#blat box

[fuzzkaizer]

the Blat Box

"the "Blat Box" … appears to be some kind of fuzz, made in Japan, either in the late 60s or very early 70s. … I see 4 ge transistors (fuzz ?), a transformer (octavia ?), and parts that look to be from late 60s Japan. Probably the most interesting thing about the Blat Box is that it's very similar to another obscure Japanese fuzz that we discussed years back, and still have almost no information about; the infamous "Baby Fuzz". Both of these appear to use the same odd type of enclosure, which is really the only true connection;"

note: the Baby Fuzz might be french, though.

cred: tonemachinesblog.com

[bunnydolly120]

guys idk why but here you go

the transcript of the new episode

0:00[upbeat techno music plays]

0:03♪♪

0:06[cheerful music plays]

0:10[schwing!]

0:11-Welcome back, my candy hearts and paper flowers!

0:15[schwing!]

0:16-[grunts]

0:18-Well, that sure could have gone better.

0:21But I'm sure the next adventure will be less...

0:24uh, wet.

0:27-[Kinger]: Hey, Ragatha?

0:28Can you help me count my eggs before they hatch?

0:31-Oh, yeah, of course.

0:32Uh -- Wait, what?

0:35-Looks like that oh-so-positive Ragatha charm

0:37is starting to wear off, huh?

0:39-[groans]

0:44-Hmm.

0:46Hmm...

0:47-[Zooble]: Looks like this one was a home run, eh?

0:49-Oh, Zooble, you mismatched cash-piano.

0:52I'll tear YOU TO PIECE--

0:53Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.

0:55-[Zooble]: But never acknowledged.

0:57-[growls] That's it!

0:58Everybody besides Zooble, get over here!

1:01[mystical shimmering]

1:03Everyone, I'm going to pitch to you some future adventure ideas,

1:07and I'm going to ask you to give me your honest opinions on them.

1:11-I was gonna sleep. -All right!

1:12So, I've got an adventure where you all tour

1:14my amazing magic chocolate factory

1:17and get killed off one by one from OSHA violations,

1:19one where a sentient cardiovascular system

1:22goes to war against the United States military,

1:24and one where you have to survive in a post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland

1:28with a telepathic talking dog who's mean to you the whole time!

1:32What do you think?

1:35-Uh, I don't know.

1:37They all sound a little...

1:39uh, dark?

1:40-I can't tell a compelling story where nothing bad happens.

1:44Where's the intrigue? The stakes?

1:45-Not to mention the sssssex appeal.

1:49-What are you talking about?

1:50-[Zooble]: You know, you could always try the suggestion box again.

1:54I honestly didn't hate the last one we did with it.

1:56-You... didn't hate it?

1:58-[Zooble]: It was kind of refreshing doing something grounded in reality.

2:01-Yeah, I really didn't mind that one, either.

2:05-Uh, what about the rest of you? [overlapping chatter]

2:07-[Jax]: I very much did not enjoy that one in the slightest,

2:10and if we ever do anything even close to that again,

2:13I'm getting violent, and I'm going to kill Ragatha.

2:17-Well, how am I gonna please everybody if you all like different things?

2:20-[Zooble]: Maybe just keep your adventures open at all times

2:23and let us do whatever we want, when we want.

2:25-Are you hearing this, Bubble?

2:27The toybox character wants us to leave the other intelligent AIs

2:31to run for a prolonged period of time.

2:34-Disgusting!

2:35-[Zooble]: Am I not supposed to be hearing you?

2:37-Zippy! [zip!]

2:39-[Zooble]: What did you even zip up? I don't have a mouth.

2:42-Okay, well, how about this?

2:44We'll do a lightning round,

2:46going through all the suggestions in the suggestion box

2:49in rapid succession.

2:50And if you don't like one, you can all vote to skip it.

2:54-What? Like, now? -That's right!

2:57So, grab your bones and pop your pansies,

2:59'cause here we go!

3:01-Wait, didn't we just finish an adventure? -I was gonna sleep!

3:05[dramatic music plays]

3:08Oh, wait, I know what this is!

3:10-[Zooble]: Oh, I swear to God,

3:12if this is one of your suggestions...

3:15-Hi, everyone!

3:16In today's episode of "Poach Everything,"

3:19I'm going to be hunting the critically endangered

3:22red ribbon rhinoceros.

3:25Ahh, just like mom used to make.

3:29[cheerful musical sting plays]

3:36[growling]

3:37-[Zooble]: Oh, my God.

3:40-Ahh, delicious meat.

3:42One down, four to go! -[Zooble]: All right, I'm calling a vote.

3:45Let's skip this one --

3:46and also make Jax a vegan for the rest of the day.

3:49-You can't do that.

3:50[high-pitched tones chiming]

3:51[buzzer blats] [ding!]

3:53What do you mean, you can do that?

3:54-Sorry, Jax -- democracy has spoken.

3:58-Democracy sucks.

3:59[portal shimmering]

4:03-[Pomni]: Wait, what? Why me?

4:04-[Jax]: Eh, I thought a position of power suited you.

4:07-[Zooble]: Oh, my God, are these all gonna be Jax's ideas?

4:09[patriotic music plays]

4:13-[Kinger]: Well, Ms. President,

4:15it looks like there are some new developments

4:17in the ongoing war between Australia and New Zealand.

4:20We may need to take in some refugees.

4:23What do you think? -Wh-- How do you know what to do?

4:26What? -[Kinger]: Didn't you get the brief?

4:28-I am...

4:29just being here.

4:31-You're doing great, Pomni! -[Kinger]: Come down here for a sec.

4:36[whispering] We all got briefs on our characters.

4:39I'm your assistant.

4:41-I-Is that a baby-head lamp?

4:44-[Kinger]: Didn't you get one, too?

4:46I figured we were all on the same page here.

4:48But, if not, you're gonna have to tap into those golden improv skills.

4:52-I'm sorry, what? -[Jax]: Oh, yeah!

4:54I didn't give you one 'cause I wanted to see what you'd do!

4:57-Thanks, Jax.

4:58Appreciate it.

4:59-[Kinger]: I'm not Jax.

5:03-[Australian accent] Oy, mate!

5:04I'm an Australian extremist,

5:06and I've come to detonate this bomb

5:07that'll release all the world's deadliest spiders into...

5:13[normal voice] Did I pick a bad time?

5:14[canned laughter plays]

5:16[laughter continues over speakers] -His acting is phenomenal.

5:19It's hard to believe he's vegan.

5:22-Why wouldn't the president have a bomb squad?!

5:24-Don't worry, President Pomni!

5:26I believe you can do this.

5:27-There's centipedes in there, too.

5:29-Just be sure you know what you're doing.

5:31-Okay, well, which wire do I cut?

5:34-Follow your heart. -You stay out of this!

5:36Shouldn't you be arrested, or something?

5:38-Hey, I'm on your side here. -You're literally not.

5:41-Come on, just pick your favorite color.

5:43-Like the red one?

5:45-[Kinger]: I'd personally go with blue.

5:47Blue's my favorite color --

5:48it being closest to black, and all.

5:52-Wouldn't black be your favorite color, then?

5:54-[Kinger]: Well, no. There's no black wire.

5:56-Hi.

5:58I'm a New Zealand extremist, and...

6:01I... don't..

6:03know what New Zealanders threaten people with.

6:06[bomb ticking]

6:09[mellow jazz music plays]

6:12♪♪

6:19-[distorted feedback blares]

6:23[cheerful pop music plays] -[Singer]: [singing in Japanese]

6:26♪♪

6:34-What is this? I don't like this.

6:36-[Zooble]: [sighs] Can it.

6:38At least we finally have one that's by someone else.

6:40-Yeah, there's nothing more fun than being back in school.

6:43-Just give it a chance, Jax.

6:45Jeez.

6:46-[Zooble]: There's nothing wrong with your suggestion.

6:48-Wh-- H-How did you know this was my suggestion?!

6:52-Can you believe this, Pomni?

6:54First she draws anime.

6:55Now she drags us all into one. [scoffs]

6:58She must be one of them, uh...

7:01losers.

7:02-You threw me out of a moving truck. -[Kinger]: All right, class.

7:05Today, we're gonna learn the popular foreign language known as...

7:09English? -This is boring.

7:11I vote we skip it. -[Zooble]: Shut up, we're not skipping it.

7:14-[scoffs] Slice-of-life animes are the worst ones.

7:16It's embarrassing!

7:18[chuckles] I mean, I guess it's not as embarrassing

7:21as that time Gangle took an anime figure and --

7:23-Actually, yeah! We can skip it, that's fine!

7:25Let's skip this one!

7:28[mellow celestial music plays]

7:31[insects chirping softly]

7:33♪♪

7:36-Are we just chilling for this one?

7:39Can I finally relax?

7:41-Uh, I guess so.

7:42But, uh, I prefer a little bite to my adventures.

7:45-[Kinger]: [chomps] Then why don't you

7:47help yourself to a sangwidge?

7:50-[Zooble]: Here. -Thanks.

7:54-Do you think Gangle is actually capable of being happy?

8:00-What? -I dunno.

8:01Like, her comedy mask still breaks every day.

8:03Does she think hanging out with Zooble is gonna magically fix that?

8:07-Maybe she just doesn't wanna hang out

8:09with someone who's mean to her all the time.

8:11-She likes when I'm mean to her, though.

8:13-I didn't think you cared about what other people like.

8:16-[scoffs] I just...

8:18No, yeah, y-you're right -- I don't.

8:22-Do you have any...

8:24actual friends?

8:26-Not anymore.

8:29Oh -- Oh. Oh, wait, no.

8:31Uh, I'm -- I'm sorry.

8:32I-I wasn't talking about --

8:33That --That wasn't meant to be --

8:35Uh -- Uh...

8:37Hey, Kinger! [laughs awkwardly]

8:38Did you see the fireflies all the way over there?

8:40-[Kinger]: [gasps] Where?!

8:44-What was that about?

8:46-It's nothing.

8:47Who cares?

8:49[sighs] Doesn't she get on your nerves sometimes?

8:52-I mean, she's nice to everyone.

8:55-[sighs] I don't know, I just --

8:56I think she tries way too hard.

8:59Like, we're stuck in --

9:01Why are you always pretending everything's always fine?

9:04Like, if you tell someone they're loved and appreciated every day,

9:07it just kind of loses all meaning.

9:10[inhales deeply] [sighs]

9:11It just feels like she's trying to take advantage of you, you know?

9:15I don't know.

9:17Also, she's dumb, and she looks weird.

9:20-Eh, I think we all look weird.

9:22-[scoffs] Excuse you.

9:23This is what peak male performance looks like.

9:25My ears and tail are kind of the pinnacle of masculinity.

9:30-You don't have a tail. -[scoffs]

9:32What are you talking about? Yes, I do.

9:34It's -- It -- What the --

9:36Where's my tail?

9:37How long have I not had my tail?

9:38-I have never seen you with a tail.

9:41-When would that have even... [stammers]

9:44♪♪

9:46-They look happy.

9:48-They do, don't they?

9:51-You think after this, maybe we could --

9:53-Wait a minute! That's a bad thing!

9:55-Explain to daddy Bubble how bad thing?

9:58-I-I think that -- Don't say that.

10:00I-I think they're enjoying the suggestion box adventures

10:03more than the me adventures!

10:04What should I do? -You should die --

10:06You should throw a [BLEEP!] beach party!

10:09-Why do you swear now?

10:10Ugh, forget it. Let's go to an intermission.

10:12[rewound audio warbles]

10:16-[deep sultry voice]: Intermission time.

10:18[record scratches] [trippy music plays]

10:20[remixed vocals play]

10:23♪♪

10:30♪♪

10:37♪♪

10:44♪♪

10:51♪♪

10:58♪♪

11:05♪♪

11:12♪♪

11:16-[Zooble]: Caine, what are we doing right now?

11:18-We're intermissioning!

11:20-[Zooble]: Why?

11:24Uh...

11:25Hello?

11:26-And now, back to the show!

11:28[moody jazz music plays]

11:30[bell jingles]

11:31♪♪

11:34-Gimme a whiskey sour.

11:35But hold the egg white, since I'm a vegan.

11:38Wha-- I hate this!

11:39How is this even possible?

11:41I thought Caine couldn't --

11:43-[Zooble]: I could have made it way worse for you.

11:45-Well, I'm calling a vote to turn Zooble into a slug.

11:48[warbling tones play] [low tones play]

11:50-Everyone voted against that.

11:52-UUUUGGHH!!

11:54No hate it...

11:55[bell jingles]

11:56-[Kinger]: Phew! It's raining like the dickens out there.

12:00-Hey, guys.

12:01♪♪

12:03I'll have a cosmopolitan.

12:06-[Kinger]: Gimme a corncob blitz.

12:09-[Zooble]: I'll throw something together.

12:12-You know your way around alcohol, huh?

12:14-[Zooble]: Yeah. This was one of my suggestions.

