the historians, and with your warnings about Darth Zhorrid’s proclivities I was able to keep mostly clear of her after my promotion.

Then you wouldn’t understand what it’s like. Not like we do.

I don’t think that’s fair,  Lana says. I’m sure it was painful and I know it could have gone badly, but Theron-

She holds up one hand. No. I’m sorry, but no. You don’t understand, and you don’t get to justify it.

Then why don’t you explain it to me?

If I could tell you, I…  No. There aren’t words to put to those feelings, not ones that anyone else would understand (except for Theron- he understands. Maybe even better than she does).  You know, it might be easier to show you. Do you remember Valkorion’s little mind games from before, on the Gravestone?

Lana nods.

Let’s try this, then. An exercise. She stands, reaching back toward her desk for her datapad. Think of that, and keep that pressure in your head, and I want you to read me.

All right. But why the datapad?

I’m going to play something in the background. With reverse interrogations that’s often all you get, assuming your captors aren’t total incompetents- snippets of conversations, a whisper they think you can’t hear. Theron was-  she almost said lucky, but no, he wasn’t lucky at all-  Revan liked to talk, so that helped, but…  She sighs. Ten minutes. Ten minutes, then tell me what you heard.

She loads two files. First, her recording of two days ago’s logistics meeting, scanning forward to the end, to when they’d started to rehash the Nar Shaddaa shield bunker problem for the hundredth time. Second, to trigger the appropriate memory- this one takes her longer, buried six folders deep and behind three separate passwords- SCORPIO’s recording of Corellia.

(She ought to have deleted it a long time ago. It’s not healthy, probably, keeping things like that around.)

Hour ten, she thinks. A particularly unpleasant hour.

She presses play on the second file, sound muted, her attention focused on the screen. It takes a moment, even so, to pull the walls down from around the hours of time it took months of deliberate effort to suppress, but then, finally…  Ah.  She hisses, her head starting to throb. There it is.

Shall we begin? Remember, imagine Valkorion too, if you want an idea of what Theron felt.  

Lana reaches out for her arm as she pushes her sleeve up, fingers circling her wrist.  I’ll try. Show me.

Still watching the recording play, she lets herself fall back into the memory as the connection between them solidifies.

[by hour ten she was hurting bad: the truth serum was useless, of course, but they’d pushed the dose to a point that left her dizzy and feverish; her right eye aches, the lid swollen shut and her nose and three ribs broken (not her fingers yet, though- that was hour fourteen). they’ve grown bored of hitting her and it hasn’t gotten them what they want.

 the woman’s leaning her forward, pulling up her jacket while her body howls protest, and tapes the electrode array to the base of her spine as her partner does the same along the soles of her bare feet.

i’ve already told you everything i know, she says. this isn’t going to change anything.

the woman looks at her, then to the still-active holocomm where hunter’s standing, arms crossed. your call, boss. keep going?]

Shifting, restless and uncomfortable, Lana tightens her grip; she starts the first file, leaving it playing in the background as-

[she’s a very good liar, hunter grins.  ten minutes, i think, and we’ll try again.  turning, hunter eyes her up and down. oh, legate. this would be so much easier if you hadn’t changed your programming. at this rate you’re going to miss the whole party.

she smiles, lips dry. she’d kill for a glass of water; she’d kill for a lot of things, at the moment. think i’ll pass. the hors d'oeuvres were terrible.

your loss. stars, she hates that laugh. let’s begin.

it builds slowly, a prickle in her toes, crawling slowly up her legs into the muscles of her back, and at first she thinks maybe it won’t be so bad and then the man in armor, the leader of the trio holding her captive, reaches for the control box and cranks the dial up and-]

It’s hard to watch. She can almost feel it, the electricity coursing in ten-second pulses through her body until she’s arching against the restraints, and she remembers the noise she made, a inhuman keening wail she wouldn’t have known as her own voice except that recordings do not lie. There was no helping it, of course, no shame in it. But still.

After the first minute Lana curls onto her side, eyes closed, fingernails of her contact hand digging into the underside of her forearm and her other hand clenched into a fist pressed tight against her mouth. After two minutes she tries to pull away.

I said ten minutes.  She lowers her arm against the surface of the couch, pinning Lana’s hand between her wrist and the cushions. Not yet.

[the stutter-stop irregularity of it’s the hardest thing- thirty seconds of rest and then five bursts in a row, then another pause and then three, then six, then two, again and again, so she can’t count them, can’t know when to fight it and when to stop fighting-]

You never do, Valkorion says, stirring in the back of her mind, brushing the memory aside like a child throwing an unwanted toy as he forces himself forward.  With my power at your disposal you could bring my children to heel in the span of a heartbeat and yet still you fight me. It would be so much easier if-

(He did that on purpose. She’s certain of it. For a moment he even sounds like Hunter.)

With a gasp and a twitch she throws all her mental walls back up, knocking the datapad off her lap and sending it clattering to the floor. Lana startles, too, hands moving to her temples as her eyes fly open.

Was that-?

She sighs. Unintentional. I’m not sure what he might be able to do through a one-sided connection, but I assume you’re not particularly interested in finding out.

You would be correct. When Lana stands she’s wobbly on her feet, hanging onto the back of the couch and then the edge of the holotable as she makes her way to the refresher. Excuse me. Door half-shut behind her, barely audible but unmistakable over the sound of running water, she retches- once, twice, then splashing at the basin and the tap shutting off. When she emerges again she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand before returning to sit beside her, face colorless and lips pressed tight together and completely avoiding her questioning gaze.

That was cruel of me, she whispers after a minute into the silence between them. I apologize.

You don’t- I really did think you’d agree with me. Her head doesn’t move but her eyes dart sideways, briefly, before she focuses back on the far wall. I only had a few seconds to make the decision, and we hadn’t heard back from you. It might have been our last real chance to get to the heart of things. But-  Lana wipes her face again, the pressure of her fingertips leaving faint pink marks on her forehead and down her cheeks- Force help me. No wonder you were so angry. And no wonder Theron hated me for it, if what you showed me was anything like what happened with Revan.

Reaching down for the fallen datapad, she shuts it off, sets it on the table. Different goals, so it’s not an even comparison. Close enough for our purposes, though. And again, I didn’t mean for Valkorion to interfere. That part of the exercise was supposed to be theoretical but he-

Is that what it feels like all the time?  Lana interjects, finally looking at her again. I don’t know how you stand it.

No, thankfully. Only when he’s active, which isn’t terribly often. Sometimes I almost forget.

(Then I shall have to endeavor, he says, the thought snaking around her consciousness like creeping ivy, to be more memorable.)

But only almost. Going back to the point: do you remember anything you heard of the recording I was playing?

