#love the rifle too i dont care if its not practical

[e1igius]

blood trickles down his arm , it is not his. it pools in his shirt , it has recolored his shirt. it weighs down his boots , it belongs to them. the bodies lay scattered throughout the room. blood splatter paints the walls. the three men lay in distorted poses , legs and arms bent in unnatural ways , exposed bones scattered throughout. eyes watch the seemingly endless stream , a single droplet at a time. leaving this place in an endless state of danger. of heightened awareness ; one he seems all too preoccupied with. heavy ragged breathing echoes throughout the empty mansion , the heavy steps of boots as he staggers forward , exhausted , smear blood as they go , dampening the noise. feral noises leave the mans mouth as he spits out an arcane mixture of blood and saliva , both of which are not uniquely his own. it's instinct that drives him , not the importance of what he has done , but the routine of it all. he needs to clean up this mess , he needs to get rid of the blood stains on the hardwood floor , the he needs to just do it. just move , just act , his body feels so heavy. how much collateral damage this time ? or were they complicit members of the crimes as well ? his brain doesn't know where to draw the line anymore. the line has long since been erased.

fingertips find their way to rake sweat out of dirty hair , leaving a trail of blood in their wake , the dark think liquid clings to soft blonde hair. and just as the man begins to relax , a strange sensation comes over him at a single noise , the door creaks downstairs. who's here ? what could anyone possibly want with an old mutant oil tycoon and his family on a wednesday night ? the marine grabs his rifle with little care , barrel scratching against the wooden floor as he slowly makes his way to the staircase , echoing in the halls and rooms as he goes like sharp notes of an untuned piano. a swift sweep down to pick up the bayonet on the floor with his free hand. when he makes it to the stairs rifle lifts into position , fixed bayonet at the end , he's tired , any trained professional can see it in his shoulders , in his eyes , but that doesn't make him any less deadly. any less trained. his position is perfectly manicured from years of practice , his sheer size is intimidating enough , his presence a top the stairs would have been a death sentance for anyone... save the dark curly hair that emerges from the darkness. eyes find eyes faster than he'd like to admit and the rifle waivers for just a moment. a distraction , a hallucination , he hadn't told her he was coming. she had no way of knowing he'd be here. how could she ? unless she'd be keeping tabs on him , unless she didn't trust him anymore.

the realization that follows causes the rifle to drop to the floor , the loud metal clang echoes in the empty mansion , sound bouncing and growing against hundred year old acoustics... she didn’t trust him. eyes that had warmed at her entrance begin to grow cold , matching the rotting interior of the person they belong to. he steps forward , unarmed , a death sentence in her presence. the rifle on the ground then , of course , remains within reach. ❝ anita... anita its me. it's huckleberry. ❞ eyes land on the weapon in her hand and a cold shiver runs down his spine , she wasn't here for his prey , she was here for the hunter. she had come for him , after years of understanding one another , like it was nothing. like he was nothing. his voice grows angry , agitated by the fact that he sees only hatred in her eyes when his own are overrrun with love and pain. ❝ put your fuckin' weapon down anita , it's just me , this ain't no fucking princess rodeo , stop playing around. ❞ a pause , eyes flicker between her expression and the executionary weapon , ❝ i dont want to hurt you. ❞ another step forward. he gets down on his knees ( the rifles closer now ) but he looks like he's begging , the way he feels he is. ❝ anita please , what's wrong ? what's happened ? let me help you. ❞ tell me what to do , so that i don't have to shoot.

@executiioner gets an anita murders huckleberry starter.

[cunningambitousdetermined]

i need a plot for this

yall so ive been trying really hard to get back into writing and i went to a writing camp this summer. im going to post a poem that i wrote there later bc im super proud of it but right now i have something else i need help with. SO basically there was a prompt about someone finding a letter or a note. that’s the prompt. so i wrote something, really liked it BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE TO TAKE IT FROM HERE. my basic ideas involve the two characters meeting each other again to do SOMETHING WHICH I DONT KNOW and slowly arcane (youll see when you read the story below) thaws and falls in love with kalon and kalon has always been in love with her and its like best friends to enemies to friends to lovers ya know? ANYWAY if you dont hate me for being inactive and needy, please read this and help me. 

Dear Arcane,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 10 years. Wow. I don’t even know if you’ll ever get this, you could’ve moved. You could be dead. Oh god, that’s dark. You’re not dead, someone would’ve told me, I’m sure. So that must mean that there’s a good chance you have this, but I’m not even sure if you’ll read it.

He was right, as he most often was. Arcane had not planned to read the letter from the moment she read her name on the envelope, written in a neat sort of messy handwriting that could only come from one person. The letter had been sitting at her desk for a week before memories began to drown her and she knew she had to open it.

That’s not the point though, I’m sure you’ll read this. You’ve always been a sucker for the intimacy of written letters. Maybe that’s why I wrote to you instead of calling.

Arcane closed her eyes, the pounding of the memories at the door slowly consuming her. She took a deep breath and let them in. The whispers started to fill the room, every word echoing off the walls, like her past had become a living, breathing thing in her room. How could he write her now? After all these years. Anger reared it's small head in the back of her mind. How could he be so casual as if he wasn't the boy who ripped her heart out and tore it to pieces. 

Maybe it’s because I did read all the letters you wrote to me. Even after the voicemails stopped filling my phone and the emails ran dry, your letters kept coming.

She remembers writing those letters, the pen shaking in her hand as it hit the paper. She remembers wondering what you said to someone like him, a friend who left you behind. The squeeze in her chest that tightened each time he didn’t reply. The break in her heart when the last letter she ever wrote was returned to her doorstep.

If you’ve read this far without tearing my letter to pieces, then I would say this is a good start to our reunion. I’ve missed you. Your stubborn ways, always trying to keep me safe. But you always came with me wherever I went anyway. I miss your secret smile, the one you saved just for me. The treehouse we built in your yard. Do you miss that? I wonder if you wonder about me. I wonder if I can even ask that of you.

She did miss them. But, those things that she missed were long gone. The treehouse was overgrown with vines, Arcane was sure you couldn’t even get into it anymore. She went with him on his stupid adventures because what would she do if he left and met new people? He would leave her and she would be alone. So she desperately followed him blindly, hoping it would keep him close. Arcane missed her secret smile, the genuine one she had always saved for him. He missed it. How could he miss something that he destroyed. With his one and only letter to her, he demolished any leftover love for him that hid in her heart. He couldn’t ask if Arcane wondered about him. That wasn’t fair. That night, ten years ago, was still a raw wound in her soul that she was pretty sure would never heal.

~

The rain was relentless that night, banging against every edge of the house, but a little girl was waiting by the door, not even flinching as the lightning and thunder clapped furiously. Arcane peeked her head above the window frame to find the mailman running through the storm, his frantic steps pounding through the floor of the house. Her eyes lit up with a hope that was slowly fading with each mail drop. She opened the door and hid the small smile that started to spread up her face with a cough.

“Hi, Dan!” Arcane’s voice gave away the excitement that was flooding her system.

“Hey, Arcane.” Dan couldn’t help the pitiful grin that he gave her. She waited by the door for him every day and each day there was no letter for her. It must be soul-crushing, he thought, waiting for a letter that never comes.

“Is there…?” Arcane was practically on her tiptoes at this point. Dan rifled through the letters, dread settling as her name wasn’t there. Again. And then there was a squeal. “Oh, Dan! I found it! I knew- I knew it- I told them!” Her sentences didn’t even come out fully as she beamed, her smile brighter than any ray of the sun.

Arcane had run into the house, a breeze following in her wake. Plopping down into the soft plush couch, she ripped open the envelope, not caring about the paper that flew everywhere in the room. A paper fluttered out, floating toward the ground. Arcane grabbed it, hands shaking, she could practically feel the sweat dripping down her face. Words were the easiest way to break someone. The letter only contained eleven words, yet they would stick with her for the rest of her life.

Stop writing me. None of it was real. You were nothing.

Eleven words. And they shattered her. Crumbling, shattering, a million pieces breaking. Sobs racked through her whole body, her chest shaking and trembling with each broken breath. She caught her face in the mirror hanging off the pale wall and didn’t recognize the girl that stared back. You were nothing. A scream tore through her, the ache of her heart so raw that even the sun seemed to cry, rain dripping onto the panes of the windows. And slowly, so very slowly, Arcane buried the ache and gathered the shattered pieces of her heart and encased them in an impenetrable cage, never to opened again.

~

The ache was still present now, ten years after the letter had arrived. The dullness of her buried hurt made her clench her fists around the letter that sat in her hand now, the same lopsided handwriting adorning it.

But, that’s not why I’m writing this letter. I’m writing this with an actual purpose, if you can imagine that. I didn't just write to rehash our friendship. 

Arcane could feel her eyes narrowing, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the inanimate piece of paper. An actual purpose? To break her heart all over again? This time she did roll her eyes, even though no one was there to see it. But, it wasn’t the fact that he wrote her after all these years or that his tone was friendly throughout that made her body freeze. It was the last line that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention.

In all the years that Arcane had known him, he'd never been very dependent. He often just struggled in silence and figured them out on his own. Not once, not ever, had has asked for help. But, there the sentence was inked in his slanted, loopy writing. 

I need your help.

Love,

Kalon

  ~~everything below here is stuff that doesnt have to be a part of the story but i still liked it and where it was going (idk please give me ideas)~~

The quiet, shock of the room seemed to weigh on Arcane. She flopped back onto her bed, the soft pillows cushioning her landing. I need your help. Those few, simple words, tugged at the strings that bound her heart. He needed her. The thought was fleeting as just as quickly as it came, it left. In its spot was anger. Now he needed her? After all those years when she needed him? What did he do then? Nothing. And that’s what she was going to do now. She huffed in satisfaction, tossing the envelope to the side. Her fingers reached into her hair, massaging her head. There were too many things to think about right now. Arcane squeezed her eyes shut as memories stung her eyes in the form of tears. 

~

“Please, don’t leave me.” Arcane had whispered, her small breaths filling the one room of the treehouse. 

“I don’t have a choice. You know I don’t want to go.” Kalon’s voice broke and he looked away so Arcane couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. It was silent. 

“We’ll still be best friends right?” 

“Yeah.” Kalon’s reply didn’t hold much conviction, causing Arcane to look over at him, confused, glossy eyes narrowing. 

“To the moon and back, Kal, remember?” She said, her tone desperate. It was a promise they made one night as they were watching some cheesy movie on the old television set. The boy had told the girl that he loved her too ‘the moon and back’. Kalon had then explained that the two characters said that so that they would never be apart. They could meet at the same moon, always and then they could go back. And then, they would never be fully apart. Arcane had liked that. So naturally,  she had grabbed Kal’s face and made him promise that they would go ‘to the moon and back’ if they were ever apart. It became a goodbye for them, a way of saying ‘I’ll see you soon’. 

“Yeah,” Kal had replied, a smile barely curling through his lips, “I’ll race ya there.”