12:17I worked at a bar briefly.

12:19I like making drinks.

12:20-[scoffs] That sounds fitting for you.

12:22-[Zooble]: I know there's an implication there,

12:24but I can't be [BOINK!] to figure it out.

12:27-So, Pomni, you ever have any jobs?

12:29Or are you too young for that?

12:30-I'm 25 years old.

12:33And, yeah.

12:34I was an accountant for a -- a supermarket chain.

12:37-A supermarket?

12:39How'd you end up here?

12:40-Well, I...

12:42sometimes got bored of things...

12:45and I would seek out mild thrills.

12:47Like exploring abandoned buildings, you know?

12:50And posting videos of it online.

12:53-Ah, a YouTuber.

12:55-Not really.

12:56Nobody watched them.

12:59It was just something I did for me.

13:01-[Zooble]: I sometimes did that.

13:03I wouldn't record it, though.

13:05Here's your cosmo. -Thanks.

13:06-Hiding something.

13:08-[Zooble]: You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?

13:10What's your story, then?

13:11-Ah, I thought you'd never ask.

13:13Well, after my lung cancer diagnosis,

13:16me and my junkie associate from a chemistry class I used to teach --

13:19-[Zooble]: I figured. How about you, Gangle?

13:20-Hey, I wasn't done. -[Zooble]: If you're gonna

13:22make [BOINK!] up, at least be creative about it.

13:24I know what you're referencing.

13:26-Was that a reference to something?

13:28-Uh...

13:30I worked in fast food.

13:32-[Zooble]: You've done more than that. What about your art?

13:34-I was in community college for graphic design,

13:37but I dropped out.

13:40I didn't really pursue art much after that.

13:42-[Zooble]: Hey, I'm always down to make art together, if you want.

13:45-Oh, I didn't know you were an artist, too, Zooble.

13:48-[Zooble]: Uh, yeah, I was a tattoo artist for a couple years.

13:50-A bartender AND a tattoo artist?

13:53[laughs] You're killin' me here, Zoobie.

13:56-[Zooble]: What do you mean when you say that?

13:58Do you have, like, an actual point?

13:59Or are you just talking?

14:01-I'm just havin' fun.

14:02I forgot you hate fun.

14:04-[Zooble]: Fun isn't the thing I hate.

14:07-I guess I'll go now.

14:08Oh, jeez, where to start. [laughs nervously]

14:11Um, I was born into a fairly wealthy family.

14:14We had a large property with horses and chickens.

14:18And my mother...

14:19Uh, well...

14:21my mother was...

14:22a lot.

14:23Uh, I worked in real estate for a bit

14:26until I ended up...

14:27here.

14:29[sighs] I'm sure she doesn't miss me.

14:32I certainly don't miss the yelling...

14:35and the berating...

14:36and guilt-tripping... [laughs nervously]

14:39And the...

14:42Yeah. [laughs] Just kind of a farm girl.

14:44Nothing too out of the ordinary.

14:46♪♪

14:49-And no point in asking Kinger,

14:51'cause there's no way he remembers anything.

14:53-[Kinger]: Never better!

14:56-Do you guys know about his wife?

14:58-Huh? -[Kinger]: MY WHAT?!

15:00Oh. -[scoffs]

15:02[door opens] [bell dings]

15:06-[NPC]: He--

15:08-What? -[Zooble]: That's disappearing guy.

15:10That's just what he does.

15:11-I see.

15:13From a previous adventure?

15:16-Yeah. God, Pomni.

15:17You didn't know that?

15:19-[Zooble]: I'm ignoring you.

15:20-By the way, Pomni,

15:22sorry about the whole president thing.

15:24I just thought it'd be funny.

15:26-Uh, are -- are --

15:27are you apologizing?

15:29What's happening? -[Zooble]: Just ignore him.

15:31-Uh...

15:33Apology accepted.

15:35I guess.

15:36-Wow, the first steps of a budding friendship.

15:39Right, Ragatha?

15:42-Uh, hey, Pomni.

15:44Remember when Kaufmo smashed me against the walls

15:47and I got all jumbled up?

15:49Ah, all things considered, that was pretty funny, right?

15:52-Noooo?

15:54Not really.

15:55-Oh, yeah, yeah. No, sorry.

15:58That was probably pretty traumatic for you.

16:00-Ooh, remember when you got high at McDonald's

16:02and told Gangle to kill herself?

16:04[chuckles] Now that was funny.

16:06-What? I-I did not say that!

16:08I-I think.

16:09No. No, of course I didn't.

16:10I -- And I am still so, so sorry about that, Gangle.

16:14I would never have said anything like that

16:16if I didn't get that stupid sauce in my eye!

16:19-Jeez, Raggy, just let yourself be mean sometimes.

16:23It's funny. -[Zooble]: Yeah.

16:24Constantly tormenting Gangle's really funny, Jax.

16:27-You guys all take this place way too seriously.

16:32Wh-- What is this?

16:35Why'd you do that?

16:37Can you get that thing away from me?

16:39-[Zooble]: Are you afraid of corn?

16:41-No.

16:42Who's afraid of corn?

16:44[exclaims] -I'm bored!

16:46Let's go to the next adventure! -[Zooble]: You're not even a part of --

16:48[crowd cheering]

16:51-[Caine]: [through microphone] It's softball, ladies and gentlemen!

16:54-[Ragatha]: O-Oh. We're doing this now?

16:56-Beautiful night for a game, right, Bubble?

16:58-BLEEEH!!

17:00-We've got the Big Tops

17:02playing against the Evil Big Tops!

17:05-'Sup, [BLEEP!]?

17:06I'm Evil Pomni.

17:08-[cackling] I'm Evil Ragatha!

17:12-[Evil Kinger]: Coach Dictatorer, here!

17:14-[nervously] Uh, hi, guys.

17:15I-I'm Evil Jax.

17:17-[Evil Orbsman]: Evil Orbsman, reporting for duty!

17:20-[Evil Zooble]: [goofy voice] I'm Bazooble! [babbles]

17:22-Well, that wasn't in my suggestion.

17:25-Why don't I get an evil clone?

17:27-But first, let's welcome our special guest,

17:29here to sing the American national anthem.

17:32[crowd cheering]

17:35[microphone feedback squeals]

17:38-[Disappearing Guy]: ♪ Oh, sa-- ♪

17:41[applause]

17:48-[screams]

17:50-[Kinger]: All right, team!

17:52I may not know what's going on

17:54or who is going on,

17:56or when is going on,

17:57or why is going on,

17:59but I do know where is going on,

18:02and it's out on that field.

18:04So, let's go break some tailbones, team.

18:08-H-Hey, guys.

18:09-I-I hope we all have a fun game,

18:11no matter who ends up winning.

18:14-I wanna kill that guy.

18:17-Well, hello, Stupidgatha!

18:19I hope you're ready to get completely annihilated!

18:22[cackles]

18:24Nobody loves you, and you're going to die someday!

18:27[cackles]

18:28-We can't exactly die.

18:30That's like the whole thing here.

18:34-[Evil Orbsman]: What the frick?

18:35-Huh? Oh, check this [BLEEP!] out.

18:39You're out, dumb-[BLEEP!]

18:41-[BOINK!] it!

18:42-Hah! Get owned!

18:44-[BLEEP!] yeah, that's what I'm sayin'.

18:46-Ah, she's cool.

18:49Wait, w-what's that?

18:53[chime rings]

18:55What the heck?!

18:56Who did this?! -[giggles]

18:58-YOU!

18:59-[screaming] -[Zooble]: Hey!

19:01-[wailing]

19:03-[Kinger]: Jax, you're up to bat! -I cant -- Don't wanna --

19:05[stammers] I look like this, though!

19:08-[Zooble]: Seems fitting for you, though.

19:09I figured you'd be into this. -What does that mean?

19:11What's that supposed to mean? -[Zooble]: I'm just havin' fun.

19:14I forgot you hate fun.

19:15-I don't want to wear this! [breathing heavily]

19:20-[Zooble]: I have never seen you this upset about something.

19:24-[Kinger]: Jax! Bat!

19:25-I'm gonna kill you when this is over.

19:29-[Evil Zooble]: Let's see what you're made of!

19:32-Sh-- Shut up!

19:33-D-Don't worry! I think you look good!

19:35-I don't want to hear that!

19:36I want you dead!

19:41-[chomps]

19:42-Huh, I guess there's no more ball.

19:44We're done. -[Kinger]: Wait!

19:45I got this!

19:48Hmm.

19:49-[Zooble]: Wh-- Hey! -[Kinger]: Sorry, Zooble.

19:51It's just the perfect regulation softball size.

19:54We're not playin' baseball, here.

20:01-[sighs] I'm not doing this anymore.

20:03-[Kinger]: Wait, Jax!

20:04Wh-- What about where is going on?

20:07-[sighs] I can't believe I hit it right to her.

20:10I'm supposed to be better than that.

20:13[sighs] Sorry.

20:14I should be a better sport.

20:17-Not to, like, agree with Jax, or anything,

20:20but there's nothing wrong with showing your negative emotions.

20:23That's... pretty normal.

20:25-[sighs] I don't know.

20:27I don't want to be a jerk, or anything.

20:29-I think we all need to be a jerk sometimes.

20:33-[mumbles] Maybe.

20:35Who knows?

20:40-[Zooble]: Caine! We need a ball here!

20:42-[snores] [stammers] Wha--

20:44Oh! [schwing!]

20:46-[Zooble]: Jax, we have a ball now!

20:48What are you doing?

20:49-Ugh, see ya.

20:55Whoops, I missed.

20:58Oh, darn, I'm out.

21:03-Having fun?

21:04-Oh, you know it.

21:07Oh, look, Gangle's up to bat.

21:09How do you think this is gonna go?

21:10-Would you stop trying to force her to act like you?

21:13-Oh, yeah, I should force her to be happy

21:15all the time instead -- right.

21:16-Well, it's better than turning her into some insensitive jerk

21:19who deflects everything.

21:21-I can think for myself, guys.

21:23-Hey, I ain't forcin' anything on ya.

21:25-And then you just act like you never do anything wrong

21:27and everybody loves you, when, in reality,

21:29you just [BONK!] everything up for everyone else!

21:31-Okay, let's, like, calm down a bit.

21:34-What?! You're the one who said

21:36it's fine to be a jerk sometimes!

21:38Ugh!

21:40I'm sorry, Pomni. [sighs]

21:42That wasn't very cool of me.

21:43-I-It's fine.

21:45-No apologies for me?

21:47This is so sad.

21:49-[sighs]

21:50I'm sorry, Jax...

21:52for...

21:54for bringing up that thing earlier.

22:02-So...

22:03You wanna...

22:05talk about that?

22:07-I'm in a maid outfit. What do you think?

22:11[yelps] -[sighs]

22:12So, how's the game going? -[Kinger]: Great!

22:15Gangle hit a home run!

22:17-Really? -Yeah.

22:18Your instructions helped me a lot.

22:21-Huh. [laughs softly]

22:23-[Zooble]: Can you give me my eye back?

22:25-[Evil Zooble]: Jokes on you -- I've already forgotten

22:27what you're talkin' about!

22:30[grunts] -Wowie!

22:32Another home run!

22:35-[Evil Kinger]: God [BLEEP!]

22:37-[Zooble]: What, uh -- Okay.

22:39-[Kinger]: Nice going, Zooble!

22:41All right, Pomni, you're up.

22:44-Hey, Ragatha?

22:45You wanna bat for me instead?

22:47-O-O-Oh, uh...

22:49I guess I could, if you really don't want to.

22:52-Think of it as a -- a second chance

22:54to show 'em who's boss.

22:56-[chuckles] Yeah.

23:05Uh... -Bazowieezooweewa!

23:07Another home run!

23:09And that makes three home runs in a row!

23:11The Big Tops win!

23:13-Uh, that's...

23:15not how softball works.

23:17-Well, that's how my softball works.

23:18We're done! Hooray!

23:19-No! [shrieking]

23:21-Ugh. [BLEEP!], man.

23:23We didn't even get to bat.

23:28-[Kinger]: You did it, Ragatha! -Whoa!

23:30-[Kinger]: We won!

23:32-Uh, I mean, I guess. [laughs]

23:34-Good job -- whatever you did.

23:38-[Zooble]: Huh? Uh, oh, yeah.

23:39Good job, team.

23:41-Huh? Oh, cool.

23:43I'm not a vegan anymore.

23:46-Oh, hey! W-Wait, what are you --

23:48-[growling] -[screaming]

23:50-[Kinger]: Why is going on?!

23:52[screaming and growling continue]

23:58[portal shimmering]

23:59-Well, I hope we all learned

24:01that suggestion box ideas are actually not fun at all,

24:04and Caine's ideas are much better!

24:07-[Zooble]: Well, some of them were pretty okay.

24:09-I kind of liked the low-stakes ones.

24:11-I thought the first two were awesome.