Not a damned thing. I barely knew it was there, let alone being able to focus on it. That- she bares her teeth, an expression halfway between apology and pain. Ah, fuck, that hurt so much, Nine.

That makes her blink; she can count on one hand the number of times she’s heard her really properly swear. I know. I’m sorry.

Me, too, Lana says. Me, too.

Suddenly she’s tired. As they both lean back, letting the cushions bear them up, they settle against each other, shoulder against shoulder, pressure and weight comforting in their familiarity. (For a moment she thinks of Yavin IV, after the battle, huddled exhausted on a fallen pillar waiting for evac back to base camp, with her body accorded neutral territory between Theron on her right and Lana on her left. Six years on, everything and nothing at all have changed.)

What was the third option? You knew the second was the right one, but-

Oh. Yes. She chuckles faintly. Option three was somewhere between the first two. You weren’t a Revanite, but you’d run out of patience. You knew Jakarro’s intel on the house was wrong- through the Force, maybe, I don’t know how- and you set Theron up deliberately. You sent me to Torch’s island to keep me from interfering and you threw him to the wolves. Our last best chance.

You know I didn’t.

She runs her hand along the underside of her opposite wrist, along the half-moon indentations left by five neat fingernails. You were a bad liar back then, and I’m about as Force-sensitive as a rock but I know a lie when I hear one. I believed you.

I’ve had too much practice between then and now, Lana murmurs, but not to you. For the sake of curiosity, what would have happened had you decided it was option three?

If I thought that you were capable of that, after all we’d already done together? Raising her index finger, she brushes the bangs off Lana’s forehead then taps sharply, once, exactly in the center. It would have been quick. But I’d have blown your fucking head off.)

  ***

They rent a boat at the dock.

“A hunting party,” she tells the Rishii at the slip. Anywhere else that would have raised eyebrows, given Kaliyo’s hauling a backpack that’s half her size and entirely full of explosives- she’d told her, when she called the ship, to come loaded for bear and by the look of it she’d emptied the armory- but today the Rishii just unties the lines and wishes them good hunting.

There’s something to be said for pragmatism, though she doubts Theron would agree at the moment.

The little village on the island’s surprisingly welcoming, too, considering they’ve lost half their territory to an armed camp of fanatics; within half an hour they’ve got a temporary base set up in a stone-and-thatch hut with a good view of the valley beyond. To go by the comm traffic Dee-Four’s intercepted so far the Revanites’ main stronghold is somewhere on the far side of the island, hidden in the dense jungle, but the native scouts don’t seem to know any more than they’ve managed on their own.

So she and Kaliyo ride out on borrowed speeders, leaving Lana and Jakarro in the village to keep sorting through data.

(She’d left Jakarro a one-line message: instructions, just in case her gut instinct had played them wrong and Lana made another move in her absence.

Lana doesn’t need to hear that, though. In retrospect it was paranoia, and she’s hurt her enough already for today.)

“Bad intel and no plan. Lucky for you, I hate plans.” Kaliyo turns to her at the top of the valley path as they pull a camouflage net over the speeders; engines tuned for endurance, the bikes make far too much noise to reach the camp unnoticed but at least they’re close now. “We’re cloaking in, yeah?”

“Yes. The closer we get without alarms up, the more likely Theron’s still alive when we get there.”

She nods, adjusts the stealth device. “Syncing now. How are we playing if we’re blown?”

“Hard and fast. We don’t have time or personnel for surrenders.” Slipping her rifle free of her back harness, she checks it one last time. “Shoot to kill.”

“My favorite words. And it’s not even my birthday.” Kaliyo flashes her a quick grin but she doesn’t return it, and after a moment she shrugs and finishes tying down the net. “We’ll get there. What’s his clock at?”

She looks down at her chrono, at the third timer counting inexorably upward beneath the little dials of local and Standard Time. “Three hours and six minutes. Let’s move.”

***

The Imperial commander, a pathetic grasping little Sith of the sort ubiquitous around the Kaas City Sanctum, wants to talk and wants out of the Revanite mess but doesn’t know anything at all- utterly typical. Killing him would only waste time, though, so she sends him and his honor guard packing and moves on to the Republic camp; one less leader’s still progress, if only a little.

The Republic compound guards, on the other hand, refuse to stand down. They waste a quarter-hour trying to snipe from cover before she lets Kaliyo blow the place to pieces, a block of detonite on the back door and four grenades through the skylight an inelegant but effective solution.

They haven’t time for elegance. This is taking far too long.

The captain’s dying when they finally get through the door into the main room, his belly full of shrapnel as he drags himself toward a terminal against the far wall. She puts her foot on the back of his neck, tilts her head toward the terminal. Kaliyo moves toward it, pulling out a spike to transfer the data.

“Going somewhere?” To judge by his pallor he’ll bleed out soon. “I can make the pain stop, you know. All you have to do is tell me where to find Revan.”

The man coughs, looks up at her out of the corner of his eye as he stops resisting, going limp against the floor. “I don’t know-” another cough- “I don’t know where Revan is. But there’s a stronghold to the northeast, in the other valley, where they took Theron Shan. Revan might be-” he gasps, shifting under the pressure of her boot. “Please. It hurts.”

“Only for a moment,” she says, and fires a round into the back of his head.

***

Time since capture: four hours, twenty-eight minutes. Probability of survival: 83 percent.

***

The captain’s data tells them four useful things.

First, that prisoners are held in the largest building in the far valley complex, surrounded by turrets and watchtowers and military-grade door encryptions, and that the codes on the spike are yesterday’s.

Second, that Revan’s warships wait on a nearby island for a signal that hasn’t yet been given, the purpose of which is still unclear.

Third, that the First Imperial Fleet, Darth Marr at its helm, will pass through Rishi space tomorrow morning.

And fourth, that the bulk of the Republic fleet, ostensibly on a patrol mission (but who brings one’s entire fleet on a patrol mission?) along the Manda Merchant Route, is due to jump to Rishi-

“Tomorrow.” She swears, and pushes back from the terminal with a frustrated huff. “That’s Revan’s plan. They’ll come out of hyperspace right on top of each other. It’ll be a slaughter.”

Lana shakes her head. “That can’t be all of it. Darth Marr wouldn’t risk the entire fleet without at least attempting to contact the Republic commander, not this far from reinforcements, and the moment Revan puts himself in play-”

“What’s the Republic flagship? Do we know?” She paces back and forth along the inside of the little hut. “If it’s Saresh at the helm, or one of her puppets, Marr may not have a choice.”

“Unclear.” Dee-Four chimes in. “I am still attempting to decrypt the remaining files, but the information is incomplete.”