~

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, letting her memories flow down her cheeks and into the bedsheets, but eventually she had to get up. She pulled herself up and off the bed, limbs protesting at the use. She just needed a few days is all, then she wouldn’t even remember what she was crying for.  Kalon didn’t mean anything to her anymore.

thank you for reading this far, i love all of you. just throw out ideas please. or give me some advice, i would love that. whether its about my writing or the plot i would love to have tips and constructive criticism on how to get better! tagging some moots who i hope dont hate me after this below the cut:

@natashxromanovf @pad-foots @griffxnnage @voidmalfoy @flxss-bxbblxs @alwaysreading @herondalesunsetcurve THANKS YALL I LOVE YOU MORE THEN I EXPRESS AND I DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT DESERVE ALL OF YOU AND YOUR LOVE

[foxtophat]

i dont have much to say about this one!!! it’s just a story about carmina’s tenth birthday, and how the town of fall’s end is coping a decade after the collapse.  uhhh there are some random children in it?  bean is there! and of course john shows up, too, because that’s KIND OF THE POINT of mercyverse lol

technically there’s a story that comes before this, but i don’t have the vibe yet for it so i haven’t worked on it in a while. instead, i’ll probably just keep moving forward and throw up that one if the rest of the plot becomes at all relevant to the real main storyline.  uhhh the next one will take place in the spring of 2029 and we’re going to start getting into some fun stuff that i’ve planned out for a while!!!

until then, uh, the usual: love you, please like/share/reblog/kudos/comment, whatever you feel good about doing, because i sure do love to share my universe with other people!  hope you’re doing well and hopefully i’ll see you with another fic in a few weeks!

also as usual: the story text is below the cut for those of you who wanna stay on tumblr :)

It's Carmina's tenth birthday, and there's a party in town. The two things aren't exactly related, sure, but Carmina's used to sharing her birthday with the Collapse, and she's not about to turn down a bunch of free food. How can she not go to a real Hope County barbecue after her parents had hyped the experience up so much in the bunker? She'd hoped that her ninth birthday would have gotten a similar treatment, but the town just didn't have the food or people for it at the time. Her parents had told her that next year would be better; Carmina does her best to keep her imagination from blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

They leave a little bit after breakfast. Since John is coming along, mom has no excuse not to let Carmina ride in the back with him. He's not excited to be heading into town, but then again, the town isn't usually excited to see him, either. And considering what day it is, they're likely to be extra rude to him. Carmina doesn't get it, honestly, but she's just glad that she can ride in back without her mom grabbing onto her at every pothole and bump in the road.

The first surprise of the day comes as her dad parks just past the church, giving her a chance to stand up and look out over the town. She hasn't been here in a while, and so she's surprised to see that they've cleared out a lot of the dirt lot behind the usable buildings — and there are a lot of people hanging out there. Carmina's never seen so many people at once — she loses count around twenty and can easily guess double that. It's enough to rattle her nerves for just a second, before she catches the looks on her mom and dads' faces and realizes that this is probably a good thing. Sure, John looks like he wants to hop back in the truck and go home, but he always looks like that around strangers. Her parents, on the other hand, actually seem happy for once, and that's what matters to Carmina.

The second surprise is just how many of the adults seem to know her. Her parents move slowly through the mingling crowd, usually coming up with names for faces before Carmina's even looked at the strangers who call her by name. She gets lots of comments like, "I remember when your parents were expecting you!" and "I was wondering how the Rye's little girl turned out!" and even a few, "Glad to see you made it," comments that make her parents side-eye each other pretty fiercely. She doesn't need to introduce herself to anyone, not even people who her parents don't know so well — it's like everybody's always known her, and her family. It's kind of cool — but also kind of weird. Pastor Jerome always said that their family was a pillar in the community, but this is first-person evidence, right here in front of her.

Plenty of the adults wish her a happy birthday, too, but she knows their hearts aren't in it. It's one of the big drawbacks to sharing her birthday with the end of the world — nobody asks how old she is, nobody wants to know what she did on previous birthdays, and all of them have to make some kind of depressing comment. Like trying to get her to relate to birthdays before the Collapse: all they want to do is tell her about all the things she could be doing, or would be doing, if only the world hadn't ended. They want to share their birthdays from the past, but Carmina's never been to the movies, she doesn't know who Disney is, and she has no idea why they'd need a cake and candles for it all. Somebody tells her she should be graduating to the fourth grade, and she just stares back because what even is the fourth grade? What does that mean?

They mean well, so Carmina does her best not to upset anybody, but she knows that nobody appreciates how little she cares about life before the Collapse.

At least there are other kids in town today. Her mom had been telling her about some of them — kids who don't have families, who the town looks after — but Carmina's only ever met one of them, and that had been only for a few minutes. But Carmina can see them hanging out in the field, and as soon as her mom lets her, she heads right out to them. It's about time that she met people her age — she's getting tired of only ever talking to old people.

Of course, meeting strangers is still difficult for her, but she's saved from too much embarrassment as she recognizes the chicken brothers hanging out in the small group. She can't remember which one is Tom and which one is Matt, but they seemed really nice when they helped her pick out her chickens. She also recognizes the oldest boy in the group, although she can't remember his name at all. She's never seen the others before — two teenage girls, another boy her age, and a kid a couple years younger than her — but hopefully she won't make a total fool of herself.

"Hi," she says as she approaches, waving.

"Hey, Carmina," Matt-or-Tom says, stepping aside to make room for her in their makeshift circle. "I thought we would see you today."

"Yep," Carmina smiles, "Here I am!" She sees the teenagers' curious looks and tells them with little fanfare, "Today's my birthday."

"Oh," the oldest boy says. "That sucks."

One of the girls elbows him. "Don't be mean," she says.

"No, he's right," Carmina says. "It does suck."

"Well, happy birthday anyway. How old are you now?"

"Ten."

"Wow," the girl says. She looks at the boy, then back to Carmina, and says sympathetically, "You weren't kidding. That's rough."

Giggling with relief, Carmina waves once more. "It's okay. My name's Carmina, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

Being polite works like a charm, and the oldest boy is quick to go around with introductions. "Well, I'm Jason — this is Caroline, and this is Flower. The little kid there —"

"Hey!"

"— Is Bean, and... Sorry, man, what did you say your name was again?"

The other ten-year-old looking boy frowns and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. "Luke," he says.

"Okay, Luke. And you know Tom and Matt."

"We were talking about the bison out in the field," Tom-or-Matt says. He points in the direction of home and asks, "Did you guys see the big one when you were coming into town?"

"The one that's all white?" Carmina asks, "With the big scar over its hump? We see that one all the time when we come out this way —"

"No, no," the other brother says, "Jason says there's a bigger one."

"I told you guys," Jason says, "I only saw it once, and it was late at night while I was up in the crow's nest. I don't think it comes out during the day."

Carmina frowns. "What big one? What do you mean?"

"Oh, boy," Caroline sighs, "Don't listen to him, Carmina, he's full of shit."

"Hey, language," Flower laughs.

"Look, I was pretty far away, but I had the sniper rifle and I wasn't sleeping on the job. Uh, so..." He points out over the field, towards a squat set of huts surrounding a tall, busted silo that's still standing. The view from up there must be great. "Jerome has me sit up in that tower sometimes, you know, to practice. So I was up there, looking around, and it was probably midnight or so... and I just see this glow out in the field. I think it's a fire, right? Maybe somebody made a camp out there on their way to town or something. So I look out through the scope — and it was a bison."

"A glowing bison?" Carmina asks skeptically.

"Yeah. Like, a monster bison. It was all dark and scaly looking, except for the way its belly glowed. I thought about shooting it, but..."

Caroline laughs. "He got scared. Or it wasn't real, and he's making it all up."

"I wasn't scared, and I'm not making it up! It's not like it could've hurt me up in the nest. It... just didn't feel right. You know, it was just grazing with the rest of the herd. And it moved off over the hill before I could change my mind or call anybody up to confirm it."

"Sure, Jason."

"I'm serious," Jason insists, "I really saw it, okay? I told Jerome about it and everything." He frowns at the dirt. "He said it might've been mutated after the bombs. Then he told me not to go looking for it."

"He's right," Flower says. "Even regular bison are pretty dangerous." She smiles. "That's why I like deer — they won't hurt you. If you sit really still, sometimes they'll even come up and lick your face."

"Oh," Carmina says. "I usually just shoot them. They eat all our vegetables otherwise."

"Yeah," Flower sighs, "Sometimes I do, too. But they're also nice to watch."

Tom-or-Matt looks to his brother. "I wonder if that's what we see outside at night?"

"What, deer?"

"No, dumbass." He turns to the group and explains, "Sometimes, when it's real late and I gotta use the bathroom, I'll see something glowing out in the woods. Dad's cut back a lot of space so it never gets very close, but... maybe it's another mutated animal."

"At least you'll see it coming when it tries to attack you," Carmina suggests.

"Gee, thanks."

Carmina knows he's probably teasing, but she still feels guilty for being so blunt about it. The least she can do is try to reassure him. "Well... most animals don't attack near houses, I don't think. When we first came out of the bunker, there were wild dogs and wolves that would watch us, and my dad was real worried about them — but now they mostly stay away from the property. I think it's because of the fence. You guys have a fence, right?"

"Yeah, plus a butt-load of chickens that freak out over anything out of the ordinary." Matt-or-Tom grins at her and asks, "Don't they wake you up with every little thing?"

Carmina briefly considers mentioning John being attacked, then decides against it. She also doesn't want to tell them that the chickens live mostly indoors at night now — the last thing she wants to do is kick off a whole big thing about the cult on her dang birthday! It's already hard enough pretending to care about them around her parents; she's not sure she could even force herself to bother here. And if she's not careful, the kids in town might start to think about her and her family the same way all the adults do.

"They're pretty docile, actually," she says, "And we only really see deer around our place... It's not like they eat chickens."

"Well.... maybe there's a mutant deer out there that wants to eat you," Tom-or-Matt teases.

Carmina rolls her eyes. "I'll shoot it before it gets past the hangar," she replies.

Of course, her dismissive confidence leads to a sprawling discussion on who might be the best shot out of the group. Carmina does her best to defend her skills, considering she can't prove any of it right now, but all three teens insist they're dead-eyes, and even Bean says he's "getting pretty good at the aiming part." On top of that, the kids from the town have gotten pointers from Aunt Grace herself, which means they might actually be better shots than Carmina expects.

"Maybe we should have a competition," Caroline suggests. "I bet Pastor Jerome and Aunt Grace would be okay with it."

"Sure," Jason laughs, "But you know they'd make us spend forty minutes disassembling and cleaning our rifles before and after. Like I don't know what I'm doing — I'm almost fifteen!"

"Have you guys been to Aunt Grace's?" Carmina asks. "She has a shooting range there."

"Maybe she'd let us use it!"

"I've never been to a real shooting range," Bean says.

"It's not a real shooting range," Jason points out, "Those all got blown up. Do you even know how to use a gun, Bean?"

"I just said I do! My dad taught me! I... just don't like the loud noises it makes."

Matt-or-Tom boasts, "We learned to shoot in our bunker. Mom collected Airsoft guns — they don't use bullets, so they can't kill you."

"What's the point of that?"

"I dunno, I guess practicing underground?"

Tom-or-Matt laughs. "Dad was convinced the Peggies were gonna get us, so he wanted us to know how to shoot."

The quiet kid, Luke, finally speaks up. "Lucky," he mutters, "Easier to learn underground, I bet."

"What about you?" Carmina asks. She tries not to cringe away when he stares back at her like he didn't expect anyone to hear him. Maybe he doesn't like people talking to him? "Um... my mom and dad had a bunch of gun magazines in the bunker, but I never got to shoot a real gun until we came outside. Mom and Aunt Grace have been teaching me, though, and I'm way better than my dad is."

Luke hesitates. "Kind of the same. We came up early, though. Had to."

"Me, too," Jason replies. "It was just me and my brother. I was five when we got stuck in the bunker — we went through our supplies in about three years, so we had to come back up."

"We... only stayed down until I could walk," Luke admits. "It was still really cold when we came up. And mom got real sick for a while."

"Yikes," Bean says, "That sucks!"

"Come on, bean," Jason snaps, "You don't say that."

"You just said it to her!" Bean shouts, pointing at Carmina.

"He's... right," Luke mumbles. "It sucked. It... still sucks. But things are getting better now." He looks up at them, then drops his eyes back to the dirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Carmina insists, "I asked first!"

"That's kind of the mood today," Caroline adds. "Don't worry. We can talk about something else."

The change in topic comes abruptly as Bean points towards the Church and asks, "Who is that with Pastor Jerome?"

Carmina doesn't need to look, but since the rest of the group does, she might as well too. John has his hat pulled low over his eyes, as usual, which makes him look suspicious, as usual. Knowing him, he probably didn't even leave the truck — just waited there for Jerome to come talk to him.