24:13The rest, eh.

24:15Oh, yeah, Pomni -- I can show you that thing in the hall I was talking about.

24:18-Uh, oh, yeah, sure.

24:26-[sighs]

24:30[sinister music plays]

24:33♪♪

24:40♪♪

24:45[upbeat jazzy music plays]

24:48♪♪

24:55♪♪

25:02♪♪

25:09♪♪

25:11[Captioned by Foulweather Studios]

25:12♪♪

25:17♪♪

25:24♪♪

i'm going crazy.

[azahar]

boneless avocados & the blat

I was intrigued as soon as I saw this box of “boneless avocados” (sin hueso) at the Triana market a couple of weeks ago but at the time I was on the hunt for apples and other things to make this fabulous recipe by my friend Debora Robertson (scroll down for recipe, or read the whole story it’s fun). Meanwhile I did a little research and discovered that these eensy avocados can be eaten whole,…

[evecolourshock]

:)

Tron has to do a double-take, the next time Beck shows up at his hideout. There are a half-dozen creamish yellow... things. Adorning his the beta's head like a crown. Darting in and out of his hair, making Beck's carefully maintained spikes fluff out in all directions.

When Beck manages to coax them into getting off, it becomes clear they're newly rezzed Bits. Four or five millicycles old at most, from the size.

"Mara found a box of Bits, tied shut and with a heavy grate on top so they couldn't escape." Beck explains, before Tron can figure out how to ask. "So of course she brought them into the Garage. Couldn't leave them there like that."

Tron understands - Yori had done something similar to his apartment back on Encom. "And successfully argued to keep all of them." He not quite teases, a little too nostalgic to give it any bite.

"Yeah." Beck hums, letting one baby Bit roll across his palm. The rest quickly follow, back and forth, squeaking what one cycle will be delighted yeses. Tron creeps over and spreads his own hand for them to explore, giving in - no training today, probably, but the Bits Beck brought are too cute for him to be annoyed about it. "Didn't realise until the adults wobbled their way out of the box these little guys were in there too." Beck pets one that can't quite seem to hover properly. "I've been trying to take care of them - they were so tiny and translucent, didn't look like they were going to make it." He chuckles when the others mob his fingers, begging for pets themselves. "But they're fighters, and don't give up that easy. Do you, lil guys?" He coos, and the Bits flash pinkish-red cheerfully. "Yeah, that's right. You're so strong already, gonna be even stronger when you grow up."

Tron honestly wouldn't have guessed the poor things were starved and abandoned - they're doing so well under Beck's care, awkward flying and all. "You've certainly made sure they can thrive." One tumbles a little too close to the edge of the bench, and Tron cups his hand in case it needs catching. It doesn't, hovering wobbily back to its cluster, and they start trying to march their way up Beck's arm - alternating between yes-pings and no-blats on their way. "Cheeky little things."

"It's kind of all them." Beck laughs gently. "I just helped." He glances over at Tron, a line of Bits over one shoulder. "Sometimes that's all someone needs. A little bit of help."

Well. "Then they're certainly in the safest hands for it." Tron murmurs. He's so damn proud of this beta.

from nov 2021, which i dont think ill ever finish :') based on an incorrect quote i think

------

Mara, holding a box: Able, what would you do if I came to the Garage with a box full of stray bits?

Able: Mara, what's in the box?

The Box: [bit voice] YES YES YES YES YES

Mara: ...I think we both know.

[shadowcybunny]

NEOPET GAMES THAT WORK

These are games that currently work with

THIS CHROME EXTENSION.

Working means you can both play it AND earn neopoints. There are some games that are somewhat playable but bugged, or you are unable to earn neopoints with them. Some games don’t work at all. I will not be listing those games here. Some of these will be one of the 14 fixed games in the current game room. I am including them because the old game room still has the featured game function, allowing you to earn double the points by playing it from the old link. I hope this makes you as happy as it did me. c:

I would click each one and add them to your favorite game list to make things easier later on.

AAA’s Revenge

Attack of the Revenge

Bagatelle

Mynci Beach Volleyball

Biscuit Brigade: Hagan's Last Stand

Neverending Boss Battle

Bruno's Backwoods Breakaway

Ultimate Bullseye II

Bumble Beams

The Buzzer Game

Carnival of Terror

Escape from Meridell Castle

Caves and Corridors: Mystery Island

Chemistry for Beginners

Chia Bomber 2

Faerie Cloud Racers

Coconut Shy

Crisis Courier

Dar-BLAT!!!

Defender Trainer

Edna's Shadow

The Castle of Eliv Thade

Evil Fuzzles from Beyond the Stars

Extreme Herder

Eye of the Storm

Faerie Bubbles

Faerie Caves II - Fyora's Quest

Fashion Fever

Feed Florg

Flycatcher

Freaky Factory

Gadgadsgame

Igloo Garage Sale

Ghost Bopper

Goparokko

Gormball

Grand Theft Ummagine

Attack of the Gummy Dice

Gwyl's Great Escape

Hasee Bounce

Hubrid's Hero Heist

Hungry Skeith

Ice Cream Machine

Imperial Exam

Itchy Invasion

Jolly Jugglers

Jubble Bubble

Meepit Juice Break

Kass Basher

Kiko Match II

Kiss The Mortog

Escape to Kreludor

MAGAX: Destroyer II

Magma Blaster

Attack of the Marblemen

Maths Nightmare

Meepit vs. Feepit

Meerca Chase II

Mootix Drop

Mop 'n' Bop

NC Shopping Race (AD)

Trouble at the National Neopian

Nimmos Pond

Skies Over Meridell

Petpet Rescue

Petpet Cannonball

Piper Panic

Pterattack

The Great Qasalan Caper

Revel Roundup

Rink Runner

Roodoku

Ruins Rampage

Scamander Swarm

Smug Bug Smite

Snowbeast Snackrifice

Snow Wars II

Snowball Fight

Snowmuncher

Sophie's Stew

Lost in Space Fungus

Spell-Or-Starve

Splat-A-Sloth

Stowaway Sting

Strength Test

Sutek's Tomb

Swarm - The Bugs Strike Back

TNT Staff Smasher

Techo Says

Time Tunnel

Toy Box Escape

Tug 'O' War

Turmac Roll

Typing Terror

Tyrannian Mini Golf

Usuki Frenzy

The Usul Suspects

Volcano Run II

Warf Rescue Team

Web of Vernax

Whirlpool

Wicked Wocky Wobble

Word Pyramid

[dustedmagazine]

Matmos — Regards / Ukłony Dla Bogusław Schaeffer (Thrill Jockey)

Regards/Ukłony dla Bogusław Schaeffer by Matmos

Bogusław Schaeffer is a fascinating figure, born in Lviv (now Ukraine) in 1929 but a citizen of Poland, trained in violin and classical music, but an early experimenter with electronics. He incorporated elements of jazz into his music ahead of the curve and invented his own idiosyncratic system of notation. Schaeffer is widely recognized as one of Poland’s leading composers, and if that’s not enough, he was also a writer of absurdist plays, an accompanier of dance and theatrical productions and an all-around renaissance man. Documentarian Maciej Pisarek made a film called “Solo” about Schaeffer’s life and music, and it’s worth watching (and also free on YouTube). In the film, you can see him bouncing a hard-boiled egg on piano strings for altered sounds, composing on the fly and notating as he goes, walking an unruly dog and accepting various sorts of acclaim.

Schaeffer, who died in 2019, understood how different his art was from most contemporary classical composers — and how that limited his audience. He observed, “True creators’ work [is]overshadowed by the renown and popularity of composers who in the development of music play secondary roles. In other words, music is divided into the real creativity and the reproductive one, rehashing with dubious artistic results what has been made by chosen individuals.” Schaeffer rightly put himself in the second bucket. With some 500 compositions to his name, his work ranged from spike-y, be-bop inflected takes on jazz to eerie electronic masses.

Not long after Schaeffer died, the Instytutu Adama Mickiewicza gave long-running experimental electronics duo Matmos access to its entire archive of Schaeffer’s recorded works, which they then used as raw material for their 13th full-length album. The result is an intriguing set of tracks which sound, one hand, very much in line with Matmos’ percolating, abstract grooves, but also very different.

The first three tracks are glitchily, rhythmically accessible. “Resemblage / Parasamblaż” follows a light but steady cadence of drums through thickets of silvery electronic tones. Quiet but subversive, it pulses like a marching band heard from a distance, with a distorted music box playing nearer by. “Cobra Wages Shuffle / Off! Schable w gurę!” constructs a Rube Goldberg machine of beats and blats, then hazards over disembodied bits of choral musing. Schaeffer was a friend and contemporary of Ligeti, and you can definitely hear the connection. As the track goes on, a little bit of bebop filters in in the drums and bursts of brass. Lighthearted and light-footed, it’s an abstracted dance with rhythm at its core. A woman speaks in Polish near the end. You wonder if it’s from one of the plays.  “Few, Far Chaos Bugles / Uff... Bosch gra Wałęsę” is another track made out of rhythm and cadence, but it’s shot through with lush string sounds, reminding you that Schaeffer composed for the avant gard but also the establishment, writing works for the great orchestras of Europe.  

With “Flight to Sodom / Lot do Salo,” the album moves into even more riveting abstractions, a sampled voice pulsing like a drum as rich textures of synth swirl around it. Here too, denatured vocals surge and fade in a not-quite-human choir sound. The second side turns more ominous and atmospheric in cuts like “Tonight there is something special about the moon / Jaki księżyc dziś wieczór...” and especially “Anti-Antiphon (Absolute Decomposition) / Anty-Antyfona (Dekonstrukcja na całego).”

If you’re not terribly familiar with Schaeffer — and most of us aren’t — it may be difficult to separate out his input from Matmos’ sonic play. But from a pair who have created artful grooves out of surgery noises and washing machines, the switch to modernist classical music as source material is an intriguing choice. You wonder whether Schaeffer would have considered this album real creativity or reproduction, but you could make a case for either.

Jennifer Kelly

[whattheflameo]

The map you made is really cool, but um.... what does it say? 😅👉👈😅

Gather round, children, Captain Kit is gonna learn you on a few of the basic arts of nautical navigation. (This is going to get a bit in-depth so I’ll put it under a cut)

To begin, what I posted is a chart- a map designed for air or sea navigation. The only ones who will give you crap about the terms are boat people. I’m one of them, and I’m not sorry. Reading a chart on a basic level is the same as reading a map. Big words are names of bodies of water. Green is land, blue is water, and the darker the blue, the deeper the water (at least, here). A green area without an outline is a swampy type area, where land vs. water is meh. The compass rose in the top right corner is used to orient the chart. From the angle, we can see that Yue Bay and its tributaries actually run more West-East than North-South, which fucked me up mentally at first.

Speaking of lines, the black squiggles in the water are (very loose) bathymetric lines. What they do is trace an area of similar water depth to give you an idea of what the seafloor looks like. Using them you can find: shoals, underwater hills/seamounts, the continental shelf and slope, “the drop off?!?!?!,” etc. As a rule of thumb, the further from land, the deeper the water. Usually, charts have numbers scattered around them reflecting water depth, but like I said on the original post, FireAlpaca didn’t give me a change to mark soundings (depths) the way I wanted to and I was not about to make a new text box for every single fuckin number.

In this cutout you can see part of the Mo Ce coast, a marshy area around it (personally, I think of mangroves), and three different colors of water, each representing a major change in depth. Lighter blue approximates the continental shelf. Middle and dark blue, where there are a bunch of bathymetry lines smushed together, would be the continental slope- where the floor shifts down to the ocean basin. The soundings are open for interpretation, but in my head, the shallowest line on light blue may be about 5-10 feet, and the outer zone of dark blue is fuck all of two thousandish feet. 

See that loopy area in the innermost shallow water line, right under the words “Mo Ce” on the land? It looks like it’ll finish in a circle? Thats a raised area of sea floor. My intention was a shoal here. Don’t hit it with your boat.

What about actual navigation? Here’s a list of navigational things you can expect to see on a chart: locations of lighthouses or foghorns, shipping lanes, harbors, channels, bridges, shipwrecks or buildings on the water, and major roads/things on land. The land bits are fairly self-explanatory, and so are the (bigass yellow) bridges. If I weren’t tired, I’d have included major buildings that have lights on them, but life is meaningless and so is this.

If there are lighthouses, how come they don’t look like those paintings? Because there isn’t room for that. Here, any sort of light is going to be marked with a raindrop droptop shape. There are two main types on light on this chart: lightHOUSES and just lights. We call both ‘just lights’ when we talk, because water people are lazy.

