#this constant flux of WE’RE SO BACK then WE’RE SO OVER is something that like

[cherrysnax]

should prolly make an official update post but im lazy so…

so like we did manage to get some groceries, some cat food, some trash bags which im mad grateful for because holy shit it was getting bad.

but we are not out of the fire yet. my two older brothers are currently facing a housing situation (shitty landlord, shittier apartment, shittiest situation) and both have no income so everything we cook is also given to them, but that’s now splitting groceries for 8 people. my younger brother only eats his same food, and multiple of us have dietary restrictions so to add two grown men on top of that is a lot to say the least

[yorshie]

Burnt Out

Bayverse Leo x Fem reader - part 2

Part 1 Part 3

summary: SFW, After confessing your feelings for the Leader in Blue, he makes a decision that challenges your relationship with all four turtles. (warnings for relationship based arguments, yelling, and an altercation with some drunken men) set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25

I don't like one sided fights, so be prepared for reader not being passive. Also I have not proofed read so wording might get moved just a bit.

tag list: @jackalope-in-a-storm @tmnt-tychou @nessarolla-in-constant-flux

Mikey whistled awkwardly into your ear the whole way to the lair. At one point, you turned your head, about to ask what was wrong, when you caught sight of Leo’s face over Mikey’s shoulder. 

His eyes were trained on your hands curled around the straps on the smallest turtle’s backpack.

You glared at him. He glared back.

By the time you were set back on your feet in the lair, your slight headache had fledged fully into a dull pounding that nicked the front of your skull. The ache was bad enough that you immediately turned to find Donnie, decidedly ignoring the others as they filtered into the cavernous space around you.

“Don? Can I get some Tylenol or something?” 

He gave you his attention, hands cool as he tilted your head back and looked at your eyes. He hummed, and nodded. “Yea, some Tylenol would probably help. Let’s go get your scrapes cleaned too, while we’re at it.” 

You followed him to his corner of the Lair, and almost immediately a hissed argument started in the main room. You raised a brow at the tallest turtle, surprised, but he only grimaced, closed the door to block the sound before dropping into a low stool and nudging you towards his chair.

“Just ignore it, it’s been going on for a couple days now.” That was more worrying than the actual argument, even though you couldn’t tell whose voices were overlapping each other. The turtles never let anything fester, there was no way for anything to fester, with how much they were in each others’ pockets.

“Why are they fighting?” You asked, watching as Donnie lined up the hydrogen peroxide and the cotton balls before leaning to the far side for a pack of waterproof bandaids.

“Hm… well….” He returned to sitting straight, handing you a little bottle that clattered as he passed it over. “I don’t- listen to most of it. I just tune it out as soon as I figure out it’s happening.” He looked down at your hands, avoiding eye contact, and you realized he was lying.

You took the Tylenol dry, swallowing and wincing before handing the bottle back. You let him doctor your hands, rub his thumb across the mark on your cheek, before you caught his grip in your own and asked once more. “Donnie, why were both Raph and Leo in the Ha’shi?”

He winced, but answered when you squeezed his fingers. “They got caught fighting. Most of the time they’ve kept it out on patrols, but this time Dad heard.”

“Great.” You ran your hands through your hair. “And you’ve got no clue what it’s about?” You had a sneaking suspicion, but you wanted to be wrong.

“Hm… yea.” He looked away again, gave you a sheepish smile when you let out a low noise of disbelief. “Listen, you should- you should talk to Leo.”

“I did talk to him.” You argued, the ground swooping below your feet at the gentle command in Donnie’s tone. “I talked, and he talked, and now… there’s nothing to talk about.”

Donnie stuck the tip of his tongue out, the move reading anxious as he pushed the issue. “Yea. Maybe try again?”

You had wanted to avoid this. You had thought, perhaps a bit foolishly, that they would all feel too awkward over the whole thing to say anything, especially if you stayed away long enough to be able to act as if it hadn’t happened. Or that maybe the blue banded turtle would have ordered them not to stick their snouts into the whole clusterfuck.

No such luck, apparently.

You hung your head, sighing roughly in annoyance. “Dee, I can’t. He was very, very clear on all the reasons why… why my interest was a bad idea. It’s not like I went and did a great job hiding it.” You said the last part roughly, amused and self-deprecating all in one, staring at the undone zippered pocket on Donnie’s leg to avoid his too golden eyes.

“No, no you didn’t.” Donnie agreed, soft and full of remorse as he stood. He turned to clean up so you could scrub your eyes in peace. When he turned back around, he faltered, swayed side to side in indecision before opening his arms up for a hug.

You stood to make it less awkward, met him in the middle and wrapped your arms around him as far as you could.  “I’m sorry Donnie. I went and ruined things, didn’t I?”

“No, no you didn’t.” He parroted again, tightening his arms around you. “Just… don’t go avoiding us, kay?”

You hummed in agreement, scrubbing your face against him in affection. “Never gonna do that, Dee.”

“Good.” He released you, quickly pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. “In that case, I really should probably start cleaning up the garage.” He glanced at you. “Leo and Raph are probably finishing up their Ha’shi time, but Mikey’s in the living room if you want to go hang out with him? The garage is a little too dangerous right now.”

“I heard it looks like a war zone in there?” You asked cheekily, taking his cues to return to normal, sticking your hands in your pockets and following him out of the Lab.

“My expertise cataloging may have gotten a little away from me.” He admitted, amused, and ruffled your hair in parting when you both reached the mouth of the tunnel that led to the garage.

“Wish me luck.” You quipped after his retreating shell, not really expecting an answer, but he held up a hand with crossed fingers before he disappeared around the bend.

Once you were alone, your shoulders caved, swinging down and forwards. There was a hitch in your left that no doubt would turn into something nasty the longer you went without icing it. 

All you’d have to do is ask Mikey, and he’d fix you up with an ice pack. The thought had you sighing, feet turning automatically for the main room and the tv area, the most likely space to find the smallest turtle brother.

You rubbed your shoulder absentmindedly as you went, cupping the roll of muscle and rubbing back and forth with your fingers. The sound of your blouse  shifting across your skin brought you up short, and with a whine you realized you’d forgotten about your coat.

“Great. Just…” You turned again, mind not really caught up on where you were going, annoyance bubbling up, when you crossed the closed doors of the dojo and voices inside caught your attention.

“-look like you ate a whole bag of atomic lemons.”

You stopped, head swinging around at the sound of Raph’s low rumble, and the thought that he’d happily help you find your coat had you reaching for the divider’s edge before the next voice had you pulling back sharply.

“I don’t recall ever asking for your opinion.” 

Leo, and where Raph sounded cajoling, the blue banded turtle sounded pissed. In fact, you’d never heard him in that low of an octave, that shade of done with whoever was trying to speak with him. 

Raph started in again, words precise and slow, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up straight at the obvious way he was picking a fight. “I mean, most expect me to be the one that growls and loses his temper, sounding more like a beast, but I gotta hand it to ya, brother. You sure know how to-”

“Cut the shit and say your piece, Raphael.” Leo interjected, drawing out the syllables of his brother’s name, and you didn’t have to see into the room to hear how close their voices were to each other, how up in each others’ faces they must be.

Silence for a beat, then Raph spoke up, that careful cajole peeling back to show the rough anger underneath. “You don’t understand how lucky you are, Fearless. We’ve all been dreamin of someone that would put up with our ugly mugs, and you go and-”

“Someone? Or her?” Your eyes bugged at the insinuation leveled in the growl, and fought the instinct to scurry to the side, knowing they’d hear.

The was a long silence that you drowned in, heart beating too fast, too loud, certain a fist would fly -

before Raph huffed, voice so cutting you had to concentrate to hear the amusement underneath. “You think I’m after your girl, Leo?” He let out a vicious laugh that sounded anything but humorous. “You better clean up then, cuz she ain’t really looking like your girl from where I’m standin’.”

You were done. You didn’t need to hear whatever Leo said in response. You turned on your heel and promptly walked away, coat forgotten, shoulder no longer aching, mind a one thought tract to find Mikey and bully him into taking you home.

Goddamn turtles and their goddamn snouts sticking into things that shouldn’t be poked.

You found Mikey exactly where you thought he would be, parked in front of the tv with what no doubt was the game your previous call had pulled him away from. When he heard your footsteps, he turned, easy grin disappearing into wide eyes and a silent question, lips pursed at whatever emotion was on your face.

“Hey, Mike, I need-” You pulled up short, spying your coat on the couch next to him. “What- how…?”

“Raph grabbed it when he went looking for your phone.” Mikey answered, pawing at your coat to hold the mentioned device out towards you, big blue eyes glued on the way your face crumpled, confused on why his words would pull that reaction. “Babes?”

It should be so easy. Take me home. Mikey, take me home. He would, especially with how you couldn’t see him for the tears swallowing up your vision. You heard him toss the controller aside, nothing more than a green and orange blur that took up your vision as he clambered to his feet. You didn’t startle when his warm hands clasped your elbows.

“Hey, hey, you’re ok. Babes, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” You were scaring him, you knew, and the knowledge was enough for you to rub your eyes roughly, trying to shove everything back in the tightly padlocked little box you’d crushed under heel for a month. A long month of silence…

There was a scuff behind you, a foot sliding across the ground, and it had your shoulders tightening up, the forgotten ache returning with a vengeance along with the reminder that the Lair was the last place you should have a breakdown in.

A hand appeared in the corner of your eye, a towel bundled up in their grip. You didn’t need to follow the arm up to know who it belonged to- the blue toned fabric and vambrace gave him away.

It was rude to leave the proffered towel hanging there. It was rude and it was childish-

You took it from him with a mumbled thanks, certain your voice could cut glass with how sharp the word came out, and you winced reflexively as Leo shifted next to you.

You smoothed out the wrinkled terry cloth, raised your arm up to press the coolness against your shoulder. Your breath sawed out as the cold started to numb the inflamed area.

“Would you like to go lay down?” Leo murmured, and you almost missed the question, too surprised at how soft his voice had gone, not quite a whisper, but definitely closer to how he talked to you before the whole debacle.

It had your face raising up, curiously meeting his gaze despite the ache in your chest the realization caused.

He took you in, head dipping to the side and closer into your space. “C’mon, you can rest for a bit- Raph’s gone to get some pizza.”

You continued to stare at him, eyes tracking between his eyes as if he might explain the complete 180. “Where…” You trailed off, eyes flitting down to his shoulders, his arms, realizing you hadn’t been this close to him for a while. You swallowed, before rising back up to meet him head on once more. “Where am I suppose to rest?”

It was a valid question. Mikey shifted in front of you, and belatedly you realized you had forgotten his presence, caught up in the blue you hadn’t looked at for longer than a few seconds in quite a while.

It’s pathetic. You thought in a flash. A month of ignoring me and all mr. soft eyes has to do is drop one line.

But in the past you’d always rested in the main room, hunkered under some blankets on the couch and giggled while they pulled antics around you. He wasn’t suggesting kicking Mikey out of the shared space, and the couch was right there, so clearly he didn’t mean-

“You can lay down in my room.” Came his answer, eyes slowly moving over you in a gentle perusal that you knew meant he was assessing your mood. 

The words settled in you like stones, scraping down your ears as they went, and you went eerily still. Silence followed, and you almost startled to hear the saw of your breath escaping. 

Mikey shifted again, not quite leaving your space.

Your eyes narrowed, lips compressed, but you dropped your gaze in favor of palming the towel and muttering your answer to your feet. “Thanks, but no thanks, think I’ll chill with Mike til Raph gets back.”

Leo sighed through closed lips, and the sound had your hackles raising.

“You’re exhausted, and you’re hurt. Just come lay-” His hand reached out, nudged you gently. 

In his defense, you didn’t realize you’d react the way you did to the slight touch either, but you all but jerked away from him, taking two steps to the side before swinging around to glare back. “I said no, Leo!” -

Or at least, that’s what you meant to say, but somewhere between your brain and your mouth, your throat changed the words into something else, something meaner.

“You told me no, Leo! You don’t get to tug me around like… like this!” 

Leo blinked once, long and slow like he was processing, and you couldn’t care less where Mikey’d gone, eyes locked on your target as you waited for the return volley.

Eventually, his head tilted, and you saw the exact moment he chose the high road, and it made you see red.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight, It’s not me you want to pick a fight with.” He tried to soothe, taking a step closer, swaying towards you. “We can talk after you rest, but I really think you should-”

“Listen?” The word was out before you could catch it, and Leo drew up short like a puppet on strings, his head rearing back. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Mikey slinking backwards, away, but you barreled onwards. “Just sit and listen as you tell me what to do? What’s good for me?” You snorted, so loudly it hurt, and watched Leo’s mouth compress into a tight line at the noise. 

“It doesn’t really matter if you listen to me or not, does it?” He lobbed back, and you reeled, expecting the next line like it’d already left his mouth. “You’ll still wind up in trouble, wouldn’t you?”

It’s too dangerous. For you. It’s nothing but trouble, believe me, I don’t want to place you in danger.

Self-sacrificing. The words whispered in your head then, they pissed you off now. You scoffed at him, waving a hand as though to brush off the memory. 

“Yea, whatever, I’m not putting up with this.” You told him, shoes clacking against the ground as you skirted him and went for the tunnel that led to the garage. You weren’t quite sure if you were walking home, but you were angry enough that if no one stopped you by the time you got to the hidden door, you would certainly try.

Leo’s arm snagged out, and you danced backwards, out of reach, teeth gritting because you know he let you. He could have easily grabbed you, hell it used to be a game to see how long you could keep away from his hold-

“This isn’t the time for this conversation.” Leo whispered, breaking into your thoughts, taking another step towards you. His eyes rolled skyward when you matched him with a step back. “Please, just- at least let’s go someplace where we have privacy.” He hissed the last word, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was referring to the orange banded blue eyeballs peeking out from behind the couch.

“We already had this conversation.” You reminded him, ten shades of done and tired. The whispered argument from before popped in your head, and before you could corral the words you stuck your whole foot in your mouth. “You think just because you had an- an epiphany, I’ll fall in line?” You snorted again, knowing the sound drove him crazy. “Good luck with that.”

The line had him pausing, brow furrowing as confusion cut through his anger, and you took advantage, all but hopping around him and belting for the tunnel that would lead you out, scooping up your coat and phone and trading the ice pack in their place in one smooth move along the way.

It might have been years of knowing them. It might have been sixth sense. It certainly wasn’t your hearing, he moved as silent as ever, but you twirled on instinct, incensed to find him a step behind you. 

Leo pulled back on those invisible strings once more when you all but snapped your teeth at him.

“You better let me have my space, Leo.” You took a step towards him without thinking, and this time it was him who took a half step back. “Back off.”

It was laughable, the thought that you could do anything to him if he pushed into your bubble once more, but that growl started up low in his chest, and you watched as his pupils blew wide, the dark eating up the normally brilliant blue until they were nothing more than light colored rings.

“Back off?” He repeated, growl slurring his words, and you locked your knees as his head swung into your space, shoulders rounding towards you. “But that’s not what you want, is it, princess?”

Ooooo…. That was- that was Raph’s nickname for you, and you stuttered, wondering if that was Leo’s subtle way of letting you know he knew exactly how much shit you were blowing out your ass.

You met him tic for tac, a hairs-breath from his face, blowing purposefully up his nose just to hear that growl hitch up to a higher register. “I told you want I wanted, Blue. You don’t get to throw a fit after you’ve already told me your verdict.”

You wondered if he’d break. You kind of wanted him to, to really yell, to give you some insight to his thoughts beyond what he allowed to filter through the mask. Your heart a fast staccato that almost drowned out whatever growl he was throwing out at your defiance.

He dipped his head to peer down his snout at you, and you weren’t sure what had you more pissed, the way he tried to reel himself in or the words he used. “I am trying to talk to you- if you would just calm down-”

“Oh, I think it’s you who needs to calm down, Leo.” You went to turn, dismissive and all at once feeling the hurt, and his hand snapped out. You thought maybe he was aiming for your arm and misjudged the angle, because instead his fist locked around the fabric of your blouse low on your hip.

“I can’t- be what you want!” He hissed at you, venomous, and you reeled, leaning back, the fabric of your blouse taunt in his fist. “I don’t know how to be human, act human!” He pulled you towards him too roughly, and your shoes squeaked against the polished cement floor. “This is what you’d get, what you’re so- so stupidly foolish to ask for-”

“Leonardo.” Splinter didn’t snap, but he might as well as bellowed at his eldest son. Leo sure acted like he did, hand snapping back fast enough that you almost slipped and fell before he corrected and caught your elbow, touch hauling you straight before it was gone just as quickly.

You refused to look up, conscious that you’d had an audience for the whole fight and it’d done nothing but spur you onwards. Mikey was still perched behind the couch, trying and failing to act like he wasn’t watching a drama. Splinter was at the top of the little stairs that led to his bedroom, cane perched between his two paws, ears swiveled to the side as if he was listening to something else.

Leo was stiff next to you, eyes on the floor, posture polite and hands tightly fisted to his sides. You couldn’t look at him head on, didn’t like the carefully blank face he was presenting.

You blew out a breath, hand pressing to your head for a beat as your headache started back up. “Sorry, Splinter. I got carried away.” Part of you wanted to throw Leo under the bus as well, but you knew he’d likely get his own version of a private talk once you were gone. “I’m just- just gonna go home.” You paused intentionally, then dipped into the bow you had seen Leo make to his sensei over the years. “I apologize.”

“You are always welcome here.” Splinter said softly, as if you weren’t just engaged in a shouting match with his honor child in the living room in front of god and sundry. “But for an old rat’s sake, please allow one of my sons to take you home, if that is what you wish.”

You side eyed Leo, hoping Splinter wasn’t suggesting what you thought he was suggesting.

Then Raph stepped out of the tunnel, pizza boxes stacked in his hands, wide green eyes trailing over Leo, before his gaze flicked to you and you cringed.

Knowing he had seen you lose your cool over Leo was somehow worse than Mikey seeing it, but then again, it was Raph that first weaseled your crush out of you months ago.

Raph arched a brow, tilted his head, then turned to Splinter. “I can take her home, Sensei.”

Splinter nodded. “Good, good.” He gestured at you with one paw. “Let Raphael take you home. Please.”

“Of course,” You said, bopping into a small bow again, and relaxing when Splinter turned his attention to his eldest.

“Leonardo, please, come speak with me.”

“Hai, Sensei.” He answered dutifully, face still carefully blank. He swayed forward like a pendulum, before he caught himself with a near silent scuff of his foot against the ground, and followed his father without a backwards glance.

Raph waited until the two had disappeared into the little room before he looked at you and whistled long and low between his teeth.

“God, just, shut up.” You told him, angry all over again, jamming your arms into your coat and belting for the exit. 

Raph chuckled, set the pizzas down on that table, and followed you back out, haphazardly calling to Mikey over his shoulder, “only one of those is yours, numb nuts!”

[rainiishowers]

Obey Me Incorrect Quotes

———

MC, gesturing to Simeon: I think my guardian angel drinks.

——

Satan: "Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge" - Charles Darwin

Mammon: What the fuck? Begets isn't a word. Quit trying to make up words, fuckface.

——

Belphegor: Watcha doin?

Satan: Stealing my neighbour’s cat.

Belphegor: Scandalous.

Belphegor: Can I help?

——

Asmodeus: What’s the dumbest thing you believed as a child?

Belphegor: That naptime was a punishment.

——

Mammon: Uh, I think I got your lunch. *Holds up a note that reads: ‘I am very proud of you. Love, Lucifer’*

MC: Oh yeah. I didn’t think this was for me. *Holds up a note that reads: ‘Be good. For the love of Diavolo, Please be good.’*

——

Simeon: Barbatos and I got married!!

Belphegor: Don't share your personal problems with everyone.

——

Beelzebub: I think I did fairly well on my anatomy quiz! :)

Belphegor: I forgot I was doing a test.

Lucifer: Belphie.

Belphegor: I said the vertebrae was the back stick because I thought it was funny

Lucifer: Belphegor.

——

Lucifer: I hope you have an explanation for this.

Satan: We have three actually-

Belphegor: Pick your favorite.

——

Asmodeus: Look at you! All cute and small! I could just eat you up!

Luke:

Luke: *proceeds to kick him in the shin and run away*

Asmodeus: Wha- Oww! How dare you!

Mammon, walking past: Rule number 1, don't call Fido cute or small.

——

Solomon: I dare you-

Lucifer, exasperated: MC is not allowed to accept dares anymore.

Solomon: Why not?

MC: "I have no regard for my own safety", as some would say.

——

MC: Belphie annoyed me today so I told him that I can’t wait to see what he has planned for our special day tomorrow.

Beelzebub: There is nothing special about tomorrow...

MC: But there is something special about watching the color leave his face as panic takes over.

——

Beelzebub: I lost Asmo..

Lucifer: How do you LOSE Asmo?

Mammon: To be fair, he is small-

——

Solomon: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon?

MC: We're chopsticks!

Simeon: Well... that's cute!

Solomon: Does that mean you two snuggle together perfectly?

Belphegor, protectively curling around MC: No, it means that if you take the other away, the only thing the other is good for is stabbing.

——

Satan: I woke up and chose VIOLENCE. I WILL COMMIT ARSON AND BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!!! I AM ANGRY-

MC: Awwww, you’re so adorable! Give me a hug~

Satan: Wh-What? nO, yOURE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED OF ME! TREMBLE BEFORE MY WRATH-

——

Mammon: You know the sound a fork makes in the garbage disposal? That's the sound that my brain makes all the time.

——

Mammon: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*

Leviathan: Where did you get that?

Mammon: My pocket.

