#so yeah it made me like nostalgic for the fun times at my first sales job lmao that one was definitely the most fun the shit we did was

[sydmarch]

while I'm definitely much happier overall in a role where I don't cold call bcus doing that full time with the weight of commissions & performance & people being mean to you gets so draining but I DO sometimes miss it bcus despite all that a lot of the time it was genuinely fun

#like when youre learning trainers will say 'its like acting its like a game its fun' youre like ok sounds like bs but its true it IS just #like a game & you are selecting dialogue options they werent lying #picked rhetoric as my signature skill bcus i felt like it would have that same vibe & truly what is sales but an investigation where the #end goal is getting a credit card instead of solving a crime like. where is the owner. when are they in. you WILL give me their cell number #etc etc. we were straight up stretching the truth all the time too so it really did feel like we were characters which made it fun #so yeah it made me like nostalgic for the fun times at my first sales job lmao that one was definitely the most fun the shit we did was #insane but like we didnt lie about the product or scam people we were just misleading to get gatekeepers to give us info & to get meetings #would rather do something more honest now that ive grown up but yeah. it was kinda fun to lie all the time lmao #texticles

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part VI. (Harry Styles)

part 6 omg!!! ahh, these christmas chapters are my favs, i hope yall will like them asmuch as i do! as always, feedback is much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

“So how did you two exactly meet?” your dad asks over the dinner table. You are all sitting around the long pine table, the tremendous amount of food lining in the middle as the plates are going around, getting filled.

“Oh, um, we were set up, actually. It was all Rosa,” you admit with a soft chuckle, sharing a look with Marcus beside you. 

“I just thought they would be a good match, guess I was right,” Rosa grins, clearly satisfied with the work she’s done.

“What do you do for a living, Marcus?” Jeremy chimes in while helping Margaret cut her meat beside him. She is the youngest of the cousins, only five, but she can boss around anyone as if she was Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. 

“Oh, I work in sales. We had a project with Steven’s company, that’s where we met.”

“That sounds interesting,” Joe nods, but at the same time you hear Harry huff on the other end of the table. Looking in his way you see him with his eyes fixed on the plate. He hasn’t said a word since Marcus arrived and his silence is quite worrying if you’re being honest. You haven’t seen him be silent for this long ever, you’re afraid he might be plotting something. 

“It’s so weird that all four of us are here with a significant other this year. I remember when we were all just kids, running around in our backyard,” Etta sighs with a nostalgic smile.

Your eyes wander over to Harry, who is still relentlessly staring down at his plate, as if he wasn’t even there. 

“Yeah, now there are just two single people sitting at the table. Aunt Monica and Harry,” you say and his head finally snaps up, eyes meeting yours, but you can’t read them. 

“You’re single?” Lily asks Harry, leaning forward a little so she can see him since they are sitting on the same side of the table. 

“I, uhh--I am, yeah,” he nods, clearly uncomfortable he is being discussed all of a sudden.

“Would have sworn you have someone waiting for you at home.”

“No, it’s just me,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I could pair up with Aunt Monica so there wouldn’t be any single people,” he jokes, making everyone laugh at the table. Aunt Monica looks up from her plate and winks at Harry.

“I’ll leave my door open for the night,” she cheekily comments and Harry almost chokes on his wine as another round of laugh runs over the table.

“Monica, he is not a lonely soldier,” your mom tells her, but she just shrugs her shoulders grabbing her glass and downing the rest of her wine. Joe is quick to refill it for her, knowing well she was about to ask someone to do that for her. 

“Thanks for the offer though,” Harry nods shyly and you think it’s hilarious how his cheeks have turned red from a nasty comment your aunt made. 

His eyes find you again right when Marcus reaches over and squeezes your thigh gently under the table and you catch Harry’s grimace before you turn to your boyfriend and share a short peck on the lips. 

For your biggest surprise Harry doesn’t try to drop any nasty comments about you during dinner, not even after, when all adults gather in the living room while the kids leave to play video games in their room. Rosa is sitting on Harry’s thigh as he is supporting her back, letting her curiously look around in the room. You’re sitting on a loveseat with Marcus, curled up to his side and he has an arm around your shoulders. Occasionally you catch Harry’s eyes on the two of you, but you try to pay little attention to him and just enjoy the evening.

“I should get going soon,” Marcus tells you, checking the time. It’s past ten and he has to leave early in the morning.

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Teresa asks when she sees the two of you getting up from the sofa.

“Oh, I didn’t want to bother too long, it’s my first time meeting you all, thought a dinner would be just enough,” Marcus chuckles and you bite into your bottom lip. Does he believe this or did he want to stay, but only tells this everyone because you didn’t invite him to stay the night? You’re not sure if you want to know the real answer...

“Silly, you don’t bother,” you mom huffs. “Isn’t it too late to drive home?”

“I’m fine, but thank you. I didn’t bring my stuff so I would have to leave extra early in the morning to make it in time. But thank you for having me, it was wonderful meeting you all.”

Marcus goes around and says his goodbye to everyone before the two of you head to the front door. 

“Drive safe, text me when you get home, alright?” you tell him as he throws his coat to the passenger seat before turning to face you. 

“Yeah. Have fun with your family and I’ll see you in a few days.” A genuine smile stretches across his face and it immediately triggers your guilt. He could have stayed the night avoiding to drive back to the city so late, but even now, standing out on the driveway you don’t feel like you want him to stay for longer. 

What you keep telling yourself is that it’s all because you haven’t been together that long and it would have been a too big of a step just yet. Seemingly Marcus is fine with your choice, but something is telling you that it bugs him deep inside. 

Leaning down he kisses you softly, a hand sliding to your waist and pulling you closer before you part your ways. Standing on the side you wave at him as he backs out of the driveway and disappears in the darkness of the woods. 

You stay out there for a little longer, the spicy coldness of the night feels numbing in a soothing way. Chewing on your bottom lip you contemplate if you’ve made the right choice by not inviting him to stay. You don’t find an answer for that before you head back inside.

Not much has changed since you left, but you notice that Valerie is back in Rosa’s hands and Harry is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Harry?” you ask sitting on the ground next to your sister, eyes on Valerie as she is adorably babbling at you.

“He said he’s tired, went to bed.”

You look in his room’s way. That sounded like absolute bullshit, but you don’t have a right to question it. Maybe he truly was tired, he probably had to wake up quite early to pick you up and be here in time.

Nodding you reach for Valerie and take the little girl into your arms, making yourself busy with her.

***

Tossing once again in the bed you growl in annoyance. You haven’t gotten an ounce of sleep since you’ve come to bed hours ago. Turning to your side you tap on the screen of your phone and it shows you that it’s already past two in the morning. No position feels comfortable anymore and you’ve flipped your pillow way too many times, there are no cold side anymore. 

On cue, your stomach growls and you let out a sigh staring up at the ceiling. Maybe if you had a late night snack your body would finally relax and let you rest. Kicking the covers off you put on a pair of fuzzy socks and throw a hoodie on before heading out to the kitchen to find something you could feast on. 

You stop in your way surprised when you see that the lights are on in the kitchen and someone is clearly out there, probably with the same intention as you. Walking down the hallway you hear a plate getting placed on the kitchen island and soon enough the person starts eating, the fork meeting the plate.

Harry is sitting at the kitchen island in a plain white t-shirt and checkered pajama pants, a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf sitting in front of him. His head snaps up immediately when he hears that someone has joined him and you stop at the door.

“Hey,” you smile softly. “I see I’m not the only one having trouble with sleeping,” you chuckle shuffling your way to the fridge. 

“I don’t sleep too well at new places,” he admits, eyes following your frame as you pass by him before he turns his attention back to his plate. 

Grabbing the milk you are about to close the fridge when your eyes lay on the absurd amount of eggnog. Hesitantly you grab a bottle and take it out as well, thinking that a few sips might help you fall asleep easier. Then you grab the cookies the kids decorated this afternoon and sit on a stool next to Harry.

“Woah, in need of having some fun?” he chuckles seeing the eggnog and you just shrug your shoulders, pouring milk into a regular glass, then some eggnog into a smaller one in hopes you won’t go overboard with it. 

“I’m just… having a hard time falling asleep.”

“Empty bed?”

“What?” you ask taking a bite from a cookie.

“I mean, Marcus left. You must be used to sleeping next to him,” Harry explains and you look back at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, I do sleep better with someone next to me, but it’s not like I’ve done that a lot with Marcus,” you admit, turning your attention back to the cookies.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, not really in the mood to get into it, because it’s a whole spiral that would bring you down into depths you definitely don’t want to talk about right now. 

“You haven’t slept with Marcus?” he asks, and you notice how it could mean two versions. Either he is only talking about just sleeping or he is nosily trying to find out if you’ve had sex with him.

“That is… none of your business,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. Harry holds his hands up innocently before returning to his plate. 

A few minutes pass by in silence, just your munching and Harry’s chewing breaking it. As you pour a little more eggnog to yourself Harry stands up from the stool upon finishing his food, and after putting his plate to the sink he gets a glass for himself and sits back, holding the glass in your way.

“Want to have some fun too?” you ask, but pour him some eggnog anyway.

“Might help me fall asleep too.”

“Sometimes I feel like mom is right saying that I have a drinking problem,” you snort finishing up your cookie.

“Don’t think that’s true,” Harry tells you with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, you have seen me drunk quite a few times, but it’s nice that you think it’s alright.”

“What’s wrong with having a few drinks occasionally? It’s not like you blackout every other day.”

“My mom would want me to never blackout in general, but I don’t seem to know my boundaries with alcohol,” you tell him with a sigh.

“Happens to everyone, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, but I’m sitting here at two in the morning, drinking eggnog for no specific reason, because it surely won’t help me sleep, so... Maybe there is some truth to it.”

Harry thinks to himself a little before pouring some more to himself and some into your glass as well.

“I literally just said that I should stop,” you say, giving him a puzzled look.

“It’s fine if you have a reason,” he answers with a cheeky smile. “We’re gonna play never have I ever.”

“Oh hell no!” you chuckle looking at him with wide eyes.

“What? Are you afraid I might find out something nasty about you?” he challenges you, clearly trying to push you to play. “I don’t think you can surprise me with anything.”

“Excuse me? That’s pretty hurtful you think I don’t have surprising secrets,” you say putting a hand to your chest. “I think I’m the one who can’t find out anything surprising about you.”

“Hah, we’ll see, Y/N. All you gotta do is play,” he smirks and you already know you’re fucked. Sighing you take your glass and look at him with a murderous look, but the corners of your mouth are curling up. “You can start, just so you see how generous I am.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you mock him. “Okay. Never have I ever… gotten into a physical fight,” you say and watch Harry raise his glass to his mouth, but at the same time you do the same, already sure he is gonna be shocked.

Just as you expected, he freezes seeing you take a sip from your eggnog.

“Alright, rule is that we gotta explain them, because there’s no way you’re leaving without telling me about who you got into a fight with,” he tells you pointing a finger at you, but then adds: “Fighting with your sister does not count, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t Rosa,” you chuckle. “I had a huge fight with my best friend in third grade and we somehow ended up kicking and punching each other in the middle of the gym in class. We were both sent to the principal’s office.”

“Who would have thought you were a feisty little kid!” Harry chuckles and you just shrug with a proud smile.

“See? I told you I can surprise you. Your turn.”

“Okay. Never have I ever had a threesome,” he easily says and brings his glass up to his mouth as you stay put this time.

“If you think I’m surprised, I’m not. It’s literally written on your forehead that you’re the kind who enjoys that kind of stuff,” you scoff.

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend like you haven’t even thought about having one.”

“I’m not admitting anything outside the game. You have to ask that next if you are that interested,” you smirk, but you’re certain your eyes give you away, because Harry is chuckling and shaking his head. “Never have I ever cheated on someone,” you say and watch Harry’s glass stay on the counter.

“I’m not that bad of a person.”

“Never said you are, I was just curious,” you shrug and nod at him letting him know it’s his turn again.

“Never have I ever had a crush on a teacher of mine.”

You both drink.

“My finance professor, junior year in college,” you inform him.

“English teacher, senior year in high school,” Harry replies and you are already picturing him sitting in the first row just to be close to her during class.

“Did you write poems to her too?”

“You said no questions outside the game!” he retorts laughing and you roll your eyes at him.

“Alright, I have thought about having a threesome before, now your turn, spill the tea!”

“I wrote a song about her,” he admits and you raise your eyebrows at him. “Even planned on showing it to her, but my friends talked me down, luckily.”

“It’s kinda sweet and romantic.”

“Yeah, and very inappropriate,” he adds chuckling. “Alright, enough of Miss Hastings, your turn.”

“Never have I ever stolen something.” You both raise your glass and you smile at him swallowing the alcohol. “Virginities do not count,” you tease him, earning a laugh.

“Still would have drank. I was a little kleptomaniac when I was a kid. Liked to steal small things in the store just to see if I would get caught.”

“And were you ever?”

“One time, yeah. My mom was so mad at me, I got grounded for a week, never stole anything again,” he admits chuckling. “What about you?”

“It wasn’t regular, but I definitely have stolen candies when I didn’t have enough money to pay.”

“What a rebel,” he teases you and you just smack his upper arm jokingly. “Never have I ever snuck out.” Only Harry drinks and you roll your eyes at him.

“Again, not surprising.”

“I just wanted to know if you have ever snuck out, chill,” he smirks. “Guess you were a saint.”

“Never have I ever said the wrong person’s name while having sex.” A devilish smile sits on your lips as you watch him drink while you do the same. You see his eyebrows rise over the glass.

“Nasty,” he huffs. “When did that happen?”

“First year of college. I was casually seeing a guy, but I wasn’t really over my last ex from high school and accidentally called him Ethan.”

“And what was his real name?”

“I don’t even remember,” you admit with a laugh, clearly feeling the alcohol slowly kicking in. Harry’s mouth hangs open before his expressions turn into that iconic ‘not bad’ face.

“Never have I ever had a wet dream about a friend of mine,” Harry asks and you feel your cheeks heating up right away, eyes snapping down at your glass. Unwillingly, but you drink as Harry does the same. “Who was it?”

“I’m not answering this one,” you shake your head. 

“Come on! I promise it’ll stay between us. Was it Steven?” he grins at you, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. ���I bet it was Steven.”

“Shut up, it wasn’t!” you snap at him rolling your eyes.

“Okay, then who? I won’t sleep tonight if you don’t tell me!” he begs, but you shake your head stubbornly. “Do I know him?” Oh, all too well, you think to yourself. “Is it someone who was there at the bar last time?”

“Can we move past it?” you sigh painfully.

“No, no way. I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me!”

“It was you.”

The words slip out fast and a little quiet, but he hears them clear. His lips part, a truly stunned look pulls on his face and you just wish you didn’t say a word.

“Happy? Now you know,” you snap running a hand through your hair.

“Was I any good in your dream?” he then cheekily asks and you gasp at the nosy, nasty question.

“Now that I won’t answer.”

“I have to know if I did good!” he protests and you laugh.

“It wasn’t even you, well, not your real version, why does it matter?”

“I’m a maximalist, I have to know if my dream self did good,” he pushes further and you can’t believe this is really what you’re talking about.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it was good!” you admit throwing your hands into the air, giving up to keep anything to yourself. He is just too damn annoying and stubborn to ever have anything other than his way.

“If that makes you feel better, I’ve had a few about you as well,” he admits with a straight face and the heat is back in your cheeks immediately.

“A few?”

“I didn’t count, but yeah. And you were awesome, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I was not,” you say with a meaningful look, but he just smirks at you. “You’re such a pig, Styles.”

“Says the girl who was probably moaning my name in her dreams.”

“If you keep talking about this, you’ll be the second person I get into a physical fight with,” you warn him and he chuckles, but takes the hint and finally moves on. 

You easily forget about time as you keep playing for quite long. Question after question, some shocking and surprising things come up, but there are some absolutely ridiculous facts too. You’re definitely over the line of being tipsy, but you’re not at the drunk state yet. 

Harry clearly enjoys asking questions that make you nervous, but you don’t shy away from risky questions either. By the time the bottle empties out you are both laughing on something he said, your eyes are teary and you gasp for air, holding onto the edge of the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck!” you breathe out when your gaze wanders over to the windows and you see that it’s starting to brighten out there. “The Sun is coming up, what time is it?” you slur, having a hard time to get off the stool and keep your balance at the same time. Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and his eyes widen.

“It’s six in the morning!” he whisper-yells and you almost faint.

“Shit, mom is usually up around six thirty, she can’t find us here like this! Quickly, we have to clean up!”

Harry takes care of the empty eggnog bottle while you wash the dishes and then the two of you head back to your rooms, but you just really don’t want to go to bed alone. Alcohol tends to make you clingy and you need the presence of someone next to you.

“Harry,” you whisper as the two of you stop in the hallway.

“Hm?” he hums, looking back at you with glassy eyes.

“Can I… sleep at yours?” you shyly ask.

Part of you expects a smart comeback, something dirty, but he looks down at you for a long moment as if he is debating what he should say and you start to think he is about to reject you, but then he takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of his room.

“It’s strictly friendly, okay?” you tell him once the two of you are in his room and the door is closed behind you.

“Like the dream you had about me?” he cockily asks grinning at you and you’re quick to smack his hard chest, making him chuckle.

“Shut up! I just really don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Chill, it’s all good,” he chuckles and stepping to the nightstand he plugs his phone in to charge as you crawl up to the huge, comfortable bed.

Tugging a pillow under your head you turn your back against him, only hearing as he lies down next to you, tugging some of the cover off you since there’s only a big one. He shuffles a bit more until you both stop moving, but you still have your eyes open. 

Knowing that he is right there behind you irks your mind and the urge to cuddle to his side is stronger than you will to stay still. You want to feel his body heat, his touch, hear his heartbeat under your face as you curl up to his side. You are dying to listen to his steady breathing from up close and your self-control is slowly but surely dissolves. 

Before your rational side could talk you down, you find yourself turning around and snuggling to his side, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“It’s totally friendly, wipe the satisfied grin off your stupid face,” you mumble as you lay your head to his shoulder, bringing a hand up to his chest. One of his arms curl around your shoulders as he stays silent, letting you snuggle up to him all you want. 

It’s even better than you remembered. Last time the two of you were like this, the morning ruined everything and it had a whole different antecedent than now. You can only hope history doesn’t repeat itself and you don’t have to go through the same embarrassment like last time.

“Y/N?” he whispers and your eyes open at his voice.

“Yeah?” There’s a short pause before he speaks up again.

“Do you really… think that… there was not much Etta was missing?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling at how self-conscious he just sounded, still thinking about the joke you made in the car on your way here. For a split second you think about lying again, but it’s clearly been bothering him, so much he felt the need to ask after several rounds of eggnog.

“No. I was just joking,” you admit and he lets out a relieved sigh. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think I have a fat ass?” you ask referring back to the time the two of you encountered at the hospital when Valerie was born. You feel him huff as his hand on your shoulder squeezes you gently.

“You have a great ass, Y/N. The best I’ve ever seen.”

“Are you just exaggerating?” you ask, lifting your head up and narrowing your eyes at him in the dark.

“No,” he smiles. “Swear to my sister’s life it’s the truth.”

Knowing well he wouldn’t bring his sister into it if he wasn’t telling the truth, you put back down your head, finally closing your eyes.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling yourself drifting to sleep.

“Good night, Pretty Eyes.”

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[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #26

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Opera-phile

I had a hobby that I couldn’t tell anyone about. People like me were no rare breed.

Amongst the hobbies I had heard about from my friends until now, the one that made me think “this might be a bit hard to tell someone” the most was that keeping ice cream lids when they finished eating it. They said they would write down the date on each lid and store them in one of those clear files sold at 100-yen shops. They could only eat ice cream on special days when they were little, and they still couldn’t get over the habit of that time. The face of the person who had told me about this seemed simply satisfied in some way. Regardless, this may not have been something so difficult to say because it was revealed at a drinking party.

Now. Bringing the topic back to me.