Lighthouses look like this. There’s a black dot with the exact location of the lighthouse, a teardrop showing “this is a fuckin lighthouse,” and a purple circle. Nearby, in bold, is the name of the lighthouse (Mo Ce Light). Next to it will be a series of letters and numbers telling you how to identify this lighthouse. If every lighthouse blinked the same, at night you’d never know where you were, because during the day and ESPECIALLY at night, every fucking thing on the ocean looks the same. In daytime, they’re all different colors and yadda yadda. At night, the lights flash different. ‘Fl’ stands for flashing. This light is flashing, and the two indicates that it flashes twice. 15s is how often it flashes. So, from the first three chunks, we see that Mo Ce Light flashes twice every fifteen seconds. If you’re looking at a light that blinks once every nine seconds, its 1) not Mo Ce Light and 2) fucking useless because by the time 9 seconds passes you’ll have already hit something. Next is the height of the lighthouse itself (109 ft) and how far away you can see the light on a clear night (30 miles). What does ‘clear’ mean? Who fucking knows. 

Smaller things, like a channel or point, are marked with smaller lights. You read these lights are read the same way as the first part of a lighthouse’s description, with an added R or G meaning red or green. They’re marked with a black dot, a purple teardrop, but no big ass circle.

Red and Green are, after blue, the absolute most important colors on a chart. Red and Green are how you orient yourself to know where a channel or lane is, and those are where it’s guaranteed that the water is safe to take your vessel. To know which color to keep where, remember Red, Right, Returning- when you’re headed back toward shore, red aids should be on your RIGHT side, and green on your left. When you’re headed AWAY from shore, they should be flipped. Savvy?

Lanes are designated for Very Big Boats (ships). There’s only one lane on this chart, leading into Republic City Harbor. It’s outlined in black dashes and purple triangles on a chart. Physically, its marked by red and green lights. The name of the lane (Republic City Harbor Traffic Lane) is written in the middle of the lane itself. Lanes like this exist to make sure there aren’t huge ships wandering everywhere throughout the harbor fucking shit up, and also to make sure they stay where the water is deep enough to accommodate them. Among other more political reasons but pfffffft. 

Channels are more useful for smaller recreational/fishing vessels. They’re zones of deeper water, occasionally human-dredged, that allow safe passage.  Channels are marked, both physically and on a chart, by red triangles and green squares. The signs are big as hell, mounted on big wooden poles, and (unless your chart creator is a lazy bum) marked with big numbers so you can tell where in the channel you are. 

The last thing of note are foghorns. Personally, living in lovely, wonderful Florida, these fuckers are not my problem, but I could not assume the same for the citizens of Republic City, so here we are. Foghorns are audible lighthouses, for when you can’t see a lighthouse because, y’know, fog. They’re marked by open black circles, usually close to lights. In bold will be the type of foghorn (spoiler alert, they’re all diaphones). In parenthesis are dits and dashes representing the sound. In the one below, the sound would be a blat, a pause, and then another blat.

But Kit, what are all those little words and details at the top?

Don’t concern yourself with those. On the left is legal jargon, and in the middle is the scale (but if you’re trying to measure actual distance, good fucking luck because the scale here is arbitrary) and where the chart actually starts and ends (guess what, more fuckery. I just used a random chart from Florida to get these numbers). Below those are who published the chart, and when. 

And there, kiddos, are them facts. You now have some very basic understanding of what’s going on on a nautical chart. Use this info, and this big dumb chart that took me way too long to make and that nobody fucking asked for, for whatever you want. Questions comments or concerns can hop in my ask box. Someone maybe write me a nice little thing about like. Korrasami or Kyalin sailing around on a boat. Its going on midnight. I feel like I deserve it. Boats are nice. I feel like they deserve it. I feel like we all deserve it. Class dismissed.

[agbpaints]

Final record for the Davion cav force: 5-0, and I won the faceoff against our sidter league 4-1. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a little bad about this- helicopters in our format had a massive advantage, especially when people are playing elite clan lists and refusing to back deploy battle armor to defend territory. I also got phenomenally lucky with my scenario rolls here as I built a list that could deploy into some truly oppresive defense in depth forms while pushing fast cavalry elements up the board to claim points and then only rolled board control scenarios which cared minimally about tonnage in point or kills.

Anyway. Lessons from this league.

MML spam goes kinda nuts. I brought a lot of MMLs this season because I wanted an indirect fire subtheme in my army while not chaining my neck to the horrible minimum range of LRMs. It turns out that shitty LRMs which pay no extra BV for SRMs in close are really friggen good. The Longbow 13C has frankly an illegal number of tubes (42 between 6 MML-7s, which outpaces the 7Q's 50 in damage once you account for the ArtIV) and being able to blat someone for 40+ damage in SRMs because they dared enter your minimum range is extremely funny. It also allowed my skirmishers like the Hellspawn and Rakshasa to contibute wherever they were on the field and then absolutely terrorize people in close. Just uh. Make yourself a box of death.

Value ceevees go hard. Another part of this list that I really liked was my pair of Scorpion Thunderbolt tanks. 414 bv is comically cheap for a 10 point IDF hit that you can project out to 18 hexes and some armor made of stiff cardboard. These little idiots barely ever hit because they were cowering in the back of my lines squatting on objectives but no one wants to spend effort clearing less than 500 points of tank that occasionally poops out a weird over the horizon PPC hit when they're being dogpiled by a Hellspawn. The Thunderbolt 10 is also just a charmingly weird weapons system to use.

Now, on the opposition side of things clan players (at least locally) really don't like eating their vegetables when it comes to power armor tactics. The primary purpose of battle armor in any mission where the objective isn't just killing the enemy dead os to be places cheaply where your mechs aren't. In the case of these attack/defend style missions that's doing the unglamorous shit my scorpions did- toddle onto a secuded objective and stall for time- my helicopter tactic basically gets stalled out completely by any occupation forces and the rest of my units where *slow*, the Hellspawn and Phoenix Hawk leading the charge at a fairly pedestrian 6/9/x, so if people had stalled and then counterpunched with all their shit I think my list would've struggle to deal. Instead pretty mucu everyone loaded up fast carriers and yeeted their points at me to allow me to eat up objectives with ease.

I've also come up with a cute little theory about something I call a "Troubleshooter" mech. As we've gotten more and more involved with combined arms (virtually every list has at least one non-mech unit at this point), the necessity for a multi-role fast mech that can answer infantry, combat vehicles, and also plausibly fight other mechs has increased. Troubleshooters are usually at least moderately mobile (5/8 at minimum, preferably with jump jets) to bounce between threats, with decent survivability, and come with at least one of an SRM battery, LBX autocannon, or plasma weapon to severely murderize non-mech forces while providing at least a minimum level of frustration to mechs. This season we had the Hellspawn 10G and Black Lanner D sitting in this space, but previously we've had the Wolverine 7K, Gargoyle Prime, and the Snake 2B as troubleshooters. This might be a figment of the very specific format we play within but it's definitely worth consideration if you have a local treadhead

Played a few 7k points of battletech this week. This is for our local play league- 5 games over 2 months against the other players in a number of set match types and rules of engagement. This month I decided to play with a House Davion heavy cav lance made of a Hellspawn, Phoenix Hawk, Rakshasa, and Victor assisted by an indirect fire element of a Longbow, Manticore heavy tank, 2 Scorpion light tanks, and a Ferret scout helicopter

Game 1 was into a Scorpion Empire mixed star containing a Warhawk, Phantom, Dragonfly, and two points of salvaged blakist Purifier battle armor. I left my Victor and Longbow behind, the mission we were playing called for fast assaults into enemy back lines and while the Victor 9Ka can jump a hell of a ways I wanted the speed and defense in depth afforded by my tanks and faster cav elements. The Phantom and Dragonfly managed to deploy their infantry up board quick and pressured my tanks into retreating away from my back line objectives into the shadow of the hills that the Warhawk was guarding, but the Scorpions overplayed their offense and my Rakshasa and Ferret were able to rush in to claim the capture points while my Phoenix Hawk and Hellspawn mounted a successful defense of my central objective. Things might've gotten dicier but the Purifiers didn't quite have the momentum they needed to break through to my final point, especially after the Hellspawn destroyed the enemy Dragonfly's leg.

Game 2 was into a far heavier Rasalhague Dominion force- a Kodiak and a Viking supported by a Mist Lynx and a point of Kobold IIC scout battle armor. I decided on the same deployment as last time- my tanks and helicopter supported the Rakshasa, Hellspawn and Phoenix Hawk. My opponent chose to bid away their Fire Moth H and Kontio for this match, but I had faced them before and I wanted mobile stopping power and a way of contending with their finicky high heat mechs (both the Rakshasa and the Hellspawn carry a ton of inferno rounds for their multi-missile systems) as well as speed to contend with the full map control scenario we ended up playing.

The game began with my tanks grinding up the board into position and my cav element flanking 'north' to keep put of sight of the worst of the assault firepower, while the Kodiak stalked through the mountains under overwatch from the Viking. Unlike the previous game my opponent didn't overextend his defensive lines, keeping the Kobold armor as rear guard defenders and spotters so my Ferret couldn't slam skids to claim points as easy. My Rakshasa fell early in a spectacular case of bad luck, a TAC to the cockpit from a failed fall check, though my Phoenix Hawk avenged it hy shredding the enemy Mist Lynx. From there the game turned into a matter of beating the Viking into submission while managing the Kodiak. The Viking had set itself up in a rift on the side of a mountain that allowed my Hellspawn to approach it and begin disabling it with inferno munitions while the tanks pounded it from range, before the Phoenix Hawk jumped in to cripple the leg and engine, though it took a mangling from the Kodiak for its trouble. With the Kodiak pulled in to hunt the Phoenix Hawk and protect the stricken Viking, my armor elements rolled up the board to take the middle objectives and my Hellspawn burned the Kobolds off of their own mountain for a second win.

[nekoannie-chan]

Cookies

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader. 

Word count: 1082 words. 

Summary: Brock did something wrong, no one mess with your stuff.

Warnings: some smut references, not very explicit.

A/N: This is my entry to the @yikeswtfmate ���s Ellie’s 700 follower celebration with the dialogue prompt #9:

“Damn right I’m pretty.” 

“I said petty”.

And my entry to the @buckyssoul ‘s Rae Hit 1K Marvel Writing with the quote prompt #17:

“What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is also mine”. 

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

You opened the cupboard and smiled at the see that there was a closed box of your boyfriend's favorite cookies, you took it, opened it and started eating them, and it was going to be an act of revenge that you were ultimately planning on enjoying.  

You turned on the TV and eating the cookies, you knew that Brock would soon arrive at the house, but you would try to run them out before he came back, even though you didn't care if he caught you, so he'd understand he shouldn't mess with your stuff.

He went out with his friends, who you didn't seem to like, it wasn't something you cared about, he loved you and you knew it, so everything was fine. Yes, you knew what they were saying about you, everyone seemed like a very weird couple because you were completely the opposite; he is serious, cold and calculating, you are always smiling and affectionate, you radiated an air of innocence, you were always in a good mood, on the contrary, he always seemed to be badass, but what no one knew was that you knew each other so well, that you knew the weaknesses of the other, what liked and other things.

You couldn't say for sure how it had happened, but somehow you fell in love with each other, so you didn't care what they said about you.  

To avoid any kind of trouble he went out with his friends when he wanted and you with yours, you trusted each other so there was no problem.

You put your favorite horror movie and opened another one of the packs that brought the box, one by one, savoring every bite, a part of you blat fully wanted Brock to come in at that moment and see you, another not so much, rather you thought you were outdoing yourself.

By the time the movie was over, there were no more cookies in the box, you got up and took the trash out of the house to take it to the dumpster, so there was no longer any evidence that instilled in you, but you were planning something better as revenge.  

You lay down on the couch to watch the next movie, but you fell asleep, so you didn't notice or hear when Brock arrived, when he saw you there he took you to bed and tucked you in.  

The next morning when you woke up you thought you'd continue your revenge, you started preparing breakfast, and Brock came down and opened the cupboard looking for something

"Baby girl, what about my cookies?" he asked.

"I don't know, it should be in the cupboard," you replied.  

You didn't take your eyes off what you were cooking while you were trying to contain your laughter, you didn't want to give yourself away, and you were glad to see him ‘suffer.’  

"Y/N" Brock called you.

"Brock."

"Where are my cookies?" he asked again.

"I told you, they must be in the cupboard, if you probably ate them and you're so old so you don't remember what you do," you made fun of him.

"You ate them, didn't you?" he questioned.

He went to where you were, turned off the stove, and took you off your shoulders to turn around and keep you in front of him.  

"You ate all my favorite chocolates," you complained. 

"I apologized and bought you another one," he replied.

"And? That wasn't enough, I had to get even," you counterattacked. 

"Seriously, you hid them, didn't you?" he inquired.  

You weren't cruel or vindictive with him, so I thought you were joking and hid them somewhere in the house.  

"No, I didn't lie to you, I ate them, all the ones in the box, one by one, they tasted delicious," you replied with malice.

You were enjoying what was going on.  

"Why did you eat them? I replenished your chocolates, we were okay," he complained.  

"No, we weren't, you just replenished it because I complained, not on your initiative or because you regretted it," you clarified. 

