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nukyster-blog · 1 year

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Avalanche

Song for inspiration

.-.-.

The mountain was hidden underneath a deadly snow-white brilliance, not even the animals were brave enough to leave their shelters. The ice kissed air came with a great snowfall that soon gave-way to a blizzard, as if the sky bursted open.

The stillness in the white landscape was beautiful, peaceful. Unblemished by the human touch; because who would be so foolish to go up the mountain and taunt the Gods?

Well, Ivar was, although he’d rather call himself stubborn as a mule, instead of a fool.

His presence was a thorn in the eye for Skadi: Goddess of Snow, Winter and Mountains.

Ivar was aware of his audacious move; for the wind chilled him to the bone and more than once made him tumble down a good few feet.

By now his leather gloves were clumps of ice, the fabric spun around his fingers soaked and freezing.

Yet, in this cold was still a humble flame, rage, the furnace and the fuel Ivar lived by. It was what had kept him going; all throughout his life he had one mantra he clung to: the cripple would show them, show them all.

And he would, Ivar the boneless; the baby who shouldn’t have survived his first night.

Ivar the boneless; the boy who shouldn’t have taken one step. Ivar the boneless; the young man who endured, survived and overcame his handicap.

Oh, and he would show them all alright.

Through gritted teeth came a low aggravated hiss when his sledge got stuck behind a branche again. Crawling back he yanked the sledge loose, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Twenty-four-thousand, he’d counted to twenty-four-thousand. One hand in front of the other, from one till twenty-four-thousand. That should be high enough.

Redirecting his route, Ivar scanned the white scenery, from the line of white trees up to the mountain, to the other line of white trees, about six hundred feet across. “One, two, three…” He counted out loud to keep his blue lips moving, “...two-hundred-eighty nine, three hundred…”

Craning his head back Ivar narrowed his eyes to crinkled slits; fog had settled atop of the mountain as a sinister curtain.

His heart was like a drum; as realization sank in; the snow could be his deathbed.

With his canines he tore the leather gloves off and untangled the fabrics. He needed both hands.

Crawling atop of the sledge Ivar grabbed the edge with numbed fingers and closed his eyes.

He screamed in rage. And there was something more in that scream; a pain behind all the anger. All of this, the constant rage; dislike of authority, his short temper; it was nothing but a shield for the pain. The constand seclusion, the overall loneliness. And never being treated as an equal. He was always kneeling beneath them. Ivar the boneless; would never be a man.

The scream came forced from his mouth and lungs, but it bled from his ego, from deeply within. His pain echoed between the lines of trees, trailing upwards, crossing the fog until heading towards his goal.

With a crack mightier than thunder, the snow-pack up high split into two. The part cut-loose began to move, accelerating with every scream.

In seconds Ivar’s sledge was picked up by a rolling frigid white sea of snow. For moments he was nothing more than a leaf in the wind. And yet he still screamed; because by the Gods, let those bastards hear him roar. Let them know that their downfall was by the hands of the cripple.

The army below the mountain heared the cracking of violence coming their way, an avalanche wiping through the forest. As a colossus hand it grabbed everything and everyone in its way. Although some manage to get on their horse or get onto their feet, it was too late. The frigid white took them all down, one by one. Tent by tent. Man by man.

Throughout all the screams of terror there was a laugh; manic and thrilled beyond joy. One that did not fear death, because revenge overcame him.

Ivar victored, thanking the Goddess Skadi and welcoming her ice-cold embrace. Packing in layers and layers of snow the pain stopped. Unable to move, to breath, to see, Ivar found peace; Valhalla awaited him.

.-.-.

Snow flew in shimmering arcs by the shovels, the hole grew larger at their feet. Ubbe, Hvitzerk and Sigurd stood motionless at the silhouette of their youngest brother slowly being resurrected from the frigid snow. It had been his sledge guiding them to his icy grave, the wooden sledge had been tied to his wrist by a long rope; as a lifeline.

Glacier eyes rolled skywards, struggling to focus until they saw the brothers stand and stare. Raised from the dead Ivar arched a sly brow and through blueish chapped lips he whispered: “Told you I could do it, didn’t I?”

.-.-.

A/N: This whole ‘Ivar killing people with his voice’ has been in my mind for a while now. I figured #norsetalesforwinter would be a perfect reason to finally write it down. I hope you enjoyed reading this prompt as much as I did writing it, happy holidays!

Xoxoxo Nukyster

#norsetalesforwinter #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless fanart #ivar the boneless fandom #viking fandom #vikings au #vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings edit #alex hogh andersen #sledge #nothingtolosebutweight #@barnes-lothbrok

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cosmiccannibalcamille · 9 months

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North Node in Aries / South Node in Libra

Picture this: You—yes YOU—are the protagonist (Indiana Jones, Yennefer from The Witcher…you get the idea) in a thrilling adventure show. Your mission starting July 17? To embody the essence of the North Node in Aries. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering: what the f—does that even mean? Well, hold onto your hat (and watch that filthy mouth of yours), because we're about to dive into the mysterious realm of the Lunar Nodes and their forthcoming epic journey of self-discovery.

North Node in Aries Meaning

The North Node in Aries is like a cosmic push that propels you out of your comfort zone and into the world of action, passion, and self-assertion. It's like having an inner firestarter that ignites your spirit and urges you to embrace your individuality with gusto.

So, what does it mean that the North Node is entering Aries? Well, it means it's time to unleash your inner warrior and tap into that reservoir of courage and boldness. Aries is the zodiac sign of the ram, known for its fearlessness and go-getter attitude. Think of yourself as a cosmic superhero, with a cape made of confidence and a shield forged from determination. You're here to conquer self-doubt, break free from the chains of conformity, and march to the beat of your own drum. It's time to take the lead and fearlessly pursue your dreams, no matter how audacious they may seem.

However, this shift also means the South Node is entering Libra. Yep, if you were paying attention, then you recall I said this post is about the Lunar Nodes, as in plural nodes, as in TWO.

Lunar Nodes, explained

In astrology, the North and South nodes are not actual celestial bodies but rather mathematical points in our birth charts that represent our karmic journey. They indicate our past life experiences (South Node) and the direction we're moving towards in this lifetime (North Node). Think of the South Node as a cosmic backpack filled with lessons and skills we've already mastered, while the North Node is like a treasure map pointing us towards new adventures and growth.

Now, because these mathematical points work in pairs, the North Node is entering Aries on July 17, and the South Node starts its cosmic dance through Libra as well.

South Node in Libra Meaning

Libra, represented by the scales, is all about harmony, relationships, and finding that perfect balance between give and take. With the South Node in Libra, it's like we're wearing rose-colored glasses from our past lives, viewing the world through the lens of diplomacy, charm, and seeking approval from others.

Read more on my Substack!

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dustedmagazine · 7 months

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Listed: Jad Fair

Photo: Brian Birzer

Jad Fair’s music has been described as “art punk,” “primitive rock,” “naive pop,” and “experimental,” though none of those labels quite capture what it is. Never encumbered by the conventions of songwriting or technical virtuosity, or the idea that an instrument should be tuned, the guitarist/singer/visual artist always made the music that felt most natural. It’s not an experiment, he has said. It just is.

In the mid 1970s Fair started Half Japanese with his brother, David. In 1980 they released their famously audacious debut, a triple album called Half Gentlemen/Not Beasts. It was a raw explosion of teenage boy id. The brothers, both on vocals, indulged obsessions (girls, mostly) over discordant guitars and drums that bubbled and burst like boiling water.

Half Japanese has released many records since, in addition to the mountains of music that Fair has put out over the years, solo and in collaboration with Daniel Johnson, Yo La Tengo, Teenage Fanclub and many others. Over the course of 2021 he released two albums a week on Bandcamp, and then started making music with singer/songwriter/multiinstrumentalist Samuel Locke Ward. They just released their second record, Destroy All Monsters about which Dusted’s Margaret Welsh wrote that “In its warmth and sincerity, Destroy All Monsters straddles a strange line: It impersonates flimsy holiday novelty but resonates on a deeper level. Here are some of Fair’s favorite records.