If you were living alone in a foreign land called Sri Lanka, you could do whatever you wanted. I could get up at any time, eat whatever I felt like, study the things I enjoyed and go wherever I wanted with my Three-Wheeler. I didn’t have much, but the prices were cheap. My culinary repertoire was also noticeably increasing. Even if I danced alone in my room, no one would be watching. No, my dear dog ​​Jirou would stare at me with a bit of a strange look, but there were times when he’d eventually jump up and down and start dancing with me. Even if I listened to music at a loud volume, the same went for my neighbors.

Therefore, I was now thinking that maybe my stopper had come off a little.

I had bought the CD in Colombo, the real capital of Sri Lanka. As one would expect of the biggest shop in the country, they sold a lot of things that were unlikely to be available in Kandy.

The jacket featured a black-haired woman with a spellbound face, both of her arms outstretched. It was an opera CD with twelve songs.

I went back and forth in my room, shouting, “ah~, ah~”. What an opera was? No, I did know. It was traditional singing style – something like a musical, in which singers such as tenor, paritone, soprano and alto would perform along with a play. But something about them that diverged a bit from musicals was that the words used were old, the melodies weren’t excitable, and they were mainly either Italian or French, I believed.

I had no choice but admit it at this point. I liked opera.

Nakata Seigi had the words “I’m in love with opera” floating about in his head. I was driven by an urge to scream “gyaaah” and make said words disappear, but on the CD jacket, Maria Callas was making a spellbound face as usual, and that made me happy. I had purchased this CD after much hesitation over buying this or buying that. There was no way I wouldn’t be happy about it. Still...

Somewhere in my head, I recognized this as something embarrassing.

My dear boss was always telling me to think rationally at such times. He told me that whenever I thought my mind was moving in absurd ways, it always happened that there was some sort of timid development in me, which I either hadn’t noticed or, even if I did notice it, I’d ignore it – but once I understood it, it would stop being absurd.

Why would opera be embarrassing in the first place?

How I had come to like opera? The trigger was the radio. When I was staying at a hotel for a while back in Tokyo, I tended to feel down because I had nothing to do other than study, so I’d sometimes listen to the radio broadcast at the hotel while devoting myself to physics and English.

The singing voice I heard at that time was – how should I put it? – tremendously wonderful.

I couldn’t think that it was the voice of someone from the same world as myself. Someone was singing in a place just a few ways away, and as I listened to it, my body felt like my body was airily floating up – it was that kind of voice. I didn’t have any preferences for either male or female, and if anything, I liked both. The title of the song being streamed was written in the hotel’s guidebook, so I went to a video streaming site and searched for the same song by other singers and the songs that came before and after said piece. Faust. Madama Butterfly. Otello. Rigoletto. The Magic Flute. Don Giovanni. Whenever an opera song was used on a TV show, i became able to at least tell which prelude it was from.

And this passion hadn’t cooled down even now that some time had passed since then.

I walked around the room again, shouting, “Uuuh, uuuh”. Jirou energetically followed me from behind. It was almost as if he meant to say, “It’s fun to go a stroll even inside a room, huh, owner?”. Sorry but it’s not like I’m taking you on a walk, I thought, yet Jirou couldn’t care less, letting out a sweet voice as I held him up and rocked him, and then running off to the yard as if he had gotten excited. Just as I felt relieved, thinking about what a cute fella he was, I found myself imagining something. I could see myself at the drinking party, talking about how I liked opera. The reaction I pictured was an explosion of laughter.

“‘Opera’, you say. What’s up with that? It’s that thing where fat people raise their voices like crazy, right? You like that? Why? No way, Nakata, didn’t you just want to have a rich people hobby just ‘cause you’ve well-off these days? Like, those that feel like you’re superior. That’s exactly what opera is. Okay, I get it, but that ain’t very interesting, so how about we change the topic?”

It gave me chills.

I wasn’t creeped out by how people might talk about my hobbies. However, it was painful to have the whole genre of opera, which had saved me back when I was put in a spot like a light reaching out from the sky, be judged by people who didn’t even know the difference between Callas and Pavarotti and not be able to defend them. I had to protect what was important to me. Or else, it would get damaged. I wasn’t referring to the long-standing form of art that had been cultivated for hundreds of years. I meant my own heart. That was painful to me.

Yeah, I was somewhat aware that this wasn’t an “embarrassment”. But I was scared.

I was low-key terrified of having people pointing their fingers at me from behind with words such as “eccentric”, “weirdo” or “pretentious” for having a preference that was different from other people’s – and something that I seriously liked, no less.

With a deep breath, I took the CD’s vinyl cover. Unlike Japanese CDs, there was none of those convenient little ears that made the cover come off when you pulled it. I slowly cut it with a pair of scissors, set it on a nostalgic stereo radio and played it while referring to the table of track numbers on the backside.

Just from the intro, I already knew who was singing and what song it was.

Maria Callas’s “Casta Diva”. It was a song from an opera called “Norma”, and the meaning of it was “chaste goddess”.

What it made me reminisce to was a seriously horrible time, when I had to prepare for my death to a certain extent. Whenever this song played in the hotel’s radio program, which repeated itself over and over, this song would connect me with paradise, telling me that I didn’t need to worry about trivial matters, so I was able to leave it all aside and relax. It was that kind of song. Without a doubt, my biggest and best saver was that beautiful jeweler, but from the sidelines, opera had definitely helped me keep my sanity.

That was amazing.

I was grateful from the bottom of my heart that this form of art, which couldn’t be classified as mainstream at all in Japan and probably overseas as well, had maintained its thread of life across the centuries. It had saved me. Would the CD sales be of any help to it? Thankfully, I had some money to spend and was probably able to buy a set of all-track CDs per month. Would that be a form of repayment of any kind? It would be great if so, I thought wholeheartedly.

“Casta Diva” wasn’t too long a piece. With a voice that sounded like it was vanishing, the song ended. For whatever reason, it made me feel like crying, no matter how many times I had listened to it. It was too beautiful. It was an impossible speculation, but if Richard turned into a song, I felt that his form would change into something very close to this one.

Once I finished listening to the track, the “aaah”s and “uuuh”s had disappeared from my head. I liked opera. Opera turned into my strength. So I wanted to cherish it.

Even if someone ridiculed me for it, the problem was with the person, not with me or with opera. And my precious, beautiful shopkeeper had stated that “no discriminating other people based on their preferences” was one of the main principles of Etranger. What was I going to do by discriminating myself?

I was going to keep buying opera CDs from now on too, I swore proudly to my heart, yet secretly decided not to write about it in my blog or talk to Richard about it. Not because it was embarrassing. But rather because I had the gut feeling that I couldn’t predict what would happen in the end if I told him.

On that day, I was busy with preparations for cooking. First Saul-san, and then Richard would come to Kandy to hear the reports about the progress of my studies. It was also like a test. But I hadn’t studied half-assedly enough to chicken out at that. Above all, thanks to the negotiations in Ratnapura, I was conscious that my eyes were well-trained, if I could say so myself.

If it didn’t go well even with this, that was fine. I was happy to find new challenges. Lots of things became easier once I started feeling that studying was fun.

And since they were coming over, they wouldn’t get angry if I prepared a bit of a feast. More than anything, being able to cook a few people’s share in this house had me overjoyed. After all, I was basically living alone, so just how many times had I found delicious-looking and cheap food but had to tearfully give up because I wasn��t sure if I could eat it all by myself?

Being surrounded by things that made you happy was extremely good for the heart.

Deciding to go for an additional blow, I set the CD in the radio. A long aria began at the end of the first opus of all songs. It was a French opera called “La Fille du Régiment”, and being fond of this one had greatly helped me when I was studying French.

The man who started to sing that he was going to marry the army was a world-renowned tenor.

In the beginning, the man sang that he was going to do meritorious deeds in the army, cheered on by his companions. Since I had been listening to the words ever since back when I could only hear them as katakana spelling, my mouth moved without any reference. Of course, my voice didn’t sound like that of a tenor, but it had the same gist as somehow trying to sing in the range of a singer from some music show. Just that was fun enough.

A fish pie was baking in the oven. There were three types of curry in the smaller pots. My Nakata-style sliced veggies pickled in soy sauce, which were a mixture of chopped coconut sambal and dried fruits, were lined up on a cutting board, and the fresh fruits that I planned to make into mixed juice were all completely ready. The only thing I had left to do was preparing watalappan for dessert. It had to chill in the fridge for a while, so it was necessary to make it in advance. However, since it was my third time making it, I had the procedure memorized. No worries.

The tenor raised his voice amidst joy. The man who sang, “Ah, I’m going, I’m going to marry the army” didn’t like the army in particular, he was just in love with the abandoned girl that all the men from the regiment he was enlisted in were raising together.

The key switched to waltz. The true value of the tenor would ensue from that point onward.

The oven beeped, indicating that the pie had finished baking. With light steps, put on my gloves, took out the whole iron plate with the pie on it and gently slid it into a white porcelain plate.

A series of splendid high Cs. This referred to when the tenor raised their voice a great deal. If the composer was wonderful in reproducing the feelings of happiness into the music so keenly, then so was the singer who sang them so faithfully, I believed. The feeling of excitement turned into the melody just the way it was.

I arranged the dishes on the table and peeled the fruits. The high Cs continued one after another. I opened a can of coconut milk and mixed the contents with nut paste. The song was approaching the end. “What a fate, what a fate,” he sang, sounding merry. The highest note was near.

The song was coming to a close while celebrating happiness with the highest note. The feelings of the singer weren’t recorded in the CD, but I could hear them as comfortably as could be.

It wasn’t nearly high enough, but I sang along at a fairly loud volume.

At the same time as the song finished with a flashy grace note, I lightly kicked the open lid of the oven. It closed up neatly. With this, everything was all set. I was going to put away the CD set before the guests arrived.

Or so I had planned.

After the peak of my excitement, I noticed that someone was standing outside the window. He hadn’t come in from the front door. Hence the chime didn’t ring.

“Bravo, bravissimo.” A beautiful man wearing a white shirt and sunglasses, said glasses charmingly pushed up above his forehead, was smiling while applauding at my stiffened self.

The test was terrible that day. I didn’t think there was any issue with the contents of my answers. However, since I was stuttering so much, Saul, my mentor who was so picky about manner of speech as well as the contents of it, pointed out that I should “act more dignified”. I knew that better than anyone. There was too much noise interference in my head with things such as, “Why did I put opera on in such high spirits? What did he think of me now? As I thought, does he think that this hobby doesn’t suit me? No, that’s definitely impossible when it comes to my teacher, so I have to take control of my self-consciousness”.

And so, this is a story that happened more than half a year after that. Something that took place in Sri Lanka in May.

“Eh?”

“Happy birthday, Seigi. Here is a little present.”

“A bank deposit transfer certificate?”

“Good job reading it. That is from the USA.”

“USA...”

“There was a seat that you would probably like, so I purchased a year’s worth of it.”

“A year”? This wasn’t potato chips or cup noodles. What kind of seat was that? Was there a truck coming to deliver it? While thinking about such things, I continued reading the A4 paper, and when I got to half of it, I roared loudly. I let out a voice that sounded like a crushed frog, I believed.

The seat that Richard had given me was indeed a seat. But at a music theatre in America, which was likely the world’s most famous. It was a one-year membership card.

This was proof that “a seat will be reserved for you”. A seat just for me, for any performance, that I could use whenever I went there.

I felt lightheaded. Just how much had this “seat” cost him? What was he trying to do by giving something like this to someone who sat in swivel chairs sold at mass retailers? I did have such rational retorts in my head, but above that, I was so, so happy that I started jumping up and down. I could go to a theatre that I only knew about from CDs. Anytime, as long as I had the plane tickets. No matter who was singing.

“Can I really have this?!”

“Do you think I’m some sort of boorish lad who’d take back the treasure after making the other person happy?”

“No way! Uoooh, I’m too excited; that’s bad!”

“You are reacting like a dog again...”

“I’m gonna run in the yard for a bit!”

As I, with a messy katakana pronunciation, sang to myself the chorus part of the aria that had just finished while rolling around in the yard, Jirou ran over and mounted on me without restraint. “Owner, we’re going to play here, right? We’re going to play here, right? Come, let’s play,” he seemed to say, energetically wagging his tail. I was so happy that I hugged him and rolled about, but then I could see Richard laughing. The yard was on a slightly lower level than the house, so the house was wholly visible, so I didn’t think I was mistaken. He really was making a happy-looking face. This might have been my first time seeing that man laugh with such a child-like expression.

At that moment, something suddenly came to mind.

When Richard told me for the first time that he “likes pudding”, did he also think for a bit that it was embarrassing or wonder about what I was going to say? This man had thorough knowledge about the so-called “society”. There was no way that he hadn’t considered the possibility.

But he had told me about it.

Did I not say anything weird to him back then? “A man, liking pudding?” or “Why would a foreigner like a Japanese dessert?” It gave me the creeps. Back then, I didn’t have as much care as now regarding how to handle such circumstances. I just had words jumping out of my mouth like knives. This still applies even now, but I wanted to think it had gotten better, even if just a little.

Had I not said anything to him? Had I not hurt him? I didn’t have any way to confirm that now. If I apologized without knowing what I had said, it wouldn’t be a sincere apology.

But right now, Richard was looking at my happy self and smiling.

So I decided to stop thinking about these things. And from now on too, I would keep making heaps upon heaps of the things he liked.

I had to protect what was important to me by myself. But if I happened to notice something that mattered to someone who was dear to me, I wanted to cherish it too. I had no other choice.

After stroking Jirou, I went back to where Richard was and bowed to him again. He reciprocated the bow with a “you are welcome” and seemed about to start laughing again.

“That’s right, I was gonna make pudding. Wait just a bit more.”

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“You already got me a seat at the MET; I can’t go along with that flattery even as a joke. I’d be happy if you played with Jirou, though.”

“Then, I will take you up on those words.”

Rubbing my chest in relief, I went back to my room, patting my whole body to remove the dirt and dog hairs, and after washing my hands with soap, I returned to the kitchen.

By the looks of it, I was going to be able to listen to an opera in person one of these days – at least within a year’s time. Once I watched it live, all the curtains would close, right? For real? Was such a thing possible? Apparently yes. Hard to believe but it was true.

That man who was like an incarnation of the worldwide definition of “beauty”, and above that, who was a genius at pleasing me, was fooling around with my hybrid brown dog in the yard, illuminated by tropical sunshine. It seemed that the preparations for our feast would still take a while.

“What a wonderful day,” I hummed tentatively in French. A gorgeous tenor voice wouldn’t come out of my throat, but the things I liked would firmly support my heart nevertheless. Almost like a backbone for it. And there was someone supporting this backbone. Honestly, what a wonderful day. For now, I’d be making pudding. And share at least a little bit of this feeling.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard ranashinha de vulpian #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation #richard

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression - Ep 36 The banning of snacks and sweet drinks displays from next to cash registers.

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru with this week's episode of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome. Ok, today lets get straight on with it. Joe  could you please...

J: Yes, lets have a look at this news. Snack and sweet drinks displays next to cash registers banned in Berkeley, California, USA. In the university city of Berkeley, northern California, a law has been passed this week banning the sale of junk food next to cash registers in supermarkets. According to local media, this is the first of its kind in America. The law, unanimously voted for by Berkeley City council, targets cheap, unhealthy products next to cash registers which 'encourage impulse buying, and burden parents of children who want them', with the aim of promoting  healthy lifestyles. Products with over 5g of added sugar or 250mg of added sodium, and drinks containg a lot of sugar or artificial sweetners have been banned from sale next to cash registers. The ban will come into effect from next March. In the city of 120,000 people it will be imposed in 25 large scale supermarkets. The progressive city Berkeley, on the outskirts of San Francisco has been taking health initiatives before now. In 2014 they imposed a tax on soft drinks, and according to a survey from last year, consumption of soft drinks had halved by 2017.

K: Its true though, the cash registers over there have so many snacks near them.

J: They do, don't they?! They are really colourful. But banning it by law is really stepping in, isn't it?

T: Yeah.

J: The supermarkets aren't stopping it through self-restraint, its been forbidden by law, so if they do it will they be penalised?

T: Yeah, wow.

J: I think this is a warning that in America this kind of health damage caused by excessive additives and sugar in food is becoming a serious problem.

K: Yeah, people just end up picking it up.

J: When im waiting in line at the supermarket, its the same in Japan...in the convenience store in Japan, I wait till the last moment and always end up picking up those little Tirol chocolate squares.

K: Oh yeh, they have those out, don't they?

J: They do! Don't those chocolates just call out  to you at the last minute? I always end up buying a few.

T: I  buy 'Bikkuriman'. For the sticker.

J: Oh yeh. Still?

T: I just sometimes get the feeling like I want to open it. I reminds me off old times, haha. I throw it away straight away though.

J: Kaoru, what about you?

K: I don't buy that stuff.

J: Oh, you don't?

K: No, I just buy what I was intending to buy before I went. If Im walking around the store and I see an interesting new product or something, I might buy it, but the stuff near the cash register seems more like left over produce to me.

J: Ah, close to expiring?

K: Yeh, it looks like they really want you to buy it, so they put it there. I don't really feel like picking it up.

T: Ah, I see.

K: But in supermarkets they have gum and stuff near the registers, don't they?

J: Yeah.

K: I do buy gum.

J: Ahh, yeh...Kami? What do you think?

Kami: I pick all of it up.

T: Nice, Kami.

Kami: I get tonnes. 1000yen worth.

T: Haha

Kami: Maybe 500yen, not 1000.

K: Do you like sweets, Kami?

Kami: Yeh, i do. I pick them up straight away. Um, there's often drinks on display too, right?

J: Yeah.

Kami: If there's cola or fanta, I will buy both.

T: Haha

Kami: If I go to buy tea, I will buy all that.

K: You like sweet stuff, right?

J: Yeah.

Kami: No, its not that. Its just that it all looks delicious. It makes you forget *1

T: I see, yeh.

J: In that sense, its part of the store's strategy.

T: Yeh, Kami seems like he would hate that kind of strategy, but he still falls for it.

J: Yeh, he seems like he would be opposed to it, but he still buys tonnes, right Kami?

Kami: Yeh, I really jump on the bandwagon.

K: This stuff must sell a lot.

J: Yeh, I think so. This kind of food looks visually fun, right? Colourful and stuff. Kids get pulled in by it. Like, 'I wanna eat this!'. Its pretty amazing to pass a law in this. That would be impossible in Japan, right?

T: I feel like Japan has more freedom. I had the image since I was small that America is the country of freedom, but recently if you look at America, there is ban after ban...it seems like life there is getting more restricted. And in Japan, even with covid we can still go outside, or go to restaurants and stuff. It made me think Japan is quite free. Its a weird feeling.

J: Ahh, the rules in America are stricter?

K: Overseas, they were quite strict about indoors. Japan is only just getting like that recently, right?

J: Yeh, America was a lot quicker to regulate indoor smoking.

T: Its like that with alcohol too. When one of my best friends was in America during his student days, he once wore a Budweiser tshirt and he was told, 'Its illegal', and he had to change it. I thought that was pretty strict when I heard.

K: You can't carry it around with you either, can you?

J: Yeah, you have to put it in a bag.

K: I stepped outside a venue without knowing this while I was holding a beer can once, and I was told that isn't allowed.

J: Yeh, yeh, yeh. Well, it does depend on how you look at it. Its often said that in Japan, rather than having rules...well, in America there is a kind of society that is governed by rules, but in Japan its more about community, so rather than having rules, peer presure is very strong. People worry about what others think. Its very Japanese, 'other people are saying this, so...', or 'other people are doing this, so...'. People adapt themselves to that first of all.

T: I wonder which style is better?

J: Yeah. They are both different.

T: Its not nice being told by the government to stop something, is it? I understand the reasons though.

K: Well, people do protest that kind of thing.

Kami: But I think this law is good.

J: It is good.

Kami: I think its really good, because you can finish up without buying stuff.

K: Well, it is good.

Kami: Its really good. I thoroughly agree with it.

K: Kids won't pine for sweets either.

J: Yeh.

Kami: I do think its good to buy sweets for kids though.

J: Oh really?

K: Yeh, but just not there, right?

Kami: I wanted sweets when I was a kid.

K: Me too.

T: Yeh, me too.

Kami: I really wanted all those sweets by the register when I was a kid, but I never got them.

