#stardust 3 sweep

[bottleshopper]

Kevin thinks Stardust 3 is bad.

So, I was showing my friend Kevin the Stardust Chronicles series because he said he was interested, and he said Stardust 3 was the WORST one.

I can appreciate Kevin going into this franchise with an open mind, he was quite fond of the first film and seemed to enjoy the second one, but disliking the third one I feel COMPLETELY goes against everything the series has been building up.

Perhaps I can understand not liking the ending, I mean; it WAS left on an open end, but come ON. He didn't like the whole thing! It's kind of sad, honestly. I've never seen that guy so talkative over ANYTHING before. I'm a bit offended that THIS was what got him to talk.

Maybe I'll get him to rewatch it once work stops being a bitch. WHY DO I HAVE TO WORK SO MUCH? I'M A GOD DAMN LIBRARIAN. But I digress, Kevin WILL like Stardust 3. He just needs a push in the right direction.

[unluckyxse7en]

Ok so normally I wouldn't ask this but I Really want to finish the 16-30 stamp for crunchy dreams before the event is over today, so this is Time Sensitive

does anyone have suggestions on a good team/treasure/attack combo for standing up to Stardust Cookie? Or just feedback based on what they did?

[thekidsarentalright]

‼️ Attention Fob Fan Reading This ‼️

A few weeks ago, I posted the fourth annual fob census asking you all to answer a bunch of evil questions regarding fall out boy, and after getting 1.3k (!!!!!) responses, the results are finally in (below the 'keep reading'). I wanted to quickly say thank you to everybody who participated in this, it's so fun to do every year and it makes me so happy to see so many others enjoy it too!! Without further adieu, here are the results:

Disclaimers: Quickly I just wanted to warn that this is a long post- it's worth reading, the results are very interesting! But it's also a lot to get through, be prepared for that! Secondly, tumblr loves to destroy image quality- click on the image to see it better!

Question 1:

For the first question, you were simply asked what era you became a fan. The top 3 results were, as shown: 1. Save Rock And Roll Era (345 Responses) 2. American Beauty/American Psycho Era (268 Responses) 3. During The Hiatus (132 Responses) Not much to say about this one, every year the results are very similar. Most interesting is that over 100 people have become a fan in the last year!

Question 2:

The second question asked you for your favorite era, and the results were, as shown: 1. So Much (For) Stardust Era (550 Responses) 2. Infinity On High Era (191 Responses) 3. Save Rock And Roll Era (170 Responses) The impact of the newest era is clearly seen in this question! Some could say it's recency bias, only time will tell, but regardless smfs era absolutely dominates as peoples favorite!

Question 3:

Question three asked what your favorite album was, and this was one where I was incredibly interested to see if so much (for) stardust shook things up that much... And as shown in the top responses, it did not! 1. Folie A Deux (550 Responses) 2. Infinity On High (270 Responses) 3. From Under The Cork Tree (153 Responses) Last year, the order of the results was exactly the same. As I believe it has been every year... Folie is unbeatable

Question 4:

The next question asked for you to objectively say which fob album is the best, to see if the responses between favorite and best differed, and as you can see, they did: 1. So Much (For) Stardust (457 Responses) 2. Folie A Deux (389 Responses) 3. Infinity On High (297 Responses) It's so interesting to me to see that so many people believe stardust to be fob's best album, but even then do not consider it to be their favorite.

Question 5:

Now that we've gotten the favorite/best albums out of the way, it's time for least favorite/worst, with these being your least favorite fob albums: 1. Take This To Your Grave (375 Responses) 2. American Beauty/American Psycho (371 Responses) 3. Mania (308 Responses) Most interesting about these results, to me, are how much the top three responses sweep in comparison to the rest. While for the last two questions, the results were more spread, these are much more unanimous.

Question 6:

Question six asked for the objective worst fob album, and you responded as so: 1. Take This To Your Grave (517 Responses) 2. Mania (347 Responses) 3. American Beauty/American Psycho (328 Responses) All I have to add here is that the responses are even More unanimous... Tttyg sweep ig! fdjsnf

Question 7:

Going away from albums, the next question asked for your favorite EP, and you all responded as such: 1. Lake Effect Kid (404 Responses) 2. My Heart Will Always Be The B-Side To My Tongue (374 Responses) 3. Pax AM Days (337 Responses) Last year, lake effect kid was second and my heart was first- always very interesting to see how things shift, even slightly!

Question 8:

The next question had you saying your favorite album cover art, and you all decided these are the best covers: 1. Infinity On High (664 Responses) 2. Folie A Deux (195 Responses) 3. From Under The Cork Tree (176 Responses) I was very interesting to see where smfs would land, with it falling in the bottom half, not disrupting the top three at all. However, folie moved up a spot, swapping with futct. Ioh reigns supreme though!

Question 9:

These results came out identical to last year, but here are the top first fob songs you all heard: 1. Sugar, We're Goin' Down (347 Responses) 2. My Songs Know (171 Responses) 3. Dance, Dance (134 Responses) 4. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs (132 Responses) 5. Centuries (91 Responses)

Question 10:

Question 10 asked for your favorite fob song, a very subjective question that garnered many different responses, these came out on top: 1. Headfirst Slide (105 Responses) 2. Disloyal Order (73 Responses) 3. Hum Hallelujah (69 Responses)(nice) 4. Ginasfs (65 Responses) 5. 27 (55 Responses) I have many thoughts about these results and don't want to ramble too much, but will say, most interesting: This is the first time disloyal order isn't first for this question. A big change, I think!

Question 11:

We know now your subjective fav songs, but what about objective best? You all said: 1. So Much (For) Stardust (244 Responses) 2. Headfirst Slide (136 Responses) 3. Love From The Other Side (83 Responses) 4. What A Catch, Donnie (70 Responses) 5. Hum Hallelujah = Disloyal Order (66 Responses) Once again, lots of thoughts! We have our first tie, both smfs the song and album sweeping, and disloyal order once again Not topping the list! Huge changes!

Question 12:

This question is always the one i get the most excited about each year. It's also the one that gets the most varied responses, but these came out in the top: 1. Sunshine Riptide (56 Responses) 2. "From Now On We Are Enemies" (49 Responses) 3. You're Crashing, But You're No Wave (47 Responses) 4. Rat A Tat (40 Responses) 5. It's Not A Side Effect = Heaven's Gate This question changed a lot from last year, with sunshine riptide moving up three spots, and rat a tat, it's not a side effect, and heaven's gate showing up when they didn't before!

Question 13:

With underrated songs come overrated ones, and you all said these were the most overrated: 1. Centuries (330 Responses) 2. Sugar, We're Goin' Down (96 Responses) 3. My Songs Know (87 Responses) 4. Bang The Doldrums (67 Responses) 5. Immortals (62 Responses) Most of note- Bang the doldrums is here, when it simultaneously was voted pretty highly as a favorite song!

Question 14:

This was the first time I asked the question of what your favorite fob cover is, and you all decided these are the best three: 1. Love Will Tear Us Apart (297 Responses) 2. Beat It (278 Responses) 3. I Wanna Dance With Somebody (224)

Question 15:

Asking which song has the best lyrics is another one of my favorites to see, and this year you all said: 1. Hum Hallelujah (172 Responses) 2. So Much (For) Stardust (75 Responses) 3. You're Crashing, But You're No Wave (72 Responses) 4. Ginasfs (70 Responses) 5. Disloyal Order (67 Responses) It's not surprise these results are very similar to best song, and it's very deserved! These songs are on top every year, save for smfs being newly one of their best written songs!

Question 16:

This question asked how many times you've seen fob live, and the results are as shown: 1. 1-3 Times (780 Responses) 2. Haven't Seem Them Live Yet (353 Responses) 3. 4-6 Times (138 Responses) 4. 7-9 Times (42 Responses) 5. 10+ Times (37 Responses) Last year, a majority of people said they hadn't seen them live, so it makes me really happy to see now, a majority has! And i hope those that haven't get to soon!

Question 17:

Continuing with the tour theme, specific to this year, I asked what your favorite medley song was, and you all said: 1. Spotlight (New Regrets) (272 Responses) 2. I've Got A Dark Alley (165 Responses) 3. What A Catch, Donnie (146 Responses) 4. WAMS (133 Responses) 5. Get Busy Living (117 Responses) Seeing spotlight sweep made me happy, as it genuinely was the craziest moment. All of these were crazy, and so special- seeing each medley song get so much love just shows it <3

Question 18:

Now continuing with tourdust questions, I asked for your fav 8 ball song, here were your top 5: 1. Pavlove (372 Responses) 2. Ginasfs (184 Responses) 3. Bang The Doldrums (144 Responses) 4. "From Now On We Are Enemies" (80 Responses) 5. 27 (69 Responses) Similarly to before, each of these was so crazy and special, it's great to see they all got love. Pavlove swept massively, tho, as deserved i think

Question 19:

I think it goes without saying that each band member is loved and very important, but we all have our #1 babygirl, and here's who you all said was yours: 1. Patrick (676 Responses) 2. Pete (402 Responses) 3. Joe (160 Responses) 4. Andy (112 Responses) All i have to say is... kill that thing patrick <3

Question 20:

Our next miscellaneous question asks for your fav music video, and this year you all said these were your favorites: 1. A Little Less Sixteen Candles (275 Responses) 2. Dance, Dance (109 Responses) 3. Hold Me Like A Grudge (89 Responses) 4. America's Suitehearts = Miss Missing You (74 Responses) 5. I Don't Care (67 Responses) I was curious to see if a stardust mv would make it in, and was glad to see grudge did! Otherwise, very similar results to last year. Old favs die hard i suppose <3

Question 21:

Here, I asked for your favorite band that isn't fob but is related/adjacent to fob, and you all said: 1. My Chemical Romance (576 Responses) 2. Paramore (302 Responses) 3. I Don't Know How But They Found Me (88 Responses) 4. Cobra Starship = Green Day (75 Responses) 5. Gym Class Heroes (58 Responses) Not much changed from last year, other than green day getting more love, which is interesting to see! (Also, wanted to note that i did forget to include panic!... however less than 10 people wrote them in as an 'other', so results were not affected by that oversight!)

Question 22:

These last questions are all this or that style ones, with our first pairing being disloyal order and hum hallelujah: 1. Disloyal Order (762 Responses) 2. Hum Hallelujah (588 Responses) Interestingly, last year this match-up was a solid tie. Clearly, opinions have changed to make disloyal order sweep!

Question 23:

Our second this or that pit snitches and talkers vs you're crashing: 1. You're Crashing (808 Responses) 2. Snitches And Talkers (542 Responses) These were the top two underrated songs last year, so it's interesting to see which one is truly preferred!

Question 24:

Our last this or that, and last question, put centuries and my songs head to head: 1. My Songs Know (977 Responses) 2. Centuries (373 Responses) All the commentary I will provide is saying: is centuries even overrated anymore with it getting destroyed like this.... fkjdsnfks

And with that, the 2024 fob census comes to a close! If you've read this far or, really, participated at all in this in any way, I want to say thank you again! and that I hope you had fun with it, and that these results were interesting to look through! Also, will throw out there, I worked very hard on this and would appreciate a rb if you read all the way through it! <3 If you have any questions about any data or questions, want to see more in depth results or commentary or analysis from me, feel free to shoot me an ask/dm! See you next year for year 5! :-3

[omegalomania]

FIRST NIGHT OF TOURDUST AT WRIGLEY

im writing down all the stuff that i remember so i dont forget!! obviously the big ones were GINASFS LIVE?? HELLO??? i was very unspoiled for the setlist so every song was a huge shock

tai as openers got a hUGE response. and it was great!!! im thrilled to report that bilvy is still a whore <3 he was playing submission games with mike and sisky the whole set, did snakes on a plane, doing high kicks and draping himself all over his bandmates as god intended

i mean it probably goes without saying but i need to shoutout the set design for this tour. oh my god it was SO beautiful. there were no big screens behind them, instead there was a big round screen mounted over the stage and it would play funky videos during all the songs. one half of the stage was this gorgeous blue wrought-iron looking thing with stars and monsters and a clock. the other side was glowing gold, so it was like a night/day dichotomy

there were big red curtains behind the guys and they would sweep shut for a few songs and when they opened again there'd be a new setpiece behind them. like a physical setpiece!! the first one was an anchor, the second was A MOVING DOGGIE HEAD, the third was a huge tree with owl eyes. they were fucking gorgeous

the pink seashell monologue played w/o any instrumentals before love from the other side kicked in

joe has a new guitar! it's like...green and super detailed, it's seriously so fucking fancy i need hq pictures of that thing stat

joe vocals were SUPER LOUD AND PROMINENT my god it was a blessing

patrick was KILLING it the whole concert. i was floored. fob songs are NOT EASY TO SING esp love from the other side but he was impeccable pretty much the whole night

he did fumble the lyrics to centuries tho dlfdjkjf looked like something was up with his soundboard around that time

they hit us with a triple-punch of chicago is so two years ago, calm before the storm, and then where is your boy, all in a row. patrick talked a little bit before where is your boy to be like "yeah so this was forever ago...i was jogging..." and pete chimes in "imagine us jogging"

patrick also talked a bit before they rolled the piano out. he was like "hi guys!! :)" and talked about how the set design was all pete's idea and it was super fucking fancy and he was floored by it. he said that pete suggested he play piano and then was like "ugh i dunno im not GREAT at that" (you fucking liar) and then that led up to the medley that closed with don't stop believing and the rest of the band joined in and AGHHH

i was not prepared to hear headfirst slide and disloyal order in the same night.

i was not prepared to hear HEAVEN IOWA that night. of all the stardust songs i did NOT EXPECT THAT ONE

for those who were involved in the stardust project, it went off really well the first night! i got my pink seashell and during fake out i looked behind me and the whole stadium was lit up pink! after it was over, pete was like "wow that looked amazing guys" so the band definitely noticed!

pete did the baby annihilation monologue live! he seemed kind of nervous he had his hoodie pulled up and everything but he delivered it very different from the studio version and when it was over he pulled a big black curtain over himself and then disappeared when it fell

save rock and roll live is always a treat but my god when the camera pulled back and i saw that all four members of fall out boy were smiling while they sang OH NOOO WE WON'T GO. my god. my heart.

they did not do a proper encore because they didnt want to tread into curfew, so we did not get a picture with them

OKAY THATS ALL I CAN REMEMBER FOR NOW. ILL ADD TO THIS IF I REMEMBER ANYTHING ELSE <3 THIS WAS A STELLAR START THANK YOU FALL OUT BOY I LOVE YOU FALL OUT BOY

[i-fondued]

Ghost | Sinners in Secret - Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Four - The Wedding Ceremony Incident Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin x Papa “Terzo” Emeritus III Rating: Explicit Warnings: Plot, smut, etc. See AO3 for full list of tags! A/N: we have FINALLY arrived at the wedding!! it has been a long, long road to get here and now that writers block has let go of me finally I think I'll be able to finish this story strong <3 thank you all for sticking this out with me, this story has been a full labor of love and I've loved everyone's support over the last few months so much.

