#lp’s mind needs to be studied how do they make me feel like this every time they release a song

[saintkey]

#NO ONE WROTES A SONG LIKE LP #its giving thank you for the music (hidden track) on the mamma mia soundtrack i am going insane in the best way #lp’s mind needs to be studied how do they make me feel like this every time they release a song #theyre my hozier fr #rainposting #audio #Spotify

[crossdressingdeath]

I know a lot of people refuse to believe/forget that JC did canonically torture people to death for 13 years, so I gathered some proof directly from the novel that basically proves that JC did indeed do those things:

“Jiang Cheng spoke grimly, ‘Break his legs? Haven’t I told you? If you see this sort of evil and crooked practice, kill the cultivator and feed him to your dogs!’.”- Chapter 7, Arrogance Part Two

As soon as JC sees someone who uses even the tiniest bit of resentful energy, and for this reason:

“The boy’s movements were already fast, but Wei WuXian had done a lot of “tripping someone while slapping a talisman onto their back”, which meant that he was faster. The boy suddenly felt his torso become numb, his back weakening, and he unwillingly collapsed onto the ground, with his sword also falling to the side with a clunk. He couldn’t get up no matter how hard he tried, as if a mountain was on top of him. On his back, there was a ghost who had died from gluttony, crushing him to the point that he couldn’t even breathe. Although the ghost was weak, it was completely capable of dealing with brats like this one. Wei WuXian picked up his sword, weighed it in his hands, and swung toward the direction of the deity-binding net, splitting it in half.”- Chapter 7, Arrogance Part Two

So as soon as WWX defends himself from JL, and keeps him pinned to the ground, and obviously not going to harm JL, JC says this. Kinda sketchy.

Another thing;

“After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring again. He spoke softly, ‘... Well, well. So you’re back?’”-Chapter 10 Arrogance Part 5

All because WWX just summoned a corpse to save JL. Remember, at this time, everyone thinks WWX is actually MXY. All the disciple says is that ‘MXY’ was the one who summoned WWX. What if it had been an accident? ‘MXY’ was only trying to save JL, and WN had been the first corpse to pop up. JC doesn’t say anything in thanks for saving JL, and instead does this;

“Sure enough, as if eyes grew on his back, Jiang Cheng saw that he went outside Lan WangJi’s area of protection, and was determined to grasp the chance. With a slanting crack of his whip, Zidian slashed out with the semblance of a poisonous dragon, precisely landing on the center of his back!”

He whips WWX immediately. Doesn’t seem like the actions of someone who didn’t torture people to death for years, simply because he believed they were WWX. Immediately. Let that sink in. And even if you want to argue that JC probably only whips him because of WN; here’s another thing.

“A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. After thinking it through, he made a gesture. The disciples understood his intention and came over.”-Chapter 10, Arrogance Part 5

We’re currently in JC’s POV. He has no reason to make things up in his head. His disciples also clearly help him capture demonic cultivators. HE LITERALLY FUCKING ADMITS TO HAVING DONE THIS BEFORE, TO THE POINT WHERE NO ONE WOULD CARE IF HE TOOK ‘MXY’ BACK TO LP, AND DO ALL KINDS OF THINGS TO HIM. But if people still need more proof.

“Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life.” Chapter 10, Arrogance Part 5.

JC is a powerful sect leader! No one would dare spread false rumors about him! So why do these exist? Some more;

“Lan SiZhui tried to reason with him, “Young Master Mo, it was for your sake that HanGuang-Jun brought you here. If you do not follow us, Sect Leader Jiang will not be willing to let the matter go. During these years, there were countless people whom he caught and took back to Lotus Pier, and none of those people were ever let out.’... “Lan JingYi spoke, “That is right. You have seen Sect Leader Jiang’s methods, have you not? They are quite cruel…’”-Chapter 11, Refinement Part One

These are GusuLan disciples. Speaking about things that are false/spreading false rumors is forbidden! A strict no-no! As much as I love Petty!LWJ, even if it was about someone he hated, LWJ would correct the juniors if he believed/knew they were false! That’s his nature. But he doesn’t. Some more proof;

“Jin Ling replied with an ‘oh,’ and his footsteps faded into the distance. Seeing Jiang Cheng turn around, Wei WuXian immediately pulled a mixed expression of “I’m so shocked,” “my secret has been disclosed,” and “what do I do now that Wen Ning had been found.” Jin Ling was actually quite clever. Knowing that Jiang Cheng hated Wen Ning more than anything, he made up such a smooth lie with the previous knowledge he had. Jiang Cheng knew that the YiLing Patriarch and the Ghost General often appeared together, so he already suspected that Wen Ning was in the area. Having heard Jin Ling’s words, he was already mostly convinced, and Wei WuXian’s expression convinced him even further. On top of that, he burst into fury whenever he heard the mention of Wen Ning’s name. With his eyes blinded by wrath, how could he still have doubted?”

If JC really didn’t torture people to death, why the hell would JL feel the need to save ‘MXY’? This is JC’s own fucking nephew, why the hell would JL doubt him? Oh wait, let me guess. Maybe it’s because he actually does do that!

Some more, if they still don’t believe;

“Jin Ling, ‘It’s not the first time my uncle did such a thing. He has never let any of them go, even if it was possible that he caught the wrong ones.’”

What is not clicking? JC tortures them so badly, JL feels the need to save him!!! This is JC’s own motherfucking nephew. Someone who knows JC, and spends time at LP. He’s very clearly heard JC do this before.

Some more proof;

Here, I couldn’t find the actual chapter, but when JC’s own people are afraid of him, and genuinely believe he tortures demonic cultivators. (If you know the chapter, would you mind listing which it is?). But anyway, there’s also a quote where the screams of the tortured people can be heard in LP. People are so scared of JC, they can’t even ask the sect for help with reeenful energy problems! Quite telling, no?

Thus, this concludes my ‘JC really did torture people for 13 years’.

Yeah, it’s a whole thing. It’s quite a study in willful blindness, seeing people insist that it was just rumours and JC never did anything like torturing people to death. Like... they have to be actively ignoring every scene where the matter comes up to say with such confidence that JC is innocent of the thing that every piece of evidence we get says he’s guilty of.

#mdzs #grapehate #anon #asks

[livingdeadinsideyourhead]

Free Music in a Capitalist Society - Iggy Pop's Keynote Speech Transcript

Hi, I'm Iggy Pop. I've held a steady job at BBC 6 Music now for almost a year, which is a long time in my game. I always hated radio and the jerks who pushed that shit music into my tender mind, with rare exceptions. When I was a boy, I used to sit for hours suffering through the entire US radio top 40 waiting for that one song by The Beatles and the other one by The Kinks. Had there been anything like John Peel available in my Midwestern town I would have been thrilled. So it's an honor to be here. I understand that. I appreciate it.

Some months ago when the idea of this talk came up I thought it might be okay to talk about free music in a Capitalist society. So that's what I'm gonna try to talk about. A society in which the Capitalist system dominates all the others, and seeks their destruction when they get in its way. Since then, the shit has really hit the fan on the subject, thanks to U2 and Apple. I worked half of my life for free. I didn't really think about that one way or the other, until the masters of the record industry kept complaining that I wasn't making them any money. To tell you the truth, when it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge one unimportant detail. But, a good LP is a being, it's not a product. It has a life-force, a personality, and a history, just like you and me. It can be your friend. Try explaining that to a weasel.

As I learned when I hit 30 +, and realized I was penniless, and almost unable to get my music released, music had become an industrial art and it was the people who excelled at the industry who got to make the art. I had to sell most of my future rights to keep making records to keep going. And now, thanks to digital advances, we have a very large industry, which is laughably maybe almost entirely pirate so nobody can collect shit. Well, it was to be expected. Everybody made a lot of money reselling all of recorded musical history in CD form back in the 90s, but now the cat is out of the bag and the new electronic devices which estrange people from their morals also make it easier to steal music than to pay for it. So there's gonna be a correction.

When I started The Stooges we were organized as a group of Utopian communists. All the money was held communally and we lived together while we shared the pursuit of a radical ideal. We shared all song writing, publishing and royalty credits equally – didn’t matter who wrote it - because we'd seen it on the back of a Doors album and thought it was cool, at least I did. Yeah. I thought songwriting was about the glory, I didn't know you'd get paid for it. We practiced a total immersion to try to forge a new approach which would be something of our own. Something of lasting value. Something that was going to be revealed and created and was not yet known.

We are now in the age of the schemer and the plan is always big, big, big, but it's the nature of the technology created in the service of the various schemes that the pond, while wide, is very shallow. Nobody cares about anything too deeply expect money. Running out of it, getting it. I never sincerely wanted to be rich. There is a, in the US, we have this guy “Do you sincerely wanna be rich? You can do it!” I didn’t sincerely want to be rich. I never sincerely felt like making anyone else that way. That made me a kind of a wild card in the 60's and 70's. I got into the game because it felt good to play and it felt like being free. I'm still hearing today about how my early works with The Stooges were flops. But they're still in print and they sell 45 years later, they sell. Okay, it took 20 or 25 years for the first royalties to roll in. So sue me.

Some of us who couldn't get anywhere for years kept beating our heads against the same wall to no avail. No one did that better than my friends The Ramones. They kept putting out album after album, frustrated that they weren't getting the hit. They even tried Phil Spector and his handgun. After the first couple of records, which made a big impact, they couldn't sustain the quality, but I noticed that every album had at least one great song and I thought, wow if these guys would just stop and give it a rest, society would for sure catch up to them. And that's what's happening now, but they're not around to enjoy it. I used to run into Johnny at a little rehearsal joint in New York and he'd be in a big room all alone with a Marshall stack just going "dum, dum, dum, dum, dum" all my himself. I asked him why and he said if he didn't practice doing that exactly the way he did it live he'd lose it. He was devoted and obsessive, so were Joey and Deedee. I like that. Johnny asked me one day - Iggy don't you hate Offspring and the way they're so popular with that crap they play. That should be us, they stole it from us. I told him look, some guys are born and raised to be the captain of the football team and some guys are just gonna be James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and that's the way it is. Not everybody is meant to be big. Not everybody big is any good.

I only ever wanted the money because it was symbolic of love and the best thing I ever did was to make a lifetime commitment to continue playing music no matter what, which is what I resolved to do at the age of 18. If who you are is who you are that is really hard to steal, and it can lead you in all sorts of useful directions when the road ahead of you is blocked and it will get blocked. Now I'm older and I need all the dough I can get. So I too am concerned about losing those lovely royalties, now that they've finally arrived, in the maze of the Internet. But I'm also diversifying my income, because a stream will dry up. I'm not here to complain about that, I'm here to survive it.

When I was starting out as a full time musician I was walking down the street one bright afternoon in the seedier part of my Midwestern college town. I passed a dive bar and from it emerged a portly balding pallid middle aged musician in a white tux with a drink in one hand and a guitar in the other. He was blinking in the daylight. I had a strong intuition that this was a fate to be avoided. He seemed cut off from society and resigned to an oblivious obscurity. A bar fly. An accessory to booze. So how do you engage society as an artist and get them to pay you? Well, that's a matter of art. And endurance.

To start with, I cannot stress enough the importance of study. I was lucky to work in a discount record store in Ann Arbor Michigan as a stock boy where I was exposed to a little bit of every form of music imaginable on record at the time. I listened to it all whether I liked it or not. Be curious. And I played in my high school orchestra and I learned the joy of the warm organic instruments working together in the service of a classical piece. That sticks with you forever. If anyone out there can get a chance to put an instrument and some knowledge in some kids hand, you've done a great, great thing.

Comparative information is a key to freedom. I found other people who were smarter than me. To teach me. My first pro band was a blues band called The Prime Movers and the leader Michael Erlewine was a very bright hippy beatnik with a beautifully organized record collection in library form of The Blues. I'd never really heard the Blues. That part of our American heritage was kept off the major media. It was system up, people down. No Big Bill Broonzy on BBC for us. Boy I wish! No money in it. But everything I learned from Michael's beautiful library became the building blocks for anything good I've done since. Guys like this are priceless. If you find one, follow him, or her. Get the knowledge.

Once in secondary school in the 60's some class clowns dressed up the tallest guy in school in a trench coat, shades and a fedora and rushed him in to a school dance with great hubbub proclaiming "Del Shannon is here, Del Shannon is here." And until they got to the stage we all believed them, because nobody knew what Del Shannon looked like. He was just a voice on some great records. He had no social ID. By the early 60's that had really changed with the invasion of The Beatles and The Stones. This time TV was added to the mix and print media too. So you knew who they were, or so you thought anyway. I'm mentioning this because the best way to survive the death or change of an industry is to transcend its form. You're better off with an identity of your own or maybe a few of them. Something special.

It is my own personal view having lived through it that in America The Beatles replaced our assassinated president Kennedy, who represented our hopes for a certain kind of society. Didn’t get there. And The Stones replaced our assassinated folk music which our own leaders suppressed for cultural, racial, and financial reasons. It wasn't okay with everybody to be Kennedy or Muddy Waters, but those messages could be accepted if they came through white entertainers from the parent culture. That's why they’re still around.

Years later I had the impression that Apple, the corporation, had successfully co-opted the good feelings that the average American felt about the culture of the Beatles, by kind of stealing the name of their company so I bought a little stock. Good move. 1992. Woo! But look, everybody is subject to the rip off and has to change affiliations from time to time. Even Superman and Barbie were German before America tempted them to come over. Tough luck, Nietzche.

So who owns what anyway. Or as Bob Dylan said "The relationships of ownership." That’s gates of Eden. Nobody knows for long, especially these days. Apparently when BBC radio was founded, the record companies in England wouldn't allow the BBC to play their master recordings because they thought no one would buy them for their personal use if they could hear them free on the radio. So they were really confused about what they had. They didn’t get it. And how people feel about music. ‘Cause it’s a feel thing, and it resists logic. It’s not binary code. Later when CD's came in, the retail merchants in American all panicked because they were just too damn tiny and they thought that Americans want something that looks big, like a vinyl record. Well they had a point but their solution was a kind of Frankenstein called "The Long Box." It didn't fool anybody because half of it was empty. It had a little CD in the bottom. You’d open it up and it was empty. Now we have people in the Sahara using GPS to bury huge wads of Euros under sand dunes for safe keeping. But GPS was created for military spying from the high ground, not radical banking so any sophisticated system, along with the bounty it brings, is subject to primitive hijacking.

I wanna talk about a type of entrepreneur who functions as a kind of popular music patron of the arts. It’s good to know a patron. I call him El Padron because his relationship to the artist is essentially feudal, though benign. He or she (La Padrona) if you will, is someone, usually the product of successful, enlightened parents, who owns a record company, but has had benefit of a very good education, and can see a bigger picture than a petty business person. If they like an artists’ style and it suits them, they'll support you even if you’re not a big money spinner. I can tell you, some of these powerful guys get so bored that if you are fun in the office, you’ll go places. Their ancestors, the old time record crooks just made it their business to make great, great records, but also to rip off the artist 100%, copyright, publishing, royalty splits, agency fees, you name it. If anyone complained the line was "Pay you? We worship you!" God bless Bo Diddley.

By the time I came along, there was a new brand of Padron. People like this are still around and some can help you. One was named Jack Holzman. Jack had a beautiful label called Elektra Records, they put out Judy Collins, Tim Buckley, the Doors and Love. He'd started working in his family record store, like Brian Epstein. He dressed mod and he treated us very gently. He was a civilized man. He obviously loved the arts, but what he really wanted to do was build his business - and he did. He had his own concerns, and style, and you had to serve them, and of course when he sold out, as all indies do, you were stranded culturally in the hands of a cold clumsy conglomerate. But he put us in the right studios with the right producers and he tried to get us seen in the right venues and it really helped. This is a good example of the industry.

Another good guy I met is Sir Richard Branson. I ended up serving my full term at Virgin Records having been removed from every other label. And he created a superior culture there. People were happier and nicer than the weasels at some other places. The first time he tried to sign me it didn't work out, because I had my sights set on A&M, a company I thought would help make me respectable. After all they had Sting! Richard was secretly starting his own company at the time in the US and he phoned me in my tiny flat with no furniture. He said he'd give me a longer term deal with more dough than the other guys and he was very, very polite and soft spoken. But I had just smoked a joint that day and I couldn't make a decision. So I went with the other guys who soon got sick of me. Virgin picked me up again later on the rebound. And on the cheap. Damn. My own fault.

Another kind of indie legend who is slightly more contemporary is Long Gone John of the label Sympathy for the Record Industry. Good name. John is famous with some artists for his disinterest in paying royalties. He has a very interesting music themed folk art collection – its visible online - which includes my leather jacket. I wish he'd give it back. There are lots of indie people with a gift for organization who just kind of collect freaks and throw them up at the wall to see who sticks. You gotta watch 'em.

When you go a step down creatively from the Padrons who are actually entrepreneurs you get to the executives. You don't wanna know these guys. They usually came over from legal or accounting. They have protégés usually called A&R men to do their dirty work. You can become a favorite with them if your fame or image might reflect limelight on their career. They tend to have no personalities to speak of, which is their strength. Strangely they're never really thinking about the good of their parent company as much as old number one. Avoid them. If you’re an artist, they’ll make you sick or suicidal. The only good thing the conglomerate can do for you – and they’ve done it recently for me - is make you really, really ubiquitous. They do that well. But, when the company is your banker, then you are basically gonna be the Beverly Hill Billies. So it's best not to take their money. Especially when you’re young. These are very tough people, and they can hurt you.

So who are the good guys?! They asked me when they read this thing at BBC 6 Music. Well there are lots of them. If fact, today there are more than ever and they are just about all indies, but first I want to mention Peter Gabriel and WOMAD for everything they've done for what seems like forever to help the greatest musicians in the world, the so called world musicians to gain a foothold and make a living in the modern screwed up cash and carry world. Traditional music was never a for profit enterprise, all the best forms were developed as a kind of you’re job in the community. It was pretty good, it was “Yeah, I’m a musician, I’m gonna skip like doing the dishes or taking the trash out.” It's not surprising that all the greatest singers and players come from parts of the world where everybody is broke and the old ways are getting paved over. So it's crucial for everyone that these treasures not be lost. There are other people of means and intelligence who help others in this way like Philip Glass through Tibet House, David Burn with Luaka Bop, Damon Albarn through Honest John Records. Shout out to Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. Almost all the best music is coming out on indies today like XL Matador, Burger, Anti, Epitaph, Mute, Rough Trade, 4 A D, Sub Pop, etc. etc.

But now YouTube is trying to put the squeeze on these people because it's just easier for a power nerd to negotiate with a couple big labels who own the kind of music that people listen to when they're really not that into music, which of course is most people. So they've got the numbers. But the indies kind of have the guns. I've noticed that indies are showing strength at some of the established streaming services like Spotify and Rhapsody – people are choosing that music. And it's also great that some people are starting their own outlets, like Pledge Music, Band Camp or Drip. As the commercial trade swings more into general show biz the indies will be the only place to go for new talent, outside the Mickey Mouse Club, so I think they were right to band together and sign the Fair Digital Deals Declaration.

There are just so many ways to screw an artist that it's unbelievable. In the old vinyl days they would deduct 10% "breakage fees" for records supposedly broken in shipping, whether that happened or not, and now they have unattributed digital revenue, whatever the **** that means. It means money for some guy’s triple bypass. I actually think that what Thom Yorke has done with Bit Torrent is very good. I was gonna say here: “Sure the guy is a pirate at Bit Torrent” but I was warned legally, so I’ll say: “Sure the guy a Bit Torrent is a pirate’s friend” But all pirates want to go legit, just like I wanted to be respectable. It’s normal. After a while people feel like you’re a crook, it’s too hard to do business. So it’s good in this case that Thom Yorke is encouraging a positive change. The music is good. It’s being offered at a low price direct to people who care.

I want to try to define what I am talking about when I say free. For me in the arts or in the media, there are two kinds of free. One kind of free is when the process is something that people just feel for you. You feel a sense of possibility. You feel a lack of constraint. This leads to powerful, energetic, sometimes kind of loony situations.

Vice Media is an interesting case of this because they started as a free handout, using public funds, and they had open, free-wheeling minds. Originally a free handout was called Voice and these kids were like “Just get rid of the old! I don’t wanna be Vice, yeah!” Okay. By taking an immersive approach with no particular preconceptions to their reporting, they've become a huge success, also through corporate advertising, at attracting big, big money investment hundreds of millions of dollars now pumped into Fox Media and a couple of others bigger than that in the US. And they get it because they attract lots of little boy eyeballs. So they brought us Dennis Rodman in North Korea. And it’s kind of a travesty, but it’s kind of spunky. It's interesting that capital investment, for all its posturing, never really leads, it always follows. They follow the action. So if it's money you're after, be the yourself in a consistent way and you might get it. You’ll at least end up getting what you are worth and feel better. Just follow your nose.

The second kind of freedom to me that is important in the media is the idea of giving freely. When you feel or sense that someone that someone is giving you something not out of profit, but out of self-respect, Christian charity, whatever it is. That has a very powerful energy. The Guardian, in my understanding, was founded by an endowment by a successful man with a social conscience who wanted to help create a voice for what I would call the little guy. So they have a kind of moral mission or imperative. This has given them the latitude to try to be interesting, thoughtful, helpful. And they bring Edward Snowden to the world stage. Something that is not pleasant for a lot of people to hear about, but we need to know.

These two approaches couldn't be more different. To justify their new mega bucks Vice will have to expand and expand in capital terms. Presumably they'll have to titillate a dumb, but energetic audience. Of course all capitalist expansions are subject to the big bang – balloon, bust, poof, and you’re gone. As for the Guardian I would imagine that the task involves gaining the trust and support of a more discerning, less definable reader, without spending the principal. There is usually an antipathy between cultural poles, but these two actually have a lot in common in terms of the energy and nuisance to power that they are willing to generate. I wish red and blue could come together somehow.

Sometimes I'd rather read than listen to music. One of my favourite odd books is Bootleg: The Secret History of the Other Recording Industry by Clinton Heylin. I bought the book in the 90's because a couple of my bootlegs were mentioned. I loved my bootlegs. They did a lot for me. I never really thought about the dough much. I liked the titles, like Suck on This, Stow Away DOA or Metalic KO. The packaging was always way more creative and edgy than most of my official stuff. So I just liked being seen and heard, like anybody else. These bootleggers were creative. Here are two quotes from the dust jacket by veteran industry stalwarts on the subject of bootlegs in 1994.

"Bootleg is the thoroughly researched and highly entertaining tale of those colorful brigands, hapless amateurs, and true believers who have done wonders for my record collection. Rock and roll doesn't get more underground than this." – that was David Fricke, the music editor of Rolling Stone "I think that bootlegs keep the flame of the music alive by keeping it out of not only the industry's conception of the artist, but also the artist's conception of the artist." – that was Lenny Kaye from the Patti Smith group, musician, critic and my friend.

Wow!! Sounds heroic and vital!

I wonder what these guys feel about all of this now, because things have changed, haven't they? We are now talking about Megaupload, Kim Dot Com, big money, political power, and varying definitions of theft that are legally way over my head. But I know a con man when I see one. I want to include a rant from an early bootlegger in this discussion because it's so passionate and I just think it's funny.

This is Lou Cohan "If anybody thinks that if I have purchased every single Rolling Stones album in existence, and I have bought all the Rolling Stones albums that have been released in England, France, Japan, Italy, and Brazil that if I have an extra $100 in my pocket instead of buying a Rolling Stones bootleg I am going to buy a John Denver album or a Sinead O'Conner album, they are retarded."