She can only hope that Tom and Matt keep their mouths shut since they're the only other kids who know what John looks like nowadays. Unfortunately for her, that hope is pretty quickly dashed.

"Oh," Matt-or-Tom says, like a jerk, "That's John, I think. Right, Carmina?"

"Wait," Jason says, "You're that Carmina?"

Carmina ducks her head. "Um... it depends, I guess?"

Flower, looking too sympathetic for Carmina's liking, tries to mediate. "He just means, well... Jerome talks about you sometimes."

"And he talks about that guy," Jason adds, pointing without any subtlety at all.

"Everyone talks about that guy," Caroline says with a sigh. She gives Carmina a sympathetic shrug as she does, as though she wishes she could stop the conversation from happening, too. That only makes Carmina worried that this isn't the first time the teenagers have sat around gossiping about John and the crazy people who decided to take him in.

"Wait," Bean gasps, way too loudly, "That's John Seed?"

"Oh my God," Matt-or-Tom sighs, "You gotta keep up with the conversation."

"Wait, what's he doing here? Why's he going into the church? I thought he wasn't supposed to come to town? I thought he was locked up!"

Carmina groans. "It's my birthday," she whines, "I don't wanna talk about John today!"

"We don't have to," Caroline says. "Guys, come on."

"I mean, he did kill a lot of people. Isn't he, like, a psychopath? Isn't it weird to live with a murderer?"

"Jason!"

Luke mutters, "I heard he used to cut off people's skin."

"That's true," Jason replies, "My brother has a huge scar from when it happened to him. Boy, I hope he doesn't see that jackass is here..."

Matt-or-Tom finally seems to realize what he's started, frowning as the conversation spirals crazily out of control. It's too late to stop it, though, and so he shuffles his feet and looks apologetically towards Carmina.

Fine. If she can't get around the subject, she's just going to have to tackle it head-on. Even if that sounds really scary. She doesn't think that these guys are going to flip out like the caravan last year did, but she's still a little worried that she might be in for a fight if she says the wrong thing about John.

"I know John used to be a bad guy," she says. "Like, really bad. My dad's got one of those scars, too. But he's not like that any more. All he does nowadays is help my parents with chores and stuff. And he's just like everybody else — he doesn't talk about what happened before the Collapse to me or anybody. So I really don't know anything more than you guys.

She probably knows less than them, honestly, but she's not about to say so and get a brutal lesson in everything John's ever done wrong.

"So he's just... different, now?" Jason asks, frowning unhappily at the church.

"I guess so," Carmina replies with a shrug. She looks over to make sure that John and Jerome are inside, just in case. "He's not... scary, or mean, or anything like that. Just quiet. Kind of... lonely, I guess. Ever since he found out his brother is alive but still crazy, he's been really beat up about it." He's also been literally beaten up over it, but now's not the time to try and make the others feel sorry for him. John would probably be irritated at the idea of a bunch of kids pitying him.

Matt-or-Tom is quick to help her out, which is nice. "She's right," he says. "The Father is still out there in the woods with all those crazies, but John's repented. Dad said he made amends with God, whatever that means. He... uh, still doesn't like us being around him, but when we helped him load the chickens in he seemed okay. Just real quiet."

"That's John, alright," Carmina sighs.

Bean looks seriously disappointed by the news. "You mean he doesn't talk about it at all?" he asks.

"No," Carmina says, snapping for good measure, "And he gets really upset when you ask about it, so don't."

"I'm not gonna go talk to him!" Bean gasps.

The idea that a kid might be scared of John is pretty funny, considering how uncomfortable he is around her, but Carmina's not about to say as much. John probably wouldn't like her sharing a weakness like that with a bunch of strangers, and she wouldn't want them using it against him later.

Flower slowly lifts her hand, looking embarrassed. "Some of the adults in town say the Bliss messed him up. Is that... true?"

Well, at least she's trying to be nice about it. "I dunno," Carmina admits. "He was super weird when he first started living with us, but that might've just been because he was stuck in his bunker for so long."

"Oh, that happened to a guy my dad knows!" Bean supplies helpfully. "Dad calls it bunker shock. Says living underground too long is bad for you when you're all alone!"

"Glad I didn't live in one long enough for that," Luke says. When everyone looks at him, he clams up for a second before continuing on. "A neighbor came up just this year. He's... real weird. I don't like him much. He still sleeps underground, hoping he'll wake up and it'll all be a dream." He scuffs his boot against the dirt, sniffing loudly. "That's what my mom says, anyway. I try not to be around when he comes by."

"He wouldn't be the first adult to be like that," Jason says. He gives the church one last look before nodding his head towards the party. "I mean, that's why we're all the way out here, instead of hanging out around the food. Right?"

"No," Bean replies, "I'm out here 'cos I can't eat another bite! I didn't know you could be this full."

Caroline laughs. "Yeah, the adults have been stockpiling for weeks, it looks like... I guess everyone was really looking forward to it — or, well, I guess that's what it is."

Flower gazes over at the gaggle of adults. Carmina recognizes her dreamy smile from the way her mom looks around the house sometimes, like she's getting a new, better look at the place.

"It feels like things are starting to look up," she says. "Maybe they can all be happier now."

"Hey, don't jinx it!" Tom-or-Matt laughs.

Bean looks around at the rest of them and for a second, Carmina is worried he's going to ask more about John and restart the whole ugly conversation. Thankfully, it looks like he's still a baby, so he's quickly distracted.

"So, what do we do now?" he asks, pushing his too-big glasses up his nose.

Carmina has never actually played with other kids before, so she doesn't have any good suggestions — especially when shooting is off-limits. Thankfully, she isn't the only one. The teenagers don't know where their soccer ball went, and Luke says he doesn't even know what soccer is. Bean says he usually plays word games by himself. When Tom-or-Matt suggests they play something called "capture the flag," it manages to make its way to the top of the list just because Jason and Caroline have both heard of it before.

Well, at least something is better than nothing. The older kids explain how capture the flag works, using Jason's shirt for their team's flag while the other kids band together around Matt-or-Tom's sweaty tank top. Carmina imagines that one of them should sit out for even teams, but the older kids seem confident that they can handle it. Too confident, in Carmina's opinion — maybe they need to be brought down a peg.

Capture the flag turns out to be more fun than Carmina had expected — and a lot harder, too. Trying to outmaneuver the older kids is tough work, but she and Tom-or-Matt figure out how to flank them pretty quick. There's nothing better than the moment when Carmina manages to dive out of the way when Jason tries to tackle her, and even if she gets dog-piled by Flower halfway back to Bean at home base, she holds Jason's shirt up for another teammate to take.

Unfortunately, the game ends without a winner as a sharp whistle pierces the air. Bean looks up and shouts, "That's my dad! I better go!"

He runs off at full tilt without so much as a goodbye, and Carmina has to squint against the setting sun to watch him go. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten.

"I should probably get going, too," Luke says, sweaty and almost smiling for once. "I want to get another plate of food before we go home."

"Ugh," Carmina sighs, "And the chickens need feeding."

"Just make John do it," Matt-or-Tom says, apparently not learning his lesson about mentioning John.

"It's supposed to be my job," she says. "And anyway, he already feeds them in the morning when I don't get up in time."

"They're gonna like him more than you," Tom-or-Matt laughs.

Jason frowns. "He feeds your chickens?"

"I mean... yeah. He does whatever we need him to." Carmina shrugs, glancing back towards the church. She hasn't seen Jerome or John leave — maybe she should go see them before she rounds up her parents? Nah, it's better to leave them alone until the very last minute.

"Just... didn't think you'd let him near livestock, that's all."

"What's he gonna do, poison the eggs?" Carmina huffs. "He's good with them. I think he likes them 'cos they aren't judgey."

Caroline frowns, which tells Carmina she might've been a little rude. But Jason's been rude about John all day, so she's not going to feel sorry about it!

"Well, I guess if your parents trust him..."

"Sure they do," Carmina replies, even if that's not... exactly right. She knows her parents trust John enough to help around the house, but she thinks they only want to trust him with all the other stuff.

"I really better go," she says, pointing towards town.

"Sure," Flower says. "It was nice to meet you, Carmina."

Carmina gives them her best grin, relieved when it's returned from the others. Jason even waves like there's no hard feelings. "It was nice meeting you guys," she says.

"Happy birthday again!" Matt-or-Tom says, "And be careful!"

"Yeah," his brother laughs, "Wouldn't want to have a glowing deer attack you in the outhouse tonight!"

Carmina laughs away the dumb attempt to scare her, waving goodbye before turning to head for the party. Halfway there, she glances over her shoulder and sees the group turned back to one-another in conversation. None of them are looking back, but as she continues on, she's chased by an unfamiliar sense of discomfort. She can't help but wonder if they're still talking about John in the church.... If they're talking about her.

At least she can distract herself while looking for her parents. There are plenty of adults who say hello; some of them even point her helpfully towards her mom's last known location, or towards the table with the cookies her dad really liked. Some of them check in to make sure her birthday has been going well, too, which is nice of them, but a lot of adults are pretty drunk and deep in their own conversations.

She eventually finds her mom and dad standing around a grill with Marjorie, one of the adults in charge around town. Carmina's met her a couple of times. She's nice, but she can talk a lot. There's no telling how long they've been talking for, and if Carmina doesn't interrupt, who knows when they'll finish. While she could probably grab some food for the road, first she has to make sure that they're actually going to be leaving sometime before the next Collapse.

Besides, it looks like her dad's already got a box of leftovers in his hands. If Carmina wants to eat, she's going to have to interrupt.

"Hey dad," she says as she comes up to them, "The chickens are going to need dinner soon."

Her dad grins at her before handing over the squat, open cardboard box. There's chicken, ribs, corn and roasted potatoes, and even a handful of cookies and flatbread; it takes everything in Carmina's power not to make a desperate grab for more food. She doesn't have to worry about going hungry tonight, so there's no need to eat everything put in front of her.

"Here," he tells her, "You take this, alright? My arms are gettin' tired."

Yeah, right. As soon as she takes the box, he uses one of those tired arms to grab one of the ribs. When Carmina frowns suspiciously at him, her dad only shrugs.

"I coughed on it."

"Uh-huh..."

Laughing, her mom reaches out to give Marjorie a hug. It might've run a little long, but her mom obviously enjoyed the talk. "We'll be back in a week or two with the tractor parts," she says. "You're going to get the fields back in shape in no time."

"Already got a good start," Marjorie replies. She shoots Carmina a warm smile. "Happy birthday, by the way! Don't think I got to see you much. Hope those kids weren't giving you a hard time."

"No," Carmina replies., "They're all really nice. We want to practice shooting together, maybe have a contest. Jason said he's better than anybody else."

"I bet you're gonna give him a run for his money!" Marjorie laughs. "Well, the better a shot you are, the better off you'll be. You won't see anybody here stop you kids."

"Yeah, but tonight, I have to feed the chickens," Carmina says, just in case her parents need another chance to get out of here.

"We've got a few other people to say goodbye to," her mom tells her. "Why don't you take the food back to the truck? We'll meet you there."

"Should I get John, too?"

As soon as she asks, Carmina decides she probably shouldn't have brought it up. Too late, though; by the look on Marjorie's face, there's no way to pretend she didn't hear it.

Her dad shrugs. "Probably oughta," he tells her, as if he doesn't see Marjorie staring at them like she is.

Marjorie definitely doesn't like that, judging by the way she squints, but she doesn't say anything about it. "Well, I hope you had a decent enough birthday for once," she says, "Hopefully we'll be having a party around this time every year from now on."

"That would be nice," mom says.

"Just you wait, we're gonna turn this ship around one way or another." Marjorie gestures with her hands and says, "Alright, you better go, before those chickens of yours eat each other."

Carmina frowns. "They don't do that, do they?"

"Uh, let's get moving," her dad says. "See you soon, Marg."

"Take care!"

Her mom and dad have to stop a few more times to say goodbye to people Carmina doesn't know, but she pushes on without them and nobody stops her for more than a quick birthday greeting. She catches sight of Luke packing up some food with his parents, but he's too distracted to notice her. At least she isn't the only one carrying a box of leftovers out of here; it would feel selfish of her if they weren't sending leftovers home with other people.

