#without even TOUCHING the context of her ability to do so as a fourteen year old

[fellhellion]

I think a critical component to Utena’s relationship with princehood that sometimes goes a little understated in analysis is the vested personal interest utena has in not critically examining it.

The Prince was for the longest time, within her warped memory of that interaction, the reason why she was able to resist succumbing to suicidal ideation.

This was the reason why Utena felt she decided to keep living after experiencing the tragedy of loss, as well as the construct which tolerated her gender nonconformity AND was provided the ego stroking feedback loop of being a saviour.

Setting aside for a moment the questions it would beg of her relationship with Anthy and the power dynamic between them, of course she doesn’t want to examine it, of course she lashes out when Mikage implies they are so very similar in clinging to a memory (hell, even more than he knows in that instant).

[lantsovsupremacist]

tiberias (cal) calore vii: illicit affairs

i’m only on the 3rd book so a) pls don’t spoil you’ll break my heart and b) my perception of the characters has only been developed to this point so if you come for me do it with the correct context lmao!!!

you knew what it was.

leaning your forehead against the cool metal post of your bed frame, a shaky exhale escaped from your lips. you wished just like that lost breath, you too could leave behind your body and with it, mind. a few minutes was all you needed, really; some semblance of relief.

even with your door shut tight with a deadbolt, the danger contaminating the palace lingered outside of it. you were not foolish enough to deny the cracks it could slip through. you would give any adversary a worthy fight, though. you could not afford not to, especially now.

for the first time in your life, you had truly encountered a problem that you could not use your abilities to maneuver out of. as much as your lungs screamed and your legs ached to run, you could not. being a swift, your first instinct was always to run. your speed always gave you the advantage in pursuit.

a familiar knock at the door broke you from your trance of pity. you stood up, sniffling as you ran the back of your hand across your nose and mouth. the action of clearing your throat sounded more like a whimper, but you managed as you gathered your skirts and headed for the door. you pushed down the nausea and wrung your hands to settle yourself.

your fingers shook on the deadlock before you pried the door open. the amount of weight on the wood, the length of the echo, and the momentary pause before the second, lighter knock gave away the identity of the person on the other side. you were in his arms before you could take another breath.

despite offering you the comfort you had craved all morning, his touch triggered the sobs caged in your chest. perhaps, it was because your heart was only safe in his hands. but, without the key to let them out, they messily tore through and paved their own path.

a year ago, your greatest worry would be the shame brought to your family on account of conceiving a child out of wedlock, let alone to the crowned prince. now, it seemed the impending war took precedence. you could have laughed; a red threatened your livelihood. a girl, really.

you were always careful, and it did not even happen very often. both you and the prince were very busy people, after all. send offs and reunions.

“we can fix this,” cal murmured into your hair.

“no, you don’t get it,” you broke out with a defiant shake of your head, “there’s nothing to fix.”

he pulled back, stroking your hair and pushing it behind your ears. your golden strategist was at a loss. your heart fell further into the pit of your stomach. you chewed on the inside of your lip, desperate to look anywhere but his eyes. yet, in the space of the same moment, you never wanted your gaze to leave his.

“i won’t leave you,” his warm hands ran up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, “and i won’t let my father have a say in any of it.”

“it’s not the king i am frightened of,” you admitted with a sour taste in your mouth.

cal nodded with a grimace, “then i’ll be sure she is controlled until the end of the month.”

but who could control the queen who could twist minds? you chewed on the thought to avoid choking on it, forcing it down in distaste. both cal and yourself needed time neither of you had the privilege to claim.

cal communicated the importance of waiting until the traditional queenstrial to propose publicly. while the larger part of you agreed with this position, a small piece of your heart reserved for crippling doubt and senseless paranoia wondered if he was stalling for a different reason. if you could at any time expect desertion, it would be now but true to his word, cal had done no such thing—a loyal soldier until the end.

“and if they don’t chose me?” the secret fear you had harbored far before you had even become aware of your current condition felt a traitor to expose to the boy who had given you everything, kept every promise he could.

he studied your face carefully to ensure he held your full attention (though he was foolish to ever think otherwise), “make them, my dear.”

despite the event’s purpose of selecting a bride for the princes themselves, all of the noble houses knew the eldest had little choice in the matter. while your relationship with cal was not overt due to the inherently illicit nature of the affair, servants were known to talk. even in your deepest frustrations, you could not necessarily blame them.

his confidence in you was endearing but what other choice did you truly have?

you pulled away from his arms and lingering stare, wrapping your arms around your middle. pacing the length of the room, you suppressed a bitter laugh, “and then what? when a baby is born after less than eight months? and that’s to say we can persuade your father to rush a royal marriage.”

“let them talk,” his fingers twitched at his sides and you caught the scent of smoke, “nobody will be able to do anything.”

he thought he could protect from anything. sure, there would be little opportunity for any political action after a marriage was solidified but rumors would swirl. born into the pressures of eyes always watching you, they did not cut deep, but a queen needed a reputation demanding of respect. you did not want to be cruel but you decided that if need be, you could.

you wanted so terribly not to cry but willing it away only drew your focus to it more. you did not think the act made you weak but you would rather avoid the complete exhaustion it often caused. you were already so tired. but, some things were inevitable.

cal caught on before you did, “baby,” his voice was croaky, maybe laced his emotion of his own, “please don’t cry.”

you giggled at the irony. it was watery and your voice was nearly gone but it was there. confusion spread across cal’s features. you studied his face as he began to understand. a slow, crooked smile spread across his freckles and indicated the transition.

“suppose i could have chosen better words.”