Leviathan: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?

Mammon: Skills.

——

Lucifer: I hope he’s calmed down...

Satan: Shut the fuck up you annoying ass pig.

——

Belphegor: I hate when people ask me, 'What did you do today?' Buddy listen, I woke up at noon and then it was five p.m., okay? I don't KNOW!

——

Asmodeus: My gender is in a constant state of flux.

——

Leviathan: I came out here to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now.

——

MC: So I have made the decision to trust you.

Leviathan: A horrible decision, really.

——

Barbatos: *Coughs* Ah.. What kind of tea is this?

Solomon: I boiled Gatorade :D

——

Lucifer, possibly drunk: I have no respect for Santa. Don’t sneak in through the chimney and undermine my authority by bringing my family presents. Walk in through the front door and fight me like a man.

——

Luke: Everything’s fine, Barbatos, it’s just a rat-

Barbatos: Luke, I know your relationship with the english language is strictly casual, but you- I- *deep inhale* ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU WHAT’S NOT FINE.

——

MC: Why does everyone in this house want to kill Sol?

Satan: Because, goddamnit, have you seen him? His neck looks so snappable.

——

Leviathan, to Mammon: If karma doesn't hit you, I fucking will.

——

Lucifer: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner!?

MC: Well. How would you like me to mock you? I take requests.

——

Leviathan: Pros and cons of dating me.

Leviathan: Pros. You'll be the cute one.

Leviathan: Cons. Holy shit, where do I begin-

——

Satan: I couldn't do this without you, Asmo.

Asmodeus: Sure you could. Not as stylishly, of course.

——

Lucifer: Mammon, can I speak to you for a minute? In private.

Mammon: Ooh, someone's in trouble.

Mammon: It's me. I don't know why I did that.

- -

-

Bonus!!

Lucifer: you'll be working with Beel and Belphie

Rainy: Alright! My fantasy threesome!

Everyone else: *blank stares*

Rainy: ...Of people on a team.

[biglisbonnews]

Washington's 'Washaway Beach' Experiment Is Reshaping Ideas About Coastal Erosion This piece was originally published in High Country News and appears here as part of our Climate Desk collaboration. David Cottrell stood on what used to be a 14-foot-high cliff at the crumbled end of Blue Pacific Drive. Just a few years ago, this was the fastest-eroding shoreline on the U.S. Pacific Coast; locals here in North Cove, Washington, dubbed it “Washaway Beach.” But as Cottrell walked toward the water on a sunny November morning, he stepped not off a cliff but onto soft, dry sand. Thigh-high dune grasses sprawled in all directions. The low tide lapped at a flock of sandpipers a few hundred feet away. Cottrell, a cranberry farmer and local drainage commissioner, held up a laminated map, pointing to our location. During his childhood, this was part of a dense beachside neighborhood, but the tides have swept most of it away — a complex phenomenon related to dams and jetties that have changed the flow of sediments. “Where we’re standing right now, we were losing 50 to 100 feet a year,” he said. All told, North Cove has lost more than 4 square miles of land, plus a lighthouse, a cannery, and 160 other structures. By 2015, many residents had given up on saving their town. Facing predictions of continued erosion, agencies had begun talk of moving Highway 105 away from the coast—a loss that could doom this isolated rural community. An essential transportation artery, 105 serves as the dike that protects 800 acres of historic bogs where Cottrell and other farmers grow more than half the state’s cranberries. Cottrell felt he had to try something. “We had absolutely nothing to lose,” he said. So in 2016, Cottrell dropped $400 worth of rocks from the end of this road: “one load, right off the end, just to see what would happen.” He sought to mimic the cobble beaches and basalt slides that are common in the Pacific Northwest. That experiment has since grown into a more than 2-kilometer-long berm of rocks and stumps that shift with the waves and collect sand, rebuilding the beach. As a result, much of this coastline has held, putting North Cove at the forefront of a global shift in how communities protect their coastlines as sea levels rise. Engineers—who have long depended on rigid sea walls—are now closely watching this softer approach. North Cove’s solution, which resembles the techniques many Indigenous communities use to cultivate shellfish, looks less like the conventional structures engineers know, and more like the dunes and berms that centuries of storms and tides build on their own. Cottrell stood in the salty breeze, wearing his signature black Carhartt jacket. On the back, hand-painted letters read “Washaway No More.” Most days, he walks the beach, troubleshooting the remaining hotspots with landowners and explaining the still-evolving project to visitors. “The people that get this best are surfers and Buddhists,” Cottrell had told me earlier. “In a situation that’s in constant flux, what you want to do is position yourself to go with it.” North Cove was built on land near the Columbia River outlet that has always been at the mercy of intense waves, El Niño-driven storms, tidal currents, flowing sediment, and tangles of driftwood. Over millennia, these forces built a long sandy spit at the mouth of Willapa Bay. Storms swept sand away each winter, then currents replenished it each summer—until they didn’t, Cottrell said, for reasons scientists are only beginning to understand. Maps show that the trend had started by the early 1900s; researchers believe a series of jetties and the 1930s damming of the Columbia, both of which changed sediment flow in the region, contributed to it. Over decades, the spit was whittled down to a nub. The rising tides and intensifying storms of climate change only hastened its undoing. That collision of forces made Washaway Beach a terrible candidate for any protective efforts, Washington Department of Ecology coastal engineer George Kaminsky told me. But since Cottrell couldn’t make anything worse, he decided to try something unorthodox, setting the stage for an experiment whose results global experts, including Kaminsky, are now researching. After Cottrell dropped that first load of rock, nature took over: When waves hit the pile, the water spread out instead of smashing against the steep, eroded bank. Stones migrated and settled. Sand collected in between. This galvanized the community, and in 2016, a group led by Charlene Nelson, chairwoman of the nearby Shoalwater Bay Tribe, expanded the project. Using a $600,000 state grant, they made a scrappy version of what engineers call a dynamic revetment: a long cobble berm along the top of the beach. Using the cheapest unsorted rock they could find, they dumped piles along more than a mile of bank, letting the waves sort them into place. Then, lower down, near the highest average waterline, they spread the same jagged cobbles into a 3-foot-tall speed bump. Together, these structures build back the beach: As waves trip over the speed bump and slosh through the berm, they slow and drop sand. The first year both were in place, the beach near this road-end grew by about 50 feet. The next year, it kept growing. As climate change progresses, coastal communities nearly everywhere are searching for solutions. Hard barriers like seawalls and riprap won’t cut it in many places; they do block water, but often cause further erosion. They’re also so expensive that few can afford them. U.S. climate models show sea-level rise locked in at around a foot on average nationwide by 2050. In Washington alone, that is forecast to cause billions in damage. By 2100, the state expects catastrophic land loss, including 44 percent of tidal flats and 65 percent of estuarine beaches at key sites along the coast — places that myriad coastal species, including humans, rely on for food and protection. Coastal resilience experts believe building beaches back could be enough to prevent some of this. Kaminsky’s research on the berm has already influenced projects nearby and in California, Europe, and Guam. Together, these experiments promise to transform the tools that agencies and communities can apply elsewhere. To create any protective structure, engineers need design standards. The data to establish them didn’t exist until communities like North Cove started experimenting. “If you've not been out here, it’s hard to wrap your brain around what’s really going on,” Lauren Bauernschmidt, a state Department of Fish and Wildlife biologist, said, standing on loose cobble. After working with Cottrell for five years, she was due to issue him a new maintenance permit, and needed her boss’s signoff. She and Cottrell were also trying to drum up more funding and buy-in from the many agencies involved, so they had assembled a cadre of colleagues to bring them up to speed. On this breezy, blue-sky morning near the road-end, the once-threatening waterline was hundreds of feet out. The speed bump, Cottrell told the group, was buried under three feet of sand. Clam beds long absent have returned, along with grasses and shorebird habitat. And even when winter storms pull sand away—the way of things, here—the cobble remains to restart the beach-building process. Now that this section of shore seems stable, Cottrell said, “My hope is that this is hands-off forever.” But down the beach, trouble spots remain. Further south, the beach narrowed until it reached a prominent finger of land—a single home atop it—that has so far defied the tides. Surrounded by a seawall of giant boulders, it has become a landmark at the center of this project. Even that day’s gentle waves deflected off the wall toward the banks beside it. Stronger ones have carved deeply into the adjacent shoreline, threatening to turn the point into an island: A reminder of the pitfalls of bulwark structures in a naturally ephemeral environment. “We had absolutely nothing to lose.” The worst erosion was on the southern side. There, a vertical cliff-edge flanked a narrow curve of beach. Over the previous year, seven spruce trees on that neighboring property had lost their footing, toppling into the surf. An eighth leaned ominously. This vulnerable strip of land, owned by Ed Borden, has become a linchpin for North Cove. “From here to the highway is about 400 feet,” Cottrell said. “That could go in one or two nights in a big storm.” With it would go the roadway, homes and cranberry bogs behind it. Cottrell hopes to drop more cobble around the wall to re-establish a beach, which would slow the waves or even prevent them from reaching the seawall. At the edge of his land, Borden stacked hay bales with a mini excavator, hoping they, too, might slow the ocean’s inland creep. Throughout the year, Borden and Cottrell had dumped thousands of tons of cobble along this bank, but the wash off the seawall was too strong. Despite—maybe because of—its impact here, that wall remained a seductive solution. Borden eyed the fortress, which stood deceptively steady. He wasn’t sure yet about the small cobbles; he had yet to see whether they worked as planned. “I need a bigger excavator, bigger rock,” he started to explain. “Or we could get you your sand beach back,” Cottrell countered, glancing to the surf. “Nothing dissipates wave energy like a good beach.” https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/washaway-beach-erosion-washington

[hitoshisbabygirl]

Author's Notes ♡: Hi there hey! Welcome back to another collab piece!! This round I try to have him in his pro hero line of work and being his usual soft and caring self. It’s a bit soft but also heated at the end sooo, I love making a softer Kiri so enjoy!! I hope I did this justice~ bunny ❥

Warnings : NSFW again! (◎_◎;)

A use of pet names like twice, if you squint you’ll see a bit size kink and Soft Dom Kiri, fingering, Light cursing, pussy job, Kiri is a soft but huge lover

Word count : About 3.3k!

Paring(s) : Pro hero!Eijiro Kirishima x F!Reader

Summary : Kirishima was used to saving people, and having the joy that comes with it and completing his job, so what happens when he falls for the girl that is his main link to a case?

Enjoy ♡

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Kirishima knew taking this mission with Fatgum would be one of their more challenging ones : A drug ring filtered out throughout a high end hotel with an escort and stripping service. Supposedly they'd traffic with the girls, under trays of food or other masked ways. The menus were keys to what each drug was, and each service was a different type of delivery. They were so close , so very close to understanding what was happening but...they also hit a bump. Most of the investigation was focused on the owner of the hotel but they soon found out that they were barking up the wrong tree. The owner of the hotel wasn't who controlled the flux in the drug ring but a patreon, a wealthy real estate manager for a mob. Sighing, Kirishima rubbed his face, glancing at Fatgum who was writing like a madman at the desk in their jointed room “Hey Taishiro..” Kirishima called as the blonde let out a hum,still jotting notes “We have that other lead right? Uh..” He started as he flipped through his own notes, running over a name “Peaches, the cage dancer?” “Yeah what about her?” Fatgum said as he looked to his red haired subordinate “Why don't we see if we can find her? She should be working tonight right? The other dancer said she only comes in on certain days, and she seems tied to Mr.N'' He siad as Fatgum joined him at his side , reading over his notes “Yeah! If we're lucky we’ll find some more about our lovely friend here”

And with that they headed downstairs and to the giant double door, the sound of thumping music seeping through the crack “Well Red, let's head in yeah?” Taishiro said as Kirishima followed behind. He knew undercover work was difficult, and it didn't help that both had to disguise their identities to the best they could : Fatgum and him both using colored hair spray to hide their hair colors. Taishiro opted to stay in his smaller form more often and wore clothes that were more fancy while under the name “Yuri”. Kirishima on the other hand was his makeshift “Bodyguard” , opting for all black looks and tended to hide his mouth with a black mask, going by the simple nickname “J”. The purpose was for Fatgum to look like another high end boss with security , and that's how it was. As the two entered they were greeted with half dressed to bare women with only covers asking them what they needed or wanted , some handing them drinks and allowing them to wander. The lights were bright and strobing , almost too much to the sober person, so the intoxicated had to be worse. Heading to the back they passed through a curtain into the higher end of things. Men with people at their hips, smoking cigars and watching as more dancers did their usuals, money being handed over , thrown and placed on their person. “Alright how about we split up, il take this seat, see if you can find the cage dancers” Fatgum said as he sat to an approaching girl, the women threw herself to his lap as Kirishima sighed watching him start up as he saw a red light behind another side curtain. Catching his attention Kirishima walked forward, into a darker room with a string of red lights illuminating a cage-like stage. Before he could get far a man stopped him

“Excuse me sir do you have a reservation with Peaches?” Bingo. He found her “Uh no sorry i don't , i didn't know i needed one for her '' He said shyly as the man looked up to him before sighing “Well, then sir i can't help you” Sighing Kirishima looked at the stage again when he saw one of the most beautiful sights he could see. A woman, covered in a red and black piece popped into the stage “Whats the issue Moby?” The women said as her eyes widened to the tall male in her usual empty room “Ah nothing miss Peaches, this guy i guess thought he'd get a show” The security said as the girl still looked to him and smiled waving him in “He does now, put him on my list yeah?” She said as the security stuttered , letting the towering man past “Ah miss, is it okay if my friend comes along as well? He went to a different stage but he would be meeting back up with me” He admitted as th e woman strolled to him , pressing a hand to the cage “He can come too, tell Moby to put him on the list sweetheart” She said before walking away, yelling to the security “Put his friend on the too!”

Soon Fatgum came into the room with him, sitting beside him as more paterons surrounded the stage “the other dont know them, it seems our girl is the one were with now” He whispered as they all looked up to the stage , the setting being set for the act who was coming out. If the hush whispers were anything he knew the girl they were waiting for would be something great.

All of a sudden Kiri could feel his heart in his throat, the woman he had spoken to came out , still dress the same as she waved to the whistling people below, goting to her pole with a jump and started spinning effortlessly, the sight was absolutely stunning ; he'd never seen such a beautiful display before. No one told him that stripping was a form of art, no matter how people tried to look down on it, this was art to him. He now knew why she was so sought after, the grace she had as she moved closer to him through the cage made his heart unironically thump and all of a sudden the throb in his chest moved to between his legs , an embarrassment he wish he wouldn't admit outright until a shove on the arm from his senior “Its alright, i think she likes you” Fatgum whispered as Kirishima looked up, seeing in fact that her eyes were glued to him.

Moving to the front she leaned against it, eyes locked on him as she beckoned him closer, the desperate others trying to reach for her as she smirked , reaching to Kirishima “Why dont you cmre big boy” She said as they whooped and hollered , all smacking him in the back as he gave fatgum a wide eyed look, the hidden blonde, giving him a thumbs up. “U-uhm I-” Before he could say much she tapped the cage , pointing to Kirishima as the security took him around to the opening “You're a lucky guy ; its rare she does a lap dance with fresh faces” The guy said, confusing the hidden redhead “How's that?” He ask “Well whoever spends the most on her usually just gets a leg tap or such, a lapdance is the highest thing she'll do with a crowd” He said before giving him a chair and opening her door “Have fun, she might spoil ya” And withthst he was face to face with the beauty. Walking up to Kirishima she gave him a smile, her smaller hand running over his chest before she took the chair from him , sitting it in the red light. “What should i call you cutie” She whispered before he felt the knot in his stomach tighten again “ Uh..how about..Jay..” He whispered back as she pushed him lightly into the chair “Well then Jay, ill give you a nice show hm?” she giggled, before moving into his lap. Kiri felt himself freeze , she smelt very good, and was too close for comfort. She was warm, and the way she looked at him made him feel like a highschooler all over again “C-can i touch you sweetheart?” He whispered as she settled , her eyes wide as she buried her face in his neck “A real gentlemen, I knew it was a good idea to trust you.

Go right ahead cutie, be gentle with me” she answered as she started to rock, rolling her hips with the thumping of her music. Slowly he put his own hand on her waist, following her constant moving as the group below yelled, telling him to do more or for her to strip even more. He felt her get close to his face before their noses touched, the heat in his chest blooming more as she pulled away. Feeling brave he gripped her hips, pulling her closer and with a gasp her arms moved back to his chest , the two in their own world before realizing there were eyes on them both still. Slowly she crawled down his lap, eyes on his as she ran her hand back on his thighs , her face on his lap as they screamed for more before the curtain dropped, covering them and the guys outside of it begged for more. Sitting back on her legs and letting kirishima catch his breath he held a hand to her , helping her up “T-Thank you for the show Miss Peaches , I feel honored“ Kirishima said as she blinked, before feeling her body heat up “O-Oh uhm why thank you for thanking me, i don't get much appreciation, and most would want your place. I….felt drawn to you so” She admitted before giving him a look “OH and you can call me [ ], but try not to around patreons, they'd be upset they don't know yet and i just told some newbie” [ ] teased as he laughed , agreeing “Yeah definitely. I hope to see you uh, more often” He said before he could stop himself, giving her the same shocked look her face had “I guess you're who've been asking for me.

Here, I'll give you my number and you tell me whenever you need something” She said, holding her hand out for his phone. Fumbling he took his phone out, taking her number in his phone as they walked to her dressing room. Shyly [ ] looked up at the tall boy who insisted on walking her back to her room. Standing ther awkwardly he gave her a shy look back “Uh i know this is random but when is your next show? I love how beautiful you look and i'd...wished to be able to..i'm not sure what id want to do being there” Starting to ramble he laughed and rubbed his head before [ ] grabbed his hands “Hey that's fine, i'll come around more often if you're around i feel safe with my new shield” She teased.

And thats how it was for a few weeks, them seeing her every day she danced and her even coming to see them on her off hours. Kirishima explained why they were really there and it made her heart happy to see change. She decided to help them, giving more information to them, helping them along with their case as it started to close. Before long Kirishima and [ ] had gotten closer, the two of them growing to love the others attention , so much so Fat gum called them out for it “Yknow, when this goes down, you should get [ ] to follow us , she's quite smart , and she could do wonderfully as a partner. She would benefit better from a safe environment” Fatgum said one day while they were finishing their report “Ya think? I do care for her, and I can't stand her coming over and crying about the abuse…...but i dunno what if she doesnt like me like that…”

Kirishima whispered as he felt a hand smack him on the shoulder “Ask her. Can't hurt to ask right? And the way you both give eachother puppy eyes even when she's on stage i'm pretty sure she likes you the same way you like her.” He teased as the red head beside him sighed, hearing a knock at their door. Opening it he was face to face with the girl in question, [ ]. Her eyes glowed as she came in, greeting the two males in front of her. “Hey guys! How's everything going?” She said as she sat on the edge of one of the beds in the room , dressed more casually which made them both have a sense of joy “Ah well we should be arresting him tomorrow once he gets here, I know you work tomorrow night so ill have Kiri be with you, he’ll make sure everything runs smoothly , we’ll all go back to the headquarters and regroup okay?” Fatgum finished as [ ] shook her head, agreeing with the plans as she sighed “I'm nervous but it needs to be done... I , well all of us can't take this anymore...constantly being in fear all the time yknow?” she sighed as she laid back, a comfortable silence falling between them as they all laid around the room “Uhm [ ] can I ask you something?”