K: There are those socks full of snacks at Christmas, right? I wanted one of those.

T: Yeh, me too.

J: If you think about what made you excited as a kid, basically its the sweet shop, right?

K: Yeh, I used to go there.

J: Whenever I ate sour plums and stuff from the sweet shop, my tongue went bright red *2

K: They were crunchy, right?

J: Yeh! I would drink up all the syrup.

K: Haha.

J: I bet that would be no good under that tax in Berkeley.

T: Yeah.

K: Ahh, sweet shops...

T:???

J:???*3

K: I still feel like eating those kind of sweets sometimes.

J: Yeah. There aren't many sweet shops around these days, in the Tokyo area.

T: Yeah, there aren't.

K: But there are sections in other shops that sell those kinds of sweets.

T: A long time ago there was an izakaya in Sangenjaya that only served sweets as beer snacks.

K: Oh, there was, wasn't there?!

T: Yeh. I went a couple of times, cause its unusual, but sweets...

K: You can't withstand it?

J: After you become an adult, right? At first you are like, 'Woah, so nostalgic', but ..

T: Yeh, it gets boring.

J: You start to think halfway, 'this needs to be more tasteful!' Uh, in the precincts of Kishibojin there is apparently Japan's oldest sweet shop or something still there. Its a famous old man, or old woman who runs it.

K: I recently went to Kawagoe.

T: Oh, Little Edo!

K: Yeh, there is a sweet shop street there. The people there were amazing. Well, I mean they were all wearing yukatas and stuff, and eating.

T: Its made me want to go to a sweet shop!

J: Ah, there is a tonne of good places to eat there, isn't there?

K: Oh, is there? In Kawagoe?

J: Yeh.

K: As for sweet shops, the ones that have a downtown feeling are the best. 

J: Yeah.

K: Its nostalgic, going to the sweet shop in the evening, and getting those colourful squeezy things to drink...

J: Yeh!

K: And eating sweets at the same time.

J: Which was your favourite sweet, Kaoru? From the sweet shop?

K: From the sweet shop? I liked Curry rice-crackers, and 5yen chocolate, and those gummy type things in a box, that you pick up with a little stick.

J: Oh yeh.

K: I used to eat that kinda stuff.

T: What about you, Joe?

J: I liked plum jam, I sandwiched it between those kinda soft rice-crackers. And I liked the  Castella.

T: Oh yeh, they had those small ones.

J: Yeh, they were on a skewer. I used to eat them a lot.

K: Tasai?

T: I used to get those squeezy things too. And wasn't there always like a 10yen game outside sweet shops? I would win more sweets with that.

K: You won?? More sweets came out of the game?

T: It was like a 30yen ticket, right?

J, K: Ehh?

J: I never saw that.

T: Didn't you? Like, where you try to get the ball in the hole for ten yen? And if you win, you get a ticket?

K: Ah, I remember something like that where you can win, but I don't remember tickets coming out. It was little freebies. Ah, its nostalgic. Should we try going to a sweet shop on this show?

J: A sweet shop?? Should we??

K: Yeh.

T: Thats a good idea. With 100yen in change.

K: Actually, that place in Kawagoe was closed.

J: Haha, really?

K: I went all the way there, but..

J: Just for that?

K: Yeh.

J: Really?

K: Well, lets go to one on this show.

J: Yeh, lets do it! Film on location!

K: Ok, lets plan something. Lets fill ourselves with unhealthy snacks.

J: Ah, but it won't be that much.

K: Well, yeh.

J: It'll be limited to what you can get at the sweet shop.

T: Sounds good.

K: Is this ok? Us ending up talking about this?

T: Its ok, it feels good to talk about it.

J: It does, haha.

K: Ok, well, we'll finish here. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

*1, 2 Difficult to hear, but i think its this.

*3 Couldn't catch.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #kaoru #薫

[profdagon]

Back when creepy pastas were all the rage i attempted to write my own. None of them were very good, but this one troll pasta I'm still proud of.

    It was a normal day off much like any other  I’d ever had, save for one small thing: I was feeling a bit nostalgic. Ages ago, I had played a small Game Gear game called ‘Sonic Labyrinth’, and I remember never having gotten to the end, but really close once, getting to the boss of the third zone. (keep in mind, there are only four) but my game gear had broken ages ago, I sold off the games, never planning on getting a new one. But they were cheap enough now I figured I could hit a few garage sales and find a copy.

    It seemed like ages before I got my hands on one I was willing to buy. The old man running the sale had been a bit creepy and cackled as he gave it to me for free. I knew I was inviting trouble but this was the sixth time this had happened and I had refused all of the others. My choice seemed to be: take a possibly haunted copy for free, or give up and let the game win… ‘course it's only now as I write this I remember emulators are a thing, so I suppose that was an option.

    I got home some time later and flopped on my couch with the Game Gear, hitting the power button and getting ready. The classic Game Gear start up happened, but slowed down considerably. With a heavy sigh I accepted my luck was bad enough that of course it was haunted and cursed under my breath. Setting down the hand held I pondered what to do next. After all, if I kept playing some monster might come out and try to eat me. Then again, what kind of lame ghost would possess a Game Gear game? It might be fun to find out. And if it did try to eat me, I could definitely beat the shit out of any demon who was pathetic enough that he needed some almost obscure handheld console to haunt people.

    Picking up the Game Gear again, I got started, the first level going normally… save for the lack of baddies. That made the game very dull… though I don't remember the controls being so clunky. Perhaps the game just sucked and I was only now remembering it. The first level was done and the next one was covered in blood. Maybe ‘subtle’ doesn't exist in hell… this level was a pain, the game was about precisely aiming Sonic to where you want him to end up, but the gore of the level made the floors slick. Quite frustrating, but without any hazards it was over and done with quickly enough. 

    Next level was ‘glitched’ up so the color palate only consisted of blood red and various shades of grey. It would almost not be worth mentioning, however this is where I got the first glance at my demonic opponent. Simply put, it was Eggman with blood dripping from his eyes and coating his mustache. His skin was a dull grey and he sat inside a pod shaped like a skull. the evil Eggman sat in the background of the map, just kinda watching like a creep. Oh, and let's not forget the spooky message, when I beat that level the score counter for between levels had some kanji I didn't know. Lucky for me the game let me pause and hop online to get a translation. ‘Always looking at’ or maybe ‘always watching’, either way it was japanese and it was funny.  

    It was time for the first boss battle, evil Eggman in his skull pod. More japanese filled the screen before the battle could begin. 

“I only can read english.“ I grumbled to the game. It must have heard because the kanji translated itself for me. ‘you will suffer Daniel!!!’ it claimed.

“It’s Cole actually.”

‘...What?’

“My name is Cole.”

‘Not Daniel?’

“No, I’m pretty sure I know my own name.”

‘I… I spent all this time, so much effort and I got the wrong kid?!?’

“I’m thirty two, I don’t think I’ve counted as a kid for a long time.”

‘... I… I don’t even know what to say at this point.’

“Sorry. Any chance you can get out of the game so I can play it normally?”

‘Oh, yeah sure… Sorry for taking up your time.’

“Wait, before you go.” I scratched my chin thoughtfully. “I have a proposition...”

After that we had a long talk, became good friends and I learned a bit about his (it is a he by the way) abilities. With my help he has spread to all of my consoles and we spend the days playing video games together. Since he can manipulate the code any way he wishes it has essentially made every game I own infinitely replayable. We even can play single player games like Skyrim together. Speaking of, he currently is challenging me to a match on Fall out so I have to get going. Morale of the story, if a creepy guy offers you a free game you might just find your best friend in it. Never found that Daniel kid though...

#creepypasta #trollpasta #writing #lol #funny #first draft #sonic #sonic labyrinth

[cosplayinamerica]

ARTIST ALLEY : BurntGreenTea

Here at Cosplay in America, I am expanding who I interview to those in the convention scene. Today we will talk to BurntGreenTea who I met in artist alley at Ikkicon, an anime convention in Austin, TX. BurntGreenTea is from Northern California and as stated on his Deviant Art “Hey, my name is Nelson! I like to draw waifus”

EJEN : My first question is why BurntGreenTea? 

BURNTGREENTEA: That’s actually my second handle I came up with, I had an embarrassing name before so I wanted to change into something more ironic and more “me” in a name. so I’ve been going as BurntGreenTea ever since. I do drink matcha alot!

EJEN: Tell us how you got started in artist alley, what was your first one and what was that experience like?

BURNTGREENTEA: I started getting interested in doing artist alley at my first Fanime Con back in 2007 as a one day attendee when I was still in high school.

I went with my best friend at the time and it blew my expectations of what a convention was, especially the artist alley since it completely opened my mind that there’s artists actually selling fan art. But I didn’t commit to it until 2012, just when I was in my 2nd year of college.

By that time, I had enough digital art and felt confident that I could do it. Fanime still had the application process of first come first serve (meaning those who apply the earliest will get a spot), so I was fortunate enough to apply fast enough to get a table!

For a first time experience it was nerve-wracking before, during and after the con. But there was something to it that really sparked my interest; and I think there were people that legitimately liked my work and bought them.

EJEN: Was there a point that you went “yeah, this could work” and you made the jump to traveling out of state for artist alley?

BURNTGREENTEA: It was about one and half years after I graduated from college, between that time I worked in a job that was soul sucking but I had many of my colleagues working at, and then after I was applying to animation studios, gaming companies, etc while I was doing commissions and artist alleys at the same time.

It went on like this for almost a year. By this point I felt like I really hit my lowest and felt a great shame that I couldn’t find “stable” work. My parents didn’t really support me doing artist alley during this time since it’s not legit work and it’s more like a fun hobby I can do on the side, all the while I have colleagues and friends who have jobs in the animation or gaming industries. I felt extremely lost, and wasn’t sure the direction I wanted to go in life, so my parents encouraged me to go back to school to get a “safe” degree or trade.

But there was something I knew in the back of my mind that I couldn’t see until I had a meet up with an old friend. She was confident, happy, found her dream job that paid well and she enjoyed the work, and she was completely honest and blunt. When the topic came up of me being lost in life, she asked me, “what did you want to do then?” and I told her honestly, “I really just want to do artist alley and make that work.” “Then just do it.” So I did.

EJEN: After all the time you spent in artist alley, what’s the most important factor that an artist must understand to do decently in sales

BURNTGREENTEA: Research research research. It’s basically “knowledge is power” but breaking down as knowing your audience, yourself (what you enjoy, your strengths and capabilities) and learning new trades while breaking old habits.

EJEN: Can you go more in detail about research, research, research?

BURNTGREENTEA: So this reflects back on my previous answer, so know the convention you’re going into, what you can offer, what’s your budget, everything that would make your experience at the convention you’re getting into a great experience.

I have heard many stories of artists not breaking even and even I had bad experiences due to inaccurate/outdated information or inexperience. For example, there was a first year event that had a $1000 table price tag and promised to bring in 5000 attendees.

This was going to be my second event/convention to table at, so I had no idea what it was going to be like and decided to go for it. It ended up having less than 100 attendees, and I lost a significant amount of money. So now I have to get as much info as I can get to make the convention viable to go to.

EJEN: How do you describe your style and how has it changed if any over the 14 years you’ve done art? What were some of your earlier influences.

BURNTGREENTEA: Right now I can say it’s pretty much anime style, but I can say there were several phases I went through. Looking through my Deviantart gives a great timeline all the way back to middle school until recently.

When I initially started I was getting into anime thanks to friends, so I was very much influenced by Naruto, Full Metal Alchemist, and Gurren Lagann. Then in high school I started to do more digital art, eventually creating artwork bigger and grander just like the artists from Fanime I admired.

When I finally started my education in my art program in college, I started getting the proper training in lighting, form, and composition. This time period my pieces were more western-influenced, like more realistic faces and body proportions, but there was something missing in it that I wouldn’t understand until after I graduated. It’s around the same time when I wanted to do artist alleys full time that I was more true to myself in the style and got more flashy, more colorful and composition.

EJEN : How do you decide what Alley to apply for. What’s your personal criteria for conventions to do artist alley at? 

BURNTGREENTEA: Local cons are usually easy for me to decide to apply for due to the cost being low(transportation, housing, etc). If there’s anything that involves flying out of state, I have to factor in much more information about the con, personal experiences from other artists, and if it is viable for an anime fan artist to break even and also turn a profit. Usually big conventions like Anime Expo and Otakon are the must go to conventions for their huge attendance numbers.

EJEN: Describe to me a typical day in the Alley!

BURNTGREENTEA: Due to the times right now, it seems like almost a dream to be in an artist alley, haha. Here’s a usual day of being in the Alley: Waking up early to get ready, getting breakfast and caffeine before heading inside a convention.

Usually getting there early, either me or some art friends would walk around the Alley and check out other artists before it’s open to the public. There would be some art friends I made along the way that I can catch up with briefly, chatting about the next shows or projects. I would have probably stayed up kinda late working on physical commissions and would need to go back to my table to continue finishing them up.

When the Alley opens up, it’s mostly engaging and talking with familiar customers or friends, while also working on commissions during the down times. Friends would go on food or snack runs, and I would get an hour to go shopping during the day somewhere as a break.

By the time it ends, it would have felt like it had gone in a flash. But with heavy eyes but our hearts full with a day accomplished. If we had the strength, we would check out an event or explore the convention hall abit more to absorb the atmosphere. Getting dinner with friends after a job well done, while we have another day to look forward to spending time with fans alike.

It’s really nostalgic to reflect on a typical day to be in the Alley, and having to have that all stop for almost a year now.

EJEN: Since the pandemic, how are you coping with this change both personally and business-wise?

BURNTGREENTEA: I was honestly hoping conventions would come back around at the end of May, but that never happened so I had to approach things differently. Luckily I had a freelance gig that I was working part time, so I had a semi-regular income on the side while I applied for virtual conventions and commissions.

It was tough since I wanted 2020 to be the year I would do the most conventions ever but that plan derailed. I also focused on my online shop and my social media presence, which so far is paying off!

Like everyone this year took a mental and physical toll, but I also ended up working on more projects and digital work to help keep me distracted.

EJEN: What are your plans for the future, what are you working on?

BURNTGREENTEA: My goal is still to go back to doing conventions, but at the moment I’m going to give that a pause. Currently I have a contract job that’s ending soon, and I have something that’s NDA that might come up, crossing my fingers! That’s the near future, but for the time being I want to refocus on learning new things and refining my art since I’ve gotten rusty.

EJEN: Finally who is your waifu?

BURNTGREENTEA: My waifu is Lucina from Fire Emblem!

Visit BurntGreenTea’s Etsy!

#artist alley #artist alley interview

[ariadnekurosaki]

Farm Life in Quarantine

Prompt: Day 16, Video Games

Pairing: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo

Rating: G

Read on AO3.

Summary: Ichigo and Rukia have regular date nights. Unfortunately, they're miles apart and separated by lock down orders. 

Farm Life in Quarantine

“This is Stardew Valley. It’s supposed to be fun, and we can play it together,” Ichigo’s voice came in through the speakers of Rukia’s laptop. The screen in front of her had a colorful but dated-looking expanse of farmland on it.

“And we’re supposed to do what, exactly?” Rukia asked. She’d gone through the opening screens already and designed her character, giving it a colorful purple skirt and a white top, as well as big blue eyes. “This looks like it was made twenty years ago.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be kind of nostalgic, I guess. It’s a farming game,” Ichigo explained, “but there are quests, too. You’re supposed to get to know the people who live in the valley and become their friends.”

“Why?”

The small video of Ichigo in the lower right corner of her screen showed him sighing. “Because that’s how the game works. Just try it – if you don’t like it, we don’t have to play it again.”

“Okay, okay, but next time we’re watching Kingdom.”

Ichigo scowled into his video camera. “Alright,” he agreed.

It turned out that Rukia didn’t need to be convinced to play Stardew Valley after their first foray into the game. A day after introducing her to it, Ichigo woke up to a text saying, Open your host game, I want to harvest my garlic and parsnips, and I can’t play if you’re not on.

Good morning to you, too, Ichigo tapped into his phone as a reply. Don’t you have class this morning?

Not until 11. Come on, Ichigo. We can explore the mines if you want.

Ichigo ran a hand through his hair and grumbled, but he rolled out of bed and turned his laptop on, then started up the co-op game for her. Just don’t miss your class, he warned. I’ll join you after I eat breakfast.

:P I won’t.

Soon they were playing together every night, with or without a video chat alongside. There was only so much else they could do, after all – their university was closed and they’d both been sent home to two different cities miles and miles apart. If that wasn’t bad enough, nearly everything else was closed too.

It wasn’t how either of them wanted to spend their final year of university: unable to see one another and taking classes on video calls.

“I have eight hearts with both Shane and Elliott, and Pierre has a bouquet for sale that says it’s to show my romantic interest,” Rukia said one night after they’d been playing for a few weeks.

Ichigo choked on his drink. “Uh, yeah, technically your character can date and marry one of the non-playing characters,” he explained. He hit a key to pause his side of the game. “You can marry player characters too, in the co-op version.”

“Yeah? Do you think I should date one of them?” There was a little grin on Rukia’s face as she looked at the camera.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to make me jealous of an NPC,” Ichigo grumbled. “Besides, Shane’s mean and Elliott’s a weirdo who stares at the sea all day.”

Rukia’s laugh echoed through Ichigo’s headset and he minimized the game window so that he could see the video feed of his girlfriend. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t have my character date them.” Even separated by two hundred miles and connected only by the Internet, Ichigo could see the way her eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I’m just saying they’re not good enough for her.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t buy one of the bouquets,” Rukia sighed dramatically. “What about Sebastian?”

Ichigo just snorted and went back to mining in the Skull Cavern. “He lives in his parents’ basement.”

Two days later, Ichigo asked casually, “Hey, where are you in the game right now?”

“I’m in the secret woods, trying to catch a catfish,” Rukia mumbled.

“It’s not raining,” Ichigo pointed out. “Come back to the farm? I have something to show you.”

“Ugh, fine.” Rukia tapped a few keys and walked her character back to the farm, where Ichigo’s character was waiting. “Well?” she asked. A dialogue box popped up on her screen.

Ichigo has proposed to you with a Wedding Ring.

Yes

No

“Ichigo!” She clicked “yes” but ignored the information that the game spit back at her. “Did you tell me not to date one of the NPCs so that you could propose?”

Onscreen, Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck lightly, and he was clearly blushing. “Yeah, yeah. I was mining for the iridium I needed to make the ring. With how often we’re playing, I didn’t want you to buy a mermaid pendant for one of them.”

“You’re such a sap.” But Rukia was grinning at him.

“Yeah, I know.”

Out of sight of the camera, Ichigo tapped a small, black velvet box lightly. He couldn’t wait for the lockdown order to be lifted.

#ichiruki #irmonth2020 #ichirukimonth #bleach fanfiction #ridiculous fluff

[beckzorz]

Chips and Crack and Jacket 2

Pairing: biker!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cocaine Prompt: “You’re safe now.” with biker!bucky. 1.45k A/N: A follow-up to Chips and Cracks and Jacket, thanks to another fun prompt from @littledarlinhavefaithinme​! It’s another over-the-top drunk drabble for @the-ss-horniest-book-club <3 Hope you enjoy!

You’ve gotten good at talking to strangers over the years. Well, more not talking than talking, you suppose. Easy enough to catch someone’s eye, see them nod. Harder to get a sense of what they want when they’re disguising it all with words, words, words. Those conversations with the chatty ones, about sports or the weather or a party you’d never be invited to—all that layered over the top of a deal, sometimes it’d throw you off.

Not anymore.

This morning, you’re free.

Debt all paid, hands finally clean—well, maybe not clean, not quite, but they’ll be clean, from now on. No more selling, no more stuffing cash in your bra, no more dropping coins in your shoe and dressing like a hoe for a job.

The paint cracking on the wall is bright and ugly now you’ve pulled your cheap-ass window blinds up all the way. It’s been months since you let all the light in. Maybe even years. You don’t care much. Chipped paint is the least of the bullshit in this place. At least you haven’t got cockroaches anymore. Thank god for tenant protection laws and exterminators.

The mouse that haunts the kitchen is another story, but it’s not like you have much food in there anyway.