“mhm.”

you had not noticed he was slowly rocking you in his arms. calm rushed into your senses. cal radiated your favorite kind of warmth. he monitored his body temperature around you, never too hot but always comfortable. it reminded you of home. he was your home. he smelled of pine and dying embers.

now nearing nineteen, you met the prince at fourteen. your elder sister married sooner than your parents expected, hastening your introduction into political meetings as a representative of the swift house of nornus.

who could blame a young and inexperienced teenage girl for falling in with a powerful, older boy who dared throw her an extra glance. what began as a benefit to palace life at fifteen soon turned into a vice. it was easy to tell yourself that you could stop any time you desired but you were addicted to the way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he spoke your name.

for a while, you were foolish enough to believe he maybe even loved you. when you turned sixteen, you understood you were a pastime for the prince. so when at seventeen he told you he loved you, you did not believe him. he was gone for service quite a bit and your training schedule stole away any time for secret meetings when he was home. you began to purposefully avoid him but the withdrawal from the high that was cal left you dizzy.

when he did not make a move to find you, you tried even harder to move on. you had both made a mess of your hearts, left bleeding and shattered on the floors of the palace. you watched him escape the palace more often, always finding another place to be. one night, however, you followed him. you told yourself it was curiosity that caused you to slip out of your covers and into a warm coat, a coat you would not have needed if you left with him.

you caught up easily with your inhuman perception and speed and yet, he still saw you coming. he always did. that night, you wandered through a village and blended in. that night, you could be normal. he helped you clean up the mess between the two of you and things were different but the same again. they were better. you still took the long way to his room and pulled him into hidden corridors but the longing stares across meetings reignited.

you cleared your throat, “when you returned from delphie.” you tone held the pace of a simple comment, not the answer to the unspoken question pressing down on both of your minds.

cal turned his lips into his mouth and nodded, taking a deep breath, “i remember.”

it was a good memory, a good time. slow and gentle and loving. rane had worn you ragged sparring evangeline from sun up to sun down. you enjoyed the younger classes attending for the exposition but your muscles felt like weights lodged into your body and your breath had not yet fully returned after running circles around evangeline.

usually when one of you returned from an excursion outside of the palace, you wasted little time in attaching to every piece of each other. but, you were both exhausted—exhausted but greedy for the attention of the other. it had been a month ago, nearly to the day.

you and cal never discussed the prospect of children. even if one of you did not favor the idea, there was no choice in the matter. cal, as a future king, needed heirs, and if you wanted to be queen, you would have to bear them. but, you did want them and secretly, you knew cal did, too. it was more than a superficial requirement.

cal always looked at you, found you in a crowd, so it was hard to study him in secret. when he was with children, however, all attention transferred to those at his feet. it was then you saw him fully relax, the weight of his crown falling off his back. he loved them. you loved him more for it.

“and i don’t regret it,” he continued, dipping his head to place it gently on your shoulder. he kissed you neck once, twice, and then dropped his head back down.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

In Our Bedroom After The War

[Broadway Kids]

Prompt: “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

Word count: 2944

-----------------------

Tommy can’t quite remember when Carrie stopped speaking. Some people said it was in the third grade after she brought that Bible to school and started praying in the middle of lunch, others said after the Christian Youth Camp incident and she swallowed so much water that she “permanently clogged her vocal cords” or something stupid. Whatever happened, something had made Carrie White go silent, and she’s been a target of mockery since.

Deaf and dumb. That’s what the other kids liked to call her. But she isn’t deaf, Tommy knows, because she always reacts to what is said about her with great offense and pain, and she certainly isn’t dumb because Tommy has seen her grades when her report cards are stolen and passed around by bullies. She’s a smart girl, very smart. If anything, he was the dumb one, because the amount of times he’s almost given away their little get-togethers was unbelievable.

It started a month into the school year, he believed. He went into senior year, while Carrie just started high school. He can’t quite remember what caused them to start meeting up in the hidden bathroom under the staircase in the C hall stair well, and he’ll admit that he had never imagined himself hanging out with the city’s resident freak and actually enjoy it, but he would seriously miss their reclusive meetings every Friday after school if they were to ever stop.

Today in particular was very special. 1) because he was finally going to try and teach Carrie about video games (she was fourteen! she should at least know the basics like Pokemon and Mario!) and 2) he had noticed that Carrie seemed a little off the past week and he wanted to ask her about it.

When you saw someone like Carrie White, you would assume that she was constantly in a state of anxiety and depression, but Tommy has learned to pick up on little ticks she does over time. Like how lately, she’s been tugging on her hair and biting her knuckles more often, something she only does if something is really bothering her. Because of their social status in the high school hierarchy, he was never able to ask her if she was alright, so non verbal forms of communication would have to do until their weekly meetup.

There’s the way he tried to avoid letting her out of sight, and if it isn’t that, then it's the way they move around each other in natural synchronicity in the hallway, like celestial bodies that have been caught in orbit for millennia. It's the way he makes excuses to walk alone to class just to make sure she doesn’t get any trouble on the way to her own. It's the silent conversations, an inquisitive look (“You okay?”) answered by a minute nod (“All good.”). It’s everything he wishes he had done for her before his final year of high school.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how Carrie would soon be all alone again after he graduates. Tried not to think about what would happen to her when he isn’t there as her silent guardian. Tried not to think about how sad he would be without seeing her every day anymore.

Tommy slipped inside the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid alerting anyone who may have been lurking around, and turned to face the rest of the space. Carrie is sitting at the sink counter on one of two stools Tommy had smuggled in there for them. She turned her head to look at him sideways, but she’s still got her nose buried in a sketchbook, which she still hasn't let him look at. He wondered what she's drawing. Maybe it's a treasure map. Or a secret code. Or that deer they saw earlier. Or him.