"I can't believe it, Y/N.”

“What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is also mine”

You smiled, he knew, you didn't even care if you were behaving childishly anymore.

“Petty” muttered between grumpy teeth.

“Damn right I’m pretty,” you said by spanking your ass yourself and smiling.

“I said petty,” he said again.

He walked away from you and kept looking in the cupboard, he was still hoping that you were joking, after a few seconds he lost it. He was so focused he didn't even notice when you approached him.  

"But you love me,” you murmured in his ear.

You squeezed one of his biceps and with your other arm you hugged his back, he knew what you were going to try to do, but he wasn't going to let himself be convinced so easily, now it was his time to get revenge.  

"Y/N's not going to work for you," he said firmly in an annoying voice. 

"When I go to the supermarket I replenish them, I promise you," you answered in a childish voice

You started stroking his arm and kissing her neck.  

"I hope this doesn't affect me that you promised me to adopt a puppy," you whispered. 

"Y/N..."  

He walked away to stay in front of you.

"You promised me" you reminded him of trying to give little jumps to kiss his beard; he was taller than you.  

“Yes, if anything, you'll have your puppy, because I promised you, but you're not going to disgruntled me so easily,” he alleged.

You thwarted your lips that seemed more of a challenge.  

"You know I love you very much, don't you?" you said as a finger you stroked the muscles of your pecs above the shirt.  

He let go of a growl, he was pretending to play hardball, but he had always found it impossible to resist you.

"And I love you because you are very strong and sexy in all S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you continue.

You kissed his arm and carried on to the neck, while with one hand you kept stroking his chest and the other was coming down.  

"Forgive me, babe, I didn't think you'd get so angry, I just wanted you to feel the same way I felt," you explained without stopping your actions.

He was already reaching the limit of his attempt to resist, if you continued he could not contain himself.  

"To hell, you need punishment," he bluffed.  

"As you wish, Commander,” you said, laughing.  

He lifted you on his shoulder to take you to the bedroom, breakfast could wait another bit, now I had to teach you a lesson. 

[gondalsqueen]

“Kanan is bringing Hera Spiran caf. The beverage reminds them of their time together on the moons of Rion.”  Last summer I tried to write that story and totally failed. Today I’ve actually started it. Woo hoo! Preview:  ... “Come in, Ground. Do you read?” 

The sun sank over the planetoid’s horizon, its last gleam lighting the chrome-sided complex that rose ten stories above the surrounding trees. Until it faded, Hera could see the complex’s every detail, including the logo on the building’s side: ”Futuremetrics Inc.” Perched on a wooded cliff above their target, she activated the night vision control on her goggles anyway. 

“We have got to come up with better code names than that.” 

“Fine, love, but not right now.” 

Kanan’s voice on the communicator took on a definite grumble. “I still don’t know what you have against my suggestion.” 

Hera rolled her eyes, hoping that translated over the comms as well. “I am never calling you Night Phantom. It sounds like a hokey superhero cartoon.” 

“Not even when--” 

“Kanan! Eyes on the task.” 

“Sure, use my name. It’s not real, anyway.” 

Stuck on the Ghost, Chopper blatted out a rude suggestion. 

“Yeah, I’m not calling him that over the air, either.” 

“Thank you! Wait--you call me that off the air?” 

Hera grinned to herself. “Focus, please. Five security guards. Do you see them or not?” 

“I’ve got a read on four. The guy on the west platform is taking forever to come around the corner. Can you see him from up there?” 

“No, and I have a good view of the platform. He’s just not in position.” 

“Great.” 

“Hold on. The beacon’s set. I’m coming down there. Catch me?” 

“Every time.” 

Hera double-checked the small camouflage box that would serve as their decoy and the remote activation link on her wristpad. Then she backed away from the edge of the cliff, lined up with the platform twenty meters below, got a running start, and jumped. 

[largemouthbassnation]

Tips for Fishing In the Rain

Tips for Fishing In the Rain

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[touyasdoll]

No worries 😉 😉💕

I figure you’re busy & your inbox is probs v. v. full w/ stuff +++ you’ve got a lot of awesome collabs you’re doing, so that’s why I’m not like, ‘shhhrooom!blat!, flooding your box & all the likes of~!

Take it easy ok? Breaks, food, water & sleep! ❤️❤️😁

 

🦊

Thank you 💕 I shall take it as easy as I can & I expect you to do the same! Lots of breaks, food, water, & sleep for you too 💕

I hope you have a great day, love ☺️

[clandestineclairvoyant]

Jungle Law

(Based on an au by @kickingshoes  Where Lucian's are cats, Niflheim's dogs, there's deer and horses and tigers, but most important is Cor Leonis adopting puppy!Prompto)

Summary on AO3;

Cor opened what felt like the hundredth door of the day, and looked down the barrel of a gun.

It wasn’t the first time.

In fact, it was far from the first time, and probably bound to be far from the last. Something about Cor Leonis prompted people to point weapons at him, and if he ever found out why, he had strict standing orders to explain it to Clarus.

In detail.

Niflheim bases were large, sprawling, and confusing.

Cor had spent the past hour since they’d broken through the front gate trying to find the base Commander, or where they kept their project files; Whichever came first.

It was looking as if the base was going to crumble before either happened though, he thought idly, as dust from the concrete ceiling sifted gently down from another distant, rattling boom.

He felt no closer than when he’d started. Cor was more experienced than most, able to decipher most of the written signs on the walls, and easily following the cramped and sterile halls towards where he assumed the command offices were based on the flow of traffic and the upkeep of the hallways. But he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, since a sign that led towards ‘Infantry Research and Development’ certainly didn’t seem like where he’d find the base commander cowering. Possibly the files though.

Another rumble echoed through the base, and Cor adjusted his steps, letting the quaking of the floor rattle itself out. He remained stubbornly on all four paws, glancing at the ceiling to gauge how much time he had left, and whether someone from the Crownsguard would be able to disarm the self-destruct charges before the base Commander got clear and detonated them. If they didn’t, there was a time limit. The latest they could push to before cutting their losses and getting out, empty-handed or not. It was still a victory of a sort, with one less Niflheim base pushing onto the border of Duscae.

But their Infantry could do that. You sent in the Crownsguard for other reasons.

Cor scowled, pushing himself clear of the wall once the shaking stopped to head towards what looked like the door into the next research division, an emergency light blinking sickly over it. He had about another ten minutes, and then he’d have to start sounding the retreat.

Might as well see what the next corner brought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~42 Seconds~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cor opened what felt like the hundredth door of the day, and looked down the barrel of a gun.

It wasn’t the first time.

In fact, it was far from the first time, and probably bound to be far from the last. Something about Cor Leonis prompted people to point weapons at him, and if he ever found out why, he had strict standing orders to explain it to Clarus. In detail.

The scientist with the gun was dressed in familiar Niflheim whites, face covered by a plastic and rubber mask that had misted with quick shallow breaths brought on by panic and desperation. No doubt exacerbated by the fact that black and red blood was dripping freely and tackily from the naked blade in Cor’s hand. The scientists fur was an off white, what Cor could see of it under the white sterile cloaks most of them wore. Some kind of winter canine, a coyote or fox of some sort maybe. Didn’t matter.

He was slightly to the right of the door in front of row of odd containers set into the wall, and behind a bank of computers. They looked like glass and steel boxes set into complicated machinery, with double hinged doors to open them from the front. Cor had passed rooms full of them on his way here, but this one looked like the most recently used. Some if not most of them were dark and dusty with disuse; But the one the scientist was standing next to looked functional, if a little battered. It had lights on the side, indicators flashing indiscriminate red and green and the LED read out scrolling through a complicated array of numbers.

The room was cluttered compared to the rest of the facility, almost hospital-like. Cor had passed many empty and dark rooms with what looked like abandoned equipment and glass casings behind dirty and cracked observation screens. He hadn’t expected to find anything but perhaps some files back here.

And there were, between him and the scientist. Steel computer terminals with small keycodes and fingerprint scanners on them, no doubt holding the documents Cor had been hoping to prevent the magitek-facility employees from destroying. The Crownsguard had taken longer than he’d thought they would cracking the front door and muscling past ranks of MT’s, and he’d been forced on ahead alone to see what intel he could salvage before it was destroyed.

You always got the best stuff that way.

Fortunately, it looked like nothing here had been wiped yet. They might be able to pick apart the function and hierarchy of this particular branch if Cor could only download it onto the thumbdrive he had on his belt. Combined with scans of the base layout, and whatever equipment they could salvage, it could prove a boon to the war effort. Made it almost worth the three week trip.

Unfortunately, the scientist had gotten ahold of a gun, and thought it would stop Cor Leonis of the Crownsguard.

The hand that wasn’t holding a trembling weapon was thrust into the depths of one of the weird machine boxes, tubes and wires that had various liquids dripping from them into its hidden depths. It didn’t look to be opening quite right, and the scientist appeared to be fumbling with something before making a frustrated, guttural sound, and switching his full attention to Cor with both hands on his weapon.

It didn’t cease the shaking of the barrel, Cor noted idly, as the door swung shut behind him with a heavy, final sounding click..

“Back up. I- I have information. I was lead scientist on a multitude of projects here and- I said back up.” The man screamed- Cor guessed by the voice and the breadth of his shoulder it was a man- and jerked his gun pointedly. “Move back or I’ll blow the fucking kids brains out.”

Guessing correctly that Cor would not stop his slow and purposeful walk across the room to remove the man’s head from his shoulders, the scientist whirled to point his gun at the box, and it brought Cor to a surprised, jerking halt as soon as the words penetrated the blood soaked fog in his brain.

He didn’t say anything, trying to parse what he’d heard, and emboldened by the silence the scientist thrust a hand into the box (now that he was looking, Cor supposed it looked almost like a coffin) and this time managed to disentangle the contents, jerking loose a-

Baby.

Cor’s heart sunk. He couldn’t tell on first glance what it was, as he stayed in one spot and stared at the scientist, mind whirling. It could have been feline, a Lucian child. Could have been a canis, an underfed wolf. Could have been a bony sort of wildcat, some sort of prairie animal. The fur was silky, long, and paws slightly oversized, the distance too far to tell the shape.

Didn’t matter, since it was a child. A cub, his brain tried to beat into him, thinking of tiny spots and a disheveled white mane of fur. An instinct in his chest flipped and thrummed to life, like an engine starting, and for the first time in a long time Cor was afraid. His hands remained steady, his gaze unwavering. His heartbeat even remained the same as it ever did, steady and slow.

But he was afraid; And it pissed him off.

Cor’s next thought, as disjointed and aimless as it was with the base rumbling to pieces behind him and shaking the floor, was that it was cold in here. It was no place for a child. The computing power required in a Niflheim base necessitated low temperatures, and even hot-blooded Cor shivered underneath his thick leather coat and body armor, the steel and linoleum flooring ice-cold underneath his paws. He could see from here the pale color of the lips, the bloodlessness under the fingernails. The poor thing was shaking, eyes tight shut.

The scientist pressed the cold circle of metal at the end of his gun to the soft exposed belly of the- of the cub in the paper gown. Cor let the tip of his sword drop, a rumble of a frustrated growl starting somewhere in his chest that was deep enough and loud enough that the son of a bitchstumbled back on skittering paws, startled and tail tucking down between his legs.

The motion jerked the cords and tubes connected to the hostage taut, threatening to snap loose. The man didn’t seem to notice. His limbs shook in fear as the sounds of gunfire blatted out in the distant metal hallways, and if there hadn’t been another life in jeopardy, Cor would have been smug. But as it was he was mostly sick; Nauseous at the sight of one of the IV’s yanking loose, blood staining the gauze that had held it in place on the arm.

The cub was shockingly silent in the meanwhile, even with blood starting to snake its slow way down his arm, eyes screwed shut and paper pale under the heart-breakingly small hospital gown. His hair was light as dandelion fluff the same shade as his fur, paws and tail drawn up to his second heart and belly as if to protect it. Cor thought numbly of how fast he would be able to get there. How fast this paper-pushing scientist could pull a trigger. How fast he could knock the gun loose, how fast he would be able to draw a sword-

How fast a bullet would-

He felt sick, and stopped thinking, raising his hands and letting his sword drop onto the ground.

When the man reached the end of his tether the machinery fell over with a splintering crash of plastic and glass, and he gave a hoarse yelp of alarm; Cor and the cub didn’t even flinch. Cor because his eyes were fixed predatory on the gun, and the cub… The cub because he wasn’t entirely sure the little thing was awake, or aware.

Cor didn’t know why the he didn’t move, didn’t wiggle, but the concern at the shockingly still figure was enough to keep him in one place, to keep him rumbling threateningly, tail lashing in agitation behind him.

He’d faced hostages before, the dregs of society forced to the ends of their tethers and desperate. But never so unexpectedly. Never with such a little victim, and never when the standoff was so short on time. Or with so much on the line, he thought, eyeing the banks of computers. It looked like a program was already running on them, and he knew the longer he took the more files were being deleted.