It’s difficult to just choose 10 albums. There are so many albums that I love.

The Shaggs — Philosophy Of The World

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I first heard Philosophy Of The World in 1979. I was given a cassette of it and immediately took to it. It was like no other album I’d heard. The music and lyrics are so sweet and sincere. I was very pleased that I was asked to do cover art for the release of The Dot Wiggin Band’s album Ready! Get! Go!. When I saw Dot’s band perform I was surprised to see that the musicians were reading music. I asked Dot about it and was told that the music for the Shaggs was written out.

The Modern Lovers — The Modern Lovers

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In 1974 I read an interview of Jonathan Richman in Andy Warhol’s Interview magazine. I was impressed with what Jonathan had to say. When the Modern Lovers album was released I sent away for it and was floored by it. It’s a super fine album.

Spider John Koerner — Some American Folk Songs Like They Used To

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Spider John Koerner is one of my favorite folk musicians. It’s a shame that very few people have heard the album. I think it’s his best.

Lord Invader — Calypso Travels

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I’m a huge fan of calypso music. Lord Invader is a great calypsonian. I love the way he sings and his band is top of the top.

The Stooges — Fun House

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I grew up in Michigan and when I was a teen, most of my favorite bands were from Michigan. Michigan had The MC5, The Stooges, Question Mark and the Mysterians, Destroy All Monsters and Motown. I felt I was living in the best state for music.

Daniel Johnston — Hi How Are You?

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In 1984 my band Half Japanese had a tour with a stop in Austin. Daniel’s manager (Jeff Tartakov) gave me a cassette of Daniel’s album. During the tour we played it over and over in the van. I know many amazing musicians. What’s rare is a musician that is also a fine lyricist. Daniel was one of the best. He was a genius, and I was so lucky to have worked with him.

Bob Dylan — Basement Tapes

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I like the relaxed feel of the songs. Bob Dylan and the Band were such a great match. Super fine songs and super playing.

Howlin Wolf — The Complete RPM and Chess Singles

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In the early 1970s, I bought a lot of albums of Howling Wolf. It’s hard to beat Howling Wolf as a performer. He had power and charisma.

NRBQ — All Hopped Up

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NRBQ is my favorite band. When I lived on the East Coast I would go to see them anytime they had a show in Maryland or DC. Definitely the finest live band I’ve seen.

James Brown — Live At The Apollo

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It’s hard to pick just one James Brown album. He released so many great albums. Live At The Apollo has James in top form. It’s a brilliant performance. It’s star time!

#dusted magazine #listed #jad fair #the shaggs #the modern lovers #spider john koerner #lord invader #the stooges #daniel johnston #bob dylan #howlin wolf #nrbq #james brown

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riddikulushq · 1 month

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IC INFO:

Character name: Regulus Black Age & Birthday: 20 & October 17th Gender & Pronouns: Cis-Male & He/Him Occupation: Unemployed Blood status: Pureblood Previous house: Slytherin Previous Affiliation: Death Eaters (Traitor), Order of the Phoenix Face claim: Timothee Chalamet Traits: + Intelligent, Cunning, Resilient, Audacious, Candid - Contriving, Inhospitable, Caustic, Sardonic, Capricious

TAKEN BY MJ

CHARACTER SUMMARY:

When Regulus was a child, Sirius was his hero. His big brother was just about the best person that Regulus could think of spending time with. With a mother that would rather lash out in anger than admit one of her sons were worth an ounce of affection and a father would drank too deeply to care what happened to either of them, Siruis was by far the most important person to Regulus. He would wake up and seek Sirius out. He would seek Sirius out in moments of joy, fear, and sadness.

Through the neglect and abuse, they always had one other. The nights they spent huddled on one of there beds, wounds cleaned by one another, heads ducked under a blankets and secret dreams shared between them were too many to count.

While growing up in the black home was closer to survival than a childhood, it did teach Regulus some very important lessons. His teenage years, taught him some very harsh truths.

He never meant to start competing with Sirius. He never wanted to be pitted against his best-friend, his only ally and older bother. One night, when Regulus was six, he can still recall this, he begged his mother to stop comparing them. She shut up him up by casting crucio on him. A quick message to never question what she did.

In the end, Regulus just caught on faster than Sirius did. He learnt how to play the good son. How to do what expected before he was asked. How to take punishment and repeat rederick. He was good at playing the part too. So good at bowing his head. Letting his mother fuss about his hair getting to long. Letting his father ‘teach’ him to take pain like a man should.

He tried to tell Sirius how to succeed with there parents. How to make it easier on himself but at the end of the day, Sirius left.

The Summer that Sirius didn’t come home from Hogwarts was by far the worst of Regulus life, minus the last three years.

He had a desision to make. Run away like Sirius and have his parents peruse them both to the ends of the earth or stay. Continue to take there cruelty but be there perfect boy. Stay and protect Sirius from ever having to deal with them ever again. Regulus stayed.

Regulus hates, deeply, how much he still loves and cares for his brother.

So the years went on,` Hogwarts provided brief respite from his parents hovering eye and controlling grip. He made few friends but those he gave the title too were held so tightly it must have been a struggle for some of them to breath. Despite this, Regulus was fickle with his friends. One slight against him, one thought that they may leave him and he would pull away. His trust was breakable. His deepest truth was that those who love you, leave.

At fourteen, both Dumbledor and Voldemort began to play leading roles in Regulus’s life. His parents where thrilled when he got his dark mark and very quickly began to engrain himself into the Death Eater cause. They knew nothing of Dumbledor’s plans for Regulus.

Regulus was a bright student, top of his grade in near everything. Dumbledor knew well that this would allow Regulus to climb the ranks of Voldemort's followers and his cold, calculating nature, would allow him to gain toms trust.

He did just that.

By seventeen, Regulus had found out not only the location of the first horcux but how to destroy it. He went after the horcux and nearly died retrieving it. He was pulled into the lake by inferi and what Dumbledor saved was not the same regulus.

Because of quick way the inferi grabbed Regulus and pulled him under the water, his right ear drum burst. Magic could not undo the damage and he is def in that ear.

He drown, and did die but Dumbledor arrived in time to bring him back. He was dead for three minutes. In that time, Regulus had some minor brain damage that affects his right arm. When he was recovering in the hospital after all this, his arm would shake violently when lifted or used to hold anything. These days it is a lighter tremble. He still struggles to life his arm over his head or hold anything more than ten pounds in weight.

He is still struggling with Hydrophobia.

Regulus has been dead for the last year. At least to the public. He has been recovering in secret with Dumbledor. The only other person who knows he’s alive is Severus Snape. The two very much needed his help to get Regulus back on his feet medically speaking.

Coming out of hiding, Regulus is unsure of what greats him in the land of leaving.

#regulus black #taken #death eater #order #taken order #taken death eater #played by mj

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lastsonlost · 2 years

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BY PENELOPE GREEN NEW YORK TIMES

In the winter of 2003, Norah Vincent, a 35-year-old journalist, began to practice passing as a man.

With the help of a makeup artist, she learned to simulate stubble by snipping bits of wool and painting them on her chin. She wore her hair, already short, cut in a flattop and bought rectangular framed glasses, to accentuate the angles of her face. She weight-trained to build up the muscles in her chest and back, bound her breasts with a too-small sports bra and wore a jock strap stuffed with a soft prosthetic penis.

She trained for months at the Julliard School in New York with a vocal coach, who taught her to deepen her voice and slow it down, to lean back as she spoke rather than leaning in, and to use her breath more efficiently. Then she ventured out to live as a man for 18 months, calling herself Ned, and to chronicle the experience.

She did so in "Self-Made Man," and when the book came out in 2006, it was a nearly instant bestseller. It made Vincent a media darling; she appeared on "20/20" and on "The Colbert Report," where she and Stephen Colbert teased each other about football and penis size.