The information is incomplete- it’s the chorus to a song she just can’t get out of her head.

“Then we continue with the original plan,” Lana says, head still bowed over the console. “We attempt to extract Theron from the stronghold and hope he- or we- learned something in the meantime.”

(Did I really say that?  Lana wrinkles her nose.  Extract. Rather like a sliver. Or a parasite.

She laughs; they’re still shoulder to shoulder, and she elbows her teasingly. It’s the right word for it, technically speaking, though Theron would probably be offended by the comparison. And yes, you did.

I don’t- I didn’t mean it like that.

I know,  she says. Although he does have a knack for getting under one’s skin, doesn’t he?)

Only four kolto syringes in the bag, and another two in her belt pouch- she loads the extras in with hers, but it won’t be nearly enough. “We? You’re not going anywhere. I need Kaliyo to talk to the village leader. If they have healing supplies, buy everything you can.” She throws a credit chip across the room and Kaliyo palms it, tucks it into a pocket with a nod. “Think Corellia. And call Lokin. I need him standing by.”

Kaliyo makes a face and nods again; Lana and Jakarro simply look confused.

“I need you and Jakarro to keep running that data and try to reach the fleets,” she continues, “and I’m going to need slicing support when I hit the valley.”

“You’re not going by yourself.” Arms folded across her chest, Lana shakes her head emphatically. “Far too dangerous. If you’re captured-”

She fixes her with a flat stare as she fastens the pouch. “If I’m captured, Theron dies. Believe me, I’m well aware of the risk.”

“Cipher, please. We can’t afford to lose both of you.”

“Of course you can’t. But you ought to have thought of that before.” Turning on her heel, she leaves the hut.

***

Time since capture: five hours, forty-two minutes. Probability of survival: 71 percent.

***

She drags the guard behind the watchpost before she comms Lana. Night’s fallen over the island and he won’t be getting up again, of course- he never saw her coming and she opened his throat, quick and quiet- but there are other guards and it wouldn’t do to have one of them notice the body.

“I need to keep moving,” she whispers. “If you can get the perimeter systems offline, it’d make my life a lot easier.”

“On it. Jakarro?” There’s a rumble of assent somewhere in the background, and after a few seconds the turrets around the watchpost power down; she watches on the monitor as the rest of the system follows suit. “I’ve got schematics for the main building. Sending the file now.”

Two quick buzzes. She pulls up the diagram, flips her eyepiece down to overlay it on her vision. (She hates the eyepiece: too many people become reliant on them, forgetting how to navigate or aim or track without artificial assistance. But she can’t afford a wrong turn, not today.) “Any cameras inside? Looks like that building goes deep.”

“A few. Just a moment. I’m getting the hang of this slicing business, but- there we- oh.” Lana trails off, going quiet. “No live feeds, I’m afraid, but there are logs from the interrogation room.”

“Timestamp?”

“Half an hour ago. Should I-”

Ah, Force, if she’s already too late- “Load it.”

The feed angle’s bad, just a surveillance camera rather than a proper interrogation recording; she can barely see Theron around the robed figure standing beside the table. The volume’s low, too, nearly impossible to hear when routed through her comm, but that’s definitely his voice, shaky and pained, and someone answering from out of frame-

Lana hisses. “Revan.”

The image shudders, static cutting across the screen, and Theron screams. She knows that noise. She’s made that noise.

(I’d forgotten that recording.

I’m not surprised, she says. It’s not something most people would choose to remember.)

 Fuck.

“Get the main doors open.” She takes off across the walkway toward the main building, still stealthed but practically running, still too slow. “I’m going in.”

  ***

Time  since capture: seven hours, three minutes. Probability of survival: 58 percent.

 ***

It is not for nothing that they call her the Ghost of the Empire, and not only because she no longer has a name.

Blasters, even silenced, make noise. A hand over a mouth, a knife edge darting swiftly over arteries or a point slipping neatly between two ribs- no wasted energy, each movement precise and possessed of a morbid sort of beauty, and there is something intensely satisfying, especially on days like today, about someone else’s blood on one’s hands.

There were ten guards roaming the quiet hallways between the front door and the main control room; now there are none, the alarms still untriggered, and her exit route is clear for another forty minutes until change of watch. Sneaking past would have been faster and infinitely less messy, but even if she can reach Theron without being detected she doubts it’ll stay that way once he’s free and he’ll be slow enough, probably, without needing to fight the guards as they flee.

An ounce of preparation, as the saying goes.

If the schematics are right the holding cells should be just through this room. As she crosses the threshold, though, the holotable in its center activates and-

pressure sensor? they can’t see me maybe it’s just a guard checking in don’t make a noise don’t get caught don’t get caught

“Hello, Cipher,” Revan says. “Excellent timing. We’re just beginning to implement the last stage of the plan. You’ll be able to witness it finally come to fruition.”

Well. That’s that.

I’m sorry, Theron.

She switches off her stealth generator. “Revan. This could have all been avoided if you’d only stayed dead, you know. Where’s Theron?”

He laughs at that, the bastard. “That’s unimportant. As are you. Do you really think you can stop what’s been set in motion?”

“I’ve heard that before. Why don’t you tell me the details and we’ll see?”

Revan laughs again, a cold metallic echo behind his mask. He isn’t here, then. He’d have come for her by now if he was here. “Bold little thing. Pity. When the Republic and the Empire destroy each other, when we craft a new world out of the ashes of the old, there might have been a place for you in it. But I suspect you’d be less than cooperative.”

“Believe it or not, I tend to react badly when people try to kill my friends.” Slowly, she starts toward the door, edging little by little along the margin of the table. If she can get to the prison corridor before the alarm sounds, maybe there’s still a chance. “Your battle hasn’t happened yet. You haven’t won.”

“So stubborn. Theron couldn’t be persuaded either, though I suppose that shouldn’t have been a surprise.” Arms folded across his chest, the hologram Revan shakes his head. “Tenacity runs in our blood, even if-”

Our?

She’s almost to the far door when it slides open abruptly, the concussive edge of an explosion in the hallway beyond knocking her back against the holotable as it flickers and dies and Revan disappears. As she struggles to right herself, a cluster of blaster bolts rockets past the open door- not through; whoever’s firing isn’t aiming at her.  

Alarms in the corridor. Footsteps, too, irregular but fairly quick, moving closer, rounding the doorframe- “Don’t listen to him! There’s still a chance.”

“Theron.” How long has she been holding her breath? Suddenly, somehow, she can breathe again. “You’re alive.”