Her parents haven't caught up with her by the time she reaches the truck, and John is nowhere to be seen. She figures he's probably still in the church — he and Pastor Jerome always take forever when they're talking. They'll probably be there until dad goes in and breaks them up.

Eating by herself in the back of the truck doesn't feel right, especially not within walking distance of the church. Leaving the food tucked in the corner by the cab, Carmina heads for the building herself. Even if nobody was in there, she'd probably go wander inside for a few minutes; it's a comforting, quiet place in the dry, dusty town. But right now, she's pretty sure John is hanging around inside, and he probably hasn't eaten anything all day, either. She should at least let him have first pick.

She knows a lot of the adults dislike the church, but Carmina personally enjoys how its sun-bleached siding stands out against the sky. Besides the house, the church is one of the few places Carmina wishes she could have seen in one piece. She's seen old, faded pictures from ancient newspaper clippings, but it's just not the same.

The doors are open wide enough for Carmina to slip in without a sound. The air inside is cool, almost chilly, and it smells like dirt and grass. From the entrance, there's only a narrow gap keeping Jerome and John out of sight. She doesn't mean to hide, but she doesn't want to interrupt Jerome mid-sentence...

It's too late, she's eavesdropping.

"It might not be much, but it's something," Jerome's saying. "He even stayed a few nights, when the wind got bad and brought too much pollen over the river."

"It would be better for everyone if he stayed here permanently," John replies. "Wallace went further down the path than the rest of them, and they clearly don't know what they're doing."

"They're trying, John. And we don't have a say in the matter. It's got to be his choice. Remember?"

John grunts, clearly annoyed. Carmina doesn't think she's ever heard him say so much before. Does he talk to her mom and dad this much? Is he really only quiet around her?

"I don't like it," John says.

"For what it's worth, neither do I. But Sharky's taking things seriously — they all are. You're going to have to trust them."

"Trust isn't exactly one of my virtues," John grumpily admits.

Jerome chuckles. "You just need practice."

Well, Carmina definitely feels guilty now. She had only been waiting for an opening, but if she waits any longer, she's really going to be breaking John's trust. Pastor Jerome's, too, for that matter.

Thinking on her toes, Carmina pushes on the already open door as though she's just showing up. Of course, the hinges squeal in protest as soon as she does, so she stops before she breaks something.

"Are you guys still in here?" she calls. She's pretty convincing about it, in her opinion.

"Yes, Carmina," Jerome responds, apparently none-the-wiser, "We're here."

John regards her neutrally as she steps into view, but he's always wearing his poker face around her. She needs to get better at reading it.

"I guess it's time to go, then," he says.

"Yeah. Um — I mean, I can meet you back at the truck. Mom and dad will be here soon..."

Jerome speaks up before John can get the chance. "No, you two go on. I think we were just about done ourselves, and I'd like to sit here for a little while, before it gets too dark." He and John shake hands, and then he comes over to give Carmina a hug. "Happy birthday," he tells her. "You be good for another year, alright?"

"I'll try," she says.

"That'a girl," Jerome laughs. "Keep an eye on her, John."

Sometimes, it seems like Jerome is the only adult in Hope County that doesn't think John is a bad influence on her. Even her mom and dad, who are basically the only people on John's side, get uncomfortable if she tries to talk to him too much. But Jerome is a special case. He used to be weird about anything John-related, but nowadays? Honestly, Carmina's pretty sure he's John's only friend at this point — well, okay, other than mom and dad, but they don't count.

John waits until they've left the church to speak. He's chilly and dismissive, as usual.

"How long were you listening for?"

"I wasn't," Carmina begins — but she can't lie to him. Lying only ever makes things worse. So she corrects herself reluctantly and admits, "It was only a minute. I didn't mean to... it just sort of happened."

"Hm."

Normally, Carmina can't get a read on John's poker face, but... huh. She can't help but feel like she might've... hurt his feelings? She definitely wasn't being trustworthy, that's for sure. And now he's trying to casually out-pace her on the walk back to the truck.

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping," she says, picking up her pace to match his. "I promise, I won't do it again."

John glares at her, but she's pretty sure he's not angry. Maybe just confused? She's not sure, he's never looked at her longer than two seconds before.

"I... appreciate it," he replies instead, which makes it the first time he's ever accepted an apology of hers. Usually, he just tells her not to worry about it.

Carmina grins at him, but he's already looked away, so of course he doesn't see it. Instead, he looks to the field, where the three teens from town are still hanging out. Carmina can't tell if they're looking this way or not. She sure hopes they aren't; John would know immediately that they gossiped about him, and she's already messed up with him once today.

"Have you ever played capture the flag?" she asks, hoping to distract him. "The chicken brothers taught us the rules but I think they maybe made some of it up."

John cracks a small smile. Well, Carmina will pretend it's one, anyway.

"The chicken brothers," he repeats.

"You know, Tommy and Matt."

"Do they know that's what you call them?"

"I mean, I've never said it to their faces..."

"That's probably smart."

They reach the truck, which marks the invisible barrier that keeps John out of town. Of course, mom and dad still aren't here. If Carmina climbed up on top of the truck, she might be able to spot them, but it's not like she could get their attention from this far away. So, she's going to have to kill time until they get back.

"Did you eat?" she asks, climbing up into the truck bed.

"I'm fine, Carmina," John replies, a little wearily. Like she's not the first person to bug him about it today — or, maybe like he lacks energy from not eating all day.

She rolls her eyes, but John doesn't see. "Uh-huh." She sits down, pulling the box of food into her lap as she leans back against the cab. "Dad was surprised that there were cookies. Um, not exactly the same, I guess? But still really good." She's not going to give him a chance to turn it down, grabbing one and shoving it in his direction. "Here, try one!"

John, leaning against the side of the truck like he is, is clearly more interested in looking for her parents than humoring her. He definitely looks like he wants to say no. But to her surprise, he actually takes the offered food. It would be weird to stare at him while he eats, so she goes back to debating between a chicken leg or one of the last ribs in the box.

"Not bad," John comments, which is like, crazy, because Carmina definitely isn't goading him into talking.

"They're kind of crumbly," Carmina says, "I dunno if that's what it's supposed to be like. But all the food is really good." She counts the chicken legs out again, just to make sure there's one for each of them. "Um... hey, John? Uh... do chickens eat each other?"

John frowns, chewing the question over with the rest of the cookie. He swallows, then says, "Most animals cannibalize their own if they're desperate enough."

"Oh."

"They would need to be left alone for a lot longer than a few hours," he points out. "Or they would have to be sick. It's more likely a dog will get them before they turn on each other."

Well, at least Carmina can trust John to tell her the truth, even if it's probably not the way her parents would want him to do it. She doesn't even mind him being so blunt about it, either; she's just surprised he's willing to talk to her. She can't help but wonder if this is going to be a normal thing, now that she's ten — is he going to stop being so weird around her? Or is this just a special treat, because of the day? She sure hopes not. It'd be a lot less awkward if John didn't act so scared of her all the time.

Her parents finally join them at the truck. Her mom wrinkles her nose at Carmina sitting in the back again, but she doesn't say anything. Her dad doesn't seem to mind; once he spots the box in Carmina's lap, he reaches over to grab one of the shortbread cookies for himself.

"Sorry about that," he says, "We got held up a couple times. John, you try one of these yet?"

"I did."

"Crazy having home-baked goods again, right?" Her dad waggles the cookie in John's face; John rolls his eyes and circles back around to the tailgate, climbing up into the bed. "Here, Carmina, give me that box so the food doesn't get too cold on the way home."

"You're just gonna eat everything," Carmina objects, handing over the box anyway.

"Nah, come on. Here, you guys grab something for the ride home." He nudges Carmina's shoulder with the box. "You probably worked up an appetite bullying all the older kids out there — and I bet you didn't eat much of anything, either," he adds in John's direction.

"I had a cookie, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I'll bet nobody forced you into it, either."

Carmina grins as her dad winks at her. Her mom rolls her eyes, but doesn't keep dad from bullying John a little. "Grab something so we can get going," she tells John, "And make sure she doesn't stand up once we're in drive."

John reluctantly takes a towel-wrapped ear of corn and a single rib, while Carmina goes right for that piece of chicken she'd been eying from the start. That helps her make peace with sitting safely, at least this one time. Next year, she's definitely going to get to ride in back by herself, she can feel it, and she is going to do it standing up!

As Carmina watches the town shrink behind them, she congratulates herself on another successful birthday. It'd been better than she'd expected — she was a little uncomfortable around so many people at first, but now she's pretty sure she can say she's made some friends? And seeing the town full of food and laughter and music... It had been sort of what Carmina imagines Fall's End used to be like. Her parents probably wouldn't agree, but maybe that's okay. Maybe when she's older, she can try and prove to them that things can be just as good as they used to be — even if it's a different kind of good.

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through XI

Chapter: 11/16

Rating: E (Smut Warning)

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo spent a lot of time late at night scrolling through George's Onlyfans profile over the next few days; he was eager to go back to the club but he didn't want George to know that he was eager, so he made do with the plethora of erotica George had supplied. Each time Ringo loaded up the page his eyes would always focus on the 'Message' button, he'd stare at it for a while and debate whether or not he should do it. How likely it was that George would reply was completely unknown to him, but it was definite that if he didn't even send a message then he'd never get a reply. Ringo's account was entirely plain, with no reference to his actual self in any way, so it wasn't as though George would know it was him. But Ringo was still hesitant, he didn't like that this was the only method of contact available to him nor that he'd be hiding behind an anonymous profile. Yet every time he'd load up the page his thumb would hover over it for a few seconds, his curiosity was beginning to overpower the desire to even speak to George. What would he even say?

John was still busy working on his poetry, how busy he actually was Ringo would never truly know, so there was no chance of dragging him along to The Helter Skelter. Going alone would look too strange, Ringo had decided, he was so afraid that George would catch on to exactly how much Ringo liked him. Messaging him was the only viable option left, because even wanking himself off every night to George's photos was beginning to lose its novelty.

It was late at night and Ringo lay in bed in his boxers, it was far too hot to sleep in anything more at the moment. The light had been switched off and so began the nightly routine, loading up George's photos and asking himself the same question: did he dare message him? Ringo wasn't sure what convinced him that night, whether he was just sleepy enough that his inhibitions had begun to waver or he was really getting that desperate, but something fuelled him on.

        hey

Ringo stared at his own words long enough that his vision began to blur. Was that enough? He had no idea what his aims were with this, he just wanted something. Even if George went on a rant about how he hated weird creeps messaging him late at night, at least it'd be something. A few minutes passed and Ringo just lay there clasping his phone in both hands. Was George even going to reply? He could've been working, or busy doing something or someone else, for all Ringo knew. But he felt like if he stared at the screen it'd somehow make it more likely that George would reply. His eyes began to droop when his phone suddenly vibrated, he worried that it was another of John's late night texts, but it wasn't.

       hi there

Now what? Ringo wasn't exactly sure what the etiquette of this situation was. He'd had his fair share of dirty conversations over text, but is that what this was? Surely it wasn't just somewhere to talk about the weather.

        how are you?

Ringo almost cringed when he sent the message, if George didn't respond after this he wouldn't have blamed him. It was like paying for a prostitute only to sit them down and ask them if they'd seen any good films lately. At least Ringo knew George wasn't working, he wouldn't have guessed that he'd waste his breaks messaging potential weirdos, but then he again he didn't have a clue.

        just peachy         and yourself?

        better now

A little cliche, not to mention desperate, but overthinking about his responses would've been a sure way to kill the conversation completely.

        arent you sweet?         what you up to?

        just lying in bed

        alone?

        as always         what about you?

        sitting in the bath         want to see?

        yes

Ringo had written 'please' at first, but realised how pathetic that might look. The speed of the replies had been rapidly increasing up until this point, and in this lull Ringo couldn't help getting a little excited knowing that George was taking a photo of himself at this very moment; even if he wasn't in the bath at all and this pause was a result of him scrolling through his photos to try and find one that matched the fictitious scenario, Ringo didn't care, he was going to allow himself to be optimistic. It wasn't too long before a photo appeared in the chat, blurry at first before Ringo selected to enlarge it, which he did without hesitation.