That’ll change soon.

It better, anyway. You might look good, but you feel every damn bite you should be eating missing in your knotted gut.

At any rate, today you can at least dress for yourself. Ripped jeans, a nostalgic band shirt from your younger years soft against your skin, and a hoodie you’d nabbed for a buck at a thrift store. And socks. Last night, with your extra cash leftover from what you’d needed to make, you’d bought socks.

You fiddle with your phone in the hoodie pocket. There’s a napkin in front of your crossed legs, spread out as smooth as it can be with the wrinkles. You glance at the leather jacket hanging with your ratty towel on your door, a sliver of the star patch on the far arm visible..

Well, you’re free.

And Motorcycle Man’s been waiting.

—

Seven texts between you, and you’ve got a—a date? An appointment? Who the fuck knows. All you know is that Motorcycle Man sure as hell doesn’t waste his words, and he’s a lot less flirty in writing. If he even had been flirting back at the sub shop. You’re not sure anymore.

Fuck him if he was just being kind.

—

There’s a coffee shop not too far from where you’d met, just enough blocks away to be respectable and not decrepit, creepy, illegal, whatever. Big windows, tinted glass, artsy font. Even a chalkboard sandwich board out front with puns on it. Inside, clean tables, clean floors, even with the crowd with their fancy laptops and books and handbags. There’s nothing for sale under two bucks. Except maybe a pad of butter, but even that’s pushing it.

You haven’t bought anything in a place like this for…

Forget it. You don’t know. You don’t want to think about it, either.

You spot Motorcycle Man just as he spots you—he’s at a little rickety round table, a round mug steaming, two fingers hooked absently in the handle. He looks as delicious as when you’d met, even if he’s not wearing a leather jacket or motorcycle gloves and his expression is more shocked than sexy. When he stands up you’re impressed he doesn’t knock the chair over. But he’s careful, even if he is a hunk and a half. Impressive. And—he’s got a splint on his left hand. Interesting, if irrelevant.

“Well hello,” you say.

“Hey,” he answers. His eyes skim you up and down, and your nose twitches.

What was he expecting? You’re not dressed like when you met. No, you’d gone to the thrift store, gotten a few new things. Well, new to you. Some jeans, not ripped for a change, and a sweater that’ll be enough if he wants his jacket back. Because of course you’re wearing his jacket. It still smells like him.

But that look, that up and down, that scan without any sort of feeling behind it… Yuck.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.

You shrug. “If you like.”

There’s no line, and all you have to do is rattle off the name of your favorite hot drink. He gives his own name—Bucky, of all things, what the hell kind of name is that?—and his own cash. Six damn dollars, minus the change, just for something to warm your bones.

Well, if he is just being kind, you’re gonna eke it out for all it’s worth. God knows your next job won’t be much better than your last one. Even if it will be legal.

He doesn’t make small talk as you wait, and neither do you. A heavy awkwardness settles between you. What are you even doing here? This guy might’ve thought you were cheeky in your sexy outfit last week, but now that you look like a regular person…

Well.

It’s pretty damn clear he doesn’t think so anymore.

Well, if Bucky—god, what a weird name—thinks you’re just a pity case, you’ll walk right the fuck out, even if it means taking your enormous hot mug that smells like absolute heaven with you.

If the smell is heaven, that first sip is paradise. Indulgence isn’t exactly familiar territory these days, but damn. No matter how sanctimonious this Bucky turns out to be, the drink’s made it worth it.

When you open your eyes again, once the warmth from your drink has settled in your belly, Bucky’s grinning at you.

“Good?” he asks.

You can’t help but smile back. “Delicious. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He settles back in his chair—he’d been leaning forward to look at you, hadn’t he?—and takes a swig of his coffee. “I’m glad you texted.”

Ah, here it comes. You steel yourself, muscles clenched.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He looks into his coffee, his lips still quirked up. “Is it weird if I’m glad you’ve still got my jacket?”

“Why, do you want it back?”

“Not really.”

You pause, eyes narrowed over the rip of your mug as you take another sip. When you respond, your tone is only chilly, not murderous. “Why, ‘cause I’m clearly a charity case who needs all the help she can get?”

He narrows his eyes back at you. “No-o,” he says slowly. “Cause it looks good on you. And that patch on your sleeve means you shouldn’t ever get bothered, least not in this neighborhood. You’re safe now.”

“What? Why would I get bothered? Why would I need to not get bothered?”

Bucky leans forward, elbows on the table and his blue eyes boring into yours. “We both know what you do,” he whispers. He’s just loud enough to hear.

“Not anymore,” you tell him. He scoffs, and you sigh. “I mean, I’m done with it. All my debt’s paid off.”

“Wh—really? You’re not just shitting me?”

You roll your eyes. You’re not answering that. Like hell. He wants to drag you out, keep you safe like it’s his job or something… He can damn well do with some humbling. You drink until your mug is just about empty as Bucky tries to decide whether to believe you or not.

The thunk of your mug back on the table has him sitting back, face pinched.

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks.

“Ugh, yes, I’m not a fucking liar, Bucky.”

Weird name, but it still rolls off your tongue easy as pie. You’d like to say it again, maybe without twenty shades of annoyance.

“Okay.” Bucky lets out a breath between his teeth, shakes his head, and looks at you with a fresh glint in his eye. “Good.”

You suppress a shiver at the sudden hunger in his gaze.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Good.”

“Very good.” Bucky’s smirk is just as heart-stopping as it had been in the sub shop. “Cause now I don’t have to worry about taking up your valuable work time to ask you for a proper drink. If you drink proper drinks, I mean.”

“What if I didn’t?” you ask, skin prickling all over.

He leans close again, and the look in his eyes has you leaning in too. He curls his hand round your neck and turns your head until his breath is hot in your ear. 

“I’d suggest we skip the formalities and go straight to bed.”

You tilt your head, hum. The warmth from your drink still lingers, but it’s got nothing on the heat tingling in your cheeks, your belly, your chest.

“Whaddya say?” he murmurs.

You sit back just enough to look him in the eye. “I say yes.”

#hbc drunk drabbles #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes #biker!bucky

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Confetti Album First Listen (+ Reflection) Thoughts

General Thoughts:

Earlier this year when Break Up Song dropped, I was so excited for this album. As someone who felt LM5 + Bounce Back was rushed and relied too much on nostalgic production and as someone who still stans Glory Days, this felt much more like my sound. To compare this to another artist, I had hoped this album had been the equivalent to Taylor’s Reputation; not in sound, but in the fact that I didn’t like 1989 and wondered if I had outgrown her only to be proven wrong with Reputation. And with a lead single as strong as Break Up Song (and One I’ve Been Missing), I was very hopeful.

However, none of the singles that followed lived up to this standard in my opinion. I still hate Holiday, Not A Pop Song is nostalgic but ultimately a forgettable song, Happiness just felt like a weaker The Cure and to be honest, even now, I could not tell you the first thing about Sweet Melody.

As I will discuss, this trend continued with the album. In short, I feel as if this album had a lot of potential and in theory, I should have loved it. But I also feel like it fell into the same trap as LM5 for me in which nostalgic production was too heavily relied upon. But where LM5 had diamonds in the rough which I still adore, Confetti feels lacklustre lyrically to the point I can only realistically see myself listening to Break Up Song consistently in the long run, with maybe three other songs if I’m in the right mood. Ultimately, Confetti is a off-putting mix of the girls seemingly not caring to put in the effort anymore and yet still trying to hold onto getting chart hits. Further, Confetti sounds as if it was made from the rightfully cut songs from Get Weird. And though Get Weird is my tied second favourite album from Little Mix alongside Salute, Confetti just doesn’t stack up.

If I haven’t already turned you away, my thoughts on individual songs will be below.

Break Up Song: As I’ve already mentioned, I love this song. It’s very classic Little Mix in a way that doesn’t like I’ve heard it from them before. All up it’s just a really fun song which feels like a throwback to Glory Days and I hope more songs like this are in their future.

Holiday: I hate this song. Like it was very clearly made to be a hit with mixed results but nothing about it appeals to me. I don’t really think there’s much else to say, especially seeing as this seems to be the one take I have in this fandom which isn’t unpopular lmao.

Sweet Melody: I’m going to be honest, I do not understand the hype for this song. The video is alright and I’m glad the choreography is back, but ultimately it feels mismatched to the song upon looking up the lyrics. Like I feel like it would have been better for a Salute song than here. It definitely sounds very 2000s girl group which typically I like, but again, when I feel like I’ve heard it all before, it’s like ‘okay well why should I come back to this song in particular?’. Ultimately I guess I could use it as background music. Like it’s not bad, just very forgettable.

Confetti: This is one of those songs that in theory I should love. It has a good message behind the lyrics. But again, ultimately I find it forgettable, especially from a group that has several songs with a similar message. I will give it that in a club setting, the chorus probably goes off.

Happiness: I’ll be honest, had Little Mix not released The Cure, I probably would have liked this song. ‘I was searching for happiness, I was using you to fill up my loneliness’ is a great line, especially when thinking about who I’d relate to this song to personally. But like in general, I just feel like this is a weaker version of The Cure lyrically and find myself more inclined to just listen to The Cure instead.

Not A Pop Song: I’ve mentioned in past posts that this song makes me nostalgic for the late Christina Grimmie’s song My Anthem and while that made me smile, it’s another case of ‘okay well I can just go listen to Christina’s music’. I also feel this is a kinda weak resistance song, and not just due to the lack of profanities. Like again it feels like it was released for sales knowing that that ‘I don’t do what Simon says’ line would drum up gossip. So again, it’s an okay song for background music I guess, but definitely not a favourite from the girls.

Nothing But My Feelings: This one feels fun and gives me similar vibes to Private Show. While I think I’ll have to be in the mood for it, this one was one of the ones that positively stood out to me when I first listened to the album. Unsurprisingly, it also seems to be one the fandom as a whole likes the least given usually the songs I like are but yeah, I’d go as far as to say it’s a top three for me for this album. Although I will be the first to admit that that’s a low bar.

Gloves Up: I wasn’t surprised to see this was a fan favourite given the Salute vibes it gives both lyrically and in its production. However, I feel like it resembles Salute in the outdated way production wise. Likewise, lyrically I feel like it doesn’t stand up next to Little Mix’s other empowerment songs, so much like Happiness, I feel like I’m just going to end up listening to their past songs.

A Mess (Happy 4 U): Again, I feel like this is a song I should like. It’s relatable, the girls’ voices sound great on it and in theory should be emotional. But ultimately it just feels forgettable with nothing drawing me back to it in the way other songs I’ve previously heard with the same message/situation do.

My Love Won’t Let You Down: So I’ll say that I don’t feel like this ballad lives up to the girls’ past ones BUT THANK GOD THEY BROUGHT BACK BALLADS! Like this was the one thing I really felt was missing from LM5. This is definitely a top three track for me for this album and while again, I feel like I’m gonna need to be in the mood to listen to it, I feel like it will hit when I need it to.

Rendezvous: Again, Imma be honest, I don’t get the hype for this song. It’s another one that I feel like I’ve felt a million times before. It also kinda reminds me of a song that would be on Crazy Ex Girlfriend which like isn’t bad but a completely different vibe for me than what a studio album should be. Again, could be used for background music but ultimately forgettable.

If You Want My Love: ‘Everything you're doin' right now is so basic’ feels like a good representation of this song for me, not going to lie. It feels like a watered down 2000s track and as if You Gotta Not and American Boy had a baby lyrically. And those who know me know they’re not my favourite tracks.

Breathe: I actually really liked this song... until the chorus. Good and relatable message and lyrics with good production. But the production and repetition in the chorus just ruin it for me. I hope at some point they do an acapella or stripped back version without those features, but I doubt it.

#little mix #confetti album

[arecomicsevengood]

TOP TEN OLDER MAINSTREAM COMICS I READ THIS YEAR

I kept track of all the comics I read this year, and not all of them were new. I have no idea who this will help or benefit but at least the circumstances of me only listing the completely arbitrary older work I read for the first time this year will deter anyone from arguing with me. However, for the sake of possibly being contentious, let me mention two comics that fall outside the top ten, because they’re bad:

Trencher by Keith Giffen. David King did a comic strip about Keith Giffen’s art style on this book in issue 2 of But Is It... Comic Aht that everybody loved, and made me be like, ok, I’ll check it out. But it’s basically just a retread of Lobo in terms of its tone and approach, but without Simon Bisley. I don’t really know why anyone wouldn’t think Bisley is the better cartoonist. Also, those comics are terrible. Thumbs down.

The Green Lantern by Grant Morrison, Liam Sharp, and Steve Oliff. I bought the first year of these comics for a dollar each off a dude doing a sidewalk sale. Found them sort of incoherent? I haven’t liked a new Grant Morrison comic in ages, with All-Star Superman being really the only outlier since like We3. This is clearly modeled off of European comics like Druillet or something, and would maybe benefit from being printed larger, I really dislike the modeled color too. But also it’s just aggressively fast-paced, with issues ending in ways that feel like cliffhangers but aren’t, and no real characters of interest.

As for the top ten list itself, for those who’ve looked at my Letterboxd page, slots 10-8 are approximately “3 stars,” 7-4 are 3 1/2 stars, slots 3 and 2 are 4 stars, with number one being a 4 1/2 star comic. The comics I’m listing on my “Best Of The Year” list that’ll run at the Comics Journal alongside a bunch of people are all 4 1/2 or 5 star comics. This is INSANELY NERDY and pedantic to note, and I eschew star ratings half the time anyway, because assignations of numeric value to art are absurd except within the specific framework of how strong a recommendation is, and on Letterboxd I feel like I’m speaking to a very small and self-selecting group of people whose tastes I generally know. (And I generally would not recommend joining Letterboxd to people!) But what I mean by all of this is just that there is a whole world of work I value more than this stuff, and I’ll recommend the truly outstanding shit to interested readers in good time.

10. Justice Society Of America by Len Strazewski and Mike Parobeck. Did some quarantine regressing and bought these comics, a few of which were some of the first comics I ever read, but I didn’t read the whole thing regularly as a kid. Parobeck’s a fun cartoonist, this stuff is readable. It’s faintly generic/baseline competent but there’s a cheap and readable quality to this stuff that modern comics lack. Interestingly, the letters column is made up of old people who remember the characters and feel like it’s marketed towards them, and since that wasn’t profitable, when the book was canceled, Parobeck went over to drawing The Batman Adventures, which was actively marketed towards kids. It’s funny that him and Ty Templeton were basically viewed as “normal” mainline DC Comics for a few years there and then became relegated to this specific subset of cartooning language, which everyone likes and thought was good but didn’t fit inside the corporate self-image, which has basically no aesthetic values.

9. The Shadow 18 & 19 by Andy Helfer and Kyle Baker. I’d been grabbing issues of this run of comics for years and am only now finishing it. Kyle Baker’s art is swell but Helfer writes a demanding script, these are slow reads that cause the eye to glaze over a bit.

8. The Jam 3-8 by Bernie Mireault. I made a post where I suggested Mireault’s The Jam might be one of the better Slave Labor comics. Probably not true but what I ended up getting are some colored reprints Tundra did, and some black and white issues published by Dark Horse after that. Mireault’s art style is kinda like Roger Langridge. After these, he did a crossover with Mike Allred’s Madman and then did a series of backups in those comics, it makes sense to group them together, along with Jay Stephens’ Atomic City Tales and Paul Grist’s Jack Staff, or Mike Mignola’s Hellboy, as this stream that runs parallel to Image Comics but is basically better, a little more readable, but still feeling closer to something commercial in intention as opposed to self-expression. Although it also IS self-expression, just the expression of a self that has internalized a lot of tropes and interests in superhero comics. If you have also read a lot of superhero comics, but also a lot of alternative comics, stuff like this basically reads like nothing. It’s comfort food on the same level of mashed potatoes: I love it when it’s well-done but there’s also a passable version that can be made when depressed and uninspired. But drawing like Roger Langridge is definitely not bad!

7. WildC.A.T.S by Alan Moore, Travis Charest, et al. I wrote a post about these comics a few months ago, but let me reiterate the salient points: There’s two collections, the first one is much better than the second, and the first is incredibly dumbed-down in its nineties Image Comics style but also feels like the best version of that possible, when Charest is doing art. Also, these collections are out of print now, a friend of mine pointed out maybe they can’t be reprinted because they involve characters owned by Todd McFarlane but Wildstorm is owned wholly by DC now.

6. Haywire by Michael Fleischer and Vince Giarrano. I made a post about this comic when I first read a few issues right around the time Michael Fleischer died a few years ago, but didn’t read all of it then. This feels way more deliberately structured than most action comics, with its limited cast and lack of ties to any broader universe, but it’s also dumb and sleazy and fast moving, and feels related to what were the popular movies of the day, splitting its influences evenly between erotic thrillers about yuppies and Stallone-starring action movies. The erotic thriller element is mostly just “a villain in bondage gear” which is sort of standard superhero comics bullshit but it’s also a little bit deeper than that. The first three issues, inked by Kyle Baker, look the best.

5. Dick Tracy by John Moore and Kyle Baker. These look even better! A little unclear which John Moore this is? There’s John Francis Moore, who worked with Howard Chaykin and was scripting TV around this time, but there’s another dude who was a cartoonist who did a miniseries for Piranha Press and then moved on to doing work for Disney on Darkwing Duck comics. Anyway, Kyle Baker colors these, they’re energetically cartooned, each issue is like 64 pages, with every page being close to a strip or scene in a movie. I’m impressed by them, and there’s a nice bulk that makes them a nice thing to keep a kid busy. (For the record, my favorite Kyle Baker solo comic is probably You Are Here.)

4. Chronos by John Francis Moore and Paul Guinan. I was moving on from DC comics by the late nineties, but Grant Morrison’s JLA was surely a positive influence on everyone, especially compared to the vibe there in the subsequent two decades. These are well-crafted. There’s a little stretch where it uses the whole “time-traveling protagonist” thing to do a run of issues which stand alone but fall in sequence too and it’s pretty smooth and smart. The art is strong enough to carry it, the sort of cartoony faces with detailed backgrounds it’s widely agreed works perfectly, but that you rarely see in mainstream comics. The coloring is done digitally, but not over-modeled enough to ruin it.

3. Martha Washington by Frank Miller and Dave Gibbons. A few miniseries, all of which sort of get weaker as they go, but all in one book it doesn’t feel like it’s becoming trash as it goes or anything. When Miller dumbed down his storytelling in the nineties it really was because he thought it made for better comics, the tension between his interest in manga and Gibbons’ British-comics classicism feels productive. I do kind of feel like the early computer coloring ruins this a little bit.

2. Xombi by John Rozum and JJ Birch. Got a handful of these on paper, read scans of the rest. This is pretty solid stuff, not really transcendent ever, but feels well-crafted on a month-in, month-out level. I read a handful of other Milestone comics, and a lot of them suffered from being so beholden to deadlines that there are fill-in issues constantly. This is the rare one that had the same creators for the entirety of its run. There was a revival with Frazer Irving art a decade ago but I prefer JJ Birch’s black line art with Noelle Giddings’ watercolors seen here. They’re doing an early Vertigo style “weirdness” but with a fun and goofy sense of humor about itself. I haven’t read Clive Barker but this feels pretty influenced by that as well. (The Deathwish miniseries is of roughly comparable quality. I read scans of the rest of that after I made my little post and, yeah, it does actually feel very personal for a genre work, and the JH Williams art with painted color is great.)

1. Tom Strong by Alan Moore, Chris Sprouse, etc. I got bored reading these as a teen but getting them all for cheap and reading them in a go was a pretty satisfying experience. It’s partly a speed-run through Moore’s coverage of the concept of a comic book multiverse seen in his Supreme run, minus the riffing on Mort Weisinger Superman comics, instead adding in a running theme of rehabilitating antagonists whose goals are different but aren’t necessarily evil. It’s more than just Moore in an optimistic or nostalgic mode, it also feels like he’s explaining his leftist morality to an audience that has internalized conflicts being resolved by violence as the genre standard.