Blaster clutched in his hand, he slaps the panel beside the door and it hisses closed, the lock engaging. “Mostly. I-” He staggers, clutching at the edge of the table, his wrist ringed with a deep gouge just visible under his jacket cuff, two fingers of his left hand unbending and the angle of his thumb somehow wrong. “We’ve got to get to their signal jammer. Revan’s blocking all communication over Rishi space and he’s got saboteurs in both fleets- they’ll take down shields, weapons, everything. If we can’t warn them before they get here, it’ll be a massacre. They-” Out of breath, he trails off.

He learned something after all. Clever boy.

“That’s the piece of the puzzle we were missing. We knew about the fleets, but not the sabotage.” Force, he looks terrible. “Here. I’ve got kolto, but we’ve got to get out of here before someone realizes all the entrance guards are dead. We can update Lana and Jakarro on the move.”

Theron finally seems to see her- how he can see anything with both eyes purpled and swollen nearly shut, his nose puffy and oozing blood and his lower lip split is beyond her comprehension. “I didn’t think anyone was going to come. I got out of the restraints and grabbed my gear, figured I could make it to the front door, but I forgot about the droids-” he gasps when he tries to straighten. “Then I heard you. I should have known you’d come for me.”

That explains his thumb- with no lockpick, there’s only one good way to get out of cuffs. Reaching into her pouch for the first two kolto injectors, she crouches next to him, presses one into each of his thighs and hits the buttons. “I had to- sorry,” she says as he flinches, “I wasn’t going to leave you. Not like this. Not after what Lana did.”

“She told you?”

“Yes.“

Theron sighs. “Did she mean for this to happen?”

“No.”

“And you believe that.” He doesn’t, clearly, his mouth curling and his tone incredulous.

She chuckles, discarding the empty syringes. “I had a blaster pointed at her face. She might have been lying, but I rather doubt it.”

He blinks down at her. “You had a bl- you’re kidding.”

“Do I look-” she pulls two more syringes and sinks them home, hands him a clean cloth to hold against his bleeding mouth- “like I’m kidding?”

“Not really, no.” His color’s a little better, but only a little, and something about his posture makes her nervous. “Still, better me than you. Revan would have just killed you. He wanted me to join him, wanted me to- you heard him. Our blood. Our legacy.” When she rises he leans on her. “Fuck legacy. He’s insane.”

“You’re related to Revan.” It isn’t a question.  

Theron nods again, then stops, his eyes unfocused from too much movement. “It’s… complicated. I don’t even know how he knew. He could just tell, somehow- he got inside my head- he-”

(Did you know?

Not then. I knew of the Shan line of Jedi from my research- Theron’s grandmother Tasiele had some intriguing ideas about the Force- but it’s a common name.  Lana shakes her head.  I didn’t make the connection until I saw him with Satele.)

The entire building shakes and he stumbles again, balanced between her and the table, and a second alarm starts to shriek above the first.  Power core cooling offline. Time to detonation: five minutes.

“It can’t ever be easy, can it?” She lifts his arm over her shoulders and he gasps again, inhaling, and she can feel the shudder move beneath her through every muscle of his back. “Ready to move?”

“Easy’s for amateurs.” That might have been a wink, though it’s hard to tell with his eyelids still half-closed. “I’m ready. The generator’s two rooms over, I think, with a console. I can-” he looks to his left hand, the unmoving fingers. “I can talk you through it.”

“I’ve got you.” As they start to move she has to fight to stay upright; he’s leaning on her hard and he’s at least a hand taller than she is, but she’s got him. They don’t have a choice. “Let’s go.”

(Even after all of that, she says, we would have died if not for you.

One corner of Lana’s mouth barely moves, the faintest hint of a smile. Theron taught me some slicing, those months that we were running. Without him I wouldn’t have had any idea how to disable a power core.

Well, thank the Force for that.)

  ***

Somehow they make it to the woods, to the clearing where she’d hidden the speeder, and when Theron slumps over onto the seat she gives him the last two injections.

“If you sit behind me, can you hold on?”

“I think so. How’s your driving?” He’s still ashen, his color off; Kaliyo’d scrounged up another half-dozen doses of kolto, though, so if they can make it back to the village he should be fine. (Should be. She needs a scanner or better, Doctor Lokin, but they’ll have to get back to Raider’s Cove for that and the fleets are less than eight hours away and-

They can do this.)

She fires up the speeder, sliding onto the seat in front of him. “Lead foot and no sense of self-preservation?”

“Liar- you keep yourself alive just fine. But in that case you should take up swoop racing.” Theron’s arms slip around her waist as she takes off down the trail, his chest against her back. “Those are pretty much the only prerequisites.”

“‘m too heavy, I think. Swoop racers are all built like birds.” Looking back over her shoulder, she checks their tail. Clear, finally.

“True. I was a lot lighter,” he says into her ear, “back then.”

She laughs, though she isn’t sure he hears her over the noise of the engine. “What, some kind of SIS cover story?”

“Way before that. Misspent youth.” When they hit a tree root he winces, holding onto her tighter. “I’ll… I probably shouldn’t, but if we survive this, I’ll tell you some of the story, alright?”

“You definitely shouldn’t, but I’m holding you to that. Just a little further.”

Theron’s quiet the rest of the way back to the village, another twenty minutes’ journey over the rough forest paths, and finally, finally, she can see the narrow way up to the hut and brings the bike to a halt just in front of it.

“We’re here-” she kills the engine- “you can let go now.”

He doesn’t.

“Theron? Are you okay?”

When she turns to look at him the twisting of her body breaks his grip; he lets go and falls, sideways, toward the dirt and his eyes don’t open and she can’t catch him at this angle and-

“Lana!” Her cry echoes off the cliff faces around them and back into the valley. “Lana, I need your help.”

***

Author’s Notes:

-Another experimental chapter, sorry. I heard you like flashbacks, so I put some flashbacks in- hm. Quite enough of that.

-Per Annihilation, Theron was, in fact, a swoop bike racer at some point in his teens. I can see it.

Up next: Bright Spot, in which your exasperated author may just build voodoo dolls of these two idiots and scream NOW KISS at them until they decide to cooperate.

[eclecticadesignandart]

Stanislaw Tzrebinkski in conversation

We were lucky enough to get a moment to snap some pictures with Stanislaw Tzrebinki at the opening event for Divergent Tides. We were then able to chat to him a bit further via email where he outlined some of his thoughts on the art world, language and his creative process. 

Stanislaw Tzrebinski grew up in Kenya and fluently speaks Swahili. He works primarily across the mediums of bronze sculpture and printmaking, often with a central motif of human figures and an interaction with the ocean. His creations are mysterious and magical, playing with form and texture and pushing limits of reality and myth. 