Kirishima said as she hummed, cracking an eye open to look at him. Knowing what was to come Fatgum gave him a thumbs up before claiming he had a call to go investigate downstairs, leaving the two of them together. “[ ] I cant stand you in pain...I dunno what i can do for you but...please, let me help you out , come with me , with us. I want you to be happy y'know and ive enjoyed every second we’ve had together..maybe im being selfish, or maybe its silly but...I” Trailing off he looked up to [ ] giving him soft puppy like eyes. Reaching out she placed her hand on his , rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand as she took in a breath to start her own comment back “Kiri...Ejirou, I care about you, so so very much, I wouldn't want to be a burden to you, but I'd love to go with you. Question is , is tit the both of you who want me around or a certain red head who cant take his eyes off of me” She teased as the color in his face flushed to his ears , stuttering as [ ] laughed “Its okay Kiri, Fatgum told me too, that we both care so much for eachother and should admit it, its why im here now actually” [ ] said as she meekly met his wide eyes, not fully thinking he understood her “W-wait say that again?” Kirishima croaked, meeting her gaze as she smiled , tracing his hand that sat beside her leg. Before he could stop himself he tackled her to the bed , pushing his lips against hers. With a gasp she kissed him back, wrapping her hands around his neck as they laid there, sealing their promise to eachother with a kiss. Soon, Kirishima pulled away, but not before tugging her bottom lip in his mouth. Gently he placed his hands beside her face, looking into her [ ] colored eyes, his heart fluttering once more as he kissed her forehead “Im sorry [ ] i just couldnt help it… Uhm am I moving too fast? I can definitely wait until youre ready” He spoke out as the girl under him sat up, gripping his cheeks “Kiri, honey ive waited for us to confess and now youve gotten me riled up, take good care of me yeah? Later on we can be more intimate but for now..I need you” She said, seeing he way the red heads eyes darkened at her comment “Then let me tak good care of you my love”

And with that he slide a large hand down between her thighs, rubbing at a wet patch forming against her panties as he pushed passed them, entering her with teo plump fingers “I gotta get you to relax, i wont fit if youre this tight” Whispering in her ear he picked up the pace, kissing right under her pulse as [ ] sucked in a breath, grabbing onto a strong arm “K-kiri I-” Shushing her , Kirishima leaned over to kiss her lips, speeding up his fingers as he felt her drip between them “Cum for me sweetheart, let me open you right up” He begged. Feeling her stomach tense at his choice words [ ] whimpered, her high hitting her as the sound of him pumping her though it echoed throughout the room. Pulling his hand out from her fluttering pussy and short he smirked, licking her orgasm from his fingers. Giving her a lopsided smile he spoke ‘Cant wait to eat you out..but thatll have to wait. I need to be in you” Sittin up from her Kirishima pulled his shirt off and with a toss threw it uncerimosily into a corner, as well as his pants and her clothes. [ ] couldnt help biting her lip as she saw the bulge under his boxers, a spot of precum at the tip as he palmed himself before pulling them off slowly, the red tip smacking his stomach

“ Like what you see?” He teased as he ran the tip between her sopping folds, a gasp as soft ‘Yes’ falling from her lips “Ill be gentle okay? If its too much tell me, alright?” he said as [ ] agreed , opening her legs more as he started to rub around her clit, catching it with his swollen head. In a trance he kep that up, bucking between her lips as it started to make them both sticky and hot. Soon she couldnt take it anymore, grabbing his hand as she pleaded with him “Please Kiri, put it in already, I can take it” Letting her words sink in he smiled before flipping her to her stomach, pressing his tip against her wet hole “Hold on to something then” was his last warning before pushing in, his tip sliding by with ease as the smaller girl under him moaned, arching her back to take more in his first push. Slowly he kep rocking his hips, pushing more and more in before finally bottoming out, a satisfied groan spilling from both parties lips. Leaning down to her neck Kirishima bit down gently before picking up his pace, holding her hips in place as [ ] whined , reaching back for a hand “W-wait please its too much” She whined as he slowed his hips only a bit , feeling her clench over his own thick member “Youre close again...is me pounding you from behind too much” He cooed, biting a new post on her neck as he sped up again, making the girl squeal “I-i dont wanna cum yet! I dont w-want it to end” She spilled out as she felt the knot in her stomach return, warming her lower body as he kept up his pace, sliding a hand to go between her legs as he searched for her nub, tracing it as he drilled in her from behind. Too quickly [ ] felt it snap, the little bit of control over her rapid orgasm faulting as she came overhim, grabbing the hand on her hip as she weakly rocked back “Thatta girl, keep going you got it...fuck im close too, where d-do you wnat me to cum” He asked as his own hips got sloppy but never slowing down, in fact they picked up more pace as he chased his own high “Im on the pill, please fill me up baby, Eijirou i need you to fill me up” [ ] pleaded. Hearing his name unexpectedly was his demise. He felt himself quiver as thick ropes of cum spilled from hsi tip inside of her spasming and warm walls, a low growl falling from his lips as he rocked the last of his oragsm out, small ‘Thank yous’ and ‘I love you’ falling from his lips. With care he wrapped his arms around her torso, holding her to his chest as he pulled them sideways “Well...i didnt expect the night to go like this” [ ] giggled as Kirishima kissed her shoulder before agreeing “I don mind it...but I meant it...i didnt just use you fro sex or anything..”He said again as she hummed, kissing the hand the laid on her chest “I know...i meant it too..” As the comfortable silence filled the room [ ] felt something hot stir her again. Looking down she could see Kirishima getting hard again> Before she could say anything he spoke “Whenever youre ready, I could go for another round sweetheart” Slightly pushing her hips back [ ] knew she was in for a long night

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Once again I am bored and putting off updating so I’m coming at y'all with a brand new au idea. 

Blood God Deo.

The idea of Tommy accidentally befriending gods is hilarious to me for some reason, especially a Tommy who starts out as just some random kid. He has two reflexes whenever he meets a god, friend or fight. So far only Josh and Dream have both triggered the fight reflex.

Deo isn’t particularly open about being the Blood God. He doesn’t even particularly enjoy the job. Sure, he’s ferocious in a battle, but he holds back a lot and he’s no where near as blood thirsty as half of his Acolytes. The voices acting how they do wasn’t even his idea, it was actually a curse from another God placed onto all of his followers. The Original Chat was designed to essentially be a helper. They would help moderate the bloodlust of his followers (who were renown for loosing pieces of themselves to the slaughter) and in addition they’d know things that his followers wouldn’t like the position of enemies and special details about weapons and armor like durability or quality. Original Chat was able to see everything going on around the Acolyte and offer advice in case the Acolyte lost one of their senses or something else happened.

Deo stopped blessing people after Chat was corrupted (probably by Dream. I don’t think Dream should be a Chaos god like a lot of people decide he should be. He should rule over something like Control, Manipulation, or Betrayal, it makes more sense with his current character arc.) Deo starts only blessing people who have enough sense of strength, morality, and self to actually ignore Corrupted Chat, though sometimes if Deo interacts with someone they can become accidentally blessed without him even knowing (read as Techno). Deo kind of closes himself off at some point, hiding himself away on hypixel.

Then he meets Tommy. This little brat who manages to all but force his way into Deo’s good graces and eventually a role of friendship. The first friend Deo’s had in centuries if not longer. Gods have two marks they can give to people. Marks they actively or subconsciously give to their Acolytes and marks that they only subconsciously give to people they care about and want to protect. Their friends. Tommy gets the later and neither notice since the powers associated with the later don’t make themselves readily apparently unlike with a typical Acolyte. (Spoilers, Tommy gets a version of Original Chat that he doesn’t realize is there because Original Chat is way easier to block out and shut up than Corrupted Chat. Still annoying and playful while the marked actually pays attention to it but nowhere near as bad as Techno’s chat. I’m thinking that Tommy probably doesn’t even realize they’re there till exile when he’s so desperate for anything to speak with he’d even settle for talking to himself and accidentally opens the door for Chat.)

I’m thinking that maybe we can make the rest of Business Bay(Wisp Included) + Clara, Clementine, and maybe even Boffy into gods that Tommy accidentally befriended along the way. I don’t have any idea what kind of gods Bitzel or Luke should be but I like the idea of Wisp having something to do with death, rebirth, and second chances. Boffy has to have some kind of link with lightning and destruction because it’s Boffy and we all know what he’s done with that blaze rod. Clara is obviously the god of space and the void. Clementine I actually had a really cool idea for. She’s a flaming moth god and one of the two gods who holds the most control of the nether (Deo being the other.) Clara is the main god of the end and the overworld is in a constant state of fluxing control since there are significantly more gods who want to be associated with rulership of it. Very few gods want control over the void so few challenge Clara and the few who do leave terrified. There are a couple war gods who live in the nether but since Deo and Clementine work together nothing can really overthrow them. Dream is younger than the group of gods associated with Tommy but older than a lot of other gods. He’s working his way up to control of the overworld but that currently still belongs to an unknown gods simply named Prime who never shows itself.

And of course because it’s my brand, at one point all of the gods became so worried over the idea of Tommy dying they made him a phoenix. That way he wouldn’t die unless he chose to, decides he’s ready for his next life. They were still worried though. Sure they were Tommy’s friends, but he had other friends and family that he’d lose being immortal. They realized that one day he’d eventually chose to make his current life the last one. None of them could handle the thought though, they didn’t want to loose him. So then they went the extra mile to ensure that Tommy’s soul would always be semi bound to them and he’d be a phoenix in all of his reincarnations (with the ability to access the memories of his prior reincarnation if and only if he so chooses, which he usually does when he crosses paths with his god friends again). The important thing to remember is that they know Tommy doesn’t “belong” to them. He isn’t a pet, isn’t theirs, he belongs to himself alone. The bond isn’t an ownership thing. It’s more akin to a divine version of Tubbo and Tommy’s compasses. It’s just a way for him to always find his way back to them and vice versa. 

Speaking of which, at one point the gods gave him the ability to do something similar. Marking the souls of people he became specifically fond of so he could find them in future lifetimes. So far Tommy has only done this to four people. Techno, Phil, Wilbur, and obviously Tubbo. Tubbo was the first, that was a bond that was made in Tommy’s very first lifetime and the reason the other gods gave him the power in the first place. Techno, Phil, and Wilbur were all done in one go during the Antarctic Empire era because he decided he just really liked this family and would love to be apart of it again some day. Tubbo is someone he always remembers in every lifetime without fail and seeks out regardless. The kids are platonic soulmates, fight me.

Okay. This is evolving way past Blood God Deo. But dang it, we’re rolling with it. 

Maybe each SMP/server is a different reincarnation of Tommy. That’s also why the sbi family dynamic is murky. Phil and Techno are immortals, not gods or even phoenixes per se but they can’t died under normal circumstances. Wilbur and presumably Tommy in their eyes were not. During the Antarctic Empire era it was easy to tell that Wilbur hadn’t inherited the same immortality that his twin brother had from their father. They couldn’t tell when Tommy was born and it was a deeply ingrained part of his nature to hide his phoenix traits, so eventually they just assumed he wasn’t. Wilbur and Tommy eventually started their own countries (Tommy recruiting three other gods to help him kill god) and both eventually passed away while Techno and Phil continued on. Technically, the death of Wilbur and Tommy is what slowly started turning Techno from emperor to Anarchist. He blamed the countries his brothers ran both for killing them as well as shortening the amount of time he had with them.

Phil later adopted Tommy and Wilbur during the current Dream SMP because both were orphans and reminded Phil a startling degree of the first Tommy and Wilbur (hence why he even named them after the two.) Techno refused the dynamic because he was bitter over the fact that Phil was trying to “replace his brothers”.

Wilbur is a rare case where he reincarnated almost just the same and has some scant memories of his life as a prince of the Antarctic Empire. Tommy early on decided to recover all of his memories associated with his Antarctic family and treats Techno and Phil as such. Techno continued to reject “new” Tommy and “new” Wilbur as members of his family which caused a lot tension. Phil kept trying to repair his relationship with Techno while raising Wilbur and Tommy but Techno kept making him feel bad which led to the whole “Techno is the favorite situation”. Since Tommy decided to recover his memories he kind of gets why Techno feels the way he does but is also bitter since he is Techno’s Tommy, he just doesn’t know how to put that into words. It’s made worse by Corrupted Chat which being a creation of Dream that is actively trying to pin Tommy and Techno against one another. Lotta room in this AU for sbi hurt comfort. Don’t worry, eventually there’s a reveal. It just takes a while since Tommy has to be the one to do it or Dream has to out him as a phoenix first.

Maybe the whole Ghostbur situation is because as a phoenix Tommy has some control over the people around him who die. He can return lost lives using his feathers and considering the nature of the gods who adore him he can bring people back from the dead. Unfortunately Dream intercepted this and we got Ghostbur. Maybe later down the road as a plot point, Ghostbur existing somewhere between death and life could have access the memories locked in the deeper part of his soul that are associated with his past lives (as well as the Antarctic Empire) and he could be the one to do the reveal.

Then Dream goes overboard at some point (maybe he threatens to chop off Tommy’s wings or hurt one of his family members) and suddenly we end up with Protective God Deo kicking down Dream’s door.

[danieyells]

Yo Danie, I wonder if you've got any ideas on this; in TAS, transients either get summoned to Tokyo because the app reaches out and makes pacts on people's behalfs with willing familiars, or they get summoned by having, like, a wish of some kind and they end up stumbling through a portal to Tokyo to see that wish fulfilled, right? And then they either get unsummoned, or stick around for whatever reason?

Here's the thing; when they get unsummoned, do they go home? The Red Oni in chapter 1 seems pretty convinced that he's going to die unless you make a Summoning pact with him, but Salomon says later that Shiro's familiar whose connection you cut will just end up going home. Further to that, Macan says about Oniwaka when he's vanishing into light that he's going back to his home world, and then when his strength recovers he'll pop right back in.

The thing is though, that there's a remark early on that Stray Transients, who are Transients without a Summoning bond by the game's definition if I'm remembering right, can only maintain themselves for a while by sustaining themselves on the land's energy. Even further, the actual Housamo wiki says that they'll be unsummoned from the game if they don't find a way to sustain themselves, usually by getting into a pact. Guilds I believe are also noted to be one way around this. Does that mean that if you just wait outside of a Pact, you'll go home? Or would you pop back in again after a bit, essentially trapped in Tokyo?

ALSO ALSO, Bathym says that, though this only applies to "his hella demonic self", demons need tons of emotional energy directed at them to survive, and a pact is the most efficient way to get energy.

But we don't see Sitri in a Guild or a Pact (unless you Pact him, but I'm pretty sure that's non-canon), and Sitri also has a family. They're all demons one would presume, so why does he not seem to need anything like Bathym does? We can derive from this that Bathym was either speaking about himself, and only himself, lying to try and get the Protagonist to make a pact with him, or that Sitri has a Pact he isn't chatting to anybody about, right?

HOWEVER. In chapter 4, we see that the Aoyama guild provides supplies for the enormous number of Stray Transients who have nothing and no prospects, but that those strays are unlikely to be guild members. Further to that, she mentions that the ninjas and many other strays are like, literally treated as the dregs of society. So, how come they're still around? Surely the Stray Transient population should be either dwindling all the time, or in constant flux? But I'm pretty sure there's a notable overpopulation issue in canon because of the sheer number of Transients! Not to mention, if they're treated like dirt and killed and traded, you'd think they'd just...WANT to leave, right? So they could just wait until their connection ran out.

AND ALSO, it's noted in the backstory that Transients started pouring through the gates one day in history, and that this generation has never lived in a Tokyo without walls, but the previous generation therefore presumably did; that means like, it's been at least 2 decades, possibly 3. How long could those Transients have stuck around without a pact going by the lore?

Lastly, the Protagonist has the power to rend Transients connections to Tokyo, canonically. How then, do those Transients come back if they've had their connection severed? And shouldn't the Protagonist offer to go to the slums and ask if anybody would like to go back to their homeworld if that were the case? Or will everyone literally just rebound to Tokyo completely?

Further to that, when people fulfil their wish, do they go home? When they've played their Role out completely, is that the end of their tenure in Tokyo?

Basically, I think the whole system is a little underexplained and I've seen you post thoughts here on stuff, so I was wondering as to what you'd make of it all! Am I missing something?

. . .holy shit anon this is an essay innit lol not that i'm complaining, I just was not expecting it when I saw the notification after I woke up. For the record I saw this at. . .7am or so. It is now 11:55 when I'm finishing it. HYPERFOCUS GO BRRRRRRRRR. OKAY LET'S SEE IF I'VE GOT SOME THOUGHTS FOR YOU.

DISCLAIMER: I'VE BEEN PLAYING THIS GAME FOR LITTLE OVER A MONTH AND I FEEL LIKE I HAVE FAR FROM ALL OF THE DETAILS. I haven't read three of the translated past events yet and I haven't read most of the untranslated content(including Chapter 11 although I'm super tempted you don't even know.) These are just my understandings of things, I suppose.

ALSO IDK HOW FAR YOU ARE IN THE STORY. . .I mean you mention them being sold so you're probably up to Chapter 10 at least since that's where we learn about Daikoku selling transients because it gets him off I guess, although they also could have mentioned it some other time and I just forgot lol BUT. YEAH PROBABLY GONNA MENTION SPOILERS.

TL;DR:

Red Oni: summoned to Tokyo without a pact. When rended from the land would disappear, possibly die. Likely this is because of whatever conditions are happening where they came from or having had already been dead when summoned. Possibly also just a false belief because they didn't know well what was going on to begin with. Possibly also just part of the game plan originally but retconned by the devs then never rewritten.

D-Evils: Shiro's Rule is Ressurection which causes an exception when clashing with Rending. The world of the Old Ones is gone, the D-Evils are familiars created by/living in Shiro's book. Entities, abilities, and artifacts from Old Ones are able to be used outside of the app/battle zones, so D-Evils can exist if Shiro just summons them. D-Evils don't go away when rended because they're part of Old Ones and Old Ones is gone--if they go away they return to Shiro's artifact where they came from. They also donct go away because rending them causes an Exception.

Oniwaka; Zabaniyya; Ophion: rended from EXCEPTIONS not from the world. Were likely sent back in order to resolve the exception after being rended and to recover the energy that sustained their physical forms in the first place, not because they had no means of being sustained in Tokyo. Returned due to pacts with MC, positions in Guild, unfulfilled pact, etc once their energy to maintain physical form returned.

Stray Transients: likely have outstanding pacts and thus do not disappear over time. However, some don't and those proper strays will likely return home after an amount of time, but we don't know how long. Alp has been in Tokyo for a few months but isn't disappearing despite arriving because he wanted to be loved/popular. So unattached transients stay around longer than a few months. They may also be attached to the school they were initially meant to go to to be monitored, or someone who works there. They may not want to go home due to poor conditions, being dead, lacking a home or people to return to, etc. Remember, even in real life people immigrate to places that treat them poorly--but that's because even that and the potential in those places is likely better to them than whatever they're running away from. If the transient arrived in distress it's because they wanted to be away from wherever they started out or because they desperately needed something. This new opportunity may be what they need--to find someone they lost, to find an answer, to simply start life over fresh. Even if they're being abused, looked down on, they may simply be happy to be alive. If they want to go home, they hopefully just have to wait--but you have to live if you wanna get home, don't you? Best to survive as well as you can.

Stray Transient Population: constantly increasing to sustain/grow the Game for the World Representatives. The overpopulation is deliberate. They do not care about the wellbeing of these people, they only want to create a stadium to fight in, and for that they need more transients and app users than humans not using the app in Tokyo.

Sitri: Aside from forming a pact with him, Sitri's Sacred Artifact is his wings/are his feathers, which cause people to fall in love with someone who touched them after the feathers that had been touched are attached to a second party. Sitri feeds off of the love directed to him. This is troublesome for him more often than not, but I'm pretty sure that's how he gets the emotions he needs to eat if not via pact.

Being around from the start?: The gates appeared in 1999--it's been at least 20 years, assuming the game takes place anywhere near the present year. Off the top of my head we don't know if any stray transients have stuck around for extended periods. How long someone's been in Tokyo rarely comes up. We know Yule has been in Tokyo for a few years because he went to middle(elementary? Idr) school with Ryota. Sitri is similar with Kengo. As such, given Sitri and Yule aren't in guilds as far as we're aware, assuming being attached to a school doesn't make one connected to Tokyo, we can assume they're stray transients. This means that they'd been here for years, as strays. Given we know stray transients disappear eventually, it's safe to assume that there have been stray transients who disappeared and went home. Assuming it isn't different per individual, stray transients can stay in Tokyo for several months to several years, but to my awareness there's no set number.

Going Home: in order to go home a transient who's been summoned must fulfil their summoner/pacted humancs desire. Surtr, Azathoth, and Babalon all disappear after fulfilling Arc's desire for them to be their family, leaving behind their sacred artifacts which contain their memories until they disappeared. So, yes, fulfilling the desire entrusted to a transient/playing out their role will cause them to fulfil the conditions of their pact, causing them to disappear. However, we don't know what happens when they do. Thus far, those three haven't come back despite the reset occurring. Arc was able to summon their artifacts but otherwise could not reach them. Their artifacts were taken by Breke who was able to channel the memories within and allow Arc to communicate with Azathoth's memories.

SLIGHTLY MORE FULL VERSION WITH A COUPLE SCREENSHOTS

(read the tl;dr anyway because I probably remembered things while Inwas writing it that I didn't remember to put in the 'full' version lol I WROTE MOST OF THE LONG ONE, WROTE OUT THE TL;DR, THEN FINISHED THE LONG ONE SO. PROBABLY WANNA READ BOTH.)

Transients arrive in Tokyo either by being summoned, by being summoned ACCIDENTALLY(someone wishes to have friends/meet someone new, etc), by being pulled in by the Rainbow Of Transient Light randomly(?) sucking them up when they're in distress/have a wish to fulfil, or some combination of those.

In Macan's character quest, MC and Macan learn that the one who technically summoned Macan was MC. The same thing happens in I think Xolotl's. They end up going to the collided past--or a collided memory?--and when past!Macan is in distress over being alone, MC approaches him and says they're there for him, however past!Macan can only hear them, not see them. He calms down and asks if they're searching for him and says he's going to find them--which causes him to disappear and be summoned to Tokyo in search of this person who wanted to be by his side. Macan realizes that's exactly what happened to him--he heard a voice saying that they were with him and, in his desire to no longer be alone, the transient light came along and took him.

(it's written as 'Magan' in Japanese hence why it's written that way here--this was likely translated before his English name was given.) (Such a request, perhaps, means that he's with MC until he's dismissed by them specifically.)

Xolotl was running from being sacrificed to Tezcatlipoca and MC and future!Xolotl protected him. Seeing himself be weak and seeing himself be strong enough to try and protect MC and seeing MC who refused to leave him and hearing what they had to say, he desired the strength to live with the people he loves and for there to not be sacrifices again. He may not have gone to Tokyo if he hadn't realized that desire through meeting himself and MC. In fact, he may not have survived at all(though maybe Quetzalcoatl would've protected him if not collided MC and present!Xolotl.)

SO. If you recall correctly, MC is implied to be a transient as well. There's also the possibility that they're not, and simply are some poor sob the Game shoved 23+ memories in at once, broke the memories of the host in the proccess, and thus we have MC coming to in a park confused about everything but their own name(of course if that were the case surely someone in Tokyo would recognize them beyond their being the trophy/exile from their home world, so it's not likely.) Lil Salomon says that as a summoned transient they can only go home if they find and fulfil the wishes of their summoner. However they neither know who or where their summoner is.