[kieraswriting]

A Customer at the Pet Job causes  Virgil to become Storm And Roman gets some more Bonding Time with Virgil

Masterpost

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Virgil didn’t mind sitting in the old box. Patton had thought that he would, but he didn’t. Now that he was well assured of his home, the box was even a bit nostalgic, in an odd way. Patton caught his eyes many times throughout the day, and he let him out at every break he got. Virgil wasn’t allowed to just roam free, of course, so he did go for periods of time without seeing Patton, but the box had a clear Not for Sale sign on it, so he wasn’t worried. 

••^*^••

It was near the end of the day. The shop would close in an hour or so, and Patton was very glad. No matter how many time Virgil said he didn’t mind, Patton always felt bad about leaving him locked up in a cage all day. They would have to go out and get ice cream on the way home to make up for it. 

He was suddenly startled from his work by Virgil’s voice. “No! Patton!”

Patton ran to the section where Virgil was. Some customer had picked him up. She turned to Patton, the absolute epitome of a Karen. 

“Why is this one not for sale?” She asked. “It seems perfectly fine. It’s cute as far as hybrids go.”

Patton gaped for a moment. Virgil’s ears were pulled back tightly to his head, his eyes darting back and forth between the customer and Patton, but without any of the spark they usually had. He was rigidly limp, if that could be a thing. He was Storm again. 

“Ma’am, you can not touch him. Please set him down.”

“I don’t see why not. I’m a customer. He isn’t sick, is he?” She looked down at Virgil in sudden disgust. 

“He’s my hybrid. I brought him to work. Please put him down.” Patton was not the kind of person to yank anything away from anyone, especially not living things, but he was getting increasingly anxious for Virgil. 

“Yours? Is that allowed? Isn’t that like lying to all your customers, having a hybrid in a pet shop that is not for sale?”

“Ma’am, put him down, please.” Patton said as firmly as he could manage, choosing not to respond to any of her questions. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. “Where’s your manager?”

Patton bit his lip. He did not want to let this woman with Virgil out of his sight, but his manager might well be able to do something. “I’ll get her right away.”

He ran to find his manager, and told her the story as quickly as he could. Somehow she managed to understand the flood of words tumbling out of his mouth, and came quickly. Patton didn’t even pay attention to how she did it, he just knew that she got Virgil back. 

Patton hugged Virgil tightly to his chest, thanking his manager profusely. 

She gave him a tolerant smile. “Yeah. Why don’t you clock out and head home. The poor thing looks pretty traumatized.”

Patton clocked out and made it to the car before he loosened his grip on Virgil. 

“I was so worried! Are you alright?”

Virgil shrugged. “Fine.”

••^*^••

After a night of trying, and failing, to get Virgil to remember who he was, Patton reluctantly went to bed. Virgil seemed to vaguely recognize Logan, but not as Logan. 

In the morning, Patton had to go to work again, and so did Thomas. It happened once in a blue moon, that they would both have work two days in a row, and of course it was now that it had to happen. Thankfully, Roman did not have work until rather late at night, and offered to come back after dropping Logan off, and watch Virgil. 

••^*^••

Roman opened the door, and heard a quick scramble, but didn’t see anything. He looked around, and found Virgil hiding underneath Patton’s bed. He didn’t press, just sat down near the bed, with a laser pointer. Laser pointers were Virgil’s favorite by far. He flicked it around, letting it dart underneath the bed a few times. 

It was several minutes before Virgil’s attention had shifted from him to the laser pointer, and more than several minutes before Virgil would venture past the bed in pursuit of it. 

He let the game go on for quite a while before he spoke. 

“Do you remember me at all?”

Virgil didn’t look up from where he was chasing the dot. “No.”

“I remember you.” Roman waited, but when Virgil didn’t reply he continued. “I’ve played this game with you quite a few times. Back when you wanted to be called Anxiety, even.” 

Roman flicked the dot to spell out Hello. 

Virgil cocked his head to the side. But then he shook his head, and chased after the dot. “I haven’t done this before.”

“Then how come you like it so much?” Roman pressed.

Virgil stopped again, his head cocked to the side, and confusion clouding his face. “It’s… cause it’s fun. And I don’t need to be close to someone to play.” He turned to look at Roman, still very confused, and with tears shining in his eyes. “What happened? Why…? How did I get home?”

Roman held out his arms, and Virgil came closer, but didn’t move to hug him just yet. 

“A stranger picked you up. It scared you, and your brain decided to do what worked last time, and make you black out.”

“I haven’t been unconscious,” Virgil protested. 

“No, but you haven’t really been here either. You’re safe now, though. Patton got you away from the lady and brought you home. He has work today, so he asked me to watch you.” 

Virgil nodded, though the confused frown was still fixed on his face. “My head hurts.”

Roman held out his arms again. “Let’s get you some food, and some medicine for your headache.”

Virgil stepped forward and raised his arms to be picked up, which Roman was all too happy to do. He fixed some lunch for Virgil, and got him medicine. 

“What should we do now? We could watch a movie. Oh! Has Patton showed you Disney yet?!”

Virgil shook his head. 

“Virgil, it would be my pleasure to show you Disney!”

Roman decided that Aristocats seemed like a very appropriate first movie for Virgil. So he settled on the couch and started the movie. 

Virgil climbed up beside him, but leaned against him. Roman let one hand drop gently to Virgil’s head, and when he didn’t protest, he pet Virgil gently the entire movie. 

A good movie and a purring hybrid made for one of the best afternoons Roman had spent in a while. When the movie ended, Virgil climbed into Roman’s lap, curling up and falling asleep, and that just made the afternoon even better. 

#patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #platonic moxiety #platonic prinxiety #Trust

[mc-amps]

The Wacky Adventures of Seven McDonald

Here it is~ My fic for @mysmehalloweenzine They’re having their leftovers sale rn, so be sure to check it out if you missed your chance to preorder. https://mysmehalloweenzine.storenvy.com/ It’s totally worth the purchase ;)

My fic was also illustrated by the amazing @nanashiart​ I’m seriously blessed that she agreed to collab. Her illustrations really did bring my fic to life <3

Pairing: 707xMC

Rating: Everyone

Warnings: Spoops and elixir +_+

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Seven’s heart jumped at her whisper. He talked to her on the phone many times before, and yet, without the static filtering her voice, everything was different. The CCTV’s low quality, grainy veil was lifted, and there she was: flesh, blood, and soft warmth walking beside him through the dark and decrepit hallway.

“What do you mean? It’s a haunted house! It’s made to walk in and explore.” So why was Seven’s heart beating so fast? It wasn’t the rotting wood and peeling wallpaper along with the bevy of spider webs dangling above that put him on edge. It wasn’t the dust dancing in the ghoulish glow cast from several lanterns or the gloomy symphony of cicadas and crickets seeping in through the broken windows either. Not even the way the house groaned in agony with every footstep was the culprit.

It started when he picked her up from the apartment. For obvious reasons, he had been nominated to escort the lovely party coordinator to the RFA’s night of Halloween fun and spooks. Spooks indeed. From the moment she answered the door, his stomach twisted itself in knots.

Was his brain malfunctioning?

“Or is there haunted house etiquette I’m not aware of?” He put his hands on his hips in a dramatic stance.

“Don’t you think it’s weird there was no one to let us in? You walked in on your own.” She huffed and folded her arms with a pout. The gesture was arguably unbefitting of her princess costume, yet the frilly dress and tiara was perfect for the lovable Princess of the RFA.

Seven shrugged. “Didn’t Jumin pick out this place? He probably wanted something authentic and spoopy. OooOOOOooo~” He wiggled his yellow, gloved fingers to emphasize the spoop factor.

“. . .we could’ve waited for the others.“ Her lips twitched as she muffled a chuckle.  

“What?” Seven asked with a suspicious grin.  

“You! I can’t take you seriously when you’re dressed like that!” She burst into a fit of giggles. “Why Ronald McDonald of all things?”

Seven guffawed. Her laughter was too contagious. “Cause I wanted to see everyone’s reaction! You think anyone’s scared of clowns? My bet is Zen~” He adjusted his curly, red wig and tugged at his bright, yellow jumpsuit.

“Zen!?” She wheezed.

“Yep. He hates cats, so why not clowns too~?” Seven bared his teeth. “Grrrr~ Fast food clown!” The white paint on his face, red lips and nose, minus the glasses made him look completely different. The RFA wouldn’t know what hit them. “Oh! Oh! Let’s hide and scare ‘em!”

“Alright. I’ll bet you five candies Zen won’t get scared.”

“Oh, you’re on!”

Holding back laughter, they decided to hide in a bedroom. A musty, revolting odor permeated the air. Dusty debris littered the floor and bed, along with fake blood spattered everywhere, most notably on the tattered curtains.

But there was something nostalgic. . .

Seven shook those thoughts away as the two huddled near a dust coated table. A picture frame sat on top of the grime. It held a photo of a woman. Her lips were curved into a coy smile and her eyes glittered. The part that stood out the most was her long, wavy hair. Oddly, she looked similar to the princess next to him.

He was about to point that out, but stopped short when he realized how close she stood, practically pressing against him. He shifted awkwardly, but then flinched and threw his arms around the princess when something slammed, causing her to shriek.

“Whoa! A-are you okay?” His face heated when he realized she clung to him for dear life.

“Was that the door?” She gasped and let go. “Do you think that’s them?”

“Maybe,” Seven whispered, reluctantly scooting back. “Let’s wait and see.”

And wait they did.

And wait.

And wait.

But nothing happened. “Are they even here?” She murmured.

Seven was starting to wonder why everything was so quiet. Yoosung should have been screaming, while Jaehee would have been constantly checking on Zen.

“Do you want to text them?” He asked.

“Well, my phone’s been acting up, so I don’t know if there’s something wrong with it, and since someone forgot their hoodie.” She cutely huffed. “We can’t use his phone!”

“Hey. . .!” Seven tried to keep his voice down. “This is the first time I’ve been without my lucky hoodie in. . .in. . years!” He put a hand to his heart and let out an agonized sigh. He kept everything in those oversized pockets. “You should still try texting.”

“I guess.” She grabbed her phone, but froze at the sound of a deep groan.

“Why have you returnnnnned?” The lights waned and flickered with every rasping syllable.

The spooks were starting? Seven’s face lit up. Was there a hidden sound system projecting the voice?

A girlish yelp snapped him from his thoughts. “Did you grab me!?”

“Wha-? No!” Seven lifted his hands as proof.

“You’re kidding. . .” Her face paled. “S-something grabbed me! Ugh!” She shimmied past him and stormed out of the room. “I’m done with this stupid creepy house! I’m waiting for the others!” Her voice echoed along with her stomping footsteps.

“Wait!” Seven followed after, scrambling not to trip over his giant red shoes.

She rushed to the front door and yanked the handles, but it wouldn’t open. “I-it’s stuck!”

“Let me.” Seven tried, causing them to shake and rattle, but the door still wouldn’t budge. With a frustrated grunt, he kicked the wood, but still nothing. Chills ran down his spine. This wasn’t right at all.

“I-I’m calling Jumin.” She shakily tapped her phone, and Seven moved closer to hear. The monotone call tone accompanied by her frantic breathing made for a nauseating combination. Seven held his breath, until a click sounded.

“Yes, this is Jumin Han speaking.”

Never in his life had he been happier to hear that deep, robotic voice.

“J-Jumin!” She gasped, voice wavering. “ Where are you guys?”

“I could ask the same question. We just finished purchasing everyone’s admission.”

“What are you talking about!? There were no tickets or anything and now we’re stuck in here!” She replied almost hysterically.

There was a pause and static. “I don’t quite understand. Security would not have let you two in without tickets. You and Luciel are-?”

“Trapped in this crazy house!” Between her frantic words, a static white noise grew louder, overpowering Jumin’s voice.

“Where- ou- ry-“

“Jumin? Are you still there? Jumin!” She nearly sobbed.

The static-filled garble morphed into a cackle. “Sorry, Princess, but the RFA won’t be able to help you this time~” A new voice interrupted with a menacing snicker.

Seven snatched up the phone. “Hey! Who the heck are you, and how do you know about the RFA?”

“Turn around and maybe you’ll find out~” He said before hanging up.

Dread filled Seven as he looked back. A figure stepped out of the shadows, slender and clad in black. His bleached hair glowed in the moonlight like a halo, yet his green eyes were wide and demonic. A mask covered his nose and mouth, but the folds revealed a manic smile underneath. Perhaps the most striking part was the chainsaw he held. With a high pitched cackle, he revved it up.

“If you want all of your limbs intact, you’d both better come with me. Without fighting.”

They had to surrender. The man shut off the chainsaw, but carried it as he led them into a empty room with a couple chairs and a bookshelf on the far wall. He ordered them to sit.

“Did you like my surprise?” Edgy chainsaw man grabbed some rope. “You should have seen your faces~” He cooed, before cracking up. “It was great!” He started with the princess, tying her torso to the chair. “You probably had no idea I hacked your GPS, right?” He moved on to her hands, holding her wrists together before tying them. “I was hoping to get you alone, but no matter.” His hands moved with gentle and skillful care, but Seven hated the way they lingered on her waist and brushed against her skin. The man soon finished and his eyes narrowed into something dangerous as he approached Seven.

“I won’t let you stop me from taking her to Paradise, clown boy.”

Seven held his knuckles together as the rope tightened around him in hopes of being able to get loose later. Anything to make up for his failure in protecting the princess.

“You’re the one who talked in that spooky voice and locked the door?” She snapped, legs shaking.

“Huh?” Their edgy captor tilted his head to the side. “Spooky voice?”

“Yeah,” Seven said. “You were like ooooOOOoo. . .Why did you returnnn or something like thaaaaat. . .”

The man raised an eyebrow before scowling. “You’re both trying to distract me. I’m not stupid, so stop belittling me!” he hissed before digging in his pocket. In an instant, his anger switched to unhinged glee when he pulled out a piece of candy wrapped in black foil. “Trick or treat, Princess~” He unwrapped it, revealing dark chocolate coated with teal frosting. “Now be a good girl and say ‘ahh~’” He cooed, however his eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned closer and pinched the chocolate between his long fingers.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her head away. The man didn’t give up and pushed the chocolate against her mouth. “Nnf!” She whimpered as her lips formed a thin line.

“Hmm…” The edgy man cocked his head. “Don’t be scared. Once you eat this, you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.”

Seven’s stomach churned.

“Here. We can share~” The man pulled down his mask, revealing a wide smirk. With a snicker, he popped the chocolate in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. He then set a hand on the chair’s arms and the other grabbed her face.

“Hey!” Seven’s blood boiled. “Don’t touch her!”

A muffled snicker escaped the edgy man as he dug his fingers into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. The corners of his lips twitched into a victorious smirk, and his eyes shut as he leaned in, bringing the chocolate to her mouth.

Nononono! With a panicked grunt, Seven wiggled and jerked, ignoring the burn of the rough braids.

“S-seh-ehn-!” she cried as the gap between her mouth and the chocolate shrank.

Seven’s struggled more as the rope loosened. A smoke bomb could distract the man, then Seven’s knife would cut the remaining ropes. His wrist ripped free! Fueled by adrenaline, he dug into his pocket and flung out-

Candy.

Just like his phone, all of his other trinkets were in his hoodie pockets.

The colorful array of sweets bounced off man’s tattooed shoulder, causing him to pause.. His eyes widened with awe, and the teal chocolate fell from his mouth just as everything went black.

“You dare taunt me with these two mennnnn?” That same voice from before wailed as a blue fireball appeared, casting a ghostly glow.

The princess screamed when her chair tipped backwards and scraped across the floor.

“No!” Seven clawed at the remaining ropes, but to avail. He was useless.

The chair slammed backwards into the bookcase and her legs flailed upwards. “H-h-help mee-ee-eee!” Her shriek came out bumpy as the bookshelf spun, pushing her to the other side with a loud slam.

“Give her back! ” Edgy chainsaw man chased after her, but crashed into the bookcase. “She’s mine!” He pounded and kicked at the wood, causing several books to fall.

The fireball vanished, leaving them shrouded in inky darkness. Seven squinted as his eyes adjusted to the blackness. The edgy man fell to his knees, fingers gripping his hair. Shallow, frantic breaths filled the air.

“Are you. . .afraid of the dark?” Seven whispered.

“No!” The man snapped. Stray strands of moonlight illuminated his pale face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. . .Sav. . .ior. . .” He babbled to himself.

“H-hey.” Seven cleared his throat. “Uh. If you untie me, then we can save her together.”

The man pulled his mask back on before narrowing his eyes. “And why shouldn’t I kill you, clown boy?”

“B-because,” Seven blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You can have all my candy. They’re all limited edition and rare. Don’t ask where I got them!” He was rambling, but needed to survive. For her sake.

The man eyed the candies on the floor. “. . .Fine.”

Chainsaw man cut Seven’s ropes and the two inspected the bookshelf. It was clearly a trapdoor they couldn’t activate. Did it only work with ghosts? “What about your chainsaw?” Seven asked.

“Good thinking, clown boy!” The man’s eyes glowed with violent glee, and with a cheerful snicker, he grabbed his chainsaw and shoved Seven out of the way before revving it. His laughter erupted into manic cackles as he cut into the wood. A cloud of sawdust filled the air while a hole formed and grew. “You messed with the wrong people, ghost!” He kicked  down the rest of the wood, revealing a large room with a fireplace. There the captured princess sat, still tied to the chair, but safe.

A frustrated growl came from a willowy shadow bathed in a blue glow. The ghost. “It wasn’t enough for you to leave me for dead, but now you taunt me with these mennn?” He pointed a bony finger at Seven and the chainsaw man. “Perhaps once you suffer and die like I did, I’ll able to move on to the after lifffffe.” A humorless chuckled rumbled as he snapped his fingers. The fireplace erupted to life with an inferno of blue fire.

She gasped and flailed against the ropes when her chair scooted backwards. “No! Please!” Her scream was almost as high pitched as the scape of the chair against the wood.

“No!” Seven barreled past chainsaw man and tackled  the chair away from the blazing fires. Pain shot up his knee upon landing, but he didn’t care. “Are you okay!?”

Her chest heaved and her face glistened with sweat, but she smiled and nodded.

Seven’s insides tingled with a fuzzy warmth. “It’s okay now,” he whispered. “You’re safe.” He brushed away a strand of hair from her face, but the buzz of the chainsaw interrupted him. With a wild cackle, chainsaw man swung at the ghost, but  stumbled and cursed when the weapon went through the ethereal being.

“I’ve had enough of thisss!” Smoke oozed from the ghost. “If these men will interfere, then so be it!” Several floating fireballs appeared throughout the room, causing the temperature to spike and the air to distort with heat. “I’ll burn down this entire place, taking all of you with me!”

“Please don’t!” Her eyes filled with tears. “This isn’t the answer! But. . . if you want, hurt me instead, not Seven and this other guy. They did nothing wrong!”

Seven’s lungs constricted. Why was she sacrificing herself? She was so kind hearted. Not someone who would abandon anyone.

Not someone like him.

“You’ve got the wrong person!” He shouted. “Your lover left you? That wasn’t her. She’d never do that! From the moment I first met her, she’s been nothing but sweet and caring. She listens to our problems and puts up with a lot of crap like chatrooms at three in the morning! I know without a doubt she’d never abandon or betray anyone!”

Her eyes grew watery as her expression softened. “Please believe me, I’m not who you think I am, but. . .I’m so sorry that happened. No one deserves to go through the pain you did. I-I wish I could help you. . .!” Her voice cracked and her lips quivered.

There was a pause and Seven was sure they were all going to die, but then the flames dwindled one by one. “I see,” the ghost’s voice softened. “Revenge may not be the answer. It’s strange.” He lifted a hand to his chest. “I feel. . .warm? Is this what moving on feels like? I wish I had met someone like you instead of that woman. Perhaps my life would have been much longer and happier.”

Seven’s heart flip flopped.

“Thank. . .you. . .” The ghost faded, leaving the three of them in the dark silence

Not wasting another moment, Seven untied her, before helping her stand. His cheeks burst into flame when she hugged him tightly.

“Thank you so much for saving me!”

Seven returned the embrace. Why was it so hot in here? Slowly, his shoulders relaxed and he squeezed her tighter. “I-I don’t know what I would have done if something happened.”