Shit.

“What the fuck do you have cubs in here for?” Cor demanded hoarsely, stalling and icy still with anger. But the scientist simply kept his eye on him without answering, and slowly backed towards the computer terminal protruding from the wall covered in monitors. The cub was transferred to the crook of his arm, dangling and still curled in on himself, gun held in the free hand as the scientist kicked some debris to the side to access the computer.

If he’d just set the gun down, Cor might chance it. There was plenty at stake, enough to risk the bullet if it was just himself on the line.

But. He had to put something down if he wanted to get rid of the files. The gun, or the kid.

He seemed to realize it soon after Cor had, breath shaky, and staring down at the cub. He made a disgusted noise, and held the kid up by his scruff, the sneer evident in his voice.

“Come here and take him. And don’t even think of trying anything. This is military grade hollowpoint; You’d be dead before the kid hit the ground.”

The scientist jerked his gun pointedly. Cor didn’t reply, lowering his hands slowly and stalking one step forward.

The scientist flinched, but didn’t react, gun held firmly pointed at the kid.

Then one more.

He kept his steps slow and even, loose. Like he was afraid, cowed. Like he wasn’t shaking apart on the inside with anger, just some soldier worried about the kid and in over his head. Like he didn’t feel that familiar choking rage coming up his throat like something physical and hot, prickling the skin of his hands and face and the delicate tracing of veins on the inside of his forelegs. Making his head almost spin without an outlet.

Cor didn’t show a single bit of that. Hands curled slightly in on themselves, tail dragging, and head tilted slightly to the side. Harmless.

The cub was looking at him now, Cor noticed when he let his eyes glance down. His eyes were blue, set slightly wide with almost invisible lashes and his fist stuck firmly up in his mouth, the blood running down towards his elbow. He wasn’t quite a baby, and to Cor’s sinking disappointment he was probably old enough to be afraid. Maybe even old enough that he understood what he was looking at, when he followed the kid’s line of sight, and realized he was looking at the blood splattered across Cor’s front.

A third step, and the gun was trembling, and this close Cor could make out the shape of a face behind the mask, the pale flat line of a mouth pressed too tight and the dark of his eyes. They darted nervously, from forward, to back towards the computer, as if wracked with indecision.

Good.

He never took a fourth step.

The base shook with the strongest explosion yet, and the scientist staggered with the shock of it. The force was powerful enough to knock one of the cabinets over, shattering and sending black viscous liquid oozing out across the linoleum, sparks flying in bright green arcs from equipment shifted loose from it’s moorings. The sound muffled the scientists shout of surprise; Cor only noticed because of his intense focus on the mask, the mist of breath across the visor, and the tension in the scientist’s shoulders. The way he staggered, off balance.

The gun jerked to the side, away from the cub, and the wash of relief Cor felt to be looking down that cavernous barrel was almost obscene. He was already moving, and had never been more grateful to have a gun pointed at him as the cub slipped loose from the man’s grip; Squeaking in shock, and kicking his hindpaws out to knock himself further clear.

And then the gun clicked and Cor saw the hammer go down, the stale impotent sound of a misfire all that happened.

He met the man’s eyes through the visor of his mask, and didn’t smile. But something in his face must have showed, because the man dropped the gun from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Cor never took a fourth step, because he leapt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~9 Hours 23 Minutes~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were only a baker’s dozen of the Crownsguard left, winding their way across the hills.

Sixteen miles they’d crossed already, a smear of dark gray marring the crystal clear glow of the winter skyline behind them where the Niflheim facility still burned, hours after cracking the damned thing.

Luche had what physical evidence they’d managed to gather on his broad blue-gray colored back, shaggy with the cold and tail flicking for balance. Ackers at the back shouldered most of the medical supplies, severely depleted, his ginger fur a bright spot of color on the landscape that made Cor’s eyes twinge when he craned his neck back to check on the troops.

Or maybe that was the dryness.

Cor’s fur wasn’t quite long enough to withstand the weather, and he’d been forced to don a cape to cover his second-shoulders and withers while the others could simply make do with their fur and coats, tail dragging behind him and leaving a long line behind him in the snow. The cape was dark, simple. Factory made and mass-produced. It had been one of the MT snipers, and not so tattered and singed as to be unusable. It was thick enough to do the trick, and fit well enough.

It was crusted with dried fluid, which Cor didn’t inspect too closely. He simply scraped the worst of it off and stuck his sleeves in, and kept a barrier of cloth between the kid and any that might remain.

The landscape stretched out as pale and white as bone around them, ugly protrusions of rock bursting through in a series of ridges and gullies, making it a long difficult climb back towards the pick up. Trees here were tall and thin, bursts of bright emerald green needles capped in snow, that did nothing to break the harsh wind that plucked at their clothes and threatened to bowl over the smallest of the Crownsguard, Pontius. He struggled on hooves cut bloody by the hard packed crust of the ground, propping up Horatia who was limping on a shredded paw.

Cor wasn’t much better, towards the front, gathering his coat tighter around the bundle in his arms and blearily wishing they’d thought to bring more thermal packs. He did a better job of making it over the snow than Pontius’s delicate paws, but his pads did jack shit to block out the cold. Even Luche had done better than he had to grow a winter coat during their six month deployment, all patchy shaggy fur and embarrassed blushes when Monica pointed it out.

Cor had been forced to shoulder capes and blankets, and bed down with whichever of the Crownsguard was amenable enough to share body heat, in order to even get a couple hours sleep during their deployment.

Now, with so few people, it would be hard even to get that.

The cub in his arms snuffled, and Cor idly brought his lapel further up, to cover the small pink hand that had ventured out to rest against his throat, a spot of heat almost lost in the cold. He’d taken every spare bit of clothing he had and bundled the kid up. A linen shirt, a cape, some rags that had almost been used for bandages. Now they wrapped four little paws, where they were tucked against a soft golden belly and bundled in the only blanket the Guard could spare.

Cor had his jacket, and he had a cape thrown over spotted shoulders to cut the worst of the chill out. Beyond that he was just putting one paw in front of the other, hoping that the kid didn’t get sick from the cold, from being hungry.

From whatever the fuck those scientists were doing to cubs out on the borders of Duscae in a facility that was barely even on Niflheim records.

“How’s he doing?”

Monica drew up alongside him, breath pluming out and cheeks rosy with the chill. She was doing unsurprisingly well, serious face set in a determined frown and eyes fixed on the snowy horizon where their train car back to Duscae waited. Her paws were large, far wider than the span of her first hands, and padded across the snow while leaving only the lightest shadows of a divot. Cor tried not to feel jealous at the swathes of thick, mottled fur that snow didn’t even melt on, and grunted noncommittally.

“He’s fine.”

Monica smiled wryly, before settling back into her usual contemplative frown. Her tail was short, bobbed. Didn’t betray anything, and Cor tried not to feel bitter when the anxiety of not knowing what she was going to bring up caused his tail to twitch uncertainly.

“He might not make it you know.”

Cor stiffened, even more than the cold had managed; Monica continued undaunted, always as clear and blunt as her Captain needed. Her eyes were a steely gray, and she didn’t even look at him when she said it, “He was hooked up to a lot of wires. He’s small.” She did look down at the bundle that, while considerable, didn’t make as large of a dent in Cor’s jacket as a cub of his apparent age should. “Too small.”

“I was small too.” Cor grit out, voice hoarse with cold. The kid stirred, as if he could sense them talking about him, and Cor felt the brief thump of a tail wagging sleepily against his ribs before he tightened his grip and jostled his arms soothingly, ignoring the strange look Monica gave him. “He’s just cold, and tired, same as the rest of us. Don’t be so morbid Lieutenant.”

“Sure.” She said agreeably. “Its was just a thought.”

“Yeah well.” A gust of wind whipped across the line of Crownsguard, and Cor grimaced against the sting, as a murmur of disquiet rose up behind them and a couple of heartfelt grumbles. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.” He was being uncharitable, perhaps. She was making a lot of sense. What had possessed him to pick the kid up in the first place, he didn’t know.

But he had, and now he wasn’t sure how to put him down.

They trudged on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~10 Hours 12 Minutes~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One train car, Cor noted wearily. The train car that’d been sent to pick them up made the faintest bump on the horizon, almost indiscernible from the stones and abandoned structures in the war-torn landscape; just as they’d intended. It was almost invisible from the air, and the clear crystal tracks next to impossible to discern from a distance It had taken them two cars to get everyone north.

Now, one was more than enough. Cor tried not to think about it.

His arms were numb with the weight of the cub in his arms, and jacket damp. He wasn’t sure if it were tears, snot, or some sort of terrible mixture of both, but with his shirt serving it’s last duty as a blanket for the kid, he could only pray it didn’t reach his bare chest.

Despite the moisture mysteriously seeping from the kid, there was silence in his arms. No sounds besides the puffs of breath from the Crownsguard around them, the crunch of snow under paws and hooves, and the occasional grunt of pain from their injured or quiet murmur of encouragement.

He knew it was bad, the silence. But Cor couldn’t help but be relieved that on top of everything they didn’t have to deal with a screaming kid.

“Last stop little guy. Then Duscae.” He murmured quietly, guilt prodding him to say something, anything, and lifting the weight in his arms to adjust for the climb up the hill. He’d tried handing him off, tired and hoping that he’d imprint on someone else that wasn’t a completely fucking terrible idea. But every time he tried the little shit would clam up and tense stiff enough that it hurt to feel, all locked limbs and wide dilated eyes. His chest would start to move pitter-patter fast, fists clenched, and Cor would hurriedly take him back murmuring inane niceties. Now, after the entire hike, something like stockholm syndrome had set in and Cor wasn’t sure he could set the little shit down if he even wanted to. The idea of putting the cub down didn’t sit right anymore when he was still tense and behind enemy lines, made his fur prickle and his mouth tense in an uneasy snarl.

His arms would probably fall off if he tried anyway.

No one, in the short time they’d had to evaluate, knew why he wouldn’t cry. Whimper. Do something. Cor had carried this cub through the ruins of a Niflheim base, past dead bodies he’d tried to hide by shoving the small face into the depths of his coat, and humming dumb nonsense songs. Stupid little strings of song he’d heard on the radio, or things he’d heard other parents sing. Tunes that didn’t seem to have much of an effect, but left Cor without a wiggling armful of limbs and a pair of eyes looking shocked up at him.

But still, the kid had hardly made a whimper, besides to yawn wide and suck on his thumb when the shadows started getting long and the sun low. He’d been chilled on one side while Cor had pressed him to his chest during the hike, trying desperately to keep him warm when the cub started fussing. No doubt hungry, or thirsty despite the water Cor managed to drip into his mouth. Kicking fitfully before freezing completely still and stiff again, like he’d gotten scared. Or expected Cor to… Do something. Hurt him.

But he hadn’t cried.

They climbed the last stretch, and Cor finally, finally sat, lying against the icy side of the train car while the more able-bodied Crownsguard clambered up the steps, groaning and giving small whoops of relief when they saw the cots.

The cub wiggled, and Cor untangled him enough to looks down at his face, all bright blue eyes and downy gold hair. His nose and cheeks were flushed, but it appeared he was warm enough tucked into Cor’s coat, judging by the way he blinked up and idly pat his hand up against Cor’s lapel and chest. He was still strangely quiet, still with his free thumb in his mouth. His fur was soft, much softer than a cheetah cub’s, although it was a similar shade of gold without the chaotic tufting white, almost dun colored.

Cor fished a paw out, and felt a flicker of amusement when the cub kicked and tried to chew on his fingers. Pressing on the toes, the claws didn’t retract, and the pads were noticeably black. Canine.

“Well.” Ausker said, coming out from the car after what felt like thirty or so minutes, wiping his hands clean on a spare rag. Cor had spent the few quiet moments just looking down at the little cub while the rest of the team got settled, letting him chew on his grimy knuckles and jostling him every now and then when he tried to kick himself loose from the various blankets and shirts. The sounds of the Crownsguard making idle conversation and clinking gear together was soothing. Much more soothing than the whistle of wind across the snow, or the grind of weaponry. Or the slow implosion of concrete. “Let’s take a look at the little guy.”

For a moment, Cor didn’t want to hand him over. The idea of giving the cub to someone else and having him wiggle in distress, or for fucks sake, cry, was too much to handle. But Ausker held his hands out, patient, and Cor finally gave the kid one last little pat and got wearily to his feet to give him to the Crownsguard medical officer.

Within a few moments they were back inside, and Ausker was distracting the cub- pup, he was a Canis, Cor reminded himself- with an inflated latex glove.

The car started moving while he worked, slowly coughing to a start in the cold air and dragging itself a few feet on the tracks before building momentum. It didn’t whistle, since there was no steam, but did give an impressive moan of cold steel warming under the heat of magik engines.