As always, this chapter is has been reviewed by my beta, @lurancyvenom whom I love! However, as always I snuck this out only half edited because I’m a terror and you should all know how terrible I am!

“Prime Mover Elizabeth, these just arrived for you Ma’am.”

I jumped as someone suddenly spoke to me and I turned to find two of Terzo’s ghouls, whose names I was unfamiliar with, coming to place two massive bouquets on the table behind the sofa. 

“Oh, thank you.” I smiled as I took a deep breath; inhaling the intoxicating scent of gardenias, orange blossoms, and roses that made up the bouquets. “Does it say who they are from?”

“One from Papa Emeritus the Third and the other from Cardinal Copia, Ma’am.” 

Oh, of course they would send me the most extravagant flowers only hours before we’d be wed. 

It was finally here, the day I’d been longing for after all these weeks and months. A thrill went up my spine as I smiled, walking over to my flowers and brushing my thumb gently over the petals. I’d just finished getting buffed, waxed, polished and shined for the last time. The Sisters that had been part of my court and had been helping me all week had been filled with joy and laughter, but were also on the verge of tears as we parted after spending so much time together. We’d become close the four of us, despite everything that had happened, and I’d promised them I’d write to them once I was back at the Abbey at home. They had told me, tears brimming in their eyes as we all talked over each other, that they would be eagerly awaiting the announcement of the next member of the Emeritus brood. I blushed profusely as we parted and they left me alone with my thoughts, jitters and beautiful flowers as I waited for Sister Imperator to retrieve Swiss who would be my escort to the ceremony.

“Satan be good…” Sister Imperator’s voice caught my attention as she came back into the suite with Swiss only moments behind her. 

“Holy shit, Sunshine…” he cursed, finishing with a low whistle of approval. I blushed bright red, heart pounding in my chest. “You look…woah…”

“You like it?” I teased, turning back and forth slightly to show off the dress. “Sister Imperator, you did say to go big or go home…”

“Go big wasn’t a challenge, but my word, we really outdid ourselves with this one,” Imperator chuckled, crossing her arms and resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. “You look like an absolute vision my dear…”

My wedding dress had been the longest process to put together, both Imperator and I taking our time picking fabrics and designs together. It had taken a week for us to settle on a look, and it was the last garment to be delivered to my room only the morning of the ceremony. 

The dress was form fitting, looking almost painted on, until the smallest part of my waist where the skirt floated outwards in a 50s bustle silhouette. It was made entirely from a sheer golden beaded fabric, light and airy on its own, but extremely heavy when made into the gown I was wearing, with a matching golden silk under fabric. It had a sweeping portrait neckline with a sheer portion coming up over my chest and neck, which gave the illusion that I had a choker made of shimmering diamonds and golden stardust sprinkled over my chest and cleavage. We’d decided to add on sleeves made of the same fabric without the silk underlayer; they were skin tight all the way down my arms and came dramatically to a point over the tops of my hands. The skirts were long and had a mid-length train, but the crowning glory was the veil.

It was pinned slightly back from my hairline and made of the same sheer beaded and embellished fabric as my dress, and was royal length. It trailed behind me, much like every other veil I’d worn this week, and hidden in the center of the train was a little secret. Obscured from the unknowing eye, buried in the beading was our new familial crest. It had been designed by myself and Sister Imperator, as there hadn’t been a thruple in many decades, and it was all of our three personal crests wound together in an art deco style. I was giddy to be able to show it off to Terzo and Copia later, but right now I was just jittery with emotions and nerves. 

Because my dress had been so elaborate we’d kept my make up simple, just a natural look with light and airy eye make-up and a blush lipstick. My hair had been pulled back to a large bun at the nape of my neck, the front slicked back to hold my loose hairs in place. After the ceremony I already knew I’d be ushered away before the reception to change into yet another gown, something I could actually move around in and dance with other people with. 

“Alright, Prime Mover, let’s get you ready to go, we leave in five minutes,” Imperator said happily, clapping her hands as she started to leave the room, pausing to look back at me again with a wry smile. “Let me find your court, the ladies left to get dressed and should be back already.” 

Stepping to my side and taking my offered arm, Swiss cocked his head to the side with a peculiar look in his eyes. “You ready, Sunshine?” he asked quietly, his tone genuine but slightly teasing. “I can feel your heart pounding away, darlin’...”

“I’m fine, Swiss. Just nerves. A lot of important people are going to be there and it’s a big deal and I-” I rambled but there was a knock on the bedroom door and I paused as Sister Imperator peeked out and began tearing apart whoever was standing there. 

“-You cannot see Her Eminence right now, Cardinal, no matter how important the information is!” Ah, that caught my attention. I slipped away from Swiss, keeping myself to the side behind the door so he wouldn’t be able to see me. I bit my bottom lip as I eavesdropped on Copia’s growled part of the conversation. 

“Si, I cannot see her but I must speak with her…è molto importante!” His gritted, Italian parts coming out more like a growled command than a request. 

“I cannot even dare to risk the bad luck if you were to see her right now, I’m sorry Cardinal.” Imperator’s eyes drifted to me, narrowing as she began to say something else. I held my hand up and paused her before she could continue. 

“It’s alright Sister Imperator, we’ll speak like this. Why don’t you all head to where we’ll meet. Swiss can escort me after Cardinal Copia has left.” 

It was the first time I’d used what Swiss had dubbed as my ‘Highly Important Clergy Member’ voice and, much to my surprise, Sister nodded softly. 

“Your ghoul must stay here…you haven’t exactly been trustworthy in the past,” Imperator mumbled with an arched eyebrow, and I couldn’t help the blush on my cheeks.

“Of course, Sister Imperator.” 

With the sound of swishing fabrics and the soft clacking of shoes on the floor, Imperator swept out of the room with one last glare at Copia as she passed him. Once she was out of sight, Swiss was stationed to my left to block out the other side of the door just in case the other man tried to take a sneak-peek. 

“It’s just us, Copia…” I smiled, throat thick with unshed tears as I longed to rip open the door and leap into his arms. I ached for him, but kept reminding myself that in a few short hours we’d all be back together again. “What did you have to tell me? It must be pretty important if you risked a mauling from Sister Imperator.” 

“Amore…” He sighed, a soft thunk on the other side of the wood, and I knew deep down he had rested his head against the ornate carvings. Clearly he missed me too. “I…I may have put this off for too long, but I wanted to make sure you were well before I told you anything…”

“What is it?”

“I…Well…Lucifer brought more than just yourself back to this world the other day…”

“What do you mean?” My heart was racing, worry clear in my voice as I placed both hands on the door. What happened when I was recovering?

“He brought me…my ghoul,” he mumbled, so quietly I thought I’d misheard him at first.

“Your ghoul?” 

“Si.”

“Copia…you have a ghoul?” I was blown away for a moment as he mumbled another yes back to me. “This…this is wonderful news! Why didn’t you tell me sooner!?”

“You were so hurt, Amore. I did not want you to be worried or stressed out or overexert yourself.” Copia sighed, clearly exasperated but relieved to get this off his chest. I was somewhere between fuming and ecstatic. 

“Copia, I’m fine now. Why wouldn’t you want to share this with me? Because I’d been hurt? Swiss was worse off than I was.

“I did not want to make that day about me,” he said gruffly. “We were all thankful that you were okay.”

“Still Copia…you have a ghoul, your own ghoul, and I haven’t even met them yet!” 

“Topolino…” 

“Don’t you Topolino me, I remember what Swiss was like when he first came earthside, he was like a lost puppy. Your ghoul must be beside himself…” I fumed, heels clacking against the stone floors as I stomped my foot like a child.

“Actually…” I could hear the amusement in his voice, which only made me even more angry. “He has been bound to me since I became a Cardinal, I just did not allow him to come to me at the time…” 

“Copia…” I started but I heard him sigh and he cut me off quickly, ending any rant I had incoming.

“What is done is done now, Amore. I was foolish but I understand now, si? I wanted to tell you about him so I would be able to introduce you before we leave tomorrow morning.” 

The Cardinal’s voice was clear that he thought the conversation was over. I was still ready for a fight, but the look in Swiss eyes told me Copia had already beat himself up over it enough that I didn’t have to keep it going. I sighed and tucked the anger to the side, remembering that today was our day, and all of us were staring down the finish line of a very emotionally changed week. 

“Fine…but I want to meet him before the reception or I will make a big scene like a bridezilla, okay?” I teased, his little chuckle on the other side of the door causing me to grin against my will. 

“Of course, Amore. Anything for you, si?”

There was a moment, a quiet pause and before I could even help myself the anxiety took over and I spoke in a small voice that surprised me. 

“Are you scared? About the ritual, our futures, the expectations…” 

“Terrorizzato, Amore.” He chuckled and I watched the familiar black leather gloved hand slip between the opening of the doors. “But we will do it together, yes? With Terzo too, naturalmente.”

I tentatively slipped my hand in his and my heart melted as he gave me a gentle squeeze. 

“Always. It will always be us,” I said, voice tight and watery as I fought the well of emotion that had bubbled up again. I cleared my throat as he let go of my hand and had to laugh to break the tension. “Speaking of Terzo, where the hell is he? I would have thought he would have been with you already.”

“He was still getting everything ready for the ritual, full of dramatics. When I left he was dressed in his shirt and socks, nothing else.”

I snorted back the laughter that sprung from my mouth at the image of Terzo and Swiss cleared his throat. 

“We need to head down to the chapel, Cardinal. You need to get ready as well.”

“Ah yes, yes. I am off.” Copia said, I could picture the little smirk on his face as he spoke. “I cannot wait to see you, Stellina.” 

“I can’t wait to see you too, beloved.” I blushed as I spoke, the nickname feeling foreign in my mouth. 

“Amati, eh?” He laughed, I could tell he was walking away from the door when he called back to me. “I could get used to a life being your amati, Sorella…”

…

“Swiss, your pacing is making me more anxious…”

Shortly after Copia had left us, my heart light from anxiety for the first time all day, Swiss and I had joined the others as we made our way down to the chapel for the last time. Just like the earlier rituals, there was much fanfare from the Siblings and ghouls who’d not been able to attend the actual ceremony. I felt like a goddess among men as we followed the path I knew deep down in my sleep; the way they all looked at me with reverent eyes and praying hands was both ego boosting, while also a solemn reminder of who I was to these people. My people. 

Suddenly the soothing classical music floating under the seam of the door changed into a more fitting and haunting melody, the organ clear as day in the space just beyond the doors. Swiss and I looked at each other and I couldn’t help the twinge of panic. Swiss instantly was in mother hen mode, clucking around me and making sure everything was perfectly in place. 

“You ready, Sunshine?” he smiled, the only sign of it behind the mask was the crinkle around his eyes. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be…but wher-?” I started, but before I could even finish my sentence the doors cracked open and the last person I’d have thought to see stepped through. “Secondo? Where is Primo?”

“I’m sorry, piccolo.” He sighed, looking down at me from his height with a grouchy expression. “My brother wanted to pass along that he wasn't feeling all that well and he didn’t trust his ‘old bones’ to make it down the aisle without hurting himself; so he sent me.”

“You?” I squeaked, but Secondo was glaring in the direction he just came from.

“Meddling old coot…” he mumbled under his breath as he moved to take my arm, and Swiss and I locked eyes. 

My ghoul shrugged, taking the bouquet from the side table and handing it to me. It was made up of flowers handpicked and selected by Primo and I. Almost unwieldy in its size; the bouquet was a long, cascading style made with all white roses, dahlias, peonies, and hydrangeas. Mixed in was lush greenery and baby’s breath, which made for the heaviest bouquet I’ve ever held, not that I had many in my hands. Wrapped around the stems was a grucifix in gold, a wedding day gift from the council. I had practically growled when I’d seen it but I was told it was apparently tradition to have them gift me a golden grucifix and I’d begrudgingly let it go.

I went to step forward as Swiss moved up to the doors, getting ready to open them, but paused as my companion didn’t move. 

“Secondo...?” I looked up at him curiously and he seemed to come back from the far off place that was lingering in his eyes.  

“Yes, Sist-excuse me…Prime Mover.” 

“What happened with Veritas was not your fault, Secondo.” I mumbled quietly, noting the way he looked at me like I was a fragile toy and he was a two year old left alone in the room. Like he was afraid I’d shatter if he held my gaze for too long. 

“I…I don’t feel that it is.” His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, looking away from my face and I had to resist the urge to place my hand on his cheek and tug him to look at me. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” I quirked my eyebrow, unable to help the smirk that slipped onto my lips. 

“No.” 

“Then don’t treat me like I’m one of your brothers or your father. I can see it every time you look at me.” 

“Sorella…” he started, turning towards me but I held my hand up and cut him off. 