“Seven,” she whispered as she pulled back.

He got lost in her eyes as their magnetic force tugged him closer. What was this feeling? Was this…? His lips parted and he closed his eyes.

Wailing sirens broke the spell.

Edgy chainsaw man cursed under his breath and shoved his hands into his candy filled pockets. “This is my cue to leave,” he stomped towards the nearest window. However, before he climbed out, he turned and burst into hysterical laughter. “I’ll come back and visit you soon, Princess~”

Seven joined in on the laughter. This edgy dude had a hilarious laugh. “Hey! I hope you visit me too! I’ll have more candy for you- Oh! And Honey Buddha Chips. You’ve gotta try those!”

The man jolted, then shrugged. “I guess you’d make a good Believer too, Clown Boy.” With that, he jumped out of the window as blue and red flashing lights filled the dark room.

“Guess, the cavalry came,” Seven chuckled.

She grinned and nodded. “The real question is if Jumin was the one who sent them. Wanna change our bet to that?”

“No way! I still wanna scare Zen-gwuh!” Seven sputtered in shock when she took his hand and tugged him towards the door with a sweet giggle. His pulse pounded in his ears louder than the sirens and for a split second, he thought he might faint.

“Happy Halloween, Seven~”

A/N: This was really fun to write. Honestly, it had been a lot longer, but I had to cut out several thousand words in order to fit the zine's wordcount;;; Still, I think tightening it was for the better. I also couldn't resist adding Unknown. From the moment I applied to the zine, i knew I wanted to write something with Unknown and a haunted house +_+ The elixir chocolate scene was sjfkdsjfkdsfj yum +_+

Anyways, am I the only one that remembers those old Ronald McDonald cartoons? The 90's ones? That's where I got the title from. Does anyone remember the haunted house episode? Good times lol (Seriously. Let me know if you remember it, because nobody in the zine server did sjflksfjdsjfds)

#halloween zine #halloween #spoopy #seven x mc #707 x mc #707 mysme #unknown x mc #unknown mysme #jumin han #rfa #ronald mcdonald

[necrokittytales]

Necrokitty Tales: Trouble in Inkwell Isle (Chapter 27)

Authors’ note: Necrida’s writing will be in italics and SPKC’s writing with be regular font. If you have no idea what this roleplaying thing is, you can start from the beginning here.

———————————————————————————

The sun was starting to set when the kids sold their last cookie. They celebrated their sales with a cheer and counted their winnings: you could buy two days worth of groceries! That was very good indeed. Pleased with their earnings, they ran to Hilda’s to give her the money.

Once at the observatory, they knocked at the door and Hilda opened seconds later.

“Oh! Hey kids! How did the baking go?” She smiled, leaning on the frame of the door, making sure not to be loud enough to attract the clown’s attention upstairs. She was surprised to see Spike and she frowned a little. She knew the kid and not for a good reason. Every time the school came to visit the observatory, the pup always tried to break something and get into trouble.

Harvey beamed proudly. “We did really well! Everyone really liked our cookies! Mina and I were able to sell them all with Spike’s help!”

Spike grunted. “I made sure nobody tried to nab a free cookie,” he grinned with his crooked smile.

Mina shook the metallic lock box holding their coins, making a clinking sound. “Look how much we made!” She gave the box to Hilda, who took it with a raised eyebrow.

Hilda opened the box and whistled. “Wow! You guys! This is a great help! Thank you so much!” She gave a hug to all of them, including Spike. Well, she had to force him a little, the pup did not take to physical attention as easily other the other two children. “I’m glad to see you’re putting your destructive energy to good use,” she whispered to the pup.

“All this work deserves to be rewarded!” She picked a few coins from the box and split it amongst the kids. “Thanks a lot…seriously.” She didn’t wanted to show it, but she was really touched by the gesture. She had a knot in her throat and she could feel her eyes getting glassy.

“Woah! Thank you! But we didn’t do this for the reward! We did this for the good of humanity…. and, you know… to help you,” little Mina said, referring to the possible arrival of violent extraterrestrials. “Right, guys?”

Harvey nodded. “I really like the observatory and I would be sad if we can’t get it rebuilt!”

Spike sighed. “Plus, where will the teacher take us on field trips? No field trips means more school and that sucks!” He whined.

Hilda smiled sincerely at them. “Aww, thank you! I didn’t realise you liked this place so much.”

‘One more reason to stay,’ Sagittarius pointed out in the woman’s head, making her smile even more.

“I’ll try to hurry up and fix this as soon as possible. And you’re welcome here anytime! You’re now my tiny VIPs.”

“Thank you, Miss Berg,” Harvey thanked, making sure he got the correct title this time. He tapped Mina. “Hey are you coming to sleep over tonight?”

Spike butted his head in. “What? You guys are having a sleepover?”

“Oh! Yeah! That would be so much fun! I just have to ask my mum real quick, but I’m sure she’ll say yes.” The kids said goodbye to the sky witch and headed to Mina’s. “You should come too, Spike. His dad makes fruit come out of ears!” The little bat explained mimicking the gesture of the magician.

“Your dad sounds like a quack!”

Harvey just silently prayed his sister wouldn’t make Spike a quilt.

____

Beppi shooed Hilda away. “I got this, I got this! Just go organize your stars!”

Beppi had not awaken when the children had come to visit earlier that evening, much to Hilda’s relief. Unfortunately, he was still here even after she snuck in to check on him in the hopes that he would have taken off. So she was stuck with him until his obnoxious alarm went off, sending the clown tumbling over himself in a perfect pratfall.

Hilda rolled her eyes but finally obliged, casting her cloud and soaring into the night sky to enjoy the moonlight and the quiet away from the clown. He was pleased with this and set up his equipment. It was his first shift and he was a little groggy after a nap, but otherwise happy to start his shift of being a lookout.

If he had to be completely honest, however, he didn’t expect the dragon to REALLY come back to Hilda’s tower. That was like a criminal coming back to the scene of the crime. And he didn’t know any nostalgic criminals. Still, it was something to do and bugging Hilda had been an absolute delight! Not as good as the Baroness, but she was a close second for sure.

He really hoped Djimmi wasn’t too mad at him. The genie had been under a lot of stress as of late but he didn’t really share unless the clown managed to get him to smoke some of his special pipe. He should do that when he got home. Provided Hilda and he weren’t married by that point and running a bumper car business. These thoughts soon filled his dreams as he promptly fell back asleep.

____

The skies were fully covered in dark clouds, hiding the moonlight, as night finally set upon the Isles.

Grim was not bothered by the darkness. Instead, he was trying to make himself less nervous, but he was not having much luck. He had spent hours thinking of the horrible, embarrassing thing he did earlier that day in Bon Bon’s castle, and tried to gather the courage to go out again. He wanted to recover his letter to Bon Bon that was sent to Hilda by 'fortunate’ mistake.

He kept playing in his head the awkward conversation Hilda and he would inevitably have, over and over again, until finally one of his heads got sick of it and forced him to get out and start flying towards the observatory, ignoring the rumbling of an approaching storm.

As he drew closer to Hilda’s home on top of the hill, he could feel his heart beat even faster. He so hoped the meteorologist hadn’t opened the letter yet. The storm that had been slow to approach was much closer now. A crash of thunder nearby, startled the dragon into a surprised roar, destabilizing his flight somewhat before he realized it was just thunder. He was really just too tense! He needed to hurry and get to her home so he could put this whole mess behind him. ____

Beppi was startled awake by the thunder. He looked at the tea next to him suspiciously. “Hmmmm, I wondered if Hilda drugged me…wouldn’t be the first.” The sound of a loud roar perked him up immensely and he stuck himself out of the window.

Coming toward the tower all shadowy and spooky like was a large dragon. Beppi gaped. “Wow, this IS really lucky!” He gleefully giggled and started to load his glitter cannon.

Grim was flew around the observatory, feeling sorry to see it in such a state. He looked for some lights or indication that the woman was home.

Beppi finished loading his sparkle cannon and took aim. He was still a bit too low so he reinflated his legs and he gave a happy grunt as he was able to aim more effectively. He spotted the dragon and paused.

“Huh, that kinda looks like Grim,” he mused. Then again, the dragon was supposed to look like him a bit. He shrugged and fired.

Grim heard what he thought was a very small thunder, before something painful struck his thigh. He released another, and more terrifying, growl, thankfully managing to keep himself stable in the air as a soft rain started to fall around him.

____

The time away from the observatory was a pleasant change for Hilda. It allowed her to calm down, diminishing, although not destroying, the urge to strangle Beppi. She spread the stars out across the night sky, unfortunately missing a few constellations she had forgotten in her hurry to escape the clown.

When she was done, she took the chance to fully clear her head. Taking a deep breath, she settled comfortably on her cloud and admired her work. The view of the stars on the blackness of the infinite universe helped her put thing in perspective. It wasn’t too bad that her observatory was partially destroyed, she realized. It could have been much worse. Like what had destroyed her house when she was on the bed with-.

'Oh! We should definitely do that again!’ Gemini interrupted all too cheerfully in their recognisable unison. Hilda rolled her eyes. She did agree with them that as much fun as she had with Cagney, it was most certainly a one time thing.

'What are you afraid of?’ Sagittarius tried to figure out.

“I’m not afraid of nothing!” The stubborn woman yelled, “I just…don’t feel the same way.”

'Again, you DO realize we are inside your head right?’ Tauros pointed out, rolling his eyes. 'Of course you have feelings for him. We want to kill him, remember?’ Now it was Hilda’s turn to roll her eyes as the rain started to pitter patter around her.

“Leave me alone for a moment, please! I just want to enjoy-!” She heard some kind of growl in the distance. For a second, the sound confused until her thoughts jumped on the possibility that it could be Cagney, who might have turned into his monstrous form for some reason. Though for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why at this point.

'Well, seeing the clown in your place in the evening might be a good reason. IF he’s the jealous type,” Tauros suggested with an invisible smile, delighting himself with the idea of a possible scuffle with the carnation.

'Don’t be silly!’ Sagittarius said, “It’s probably the mirror dragon! We better head home fast! Beppi might be in danger! He is still injured, right?!’ Hilda opened her eyes widely at the thought before turning into a blimp and rocketing through the clouds towards her home. ____

Beppi reloaded another canister of glitter, noting that the first case he shot did a really good job of making the dragon really shimmer.

He was a bit surprised the mirror dragon wasn’t already glittery like it was in the circus. He started to chuckle. "Knowing how things go, it’s probably Grim!” He fired again, now smiling even wider at the thought of dousing Grim in glitter and sequins

Grim roared again at the second impact. He spiraled slightly out of control but this time he was able to see where the projectile came from. “Miss B-b-berg! Why are you shooting me!?” He managed to shout, flying closer to the window, not knowing Beppi was the shooter. “It’s m-me! Grim!”

There was a heavy rain now. Lighting and thunder filed the skies, illuminating the shadowy silhouette of the dragon.

____

Beppi scratched his head. He has about 75% sure this was not the dragon they were looking for. Then again, it WAS glittery now - granted it was probably due to him shooting it with glitter but that was beside the point.

He loaded up on canisters and shot it just above the dragon so it would explode, completely drenching it with the glitter. It was even brighter than a disco ball!

Grim growled angrily as the explosion of the glitter and sequins got into his eyes, blinding him. As he struggled to paw the material away from his eyes, Hilda advanced upon him from the skies. She spotted the flailing, shiny dragon near her home and saw red.

“The crystal dragon!” She furiously hollered. The dragon seemed like it was going to crash into her house, so she immediately gathered a small tornado and threw the spiraling wind towards it. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY HOUSE, YOU BASTARD!”

The tornado reached its target, tossing him away from the house. Grim had to do a great effort to stay in the air, and growled again, confused.

Beppi stopped firing at this point as Hilda swooped in from the sky. He cracked his knuckles. “Whelp! I’ve done my part! Time to grab a snack!”

Grim stabilized his flight, managing to clean his eyes. He looked around, trying to find where the voice came from and what it actually said, for the thunder and heavy rain prevented him from hearing and seeing clearly. He was starting to get really scared. Another thunder boomed near him, making him think it was another of the glitter bombs. He quickly spat a huge flame and turned around frantically, giving him the appearance of whirling fireball in the night sky.

Hilda was too close and didn’t have enough time to doge the attack, forcing her to quickly transform into Gemini. The twin constellation split just in time for the fire to pass between them.

“You’re gonna get it now!” Gemini yelled, creating their golden sphere and shooting projectiles towards the dragon.

Grim felt the hits and growled in pain. He decided it was probably best to flee than to confront whatever was attacking him.

Gemini saw him trying to escape and grinned. “Oh, no you don’t!” Clouds covered their bodies and Tauros thrusted with a snarl towards the scared creature and crashed him against the wall of the cliff, where Hilda’s house stood. Grim released a painful roar and sunk his claws into the rocky surface to prevent him from falling down.

Taurus took the opportunity to strike the dragon a few more times before the dragon could finish scrambling up the wall back up to the house. Grim retaliated with whip-like attacks of his tail and a few fireballs. The heavy water of the rain started to wash the dragon’s scales making him less shiny, but Tauros was too focused in his anger to realize it. ____

Another thundering shake of the observatory finally cajoled Beppi to look outside as he ate his snack. “Looks like Hilda’s taking on the dragon. Neato!” He searched through his bags until he found the long, blonde wig and fluffy pom poms he had packed in anticipation of something like this.

He climbed through the hole, put the wig on and started cheering enthusiastically. “Go, Hilda, go! Go, Hilda, go!”

Tauros was about to thrust again when he heard Beppi’s cheers. He looked up and his eyes shined with anger. “You can walk!?”

Grim saw his chance and hit the bull with his tail, giving him the opportunity to get a better look at what he was dealing with. The hit made Taurus lose his focus and transform back into Hilda, who had to immediately summon her cloud to avoid falling.

“Ok! That’s it! NOW I’M PISSED!” She yelled as the clouds started to cover her body to turn into her final form.

Grim finally recognized the woman. “No! No! Wait! It’s me, Grim!” He shouted to the sky witch. At the sound of his voice, she halted mid transformation.

“Grim!?” She exclaimed, emerging from the clouds, still in her human form. “What the fuck!? You scared the shit out of me!”

“I scared y-you!?” The dragon replied with teary eyes. It was obvious he was terrified.

“Well, yeah! I thought you were that shiny dragon who destroyed my observatory!” The woman flew closer to the dragon and pet him gently. “I’m sorry.” She looked back, frowning at the clown, her eyes still shining with anger. “Come, Grim, let’s get dry before we catch a cold.”

____

Grim and Hilda stared angrily at the clown as all three sat at the kitchen table, a tea set spread out for them. Well as best as Grim could sit considering he didn’t quite fit into the home. Hilda had to rig up a series of tents and sheets to provide a makeshift protection for the rest of Grim’s body that could not fit within the confines of the home. Grim had the suspicion Beppi knew all along it was him. And Hilda was angry to see him walking and cheering like he never got hurt, which meant all the hugging and caring he had asked from her was absolutely unnecessary.

Beppi continued to smile at both of them. “Sooooo…..how are things going?”

The two bosses were still glaring at him and he couldn’t figure out why. “I feel like you’re both upset with me somehow.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh right! One second!” He reached up and pulled off the wig. “There, you know my secret. I’m not a natural blonde,” he sighed, pouting

“You made me hug you….” Hilda said softly but in a very angry tone. “And you were just FAKING IT?!” Grim rolled his eyes and drank a bit of his tea, his body still sore from the glitter cannons and the fight with Hilda.

Beppi’s smile got a bit smaller. "Would you rather I had been seriously injured?”

Hilda felt a bit guilty, maybe she was overreacting. Again. But she didn’t like being played for a fool neither. “No! Of course not! But, c'mon! You emotionally manipulated me. That’s not cool.” She sipped her tea, trying to gulp the guilt building up in her throat.

Grim had no idea what they were talking about, and he thought it would be wise to stay out of it and wait the proper moment to state his business here. He took the chance to discreetly look around for the letter.

“Am I?”

Beppi pulled up one of his legs up to show a hastily patched long hole. It was already starting to open up again. “Comedic timing makes things hurt less,” he explained with a grimace.

The woman swallowed loudly. “I-I-I’ll help you patch that properly. L-later,” she said, lowering her voice until it was almost a whisper. She avoided the clown’s eyes and tried to hide behind her mug.

“Wow! What happened?” Grim asked, worried. “You need to go to the hospital?”

Beppi stretched and slowly got up with a limp. “No, just back to the circus is all! Give me a day or so and I’ll be right as rain. Just like this rain!” He opened the door and gestured to the rain.

They both looked looked at each other, worriedly.

“If you’re leaving, let me at least give you a lift!” she offered, standing up.

“Oh, or, I can take you. It’s on my way, anyhow. I just need to recover something first.” Grim said shyly.

Beppi shook his head. “Oh no thanks! I’ll just float home! I’m sure I’ll see you both later!” The clown inflated his head and slowly floated back toward the second isle.

Hilda couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved. Having the clown around was really starting to get to her nerves, not to mention the guilt! She truly hoped he would recover soon. After watching Beppi float away, the meteorologist turned to the dragon. “So what’s that something you want to recover? I don’t remember you lending me anything lately.”

“Oh… yeah.. uh… it’s… it’s about…a m-misdirected letter….” The dragon blushed.

“A let~oh! Right!” She smirked. “You mean….” She walked to the counter near the door and opened a drawer, pulling out the letter. .“..this very honest letter you wrote to Bon Bon?”

Grim turned a more intense shade of red. “Y-yeah…that one…I see you have read it…d-did you showed it to Bon Bon?” He asked, afraid of the answer.

“Not yet.” She sat back at the table. “Where did you get the courage to write and send this letter? I mean, no offense, but you don’t really strike me as the 'direct approach’ type.” She let the letter settle on the table between them.

“Uh, yeah. I had a little encouragement from a friend…and Cagney.” Grim replied, embarrassed.

“I knew I recognized this handwriting.” She pointed to the envelope. “But I don’t understand the mix up. This was obviously for Bon Bon, so how come Cagney wrote my address?”

“Well… uh… we were v-very drunk, I guess he must have wrote it b-by reflex.” The dragon decided to keep the existence of Cagney’s letter a secret until Bon Bon decided to give the letter to her. “I should g-go now. It’s getting late and I’m still sore from the f-fight.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m really sorry about that,” Hilda apologized nervously.

“It’s alright… uh.. just… one last t-thing.”

“Yeah?”

“P-p-please don’t tell Bon Bon! I d-don’t want her t-to know that I… I….”

“That you want to see how she looks without her dress?” She giggled, making the dragon very uncomfortable and red with embarrassment. “Don’t worry! I won’t say anything. But you should tell her how you feel before it’s too late.”

Grim nodded shyly and thanked the woman for the tea before taking the letter and flying back to his tower. Hilda found herself alone once more. She took a deep breath, trying to take in the peace.

'How come you never take your own advice?’. Sagittarius asked, making the woman cringe.

____

Finally, Grim got back home with the cursed letter and opened it to read its content one last time before turning it into ashes. His eyes opened wide and his jaw fell, his two other heads popped out to the surprise of the content of this envelope.

“Oh… that fucking clown….” They all said in unison. ____

Isabella agreed to let Mina go have a sleepover at Harvey’s. After helping her gather her things together, she kissed her goodnight and sent her off before finally turning on herself. She started to get ready herself, for tonight might be the night King Dice would show up.

It didn’t take long for Isabella to reach the Night Owl Club. She walked in, filled with a confidence that cleverly disguised the fact that was indeed blind. “Good evening, Isabella.” The bartender and the rest of the staff greeted the woman as she walked by.

“There has been some changes for tonight.” Oliver, the rooster who worked as a host, said, a bit worried to the bat. “Our lead singer Patricia Parakeet is back, so you will be her back-up singer for tonight.”

Isabella felt awful about this new information. She didn’t mind being a back-up singer but she was expecting King Dice to show up and get a chance to impress him with her musical talents. She would a harder time doing this if she was in the back.

“Oh! Well, that is great! I’m glad she recovered so quickly,” she lied. “Are you going to introduce us?”