Is there an artwork here you are most proud of? Why? Out of all the works on show – I’d have to say the work I am proudest of is “Vires’ Portrait”. From a technical point of view as well as a skilled point of view, at the time of completion, it was the best work I had done to date. I’ve come a long way since then but it still stands out as a milestone in my creative journey.

How did you start making art? How old were you when you created something that let you know this was something you’d continue with? My father, Tonio Trzebinski was a painter and sculptor himself – and one of my earliest memories was spending time with him painting in his studio as a child. He’d often stretch mini canvases for my sister, Lana, and I. So, from a very early stage in my life, art was already rooting itself in places where it was hard to ignore as I grew older. At the age of 9, my father was tragically killed in a hijacking gone wrong, and in his absence I used art as a means of connecting with him – so art took on a therapeutic role in my life.  Naturally, as most young boys want to fill their father’s shoes, I knew that I had to become an artist. And I’m constantly pushing myself to exceed his expectations of what I believe he would have wanted me to be.  As a teenager I was always creating – in high school I excelled in the visual arts and had my first exhibition in Nairobi aged 17. The sales from that show paid for my gap year and I suppose that was the point at which I knew I had a shot at making it as an artist.

What are your thoughts on language? Do you see art as a kind of visual vocabulary? Has your ability to speak different languages altered your approach to art making? Language is an extremely important part of life – it’s the basis of communication, and through communication we are able to share ideas, alter people’s perceptions of the world and interact with one another. It’s therefore fair to say that art in its self is indeed a form of visual language. The ability to tell stories through visual imagery, be it sculpture, painting, photography etc… makes art a language in of its self. Of course the difference with art and a literal language, is that often the viewer can choose to interpret the artwork in a totally different way from that in which the artist intended when he/she created it – which in its self is quite amazing too.

What I have learnt from my ability to speak multiple languages (Kiswahili being my second language) is that with a different language, often comes a different set of beliefs, cultural norms and world views – so it is important to consider this when creating works – I have accepted that there will be people that see beauty in what I create, as well as darkness and pain. That’s just something that I have come to accept. But I often find that art has the ability to make people see what they want to see – and its sometimes emotions and feelings they have inside that come to the surface when they view a particular work. In essence art can be a mirror, and reflect to the viewer what they themselves hold inside – be it beauty, anger, happiness or pain. That’s what fascinates me about art!

What is your most important artist tool? Is there something you can’t live without in your studio? My anatomical models and visual references. Although most of my ideas appear out of thin air (in my head that is) its always super important to keep them firmly rooted to a good reference – be it a live model, or just an anatomically correct figurine.

How do you know when a work is finished? Can you ever truly know? There is always a moment where I’m able to walk away from a piece and feel satisfied with the finished look. If I get started on something new, then the finished piece seldom gets altered – but if I mull about and don’t get stuck into a new sculpture, then I tend to revisit older works and make subtle changes here and there. I suppose it’s a time thing – when I have time to spare, I do go back and work on previous works because I’m always correcting my “old creative” self. Over time I’ve become much more of a perfectionist and even find myself criticizing my early works for being of a lesser standard (to myself that is!) to my more recent ones!

What was the scariest thing you’ve experienced? Losing my father.

What memorable responses have you had to your work? I’ve had quite a few – receiving a letter from a young boy named Josh Malherbe, after he visited my first solo with his younger brother and mum. He wrote me an eye-watering letter which really made me feel I was doing some good with my work! Like me he’s a surfer and loves the ocean – I’ve since then become friends with his family and have spent time with them on their amazing island surf camp in the Mentawaii Islands! Second to that would have to be when a German couple, who on holiday in Cape Town, saw my work and then got my sculptures tattooed onto their legs!  

Do you ever work directly from life? Has there been a real life event that catalyzed the making of a specific artwork? When I have the opportunity to, I do! It’s amazing how much easier it is to work from life than it is to work from 2D references (which is what I mainly work from). Of course with sculpture there is an element of time that makes working from a model a bit tricky, and expensive!

My whole body of work is in essence a response to one of the biggest events that we are going through as a human race to date – our neglect to the environment, global warming, over fishing, natural destruction… the list goes on.

Finally, what do you think is integral to the work of an artist? I think that there needs to be a strong artistic language, with its own vocabulary and style and one that is distinguishable from other artist’s work. There are many extremely talented people out there – but what sets certain artist apart from others is their ability to create work with a strong voice and work that not only speaks for itself, but art that can traverse the restraints of time, cultural barriers and social constraints and still have the same effect on the viewer today, or in 100 years to come.

[hanzi83]

How Wrestling Should Be Presented and Where I Feel Its Going

Before I write this blog, I debated if I should or not, and even though it’s not about my depression and my countless amounts of flaws, I really know I am so narcissistic that I will always reel it back to my personal narrative and agenda to let the world know I have been constantly screwed. So I decided to give this disclaimer at the beginning of the blog but I need to get this out of my head first, because I know I am already worried writing it because when it comes to wrestling, I analyze the product in a different way the most people do, because I am, what the French would say, is bat shit crazy, and even though that really makes every existing relationship and chances for future employment hang in the balance, it works in my favor when it comes to wrestling because to see how these guys at the top think and organize this shit, you have to think outside the box so far out where the box is not in plain sight. So this blog might not even happen, depending on how poorly I choose to explain this and if it will even actually get people to acknowledge it, and if I do end up writing it in full and then add this part to it, it just proves how much of a waste of time this whole opening statement was, but then again you click on a Hanzi blog, you kind of have to pay the price for wasting your time you dummy.

How do I explain this? So many people have limited narratives to analyze the wrestling business and I guess that is one of few downsides of being an insider, you can let your full imagination go wild, or you are not permitted to, but since I am not really an insider, even though people on the inside love my perspective, so I looked at this shit on a different level and this is due to becoming a smart fan, because I was fine after the Monday Night Wars to kind of scale away from internet news for the most part, and just watched it as is, but when I got back in the mix of things during the beginning of the social media era it reeled me back in and then believed the internet perspective and thought it was the be all and end all, but something in the back of my mind knew that WWE are smart enough to figure it out, because when the company fully shines, they show moments of brilliance, but then there are times they do a lot of stupid stuff. It would be frustrating because you want to defend the company because they are responsible for some of the most memorable moments in your life, and uniting experiences with my family and friends. It has been ingrained in me since I was 3 years old, but then coincidently, I became a full-fledged conspiracy theorist, and because I opened my eyes to the potential on how the world is run and how things are implemented in the media, sports, entertainment etc, it made me realize that wrestling surely has to be in on it to some degree if other important areas in life are organized and orchestrated to fulfill a goal, so my thought process went outside being a smart mark and now think that even they are the ones who are more prone to “being worked” than someone who is  a casual fan.