“Nope, I won’t hear it.” I couldn’t help the small smile on my lips at the petulant look on his face. “Look…It’s my wedding day, I just want you to know that I don’t blame you at all. What happened…the blame lies with Veritas and him alone. I have it on very good authority that he is currently getting what he deserves.” 

“...and what about his sister?” He spoke quietly, so softly I almost thought I’d imagined it until his eyes finally met mine and I saw the intense shame in them. 

My heart pounded sharply, thinking back to the look on her face as the events had unfolded down in the catacombs, and a chill ran down my spine. I could see Swiss out of the corner of my eye, stiffening at the mutual anxiety floating back and forth between us. 

“W-What about her?” I didn’t like how small my voice sounded in that moment even as I straightened my back and tried to look casual.

“They still haven’t been able to track her down in the catacombs, I’ve looked down there myself. We don’t quite know where she could have gone…”

The conversation was cut short when Sister Imperator cracked open the door herself, causing both Secondo and I to jump. 

“It's time.” She nodded at us, and slipped back behind the door. 

“We will speak of this again after, Sorella. For now, enjoy your day and your honeymoon. I’ve had my own ghouls watching over you and Copia, along with mi fratellino.” 

“O-Okay.” It was anything but okay, but I knew that he was right, today was going to be a happy day and a day not about the past but about the future. “When we get back to the Abbey, we’ll talk about it right?”

“Of course, Sis-Prime Mover.” He corrected himself last minute as he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm with a wry smile on his face. “You know, if the fates had been written differently it would have been myself at the other side of the door.”

“Good thing for you, Secondo, they weren’t, ‘cause I don’t think you could handle my attitude in the morning,” I teased, giving him a small and playful shove. “Besides, who else would have been able to teach me about all the rituals if it wasn’t for you?”

He chuckled then, kissing the top of my hand affectionately before putting his stoic mask back on as the doors opened in front of us. 

“You’ve been the best thing that has ever happened to Terzo, Sorella. I honestly don’t know what we would have done with him without you to balance him out, not to mention the Cardinal.”

“I love them both, equally. I don’t know what I’d do without them either.” 

The sound of the old wood doors opening pulled my attention from Secondo, who was about to say something, to the chapel in front of us. I felt my heart thundering as I took in the sight of the entire chapel turned to watch my entrance. A gentle blush spread over my cheeks and crossed the bridge of my nose as we started to make our way forward, with Swiss following stoically behind to make sure my dress, train and veil stayed perfect. The chapel was decorated beautifully, flowers arching over the eaves and candlelight glowing in the low candelabras casting a glow over the entire space. But that barely registered with me once I saw Copia and Terzo turn towards me from the altar, their jaws dropping at the sight of their bride coming up towards them. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off them however, the background of the space falling away as I took them in. This was the first time I’d ever seen either of them dressed in formalwear. They were in full white tie dress, the most formal they could be. They were in black tailcoats, white waistcoats and bowties, and the cut came snug at their waists. Both of them were also wearing the sinfully tight trousers of my dream that left nothing to the imagination while whispering the images of what was to come once the festivities were over, a slight blush staining my cheeks, However that was where the similarities ended.

Terzo was wearing his traditional Papal face paints, but his hair wasn’t quite slicked back. Instead it had been coiffed into a part with a few light strands dusting his forehead which reminded me of some of the covers of romance novels the Siblings back home would trade between each other. He wore a dangling grucifix earring like he had when we had gone to the club all that time ago, and the sight of it made my stomach flutter a little. I smiled at the almost familiar sight of his black shoes with white spats, which were bright white in comparison to his black tux. He winked at me and I blushed, eyes quickly scurrying away to look at my other groom. 

Copia had the softest look on his face, my heart leapt into my throat and I had to already fight back tears as he attempted to clear his throat. Copia, much like Terzo had his daily Clergy paints on his face, his hair was also slicked back in a slight coif. Instead of black shoes he wore red leather dress shoes with buckles, as a nod to his position and subtle way of pushing back against the white tie dress code. They were both wearing white silk gloves, twin hands starting to reach towards me as I approached the pair of them. 

My arms slipped from Secondo’s and I felt him chuckle at the almost star-struck look on my face as I reached out to my boys, my grooms, and I looked back at him with a sheepish smile. 

“I think I was meant to get you up the altar, Sorella,” he teased before he passed off my hand to Terzo, and Copia took my arm as my left hand held my bouquet. “But I think they’ll take it from here…”

“Thank you, Secondo,” I smiled, voice whispery as I smiled brightly and fought the tears that seemed to be permanently lodged in my throat. 

“Any time, Sorellina.” 

I saw Swiss from the corner of my eye and, like we’d practiced, he came to my right side and bowed deeply to me while I curtsied to him. Swiss then turned to my grooms and, almost militaristically, he saluted them and gave them each a curt bow. 

“I pass on my duty as sworn protector of the sposa sacra to you both, my watch has ended,” Swiss stated, repeating what Secondo had taught us, before he walked to sit with the other members of the Emeritus family and their own personal ghouls. 

“Amore?” Copia’s voice was soft, almost breathy, and I turned instantly to look at him. “Are you ready?”

“Of course, Copia.”

“You look stunning, Tesoro,” Terzo murmured in my ear as he helped me up to the altar where Nihil was waiting for us. 

The altar had what seemed like a whole other altar added, essentially giving us another level but also to make sure that everyone present could see us from where we were standing. A chill ran up my spine as I looked back at all the eyes on us. Copia was on my left, Terzo on my right, and I was in the middle like a half moon as we stood in front of Papa Nihil. As the organ music came to a close I heard the rustle of everyone sitting down, and I fought the urge to groan as Nihil launched into one of his well known and long winded sermons. 

While Nihil droned on about love, duty, and the call of the Old One, my mind focused on my grooms. Terzo had tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, his gloved thumb running back and forth over the top of my hand as he looked not at his father but at me. There was a warm look in his eye but not the heated one I was used to, no this one was a slow and simmering sort of adoration. My cheeks flushed and I smiled at him, winking as Nihil made a mention of continuing the line. He fought back a chuckle and my eyes slipped over to Copia, who looked a little more stressed than I would have thought at this point in the rituals, but when his eyes met mine the stress melted away and suddenly I was faced with a completely smitten gaze in his eyes. After what felt like an eternity, Nihil finally made it to the meat of the event. The ritual. 

“With this blade, slice your palms and hold them out for each other to take,” Nihil wheezed, one of the Siblings helping with the ritual took my bouquet and handed me the golden blade. 

I winced slightly as I quickly sliced both palms and took both Terzo and Copia’s hands in my two. They in turn took each other's free hands and we stood in a circle as two Siblings and Nihil himself one by one tied our hands together. 

“This circle signifies your relationship, no matter what you may go through, may this moment remind you that life is a never ending circle. Like the serpent attempting to swallow its own tail. May your life ebb and flow from each other, may you bring each other comfort when the others may struggle, may you support and lift the other ones to new heights. May Lucifer smile upon this union.”

As he finished speaking the last binding was done and we looked at each other with bright, massive smiles. 

“May the flock offer you tidings and wishes,” Papa Nihil bowed, moving back as he opened the pews to come and offer their good fortune and prayers. 

It was an odd tradition to continue to observe with us being a throuple and unable to face the approaching Siblings and Clergy members; but I just continued to smile at my men knowing this was one of the last steps before we’d be free to party the night away until we were expected to retire for the evening. I could feel as people passed by us, hear their mumbled prayers of our union and eventual continued lineage, and I could feel the ghosting of fingertips against my skirts as they pressed a kiss to the hem. Secondo had said that to kiss the hem of a bride was considered good luck but to kiss the hem of the Prime Mover while she was bound? There was no greater blessing for our flock. 

So I stood there as everyone filed up to offer up prayers and took luck in the form of my hem, and I let my eyes drift between my partners, until I felt both of them stiffen. 

“What?” I whispered, suddenly fear pounding through my veins. “Whats going on?”

“Amore…” Copia started, eyes focused on someone right behind me. “The Siblings have stopped moving.”

Ah, that could only mean one thing. 

“Blessed evening, my little lambs.” 

Lucifer’s voice was silky, like fingertips dancing across my bare skin, and I couldn’t help the lazy smile on my face as he came to stand next to me where I could see him. “Look at you three, finally bound as I’d been planning for quite a long time.”

“My Lord.” Both boys bowed, while their hands were still bound together, and launched into prayers. I rolled my eyes and looked at Lucifer with a wry smile. 

“It’s good to see you again, Your Holiness.” I nodded my head at him. “Come to rescue me from sore feet?”

“No, little lamb,” he laughed, a twinkling sort of sound as he slipped under where Terzo and I’s hands were tied together and stood in the middle of the circle the three of us made. “I was here to offer my blessings.”

“You honor us, my liege.” Terzo sounded so serious that I was a little shocked by his change in demeanor.

“Hush, Alesandro,” Lucifer smiled, a flirty look in his eyes. “I’ve known you since you were small, I’ve watched you grow into the man before me. I know who you truly are. The least I can do is offer my blessing.”

“Papa is right, my Lord, but I must thank you again for everything you have done for us. Bringing Sorella back…”

“We will speak no more of us, Cardinal,” Lucifer said, tone final as he cut off Copia. He turned to me with a wolfish smile. “What of you little lamb? Any words you wish to shower me with?”

“Nope. I know better, I’d like to just thank you for coming to see us.” 

“That's my girl.” He winked and I couldn’t help the blush that flushed over my cheeks. “For now I offer you a gift.”

As he spoke he pressed his hand against my lower stomach, a knowing look on his face as the realization dawned on me. I looked at him with a somewhat shocked expression, and he chuckled as he turned to look at my grooms.  

“When the time is right…you will receive my blessing, my lambs. For now enjoy your time together.”

Before any of us could say anything, the sound and mumbles of the hall came back to us and Lucifer was gone.

“D-did he do what I think he did?” Terzo asked, eyes suddenly wary as he looked around, like the devil was going to pop up again.

“Let’s just say he’s hoping to have a large pool of children to pick to take up the mantle, so to speak…”

…

After a long reception filled with dinner, drinks, dancing, and just all around merriment; I was exhausted. 

I had assumed incorrectly that I’d get to change into another dress at the reception, instead I had to wear the heavy dress and veil through speeches and people coming to wish us many blessings and for a happy marriage. I could feel the weight digging into my hip bones as I danced with every important member of the clergy more than once. I felt the slightly itchy scratch of the illusion neckline as I slouched down slightly as I rested between the festivities and courses of the meal. Finally I felt a warm hand on each shoulder, the Sisters from earlier had come back and they had knowing smiles on their faces. 

‘It's time to change, your eminence.” One said her head bowed slightly. 

I nodded as the pair of them guided me off to a secluded room off the main ballroom that had been set up as the main reception space, though the whole monastery had been prepped and decked out so every sibling and ghoul could celebrate. Together we took off the heavy dress, one that I’d been told would be preserved and held in the archives for who knows how long, like all the prime movers before me. 

The afterparty dress was made entirely of slinky black silk, the maternal feeling almost like water as it slid down my bare skin. I wore no bra and no underwear, feeling exposed but extremely turned on. I blushed as I felt my nipples harden at the thought of what my companions, no…my husbands, would say when they saw me. There were drooping straps that just dusted past my shoulders, the neckline scooping down almost to the point of indecency, and hugged me so tightly through the thigh I was surprised I could walk. The dress also had a small train and a small overskirt made of silk as well for a little extra dramatics. Over all of this was another intensely long veil, this time a spanish style with lace all along the edges and even over the blusher that covered my face. 

They left my hair and make up as it was and quickly I was ushered back to the room as the clock chimed 3 in the morning. 

Terzo and Copia were already by the door as I stepped through, their faces eager and mischievous as they reached out towards me. I smiled brightly as I took their hands, both bending to kiss my knuckles almost at the same time. 

“Come, Amore.” Terzo murmured against my skin, the deep rumbles of his voice causing me to shiver as they both stepped close to me. “We have a special surprise waiting for you back in our rooms.”

“Si, I think it will be something you would not expect.” Copia chuckled as they led me out of the space, the high ranking clergy members, such as Papa Nihil, Sister Imperator and the other Emeritus Brothers, followed us in the low light of the candlelit path we followed. 

“I’m just happy we get to sleep together again, all in one bed.” I mumbled, a small blush at the heat in their eyes. 

“Oh…Stelina…sleep is the last thing on our minds.” Copia’s eyes met Terzos before they both smirked at me, something smoldering in their gaze and I had to bite my bottom lip to hold back a whimper. 

When we finally made it to the door, the Emeritus brothers each took my hands kissing the knuckles and bowing they heads and wishing for a fruitful evening, as they had done for centuries. Papa Nihil was behind a few steps and I heard him grumble to Imperator, my face blushing bright red. 

“Back in my day, the clergy was to watch the consummation….”

“Hush, Papa…” Imperator cut him off sharply when she saw the look on Terzo’s face before they tugged me into our rooms and practically slammed the door in everyone's faces. 

Finally. After several weeks of planning, being forced to be separated due to the rituals, a near death experience, and a cock-blocking ghoul at every turn…we were alone. 

It took all of seconds before hands were pulling at clothes and lips were pressed to bare skin. 

Gods below...I had missed them.

[ardate]

Your top 3 songs of this year?

Those are always so difficult but, nonetheless. Here's three songs I discovered this year that throttled me (/pos). We're going crescendo, starting off strong and ending with my most favoritest of this year.