This wasn't the first time Ringo had seen a photo like this, he remembered very well the photos George had posted a while back of him in the bath, but this didn't look like merely a rejected photo from that session, which allowed him to believe it was contemporary, just for him. George's face was barely in the picture, which was a little disappointing to Ringo but he could hardly complain when his own profile picture was the default one. The bath water was a soft pink colour, no doubt from one of those luxurious bath bombs that Ringo loved the smell of but never bought for himself. One of George's slim legs was lifted up out of the water, gleaming and wet, while his bare chest was fully exposed. Only the bottom of his sharp jawline could be seen, but there was no doubt that this was George, Ringo knew his face well enough by now. It was nothing too explicit, his genitalia completely hidden under the water, but that wasn't really what Ringo was interested in; just to see his beautiful body was more than enough.

Ringo wasn't quite sure what to say in response, if this had been one of his boyfriends it would've been a different story, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. He didn't want to jump into anything too extreme too quickly, scaring George off now would've wounded Ringo deeply.

        wow         beautiful

Simple yet effective, Ringo told himself. He wanted to avoid saying too much, which was almost always his problem.

         your turn

Shit. Ringo threw the covers off himself immediately then lay there frozen. If only he'd had some old photos saved, but he had gotten sick of John rifling through his phone with zero warning then giving critiques on his nudes, which was uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. Ringo had never thought he'd been that good at taking them, especially when compared to the standard of George's photos, they were practically art compared to his own. The last thing he wanted was to look like those sleazy, crude photos that John would always receive on Grindr with no context. There was only a short window to do this, if he took too long George would no doubt lose interest, so he quickly rolled over and stretched over to turn the lamp on his bedside table on to provide at least a little bit of lighting. He couldn't show his face, that was a given, which means he'd have to take things to the next level. He was already half-hard, he had George's pictures to thank for that, and it didn't take more than a few pumps to get him the rest of the way there, especially with the thought that he was doing this for George.

It wasn't the most flattering picture he'd ever taken, one hand pulling down the waistband of his boxers and the other awkwardly angling the phone to take the photo, but it wasn't the worst either. As he sent it, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest and he wasn't sure whether it was from all the erratic movement or something a little deeper.

         youre hot          wanna suck your dick

Well that was certainly one way to escalate things. Ringo let out a quiet gasp when he read the message, here he was being so nervous about overstepping any boundaries when George entirely throws them out the window.

         oh yeah?

         yeah          you wanna fuck me?

Ringo had no trouble maintaining an erection from this point onward. As much as he knew this wasn't anything more than meaningless dirty talk, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it. Whether George was doing this for money or just to get off, Ringo didn't really care; he slid his hand under the fabric of his boxers and began stroking himself.

        god yes

        how would you fuck me?         i like it rough

        i bet you do         would love to spank that arse while i fuck you

        mmm yes please         bet your big cock would feel so good in my ass         are you touching yourself?

        yes

        good

It wasn't the easiest thing to do: wanking and trying to type with one hand, but Ringo was somehow managing it.

         youre so gorgeous

         speak for yourself          have you ever seen me dance?

         yes

Ringo wasn't sure why he told the truth, his mind was considerably muddy by this point.

         and what did you think?

         so so hot          its so hard not to touch you when you look that good

         touch me then          i want you to

         wish i could          wish i could have you all to myself

         what would you do to me?

That was the real question. What would Ringo do? What he wanted to do was easy, but if George had walked into his bedroom at that very second the only thing he'd really be capable of doing was probably fainting.

         anything and everything          i want you so badly          id do anything to have you right now

         why me?

         do you really have to ask?          youre absolutely stunning          you can turn me on just by looking at me

         lucky me          id like to do a little more than just look at you

         like what

         suck your cock          its so big i dont know if i could take it all          but id try

         god          id love to see that

         then id ride you          nice and slow          let you watch your cock slide in and out of me

Ringo could already feel his orgasm building, he felt a little embarrassed that it had been so easy. He tried to slow his movements but it only made things worse, he couldn't help imaging the tightness of his hand being replaced by George. He wondered if George was touching himself too, if he was enjoying this at all; it was best not to think about it.

         then id flip you over and really fuck you          grabbing your arse while i pound you          is that what you want?

         fuck yes          want you choke me          make me pass out on your cock

This was bordering on unknown territory now; Ringo wasn't exactly vanilla in bed but he definitely wouldn't describe himself as adventurous, kinky even. But the thought of his hand wrapping around George's slender throat, his rings pressing against the skin, made his hand stutter.

         youre dirty arent you?

         only if you want me to be          ill let you do anything you want

         i bet you would

         you can tie me up          gag me if you want          as long as i get your cock

Ringo had no idea what he should expect when he'd sent the first message, but it was certainly wasn't this. It should've been no surprise that George could make him come undone with just his words, and a very enticing photo. He wished they could've kept speaking for hours, but with every message that became more and more unlikely.

         shit          im getting close

         so soon?          i want to cum with you

         i want to cum inside you

         i prefer it on my face          id look so pretty with your cum all over me

         i bet you would

         or i could swallow it          wrap my mouth around your fat cock          taste your hot cum          i wouldnt waste a drop

He cursed himself for getting so close so quickly, especially when things were getting so heated now. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop the images conjuring in his mind: George's sharp face covered with his orgasm, that charismatic grin spreading over his face as he licked as much as he could manage. Some of it falling into his dark hair, over his long eyelashes. It would be an entire new level of beauty, and Ringo needed to see it. He'd begun moaning aloud while he jerked himself, his wrist had begun to ache from holding up the heavy phone for so long.

         im so close

         me too

Whether George was actually touching himself or not, Ringo didn't care. He'd let himself believe that George was lying in the bath, or on his bed in nothing but a loose towel, with his hand wrapped around himself while he thought of Ringo. Even if he didn't know it was him, if all he'd seen was below the neckline, he didn't care; it was all he needed.

         fuck i wish you were here          want to fuck you until i explode          wanna watch my cum dripping out of you

         god yes          please fill me up with your cum          i want it          i need your cum

         im almost there          fuck

         mmm good          give me that cum          please please          cum for me

That was enough for Ringo; he could hear the words in his mind as if George was really saying them to him. It was the most intense orgasm he'd had for a while, and he'd been having a lot of them. He dropped the phone in his exhaustion, falling down onto the bed while he breathed raggedly. Sweat was forming on his forehead, making his hair stick in places. Several seconds passed before he finally picked the phone up again, the clarity was beginning to form which made him question what he'd just done but it was too late to go back now.

         that was amazing

         it sure was          goodnight

Ringo tried not to be hurt by the bluntness of the end, but he supposed George too was having that moment of mental purity which made you want to discard whatever you'd been so obsessed with right up until the moment you finish. He stared at the words for a few moments, exhaustion beginning to take over paired with the realisation that he needed to get up and sort himself out. He would've let the phone drop back onto the bed and got himself suitable for sleep, he would've if that next message hadn't sent. It was only one word, and Ringo had been certain he'd read it wrong or that his eyes were playing some sort of strange trick on him. After realising what he was seeing was in fact real, he couldn't put the phone down but that was about the limit of what he could do; should he send another message? Surely not. Should he delete his account then flee the country? Maybe that a was a little dramatic. In the end he did nothing, just glared at the word as if it would somehow vanish or send him back in time so that he could've never message George in the first place.

A single word, that's all it took to send Ringo into this internal frenzy, his eyes bulging wide and his heart racing. Not just a mere word, a name; his name.

         ringo

Shit. How did he know? Had Ringo been that obvious? The whole reason he'd been comfortable sending any of those messages was because he thought he was safe behind his blank and anonymous profile.

But maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. If George knew it was him, whether from the start or not, he'd still stayed messaging him throughout the entire thing. He'd called him hot, he'd told him to touch him. Had all that been genuine? This wasn't meant to over-complicate things, it was meant to be a one-off moment of weakness on Ringo's behalf that went no further than desperate dirty talk and a well needed orgasm. Shit.

Maybe it was all a joke. Maybe George knew that Ringo was trying to be sneaky, so decided to mess him about. It wouldn't have been a complete surprise considering how much he seemed to enjoy teasing him at the club. The real issue was that Ringo simply didn't understand George, every time he thought he'd got him pinned down his intentions would seem to flip entirely. Or maybe that was just Ringo's anxiety getting the better of him; after all he had been single for a very long time, perhaps he was beginning to see exactly why that was.

Ringo felt like he couldn't show his face at the club again, not after exposing himself - rather literally - to George like that; since George had been so agonisingly torturous before, he could only imagine how he'd act now he knew that Ringo truly wanted to sleep with him. Most likely Ringo wouldn't be able to survive it, not for a second.

All he could for now though, was sleep. He tried to focus his brain on anything but George, but the more he tried to avoid it the stronger the urges became. Fighting the idea that his brain was trying to form: that George truly liked him back, all this teasing and mystery was his way of showing it. It just couldn't be true, it was actually too good to be true. Ringo couldn't get a guy like George, it didn't take a genius to see that. It was a ridiculous notion, he was only telling himself what he wanted to believe. This whole thing was ridiculous, falling for a stripper, and this embarrassing episode was a clear sign that he had to stop making himself suffer like this. It was never going to happen.

He couldn't go back now, not after this, not ever. He was done.

[greensungnostic]

Checking in with Grandpa

It's been a while since you visited the old man. You figure you've left him hanging long enough. He'd probably love to hear from you, what's been going on in his granddaughter's life. You head quietly through the halls of the lower floors, still and calm and differently decorated than the upper floors where you live. You stop in front of an old oak door with a brass knob and a plaque on its face, and slowly turn the handle. You peek your head in slowly, looking into Grandpa's study. It's always dim in here, the fug of cologne and gunpowder and cognac baked into the room's very soul. He stands there in the dim, facing the ornate marble fireplace, which -

FWOOMPH!

- ignites dramatically into a warmly crackling blaze as you settle your gaze on it. There he goes - The old man, "Hass" "The Flame" Harley, always with such a flare for the bombastic. Your Grandpa stands Stout and Resolute in front of the mantle, seeming to gaze long and hard into the flames. You take his dramatics as consent to enter, and you stand a few paces behind him, nervously tenting your hands. He's always been so tall, so imposing, and you've barely gained an inch since your session began. You're basically still the same dorky kid as ever, eternally youthful. You hesitate, waiting a reasonably long moment, then finally speak.

hi grandpa! sorry to bother you, i know you probably have a lot of work to do! but i wanted to come visit you in here and say hi! ...sorry i havent come down in a couple of weeks or uhm... months. i got all caught up in my work and in my head and kinda stayed cooped up in my lab up there below the greenhouse. huh? yes! before you ask, ive got three computers with me including the ones in my head and my glasses, and i do think the caliber of my current rifle is plenty sufficient! no i dont need to borrow the blunderbuss but thank you anyway! i will let you know when i need it okay? its overkill for anything but bosses!

You sigh heavily. He's always such a worrywart, hassling you over your preparedness and the bore of your firearms! You huff your trademark Harley Huff, then sigh and deflate a little. You know his hounding you is just how he shows that he cares, in his weird way.

i just wanted to let you know about some of the stuff thats been going on, though im sure youve seen hints of it here and there, mister wise and cunning hunter! first off, take a look at these babies!