I have not behaved the best when it comes to expressing how I think differently, mainly because from this community, especially in the past, I have been ridiculed, and not only in my personal life or but by other fan bases in general, so I have this aggression off the gate like I am preparing to go to war to defend my positions, even though I don’t have absolute proof regarding this stuff that I put out there, but since conspiracy theorists are to be looked at as assholes, due to Alex Jones hijacking the movement and spinning it into his own right wing propaganda, I have to reassure I am not one of those conspiracy theorists, I think that the world is moving to a better place, and that we are getting the “things need to get worse” portion of the program before it gets better, and all these companies, and public figures that sold their souls in the 80’s, 90’s and early 2000’s are finally supposed to be getting their comeuppance and with Trump in office, it is going to make it easier for a lot of people to get exposed, and since WWE are affiliated with them, they are the automatic heels and that is why their corruption and shady business practices are even more transparent, not saying every single thing about them is evil, but they know they are supposed to be perceived this way.

And it is bleeding into their storylines in some regards. In storyline or real life it is all essentially storyline on an elite level and the WWE knows what direction it is going in and there will be eventual change that is why it is so important to stay militant and speak out against their practices or their shady behavior. I was so hell bent on thinking that they would change it on their own but obviously this organized revolution will need us to play part to and call it out because they have to give us the illusion that this is all genuine.

WWE and other companies have always knew they would have to answer to their sins eventually and they have always planted seeds that could be used for the future, even if its small and big, and it bleeds into their storylines and it is done on purpose so when they make insider references we think it is supposed to be real, but it is all storyline to me. In WWE storyline, the show is a reality show and it is scripted even within their storyline. And even though this is being done on purpose, where people are interacting with twitter who are supposed to be bad guys and good guys, it is like WWE has been slowly raising the veil for all of us to see, and even though you can incorporate everything that is said or done, for the most part you can incorporate outside stuff within storyline. That is why you saw Rusev and Lana announce their engagement, while being in a storyline where they had broken up on camera. Roman Reigns and Braun Strowman hanging out when they were in the middle of a feud, it has all been by design.

I am already falling off the rails, but just to try and make it easier, that if wrestling is going to be presented in a realistic and more grounded into reality, you need to undo and explain all the convoluted plot twists, and the inconsistencies that have existed within the universe, and in order to do that, you need a conspiracy theorist type of persona to point out what has been happening in storyline and what elements have been orchestrated or even scripted. You can turn this into a menacing narrative that there are evil reality show creative, organizing interruptions, making sure certain matches have fucked up finishes, or scripting promos, because in real life these things are scripted or orchestrated, so why wouldn’t this stuff in the world of wrestling be scripted to some extent. That is where the narrative of in storyline or outside storyline, whatever your poison is, makes it seem like WWE is the propaganda company like America is the propaganda country, and whatever their narrative is, that is what it is, and now the world is waking up to the empire’s bullshit and we see that there is life outside of WWE/America, and there are more progressive movements going on.

So whether its storyline or not, there is supposed to be this narrative that Triple H will make things better, but what if we are supposed to think that Triple H and WWE are so evil, they are stealing Indy talent away and to pretend to give them a promising career in WWE, and it might be Dusty Rhodes level of wearing poke a dots, they actually let talent flourish ultimately, but then sweep the rug from right under them. We all think that, especially if you are a cynical mark, but what if that ends up being true, and its revealed in “real life” which would probably be organized to anger us anyways, because WWE are the heels.

See you can show stuff the past to fit this narrative because within its history there has always been moments where certain stars seem “woke” and spew some truthful shit but ultimately they are shunned out, and we end up with what the McMahons intend to display, so you need an event currently as an example to display this past stuff, and Roman Reigns and John Cena are the answers. You could see people debating it and making us think it is real because they are saying these things about each other that has been in the internet fan’s mind for the longest while, and we think they are saying something real, but even within storyline it is scripted because they are 2 puppets of the authority.

You need to establish that Reigns has been the heel since the Shield have broken up, but McMahons were hell bent on making Reigns the face of the company so they convinced Seth Rollins to be the one to turn on the Shield, You can convey that Triple H plotted with Seth from the beginning to make him a star and that when he gives him the signal to turn on them he will do it, and Seth bought into that plan thinking it was to help himself, but it was all an elaborate plan because Triple H knew he needed Reigns to be liked so why not associate him with 2 Indy acts that have “hardcore fan base credibility”.  So in storyline they needed Seth to be hated, but fans appreciated him, so even in storyline the Authority did not like that, because Reigns was supposed to be cheered, and you can tell Reigns was supposed to be the “heel” because out of nowhere in the Summer of 2014, Reigns had an okay match with Orton and I remember this organized shift into hating him and then it got worse as the time went on.

Everything with Reigns has been organized. People have had to take dives, or people had to be eliminated from the equation, and for people to justify why they had to keep it secret because in WWE, depending on who you are, you can establish that they signed non disclosure agreements, and that they couldn’t speak about certain events. People had to do favors and you establish people who have to be on Authority’s side to help with this, like Bray Wyatt, he is used as a tool, and if you wanted to give him an actual push and you wanted to establish it, you could say the reason why he hasn’t cared about victories or has had empty threats, is because he is a tool for destruction and distraction. You can undo all this mess. I want to go deeper into it, but then it is already embarrassingly enough, diving in to some weird fantasy booking scenario and while most of you who are reading are a little mesmerized, I can see the eye rolls before it happens. I am Bran Stark in this bitch; can Bran Stark see the future? I forget, It doesn’t matter, I just tried to be too hip and incorporate Game of Thrones into all of this.

I know on any show I call into, they would not let me go this far with the ideas I am throwing out there because it is frankly too convoluted and they would insist that WWE is not thinking this deep into things, when they are because they are fucking smart as fuck. These people are on some next level, they are such geniuses, they have you thinking that anything outside the wrestling world they touch is not credible, when behind the scenes, and I am not talking talk on the internet, even beyond that, they could cosign things and people who are supposed to be seen in a positive light, but they are supposed to be the evil in this narrative now so it is slowly being exposed because it is supposed to, and this will bleed into the storyline, and if I am wrong and WWE is not thinking this far ahead or they never thought this far ahead, then guess what maybe they should do this because it will give fans who have wasted their time being fucked with, to be redeemed to some degree and by incorporating this conspiracy storyline especially with Reigns etc, it will allow you to go back and undo the convoluted narratives and inconsistencies that have been bestowed upon us over the course of the 30 plus years that most of us, from this generation, have enjoyed.