Greta Van Fleet - Stardust Chords A friend has bestowed upon me the grand gift of the discovery of Greta Van Fleet via their album The Battle at Garden's Gate. It is, undoubtedly, an album that works extremely well as a unit, and its power is such that it convinced even my friends who aren't into listening to full albums that this one was worth the trouble. Musically, there is a lot of inspirations from classic rock of the 70s, obvious to those well acquainted with that genre, but of course much modernized to end up with an incredibly clean and refined sonority in the end that truly elevates it to new heights. Stardust Chords is for me one of the brightest highlights of this incredible piece of art, with those soaring vocals that grip your bones and send you ascending with them. -

Këkht Aräkh - Wanderer Is there any surprise? The ukrainian songwriter shook everyone with his sudden inclusion of rap-like diction and rhythm within his new song, clearly apparent in his music video that mixes classic rap moves within traditional BM aesthetic - and all of it, song and video, enshrined within his usual romantic melancholy as he sings about love and loneliness, as always. And it is masterful, and deeply moving. -

Les Chants de Nihil - Clarté de la Pluie Of course, I already rambled about this one in past posts: this is my absolute favourite discovery of this year. I had explored their discography in the past ('Là où nous étions les rois' being my fav song of theirs for a bunch of years now), but somehow had never taken the time to check out that particular album, and. What a punch in the chest. This album (namely, La Liberté Guidant le Fer) is a unique masterpiece that works at its best as a Whole, but still, I cherrypick this specific song because it carries itself strongly on its own. It sweeps you into the wet streets of an unknown city, under pouring rain - and as the singer, overtaken with old age, screams about his upcoming end and his willingness to meet it in peace, you're left with your heart bleeding through your chest.

BONUS (More like I originally wrote this one for the first of the list and then remembered about Greta Van Fleet but didn't want to delete all my good writing talking about this cool band so i'm giving it to you here):

Hypno5e - Acid Mist Tomorrow Discovered this band in february of this year with the release of their newest album, Sheol, but if I had to share one song it'd be this one - Acid Mist Tomorrow, introduction to the album of the same name from 2011. It's also an excellent introduction to the band as a whole, I believe, because of its concentration of their signature sounds - the sudden, brutal, heavy metal phases, intercut with soft and tender light guitar adorned with voice samples, only for it to start and stop and start again, like a pulsating energy. If you're not shy in the face of experimental sounds, you might appreciate Hypno5e's grandiose and complex artistry.

[decaydance-smackdown]

ROUND 2 END

this was a MUCH closer round than last, with several close wins and near ties (though with a couple clean sweeps. sorry travie)

that being said, the winners (and who they will battle) are:

So Much (For) Stardust by Fall Out Boy and Hot Mess by Cobra Starship

A Fever You Can't Sweat Out by Panic! at the Disco and The Papercut Chronicles by Gym Class Heroes

As Cruel As School Children by Gym Class Heroes and Save Rock and Roll by Fall Out Boy

While the City Sleeps, We Rule the Streets by Cobra Starship and MANIA by Fall Out Boy

Round 3 will commence July 29th, at the usual times. these will still last for 24 hours, but this is the LAST round to behave that way. because there are only 4 polls, they will all be posted on one day.

good luck to all your faves :)

[kayssweetdreams]

Maestro Hiccups 3: Chaos Incarnate Ch 53

Taking your chances, you take a seat on the shimmering slide, hoping something happens. Suddenly, you feel yourself self being pulled through the slide, as if gravity decided to pull you through the glitter covered slide in reverse.

When you reach the top once more, you find yourself yourself landing in a ball pit. All of the balls inside the pit all resembled stars, planets, or celestial bodies in a way. You move out of the way when Leo lands in next, followed by Emma...who landed on top of him. Emma quickly scrambled off of him as the three of you gaze at your new surroundings. It looked like a kids paradise, as there were many rainbow slides, jungle gyms made from clouds, and various play areas clouded in stardust.

"I think we just found the Superstar Daycare..." you utter in awe. The three of you begin to climb out of the ball pit as you look up at the split sky, gazing at the beaming sun, and the shimmering moon above you. Suddenly, the sun seems to shrink and grow a body, before you hear a loud, but jubilant voice laugh "HO HO!! New friends!" The voice cheers, sweeping the three of you into a hug. "It's so good to see some new faces around here!" The voice says.

The heat coming from his body feels more like a calming warmth, like the kind from a blanket on a cold night, rather than the blazing heat you'd expect from the sun itself. "Oh! Where are my manners? I'm Sundrop! What's your names?" The being, now known as Sundrop asked. "Oh. Um, I'm Y/N. This is Leo and Emma. We're currently playing hide and seek against a person called the Collector." You tell him.

Sundrop gasps dramatically "The Collector! I just so happen to know who he is! He is very fun to play with, but he can get a little extreme sometimes." Sundrop says "But I have a feeling that he isn't the one that caused the Pizzaplex to become like this...not that I mind." Sundrop says, lounging in the clouds. "Yeah, a friend of ours named Balan has the hiccups, and it's causing the multiverse to turn itself inside out." Leo says. "Yeah, and after we finish the game, we have to go back and finish his cure before the fabric of reality tears itself apart!" Emma explains.

"Oh dear! We can't have that! I'll tell you what, I can help you hide from the Collector, but we better hurry! It's almost time for Moondrop to wake up, and if he does, it won't end well!" Sundrop says. You pale. What exactly did Sundrop mean by 'It won't end well'? You didn't exactly want to find out. Sundrop leads you to a small area where he was in the sky "In Here! The Collector won't think to try here!" He says.

Inside was a...mostly messy area, filled with various drawings, pillows, toys and for some odd reason, a old 80s game console. However, just as you were about to step in, you see the sky get darker and gain stars, and the moon begin to descend. "Uh oh! Hurry! Get it!" Sundrop ushers, as it looks like his body was beginning to twitch. You begin to get worried, what was going on? The moon continues to get lower and Sundrop continues to twitch.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 11 - Handshake

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48

CH 11: Vi and Silco share a dinner and strike a bargain.

A red band unfailingly unites us

~ "Blut" – Till Lindemann (Translation)

The flare-gun blasts skyward.

Its tracer explodes into a shimmering sphere, a dying sun in the night. It douses the acre-wide impound in a blood-red glow. Shaped like the spokes of a wheel: six warehouses funneling into a concave central hub that must've once been a wrecking pit. Steel girders bisect the inky backdrop of the sky. Strobelights fitted on telescopic tripods chase multicolored pinwheels on the walls and floors.

The place is a hotbed of debauchery.

The impound is packed with party-goers. Tatted-up bikers showboat on glammed-up crotch rockets. A crew of girls sweep across the concrete in wide arcs, tires screeching and rubber burning. One performs a stoppie, riding on her front tire with both rear-ends high in the air, flashing gold thong and silver chrome. In brightly-lit marquees with pure oxygen filters, well-heeled chem-barons schmooze between sips of martinis. On buffet tables, trays are garnished with multicolored hors-d'oeuvre, platters of shrimp suzette and crawfish étouffée crowded against elaborately-designed fruit platters glistening with syrup.

Music throbs so hard that the vibrations judder through the air. Dancers with bedazzled bodies in deluxe costumes undulate on ramps. Two androgynous performers strut in the halogen lights with scissoring steps timed to the beat. Chem-punks splice through the crowd on hoverboards, wearing too much make-up and jewelry and laughing too loudly. From the distance come the intermittent riot of gangs scarring the concrete in juiced-up musclecars in breakneck races. The air reeks of ganja, spilled liquor, gasoline, barbecued meat.

And blood.

Vi swallows. Her throat makes a dry click; she badly wants a drink.

Except the suds are probably poisoned.

She sits shackled like a Stillwater prisoner: leg irons and wrist manacles, each one hooked to a rung on her seat. She supposes she ought to be grateful she's not in sweltering heat or blistering cold.

The temperature inside Silco's marquee tent is perfectly controlled, and scented with something that may as well be Eau de Chingching. The interior is black as an oil-spill and just as sleek. Low mood lighting; luxury furnishings. The space is halved by a sleek screen: one portion reserved for private quarters, the other for a glossy minibar and a banquette as well-appointed as any five-star restaurant. The tent's flaps are peeled back to take in the chaos unfolding across the impound.

An Undercity gala on steroids.

The biggest commotion is at the fighting-pit. It is roughly twenty meters in size; sunken like a skateboard rink and splattered as a charnel pit. At least six dozen spectators range around the sawhorses that block it off. Neon discs are strung at the rims: cotton-candy pinks and toxic-sludge greens. The flashing lights distort the spectator's faces into carnival grotesqueries. A pack of deranged clowns waving fistfuls of coins.

In the center of the pit, two brindle-coated rotties—Ziggy and Stardust—toe the scratch against a black cane-corso mastiff the size of a bear. Its eyes are sunk like embers inside its wrinkle-pitted face. The points of its canines extrude in a vicious leer.

Silco's goons, clumped outside the marquee, place bets.

"Ugly bastard," Lock grunts.

"The Bilgewater ambassador's moneymaker," Ran says, crouched on a rusted turbine. "Cthulhu."

"Gesundheit."

"No." Ran enunciates slowly. "Kuh-thoo-loo. That's his name."

Dustin drums his kneecaps with the hilts of two bone-handled blades: dum-dum-dap. "How much is Bilgewater wagerin'?"

"Three year's supply of rainbow trout," says Lock. "And their best kegs of rum."

Dustin whistles, his head swaying back and forth as if on a gyre. Ran tips a feline smile. "Sucks to be Bilgewater."

Lock cracks his knuckles "Ziggy and Stardust ain't just game. They're dead game."

"Seventy Hexes on them ending the fight in twenty minutes," Ran says.

"Ninety if they draw first blood."

"Pfff. You expect to see blood for a cog."

"Best of three, then?"

"Doubt there'll be a rematch."

"Let's set a fixed time. Say, twelve minutes? And see which rottie draws blood first?"

"Deal."

They spit in their palms, sumpside-style. Lock's huge fist envelopes Ran's metal-silvered paw.  A Spit Swear, the lite version of the Blood Bargain.

The kind of oath you don't break without breaking your neck.

Behind the marquee's screen, Silco's baritone scrapes the silence: "Razor the dogs."

The three goons lose their nonchalant attitudes, a Pavlovian snap of spines straightening. Lock gives a four-fingered hand signal to a girl perched at the guard-post. She stands ready with a flare gun, her hips shot to one side, taking puffs from a cheroot so thick it'd take a year to finish. At Lock's signal, she nods. Her gun-hand goes up. The flare upspirals to burst like a volcano.

The game begins.

The dogs are chivvied toward the scratch line. Ziggy and Stardust move in tandem: a liquid flow of muscle. Cthulu cuts forward like a ballistic missile. The dogs' noses touch. Stardust licks Ziggy's snout; Cthulu's jowls ripple. The dogs' handlers withdraw their blades—Zaun's girl a butterfly knife from her boot, Bilgewater's man a short, wickedly-curved cutlass from his belt. The slit a shallow gash into the dogs' flanks.

Fingers wetted with the blood, they smear it across their own dog's nose, then the challenger's. Cthulu snuffles and lets off a frenzied bark, red droplets spraying. Ziggy and Stardust go still as statues, their teeth daggering, a wicked red luminosity entering their eyes. The blood mainlines like adrenaline into their systems.

"Fuck," Lock says with admiration. "They're practically gagging for it."

The handlers yank the dogs to their corners, hands white-knuckling against their scruffs. The dogs' bodies give off an inexorable ferocity. Ringed around the fighting-pit, the rogue's gallery hurls cheers and insults. They seem no different from the dogs: the bloodsport whets their appetites into mania.

The flare gun ignites a third time.

The handlers drop their charges and clamber out of the fighting-pit. The dogs fly at each other as if catapulted. The impact is brutal. Ziggy and Stardust pounce in tandem, with terrifying synchronicity. Cthulhu bulldozes straight at them. They flatten as one, letting his massive shape sail overtop. Their heads twist and rip into Cthulhu's flanks on either side. Teeth leave oozing half-moons in the fur. Cthulhu snarls, angling himself away, mere inches from the pair's gnashing teeth. Next he is bulling forward, using his superior bulk to back Ziggy and Stardust into a corner, batting at them with his ferocious forepaws, his fanged head arrowing towards the nearest dog's throat.

The pair feint gamely. But it is a calculated carnage. Wherever Cthulu's skull darts and comes away, a shiny pink divot is left behind on Ziggy or Stardust's pelts. Next, it fills with blood and splatters the concrete. The music is ripped apart by shrill yowls. Likewise, the crowd's din spikes into a foghorn. Dismay; delight.

"That's it, Cthu! Atta boy!"

"Get at him, Ziggy! C'mon!"

"Rip their fuckin' heads off!"

"Yeah, Star! Bite him!"

The bloodbath sears itself into Vi's retinas. She feels sick deep in her guts. She's seen a lot of shit. Poverty, prostitution, prison brawls. But this blows everything out of the water.

A lean shadow falls over Vi's chair.

"Not fond of hounds?"

From behind the screen, Silco slithers out. Sevika lumbers after him. They'd been conversing in low tones inside his quarters. Vi couldn't hear what they were saying. Now she realizes they were watching her. Silco's eyes glitter darkly, drinking in her distress. Behind him, Sevika's expression is stony as a Marwian idol, but with a tiny sneer on her lips.

Vi sets her jaw.

She's out of her depth. Alone and unarmed. But she isn't scared. It will be a cold day in hell if she's scared of anything after Stillwater.

Even a monster whose motivations defy logic.

She says, "Rabid types aren't my thing."

Silco eyes her speculatively. "They have their uses."

"As entertainment? Or meat shields?"

"Whichever comes first."

Vi hooks her chin toward Sevika. "That why you've got her on a leash? Or—wait." She glances pityingly at Silco. "Is she your seeing-eye mutt?"

Sevika's eyes snap hotly to Vi's. She seems to be debating a riposte, the physical type. But something in Silco's sideways glance—an idle warning—defuses her temper.

Leaning in, she mutters in Silco's ear. His lips twist at the edges. The shark-eye gleams, merciless.

"Half and half," he says.

"Half now. Half later."

"Settled."

He offers his hand: a sharp-jointed a talon. Sevika clasps it in her own.

Vi notes the grip. It doesn't resemble the friendly handshake between Ran and Lock. This is loaded with sinisterness. For the first time, she wonders about their history. Side by side, their affiliation makes no sense except for the obvious: money and power. Beyond that, they are two very different animals: scavenger and predator. Sevika with her rough-and-tumble attitude, all brutish gimcrack and straight-shooting snark; Silco an unsettlingly scaly enigma of well-soaped wit and scalpel-edged schemes.