So the guy is trying to say don't try to force me. And don't steal my choice. And the people who don't want the free U2 download are trying to say, don't try to force me. And they've got a point. Part of the process when you buy something from an artist. It’s a kind of anointing, you are giving people love. It’s your choice to give or withhold. You are giving a lot of yourself, besides the money. But in this particular case, without the convention, maybe some people felt like they were robbed of that chance and they have a point. It’s not the only point. These are not bad guys. But now, everybody's a bootlegger, but not as cute, and there are people out there just stealing the stuff and saying don't try to force me to pay. And that act of thieving will become a habit and that’s bad for everything. So we are exchanging the corporate rip off for the public one. Aided by power nerds. Kind of computer Putins. They just wanna get rich and powerful. And now the biggest bands are charging insane ticket prices or giving away music before it can flop, in an effort to stay huge. And there's something in this huge thing that kind of sucks.

Which brings us to Punk. The most punk thing I ever saw in my life was Malcolm McLaren's cardboard box full of dirty old winkle pinkers. It was the first thing I saw walking in the door of Let It Rock in 1972 which was his shop at Worlds End on the Kings Road. It was a huge ugly cardboard bin full of mismatched unpolished dried out winkle pickers without laces at some crazy price like maybe five pounds each. Another 200 yards up the street was Granny Takes a Trip, where they sold proper Rockstar clothes like scarves, velvet jackets, and snake skin platform boy boots. Malcolm's obviously worthless box of shit was like a fire bomb against the status quo because it was saying that these violent shoes have the right idea and they are worth more than your fashion, which serves a false value. This is right out of the French enlightenment.

So is the thieving that big a deal? Ethically, yes, and it destroys people because it's a bad road you take. But I don't think that's the biggest problem for the music biz. I think people are just a little bit bored, and more than a little bit broke. No money. Especially simple working people who have been totally left out, screwed and abandoned. If I had to depend on what I actually get from sales I’d be tending bars between sets. I mean honestly it’s become a patronage system. There’s a lot of corps involved and I don’t fault any of them but it’s not as much fun as playing at the Music Machine in Camden Town in 1977. There is a general atmosphere of resentment, pressure, kind of strange perpetual war, dripping on all the time. And I think that prosecuting some college kid because she shared a file is a lot like sending somebody to Australia 200 years ago for poaching his lordship's rabbit. That's how it must seem to poor people who just want to watch a crappy movie for free after they’ve been working themselves to death all day at Tesco or whatever, you know.

If I wanna make music, at this point in my life I'd rather do what I want, and do it for free, which I do, or cheap, if I can afford to. I can. And fund through alternative means, like a film budget, or a fashion website, both of which I've done. Those seem to be turning out better for me than the official rock n roll company albums I struggle through. Sorry. If I wanna make money, well how about selling car insurance? At least I'm honest. It's an ad and that's all it is. Every free media platform I've ever known has been a front for advertising or propaganda or both. And it always colors the content. In other words, you hear crap on the commercial radio. The licensing of music by films, corps, and TV has become a flood, because these people know they're not a hell of a lot of fun so they throw in some music that is. I'm all for that, because that's the way the door opened for me. I got heard on tv before radio would take a chance. But then I was ok. Good. And others too. I notice there are a lot of people, younger and younger, getting their exposure that way. But it's a personal choice. I think it’s an aesthetic one, not an ethical one.

Now with the Internet people can choose to hear stuff and investigate it in their own way. If they want to see me jump around the Manchester Apollo with a horse tail instead of trying to be a proper Rockstar, they can look. Good. Personally I don't worry too much about how much I get paid for any given thing, because I never expected much in the first place and the whole industry has become bloated in its expectations. Look, Howling Wolf would work for a sandwich. This whole thing started in Honky Tonk bars. It's more important to do something important or just make people feel something and then just trust in God. If you're an entertainer your God is the public. They'll take care of you somehow. I want them to hear my music any old which way. Period. There is an unseen hand that turns the pages of existence in ways no one can predict. But while you’re waiting for God to show up and try to find a good entertainment lawyer.

It's good to remember that this is a dream job, whether you're performing or working in broadcasting, or writing or the biz. So dream. Dream. Be generous, don’t be stingy. Please. I can't help but note that it always seems to be the pursuit of the money that coincides with the great art, but not its arrival. It's just kind of a death agent. It kills everything that fails to reflect its own image, so your home turns into money, your friends turn into money, and your music turns into money. No fun, binary code – zero one, zero one - no risk, no nothing. What you gotta do you gotta do, life's a hurly-burly, so I would say try hard to diversify your skills and interests. Stay away from drugs and talent judges. Get organized. Big or little, that helps a lot.

I'd like you to do better than I did. Keep your dreams out of the stinky business, or you'll go crazy, and the money won't help you. Be careful to maintain a spiritual EXIT. Don't live by this game because it's not worth dying for. Hang onto your hopes. You know what they are. They’re private. Because that's who you really are and if you can hang around long enough you should get paid. I hope it makes you happy. It's the ending that counts, and the best things in life really are free.

#iggy pop #idk if anyone posted it here already #I'm just too lazy to look up so #here it is!

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #397

“you’re my religion, you’re my reason to live  /  you are the heaven in my hell”

Do you think that you’ll always love who you love now? Even if we're never together again romantically, I will ALWAYS love her at least as a best friend. Have you ever made out with a random person? Yeah, no. If you could do your first kiss over, would you? No. I'm lucky that my first kiss was honestly cute as hell. Do you like your country’s president or prime minister? Well I voted for him, so I obviously can't hate him. He seems to be doing fine so far, though take that with a grain of salt seeing as I don't keep up with politics. Even before voting for him, I just did a small bit of researching on his values. What color is your house? Yellow with white accents. Do you listen to Christmas music during the holiday season? No, I don't enjoy it. Man, Jason's mom sure did, though... I loved how in the spirit she'd get and always played Christmas music in the car during that time of year. I miss that woman and I sure as hell hope she rests easy now. Do you like ginger ale? Solely if I have a stomach bug, and I can only ever sip it. What are you listening to? "Electric Sugar Pop" by Jeffree Star. What’s the last thing you watched on TV? The TMS office has the TV on, and the woman who overlooks it (I have zero idea what her position is called) tends to have it either on a cooking channel or a home improvement one. Today was a cooking one. Is your favorite author the author of your favorite book? I don't have a favorite author. Describe someone you find really attractive: M-Mark Fischbach. *___* If you HAD to look like someone else, but could choose who, who would you choose? Hm... maybe my friend Alon. I've mentioned I feel like a million times that she is like, ethereal with how gorgeous she is. Have you ever seen someone get a tattoo done? If so, what was it? Did they cry or were they in a lot of pain? Yeah; it was a watercolor feather with "ohana" written below it. She didn't cry at all, but she grit her teeth a few times. Do you have anything you couldn’t go a day without? Some form of technology. Have you ever gotten caught doing something illegal? No. What’s your favorite flavor of Vitamin Water? I don't even think I've ever tried it. Is there someone you wanna date right now? Yeah. What first attracted you to the last person you kissed? If we're talking the very first, our vast similar interests. How many brothers does your father have? None. Does your best friend have any tattoos? No. Do you like Ben + Jerry’s? Yep. Man, I want their Phish Food ice cream now. Would you ever wish to be the opposite sex? Nah. Do you think you’re attractive? Nope. What is your favorite card game to play? Magic: The Gathering. I really miss my PS3 where I had Duel of the Planeswalkers installed on it, it was really fun. Do you own a globe? I don't think we still do. What is your favorite wild cat? Perhaps clouded leopards. If your bedroom had three portals to anywhere, where would they lead? South Africa, Sara's place, and maybe a nice little cabin in the mountains for when I'm feeling a peaceful getaway. You can ask any author one question about their story. What do you ask? I have zero idea. What’s a place you have a strong emotional connection to? The pond behind the local community college. Jason and I took our first prom pictures there. Do you take yoga classes? No, but I'm actually considering it since they offer those at the YMCA Mom and I now go to. What is a decision you’ve made that changed your entire life? To let Jason go. It's pretty great, my PTSD has been less of a bother lately! Have you ever made any money from a side-hustle? Could you consider being paid to take pictures once in a blue moon a "side hustle" when I don't even have a main job? Do you ever wonder what kind of person you’d have turned out to be if a certain event never happened to you? Ugh... it's incredibly painful to wonder how life would be if Jason never left. If you could have anyone’s singing voice, whose would you choose? Adele's or Amy Lee's, probs. What are your top 3 favorite genres of music? Metal, hard rock, alternative. Do you think Mars will be colonized in your lifetime? No. Have you ever been homeless? If so, what led to your homelessness? Technically, yes, because Mom couldn't afford the rent. She, my little sister (who still lived with us at the time), and I each were accepted into the homes of willing, kind people, though. Have you ever been on a ship? No. Who was Van Halen’s better singer - David Lee Roth, or Sammy Hagar? David. Which fictional character has the most memorable quotes? Heath Ledger's Joker is quoted all the time, so probably him. What do you think of the "Healthy At Every Size" movement/philosophy? Before I answer this, I want you to keep in mind that this is coming from someone who is obese, so I would positively love to agree with that for my own self-confidence, but I don't. I believe it's a very dangerous mentality. I think you should cherish your body unconditionally, like it's an amazing machine, but I firmly believe you should have an active interest in becoming what is physically healthy. You couldn't pay me millions to convince me that, say, a 300 lb. person is healthy. What was the name of the first person you ever had a crush on? Why did you like them? I think my first *real* crush was this guy Sebastian my freshman year of high school. I thought he was very sweet, funny, caring, and attractiveness was a bonus. What food will you absolutely not, under any circumstances, eat? Sashimi, caviar, raw eggs... Which famous person would you like to be BFFs with? Bindi Irwin, for one. What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes. Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? No. Have you ever been bitten so hard that there teeth marks were there after? I mean I've had hickeys before if that's what you're asking. Ever gave one? Oh, I guess you were. Yeah. Do you think its weird if guys wear make-up like eyeliner? Not at all. Would you ever date a disabled person? (Be honest) Yes. Would you rather adopt or have your own child? IF I wanted kids, I'd rather have one myself because I'm well aware I personally need that special connection. Stepkids count, too, because they'd be my partner's and therefore very important for me too. What is the most personal question you have ever been asked? Probably TMI, so here's your fair warning, but I've been asked before if I "touch" myself and I was absolutely repulsed that someone would ask me that. Were you abused by your parents? No. If you’re not straight, who was the first person you came out to? Sara. Were you one of the smartest in your class? Up to finishing high school, modestly, I was. Where did you meet your first crush? Art class my freshman year of high school. Do you ever go places with wet hair? Yeah, idc. Who is your favorite little girl? My niece Aubree. She's such a wonderful girl. Does your best friend have kids? No. If you were pregnant, would you want a boy or a girl? Hypothetically, a girl. What place outside of your own home do you spend the most time at? Um, maybe my older sister's house? Have you ever participated in a medical study? No. Do you have any family members who are cancer survivors? Yes, including my mother. Twice. Are you allergic to any medications? None that I've tried. Do you have any licenses other than your driver's license? I don't even have that. If you’re atheist, would you raise you kids believing in God or not? No; I wouldn't intervene with their own spiritual (or lack thereof) journey. They'd learn what they'd learn and decide themselves what they believe. Do you like reading self-help books? No, I just can't get invested in those. What is your opinion on sex change? If you're unhappy with your body, you're more than free to surgically change that with no judgment from me. Do you have any goals for this summer? If so, what are they? Yes, to lose weight. Can you get a strike at bowling? I have before. There was one occasion where my first go was a strike RIGHT after saying I sucked at bowling, hahaha. Do you ever take pictures of negative moments? Well, I photograph roadkill, and that's one hell of a sad moment. I actually wouldn't mind broadening my horizons of photographing negative moments (with permission of course), because I actually find these very impactful and even builds empathy. I will never, ever forget this one picture I saw sometime of an emaciated boy huddled in the dirt with a vulture close by watching him... like fuck, it made me want to sob. No one should ever have to live like that, especially a child. Would you ever post a picture of yourself crying on social media? No. I know that sounds contradictory to what I just said, I just wouldn't be able to do it myself. Have you ever held a newborn baby? Once, when my last niece was born. I'm terrified of holding them because they're just so fragile. Do you know anyone who has twins? My friend just had triplets. What is your favorite country in Europe? Germany. Are you thriving in your life right now? BOY HOWDY- Do you remember to water plants? I don't keep plants. Name three YouTubers you aspire to be like. 1.) Markiplier in a vast plethora of ways; 2.) Jeffree Star for his incredible work ethic; and 3.) Shane Dawson for his incredible compassion. Yes. I know the controversy, but regardless, he cares a lot about people. Who is your favorite character from Harry Potter? I wouldn't know, given I haven't read the books or seen the movies. Do you watch PewDiePie? Not anymore; his content doesn't interest me anymore. I watched him religiously back in the day when he was a serious let's player, though. Do you have a Steam account? Yes. Have you ever played Five Nights at Freddy’s? No, not personally. I like watching LPs of it and I find the story fascinating, but it's not the kind of game I'd enjoy playing. Have you ever tried Akinator? Yes. I don't think I ever beat it, except maybe once. Are you wearing socks right now? No; unless I'm wearing closed-toe shoes like sneakers, I never do. I hate the feeling of them. Can you twerk? Haven't tried, don't wanna. Do you like dabbing? No, it looks stupid. Do you like fishing? I honestly do think it's fun with all the anticipation and thrill of seeing how big the fish is, however I don't support it anymore unless, like hunting, you genuinely need it for food. The only case where I'd go again was if my dad asked me, because that's always been our bonding experience. Do you have a Spotify account? Yes. Have you heard of Blizzard Entertainment? Well, they're the company behind World of Warcraft, so obviously. Do you like bananas? Yes, but only for a VERY short window of time. I am beyond picky with the ripeness of bananas. Are you addicted to anything? Caffeine and technology. Do you know your phone number? I actually don't. Do you swear in front of children? No.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''here for you'' by ozzy osbourne

[justcallmefox89]

Truth or Dare Part 8 - Diavolo’s Ending

Lucifer’s true feelings about Diavolo are revealed, and a rift opens between Mammon and his brothers.  Diavolo’s past threatens the trio’s happiness and Arianthi prepares to risk everything to stay with the demons she loves.

Written from the perspective of my female OC Arianthi.  

Possible TWs - implied violence, bodily harm

Mood List:

LP: Muddy Waters Karliene - Become the Beast Luke Evans - Love is a Battlefield Paloma Faith - Only Love Can Hurt Like This  Hozier - Arsonist’s Lullaby Shawn James - Burn the Witch 

I only catch a glimpse of Lucifer before I’m shoved backwards.  When I recover my footing I see that I’m standing behind Diavolo and Mammon.  Both are in their demon forms, their wings spread wide.  They’re holding hands, prepared to defend each other and me from Lucifer.  

“You will not take Mammon.”  Lucifer’s voice is full of malice.  He bares his fangs and hisses at Diavolo.  “I will not let you have him-”

“Like I had you?   A bit too late for that Lucifer.”  Diavolo’s body is tense with fury, and his tone of voice is taunting.  

The other six demon brothers have gone still with shock; Lucifer has been denying a personal relationship with Diavolo for years.  

Diavolo revealed that he had been with Lucifer in the first week of our relationship.  It had happened shortly after the brothers’ fall, burned bright and fast, and flamed out just as quickly.  

Diavolo walked away, due in large part to Lucifer’s pride and his hatred of his new life as a demon.  Lucifer’s inability to accept his new form and his distaste for the Devildom meant he wasn’t able to accept Diavolo completely, and that wasn’t something Diavolo could live with.  He needed someone who could love every part of him.  

After a time they were able to work together and held each other in high esteem.  Lucifer always kept their relationship professional even though Diavolo had been open to a friendship.  Now Diavolo’s interest in Mammon has set off the ticking time bomb that is Lucifer’s pride. 

Lucifer has well and truly lost his shit.  Nice.  Good.  Awesome.  Splendid. 

I’m the only one not stunned into immobility, so I take advantage of the situation and scramble to stand on the other side of Mammon.  

I grip his hand and whisper to him.  “I love you and I will not let him hurt you.  Neither will Dia.”  

Mammon’s squeezes my hand to let me know he heard me, his eyes never leaving Lucifer.

“You set me free of my pledge Lord Diavolo.  There’s nothing to stop me from taking my brother and keeping him here with me.”  Lucifer gives Diavolo a vicious smile.

“I will kill you where you stand before I let you lay a finger on him.”  Diavolo turns his head to stare at the other brothers, golden eyes gleaming with rage.  “I will rip my way through all of you if it means keeping him safe.”

“You don’t own him Lucifer.”  My voice is low, tight with anger, and I barely recognize it.  

Lucifer’s head whips around and his crimson eyes fixate on me.  “What did you say?”

“I said, you don’t own Mammon.  You don’t treat him like he’s your brother, you barely even treat him like a person.  You act like he’s a puppy that needs to be trained.  I love him, Diavolo cares about him, and we’re both willing to fight for him.  Your brother has people who want him unconditionally and you can’t even be fucking happy for him.”  I look at him in disgust.  

“You would presume to lecture me on how I should treat my brother?  You overstep constantly Arianthi, but this time you have gone too far.  To aid Diavolo in the seduction of my younger brother is not something I will let stand.”  Lucifer’s gaze is thunderous, and he starts to move towards me.  

Diavolo and Mammon both bare their fangs and growl at him.  

“You should mind how you speak to your future queen Lucifer,” Diavolo warns him, a study in barely controlled fury. 

I hear gasps and whispers from the others but my attention is solely on Lucifer, taking perverse satisfaction in the slack-jawed look on his face at Diavolo’s announcement that I will be the next queen of the Devildom.

Bolstered by the announcement and the support of Diavolo and Mammon, I make the stupid decision to taunt Lucifer some more.  

“I’m not questioning your judgement Luci, I’m telling you to shove it straight up your ass.  This isn’t even about Mammon, is it?  This is about you being butt hurt because your damn pride drove Diavolo away, and now he’s with your little brother.”  

“He left me,” Lucifer spits out between clenched teeth.  “And now he would be with Mammon just to spite me.”

Diavolo snorts in amusement.  “You really think I would go to such lengths over some mediocre sex and a handful of dinner dates that happened over a thousand years ago?  Not to further wound your pride Lucifer, but you are a far better second in command than you are a romantic partner, and I much prefer you in the former role.”

Mammon and I snicker quietly.  

“This is the best fucking day of my entire existence,” Belphie whispers reverently, looking at Diavolo with wide eyes.

“Shut up Diavolo!” 

“I can see why you’ve never admitted it, even to your own brothers.  Lucifer,  the Morning Star, the pride of the heavens, cavorting with the Prince of the Devildom?  You’re too proud to admit how lonely you were after the fall.  How scared you were after you lost your little rebellion against Daddy.  And that you took comfort however you could get it, even turning to a demon like me to make you feel wanted and beautiful again.”

Lucifer glares at him.  “I have never lowered myself -”

Diavolo cuts him off.  “Oh, you lowered yourself plenty of times when you got down on your knees and begged for my cock, don’t you remember?  And when I was behind you -”

“ENOUGH!”  Lucifer screams in rage.  

The room falls silent after Lucifer’s outburst, the only sound in the room his ragged breathing.

“I’m not staying here Lucifer,” Mammon finally says, his voice firm and strong.  “I’m going with them.  I love Arianthi.  Diavolo makes me feel like I matter.  I’m happy with them.”

“I will not let you be -”

“Stop Lucifer.”  Beel comes to stand behind us and rests a hand on Mammon’s shoulder.  He’s in his demon form, prepared to defend Mammon.  “Just stop.  If he’s happy we should be happy for him.”

“Beelzebub get over here this instant,” Lucifer commands, eyeing Beel with disdain.

“No.”  Beel shakes his head forcefully.  “I want Mammon to be happy.  If he’s happy with Diavolo and Arianthi then that’s where he needs to be.”  Tears fill his eyes.  “Just let him finally be happy Lucifer.”   

Mammon lets go of Diavolo to reach up and squeeze his hand.  Beel gives him a small smile.

“Just because your relationship with Diavolo didn’t work out doesn’t mean it will be the same for Mammon.  They deserve a chance.”  Beel pleads with Lucifer one last time.

“Diavolo is incapable of - “

“Lucifer, did you know that Lilith comes to me in my dreams?”  I interrupt.  

The eyes of every demon in the room are focused on me.  Lucifer stares at me, blood slowly draining from his face.

“She shows me things.  About her life as a human.”  I stare at him, forcing him to look at me.  “She tells me how much she loved all of you, and about her hopes for each of you.  All she ever wanted was for you to take care of each other.  To keep loving each other.”  

I look around the room, eyeing the five remaining brothers with distaste.  

“She would be so ashamed of you guys for the way you treat Mammon, especially you Lucifer.  She never knew you Satan, but she would be disgusted by the way you talk to her brother.  Beel is the only one who treats Mammon like he matters.  He is the only one who believed Mammon today, and the only one who is concerned with his happiness.  Hell, he was the only one who even questioned why Mammon was moving out.  His first thought was that something may be wrong and he was worried about his big brother.”    

Belphie opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off before he even gets a word out.  “You may not be as bad as the others Belphie, but you do it too.  Mammon deserves better than you five.  So much better.”

They all have the decency to look properly abashed, staring at the floor and avoiding my eyes.     

Lucifer opens and closes his mouth a few times.  “Arianthi I -”

I shake my head.  “You need to apologize to Mammon.  After you’ve thought about what you’ve done to him and when you really mean it, not when I’ve just had to use your dead sister to force you to face your own fuck ups.”

“Mammon, we didn’t know it bothered you this much,” Asmo says, looking guilty.  

I snort in disgust and open my mouth to retort but Mammon stops me and shakes his head.  

“I just want to go home baby.  Just take me home,” he says, sounding exhausted.  

Diavolo reaches out and gently runs his fingers through Mammon’s hair.  “Of course, beloved.  Whatever you want.”

He starts to lead Mammon out of the living room, but Beel stops him.  “Can I have a hug before you go Mammon?”

Eyes bright with tears Mammon just nods and steps into his younger brother’s embrace.  They have a quick, whispered conversation and Beel holds him tightly, unwilling to let him go.

When Mammon steps away from Beel he reaches out with both hands, and Diavolo and I latch on to him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.  We leave the House of Lamentation in silence.  

The walk back to the Demon Lord’s castle seems to take longer than usual, each of us lost in our own dark thoughts.  

We make it inside before Mammon breaks down.  Diavolo holds him close as he sobs, looking indecisive for a moment, then carefully picks him up and starts up the stairs.  

Barbatos rushes out of Diavolo’s study, frown lines creasing his face.  

“Is everything all right?” he asks.  

“I really don’t think so,” I respond softly.

He sighs.  “What would you have me do Arianthi?”

I think, chewing my lower lip nervously, anxious to get back to Mammon.  “R.A.D is finished for the year right?” 

Barbatos nods.

“Does Diavolo have anything for the next two weeks that can’t be rescheduled?”

“No.”

“Then reschedule everything.  Cancel all visitors.”

“As you wish.”  Barbatos pauses.  “Arianthi, there are some disturbing rumors circulating through the Devildom.”

I put my hand on the banister, already exhausted just thinking about the climb to our bedroom.  “Can it wait Barbatos?”

For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks worried. More than that; he looks scared.  “I....I really don’t think it can.”

“What’s going on Barbatos?”  I scrub a hand over my face, trying to stay alert.  

“There are whispers that the Demon King has awakened.”

I blink a few times, stunned by that little revelation.  “Why?”  I ask stupidly.  

He’s been asleep for thousands of years, you idiot.  He probably needs to take a piss.  Or get a glass of water.

“There are rumors that,” he hesitates.  “That he has heard of my lord’s intentions to make you his queen.”

“How would he have heard.....?”  I trail off, feeling way out of my league.

“The Demon King is an incredibly powerful being.  If he wishes to check in on his son, there’s nothing to stop him from learning everything my lord has been doing.  Even from his place of slumber.”

Realization slams into me like a punch to the gut.  “Diavolo said he lost interest in the three realms thousands of years ago.  He wouldn’t come back unless he was unhappy with something Diavolo is doing.”

One look at Barbatos’s stricken face tells me I’m on the right track.

“What’s going to happen to me Barbatos?”