  “The party has arrived!” Tommy has announced, his voice rebounding loudly off of the silent bathroom walls. He dropped his backpack on the floor, unlike Carrie had done, as hers was hung up on one of the hooks on the wall.

Carrie finally put her pencil down and swiveled around completely in her stool to smile at him. She doesn’t show any teeth with her grin, and it’s slightly wry, but it’s a smile nonetheless and Tommy is honored to get such a thing from her. He examined her quickly, luckily finding no new wounds from bullying, then crossed over. She hastily closed her sketchbook.

  “One day,” He said. “One day I will see your masterpiece.”

Carrie gave him an apologetic look, her smile becoming a little more tight. She grabbed a nearby whiteboard to write on, but stopped when Tommy waved a hand.

  “No, no,” He said. “No need for that! I’ve been doing really well in my ASL class- you can sign to me!”

Carrie looked skeptical, but Tommy doesn’t miss the flash of excitement in her warm honey eyes. It’s not often that someone understands her when she uses sign language.

  “Come on, I’m smarter than I look! Don’t doubt my abilities to learn a new language!”

Carrie nodded. She held up her hands, shaking down the frayed sleeves of her shirt, and began to sign.

  “What (something) we (something) today?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t AS fluent as he thought, but Carrie looked so much more comfortable being able to sign! He could just use his context clues!

  “Something very fun!” Tommy assured her. He took out his phone and turned on a playlist that they’ve been progressively adding more and more songs to (with Carrie having to write hers down and give the list to him, seeing as she didn’t own any electronics). You can tell who added what like this: if it’s Christian related or something grungy-chill, Carrie probably added it; if it has folk music vibes and/or a lot of acoustic guitars, it was probably Tommy, surprisingly enough; if it just generally sounds like it’s ripped from an indie movie, it’s kind of a toss up.

He took out the Nintendo Switch he got last Christmas next and set it up on the sink counter. Carrie tilted her head at it as if it were a peculiar flower that had just sprouted out of the porcelain countertop. 

  “Ever played before?” Tommy asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “No. (something) I’ve seen (something) (something).”

  “You’ve seen it before?” Tommy repeated, guessing just by the way Carrie had pointed to her eyes.

Carrie nodded.

  “Well, now you get to play it!” Tommy beamed at her and she smiled back, but it seems a little forced. Something is definitely on her mind- he’ll have to ask once she’s a little more relaxed. “Hmm… How about Minecraft?”

  “M-I-N-E-C-R-A-F-T. I’ve heard (something) (something).”

  “It’s fun!” Tommy assured her, selecting the game. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” He put the controllers in her hands and she rubs her thumbs over the rubber protectors. “So the main goal is surviving,” He went on. “There's a lot of objectives actually, but surviving is always the first one. Once you get used to it, you can play in Survival mode and start making a good base and start getting tools and armor and stuff, then you can move on to other objectives. But for now you can just play in Creative. What should we name the world?”

Carrie thought for a few moments, and Tommy could practically see all the random names cycling through her brain. After a moment, she signed, “(something)”

Tommy blinked.

  “One more time.”

  “(something)”

  “Can you fingerspell it, please?”

  “V-E-N-U-S.”

  “Oh! Venus! We haven’t learned planets yet.” Tommy said. “Wait- Venus?”

  “V-E-N-U-S (something) (something) (something) cool place (something) live.”

Tommy laughed. “Can’t argue with that logic!” He helped Carrie type in the name and clicked through a couple of other settings before hitting “create world”. Within a few moments the world was up and running. Carrie’s character was off in no time, exploring the blocky landscape and sifting through her colorful inventory, although her movements were sporadic and jerky since it was her first time playing.

Decorating the base was by far Carrie’s favorite part. There were so many different flowers for the outside and wood types for flooring and even COLORED glass. The only thing that would make it better was if you could have animals and OH MY GOODNESS YOU COULD HAVE ANIMALS!!!!!!!!

For a moment, Tommy debated just leaving Carrie there and allowing her to design the base and play around however she wanted, but he couldn't. He was so worried that someone may waltz in and see her in the boy’s bathroom and then do something to her. Carrie being nearly drowned in one of the toilets, Carrie getting her head smashed against the sink counter, Carrie being raped, Carrie getting beaten into a bloody pulp- so many horrible scenarios forced their way into his head. Carrie getting her throat slit, Carrie getting her body stuffed in the air vent, Carrie getting sodomized with a mop stick.

Why? Why were kids so cruel to her? Why couldn’t Tommy protect her from everything? Why does he know he can’t?

There was a soft touch on his hand and he jolted out of his thoughts. Carrie flinched away, too, then signed something he couldn’t understand, but knew she was asking if he was okay by the pinched expression on her face.

  “I’m okay,” He assured her. “Just thinking.”

She made the gesture of “what” and tilted her head. Then she pointed to herself.

About me?

  “Yeah,” Tommy admitted.

That made Carrie’s nose scrunch up in a giggle.

  “Don’t (something) S-U-E know.”

  “If you think that I would cheat on my girlfriend with a fish, then you are very much wrong.” Tommy said. “What about you? What’s been on your mind?”

Carrie put the Switch controllers down and shrugged her shoulders. She began to play with the cuff of her sleeve, not really making eye contact anymore.

  “Come on,” Tommy urged. “You can tell me!”

  “People,” Carrie signed vaguely.

  “People?” Tommy echoed. “People being rude to you?”

Carrie shrugged again, and it was clear she didn’t really want to talk about this anymore, nor did she seem to be in a mood to continue playing. Tommy packed up the Nintendo Switch and paused their shared playlist. He gave Carrie her backpack and they started to walk out of the school in mutual silence.