But the book was no joke. It was a nuanced and thoughtful work. It drew comparisons to "Black Like Me," white journalist John Howard Griffin's 1961 book about his experiences passing as a Black man in the segregated Deep South. David Kamp, writing in The New York Times Book Review, called Vincent's book "rich and audacious."

Vincent died July 6 at a clinic in Switzerland. She was 53. Her death, which was not reported at the time, was confirmed Thursday by Justine Hardy, a friend. The death, she said, was medically assisted, or what is known as a voluntary assisted death.

Vincent was a lesbian. She was not transgender or gender-fluid. She was, however, interested in gender and identity. As a freelance contributor to The Los Angeles Times, The Village Voice and The Advocate, she had written essays on those topics that inflamed some readers.

In her year and a half living as Ned, Vincent put him in a number of stereotypical, hypermasculine situations. He joined a blue-collar bowling league, although he was a terrible bowler. (His teammates were kind and cheered him on; they thought he was gay, Vincent learned later, because they thought he bowled like a girl.)

He spent weeks in a monastery with cloistered monks. He went to strip clubs and dated women, although he was rebuffed more often than not in singles bars. He worked in sales, hustling coupon books and other low-margin products door-todoor with fellow salesmen who, with their cartoon bravado, seemed drawn from the 1983 David Mamet play "Glengarry Glen Ross."

Finally, at an Iron John retreat, a therapeutic masculinity workshop – think drum circles and hero archetypes – modeled on the work of men's movement author Robert Bly, Ned began to lose it. Being Ned had worn Vincent down; she felt alienated and dissociated, and after the retreat she checked herself into a hospital for depression.

She was suffering, she wrote, for the same reason that many of the men she met were suffering: Their assigned gender roles, she found, were suffocating them and alienating them from themselves.

Norah Mary Vincent was born Sept. 20, 1968, in Detroit. Her mother, Juliet (Randall) Ford, was an actor; her father, Robert Vincent, was a lawyer for the Ford Motor Co. The youngest of three, Vincent grew up in Detroit and London, where her father was posted for a while.

She studied philosophy at Williams College in Massachusetts, where at 21 she realized she was a lesbian, she told the Times in 2001, when her contrarian freelance columns began drawing fire. She spent 11 years as a graduate student in philosophy at Boston College and worked as an assistant editor at the Free Press, a publishing house that before it folded in 2012 put out books on religion and social science and had, in the 1980s, a neoconservative bent. Vincent's first work of fiction was "Thy Neighbor" (2012), a dark, comic thriller about an unemployed alcoholic writer who begins spying on his neighbors while trying to solve the mystery of his parents' murder-suicide: voyeurism as a means to self-knowledge.

Vincent is survived by her mother and her brothers, Alex and Edward. From 2000 to 2008, her domestic partner was Lisa McNulty, a theater producer and artistic director. A brief marriage to Kristen Erickson ended in divorce.

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nikolasongsa · 2 years

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Dinkum Aussie

Year: 1924

He is long, he is lean, he is wiry;

He is loose-limbed and carelessly hung;

He is quick on the flare-up and fiery;

He swears with an eloquent tongue.

He’s at home on a horse or a camel;

He could sleep in the top of a tree;

He’ll try anything twice, and again if it’s nice,

For a dinkum Australian is he.

His skin is as brown as a gipsy’s;

Like a gipsy he’s thoroughly versed

In the lore of the high-stepping ponies;

He is blessed with a marvellous thirst.

He smokes cigarettes by the thousands;

He is happy-go-lucky and free;

Independent and shows it, and ‘don’t care who knows it,’

For a thoroughbred Aussie is he.

His fingers were born to a rifle;

His long legs for marching were made;

He’ll stand up the world to a finish,

And go down, if he goes, unafraid.

For he’s lord of the earth and its master,

The mountains thereof, and the sea;

Don’t dispute or forget it, or he’ll make you regret it,

For a dinkum Australian is he.

In love as in war, he’s a terror,

Whom nothing can daunt or dismay;

If he doesn’t run after the sheilas,

He never, at least, runs away.

His eyes are brown blossoms of passion,

Gold-glinting, a glory to see;

Sparkling and sprightful, and wholly delightful,

For a red-blooded Aussie is he.

He may hail you in French or Egyptian,

As suits his immediate whim;

The slang of Port Said and Toowoomba

Alike are familiar to him.

For he’s gone where his banners have beckoned,

And his tremulous drums made their plea;

And he’s picked up the patter of half the world’s chatter,

For a dinkum Australian is he.

Right down to his toes he’d a gambler,

A sport to his very last breath;

He will laugh in the face of disaster,

Toss pennies or guineas with Death.

He puts not his trust in his princes,

But dare to asperse them and see

With what personal feeling he’ll send you far-reeling,

For a loyal Australian is he.

He is lovable, natural, forceful;

He is versatile, vivid, alert;

Audacious, courageous, resourceful,

Aspiring, inquiring, expert.

He’s at home in the air or the water,

For a dinkum Australian is he;

And I’ve done some hard thinking, and I’ll say without winking,

It’s a dinkum Australian for me!

by Lydia O'Neil (1924)

#Tf2 sniper #Sniper #Sniper tf2 #Tf2 #Poem #circa 1900 #australia #Austhetics #Lydia O'Neil #1920svintage #1920s #1920s aesthetic #1920s writing #1920s poem #Commonwealth

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cruelprincae · 10 months

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@scribedhorror sent from meme

send "reunion" for receiver to be there when sender comes to, safe and whole, and recovering well

It had been hours since he had last heard from Bill; To be precise, it was six since he had last replied to his electronic missives, four since Cardan's concern about the other's well-being got the best of him and sent Teatch to scout the area of New York for any sign of him, two since the owl-faced hob came back with news of the writer, pinning him to a near hospital ― which after inquiring about it to mortals on the street ( and receiving more than several strange looks alongside a muttered flatlander comment which he was certain had nothing to do with him ) came to discover was a place where mortals with injuries ranging from light to severe got treated ― and one since the Fae made a hand shift map, gathered the courage to ride the cursed subway and made his way to the appointed hospital, with Teach riding along, hidden within the bag that he strapped on one shoulder.

And, although the journey to the hospital was testing to say the least, with having to decide on the right station to exit and the appropriate street signs to take which require a certain familiarity with the mortal land he does not quite possess, it was nothing before the set of challenges he was met with within the grand foyer of the building called hospital.

Upon entrance, Cardan was greeted by a bored and rather ill-mannered cherry-coloured mortal girl, seated behind a grand desk, who upon his demand to know where his mortal boyfriend is, not only denied him access to such information but also informed him that any information about the patients was reserved for family only ― which, from the bored expression on her face made it quite apparent that Cardan was not a part of. Alas, after a short while of back and forth ( with the Fae pressing that such behaviour is audacious and insulting when addressing the word to a Prince of Faerie and the girl threatening to call something named security ) he deemed it best to glamour himself an entry to the brunette's room and the information about his state, which to his relief, wasn't as severe as his paranoid mind had thought them to be. Another challenge was the perplexing set of corridors in which the Fae got lost into, so utterly identical to one another that he can't help but wonder if that was their intended purpose to begin with, and last but not least, the two security dogs that chased him down a good two flight of stairs, after having mistakenly walked into the security office that he had originally thought to be Bill's room.

The trials were daring and troublesome and in a way, made him understand why the solitary Fae avoided the human civilization like they do with iron, but alas, Cardan persevered over all; and finally, after what felt like hours but in reality had been no more than forty-five minutes, according to the plain white hospital clock, the Prince is now seated upon a rather uncomfortable chair a short distance away from the writer's assigned bed. The room is uncomfortably quiet, save for Teatch's quiet hooting from where he is curled up in the leather bag and the soft drumming of his two, beringed digits upon the exposed, metallic part of his chair.