“There is no way your human body can survive the Demon King’s anger,” he whispers. 

“Ok.”  I nod.  “Ok.  I can handle this.  Belphie killed me before and you fixed it.  Can’t you just do it again?”

Barbatos sadly shakes his head.  “I have seen no outcome in which you survive. The Demon King’s power is infinite.  He will strike you down again and again until there’s nothing left.”

“Well, isn’t that just the cherry on top of the shit sundae.”  I huff out a low laugh.  

Barbatos becomes a blurry figure as my eyes tear up.  

“I can’t leave them Barbatos.  I can’t.”

“Do you want me to tell them Arianthi?”

Yes, please.  Tell them.  Let them protect me like they always have.  

For a second I feel a flash of irrational rage.  

Diavolo promised.  He promised me he’d protect me from anything.  But he can’t.  He lied!

I shake my head, forcing out the intrusive thought.  “No.  No, I’ll do it.”

Barbatos nods, then reaches out and delicately lays his hand on my arm.  “Call for me if you need me.”

I nod my thanks, then turn and make the slow climb up the stairs.  I finally reach our room, but I pause with my hand on the doorknob.  The tears start falling, hard and fast.  I bite into my lower lip to silence my sobs, bite down hard enough to taste blood.  I turn my back to the door and wrap my arms around myself, sliding to the floor.  

I cry until I’m empty.  Then I just sit, staring mutely at the wall opposite me, thoughts bouncing around in my head like ping pong balls.

I told Mammon I wouldn’t leave him.  I told him I would protect him.  I told Diavolo I wanted to be with him forever.  We talked about children.  We were all going to build a life together.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there, but eventually I become dimly aware of Diavolo’s voice.  His face swims into focus as he kneels in front of me.  His voice finally breaks through my haze.

“Arianthi?  Arianthi?  What are you doing out here princess?  We were worried.”

I stare blankly at his face.  

His eyes are so beautiful.  And his lips....he has the most amazing smile in the world.  

Mammon kneels down next to Diavolo.  “Baby, what happened?” 

He’s so handsome.  And funny.  And kind.  I love him.  I love them both so much.  I don’t want to go.  

I tear up again and say the first thing that comes to mind.  “Diavolo, your dad is a fucking cunt.”

“What?”  He looks at me in shock.  “I mean, I know that, but why are you saying it?”

“He coming back,” I say dully, now numb to the thought of my impending death.

“No. No, he’s not.”  He shakes his head firmly.  “I would know.  I would know.  Why would he come back?  He’s been gone for thousands of years, and he grew bored of the politics of the three realms long before that.  He has no reason to come back now.”

I just stare at him.  I open my mouth but the words won’t come out.  Diavolo waits patiently, giving me time.

Mammon’s eyes flicker between me and Diavolo, and the tip of his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth, the way it does when he’s pondering something.  The pieces fall into place and he sucks in a deep breath as realization washes over him.

“It’s you.  He’s back coming for you,” he says in shock.

I nod, not knowing what else you to do.

“No......no,” Diavolo says, agitated.  “He wouldn’t.”

“He would and ya fucking know it.  He’d swat her like a fly, then go about his day like nothing happened,” Mammon mutters darkly.

For the very first time since I’ve met him Diavolo looks small, helpless, depleted of his larger than life energy.  

“Barbatos,” he casts about for a solution.  “Barbatos has changed the timelines before.  If something happens he can do it again.”

“He can’t,” I tell him. 

“He can, he can,” Diavolo says frantically.  “He would do it for you Arianthi.  And if he refuses I’ll order him to.”

“Diavolo he can’t!”  I grab his hands, willing him to listen to me.  “He’s already looked into all the timelines.  He said your dad will just keep killing me over and over until there’s nothing left.  He said he never saw an outcome where my human body survives.”

Mammon rubs his hands over his face.  “We’re not gonna get anything done in the hallway.  Get in the bedroom so we can talk about this right.”

He holds out his hands and helps me to my feet.  Mammon extends a hand to Diavolo, but he’s too lost in his own thoughts to notice.  After a full minute Mammon grabs Diavolo’s arm and hauls him to his feet.

“Get in the goddamn bedroom Diavolo.  NOW.”  Mammon snarls, shoving him towards the door. 

I numbly follow behind them and drop onto the bed.  Mammon sits next to me, rubbing soothing circles on my back while Diavolo erratically paces around the room.

He suddenly stops and he head snaps towards us.  “Barbatos said your human form wouldn’t survive.”

I feel Mammon nodding along with me.

“So we fix it.  We make it so you’re not human.”  Diavolo grins at his successful thought.

This is it.  Dia has lost the plot.  He has officially lost his goddamn mind.

Mammon gives voice to my thoughts.  “What in the actual fuck Diavolo?”

“There are rituals. Spells we can we do.  Solomon knows them, he can help.  We can turn you into a demon.  Mammon and I can offer up some of our power to you, he wouldn’t be able to hurt you then,” Diavolo says, the words tumbling out in a rush.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.  Thankfully Mammon has no such problem.

“Are ya fucking insane?!  Damned souls and fallen angels...........that’s who becomes demons.  Pure souls likes hers can’t be taken.  Those rituals are bullshit and ya know it!”

“They’re not!  They work!”  Diavolo screams back at him.

“How many humans have survived ‘em?  One?  Maybe two?  She could die Diavolo!”  Tears stream down Mammon’s face.

“If I stay like this I’m dead for sure.”  I say softly.

Both demons turn their attention to me.  

I look up at Mammon and give him a weak smile.  “We might as well play the odds, right baby?”

He hiccups and gives a little laugh.  “Ya always have been so damn brave.”

“What do we need to do Dia?”  I ask.

“I’ll call Solomon.”

Six days later the four of us are gathered in Diavolo’s study.  Mammon and Diavolo huddle in a corner whispering between themselves.  I stand next to Solomon helping him assemble an assortment of things on top of Diavolo’s desk.

“Do you really think this will work Solomon?”  I ask him.

“I don’t know.  It’s incredibly taxing on a mortal form.”  He looks at me earnestly.  “I have spent so much of my life researching spells, rituals, putting this book together, and I still don’t know everything.” 

He runs his hands over a leather bound book.  The Lesser Key of Solomon is embossed on the cover.  “I promise I will do my best for you.  And I know Mammon and Diavolo won’t give you up without a fight.”

Diavolo and Mammon walk over to join us.  

“We’re ready to start.  Hold out your arms.”

They obey and Solomon picks up an ornate dagger, slicing a long cut on each of their wrists.  He holds Diavolo’s wrist over a small ceramic bowl and lets some of his blood trickle into it.  He grabs a silver goblet, letting a few more drops of blood drip in.  Satisfied he wraps Diavolo’s wrist with gauze and repeats the process with Mammon, mingling his blood with Diavolo’s inside the goblet.

Solomon beckons me forward.  He dips his finger in the ceramic bowl holding only Diavolo’s blood, and draws our pact mark onto my forehead.  He wipes his finger clean on a white towel, then dips his finger in Mammon’s blood.  He pulls aside the V of my tee shirt, and begins drawing Mammon’s pact mark over my heart.

Mammon lets out a growl that vibrates low in his throat as Solomon’s finger traces over my skin.

Solomon steps away when he’s done, wiping his finger clean, and pointedly turns his back on us, giving us some privacy.  

Diavolo gives me a fierce kiss.  “This will work.  I love you and I will see you on the other side of this.”

“I love you too Dia.”

Mammon steps up to me and pulls me into a tight hug.  

“Please don’t do this baby.  Please, please don’t do this,” he whispers in my ear.

“I have to.  This is our only shot,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady, willing myself to be strong for him.

“I love ya Arianthi.”

“I love you too Mammon,” I whisper.  “I need you to promise me that if something happens you will take care of Diavolo.”

Mammon draws back, his blue eyes wide with fear. He shakes his head furiously.  “No. No.  Don’t ask me to do that.  I can’t because if I do then that means .....”

I give him a soft kiss.  “Promise me Mammon.  Promise me you and Dia will take care of each other if something happens to me.”

He hesitates.

“Promise me!”

He swallows hard then nods.  “I promise ya baby.”

Solomon appears by Mammon’s side.  “I’m ready if you are.”

I breathe deep and nod at him.  I take one last look at Diavolo and Mammon.  

“I love you both.”

They nod shakily and go to stand with Solomon on the other side of Diavolo’s desk.  Solomon pulls a vial of grey smoke of out his pocket and slowly starts pouring it into the goblet that holds Diavolo’s and Mammon’s blood.  Their blood bubbles, frothing up in the goblet.

“Solomon, what the fuck is that?” I ask.

“A damned soul,” Solomon answers casually. 

Oh.  Ok.  Perfectly normal.

His hands pass over the goblet several times, and he murmurs words in a language I’ve never heard.

Solomon finally stops speaking, takes a deep breath, and pushes the goblet towards me.  “Drink it.”

I hesitate.  Diavolo and Mammon each give me an encouraging nod.  I pick up the goblet with both hands and drink until it’s empty. 

It suddenly feels like all the air has been pushed out of my lungs.  I choke and start coughing. Something black and foul and viscous pours out of my mouth.  It splatters onto my hands, and the smell makes my stomach heave.  I retch even more of it onto the carpet.  

I still can’t suck in any air and I look frantically at Diavolo.  

“I can’t.....Dia.....help.....”  I whisper, grabbing at my throat.  

Diavolo lunges towards me but Solomon stops him with a hand on his chest and a hard shake of his head.  “You can’t stop it now Diavolo,” he tells him. “We have to finish it.”

“She can’t breathe!”  Mammon shouts at Solomon. “She’s gonna die!”

“She’ll die for sure if you try to interfere!  There’s a chance she can make it through this if we let the ritual run its course!”  Solomon frantically insists.

The sound of fabric rending fills the room and a searing pain roars up my back.  I fall to my knees screaming.  It feels like my spine is slowly being ripped from my body, and when I fall forward on my hands I can see blood pooling on the carpet beneath me.  

“Solomon what’s happening?”  Diavolo’s eyes are wild with fear.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, staring at me.

“Diavolo!  Make it stop!”  I scream, clawing at the carpet in pain.  “Dia please!”

Diavolo stares at me helplessly.

My body feels like its burning from the inside, and I scream again when I look down and see the skin on my arms smoking. 

Mammon jumps over the desk with a horrified look on his face.  He drops to his knees in front of me, hands hovering over my body, unsure where to touch me.

A sound like bacon sizzling reaches my ears, and wounds open up on my arms and face as my melting skin begins sloughing off my body.

“Mammon!”  My voice is hoarse from screaming and I’m still having trouble breathing.  

He grabs at my arm, trying to pull me to him, then yanks his hand back, hissing in pain.  Blisters start to form on his hand where my skin has burned him.

Diavolo falls down next to Mammon and they both stare at me in horror.  

An orange glow starts to emanate from my hands, and the boys fall back as they burst into flames.  I stare at my hands as fire licks over them, then slowly begins to creep up my arms. 

I see Mammon and Diavolo screaming and reaching for me. 

“I love you,” I manage to tell them one last time.

Then I surrender to the flames.

#obey me #obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #obey me luci #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x mc #mammon x oc #mammon x oc x diavolo #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me lord diavolo #obey me barbatos #lord diavolo #obey me fanfic #obey me fandom #obey me short fic #truth or dare series #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me solomon #obey me sinful indulgence

[shemakesmusic-uk]

INTERVIEW: Ohmme.

Ohmme - the Chicago-based duo of Sima Cunningham and Macie Stewart - will release their new album, Fantasize Your Ghost, digitally this Friday, June 5 on Joyful Noise Recordings, with the physical retail release date pushed to July 31. 

Last week they presentedd a new single/video, ‘The Limit,’ which follows previously released singles ‘Selling Candy,’ ‘Ghost,’ and ‘3 2 4 3.’ ‘The Limit’ is a dystopian dance rocker. With angular, winding guitar and Ohmme’s distinctive intertwining vocals, the track further stretches their already dynamic palette. Its eccentric video was directed by Hannah Welever,  edited/VFX by Priscilla Perez and animated by Connor Reed (Jazz Records Animations). It features Ohmme green screened over trippy clips and stock footage. Fantasize Your Ghost is the direct result of the band spending more time on the road than in Chicago. It’s deeply concerned with questions of the self, the future, and what home means when you're travelling all the time. Early sketches of Fantasize Your Ghost's tracklist were demoed at Sam Evian's Flying Cloud Studios in upstate New York through intensely collaborative and open sessions. The album was recorded over a six day session in August 2019 at the Post Farm in southern Wisconsin with journeyman producer Chris Cohen.  

Though 2018’s Parts showcased their wildly burgeoning influences and talents, Fantasize Your Ghost captures the astounding magnetism and ferocity of their live show. It encapsulates the thrilling and sometimes terrifying joy of moving forward even if you don't know where you're going. It's an album that asks necessary questions: When life demands a crossroads, what version of yourself are you going to pursue? What part of yourself will you feed and let flourish and what do you have to let go of? This is a record of strength, of best friends believing in each other. Unapologetic and brave, Ohmme are ready to figure it all out together.

We had a chat with Macie all about Fantasize Your Ghost, quarantine life, the music industry and more. Read the interview below.

Hey! How are you? How have you been coping with life in quarantine?  

“I'm doing well! Feeling more and more like myself lately. It's been a lot of ups and downs, but I feel really lucky to have my home situation, and am still able to communicate with friends and family. Been doing a lot of cooking and a lot of reading which is ultimately what I enjoy doing when I get some alone time. Really missing community right now, but I know there is another side at the end of this!”

You are gearing up to release your new album Fantasize Your Ghost. What can you tell us about the record?

“This record was born in a time of a lot flux for the both of us. We had been contemplating the idea of home and what that meant to us when the things around us were changing so rapidly. It's a record about change, whether for better or for worse, and diving deep into how you confront that. There are a lot of parts of yourself you identify with over your lifetime, but sometimes those don't always stay the same. There's a lot of freedom in knowing you can move in many directions, but with that comes the realization that you need to grab your own steering wheel in order to lead yourself in a positive way.”

What were your musical influences for the LP? Who were you listening to around the time of writing it?

“We were both really into Kate Bush. We still are - and I think that's a very apparent influence on the record. We love her arrangements and writing style and were listening to a lot of her discography while driving on tour. A lot of Brian Eno, Cate Le Bon, Feist, Le Fille De Illeghadad, Bulgarian State Television Choir... We listened to a lot of things while we were on tour and I think they all made themselves known on this record in one way or another.”

Were there any other songs written during this period that didn’t make it onto the album, and if so, will you revisit them again in the future?

“Definitely! We have a few that didn't make it on that we are looking to release later in the year. There are a handful of demos that were made that didn't quite get to the official album recording process. We're planning on expanding those whenever we're able to get back together as a full band. That's the exciting part about having two songwriters, there is a wealth of material to work with and it's always exciting to hear what the other person is working on.”

What was your favourite part recording Fantasize Your Ghost? Did you learn anything new during the creative process this time around?

“I loved recording ‘Sturgeon Moon’. It is the improvised track on the record, and we recorded it late at night under a full moon (The Sturgeon Moon). We went up to a family friend's farm to record, so it was really great to hear all the ambient noise of the animals/bugs/birds that were swirling around us. The majority of the basic tracking was recorded in 5 days up there, so we were feeling a little stressed and pressed for time. Recording this track was a really special moment where we were all zoned in to each other and completely in the moment. It felt good to feel so present.”

What do you hope fans will take away from the new record?

“I hope everyone is able to find a little piece of themselves in the record. Sometimes there are points in life that become overwhelming, even unexpectedly so. These things can range from normal every day struggles, to loss of relationships or loved ones, uncertainty of the future, or even confusion in your own identity. I think everyone needs a person they can relate to or direction to move towards when experiencing things like this. It's always helpful to know that you're not alone and that change can be both hard and positive at the same time.”

What struggles, if any, have you faced as artists in the music business and how have you overcome them?

“Overall, I've been incredibly lucky and fortunate to grow up how and where I did, and to have role models that were able to show me what being a professional musician could look like. Early on there were some struggles that came with being young women in the industry. There were times during and before this band where being hyper-sexualized, not taken seriously, and patronized were common occurrences. Currently the biggest struggle is figuring out how to achieve financial stability and how to find accessible healthcare. It's shameful that the most basic necessities such as healthcare should be so out of reach for a majority of people. There are some great resources in place- such as MusiCares, but ultimately that is not enough at the end of the day.”

With having a lot of time to reflect recently, if there was one thing you could change about the music world today, what would it be?

“I answered this partially in the last question, but, universal healthcare! It's a basic need and right that would make the lives of touring musicians and those who work in that field much more at ease. The bonus is that it's not just for the music world, it would benefit the US at large. Most affordable insurance doesn't cover out of state care, and many touring musicians are on the road at least 75% of the year. That's a MAJORITY of the year where you do not have affordable access to the medical care you might need. It needs to change.”

If you weren’t making music, what would you be doing?

“Perhaps I would be cooking and studying mushrooms and psychology. Honestly I'm not sure- it's been part of my life for so long its' really hard to imagine what a life without making music would be. Right now I'm really fascinated by those things and I hope to be a lifelong learner, so this summer I'm going to try and take the time to explore those things, a lot more reading is in store.”

Finally, are you working on anything at the moment during lockdown? And what do you have planned when all of this blows over? I expect you’re keen to get out on the road to tour the album?

“Working on some things- but we also just finished a record! Sima is working on her solo project which is VERY. GOOD. by the way, and I am playing around with some ideas for an audio/visual project I've had floating around for a while. We're definitely going to get back to touring when we're able to move around safely, but I'm very curious to see what the landscape will look like in the future. I think the both of us have a really open mind as to what will happen, because things will definitely look different! We love performing, and we love working with friends and our community, so we're are both eager to continue in that work once it feels safe to do so.”

Fantasize Your Ghost is out June 5.

Photo credit: Ash Dye

#interview #ohmme #the limit #fantasize your ghost

[dragonwitch77]

Don’t Starve: Sick, Webber

Warning: Small mentions of vomiting in story

It all started when a spider dropped a skull one morning.

A skull.

Of all things it could have dropped, it dropped a skull.

And not a human skull. Oh no! Well, it looked human enough, but it also hairy and had spider legs coming out from beneath it. Yuck. Still, for some reason, Willow pocketed the skull along with all the spider glands and made her way back to camp.

Wilson was in his little science section of the camp when Willow returned, tinkering away at the alchemy machine. She could see he was deeply concentrated on the device, and (by whatever force that worked in this strange place and possibly for her own twisted amusement) for some reason she placed the skull on top his strange hair, tying it down with the black wild curls to keep it in place, and walking away with a smirk.

Somewhere close to lunchtime, Wilson let out the girliest scream she had ever heard.

(She almost snorted up the food she was eating from laughing so hard.)

“WILLOW! WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU PUT IN MY HAIR THIS TIME?!” Willow cast a smirk over her shoulder, smiling at the panicking scientist.

“What? You don’t like the effort that I put into making you look better?”

“PUTTING SOMETHING IN SOMEONE’S HAIR WITH WHATEVER GRIZZLY THING YOU PUT IN IT DOES NOT MAKE ANYONE LOOK BETTER! ESPECIALLY MINE!”

“I don’t know. I think it suits you.” Willow (deciding to be merciful to him) walked over and untied the skull from Wilson’s hair and showed it to him.

Wilson, who had be moments away with freaking out, stopped short in whatever he was going to say and stared at the skull Willow held in her hands. “… What… in the name of science… is that?”

“A skull.” Willow plopped it into his hands. “A spider dropped it when I killed it.” And with that she turned on her heel and left poor Wilson with the spider skull.

Wilson was a curious guy.

That Willow knew all too well.

The guy just tended to study whatever new thing that crossed his path and forget about the world (and chores) around him.

Now, Willow was an understanding person (most of the time) and she was very patient (sometimes) in waiting for Wilson to be done with whatever had caught his attention. After all, she could barely understand what the crazy man was doing half of the time when he was focused on something.

Although, she never knew that the guy could be sentimental over a skull and be so depressed over it.

Until he pointed out that the skull was the size of a kid.

(That was going to give her nightmares. And proved how much of a jerk Maxwell can be.)

Willow really had no words to say once Wilson went over all the aspects and skull development to confirm that it was a kid’s skull. She… well she felt bad, but at the same time she really didn’t know how to feel about this. Sure, it was a skull of a small child but… she didn’t really know the kid. And she saw skeletons nearly every day (thanks a lot Wilson), so she… didn’t really know how to feel.

“Wow. Just… wow.” Willow shook her head, putting away the kabob (suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore) and hugged Bernie close to herself. “Are you uh… are you sure that’s a kid’s skull? It could be a spider skull.”

Wilson shook his head. “No. The structure of the skull is clearly human.”

“Then how do you explain the legs?”

Wilson was silent a moment before sighing and shaking his head and headed towards their supplies.

“Whoa, whoa wait! Where are you going?”

“To bury this skull.” Wilson pulled out a shovel from one of the chests. “I… it’s just… it feels wrong studying it further when I know it’s a…” He exhaled deeply, visibly distraught and shaken. “I’ll… I’ll be back later.”

“You want me to tag along?” Willow stood up, ready to follow Wilson. But he simply shook his head.

“No, no. I think I’ll be fine. It’ll be a quick short trip to the graves and back. Nothing to bother yourself with Willow.” Wilson smiled at her, (a sad, sad smile) and waved goodbye.

Willow gave a little wave, hugging Bernie closer to herself. She knew she could trust Wilson to be alright on his own (even with the Meat Effigy up as a precaution), but she still felt uneasy whenever he went out on his own.

(She still had nightmares about the hound incident playing in her mind at night)

But she had to remind herself that Wilson was a prime expert in surviving on his own. (Sometimes.) She knew she shouldn’t worry over him all the time. She knew he was capable of taking care of himself. He had been more careful since the ‘incident’ and managed to avoid death and close calls. (Not as much as she would like, but at least she knew he was being more careful now.) She could trust him not to get into any trouble without her…

Until lighting flashed across the sky along with a loud thundering BOOM that made her jump.

Somehow she figured it was Wilson’s fault since there wasn’t even a cloud in the bright afternoon sky.

And was confirmed when he came back later just as she was about to go looking for him… with a very large creature on his back.

“Willow! Willow put down that spear! Put-Put it down! Th-there’s no need to get so hostile!”

“NO NEED TO GET—?! WILSON PERCIVAL HIGGSBURY DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT’S ON YOUR BACK RIGHT NOW?!” Willow pointed at the said thing with her spear. The same thing that was being shielded by Wilson who refused to let her come near with a weapon pointed at the creature in hand.

Wilson cringed (due to her using his full name or the spear being very close to his face, she didn’t know nor care) and backed away further from her advances. “Look! You don’t understand! I know this looks…” He cast a glance at the thing. “… Questionable. But I assure you that I have very good reasons for this!”

“Oh You BETTER Have A Good Reason To Bring Back A Large SPIDER!” She pointed an accusing finger at the spider.

Said spider was large. Very large. Larger than all the normal spiders she’s seen so far, but it still was a spider. And spiders needed to be crushed.

Wilson glanced at the spider, frowning deeply. “Wellll… it… may not actually be a spider.”

“Wilson. It’s hairy, black, eight legs and eyes so I’m pretty SURE THAT’S A SPIDER!”

“NO! No! Listen to me!” Wilson was pressing against a tree now, the spider pinned between him and nature. (Willow wanted so badly to yank Wilson away and set the tree ablaze along with the creature he had brought back.) “Okay, YES. They do have some… ‘aspects’ of a spider.” (She gave him the ‘Really?’ look.) “But I don’t think it’s just a spider!”

“Yeah. It’s A MONSTER!”

“No! Willow! I think… I think…” He glanced at the spider, pity forming in his eyes. “… I think… I think this may be a child.”

“… What?”

Wilson really had no idea what happened.

… Okay, so he may have a tiny bit of an idea of what happened.