  “Sorry,” Tommy said as they neared the parking lot. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carrie shook her head, then signed, “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “Well if it isn’t praying Carrie!”

Carrie went rigid, like she had been struck by lightning. She stopped mid-step and didn’t move as a group of seniors trot over, their faces alight with mischief and cruelty.

  “Ross!” One of them called. “What are you doing with this freak?”

  “Is she holding you hostage?” Another guessed, casting a look at Carrie.

  “I bet she’s leading him out to his car to force him to let her ride him.” A third said. The group howled with diseased laughter at that. Tommy is appalled. Carrie looked ill. “Is that it, church girl? The need for sex has finally broken into you and you’re ready to sin?”

  “Back off!” Tommy growled, shoving the boy away. He put himself between him and Carrie, becoming a barricade of sorts. “Leave her alone.”

  “I wonder how loud she’ll moan,” A fourth member of the group mused.

  “Can she even moan?” The second wondered out loud.

  “If you plowed into her hard enough I bet she’ll make some sort of sound.” The first said.

Carrie darted left and sprinted for the nearby line of trees edging the campus. Tommy glared at the group of seniors, then followed, concerned. 

The darkness of the forest quickly closes around them. Carrie is fast on her feet, but Tommy was an athlete and he caught up quickly. He snagged the back of her jacket in a loose grip. They stumbled together over uneven ground and exposed tree roots until Carrie collapsed in a hollow between two moss-covered rocks. Tommy slotted himself in front of her so that she’s shielded from all sides- the rocks and Tommy forming a barrier from the world.

He said nothing. He listened to the girl’s gasping breaths and knew that it’s nothing that words can cure- not anymore. Not after years of having no one, being stabbed in the back and spoon fed lies. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the rustling of oak leaves, the distant calls of birds, the persistent harmony of crickets.

He wondered what Carrie used to ground herself.

He wondered if she grounded herself at all.

Slowly, softly, Carrie calmed to some degree. It comes faster than Tommy expected, but he assumed that’s just because she’s grown used to the treatment she gets. She shifted, wiggling her shoes beneath Tommy’s thigh. Tommy doesn’t shift. He won’t leave until she does.

  “It’s okay,” He finally whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Carrie whimpered and made a sloppy gesture- Why?

  “Because I care about you.” Tommy said. “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

He wanted to make her laugh or smile or at least stop crying, but Carrie just whimpered again. She swiveled around to face him, eyes flashing with tears. 

  “Why?” She signed again, sniffling miserably.

  “We’re friends.” Tommy told her. “You know that, don’t you?” The look he got said that she didn’t believe it. “Come on. Tell me some things you know about me. You’d be surprised how well you know me.”

Carrie hesitated, then began to sign, “Your name is Tommy Ross.” She winced at how bland it was, but Tommy only nodded, brushing a bit of his dark brown hair out of his eyes. Carrie’s face scrunched up like she’s memorizing her timestaple in front of him, struggling to bring that gridded mess of numbers to mind. 

  “You’re the tallest (something) (something) everyone (something) your team,” She continued. The sky overhead is eye-wateringly blue, with crisply white cotton clouds scudding along the horizon. A light breeze shakes the leaves of a nearby oak tree that has the initials of some high school sweethearts carved into the base of its trunk. They’re a little crooked from where someone’s hand had slipped, the flat of a switchblade arcing a little too close to the bark, and making a J thicker, almost a U when you looked at it dead on. 

  “That’s right,” Tommy said. He knows his role here is only background noise. That’s his job, whether Carrie knows it or not, and he’s more than happy to fulfill it. He doesn’t mind being subject to the scrutiny of befriending ol’ praying Carrie because of it. Not if it’s what she needs to feel better.

  “Your eyes (something) like a (something) green-brown, (something) (something) like slimy algae. You always have (something) stupid red sports jacket on. Your sneakers (something) (something) white, once upon a time.” She managed to tease him, uttering out a tiny giggle.

  “What can I say, Carrie, I’m a filthy gremlin, like all boys are-” He joked, and she swatted him lightly on the arm. She bit back a laugh, and Tommy wished that she wouldn’t- Carrie tips her head back when she laughs, unabashed and on the edge of hysterical, giggling and snorting, shoulders shaking with mirth until she’s brought her gaze back down again, cheeks flushed from the exertion of being host to that much joy despite everything that she’s been through. No one holds the weight of trauma and mistreatment as heavily on their shoulders as Carrie White does- Carrieta, the library to all of those scattered instances of would-be’s-could-be’s-shouldn’t-be’s. And still, there is a smidge joy. It’s beautiful. He thought that she’s most beautiful when she’s laughing (don’t tell Sue, and if you do, make sure you let her know it’s completely platonic. but just don’t tell her at all).

  “You have, like, (something) favorite red shirt, with a light brown hood on it. And S-U-E thinks it’s hideous.” Carrie continued. She’s tapping her foot against his leg, a gentle soothing gesture, and he lets her. He knew that it’s more for herself than him.

  “You have a golden ring (something) onto a necklace.” Carrie signed. “But you don’t wear it (something) you think it (something) you look silly. But it’s really pretty.” Pause, and when she signed again, it wasn't about the necklace anymore. “It’s (something) (something) like having a sibling.” Pause. Carrie looked up at him with glittering eyes. “You’re Tommy Ross.”

The weight that she placed on his name makes his heart stutter, catching in his chest- the warmth that he felt towards her is almost unbearable, and he found himself grinning, mouth gone crooked in the gesture.

  “I’m Tommy Ross, that’s right,” He repeated to her, as if they’re introducing themselves at some shitty college icebreaker. “And I’m not going anywhere, Carrie.” He went on, a touch of urgency in his voice- and she smiles, eyes closing, though hers are more reserved than his, somehow. There’s a tear bright in the corner of her right eye, and it traced a thin path down her face. More come. They pool at her chin, dripping off of her face, and soaking into the softness of the earth. His chest ached.