Yet she senses a mutual respect, if not a fealty. What the hell is their endgame?

Vi snaps, "You two done being skeevy?"

They don't even glance at Vi. The consensus of scorn needs no speech.

Silco slides into the banquette seat. Sevika sets a large serving platter with a silver lid in front of him. By this time, it's probably lost most of its heat. Still, when the platter is unveiled, a delicious aroma suffuses the air. Vi fights the raw squelch of hunger. She braces herself to stare at over-the-top exotica and rich delicacies.

But the contents are surprisingly simple. A bowl of creamed soup sprinkled with tiny herbs. A large green salad. A butter-seared clutch of crawfish with twinkling heaps of potatoes, peas and carrots.

Sevika doles out the crawfish and a big spoonful of vegetables into a plate. Her expression is deadpan. Yet her body-language isn't that of a servile hostess. Freaky as hell though it seems, Vi is reminded of Caitlyn. The way she boils Vi a cup of tea after a hard day's work. Sometimes Vi teases her for getting all sweetly domestic. Playing wifey again?

Caitlyn always arches an eyebrow: Only because you can't brew tea to save your life.

Bittersweetness nearly escapes the tight clench of Vi's heart. She inhales sharply. She needs to stay alert.

Stay alive.

Sevika untwists a bottle of whiskey from the minibar. Vi can't see the label, but she's sure it's something pricey. The other woman pours a stiff belt into two glasses, and cocks her head at Vi. "You still like a splash of cherry soda in yours?"

Vi grimaces. "I wouldn't touch anything here with a ten-foot pole."

"Suit yourself." Sevika's tone modulates. "Sir?"

Silco makes a dry moue. "Sugaring up good whiskey?"

"I've got simple tastes."

"To the manner born, as they say."

"You didn't grow up sipping top-shelf hooch, either."

A wry little smile plays on Silco's lips. "Look forward, not backward."

"But never forget."

They clink glasses. Sevika downs hers like a shot; Silco sips his own with a savoring slowness.

Vi's throat itches. She almost regrets refusing a glass.

Almost.

Sevika crosses to the tent's entrance. Stops, and cuts her eyes from Vi to Silco. It is almost a question. Silco makes a three-fingered hand signal. Sevika nods. The flap falls closed on her retreating shape. The dogfight's furor muffles. A chill descends from Vi's skull down to her toes. She is alone.

Just her and the monster.

Silco's face is inscrutable as he surveys his meal. He might be inspecting a raw carcass on a slab. Then he does something unexpected. Something Vander used to do. He sits back and balances the plate on his knees. Ignoring the silverware, he begins rapidly transferring the food to his mouth with his fingers.

At Vi's stare, he offers an upticked eyebrow, "Excuse me. My stomach thinks my throat's cut."

My stomach thinks my throat's cut.

That was Vander's favorite saying. It meant: I'm starving. Powder always found it hilarious. Everytime she heard it, she'd wrap her hands around her throat, pretending to stanch a gaping hole with high-pitched sound effects. Gak! Blurgle! Pteh! The memory goes through Vi on a reflux of grief.

Her own stomach, meanwhile, switches places with her brain.

Urrrggh, it gurgles.

Silco stops, a roast potato halfway to his mouth. He tricks out a sly smile. "You're no better."

"Shut up."

"Are you hungry?"

Vi refuses to answer. Point of fact? Fuck yes. She'd been keyed up since yesterday night, and barely kept down her breakfast this morning. Now, between the after-effects of a fistfight, psychological anguish and adrenaline, she's redlining into collapse. Her body demands fuel to keep carrying on. But pragmatism wrestles with pride. How can she break bread with a man who killed one half of her family, and destroyed the other?

Silco says, "Shall I uncuff you?"

Vi blinks.

Silco pops another roast potato in his mouth. "Shall I uncuff you to eat? You've no reason to misbehave. The odds are stacked against you. The guards. The weapons. The crowd."

"Suppose I take my chances?"

"Too many witnesses."

"Good for corroborating my story later."

"I own every single eye in this impound."

Vi's jaw clamps. Rationally, he's right. She has no recourse if she attacks him. His goons are outside the tent. His blackguards are patrolling the grounds. The Undercity is his chessboard. And yet she's ready to reject rationality. She wants to attack him. Wants him to give her the smallest excuse. If he does, she'll have no choice but to react.

She'll trounce him, and to hell with the fallout.

Silco says, "I'll untie one wrist."

Vi snaps back to the moment.

"Just one. Take your time and eat. But if you make one stupid move…" His lips peel back from his crooked white teeth. "My crew are eager for entertainment. I've no problem if they make a show of you. Have you on a leash—or have you in the dog-pit." Softly, "Like a proper bitch."

The awfulness of his message spreads through the tent like Fissure-gas. Vi's lungs tighten; her pulse hitches. Silco tilts his head, measuring the steel in her spine. She matches his stare with as much steadiness as she can muster.

"You'll behave," he says. "Won't you?"

Jaw set, Vi nods.

"Good," he says softly. "Good girl."

Rising, he approaches her slowly. "Right hand or left?"

Vi exhales. "Right."

"Right it is."

Taking the key from his waistcoat, Silco leans in, fitting it to the manacle. There is a click. The metal unclamps from Vi's bruised wrist. Her right hand drops free. Her breath saws with relief. Raising her hand at eye-level, she flexes her fingers, rotating the wrist at the joint, then repeating the exercise with her elbow and shoulder.

Her cramped muscles twinge. Blood-flow resumes.

"Better?" Silco asks.

Vi pins him with baleful eyes. Silco's own are raptorially set, a casual venom in his half-smile.

"Well then," he murmurs. "Tuck in."

A strained silence hangs during the meal. Neither she nor Silco speak, or if they do, it is only through sharpened scowls cutting the space between them. But the soup, cream-of-shrimp with basil, is delicious, the salad as sweetly verdant as anything from Piltover's gardens, and the crawfish, when Vi cracks it open with her thumb in a veil of steam, tastes as if it's leapt straight out of the freshwaters.

Vi gorges without apology. She'll need her fortitude for whatever Silco is planning.

Once in a while, she hazards a glance at him. He's switched to the flatware. Yet his manner of eating is no less carnivorous. He holds each forkful at a bite's distance, then darts forward, snapping off each mouthful and grinding it down between sharp teeth. His proximity makes Vi's skin prickle.

Up close, she can only see everything that is unnatural in him beneath its much-scarred humanity. She doesn't believe in auras, or mojos, or other Fissure superstitions. But he has a vibe, eerie and amorphous and devouring, like the darkness at the bottom of the river. How can Powder stand to be near him?

Powder.

A red mass of tension pulses in Vi's chest. She flashes back to her sister's silhouette at the pool. Her far-out smile. Her pale body enfolded in the towel under Silco's hands. Her glowing innocence somehow revivifying his expression, as if he'd stolen her energy and taken it for himself.

Rage sucks all the flavor from her meal. Vi drops her spoon with a clatter.

Idly, Silco asks, "Full already?"

"Lost my appetite."

"Something off about the entrée?"

"Just your face."

His throat thrums out a sound that is nearly a laugh, but not quite. "You're quite the charmer yourself."

Shoveling the last forkful into his mouth, he swallows with the eerie sinuosity of a snake devouring a sump-vole. Then he pulls a black cambric napkin from his vest, smooths it out into an edge, and primly dabs his mouth. Its borders are fringed with a multicolored embroidery that reminds Vi of the funky cross-stitches Powder used to decorate her clothes with.

Neither of them could do needlework like grand Piltie ladies. But making do with hand-me-downs, year after year, meant learning how to sew. Vi was adept at basic hemming and mending. But Powder had a real flair with the needle. Vi remembers how her sister would fix up old sweaters and shirts and socks, making them extra-poppy with pink lazy daisies and red fishbones and yellow spiraling stars. Vi can almost see her at the corner of her mind's eye, sitting crosslegged, upper-lip caught between her teeth with concentration: Onesies, knit, twosies, knot…

Vi flinches, clubbed by nostalgia. She cuts her gaze away. Except it is too late. Silco intercepts her stare, and unexpectedly their eyes are locked. An unwanted understanding flows between them.

Vi says, "Did Powder make that?"

"Her name is Jinx."

"Did she?"

A muscle jerks in Silco's jaw. He nods.

"Can—can I see?"

His features stay hard and sharkish, all oily black eye and cut-steel face. Yet his good eye loses some of its chill. Matter-of-factly, he extends the handkerchief. Doesn't hand it over, but holds on, pinched tight between a thumb and forefinger. Vi traces the needlework carefully. The stitches aren't sophisticated. But they are tiny and astonishingly delicate: a rainbow crosshatching of XOXOs. A far cry from the clumsy squiggles of Powder's childhood.

Just like her bombs.

Gooseflesh breaks over Vi's skin. She drops her hand. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why haven't you killed me yet? Especially if I'm such a threat?"

Folding up the handkerchief, Silco tucks it away like a stolen prize.

"I told you before," he says. "Your usefulness outweighs my reasons."

"Usefulness."

That makes no sense. He's no longer a terrorist in Piltover's shadow. He's First Chancellor of his own nation. He's allied with bigger fish than Vi on the threat assessment scale. Probably found easier ways to intimidate others into doing his dirty-work, because a little easier is all it takes for men like Silco.

Why would someone so dangerous and well-connected need Vi for anything?

Silco says, as if reading her mind, "Zaun is independent. But it isn't invulnerable. The wheels are half-on, half-off. Under Topside, it's what we were accustomed to. On our own, we deserve better." His idle gesture encompasses the tent, the feast, the furor. "I can stage a damn good spectacle. I can lure foreign investment. People always respond favorably to good showmanship."

"A little razzle-dazzle works magic," Vi mutters, a hat-tip to another of Vander's favorite sayings.

Silco eyes her strangely. His face is etched with darkness, as if troubled thoughts are massing. "Razzle-dazzle works on the surface. It's the foundation that must stay strong. I can deal with the chem-barons. I’ve spent half my life stopping blowhards from pushing their territories to ruin with shortsighted double-games. Most of them live for the moment, anyway. It's why they die at a moment's notice. But Zaun—as a nation—must live."

"Under your boot?”

He shakes his head. "With or without me. There are certain fortunes I wish to guide and certain favors I plan to extract to make it so. Otherwise any fool in the future could undo the hard work of the past." He meets Vi's stare. "For that, I need eyes and ears inside Piltover."

"My eyes and ears?"

"Among other parts."

Her eyes narrow. "I thought you said Piltover set us both up."

"They did."

"I also thought you don't trust me."

"I don't."

"Then what the hell are you—?"

Silco cuts her off. "I'll explain. Drink?"

Vi glowers. "I'm not letting you liquor me up."

"I meant water."

Rising, he goes to the minibar. Vi watches him fill two paper cups from a cooler. The liquid is acid green. Transparent and cloudless, but green.

That isn't disturbing in itself. Vi has known it be worse colors. The Undercity's tapwater is a cesspit of contaminants. Loaded with turbidity, chloride, mold and bacteria. The water-supply infrastructure is ancient, and interminably crippled from lack of funds. Worse, as the population expanded, neighborhoods developed in a haphazard tangle, each unplanned sector massing beyond the ambit of civic services. That meant slipshod cross-connections, with sewage lines regularly spilling over into supply lines. There was always news of waterborne diseases; kids dying or posh Pilties getting poisoned.

In Vi's teens, water-mafia wannabes began cropping up everywhere. They set up illegal hydrants across the Undercity, tapping into the mains to steal water, then selling it to citizens for jacked-up prices. Shortly before his death, Vander was working with the communities to stop their water being siphoned. Vi often heard him growling that the scale of theft went all the way to Topside.

Silco sips from his cup. Vi expects him to grimace. Instead he holds the water contemplatively in his mouth, then swallows. "Still too sweet."

"What?"

He proffers a cup. "Try it. It's certified safe."

"Certified by who? Your poisoner?"

"Try it."

She stares at the green liquid, parched but wary. It doesn't smell weird. In fact, it doesn't smell like anything. Screwing up her courage, she takes a small sip. It tastes clean. There's a faint aftertaste of mint, like leftover mouthwash.

Silco eyes her closely. "Well?"

"It's …not bad?"

Silco nods, silent for a couple of beats. Then: "It's been fully treated for contaminants. But the offshoot is the color." He takes another sip, lips skinning back from his teeth. "And the taste. Still, it won't sicken anyone. Presently, this treatment is limited to the water plant at Entresol. In time, it will supply Zaun in its entirety. No more clogged filters. No more rations. No piling up a fortnight's soiled laundry before doing the wash. No families bathing two days a week with the same bathwater, just to tally every bloody drop wasted."

Vi notices that his accent has changed again, like when he'd smoked brightleaf at the warehouse, like when he'd complained of an empty stomach. The cultured cadences—closer to Topside than the Fissures—lose their enunciation to a familiar grittiness of bitten-off consonants and blunted vowels.

It's disconcertingly close to Vander's style of speech. With exceptions, the younger generations in the Undercity have a uniform accent. Standard, as it's called. But the older generations are a mixed bag. Each one has a distinct dialect to go with their particular neighborhood, so no single word is pronounced the same: wader, watta, vota.

Vander's neighborhood was the Pump Station. She wonders if Silco grew up there too.

Shaking it off, Vi takes another sip. Minty-clean. But it doesn't mean Silco's intentions are the same. His spiel about purification plants may seem convincing. But she reminds herself that he is likely accustomed to operating on multiple levels of deception. She can't trust him. She knows that. Yet she hates that she almost wants to believe him anyway.

Silco's stare is inexorable, the shark-eye seeing right through her.

"It must be difficult for you," he says.

"Difficult?"

"Living half-in, half-out."

Vi looks away. "I'm not getting into this with you."