The details were a bit vague, but what he did know was that as soon as he found a suitable grave and buried the skull, lighting suddenly struck the grave just as he finished patting down the last bit of dirt, almost giving Wilson a heart attack right there and then.

Instantly his mind concluded that it was Maxwell’s fault (as it always has been for a while now), until the dirt of the grave started moving. Instinctively Wilson jumped back and pulled out his spear, pointing it at the ground and readied himself for an attack.

His grip on the spear tightened when a black hairy limb emerged from the ground, clawing at the dirt flailing about. Wilson almost threw the spear at the limb right then and there.

Until he heard someone whispering for help.

“… h… hel… lp… help…”

Now, Wilson knew this place was full of dangerous thing. Plenty of dangers that he had observed (and died from) in the past to know to be cautious of anything new (despite his curiosity getting the better of him many times) could be a possible threat. He knew he wasn’t just going to help something that could possibly kill him in the end. He wouldn’t!

“… mo… mommy…”

But this was just a onetime thing.

Tossing the spear away and getting on his knees, Wilson dug away at the earth with his hands (since he accidentally tossed his shovel away when he was given a fright earlier thanks to the sudden lighting) as fast as he could. He didn’t have to dig very far in before the rest of the limb’s owner emerged from the loosen soil gasping for air and hacking up dirt from their mouth.

When Wilson saw what he had dug up, his first thought was SPIDER! and jumped back in alarm before he noticed more of the spider’s body.

Mostly how humanoid it looked.

Wilson stared in shock as the spider pulled themselves out of the ground more once they could breathe, pulling themselves weakly out of the grave. Of all the spiders Wilson had seen, this one was certainly by far the strangest. It looked like a spider, but its body was also that of a human, albeit still hairy and black like a spider.

“Fascinating.” Wilson whispered, getting closer to the spider and looking it over. “Aren’t you just an interesting specimen?” He poked it gently, still uneasy and wary in case it jumped and attacked him. “Are you some sort of evolved species of spider or—”

The spider shivered, letting out a rough dry cough.

And then it spoke.

“… w… wh-where am i…?”

Wilson stared in shock. A humanoid spider. That had the capability to speak?! This was by far the most interesting thing he had encountered so far!

“Y-Y-YOU CAN TALK?! Y-You can! That’s bloody BRILLIANT! That’s! This is incredible! A different species that can speak human langue! Aside for the pigmen, but still incredible! Wait, are you friendly? Hostile? Neutral? How many fingers am I holding up? Can you see all the colors or just a set amount? Can you see? How old are you? When did you learn the capability to speak? Are there more of you? What does your species call themselves? How did you get in that grave? Why where in that grave? Are you related to the ground spiders by chance? My name is Wilson P. Higgsbury by the way what’s yours? Do you have a name? How—”

The spider let out a round of dry coughs, cutting off Wilson’s spiel. It rose shakily on two arms (or at least what Wilson could assume were arms) and groaned, holding their midsection as their face twisted in pain.

Before Wilson could say anything, the spider made an odd noise. A noise Wilson recognized immediately and backed away as the spider convulsed and retched whatever was in their stomach onto the ground. He winced, disgusted at the sight as the spider dry-heaved and vomited again.

When the spider was done, it went still for a moment. Then its shoulders started shaking and Wilson heard the sound of… crying?

Yes. The spider was defiantly crying. Which was… surprising.

Wilson wasn’t sure if spider’s had the capacity to cry, but here was one right before him crying like a small… child…

He looked at the grave, then back at the spider. It was slowly starting to click in his head.

��H-Hey.” He scooted closer to the spider, reaching out a shaky hand, touching the spider’s arm. The spider jumped from the contact, suddenly realizing that Wilson was there and backed away with clear fear on its face.

“S-Stay away!” It croaked. The voice sounded rough and scratchy, but undeniably young.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” Wilson held up his hands, staying right where he was so not to spook the spider child (good science this was a spider child) and kept himself calm. There was no reason to scare the kid as he (was the child a he? They’re voice sounded like a male but it was kind of hard to tell…) was now. “I just want some answers. Do you think you can do that for me?”

The spider child rubbed the pair of bigger eyes, looking around with confusion. “W-Where am I?”

“Currently, we’re in a forest.” Wilson answered, keeping his voice steady. “I don’t know where exactly we are. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

The spider looked at him, sniffing. “… Do… do you… know where my mommy is?”

Wilson cringed. “… No. No I do not. I’m not sure where your mother is.”

“Wh-what about my daddy?” The spider child looked at him pleadingly. “Do you know wh—” A round of harsh coughs cut off his sentence, and his arms gave out.

Wilson, with quick reflexes, shot forward and caught the child before he hit the ground (and the vomit) and felt his forehead (minding the small eyes that blinked weakly at him). A hum of concern emanated in Wilson’s throat, not liking the warmth the spider child was giving off. “You’re sick.”

“M not.” The spider child weakly replied. But Wilson wasn’t convinced in the slightest when they coughed again.

“No, you’re clearly sick.” Wilson helped the spider child to his feet, keeping him steady. He frowned deeply. The spider child was breathing rather heavily, barely able to stand up on his shaking legs, and his body was giving off quite a lot of heat. “You can’t even walk let alone barely stand on your own.”

He glanced at the ground, cringing at the sight of bail. (Though now that he got a good look at it, it seems his new friend was on an empty stomach.)

“Right. I think its best you come with me for now.”

“no.” Wilson blinked in surprise, looking at the spider child questionably. “m-mommy… mo-mommy says i’m… n… not to… follow st-st… strangers…”

Wilson couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Well, in other situations, your mother would be right. However, this is not the case. You’re sick and I want to help you get better.”

“w-why?”

Wilson paused. That… was a good question. Why did he want to help this child spider he just met? It was odd, if not very questionable behavior on his part. They had just met after all, and he still wasn’t sure if this spider child was hostile or not.

Looking at the spider child, he could see that they were fighting to stay awake. Six of their eight eyes were already almost shut.

“… Because you need help. And it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to leave someone in need. Especially if they are a young child.” Wilson answered honestly. (Plus, he was still rather curious about this spider being and wanted some answers. But he could get that after the poor boy was feeling better.) “My base shouldn’t be too far away from here. Do you think you can manage walking there?”

The spider child blinked sluggishly at him, looking down at his feet and tried lifting one leg up… and collapse against Wilson.

“… I’ll take that as a no then. I guess I can carry you back. The base isn’t too far away, and you don’t look that heavy to carry… Oh!” Wilson slapped his head. “I haven’t introduced myself properly yet! My name is Wil…” Looking down at the spider child, Wilson’s words died in his mouth. The spider kid had fallen asleep against him.

“… Well, resting is recommended to get better.” Wilson sighed, maneuvering the spider to his back and lifting them up carefully. The child mumbled something, pressing their face against the back of Wilson’s neck before going still again. He smiled, making sure he had a good hold on the child and made his way back to camp.

… Though for some reason, he felt like he was forgetting about something.

“Yeah. Me.”

Wilson cringed. “R-Right. Again, I apologize for coming back without thinking about how you would feel towards this… situation, Willow.”

“Situation? Wilson, you just told me that that… thing used to be the skull I found earlier today?!” Willow pointed at the spider, which was now off of Wilson’s back (thank goodness) and laid out on a straw roll.

Wilson shot a glare at her, looking very offended. “They’re not a thing Willow! They’re a living being! A sick one at that I might add.”

“Wilson, it’s a spider. It’s a hairy, black, eight legged spider. And you just brought it back to our base because you felt bad for it despite the fact that once you get it to full health, it’ll just kill you like all the other spiders in this horrible place!” Willow ranted, throwing her hands up in the air.

“He won’t do that Willow.”

“And what makes you so sure?! It could be another trick by Maxwell! Did you even stop to think about that?!”

Wilson opened his mouth to retort, but closed it with a look of realization. He looked at the spider, frowning a bit before sighing. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Willow sighed, rubbing her face. Silence hung around them for a while, the air feeling heavy with doubt, worry, and uncertainty. Finally, Willow stood up, picking up the spear (noting how Wilson flinched a little and moved closer to the spider) and pocketed Bernie. “Look. I’m just going to go check on the rabbit traps. Just… think about what you’re doing, okay? It’s good that you want to help… them. But you really have to think it about the consequences before you do something.”

Wilson stared at her a moment before giving her a small playful smile and tilting his head a little. “And where would the fun be if I didn’t take the risk?”

Willow gave him a flat look, pointing to the Meat Effigy set next to his tent (and not the one next to hers). “Gee, I don’t know Higgsbury. You must really think death is fun in risk taking.” Taking a small pleasure in seeing the scientist cringe, she turned on her heel and went off.

(While slightly hoping that Wilson would listen to her.)

The spider was still there when she came back.

(Of course it was.)

And Wilson was still sitting next to it keeping an eye on it. And not. He had a sheet of papyrus in his hands, writing something down on it with feather pencil, looking up once in a while to look at the spider before writing down something else. He gave her a little wave as she approached.

“Are you studying the spider?” Willow asked in disbelief, hands on her hips and tapping her foot in disprovable.

Wilson stopped jotting down whatever he was writing, looking rather sheepish. “Yes well. I don’t really know how well I can treat a sick spider. Never had to before now. Thought it might be best to keep some notes just in case.”

Willow sighed and rolled her eyes, but let Wilson be with his new friend.

She had more important thing to worry about anyway.

Willow had to admit, she never thought that Wilson would devote so much time on something else other than science. Yet day in and out, Wilson kept an eye on the spider, mentoring their health and studying them.

He was devoted to the spider so much that he skipped out on eating (as he normally did) quite a lot. If Willow hadn’t felt nice (and worried about him) she would have left him to starve. But, she didn’t. She wasn’t like that. So she made sure to cook enough for both of them and shove his share in his hands so he would at least remember to eat. (And to shave often so he wouldn’t get heat stroke in the summer heat.)

It wasn’t till she came back from Gobbler hunting that the spider woke up.

Well, not exactly awake. They were still quite out of it and could barely make any legible sentences (but at least now she believed Wilson when he told her it could talk). It fell back into unconsciousness soon after.

Still, it made Wilson happy to know that there was some progress with the spider.

“Stop calling him the spider Willow.”

“Well what do you want me to call him then? It’s not like they have a name.”

“I’m sure they do. Just, calling them the spider doesn’t seem very fitting.”

Willow paused in hanging up a slab of meat, giving Wilson a small glare. “And what would you call them then?”

“Nothing.” Wilson huffed, studying the weird web beard the spider started growing around day three. “Not till I know their name so I can properly address them.”

Willow rolled her eyes, getting back to her task. “Whatever you say ya dork.” (She hadn’t smiled in a while, but the glare she could feel him giving her made it worth it.)

The spider finally woke up one morning.

The same morning that Wilson (after countless sleepless nights of watching over the spider until she had enough and shoved him in his tent) was fast asleep in his tent, leaving her to be there when the spider opened its eyes and sat up.

Willow instantly tensed, sitting up straight as the spider got up and looked around. Eight eyes landed on her, and she really regretted letting Wilson take her spear away. She still had her lighter. She could still set the spider on fire if it did anything.

It blinked at her a bit. Then it yawned and rubbed its face. “Morning…” It (he, as Wilson kept reminding her) said groggily.

“… Uh… hi.” Willow waved awkwardly, not entirely sure what to do. She still wasn’t sure what to make of the spider. Wilson had assured her that he was (60%) certain that the spider was harmless, though she still had her doubts.

The spider blinked open their eyes again, looking around the camp. He took in his surroundings, looking at every item that they (mostly Wilson) had built here. They looked back at her, tilting their head curiously. “… Where… am I?”

Willow felt even more awkward. “W-Well, this is a base. A summer base. It’s a temporary place me and Wilson stay during the summer when it gets hot out an—” Willow stopped short, suddenly realizing that she was giving away too much information.

The spider didn’t seem to notice her cutting her sentence off. Instead it (he) focused more on its (his) white beard that grew on its (his) chin. “What’s this white stuff on my face?” He fiddled with the ends.

“I… don’t really know. Wilson thinks it might be a beard. Made out of webs? I don’t know. Wilson would probably know more than me.”

“More than what?” As if on cue, Wilson popped his head out from his tent, yawning while rubbing the sleep out from his eyes (his hair even more ridiculous than before).

“Oh good you’re awake! Guess who else is up!” Willow, glad for the distraction, pointed to the spider.

When Wilson turned his tired eyes on the spider, he smiled and waved. “Oh, good morning. Finally awake I see.”

The spider waved back a little. “Hi…”

“Well that’s some good news.” Wilson stepped out of his tent, stretching out his back. “I was worried that you might never wake up.” He went over to the spider, sitting down next to them. “Now then, how do you feel? Any pain? Nausea? Headaches? How’s your temperature doing? Do you feel hot or cold? Do you see any blurriness in your e—”

“Hey genius, I think you should slow down with the questions and let the kid answer!” Willow cut off Wilson’s brigade of questions, saving the poor spider from assault of a thousand questions.

Wilson shot her a look. “I’m just trying to know if he’s suffering from anything else Willow.”

“Yeah, well give him a question at a time. He just woke up.” At that, the sound of a stomach rumbling caught their attention. The spider wrapped his arms around his mid-section, looking rather sheepish.

Wilson’s brows shot up into his wild hair. “Ah! Yes! Food! I almost forgot. Wait right here. I’ll be back with something for you to eat.” Wilson got up and went to the crock pots, mumbling something under his breath as he started putting in ingredients.

Willow rolled her eyes, smirking a bit. It was good seeing Wilson doing something other than focusing on one thing all the time. Even if it was good intentions to help some over grown spider… speaking of which. “Hey, kid.”

The spider blinked, turning their head towards her.

“You got a name? Or should we just call you spider?”

“Willow!” Willow only shrugged as the spider looked down, playing with its (HIS) web beard again.

“… I don’t know my name.” They finally said after a while. “I-I know I have one but I… I don’t remember it?”

“So, do you have a name or not?” Willow leaned her head against her hand.

“Willow don’t be rude. He probably has some amnesia.” Wilson came over with two stacks of waffles, handing one to her and one for the spider.

The spider tilted his head, looking at Wilson questionably. “What’s am… amn… amnesha?”

“Amnesia is what you call when someone losing some or all of their memory.” Wilson clarified, sitting down next to the spider again, rubbing his chin. “Though, if you can’t remember your name, then it’s going to be quite troubling to know what to call you.”

“Me mould musm smim miff mimmef.” Willow, mouth full of waffles, suggested.

“Willow don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s a choking hazard. And we’re not calling him spider. We need to give him a proper name to call him.”

Willow swallowed her meal. “Well, what do you want to call him then?”

Wilson hummed, looking at the spider child, who was nibbling on a waffle, looking at them up and down. “Hmm… well, it has to be a good name. One that’s easy to remember…” He snapped his fingers. “I got it! Jason Mickharing Tesaverse Esquire!”

… Willow threw her plate at his head.

“OW!”

“We are not calling him that.”

“It’s a good name!”

“It’s too long genius! Think of something shorter!”

“Okay, okay. Uh… Thunderaidium?”

“Too long.”

“Einstein?”

“Ein—what?”

“It’s short of einsteinium. A chemical element of—”

“Who would name anyone after an element?”

“Plenty of people would!”

“Yeah well it’s not happening!”

“It’s a good name!”

“I don’t want to be named after an element…”

“Ha! See?”

“Whatever! Uh… James P. Sullivan?”

“No, feels like someone else’s name.”

“… Eh, you’re right. Umm, Berry?”

“What?”

“Well he looks like a Berry.”

“We are not calling him that! Plus he doesn’t look anything like a berry!”

“Ugh! Fine! Uh, Will Jr.?”

“NO.”

“NiGHTS?”

“I feel like you worded that in a weird way, but no.”

“Silky?”

“Mmm, close. But still no.”

“Ironwood?”

“Okay you’re being ridiculous now!”

Wilson glared at her. “Well if you don’t like any of my names, then why don’t you pick one then?”

“Gladly.” Willow sat back on her log, looking at the spider carefully. If she was going to name something, it would have to be better than Mickharing. Something that really fit well with the spider.

She eyed their head, limbs, eyes, just anything that could give her something to work with. Her eyes landed on the white beard on the spider’s face, covered with crumbs from eating the waffle. It wasn’t like Wilson’s own beard when it grew out. It was silky and smooth looking. Not like Wilson’s rough and scraggly bread when it grew out. But then again being made out of web instead of hair helped with that.

Web.

Beard.

Web beard.

Weeeb beearrd.

Webbeard.

Web…

“Webber.” Willow smirked, crossing her arms. “Let’s call him Webber.”

The spider, Webber, blinked and looked at her in surprise. “Web… ber?”

“Yeah. Webber. Kinda like web and beard smashed together. Your beard’s made out of webs so why not?” Willow smiled in triumph as Webber (it really fit them) smiled back and nodded his head.

“Yeah. Yeah! Webber! I like it!” Webber smiled, giggling a bit. It was… kind of cute.

“… I thought Jason Mickharing Tesaverse Esquire was a good name.” Wilson sighed unhappily.

Summer past quickly, and soon it was autumn.

A wonderful time of the year to gather food, hunt Gobblers, burn down trees, and gather anything that they need to survive winter. Willow wasn’t sure how seasons worked in this place. Time seemed to pass by quickly in this place then in the real world. (Or wherever they were.)

“Miss Willow! Miss Willow!” Willow turned around as Webber bounded towards her with something following after him. “Look what I found Miss Willow!”

“Webber, I told you. Willow is just fine.” Willow couldn’t help but smiled as Webber stopped in front of her, bouncing in place with a huge smile on his (oddly creepily adorable) face. She looked down beside him at the strange creature. “What is this?”

“I don’t know! But he keeps following me around! Watch!” Webber run off, quickly being followed by the strange orange creature that bounded after him. Webber laughed as he ran circles around Willow, the creature not far behind him.

“Well, it looks like you made a new friend Webber.” Willow giggled a bit as Webber’s laughing was getting contagious. “But why is it following you? Do you have something that it wants?”

Webber stopped running. “Mmm… Oh yeah! This!” He pulled out something that made Willow do a double take. It looked like a bone… with an eyeball on top. It blinked at her. (Creepy.) “He sort of popped up out of nowhere and started following me after I pick this up! It’s kind of creepy!”

Willow hummed, holding out her hand. “Webber, can you give me that for just a moment?” Webber obliged, handing her the bone. She held it up for the creature to see (if it had eyes) and started walking. Immediately it followed after her. “Huh. Guess this little guy follows whoever is holding this bone.” She stopped, kneeling in front of the odd panting creature.

“Does this mean we can keep him?!” Webber asked, bouncing on the spot.

“Hang on Webs. We should probably let Wilson see him first just to be sure it’s safe enough to keep.” Willow patted the creature’s head. She had a feeling that it was passive enough not to be dangerous, but she knew Wilson would want to study this thing before giving the okay.

In the distance, an explosion went off.

The two looked to the distance where the base laid, seeing a large smoke cloud rising up towards the sky.

“… After he comes back from the dead.” Willow sighed.

#don't starve #Wilson P. Higgsbury #willow #webber #sick fic #chester

[fy-winner]

[Forbes] WINNER Discuss First North American Tour, Artistic Growth And 2019 Album Plans

The year has only started, but January marked a true full-circle moment for WINNER as the K-pop boy band ended their first North American tour with their New York City concert debut. Before the outfit had even released an official song together, the group visited New York in early 2014 to shoot the images and artwork for their debut LP in what would eventually become the chart-topping 2014 S/S album. After refreshing changes in their sound, style and membership (with the original quintet becoming a quartet in 2016), WINNER finally returned to New York this year in a triumphant Manhattan concert that shows why they were more than worth the wait.

Taking place at the Hulu Theater at Madison Square Garden, WINNER and their fans took over midtown Manhattan in a long-awaited celebration that felt equally special to the band members and the fans who waited nearly five years to see them live at home. With a multi-platform, LED stage setup that created gorgeous and striking background visuals, members Yoon, Jinu, Hoony and Mino hit the two-tiered stage with effortlessly synchronized takes on recent hit singles like "Really Really" and "Everyday" while addressing the crowd through what would be many heartfelt moments, frequently referring to New York City (and, likely, the fans there) as their "first love."

Throughout the show, WINNER showed their strength as a group as well as an individuals. The blend of Mino's laidback cool, Jinu's delicate-yet-fanservice-focused demeanor, Hoony's cute/fun/fierce style plus Yoon's palpable onstage joy created a true multidimensional experience that paired perfectly with the range of different sounds and stages WINNER brought to the theater.

While the end of the concert brought the usual goodbyes that most K-pop artists share when visiting international fans—with Mino promising, "We'll be back" before adorably joking that he didn't want to go back to Korea—Yoon added an additionally heartfelt note. "Thank you for giving me a reason to live as an artist," the 25-year-old told the crowd in a stunning moment of maturity and honesty. "Though we are far from each other, our songs make us near." That same honesty was felt backstage at Madison Square Garden when Forbes spoke with WINNER in a chat that reflected on the end of the conclusion of Everywhere Tour, how far they've come and where they're going next.

Jeff Benjamin: This feels like a full-circle moment for WINNER. We actually met for an interview before you debuted and were shooting your album packaging here in New York. Now you're concluding your first North American tour. What's going through your minds?

Yoon: So, a lot has changed. Before we debuted, our first-ever project as WINNER was here in New York but we never ever thought we'd be able to sing here again. But now we're doing our first ever tour here throughout North America. We're also very proud that we're having the an interview with the same person.

Benjamin: Well, I'm proud of you guys. Have you made any new, special memories on this tour?

Yoon: Each city and every moment is special, but touring Los Angeles for me [was a special memory]. In the past when we filmed music videos in Los Angeles, a fan came to the airport and asked me, "So, when are you going to have a concert?" and I wanted to reply back then, but I couldn't! The same fan actually came to the concert in LA and she sat in the very front row. When I was doing my solo section, I mentioned that and that was a really good feeling.

Benjamin: Any regrets?

Mino: Maybe if we studied a little harder on the English? [Laughs]

Benjamin: WINNER has gone through transformations and changes. Can you take us through creating the setlist for this tour? When it comes to solos for Jinu and Hoony, what inspired you to sing songs by your BIGBANG seniors?

Yoon: When we figure out our setlist, we do a lot of meeting with Team WINNER and the YG Entertainment staff to make a significant setlist. The flow is really important: We start off with an impact, the middle needs to be a little more emotional and then, as it goes to the end, it needs to end with a really big bang.

Hoony: For a lot of people to enjoy the show, I wanted to bring up a song everyone knew. So I prepared Taeyang's "Ringa Linga" in a respectfulness to my seniors. Both me and [YG Entertainment CEO] Yang Hyun-Suk feel the same about that.

Jinu: Whenever I perform in a concert, I always sing a G-Dragon song. But I really like this song and I listen to "Untitled, 2014" a lot.

Benjamin: You've toured extensively in Korea and Japan, but I'm curious if you had any new challenges at these concerts in America?

Mino: When you talk about challenges, the time difference was brutal. But when it comes to differences, there are cultural differences between the fans; the fans dance more in the U.S. Our first show in Seattle was actually a shock to us because the first impression of the fans were so different.

Yoon: I was really surprised that a lot of audience members at the show were male. Normally, because of us being a boy band, we'd have a lot of female fans. But I was very surprised that a lot of guys turned out to the show! I think maybe they followed their girlfriends? [Laughs]

Benjamin: Even from debut, I think lots of times WINNER showed unique performances that one wouldn't expect from YG Entertainment acts. Being so involved in your music, is it ever a conscious decision to stray from that?

Mino: We don't want to do the same path because if we keep doing the same thing, it's going to make it too boring.

Yoon: The song we listen to influence the songs that we make. Just because YG has produced a sound in the past, doesn't mean we put a lot of consciousness or think about that. We just want to make music that we really want to make.

Mino: And after "Really Really" became a megahit, we do think we wanted to try out different genres moving forward.