  “And you’re not going anywhere,” She whispered, voice hitching a little halfway through. He swiped a thumb over her cheek, flicked the tear off into the green grass behind them. 

  “I’m not,” He promised. “I’m not leaving you, Carrie.” And his voice had gone soft, her name cradled gently in his mouth, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.

[twinkledadwa]

Home is Where (a ghost nest #1)

 november 7th, 4:47 am pst.

 in all sincerity;

 this interview was birthed from the innate fear of death. for what it is to ‘be a ghost’, beyond having the ability to slam doors after your passing, isn’t truly defined. a trait consistent throughout the many interpretations of angels, spirits, paranormal and such is the presence felt being an essence lost in time. ‘who’ a person is stops at their death. all human aspects stripped, ghosts work as an echo of a fading past; something more akin to a message in a bottle than an entity still living.

 so, in our lives, do we strive to create essences that continue to build after our deaths? or do we attempt to capture our essences well enough at the moment to make our ghosts stronger? the latter has been adopted for ‘a ghost nest’. i hope, for everybody’s sake, that it isn't explained again. context felt necessary to clear up why these interviews are in a hybrid, ‘Dear Sally’-esque format. what this should be considered, at most, is an exercise in essence on a minuscule scale.

 and on november 7th, at approximately 5:10 am pst, brandon macdonald expressed a similar sentiment. ‘tantrum provider’ for Palm Coast-based emo band Home is Where, they noted the name’s function as a subliminal advertisement; so that whenever the proverb it takes from is used, listeners at any moment in time will harken back to sound bleeding with vibrancy. ‘the scientific classification of stingrays’ (topical cover art) carries an urgency somehow familiar, symptomatic of the band stretching their foundations into their own monument. for ninety minutes, unknowingly breaths away from a new president-elect, we had a conversation.

 this is Home is Where’s ghost nest.

  So, how long is too long for us not to have a presidential assassination?

  Brandon: Um, that’s a good question. I was on a local podcast recently and, funny enough, I didn’t know going into it that they’re sponsored by a financial magazine?  I lost my shit finding that out. I was laughing my ass off. I was like, “your financial magazine, right now, is supporting an artist who is a dedicated Marxist. A communist who sees these people on the street and knows that I represent exactly what they’re against”. The song isn’t meant to be about an actual assassination or about Orange Man himself. I wanted it to be a comment on the structure itself, you know, how long living within it does it take before everything builds up and we eventually bite the hand that feeds us?

  Protest music that names specific presidents does not age well. Look at 80s punk, besides Dead Kennedys, mentioning Reagan. You know, what was the name of that compilation against Bush? The intention was to write a protest song that lasts longer than a presidency. Also, it was easier from a lyric-writing perspective, although there are plenty of words that rhyme with Trump. I don’t know about McConnell [laughs]. 

    Videos of ‘stingrays’ live date back to January. Was all the material off the next record written pre-quarantine?

    All of it. We were sitting on this material for a while, and we went into the studio in early April. We wanted to pump something out before, you know, the end of the world happened. So we got those done, it was mastered around May, and now we are waiting for a few more parts to be sent in. That’s no worries, it’s been a difficult time for all of us. The original plan wasn’t even to drop a single for ‘i became birds’. 2021 was coming up and we hadn’t released anything this year, so ‘stingrays’ felt like the most direct and obvious choice.

   In the world, how do you see both your personal presence & Home is Where’s presence?

   You know, I don’t leave the house much. If I do, I wear a mask. I go to work. I spend time with my cat. I hang out with my girlfriend when I can, as we’re pretty much on opposite schedules. The band hasn’t been up to much. We haven’t met since May and we’ve all faced changes in our individual lives, but at some point, when or if the chaos comes to an end, we’ll be playing together again.    In terms of Home is Where? We’re an emo band from Florida. There’s plenty of those. This might be a pretty trash take, but a lot of the bands in the scene comment on liberalism, and you can only gain so much by listening to it. You should spend your time reading theory, doing something actually important, so you’d be able to make a change in the world. So, in the grand scheme of things, Home is Where is not important. However, it is something I love and am fortunate enough to do. 

  Dear Brandon, of Home is Where.   I’m having trouble finding my own space when stuck home with my family. What should I do?

  Charley, in Pennsylvania.

------------------------------------------------

  Brandon: Is this referring to COVID?

  I’m pretty sure it is.

. Okay, I think I have an answer for this.

  In terms of finding your own space, just find something you’re passionate about and, fucking, dive headfirst into it. A few years back, around the time we started to get serious with the band, I was in a position where I didn’t have a job but I had enough saved up so that it was a few months until I had to worry about rent. With all the time I had, I wanted to buckle down and get really into something I wanted to learn everything about emo. You know, I knew Rites of Spring were the ones who started the genre and some of the stuff about the 90s, but I wanted to know all of it. There were 2000 emo albums that I downloaded and I listened through all of them. Everyone inspired me. Not all of them were good, no. Some were bad, but by listening to them, I knew exactly what I didn’t want to do. It helped clarify what I wanted Home is Where to sound like.

  Find something you’re passionate about. You know, reading theory, making art, do something that makes at home in your home. You can do so many great things.

  Do you have any song recommendations for this situation?

  I have two! The first is, well, you can never go wrong with Cap’n Jazz. Pioneers, truly some of the greats. Tim Kinsella is a genius; I do my best to take what I can from him. It’s him and Bob Dylan. The song is We Are Scientists! (by Cap’n Jazz). I believe some of the lyrics do touch upon that feeling of being stuck around other people. Like, “starchy product scripted people I never asked to care about”? “you can’t look at the sky without looking right through it”? Those lines are, mwah, chef’s kiss!