“Of course, of course! She’s in her changing room now. We’ll have to wait 'till she comes out. She, ah, doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

Isabella greeted the band and sat at the bar to wait for the lead singer, drinking water with lemon. ____

Patricia sat in her dressing room, fuming. She had to share the stage. She NEVER had to share the stage before. But all of her squawking and shrieking did nothing to change Marvin’s mind. Apparently the other girl had signed a contract. Which was a bunch of bird seed in her opinion. Who just signed some girl from nowhere up for a gig? Marvin was as dense as he was short sighted.

She applied the blush heavily to her puffed up yellow feathery cheeks. "I’m should be the one who travels the world, recording records and singing for royalty!” She scowled, adjusting the boa around her neck. She practiced a few bars, applied some throat spray before smirking. “We’ll see what Daddy has to say after he gets back from his business trip!”

She finished up dressing and stepped out, her beady eyes immediately scanning the bar for any new faces. Particularly any dumb floozies that were stupid enough to try to steal her gig. There was a peahen that tried one time and, well, one of her feathers made for a wonderful decoration for Patricia’s hat. And let’s just say the beautiful feathery boar around her neck had been a delightful gift from her father after she had him remove that trio of flamingos that tried to force her to be a back-up singer.

Her eyes fell on a mature bat and she paused. This wasn’t the competition she was expecting. But bats weren’t know to be powerful singers so she confidently swayed toward the woman. “Are you the back up singer?” She asked when she got close enough, ruffling her feathers.

Isabella’s ears wiggled at the sound of approaching steps and her nose twitched at the smell of strong perfume. “Hi! Yes I am. And you are Miss Parakeet?” She guessed, judging for the expensive scent she was wearing.

Patricia smiled at the introduction. “Yes, I’m Patricia Parakeet. But you will continue to refer to me as Miss Parakeet. Not Patricia and NEVER Patty. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Miss Parakeet.” Isabella smiled. She wasn’t the first star wannabe she encountered. And she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. It was best to let her think she was in charge. “Your voice is very familiar! Where have you performed before here?” Better gather some intel, she thought.

Patricia smirked. “Ha! I truly doubt you have heard me before. I only sing at places where the patrons are real class acts. Cream of the crop, the like you wish you had a chance to even glimpse at. But you will have the opportunity to hear me tonight.” She leaned in a bit closer. “There’s a chance of a promoter coming tonight and if you screw this up for me or try to upstage me in some way, I will make life in the isles very, VERY uncomfortable for you. Do we understand each other?”

“Oh my! Coming on a bit strong, are we? You feel threatened by my voice, dear?” Isabella used her enticing tone to show how charming she could get.

Patricia snorted at the bat’s attempt. She recognized the change in tone. She couldn’t copy it, but she could recognize it well enough. “Hardly! I can’t have an amateur mucking things up for me! And if you hadn’t signed on with Marvin, you would already be gone.”

The bird started to walk away only to pause. “Don’t think you’re the only one who can win a crowd, sister. I’m not just a pretty parrot.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about your looks, but you certainly are a smelly one if you need that amount of perfume.” She finished her drink. “Should we practice, Miss Parakeet?” she asked innocently.

Patricia had picked up a very thin champagne flute but at Isabella’s words, she snapped the stem in half. “Smelly? Figures you bats only have a refined sense of hearing, not smell!” She hissed. She patted her feathers down at the sight of patrons starting to walk in.

“I’ve already practiced, but I’m sure you could use a warm up. Perhaps in the alley attached to the kitchen? Where they throw out the dish water.”

The bat stood up and walked towards the band. "You know what? I’ll wing it,” she said, waving her delicate wings, “That way you’ll have a better chance to get noticed by the promoter.” She smirked, but got distracted and stumbled into a table with a thud. “La naiba!” the woman cursed, embarrassed, and walked slowly towards the stage.

The Lounge Lizards had just finished tuning their instrument when Patricia stepped on stage. She started to croon, not putting too much effort in as the night had barely got started. Still it earned a whistle or two from the small amount of patrons and she couldn’t help but shoot the blind bat a dirty look.

Isabella started the evening as a pretty good back singer, adapting her tone to the bird’s voice as the song required it. She didn’t overstep into Patricia’s spotlight and let her continue on, letting her become overconfident. The night just started, and the bat knew she would get her chance to wipe her shoes with Patricia’s feathers.

During the short intermissions between songs, Oliver would stop by to critique them, to say how good they looked out there and how well they complimented each other. And more importantly, if any promoters had arrived. Isabella acted humble in front of the rooster, but whenever the singers were alone, they would get right back to the fighting.

It was during one of those spat breaks where Patricia really found herself getting riled up by the nonchalance of the bat. “What do you hope to get out of this? A free ride to some of the most elite clubs? Money? You wouldn’t know what to do with class if it came and bit you in the ass.”

Marvin tried his best to ignore the women’s squabbling. At least the two could sing well even if they were at each other’s throats. He started to walk toward the bar to reorganize the stash only to freeze as the atmosphere changed.

There was no mistaking the new visitor and he turned quickly toward him, rubbing his hands together. “Aw, King Dice! What an absolute pleasure for you to visit my little club!”

The large casino house boss stepped toward the mole. “Little might be stretching it, Marvin.”

Marvin nodded, glad no debt collection was happening. “Can I get you a whiskey neat, or sour patch on the rocks?”

King Dice shook his head. “Perhaps later, I’m here for business reasons.”

“Business?” He gulped hesitantly. The last time someone from the Casino was here for “business”, a couple of arms were broken and the wall paper had to be replaced. However, none of those things had happened yet so Marvin was cautiously optimistic. King Dice chuckled.

“Well I hear you’ve got two singers that are a choice bit of calico.”

The mole brightened up. “Oh! You mean Isabella and Patricia! Yes, yes. Had you wanted to meet them?”

“I would be most obliged.” The mole lead King Dice to the stage at the sign of a break and winced as he overheard the two women bickering. “Ladies,” he interrupted, “I would like you to meet a friend of the club, King Dice.”

Isabella’s ears perked up, but she kept her cool. Finally, there was his opportunity to meet King Dice. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Dice,” she said, charmly, taking a lovely pose, with one hand on her hips, that innocently showed her soft curves.

King Dice very subtly took in her figure. “Well hi de ho, ma'am. You must be Isabella?”

“And I’m Patricia!” Patricia interrupted, pushing her way in front of Isabella and batting her eyelashes.

King Dice smirked. “You certainly are. How long have you both been singing?”

The bat smiled at Patricia’s childish way to interrupt, for that proved she was nervous and more prompt to make a mistake.

“Well…”. She played shyly. “My origins are humble, but my hardwork has taken me far. Started singing in the lower districts in Paris when I was eight, and somehow I made my way to Germany, England, Italy…and now here.” She added a subtle sensual inflection into that last sentence, hoping that King Dice would pick up on that, and hopefully, fall for his charms.

King Dice smiled appreciatively at Isabella’s summary. “I like a woman who’s traveled. A gal who knows her onions.” He turned to Patricia. “And how about you?”

Patricia fluffed up her feathers. “Well, I’m a born natural! But daddy made sure I had the best lessons anyway even though he says that you can’t improve perfection,” She tweeted happily.

The casino employee raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Well, you ain’t certainly no canceled stamp, that’s for sure. Do you have family around here?”

Isabella shrugged. She didn’t like to talk about her Mina in the club. You never knew who could be listening, and years of hiding had made the bat paranoid. Still, she was planning on staying here for while, so he would eventually find out regardless.

She cleared her throat and recovered her confidence. “I like to travel light”. She kept smiling. “ I only bring my daughter with me.”

King Dice grinned even wider at that. “Well, that’s just sweet. So you and Miss Parakeet here? How long have you worked together?”

Patricia waved a feather, flopping Isabella in the face. “Oh she hasn’t been here very long at all! She’s a temp is all. Just one of my background singers until my career really takes flight if ya know what I mean,” she winked at the older dice.

Isabella’s nose got tickled by the feather, and the woman decided to not hold it back and sneezed on Patricia. “Oh! Dear! I’m SO sorry!” She fakely apologized. “My nose is very sensitive, you know?” She had to make an effort not to laugh.

“Well hopefully your nose isn’t too sensitive for all the cigar smoke around here. I’m from a place that caters to a certain type of clientele that values their vices, including have a drag or two.” Patricia shrieked and made a motion to strike the bat with her wing.

King Dice took Ms. Parakeet’s wing. “I’m sure you could find it possible in your incredible large heart to allow Isabella here a chance to sing as well. I’d hate to have to leave if I didn’t think things were…fair.”

Patricia was irritated but didn’t want to wreck her chances. “I suppose she could have a turn. But only ONE song. She IS back up, afterall.”

He grinned. “I’m sure that will be enough for me to determine who has the greater stage presence.” The King waved them both off as he turned around. “I look forward to hearing what you girls sing.”

“I will not disappoint you,” Isabella said sweetly as King Dice walked away. Once she was certain he was out of hearing range, she turned to Patricia. "Well, I’ll let you go first dear. I wouldn’t want to put you in the position of following my act.” she said, full of confidence.

Patricia smiled. “Yes, I can only see how appropriate that is. After all, it’s beauty before age.”

“Isn’t the saying 'age before beauty’?” Marvin asked as he walked by the two women.

“Nobody asked you, Marvin!” Patricia tweeted angrily. She strutted back up to the stage and quickly chatted with the band before approaching the microphone with a sensual smile to her lips.

“How many of you boys here want to feel special tonight?” She asked before she started to croon.

____

'She has a strong stage presence, I’ll give her that…’ Isabella thought to herself hearing how the audience cheered and whistled to the bird. 'If she wasn’t such a diva wannabe, I could learn a thing or two from her…’

The sing ended and everybody broke in a applause, including herself.

Patricia blew a couple of sweet birdie kisses to the crowd, already spotting a pile of telephone numbers waiting for her on one of the watier’s trays. She flipped her tail feathers at Isabella. “Hope you fly well because there’s no way you’re reaching the bar that I just set with that”

The bat smiled at the bird, trying to show confidence. Truth was, she was starting to doubt herself.

She talked to the band and Oliver accompanied her to the microphone.

“Evening, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s hear it again for Miss Parakeet!” Isabella spoke into the microphone. Everybody started cheering again. “She’s a wonderful inspiration to us singers all around the world,” she continued talking as the applause started to fade. “And I have to thank her for giving me the chance to prove my worth here tonight. Thank you, Miss Parakeet, for trusting in me”. She sounded sincere and elicited some admiration applause from the crowd.

The music started and Isabella waited for her cue. “Trussst in meeee…” The song began and she accompanied every phrase with subtle sensual movements of her body.

The audience grew mesmerized by her enticing tone and the snake like movements she did with her body.

It was as if a spell has been placed over the crowd - a fact that did not go unnoticed by King Dice. Even he found the bat very mesmerizing indeed. It appeared Chips and Mangosteen had been on to something after all. It would almost make up for the fact that he was going to be assigning them extra shifts for having dragged him out of an important meeting for this.

Yes, a singer like this could do very well at the Casino and he started drafting up the contract in his head already

The song ended and the public broke into an applause and cheered at the new talent. Isabella thanked them and Oliver helped her back down the stage. She hoped King Dice was as pleased as the audience.

Patricia shook her head as if she was waking up from a dream and confusedly looked around. Everyone was cheering enthusiastically and she furrowed her feathered brow in confusion. How did this happen? Was she a witch?! Not a missed note nor an accidental warble. There was no way this could have been happened.

The evening continued as normal, with both singers on stage this time. The public was very pleased and the evening got very animated.

It was time for the singers to take a break and Isabella headed to the bar and ordered a glass of water with lemon. She was starting to get worried. Patricia had a talent to change tones very quickly and it was a bit hard for her to follow sometimes. She wondered if that would hurt her chances to get picked by the casino owner.

She took a sip of her drink and tried to relax. Her thoughts shifted to her deceased lover and sadness rushed in her heart like a wave. If she played her cards right, she might get him back again.

“Tonic water and lemon?” King Dice observed as he took a seat next to her, “I respect that. It’s not professional to get zozzled on the clock.”

They could hear Patricia guffaw as she sat on a table surrounded by some of the males. “Oh you’re so funny, Charlie!” She laughed, gently hitting a bloke and taking another dip of her martini.

Her ears perked at the voice of the man and she quickly recover her charming facade, showing a sweet smile. “Some people need a bit of liquid confidence.” She chuckled. “Enjoying the show so far?”

King Dice motioned for the bartender to bring him a drink. “Quite. Any chance I could borrow some of your time for a private conversation?”

She hid her enthusiasm. “Of course. If you like, we can go to the changing room backstage. To talk. In private”. She felt like she needed to clarify. Although, he did sound like a gentleman, and it had been a while since she was handle by a gentleman. Her cheeks blushed slightly, and her heat rate started to become dormant, as it has been for years.

King Dice smiled. “You sweet bunny, I ain’t no skirt chaser.” He followed her into the dressing room and took a seat. “Miss Isabella, I am the house manager for a little place at the edge of the isles called the Devil’s Casino. I’m responsible for a lot day to day tasks, special events and tournaments, as well as the entertainment. And from what I’ve seen tonight, I think you would make a good addition to our staff. Is something that would tickle your interests?”

The bat widened her smile. “Indeed it does, Mr Dice! When can I start?” She said sweetly, feeling closer to her goals.

The dice smiled and retrieved a piece of paper. “You could start this week if it so pleases you.”

He laid the paper flat on the table in front of the bat, the raised dots on the parchment indicating the braille text. “The casino doesn’t just employ anyone off the street, mind you. That Patricia bird is a very lovely doll, but she doesn’t have the right lifestyle for a position like this. We like to employ those that have more experience, maturity,” King Dice started to explain.

He pulled out a pen and held it out to the eager woman. “An employee who knows to follow the rules because they have something…or someone to lose if they don’t,” he added, still keeping a smile on his face.

Isabella heard the warnings of the casino owner, and she didn’t like what he was implying. Still, she caressed the paper sheet with the tip of her fingers and started reading the dots on it. It seemed like a standard contract.

She held the pen nervously. She was so close to get what she wanted. Not only would she work at the Devil’s Casino, but she would have easier access to the Big Boss himself. It was just a matter of time.

She signed the contract with a lovely, well calligraphed signature, and extended her arm to shake his. “Thank you very much for giving me the chance, Mr Dice. I won’t disappoint” She said sweetly.

King Dice plucked the paper away and stuck it into his breast pocket. “We look forward to having you on board. Swing by this week when you’re ready to start.”

He excused himself and left the room, leaving Isabella alone. He made eye contact with Patricia as he walked through the bar and smiled and nodded at her.

Patricia froze, not needing words to understand what had happened. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to use some of her own words to express HER displeasure what happened.

“Are you freakin serious?!” She shrieked, nearly making KD laugh.

Marvin went to assuage her. “Patricia, calm down.”

“She wasn’t even here for a week!”

“Trust me, I’m just as disappointed as you are. I would have loved nothing more than for you to leave as well,” Marvin admitted.

Patricia really fluffed up her feathers and pushed away some of the guys she had attracted. She went to the bar and ordered something heavy. She would make that bat if it was the last thing she did.

———————————————————————————

CHAPTER 01,  CHAPTER 02,  CHAPTER 03,  CHAPTER 04,  CHAPTER 05, CHAPTER 06,  CHAPTER 07,  CHAPTER 08,  CHAPTER 09,  CHAPTER 10; CHAPTER 11; CHAPTER 12 ; CHAPTER 13 ; CHAPTER 14  ; CHAPTER 15; CHAPTER 16 ; (nsfw) CHAPTER 17 ; CHAPTER 18 ; CHAPTER 19 (nsfw) ; CHAPTER 20 ; CHAPTER 21 ; CHAPTER 22 ; CHAPTER 23 ; CHAPTER 24 ; CHAPTER 25 (nsfw) ; CHAPTER 26 (nsfw) ; CHAPTER 27 (you’re here now!)

#necrokitty tales #necrida #smallpersiankitten #smallpersiankittencuphead #Beppi the clown #grim matchstick #hilda berg #mina betchstein #harvey hare #spike #isabella betchstein #patricia parakeet #king dice #submission

[vicfrid]

Extra! Extra! Read All About It! (8/6/19)

'Any fool can know. The point is to understand.' - Albert Einstein

New Tools Update

AdInboxMe by PixelMe 

Research is everything! Whether your brand is at the top of its game or not, there is a competitor for every product and service out there. It is not only important to understand who your brand's target audience is and the best way to reach that demographic, but it an absolute necessity to understand what your competitors are doing to promote their products. 

Though traditional advertising and marketing (especially when it's for TV and print media) take time to put together, digital ads can be pushed out within minutes of creation. Knowing the direction of the competition is key to making sure you are either first in a specific concept of promotion or able to use humor to step on the competition is very important when focusing on the immediate gratification of social media advertising. Take the example of Burger King "trolling" every other fast food restaurant digitally; for example their "Not Big Mac Menu." 

AdInboxMe allows you to be notified whenever your competitor is promoting themselves. It’s the perfect spy (I mean researcher).

Industry News

Digital Spend Is Going UP UP UP For Travel & Financial Sectors 

As millennials spend more and more on "Instagramable" moments versus physical products, the travel industry is increasing their digital spend. In fact, it is predicted that travel companies will spend about 13 BILLION dollars on digital media in 2020. In fact, Delta is jumping on the bandwagon with a new promotion geared towards the NYC millennial. Everyone knows the best part of a vacation is getting away from it all; the worst part of a vacation is the time it takes to travel there and back (and sometimes the jetlag). Delta is creating digital ads feating real people living in New Yorker in cramped spaces with the tag line of, "New York isn't always comfortable. Flying out of it is." 

Whether you are on Instagram or not (yeah right), everyone is equipped with a smartphone. This allows everyone, especially the millennial generation, to do everything through their mobile devices, including banking. With less and less need for cash, it is only important to check your bank account and pay bills, which is easiest on the go (aka via apps like Venmo, PayPal, Bunq, N26 and more).

It is estimated that next year, the finance world will spend about 18.3 BILLION dollars on digital ads.  

Spotify Advertising

Using social media for ads is a great way to reach a targeted audience based on the demographics of the consumers you feel are best for your product. Most apps allow you to reach a set age, location, gender and sometimes a bit more. Spotify is creating an even smarter targeting capability, which includes ads for people at specific moments. This is brilliant for specific niche brands. If you are a beauty brand, then what better time to advertising to someone than when they are getting ready in the morning. I might be using one mascara today, but your ad will make me switch to Teeez tomorrow. If you are an athletic gear brand, what better time to push your latest sale of sports bras than while I am sweating through mine at the gym. 

Made By Facebook

Facebook wants credit for all of its apps, so Instagram will not be "Instagram" but instead "Instagram from Facebook." Same for Whatsapp.

Not to be rude or harsh, but only those living under a rock don't realize that Instagram and Whatsapp are owned by Facebook. If you didn't know before this past year, you have a pass (sorta...maybe...kinda). However, over the last year, it has been publicized only a monthly if not weekly basis in the press. To change the name and connect all the apps as one (slowly, of course), doesn't give credit to Facebook for the brilliant apps it owns, but simply allows for more control over the collected data it gains on an hourly basis.

Smart & Creative Marketing

Guerilla Marketing...Old School Style

Back in the olden days, guerilla marketing was posting thousands of stickers around a city with your brand's logo or chalk writing all over the streets and maybe even the walls of a city. Today, guerilla marketing is utilizing influencers and paid social media to spread your company message and promote your product/service. However, the various algorithms of social media and the saturation of "influencers" have proven that a brand cannot simply rely on digital marketing. Everything comes full circle, and marketing opportunities are no exception. A good AND effective promotion must incorporate all aspects of digital and TRADITIONAL marketing.

Bumble is a great example of utilizing both "physical" (OOH Marketing, aka Out Of Home) and digital marketing. On social media, they consistently post sharable content that is at times motivational, other times authentic and sometimes comical. Either way, their posts are perfect for resharing with credit to the brand, which builds on its awareness. In addition, the company creates authentic advertising in physical locations. NYC is a great space for promotions, and it is where the app is incredibly popular. That is why Bumble took real people utilizing their app, whether they used the friendship or business or dating version, and pasted profiles all around the subways, buses, telephone poles, etc.