Though he has tried his best not to look at Bill, for Cardan absolutely hates to think of him as anything other than the grinning, bubbly fiery, and alive mortal he has known prior to this moment, when his dark gaze does rise from his lap to the sleeping state the other has been reduced at, a plethora of emotions are swirling within his mind like an aggrieved colony of bees; anger, indignation, concern and most of all, fear ― crippling, paralyzing fear for what would become of his human companion on the rare occasion that the mortal doctors are wrong and the injuries he has sustained are, indeed, severe. Were that to happen, then the Fae would hunt down the culprit responsible for this and bestow upon them a fate much, much worse than the Unseelie Folk's torturous treatment of mortals.

Was this the intensity of Bill's emotions when he was the one disappearing for hours on an end, only to appear before him with cuts and bruises and worn out of his mind ?

Thankfully, he doesn't get to pounder on that last thought, for no sooner than a moment later, his sharp vision picks up upon the smallest of movements from the brunette; a shifting of his hand, the briefest fluttering of his eyelids, and a deep breath to contrast the former shallow ones and within an instance, Cardan has pushed himself on his very two feet and towering over the other as though that alone will draw him back to reality and to the Fae faster. And when Bill comes to, when his eyes open to reveal the bright blue hues that the Prince has grown so fond of over the past few months, Cardan finds himself unable to look away. Nor does he want to look away ― not now, not ever.

❛ Hey, ❜ He greets, voice low and gentle so as to not disorientate Bill further than he already must be. His hand closes around the plastic bed frame in a frail attempt to resist catching a hold of the human's and possibly hurting him further in the process. ❛ Are you feeling okay ? What happened ? ❜

#scribedhorror #( 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐥𝐟𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 ┊ main au )

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fatalezr · 1 year

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San Merido - Part Two

"Drive past real slow Suzy". Nellie gave her friend the instructions and then wound her window down in the back seat of the car.

"There's a cop up ahead" Suzy informed her, "but if he tries anything I'll handle him, you just focus on Carbone".

Nellie nodded and prepared to swing her gun out of the car. It was an audacious hit. Gio Carbone, a cousin of one of the ruling mob families in the city was getting his haircut and beard shaved at a local barbers. It was broad daylight and many people would see what happened. Nellie pulled her fedora over the top of her eyes. People would not see them and instead just see the pinstriped hat and her bright red lipstick.

Suzy slowed the car as they passed the glass window of the barbers. Gio was in the chair, being shaved by an older man, with a bodyguard sitting behind him in a suit looking bored. Guards like him were pointless, Nellie thought. He was just a sitting duck and soon to be an extra corpse.

Nellie swung her gun out of the car and started peppering the barbers with a drum of bullets. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She used over half of her magazine to hose down the shop, hitting the bodyguard, the barber and Gio in turn. Their chests turned red as the bullets punctured them. Nellie aimed more precisely at Gio Carbone. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She gave him a slew of headshots before doing the same to the bodyguard BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM.

"Freeze! Oh fu-" Nellie heard the cop shouting in front of the car and immediately regretting his decision as Suzy leaned out of the drivers window, Tommy gun in hand. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Passers-by on the street screamed and ran as she opened the cop up from belly to head, walking her shots up his body. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She fired more into the man's head to make sure he was dead before both women pulled back into the car. Suzy hit the gas and they sped off.

------

Nellie and Suzy were both joking about the vacant looks in their victims eyes as they delivered their report to Helen in a makeshift office in the back of a grocers store. The group had been busy recently. Since their initial hits on a card game, they had been hitting one or two men a day in a targeted fashion, focussing on various mid-levels of the gangs. Helen had changed up the playbook in Pacific City where the gang tried their best to be invisible. She knew their reputation was now on their side and so open intimidation would be a good tactic.

"I'm pleased" Helen said, giving them both a smile and inviting them to sit, "we've made a promising start but we need to keep this up. The families outnumber us at present. We need to keep vigilant". Nellie nodded. Helen had been especially cautious at times, constantly changing their meeting place as they established more and more businesses and keeping the gang agile and on its toes. The new recruits were bedding in nicely too.

"Remember it's not just the families we need to think about" Helen said, "this is a big city and it gets national attention. We need to send a message, especially about this". She handed them both a newspaper. The top headline was about a murder in a warehouse. That made Nellie smile - she could tell it was one of Annie's hits. "Bottom of the page" Helen said, and Nellie flipped the paper over.

She frowned as she saw the picture of the senior state Senator for the state of California, Harry F. Graham. The article detailed his plan to introduce a customs and checking border between California and other states but Nellie could see its real intention. By stopping and checking goods flowing in from the North and Pacific City, it would disrupt the supply lines Helen had built and favour the established families in San Merido. "I guess you don't like this legislation?" she asked Helen.

"I don't" Helen smirked, "it creates an obstacle that can't be tolerated, and as you know, if we can't tolerate an obstacle..."

"We need to eliminate it" Nellie finished. "What's your plan boss?"

Helen stood and lit a cigar. She smoked it for a few seconds. "Do you know why I've always insisted this gang is female-led?" she said, "It's because we're shut out from so many parts of society for no reason. We know we're the stronger sex but for too long we've let men dictate our lives, what we should wear, where we can go". She paused. "We're going to go into the hearts of their lives and show that we can take anything and anyone we want, at any time".

Nellie frowned, but Helen turned to her and Suzy with a smile on her face. "We're going to take him out whilst he plays a round of golf at the prestigious Atlas Club here in San Merido".

"Woah" the surprise in Suzy's voice was plain to see. "Boss, that's amazing, but....how are we even going to get in there?". Nellie wondered the same thing. The Atlas Club was one of the oldest sporting associations in the USA and it's membership was entirely male. It prided itself on exclusivity and being a place for the city's elite.

"We have an insider" Helen said, "a very talented woman in the membership team whose talents have been overlooked for too long. She'll help you get in. Nellie, I understand you used to play?"

"Yeah" Nellie said, "from when I was young until the fuckers at the country club wouldn't let me join". She still remembered hearing some men laughing as she was turned away when she applied despite her skill with a club.

"Good" Helen said, "I know our new recruit Maggie plays recreationally too. The two of you will go on the course and assassinate the state senator. If you need backup, Suzy, Annie and some more will be waiting".

Nellie nodded, excited again at the prospect of picking up her golf clubs and showing the men what they had been excluding.

------

It was a beautiful sunny morning in San Merido when Nellie and Maggie pulled up in long overcoats near the gates to the grand building that was the clubhouse of the Atlas Club. An overweight man in a shirt and tie with a revolver on his waist stopped their car and looked inside.

"Morning Missy's, are you lost?" he said, looking curiously at them, probably wondering why their husbands or fathers were not with them.

"It's OK Frank, they're with me!" a woman called out from behind him and Nellie looked to see Eleanor in a smart shirt and skirt with large glasses. "I've drafted in some help before the next members ball" she explained.

"Ah right you are" Frank the guard said. He pulled the gates apart and Nellie drove their car into the parking area of the club. They placed themselves discreetly to the side of the club and waited for Eleanor to join them.

She hurried over. "Nellie and Maggie?" she asked and smiled as the two women nodded. "You need to hurry, get your clubs and follow me".

Nellie did as Eleanor asked and grabbed her golfing bag out of the back of the car and Maggie did the same. They both took off their long overcoats to reveal they were wearing white shirts with black ties and pinstriped plus fours over their dark stockings in a subtle tribute to Helen's gang. Eleanor handed them both a flat cap. "Put these on". They did so. It was a fairly masculine look but meant they would have the freedom to roam and nobody would know they were women from a distance, the shirts deliberately a little baggier to hide their shapely figures.

Eleanor led the women past the clubhouse to the first tee. "There's a gap now" she said, "get playing ahead. The state senator should be close behind you. There's a par five on the seventh hole that might be a good place to reveal yourselves". She gave them both a wink. "I can't wait to see what you do".

"Oh don't worry, you'll find out" Nellie promised Eleanor. She reached into the back of her plus fours and pulled out a Beretta handgun and handed it to the woman in glasses. "If you need it, use it" she told her. Eleanor took it excitedly and nodded before hitching up her skirt and putting the gun in the top of her stockings.