I could go into this deeper, but think I have done enough damage to your minds if you stuck around to read this garbage, see I am self deprecating like John Cena, so you think I am self aware, I am joking, unlike John I am actually genuine with myself deprecating but I know everyone loves one of those guys because it seems more human. See even in storyline, Cena is kind of on the evil side to some degree. There are good guys who are genuine good guys, there are bad guys who are genuine bad guys, but then there are bad guys who are misunderstood and you could argue they are kind of good in some ways, and then there are good guys who get booed who are presented as good guys in this reality show, but people who are smart to the whole thing know they are evil, and Cena and Reigns are both those guys, so even in storyline Cena knows that anyone he puts down, especially if it’s internet favorite, fans will feel sorry for them because they got buried, so Cena “buried” Reigns so the internet fans would feel sorry for him, but people hate Reigns so much, it is like it is backfiring on purpose. That is the conspiracy that even in storyline the company is trying to get Reigns over to be liked and a lot of the stuff he has done he has cheated by taking substances, because him getting caught with a wellness violation was done on purpose, I know people don’t think there is some real life storyline that will be revealed with that, but it will eventually make its way into the storyline, or you could say that some people he beat have taken dives for him, like the Undertaker, since he is associated with Triple H etc. The narrative of the storyline is that WWE is failing to getting him over as a good guy.

People always think that if you go inside terms it will ruin it but if you do it for the sake of making change and on the way to present wrestling like a realistic sport with storylines being more grounded, this would be the tactic to expose it and that is how you incorporate real life stuff within the storyline, like when Cm Punk said to Triple H “This isn’t Cm Punk talking to Triple H, this is Phil Brooks talking to Paul Levesque” people lost their shit because they are breaking the fourth wall, but they did it within storyline as well, because in storyline they have character stage names, and sometimes the rivalries are played up, when we all know they are friends, like if you wanted to point out in the 90’s that times Shawn Michaels and Razor Ramon fought, even within storyline that was kind of scripted to hype up a match, but they were a part of the Click. So whenever you hear in “real life” that people don’t like each other, that is supposed to represent that outside the “reality show” of WWE these guys hate each other, but for all you know they could like each other.

I probably didn’t make much sense, and I am not good at conveying this because I have millions of things on my mind, and this should be the last but in my pathetic existence if there is one thing I could help bring change to, it would be wrestling and I know this will not get acknowledge by anyone, but I will probably send this to people I respect and pretend they read it, even if they didn’t, because I don’t want to feel like it was a waste of time, but here is the kicker, it is a waste of time and the lack of response to it will ensure that for me, but in wrestling terms no one is allowed to put me over, so I have to constantly put myself over but then knock myself down a couple of pegs so people won’t be like “HOW DARE HE THINK HIS IDEAS ARE PROFOUND AND VALUABLE, HE IS IN HIS MOM’S BASEMENT, HE IS NOT SUPPOSED TO ACKNOWLEDGE HIS SELF WORTH AND TIHNK HE IS MORE THAN WHAT HE SAYS HE IS” I am just presenting something different, and it feels like even the people at the top know which way this shit is going or where it needs to go. So even if you don’t like that this idea was expressed by me, realize that more important and valuable people have been planting those seeds for a long time, because they knew the business, much like the world has to evolve. But you didn’t hear it from me because this is just my delusional conspiracy that I am putting out there, and it has no merit in truth whatsoever and I should never be allowed to breed kids for even thinking this stupidly but don’t worry I don’t have any chicks knocking down my parents basement door to get to me, try people I know, they are better people than I will ever be

I mean I think this was good right? I focused on a little bit of wrestling, but of course I had to reel it into my delusions and had to put myself over because I will never learn how to just focus strictly on the mission at hand, but that is probably why I will never make it out of this basement. Maybe Bo Dallas’s character should be the conspiracy theorist that points it out, since he has came out as a conspiracy theorist on Jericho’s podcast a month or so ago, him or R truth. I would say they should hire me, but that is not happening, even though they are crazier than I could ever be, but I know my past blogs and tweets will come into fruition even though they don’t really care about that, they are associated with Trump after all. I wouldn’t want a job there until there was some real change in the movement and not this old guard shit, but I think we are supposed to be on our way but no one wants to admit we are though, because we have to play it like things happen day to day and none of this shit is ever planned out well in advance, which is why these people are on top and on some next level.

[hottytoddynews]

Josh Hinson may look like an Irishman, but he is devoted to saving the Chickasaw language.

The Meek School faculty and students published “Unconquered and Unconquerable” online on August 19, 2016, to tell stories of the people and culture of the Chickasaw.

The Chickasaws know that to lose their native tongue would be to lose a big slice of who they are. And the clock is ticking.

Josh Hinson looks like an Irishman. In fact, in the Chickasaw tribe’s annual Three Sisters Festival, he plays the role of the white trader.

“It’s my burden. It’s my cross to bear. The whitest guy who can talk Chickasaw.”

Despite appearances, Hinson is part of a small army of people devoted to rescuing the Chickasaw language from the approaching threat of extinction.

In fact, most would consider Hinson the general of this army – a role for which he is respected within the tribal community.

“Yeah. Speakers are like rock stars,” he says.

He is referring not to himself but to fluent speakers of the Chickasaw language, those who learned to speak it first, before learning English. There are fewer than 50 alive today.

The language is in a dire state. With the youngest fluent speaker already 70, the Chickasaws face the threat of not only losing their native tongue, but the ancient knowledge and cultural understanding so deeply embedded within it. To lose a language is to lose a large piece of a tribe’s cultural pie. Time and mainstream society have greedily eaten away at it. But the Chickasaws are determined to piece together the crumbs that are left.

Sixty-five years ago, Stanley Smith walked from home to a one-room schoolhouse. He was a young Chickasaw boy in Allen, Okla., and it was his first day of school.

It was also his first encounter with the English language.

Smith was just one of 50 Chickasaw classmates. There were around six white students. The teachers spoke only English.

Along with Indian students who were mostly kinfolk, they struggled to learn the strange language their lessons were taught in. They struggled to communicate with classmates. They struggled to assimilate into the new culture being forced upon them.

“It was hard. But we all helped each other,” Smith said.

In 1880, the U.S. government began requiring Native American children to attend boarding schools or neighborhood schools aimed at casting off tribal influence and assimilating them into mainstream American culture. In these schools, many of which adhered to one founder’s slogan, “Kill the Indian, save the man,” children were often forbidden to speak anything but English. At the time, these trials led many Chickasaws to view their native language as a burden. Many eventually quit speaking it.

This tale is the tale of many tribes sent to government schools after removal to Oklahoma. As a result, the Chickasaws are just one of many on the verge of losing their native tongue because of the struggles students like Stanley Smith faced. Those struggles led to a burning desire to make life easier for their children. And to them, easier meant speaking English. And only English.