Transients can appear simply due to someone's desire for companionship. But they don't necessarily appear atop that person, hence not knowing their summoner. They just hear a voice, may not even hear exactly what's being said or asked for, and the light picks them up and drops them off with no further info or ceremony. So if someone is pulled into Tokyo this way they have a summoner even if they don't know it--even if the summoner themself doesn't know. So they won't just disappear over time unless that person unwills what willed them there or they die or something. Plus we don't know how long stray transients stick around if they have no pact/summoner--we just know that they disappear eventually. It's more than a few months, because Alp showed up a few months ago and hasn't disappeared yet.

Several characters are attached to guilds which may keep them from being Strays. However some, to our awareness, have neither summoner/master nor guild. At most they may be attached to schools. Sitri, as you mentioned, is one of them, as is Yule--whom Shiro refers to as a stray transient he sees every year without being corrected(although the situation wasn't exactly a good time to clarify that lol.)

Both of them have been in Tokyo for years without disappearing--and the app is a kind of but not super recent creation, so guilds likely didn't sustain them this whole time. Neither have disappeared. Of course someone may have summoned them or they may be part of guilds without it being stated or perhaps being in a school has the same effect as being in a guild. But we don't know that for sure, either.

(Japanese middle school is from 12-15 years old. Kengo's a second year High School student now, so 16-17 years old. Sitri was a first year while Kengo was a third year, so there's two grades between them. Sitri's been in Tokyo at least 2 years. I believe he mentions seeing Lucifuge in a magazine in Ghenna so he hasn't been here his whole life either. So a few years, but not 15.)

Transients that disappear don't have pacts but transients that come back probably do/have formed pacts/attachments to the world. Remember, Oniwaka, Zabaniyya, and Ophion say to call on them if you need them. They're attached to the player now, perhaps having formed a pact incidentally, assuming the situation that brought them there in the first place isn't still in effect(or they're not still bound by, say, their guild.)

Also, much like in real life, sometimes whatever is home is worse than the horrific things you deal with wherever you immigrate to. Or perhaps you've formed attachments somewhere you've arrived and are willing to endure suffering for them. It's rarely as simple as "we're suffering, we wanna go back to where we came from." Especially since transients likely arrived due to distress or wanting to be anywhere else but home. Some of their worlds don't exist anymore(Old Ones) or are collapsing(Yggdrasil; El Dorado.) Some people have no one and nothing back home and this is a new start for them, even if the start is bad. Also they could be waiting until they go home automatically, but what're you gonna do while you wait? Probably live your life as best you can. If you're gojna be stuck somewherefor a few months you may as well make yourself at home.

So why doesn't MC go around rending people themself?

Well, for starters, they're made to be a high school student most of the day. Where would they find the time lol. Second they're a bit busy trying to save the world and all. . .and if some teenager wandered up to you and said they could get you home if you had an app battle with them, would you really believe that when you've been told your best bet is to either find your summoner or wait out your incidental connection to the world? Sounds like a kid trying to stir up trouble, and not all transients have the app anyway. I mean really would you expect the local homeless population to have smartphones? Probably not.

Furthermore. Spoiler alert

This system of the game, the gates, the transients, it's no accident. It's intentional. Tokyo is the setting for this inter-world competition to prove which world is strongest or something to that effect--and the winner gets MC, the host of the exiles and perhaps some kind of powerful system. Of course what they do with MC is up to them. The Warmongers want to keep the game going so they can fight the powerful MV over and over again forever. We don't know what the Invaders want yet afaik but based on the name I'd assume they want to use MC as a super soldier to conquer other worlds. And the Rule Makers want to use MC to support one of their own worlds as its System. /smacks MC on the back) this baby can hold SO MANY rules and roles! Hold up a whole damn world apparently!!

So think of it this way. . .they could go around rending everyone until the transient light returns them home or to the deaths they desire. . .but would the World Representatives really allow that? They'd just keep bringing in transients. They need to fill Tokyo with them--until transients and app users outnumber the humans naturally belonging to Tokyo--so they can have their little contest.

MC alone would never be able to pull off sending everyone home as long as the Game is running. The worlds would not allow their contest to be ruined.

As for who goes where and does what when unsummoned. The Red Oni hadn't been there long. And perhaps wasn't summoned in the first place, nor had anyone likely explained much to them for that arrival. Also if you felt yourself disappearing, felt your connection to this world just torn off and uprooted and fading away, even if you knew better you'd probably think you're dying. That'd be scary. You'd want to avoid it.

Of course it's also possible the oni was dead or dying to begin with and their connection being severed would send them back to death--like Shino, who'd died long ago in the Land of Wa and when he died in Tokyo he went back to being dead.

The D-Evils don't have anywhere to go back to besides Shiro's book. The world of the Old Ones is gone. As such "home" for them is back with Shiro--and remember, their rules clash anyway. Rending and Ressurection don't mix. MC couldn't rend the D-Evils from Shiro properly because it causes an Exception. At best rending them will send them back to the book until Shiro summons them again. Plus, entities from Old Ones can use their powers without the use of the app--including those with Old Ones artifacts. Shiro can summon the D-Evils at any time, even outside of an app battle--so to send them 'home' doesn't really send them anywhere but back to Shiro since they both have no home to return to and were summoned to exist in Tokyo.

Demons needing to recieve emotions seems to be more of a feeding thing than a transient connection one afair. Like Alp eating dreams--he'll die if he doesn't. It's like "I need to external feelings or I'll starve" not "I need external feelings or I go back to Ghenna." Sitri likely survived thanks to his feathers--his sacred artifact which cause people they attach to to fall in love with whoever touched them previously--causing a constant stream of love towards him as he needs it. As such he doesn't need to have a pact to live, he only needs to make people fall for him to absorb that feeling and then take his feathers back to stop eating.

The canon-ness of MC making pacts with everyone is perhaps debateable. However events, character quests, special quests, etc have characters refer to Mc as Master or Summoner. And the story can sometimes reference events and such(see: meeting characters in events before they're part of the main story, meeting them in the main story, and being able to go "didn't I meet you in [season/holiday]?" And they go "yeah, we did! It's nice to see you again!" So technically events and the like are as canon as you make them. Also having a pact doesn't mean that person can't be your enemy or can't hurt you or is fully at your command, which means that it doesn't necessarily not make sense that characters can be in pacts with/summoned by the player while still being against them. MC likely has the ability to form pacts easily/unconsciously.

This is likely(and this part is speculation!) because of MC's role as the Wanderer--as the host of the Exiles of the many worlds, they're a system in and of themself(or they'e able to be one.) As such attachments to them are like individuals having 'faith' in them, the way Systems sustain worlds. Especially those who had some relationship with or attachment to an Exile they host. This may also cause a pseudo pact with people they meet and get attached to(and are attached to them in turn, not necessarily in a positive way)--like people believing in a faith. The attachment to them, love for them, hate of them, fear of them, is a sort of belief that causes them to be able to stay in Tokyo longer because they are now unwittingly part of MC's system. After all MC is a transient and transients, as far as I recall/understand, don't summon other transients to Tokyo, they only summon artifacts because bringing a whole person and their memories requires a strong means to bind them. Transients' connections are already dependent on someone/something else--which is already taxing as a pregnancy--and that'd be hard for them unless they were born into Tokyo.

In cases like Oniwaka and Zabaniyya and Ophion, they likely needed to disappear temporarily in order to resolve the Exception on top of regaining energy to sustain physical forms in another world. Think of it like closing a program on your computer. If the program clashed with another and an exception occurs you close the one of lesser importance. You can then maybe open it again once things have cooled down with your proccesser and it can handle them at the same time--thus, they come back to Tokyo even after being dismissed by fixing the exception.

So they pop back in because they're still bound to Tokyo. MC only rended them from the exception, not from the world itself. But transients who truly have no connection will go back and stay until summoned again. . . .

(Now that I think about it when someone fulfils the reason they were summoned to Tokyo they disappear and seem to disappear for good. We don't know if they die or what. They've been eliminated from the game. This happens with Surtr, Babalon, and Azathoth. After they successfully, properly became like Arc's family and that desire was considered fulfilled the pact was complete and they disappeared, leaving behind their artifacts.

Red Oni may have been summoned to be a tutorial for the player. But also a tutorial for the player character. Red Oni thus would go away completely after fulfilling that desire of whoever summoned them, thus giving them their fear they'd die because they'd served their purpose.

I just happened to remember/consider that lol ANYWAY.)

Basically it's a bit underexplained I agree.

But that's because you, as the player, as the MC, aren't supposed to know everything that's going on. You're supposed to learn as you go while also being denied information by the Powers That Be. You don't have your memories, you don't know what's going on here until you see/experience/hear about it. It's part of the immersive understanding/storytelling proccess. The characters don't tell you how things work because they only barely understand it themselves--and then when they learn 'this isn't just a game, this isn't just coincidence, there's something greater happening here' everything they know gets thrown into question. The people who do understand it aren't going to tell you much because they don't want you to ruin their game. You're just the final boss and the trophy to be won--and possibly the system upon which the game resides, resetting every time you die so you can struggle to be won someday.

You "can't win."

So you don't need to know how it works.

That doesn't stop you or anyone else from trying to find out, though, nor does it stop you from trying to change it.

. . .I hope that helped a bit! 8'D I don't think you missed much, really. You're right in that it's underexplained but That's Storytelling, Baby!

[infini-tree]

FANFIC: against all odds - part 4

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Summary: Moments of relative ease while they were on the run.

A/N: alternate title - haha! i tricked you all into reading my personal headcanons on the pmd universe!

I feel like there’s a vague theme, but for the life of me I can’t put words to it. This has also been sitting in my drafts for a while. How much can I write for just the fugitive arc plot point? According to the word count, over 5,000 words.

_________________________

I can’t fight. You don’t know how to manage resources on the road. If I suddenly wake up in a dungeon or we’re in peril, then I’ll do everything to switch back to you, but you have to agree to switching back when we’re just traveling. Our survival may depend on it.

Guildmaster of the Jerome Horwitz Guild,

Krupp leaned back, inspecting the writing with a frown. Was it stupid to sign a note he scrawled in the dirt in his own pine needles? Perhaps. 

He signed it anyway. Listen, if he had to rank the absurdity of the events so far, this would be dead last.

The abomasnow shuffled to his feet. It was late night and this was the only time he would have to himself. He gaze shifted to the dying fire, to the two boys sleeping soundly. He lumbered his way over to the campfire to feed it a few more sticks and some fallen pine needles.

(Morbid as it was, they made excellent firestarters.)

Satisfied with the size of the flame, he made his hasty retreat from the heat. Back to the message he scrawled to the dirt. Well, it was now or later, and later happened to have the boys being awake and nosy.

How had those miscreants made him switch over? Harold managed it by making the static around him crackle in a specific way, but George--

He brought a thumb and finger together. Here goes... everything.

Snap.

_________________________

He didn’t like thinking about the day he evolved. 

Under most circumstances, it should have been a happy time; certain families would make a big show of it, or at least gave congratulations. The ability to do so was in constant flux along with the waxing and waning of major disasters, so everyone treated it as something unlikely and miraculous every time.

It had been cold, but then again it was always cold at the family orchard. All he could remember was being so angry, and if his heart hadn’t froze then, then the look his mother gave him completely iced it over to protect it. To salve the pain.

(But it was still in there, thawing the ice from the inside.)

The moments after that were a blur; the ice that made a vice grip around his heart made his way into his veins, to each needle, made him glow so bright that it could’ve caused snow-blindness.

And then he had the power to protect himself.

It was a strange comparison to make, but switching over to the other guy-- it felt like that rush of emotion and power. Instead of the cold and anger, it was... the only thing he could describe it was alive, the joy of it. The fierce determination to protect that. It was foreign and terrifying to him.

He came back to his blunt claws caked in dirt and strange markings. It took too long to realize that it was writing.

It looked so minimalist, what with its lines looking all the same. Even between the curves and the straight lines, there was no rhyme or reason to the shapes of the letters.

It took even longer to realize that he could read it.

Not to worry, Guildmaster!

_________________________

Sometimes, a part of him wondered if the other guy felt like turning to him was a disappointment-- if he felt this way when he switched over, then the reverse must be true.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but he didn’t have much time to think about it as George and Harold were running headfirst into a mystery dungeon that was starting to form, he just looked away for five minutes--

(True to their agreement, he snapped his fingers. He jolted up in an unfamiliar clearing, in strange clothes, with the boys giving him concerned looks that it made something in his heart twinge.

And then, recalling that he left most of the supplies back at the previous camp when he ran in to catch them, and the something was doused.)

_________________________

Sometimes luck was on their side. Sometimes the dungeons were short, and sometimes there was swaths of apple trees at the end.

Despite all that, Krupp couldn’t help but be the pessimistic one-- someone had to be. Short dungeons meant they couldn’t stay for long; those hunting for them would bulldoze through the floors, no matter how tricky the dungeon was. 

Plus, he didn’t like the look of the trees here. Each and every one of them were identical-- it was a weird byproduct of taking root at the epicenter of a dungeon.

Still, food was food. He made his way over to the one the boys were trying to coax fruit out of. At first they tried to climb it, but the strangeness of the dungeon left the bark slightly less textured and with no footholds.

Now, they were trying to cut it down, taking turns tackling-- and in George’s case-- hitting it with iron tail.

The abomasnow rolled his eyes. “Get out of the way,�� he grumbled. The needles on his back raised, and suddenly there were a quartet of ice shards.

George stared at him, crossing his arms. “If our attacks couldn’t do anything, what makes you think those little thing--”

The shards shot up the tree and wove through the branches. After a few moments, several apples with frostbitten stems fell down. One even managed to hit him in the head. The force was strong enough to impale itself against the pine needles.

Harold snickered before another apple hit him on the head. Considering the amount of wool, it was less of a hit, and more of a...

Well, it was lodged deep in the wool.

Krupp barked out a short laugh before realizing where he was and who he was. He clapped a hand to his mouth, attempting to play it off as a cough or-- or something else. Anything else.

His plan to scarf down one of the apples and feign choking quickly fizzled as the boys at each other in quiet disbelief, and then to him. They noticed. Of course, the miscreants who thrived off pranks, and by extension the laughter that came from it, noticed. It was stupid to think otherwise.

“Just,” he ran a hand down his face, hand outstretched towards the mareep. “Just hand the apples over so I can bag everything up and we can move on.”

From this place, from his stupid, stupid fumble.

Harold’s mouth quirked mischievously before he shook, sending the apple-- and everything else that was lodged in his wool-- flying.

(So that’s where they kept their comic supplies, he remembered thinking, before frustration took precedence over sated curiosity.)

_________________________

“How’d you do the thing?” George asked. 

The noonday sun was high and sweltering. This meant that the boys started their routine of what he liked to call We’re Not Technically Touching You So You Can’t Complain, where they would walk as close to him as they could get away with, before backing away before he noticed.

“What thing?” he grumbled, flicking away the meltwater.

“You know, the thing with the ice shards,” Harold offered. “The-- you know, whoosh, whoosh!” To emphasize his point, he jumped from side to side, pantomiming how it wove through the branches.

The words come out much easier than he expected, or wanted to. “You don’t grow up on an orchard without learning how to get the season’s stock off as quickly as possible.” He shrugged, sending some melting snow careening to the ground.

The boys thought about it. George looked off to the mountains in the distance, but Harold was looking right at him. For a moment he could have sworn that there was something he could only describe as recognition in his eyes, but he nodded and it was gone. 

“You know that’s not what we meant.” The snivy kicked a rock. It was sent careening off into the grass, and his shoulders dropped in slight disappointment.

“What, you want demonstrations now?” the abomasnow raised a brow. “You barely listened to anything at school!”

“Yeah, because no one’s teaching us stuff like that!” George shot back, raising his arms up to emphasize his point. “The most complicated thing Meaner’s ever taught us is don’t get hit!”

Krupp couldn’t help but wince. That might explain... a lot, actually. “I don’t know what to tell you, but that was just-- I don’t know, a thing.”

“How were you a Guildmaster for this long,” Harold shook his head, and he knew he was baiting him. They’ve been on the road long enough that the abomasnow could figure out their tells, how to tell the difference between staged theatrics and genuine emotion.

And here he was, falling for it hook, line, and sinker. 

The soil beneath his feet freeze-dried at every step. “Fine, you want a lesson?” He shrugged, and this time the snow and frost tumbled down with purpose before forming a few shards. 

“You either are naturally strong and can bulldoze through anything--”

“Like Captain Underpants!” Harold chimed in.

“Yeah, him.” He rolled his eyes. “Or you get creative with weak moves.”

He let the shards weave around the boys as they walked-- not too close, or else they would get frostbite, and not too fast, or they might get hurt if they moved suddenly. 

Just enough so they would stay cool.

“Maneuverability’s just a matter of endurance and concentration.”

He didn’t need to look back to see the boys make a face.

(In any case, Krupp considered this a victory. They wouldn’t need to huddle so close to him now, and hopefully that was enough to stop their prying questions regarding it.)

[largethingslargerthings]

Short reflection on Chang, Amico and Humienik

Questions can be profound moments in a poem, but there is also the risk that they go nowhere, that you issue a query to nothingness.  The opening lines to Spencer Chang’s “Ghost Stories (III) are stained with the interrogative, “it’s June / I wake up / you’re not / in bed I call you / we’re sorry you have reached / I call again / call me when you get home / turn lights off / I leave for the gas station / I buy you coffee / stay out until it’s very dark / every face blurry / I grab a stranger / he looks like you / he pushes me to the ground”.  The lines live in the body of a question.  In one part of the poem, the narrator queries a voice mail, literally speaking to the absence of the person.  Everything thereafter is the  attempt to find stable ground in a world where symbols have become disassociated from their referents, where voices are separated from mouths. Memories separate from their historical moments and spill across time.  There is a fear to allow the question to do its work, to bifurcate reality into what is hoped-for and what is actual.  Consider further in the poem where Chang’s narrator says, “I feel guilty / I wash my hands / I wash them until they’re red / blue / red / red / red/”.  There has been no resolution, no physical goodbye, concrete initiation into the next state of existence.  There is a hesitancy to finish the question, receive the response.  (Is the person really gone, dead?  Or, can I sit on the question and avoid the terrifying possibilities that await?)  Things happened so suddenly and, as a result, the memories fly across time like papers on a desk scattered by a strong wind.  Still, history does not react. The moment is indifferent.  The feeling might be that if action is not taken, then the importance of this moment would disintegrate.  Disintegration inevitably carries existential undertones.  What does it mean if what I consider important is revealed to be meaningless?  How do we deal with the fear of moving forward when one option might be too terrible to even consider?

Brandon Amico’s “The Gravity Between Two Objects is Proportional to Their Masses and Inversely Proportional to the Distance Between Them” answers this question indirectly by calling out the way in which “meaning” is constructed (after all, this is one of the main concerns with asking the question...what does it “mean” for me?):

“The dog in any 90s film was only ever being itself; to a dog, acting

and taking orders from the trainer off-camera with a bag of treats

is identical. It’s not lying in the same way acting

is not lying, which is to say it’s giving permission

for us to be happily wrong and to glean something

from that wrongness.”  

For the dog, meaning is not a ground from which to act but an historical moment. Being given the treat is an instant abundant with meaning relevant only to that moment and never again.  It is never carried across.  Later, Amico elaborates:

“If a tree falls in the woods and you’re no around to hear it

an unlabeled bird that was close enough to the crash

will bring that news     will fly off and carry

soaring out                  the sound far,

above your head.        far away from you.”

Meaning is not around if we’re not there.  To obsess over meaning is to take the chance that you will see it trivialized in front of you, reduced to empty noise and spread so thin that the essential nature that was once so important is revealed to be an empty assortment of sounds.  To question something is to provide opportunities for the matter in question to be affirmed definitely or negated absolutely.  Questions, when posed strategically, have that power.

Questions sometimes lose their meaning in poems in the way they are posed. Who are they posed to?  Is it a rhetorical device and nothing more?  It is a pause in the action that is turning back to gaze at...what? I think those who do it best have a style of verse that I would call meditative.  This is poetry that arrives in the moment.  It is physically in the world and widens itself to include the infinite, the impersonal.  Within that inclusion are other phenomena happening simultaneously. People taking the action of witness on. Their small acts are world-altering precisely because of their uniqueness, which interrupts a constant flux of instants... of whom they are a witness.  That which they face (fate, random chance, etc.) lowers its hand and they

(1)   lift their heads against it 

and/or

(2)   allow the full strength of the hand to come down on them (but record their process of subdual).  