Cor rocked carefully on his paws, catching himself on the cold strut of metal that came off the wall of the car to form a bench, watching Ausker’s hands as he palpated the kid’s ribs under the thin paper gown that was all he had to wear. It was slowly warming, with the heat of all the Guard and the electric grill radiating warmth through the car from the back corner, but Cor still felt uneasy and tucked a blanket more firmly around his furry lower half.

“Six. Do we have anything for the kid to wear?” He murmured wearily, and the pup’s head jerked to the side at the sound, tail thumping faintly on the seat he’d been perched on as his eyes fixed on Cor, fist firmly against his mouth and working eagerly. It had to have been a coping mechanism of some sort, but Cor couldn’t help but find it endearing. Even cuter was when Ausker checked the reflexes in the kids elbow with the tiniest hammer Cor had ever seen, causing the pup to jump in surprise and give the doctor a betrayed look.

“Probably not, but Pontius is working on it.” Ausker said, and gave the kids head a firm scratch and pet in reward when he didn’t fidget. Pontius waved from his seat at the back of the car, where he was haphazardly sewing something and letting Luche use him as a pillow. The car rocked gently as it sped up, but it only made Pontuis scowl and shove irritably at Luche, who was interfering with his stitches by virtue of his shoulders shoving under his hands. Cor imagined Pontius’s velvet fur was appealing in the cold metal of the train car, all soft ash gray with the feathered tail tossed over Luche’s hooves.

“Hrn. Well, he should work faster.”

Cor stiffened when Ausker pulled out a needle and a phial, but it was pointless. The pup didn’t even flinch, simply watched Ausker with bare interest, then held small hands up to Cor when he was done, looking plaintive. When Ausker gave him a nod, Cor picked him up, tucking the pup back into the crook of his arm and letting the little blonde head snug under his chin.

The smug look Ausker gave him was met with a lift of his lip and a small snarl.

“Relax. He checks out as healthy enough. A little dehydrated, a little malnourished, but it’s only to be expected from what you told me.” Ausker became slightly more serious, frowning, and looking at where the kid had started to fidget. “I can’t imagine what they had infants there for.”

“I can imagine any number of things,” Cor said bluntly, rocking the pup gently in his arms, and ignoring the flinch Ausker gave. “And you can too. Don’t be sentimental.”

Ausker’s mouth thinned to a grim line, giving Cor a dark look which was ignored. He was commanding Officer of the Unit. Not here to baby them. “I’m not being sentimental. But the equipment that wasn’t damaged beyond all repair was too heavy to take with us, and nobody who was qualified was able to take a long enough look. We don’t know what they were doing at that base, besides that it’s somewhere in the chain supply of Niflheim weaponry and they were doing some kind of genetic stem cell research, if their vitatanks are in anyway similar to ours.”

They were. Cor had been deeper in the base than the others, and decided not to mention the smaller vitatanks he’d seen until it was necessary for a brief. The sort of thing he only really told Clarus, or Regis; In the safety of the Citadel and with the safety of miles between him and the sight of the obsolete labels fixed to the front of almost a third of the vitatanks.

“Luckily, I managed to salvage about half the files on the desk terminal in the main vitatank atrium while the team was subduing the security.” The terminals had been on a closed system, all wireless signals snuffed out by a signal jammer that no doubt extended for the whole base, and made downloading it a much lengthier and difficult process than it had to be. What with the pup shaking silently in his arms, and the body of that Niflheim scientist leaking on the floor where Cor had left it. “We’ll hand it over, they can decide for themselves what was going on.”

“Hm. And this little guy?” Ausker wiggled his fingers enticingly at the pup, who looked as surprised at that as he had at anything, head bobbling backwards and looking up at Cor in bewilderment. Cor felt another flicker of amusement, and let him figure it out for himself. “You have a name for him yet? Or are we going by number.” Ausker caught the small hand that wasn’t buried into Cor’s coat front, pulling it gently out and turning it to show the barcode with a string of numbers. The ink was stark black against paper pale skin, and Cor rumbled involuntarily at the idea, tightening his hold and causing Ausker to arch an eyebrow.

“No.” The pup stiffened again, getting that blank look, and Cor made an effort to calm down, loosen his hold, and jostle his armful soothingly. It was jerky, and he frowned, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

He was unused to being gentle. He’d held Gladiolus Amicitia a few times, Clarus laughing fit to burst every time he tricked Cor into holding the baby, all awkward elbows and desperate looks when the tiger cub started to fuss.

This was different. The pup was quieter, stiller, and too watchful. Cor didn’t like it; but since he was the only one who seemed to be able to hold him for now, he figured he was responsible for making it disappear as much as he was able.

“Well, we should call him something. How about something with the snow? It’s cold as hell out. Glacies?”

“Name him after Cor’s favorite thing; Acies!” Pontius called from the corner, drawing a chorus of grumbles from the occupied cots around the swaying train car from the Crownsguard trying to get some sleep.

“No.” Cor thought back to the gun the scientist had held, the one that had whipped from pointing at the kid, to right between Cor’s eyes; A black circle that had gotten larger in micrometers as time slowed down and he’d gotten closer across the room.

Thought of the echoing click, as the piece of shit misfired.

“Prompto.” Cor said, and Prompto looked up at his voice and smiled, the first one he’d seen, even if it was quickly replaced with that startled look he gave as Ausker broke into laughter.

“That shitty handgun model?” He looked down at the pup and grinned, holding his hands up at the defensive glare Cor gave him. “Alright alright, calm down. It’s a great name. Hey Prompto!” Ausker grabbed the little hand in gentle fingers and shook it in a pantomime of a handshake, his own tail curling in delight when Prompto patted it and investigated the gloved fingers curiously. “Nice to meet you little guy. Daddy Cor here will take good care of you. You’re in the safest place in all of Lestallum right now.”

Cor huffed and jerked away, storming over to his own cot to catch some sleep while he could, ignoring the embarrassed blush he could feel creeping up his neck that caused the team close enough to see to break into chuckles. Monica to offered him a small, soft smile from the one cot over. Her paws crossed elegantly in front of her, fur plush looking now that she’d groomed the blood and snow from it, and Cor gave her a brisk nod as he settled in with Prompto.

The pup wiggled into the blankets eagerly when Cor set him down, making a surprised series of noises when Cor climbed in after him, arranging himself in a curl to prevent the pup from falling out. He laid his upper body against the wall, the reassuring rocking of the car soothing even if it was cold as hell. Every motion brought them closer to home, and it made Cor’s tail flick in satisfaction.

After a while Prompto stopped wiggling, snuggling by Cor’s side in the warm fur against his ribcage. He was no doubt exhausted. Cor wasn’t familiar with babies at all, but he suspected they weren’t used to staying awake this long at whatever age Ausker had guessed at Prompto being. Roughly one and a half to two and a half years old was his best guess.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, the small motion of the pup’s tail against Cor’s hind knee slowed to a halt, and eventually was replaced by the small kicks and twitches of a deep sleep. If he concentrated, Cor thought he might be able to feel the little flicker of a heartbeat and the slow expansion of breathing.

He felt a sinking in his chest, at odds with the warm fond feeling that caused his tail to curl up under the blankets and an embarrassed purr to almost free itself from his throat.

Clarus was going to be a pain about this.

[autoramarisales]

#REPOST @autoresemfoco Hoje o Autores em Foco tem o prazer de apresentar a autora MARI SALES! ⠀ @autoramarisales é mãe, esposa e escritora em tempo integral, analista de sistema quando requisitada e leitora assídua durante as noites e madrugadas. Nos intervalos entre suas vocações, procura controlar a mente para não se atropelar em todas as ideias que tem. ⠀ Entusiasta das obras nacionais de romance contemporâneo, contribuiu com esse universo literário através do blog Resenhas Nacionais e entrou no universo das publicações independentes em janeiro de 2017 com SUPERANDO COM AMOR, e desde então, não tem planos para parar tão cedo. ⠀ 📚LIVROS ÚNICOS James Blat Sempre Te Amei Amor de Graça Mais Que Amigos Escolha Perfeita A Redenção de Enzo Amor Por Encomenda Entre o Caos e o Amor Operação CEO Maximus Superando com Amor ⠀ 📚CONTOS ÚNICOS Apaixone-se Amuleto da Sorte Surpresas de Natal A Sombra de Dália Destinados Moto Clube ⠀ 📚SÉRIES Coletânea de Contos Encantadas Por Livros e Música: Primeira Temporada Coletânea de Contos Encantadas Por Livros e Música: Segunda Temporada ⠀ 📚Trilogia Mulheres No Poder: Selvagem Moto Clube Aranhas Moto Clube Piratas Moto Clube ⠀ 📚BOX Família Valentini Benjamin Carlos Eduardo Arthur Antonio Vinicius Rodrigo ⠀ 📚BOX Quarteto de Noivos Enlace Improvável Enlace Impossível Enlace Incerto Enlace Indecente ⠀ 📚Duologia Minha Flor Minha Flor Meu Tesouro Aproveite que hoje tem 2 livros da autora em promoção: 🔖 Um Amor Real Para Danilo & Hay: https://amzn.to/3cPg3un(Grátis) 🔖 Um Jantar Para Tom & Cami: https://amzn.to/2VFJQQi (Grátis) ⠀ Quer conhecer mais da autora e seus trabalhos? Então siga as redes sociais dela: 💻 Instagram: @autoramarisales 💻 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/marisalesautora Gostou? Então curta, comente e compartilhe. Ajude a divulgar a literatura nacional! #AutoresEmFoco #MariSales #AutoresUnidos #AutoresEmQuaretena #EuLeioBrasil #EstanteNacional #DistraçãoNoMeioDaLoucura #AutorNacional

[chris-carson]

From the Mockingbird's Throat

January 3, 2014

Reading Whitman’s “Out of The Cradle Endlessly Rocking” as the dishwasher gurgles into the quiet morning filling the room. For Whitman, longing for another is a quality communicated to man by nature. A boy stands on a beach, hears the mockingbird’s song, long blues of loneliness for his mate. In singing we inflame the source of life, the reason we’re here, to fuck, to love, to find a mate and transform one’s self into “the here and hereafter.”

“The here and hereafter”; the term brings to mind the image of an open door at the end of a hallway no longer than one connecting two rooms in a small apartment. At the end is another door. Both are open. The image blurs into something like early computer graphics, the walls, the rooms, the doors fade as the seen twists through a mine shaft of sky blue. All that remains: two uninhibited door ways that alight on what looks like a man’s torso.

January 22, 2014

It is just after 5am spooning quickly escalates. Feeling my already hard cock push into her soft ass as we sleep wakes me up. Suddenly I am wide awake inside her. She yawns. The light is on. Her dark hair is wavy, sleepy, soft, but her tone is cynical. Not directed at me, but at Russia. Russia calls Ukraine a friend. She calls the destruction of her homeland a tragedy on par with the death of her sister.

Late. Vitaly Klitschko announced today he is giving Yanukovych and his regime twenty four hours to hold elections that will surely lead to his removal from the presidency, or Klitschko himself will lead a full scale attack on the riot police in Maiden. “Bleak” is how she has described life in Ukraine, and the protestors in Maidan have made it clear they are willing to die for a sense of promise. I read this on my phone while sitting in the barbers chair. It served the purpose of keeping me distracted so the barber didn't get the idea I wanted to chat. It was a warm, golden afternoon. I took the bus to Market Street. After my haircut I met Aaron at a nearby cafe. He told me he’s got no girl, no job, and no reason anymore to stay in San Francisco. Meanwhile, far off, my lover’s homeland is, what? Unraveling? Awakening? In revolutions all bets are off and in civil wars anything will happen.

January 25, 2014

Tonight Aaron came over and we played poker. I lost everything. Eventually betting it all on a pair of 9’s, hoping to steal the pot. No one fell for it. Chris won the hand with two pair. Inside, I started burning with rage. Not because I lost the money. Besides, he and Aaron kept trading me their paper money for quarters. I ended the night with six dollars in paper. A loss compared to the change I had, but it feels like more. No, I was in a rage because the bare surface on the reflective table stared back at me, gloating, a sign that I was no longer welcome there. So I left and had a cigarette. It didn't help. I was as angry when I came back to watch as when I left. Tanya offered to let me play on her team. Instead I sat alone and read the news on my phone. The situation in Ukraine is decided as far as I can see. Since the government texted the protestors (“Dear subscriber you are registered as a participant in mass disturbance”) the protestors have no choice but to succeed. Text messages mean names. Names mean addresses. Those who make it home alive if the protests fail will only live to be perhaps jailed or executed another day. They must feel that deeply.