When Stanley Smith was a young boy, his grandfather told him never to forget how to speak his beautiful language.

Now that Chickasaw isn’t being taught in every home, it’s up to people like Smith to teach people like Hinson all they know before time runs out. And the clock is definitely ticking.

Easier said than done. Learning Chickasaw entails learning a poly-synthetic language. Whereas English is analytic with a noun, then a verb, and so on, Chickasaw consists of a verb that sits in the middle of a huge word with other stuff attached to it. This one word may be a couple of sentences in English.

For example, ‘Ilooittibaa-áyya’shanattook’ means “we all, more than three, were there, in that place, in an ongoing way, a long time ago, more than a year ago.”

“Turning that over in your head and thinking that way is tough,” Hinson says. “If it takes 15 hundred contact hours to be really good at communicating in Spanish, it takes probably 6,000 to 8,000 contact hours to be really good communicating in Chickasaw. It’s easily as hard as any of the most challenging world languages like Russian or Mandarin Chinese. It’s harder.”

So what possessed him to devote his life to learning and teaching such a difficult language?

Born and raised in West Texas, Hinson grew up removed from the tribe and its culture. What little knowledge of the language he held came from Granny Meme. She couldn’t speak much of her native language herself, but gave her grandchildren Chickasaw dictionaries for Christmas when Hinson was around 8 years old. His copy sits in his office today.

“We would give ourselves names and try to make up sentences… ‘cause we didn’t know what we were doing.”

He’s come a long way. Studying art history for his master’s degree at the University of New Mexico got Hinson interested in the language. He started learning in 2000, went to work for the tribe in Oklahoma in 2004, and says he was able to communicate “pretty well” by 2006. He has four sons—two adopted, two biological.

“When my first biological son was born, I just started really seriously picking up the language. It seemed like a good way to sort of figure out the cultural side of things,” he says.

Unlike the many Chickasaws who stayed in Oklahoma surrounded by their culture, when Hinson moved there, he felt disconnected from the tribe.

“Yeah, like an outlander born and raised in Texas,” he says. “No significant cultural knowledge. Getting the language just sort of, like, sucks you to the center… where it doesn’t matter.”

His job title is director of the Chickasaw Language Revitalization program, in which Smith is also active. Smith taught Hinson, and now together they strive to teach others. It is an increasingly urgent mission.

“We have to get good really quick. We don’t have time to mess around,” Hinson says. “We need to get good, when we can sit right next to fluent speakers and they can say, ‘Well, you might want to say, like, this.’”

The Chickasaw Academy is an intense, full-time language program in which tribal members immerse themselves in the dialect: a two-year long program, five days a week, five hours a day. For those who can’t participate in the revitalization classes, a Rosetta Stone program is being produced, the first 40 lessons of which will be released in fall, 2016. Additionally, the Chickasaws have created apps for tribe members to learn on their own anywhere, anytime. Andrea Kihega is a student in the immersion classes. Having always been interested in her heritage, she decided to study her native language. Kihega and the other students are encouraged not to use notes, only their memories. And while she says that she has struggled to break out and become confident in speaking the language, four years have made her knowledgeable enough to text in Chickasaw.

“I am so thankful today that I can still speak my own language,” Smith says. “I can remember Grandpa told me when I was 6 or 7 years old … ‘Don’t ever forget your language.’ I always think about that and how Grandpa said it’s a beautiful language.”

Andrea Kihega is a student in the immersion classes. She now knows enough to text in Chickasaw.

When Smith and other Chickasaws sought to make life easier for their children by not burdening them with two languages, they never dreamed that it would so quickly lead to today’s drought of fluent speakers.

Once, Hinson was somewhat the same way. He regrets that he wasn’t prepared enough to teach the old language to his newborn.

“I was a coward when the baby was born. I just didn’t feel I was proficient enough to raise him in it. He didn’t have the opportunity to be immersed in it ‘cause I just didn’t feel like I was qualified.”

In a world ruled by English, it will prove difficult, if not impossible, to develop a large core of people who speak Chickasaw first, English second. But perhaps the seed planted within the five people in Hinson’s immersion program can ignite a desire to learn that spreads throughout the tribe. The thought brings a smile to Hinson’s face.

“If we could just get, like, one percent before I die, one percent of the tribe as conversational speakers… Man, that would just be, I can’t even imagine, it’d be super,” he says.

Then, with squinted eyes, he starts pointing and bouncing fingers and running through the math.

“Shoot. It’ll never happen. That’s my wildest dream.”

Reality strikes and he lowers the bar a little. “You know, I’ll just take, I’ll take 10 right now. If we could get 10, highly proficient, second language learners.”

And with the vigorous efforts being made, it looks like he can prevail. More importantly though, the lesson has been learned. The severity of how much tribal culture is bound by language has been realized. If you don’t understand the language, you can’t fully understand the culture.

“There’s really something, sort of this world view, about how our ancestors, and our traditional people view the world that you just can’t have access to in some ways without knowing the language,” Hinson laments.

Walk the grounds of the spacious Chickasaw Cultural Center, a colorful, informative repository of tribal history, and you will frequently hear people offer greetings in Chickasaw. Here and there, more often, people use phrases and sometimes a sentence or two. There is a definite charge of hope running through the Chickasaws today. And maybe Hinson arrived at just the right time to be a big part of that.

As he thinks about it, a big smile spreads across his face.

“The traditional folks don’t care that I don’t look how an Indian ought to look. Because I can speak Chickasaw.”

By Kate Hayes. Photography by Chi Kalu.

LEFT TO RIGHT: Ariel Cobbert, Mrudvi Bakshi, Taylor Bennett, Lana Ferguson, SECOND ROW: Tori Olker, Josie Slaughter, Kate Harris, Zoe McDonald, Anna McCollum, THIRD ROW: Bill Rose, Chi Kalu, Slade Rand, Mitchell Dowden, Will Crockett. Not pictured: Tori Hosey PHOTO BY THOMAS GRANING

The Meek School faculty and students published “Unconquered and Unconquerable” online on August 19, 2016, to tell stories of the people and culture of the Chickasaw. The publication is the result of Bill Rose’s depth reporting class taught in the spring. Emily Bowen-Moore, Instructor of Media Design, designed the magazine.

“The reason we did this was because we discovered that many of them had no clue about the rich Indian history of Mississippi,” said Rose. “It was an eye-opening experience for the students. They found out a lot of stuff that Mississippians will be surprised about.”

Print copies will be available October 2016.

For questions or comments, email us at hottytoddynews@gmail.com.

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