The first seems the most noble, but that isn’t to say that the second response is negative.  There are moments in Chang’s poem where the narrator’s helplessness pierces through the poem: the constant calling of the missing person’s number, the attempt to project the person’s memory onto strangers.  Sometimes we are not in control of our lives and the best agency is the manner in which we respond.  Both 1 & 2 seem like prime scenarios to pose a question that would unsteady the momentum of the poem and cause the reader to reflect. (The fact that Amico doesn’t do this seems to be all the more powerful because it highlights a self-restraint (either purposely or inadvertently) that elaborates on the power the concept has over the narrator.  The narrator identifies with the dog and so question the assumptions his ego places over reality.  (I.e. that  the “meaning” that the narrator judges to be the ground of existence might be no more than an echo dissipating within the largeness of the world and so revealing its triviality)

There is a third manner, which is to describe the moment just before the hand comes.  The moment when you are unsure of what will happen.  Something stands before you and you feel paralyzed, energized. You feel life pulsing in you and it is this expectation that you sometimes want to live in again and again. This is the reflective witness. Something that people look back at and attempt to study.  What were conditions like before we ended up where we are?  What can we learn from those conditions?  Others don’t attempt to learn. They simply stare into the void of the moment. There are no lessons to learn, just meditations on the curve of the moment.  They remember the details of every moment and sometimes enter into one of those details as if it were a world unto itself.  There is a discovery in those moments that this detail is the imprint of time.  There might also be a question about the use of such an imprint.  Should this be my ground?  Or, is this a mystery that I will carry on my back without turning back to look at it?  Patrycja Humienik’s “Cargo” has this manner.  The poem opens,

“night arrives at the door with a lidded platter of chocolate chip

cookies vegan since you can’t have dairy unlaces their boots and sits

across from me responds to my raised how-did-you-find-me-in-the-woods eyebrows”

Night is the impersonal, the void; yet, it arrives with such a strangely personal gift (“chocolate schoolmates who are shocked to find each in the world again.  The night makes demands on her (“telling me to come press my back against the ground”), but she refuses to totally supplicate to an acceptance of unloaded cargo (“the ships having taken their cargo elsewhere i say i don’t want any more stuff”), “cargo” being the insurmountable weight of the ineffable.  I also wonder if the “you” of the poem is addressing herself.  The infinite matter of possible “responsibilities” that one could convince oneself are essential to take on are what she is faced with.  Yet, she knows that in taking on the totality of responsibility, of “cargo” that she has carried from the vanished day, could destroy the very vessel she wishes to protect.  She prefers to be in the presence of responsibility, but not be compelled to blindly take it on.  At the end, she awakens alone, neither bowing to or resisting that which she encountered. In refusing to do either, she records an event but does not internalize it enough to ask a question.  She keeps it in front of it.  She lives in the question, refusing to actuate it.  Pressing that obligation onto the reader, or perhaps pressing the reader to decide if a question is needed at all.  The question seems very therapeutic in this sense.  Chang illustrates the danger of asking questions to recklessly, Amico notes the repressive tendency of refusing out of a nihilistic tendency and Humienik notes the possibilities inherent in taking control of the question and passing it off to the community when it has become too burdensome for one individual.

[go-forth-and-live]

Types of Intelligence Meme || Accepting!

intrapersonal   ⸺   the capacity to understand oneself and one’s thoughts and feelings, and to use such knowledge in planning and directioning one’s life. not only an appreciation of the self, but also of the human condition.

@hyakiru​ @nxctiphany​

OH BOY “knowing thyself” is really not one of Hazel’s strong suits tbh. 

So there’s one thing that really shines through a lot in Reload. Hazel’s sense of self-worth and value is mostly based on external things--the perceptions other people have of him. When Ukoku asks him what it is he wants Bishop Filbert to acknowledge him for, he says “I wanted him to need me. We’re not blood related, and there’s nothing definite that connects us; so I wanted him to acknowledge my existence.” Like I can’t really overemphasize the importance of what this means to him. Hazel, ever since he was a child, has been constantly seeking a sense of purpose through the validation and approval of other people. He sees his value solely based on his function to the people he loves. 

What Ukoku tells him is that human beings have no intrinsic worth--that their value is determined arbitrarily by the subjective view of others, and that these things are always in flux. A positive perception of someone could easily skew negative, and vice versa, based on someone’s mood or impression of you. 

Hazel internalizes this hard. And the problem with basing your entire personal perception off others opinions, and living your life in pursuit of that validation, is... well, first of all, it’s never going to be enough for you, right? Even if you get the validation you’re after, your sense of purpose and value is coming from something outside yourself that you can’t control. You’re always going to be fighting to keep it and hold onto it. Beyond that, you also don’t--really know who you are. Hazel crafts certain fictions about himself throughout Reload, and he believes them, because he has to. Because it’s the thing that lets him keep pushing eastward, that keeps him focused on his goals, that keeps him from falling the fuck apart. 

He believed that becoming an exorcist was the only way to secure his place in Filbert’s life, because the alternative was believing that nothing really connected them and that Filbert would never see him as family. He believed that his powers of necromancy were something given to him, personally, specifically, and that they are pulling him towards a mission. A purpose. That he’s crossed the sea to Do Right and Save Humanity and that’s his quest, that’s what he was meant to do. He ties his value to his powers of resurrection, and he expects that’s the primary value others see in him too. All the constant praise he gets from the people he saves just hammers that in deeper. 

By the end of Reload, Hazel has come to realize that he was wrong. The powers he thought made him special were--really just a matter of random chance. A scared kid who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Not only that, but the powers he believed were a gift of divine providence to him were powers he was leeching from a literal demon that was possessing his body. But he also knows, I think, that the... other things were wrong too. That Filbert loved him unconditionally. Gat destroyed Hazel’s soul-hoarding pendant (their safeguard to ensure that Hazel could revive him when needed) and died to protect him, because he saw Hazel’s worth. Not for what he could do but just for who he was. For nothing that Hazel ever had to consciously prove.

What’s good about where Reload leaves him, imo, is that now that he’s had these realizations, he can do something with them. Hazel has to learn to understand himself better now, to see his own intrinsic worth and value, in part because he now has to deal with the fact that he has this monster inside of him. On a practical level, he has to develop that sense of self-awareness, to keep Varahal from taking over his body ever again.  

Seeing Hazel weep over Gat’s bandanna breaks my heart every time I see it, but there’s an odd sort of hope there. That on a metaphorical level, Hazel can and will be able to accept the darkest parts of himself, and for the first time, find a sense of meaning and purpose that is self-defined. And while I doubt he’s ever coming back in the comics, I like to think that the Hazel developing somewhere off the panels is gradually taking steps towards being a wiser, more empathetic, and more self-actualized person.

[straykidsupdate]

Stray Kids are shaking up K-pop’s status quo

The South Korean pop band Stray Kids are clustered around a laptop for a Skype interview, pale in the screen’s glow as heavy rain turns New York City to grey. It’s a fitting backdrop for the group: from their 2017 pre-debut release “Hellevator” to the latest single, the snarling, trumpeting EDM of “MIROH”, the K-pop group have made similarly dystopian environs their visual backdrop, where neon and CCTV screens flicker and the group are hemmed in by skyscrapers, tarmac, and tunnels as they attempt to escape or defy their surroundings.

This concept – of attaining freedom – is central to the group, and it’s an idea that’s rooted in reality. The group’s leader, Bang Chan, handpicked each member for the group from their parent label JYP Entertainment’s roster of trainees, a process unheard of in K-pop, where that power lies with executives and creative directors. Stray Kids write and produce all their material, too, and are one of the few idol groups to do so. Their music focuses unflinchingly on their youth – the anger and frustration, the ecstatic highs and ragged lows – while questioning their own shifting sense of identity.

With bleached bangs falling into one eye, Bang Chan recalls not the gravitas of the opportunity to form his own group, but the pressure of picking wisely. “There was a lot on my mind,” says the 21-year-old, speaking during the band’s run of sold-out North American concerts. “Choosing the right people was a must, because I’m going to be with them for a long time. Because I’d been a trainee for so long,” – seven years – “I think I had the ability to figure out what potential they had.” He turns to his bandmates and namechecks them: Woojin, the eldest at 22; Lee Know; Changbin; Hyunjin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; and the youngest, I.N, who turned 18 in February. “With everyone around me right now, I’m really glad we’ve become this team.”

Bang Chan and 18-year-old Felix, whose cavernously deep voice is at odds with his Bambi-innocent looks, were both raised in Australia, and the broad twang of their accent conveys a cheerful, anything-is-possible resonance. It’s the former who helms the conversation. He’s an engaging speaker and a careful listener, stopping to translate questions for the non-English speakers. At times he falters, and at others he deflects to well-worn answers (a reflection of their newness), but he’s unmistakably a leader, a role he wears effortlessly.

As a whole, Stray Kids are known for their friendly, indefatigable rambunctiousness, but with nearly a dozen rookie awards and five EPs in just over 12 months, it’d be foolish to underestimate their tenacity. Their start was a baptism of fire. On Stray Kids, the eponymously-named survival TV show that they were formed through, they were required to write tracks and perfect performances to short deadlines, then ruthlessly critiqued by the CEO of their label, JYP Entertainment. Two of the group members, Felix and Lee Know, were initially eliminated, although eventually reinstated in the final episode via a public vote. Felix, axed due to his less-than-fluent Korean, hasn’t forgotten the sting. “I still think about my Korean and how I use the language,” he sighs. “I try to learn, and fix it.”

You can see his determination when Stray Kids appear on Korean variety shows to showcase their work and their personalities. Felix’s shyness in speaking had resulted in less camera time but, in recent months, his studying has appeared to pay off and he’s a far more confident presence, able to convey the charm that's endeared him to their fans. It’s the result of constant help from his bandmates, he says, radiating positivity (which is, delightfully, Felix’s default setting). Lee Know, however, who’d had only a short idol training period and was cut early in the series, favours a more stoic approach. “I think I’m here thanks to that feedback. I worked really hard then, and I’m still trying to work hard now too,” he says, and although his small smile seemingly hints at something more pronounced, he settles on a double thumbs up and sits back.

“Choosing the right people was a must... With everyone around me right now, I’m really glad we’ve become this team” – Bang Chan, Stray Kids

Their rough-meets-polished sound was set up by the darkly anthemic “Hellevator”, but the thundering EDM and guitar riffs of their official debut, “District 9”, cemented them as a fresh force in K-pop. In its music video, they flee a clinical-looking prison and use a school bus to smash through to the safety of the titular District 9, although even there they’re left searching. “I don’t know who I am, it’s frustrating, it always worries me / Answer me, then give me an answer that will clear it all,” Hyunjin raps with a volatile urgency.

This ceaseless quest weaves through last year’s EP trilogy (I Am NOT, I Am WHO, I Am YOU) and into their latest EP, Clé 1: MIROH, the clear narrative allowing for sonic experiments (from the minimalist electronica of “3rd Eye” to the bright pop drawl of “Get Cool”) without losing momentum. In their song “NOT!”, they celebrate breaking out the “system” – the status quo – and the strength of being different. For Stray Kids, this is more about ambiguous storytelling than holding a deliberate ’us versus them’ mentality. “We usually don’t compare (ourselves) to others,” says vocalist Seungmin, in English. “Like in the song ‘My Pace’, we’re saying we don’t care about others’ (achievements), we’re just talking about Stray Kids’ own way.”

While Stray Kids have definitely created a richly empathetic musical tapestry, their chosen path raises a pertinent observation: in breaking out of one “system”, they’ve joined another. The idol system that they’re now a part of often appears more restrictive than the one they leave behind, and as they move towards the bubble of fame and money, there’s also the potential to lose a sense of oneself. Both feel paradoxical to their story. Bang Chan pauses. “Well, honestly, we wouldn’t call it a system, let’s say a ‘world’, and we’d call it a decision that we made. In order for us to get out of the main system, we chose being idols, and through K-pop we can show the message we want to express.”

Han, the 18-year-old rapper, singer, and songwriter/producer, drapes himself, cat-like, over Felix’s head and neck to get close to the camera. “I think fame and success can be dangerous to a person, depending on how they feel about it, but we’re going to try to always be positive and good natured about it,” he opines, gesticulating rapidly. “We’re still lacking so much, but we’re going to try really hard to understand other people’s feelings and be a good influence.”

Given Stray Kids’ formation, creative freedom, and growing success makes them something of an anomaly, might their presence provoke change in the idol world? Bang Chan furrows his brow. “I suppose so,” he says with the questioning tone of someone presented with an unfamiliar concept. “I guess it’s up to how people take it in.”

Stray Kids, evidently, have been more preoccupied with looking inward, and, when examining their new EP, it’s apparent their gaze has been in flux. Clé 1: MIROH, which Bang Chan describes as “us being really confident because all nine of us are together”, presents a new fearlessness on tracks like “Boxer”, “MIROH” and “Victory Song”, where Han triumphantly raps:“A laidback victor, a smile spreads on my face / Who else is like me, there’s no one.”

“When I was becoming a singer, some people didn’t support my dreams, so I was sad. I remember that and put those feelings into this song” – Changbin, Stray Kids

They pose fewer existential questions than on previous EPs, but, says Bang Chan, “if you look at tracks like ‘Chronosaurus’ and ‘Maze Of Memories’, it shows nervousness or anxiety, and a feeling of being lost as well.” The latter, its doomy hip hop propelled by tense piano and bursts of foreboding strings, was an emotional outlet for their silver-tongued rapper, Changbin. “When I was becoming a singer,” he says, in English, “some people didn’t support my dreams, so I was sad. I remember that and put those feelings into this song.”

Yet despite sieving emotions and thoughts through the music, their biggest questions, says Changbin, remain unanswered. “But we’re trying,” he smiles. He points to the close presence of their fans, known as STAY. “Maybe we can find the answer soon, through STAY.” How does he intend to discover deeply personal epiphanies through others? “I’m young and lack a lot of experience,” replies Changbin, reverting to Korean. “There are still a lot of childish elements about me as well. By watching those around me, I can find out what I like through them. I feel like I can find myself through (others’ journeys).”

For now, Stray Kids simply continue doing what they’ve done so well thus far – capturing the human condition, including tackling difficult subjects like depression (“Hellevator”), anxiety (“Rock”), and negative thoughts (“Voices”), all of which, Bang Chan says, they’ve experienced first-hand. The group’s core writing team (Han, Changbin, and Bang Chan, together known as 3RACHA) have not only refined their style over the past year but, according to I.N, “improved on their speed of making songs. They’ve gotten really fast,” he says with a sunny grin.

3RACHA’s Soundcloud days are far behind them, although, to their credit, they haven’t deleted the handful of songs that were posted pre-debut. Some will remain just enthusiastic learning curves, but others were raw and powerful, such as “Broken Compass”, which was refashioned into “Mixtape #4” for Clé 1: MIROH.

The “Mixtape” songs, which are only found on the physical versions of their EPs, are where, Hyunjin says, “we all contribute, and fill our individual verses with our personal stories”. In January, 3RACHA revisited a few songs during a Vlive broadcast, and cringed to the point of sweating profusely. As Changbin and Han crease up, Bang Chan covers his face, mock-groaning. “We can’t listen to them now!” But there’s a glint in his eye. “We do have to do episode two of that,” he adds, grinning.

It’s not just the songwriters who are evolving; from being wide-eyed, ambitious and nervous trainees who didn’t always get along, as Hyunjin recently revealed, Stray Kids have become compelling performers with close bonds. They’d clung tightly to Bang Chan during their survival show, but do Stray Kids today feel less lost – or at least more secure in their responsibilities? “I’ll just leave the room so the guys can talk more freely,” jokes Bang Chan, even as Changbin, owner of a bone-dry sense of humour, simply yells, “No!” Vocalist Woojin leans in. “He was very good to us while we were filming the show. At that time we always followed him very well, and relied on him a lot.”

“I don’t have a lot of confidence but when he’s next to me, I know I can do this,” adds Felix, as they ready to depart for the next schedule in a packed day. “But,” Woojin says, “now we’re all developing our own selves, too.”

Source

[coronashmorona]

COVID-19 Isolation:

Day 0

For a day & a half, my husband (hereinafter “Hubs”) & I pondered (read: lowkey argued about) the boundaries & limitations we should be imposing on our selves & our kids given the increased prevalence of coronavirus in our area. Was avoiding everyone all weekend really necessary? Can we eat takeout food? Should our kids go to school on Monday? What about after-school activities? What about the fantasy baseball draft we were supposed to host next weekend? Or the slew of small children’s birthday parties scheduled for the coming weeks?

Hubs was already planning on working from home, which he does often the last few years after his firm moved to a “hoteling” style office. My work is very flexible part-time & gets done whenever I can fit it in around everyone else’s schedules, i.e. can also take place from home if needed. 

Then, today, we got word that all local schools will be closed for 2 weeks. So at least that’s settled. 

Now, we’re confronting the challenge of how to go about our daily lives under these strange new circumstances. Namely:

The need for some kind of scheduled routine. We have a first-grader & a preschooler. They are absolutely wonderful, but go entirely bonkers if we’re home without any structure. They’re also in completely different places as far as personality, temperament, & educational needs. 

First-grader (hereinafter “6yo”) is kind of a high-strung, type-A, preintellectual. She needs a full briefing about what’s happening every hour of every day. If plans change, she has a million questions about what the alteration entails. (If she’s conscious, she has a million questions, period.) She enjoys so many great activities - artistic pursuits, imaginative play, dancing, & really anything else that involves running around like a banshee - but constantly asks for TV time and/or a snack anyway. Historically, it’s been nearly impossible to set her up with an activity & walk away for more than 10 minutes; she’s just the sort of kid who needs/expects an adult caregiver to provide companionship, guidance, & answers at all times. I’m hoping that having an agenda mapped out for each day will remind her of school & she’ll be more amenable to doing things independently for a relatively short, set amount of time. I can also meet her halfway & do my work at the dining room table while she embarks on a quiet activity. Finally, it sounds like the school district is hatching a contingency plan for remote student learning, complete with daily homework posted online, which is comforting to say the least. 

Preschooler (”4yo”) is a rambunctious ball of energy, but tends to be pretty easygoing overall. If left to his own devices, he’ll wander over to his trains or his blocks or even a book & play on his own. The problem, of course, is that when left to his own devices for too long, he’s probably up to no good. His favorite pastime of late has been playing in Hubs’s office, using some old printers & other computer accessories to “build Robot Marty” (a.k.a. the robot that roams the aisles at Stop & Shop). This activity will be mostly off-limits while Hubs works from home - a deprivation that I’m sure will be ill-received & spawn all sorts of disruptive discovery missions, i.e. let’s see what happens when we stick the end of Mama’s headphones into the electrical outlet. Oyyy. My hope is that if I break out some toys he hasn’t used in a while, & a few shiny new (read: held in abeyance since his birthday) ones, he’ll amuse him accordingly while 6yo & I do our thing. 

Getting fed. I am really, really nervous about consuming commercially prepared food right now. The chances of contracting COVID-19 from it are small, but it doesn’t seem worth the risk. As it is, I’m a bit of a DIY food purist, frequently eschewing restaurant food for my own creations. I have a whole separate blog detailing my experiences with Whole30, in which I take my appreciation for clean-eating to the max in order to improve my health. Tl;dr I cook a lot of fresh veggies & lean meats & try to minimize the amount of processed foods in my diet. Doing this is hard enough under ~ordinary stressful circumstances, let alone a global pandemic. I’ve already slid into some unhealthy reflexive stress-eating that needs to be curtailed ASAP. 

The biggest point with this, I feel, is establishing a meal+snack schedule. Else, the kids will constantly be asking for things to eat, interrupting any hope of sticking to a playtime/learning/physical activity schedule. On certain days spent mostly at home, I feel like all I do is stand in the kitchen cutting fruit, & we will not survive the next few weeks if that’s how it’s gonna be. Granted, this is sometimes exacerbated by my own penchant to use a free minute here or there to chop & roast some Brussels sprouts or eggplant. But there has to be a point at which “oh look, Mom’s in the kitchen” doesn’t automatically translate to “let’s give her something else to do”.

A possible strategy to alleviate this involves cutting a bunch of fruit in advance, portioning it out, & storing it on a fridge shelf the kids can reach, so they can get it themselves. I don’t want to deprive them of food; we just feel that they shouldn’t be eating a constant stream of processed garbage. This is a particular risk for 6yo, who has the metabolism & appetite of a hummingbird & openly fixates on the constant quest for treats.

Dealing with life’s other extenuating circumstances. As others with young children can likely attest, our life is constantly in several different states of flux, limbo, and/or disarray. Some other things we’ve been dealing with lately and/or will be dealing with shortly:

Hubs’s dad is having a hip replacement tomorrow. Several people tried to talk him out of it, but he’s been having terrible sciatic pain for a long time & as long as the surgeon/hospital will have him he feels he needs to go ahead with it. Who will take care of him afterward, & whether/when we can visit, remain uncertain. LATE-BREAKING UPDATE: surgery cancelled. A relief insofar as one variable eliminated.

Last week I definitely herniated/tore something in my abdominal area while pulling the kids in a wagon, & need to see a doctor for that. I’m not thrilled with the idea of being in a highly-trafficked public place, but I also don’t want to put off getting myself looked at & aggravate the injury in the meantime. As it is, I’m trying not to lift heavy things (e.g., our 4-year-old) or spend too much time on my feet, but that in itself is a struggle. Right now my appointment is scheduled for a time at which Hubs has a very important (virtual) work meeting, so I need to reschedule it and/or find someone else who can watch the kids. I’m praying for the former outcome because it begs the question “Who should we be letting in the house?!”

We’re in the early stages of renovating our kitchen. This means that we’ve met with a few designers/contractors about possible layouts & options, inching towards finalizing a plan & selecting one of them to carry it out. It sounds like Hubs wants to move ahead with this process as before, but suffice to say my mental bandwidth is now sufficiently occupied with other shit. 

I’m always in the middle of 187 different things, & it feels like they’re all now on hold: purging the house of outgrown clothes & toys, organizing the basement, learning German, catching up on continuing legal education credits,

Processing the fear + existential woe. None of us have ever lived through anything like this. It is fucked up. I try to take comfort in the fact that the isolation protocols are empowering: by staying away from others who might be carrying the disease, we’re taking control of an uncertain situation. 

But there’s still so. much. uncertainty. Right now, the kids are scheduled to go back to school March 30th. Then their spring break will start on April 8th, to coincide with the start of Passover (as well as Holy Week & Easter). Last year, we hosted a seder for 18 people. Can we do that this time? I have tickets to one concert (locally) in late April, & to another (abroad) in early June - will either one actually be happening?!