"Good luck" she said quietly before she walked back to the clubhouse. Nellie watched her go. She could tell that she had a sharp mind. Helen probably already had her earmarked as someone who could take over a business at some point or at least, hold the power behind the throne. Back in Pacific City, there were still men who were in positions of power like the newly-appointed Mayor, but they all answered to the beck and call of Helen's lieutenants.

Nellie took a ball from her golf bag and set up the tee. She practiced her swing with the large driver before powering a shot down the fairway, glad of the chance to stretch her arm muscles and put them to use. It felt like she was home again.

For her part, Maggie was a good opponent. They both made par on the first hole, Maggie tapping in a long putt after a wayward second shot. As they replaced the flag in the hole, they looked back towards the tee and Nellie saw Harry Graham and another man with their shared caddie laughing and joking as they stepped onto the course in their golfing uniforms with tartan plus fours, shirts, ties and sweatshirts.

Nellie made sure they did not play too far ahead of the three men. Her and Maggie took their time on the second hole and again on the third. They had both had a level round so far. "Hey, you want to make this interesting?" Nellie asked the young recruit.

"Always" Maggie said.

"Let's compete over the next few holes. Whoever wins gets to be the one who shoots Graham" Nellie offered.

"You're on" Maggie said. They both picked up their golfing bags and walked to the next hole. It was a good competition. The fourth hole was a short par three and Maggie landed her tee shot close to the hole, tapping in for a birdie. Nellie skewed a little right and had to settle for par.

She roared back on the fifth with a fine drive to the fairway that put her close to the hole with her second and scoring a birdie whilst Maggie missed a putt to level. "1-1" Nellie reminded Maggie, grinning at her. The sixth hole had a large sand trap that both women managed to avoid. They were playing great shots and enjoying the luscious green surroundings of the course, always a little in front of the state senator. They both putted in for par and moved on to a seventh hole to decide their little bet.

Nellie's tee shot was long and powerful again whereas Maggie's came up a little shorter. They both managed to chip onto the green though, Nellie getting close to the pin and Maggie being a little wider. Nellie composed herself before stroking the putter and pumping her fist as the ball sunk for a birdie. She looked up towards Maggie who approached her ball and expertly curved it in to score the same.

Their brief match was a draw. Nellie shook Maggie's hand. "Guess we both get to shoot him" she said, "you've brought some extra magazines yes?"

"Oh yeah" Maggie said, "I'm ready to put anyone who moves down".

"Good" Nellie said, "let's both drive to the rough on this hole, see if we can tempt them over to help us". The group behind had caught up a little during their conversation and she could hear Graham talking to the businessman he was golfing with and their caddie.

Maggie nodded. The two women took out their black leather gloves from inside their golf bags and slipped them on to their hands before teeing off. As Nellie said, they both intentionally drove to the left on the par five, their balls landing amongst a clump of trees and long grass. They picked up their bags and sauntered towards them as the men behind reached the tee and waited.

Nellie made a show of looking for her ball but not finding it and eventually saw the state senator walking over. He had a thick moustache and had a confident, easy demeanour. "Hello" he called out, "having some trouble? Mind if we play through?"

"No, please do" Nellie called back to him. The state senator looked surprised at her high voice. Nellie knew women were not allowed on the course, especially to play. It piqued Graham's curiosity and he beckoned the businessman and the caddie over towards the women.

"Well this is a surprise" he said, looking at them both, "I saw some of your shots and assumed...how did you get in here?" He seemed to still not be sure if what he was seeing was real - two women in pinstriped plus fours playing golf at a high standard.

"There's a lot of changes going on" Nellie said, "including here at the club".

"Wait, I'm on the committee here, I don't think we've changed our rules just yet" Graham said.

Nellie grinned. "Not what rules, state senator, but who rules". She and Maggie were both resting by their bags and she put her gloved hand not on the top of a club, but on the handle of something different, three fingers and a thumb around the handle and her index finger ready to move.

Graham's face went from confusion to terror as she pulled out her Thompson submachine gun, grabbing the foregrip with her other gloved hand. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Her finger curved around the trigger and she spat death at the three men. Maggie joined in instantly at her side. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. They swung their guns back and forth over the three men, hearing them shout in pain as the bullets ripped up their chests until they fell to the ground, bleeding profusely.

Nellie laughed and smiled at Maggie. "Together, yes?" she said, aiming her gun at the head of the state senator. Maggie joined her in doing so and they both shot him in unison. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, deliberately overkilling him to send a message.

"Mmm, mmm, yeah" Maggie moaned as they finished the magazines. Nellie liked it. The gang needed someone who would be as vocal with their pleasure of killing as Suzy was. For now, there was still work to do. They took off their flat caps and pulled their pinstripe fedoras from out of their golf bags for their heads. They had each brought several magazines to reload with and spent a minute putting on their pinstripe jackets from inside the bag and loading the pockets with the spare drums.

They reloaded their weapons and held them at their waists but turned as they heard two voices shouting "What's going on?". A couple of male golfers from another hole had come running over, presumably drawn by the sound of the shots and now looked on the massacre, horrified.

Nellie answered the only way she knew how. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She mowed the two men down, Maggie joining her in unleashing some bullets BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. They began to walk back towards the clubhouse. The course had a no-weapons policy due to its exclusive nature so they doubted they would face any threats. They came across two more men playing and smoking cigars. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. The moment they looked at the two women, Nellie and Maggie shot them.

When they saw the clubhouse in the distance, it was a hive of activity. There was a man in a smart suit, pointing and directing four other men, who looked like they were the club's security, in the direction of Nellie and Maggie. They drew revolvers from their pockets.

"Aww, puny little six shooters" Nellie remarked to Maggie, who laughed. They let the men run towards them before raising their weapons. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Their guns were too powerful. Within a couple of seconds, all four guards were down and Nellie and Maggie reloaded. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. They placed headshots into all of their victims and continued to march on the club.

The shots had sent patrons of the club screaming and shouting, all trying to run from the porch where many had been sitting enjoying a cup of coffee or lunch. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Nellie fired some shots towards their direction, cutting down two men. The manager of the club looked distraught and Nellie saw him gesticulating wildly. She took careful aim with her Tommy gun, bringing it up to her shoulder. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She fired accurate shots into his chest from a distance and he fell to the ground. The patrons around him screamed and ran.

Nellie walked towards his stricken body. He was now all alone, deserted by everyone. Nellie was about to finish him and stop his whining on the floor when Eleanor emerged. She smiled at Nellie and Maggie as she took her pistol from the top of her stocking and aimed at the manager's head. BAM-BAM. She finished him clinically. "There's cops on the way" she told Nellie and Maggie. "Don't worry, I'll make contact soon". She holstered the gun again and then ran towards where the other people had run to, blending in as another person fleeing the slaughter of the two Tommy gun toting women.

"Time to make some piggies squeal," Nellie told Maggie. They both reloaded and walked around the front of the club. Sure enough, they heard the sirens of four police cars racing towards the Atlas club. "Get on them the moment you see them".

Maggie nodded and took a position next to Nellie. As soon as the first of the four cars came through the gates into the parking area, they opened fire, guns at the waists and gloved fingers curving around the triggers. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. They shattered the windscreens of the first two cars and Nellie could see the cops inside bouncing in their seats as the bullets ripped into them.

The cars swerved and crashed and the two behind crashed into the backs of them, one careening into the heavy gates that surrounded the club. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Nellie and Maggie did not let up, spraying the cops cars and killing many of the men inside.

A few cops shouted and crawled out of the back of their cars, trying to take cover and aim with their pistols but as they did so, Nellie heard the screech of tyres as Suzy pulled her own car up behind them. She leaned out of the window in her pinstripe suit with Annie in the back. Their Tommy guns locked on the officers backs and opened fire. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. They hosed the remaining five officers down. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Suzy's mouth was wide as she pummeled the men and Annie was laughing as the men shouted in pain.

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Nellie and Maggie reloaded and continued to give bullets to the men in the cars, finishing each one with an extra slew of lead. "Oh fuck...yeah..." Maggie was in the throes of pleasure as she picked her targets and shot.