  The second is H.S. by Plunger. Let me pull up the lyrics to this. It’s another one that comments directly on feeling isolated from those around you. Here it is; “All these old faces/Smiling and laughing/But you’ll never leave fourteen”. Yeah, that seems to sum up the emotion this person expressed.

  Dear Brandon, of Home is Where.   Things recently ended with a person I had been seeing. I hurt them, didn’t communicate my feelings properly, and I feel like garbage for it. I leave the continent for 5 months in a few weeks, and I want to reach out before I leave, but also I want to give her space? Should I wait and see if she reaches out? I’m a dumb stupid idiot.   Dumb stupid idiot, in Maine.

------------------------------------------------

  ‘Dumb stupid idiot’ [laughs]. That truly is an emo question. I am sorry to hear that you’re going through that. That sucks, man. Heartbreak sucks. I wish you the best in leaving the country during COVID times, seeing as that might be difficult, and hopefully, it opens your eyes to new things.

 My one piece of advice is to give it time. I know a few years seems like a lot of time, but it really isn’t. There are moments where I, too, indulge in being derogatory towards myself. Home is Where has lyrics about feeling alienated, being hard on yourself. A few years ago, I moved back to the town I grew up in, and even though it was considered ‘home’, I didn’t feel that. It was tough. Eventually, over time, everything came together. You just gotta wait and look back when you’re in a better headspace,

  You’re going overseas, you have so many new experiences ahead of you. Who knows, maybe you two will end up working out, we’ll see. You got this. I’m rooting for ya.

   Do you have any song recommendations?

    I came up with three, actually. One isn’t emo or anything close to adjacent, so I added another to compensate.

   I Love You Too by Rainer Maria is the first one. It’s hard to find emo that deals straight up with a break-up, there isn’t much out there, but Rainer Maria stuck out. This song is killer. That entire EP is killer. One of the best emo bands ever.

   Idiot Wind by Bob Dylan is my second recommendation. Which is not emo, but in terms of break-up songs, it doesn’t get much better than this. Blood on the Tracks is fucking brutal; Dylan puts blame on pretty much everything.

  The other emo song is from, I want to say, around 2000 or 2001? Near the end of that 90s, ‘second wave’ emo, whatever it is considered. The song is For Meg by On the Might of Princes. It’s about Meg Griffin from Family Guy. No, it’s not. Actually, I am not sure, but this track has just about everything; it’s lo-fi, has some screams, and the lyrics seem to discuss a heartbreak;

 ”This is for you. to hold you close, to keep you Close to my heart. I'll scream it til your ears bleed You'll always have a friend in me”

 Great, great emo that gets heavy. They’re the only emo band that Brave Little Abacus cited as an influence on their sound. You should definitely check them out.

 Home is Where’s visual ghost nest (collages & mixtape visualizer) consists of: Modern Times//Halloween: Resurrection (”Busta Rhymes beating the shit out of Michael Myers is a 10/10 for me”)//Blood Diner//Simpsons: Hit & Run//City Lights//Woody Guthrie: Hard Travelin’//The Horror of Party Beach//Peanuts//Zippy the Pinhead//Fritz the Cat//The Enfield Haunting//Twin Peaks//Wayne’s World 2//Synecdoche, New York//Japanese Woodblock Prints

  Home is Where can be found on twitter, facebook, and bandcamp. ‘i became birds’ out 2021 on Knifepunch Records. 

 their ghost nest is on spotify. questions for future ‘episodes’ can be asked under the advice tab.

  this now exists. bless to brandon, Home is Where, and you all.

[radiodreadzone]

Like Unto the Earth

WC: 2,689

TW: Panic Attacks.

It was late. Kyle and I had been running missions, but even he had already called it a night. The restless energy that had me on edge all night had continued to persist. I was jumpy. Unable to settle. I texted Dax and Gwen for another mission, ignoring the tiny numbers of the clock at the top corner of my phone that glowed like an accusation as I shouldered my crossbow and slipped back out into the darkness. If nothing else, I hoped to work this out. To burn myself low, and at least...maybe find some rest through sheer exhaustion alone.

By the time I'd made it to Hoadly, emerging carefully from the sewer grate in the cliff, I'd gotten my first objective text. A Lucid carrying information. I shifted my crossbow with a slight smile. Easy. But that also meant going down into the Maze. I'd need to raid stockpiles.

Slowly, methodically, I made my way around the neighborhood, pausing at the base of the cliff that led upwards to the daycare above. The gentle sound of pages fluttering in the wind had drawn me, and I picked up the loose piece of the CHORUS manual and shoved it in one of my pocket. Another was in a backyard, resting beneath the sparking form of Dax's drone on the eaves above. I smiled as I hauled myself up, snapping a pic of the broken piece of tech to send to Dax.

'Found your Drone.

Again.'

It was quick work to fix, even as my eyes traced upwards towards the cliff. I'd deal with the handbook and the last few pages before I went down there...The rest were a bit beyond my reach. I'd need to go around. Creeping slowly through front yards, mindful of shadows and the Lucids that seemed to saturate the neighborhood this time of night, I slipped towards the road.

Something knew I was there.

I stiffened,turning sharply on my heel to stare down the road. A Sleeper's head had swung towards me, arms reaching, seeking. I allowed myself a breath. "Just you." It was barely a waver of words. I turned to head back up the road.

Their presence is often hard to describe when you notice it. Sometimes when a daimon speaks to me, I can catch it before it happens. There's...signs. Warnings. With...Them...it always felt like too many eyes turning onto me. Scrutiny. Judgement. It sets off the hair on the back of my neck, and sparks a cold sweat.