February 19, 2014

This evening we had friends over to watch the olympics and eat pizza. Human’s have a drive to make things always and always better. We started watching the figure skating on a laptop, then I carried a larger desk top screen up from the bedroom so we could all watch together. Jake and I joked that skating would be better if the women were also contortionists and were required to end their routine by skating into a small box, that is itself on skates, and off the ice unassisted. We watched only hoping to see if the next competitor did better than the one before. Tanya is still watching upstairs while I’m in bed writing, even though she looked up the results before streaming a previously taped feed. What is the word for believing the future will be better than the past? There has to be one. Progress? People are dying in Ukraine for it. For believing the future could be better if it is given the chance to be. It is like gambling in a way. Stay at the table and play one more hand. Stop at the gas station to buy a scratcher. Bet on the next moment being better then the moment at hand, or the moment that passed.

February 24, 2014

Memory is experience tied to emotion injected with value, meaning, and understood as important for some reason. If I look back at my memories, describe them, then answer the question, “Why do I remember these moments over others?” I could answer based on what has happened since and before. In some ways memories are signifiers in themselves, and the sharing of a memory without explanation should spark connotations, signifiers, and more memories for the reader or listener. But I was reading Auden’s introduction to Goethe’s Italian Journey yesterday in Larkspur’s Piper Park, under a tree. What kind of tree, I don't know. Auden explains the importance Goethe placed in just that particular knowledge. A man can not write about the beauty of a tree without knowing dendrology, or know the beauty of clouds without understanding meteorology. One too can never know the beauty of a place and its people, or a lover, without knowing their history.

February 28, 2014

February is finished. Tomorrow will be the first day of the third month of the new year. But I guess every year only gets a few days to be called a new year. It is hard for something novel to stay special for long, when you know it will be replaced in a matter of time, only to be replaced again and again. Very early this morning I couldn't sleep. In the dark room I could see the glow of Tanya’s porcelain back and outside the sky was readying for sunrise with lavender paint. Now I’m recalling how that sliver of sky just above the roof of John O'Connell High School seen from the bedroom window this morning, and realizing I didn't fully appreciate how pretty it was. I read, sleepless in bed, about the appearance of armed, unmarked, unbadged, speechless and faceless soldiers at an airport in Crimea. I woke up Tanya at 6:30 with this news. She said the Russians are just waiting for orders to make their first move. I thought of an old Chinese man I saw walk out of a market on West Portal with a bundle of bananas. I said, the Russians are trying to take Crimea the same way, like a bundle of bananas, and wait and see if anybody notices. “I hope Ukraine doesn't become a bundle of bananas,” she said, and went back to sleep. It rained a bit in the morning. I slept through most of it. By late afternoon it became one of those special days like spring (the smell of which has been invading the city) when rain falls sideways in perfect sunshine and the air feels moist and tropical. Tonight Tanya said she would move anywhere with me if I invited her. But I plan on doing more than that.

April 7, 2014

I learned a couple good words tonight. The first one. Russian. Used in Ukraine. “Blat.” A noun for institutional and cultural favor payments. Honors, services, attributes, experiences need not be earned, they can be purchased. Sometimes to get a passport, In the old days a doctor could give “blat” to the bureaucrat in charge of pant rations for his or her patients. The second word is cogitable, a rare adjective meaning conceivable, or able to grasped by the mind. I told Chris that we should speak in more rare, or hardly used words. Like purposeful. Chris said I sound, “pretentious and fuck.”

May 19, 2014

Dream: I cut up from the street, running through fenceless backyards where light from a large unseen moon, or my own eyes, made everything visible. The aroma of pine and dirt, and the night air, muggy and breezeless on my skin. The ground black but littered with red pine needles that guided me home, but I felt no comfort. The pine canopies were collapsing on me as I ran as hard as I could down the straight line of backyards to my home’s fence. I could hear someone shouting at me from the street on the other side of the houses. The voice seemed to come from everywhere. It permeated through the splintered fence lining our back yard, through the grass beneath the rusted trampoline, through the door knob I turned to let myself into my dark home, where the voice came through the walls.

I could feel the sharpened words dig into my skin like the presence of God, somehow like teeth biting my wrists and forearms, and a nasty churning began inside of me. I’m a man, I thought, living in a world where God gives nothing but anger and hatred for me and me alone.

Then it stopped. I walked slowly through the kitchen. The house creaked under my heels. In my bedroom, I pulled open the blinds and saw a man on his back on the roof outside the window. He looked at me. The moonlight bounced off a bottle of rum in his hand. There was a girl beside him in a spaghetti strapped tank top and bathing suit bottoms. She had a toads head. Her legs were long, dangling from the drain like hanging vines. She said, zilch. All she did was smoke a cigarette, peering off the roof, out over the roofs of the houses in front of her looking just like my own, up to the cloudless starless sky washed in gray from the moon’s white light mixing with the black of night. She pulled her knees to her chest and blew smoke from her toad lips, and it floated away.

July 18, 2014

I closed the book lightly. Tanya held her phone with both hands. I was going to miss her. Her subtle nightgown was the color of lavender. About a year ago to the day, she placed restful lavender stalks in the breast pocket of my denim jacket and told me that now I could always smell lavender. It was growing in a pot of soil just outside the door leading onto the balcony. We stood there in the wind. Soon after I’d see the same restful hue alight on her bedroom walls. We watched it manifest around us in bed as the sun seeped through the shadeless windows. The sun carried the lavender on it’s white capped edge and left it on the walls before receding back out into the world as daylight. When she placed that honey dyed scent in my pocket I fell a little in love. Now I stand in front of her, bashful for giving more time to hillbillies and books then to making her feel how much I’ll miss her, in our last moments together. So I did. We made love. I left for work happy. She for Ukraine.

July 20, 2014

In pictures of the wreckage the Ukrainian sky spills like tea and milk over the edges of a table, falling behind men with their faces covered with black masks, holding large machine guns. The land looks lush and deep green, almost purple at one layer, faded green at another, and at the next layer golden brown, and going on like that over the earth. Is this right? I only see it in pictures on news sites, while you are there, though far from this pictured landscape where all of those people became corpses in a mess of fire, smoke, and metal made into wreckage.

An article by the Kyiv Post says the rebels are moving the corpses to refrigerated train cars, to transport them someplace where international representatives can identify them and decide where they should be buried. The writer said, “but the mutilated and decaying bodies were most definitely inside, as evidenced by the pungent odor leaking from the unsealed wagon doors.”

July 21, 2014

In the main branch of the public library, drifting through the main fourier on the ground level, I had this brief moment where I felt like I was an alien species dropped from the moon. Like I was experiencing earth for the very first time. I can't say what brought it on, but it was a very clear thought, one that cut through all other potential thoughts, and bumped up hard against the front of my mind. The echoes of foot steps and clicking computer keys, the muffled voices. All these things filled the space up to the glass dome sky light, from which a heavy gray light dropped in as I looked up to see the somnolent movements of fog swirling overhead. It was blueless. Utterly without blue. A thick woolen layer of fog that didn't seem to be moving at all, until I looked again, and saw a few fibrous strands of fluffed moisture swirl too. There is no indication, or demarcation of worlds at the library. The outside comes in, and you sense it in your nostrils, a sour burning smell. Outside people walk around inside half dead on drugs and booze. Inside people saunter outside and avoid the wheelchairs and beggars. Smells from the street penetrate the library. Madness penetrates the library. It mingles so naturally with the children on summer vacation, with their nannies or tired mothers. All of these things mingle so well with the endless variety of world knowledge surrounding everyone at the library. The library maybe the most charitable place in the city, the most democratic place as well. Neighborhoods on the other side if this sliding glass door that whooshes open for me now, are being broken up by the street into subsets based on race, yes, but mostly money. And this fragmentation lives in aesthetics and taste. You know how you can tell if a restaurant is for you by the way the light glitters off the window into your eyes that look in from the street? By the style of light bulb? Well, the library is gray, without aesthetic. Meaning the library is for everyone. It is in its insistence to remain dull and gray that it is its most charitable.

July 22, 2014

Since Tanya left I've had to watch my money closely. The food in the refrigerator is rotting. I haven't gone to the grocery store. Only a few dollars remain in my bank account that I will have to stretch for the next week. Am I collapsing without her? With her, I know I’m me, and I’m alright. Without her I am incorporeal. I’m removed from myself and instead of living as I am, I watch me live, stare at my own shadow walking down the street. Without her all I have are books, which have been nice company, cigarettes, which have been an unwanted guest, and an incessant need to masturbate. But I’ve been picking my skin less.

I don't understand how the day moves without her, or if it moves at all, as night seems to fall without warning. I sat with Jake in the Pan Handle, chain smoking. The air was cool, and a light, yet cutting wind wound its way through the trees. But the hours leading to that moment felt like a dream I may have even forgotten.

Tanya, the effort I make to remedy the nights without you stand in stark contrast to the things I do during the day to pass things by. A man can go through hours of light dead if he wants, and be able to get away with it. There is no meaning to my job, no meaning to the mail I avoid opening, to the calls I avoid answering. No meaning to these cigarettes. But at night, my loneliness is full of meaning. Every motion I make deliberate and timed to get me back to the death day hours safely. My hands are soaked in coconut oil. I asked you once if you wanted to know what it would be like to be a man. You sat on me the same way this faceless woman is sitting in the video I watch. When I cum my hips lift off the bed, and semen splashes on my face, chest, all over my belly. It smells like wet grass and sweat. My tongue lurches from my mouth and licks my lips and I taste it, sour, warm. If I can’t have you now, I’ll be you tonight. You and in one body. I slowly massage the semen on my belly as you would if it were gleaming off of your smooth porcelain body. But my body is coarse ape hair, and the sound of semen moving through my body hair reminds me of walking through dead leaves in autumn.

In the bathroom I see myself in the mirror. Streaks of yellowish gray fluid shimmer on my jaw in harsh light. Have I heard your voice since you left? I would gladly die to hear you even swallow water.

July 23, 2014

Cinnamon layered the inside of the bowl like sand clinging to a white rock face. What was left of the granola and milk I’d eaten reminded me of moist rocks and the smell of mud. Brown milk rested in a little pool at the bottom. On a cobalt blue tea plate were the cold and gnawed strawberry tops, their leafy crowns dry and brittle. On the radio, Dutch voices mourned the arrival of the dead, raged at the way the corpses were treated, and argued over the importance of having the rest of the bodies returned home.

During breakfast I was able to download Viber. It took fumbling with the password, which I again forgot and had to reset after three missed tries, and then a world of aggravation trying to update my billing information. I entered everything exactly as I believe it to be and the machine said I was wrong.

But it turned out that I didn't even need to enter that, and happily skipped the screen by checking the word none, and tapping the word done. Viber downloaded. I finished my breakfast brimming with excitement to finally hear your voice and tell you so much of what I’ve been up to without you.

July 24, 2014

I finished a new book this morning, Victoria by Knut Hamsun, and Hamsun is only too cruel for what he did to those young lovers. And either from Hamsun’s cruelty or the hangover I feel from last night’s edibles, today the world feels dull and flat. I’m closed off. Drained of everything. Every thought I’ve had about writing you has been countered by a strong desire to lie on the couch all day and watch The Simpsons. What could I say? I just miss you, that’s all. I’ve filled pages in notebooks talking about it and each page could be rewritten to simply say, “I’d rather spend the next days with my hand in the garbage disposal then without you.”

Then my phone buzzes, and it is you. It is your body outlined by an oval shaped mirror. Your dark hair draped down your smooth back that flows like a waterfall into your perfectly round ass, all curves and softness. And are you cupping your breasts a little, keeping them hidden from me?

I’m coming alive.

It is not that you are a figment from a dream, something I imagined, but you are an entity from another realm, another life, something I never could have imagined, even if I were a great writer. No imaginative capability could have created you. Even in my deepest heart I couldn't have fathomed you for myself, and somehow, you’ve found me.

The message with your picture reads, “Something for lazy days.”

Then another that reads, “You’ll have to read Victoria to me when I come back.”

But I missed these messages when you sent them, and in the long wait you wrote, anxiously, “Hello?”

But I didnt mean to miss them, believe me. I write, “Oh my God, Hello!”

And about the book I say, “Yes, yes I will read it to you. I will sing it to you if that’s what you want me to do.”

This piece was written specifically for a writing contest I saw advertised in a magazine. A London based publisher called Fish wanted creative memoir for an anthology they were putting together. They were even giving out a little money. I used it as an opportunity to confront two challenges, the first being the utilization of raw material from journals, the second being writing about a lover. This piece did not win the writing contest, but was shortlisted, whatever that means.

-Chris Carson

[largemouthbassnation]

Cold Weather Makes The Best Bass Fishing

Cold Weather Makes The Best Bass Fishing

Shop at Karls Bait and Tackle ✅ I have a new Tactical Camo Hat available ☀️ See more of my tackle talk videos here 🎥 Looking to watch tournament vlogs? Click below 💰 Use my promo code to get your first box from Mystery Tackle box for as little as $10” ✅ 📍Promo Code: BLAT Learn how to fish a wacky rig 🎥 🎥 🎥 🎥 Shop my new Tactical Camo hats🧢 Subscribe to my channel ⭐️ Subscribe to MTB YouTube…