Nellie left her to her pleasures whilst she jumped in their car and picked up Maggie. They began to drive out of the club but Nellie stopped by the security post as she saw the overweight guard Frank cowering inside. "Fake piggies get the same as real ones!" she called out before grabbing her Tommy gun and shooting him directly in the head BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, his brains painting the white security hut a dark red.

She waved at Suzy, who got back in her own car with Annie and the two of them sped off in different directions, ready to rendezvous later. Nellie smiled. The rich and powerful would now know that there was no place they could hide away from the pinstriped mob group. They were most definitely on the radar of everyone in the city.

#sanmerido #thetakeover #hitwoman #killer woman #female assassin #femme fatale #mafia story

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burlveneer-music · 9 months

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Marc Ribot's Ceramic Dog - Connection

On their 5th studio album, Connection, Marc Ribot’s Ceramic Dog have pushed their long-brewing tension between traditional pop songcraft and avantgarde improvisational music to the breaking point, bridging their customary genre-agnostic approach with elements of glam boogie, minimalist disco, psychedelic boogaloo, garage-punk-against-the-machine agitprop, and so much more. Recorded at Figure 8 Recording in Brooklyn, NY and mixed by Ben Greenberg (Danny Elfman, Depeche Mode, Lamb of God) the album sees Ribot – whose prodigious, impossible-to-categorize body of work as bandleader and musician spans no wave and jazz, Brazilian and Cuban music, roots and avant-garde and protest songs (often at the same time) alongside legendary collaborations with Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, The Lounge Lizards, John Zorn, Robert Plant & Alison Krauss, Caetano Veloso, and Laurie Anderson (to name but a few) – continuing to utilize Ceramic Dog as the vessel for his distinctive stream-of-consciousness songwriting, penning three out of the album’s four vocal tracks including the groove-infected “Ecstasy” (showcasing Anthony Coleman’s slinky Farfisa and longtime friend and associate Syd Straw behind the mic). From the anthemic manifesto “Soldiers in the Army of Love” to the unhinged ranting of “Heart Attack” and indescribable “No Name,” Ceramic Dog unleash a fury of complex time signatures, blues abstraction, and free-blowing energy to create their most unapologetically audacious collection thus far, their one-of-a-kind daring evidenced by the unlikely cover of Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz’s “That’s Entertainment,” written especially for the 1953 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer musical film The Band Wagon but here, in Ribot and Co’s hands, deconstructs Hollywood cliches while simultaneously winking at both the post-punk and post-Cultural Revolution iterations of the Gang of Four. Fueled by what Ribot calls “several bolts of creative lightning,” Connections stands as a vibrant, odd, and in many ways definitive milestone in what is truly a singular creative journey for Marc Ribot and Ceramic Dog, its zeitgeist-busting sound and vision not only affirming their place in the musical universe but raising the stakes for whatever comes next. CERAMIC DOG: Marc Ribot: guitars, tres (4), dobro (5), bass (2, 3, 9), vocals Shahzad Ismaily: bass, electronics, vocals Ches Smith: drums, percussion, electronics, vocals with SPECIAL GUESTS Syd Straw, vocals (4) Anthony Coleman, Farfisa (4, 8, 10) James Brandon Lewis, sax (5, 7) (appears courtesy of ANTI- Records) Greg Lewis, Hammond B3 organ (9) Oscar Noriega, clarinet (10) Peter Sachon, cello (6) Lyrics by Marc Ribot (Knockwurst Music, ASCAP) Music by Ceramic Dog (Knockwurst Music (ASCAP, Preposterous Bee (ASCAP), Wazir & Malika Music (BMI) Except “That’s Entertainment” by Arthur Schwartz/Howard Dietz (Chappell-Co Inc, ASCAP)

#Bandcamp #marc ribot #postpunk #skronk #2023 #guitar

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fiiinnagans · 10 months

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𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐎'𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐀..

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺. 𝘮𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘰. 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 "𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘯".

a hot summer night & bustling city streets, rowdy laughter, always being the loudest in the room, bruised knuckles, an arm hanging over your shoulder in a tight embrace, the sound of ice clinking against glass & cigarette smoke clouding the air, dark eyes that follow their prey's every move, threatening handshakes that break arms, amused smile hiding cruel intentions, the ghosts of the past haunting you to this day.

full name: finnagan o'shea gender / pronouns: cis man & he/him dob / age: october 31st & thirty social status: wealthy / upper class loyalty: the o'sheas education: high school

height: 195cm / 6'5 hair colour: brown eye colour: brown dominant hand: right tics: clenching jaw, drumming fingers distinguishing marks: scars & tattoos

traits: resourceful, audacious, passionate, protective, humorous, expressive, ruthless, explosive, blunt, dogmatic, cruel, domineering

astrology: scorpio sun, aries moon, leo rising mbti: estp enneagram: type 8, the challenger alignment: chaotic neutral / chaotic evil boggart: alina dying

connections: tba

headcanons & extra: tba

#*about.#*intro.

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kiki-de-la-petite-flaque · 11 months

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Then there was Heart Of Glass, the album’s most audaciously radical statement, a homage to the disco trend that sweept the world in the wake of Saturday Night Fever. The song was given a Giorgio Moroder-style electronic groove twist, born from Chris and Debbie’s love of Donna Summer (initially shown when Blondie played their version of I Feel Love at a New York benefit show that May).

Written in 1975 by Debbie as she waited to park her car, Heart Of Glass was initially influenced by The Hues Corporation’s Rock The Boat but, when Chris and Jimmy returned from one of their 48th Street shopping trips clutching the newly-introduced Roland CR-78 drum machine, they had other plans.

As Chris explained, “When we recorded it for Parallel Lines, we were really into Kraftwerk, and we wanted to make it more electronic. We weren’t thinking disco as we were doing it; we thought it was more electro-European.”

Chris came up with the title, unaware that it was also the name of a 1976 Werner Herzog movie. “When we did it, it wasn’t cool in our social set to play disco, but we did it because we wanted to be uncool,’ declared Debbie, already aware that such a flagrant act had the potential to shock the factions of the punk/rock community championing the racist, homophobic Disco Sucks campaign.

Kris Needs

#Kris Needs #debbie harry

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yaniidme · 1 year

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‘A TESTER OF FATE’ ; A CHARACTER STUDY ON SAKAI YUMI

HABITS

FLAWS

absent-minded / abusive / addicted / aimless / alcoholic / aloof / anxious / arrogant / audacious / has bad habits / bigmouthed / bigoted / blunt / bold / callous / childish / cruel / cursed / dependent / dishonest / disloyal / disturbed / dubious / egotistical / envious / erratic / fanatical / fickle / fierce / finicky / flirty / gluttonous / gruff / gullible / hedonistic / humourless / hypocritical / idiotic / ignorant / illiterate / immature / impatient / impious / impish / incompetent / indecisive / indifferent / infamous / intolerant / judgemental / lazy / lewd / liar / lustful / masochistic / meddlesome / meek / megalomanic / naïve / nosey / obsessive / oppressive / overambitious / overemotional / overprotective / overzealous / paranoid / peevish / perfectionist / pessimistic / phobic / rebellious / reckless / remorseless / rigorous / sadistic / sarcastic / sceptic / seducer / selfish / self-martyr / self-righteous / senile / shallow / smart ass / solemn / spineless / spiteful / spoiled / squeamish / stubborn / superstitious / tactless / temperamental / theatrical / timid / tongue-tied / unlucky / unpredictable / untrustworthy / vain / weak-willed / withdrawn

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL MASCULINE SIDE

you love hoodies. you love shorts. dogs are better than cats. it’s hilarious when people get hurt. shopping is torture. sad movies suck. you own a car racing game. you played with hot wheels cars as a kid. at some point in time you wanted to be a fire fighter. you owned a ds, ps2, n64, or sega. you used to be obsessed with power rangers. you have watched sports on tv. gory movies are cool. you go to your dad for advice. you own like a trillion baseball caps. you used to collect hockey or baseball cards. baggy sweats are cool to wear. it’s kinda weird to have sleepovers with a bunch of people. green, black, red, blue, or silver are one of your favourite colours. you love to go crazy and not care what people think. sports are fun. you talk with food in your mouth. you sleep with your socks on at night. you have fished at least once.