Benjamin: What songs are you listening to now that you love?

Yoon: "Sunflower (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse)" by Post Malone and Swae Lee.

Jinu: Pink Sweat$ "Honesty."

Mino: [To Jinu] Oh yeah, that's a really good song!

Benjamin: In 2019 you spoke about your goals and plans to release your third full-length album. What can you tell us about the status of this?

Yoon: We're currently focusing on what song we'll choose for our title track [first single]. That's what we're thinking about right now. It's a very important phase we're in right now, but we don't want to send too many spoilers.

Benjamin: How has your creative process changed from debut to this upcoming project?

Mino: When we first made our debut we wanted to give out a more mature feeling, even if we were an idol group. We wanted to give a message about us being very serious about music. But these days, we want to show who we are. Literally, we're young and musical guys.

Benjamin: We're a few weeks into the year, do you have New Years Resolutions you're looking to stick to?

Yoon: We made a promise to our fans that we really wanted to make, maybe, two comebacks this year. I think that would be the best plan for us. And not only as WINNER, but I wish too as individuals that maybe we'll have lots of activities. As the leader of WINNER, I hope the members get to work in different fields and then when they come back to WINNER they can have an even more positive synergy. We hope we can spend 2019 as a very busy year—more busy than last year —without any breaks. We want to meet our fans and we ask them to please look forward to that.

© Forbes

#yg winner #winner #t:interview #t:article

[wildfaeworld]

Pidge with someone tampering with her food? Like on a planet and Hunk Allura and pidge are invited, they offer them food but Pidge and Hunk eat some (Hunk is quickly pulled away so he doesn't eat enough for the poison to affect him) and they try and take Pidge because she's passing out from the "poison") thank you so so much!!!

Administrative stuff: This is for the @badthingshappenbingo, in the Voltron: Legendary Defender Fandom.

Red has been done, blue requested.

*PSST*: You can also read this on AO3.

Yikes. This is about 3100 words.

“Pidge, you gotta try this,” Hunk gushes.

“No.”

“C’mon, just a bite,” he wheedles.“It tastes just like hazelnuts.”

“No, Hunk.”

“Fine, fine,” Hunkrelents, and returns to his own plate. But Pidge can feel him watching her outof the corner of his eye.

“What?” she finallysnaps - quietly, she can be diplomatic too.

“Nothing!” he sayshastily. “I just-” here we go“-are you sure you’re ok? I know this was a pretty big let-down.”

And suddenly, eating is lookinglike a better option than talking to Hunk. Pidge grabs a spoonful of whateverthis newest alien gunk is on her plate and shoveled it into her mouth, barelytasting the weird flavor. Hazelnuts, her ass. This stuff is nothing likeanything on Earth.

Damnit, Hunk is still watchingher.

“I’m fine,” she saysshortly. “It’s just a setback. Stop pussyfooting around for once and leaveme alone.”

“We’ll find them, Pidge,”Hunk says steadily, and he’s so warm,so fucking comforting that she nearlyloses her shit right there and the only alternative is to shove more terriblealien food into her mouth, chew, swallow, and repeat the process until he getsthe message and leaves her alone.

And he does, he’s damnperceptive, that’s what clued him in in the first place, but now she thinks shemight have screwed up because he’s not gushing about the food anymore, andLance is shooting her a chastising look before turning to devote his entireattention to Hunk and before long the two of them have excused themselves fromthis latest banquet with one of their hosts, going to seek out yet anotheralien sunset, and Pidge can’t find the motivation to get up and find them toapologize so she stays, letting the joyful atmosphere batter at her rockysolitude. It’s great, really. Another planet liberated, another victorysnatched from the Galra’s grasping claws, but the air is bitter, like theaftertaste of what Hunk swore was hazelnuts, tainted by Pidge’s own personalmetric for success or failure. Still no leads on her father and brother. She’sbeen through every scrap of data the Galra on this planet had, every scrap ofdata from every mission they’ve been on, and she’s no closer to finding herfamily than when she hunched on the roof of the Garrison, seeking fruitlesslyfor confirmation of what she knew in her heart, data to back up her bone-deepconviction that her family was alive, somewhere.It’s been over a year since she left that lost, lonely little girl behind onthe roof, and she’s got jack-shit to show for it.

Suddenly it’s all too much andnot enough, too much input and not enough distance and she shoves her chairback to desert the banquet abruptly, ignoring Allura’s disapproval. Thecoalition can go fuck themselves, because if they can’t help her find herfamily then what good are they? Besides, these aliens seem a little too interested in the paladins and theirbond with the lions. She’s had to fend off one too many questions that probejust a little too deep, are a little too personal to her connection with Green.

Distantly, she’s aware that thisis just frustration and too little sleep on top of an extended adrenaline crashon top of more than a year of tension and doubt speaking, but in this moment itfeels much better to let anger course through her hot and swift, buoying herwith a feeling of power and force which that distant part of her knows willfade to cold ash all too quickly.

The corridors in this place areall curved, echoes of the buildings’ outer walls, and it’s all very lovely fromthe air but she can’t seem to find a straight line to her lion for the life ofher and right now all she needs is Green, her cool analytics and rationalprocesses which will bring Pidge back to the mindspace in which she’s at herbest. She’s not the most well-versed in dealing with emotions, others’ or herown, and so when everything crashes over her like it has tonight she’s often ata loss in how to break free of vicious emotional currents that can’t beexplained or sorted or put away.

She needs Green. She needs herfucking lion, like, yesterday. It’s getting harder to breathe, and these damncurvy corridors are fucking with her depth perception and that distant part ofher is piping up again, is this apanic attack? Physical symptoms are similar – elevated heartrate and shortnessof breath colliding to produce dizziness, her temperature perception is off,it’s hot and then cold, shit herecomes nausea. Not a panic attack, then, her analysis provides helpfully.Probably poison. Something about that banquet wasn’t safe for humanconsumption. Fucking hazelnuts.

“Green,” she whispers,curling over herself as she finds stability against the wall. She’s got anemetic in her first-aid kit, if she could just get to her lion. But she’s lost,now, she thinks she was headed the right direction when she left the banquethall but everything is spinning and she’s not even sure if she’s crouched onthe floor or lying on the wall. Maybe the gravity is switching up on her? No,she’s just falling, sliding down the wall to land on her ass and even that’snot good enough because her traitorous spine is curving, bending to deposit heraching head on the floor and maybe she should just sleep this off. That soundslike a great idea, actually, until her analytic side screams at her to get up,keep moving, find someone because ifshe goes to sleep she might die and that gives her enough of a push to rollover and try to get her legs underneath her once more.

She manages to get to her knees,but she keeps tipping forward when she tries to clamber to her feet so she optsto crawl. She leans against the wall as she creeps forwards, using it to remindher of what equilibrium should feel like because she sure as shit can’t keep itstraight for herself. Her vision is greying out, pulsing in time with thenausea in her gut, and her lungs keep squeezing tighter and tighter. Where iseveryone? Why hasn’t she come across anyone?Oh god, the last thing she said to Hunk was so shitty. She can’t remember whatshe said to any of the others, but it probably wasn’t anything more than civil,if that. If she can make it through this she’ll be nicer. And she’ll puttogether a food testing kit for each of the paladins. Really, it’s a miraclenone of them have accidentally ingested something fatal before now. Green,where’s Green? She needs Green.

A pair of feet enter herappallingly narrow field of vision, standing firm and upright with annoyingease. She sinks back to a hunched, seated lean against the wall, using itsstolid support to tip her pounding head up until she meets the gaze of one ofthe aliens hosting them. What are they called again?

“He…lp,” she manages to rasp out.

The alien watches her for aminute, while Pidge’s vision tunnels further, grey leaching inwards inexorablywhile her ribs squeeze tighter and tighter against her lungs. He’s not going todo anything, she realizes. He’s just going to stand there and watch her die.Maybe they think if Voltron loses a paladin while on their planet that one oftheir own will be chosen. Maybe they’re secretly still in league with theGalra. But that doesn’t make sense. She can’t think well without oxygen,apparently.

Pidge tips herself backwards,ready to worm-crawl away from the alien who’s still watching her if that’s what it will take, but the suddenshift in her center of gravity proves to be too much for her overstrainedsystem, and blackness crashes in to take her.

*

When she wakes, she’s strapped toa table, and the spike in the heart monitor they’ve put on her wipes out anychance she had of faking unconsciousness in order to evaluate the situation.

With subtlety off the menu, Pidgeopts for belligerence. “What the fuck are you idiots doing?” she demands,testing the straps they’ve put on her while they’re hopefully distracted by herrunning her mouth. “I’m a Paladin of Voltron. We literally just saved your entire planet from the Galra. Let me go,before this goes further than you can smooth over with an apology.”

The alien ignores her, insteadreaching across Pidge to pull a contraption that resembles a cross between adentist’s mobile x-ray machine and an optometrist’s phoropter over her torso.It’s getting harder to push her fear aside, and the adrenaline from her awakeninghas worn off, leaving her drained and empty. Pidge casts her mind out forGreen, pulling desperately on the tenuous thread of their connection. It’s hardto marshal the focus necessary to connect with her lion; she’s still feelingthe effects of whatever it was that she ate, nausea and dizziness and tightlungs all conspiring to muddy her thoughts and dull her mind.

The alien finishes hispreparations and peers around the edge of the machine at her. “We have askedyour princess to explain to us the bond between paladin and lion, and we havesought the same answers from each of you, but you will not share this knowledgewith us, and we are forced to take what should have been freely given. This isyour last chance to elucidate the bond to us.”

“Why do you want to know?” Pidgedemands. “Voltron saved your planet.” She pauses to fight the nausea and try tobreathe. It’s getting harder, and she feels a pale, petty satisfaction at thethought that they probably won’t get to study her as much as they want if shecontinues to deteriorate at this rate. “This is pretty shitty thanks,” shemanages, “to kidnap someone who just risked life and limb for your people.”

While she talks, she’s stillreaching for Green, pushing past everything that hurts to bridge the distancebetween and her and her lion. Dimly, she feels the connection snap into place evenas her vision greys out further, and the alien’s retort washes over her in ajumble of indecipherable sound. But even as her body is failing her, Green’spresence surges through her mind, lending clarity where she can’t marshal herown, analyzing the situation with her while sending a constant flow ofassurance that she’s on her way. Pidge tunes the alien out, cataloguing her symptomsfor Green, helping her lion assemble them into a file for the rest of her teamwhen they arrive. She’s pretty sure she won’t be up to explaining anythingherself.

Cause: high probability of ingestion of a substancetoxic to human biology, likely at the feast.

Symptoms: gradual onset of shortness of breath, leading toelevated heartrate, approximately fifteen doboshes after beginning ingestion ofthe suspected substance. Note to Hunk:that stuff did not taste like hazelnuts. A sample should be obtained foranalysis and synthesis of an antidote.

Shit they’re drawing blood – no, Green, keep the file going.

Symptoms, continued: Dizziness presented next, though whether aneffect of the substance or a result of previous symptoms undetermined. Nauseabegan soon after. Seems resistant to actual emesis, however. Suggestion: tryinducing emesis to evacuate whatever’s still in my stomach. Vision is greyingout, progressing steadily towards complete loss of sight. Symptoms combinedlead to pervasive muscle weakness, inability to stand. Oh, and balance is affectedas well.

What was that? Pidge snaps out of her compilation of the file forGreen at the trembling of the room around her. Oh. It’s Green. The room shakes harder, sending instrumentsrattling off of trays and sending her captors into a babbling frenzy. Pidgehears Lance’s blaster and Hunk’s shoulder cannon going off, and beyond that thecrashing that usually results when Keith and Shiro start throwing peoplearound.

It all erupts at once, Greenbreaking through the wall while the team charges through the door on the other sideand subdue the aliens that managed to keep their feet in the shower of rubble. Somethingglances off of Pidge’s ribs, and a smaller spray of sharp rocks skates acrossher face. She closes her eyes, since she can’t see anymore anyway.

“Pidge, oh my god, Pidge, wake up!”It’s Hunk. She hears his bayard dematerialize and then his hands are cuppingher face, fingers tapping gently while someone else fumbles at the strapsaround her wrists. Cold fingers – Lance. Someone else is taking the vein tapout of her arm – Keith?

“’M here,” she mumbles. Heroxygen shortage is starting to worry her. “Poi..s’n, Hunk,” she twitches her handto tap at his. “File. In Green.” She has to stop, take a minute to try tobreathe, while he lifts her, cradling her against his big warm chest like ababy and she can’t even find it in herself to be annoyed by the position. It’snice, this time.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he rushes. “It’sgonna be okay. We’ll get you a pod, just stay with me.”

Oh, pod. Probably not going towork. “Not… pod. Poison,” she manages. “File. In Green.” They’re heading up.Sounds like a ramp. Green? Oh, there she is.

“Yeah, we’re in Green. She’s lettingShiro fly her back to the castle. We’re almost there, hang on.”

“No… Hunk. File. In Green.” Howmany times does she have to say this? She’s wasting precious oxygen.

“What file?” Lance picks up on it.“There’s a file here in Green?”

Speaking is too much, now, so shetips her head forward against Hunk’s chest and it must be enough because shehears Lance tapping through Green’s logs. Pidge nudges at Green to bring Pidge’slog to the forefront of the system display.

“Poi…son,” she manages one moretime, and now she really needs to focus on breathing so they’re just going tohave to figure the rest out for themselves.

“Dios,” Lance breathes. “It was the food. That hazelnut stuff.”

Finally.

“Oh, god,” Hunk moans. “You and Iboth ate some too, Lance, why aren’t we sick?”

“You’re bigger than her,” Keithobserves. “And you both only ate a little. Pidge ate a bunch.”

Gee, thanks, Keith. Way to callout a girl on her eating habits.

“We can’t use the pods,” Shirorealizes. “They don’t work on illnesses, and this is too close to a disease.”

“She says we’ll need a sample foran antidote,” Lance continues.

“I’ll go get it,” Keith saysdarkly, and Pidge has a sudden vision of him stomping through the curved halls,fighting his way through their former allies (because she’ll be damned if theylet this particular planet join the coalition after this) in a quest forhazelnut gunk. The thought forces a huff of a laugh out past her laboringlungs, but that was a bad idea because now she’s choking, fighting to get backthe air she just lost. Hunk adjusts her position against him, his large hand rubbingcircles on her back, and it helps a little but she’s still panting for air, blindand achy and dizzy and nauseous and unable to throw up and she just reallyhates this so much.

Green touches down in the castle’shangar, and even though she can’t see she feels it when Hunk stands andeverything spins wretchedly.

“Keith, wait, Keith-” it’s Lance,chasing after the red paladin, judging by the sound of his rapid-fire footsteps.“Wait, Keith, Dios, idiota, I’ve got some of the hazelnut gunk!”

“What?” everyone choruses, andPidge would join in, too, if she could. How the hell did he pull that off?

“It really does taste likehazelnuts,” he says apologetically. “I only tasted a little bit, but we’ve gotthat space cocoa, and I was hoping we could make something like Nutella, butnow that’s seeming like a really bad idea-”

“I could kiss you right now,Lance,” Hunk half-sobs. “Bring it to the medbay, quick.”

Pidge loses track of things for alittle while after that. She focuses on trying to breathe, on the too-slow intakeof oxygen, trying to keep as much of it as she can when every exhale seems to addto the tightness squeezing her lungs further closed.

Something covers her nose andmouth, and she panics for a moment until oxygen rushes in, and she’s never feltso grateful for anything in her life. She gulps it greedily while Hunk andCoran discuss her over her head, using the file from Green and the sample Lancekept to synthesize an antidote.

She loses a bit more time, awashin dizzy nausea and unable to see beyond the field of grey that encompasseseverything when she bothers to open her eyes. The oxygen is helping, but it’sstill hard to breathe and harder to think, so she drifts until something pricksher arm and slowly, so slowly, she feels the relief creep through her body. Thenausea is the first to settle, then the dizziness, and then her lungs easewhile her sight fades back in.

Hunk is leaning over her, hissmile watery and wavery but still there, and Coran hovers at her other elbow, adjustingthe flow from the bag of antidote that’s hooked up to the needle in her arm.Everyone else is at the foot of the bed, Lance and Keith and even Shiro andAllura, and they’re not her family by blood or by name but damnit if they haven’tshoved their way into her heart anyway. Her space family is weird and most ofthe time she doesn’t appreciate them nearly enough, but they’re still here forher, even when she fucks up.

And speaking of which – “Hunk,”she says, rejoicing in the feel of breath flowing freely in and out of her lungs.“I was a major jerk at the banquet. I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Hunksniffs. “I already forgot. You were just upset, I get it.”

“Good,” Pidge breathes, feelingher eyes slip closed again. Being poisoned really takes it out of her, apparently.

“Rest, Number Five,” Coran says. “You’vegot some recovery to come, still. That substance was quite toxic to yoursystem.”

That sounds fun. But the firstpart was good. She’ll take a nap. And when she’s feeling better, she’ll makethose food-testing kits for everyone.

#bad things happen bingo #voltron #pidge #hunk garrett #writing #cuivienenwrites

[tifarobles]

Sanity Check: Inside Mental Health

I will be alright. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.

At least that’s what I kept trying to tell myself. I had to. It had to be okay.

That’s how I got through 3 years of turbulent ups and downs and falling deeper into a debilitating anxiety disorder that seemed to be triggered by my miscarriage.

I was 16 when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I wanted to do all I could to avoid being dependent on pharmaceuticals. I’d experienced my mother going through a terrible time trying to stop taking Paxil and I didn’t want to go through that. I wanted to find other ways to deal with my disorder. I did a decent job most of the time. In fact, I don’t think many people even knew I was bipolar. It pretty much only impacted my romantic relationships and very close friendships.

I can point to exact times in my life when I knew I’d been depressed and even more times when I knew I’d been in pretty serious manic episodes. It was usually after a huge life change. It seemed like my body’s way of adapting to something new. However, I can’t pinpoint any of these episodes since being married.

I wasn’t sure if my symptoms were less noticeable in a more stable state or if I had somehow outgrown my disorder. I even wondered if Mike had somehow helped me overcome it. But I never really knew why...

Turns out, it had warped into General Anxiety Disorder. I had never experienced a true panic attack before the miscarriage. Suddenly, they were part of my daily life.

I assumed that once I was able to grieve properly and recover from the tragedy, that my anxiety would fade. However, it only seemed to get worse after Xander was born. It didn’t help that shortly after that I unexpectedly lost my job at Xbox while on maternity leave due to the position being eliminated.

This was my dream job. I had left a very stable, comfortable position in something I was very good at to pursue this seemingly perfect for me job. Everyone told me to take this job, even though I was 6 months pregnant. Even though I was on a brand new team for a brand new role with untred territory. I’d worked for 6 years to get into a position like this one. I had to do all I could for this job.

And just like that… it was gone.  

On top of that, Mike was all set up to be a stay-at-home dad, so we had no source of income or insurance for our newborn baby.

The next day Trump was elected.

Let’s just say, that was a miserable week for my emotions. Could I ever feel happy again? I’d look at my son and feel happy enough not to worry.

It wasn’t too long before Mike found some remote work and I was hired at GTS. I had to take a substantial pay cut for this career move, but there were a lot of perks to consider and huge potential for growth. I assumed everything was coming together again and that my emotions would soon follow.

Adjusting to being a working mom was easier than I expected, but still very hard. However, feedback at work was telling me that I was really good at this job. I poured myself into it, taking trips to visit stores, sometimes doing work on weekends, trying to fit the role I never expected to fit. And I liked it. I loved the stores I worked with, and while there were challenging days, overall I felt happy.

As things always do in corporate jobs, things changed. There were some changes for the new year, including a pay cut. I had just switched to commision and was barely making my base salary. Luckily, by this time Mike had gotten a really great job and Xander was loving daycare. I thought it would be okay to make less than I’d ever made if I kept being happy. Was I happy though? I was stressed all the time, always thinking about work, always being completely exhausted from motherhood, trying to maintain so many things every day.

I would look at my life, and outside of raising Xander, I didn’t feel like I was doing anything truly fulfilling. What had happened to my creativity? When was the last time I’d written something? When was the last time I sang a new song? What would 16-year-old dreamer me think of where I was?

I was a good mom. That was the most fulfilling aspect of my entire life. My true legacy and something I had always wanted. He was perfect.

But don’t I deserve more? I’d feel terrible for thinking it. Like, what’s wrong with me? I have everything I’ve ever wanted.

But I knew that was a lie. I’d always wanted more.

Founding LPS came close to what I wanted to do for this world. It scratched that itch for me for years. But it was so much harder now being a mom. It was so hard dividing my time between LPS, Xander, Mike, work, family, friends, and (OMG do I dare think it?) myself! I couldn’t do as much for LPS as I used to and I hadn’t been as deeply involved in a long time. It’s just... different when I can’t go every week. Or maybe it’s different because I’ve been doing it for so long and I’m ready to move on to my next big fulfilling project.

But then I found out that I’d be going to GAMA, representing GTS. Maybe I could find my next project through GTS. Maybe it will be at the other end of the show. I felt honored to be selected. While at the show, I networked until 4am, getting up at 7am to be on time to have a few minutes of breakfast with my team. I became close friends with some other GTS employees while at the show who wanted to work with me more. I was excited for those opportunities. What more could I do with this great company?

Within a few weeks, I was in talks with the marketing department. I was told that I had all the skills that they were looking for. It sounded like a role I’d be good at. One I’d get to finally be creative full-time, something I’d never really gotten to try.

But they wanted someone who could travel. A lot.

I suddenly felt like I was suffocating under the choice between this amazing opportunity or being with my son on weekends.

I couldn’t do that.

I didn’t get the job. But I was still in sales. Yay? I didn’t know how to feel. I was barely making enough to pay for daycare on my worst months. I was literally working in order to pay to be away from my son all week. To do a job that I liked, but that I wasn’t really passionate about. Looking at the paychecks was scary. Everything felt scary. Like weirdly scary.

Car rides alone could cause anxiety attacks. And I had to do a lot of driving since Mike was commuting to Seattle and kicking serious ass at his new job. But I couldn’t keep going on like this.

The anxiety was unbelievable. I couldn’t see into my life. I couldn’t define what it was that I wanted. That too was scary. All I saw was being a good mom, but what else was I… good at? What was I passionate about besides my family? Had I lost my defining characteristic of passion? This thought alone could send me into a racing heart and tension headache. This was anxiety. But I didn’t understand it. I’d never felt this before.

I needed help. I couldn’t take off time from work for therapy. I couldn’t find a therapist outside of work hours. The anxiety had gotten worse. I experienced a 20-day headache. I went to the doctor… where I was first diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder. I scheduled 6 appointments with therapists. I took time off work to go. I started to take medication for the first time in my life. I had very little PTO for anything. I worked every hour I could to make up for it. I got worse before getting better. I took a medical leave.

On medical leave, I felt like I was seeing for the first time in… years? I would find true happiness in the littlest of things. Xander’s shoes, the smell of his hair, the cat following me around at 1am while I stayed up writing.

I was still passionate. I was still that dreamer. I was still defined by passion. I found passion in my story. I had found my project. It had been in front of me this entire time.

The project I’ve been wanting to finish for over 15 years. Over half of my life.

I looked at my life goals and realized I’d followed the biggest one already by having an amazing partner and child to share my life with. But what was next for me?

Why had I spent 3 years writing instead of having a social life as a teenager? Why had I studied for 4 years with no sleep to obtain a degree in Creative Writing? Why could these characters I created so long ago never once leave my mind? I could see their faces as clearly as the day I created them, drawn mediocrely on lined paper with colored pencils. Now created in every game that has a built-in character creator. Each person that I’d given deep back stories and interesting character arcs, with development far beyond what you’d think a boy-crazy, 14-year-old, awkward, opinionated girl obsessed with video games would be capable of.