"Ah. So there's something to get into?" He circles a fingertip around the rim of his cup. "Is this really what you want? To play lapdog as Topside’s Peacekeeper? To waste your talents working the beat?"

"I have my reasons. They're the only ones that matter."

"Reasons change. Especially once your eyes are wide open."

"Are yours? Hard to tell."

"You can deflect, but you can't lie. It's why you can't keep away from the Undercity. Why you're back again."

Vi bristles. "I'm back for my sister."

"You're saying life in Piltover is peaches and cream? You're lucky, certainly. It's not the usual way for an ex-con from Stillwater to smarm it up with the Kirramans, despite not having a cog to her name. Getting an apartment with a closet bigger than most rooms in the Sumps. Getting three square meals and permission to go wherever she pleases. But in exchange, they expect you to sing for your supper, don't they? To be eager to please, in exchange for getting rescued? You were brave to overcome your ordeal, but you're blessed now, aren't you?"

Vi refuses to answer. But her shoulders flex into a yoke of tension. He's needling her. She knows it.

That doesn't mean he's off the mark.

Silco drains his cup half at a go. Setting it aside, he thumbs the greenness off his lips. "Take it from someone who's been there and back, girl. Piltover will never accept you as one of them. You'll stay there. Never live. Stay. Like a dog stays in a kennel until the master bids it to heel. You'll never be allowed to hold your head high. Always be a target for their mean-spirited prejudices and ignorance. Even the well-meaning Pilties—like your Kirraman girl—have no idea what you've endured. The hardness it builds on the inside. It's like they live in one dimension. Meanwhile you live in three. Surviving as an orphan on the Day of Ash. Surviving as a casualty of Topside's negligence. Surviving as a Fissure-born emigre, only to find the part of you that's formed in violence will always respond to nothing but violence."

Vi swallows her drink. It burns going down, but that's not the water.

She knows what he's talking about. She wishes she didn't—but she does. Her eyes drop to Silco's hands. They are freakish appendages: long and bony, with a terrain of heavy metacarpals. Well-kept, but the demarcations of old scars are plain. Burn scars. Fisticuff scars. Knife scars. The same type as Vander's.

The same type as hers.

Against her will, she imagines a younger Silco, with an unfucked-up face, dead-drunk and pitching himself into a bar-brawl, his knuckles splitting open against someone's tooth, blood on his hands, on his clothes, on the floor. So much blood, night after night, just to scrape by and survive. He's been there. Vander's been there. Vi's been there. Even Powder has.

Caitlyn—sweet Caityln—has never been there.

Silco holds her eyes over the rim of his cup. "I wasn't lying when I said Piltover set you up. You were the gasoline to start a political fire. Deny it all you like. In your gut, you know the truth." He empties the rest of the cup in one swallow. "In losing Zaun, they've lost precious resources. Our factories. Our mills. Our mines. We're negotiating a treaty. But the course of peace ne'er ran smooth. They'll find loopholes to keep us beholden to them. Same as always."

He uses the royal plural; we, us, ours. As if he and Zaun are two halves of a single machine grinding inexorably into infinity.

As if Vi is part of the machine too.

She scowls. "I'm not playing your errand girl."

"You wouldn't be."

"Or your attack dog."

"I've no shortage of those." His good eye narrows. "I need a nexus."

"Nexus?"

"A link between Piltover and Zaun. Someone to serve as a bridge, in the absence of the old one. A bridge that works both ways, rather than solely in their favor."

"People walk all over a bridge."

His scarred upper-lip curls. "No one could possibly walk over you, pet."

"Don't fucking call me that."

"It suits you."

Vi isn't sure if his expression is a stifled smirk or a low-key leer. It makes her want to smack him. Is that the reaction he's trying to provoke? Or is it a mind-game at a deeper level, something to get under her skin? Make her emotionally volatile?

Vi grits her teeth.

Whatever he's doing, it's working.

"I meant what I said,” Silco goes on. “Razzle-dazzle only works if the magic is real. Zaun’s is limited, especially compared to the mightiest empires. That’s why we need security as much as investment. As much as sharp minds in politics, military, corporations, and the media. A shield protects against outside threats. A sword does maximum damage. Zaun needs its own. Something big enough to scare everyone else off."

Vi glowers. "You've already got the damn Hex-gem."

Silco tilts his head. "Sitting pretty on it won't protect Zaun."

"What?"

"It's like a bomb. It must be placed in the right spot."

"I'm not following you."

"It means—"

"I mean I'm not taking your job."

Silco falls silent. Then: "Let me ask you a question. What notion has been relentlessly drilled into the head of every sumpsnipe since birth? About their place, and Piltover's?"

Vi shifts in her seat. "I don't know. That we're one city, I guess."

"Close. That we are one city. But every time Piltover is in need, they take from us. A famine in Ionia cripples produce. So we must forfeit our sleep and wages to make up for declining productivity. A flood capsizes shipping vessels full of Shuriman timber.  So we must build our houses with cheap mortar while they construct sturdy homes. A housing crisis sends rent skyrocketing. Yet the Wardens charge us ten times the price per cubic foot in our shantytowns than in the finest streets on Mainspring Crescent.” He locks his unsettling eyes with hers. “They get the Kindred's share. We make do with scraps."

Déjà vu dopplers. Past conversations with Vander, overlapping the present. Vi doesn't flinch. But it's an effort to hold still under Silco's scrutiny.

"Zaun is free now," Silco says, his voice vibrating with a barely restrained fervor. "But to stay free, we must seize our future. So we are longer exploited. Not by Piltover nor any other enemy."

"And where do I fit into this?"

"We'll discuss it. If you choose to join me."

Vi shakes her head. "Already said I won’t."

"Because Piltover is your new home?"

"Because of what you are."

Silco's insinuating demeanor sobers.  "Better the monster than the meat.” Lounging back in his seat, he drums his fingers on the table's edge. "Still… I regret that it turned out this way. We weren't meant to fight one another. We were supposed to stand as one against Topside. Just like Vander and I."

A livewire twists in Vi's gut. "That didn't stop you from killing Vander."

Silco tips his chin, a cold glitter in his mismatched eyes. "You have this notion—I don't know where it came from—that my feud with Vander sprang up overnight. Perhaps it's more comforting to imagine it did. But ask the other fellow, get the other side of the story. Our dispute took its time within a squared circle of debts and decades. What we owed, we both paid." His jaw tenses, then relaxes. "I couldn't work with Vander, though I respected him. Hopefully I can work with you."

Vi stares warily.

"You're like him. Fierce. Independent. Smart."

Vi snorts, faux-modest. "You need to quit."

"But like him, you turn a virtue into a vice. You don't understand when to do business, and when to stay out of it."

The knot in Vi's gut becomes a dagger. "Business? You mean drugs and murder and blackmail?"

"Exactly."

She shakes her head. "You really are a piece of work."

"I do what I must for the best interests of Zaun. It's a messy dilemma. But the longer you remain a Peacekeeper, the more you'll be mired in the same. Piltover preaches pacifism in the limelight. But they break just as many laws in the dark to further their ends." His tongue plays over the point of an eyetooth. "The difference is that Piltover has the luxury of choice. Zaun doesn't. The things I've done were necessary for our freedom."

Vi seethes in disgust, "Shimmering up the Lanes was necessary?"

"Everything is permissible when there's no other way."

"You're full of shit."

"And you're abysmally naïve." He smiles without mirth. "That's the charm of youth. Like falling off a cliff. By the time you see the end, it's too late." A beat. "Rather like love."

"What the hell are you yapping about?"

His smile fades. "Jinx."

The word passes through Vi on a shock of paralysis.

"Do you want to see her?"

Hatred burns Vi's lungs and hope strangles her heart.

Silco stares at her with surface calm. But his mouth twists at the corners. "There are three tasks I need you to do. They are necessary to establish Zaun as a sovereign power. Complete each one, and I'll grant you access to Jinx. Unrestricted. No tricks up the sleeve. No strings attached."

His offer catches like a hook in Vi's ribcage. She struggles against its pull.

"You're lying," she states flatly. "I'm a threat. You told me yourself. Why would you let me near her?"

Silco's eyes hold hers in a moment of deepening silence. Then he glances away. His unscarred profile holds both bitterness and irony. As if she is a truth he dares not turn his back on.

Quietly, he says, "You are a threat. I do not take kindly to those. But you're also her sister. You're Vander's girl. That earns you the barest grace. If you expect more, then prove yourself. Show your loyalty to Jinx. Zaun may no longer be your home. But it is hers. With each task you complete, you'll leave it safer for her future."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then it becomes a matter of payment and cost."

"Just math, huh?"

"Survival is a simple equation." His darkening stare is a prelude to a kill. "So is fatherhood."

Fatherhood.

The word sounds rancid on his lips. She remembers his eyes boring into Powder at the skyscraper balcony. Remembers the way he'd set his hands on her as if he was going to swallow her up.

She doesn’t care what Sevika says. Something about him and Jinx together is inherently rancid. Fathers don't touch their daughters that way. Don't corrupt them into trigger-happy terrorists. Don't stow them away in towers like prisoners.

It isn't natural. It isn't right.

But nothing about Silco is natural or right.

(I'll get you away from him, Powder.)

(I promise.)

Forcibly, Vi swallows. Her voice comes hoarse but steady.

"All right."

"Hm?"

"I'll do your fucking jobs. But I want to see my sister first."

He shakes his head. "You've already seen her. Killed a blackguard in the bargain too."

Fury scalds Vi. "I told you. I never—"

"You did." His tone is a clash of contradictions, cold civility yielding against a warm lure of truth. "I saw him at the morgue. He had a crushed trachea. Perhaps he wasn't dead when you left him. But certain injuries, a man succumbs to afterward."

"I—"

A vein throbs in Vi's temple. She feels physically sick. Silco is lying; he has to be. She knows the blackguard was alive. He was breathing when she'd left the alleyway. But—

But she also knows bodies are unpredictable.

Fuck.

Is Silco telling the truth? Had she killed the guard by accident? Or had Silco conspired to make it happen? Either way, Vi could argue it was a hazard of the trade. As Vander used to say: Queensberry Rules. Once the gloves are on, the bets are off. Everything within the ring is sanctioned. She knows this. The blackguard would've known too.

And yet—

"I know you think this is self-serving theater," Silco says. "But fact is fact."

Vi's eyes flick to his.

"Fortunately, facts can be distorted. Between us, we'll make the issue go away."

Vi's eyes burn, her mouth spasming. "Quid pro quo, huh?"

"You play the bone-breaker. I play the undertaker." He lets off a strange chuckle: worn-out and vacant. "I did the same for Vander."

Vi's mind feels pulped; she's not sure how many more blows it can withstand. Instinctively, she makes a real fist with her freed hand, and slams it knuckles-down on the table—a sharp thud.

"Tell me what you want."

She nearly shivers at the expression that crosses Silco's face. It isn't triumph. His features remain impassive. But something flares to cold sharp life within the interior of his skull. His eyes exude an alien glow. "Three tasks. Once you've completed the first, I'll give the second. Once you've accomplished that, you'll get the third."

"Then I'll see my sister?"

"You have my word."

"Then shake on it."

"Hm?"

"Shake on it. Like a real fucking Trencher. With both of us standing up and facing each other."

A smile etches itself across Silco's lips. "You expect to be untied?"

"If we're going to do this? Yeah."

Silco doesn't say anything for a moment. His unnerving eyes rove across Vi's face. He might be considering her odds of attacking him. He might be considering her chances of warding off his goons and escaping into the crowd. He might be measuring how completely he can take her word, the same way she can take his.

After a moment, he nods.

Dipping a hand into his waistcoat, he tosses her the key. "Go on."

Vi wastes no time. She undoes her left hand's shackles. Next the chains locking her ankles. The manacles fall with a heavy clank. Rising, she limbers up, trying not to wince at the stiffness. Torques the hips, rolls her shoulders, bobbing briefly on the tips of her toes. Silco remains at a distance. His eyes roam over her physique. He isn't scoping her out. He is scrutinizing her as impassively if she is a rottweiler in his dog-fight.

A pawn in his chessgame.

Vi sticks her hand out. Rising, he takes it in his own. His grip is chilly, like handling a dead twist of muscle. They don't break off. Just stand with clasped palms for a tense moment. Outside, a wild cheer goes up. The thunder of a hundred lungs emptying themselves in a chorus of triumph. Vi hears the music speakers blast a throb of drumbeats and shrieking guitar riffs. She recognizes the song.

Blut.

The anthem of the Undercity. The victory call for Ziggy and Stardust. The dotted line with Vi's signature in blood.

"Well," Silco says. "Now that—"

Vi's fist barrels into his solar plexus

It is a lightning-fast right-hook. Vi summons into it all the hatred from the depths of her being. It clocks Silco straight between the ribs. He makes a sound like a dry-gulch. The impact of her knuckles judders through his chest with the flat smack of beef-cut slapped onto the chopping block.

He staggers, and Vi follows with her own momentum, pivoting to slam the heel of her palm into his throat, knocking him backwards against the table. Glasses topple and a plate crashes to the floor.

Vi holds Silco down. He thrashes, driving his knee toward her underbelly. Vi blocks it with a retaliatory stomp to his instep. thighs pinning his own. She'd expected to manhandle a jangling skeleton. But the narrow musculature beneath her is whipcord-wiry and vicious. She can barely keep him stationary beneath the clamp of her arms and legs.

Maybe he wasn't lying about being a miner. Vi had sparred with a few in Stillwater. Most had a strength that didn't announce itself—right until it crashtackled you.

She doesn’t give Silco the chance. Her knuckles jam deeper under his throat. Their eyes lock from inches apart.

"You shitbag," Vi breathes. "Tell me why I shouldn't crack your skull open."

Silco's lips are curled back over a jagged row of teeth. The glow in his eyes is feral. A blackness pouring into his expression.

Then he smiles.

"You forgot Vander's rule."

"What—?"

"Never drop your high guard."