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL FEMININE SIDE

you love to shop. you wear eyeliner. you wear the color pink. you go to your mom to talk. you consider cheerleading a sport. you hate wearing the color black. you like going to the mall. you like getting manicures and/or pedicures. you like wearing jewelry. you cried watching the notebook. dresses are a big part of your wardrobe. shopping is one of your favorite hobbies. you don’t like the movie star wars. you are/were in gymnastics. it takes you around one hour to shower, get dressed, and make-up. you smile a lot more than you should. you have more than 10 pairs of shoes. you care about what you look like. you like wearing dresses when you can. you like wearing high heel shoes. you used to play with dolls as little kid. you like putting make-up on others. you like being the star of everything.

APPEARANCE

i am shorter than 5’5”. i have scars. i tan easily. i wish my hair was a different color. i have friends who have never seen my natural hair color. i have a tattoo. i am self-conscious about my appearance. i’ve had/have braces. i’ve been told i’m attractive by a complete stranger. i have more than two piercings. i have/had piercings in places besides my ears.

EXPERIENCES

i’ve gotten lost in my city. i’ve seen a shooting star. i’ve wished on a shooting star. i’ve seen a meteor shower. i’ve gone out in public in my pajamas. i’ve pushed all the buttons on an elevator. i’ve kicked a guy where it hurts. i’ve been to a casino. i’ve been skydiving. i’ve gone skinny-dipping. i’ve drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour. i’ve crashed a car. i’ve been skiing. i’ve been in a musical. i’ve caught a snowflake or snow on my tongue. i’ve seen the northern lights. i’ve sat on a rooftop at night. i’ve played a prank on someone. i’ve ridden in a taxi. i’ve seen the rocky horror picture show. i’ve eaten sushi. i’ve been snowboarding.

HONESTY/CRIME

i’ve done something i promised someone else i wouldn’t. i’ve done something i promised myself i wouldn’t. i’ve snuck out. i’ve lied to my parents about where i am. i’ve cheated while playing a game. i’ve ran a red light. i’ve witnessed a crime. i’ve been in a fist fight. i’ve been arrested.

RANDOM

i can sing well. stolen a tray from a fast food restaurant. i open up to others easily. i watch the news. i don’t kill bugs. i sing in the shower. i am a morning person. i paid for a cell phone ring tone. i am a sports fanatic. i twirl my hair. i care about grammar. i have “?”’s in my screen name. i’ve copied more than 30 cds in a day. i bake well. my favorite color is either white, yellow, pink, red, blue, black, purple, or orange. i would wear pajamas to school. i like martha stewart. i know how to shoot a gun. i laugh at my own jokes. i eat fast food weekly. i’ve not turned anything in and still got an a in a certain class. i can’t sleep if there is a spider/cockroach in the room. i am ticklish. i love white chocolate. i bite my nails. i’m good at remembering faces. i’m good at remembering names. i’m good at remembering dates. i honestly have no idea what i want to do for the rest of my life.

#ʚɞ. muse

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jackbarclay · 2 years

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𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

( jeffrey dean morgan ; cis man ; he/him ; seven nation army by the white stripes ) hey, look! isn’t that JACKSON BARCLAY? the 54 year old WEREWOLF is known to be CHARISMATIC and IMPULSIVE. they’ve been in town for THEIR WHOLE LIFE and always remind me of cigar smoke twirling in the air, bruised knuckles, dark eyes following their prey's every move. let’s hope they survive what’s to come. @ashwickstarters

full name: jackson barclay

gender / pronouns: cis man & he/him

dob / age: january 6th & 54

species: werewolf

occupation: auto shop owner

hair colour: brown with white streaks

eye colour: hazel

dominant hand: right

tics: clenching jaw, drumming fingers

distinguishing marks: various scars & tattoos

traits: resourceful, charismatic, audacious, passionate, ambitious, ruthless, explosive, blunt, dogmatic, domineering

astrology: capricorn sun, aries moon, leo rising

mbti: entj

enneagram: type 8, the challenger

wife: tba

children: julian barclay, june barclay, jacob barclay, jemma barclay

father: arthur barclay, werewolf, deceased.

mother: jenna barclay, human, deceased.

sister: juliana barclay, whereabouts unknown.

THE BEGINNING::

born and raised in ashwick, the youngest child of one of the founding families, the barclays. jackson had been taught the history of his family and the existance of supernaturals as a little kid; how much his family name and heritage meant to this town. triggering the curse, embracing your powers is the greatest thing that will ever happen to you, arthur would say. juliana, however, with her soft rebellion would disagree. she insisted on keeping her and her little brother’s humanity at all cost.

arthur and jenna’s story was an old hollywood movie cliche. a nurse and and a soldier who meet at the battlefield. how romantic! except that it wasn’t. arthur was a young man who’d unintentially triggered the curse he’d been trying to avoid all his life, someone who didn’t know what he was getting into, someone who was promised he’d become a hero but ended up losing a lot; jenna was a young girl trying to escape poverty, to escape a marriage she didn’t want that her parents thought would be good for her. they were young and stupid and they didn’t have anybody else. and soon after they returned to arthur’s hometown, juliana was born. eight years later, so was their son, jackson.

perhaps his parents were once happy, but jackson doesn’t remember those times. he remembers their fights, the broken dishes, the stink of whisky, his father coming home at sunrise. TW CHILD ABUSE, ALCOHOLISM he remembers his father hitting him for the smallest mistakes, juliana so desperately trying to get inbetween them so she could protect her little brother. the full moons were always the worst. jackson didn’t know if his mother didn’t care or she was too drunk to intervene. she was always so calm. END OF TW

at some point they ended up losing their house because arthur was kind enough to gamble all their savings away, on top of not having a job. they moved in a small apartment at the outskirts of ashworth and it was juliana who’d mostly take care of the rent. she was the adult of the house, took the parental role for jackson. she’d take care of him, give him money, make him dinner, drive him to school.

SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT::

it was no surprise that jackson grew up to be quite the problem child. he’d spend more time in detention than the classroom, his grades were the last of his priority. parties, girls, feeling good - that’s where it was.

too young to get a job, he’d learn how to steal a wallet without anyone noticing, how to pick a lock be it a car or house. he wanted to contribute, to help out juliana. she scolded him the first time he brought 100 bucks home, demanding to know where they came from so he’d sneak 10 dollar bills in her purse, buy groceries while she was out working.

one day he came home to find all of juliana’s belongings gone; all except a little note that said sorry, jax. please take care. arthur hadn’t even noticed; jenna was reassuring for the first time jackson could remember - everyone leaves eventually, son. did you think she’d care for you, love you unconditionally? no one does that. you’ve only got yourself at the end of the day. a part of him was angry at juliana -- why would she leave? the only person in the world who truly cared about him, why would she? what did this mean? but then again, he could never hate his sister. he hoped she was happy, wherever she was. she didn’t have to deal with this mess anymore.

perhaps a part of him knew what he was doing that night; maybe he wanted to challenge juliana’s views. or he simply lost control. fights weren’t an unusual thing for jackson; but that time, he couldn’t stop. TW MURDER his friends were cheering him on; no one stopped him until jackson himself noticed, knuckles bloodied, his opponent wasn’t responding. jackson had gone too far. he’d done it. he’d triggered the curse by taking someone’s life. END OF TW

YOU’RE A FATHER NOW, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER::

jackson had always been the type for one night stands, for relationships that didn’t last longer than two weeks. of course he craved love and stability - everybody did, but jack didn’t know how to. it terrified him. jenna has assured him love wasn’t real; and while it was debatable whether he believed in love or not, his girlfriend at he time got pregnant. and what jackson believed in was duty.

they were far too young to raise a family together, but it happened and he had to take some responsibility. she was now mrs. barclay and jackson was terrified. terrified of becoming like arthur, of his kids making the mistakes he did, of his family getting hurt.

he’d worked every job under the sun, but now he had to think of the futures. he’d always been passionate about cars and stealing them so with some effort and some threats jack ended up with his own auto shop. something he’d enjoy doing, something that would earn him good money, something his kids would inherit.

marriage and relationships were complicated and while jack tried not to fall into his old habits, he failed. a baby out of wedlock; a woman exhiled from the pack because jackson barclay could do no wrong. his wife raising a child that wasn’t hers. their marriage had always been messy and complicated and jack tried hard not to make it into another arthur and jenna situation. the thought terrified him, disgusted him. he’d keep on fighting. he and his wife would do anything for their children; so the twins were born. the babies of the family, supposed to be their saving grace, but it wasn’t so easy. while jack and his wife mostly bonded over trying their best for the family, for the kids, perhaps sometimes his ideology did them more harm than good.

fatherhood is difficult and arthur, long gone now, creeps up in his mind all the time. jackson wants the best for his kids. but the world is hard, and they need to be prepared.