These are, decidedly, #firstworldproblems. But I think I join the rest of humanity in being utterly pissed off & daunted by the whole ordeal. Until another few weeks pass, all we can do is wait. And wash our hands a lot. 🧼 💦 🙏🏼

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted’s Decade Picks

Heron Oblivion, still the closest thing to a Dusted consensus pick

Just as, in spring, the young's fancy turns to thoughts of love, at the end of the decade the thoughts of critics and fans naturally tend towards reflection. Sure, time is an arbitrary human division of reality, but it seems to be working out okay for us so far. We're too humble a bunch to offer some sort of itemized list of The Best Of or anything like that, though; a decade is hard enough to wrap your head around when it's just your life, let alone all the music produced during said time. Instead these decade picks are our jumping off points to consider our decades, whether in personal terms, or aesthetic ones, or any other. The records we reflect on here are, to be sure, some of our picks for the best of the 2010s (for more, check back this afternoon), but think of what follows less as anything exhaustive and more as our hand-picked tour to what stuck with us over the course of these ten years, and why.

Brian Eno — The Ship (Warp, 2016)

You don’t need to dig deep to see that our rapidly evolving and hyper-consciously inclusive discourse is taking on the fluidity of its surroundings. In 2016, a year of what I’ll gently call transformation, Brian Eno had his finger on multiple pulses; The Ship resulted. It’s anchored in steady modality, and its melody, once introduced, doesn’t change, but everything else ebbs and flows with the Protean certainty of uncertainty. While the album moves from the watery ambiguities of the title track, through the emotional and textural extremes of “Fickle Sun” toward the gorgeously orchestrated version of “I’m Set Free,” implying some kind of final redemption, the moment-to-moment motion remains wonderfully non-binary. Images of war and of the instants producing its ravaging effects mirror and counterbalance the calmly and increasingly gender-fluid voice as it concludes the titular piece by depicting “wave after wave after wave.” Is it all Salman Rushdie’s numbers marching again? The lyrics embody the movement from “undescribed” through “undefined” and “unrefined’” connoting a journey toward aging, but size, place, chronology and the music encompassing them remain in constant flux, often nearly but never quite recognizable. Genre and sample float in and out of view with the elusive but devastating certainty of tides as the ship travels toward silence, toward that ultimate ambiguity that follows all disillusion, filling the time between cycles. The disconnect between stasis and motion is as disconcerting as these pieces’ relationship to the songform Eno inherited and exploded. The album encapsulates the modernist subtlety and Romantic grace propelling his art and the state of a civilization in the faintly but still glowing borderlands between change and decay.

Marc Medwin

Cate Le Bon — Cyrk (Control Group, 2012)

There's no artist whose work I anticipated more this decade than Cate Le Bon, and no artist who frustrated me more with each release, only to keep reeling me in for the long run. Le Bon's innate talent is for soothing yet oblique folk, soberly psychedelic, which she originally delivered in the Welsh language, and continued into English with rustic reserve.

Except something about her pastoralism seems to bore her, and the four-chord arpeggios are shot through with scorches of noise, or sent haywire with post-punk brittleness. In its present state, her music is built around chattering xylophones and croaking saxophone, even as the lyrics draw deeper into memory and introspection, with ever more haunting payoffs. It's as if Nick Drake shoved his way into the leadership of Pere Ubu. She's taken breaks from music to work on pottery and furniture-making, and retreats to locales like a British cottage and Texas art colony to plumb for new inspirations. She's clearly energized by collaboration and relocation, but there’s a force to her persona that, despite her introverted presence, dominates a session. Rare for our age, she's an artist who gets to follow her muse full time, bouncing between record labels and seeing her name spelled out in the medium typefaces on festival bills.

Cyrk, from 2012, is the record where I fell in, and it captures her at something close to joyous, a half smile. Landing between her earliest folk and later surrealism, it is open to comparison with the Velvet Underground. But not the VU that is archetypical to indie rock – Cyrk is more an echo of the solo work that followed. There’s the sharp compositional order and Welsh lilt of John Cale. Like Lou Reed, she makes a grand electric guitar hook out of the words “you’re making it worse.” The homebound twee of Mo Tucker and forbidding atmosphere of Nico are present in equal parts. Those comparisons are reductive, but they demonstrate how Cyrk feels instantly familiar if you’ve garnered certain listening habits. Songs surround you with woolly keyboard and guitar hooks, and one can forget a song ends with an awkward trumpet coda even after dozens of listens. The awkwardness is what keeps the album fresh.

She lulls, then dowses with cold water. So Cyrk isn't an entirely easy record, even if it is frequently a pretty one. The most epic song here, reaching high with those woolly hums and twang, is "Fold the Cloth.” It bobs along, coiling tight as she reaches into the strange register of female falsetto. Le Bon cranks out a fuzz solo – she's great at extending her sung melodies across instruments. Then the climax chants out, "fold the cloth or cut the cloth.” What is so important about this mundane action? Her mystery lyrics never feel haphazard, like LSD posey. They are out of step with pop grandiose. Maybe when her back is turned, there's a full smile.

Who are "Julia" and "Greta,” two mid-album sketches that avoid verse-chorus structure? Julia is represented by a limp waltz, Greta by pulses on keyboards. Shortly after the release, Le Bon followed up with the EP Cyrk II made up of tracks left off the album. To a piece, they’re easier numbers than "Julia" and "Greta.” The cryptic and the scribble are essential to how Cyrk flows, which is to say it flows haltingly.

This approach dampens her acclaim and her potential audience, but that's how she fashions decades-old tropes into fresh art. She’s also quite the band leader. Drummers have a different thud when they play on her stage. Musicians' fills disappear. She brings in a horn solo as often as she lays down a guitar lead. The closer tracks, "Plowing Out Pts 1 & 2," aren't inherently linked numbers. By the second part, the group has worked up to a carnival swirl, frothing like "Sister Ray" yet as sweet as a children's TV show theme. Does that sound sinister? The effect is more like heartbreak fuelling abandon, her forlorn presence informing everyone's playing.

Fuse this album with the excellent Cyrk II tracks, and you can image a deluxe double LP 10th anniversary reissue in a few years. Ha ha no. I expect nothing so garish will happen. It sure wouldn't suit the artist. In a decade where "fan service" became an everyday concept, Le Bon is immune. She's a songwriter who seems like she might walk away from at all without notice, if that’s where her craftsmanship leads. The odd and oddly comfortable chair that is Cyrk doesn't suit any particular decor, but my room would feel bare without it.

Ben Donnelly

Converge — All We Love We Leave Behind (Epitaph)

Here’s the scenario: Heavily tatted guy has some dogs. He really loves his dogs. Heavily tatted guy goes on tour with his band. While he’s on the road, one of his dogs dies. Heavily tatted guy gets really sad. He writes a song about it.  

That should be the set-up for an insufferably maudlin emo record. But instead what you get is Converge’s “All We Love We Leave Behind” and the searing LP that shares the title. The songs dive headlong into the emotional intensities of loss and reflect on the cost of artistic ambition. The enormously talented line-up that recorded All We Love We Leave Behind in 2012 had been playing together for just over a decade, and vocalist Jacob Bannon and guitarist Kurt Ballou had been collaborating for more than twenty years. It shows. The record pummels and roars with remarkable precision, and its songs maniacally twist, and somehow they soar.  

Any number of genre tags have been stuck on (or innovated by) Converge’s music: mathcore, metalcore, post-hardcore. It’s fun to split sonic hairs. But All We Love… is most notable for its exhilarating fury and naked heart, musical qualities that no subgenre can entirely claim. Few bands can couple such carefully crafted artifice with such raw intensity. And few records of the decade can match the compositional wit and palpable passion of All We Love…, which never lets itself slip into shallow romanticism. It hurts. And it ruthlessly rocks.  

Jonathan Shaw

EMA — The Future’s Void (City Slang, 2014)

When trying to narrow down to whatever my own most important records of the decade are, I tried to keep it to one per artist (as I do with individual years, although it’s a lot easier there). Out of everyone, though, EMA came by far the closest to having two records on that list, and this could have been 2017’s Exile in the Outer Ring, which along with The Future’s Void comes terrifyingly close to unpacking an awful lot of what’s going wrong, and has been going wrong, with the world we live in for a while now. The Future’s Void focuses more on the technological end of our particular dystopia, shuddering both emotionally and sonically through the dead end of the Cold War all the way to us refreshing our preferred social media site when somebody dies. EMA is right there with us, too; this isn’t judgment, it’s just reporting from the front line. And it must be said, very few things from this decade ripped like “Cthulu” rips.

Ian Mathers

The Field — Looping State of Mind (Kompakt, 2011)

Looping State of Mind by The Field

On Looping State of Mind, Swedish producer Axel Willner builds his music with seamlessly jointed loops of synths, beats, guitars and voice to create warm cushions of sound that envelop the ears, nod the head and move the body. Willner is a master of texture and atmosphere, in lesser hands this may have produced mere comfort food but there is spice in the details that elevates this record as he accretes iotas of elements, withholding release to heighten anticipation. Although this is essentially deep house built on almost exclusively motorik 4/4 beats, Willner also plays with ambient, post-punk and shoegaze dynamics. From the slow piano dub of “Then It’s White,” which wouldn’t be out of place on a Labradford or Pan American album, to the ecstatic shuffling lope of “Arpeggiated Love” and “Is This Power” with its hint of a truncated Gang of Four-like bass riff, Looping State of Mind is a deeply satisfying smorgasbord of delicacies and a highlight of The Field’s four album output during the 2010s.

Andrew Forell

Gang Gang Dance — “Glass Jar” (4AD, 2011)

Instead of telling you my favorite album of the decade — I made my case for it the first year we moved to Tumblr, help yourself — it feels more fitting to tell you a story from my friend Will about my favorite piece of music from the last 10 years, a song that arrived just before the rise of streaming, which flattened “the album experience” to oppressive uniformity and rendered it an increasingly joyless, rudderless routine of force-fed jams and AI/VC-directed mixes catering to a listener that exists in username only. The first four seconds of “Glass Jar” told you everything you needed to know about what lie ahead, but here’s the kind of thing that could happen before everything was all the time:

I took eight hours of coursework in five weeks in order to get caught up on classes and be in a friend's wedding at the end of June. Finishing a week earlier than the usual summer session meant I had to give my end-of-class presentations and turn in my end-of-class papers in a single day, which in turn meant that I was well into the 60-70 hour range without sleep by the time I got to the airport for an early-morning flight. (Partly my fault for insisting that I needed to stay up and make a “wedding night” mix for the couple — real virgin bride included — and even more my fault for insisting that it be a single, perfectly crossfaded track). I was fuelled only by lingering adrenaline fumes and whatever herbal gunpowder shit I had been mixing with my coffee — piracetam, rhodiola, bacopa or DMAE depending on the combination we had at the time. At any rate, eyes burning, skull heavy, joints stiff with dry rot, I still had my wits enough to refuse the backscatter machine at the TSA checkpoint; instead of the usual begrudging pat-down, I got pulled into a separate room. Anyway, it was a weird psychic setback at that particular time, but nothing came of it. Having arrived at my gate, I popped on the iPod with a brand new set of studio headphones and finally got around to listening to the Gang Gang Dance I had downloaded months before. "Glass Jar," at that moment, was the most religious experience I’d had in four years. I was literally weeping with joy.

Point being: It is worth it to stay up for a few days just to listen to ‘Glass Jar’ the way it was meant to be heard.

Patrick Masterson

Heron Oblivion — Heron Oblivion (Sub Pop, 2016)

Heron Oblivion by Heron Oblivion

Heron Oblivion’s self-titled first album fused unholy guitar racket with a limpid serenity. It was loud and cathartic but also pure beauty, floating drummer Meg Baird’s unearthly vocals over a sound that was as turbulent and majestic as nature itself, now roiled in storm, now glistening with dewy clarity. The band convened four storied guitarists—Baird from Espers, Ethan Miller and Noel Harmonson from Comets on Fire and Charlie Sauffley—then relegated two of them to other instruments (Baird on drums and Miller on bass). The sound drew on the full flared wail and scree of Hendrix and Acid Mothers Temple, the misty romance of Pentangle and Fairport Convention. It was a record out of time and could have happened in any year from about 1963 onward, or it could have not happened at all. We were so glad it did at Dusted; Heron Oblivion’s eponymous was closer to a consensus pick than any record before or since, and if you want to define a decade, how about the careening riffs of “Oriar” breaking for Baird’s dream-like chants?

Jennifer Kelly

The Jacka — What Happened to the World (The Artist, 2014)

Probably the most prophetic rap album of the 2010s. The Jacka was the king of Bay rap since he started MOB movement. He was always generous with his time, and clique albums were pouring out of The Jacka and his disciples every few months. Even some of his own albums resembled at times collective efforts. This generosity made some of the albums unfocused and disjointed, yet what it really shows is that even in the times when dreams of collective living were abandoned The Jacka still had hopes for Utopia and collective struggles. It was about the riches, but he saw the riches in people first and foremost.

This final album before he was gunned down in the early 2014 is full of predictions about what’s going to happen to him. Maybe this explains why it’s focused as never before and even Jacka’s leaned-out voice has doomed overtones. This music is the only possible answer to the question the album’s title poses: everything is wrong with the world where artists are murdered over music.

Ray Garraty

John Maus — We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves (Upset The Rhythm, 2011)

We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves by John Maus

Minnesota polymath John Maus’ quest for the perfect pop song found its apotheosis on his third album We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves in 2011. On the surface an homage to 1980s synth pop, Maus’ album reveals its depth with repeated listens. Over expertly constructed layers of vintage keyboards, Maus’ oft-stentorian baritone alternately intones and croons deceptively simple couplets that blur the line between sincerity and provocation. Lurking beneath the smooth surface Maus uses Baroque musical tropes that give the record a liturgical atmosphere that reinforces the Gregorian repetition of his lyrics. The tension between the radical ironic banality of the words and the deeply serious nature of the music and voice makes We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves an oddly compelling collection that interrogates the very notion of taste and serves an apt soundtrack to the post-truth age.

Andrew Forell

Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society — Mandatory Reality (Eremite, 2019)

Mandatory Reality by Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society

Any one of the albums that Joshua Abrams has made under the Natural Information Society banner could have made this list. While each has a particular character, they share common essences of sound and spirit. Abrams made his bones playing bass with Nicole Mitchell, Matana Roberts, Mike Reed, Fred Anderson, Chad Taylor, and many others, but in the Society his main instrument is the guimbri, a three-stringed bass lute from Morocco. He uses it to braid melody, groove, and tone into complex strands of sound that feel like they might never end. Mandatory Reality is the album where he delivers on the promise of that sound. Its centerpiece is “Finite,” a forty-minute long performance by an eight-person, all-acoustic version of Natural Information Society. It has become the main and often sole piece that the Society plays. Put the needle down and at first it sounds like you are hearing some ensemble that Don Cherry might have convened negotiating a lost Steve Reich composition. But as the music winds patiently onwards, strings, drums, horns, and harmonium rise in turn to the surface. These aren’t solos in the jazz sense so much as individual invitations for the audience to ease deeper into the sonic entirety. The music doesn’t end when the record does, but keeps manifesting with each performance. Mandatory Reality is a nodal point in an endless stream of sound that courses through the collective unconscious, periodically surfacing in order to engage new listeners and take them to the source.

Bill Meyer

Mansions — Doom Loop (Clifton Motel, 2013)

I knew nothing about Mansions when I first heard about this record; I can’t even remember how I heard about this record. But I liked the name of the album and the album art, so I listened to it. Sometimes the most important records in your decade have as much to do with you as with them. I’d been frantically looking for a job for nearly two years at that point, the severance and my access Ontario’s Employment Insurance program (basically, you pay in every paycheck, and then have ~8 months of support if you’re unemployed) had both ran out. I was living with a friend in Toronto sponsoring my American wife into the country (fun fact: they don’t care if you have an income when you do that), feeling the walls close in a little each day, sure I was going to wind up one of those kids who had to move back to the small town I’d left and a parent’s house. There were multiple days I’d send out 10+ applications and then walk around my neighbourhood blasting “Climbers” and “Out for Blood” through my earbuds, cueing up “La Dentista” again and dreaming of revenge… on what? Capitalism? There was no more proximate target in view. That’s not to say that Doom Loop is necessarily about being poor or about the shit hand my generation (I fit, just barely) got in the job market, or anything like that; but for me it is about the almost literal doom loop of that worst six months, and I still can’t listen to “The Economist” without my blood pressure spiking a little.

Ian Mathers

Protomartyr — Under Colour of Official Right (Hardly Art, 2014)

Under Color of Official Right by Protomartyr

By my count, Protomartyr made not one but four great albums in the 2010s, racking up a string of rhythmically unstoppable, intellectually challenging discs with absolute commitment and intent. I caught whiff of the band in 2012, while helping out with editing the old Dusted. Jon Treneff’s review of All Passion No Technique told a story of exhilarant discovery; I read it and immediately wanted in. The conversion event, though, came two years later, with the stupendous Under Color of Official Right, all Wire-y rampage and Fall-spittled-bile, a rattletrap construction of every sort of punk rock held together by the preening contempt of black-suited Joe Casey. Doug Mosurock reviewed it for us, concluding, “Poppier than expected, but still covered in burrs, and adeptly analyzing the pain and suffering of their city and this year’s edition of the society that judges it, Protomartyr has raised the bar high enough for any bands to follow, so high that most won’t even know it’s there.” Except here’s the thing: Protomartyr jumped that bar two more times this decade, and there’s no reason to believe that they won’t do it again. The industry turned on the kind of bands with four working class dudes who can play a while ago, but this is the band of the 2010s anyway.

Jennifer Kelly

Tau Ceti IV — Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending (Cold Vomit, 2018)

Satan, You're The God of This Age But Your Reign is Ending by Tau Ceti IV

This decade was full of takes on American primitive guitar. Some were pretty good, a few were great, many were forgettable, and then there was this overlooked gem from Jordan Darby of Uranium Orchard. Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending is an antidote to bland genre exercises. Like John Fahey, Darby has a distinct voice and style, as well as a sense of humor. Also like Fahey, his playing incorporates diverse influences in subtle but pronounced ways. American primitive itself isn’t a staid template. Though there are also plenty of beautiful, dare I say pastoral moments, which still stand out for being genuinely evocative.

Darby’s background in aggressive electric guitar music partly explains his approach. (Not sure if he’s the only ex-hardcore guy to go in this direction, but there can’t be many.) His playing is heavier than one might expect, but it feels natural, not like he’s just playing metal riffs on an acoustic guitar. But heaviness isn’t the only difference. Like his other projects, Satan is wonderfully off-kilter. This album’s strangeness isn’t reducible to component parts, but here are two representative examples: “The Wind Cries Mary” gradually encroaches on the last track, and throughout, the microphone picks up more string noise than most would consider tasteful. It all works, or at least it’s never boring.

Ethan Milititisky

Z-Ro — The Crown (Rap-a-Lot, 2014)

When singing in rap was outsourced to pop singers and Auto Tune, Z-Ro remained true to his self, singing even more than he ever did. He did his hooks and his verses himself, and no singing could harm his image as a hustler moonlighting as a rapper. He can’t be copied exactly because of his gift, to combine singing soft and rapping hard. It’s a sort of common wisdom that he recorded his best material in the previous decade, yet quite apart from hundreds of artists that continued to capitalize on their fame he re-invented himself all the past decade, making songs that didn’t sound like each other out of the same raw material. The Crown is a tough pick because since his post-prison output he made solid discs one after each other.

Ray Garraty

[weekendwarriorblog]

30 Minute Experiment: The Future of Comics #30ME

Okay, let’s do this. I wasn’t going to do a #30ME today cause I was put in a rather foul mood due to something that happened last night, but I’m trying to move past it, also because it’s been a few days since I did one of these. I had other things going on yesterday and Friday that it made it better for me to not spend time on this experiment. Either way, I’m back doing one on Sunday and today’s topic was offered by my friend, Peter, so here goes nothing...

I will freely admit that I am not as knowledgeable about the comic industry as my former boss at ComicsBeat and some of her staff, who cover the comic industry in such great detail and who know so much about the ins and outs of the industry. Right now, comics books are generally in flux and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I’ve been someone who has bought and read comics regularly. I’ve also bought comics that I’ve never found time to read. I also have reached points where I couldn’t afford to buy comics at all. And then there’s that thing about selling off my 40-year collection last year for way below what I thought I’d get for it.

I’ve generally been reading comic books since I was 9 or 10 when I found a bunch of ‘70s Superman comics in a clubhouse near our new house in Framingham, Mass. As a rather impressionable kid, I was a fan almost immediately, and even to this day, if you find a kid who likes to read, you’ll find a kid who loves comic books. It’s just something that you can always count on with younger boys and girls... if you hand them a comic book, they will read it. 

I was no different but I became quite obsessed and spent most of the money I earned from various job when I was a teenager and even younger on comics and records, which led to all sorts of issues later in life when I was living in a tiny studio apartment in New York City and was forced to put a lot of my old collections into storage spaces that I eventually couldn’t afford.

But this isn’t about my past with comics and about the future. I’m not sure if you’re aware or even if you’re somebody who still regularly reads and/or collects comics, but shortly after the pandemic struck the States, Diamond Distributors had to shut its doors. The problem was that Diamond was the top distributor of comic books from the publishers to the comic book stores. Even though there were many comics in the works to come out in April, May and June, on April 1, that distribution system just stopped dead and there was no way for the big three, DC Comics, Marvel Comics and Image Comics to get their comics out to the masses. The entire economy of the comic business quickly ground to a halt with no way for stores to pay for comics, no way for Diamond to properly and safely distribute them and very few stores actually open to sell them. At least that was the case in New York where a giant like MIdtown Comics had to close up as it wasn’t considered an essential business.