Thee-I-Dare is...harder to describe. His presence has always felt unobtrusive. Like someone waiting patiently, politely, at a door while you're focused on something else. Never quite sure how long they've been standing there. But...not quite that either. It's more than that. Like a peal of thunder. An echo of something powerful...something that makes you jump if you don't expect it's arrival.

YOU ASK WHAT YOU ARE TO ME...

I startle badly, nearly fumbling my crossbow. A hand slaps to my mouth to muffle the yelp that threatens at the sudden whisper of words that brushes through my subconscious. The lurch of my heart and mind stumbles, as I try to remember who I'd burned my last ritual to.

To...to Them. But this wasn't them. This was him. I'd asked him not long ago about us. My kind. He'd answered swifter than I'd anticipated. It had been a prayer born of doubts, and I felt now that guilt eating at me. Fizzing low in my gut.

"Sorry...you gave me a fright. Uhm. Yeah." I stumbled out the words, quiet and soft in the street, managing to pick my feet up and keep moving. "Just...was wondering."

The silence lengthened, and I waited it out. I wasn't sure who the discomfort in that moment belonged to.

TRY NOT TO TAKE ME WRONG, IN THIS...

It was a hesitant start as any. And I felt for him. Mine had been a very loaded question from the start. Unable to help myself, I opened my mouth to reassure. "I..figured it's not going to be a...pretty answer. So...duly noted." The guilt had formed a symphony with unease in my chest. It was a rough start now for both of us, a leveled playing field. I was afraid of where this path would go.

In the silence that followed, I gathered the last few pages and the book, pulling myself quietly onto the roof of Old Growth.

TO ME YOU ARE LIKE UNTO THE EARTH

He was ever a fan of metaphor. He augmented his phrasing in ways that were easily understood. But sometimes the point flew right over my head. Brows furrowed, I squinted up at the depths of the night sky, mouthing the phrase over and over silently. "...unto the earth?" I finally mumbled, the words spilling out audibly.

A SOURCE OF GREAT POTENTIAL

The understanding clicked, finally. I was grateful for a bit more elucidation, even as dismay settled on my shoulders like a heavy blanket. "Oh...I see. An untapped resource."

WE STROVE UNJUSTLY TO MASTER IT.

My jaw clenched a touch, the fizzling in my chest hissing out, replaced by a heavy weight of resignation that leeched into my tones. "...got it. Yeah. A resource." 'Try not to take me wrong, in this...' My eyes slid away from the sky as I slipped off the roof and down towards the campground. Silence pervaded between us again.

After a moment I cleared my throat and attempted to speak, only to be given pause as the presence coiled in the back of my mind stirred and spoke again.

WE...I, MAY HAVE AWAKENED YOU

A nod, though I have no idea if he even saw it. I barely understood how these things worked. I had meant to ask him about that...but another time maybe. Later, maybe.

"Right. You were the one who Woke us all up in the beginning. Will, and then Word." A frown now as I turned over things. "But..unjust to your eyes...? Not necessarily everyone else's at the time..?"

BUT WHAT IF YOU WOULD HAVE RISEN?

WITHOUT ME. I WILL NEVER KNOW.

Thee-I-Dare proved himself again with a habit of keeping me confused as he spoke. I often felt every one of my very young fourteen years in the face of his...centuries? Millennia? He was ancient. An understanding and consciousness far beyond mine, even when some days he felt human. I often sat back after talks and marveled at the fact that I'd managed to keep up with him at all. But in this moment it was just...me at a loss once more.

I bit off the tail end of a sigh, "When you say risen, this feels like new terminology." An important word. Things that seemed so innocuous in our mouths could have a whole new meaning in the eyes of daimons. "Cuz we're Awake, and that feels like a very y'know...proper noun. Risen feels like something similar, but if so it's not one I'm familiar with."

I USE THAT WORD OFTEN, FOR SPEED...

Speed like...swiftness? Or speed to help communicate with less? I decided perhaps the latter. "Ok, gotcha. Metaphorical. Easier to try and get a point across." Even I could hear the lack of certainty in my voice however. It didn't help my concentration that I was now neck deep in the Maze, seeking the Lucid that bore the evidence I'd need to gather before I could leave.

BUT IN TRUTH, WAKE TO SLUMBER?

IT IS A LONG SLOPE, ALWAYS HAS BEEN

I held back a laugh. He always seemed to pick the hardest fights. The longest and steepest slopes. The most opposition. It was his nature but, I couldn't resist a tease. "Back to that tenacity of yours again...huh?" It didn't quite reach it's mark today. I don't think either of our hearts were entirely in it...or whatever the daimon equivalent would have been.

WHAT IF I JUST WOKE YOU EARLY?

Early...? In what sense? Historically? "I feel like..I'm missing a lot of pieces of context..." The late hour didn't help my ability to think straight either in that moment. I spotted the Lucid I needed in Host Conditioning, managing a neat dispatch of them, and moved to collect. "I'm afraid you're more familiar with your history than I am. So i'm not quite sure what...early might mean." My eyes once again sought a form that wasn't there, as if looking to meet the eyes of the daimon in my head. I started to understand why some people just kept their eyes shut when speaking to them but...I had more to do yet.

NO. IN THIS, I SPECULATE.

Ah. That explained it all. I'd chased the tail end of a thought. Speculation and nothing more.

I THINK YOU DO NOT NEED US.

That again. He'd mentioned it to me and countless others. It was important to him, even if I wasn't sure how I felt about it myself. "Yes, you've mentioned that a few times." Again I felt a need to try to justify his existence. To try and give him a reason to stay, even if I knew that the words of one small child...might not mean much at all. "You're a catalyst." He finished his thought, having waited patiently for me to blurt mine.