I had to follow my dreams. It would never be the right time. “I have to do this before I turn 30,” I thought. As though I’d be able to inform that 14-year-old girl that her hard work would get published before she turns 30. High five her and let her know she makes a great mom and has a husband who knows how to dance, before flying away on a unicorn. I had to make a change. I approached Mike with the idea. He was fully supportive. He’d been with me on this journey through some rough times and questions like “What do I want to do with my life?” at 2am on random nights when I’d wake him up because I couldn’t sleep. He knew I would be happy pursuing this. He knew I needed happiness again. He knew we’d be okay, no matter what.

I don’t know if it’s the medication, my amazing therapist, the life changes, or my luck with having the most amazingly supportive family, but I am so happy. I can’t say the anxiety is gone, that is still a daily struggle. But I know I can be grateful for so many things and that helps calm me down. I am following my dreams. I can’t promise it won’t be a difficult adventure at times, in fact, I’m sure it will be very difficult. But I will be happy while I adventure.

#sanitycheck #mental health #anxitey #gaming industry

[projectalbum]

Radio songs. 189. “Green,” 190. “Out of Time,” 191. “Automatic for the People,” 192. “Monster,” 193. “New Adventures in Hi-Fi" by R.E.M.

For R.E.M., signing to Warner Bros Records meant reaching more people, in the U.S. and abroad. It meant a bigger promotional push behind their albums.

It meant an exponential increase in their touring schedule, to the point where all four were pretty burned out by the idea after being on the road for most of ’88-’89. But for me, it was a move that meant my favorite music in existence was allowed to sprout from the fertile loam of commercialism.

If you’ll remember from my previous post, it was a compilation of songs from the WB era that first made me a fan. And it was the first few albums under that banner that made R.E.M. superstars, i.e. a band established enough that I would be aware of them growing up. It’s hard for me to grasp the amount of R.E.M. saturation that existed from roughly ’88 - ’94. By the time I was humming “What’s The Frequency, Kenneth?” and “Orange Crush” in high school, it was 2005 and the band’s incandescence had faded to the soft, respectable glow of “Dad Rock.” They were hipper than the Billy Joel & Electric Light Orchestra discs that they had replaced in my repertoire, but as far as my peers were concerned, barely. 

The first Christmas after I had announced myself as a fan brought, in shiny happy gift wrapping, Green (#189) and Out Of Time (#190). A veritable Mandolin-apalooza: in the campfire folk trance of “You Are The Everything,” mournful character study “The Wrong Child,” and midnight hippie spiritual “Hairshirt” that are scattered through the mix of Green, and powering the über-hit that secured their legacy, “Losing My Religion,” on Out Of Time. My relationship to those tracks has dipped and risen through the years— I was much less open to strange acoustic explorations back then (or in the case of “LMR,” its overfamiliarity), so I tended to skip them. I grooved on the electric menace of “Turn You Inside-Out” and the poptimism of “Untitled.”

“World Leader Pretend,” in which all the band’s instruments, including Stipe’s voice, seemed tuned to a lower register than ever before (now THAT’S some counter-programming to the bubblegum of “Stand”), has become a God-level composition in my mind. It’s gained some resurgence recently, seen as a pointed critique of the venal and power-hungry who are obsessed with controlling geopolitical barriers. "I raised the wall / And I will be the one to knock it down,” the protagonist intones, and yeah, “the Wall” has a connotation for current events in 2018, as it did 30 years ago (roughly a year after the album’s release, Berlin’s concrete schism was demolished). But I hear the divided self in “World Leader Pretend”: the man erecting the walls of his own isolation chamber, shoring up his fragile ego against outer pain, denying the possibility for connection. "I decree a stalemate, I divine my deeper motives / I recognize the weapons / I've practiced them well, I fitted them myself.” In other words, I hear myself.

Fortunately, he concludes that it’s within his power to level these barriers he's constructed, and I feel I can learn the same lesson. There’s a triumphant slide guitar in the bridge, an iconically Country-Western flavor that the band returns to on one of the most indelible tracks on Out of Time— the descriptively-titled “Country Feedback.” Heartache on an epic scale, deliberate, hypnotic tempo but bubbling like a volcano, the words a stream-of-consciousness chant over Peter Buck’s searching electric guitar and Mike Mills funereal organ. “It’s crazy what you could have had,” Stipe laments, his voice rising, and then, “I need this. I need this.” Is it the confession that he needs, or the connection slipping away from his grasping fingers? He’s called it his favorite song in the band’s canon; they’ve performed it with Neil Young providing the wailing guitar counterpart, like a Dead Man end credits song that never happened, and there’s a clever mashup on the Unplugged set that bowled me over (I’ll mention it when I get there).

The acoustic arrangements and sonic experimentation continued on Automatic for the People (#191), with a purge of the bubblegum (“The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite” is a notable exception, but for a goof, it’s gorgeous.) Much has been made of the album’s apparent preoccupation with mortality and loss. For sure, there's the straight-forward teen suicide deterrent “Everybody Hurts,” predating It Gets Better by a couple decades; “Sweetness Follows,” about the steady, plodding journey through mourning, and the peaceful plateau you can reach; “Monty Got A Raw Deal,” a steely Western ballad inspired in part by the tortured, bisexual film actor Montgomery Clift. But it’s a hopeful album, not a dour slog.

To me, the common thread is The Past: that personal history that’s less about the agreed-upon facts and more about the feelings tied to events, coloring your reminiscence. “Drive,” the darkly insinuating opening track, takes inspiration for its rhythmic Beat poetry vocal from David Essex's “Rock On,” a song that Stipe might have heard as a teenager, one that itself looks back a further 20 years to the birth of rock n’roll. Add the string arrangement by rock royalty, John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin, and it’s nostalgia brined in nostalgia.

We’re looking at the reflection of the old photograph as caught by the passing streetlights: several layers of removal from the events. But in looking back, our feelings strike us clearer than whatever life we’ve built for ourselves in the interim; we’re still dwelling on whatever innocence we think we’ve lost. "I have seen things that you will never see / Leave it to memory me,” are the parting words of a person at the end of their life in “Try Not To Breathe” (often in the running for my favorite R.E.M. recording). "I will try not to burden you,” they promise, holding in secrets of a time gone by in hopes that the listener will forge a new path.

“Find The River,” which draws the book to a close with accordion and harmonizing voices, is another in a line of R.E.M. songs drawing on the river as a symbol of lost harmony. In youthful exuberance, there was “Nightswimming,” but "The ocean is the river's goal / A need to leave the water knows,” and time moves inexorably forward. The past feeds into the unfathomable depths of the future. Automatic for the People draws its title from the slogan at a soul food joint in the band’s hometown. It’s that sense of their own history, 8 records in and on top of the world, that merges with their innate creative restlessness, compelling them to shoot off in a new direction.  “I have got to leave to find my way."

This fuels their mission statement with each album since the WB era began: “Let’s write songs that don’t sound like ‘R.E.M. songs.’” If Automatic is self-reflective, Monster (#192) is about adopted personas. The sound of a middle-aged Art Rock band pretending to be a 20-something Glam Rock band, adding more neon and guitar distortion and posturing than you can shake a Mott The Hoople at. “What can I make myself be? (Faker!)” 

The video for “Crush With Eyeliner” furthers that sense of playful irony: the band members pushed off to the corner of the bar as a new generation, from a different cultural background, expresses the song for them. The entire radioactive orange LP kind of encapsulates every messy teenage feeling I've had since high school. I'm still a "faker," pretending to sing this song. And looking good doing it. (Though, full disclosure, the first time I did karaoke I went with “Bang and Blame.” I don’t mind telling you I nailed it.)

Monster is marked by the most prevalent sexual overtones in R.E.M. canon, as if they were embracing that self-aware Rock Star trope. It’s hard to get more on the nose than the title “Star 69,” but “I Don’t Sleep, I Dream” wins the prize with “Are you coming to ease my headache? / Do you give good head? / Am I good in bed?” As the public debated Michael Stipe’s sexuality, he parried the question in the press and played with his image in the lyrics. The topic of his “Crush” is gendered “she,” giving hetereos like myself plenty to appropriate for our own impossible Cool Girl daydreams— never mind that it’s an ode to his friend Courtney Love. “King of Comedy” addresses a legion of Rupert Pupkins getting their big shot by whatever means necessary, but it also contains the lyric "I'm straight, I'm queer, I'm bi,” a few years before he revealed publicly where the needle pointed on that dial for him. “Tongue” is a lilting, falsetto performance: piano-driven cabaret written for a female protagonist lamenting her inconsiderate lovers. More masks for a closely-scrutinized celebrity to find freedom behind.

New Adventures in Hi-Fi (#193) felt as appropriate a title as any for my first year at a university— trading my hometown for a cinderblock dorm-room, starting down my career path with all the film courses they’d allow me to sign up for. The road-grit guitars, open road expansive sound, Stipe’s tour-shredded front man vocals: the album is alternately weary and electrified. Choruses and riffs fit to fill a stadium (as many basic tracks were recorded at live soundcheck) beside intimate 3AM tour bus confessionals. I scored this huge chapter of my young life with the strutting, T. Rex glam of “The Wake-Up Bomb,” arena-ready choruses of “Bittersweet Me” and “So Fast, So Numb,” felt inspired by the dreamlike inscrutability of “How The West Was Won and Where It Got Us” and darkly-reflective poetry of “E-Bow The Letter.”

I’m not overly surprised to hear that this LP didn’t hit with the same impact as the previous ones— it’s always felt like an acquired taste that I couldn’t impart to anyone else. “You haven’t heard 'Leave?’ Ah man, it’s over 7 minutes long, and there’s a constant siren loop in the background! But trust me, when you hear the acoustic riff from the opening interlude reprised by double-tracked electric guitar, the goose pimples will be visible from space.”

Where Monster boasted the straight-arrow torch song “Strange Currencies,” the hushed, surrealistic “Be Mine” seemed as if it emanated from my own bruised heart. "I'll be the sky above the Ganges / I'll be the vast and stormy sea / I'll be the lights that guide you inward / I'll be the visions you will see”— it’s a cross-spiritual devotional that funnels the tenets of world religions into a promise for total intimacy. I would pay top dollar for the raw footage of Thom Yorke’s guest interpretation. 

Despite the public’s anemic response, the band’s estimation of Hi-Fi’s strengths is justifiably high. It’s an accomplished, energetic record that shows every member playing at his peak. It’s now frozen in history as the last document of the band as a foursome. In the next entry, I’ll delve into the CDs released after drummer Bill Berry retired and R.E.M. dramatically changed gears, rocketing into the 21st century.

#R.E.M. #michael stipe #peter buck #mike mills #bill berry #monster #new adventures in hi-fi #automatic for the people #green #out of time #losing my religion #what's the frequency #cdcollection #cd #cdcollector #album art #music blog #Rock Music #patti smith

[gigsoupmusic]

Ashley Zarah Talks New Single and Importance of Self-Love

Dark-pop artist Ashley Zarah just released “Like I Do” - a self-love EDM/Pop Anthem in collaboration with electronic producer, MKBLV. "Like I Do" is for all those who love themselves so fearlessly that they don't feel lonely when their life is lacking a romantic interest (not-so-ironically timed for valentine's day). All about self-respect, self-love, and the importance of being your own lover and best friend, “Like I Do” sees Zarah’s full, resonant voice and cleverly dissonant lyricism that begs listeners to sing along. We sat down with Ashley to talk about the single, the message behind it, and what's next for the emerging artist. Tell us why you wrote "Like I Do". I wrote “Like I Do” because I was tired of people rejecting me and behaving as if they had won something by doing so. I’ve never felt like I’ve lost something when a relationship doesn’t work out. It just meant that two people’s learning experience with one another was over. But the aftermath always left my friends (bless their hearts) hounding me as to why I was so unbothered. Why I needed a rebound. Why it’s okay to show I’m upset or admit I felt alone… when I truly wasn’t. On top of that, the guys who would end our truly insignificant relationships in an unnecessarily mean or immature way would be texting me at night trying to get a sad reaction out of me. I’d just laugh because it seemed like no one realized how happy I was to go to bed with myself every night. I walked out of the relationship with the coolest person in it, and so I wrote “Like I Do” to officially announce that. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZdVUKmilio&feature=emb_title What's your favorite lyrical line in the single? It would probably be the first line of the song: “It’s fine – I know someone cuter than you anyway.” It’s a very tongue-in-cheek and bold introduction that perfectly sets the tone. And what a lot of people don’t know about this line is that, though the “someone cuter” could be about another love interest, I wrote it in reference to myself. So we’re starting the whole song by stating, “It’s fine… I know someone cuter than you that I can be spending my time with… Me!” It’s not often that a lyric can sum up a whole track, but I think this one does. How did the collaboration with MKBLV happen?

I had just moved back from Boston where I was studying at Berklee College of Music, and coming back home to LA, I found my musical circle to be much smaller on the west coast. I knew that I wanted “Like I Do” to come out in February, but I had about 3 failed attempts trying to get it produced and was getting disheartened that it just wasn’t going to happen. Then MKBLV was referred to me by a fellow Berklee alum. His work was very different than what I was searching for and yet there was something about his production choices and his attention to sound design that made me feel comfortable pitching the song. His approach was a lot more psychological than other producers I had worked within the past. It was clear that he really wanted to get in my head and in my ears to understand where I was coming from and what sound would illustrate my story accurately. His first draft blew me away. I immediately knew the song was in fantastic hands. This song is released right around the biggest love holiday of the year.... how do you hope it affects those who listen? I just hope it makes them feel empowered – that they find strength and joy in celebrating themselves through the song. There is so much pressure to be loved by everybody else and very little emphasis on having a romantic relationship with ourselves. No matter the dynamic (long-term romance, one-night fling, family dynamics), you set the precedent for how people treat you. If you don't treat yourself highly, others will take your lead and do the same. That’s why “Like I Do” is here. To remind each listener; regardless of where they come from, their gender, their sexuality; that there is something wonderful about being your own best friend and own lover, and there is no reason to settle for someone who makes you uncomfortable or unhappy for the sake of filling a space. Try filling that space by yourself – whether in a relationship or not, it’s very important to recognize that you are an incredible human being who deserves to be loved by your community but also by yourself.  You have identified your genre as "dark-pop" - can you tell us more about what that means and how fans have reacted to it? Dark-Pop is, to put it very simply, emotionally intelligent pop music. I did a lot of soul searching when trying to figure out what made Ashley Zarah, Ashley Zarah; and it came down to where I come from. I’m a product of the emo-wave of the early 2000s combined with generations of western and middle-eastern pop music. But I found this growing disconnect with pop over the years because it just felt artificial. It felt more like a machine pumping out formulas rather than art and I think that’s because it wasn’t embracing the human experience anymore. The music that raised me was built on targeting difficult topics like depression, anxiety, trauma, and denial. So I wanted to fit those messages inside catchy, digestible pop music; because these topics are not digestible content – talking about mental illness is taboo and dark, and there is a huge audience of kids that listen to pop and need that release but don’t have it. Dark-Pop is here to prove that you can be honest about the brutality of life and still make a hit that brings people joy. I think it’s clear to my audience that when you join the Dark-Pop tribe, you’re joining more than a fanbase, you’re joining a way of thinking. After every song I release, I post an episode to my Dark-Pop Stories series on Instagram where we analyze the music and discuss the stories and meaning behind it. Fans have been really responsive to this because aside from bonding over the music, we practically get to sit down together and just talk about life, talk about our commonalities and bond through honesty and transparency. I was raised on the philosophical rhetoric of my Iranian community. We recognize that the direction of our mind and our will completely transforms the quality of our lives. You can look at “Like I Do” and see it as both an anthem promoting self-love or an anthem rejecting self-hatred. Either way, it’s the acceptance of a healthier mentality. Everybody that enters the tribe is making the decision to listen to their truth by listening to the music. What can fans expect next? “Like I Do” was my premeditated musical catalyst for 2020. There is a lot coming up for the Dark-Pop Tribe. In a few weeks, we’re actually releasing a remix EP which takes “Like I Do” through four different lenses, and these were shaped by some really creative and hard-working producers from across the country. Afterward though, a very sarcastic song of mine titled “My Boyfriend” will be coming out in April, and that’ll be the first single off my upcoming LP, The Better Mess – LP which is set for release in June. I am really looking forward to sharing these stories with the world.  Read the full article

[thereallygoodblogshow]

MA Fashion and Textile Practices Major Project Path - 30th August

Straight after the programme Bauhaus 100 there was another Design Season programme called Bauhaus Rules with Vic Reeves. I love Vic Reeves (Jim Moir) so thought it could be an interesting watch. With 2019 marking the 100th anniversary of Bauhaus, BBC Four took the cameras to London’s Central Saint Martins to see if current students at the art school could live by the rules of Bauhaus for a week. Accompanying them was the shows presenter celebrity comedian Vic Reeves. Six graduates of the school were asked to participate in the Bauhaus takeover experiment, whose disciplines ranged from fine art, fashion, graphic design and architecture. Each day they would be presented with a creative brief inspired by the Bauhaus workshops, to see if the power of Bauhaus still holds true today. On the Saturday they would be holding a Bauhaus inspired costume party and were told to ask anybody who was up for it to come along. 

Linkedin, n.d. (n.d). Central Saint Martins, University of The Arts London. [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.linkedin.com/company/central-saint-martins-college-of-art-and-design-university-of-the-arts-london/.

Setting the briefs for the graduates were keys figures from art and design - the first of which was artist Ian Whittlesea, who had studied the exercise regimen devised by Bauhaus Master Johannes Itten. The graduates were took to the roof of the school and followed a set of exercises delivered by Whittlesea. The graduates could see the point of these mind clearing exercises, one ex student Lisa Darrer (2019) said it made her feel really grounded and aware of her surroundings, another ex student - Lizzy Deacon (2019) said she felt very aware of her body and noticed one of her hands was bigger than the other. The exercises really seemed to make an impact on the students as a whole, making themselves more aware of themselves and their surroundings.

The Art Story, n.d. (n.d). Itten leading his students in physical exercises. [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.theartstory.org/artist/itten-johannes/.

They were then taken to the canteen where they were given a meal of bread and a recipe of Itten’s creation - ‘garlic mush’, which some of them enjoyed as they said it was probably healthier and better for them than some of the meals they had been eating as students! 

Ian then set the graduates their first creative brief, they were to explore the contrast between basic materials such as rough and smooth, hard and soft,light and dark etc. and to make a piece of art from it - this reminded me of Marcel Duchamp and his found art or ‘Readymade’s’. All the students materials were to come from the ground or from the bins of the school. This exercise in discovering the most basic of materials was part of the preliminary course at Bauhaus and was to help the students see the usefulness and beauty in everyday objects. I remember doing a similar exercise whilst studying for my degree in Graphic Design, except it was to show contrasts between fonts.

Mirkin, M. (1922). Contrast Study with Different Materials (Reconstruction 1967). [Mixed Media]. Retrieved from https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/279152876885423902/?lp=true.

The graduates were then asked to blindfold themselves to feel the objects they had found, this was also one of Itten’s ideas, that to create something the students must engage with all their senses and discover their sense of ‘play’. They were then given an hour and a half to produce their pieces. It was a good exercise for the graduates, they said it was like they were relearning and rediscovering materials they would have otherwise ignored.

The next brief was to echo Wassily Kandinsky’s colour theory practice. To set this brief was Scottish artist David Batchelor - whose installations use colour and geometry in a similar way. He gave each of the graduates a piece of paper  which showed a line drawing of a circle, triangle and square. They then had to assign the three primary colours given to each of the shapes - red, yellow and blue. He wanted them to consider carefully each shape and colour and try to ‘feel’ which colour went with which shape - under Kandinsky’s rule there is only one correct answer! 

Bormann, H.S. (1930). Heinrich-Siegfried Bormann, Illustration of the four primary colours: their planar relation to each other (study from Kandinsky’s course), 1930. [Illustration]. Retrieved from https://www.vmbee.com/blogvmb/2016/3/22/bauh.

Bayer, H. (1968). 50 Jahre Bauhaus. [Poster]. Retrieved from http://www.artnet.com/artists/herbert-bayer/50-jahre-bauhaus-poster-C1hxUHTljHkT8CPbW1MJyg2.

The answer was of course illustrated in the study of the theory by one of Kandinsky’s students Heinrich-Siegfried Bormann and in the above poster by Herbert Bayer. According to Kandinsky’s Basic Colour Theory he determined that the triangle was an interesting shape so it deserved a energetic and lively colour such as yellow. The square was of some interest so would suit a strong colour such as red, and the circle being a ‘dull’ shape required the colour blue which was a peaceful colour. Only Vic Reeves and one other graduate passed the test. They said they felt drawn to use yellow for the triangle as it felt like an unsettling colour, interesting! That is pretty much how Kandinsky would describe the colour. David then set them a task to use only three primary colours and the three basic shapes to create a piece of art, or whatever they wanted. David (2019) made an interesting comment in regards to Kandinsky’s method of using intrinsic methods:

“It all sounds pretty wacky today, but immediately after the first world war - a world which appears to be falling apart - and they’re just trying to stick it back together again in a new way” 

It was true that Gropius had set up the Bauhaus school to find a new way of thinking after the horrors of the war. They were grasping at ideas and running with them. It was same as the graduates in the documentary, some of them decided to abandon his method and go with whatever idea they had, not agreeing with the rigidity it set - sometimes it is all about breaking the rules!   

Batchelor, D. (2013). Spectotem 6. [Installation]. Retrieved from https://curiator.com/art/david-batchelor/spectotem-6.

The next to offer up a brief was head of design at Habitat Kate Butler. She first discussed Marcel Breuer’s iconic Wassily Chair. Made from tubular steel and  inspired by the artists Adler bicycle handlebars, it was the start of what was to become tubular steel furniture. The process for creating tubular steel had only just come onto the market and produced by German steel manufacturer Mannesmann. Breuer took this idea and adapted it to fit his furniture concepts. The designs were revolutionary at the time, using bent tubular steel and materials such as leather had never been done before.  

Breuer, M. (1925). Marcel Breuer Wassily Chair. [Furniture]. Retrieved from https://kaiyo.com/knoll-knoll-marcel-breuer-wassily-chair/.

The graduates were taken to the metal workshop and given the task of making an everyday household item using the Bauhaus principles of form follows function, and were split into pairs to collaborate their ideas. At Bauhaus it was commonly believed that women couldn’t think in 3D, which is preposterous but at the time women were still regarded as less creative. The graduates were given one hour to sketch up their preliminary ideas and then it was down to them, with the help of the metal workshop technicians, to come up with a viable item. They actually came up with some great ideas, one was for a portable birdbath - and in their words clearly something every millennial would need! One idea was for a seat for your dog at the table, another for a simple cafetiere. They determined that the collaboration was a great way of sharing ideas, and really enjoyed the experience of bouncing ideas off each other.

The next brief was set by experimental photographer Constanza Isaza Martinez, who asked the graduates to produce a photograph without the aid of a camera.This was taking direct inspiration from artist and Bauhaus Master László Moholy-Nagy who pioneered a technique of producing photographs - or photogram’s as he called them by the means of photo sensitive paper. Constanza asked the graduates to make these photographs using light and shade for inspiration. The had a while to plan their designs and then went to the schools dark room with any materials they wished to use, they had to bear in mind that anything they blocked out from the paper would appear white on their designs. 

Moholy-Nagy, L. (1925/1928). Photogram. [Photogram]. Retrieved from http://artsatva.com/moholy-nagy-future-present/ex8059_312_mnf_004-hpr/.

The designs turned out really well for the graduates. They experimented with lots of different materials and the results reflected that. Some were quite playful, which was Moholy-Nagy’s idea, that it was about discovering what materials could do when under certain circumstances. They found the experiment to be beneficial in the way they may now look at the materials they use for their own projects, the beauty that can be found in everyday materials.