I felt a little mixed on this because I’ve already tried to quit buying and reading comics a few times over the past few years. In 2018, I thought I had reached a point where I could no longer afford to buy them nor have time to read them even while most of my time was spent looking for jobs rather than doing them. When I couldn’t afford to keep up my mail order subscriptions, I took the opportunity to stop. I then found myself having to get rid of my expensive storage spaces and that gave me another opportunity to quit. That was February 2019 and in the exact same month, I started writing for The Beat, and let’s just say that it’s hard to work for one of the top comic book sites on the planet and NOT be interested in what is happening in comics.

I vowed to keep things in control in terms of my spending and for the most part, I was able to do so, although I still have a lot of unread comics piled up near and around my bed that i just haven’t taken the time to read, especially with so many other distractions during the pandemic.

It’s now been a full month without comics and I still have plenty to read if I want to, but DC Comics have already started to come back slowly and Marvel will soon follow suit. Neither company is releasing nearly as many comics as they did in March when both companies would release 30 to 50 (or even comics) of all types and varieties. There’s just no way for someone with a limited income to keep up with it all so I feel like the pandemic closures gave me another opportunity to get out of my buying and non-reading habits. So I’ve written quite a bit about the topic of “the future of comics” without actually addressing it head-on, and maybe I’m a little biased, but my good friend David Lloyd had the best plan when he came up with the idea for Aces Weekly, which is a digital-only comic book site that offers brand-new comics that have never been seen anywhere else but only in a digital serialized format. No printing costs, no waste of paper... but some of the best comic book storytelling and art working out there that just hasn’t caught on as well as all of the usual superheroics from DC and Marvel who have also made the jump to digital.  What I like about Aces Weekly is that it reminds me of the Heavy Metal of my youth, stories that were in different genres than the usual superheroes, whether it’s sci-fi or fantasy or horror or even comedies. Part of why I got into David’s own work originally was because I regularly read his series V for Vendetta with Alan Moore when it was published in Warrior Magazine. In fact, having to get rid of my collection of original Warrior Magazines was one of the many heartbreaks from Midtown getting my entire collection for way below what I thought it was worth. (I probably shouldn’t bring that up again because it really puts me in a mood.)

But David did have something write that’s perfect for the post-pandemic world and that’s that if consumers are still relying on having physical books in print and there’s still a possibility of COVID-19 potentially being spread via packaging and shipping of such books... then yeah, we just have to go digital. I mean, everyone has a computer nowadays and most people have phones or tablets as well. Aces Weekly was designed beautifully to work in the landscape formatting that we’ve become so accustomed to from computers, TVs and tablets. It was never meant to be read on smartphones as that would destroy the beauty of the artwork and the sequential storytelling which is meant to be read as one does a comic strip in the Sunday papers (which still probably get more readers than the average comic book).

It’s kind of a strange time because comic books are more popular than ever due to the huge amount of superhero and comic book movies that have come out over the past 20 years, both good and bad. The success of these movies, particularly those in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, has made it for publishers to get comic books into avid younger readers who want to know more about the heroes they seen on screen. 

And yet, there’s still a big glut of comics being released that aren’t of the greatest quality and are kept around just because someone in editorial thinks that readers want these books. 

We’ve already seen a lot of comics going to digital services and a resulting outcry of comic book stores who realize that some people might be fine reading the stories in that format, thereby cutting out the middle men, but I personally still prefer physical comics, mainly because I can just sit back and read something without the use of technology and the screens that I’m looking at for so many hours over the course of the day.

Sure, I can’t really afford physical comic books and don’t really have the space to store them, plus I’m always in danger of them taking over my apartment and my ability to live comfortably, a constant problem, but I also wonder why more publishers haven’t gone the direction of David’s Aces Weekly and just created a solid product that involves great storytelling, writing and art and just rid the need for printing and paper, which is a bit of an ecological nightmare when you realize that comics are rarely recycled and are frequently just piling up in someone’s closet or backroom as a “collection.”

We’ve reached a point in technology where digital comics should very much be the standard and unfortunately that means that comic book shops need to change with the times and not be as beholden to having huge stocks of comics and toys taking up real estate just for those who show up and want to look around who may have some spare cash to buy something they clearly don’t need. Heck, most comic shops seem to do better business with Funko Pops and statues than actual comics these days so maybe they should be converted into toy or hobby shops... but with a knowledgable staff who can point those who want to read to sites/publishers that offer digital comics.

It’s kind of weird writing this on the day after what would have been this year’s Free Comic Book Day and what would have been the start of the summer movie season with Marvel Studios’ Black Widow, their first movie since Spider-Man: Far from Home  last July, but it seems we’re also at a very clear turning point where now is the time to change things to rid ourselves of the issues (pun intended) that have plagued us, like consumerism, the ecological nightmare that we’ve turned our globe into by destroying trees, and so many other things that physical comic books as they’ve existed for 80 years or more have only contributed to rather than helping us to get away from those issues.

I’m sure I’ll have more to say on this subject as more books are available from DC and Marvel but I’ve run out of time and Cuomo will be on soon, so back tomorrow!

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 85

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Breakdown

Summary: Genevieve’s behavior comes to a head and Alfie is forced to act as the harsh voice of reason. He's left to act in his personal life as he does in his business where he does the things no one else wants or is willing to. But he'd do anything for his Genny. Song is Breakdown by Tom Petty.

Warnings/Tags: Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Angst. Drug Abuse. Trauma. Self Hatred. Fighting, verbal and physical. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

There had been a shift in the energy of the house after Claire and Genevieve’s altercation. Genevieve was trying to behave but finding it nearly impossible. The pull of the promise of relief from her medicine was too seductive to deny for long. Each dose was reacted to like some rare delicacy, with closed eyes and moans. She couldn’t control herself. Her mind was crowded with so much the more time passed. More memories and complicated waves of emotions she didn’t understand, left her feeling overpowered no matter what she did.

She was trying and it could be seen by everyone, but she would drop everything for her medicine and it was obvious there was still dependence there no matter how little they gave her. A nervous tick when it got close to the time for it, nose twitching and eyes fluttering, trying to stay still and waiting for someone to mention it because she knew she couldn’t first. Then she’d be given that look again, and she hated the humiliation that came with it.

She tries to fill the shame, the hurt and the anger with something. She studies, but that leads to headaches and a sore throat. She paints and the things that come out are dark and twisted and make those around her uncomfortable and worry about her. She dresses up, trying to see herself how she was, but it all felt like a sham. There was no confidence where it once lived. She eats and bakes, finding a productive distraction and gaining a slight bit of weight from where she’d lost it. But her appetite was still lackluster, the medicine saw to that. She wasn’t ready to try to add her former most favorite vice, sex, to the list but at least she could fathom the idea of it without becoming physically ill. Maybe things were getting better. But the voice in her head told her no as soon as the thought passed. That she was still very much broken and a failure, feeling slow in both mind and body still it was hard for her to be positive about anything. The depression was starting to set in.

With a memory that left something to be desired still, she’s grown the tendency to be forgetful. Clumsy and forgetful was preferred to hallucinating and passed out to everyone but her. The constant state of being aware of controlling herself left her exhausted most days and always on edge. She has the occasional tantrum, it couldn’t be helped, and with the lack of medicine given to help her calm down, it only made her angrier and fueled the fire of her fits. They were less often now, but more intense when they did happen. Big sweeping mood swings that took her wherever they wanted and she was was left to be used by her whims, whether the actions she took were something she wanted to do or not. They left her a crying mess. She only wanted to feel normal again. She didn’t know who this woman was that she’d become. She hates the anger she felt about her cravings for the medicine. She hates the flux of the ups and downs from it, but in her desperate moments, it’s the only thing that gives her some stability. She didn’t want to need it the way she did, another layer of anger born from shame. She felt weak and that was something she didn’t have much experience with.

On an afternoon spent dressing herself up for no reason, just passing time and listening to music to keep herself in good spirits she’s met with an undiagnosed stressor that had slipped between the cracks. A gossip hound by the name of Dorothy who did not have Genevieve’s best interests at heart. She was paid for information, not to tell that she was doing better. A saboteur sent in by one of the posh Jewish elite who did not approve of the Alfie and Gen’s underground lifestyle. Striking while the iron was hot and they were both at the most vulnerable they’ve ever been, Dorothy was there to make sure things didn’t run too smoothly for too long. Coming from the former biggest gossip in all of London’s employ, she knew how to stir a pot. And poor Gen, trusting those around her, as she had no other choice but to in her condition, never saw it coming.

“The horn section is lovely isn’t it?” Dorothy states, dusting around the gramophone.

The use of the word makes Gen’s nose twitch just as the maid knew it would. “Yes it is.” she answers with fluttering eyes and reaching for her large powder puff to fan herself with.

“I say, you’re looking rather glowing today, Miss. Like an inner light is coming out. I’m sure Mr. Solomons loves that you’re putting forth the effort in your appearance, hmm?” she makes casual sounding backhanded compliments as she moves around the room.

She sees Gen’s body language tighten and she keeps smiling as she works.

“You’ve put on some weight too I see. Filling out nicely. Looking healthy. All good things.” she chirps. “One would think there could be a little Solomons on the way with how you’re looking.” she gives an innocent scrunch of her nose and a kind smile. “Absolutely radiant.” she ends with a flourish. “And wouldn’t a baby be lovely? An excuse for all those sweets you’ve been making!” she lets out a light-hearted laugh. “Afterall, not many men would’ve stayed around through all this. You’re so very lucky to have Mr. Solomons. What a patient man.” she speaks softly.

“Yes. I am.” she mumbles, face turning downward now.

“Well, I’m finished in here. Anything else you need miss?” she asks putting a hand to Gen’s shoulder.

“No. Thank you.” she replies softly, eyes not meeting the maids, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

“I don't care what anyone else says, I think you’re progressing just fine.” she gives a supportive nod. “Especially for what you’ve been through. My goodness. What a tragedy to befall such a woman who had such strengths. Surely a test. One you’re still working on mastering. We’re all waiting and watching...rooting for you Miss Durand. Have a good afternoon.” she says trotting out of the room, knowing the seeds were planted to make an eventful evening.

Every line had felt like a slap to the face for Gen. Every worry she had, some she hadn’t yet, all brought back out to the surface in a single conversation. If Gen had been herself she would’ve been impressed with the woman’s skill. Then she would have killed her of course for saying such things, but in this emotional state, she only felt sorry for herself. She looked at herself in the mirror. Were her breasts bigger? Was she getting too fat? Everyone was waiting for her to screw up again, she knew it. Apparently people were saying she wasn’t healing fast enough, but of course, they were. She wasn’t. And poor Alfie...he had been on the sidelines, merely a bystander in all this. It truly was a miracle he was still around. At this point he would be better off without her she thinks. She was only making his life harder.

Her eyes trail down to her stomach and she feels it flip with nausea. She had asked the doctor every time they were alone if her not bleeding was normal. There were no signs of pregnancy he said and the body can react wildly after trauma. That there was nothing he saw to worry about. But it didn’t stop the panic rising in her chest and bubbling up and out her throat in a choked sob. What if she was? What if a constant reminder of her weakness and this awful period of time we’re sitting right there. Taking root. It was her greatest fear and Dorothy had played into it seamlessly. All she had wanted before was to be pregnant. A happy accident, despite her timing the inward emissions of Alfie in her favor. Her mind had been all babies and happy thoughts attached and now it was of shame and upset. By far the biggest trigger of them all. She thinks of the children she’s seen. Wondering if they were a sign. Her dreams came true on occasion, so why not hallucinations?

Her hands clutch at the dress she wears, feeling sick rise in her throat. She gets intrusive thoughts of the time held captive again. Blood. So much blood. These were new, these weren’t her normal violent flashbacks, her eyes well up with tears and she starts to sob, feeling it all over again. Why was there so much blood she wondered? She feels it as if it’s real. Blood thick and caked on her skin, from her temples to her thighs, the sticky and awful feeling, the constant reminder of how battered she was. The constant worry there was too much of it, that was something was wrong with her. That panic takes hold of her and she starts wheezing, not catching her breath, holding her chest and gasping. She raises, wild-eyed and tries to make it to the bed to lie down, count like the doctor told her. But it was no use. This was too strong and she was too weak she thought. She knew what she needed.

She races in her tiny heels to the back innards of teh house to Aggie’s room. She’s in such a state she doesn’t hear Alfie calling for her as he sees her making a mad dash. Of course, his instinct is something is terribly wrong. And in a way it was, so he follows suit. He finds her on her knees with one of her hairpins in Aggie’s locked door.

His worry is replaced with hot anger, having to watch Gen give in and relapse in front of his eyes. “Gen!” he booms out and she doesn’t even notice. She barrels through the door and rummages loudly through Aggie’s things, finding the bottle of Morphine and finding it severely lacking in its contents.

She whimpers and whines, shaking it over her gaping mouth as she cries, mascara running down her face. She keeps wheezing, now at a total loss for how to handle herself.

Alfie barges in like a bull, one big swipe knocks the bottle out of her hands and it breaks against the wall. Her eyes turn large and terrified to him, but he doesn’t feel sympathy in the moment, only disappointment and anger. “Fuck’s sake Genevieve! Get ahold of yourself!” he says loudly as she cries, looking back over to where the bottle had broken.

“I can’t! I need it! I need it to STOP!” she wails loudly her head shaking back and forth dramatically.

“Gen!” he shouts again and she doesn’t stop, hands in her hair and groaning.

She was so desperate to make the fear and thoughts stop. But she just saw him there, silhouetted by that shifting yellow light over her. “I’m too weak. I can’t. I’m pathetic. It won't stop.” she pants, her face contorted into an ugly mash of pain and confusion.

“Get ahold of yourself woman!” he shouts, grabbing her tightly by the arms, making her stop hurting herself.

The rough handling of her snaps her from her self pity and kicks in her fight response. Her head snaps up, eyes dilated and black, intense as they glared into his own. “Don’t touch me!” she screams and struggles.

“I can’t fuckin’ trust you can I? Ya gonna fuckin’ hurt yaself!” he growls back as they wrestle back and forth. She was a lot stronger in the moment that he thought she could be in her condition.

“Stop it!” she fights back, kicking at him as he holds her up from falling and hurting herself, hitting something on the way down to the ground.

“No!” he yells angrily. “Look at you! Gen! Fuckin’ ‘ell girl CALM DOWN!” he roars, having to haul her back onto her feet.

She stops struggling and stands, face now full of betrayal as she shakes with the underlying anger.

“You need to get a grip on yaself Genny! Look at you! Why are you actin’ like this? Like a fuckin’ fiend! Are we going to have to lock you up next? Can you not be trusted anymore?” he asks with a low brow and harsh delivery.

“Let me go.” she demands, struggling against him mildly, her eyes looking more her old self in their fury.

“Fuckin’...NO! Why would I? Look at how you’re actin’! What is wrong with you?” he groans out loudly as her jaw clenches and she slaps him across the face, resulting in him very calmly letting her go and clenching his hands into fists at his sides. His nostrils flared and his eyes remained shut. He wasn’t going to hit her back. He wasn’t that sort of man. But she was bringing out the worst in him. They were bringing out the worst in each other.

“Don’t fucking touch me like that!” she shrieks, adjusting her dress. “I have a reason for acting this way! What about YOU?” she responds, shoving him out of the way and running off down the hall.

With her dress pulled high, she needed to escape. She needed out and away. She heads straight for the door, Joseph tottering after her as the staff had gathered cautiously to see what was happening.

“We’re going to London Joseph.” she announces with wild eyes and confidence to her face she hadn’t felt and no one had seen in some time.

“Miss I don’t think-”

“You are going to drive me to London or I will fucking DO IT MYSELF!” she screams as he hunches down and does as he’s told. What other choice did he have? “I’m not staying here. I can’t. I need to get out of my own head. I can’t stay. I can’t do it.” she mutters to herself, head shaking back and forth as they drive off as were her orders.

“Why are you just standing there! Go after her!” Aggie shouts in Alfie’s face, him standing where Gen had left him as he rubbed his temples.

“Send some of my boys after her. Watch her. We know what she’s fuckin’ doin’.” he shakes his head, his voice quiet and even.

“How are you so bloody calm?”

“Aggie... sweetie... calm is the last thing I am right now.” his voice was a deep hiss, his eyes almost hidden behind low brows. “But I...in my line of work have MUCH practice in withholding my true emotions. And I am using it to its full extent right now.” his jaw is tight, speaking through clenched teeth as he cracks his knuckles.

“But she’s ran away?”

“No. She’s going to get well pissed. That’s what she’s doin’. There wasn't enough of this fuckin’ JUNK to ease her and now she’s reverting to her immature behavior.”

“She’s not well Alfie, you need to remember.”

“IT’S ALL I FUCKIN THINK ABOUT YEAH?” he shouts in anger before composing himself and Aggie takes a step back. “I want to be so fuckin’ furious at her for this. I know I should be sympathetic. I know she’s not herself. But I am so close to just fucking off right now. And I know I don’t want to do that. And it’s all making me MORE angry because I can’t fuckin' control it. I control things Aggie, that’s what I fuckin’ DO. And I can’t her, right?”

“Neither can she. Remember that.”

“Oh, I do. And it just makes it worse.” he throws his arms up in the air. “I’ll go get her. Fuckin’... AGAIN.” he sighs and shakes his head. “I was prepared, yeah? To deal with the healing. I can grasp that. I can respect it. But this…” he motions to the broken bottle on the floor. “I’m having a bloody hard time respecting this.” he says with a groan. “This is just... weakness. This isn’t her. She’s not Gen when she’s on this shit.” he tells, walking around the bed and crunching the glass under his work boots. “There’s no more of this. Fuck that!” he says pointing to the same spot. “I’m done wif it. I ‘on’t care if the doctor says it’s helpin’, it’s fuckin’ not, right? Don’t get no more. Those are orders. You hear me? I know you’re soft Aggie but it’s time for some tough love for the old girl. Don’t ya think?” he asks, leaning over the small woman as she scrunches her face in a scowl. “This soft fuckin’ treatment innit doin’ a fuckin’ thing. She HATED bein’ coddled before. Remember? Do any of us ever remember fuckin’ BEFORE now?” he sighs and groans, rubbing his face.

“Yes sir.” she says coldly.

“Oh don’t give me that.” he responds with an aggressive nod. “Do you not think it’s time to reign her in?”

“I do. But I don’t like it.”

“Well, I ‘on’t fuckin’ LIKE it either! You think I want to be cruel to her? The woman I’ve promised to care for? To respect and protect?”

“It’s hard to tell with you lately.”

“Well, I fuckin’ don’t. But with someone like her…” he points in the direction Gen fled. “In a situation like this, perhaps sympathy isn’t what is needed. She needs a swift kick to the arse to make her see how she’s actin’. And I’m the only one what will tell her what she don’t wanna hear.”

“I hope you’re right. I’ll call the doctor and tell him no more medicine. In case she tries to get it herself.”

“Good girl.” he says giving her a strong pat the back and sauntering down the hall with hard steps that make his shoulder sway even more than usual.

-----

Genevieve had done exactly as Alfie knew she would. His men were out on alert for her in the city and they found her quickly. Out getting pissed at some east end shit hole where she didn’t have to pay for a thing.

“Alright. She’s had enough.” Alfie instructs, putting his watch back into his coat pocket. “Bring her out.” he orders with a flick of his wrist. “Be gentle but...make her. Try to appeal to her vanity. That usually works.” he states with a stern point of his finger to the lads given the job.

Gen, of course, did not want to leave. She didn’t want to see Alfie or hear about him or any man really. She wanted to be lost in the sounds and movements and be young and wild and free again. But the reality that she could no longer be any of those things, truly, would always come knocking. And in this instance, it was a few of the big boys of Alfie’s she knew. The muscle.

“Miss it’s time to go.” one says in her ear.

“No.” she declares defiantly. Like a child, really.

“Miss I must insist. We’re here on Mr. Solomons orders.”

“Fuck his orders.” she sass’s back and turns away and he takes her by the arm.

“We can take you out of here kicking and screaming but what would the gossip sound like if word were to get around, eh? So why don’t you walk out with us, and no one has to be any wiser as to what’s happening.”

She gives him a look that would normally make him worry, as he had heard about the things she’d done. “Don’t fuckin' touch me.” she growls, jerking out his grip. “Where is the bastard?” she spits out as she begins walking towards the door.

He waits, and it does take longer than expected. But there she came, mad as a wet cat, stomping, and hissing just the same towards his vehicle. She was uneasy on her feet, not stumbling but a drunken sway that told him he’d stopped her at just the right time.

He sits in silence, his hat on, cane in hand and posture straight as he makes her sit with her thoughts as they travel down the road. He eventually turns towards her and she’s pouting out the window.

“Gen, look at me.” he orders.

She, of course, doesn’t even acknowledge him. Sitting with her arms crossed and body language very clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

“Genevieve…” he warns. “Can you even hear me? Ya fuckin’ pissed innit ya?” he scoffs and waits.

She lets out a defiant huff through her nose.

“Fuckin’ look at me, woman.” he moves and takes her by the chin. He met with glossy and unfocused eyes and pouting lips. “Look at you…” he shames her and her lip quivers. “Fuckin’ mess.” he tsks and shakes his head. “Can you even respond to me ya little drunkard?” she speaks nothing and tries to move out of his grasp but he’s holding onto her too tightly. “Fuck’s sake Genny.” he presses his lips and sighs.

“I can.” she snaps back. “But what’s the fucking point?” she snarls.