You round the quiet old man to stand just past the fireplace on the far side, showing off the fluffy white fur and canine shape of your legs from the thighs down. You lift up one footpaw, showing him the glowing green footpads beneath, and wiggle your toes. The luminous glint of green reflects in your Grandpa's eyes, along with - is that interest, or pride, or just confusion? He's always been so hard to read. You'll opt for confused pride, shy of any context otherwise. You plop yourself into the dusty armchair beside the fire so you can wave your paws idly through the air for his approval, and continue your conversation face to face.

i know, i know, you never quite got all this furry stuff, but think of it this way! i am a little bit better of a huntress now, i can run around all quiet-like like bec! plus it gives my tail a reason to - huh? boots? yeah i guess i could use a custom fit pair, for like lohac or lofaf when its extra cold... if you insist we can find a cobbler, sure! cool digitigrade boots do look cool on cartoon furries... hee... uhmm lets see, what else is on the agenda?

You stroke your chin thoughtfully, then smile sheepishly at him.

so... do you remember rose? yeah, yeah the one ive always talked about! uh-huh, the one from movie nights. the squiddle one! my best friend. the one i... always had a crush on, yeah. well, as you know weve been looking around for everyone from our timeline and...

Your smile brightens, your eyes sparkle. Grandpa waits patiently, letting you talk, green eyes flickering in the firelight.

we found her, grandpa! like the right her! skaia lit up when we came back with her, and cetus showed herself for the first time in ages. its really her, grandpa!! its so good to...so good to have her back in my life. i... you know how much i missed rose. and the best news of all? she... she likes me back. she likes me back!! we are... we are dating now! shes... my girlfriend, a-after all this time. hee, i know, i know, lots of girlfriends. but this is important to me! rose was my first crush!! or uh, second, if you dont count margaret hamilton, haha... gosh i love her. i love rose! aaaah!

Grandpa seems chuffed for you, a twinkle of mirth in those eyes, past his thick glasses. The one good thing about having read all about him on the internet - you never felt uncomfortable coming out to a man you knew was openly bi decades before it was widely accepted. You practically glow in excitement, just thinking about Rose.

oh, we also found aradia! or she found us, anyways. she is one of the trolls! this one is kinda froglike, which is cool! i did not expect her to ever show up, i thought she had run off to play psychopomp! but here she is just hanging around and i guess she can help our search! she has cool psionic powers, and is the maid of time! she kinda showed up all spooky and glowing in the dark the other night! shes slimy like a frog sometimes, but shes cool, honest. youd like her, she loves adventure. maybe ill bring her by sometime?

Grandpa is quiet here, no real feedback, but seems pleased for you. You've never really talked to him about her much, so it tracks. You're sure he'll be interested in finding out more later, though. He always lends a patient ear when you talk about your friends, and he really would like Aradia. Two peas with ghastly interests in a slightly ghoulish pod.

sooo harleytech is doing pretty well! my jadebots run most of the daily stuff for me and i do all the designing, and the special interactions! in a while im gonna do a bunch of installations for some trollian freedom fighters, rebels! thats so cool right?

He seems impressed by this one - a streak of rebellion has always been pivotal to his character as the world's most eccentric philanthropist and Renaissance Man after all, especially if it's against who you think it might be against.

lets see, what else... the garden ship has been doing really well, i just fixed up the alternian section a little! if aradia wants a slice of home, she can put it there! heheh... im still trying to think of a name for that huge maple though... the yiffdrasil is kind of dumb, and its not THAT big. do i name it after another scientist like us, grandpa? what do you think?

The old man doesn't answer, as if lost in pensive thought. It's tough to puzzle out a name for something like an ancient, time-wizened old tree, after all, especially one accelerated through time to its current state. Eventually a name occurs to you, and you clap your hands together.

hmm, maybe instead of a scientist, van winkle or something? yeah, good call! ooh, rip van maple? heheh... yeah, ill try that out for a bit! good idea, grandpa...

You sigh, tone softening, and you rise up to stand next to Grandpa. He's so tall, towering over you in presence and height alike, but you find yourself staring at his feet, the polished maple wood beneath.

youre so smart, grandpa. you always know just what to say.

You're quiet for a moment, just letting him loom over you. With a lump in your throat, you begin again.

hey grandpa? thank you for always... always being so supportive, even if we butt heads sometimes over stuff like hunting or mummies or dumb stuff like that. i know you only scold me and keep an eye on me because you wanna see me grow up to be the best me i can be! right...? always making sure i had the best of everything I needed to... to be who i wanted and needed to be. im so glad youre my grandpa, thank you for... for always being around for me.

i hope im... i hope... a-am i doing okay? am... do i make you proud, grandpa?

With a quaking lip, you look upwards at the old man, towards his serviceable pith helmet and dense, curly moustache. He doesn't say anything, his silence distinguished. Tranquil. You imagine a heavy, distantly familiar palm resting on your head, comforting and warm, but it doesn't come. Your own small hand resting between your ears while teardrops plink off the floor will have to suffice. You rest your head against your grandfather's side for comfort, sniffling softly until the tears subside.

its okay grandpa, you dont have to say anything about it. s-sorry, i just got carried away, th-thinking about what a good grandpa you are... youre right, stiff upper lip, h-haha...

You wipe your tears on your face and offer him a brave smile, seeing a twinkle of pride once more in his aged eyes. You smooth out his tear ruffled coat for him, and reach up to adjust his pith helmet. It's only polite. You hug him gently, then step towards the door. You attempt to pepper a layer of cheer into your voice.

ill let you get back to work, grandpa. thank you for talking with me today, it... it meant a lot that you took time out of your day to do that! ill come see you more often okay? i know sunday is fathers day, a-and grandpas definitely count for that! we can... we can do something special!! maybe ill show you my shooting skills!

dont work too hard and have a good night! a-and ill see you sunday if not earlier, okay!! i love you grandpa!!! byyyye!

You step hurriedly out of the Study and click the door closed behind you, standing in front of it and trying to steady your breathing. Failing that, you find yourself sliding down the front of the door to curl up and hug your legs in front of it, shoulders bobbing as you bury your face in your knees, already deeply missing the old gentleman you just finished visiting.

Grandpa was a lot easier to talk to when he was alive.

[fullymechanized-consoomer]

List of fave guns

Assualt Rifles:

Sig 550 - sexy as hell, light for its size, has a rotating bolt, reliable, and accurate enough to compete with DMRs. The only downside is the typical Swiss price markup and their tendancy to overengineer some parts (the extractor for one).

Velmat M76 - it’s and AK with all the issues fixed, that should explain its appeal enough.

Sub Guns:

P90 - compact, lightweight, has an extremely high rate of fire, ambidextrous, and may be one of the few modern SMGs that still has it’s own distinguishing merit in the era of compact AR variants. The downsides include the expensive proprietary ammo that is essentially just a 22. with armor piercing capability, and is rather anemic…. but then again lack of stopping power doesn’t mean much when you’re sputtering off 50 of those suckers at 900 rpm at a target 20 feet away.

PP-19 Bizon - I just love this thing. MP5s may be more immediately practical on paper, but the more I look into the doctrine and the reasoning behind it the more I come to conclude that the Bizon serves/served a surprisingly useful roll: essentially that of a scaled down MG for law enforcement and counter terrorism. The idea being that you can’t lug in a large caliber squad support weapon with you when you’re in a firefight with hostage takers and mafia (unless you’re BOBE)-the guns are too unwieldy and have too much penetrating power to be used safely in civilian areas. What you can do is make a heavy, portable gun that fires lots and lots of low-penetrating 9mm ammo in an accurate, controllable fashion. And that’s exactly what the Bizon does. The difficulties in changing our the magazine don’t matter much considering the kind of engagements it was designed for are more often then not short, brutal affairs.

MGs:

PK/PKM/PKP - probably the best GMP out there on the market. Its everything the GMP is supposed to be and perfected: a simple, reliable, fairly accurate and robust design that’s just as at home in a soldiers arms as it is mounted on a tank, it’s also a weapon that’s easy to scale up and down, meaning that with few design changes it can be fitted for a variety of different calibers and ammunition types. About the only issue it has lies within the classic AK half-open irons it sports, which in retrospect might be better on a machine gun than a rifle in the first place.

Rifles (DMR or otherwise):

SVD - the DMR of DMRs, and one hell of a beautiful gun. Is it super accurate? No, but it’s not meant to be. Like most Soviet era guns it simply performs its task with as little frills as possible while focusing on being utilitarian and reliable. The ubiquitousness of this rifle is such that even in America more people recognize the Dragonav’s profile than that of any other rifle (besides maybe the M82). Like most Soviet designs it has a terrible side-mounting system that’s prone to wearing down and requires specially designed bulky optics to use, which is a bummer. On the plus side the standard optic-the PSO series- are actually quite good, if a little alien to western shooters.

M24 - a glorified hunting rifle with extra tooling, and it couldnt be better. It’s as simple as modern military arms can be, and the lack of moving parts and a solid body ensure that it’s as accurate as they come. Unlike other sniper rifles the M24 acknowledges that the law of diminishing returns is a thing, and that it’s not worth pouring thousands of dollars into a mass produced firearm simply to increase excellent accuracy into impeccable accuracy. The gun is so good that not even the fancy new M110 was able to replace it as our standard sniper rifle, even though it’s a semi-auto AR with a free float barrel, which the military eats up like good ass.

Pistols:

Jericho 941 - a sexy as sin CZ clone that’s far too heavy for what it’s for and has a frankly dangerously shallow slide. But I dont care. It shoots like melted butter, gets fantastic groups, and I’m a weeb, so of course I gotta love it. And as far as I’m concerned people who nitpick modern pistols are the same types who nitpick pant zippers: if they always work when you need them the most, you’re just wasting your time bitching about the color, weight, and draw.

[slovenlyrecordings]

A ton of reviews just in courtesy of Terminal Boredom (they still hate 10" records):

ANMLS s/t LP Chilean street punko's who love to shout together - a lot and often. Reminiscent of 80's Spanish language boot-stompers Cicatriz, Eskorbuto and the like, but with added filth-blown guitars that are left tryna' cut through layers of amp cone dust and a seeping to the surface 70's rock cockpunch. The hardcore leanings and gang vocals calm a tad as the sides play on and I'm starting to hear echoes of John Reis riffage in the aptly titled "Instrumental" and the flip's opener, "V'amanos De La Ciudad". Thanks to "Pirata" they practically give you an Oi anthem at the end. Sort of a shock to see Slovenly head in this direction, as I'd expect the band to hook up with Lengua Armada, Sorry State or some other stateside stable of cellar dwellers. Is Ruleta Rusa still active? These cats should team up with them for a US stretch. Either way, I have no real knowledge of international hardcore (outside of Italy), so I'm gonna' shut up now and let you dig in on your own.(RSF)

The Cavemen "Nuke Earth" LP "Nuke Earth" is the third time these sleaze-Zealanders have been found rifling through the rubbage bins of garage shock past to toss a full platter. The best tracks within float to the surface - kinda' like pull tabs or smoke butts floating in the fetid water of a gas station squeegee bucket - and scramble about, attempting to create something along the line of a budget-punker's K-Tel collection. These cavemanish boys crank things off with "Lust For Evil" a tune that's got one boot planted firmly in the Oblivians camp and the other can be found kicking the 'Tards squarely in the gonads. Leather-jacketed riff warriors, hopped up on CPC (get it?!) and unleashing dueling leads and hostile vibes aplenty. "Janey" lightens things a tinge with some boozy balladry and organ rottens the rock during tunes like "Batshit Crazy" and "Concrete Town" in a way that could bring both Lost Sounds lovers, Spits fanatics and tattooed MCD car-show greasers lovingly together for a sock hop. Duster-huffers will rejoice to the dum-dum Dictator clunk of "Chernobyl Baby" and "Thug" which reeling in a meaty Gizmos/Penetrators spew. "Dont Wanna Hang" strips veneers in guitar frazzle and New Bomb Turk velocity. It's like having the Las Vegas Shakedown start up again, right there on your very own turntable! The parts may be aftermarket, but there's gonna' be some paunchy yet pleased turkeys around these forums real soon. (RSF)