Suddenly there is a butterfly knife in his right hand. He whips it wide-angled across Vi's face. The blade rakes along the fine hairs on her cheekbone, a cold vibration sharpening into hot pressure as blood spills. Vi gasps, loosening her grip. Silco jerks free and swings again, the knife a flashing arc. Vi rocks back on her heels, dodging, and reflexively snaps off an uppercut. It connects with air.

There is nobody on the table.

In the next blink, a flashbang shoots from the butt of the knife and erupts inches from Vi's face.

The shockwave is like getting blowtorched. Stars spiral before Vi's eyes. High-pitched noises ignite in her ears. Yowling, she jerks back. Her hands stay fisted despite the unbearable urge to claw at her face. Wheeling, she tries to keep Silco—a blood-red shadow—in her sightline. The second blow isn't a flashbang, but the silver tray caroming off her shoulder. She grunts, torquing to evade. Silco closes in and hits her twice more, sideways and then full-on, the tray slamming off her skull.

Vi's knees buckle, and in slow-motion, she is sliding to the floor. The rugs are so soft against her colliding cheek. Like cotton batting or Caitlyn's breasts.

She lays sprawled for a moment. Dazed. Her heart pumps with rapid unevenness. Blood seeps from the slash on her face.

Three Silco's loom over her, before coalescing into one.

He is breathing rapidly. His left hand massages his bruised ribs, then goes to his throat. Fingertips caress the blotched skin. He swallows with a rough click, muttering a paragraph of fluent billingsgate that is punctuated by a single word: Bitch.

"Worth it," Vi slurs.

She starts to get up. Matter-of-factly, Silco plants his boot on her bruised shoulder and pushes her back down. He stands over her, regarding her through flat eyes. The fingers of his right hand play over the knife handle—a cresting arc of metal like a shark's fin. Vi stares at the bright blood on the blade. She thinks of how it's a weapon signifying neither skill nor strength. It only requires a black core of ruthlessness and a willingness to cross the hardest line.

It's what puts her at a disadvantage against this monster.

Pursing his lips, Silco lets off a brisk whistle. The tent's flap lifts. Sevika walks in, followed by Ran and Lock. They turn the corner and stop short. The aftermath of the altercation crackles like electricity through the air. Sevika's dark eyes go from Vi to Silco. There is no shock in her appraisal.

Slipping a hand into her pocket, she flips Silco a gold Hex. He catches it neatly.

"Called it," Sevika says.

Silco nods. "Expect your half later."

A paralyzing chill spreads through Vi. She realizes Silco had anticipated her attack. Planned it. Provoked it.

And once again, she'd walked into his trap.

"You fucker," she hisses.

Silco tilts his head to one side. "I did warn you not to misbehave."

He jerks his chin. Ran and Lock swarm to enclose Vi. They drag her to her feet, wrenching her arms behind her back. A fresh pair of cuffs are slapped on her wrists. Vi's head throbs from the impact of the silver tray. But the pump of emotion speeding her pulse isn't fear. It's a pent-up fury she can only liken to Murderus Interruptus.

Shit—she'd been so close. She'd nearly bashed his skull in. Whatever it took to end this madness.

To save the Undercity, and Powder's life.

With a napkin, Silco wipes the blood off his butterfly knife. He returns it to the hidden sheath at his belt, with the same uncommon care he'd shown Powder's handkerchief. Crossing over to Vi, he mops the blood off her face. Vi tries to wrench away. Ran grabs a fistful of hair at the back of her skull and keeps her immobile.

Taking her jaw in one hand, Silco regards her eyes. "Pupils seem about right."

"Get out of my face!"

"I can hardly have you concussed."

"Bad optics, huh?"

"In more ways than one."

His tone is all mildness, and for a moment, Vi loses her bearings. Ten seconds ago, his face was a rictus of bloodthirst. Now it's a study of aloof reproach, as if she's a mutt who's tracked mud on his carpet. An ordinary person would be disquieted by the split. Vi takes it for what it is: proof of a lifelong intimacy with violence. She's known inmates in Stillwater who were the same. Crazies who were so adept at compartmentalizing that their different selves were like two faces of a coin. Tails; retreat. Heads; destroy.

If they deemed something necessary, they acted with no remorse and even less warning.

"Let's go," Silco says.

Vi tenses. "What? Where?"

The dog-pit. He’d threatened they’d have her in the dog-pit.

Fuck. Fuck—

Silco’s savoring stare meets her stricken one. "Don’t look so concerned. You’re being escorted to the chopper. We'll deliver you back to Topside."

"You rotten piece of shit! We're not finished here!"

"On the contrary," Silco agrees, "we've scarcely started."

Vi's body turns into a cold block of lead. Around her, the goons crack knowing smiles. Sevika's stare is sharply glossed. Ran hums to herself, a two-note chuckle. Lock bobs his head in time to no beat.

None of it bodes well.

Especially not the curve of Silco's smile.

"Deal's done." His shark-eye glints in private relish. "Welcome to the family."

[jojos-bizzare-popularity-poll]

Now here we have something interesting. Kakyoin is a tride and true JoBro, one of the most iconic. But Hol Horse is one of if not THE most iconic minor antagonists, and was the only person I have seen people call for a sweep for so far. I can see this going either way so remember: every vote matters.

[bottleshopper]

I never really got to watch the Stardust Chronicle movies, so everything I hear from other people is just what I go with. I've heard some talking about how the second movie was slightly better than the third, and I wanted to know what you thought about that statement?

I think the second movie is a close second in terms of quality. The third film is the one that wraps up this masterpiece of a trilogy, finally putting all of the puzzles in place and giving the TRUE FANS a satisfying conclusion. I said the second movie was weird in my previous Stardust Chronicles post, but not because it was BAD, it’s just a COMPLETE DEVIATION of the regular formula. The second film focuses entirely on Kyle’s life, giving context for why he acts the way he does.

Bad home life, shitty mother. INCREDIBLY low self esteem, this guy HATES himself. There’s a lot of subtext in the movie, so most important details are things you’d have to analyze for. That’s why the second film is the least enjoyed of the 3, not only because it ditches a previously established formula but also because it’s too difficult to take it all in on your first watch through. Maybe that was a strategic advertising scheme on the directors part? If people didn’t understand the movie they’d go back and watch it again? I don’t know and frankly I try not to think about it. I don’t like Stardust for its economic benefits or whatever the fuck, I like it because it’s a piece of ART. A PIECE OF ART NOT MANY TRULY UNDERSTAND.

Overall, I think Stardust 2 is better than Stardust 1, but nowhere near as good as 3. However, to truly enjoy 3 I do think watching the previous instalments is advised. I guess the REAL antagonist in Stardust Chronicles II was Kyle’s life. LOL. Stardust humour.

[elisaenglish]

Of Stars, Seagulls, and Love: Loren Eiseley on the First and Final Truth of Life

Somewhere along the way of life, we learn that love means very different things to different people, and yet all personal love is but a fractal of a larger universal love. Some call it God. I call it wonder. Dante called it “the Love that moves the Sun and the other stars.” 

Because the capacity for love may be the crowning achievement of consciousness and consciousness the crowning achievement of the universe, because the mystery of the universe will always exceed the reach of the consciousness forged by that mystery, love in the largest sense is a matter of active surrender (to borrow Jeanette Winterson’s perfect term for the paradox of art) to the mystery. 

It may be that we are only here to learn how to love. 

The paleontologist, philosopher of science, and poet Loren Eiseley (September 3, 1907–July 9, 1977) channels this idea with uncommon loveliness and lucidity in one of the essays found in his superb 1969 collection The Unexpected Universe (public library).

Writing at the dawn of the space age, when the human animal with its “restless inner eye” first reached for the stars, Eiseley observes:

“The venture into space is meaningless unless it coincides with a certain interior expansion, an ever growing universe within, to correspond with the far flight of the galaxies our telescopes follow from without… That inward world… can be more volatile and mobile, more terrible and impoverished, yet withal more ennobling in its self-consciousness, than the universe that gave it birth.”

Picking up Dante’s thread, Eiseley offers a sweeping meditation on what ennobles our small stardusted lives, beginning with the story of a seemingly mundane accident that thrusts him, as sudden shocks to the system can often do, toward transcendence.

Walking to his office one afternoon, deep in thought while working on a book, Eiseley trips on a street drain, crashes violently onto the kerb, and finds himself facedown on the sidewalk in a pool of his own blood. In the delirium of disorientation and pain, he looks at the vermillion liquid in the sunshine and suddenly sees life itself, suddenly feels all the tenderness one feels for the miracle of life whenever one is fully feeling. And then, with that wonderful capacity we humans have, he surprises himself:

“Confusedly, painfully, indifferent to running feet and the anxious cries of witnesses about me, I lifted a wet hand out of this welter and murmured in compassionate concern, “Oh, don’t go. I’m sorry, I’ve done for you.”  The words were not addressed to the crowd gathering about me. They were inside and spoken to no one but a part of myself. I was quite sane, only it was an oddly detached sanity, for I was addressing blood cells, phagocytes, platelets, all the crawling, living, independent wonder that had been part of me and now, through my folly and lack of care, were dying like beached fish on the hot pavement. A great wave of passionate contrition, even of adoration, swept through my mind, a sensation of love on a cosmic scale, for mark that this experience was, in its way, as vast a catastrophe as would be that of a galaxy consciously suffering through the loss of its solar systems.  I was made up of millions of these tiny creatures, their toil, their sacrifices, as they hurried to seal and repair the rent fabric of this vast being whom they had unknowingly, but in love, compounded. And I, for the first time in my mortal existence, did not see these creatures as odd objects under the microscope. Instead, an echo of the force that moved them came up from the deep well of my being and flooded through the shaken circuits of my brain. I was they—their galaxy, their creation. For the first time, I loved them consciously, even as I was plucked up and away by willing hands. It seemed to me then, and does now in retrospect, that I had caused to the universe I inhabited as many deaths as the explosion of a supernova in the cosmos.”

It is often like this, in some small sudden experience, that we awaken to reality in all its immensity and complexity. Eiseley’s blood-lensed realisation is elemental and profound: We are not the sum total of the tiny constituent parts that compose us—we are only ever-shifting and regenerating parts operating under the illusion of a sum we call a self. Any such awareness—whether we attain it through science or art or another spiritual practice—is an act of unselfing, to borrow Iris Murdoch’s perfect term. And every act of unselfing is an act of love—it is how we contact, how we channel, “the Love that moves the Sun and the other stars.” It is the self—the prison of it, the illusion of it—that keeps us trapped in lives of less-than-love. But a self is a story, which means we can always change the story to change, to dismantle, to be set free from the self—and it might not even require a bloody face. 

Observing that while other animals live out their lives by obeying their nature, the human animal has the freedom to define and redefine its own humanity, Eiseley considers both the gift and the danger of our malleable and impressionable self-definition. A decade before James Baldwin admonished in his superb conversation with Margaret Mead that “you’ve got to tell the world how to treat you [because] if the world tells you how you are going to be treated, you are in trouble,” and half a century before Maya Angelou wrote in her staggering poem to the cosmos that “we are neither devils nor divines,” Eiseley reminds us of something fundamental that we so easily forget, so easily abdicate, in these times of social imaging and performative selfing:

“To the degree that we let others project upon us erroneous or unbalanced conceptions of our natures, we may unconsciously reshape our own image to less pleasing forms. It is one thing to be “realistic,” as many are fond of saying, about human nature. It is another thing entirely to let that consideration set limits to our spiritual aspirations or to precipitate us into cynicism and despair. We are protean in many things, and stand between extremes. There is still great room for the observation of John Donne, made over three centuries ago, however, that “no man doth refine and exalt Nature to the heighth it would beare.”

With that great countercultural courage of defying cynicism, Eiseley insists that it was the humans who nourished the highest in their nature by means of love, who lived with such exquisite tenderness for life in all of its expressions, that propelled our species from the caves to the cathedrals, from savagery to sonnets. (A particularly countercultural point, given he is writing in the middle of the Cold War—an ideology of hate, like all war, under which humans on both sides are taught that those on the other are devils, that power and not peace is the pinnacle of our humanity.) Drawing on his singular access to deep time as a scientist who studies fossils long predating Homo sapiens, he considers what made us human—what keeps us human:

“A great wealth of intellectual diversity, and consequent selective mating, based upon mutual attraction, would emerge from the dark storehouse of nature. The cruel and the gentle would sit at the same fireside, dreaming already in the Stone Age the different dreams they dream today. […] Some of them, a mere handful in any generation perhaps, loved—they loved the animals about them, the song of the wind, the soft voices of women. On the flat surfaces of cave walls the three dimensions of the outside world took animal shape and form. Here—not with the axe, not with the bow—man fumbled at the door of his true kingdom. Here, hidden in times of trouble behind silent brows, against the man with the flint, waited St. Francis of the birds—the lovers, the men who are still forced to walk warily among their kind.”

Millions of years later, Eiseley finds himself one of the lovers as he befriends a large old seagull, grey as himself. Day after day, he sits on an old whiskey crate half-buried in the sand at the edge of the ocean—that crucible of life, that ultimate lens on its meaning—and watches the gull. “I came to look for this bird,” he recounts, “as though we shared some sane, enormously simple secret amidst a little shingle of hard stones and broken beach.” And then, one day, the gull is gone. 

With an eye to what remains—which is what always remains when something or someone we love leaves—Eiseley writes:

“Here, I thought, is where I shall abide my ending, in the mind at least. Here where the sea grinds coral and bone alike to pebbles, and the crabs come in the night for the recent dead. Here where everything is transmuted and transmutes, but all is living or about to live.  It was here that I came to know the final phase of love in the mind of man—the phase beyond the evolutionists’ meagre concentration upon survival. Here I no longer cared about survival—I merely loved. And the love was meaningless, as the harsh Victorian Darwinists would have understood it or even, equally, those harsh modern materialists… I felt, sitting in that desolate spot upon my whiskey crate, a love without issue, tenuous, almost disembodied. It was a love for an old gull, for wild dogs playing in the surf, for a hermit crab in an abandoned shell. It was a love that had been growing through the unthinking demands of childhood, through the pains and rapture of adult desire. Now it was breaking free, at last, of my worn body, still containing but passing beyond those other loves.”