AS THE EARTH MAY NOT NEED YOU.

I stilled, thoughts switching back. Oh.

"Right. Well..in that way. If we're going into this." I could feel that uncertainty winding tight in my chest again, even as I felt yet another loaded question slide home into the barrel. "There's thoughts that...humans with the Earth, we might destroy it because of how we utilize it. Is there that fear of that with my kind and yours and how they interact...?"

The answer came swiftly.

YES.

My eyes slid shut. A breath expelling from clenched teeth. "...well. That's not ominous at all, is it?" A stray thought, "Are we talking more abstract like will, or are we talking...annihilation?" Destruction of my species in any format was...not ideal.

MY SIBLINGS DO NOT FEAR THAT

Of course they didn't. "They seem...less concerned with us. At least...in comparison." In comparison to him. To maybe a small handful. From what I'd heard and seen we were...expendable parts. Cattle. It sat like a lump in my chest and stomach.

ALL BUT ONE. THE END MOTHER.

Unbidden, a chill came over me. Her. Memories flashed across my mind. A great eye of stars in the sky. Nerves colored my tone. "Yeah..." the word was drawn out. "Her." My voice was quiet. Meeker. "I don't think I like her."

SHE AND I AGREE, WE...NEED LIMITS

I wanted to pursue that. The idea of them limiting themselves but..the fear still ran cold in me at mention of Her, raising the hair on my arms. It distracted my senses, leaving me fumbling and desperate to leave the cold chill of the Maze and get back beneath the sky above me. "She's a finality but she scares me...I don't know if that's wise or not." Was death not a promise given to all who breathe their first breath? Whose hearts beat?

But I...I didn't want to die. Not now. I'd seen too much death in the Maze. Watched it take my friends. I didn't want to be added to that growing ledger.

IT IS.

It was a relief to hear that confirmation come back to me. That I wasn't a fool for it. But...I knew there were also some that saw her differently. "I...don't see how some people are as close to her as they are...But..that's their choice to make I think." And after all, wasn't choice something entirely human to begin with?

There was a pause between us as I sought my way out of the Maze, sliding out of a garage utility hatch. I still felt jittery. Unnerved, until I was back in the night air and under the expanse of stars again. "A little better...a little more room to think..."

I felt awkward in the silence, the restlessness in me giving way to discomfort. You're wasting his time, now. "I...I had another question but I'm trying to remember what is was..." In the face of the buzzing remnants of what had been panic blooming, any path of thought had fragmented to splinters, slipping through my grasp. Coherent thought was lost to the late hour, and I felt the dismay tighten it's noose around my neck, along with the returning guilt that I had brought him here for these things at all.

I AM HERE.

Three words.

Three simple words, and yet they still knocked back the growing buzz in my head. The panic that maybe I hadn't been...enough in that moment.

I couldn't help the soft laugh, "I'm glad but...my mind apparently isn't." I tried once more for the fading fractures of thought, but as before, they eluded me.

YOU WILL SEE ME AGAIN, SPARROW.

Will I? I wanted to ask. How can you promise that in a place like this? The words rose and fell behind my mouth like a wave. I tamped them down. Sealed them away. I found new words instead.

"That's good.." but still, the desperate tide could not be stemmed, breaching now in some way. Trying to apologize for this hole in my chest. Trying to assuage the guilt that burned in me for my doubt. He was my friend. Why was I afraid now?

Reality was a bleak reminder of the difference between how I hoped things should be, and how rarely they aligned to truth.

"I just...I wanna say..." He's a friend. You can talk to him about anything, right? "I've been scared and a little...worried lately? Not necessarily by you or your actions but..Maybe also given to doubt." The admittance fell from my tongue like a weight. "I want to apologize if..." I shut my eyes, exhaling another wavering breath. "If some of my questions might be strange or hard in the coming days." They were always there. A ceaseless, binding vine that grew where it had been cut. Some days it threatened to overwhelm. Strangle and crush.

The hush of his presence slid back.

I DO NOT JUDGE.

How very different he was from Them. Who judged without thought. I envied him the skill, even if I wondered some days if he didn't just side eye all of us in spite of the claim.

"I know." I took a fortifying breath. "But I'm all too human," All too different from you. "And I still fear anyway..." It was a useless emotion, fear. And yet I was packed to the brim with it. I wanted to just take it and throw it somewhere dark and deep. Take the hollow it left and form it with something newer and stronger but...I don't know if that would still be me.

"But I'm glad that you're there to listen."

I AM. I WILL BE. IT IS MY HONOR.

I bit down on my tongue, feeling a pang at the words. Kind of him. Far too kind for the likes of you. You who doubt. You who question everything.

And yet.

Don't I trust him, too?

It was a war of emotions and yet. The kernel of trust remained. An anchor amidst the strife.

"...you're too nice. And sometimes that's the worst part in all of this." I tried to soften the words with a laugh, but the sound was hoarse and dry, wispy as the wind that coursed in the trees around us both.

GOODNIGHT, DEAR SPARROW. SURVIVE.

I could feel that presence draw away now. Going back to wherever it is he resided when he wasn't with one of us. In parting I replied, hoping that he would catch it, "Goodnight. Thank you, Thee-I-Dare."

In the remaining silence of Hoadly I felt...wrung out. The guilt was there but...more bearable. Time. Perhaps I needed...time.

But now I'd found the exhaustion I'd been seeking. Worn out and tired, I just wanted to go back home and sleep it all off. Maybe the fear would go away with the dawn, dissipating like a nightmare in the morning sun.

I could only hope.