The next brief was set by graphic designer Neville Brody, who made his name by designing graphics and layouts for iconic magazine The Face. The task was to design a poster for Saturday’s costume party and the theme was metal - a nod to the iconic metal themed party held by Bauhaus Dessau - but incorporating attention seeking graphics, not mixing upper case and lower case fonts and to include a made up language. The graduates had a certain amount of time to sketch up their ideas and then were taken to the Letterpress workshop to be instructed by specialist technician Helen Ingham. Bauhaus really set the way for advancements in typography and graphic design, they broke the rules in typography and layout in the way it was used, breaking free from a fussy Victorian aesthetic. Herbert Bayer was head of printing and advertising at Bauhaus Dessau and was responsible for creating much of the schools advertising, posters and literature. His method of using fonts sans serif - without any embellishment on the typeface - was to become the contemporary style to take over typography at that point in time. Bauhaus very much set the tone for directional graphic design for the next century and many influences are commonplace today.   

Brody, N. (1980). NEVILLE BRODY. The Face. Magazine, inside. 1980s.. [Editorial]. Retrieved from https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/461407924312729098/?lp=true.

 The students at Bauhaus often used a process called ‘Photomontage’ which took images from various sources and mixed them together in a collage type manner, this was considered very cutting edge. The graduates approached the poster design in a similar manner and combined photocopying, metal objects and letterpress to create their collaborative piece. They were asked to select their three favourite designs and Neville Brody then selected the winner. It was interesting as the brief asked that the design be attention grabbing, and the completed designs were all in black, white and red - as my Anarchist of Love T-shirt and very much in the style of the ‘red topped’ daily newspapers I mentioned previously. Maybe the graduates had subconsciously tapped into that, that the colours and images used were attention grabbing like those daily newspapers were intended to be. Helen Ingham (2019) described the finished design as ‘quite punk’.   

The last brief was delivered by fashion designer Holly Fulton who set the graduates the task of designing their own costumes for Saturday’s metal themed costume party as well as decorate the gallery space at Central Saint Martins. They had to be inspired by the costumes of artist and choreographer Oskar Schlemmer, who ran the Bauhaus theatre group. They were encouraged to think big, she wanted to see unique and interesting shapes emerging, Bauhaus was all about uniqueness. She said at the party they would have to pair up and involve themselves in the ‘Bauhaus Dance’ - which involved dancing in pairs without touching, but the wild stamping of feet and leaping in the air were highly encouraged! The graduates some up with a sub theme of ‘opposites attract’ like a magnet would attract, so worked this into their Bauhaus dance by incorporating dance moves which mirrored each other.

Binnmann, R. (1929). Metallisches Fest. [Photograph]. Retrieved from http://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/57672/rudolph-binnemann-metallisches-fest-german-about-1929/.

The graduates were given some metal objects to start them off and then quickly realised a trip to the shops was needed to gather more materials. The found hardware stores and the kitchen departments of interiors shops were the best places, and returned with a huge selection of goodies to inspire their designs. Costume parties at Bauhaus were highly competitive, it was all about who was the most avant garde and different. The graduates costumes were a huge success and really portrayed the Bauhaus spirit of experimentation and collaboration. If it wasn’t for the Bauhaus we may never of entertained the collaborative culture in the way we have, and still continue to do.    

Vic Reeves had designed himself a metallic cyclops horse costume, which was certainly unique! He surely must have been inspired by the Bauhaus sense of experimentation. His comedy has always erred to the side of the avant garde, and was one of the pioneers of the alternative comedy scene. The Bauhaus parties were special to Walter Gropius, that when he died in in Boston, Massachusetts in 1969 at his request a metal themed ‘Fiesta a la Bauhaus’ party was held with ‘drinking, dancing, laughing and loving’.....very apt.  

Websites:

Smirnova, E. (n.d). Basic Color Theory by Kandinsky. Retrieved from https://ekaterinasmirnova.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/basic-color-theory-by-kandinsky-44/.

Schneider, S.R. (2011). The Wassily Chair By Marcel Breuer. Retrieved from https://www.gentlemansgazette.com/wassily-chair-model-b3-by-marcel-breuer/.

Bauhaus 100. (n.d). Herbert Bayer. Retrieved from https://www.bauhaus100.com/the-bauhaus/people/masters-and-teachers/herbert-bayer/.

Documentary:

Moir, J. (Presenter) & Lloyd, S. (Director). (2019). Bauhaus Rules with Vic Reeves [Television series documentary]. In Lloyd. S (Producer), Design Season. London, England: BBC Four.

[hellyescharlesedwards]

The Range in Spades.

By Peter Craven. 

As with everyone, My Fair Lady is an ancient memory for Charles Edwards, who seems to oscillate from the Rex Harrison repertoire to Shakespeare – Noël Coward’s Blithe Spirit with Angela Lansbury in the West End and America, but also Oberon to Judi Dench’s Titania, directed by Peter Hall. 

“I was fascinated by it as a child,” he says. “The LP of the original with Rex and Julie [Andrews] I found – I can’t remember how old I would have been, but quite little – but I remember being really fascinated by the wit, even at that stage. I knew it was very clever and very sharp and very English, particularly the way Rex did it.” 

Edwards is the new Henry Higgins in Julie Andrews’ production of My Fair Lady. It’s the Hamlet of high-comedy roles and arguably the greatest of all musicals. So what does he do with Higgins’ sprechgesang? Does he follow the notes or does he do what Rex Harrison did on Broadway in 1956, opposite Andrews’ Eliza Doolittle, hitting a note every so often but speaking his way through? 

“I follow that,” Edwards says, of the latter. “I personally find if you follow the notes in Higgins’ songs, what is revealed to you is that they’re not nearly as much fun. They actually become rather leaden. And what you need with those songs is great lightness and dexterity. 

“I’d been playing around with doing it slightly off the beat, trying to maybe be a little bit clever with it. But Guy Simpson, our brilliant musical director, says it’s much better if you can speak as much as you like but just stick to the beat. It’s more real, there’s more of the character. Higgins knows what he’s saying, he doesn’t have to dither either side of the beat.” Frederick Loewe, after all, wrote it for Harrison, knowing he couldn’t sing. “I think that’s perhaps why if you try to sing more than one should it’s less interesting because it is written for the man who was going to do it like that.” 

Michael Redgrave famously refused the role of Higgins because it meant committing to a long run. How does Edwards feel about a longish stretch of phonetics and feminist musical comedy? “Oh, I could do it for a while,” he says. “I arrived, performed it in Brisbane, and now I’m rehearsing it in a way… for my own satisfaction. Something which would happen in four or six weeks of rehearsal is now happening to me, internally, just myself, finding my way. I feel like I’m still starting out even though the performance is there. I could do it for a bit longer because there is a lot more to explore.” 

I tell him I’ve just watched the recording of him playing Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing – the one role Harrison recorded for Caedmon, which is largely in prose and the Bard’s most Shavian play. “It was really fun,” Edwards says of his stint opposite Eve Best at the Globe in the role with a family resemblance to Higgins. “Julie [Andrews] likes comparing Shaw as the natural successor to Shakespeare in terms of that kind of comedy. I’m very drawn to both of these roles. That was a joy to do.” He adds that he learnt something from the Globe, because it’s rougher, more extroverted theatre. “If it’s done with wit,” he says, “it can be a great crowd-pleaser, without being naff. And I think it has informed my work to such an extent that often since I’ve been told, ‘Just calm down, Charles.’ ” 

When I tell him he was very good as the Tory whip in This House, the parliamentary play by James Graham, done by the National Theatre, he says of the author, “I don’t know how old he is, he’s something annoying like… he’s probably hit 30. I hope he has.” But he adds that at 47 himself he’s probably a bit younger than the received image of Higgins from the film of My Fair Lady, even though Shaw describes him as a pleasant-looking man of 40. It must be odd to inhabit a role with such a powerful acting ghost in the background. 

I once saw Harrison – very, very old – at an airport sweeping past in what looked exactly like the hat and coat he – and Edwards – wears in the opening scene of My Fair Lady in Covent Garden. “There’s a lot, I’m sure, in the production we’ve inherited that he insisted on,” Edwards says. “I’m sure that will be true of the hat … And here we are now, probably wearing the very weave he ordered from a particular tailor.” 

Of course, everyone likes the cut of Higgins’ cloth and would like to make it their own. George Clooney, of all people, is said to have had an eye on the role when Emma Thompson wanted to make a new film of it with Carey Mulligan as Eliza. And with the old George Cukor film, Alan Jay Lerner, treacherously, wanted Peter O’Toole, still in his 30s, rather than Harrison. Like O’Toole, Edwards does both ends of the acting spectrum: the light-as-air prose comedy of Shaw and the poetic majesties of Shakespeare. He worked with Peter Hall, the founder of the Royal Shakespeare Company. 

“I’ve done quite a lot with him,” he says. “I think I auditioned one year when he used to run the season at Bath and he took a shine and kept wanting me back to do this and that.” His work with Hall included another Much Ado, where he played Don Pedro. “He got it into his head,” Edwards says, “that Don Pedro at the end was like Malvolio or Antonio, the man who gets left alone.” So Edwards’ Don was a bit in love with Claudio and something of “a real devil”. 

His Oberon to Dench’s Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream came from another of Hall’s bright ideas. “Peter put it to me, ‘Look, I’ve got this idea, it’s like Elizabeth and Essex…’ They did a prelude to the evening where the players were assembling to put on a play for Elizabeth I and then Elizabeth/Judi arrives and selects me.” He says that Dench, like Andrews, is great to be with and “just as nervous and scared as the rest of us all are. They’re very great company people; their fun is being in the company.” This was the second time he’d worked with Dench because he’d been her fancy man, Sandy, when she played Judith Bliss in Coward’s classic comedy Hay Fever. He loves the lightness of My Fair Lady and the way it can modulate into the gravity of “I’ve Grown Accustomed to her Face”, with its utterly moody interplay between hilarities of exasperation, and something else, something at the edge of heartbreak. 

Of course, acting careers have their light and dark. Harrison, high comedian though he was, did Preston Sturges’s Unfaithfully Yours, that demon study of jealousy. Marcello Mastroianni, in many ways his European equivalent, made some of the more serious masterpieces, everything from 8 ½ to La Notte. And Edwards went straight from acting with Olivia Williams in Harley Granville Barker’s Waste to doing a chocolate-box soap TV drama, The Halcyon, with her. He says Granville Barker stands up very well when you prune him back and you know he thinks this of Shaw, too – the way “The Rain in Spain” crystallises something Shaw takes for granted and talks around – and does so operatically. “I find it very touching, that bit,” Edwards says. “It’s wonderful to do.” 

And he’s at pains to defend Higgins, the man who – at Harrison’s insistence – was given another Act II number, “A Hymn to Him”. “He’s not a snob,” Edwards says. “He’s trying to remove the social gaps. He’s trying to erase them, in a rather perverse way by wanting everyone to speak the same and dismiss regional accents – but he’s not a snob. He’s an egalitarian.” 

It’s always a fascinating thing to listen to an actor let his mind roam about the ins and outs, the winding staircase of his career. Charles Edwards went to a preparatory school named Amesbury in Surrey, which he says was “pure Decline and Fall, full of eccentrics, some of them quite dangerous eccentrics”. His salvation was Hamlet. “I was invited by – you know, we all have these teachers who encourage us – his name is Simon Elliot and he’ll still come and see me in shows now. ‘I’d like to talk to you about Hamlet,’ he said. ‘Oh yeah?’ ”

From there, a career. Here he is on Angela Lansbury: “She is in every way fit. In Blithe Spirit she did this extraordinary dance with these jerky movements as she was preparing for a séance. I don’t know what it was but I know every night she loved doing it and changing it.” And on Maria Aitken, brilliant as the wife of John Cleese’s Archie in A Fish Called Wanda, who directed Edwards in The 39 Steps: “With comedy she immediately knows, ‘That’s what I want for this show.’ And that it has to be taken very seriously. She’s the person you need at the centre, taking it absolutely seriously.” She insisted that Edwards – who was the production’s original Hannay in The 39 Steps – had to play the role when it transferred to Broadway. “She was lovely. She fought for me and she said, ‘You need the Englishman. You need the backbone.’ And they brought me over even though the rest of the cast was two Americans and one Canadian. It was great, I was thrilled. But it’s the kind of humour that can tip. It’s got to be tasteful, it’s got to have taste. Taste is the key with humour that involves an audience.” 

All of which brings us round to the ending of My Fair Lady where Eliza comes back to Higgins. She has sung that she can do “Without You”. “Absolutely,” he says, “and this is heightened by the ending, the fact that some people would ask why does she come back to him. But there has to be a meeting of minds, a meeting of souls, and that’s what he realises right at the end. She comes back to show him that she has to be there, but she is in charge. And he sees that and accepts that. And all of that we try to do in three seconds of the show.” 

Edwards laughs. 

So what is it like to work with Julie Andrews as she re-creates the original production of My Fair Lady by the legendary Moss Hart? “It was a real treat, it’s an extraordinary thing and very touching to see her remembering it,” Edwards says. 

Obviously the production is a blueprint, which he had to fit himself to, but the man who is best known here for his stint in Downton Abbey adds, “But you have to imbue it with a new texture.”.

Taken from The Saturday Paper, published Jul 15, 2017.

#Charles Edwards #my fair lady #interviews

[sonicoverlook]

You Want More: In Conversation With Madeleine Mayi

I recently chatted with SoCal pop-soulstress Madeleine Mayi, who has unleashed her highly anticipated debut 6-track EP Just The Six Of Us unto the world. Diane Birch and The Fall-era Norah Jones are easy comparisons that come to mind, but Madeleine blazes her own trail with incisive, personal lyrics and an impressive set of pipes to boot. Take a gander at our interview below while you get your ears on her debut EP over on Spotify. 

Andrew Steeley: Hey, Madeleine! Congratulations on the release of Just The Six Of Us! What was your frame of mind when you wrote these songs and what were some of the messages you hoped to convey?

Madeleine Mayi: Hey Andrew! First of all I want to say a huge thanks to you as you have been very supportive and excited about my music. It’s been a source of encouragement for me, so thank you! I am so happy to do this interview!

Thank you for your congratulations!! I could not be more excited. It certainly feels surreal… it’s been a long time in coming— from a recording/writing process standpoint but also an emotional process standpoint. The EP is titled “Just the Six of Us” because every song refers to a fairly life changing moment in my life in which a different part of my character was tested. My writing tends to pull from very specific moments, and then I try and make them universal and accessible to everyone in some way.

I guess a big overall theme I want to convey is that it’s possible to have lots of different sides to you and still be consistent. I have always been dreamy and distant, while also being logical and honest. I want to show that it’s okay to be all those things at once- that whatever those adjectives are for you (even if they seem mismatched), that’s just part of the coolness of you.

AS: The first track we heard from the release was "You Want More." (Fitting, because that's how I feel about your music!). Was that the first song you wrote for the EP, or did it come along later in the process? How did that song come about?

MM: Ha. Yes, that song title has served me well so far… “You Want More” was not the first song I wrote for the EP. The first song I wrote was actually "Santa Barbara", the live acoustic track. That song is near and dear to me - as it references my hometown. But "You Want More" came about when I got that groove stuck in my head. The rhythm of (what used to be a piano part) just kinda got stuck and it all flowed from there. It felt natural to keep the song so simple, with just a verse and chorus section - because the groove was enough to get my point across. The song is about being in a relationship and knowing that the other person wants something different than you, but not in a bad way, just in a new way. It’s a song about discovery really, which everyone gets... which is why I think I ended up choosing to release it first.

AS: There's another track on the EP called "Strawberry Hair" that we heard in advance. In fact, you dedicated an Instagram post to telling the story behind the song. Placing yourself back into the lyrics, what are some of the constants in your life and some of the twists and turns you've experienced that you personally relate to?

MM: For me, actually coming to music school was a big twist. I was pretty much dead set on not going to college at all. (And I am so grateful that I have the privilege and opportunity to — that is something I hope to never take for granted.) But then when someone I cared about told me that I shouldn’t go away, that’s when I started thinking about leaving. That’s pretty classic for me. So I applied and ended up getting in to this program without knowing how special it was. And I am so grateful. So — kind of like my mom when she moved away, I found myself in a city alone, starting a new life. It’s very much a song from my experience, by looking through the lens of her life.

AS: You're currently studying Popular Music at USC, which sounds like the coolest program EVER. Tell us about your experience in the program so far.

MM: Yes, I am. And yes it’s fun (as everyone says.. “oh that must be so fun, what do you do just sing all day?? haha”) but it’s also a lot of work. None of the programs here at USC mess around, and the Pop program is no exception. I could not be in a better place.

AS: As a songwriter, what are some of the more vivid lessons you've learned from your studies at USC? And how are you balancing life as a student with your life as a professional musician?

MM: I think the most important lesson I’ve learned as a songwriter is that while it’s good to take classes and learn the tools, the best way to improve your songwriting is just to go out and live life. Try new things and meet new people, that’s where inspiration will really flow- when you’re doing things out of the ordinary.

Balancing school and work is sometimes difficult, but honestly the program here is so focused on preparing us for exactly what we want to do, that it all sort of feels like one effort. I don’t really differentiate the two that much.

AS: I had the good fortune of seeing you in concert at The Mint here in Los Angeles back in February, and I was so captivated by how much fun you genuinely seem to have on stage! You're clearly well ahead of the game in terms of poise and stage presence. Where does that confidence come from?

MM: Thank you!! Performing is my passion, really. Something about singing to people just makes sense to me… I think it’s my most honest form of communication. I think that’s where the confidence comes from, is knowing that I need to do it. I have to sing and play music to be able to really explain what I am feeling… so the confidence comes from a deep relationship I have with music as a tool of communication I guess. If that makes any sense at all. Ha.

AS: You started your set with a cover of The Zutons' "Valerie" (in the spirit of Amy Winehouse's version) and capped it off with a killer rendition of "Use Me," the Bill Withers tune -- perfect bookends for a set of your own soulful songs. What's your "desert island" mix of influential songs?

MM: Oy. "Ain’t No Sunshine" by Bill Withers would have to be pretty high on that list, same with “I’d Rather Go Blind” by Etta James.. Another would be Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah”. “Gravity” by John Mayer and probably “Where the Streets Have No Name” by U2. A pretty eclectic mix.. I am most influenced by music that I feel is so authentic that it could never be recreated as beautifully as the original.

AS: What are you listening to right now? Favorite album of 2017?

MM: Ooof. Tough question. I really really love Anti by Rihanna.. Definitely into all that Tom Misch has put out.. Love the new Kendrick. Love the new Harry Styles… Love Lianne La Havas’ solo album called Blood…. there’s so much.

AS: Any plans for an LP down the road or do you see more momentum in favor of singles and short-form releases?

MM: Honestly, no. Since the EP is 6 songs in total, that’s almost equivalent to the length of a short album. So I am starting out with an amount I feel good about. I plan on releasing a few singles this summer and then probably officially starting a new project up in Fall, and seeing where that leads— but no, no hard plans for a full length.  

AS: Where can folks catch you live in concert next?

MM: I am having an EP release party this weekend, on Friday and I have been focusing a lot of energy on that. I don’t have a lot of shows planned to be honest, because I have been performing so much that I need a break. If anyone wants to go to the EP release party it’ll be a sweet house party set up with drinks and I’ll be playing a full set with my band. Follow me on Instagram to get the address. (mad.may.music)

***

If you can’t catch Madeleine Mayi’s live show, you’re seriously missing out. But you can catch her any time on Facebook and Instagram.

#indie #music #indie music #indiemusic #interview

[a-deadly-serenade]

Chasing the Dragon: Greed/Reader Fic (Chapter 2)

so i posted this last night and when i checked the tags, it was nowhere to be seen so… guess i’ll try again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[it is also available on my ao3 account: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061765/chapters/22418879]

You’ve been in an apprenticeship with the renowned bio-alchemist Shou Tucker for several months now, the both of you hard at work trying to crack the secrets of human-chimera transmutation. After having dedicated so much time to this strenuous field of study, the both of you are thrilled when a breakthrough is made that allows you to become a certified state alchemist. Watch and certificate in hand, you head back to your hometown of Dublith to celebrate, where you’ve planned to meet an old friend at your favorite locale: The Devil’s Nest.

Chapter 2: Marry the Night

The air was heavy, and it was difficult to breathe, as though the atmosphere was trying to smother you. A charred scent filled your nostrils, it was pungent, but you could pick up traces of different chemicals as well. Was that chloride… hydrogen…?

A thick wall of steam, (or was it smoke?) permeated throughout the room, and it coiled around every piece of furnishing and seeped into every crack in the foundation. You coughed, and a slight burn stung the back of your throat as you inhaled, ashes greedily sticking to your windpipe. Your eyes began to water, and your hands went up to wipe away the tears that trickled down your cheeks.

You stumbled around in search of a window, becoming disoriented in the smogs suffocating embrace. Your fingers clawed at the latch once you found it, and the wind gave a mighty howl as it burst into the area, a clear path finally being forged in the darkness.

Piercing yellow sclera were the first things you managed to make out, their owner peering up at you with an eerie gaze. You noticed ears perk up at the sound of your ragged breathing, and you backed further into the corner as one of its long, spindly legs dragged across the concrete floor in an attempt to reach you.

Curled, unnaturally lengthy claws dug into the cement, leaving deep impressions as it heaved its heavy body into an upright position. A curved tail swung from side to side, and you could surmise that it was at least canine in origin. But you had never seen a dog this large before, let alone one that was so bizarrely proportioned.

A ragged bark erupted from its enormous mouth, saliva dribbling from the points of its canines. The way that it strolled over to you seemed almost pained, as though it took a great deal of effort to even take a few steps.

As it drew closer, you note that it is not only coated in sleek, black fur, but that it also has a mop of thick, brown hair on the top of its head. It was very strange, almost as if it were sporting some sort of cheap wig.

It gave you that look again, the one that caused your stomach to turn and the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. It appeared as if it were pleading with you, begging for you to do something… but what?

“Ah, thank you so much for opening that window. It was beginning to get a bit stuffy in here.”

The creature immediately slinked away from you when it recognized that voice, its tail going between its legs, and it shuffled near a stack of discarded books in an attempt to hide itself.

“Mr. Tucker, when did you get here?” you were in a bit of a daze, uncertain as to what was going on. “Is… is this the transmutation you told me about?”

A sadistic grin erupted onto his face, and he clapped his hands together, chalk dust exploding from his palms and coating his glasses. “Yes, yes it is. I was so overjoyed that I called Central Command as soon as I became assured that she would live.”

“And we’re glad that you did, Mr. Tucker.”

Rays of sunlight suddenly filtered in through the window as the clouds parted, which allowed the beams of light to brighten up the gloomy office space. Your startled gasp was the only response that your astonished brain could send in return for who you had just laid eyes on, and you urgently straightened yourself up so that you could give the proper salute.

“Your excellency, King Bradley, sir.”

He gave you a warm smile, a hearty chuckle shaking his large frame. “At ease, soldier. There’s no need for all of this unnecessary military etiquette. I am just here to see the groundbreaking work that you and the good doctor here have worked so hard on.”

You gave him a nod, your body still a bit rigid from your nerves. But how could you not be all jittery? King Bradley himself came down to assess the progress that you and Shou had made. You were honored.

Shou was the first to enter, and he strode over to the creature, taking a firm hold of the collar around its neck and forced it to sit in the center of the room. “Please forgive her,” he said, and tugged harshly on the lead so that it would quit fidgeting. “She’s a little shy.”

Bradley’s visible eye narrowed at the specimen, a high pitched whine of fear emanating from her as he scrutinized every little aspect. “Are you sure that your transmutation between human and animal was successful?” he queried, and sounded skeptical that this was indeed the real deal.

“Of course,” Shou released his grip so that he could face his creation. He bopped her on the snout, and in a firm voice commanded, “Speak.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused as to what Shou was trying to accomplish here. You had heard… her bark earlier, what more could he be looking for? She appeared more dog than human, after all.

She glared up at Shou, her mouth slowly opening so that she could answer her master’s order. “K… King… Bra… dley…”

Stunned silence echoed between the both of you, your jaw going slack, and eyes wide in astonishment to what had just transpired. “It… it talked!” you shouted, filled with excitement. You could not believe it! Shou had finally done it!