NOW::

he wants the cure, so it can’t be used against him and the pack. so he has the power of owning it, of deciding where it goes and what’s done with it; so he can disarm his enemies all at once.

#ashwickintro

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lovejustforaday · 1 year

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2022 Year End List - #10

Electricity - Ibibio Sound Machine

Main Genres: Electro, Afro-Funk

A decent sampling of: New Wave, Synth Funk, Electro-Disco, Dance Punk, Electroclash, Indietronica

And this year’s obligatory entry for the “artist I knew about for several years, liked one or two of their songs but only just checked out a full-length project” award goes to Ibibio Sound Machine.

Ibibio Sound Machine are an electronic funk and dance music (EFDM?) septet from London, fronted by their boldly charismatic contralto vocalist Eno Williams. Williams herself is of Ibibio descent, and often sings in her peoples’ native tongue with a warm and commanding presence.

The band’s music takes influence from a myriad of West African sounds and rhythms, and combines them with electro, new wave, and a variety of other upbeat dancey/funky/electronic genres that are often at least partially indebted to the music of the 80s. In this way, the band’s sound and image can be described as both Afrofuturist and retrofuturist, which just so happen to be two styles of art that I absolutely adore.

On their latest LP Electricity, Ibibio Sound Machine takes us through a neon technicolour playground of electro meets afro-funk, with utopian ideals of what a dancefloor might sound like on another planet or a hundred years from now. Indeed, it feels like Ibibio Sound Machine are either space travelers, time travelers, or both, who brought their sounds from another place or time to grace us with this new record.

Opener “Protection From Evil” is a buzzing, funky, bass-y cyberpunk sci-fi wet dream, with an ominous and menacing tension that climaxes in a wondrously cacophonous breakdown of saxophones and keyboards, lighting up the night sky with sonic laser beams destroying all nearby passing spacecraft. Williams delivers an almost occult spoken word performance before it gets to the chorus, as if instructing the listener to dance with oppressive force.

“Afo Ken Doko Mien” is a bit of an anomaly on the record; a post-minimalist take on West African folk music, with whirring background synths and a repetitious refrain that translates to “you promised me that you'd be by my side”. The song plays as a soothing lullaby, transcending spirit as well as the measurement of past, present, and future.

It is hard to overstate the relentless banger that is “Wanna See Your Face Again”. Hands down the best dance track of the year. Passionate, romantic, rhythmic, futuristic, sonically colourful, and avant-chic. The kind of music that aliens from the planet Funk 3000 would use to sell you high-end makeup made from rare intergalactic space dust. Kicks all kinds of ass with its afro-funk meets house beats, and I especially love the steel drums (or agogos?) at the end.

“Something We’ll Remember” is playful, audacious and delightfully nerdy new wave funk that makes you want to shake your ass for hours on end. The “Na Na Na Na Na”s of the chorus are infectious as all hell.

Admittedly, one or two of the songs feel a little redundant of some of the better tracks on the record. But then I also feel that, by their very nature, dance records often struggle to maintain a varied listening experience, and for the most part this record delivers on that front with a few exceptions.

And with what little it may lack in variety on one or two of the tracks, it more than makes up for by having a very unmistakably singular sound throughout. SImply put, no one is making music that sounds like Ibibio Sound Machine, and Electricity is a wholly unique experience unto itself, made with evident passion and boasting a lot of eccentric style and attitude. Definitely give this one a listen if you’re in the market for something different and eclectic.

8/10

Highlights: “Wanna See Your Face Again”, “Protection From Evil”, “Afo Ken Doko Mien”, “Something We’ll Remember”, “All That You Want”

#ibibio sound machine #electricity #afro-funk #electro #edm #2022 #aoty #album review #music review #best music #list #year end list #electronic

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dustedmagazine · 2 years

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Carl Stone — Gall Tones (Unseen Worlds)

Gall Tones by Carl Stone

Landing in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Hospital hospital for one week in 2021 with complications from a gall stone attack, composer, bon vivant and all-round sampling wizard Carl Stone spent his time in bed productively, seeking respite from the boredom (and, one assumes, the discomfort) of his recuperation. Of the five relatively brief tracks on Gall Tones — and the title practically demands from the listener, How dare you Carl? What gall! — four were composed in bed on a laptop he had a friend smuggle into his hospital room.

Aside from the out-of-the-ordinary circumstances surrounding this release, the music itself defies expectations, with the idea of a gall stone hospital stay perhaps suggesting music of a more tortured, moribund nature. Instead, Stone brings us five tracks that would burn a hole through any dance floor. The sheer volcanic exuberance of these pieces couldn't be further removed from the notion of hospital confinement.

Stone's modus operandi revolves around a rather intricate process of splicing and cutting and generally just sending his sonic material through a succession of chaotic blending procedures that might leave one more than just a bit disoriented after listening. Not far removed from the work of DJ Screw, though perhaps mirroring a different motivator of choice than codeine (in Stone's case, one assumes ample supplies of coffee), the music often reaches a fever pitch intensity of psychedelic proportions. Growing up in Los Angeles during the 1960's, one might wonder if Stone has transposed the synesthetic spirit of that age to the conflagration of data we live in today.

The music's common denominator lies in Stone's audacious sense of humor and fearlessness in the face of kitsch and refuse pop culture, which he gleefully harvests to give each track a readily definable atmosphere. The opening piece, Sumiya, would not sound out of place at a Goa rave, though the rhythms keep shifting ever-so-slightly out of sync and would easily send this dance party into a precipitous meltdown. Mouram follows and throws us into a kind of remix of Okinawan folk music, powered along by what sounds like some gnarly square wave clarinets or the cheesiest distorted midi guitar riff one could imagine. Tokiwarai conjures up images of The Sir Douglas Quintet caught between dimensions at some party where their drinks have been spiked with LSD and methamphetamine. Fanfare trumpets, decimated vocals and a down-tempo beat define Vatanim — court music for the king of a shopping mall somewhere out on the nether reaches of Tokyo's suburban sprawl. And finally, Tou Tou closes out the set with a deeply reconceived look at what could be construed as Norteño but which, naturally, in Carl Stone's hands devolves into this hyperventilating cascade of guitar, Farfisa organ, sloppy drumming and a final chorus which might be mistaken as a nod to La Bamba, but perhaps it's best not to go down that road. This is the kind of music we might expect to hear as soundtrack to a Philip K. Dick novel, utterly defying space, time or any dog-eared notions of propriety. And it will definitely put a smile on your face and make you grateful for Carl Stone's gall stones.

Jason Kahn

#carl stone #gall tones #unseen worlds #jason kahn #albumreview #dusted magazine #experimental #hyper pop #electronic #gallstones

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lovexsulli · 2 years

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sulli: character study!!!

HABITS

FLAWS

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL MASCULINE SIDE

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL FEMININE SIDE

APPEARANCE

EXPERIENCES

HONESTY/CRIME

RANDOM

#//: tendencies. ♥#my brain is so tired #i'll be back on tomorrow to focus on replies and plotting

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