“Because I asked you a fucking question dinnit I? Because you should explain this childish behavior. You’re not a fucking child. You’re not even that young, you’re a grown woman. You know better.” he speaks intensely but with a smooth delivery that makes her wants to slap him again. He was being too condescending. So patronizing it made her sick.

“Clearly I don’t.” she ejects back with a rough turn of her head that knocks her chin out of his grasp. He returns it slowly to the top of his cane.

“You’re some fuckin' junkie now and you’re just gonna give up? One bad thing happens and you just roll over and let your jellied brain just fuck you, eh?” he delivers harshly, knowing the words would hurt her, but it was his role to put the wild thing in her place before, and it only made sense he’d be the one now. He could handle her hating him. More people hated him than liked him, it wasn’t a bother to him. He knew that if she’d see a true relfection of herself, that she’d thank him one day for the honesty.

“One thing?” she shouts. “One fucking thing?” her voice cracks with emotion as she begins speaking with her hands. “My life has been nothing but bad things Alfie!” her voice was exhausted. ”One after another. Every fucking day!” she turns on her knees and screams at him. “I was there for DAYS, the things they did to me?! And you want to say it was ONE thing?” her French accent comes out, her finger pointing in his face as she let go of all that was building up inside her that the Morphine wouldn’t let her feel or communicate. “When you know how I was raised? What my father and his friends did to me? The kind’ve men I’ve had to get close to? The shit I’ve had to eat because of being a woman. ONE THING?” she screams in his face.

“And what good is complainin' and throwin’ a tantrum like a fuckin' little girl gonna do, eh?” he keeps his calm, and it makes her angrier. He should be as upset as her she thought. It wasn’t fair he got to be unbothered and she was left a mess.

“Fuck you Alfie!” she barks, sitting back and crossing her arms, looking out the window.

“I’d rather hear that then you feeling sorry for yourself.” he snarks with a raised brow. He was proud of her, actually. This was the most she’d talked about what had happened. She needed to feel these feelings, get them all out and that medicine had stopped it, stunted her and left her in an emotional purgatory.

“We can’t all have steel traps up here can we?” she replies, tapping her temple “We can’t all be fuckin’...made of stone and just push forward no matter what happens. Some of us are SOFT and FEEL things.” she answers with a quieter voice, but that did not mean she was less angry.

“If you think I don’t feel things you’ve not been payin’ attention.” his voice even, and lips pursed.

“So your reaction to my problem is to shake me and shout at me? To give me barked orders like a dog?” she questions incredulously.

“You haven’t listened to anythin' else.” he gives her a side-eyed glance and he can feel the heat radiating off her towards him.

“What else have you tried lately Alfie? Huh? I don’t even remember when I first came home, and I don’t remember you being soft with me once as of late. You’ve just given me that… fuckin’... look.”

“A look?” he answers a mild chortle.

“Yes like that! Like a disappointed father. Like you don’t even want me anymore. I’m just some burden to you.”

“Genny this behavior is a burden for a man like me.” he speaks plainly and it cuts her like a knife.

“Then why don’t you just fucking leave? If you hate me so much?” her eyes welling up with tears now, the anger shifting into hurt.

“I don’t hate you, but you’re actin' like a daft cu-.” he sighs. “I don’t hate you. If I did I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have been dealing with the things I have for you... from you.” he answers with a curt tone, his hand laying out his point as he spoke.

“Do you think what a woman like me needs right now is cold indifference?” her head shakes back and forth, in disbelief at how he was speaking to her.

“I don’t know what the fuck you need any more to be honest. This whole thing has turned you into someone I don’t know.” his eyes were more honest now, she recognized it.

“I could say the same.” she glares back, hiding the swell of emotions inside her. She didn’t want to break down again. She didn’t want him to have the satisfaction. And that was exactly what he had wanted out of her. He didn’t care if she had to use him and spite for him to gain the want to control herself. He just wanted her to control herself.

She sulks the whole way home, the anger fading, turning to sadness with the tiredness that overtook her body. He followed her into the bed room, as if nothing was wrong.

“Why are you staying around me?” she snaps as he sees the softness in her face.

“Because I have to, love.” he replies as he takes off his coat. He knew another flare was incoming.

“Why are you being so mean?” her hard exterior breaks and tears start to fall.

“You want to know? Truly? Can you handle it Genevieve?” he asks with a mean face that shows so sympathy for her tears.

She nods, “Yes. I can.” she says defiantly through tears.

He takes a deep breath and gives her the truth. “Because I just want my Genny back.” he admits with a shake of his head. The brief softness in his eyes making a sob bubble up in her throat. “I don’t know who this drugged up woman is that runs off in the middle of the night.” his voice lacked bite, but still felt harsh as it came out. “You did it once, and I was sympathetic, your sister passin’ ‘n all. But not with this. Not after all this time.” his face hardens, straightening his posture and looking her up and down, judging her. “You’re smarter than this Gen.” he says with exasperation. “You aren’t who I agreed to be with right now. And I just fuckin’ want some relief, I just want my Genny back, love, that’s all.” his brow was hard, his words even more so as they hit her in the chest like a kick.

“I am your Genny.” she sobs, voice so small. Her heart was broken, her faults laid out plainly for her to see. She could no longer ignore them. “I am. I’m just... I’m…” she breaks down and begins to cry. The fog she’d been in gone, the cold reality of her behavior hitting her now. Feeling every little thing, most importantly shame for the right reasons for the first time since the incident.

“But you’re not though are ya?” he leans towards her, his face still cold to her. “You’re not her right now, sweetie. Cause my Genny? She wouldn’t do any of 'is.” he motions to her, half bent and sobbing into her hands as he begins to walk away to leave her to her catharsis.

“I am your Genny!” she shouts and her voice breaks and cries, tears and snot and the whole mess, months of backed up and delayed revelations coming at her, feeling alone and ashamed. She watches him leave the bedroom as she calls out, not seeing the hurt on his own face for putting her through this. But he knew it had to be done, it was his role to be the one to do the things no one else wanted or could.

He sleeps in his old room that night, giving her time to wail it all out. And she did. She cried herself sick. But she didn’t drink, she didn’t ask for medicine, she didn’t ask for anything. She sat in front of the fire, thinking about the past few months and let out everything in wails and sobs. A cleansing she’d desperately needed.

——-

The next morning Alfie's conscience is weighing heavy. It didn’t happen often and he hated the feel of it. But he’d slept like shit and heard her crying all night and had to deal with the dirty looks from Aggie and Claire as he rose from the spare room. He wanders into the kitchen, asking for Genevieve’s favorite tea and sweets. It isn’t questioned and he shuffles his way to her room with the serving tray balanced in his hands. House shoes scuffing the stone floors while his pajamas slicked together from the soft fabric Gen insisted on them being.

She’s asleep in the floor, laid out on pillows and blankets in front of a dying fire. Her hair was covering her face and most of her body, a silk nightgown just visible underneath the veil. He stokes the fire and feeds it, then standing over her and clearing his throat, causing her to stir.

She whines and rubs her face, pushing her hair out of the way of seeing before focusing her eyes on his shoes.

“Oh.” She says sleepily, “It’s you.” She lets him know she wasn’t too keen on seeing him.

“I brought ya your tea and biscuits.” He offers in a friendly voice. Much more polite than anything they exchanged the night before.

“Thanks.” She grumbles, pulling herself off the floor and onto the couch.

“Would you like me to make your tea? Fetch you a robe?” He inquires.

“No.” She answers quickly, moving to prepare her tea herself. “I don’t want to be fucking coddled.” She forced out through a smart tongue.

He doesn’t find himself annoyed at her behavior. Even though that was clearly the case for her towards him. She was a crumpled, sickly looking mess but she was indeed herself. And that’s all he’d wanted. He’d missed that spark, that justified emotion, even anger towards him. He knew she was feeling more herself with her demand and he felt a small glimmer of hope.

“How are you feeling this mornin'?” He inquires with a tilted head her way.

“Like hell.”

“You do favor it, sweetie.” He says with a rub of his chin.

She raises her eyes in a glare his way but finds his face not aggressive. ”You look just as well Alfie.” She snarls back.

“I’d not only agree but say I feel much the same.” He nods and purses his lips I’m hesitant agreement.

“I’m going through withdrawal and dealing with a bastard of a ma What’s your excuse?”

“Dealing with a woman going through withdrawl and being a right bastard.” He retorts.

She actually felt inclined to smile at the remark. That would’ve been the first in months. The first non-drug induced one anyway. Normally the comment would’ve been met with a laugh and a little pinch of the cheeky man. Perhaps even a kiss for the self-deprecating humor. But all he saw was a flash of sarcasm in her eyes, but that was indeed enough to satiate him for now. A “Mmph.” nodded is all he is given in the meantime.

“Do you need anythin' this mornin'?” He asks cautiously. She always asked for her medicine with breakfast when it was not freely given.

“No.” She sighs out, teacup resting on her thigh. “I’m afraid I don’t have an appetite for much of anything else anymore.” Her voice is even but her hands shake. Her color was poorly, dark circles under her eyes and a pale complexion. A light cast of sheen from sweat on her skin. Her stomach growls and she rubs it with a wince. “Just send Aggie in. I’m feeling rather weak in the absence of the medicine and I’ll be taking to my bed today I believe.” She rises and puts the back of her hand to her mouth for a moment, nausea sweeping about her insides.

“Will do, love.” He says with a polite bow. “Any cause to call the doctor?”

“No. There’s nothing he can do for this.” She shakes her head. “I’ll just have to suffer until it’s out of my system. And what is more suffering for a woman like me?” She shrugs and looks his way. She was tired, bless her, in so many meanings of the word.

“It is nothing for a strong woman.” He states supportively.

She lets out an amused laugh, a single forced exhale of “Ha.” A scoff really. “When I see one I will be sure to give her my problems.” She rolls her eyes and rubs her stomach again as it growl and squeals.

“Mirrors in the bathroom.” He motions and she shoots him a side-eyed glance. “If you need me further I’ll be only a phone call away.”

“I won’t require you.” She answers curtly, not looking his way. It was the first time she’d not pouted when he mentioned leaving.

“I will be home for tea. Perhaps you will feel up to having it with me?” He questions as he moves toward the door.

“Perhaps.” She calls out in response. She pauses in the bathroom doorway as he does the same to the hall. “Perhaps not.” She says with a shrug and an almost sarcastic face.

He only gives her a nod in response, shutting the door behind him. He should’ve felt a burn of her being cold. But he didn’t. He knew she’d be mad with him for some time. But he was ready to weather it. She could be as angry as she liked, didn’t matter to him. Not when their well being, their business, and her recovery were at stake. He’d take all the anger from her in the world to get his Genny back.

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[lizardwizard4]

Urban Sprawl

As night began to settle over the City, the storm that had been hovering all day finally broke. The deluge poured down, flowing off the roads into strange, unmarked drains. On the City’s outskirts, three men hid behind a nondescript storefront.

‘Have you been able to raise Command yet Henson?’ Called Captain Leibowitz from the back room.

‘No sir,’ replied Henson ‘I think we’re too far in for radio, either that or Controls’ antenna was knocked out by lightning.’

‘You sure you don’t wanna tell us what you’re doing back there Leibowitz?’ Came Jameson’s voice from the front door. Despite his wry tone, he kept his rifle at the ready, and his eyes never strayed from the empty street.

‘That’s Captain Leibowitz Jameson. And you know its classified.’

Henson continued to adjust this radio, trying to ignore the two men’s argument. The buildings this far out were all bare of any decoration, but they were still more interesting than the bickering he had heard a dozen times over.

His first mission into the city had gone similarly. Leibowitz leaving every few minutes to do something ‘classified’, and Jameson poking fun at him every time he did it. The humour of it had almost managed to distract him from the eery silence that hung omnipresent around them. They had been in and out quickly then, not penetrating nearly as far as they had today.

The mission’s beginning was ordinary. They had taken a transport to the ring of construction surrounding the City, then disembarked with the usual equipment. Flamethrowers, incendiary charges, rifles. Henson had to admit, the Organization rarely failed to provide them with any weapon they might need. As they approached the construction, they surveyed the scene. Industrial machinery lay like a carpet along the ground in a constant state of flux. Henson could see one contraption, churning out bricks into a pile. The bricks were quickly dragged away by mechanical ants and incorporated into a nearby building. Even as Henson watched however, the final brick was laid in the structure, and the ants descended on the brick-machine itself, tearing it apart until its metal chassis was all that remained. They quickly reassembled it across the beginnings of a street, where the process began anew.

Leibowitz took the incendiary charges and began placing them on the sides of the new buildings. Henson followed suit, while Jameson began to prep the flamethrowers. The construction machines ignored throughout the process, though Henson kept a watchful eye on them. When someone got int the way of the automated construction… it wasn’t pretty.

Once they had all the charges set in their section, they retreated back to the transport. Jameson handed them both flamethrowers, before Leibowitz produced a detonator.

‘Commencing demolition in three… two… one.’

He pressed down the button, and a flash of light and heat consumed their portion of the construction site.

Once it dissipated, Henson surveyed the aftermath. He had seen it hundreds of times, but the destruction never failed to surprise him. Of the buildings and streets that had been created so far, almost nothing remained but burning chunks of rubble. The few buildings still standing would soon be consumed by the fires already licking at their bases, stoked by the men’s’ flamethrowers. The heavy machines the ants had been assembling were completely gone, buried under tonnes of rubble. Any ants that had survived crawled back into the completed portion of the City. Henson knew that they were going to get more construction equipment, but it would take a day or two before everything here back up and running. A day or two of reprieve for the Organization to prepare.

‘We should get back, the security systems will be here soon,’ Said Jameson.

Henson began walking back to the transport, but Leibowitz didn’t follow. He turned to them, and began to speak

‘Word came in from Command an hour ago. The City gained three kilometres this week, we need to head in to push  it back,’ He said.

‘What? If we’re going into the city, we need ten times as many men!’ Shouted Jameson.

‘I don’t make the calls Private. And Control doesn’t have the men to spare. Would you rather we just let it keep spreading?’

That statement cowed Jameson, and he lapsed into a sulky silence.

‘Alright. Let’s get everything packed into the transports and get moving before security systems get here.’

 For the rest of the day, they had moved steadily deeper into the City. They would occasionally stop for the captain to do whatever it was he was doing. While that happened, Henson tried to get the radio to work. Almost since the City’s automated systems had caused it to begin its spread, some sort of field that jammed radio communication had sprung up around it. But this far out, it was spotty. Efforts were ongoing to map all the holes in the coverage, but it was slow. If nothing else, he might be able to gather a few extra datapoints from this bizarre expedition.

Eventually, the Captain re-joined Henson and Jameson. He closed the door behind him quickly as he left, but Henson still caught a glimpse of what he had been working on. Wires feeding into a brick of plastic. Explosives? That didn’t make sense. This far into the City, the buildings were to strong to be damaged effectively with any standard explosives.

Jameson let out a long whistle, evidently, he had seen the bomb too.

‘That what this is about then? Testing some new bomb on inner-city buildings? Must be pretty powerful.’

‘The official purpose of this mission is to push the City back further, Private. Any other speculation is just gossip and shouldn’t be trusted.’

Jameson just grinned knowingly, before they all made their way outside.

Eventually, the Captain was satisfied with the bombs planted, and he shepherded them into a nearby building across the street, where they took cover. Without any flourishes, he took the detonator, and pushed down the button.

For a moment, there was silence, and Henson was struck by the insane notion that the City had somehow prevented the blast. But then, the shockwave passed over them, followed quickly by a deafening roar. They crouched down in the building, waiting until the cacophony subsided. When it did, they looked up, and surveyed the damage.

The blast hadn’t been strong enough to demolish the buildings as completely the buildings on the outskirts had been. But the damage was still noticeable. It looked like the roof had been caved in, and looking down the street, Henson could see similar results in other buildings where the charges had been planted.

Henson and Jameson were silent, shocked,  while Leibowitz let a rare smile grace his face.

‘Private Henson, where was the last un-jammed location you picked up? We need to report back to Command.’

Henson was about to respond when an air raid siren began to wail. Leibowitz’s head snapped upwards.

‘Run men!’ He barked.

Just has he spoke, the sirens cut out. A robotic voice replaced them.

‘Citizen. Submit yourself to security drones for peaceful detainment’

The message began to repeat in different languages.

They began to sprint for the transport up the road, when swarm of what looked similar to the  construction-ants, except winged, careened around the corner, moving in the opposite direction to the men. Henson began to fall behind, the weight of his heavy radio proving too much. Leibowitz and Jameson pulled ahead, and it looked they might reach the transport before the swarm for a moment, but the ants put on a burst of speed, and enveloped Jameson. They began to bite down, electricity arcing between them and Jameson’s skin. The man fell, screaming. Leibowitz dashed past the fallen body, and slammed the door of the transport behind him, just before the ants turned their attention to him. Henson tried to speed up, but before he could make it to the transport, Leibowitz had already pulled out, and sped away down the street.

The ants split into three groups. The first trailed after Leibowitz, and another returned to Jameson, biting his twitching his body. The other began buzzing toward Henson.

As the ants chased after him, Henson ran through the streets, twisting and turning trying to lose them. Eventually, he lost sight of them. Pausing, he waited for the hum of the ants’ wings to reappear. He was too tired to keep running, if they found him, he would be out of options. But nothing happened for a minute, then two, then five. He was safe

Chasing on the heels of his relief, however, was the realization that he was hopelessly lost. Whatever technology in the City blocked radio communication, also stopped satellite images from being taken. No maps existed, the only way to navigate in the City was by memory, and the entire chase was just a blur in Henson’s mind.

Henson looked up. Judging from the direction of the sun, he thought that Leibowitz had fled further into the city. If they could rendezvous, Leibowitz might be able to navigate out, and either way, Henson would be far safer if he could hide in the transport.

With a start, he realized that he was probably further into the City than anyone who’d ever lived to speak of it had ever been. Aside from the pouring rain, the silence was near total.

He walked until he entered the central City. Here the streetlights were far brighter, almost uncomfortably so. Rather than the squat concrete buildings he was used to, towers of glass and steel loomed over the streets. It wasn’t much different to the middle of a normal city, really, save for the emptiness. Occasionally, he would hear the buzzing of the security-bugs’ wings over the roar of rain, and he would duck into a nearby building’s lobby to hide. Once or twice, he thought he heard… other sounds. The grinding of heavy machinery below the streets. The growling of enormous motors in a nearby by building. Or screams from far off in the distance. He tried to avoid them.

A few times, he thought that he heard Leibowitz in the transport a few blocks over. By the time he made it, there was always nothing there. Henson put it down to the odd echoes off the glass spires. But once or twice, he could have sworn he saw the transport disappearing round a corner just as he made it.

As Henson drew closer to the centre of the city, the bug swarms grew larger, and more frequent. It got to a point where Henson couldn’t go more than a few blocks without ducking into a building to avoid the flood of bugs, pouring across every open surface. Once or twice, he didn’t slam the door shut quickly enough, and a few ants got in. Fortunately, however, they seem largely neutered away from the swarm, and they just buzzed a bit, before going silent. He might have turned back, if the sightings of Leibowitz and the transport weren’t also growing more frequent. The bugs didn’t seem to be able to get through solid surfaces, he’d be safe in the transport. He repeated that thought to himself again and again, trying to force himself to believe it. Nobody had ever gone this far into the City and come back.

 It was dawn by the time that he found Leibowitz. Though perhaps ‘found’ wasn’t the right word. He was halfway down a particularly long road when it happened. The transport, completely covered in the bug drones, careened around the corner behind him. Henson had no idea how Leibowitz wasn’t crashing; he doubted the Captain could even see with all the bugs on the windscreen. Which presented a unique problem; if the Captain didn’t swerve, he was going to slam into Henson.

Henson broke out into a sprint, trying to outrun the transport. But he didn’t have a chance. Time seemed to slow. The distance between them halved. Then halved again. His eyes roved around desperately, searching for somewhere to take, until they landed on what like a subway entrance. In a last-ditch effort, he threw himself forward, down the stairs and out of the transport’s path.

He blacked out for a moment; senses overwhelmed by the pain of falling down the stairs, as he came too, he looked around. He didn’t know what he had expected. Perhaps the City’s own bizarre take on a subway system. But this… wasn’t that. The space extended well past where he could see, the only lighting coming from the sun above. In the distance, he saw other pinpricks of light that might have been other entrances. Somewhere, just beyond the lights’ boundaries, he could here noise. The slithering noise of something gargantuan rubbing up against itself.

He stood up shakily and took a step forward. He could still hear the hum of the bug drones’ wings up above, but they didn’t seem to be coming down. It looked like he could hide here.

He barely taken three steps forward when the attack came. What looked like a tentacle punched through the darkness, flying at him. Henson threw himself to the ground, and it brushed over the top of his head. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the creature. With horror, he realized it was not a tentacle as he first thought, but a cable., running back to god-knew-what. And at its tip, a sharp copper prong, that didn’t resemble any connector Henson had ever seen.

It dashed forward again, and this time Henson couldn’t dodge. He had expected the cable to try to wrap around him, but instead, it punched into his spine. Henson tried to scream, but something stopped him. Something alien and insectile, invading his mind. Coldly logical, but there was a madness beneath its surface. The desire to spread, grow, become everything. No matter the cost. Worse, was that he could feel it subsuming him. Cataloguing every aspect of his mind and tucking them each away in a library beyond all reason. With the last shred of his awareness, he realizedv with a horror that he recognized part of the thing that was tearing his mind apart. Screaming, begging for death in that ocean of shattered minds, was what remained of Jameson.