“My, my. Now that was quite the surprise.” Bradley appeared more than pleased, and he gave Shou a congratulatory pat on the back. “Well done. Thanks to the research of both you and your partner, we’ll be able to make great advancements in the field of bio-alchemy. I believe I have seen enough to assure that the two of you become certified state alchemists.”

You felt your heart swell with happiness, overjoyed that all those months of hard work had finally paid off. You bowed your head to express your gratitude. “Thank you so much, sir. I am eternally grateful.”

“Nonsense, you earned it,” he replied, a grin back on his face. “If you would allow me to escort the two of you to Central Command, we can get all of the necessary paperwork in order so that you may receive your pocket watches.”

“What a marvelous idea!” Shou declared, before he reached for a long chain and hooked it into the collar around the chimera’s neck. He gave it a few good jerks and when he was satisfied that it would hold, he let it coil around the creature’s feet. “She is secure, sir.”

“Excellent, we wouldn’t want her escaping like the last batch of human-chimera’s that we had.”

“Oh trust me, (Y/N) and I are much more competent than those fools that ran the previous experiment. We won’t let something so valuable slip under our noses.” Shou assured him, and nudged his head in your direction as a signal for you to follow the both of them outside.

You flushed, embarrassed that you had kept them waiting, and quickly recomposed yourself. You sneaked past the chimera and were about to shut the door, when an eerie sound rumbled in the creature’s throat.

Your hand froze over the knob, a cold sheen of sweat forming on your brow. Did it just call out your name? No, that was impossible, that couldn’t be what you heard. You doubted that Shou would go out of his way to teach it your name. But this foreboding feeling in the back of your mind challenged you, and it was practically impossible to shake off. Was it perhaps plausible…?

“(Y/N).”

Shou’s firm voice snapped you out of your reverie, and you apologized for dozing off like that. “How irresponsible of me,” you mumbled and pushed against the door to close it; the chimera’s stare penetrating your mind, silently begging at you, silently pleading at you.

“He… lp… me…”

Your fingers delicately traced the pattern of the Amestrian Dragon, the symbol of the military’s state alchemist program. It was still hard for you to believe that you had been finally granted the title that you struggled for months to achieve, but, here you were. That dream had finally become a reality.

The examination process had not been difficult for you at all, and you passed all of the required tests with flying colors. When you finally went to meet up with King Bradley, he was very pleased with your results, and personally handed you your certificate of achievement along with your silver pocket watch.

Your heart fluttered a bit as you read over the letter once more, a crooked smile on your face as you repeatedly stopped to glance at your chosen nickname: the quantum alchemist. You found it be be quite suiting, since your research was on the development of various techniques on how to change the quantum makeup of somethings biological composition.

Excitement filled your entire being, and you could not wait to get home and surprise your parents with this announcement. You had already called ahead to let them know that you were on your way, but you had explicitly left out the detail on becoming an alchemist. You wanted to see their reactions first hand.

The train lurched forward as it entered the the station, slowly coming to a halt as the captain announced that they had successfully arrived in Dublith. You pocketed your watch and certificate, quickly gathering your things so you could begin searching for your family.

The platform was a sea of people boarding and disembarking, children crying about being hungry or wanting to go home, and adults screaming at one another to get out of the way. It was a bit overwhelming, and you stood on the tips of your toes to try and spot your parents amongst the chaos.

You caught the flash of sign with your surname printed on the front, and you politely shoved your way through, your mother being the first to spot you and she ran over to embrace you in a tight hug.

The trip home was filled with laughter and excited chatter as you discussed the months that you had spent in Central under Shou’s apprenticeship, which eventually lead to your father popping open a bottle of champagne when you decided to spill the beans on becoming an alchemist.

“This is so wonderful!” your mother shouted, and pecked you on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah kiddo, this is great.” your father added, a kind smile on his visage. “I really can’t believe that you managed to do it.”

You gave them both chaste kisses to their foreheads, appreciative of their considerate words. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know if I would have made it this far without your support.”

“Oh come on, you’ve always been really smart. There was no doubt in my mind that you wouldn’t become a state alchemist.” your father said, and poured more alcohol into your glass. “Now, whaddya say that we celebrate a little, huh?”

You laughed, always amazed at your father’s fervent appetite for the party life, but you had to decline. “I was actually going to meet some friends at a bar, if that’s alright.”

Your mother shooed off any of your concerns. “Of course it’s alright, this is your night! Go out and have fun. Just make sure that you come home safe.”

With the final hoots and hollers from your father, and the final goodbyes from your mother, you headed out into the streets of Dublith, eager to meet up with your close friends and get this evening of celebration started.

The nightlife of Dublith was certainly one of your favorite things about living in the city, and even if it paled slightly in comparison to Central’s, it was still a unique crowd that you never ceased to find enjoyment out of.

Most of the folks that you tended to hang out with were acquaintances that you had made within many of the bars situated in Dublith. Finding someone to drink with, or party with, or even just sit and relax with, was never an issue that you had to worry about. If you frequented one bar, then you practically knew everyone else that fancied themselves a connoisseur of the local entertainment.

However, out of all the pubs that you had visited thus far, your favorite probably had to be this small little place located in the inner city know as the Devil’s Nest. A lot of people gave it a bad rap since it was situated in the “bad side” of Dublith, but you had yet to be involved in a sketchy incident there. Anyone that you had met while spending time there had been very amicable, and they certainly knew how to have a good time.

It came as a bit of a surprise when you rounded the corner and saw that there was a decently sized line outside waiting to get in. Maybe they had finally decided to advertise? You gave a low chuckle, and took your spot at the end of the line.

An irritated huff escaped you when you could see no trace of your friend, even after she had promised that she would be waiting outside for you. Slight panic started to rise within you when you noticed that almost every single person that had tried to get in had been denied, and you were beginning to suspect that if she didn’t come to rescue you soon, your night would be cut short.

The bouncer gave a loud snort before he chucked a large spitball into some corner of the street, his expression blank as he glared down at you. “What do you think you’re doin’ here, kid?”

“Uh… well, you see, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.” you stutter, your cheeks tinted red from embarrassment at how pathetic you sounded.

“Sure, sure, that’s what they all say. Go on, beat it,” he grumbled, and lightly pushed you out of the que.

“H-hey! I’m not lying!” you exclaimed, and stomped your foot on the cobblestone road to assert your dominance… well, a semblance of dominance.

“Listen kid, I don’t wanna hafta use force on ya, but if you’re gonna make this difficult, then you’re really givin’ me no other choice--”

“Ulchi who are you mouthing off to now?” someone snarks from behind the hulking man.

“Back off, Martel,” he snaps, teeth bared. “It’s my job to pick and choose who gets in here, not yours.”

“That’s a friend of mine you idiot,” the much smaller woman snarls, as she shoves past Ulchi. “Treat them with a little more respect next time, will ya?” her stare is venomous as she gives a solid punch to his gut to further elaborate on her point, even if the man hardly flinches at the assault.

Ulchi raises his hands in defeat, stepping aside to allow the both of you entrance into the bar. “My bad,” he grumbled. “Maybe next time you should let us know ahead of time that someone is gonna be stoppin’ by.”

Martel ignores his complains, and you feel her slender arms wrap around your shoulders as she leads you to the bar. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes. “He’s usually much nicer, especially if you’re cute,” she gives you a wink and you blush, unaccustomed to such compliments. “But we’ve been kind of on edge lately, so we’ve been more selective on who we let in here.”

She snaps her fingers in an attempt to get the barkeeps attention, and when that doesn’t work, she whistles him over.

“What’s the big idea, Martel? Can’t you see I’m workin’?” he narrows his eyes at her, offended that she had resorted to such a cheap tactic to bring him over to the both of you.

“Quit your barkin’ Dolcetto, I brought a friend over. Make us a drink, will ya.”

“You know the layout of the bar and where all the drinks are kept. Why don’t you get it yourself?” he replied, obviously annoyed at Martel’s demanding attitude.

She simply shrugs, content with this suggestion, and extends her arm so that it may reach one of the higher shelves. Her muscles easily bend and flex to compensate for the drastic change in her bone structure, and a round of quiet laughter tumbles from you as she snatches the bottle of vodka with serpent-like reflexes.

You had never admitted this aspect of Martel to anyone else, not even your parents. You had found out that she was a human-chimera herself after she had fought off a couple of creeps, easily beating them all to the pulp with her impressive strength. The mysterious nature of how she developed is actually what inspired you to become a scientist, but you wanted to uncover these secrets with your own methods. You would never want to experiment on your friend.

“Forgive him too,” she says, as she plucks two shot glasses off the shelves as well. “Both he and Ulchi take their jobs way too seriously.”

“Hey, I keep this place safe!” Dolcetto retorts, before he scampers off to fill the order of his most recent customer.

Martel snorts and pours the both of you a shot. “If keeping this place safe means that he supplies all the idiots that come through here with enough alcohol to get them completely wasted, then, yeah, he’s doing a fine old job.”

You down your drink in one go, coughing slightly at the strong taste. “Hey Martel, what did you mean that you needed to be more careful with who you let in here?” you question, greedily accepting the next shot she offers you.

“Apparently the military police have been sniffing around here more than we would like, so the boss ordered us to only allow a few people in every night so that we wouldn’t get shut down.” she explains, acting as your personal bartender as you toss back more and more shots.

You feel the alcohol quickly take effect, your mouth going dry and head starting to swim. “Boss?” you slurr. “Who’s your boss? This is the first that I’ve heard of him.”

“Really?” she sounds amazed. “I’m a bit in awe that you’ve never seen him before, since he loves being the center of attention.”

You shrug, and steal the bottle from her slack grip so that you could take sips straight from the source. “Guess I was just havin’ too much fun with you whenever I was here,” you giggle, and bop her on the nose. “I am curious though. Where is he?”

She takes a firm hold of your arm and helps you off of your seat, accompanying you farther back into the bar. It was becoming a bit difficult for you to walk, and you imagined that Martel was becoming rather irritated at all of your stumbling and grumbling about wanting to sit down. You feel her push against the small of your back, and you suddenly find yourself in a plush leather couch.

“Oh? Now what did you bring me this time, Martel?”

A chill travels down your spine at the sound of that voice, and you jump when you realize that someone is sitting right beside you. You can tell that it’s a man, and you have to suppress yourself from laughing out loud when you observe that he is wearing sunglasses. Who the heck wears sunglasses in a dark bar?

“This is (Y/N). They were curious about you after I mentioned you in conversation, so I brought em over here to meet you.”

You couldn’t tell where Martel had wandered off to, but since you could hear her voice, you could only assume that she was still close by, which set your mind at some ease.

“Oh really now?” you hear the couch squeak as he scoots closer to you, a pointed grin on his face as he pushes his circle lenses down the bridge of his nose. “So your name’s (Y/N), huh? You a friend of Martel’s?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice his eyes, and you’re mesmerized by their unusual color. They’re a startling violet, contrasting greatly against his pale skin, and seemingly oozed power and control. You hear him chuckle and you feel your face heat up, your own eyes widening slightly as he pockets his glasses into his coat.

“I know I’m handsome, sweetheart, but I don’t like to be kept waiting for too long after I’ve asked a question.”

Your head lowers in submission, flustered that you had so easily forgotten what you had been asked. “U-uh, yeah. I’ve known her for awhile.”

“Oh? And she tells me that we’ve never met before. I find that a little odd, don’t you agree?” he drapes a strong arm across your smaller frame, pulling you closer to him.

“I-I guess.” you mumble, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. Why did you always have to get so thirsty whenever you were nervous?

You noticed that that had attracted his attention and he brings himself even nearer to your face, either out of teasing or out of curiosity.

“You guess? Well, either ya know or ya don’t. This isn’t difficult stuff, kid.”

“Y-yeah, it’s weird I’ve never seen you. She tells me that you’re loud.” you peer over at the bottle of vodka resting on the table and grab a hold of it, taking a sip to calm your nerves.

He clicked his tongue in displeasure, his head turned to the side so he could speak to Martel. “You said I was loud? What, have you been spyin’ on me while I was in the backroom?”

“That would imply that you’ve even had sex, Greed.” she hissed back, a group of patrons whooping and hollering at the comeback.

“Yikes,” you muttered, as you took a another sip of your drink.

“If you just came over here to talk shit, then you can take your little friend and go. I’m in no mood to play games tonight,” he growled back.

“Relax, Greed. I just wanna help (Y/N) have a good time, that’s all. We’re celebrating tonight.” Martel mused, and you felt her pat the top of your head.

Greed turned to face you again, a curious expression on his face. “What are ya out celebrating tonight, doll?”

You bounced excitedly in your seat, eyes alight with happiness as you whispered, “I became a certified state alchemist today.”

“A state alchemist, huh?” he looked intrigued and brought you closer, his warm breath fanning your face. “What kind of alchemist are ya?”

“A bio-alchemist, but I uh… specialize in human-chimera transmutations,” you responded, and took another swig of your vodka.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly fascinated. “Chimera’s? It’s funny that you say that, because all of my possessions are human-chimera’s.”

Skeptical laughter enveloped the space between the two of you. “Come on,” you whined, grin upturned into a twisted smile. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

He sneered, and placed his hand on your thigh, slowly groping you before his deft fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and he snatched it away from you. An exasperated “hey!” fell on deaf ears as he chugged what remained of the alcohol, thumb coming up to swipe a rogue droplet that had evaded his avaricious appetite.

“If I were teasing you, I’d probably do a little something like this,” he drawled, his grip on your waist tightening as he pushed you forward. Your startled gasp was easily swallowed by his eager mouth, and your hands trembled slightly as you gripped tightly onto his shirt when his tongue shoved past your parted lips.

The kiss was intoxicating. He tasted of whiskey and cigarette smoke, but those were easily overpowered by this flavor of unhindered, raw power. Your fingers laced themselves in his short hair in an attempt to steady yourself, and you crawled into his lap, a shudder going through your body as he bit down on your lower lip.

You suddenly jolt forward when you feel his strong hands on your backside, a quiet moan slipping from you when he slaps your behind. You don’t know if it’s from the alcohol, or from the thrill of it all, but you slowly begin to grind into him, and the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest is a clear indication that he’s enjoying this turn of events.

He thrusts you forward, pressing the two of you even closer, a quiet whimper reaching his ears as he pulls away from you so he can latch himself onto your neck. You flinch as his sharp teeth sink into your soft flesh, but he doesn’t pierce the skin, and a shaky exhales rushes out of your nostrils when he drags his cold tongue across the abrasion, soothing the newborn welt.

You’re helpless under his touch as he continues his work, and you’re more than certain that your throat and clavicle are coated in bruises. A particularly harsh bite causes you to moan loudly, and his hands are in your hair, a forceful tug keeping your head in the position that he wants it to be in.

Goose-pimples erupt on your stomach when he palms you under your top, and you keen into his caresses, head going to rest on his shoulder as you’re reduced to writhing mess in his lap.

“God…”  you gasped, and your mind swam with ecstasy when he started to kiss along your jawline.

He snickered darkly, and hooked his finger under your chin so that you could face him. “Actually the name’s Greed, but if you wanted to keep calling me that, I don’t think I would have any objections.”

Low laughter rumbled through you in response, and you leaned in to kiss him again, hungry for more. That is, until your eyes caught sight of the time on your wristwatch. “What?” you exclaimed, and Greed tried to embrace you again when he grew impatient with your stalling. You perked up to try and get more light, and paid no attention to the man currently marking your chest with a trail of love bites.

“Damn, it’s really that late already,” you grumbled.

“Hey, what’s the big idea? I’m giving you the whole package here, lovin’ that people could only dream of havin’, and you’re over here ignoring me!” Greed whined.

You glanced back down at him, and you felt your cheeks heat up again. “Uh… well, I told my parents that I would be home by a certain time, so I really need to get going. If I don’t, then my mom is going to start to worry, and you do not want to be on the receiving end of one of her lectures.”

“What? Exactly how old are you?”

You shoved out of his grip, a pout on your face. “Old enough… I’m an adult!” you defended. “It’s my parents who worry.”

You heard him sigh, and stumbled back slightly when he stood up and placed a gentle grip on your waist. “I’ll walk you home then.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that…”

“Come on, you’re not embarrassed about heading out with me are you? I’d find that a little surprising considering how well acquainted we became on the couch.” he had that stupid grin on his face again, and you could only remain silent in your own bashfulness as he lead you towards the exit.

“Boss,” a large burly man called out to Greed. “Where are you going at this time of night? You know that the military police like combing around the area when it gets darker.”

Greed rolled his eyes, and patted the guy’s face. “Relax, Roa. I’m just escorting the lovely (Y/N) back home. They’re under a curfew,” he teased, and ruffled your hair when you punched his bicep.

“Are you sure that it’s safe?” Roa pressed, concerned creases expressing his worry.

“We’ll be fine. If worse comes to worse, I can take care of it. Besides, we’ll have Bido keepin’ an eye on the two of us.” Greed said, as he tried to alleviate his friend’s apprehension.

“Bido’s gonna be trailing the two of you?”

Greed nodded his head. “Yeah, can you find him and tell him what I just said, by the way?”

Roa rumbled something about Greed being a pain in his ass, before he disappeared into the crowd to find this Bido that he was tasked to talk to.  

With all of the housekeeping taken care of, the two of you walked out into the streets of Dublith, the cold air welcoming the both of you as you began the trek back to your house. A ferocious chill traveled straight to the marrow of your bones, and you blushed when Greed placed his coat around your smaller frame, a quiet thank you expressing your gratitude.

The fur tickled your nose, and your cheeks heated up again as his scent overwhelmed you. You snuck a peek at him, and your heart skipped a beat. The way he looked in the moonlight… it was a sight to behold; the way his eyes glittered in the soft white light, the way the shadows danced over his impressive physique, the way his expression managed to look so peaceful and yet so commanding at the same time.

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you that it’s impolite to stare, kid?” he chastised, a playful smirk on his face.

You immediately turned away, mortified that he had caught you. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

He gave you a light-hearted shove in return. “You know, I honestly didn’t believe you when you told me that you were an alchemist.”

“And why’s that?” you snapped back.

“What kind of alchemist is friend’s with a human-chimera, and hangs out at the dingiest bar in Dublith?” he replied, and still sounded skeptical himself.

You huffed and pointed to yourself with your index finger. “This alchemist.” you retorted, your tone the most confident that it had been all night.

Greed laughed, and placed a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer. “Is Martel what made you want to become an alchemist?”

“You’re more perceptive than I initially thought,” you said, a sly grin forming on your lips when he glared down at you. “Which reminds me, you said that all of your employees were human-chimera’s too,” Images of the men that you had met at the bar flashed through your mind, and you wondered if you could strike a deal with the patron of The Devil’s Nest. “Would you be willing to help me with my research?”

“Is a prospective member of the state military trying to bargain with me, a scummy mob boss?” Greed cooed. “Now that’s something I did not see coming.”

“Are you gonna help me or not?” you repeated, not really caring about Greed’s shady past as long as he could be of some use.

“I guess I could, but you’re going to have to give me something in return, an equivalent exchange. Seems only fair.” he whispered into your ear, a delighted grin erupting on his visage when he saw you visibly tremble.

You supposed that made sense, after all, he was sticking his neck out to assist you with your research. You could do him a little favor in return, where was the harm in that?

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well you see,” he unexpectedly shoved you onto a nearby wall, his large frame pinning you there as he stared you down with a predatory gaze. “I’m Greed, and I want everything that the world can give me: money, sex, women, status, and glory. The one thing that is out of my reach, however, is immortality. That’s where you come in, sweetheart.”

Your breath fogged up between the two of you as it came out in ragged gasps, your heartbeat pounding in your chest. “W-what?” you croaked out, and swallowed a large lump in your throat, panic beginning to take its hold on you.

“Come on, you’re an alchemist, right? You should know a thing or do about immortality.”

“You can’t possibly mean a philosopher’s stone… those only exist in legends!” you hiss, irritated that he had scared the living hell out of you to talk about such a ridiculous concept.

He scoffed, and splayed his hands over his chest. “I’m not talking about some dusty old stone, I’m already plenty covered in that department.”

Before you could ask what he was babbling about, the tips of his fingers turned the color of charcoal and grew razor sharp claws, which he used to pry himself open.

A horrified cry erupted from you as he did this, paralyzed from fear when your eyes landed on a bright red stone beating like a heart, veins sprouting around its perimeter and transporting what you could only assume was blood.

“W-what is that?” you whispered.

“A philosopher’s stone. Weren’t you paying attention to anything I just said?” Greed removed the invading ligaments away, and the wound quickly sewed itself shut in a flash of red lighting.

This couldn’t be real, you had to be dreaming all of this. Perhaps you had passed out on the couch and this was all just a figment of your imagination. “What are you?” you managed to croak out.

“I’m a homunculus,” he said, and brought up his left hand to show off a red tattoo inked into his skin.

You felt yourself shake with nervous laughter. This definitely had to be a dream. “That’s impossible, there’s no such thing.”

“Nothing is impossible, doll. I think the philosopher’s stone in my core proved just as much.” he replied.

You gave your thigh a harsh slap, a sorry attempt at trying to rouse yourself awake. “This can’t be real... ”

“Afraid it is,” Greed reached over and pinched your cheek, an offended gasp and harsh slap to his prodding hand only confirming his statement.

Your mind was racing to try and rationalize what had just occurred. One thing was certain at least, and that was that he trusted you with this information. You sincerely doubted that he would have revealed such a monstrous secret if he did not think that you would keep it. Even if you were still a bit apprehensive about all this, you took some comfort in this fact, and decided that it would be best to just roll with it.

“Let’s say that I believe you’re a homunculus, alright? Then why would someone like you need to gain immortality? Aren’t you already immortal?” you gave him a slight push, a signal for him to back off and give you some space.

He easily complied and pushed himself off the wall, stepping aside so the two of you could begin your walk once again. “Even though I am built a lot sturdier than most, I can still die if I am killed enough times. My stone can run out of mojo, it isn’t some limitless supply of energy.”

You nodded in understanding. “Alright, but a philosopher’s stone is really the only thing that I’ve heard of that could grant immortality.” you confessed.

“I guess that means you’re just gonna have to start searching for other ways then, huh?” he countered, and grimaced when the both of you rounded a corner and he spotted a house at the end of the block.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I was assigned an almost impossible task,” you responded, a shy smile back on your visibly worn features.

The remainder of the stroll passed by in silence, and when you were at the base of the steps that lead to your home, you slid off Greed’s jacket and handed it back to him. “Thank you for walking me here, I really appreciate it.”

He gave you a big grin before he cupped your face and placed a kiss on your lips. This one was much different from the first that you had shared at the bar. It was sweeter, a lot gentler, and you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach. You would have no objection to staying this way for the rest of the evening, the two of you basked in the silver moonlight, and a twinge of sadness shot through you when he pulled away.

“I look forward to working with you, (Y/N),” he husked, and brushed away a stray lock of your hair.

You gave him one last peck before you began to ascend the stairs. “You better not have lied when you said that you’d help me,” you called from the top.

“I never lie, doll-face.” he shouted back. “Now off ya go, get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Greed,” with one final wave you walked into your family home, a mixture of emotions travelling through you as you made your way into your bedroom.

When you spotted your bed you practically leapt into its waiting embrace, your thoughts jumbled as you tried to make sense out of everything that had transpired. Not only were you going to be receiving some first-hand data on human-chimera’s, but you had also met and… made out with a homunculus. Dublith’s nightlife was definitely much more exciting than Central’s.

Another smile found its way to your lips as you snuggled into your pillows, and when you felt the heavy blanket of sleep wrap around your exhausted body, you were more than certain that you would be dreaming of the man with the electrifying purple eyes.

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #greed the avaricious #greed fma #greed x reader #reader #king bradley #shou tucker #martel fma #dolcetto fma #roa fma #bido fma #ulchi fma #fanfiction #chapter 2 #if this doesn't post iSTFG