ぐうたら狂 Gūtara KYŌ s/t 10” Damn, this here is a firecracker! What lies within these grooves are obliterated Teengener-ized riffs, and demented psycho-wails, all walloping upside the punk velocity of something akin to prime 80's Gauze. "Drive" got a lead that's reminiscent of a garage slop take of an old Soundgarden tune (I'm dead serious!) and it's pokin' out of a deteriorating Stalin bootleg. "Daydream" and "It's Gotta Be You" ride along hardcore gallops, rendered futile due to some of the gnarliest production filth since Tim Kerr was knob twisting. The shining light in all this scree would be the soulful belter "Romance" that kicks off the flip. This gold star doom rocker features strained crooning and a truly putrid solo that's - of course - blown all to snuff. It wouldn't feel outta' place on that 'Tokyo Flashback' sampler at all. Fo' real tho' - this platter could clear the sinuses of the most jaded of High Rise fan. Hell, Gutara Kyo is good enough to make me overlook the fact these songs are pressed up on the lamest of all formats (the dreaded 10") with a goddamn dumb 45 hole. Hey Pete, knock it off! All snark aside, I'd still tell folks to buy this, even if it was only available on floppy disc. Scum Stats: 100 copies pressed up on red and black splatterwax.(RSF)

Hand & Leg s/t LP Greek duo doing their best impersonation of that gluey/Krauty/fuzz-buzzy sound that the French has dominated for the past decade. This co-ed bass and drums act strips their music down to the bleached bone, leaving the sorta' repetitive weed-wacker chops and threadbare beats that Wire fans should froth over. Standout tracks like "Dogshit Country" lighten the low plod load a smidge, letting the high strings shine as if Godheadsilo was taking on a Volt tune. "Bloody Hole" closes us shop in a full two minutes of tone drone and irritated wail before the "song" proper takes flight within a spattered cacophony of pie-plate thwack and chanted vocals. Soothing to one's skull as This Heat. Dig yer feet in the sand, people. Scum Stats: 100 on clear vinyl.(RSF)

Häxxan "The Magnificent Planet Of Alien Vampiro II"" LP Nasally Israeli psych-boogie, for the moderne youth market. The press release mentions playing with Ty and them Fuzz comparisons are pretty on point in these here grooves. They also trot out bratty, childlike pop tantrums that should speak to the Burgerooligans that follow these updates as well. What you mostly get on this is quiet/loud dynamics pushing out a Black Angels/Frijid Pink hybrid. There's quite a bit of local flavor in their guitar pyrotechnics, so world-beat freaks and psych aficionados should perk up. Most of it makes for a fine fried background rock, but nothing is really sticking to my maw. A couple of tracks do stand out - "Circle Of Quantum" and "Snakes In My Hair" - both nearly seared my eyebrows off like the best moments of C.A. Quintet "Trip Thru Hell" with swirling, woozy leads and vocals lost in the arid desert wind. The whole ride is easy to digest and makes for decent afternoon accompaniment, but gotta' say I wanted more like those two aforementioned tracks. Better than the countless Ty & Dwyer clones we've had to weather so far. Better than the King Gizzard knock-offs to come. Let's just be happy today.(RSF)

Νόμος 751 (Nomos 751) s/t LP Electroshok-rockers that clatter along like a Grecian Metal Urbain. Drum machine robot riddims and twisted rockabilly riffs fighting against various space trash splatter and the occasional Spits-take on skate punk. There's a Grande Triple Alliance vibe rippling underneath that's hard to shake as well as more than a couple nods in the early Red Mass direction I use to enjoy (long before that act stank it up with Mac Demarco's hair-footed guest spots). I should ramble more about the tracks involved, but my janky-assed computer's 'bout to crash for yet another twenty minute interval - so I'm just gonna' go pogo about like some metaloid mutant instead. Give 'er a go!(RSF)

Proto Idiot "Leisure Opportunity" LP How the hell did the Hipshakes connection escape me?! Proto Idiot is way less Oblivian and way more Adverts than the 'shakes ever were. This here's a jagged pop-gone-puke to tunes like "Better Way Of Life" and "Angry Vision" - the sorta' stuff Jaytard did solo and that Useless Eater kid slung about. Comparisons to Devoto-era Buzzcocks seems apt, and there's a tad of 'Chairs Missing' up in here too. Honestly, either this is a love letter to the entire UK punker past catalog or I'm just an asshole who thinks so 'cuz of the English accent. Hey - it's the GG King Of The UK! Still, I'm perplexed that I never knew the Hipshakes were related. I'm bad at this game. I'd way rather party with this Proto Idiot than those stuffy shirted Protomartyr's out there. Good Fun. 'Nuff said. Scum Stats: 100 on green vinyl.(RSF)

Subsonics "Flesh Colored Paint" LP In this time of reunions around the corner for every wang-dang-doodle of a band that falls under the Budget Rock blanket, it shocks me to no end that Atlanta's Subsonics have never even given up. I've evidently been in the dark for nearly a decade (Sorry Slovenly/Sorry Subsonics.) as "Flesh Colored Paint" is their eighth full length. The band continues to do what they do best - muggy southern stomp filtered through Marc Bolan flutter and a Cramps-ian cha-cha heel strut. This sorta' glitter shimmer fits snugly nestled in the crotch region, somewhere between American Death Ray, Danny & The Darleans and so on. They've always been in my peripheral and I've witnessed them bring quite a solid live revue in my times, but they've never seemed tough enough to break me during my boozy-fueled heyday. NOW - on the other hand - being older, wiser and actually warming up to the voice of Brian Ferry - this stuff is pretty damn sharp! I'm fully locked down on the track "Begging Hands" here, which proves beyond any doubt that these swingers are as big of fans of Radley Metzger's 'Score' skinflick as I am. Elsewhere they beat on the traps like a Black Time light, less set on grate and more on the grind. "Die A Little", "Cold Cold World" and "In The Black Spot" ride in the Velvet's lil' Reed wagon, possibly playing at the wrong pitch. "I Must Be Poisoned" and "I'm The Most Popular Boy In Town" are cut from the same girl group worship and sequenced catsuit that Kid Congo stitches together with his Pink Monkey Birds. "Permanent Thaw" fires off that Black-Angels-Death violin scrape along its woozy train track clack and tunes like "Why Should Anybody Care At All" feature squirrelly, ragged soloing, as if front-mouth and string-slinger Clay Reed was dry humping his gee-tar on the studio floor (and chances are, he did). A good party platter for the red eyed sect. Now while we're at it, let's wax up them early WorryBird CDs!(RSF)

The Monsieurs "Deux” LP Knowing how much I loved Tunnel Of Love - one of the finest bombastic blowouts to cross my blurred vision in the early aughts - I feel like a lamestain for sleeping on this act for so long. Well, I fixed that over the past few months. Here I am, warming by the fire during this wintry bluster and ingesting another fine Andy MacBain release. Between this stuff and the Andy California EP, he's keeping Slovenly's Gladiators on the garbage rock radar (not that they ever really fell of it in the first place). The opener "Burning Flame" and "I Will Run" are straight up crash/bang shards of garage violence and if you said to me these were lost Tunnel Of Love tracks, I wouldn't argue it one bit. Things chill and take pop-ier turns within tunes like "Suburban Girls" and "At The Hop". Not saying cutesy levels of pop, but there's a definite whaff of catchy albeit retched perfection ala' Nobunny or Ramones girl group grabs. The femmes on deck keep Andy's cock-swingin' machismo at bay, adding great touches of Toody-esque back ups, forceful fuzzed power chords and abusive can bashing. "Get Right Get Ready" is rears a Karp riff and shoves it, clawing smack into the face of some delirious Dollrod slop. That's not a bad place to be - crawling around in a metallic Danny Kroha muck. Wrapping this fast lil' fucker up is "My War", which brings all the above elements to a broil, splattering about like a scorched Love cover turned beat-punk brat psych and going gloriously wrong. A wooly ride. Will ride again. Scum Stats: 100 copies on orange.(RSF)

[vitalmindandbody]

‘ We required republic ‘: is Hong Kong’s two-systems venture over?

As China stiffens its control on the city over which British convention dissolved 20 years ago, pro-democracy activists are still fighting against eroding of freedoms

For President Xi Jinping, the 20th anniversary of Hong Kongs return toChina is a moment to toast the reunification of a nation and herald its unstoppable rise. But for activists such as Eddie Chu, one of the leading lights of a new generation of pro-democracy politicians, it has become an party for something very different.

Boot-licking. Unprecedented boot-licking! he says, a smile bursting across his look as he reflects on how many members of the local nobility had been decided to commemorate two decades of Chinese regulation by plastering their houses and professions with patriotic slogans and red flag in the hope, he supposes, of currying economic favour.

That is quite the opposite of what Hong Kong people wanted to see in 1997. We wanted to see democracy. Democracy is not boot-licking.

On Saturday morning, Chinas authoritarian ruler, who is establishing a rare three-day tour of the former British colony, will result celebrations of two decades of Chinese restrict alongside Hong Kongs incoming chief executive, Carrie Lam.

At a flag-raising ceremony merely down the road from where the umbrella revolution happened an extraordinary explosion of opposition in the autumn of 2014 the pair will remember the moment this city of seven. 3 million tenants turned over to China after 156 years of colonial regulate. A flypast and a ocean procession will follow. By darknes, the skies over Victoria harbour, from where the royal yacht Britannia departed on 1 July 1997, is likely to be decorated by a fantastic 23 -minute blaze of fireworks.

The moving party of Hong Kongs return to the motherland like a long-separated child coming back here to the warm cuddle of his mother, is still vivid in our recognition, Xi told a dinner on Friday night.

But in the membership of Hong Kongs democracy movement, the anniversary is accompanied by a profound gumption of misgiving and trepidation.

Eddie Chu and partisans support against the detention of 26 beings reject the Chinese authority. Photo: Yan Lerval/ Sipa/ Rex/ Shutterstock

Twenty times after Britains departure thrust this hyperactive lair of capitalism into the sides of a Leninist dictatorship, activists such as Chu fear Beijing is about to up the ante in its duel for control.

Ten pro-democracy legislators, of which “hes one”, are at risk of losing their jobs as a result of government-backed legal challenges against them. There are fears that under Hong Kongs new manager, who was elected by a tightly restricted pick committee, there will be a restored thrust to enact contentious anti-subversion legislation.

And while Xi has sought to impres an upbeat color during his visit, recent explains by another elderly Communist party figure who dedicated to consolidate Chinas control of the former settlement has put activists on edge.

The relationship between the central government and Hong Kong is that among delegations of strength , not power-sharing, Zhang Dejiang, Chinas number three official, said, adding that Hong Kong could only be governed by those who posed no threat to[ its] prosperity and stability.

Feeding into activists gumption of foreboding is the help feeling that numerous western governments have now cut them loose for panic of injury their economic relationships with the worlds second largest economy.

Martin Lee, 79, the elder statesman of Hong Kongs democracy movement. Photo: The Guardian

The foreign ministers, Boris Johnson, questioned a carefully worded word about the anniversary on Thursday, saying it was vital that Hong Kongs autonomy be preserved. But Johnson shaped no direct mention of growing frights about the corrosion of Hong Kongs discretions, or even of Beijings alleged abduction of a neighbourhood bookseller who viewed a British passport.

The British government is just awful. Im afraid I cannot find any kind words to say about that, says Martin Lee, a 79 -year-old barrister who is the elder statesman of Hong Kongs democracy movement.

Like numerous, Lee is convinced that China is gradually depriving away the freedoms promised to Hong Kongs citizens under the the different countries, two systems formula and that Britain has done nothing to occur.

On Friday, a spokeswoman for Chinas foreign ministry appeared to confirm those frights, telling reporters that the joint declaration, a slew negotiated by London and Beijing insuring Hong Kongs way of life for 50 years, was a historical report that no longer had any practical significance.

Suzanne Pepper, a veteran chronicler of the citys quest for democracy, says campaigners can no longer count on London or Washington for supporting: As long as there is no such thing as blood in wall street, they dont care.