Here, in this scientist’s farewell to life, we find an echo of Dante and of Larkin’s timeless insistence that “what will survive of us is love,” we find the first truth of life, which is also its final truth. (This too is why we, fallible and vulnerable to the bone, ought to love anyway.)

Complement with Eiseley’s contemporary and kindred spirit Lewis Thomas on how to live with our human nature and Iris Murdoch on how to love more purely, then revisit Eiseley’s muskrat-lensed meditation on the meaning of life and his warbler-lensed meditation on the miraculous.

Source: Maria Popova, themarginalian.org (11th August 2024)

[mayhemproduces]

Oh shit. 

Perhaps it was an inevitability, but it’s a bad omen for everyone in the ring nevertheless. Jon Moxley. Claudio Castagnoli, Wheeler Yuta, The Blackpool Combat Club is here! 

Three of the baddest men who have ever walked into an MPW ring make their way to the ring, Jon Moxley already looks like he’s in a bad mood tonight. Bryan Danielson already was successful tonight in retaining the MPW Stardust Title, and the rest of the Blackpool Combat Club are trying to make it a clean sweep here tonight, with one of their members going on to win the Clusterfuck. 

Moxley, Yuta, and Claudio all slide into the ring, Yuta going right after Riley, Claudio taking it to Hangman Adam Page in the corner, and Moxley immediately receiving some resistance from the cowboy, The 1 Called Manders. Manders and Moxley start to slug it out in the middle of the ring, two of the heaviest hitters in the entire company, taking turns, throwing absolute bombs against each other! 

Manders pops Moxley with a big forearm, that knocks Moxley into the ropes, only for Moxley to come back and level him with a King Kong Lariat! Manders down, Daniel Garcia decides he’s going to be the next to try and go at Jon Moxley, looking for a flying knee, but Moxley ducks it, before turning around and grabbing Garcia, kicking him in the gut and hooking his arms, before lifting him up and dropping him with a HUGE Death Rider! Mox covers Garcia!

1….2…3!

“Daniel Garcia has been eliminated!” 

Two members of the triad down, but VENY, Io, and Mei are still kicking, all of whom have currently cornered VIOLET, and are trying to throw her out, as VIOLET hands onto the top rope for dear life. VIOLET continues to try and hang on, and finds an unlikely ally in Timeless Toni Storm, who rips VENY off of her, as VENY and Storm start to trade blows back and forth, and Pan grabs Mei Sugura and starts to trade forearms with her. That allows VIOLET to manage to get back to her feet and off the ropes, and catch Io Shirai with a couple of forearms, before dropping Io with a headbutt. 

There’s that timer again! 

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

[guscfranklin]

BEST OF 2023

2 0 2 3

End of Year Lists Below:

The headings will take you through to more expansive Playlists.

Individual song links take you to youtube videos and a playlist of all selections.

Album list links will take you to places to buy the records.

MUSIC IS NOT FREE!   Always Support the makers and buy your favorite music direct from the artists, preferably via bandcamp or direct. 20 SONGS (links to Larger Playlist)

Andy Schauf - Wasted on You

Leah Senior - Where Am I Now?

Yo La Tengo - Aselestine

Shirley Collins - High and Away

Lankum - Go Dig My Grave

Weval - Remember

Fever Ray - North

Juan Waters - Let Loose

Peter Peter - I Promise

Summer Flake - Ordinary

Nicholas Krgovich - Cup Full

Tim Hecker - Winter Cop

Westerman - Idol; RE-run

Keanu Nelson - Kutjupa Tjuta

Ulaan Passerine - Gathering

King Tuff - Pebbles In A Stream

André 3000 - Ants To You, Gods To Who?

MGMT - Mother Nature

Brian Eno - We Let It In

Mac Demarco - Gualala 2

10 ALBUMS (links to Playlist)

Andy Schauf - Norm

Leah Senior - The Music That I Make

Ulaan Passerine - Dawn

Shirley Collins - Archangel Hill

Weval - Remember

Tim Hecker - No Highs

Lankum - False Lankum

Okonski - Magnolia

Juan Waters - Wandering Rebel

King Tuff - Smalltown Stardust 2023 SONGS (Video Playlist) ***CLOSING NOTE: Even though I use Spotify I am not captured by it. As a listener, don't let this Spotify Wrapped bullshit sweep you up. They've got me completely wrong because the data gets skewed by how you listen in random ways. Don't let it tell you what you are. The people that run that company are a bunch of homogenising data-stealing pricks and their algorithm and influence will be the death of music. Make your OWN PLAYLISTS. Keep them Private. Find your own way in music listening by using things like IT as a TOOL only to recommend and find music that you then can go and buy via Bandcamp and other means to support the artists that they DO NOT.

[moonaturie]

1. It was not a matter to be trifled with hastily, for the answer lay not merely in the knicks-knacks of adornment, but in the endless melody entwined with each option, akin to deciphering enigmatic riddles encoded within heavenly groupings of stars. It is so nice to be back! My dear DIVEs of Seoul, with an effusion of endless joy and a glow of celestial delight, I doth proffer my ecstatic arrival amidst these hallowed lands, wherein serenity wins, knitting and lacing a melody of tranquillity around the loom of existence that veils my core. As the resplendent sun dipped below the horizon, relinquishing its sovereign to the luminescent stars that adorned the space of the night firmament, I found myself enmeshed in contemplation, ruminating with care and deliberation upon the most embellishment to grace my ensemble.

2. Amidst this journey, a procession of delightful photobombs has emerged, as if snacks themselves seek to share the stage with my radiant countenance. The ever-lovely universe conspires to bestow the crown of "Photobomb of the Year" upon this assortment of nibbles, whose presence in each frame infuses a delightful touch of whimsy and charm. Verily, it is a symphony of delight, a harmonious symposium where each cut bears witness to my alteration, akin to a butterfly unwinding its gleaming wings to embrace the world. Every snap captures not just an image but a fragment of my soul, immortalized in the realms of digital artistry. It is none other than the daily rite of capturing a selfie, an art I have ardently honed, achieving the renewal of expertise in the esteemed discipline of self-portraiture. A prodigy of the lens, I am now the maestro of my visual narrative, deftly weaving the sweet harmony of my life with each click and pose.

3. As the pink-haired princess wields the power of self-love, infusing every snapshot with an effervescent radiance. In this visual odyssey of empowerment, I ascend to the zenith of self-assurance, an epitome of grace and authenticity, a perennial reminder of the infinite facets that dwell within, waiting to be unraveled like a gleaming mystery. Here, the ethereal reflection of my being coalesces with the lens, an ethereal fusion amidst the shimmering stardust. In this divine cohesion, it’s safe to say that I transcend the roles of both muse and artist, for I am the living canvas, where the symphony of emotions is depicted with bold and lively lines of resplendent shades. Each click of the camera is a celestial waltz, an opulent performance of captured moments that immortalize the essence of myself, etching an indelible legacy upon the grand harmony of eternity, the allure of authenticity, and the eternal enchantment of my celestial being.

4. My pony-tail, an iridescent halo of innocence, becomes a crown of celestial elegance, mirroring the enchantment that sweeps over me wholly. A celestial muse bestowed upon the world, let me cast a spell of fascination, encapsulating the pure magic of youth and wonder within each photograph, leaving an indelible impression upon the hearts of all who encounter my wizardry. These behind-the-scenes glimpses of my lovely odyssey breathe authenticity into my visual saga, revealing the unguarded essence of my soul, a treasure trove of emotions, and vulnerability laid bare before the gaze of the world. Witness the descent of a celestial cherub, as I immerse myself in the mysterious art of capturing hearts through the allure of my entrancing pictures! A prodigious prodigy, I weave enchanting spells with my camera, leaving all who glimpse my photographic mastery entranced.

5. Revel in the irrefutable magnificence of my innate finesse, for the tender manifestation of my endearing allure shall forever stand amongst my most prized attributes! Behold, as I unveil the enchanting essence of my charm, an eternal symphony of cuteness that remains unrivaled in its splendor! Oh, the virtuosity with which I harness my inherent loveliness, transmuting it into a celestial art form, leaves even the most discerning hearts in awe of my captivating creations! With an ethereal grace, I command the power of cuteness, a gift bestowed upon me as a cherished muse. Thus, I pose the question to you, could your heart remain impervious to the charms of my visual delights? Embrace this symphony of beauty, for within it lies the celestial anthem of my adoration for you, dear DIVEs, imprinted deeply upon the harmony of my essence.

6. Amidst the ever-evolving realm of photography, a gleaming technique has emerged like an ethereal waltz of light and shadows, the enigmatic "blurry technique" that now in glory as the vanguard of artistic expression and trendiness. A mesmerizing dance of deliberate ambiguity, where clarity and obscurity intertwine in an embrace of enchanting mystique. And verily I ask, what purpose would my existence serve if I were to remain a mere bystander in this enchanting spectacle of visual ingenuity? Nay, I shall not be deterred by the shadows of hesitation but instead embrace this photogenic changes with a big amount of enthusiasm! Embrace this symphony of visual ingenuity, for within each frame lies a story of boundless delight, and in the tender curve of my growing smile resides a manifestation to the eternal enchantment of the divine embroidery of life, an assertion to the undying spirit of artistic exploration and self-expression.

7. Though close-up selfies may not have hitherto epitomized my customary style, yet here, in a grand gesture of appreciation, I present this treasured offering unto you, a bejeweled token, a visual symphony of gratitude for your constant and eternal presence in the intricate melody of my existence. Peer into the depths of this extraordinary creation, and you shall find a glimpse into the very depths of my soul, bared in all its vulnerable authenticity. For in this collection of close-up selfies, I lay bare the myriad emotions and facets that define the essence, an intimate portrayal of the emotional journey etched upon the canvas of my visage. Let the flair and sentiments behind these close-up selfies mesh an enchanting tale of our cherished connection, an immortal ode to the celestial friendship that unites our souls in a timeless and ineffable waltz of camaraderie.

[miniaturemoonheart]

Infusing Magick into the mundane of our everyday home lives with Timeless Housewitchery Icons

~ Brooms and Cauldrons

Why do witches have brooms and cauldrons? What is it really about? When you consider it, a broom is a transformative tool.

Brooms are literally used to create change in your environment simply by removing the stale unwanted debris from your space. While on an unseen level cleaning creates room for new, fresh energy to enter your space.

Combined with a little active imagination, just think of all the possibilities each sweep and swish of your broom brings!

Modern witches use brooms to remove stagnant or negative energy from their homes, businesses and ritual space. While cleaning physical dirt, psychic (energy) dirt can enter your space too creating imbalances in the atmosphere that may lead to tension amongst the occupants.

The next time you pick up a broom notice not only how the area feels fresher and brighter physically but use it as a means to visualise obstacles and limitations leaving your life, so that the space itself is imbued with positivity and love that restores balance and harmony.

Consider the emblematic cauldron that boldly stands beside the witch, simmering and bubbling with otherworldly hues…

Quite simply a cauldron is a cooking pot − back in the day it was over an open fire to provide sustenance for those who would ingest its contents. As a cooking pot the cauldron is also a transformative tool, it turns cold to hot, infuses flavour and scent and converts from one form to another.

As you know, you won’t get very far in the physical form without food… but what about the cauldron within you? Your soul self that animates the vibrating mass of stardust and molecules that you are.

Just like the magick lies within you to enhance your life. When you know how to interact with the world from this core of your being that is never separate from its original Source you can transform your experience of reality.

The cauldron is a symbol associated with someone wise to the workings of the universe. When you understand and adhere to the principles that govern the “cooking pot” of creation, beyond the confinement of the material realm and matter that appears to be real you are able to access infinite wisdom, abundant love and copious blessings at will.

Cultivate a veggie patch/grow your own herbs. If there is room start a communal garden where an entire block of neighbour’s can all contribute, tend and share the harvest. Keep it organic and GM free. Meditate there, commune with the plant divas and anchor your energy into the Earth’s grid.

Wood is chopped. Water is boiled. Brooms are swished.

Keep Your Home Blessed and Positive

A space clearing removes undesirable energy from property. Obstacles and energetic limitations are removed, balance and harmony are restored and the space feels lighter and more confident. Occupants have more energy and are more positive because the vibrations around them are raised.

There are 3 steps to keeping your house blessed and positive long-term without constantly performing house clearings

1. Purify

A clearing removes stagnant or negative energy from a space. After performing a house clearing, I highly recommend following up the procedure with a personal ritual ablution such as a sea salt scrub and bath/shower to release debris from your physical, mental, emotional and spiritual bodies.

2. Harmonise

A blessing provides yourself, your environment, your life and your work with the highest level of positive energy possible for optimal performance. Above, I give you some examples for how to boost the Goodness Quotient in your environment, like playing with colour, décor and creating Witch Bottles.

3. Preserve

Install a permanent energy filter in the entrance of your space. In this way anyone entering your space will be washed of discordant energy.

• Stand in line with the centre of the main doorway or archway of entry to your home/office/wherever you want one.

• Imagine a large, swirling sparkly vortex cone slowly rotating in this spot (kind of like where you would place a welcome mat in relation to the door). Then say something along the lines of:

“It is my intention to install this cleansing vortex in this space to purify the energy bodies of all who enter here in accordance with their Highest Good. Let those who pass through here stand in their Highest Truth.

May any discordant vibrations be removed from their aura and funnelled into the Earth for transmutation. Shower all who enter here with peace and love. I declare this vortex remain functional and set in place until otherwise instructed by me.

Should this cleansing vortex no longer serve our Highest Good, it will shut down and cease at once. And so it is.”

You can also grid your property by burying pieces of deliberately attuned red jasper, black tourmaline or smoky quartz in the four outermost corners of your yard.