Not everybody is mourning Saturdays landmark anniversary, nonetheless. The streets around Xis waterfront hotel are scattered with clusters of pro-government partisans and embellished with placards that read I love Hong Kong and One country, two systems has the strong vigour. Lilac signs hanging from bridges and lampposts carry the celebrations official catchline: Together. Progress. Opportunity. Skyscrapers have been decked out in bright red banners and neon displays that read: Warmly celebrate the 20 th commemoration of Hong Kongs return to China.

Amid the omnipresent propaganda, there is also sincere patriotic enthusiasm. Hong Kong people should be proud of the achievements of the motherland and all the progress our country has obligated, enthused Li Li, a guide at a government-sponsored exhibit about Chinas space programme that has been erected in Victoria Park to coincide with this weeks party.

Many more have greeted the anniversary and the presidential visit with carelessnes.

Chu estimated that about a third of the population was divided between pro-democracy and pro-government advocates. The residual couldnt care less about the commemoration, and were most worried about the traffic jams caused by the massive insurance operation to protect Xi.

Swaths of the citys waterfront are sealed off with towering white-hot and blue obstructions, with agents patrolling wall street with assault rifles in their hands. Too many police! jokes one of hundreds of officers patrolling the place, sweat beading on his neck.

Lee says the lack of interest numerous young person are showing in Xis visit underscore how detached they detect from mainland China and how Beijings plans have lost their hearts and souls.

Oh, this is the ruler of a neighbouring country thats what they suffer, he says, pointing to a recent canvas suggesting that only 3% of 18-to-29-year-olds consider themselves Chinese, the lowest frequency since 1997. The young people want democracy. They dont is intended to be brainwashed.

For all the irrelevance and hesitation, Hong Kongs protest movement appears in buoyant humor. Tens of thousands are expected to turn out on Saturday afternoon for an annual advance distinguishing the return to China. Their rallying cry will be 20 years of lies.[ It] was going to be Communist party bureaucrats, get out of Hong Kong, but they decided that was a bit very provoking, says Pepper.

Last September, a record number of young anti-Beijing activists were elected to Hong Kongs legislative council, or Legco, in what one victor called a democratic miracle. Nonetheless, many of them could now be forced from power, mainly because of government legal challenges over protests the activists took part in while being cuss in last year.

If two to three of them “losing ones” accommodates, then the whole political counterbalance will change totally, and then Beijing will have absolute control of this legislature, reminds Chu, who was to scream Democracy and self-determination and Tyranny must die while taking his oath.

Xi Jinping at a variety show to celebrate the handover anniversary. Photograph: Keith Tsuji/ Getty Images

Pepper said she was not optimistic that Beijing would give agreements to activists, although there are Hong Kongs incoming lead has pledged to healed the subdivide and build bridges. This is a bridge between democracy and dictatorship, said Pepper. How she is going to bridge that, I dont know.

Chris Patten, Hong Kongs last-place governor, has offered a more upbeat judgment of the city he once extended, saying he was encouraged by the really profound gumption of citizenship of its young activists. Above all, I speculate I am pleased about the practice in which Hong Kong parties themselves are the reason for it still being a justification of optimism rather than pessimism.

Lee, who is famed for an impassioned defence of democracy that he held after Britains withdrawal, says he is an everlasting optimist about his pushes hazards under a brand-new, young leader. These young people are our hope for the future. Im very proud of them.

Sitting in his enclosures between a failure of Winston Churchill and a statuette of the Goddess of Democracy, the token of the 1989 Tiananmen Square demonstrates, Lee recollects strolling through the umbrella moves main clique, a sprawl of tents and policy debate, three days before police finally cleared it, in December 2015.

There were two little fowls singing on the soil.[ It was as if they were saying :] I bid I were free, you know? The air was fresh, he reminisces. I miss those days.

Additional reporting by Benjamin Haas and Wang Zhen .

Read more: www.theguardian.com

The post ‘ We required republic ‘: is Hong Kong’s two-systems venture over? appeared first on vitalmindandbody.com.

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[vitalmindandbody]

‘ We missed democracy ‘: is Hong Kong’s two-systems experimentation over?

As China tightens its control on the city over which British convention objective 20 years ago, pro-democracy activists are still fighting against erosion of freedoms

For President Xi Jinping, the 20th anniversary of Hong Kongs return toChina is a moment to toast the reunification of a nation and hail its unstoppable rise. But for activists such as Eddie Chu, one of the leading lights of a new generation of pro-democracy politicians, it has become an opportunity for something totally different.

Boot-licking. Unprecedented boot-licking! he reads, a smile divulging across his appearance as he reflects on how many members of the neighbourhood elite have chosen to mark two decades of Chinese convention by plastering their the house and business with patriotic slogans and red flags in the hope, he supposes, of currying financial favour.

That is quite the opposite of what Hong Kong people wanted to see in 1997. We wanted to see republic. Democracy is not boot-licking.

On Saturday morning, Chinas authoritarian ruler, who is forming a rare three-day tour of the former British colony, will contribute fetes of two decades of Chinese restrict alongside Hong Kongs incoming chief executive, Carrie Lam.

At a flag-raising ritual simply down the road from where the umbrella revolution happened an extraordinary outburst of disagreement in the autumn of 2014 the pair will recollect the moment this city of 7. 3 million tenants returned to China after 156 years of colonial govern. A flypast and a sea procession are as follows. By darknes, the skies over Victoria harbour, from where the imperial yacht Britannia started on 1 July 1997, is likely to be illuminated by a stunning 23 -minute blaze of fireworks.

The moving reason of Hong Kongs return to the motherland like a long-separated juvenile coming back here to the warm embracing of his mother, is still evocative in our remember, Xi told a dinner on Friday night.

But of the membership of Hong Kongs democracy movement, the anniversary are complying with a profound feel of hesitation and trepidation.

Eddie Chu and partisans illustrate against the arrest of 26 beings opposed to the Chinese authority. Image: Yan Lerval/ Sipa/ Rex/ Shutterstock

Twenty years after Britains departure thrust this hyperactive lair of capitalism into the mitts of a Leninist dictatorship, activists such as Chu fear Beijing is about to up the ante in its duel for control.

Ten pro-democracy legislators, of which “hes one”, are at risk of losing their jobs as a result of government-backed legal challenges against them. There are fears that under Hong Kongs new governor, who was elected by a tightly restrained selection committee, there will be a revamped pushing to pass contentious anti-subversion legislation.

And while Xi has sought to strike an upbeat tint during his visit, recent comments by another senior Communist party figure who vowed to consolidate Chinas control of the former settlement has put activists on edge.

The relationship between the central government and Hong Kong is that of delegation of ability , not power-sharing, Zhang Dejiang, Chinas number three official, enunciated, adding that Hong Kong could only be governed by those who posed no threat to[ its] prosperity and stability.

Feeding into activists appreciation of foreboding is the feeling that numerous western governments have now cut them loose for fright of marring their economic relationships with “the worlds” second largest economy.

Martin Lee, 79, the elder statesman of Hong Kongs democracy movement. Photo: The Guardian

The foreign ministers, Boris Johnson, problem a carefully worded announcement about the commemoration on Thursday, saying it was vital that Hong Kongs autonomy be preserved. But Johnson prepared no direct mention of thriving dreads about the erosion of Hong Kongs freedoms, or even of Beijings alleged abduction of a local bookseller who impounded a British passport.

The British government is just awful. Im afraid I cannot find any kind words to say about that, tells Martin Lee, a 79 -year-old barrister who is the elder statesman of Hong Kongs democracy movement.

Like numerous, Lee is convinced that China is gradually stripping away the freedom of the media promised to Hong Kongs citizens under the one country, two systems formula and that Britain has done nothing to occur.

On Friday, a spokeswoman for Chinas foreign ministry appeared to confirm those horrors, telling reporters that the joint declaration, a deal negotiated by London and Beijing securing Hong Kongs way of life for 50 times, was a historical record that no longer had any practical meaning.

Suzanne Pepper, a veteran chronicler of the citys quest for democracy, supposes activists can no longer count on London or Washington for aid: As long as there is not blood in the street, they dont care.

Not everyone is lamenting Saturdays landmark anniversary, however. The streets around Xis waterfront hotel are dotted with the groups of pro-government allies and decorated with banners that read I love Hong Kong and One country, two systems has the strong verve. Lilac posters hanging from connections and lampposts carry the celebrations official catchline: Together. Progress. Opportunity. Skyscrapers have been decked out in shining crimson banners and neon displays that speak: Warmly celebrate the 20 th anniversary of Hong Kongs return to China.

Amid the omnipresent publicity, there is also sincere patriotic fervour. Hong Kong people should be proud of the achievements of the motherland and all the progress our country has seen, enthused Li Li, a guide at a government-sponsored exhibit about Chinas space programme that has been made in Victoria Park to coincide with this weeks party.

Many more have saluted the commemoration and the presidential visit with nonchalance.

Chu estimated that about a third of the population was divided between pro-democracy and pro-government supporters. The rest couldnt care less about the anniversary, and were most worried about the traffic jams caused by the massive defence operation to protect Xi.

Swaths of the citys waterfront are sealed off with towering white and blue-blooded barricades, with agents patrolling wall street with assault rifles in their hands. Too numerous police! jokes one of hundreds of officers patrolling the region, sweat beading on his neck.

Lee announces the lack of interest many young person are showing in Xis visit stres how detached they experience from mainland China and how Beijings plans have lost their hearts and souls.

Oh, this is the ruler of a neighbouring country thats what they appear, he supposes, pointing to a recent referendum suggesting that merely 3% of 18-to-29-year-olds consider themselves Chinese, the lowest pace since 1997. The young people want democracy. They dont want to be brainwashed.

For all the insignificance and confusion, Hong Kongs protest change shall be published in buoyant humor. Tens of thousands are expected to turn out on Saturday afternoon for an annual progress recognizing the return to China. Their rallying cry is likely to be Twenty years of lies.[ It] was going to be Communist party officials, get out of Hong Kong, but they decided that was a bit more provocative, suggests Pepper.

Last September, a record number of young anti-Beijing activists were elected to Hong Kongs legislative council, or Legco, in what one victor called a democratic miracle. Nonetheless, many of them could now be forced from part, mainly because of government legal challenges over protests the activists took part in while being affirmed in last year.

If two to three of them lose their posteriors, then the whole political offset will change totally, and then Beijing will have absolute control of this legislature, forewarns Chu, who was to call Democracy and self-determination and Tyranny must die while taking his oath.

Xi Jinping at a variety show to celebrate the handover anniversary. Photograph: Keith Tsuji/ Getty Images

Pepper said she was not rosy that Beijing would give concessions to activists, although there are Hong Kongs incoming commander has pledged to mended the subdivide and build bridges. This is a bridge between republic and tyranny, said Pepper. How she is going to connection that, I dont know.

Chris Patten, Hong Kongs last-place governor, has offered a more upbeat rating of the city he formerly loped, saying he was encouraged by the really profound gumption of citizenship of its young activists. Above all, I visualize I am pleased about the acces in which Hong Kong beings themselves are the reason for it still being a lawsuit of confidence rather than pessimism.

Lee, who is famed for an impassioned defence of republic that he sacrificed after Britains withdrawal, says he is an everlasting optimist about his shifts opportunities under a new, young leadership. These young person are our hope for the future. Im very proud of them.

Sitting in his enclosures between a failure of Winston Churchill and a statuette of the Goddess of Democracy, the emblem of the 1989 Tiananmen Square declarations, Lee remembers strolling through the umbrella actions central camp, a sprawling of tents and policy debate, three days before police eventually cleared it, in December 2015.

There were two little birds singing on the field.[ It was as if they were saying :] I please I were free, you are familiar with? The breath was fresh, he reminisces. I miss those days.

Additional reporting by Benjamin Haas and Wang Zhen .

Read more: www.theguardian.com

The post ‘ We missed democracy ‘: is Hong Kong’s two-systems experimentation over? appeared first on vitalmindandbody.com.

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