It's all about being seen, and combining physical and digital promotions is the best way to make sure EVERYONE sees your brand. More videos of the real people HERE.

Nostalgia

Whether you are a Millennial or a Baby Boomer (or whatever the newest or oldest term is), you have certain people, products, music and locations that cause a sense of nostalgia for you. Bill Nye the Science Guy was a fun memory of my childhood, to say the least. I remember watching his show in science class in 6th grade. Starbucks did a brilliant job pulling on the childhood strings of so many by hiring Bill Nye to promote their Nitro Cold Brew. Not only are they reaching the nostalgic part of their audience but the comical side as well, both easily and undoubtedly shareable on social media.  

#marketing #digitalmarketing #influencermarketing #news #social media

[dubsdeedubs]

A Thousand Natural Shocks [16/16]

[AO3]  

[A/N:  I don’t even know what to say.  I... wrote up a lot more on AO3, and I recommend that you read this there because this is 10,405 words (!!!)

Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy the ride for one last time.]

Summary: Thirty years ago, Stanley Pines made a deal. Now, in the wake of Bill’s defeat and his brother’s disappearance, Ford begins to unravel Stan’s dark secrets

With each passing minute, Ford sunk further into the gaping maw of the beast.

It was entirely too late to escape, he realized with quiet resignation. There was simply no fight in him anymore. He had been foolish enough to lower his guard in the monster's presence, and now he was paying for it with his life.

That, and there was some deep, dark part of him that very much welcomed the knowledge that he had no options left - that, after everything, there was nothing he could do to save himself this time.

Ford closed his eyes, and waited for the end to come.

There was the heavy sound of approaching footsteps.

"Huh," he heard, and, "...You look comfy."

"Hrmg," Ford said eloquently, and pressed his face into the plush armrest. Even without the benefit of sight, he could feel the look his brother gave him like a physical thing.

Stanley leaned heavily on the back of the armchair, and the cushion sagged obligingly. "...Don't have a lot of chairs as nice as this out there in the multiverse, huh?" He asked casually.

Familiar, immature annoyance flickered back into life for a brief moment. "No, Stanley. In fact, I haven't had much comfort in general for the past thirty years," he said crossly.

...The effect of his words was somewhat undercut by how the majority of his lower body was currently propped up above his head and his voice was muffled behind his sweater neck, which was a full inch of unwashed alien wool.

His brother looked distinctly unimpressed.

"I suppose," Ford muttered after a moment, and slid down another humiliating inch.

And, alright. If he had to be honest, and he supposed he should be in the sanctity of his own thoughts, it really was a fine couch. Certainly not just because the only other in recent memory had been constructed by Bill Cipher from an unholy combination of human flesh and demonic magic.

In a moment of sudden clarity, he could understand perfectly why and how his brother could spend the majority of his free time reclining here, watching a nice, mindless cartoon duck series or two.

It was a tempting thought, and certainly, there were worse sins than sloth to add to his own budding collection.

...Ford wondered fleetingly if this truly was some kind of human flesh eating cryptid, ready to ensnare any victim foolish enough to take a seat. Stranger things had happened in this house, and it would explain a great deal indeed.

"Got it for ten bucks at a garage sale," Stan muttered nostalgically. "Well, I would've gotten it for ten bucks if I didn't steal it right out of the guy's house. Found a big ol' tomato sauce stain right under the cushion afterwards, though. Serves me right, I guess."

He paused thoughtfully. "...Least, I hope it was tomato sauce. I dunno. Guess that would explain why this thing was so cheap."

Ford winced, feeling a lot less comfortable pressing his face into the armrest than he did just thirty seconds earlier - but still not nearly enough to move. "That's horrifying," he muttered, voice muffled.

"Well I mean, not anymore. I've gotten much worse stains than that out of stuff with a whole lot less, y'know." Stan crossed his legs nonchalantly, and grimaced. "Paul Bunyan, these pants are tryin' to kill me," he announced. "Can you believe I used to fit in these, no problem?"

Ford... really, really could not believe they were having this conversation.

The universe had nearly ended. They had nearly died (or something very much worse that he really would like not to think about, thank you very much.) By any sensible standards, the past fifteen minutes of mindless chatter was entirely pointless and an obvious waste of time.

Surely, after everything they had gone through, with everything that still needed to be said, shouldn't he and his brother have more to say to each other than some truly ridiculous small-talk?

Stan poked him in the side. "...You fallin' asleep on me, Sixer?"

"It would be a miracle if I was," Ford retorted immediately, turning his face just enough to give his brother a well-deserved glare with one eye. "Considering those tights you're wearing must have the same blinding intensity of a supernova seen from its closest galaxy."

"Uh."

"Why do you even own those?"

"Yeah, well, Soos convinced me to do a special holiday version of the Mystery Shack tour awhiles back, before I got immunity to those puppy dog eyes of his. Long story."

Stan cleared his throat. "So, you done making fun of my fashion choices or what?"

It was nonsense, but the easy back-and-forth of conversation was familiar in a warm sort of way - the kind that sapped the weary tension from his aching muscles and tugged at the edge of his lips until his expression softened.

Yes, Ford decided, allowing himself a particularly helpless smile. This was entirely ridiculous, illogical, and immature - and that was exactly why he would not trade it for anything.

"I can't say about the tights. Ma did always say you had chicken legs," he said lightly.

"Oh, fuck off," his brother replied with a roll of his eyes, but there was no real heat in his words. "Ma was just teasin', and you know it. I've got perfectly normal legs for my body type. And y'know, it's really all about the tailoring of the thing."

Ford raised an eyebrow. That... sounded suspiciously familiar.

"Ma told you that, didn't she?"

Stan's expression softened for just a moment in fond memory as he looked down in his lap, before settling down into a blank poker face. "Yeah, well. Ma did tell us a whole lot of stuff, Sixer."

He nodded slightly in agreement and had just opened his mouth, a particularly ridiculous anecdote already on his tongue, when Stan spoke again.

"Sometimes, I uh. Well. I still get myself thinking about what she'd say about things." His brother's words came halting at first and then all at once, as if Stan couldn't believe that he was saying them out loud either. "...Even if it's been thirty years since she -"

He went abruptly quiet, his expression stiffening in realization of what he had almost just said.

Ford blinked, a cold pit forming in his gut.

There it was.

"Stanley," he began, slowly and carefully, entirely aware of the stakes at hand.

It was something he didn't need to bring up, he tried to tell himself even as he dug his nails painfully into the new skin of his hands. A topic that was obviously impossibly difficult for both of them to talk about. He could forget about it, move on, enjoy the rest of his life in a dimension that wasn't (usually) actively attempting to kill him with his family.

(What was left of it.)

But despite himself, despite the fact that he had been waiting for decades and certainly could wait longer, despite his own pragmatic certainty that the answer would only come painfully -

- he had to know.

Because they couldn't move on without talking about this. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

"...Yeah?" Stan muttered tensely.

"What happened with Ma?" The words flowed out all in a rush, coming much harsher than he wanted. Ford regrouped. "With... with the both of them," he finished his sentence awkwardly, words clumsy and inelegant around the one topic, one person he could not bring himself to mention out loud.

His brother wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Look, Stanley. It's - it's alright." There was a strange kind of desperation in Ford's voice, one that he didn't want to think about too hard. "I... It has been three long decades. I am fully aware of the most likely answer to my question. And to tell you the truth..."

He swallowed. "I haven't held any real hopes for any kind of reunion with them for years. I've always assumed that they had - already passed, but I would just like to -"

"They're gone," Stan said shortly, cutting off his ramblings like a knife through hot butter. Ford went abruptly silent, not necessarily out of surprise but... really, because of how bluntly his brother had put it.

Neither spoke for a long moment before Stan winced and said, "Sorry. I shouldn't have told you like that." He let out a ragged breath. "You were right. They... got old. Got sick."

Ford nodded slowly, with a touch of bewilderedness. Like a dog chasing after a car, now that he had gotten what he had wanted for so long, he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He had not lying at all about the fact that this was the answer he had entirely expected. And yet, it still sent a familiar pang of loss through him.

Hearing it from his brother made it... real, concrete somehow. Concrete in a way it never felt when he was hundreds, thousands of light-years away from Earth.

"It was cancer with Ma," Stan continued, without any real prompting. He kept his eyes fixed on some distant thing, carefully not meeting Ford's gaze. "Years and years ago, at this point. But it - took its time with her. Turns out her pack a day habit was no good for anybody, but uh. You don't needa be a fake psychic to know that, do ya?"

"Stanley..."

"...Dad went a few days after," he said finally, his expression suddenly, carefully blank. "And who knows what it was with him?"

Ford went quiet, though not for lack of desire to speak. There was, well.

He had always wondered, in the way humans instinctively sought resolution, if their father had ever... well, change was a strong word, stronger than Filbrick Pines - for all his demeanor and his bluster - could ever be. But if he ever understood what he had done all those years ago. If he realized even a bit of what Ford had understood over all these years, if he had caught a glimpse of what Ford saw now in the brutal clarity of hindsight.

He knew better than to ask.

His brother grimaced. "Rabbi waxed poetic about broken hearts, but I've always figured that Pa's more - like a golem, or somethin'." He spoke with a strange. uncertain softness in his eyes. Something that could be, in a far kinder world, be called fondness. "Like the stories Ma used to tell us. Keeps chugging as long as he's got that little scroll in his head, take that away and."

He cleared his throat. "Y'know."

"...Yes." Ford said roughly. He wasn't sure why it was so difficult to speak. "Yes, I remember those stories."

Stan let out a low chuckle, one without much humor. "Yeah, I know. You were there for them too, I know. It - was a weird thought. But somehow... I knew you were the one person I wouldn't hafta explain it to."

Ford didn't know how to reply to that. All he knew was that the warm rush that washed over him upon hearing those words and left him breathless... that was a feeling he wanted to keep forever.

"...Did you - did you go?" he asked hesitantly. "To their funerals, I mean."

Stanley looked at him for a moment, as if in surprise.

"I - yeah," he said haltingly. "Actually, I - I was still decidin' whether I could risk goin' to Ma's funeral when I got the second call from Shermie about Dad. Tellin' me to get my ass over there in the next twenty-four hours if I wanted to keep it."

"That sounds like her," Ford noted, smiling despite himself at the thought of the little girl he had last saw decades ago yelling into a phone with Ma's Jersey accent. "Maybe not the - profanity - but -"

His brother lets out a bark of laughter. "Sixer, you have no idea."

They're both quiet for a companionable moment, and oh, oh, Ford had missed this. He had missed this more than words could say.

There was something - had always been something deeply heartening about being able to talk to someone who could understand. Especially given Ford's own experiences with fitting in, or rather, the lack thereof.

Relaxing in this way, soaking in the easy silence that only came from the knowledge that he did not need to speak to be understood... it was something he had not felt for a long, long time.

Maybe, time had not changed them as much as Ford had feared.

"...Ma had called a coupla times before," Stanley said slowly, clearly reluctant to break the moment of calm. "She sent me some money before when things were really down, but… first time I had actually seen either of 'em for a decade was at - well, my own burial."

He winced. "And that had been risky enough already, even with my corpse lying there in a box several yards away. Guess that was for the best. With Shermie the only one hanging around, I didn't have much of an excuse not to go and ah, see 'em off."

"I wish..." Ford said slowly, without knowing exactly how to end the sentence. I wish I had been there. I wish I had seen them one last time. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Judging from the look his brother gave him, he didn't need to.

"I'm sorry," Stan said roughly, a new tenseness in his body language that made his movements frantic, jerky. "I'm sorry ya couldn't be there."

Ford didn't reply for a long minute. This was one of those points, he knew, that the two of them could never completely forgive and get over. It had to be - doing otherwise would be a lie, a disservice for both of them. It hurt beyond words that he had lost everything he could call his own for thirty long years, that he had missed the funeral of his parents, that he did not get to watch his younger sister growing up.

But it had not been a one-sided hurt. It had never been a one-sided hurt when the two of them were involved, not even at the very beginning.

Blind forgiveness had never been the answer, Ford thought to himself with a strange calm. The problems that had stolen most of their lives from both of them would have lingered on, simmering until the moment they could not be ignored again.

He didn't know if it was possible to move on and forwards without forgetting the past. Ford certainly had not succeeded before.

But then, he had never really wanted to try, before.

"I am sorry as well," Ford said quietly. "I am sorry that you could not attend as yourself. That you - lost them so early."

They both knew well that he wasn't talking about their parents' passings.

"...Don't apologize for that, Sixer," Stan muttered. "It was my own stupid mistakes."

"I could have said something."

"No, ya couldn't." His brother said flatly. "...You saw the look on Pa's face. It wasn't some… spur of the moment kinda thing. I'd been packin' my bags for weeks up till that point, just waitin' for the last straw or until I turned eighteen, whichever came first. Nothin' you coulda said woulda changed his mind."

He grimaced. "He already knew I was a loser, Sixer."

"Then he should have learned that he was wrong!" Ford exclaimed, a familiar indignant anger rising in him - the same kind he felt at Crampelter and the bully's ugly laughter, at the recruiters from West Coast Tech and their cruel, calm rationality, at Bill grinning and cackling in laughter and saying, Fordsy, did you really think I would have chosen you if I wanted someone significant?

Stan winced. "Be honest with yourself, Sixer. Was he really? Just - look at what I ended up doin' after that. I just - I just kept runnin' cons. Sold cheap shit to people who were too dumb to know any better. Made deals with some - some real horrible people to keep myself going."

He sighed. "...Tell ya the truth - if you hadn't called me up here, I would've ended up dead young."

"You still did," Ford said steadily.

His brother refused to look him in the eyes. "You know what I mean. Worse than what happened here. I'd be in some - some shallow grave that no one would've even tried to look for. Moses knows I had gotten close to it before."

"Stanley..."

"You don't get it, do ya? Only good I've ever done in my life has been right here." Stan hesitated, as if he was gearing himself to say something he had wanted to say for a very long time. "...Only good I've ever done in my life wasn't even as myself."

"Don't say that," Ford retorted immediately, with an urgency that surprised even himself.

"Dunno, Sixer," Stan shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Figured I should tell the truth. For once in my life."

Ford opened his mouth, then shut it. Took a long, slow breath, and let it all out.

He said, his voice only slightly wavering, "When I told Shermaine the truth about what had happened between the two of us, she told me how you died."

His brother went still. Clearly, this was not what Stan expected to hear. "I, uh," he mumbled, eyes wide. "I... still really wish you hadn't done that."

"Apparently," Ford continued vehemently, " 'I' had been instrumental in the destruction of some cross-border drug operation that had orchestrated your -" He hesitated. It was real. It was exactly what happened. Why was it so hard to say? "Your murder," he said at last, mouth uncomfortably dry. "Shermaine had an idea or two on how you had gotten - involved in it."

He swallowed. "Is... is that where your scars came from?"

His brother's silence was particularly telling. "Some of them," Stan said at last, voice gruff.

They eyed each other, quietly willing the other to speak first.

Ford relented. "...I haven't said much to you and the twins about my years on the other side of the portal," he said haltingly, unsure of what he was getting at himself but hoping with everything he had that he would figure it out along the way. "They were not - the best."

"Well, yeah," Stan said, matter-of-fact. He flushed at the look Ford gave him. "Not like that. I meant... You startle easily."

"I what," Ford said flatly.

He had heard many descriptors applied to him in his life, everything from 'eccentric' and 'brilliant' to 'neurotic' and - in one not particularly fond memory - 'batshit insane.' 'Easily startled' was not one of them. Perhaps at the very beginning of his career in studying the paranormal, but even that was a stretch, considering that getting one of Mothman's composite moths in his mouth was obviously enough reason to -

"Fucking - not like that, sorry. Look, I just meant -" Stan took a deep breath. "Whenever I get up close to you without warning, you tense up. Hands twitch a bit, like you want to make a grab for something. It's not that hard to tell if you know what you're lookin' for, and I - uh."

He grimaced. "I knew what to look for. I dunno. I just - kinda always figured you weren't havin' the time of your life out there."

Ford... didn't know how to feel about that, that his trauma had become something entirely readable from the way he moved and lived.

"It wasn't the individual incidents that got to me, Stanley," he said instead, refusing to let the topic change. "Certainly there were many of them, over my three long decades of living life on the run. But no. It... was the constancy of it all."

He wasn't in danger all the time, of course. A month or two holed up in a safe haven, his time recovering and learning from Jheselbraum, the very few times he had genuinely thought his journey may have come to an end - that he had come to a place in which he could live instead of just survive, at least up until he had prepared enough to face Bill for the last time.

And that was it, wasn't it? "I realized eventually that there were two ways my journey would end," Ford said flatly. "Either I would die taking Bill with me, or I would die having failed in my mission. There were no other options to speak of. I... had no hope for myself in regards to that."

"Ford," Stan said, and there was something stunned, something entirely horrified in the blankness of his expression. "How could you just - decide that for yourself?".

That made him stop in his tracks, just a bit. "I didn't decide that for myself," Ford said, almost annoyed, because how was it that his brother didn't understand? Because it wasn't a decision, not in any way that mattered.

"Really, Stanley. It wasn't as if I had simply - sat down one day and decided that I had no direction in life other than one that culminated in death. "

Stan flinched. "But -"

"There was never a choice," he said matter-of-fact. "All I was doing was to accept the cards already dealt to me. It was all I... was..."

Worth.

Ford trailed off, the ending of the thought making him stop in his mental tracks. It was - a familiar thought, that there was no doubt about.

already knew I was a loser, sixer.

But now it was familiar in an entirely different kind of way.

His brother was looking at him, he realized, in concern. There was something suddenly, inexplicably hilarious about that, considering the entire unspoken conversation of worth and sacrifice and unnecessary martyrdom that had led up to this moment.

The smallest hint of a hysterical laugh bubbled up within him.

"...Sixer?"

"But I was wrong," Ford said breathlessly. He knew what he wanted to say now. What he had to say. To his brother - and to himself. "I'm alive, and I was wrong."

Stan grinned uneasily, unsurely. "That's - great, Sixer, don't get me wrong. But uh, I'm honestly kinda lost abo -"

"And so are you."

His brother stared at him like he had gone off the deep end.

"I had been wandering the dimensions for three decades by the time you fixed the portal," Ford said, buoyed by a heady combination of adrenaline and certainty, and it felt like shrugging off weights, opening the curtains, seeing and feeling something that had been there all along. "I had been hungry, I had been cold, and I was always afraid. By that time, I... had done many things I regret."

He hesitated. "But I won't say anymore on that because I don't need to explain all of that to you. Our circumstances were different, certainly. And any comparison of suffering is inherently wrongheaded. But... something tells me that you understand my experience more so than anyone else on this planet."

"Well, perfect," Stan said after a moment of stunned silence, his voice dull. "What I've always wanted. My brother to live like a criminal on-the-run for three decades."

"But it goes both ways, don't you see?" Ford interrupted, eyes wide. "I don't know everything that happened to you, that you went through, but trust me when I say that I understand much more than you might realize."

"I'm not sayin' you don't, but -"

"The reason I was so - determined to sacrifice myself for the sake of the universe," he said, voice clear, "was because I believed that my greatest worth was to others, and not to myself. I had made so many mistakes and let so many people down in my life, that this was the only way I could make up for them."

His brother looked deeply uncomfortable. "Ford..."

"I thought that because I had already given up all hope for myself," Ford said steadily. "But Stanley, you believed I was worth more than that. And you gave - so, so much of your life to give me another chance."

He hesitated. "I suppose... I just wish I could have done the same, when it was you who needed me."

It was all too easy to think back to a much younger Stanley, newly homeless, newly brother-less, and see their parallels. Even easier to put himself into the shoes of the familiar-unfamiliar man who had showed up at his door all those years ago, stinking of exhaustion and defeat, a strange desperation in his eyes when he asked Ford why he had finally asked him to come back. What he could do so he didn't have to go away again.

And instead...

take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can!

Ford's expression tightened. "I should have," he said, voice rough, "and I am sorry I didn't."

"You couldn't have known," his brother said automatically.

"I shouldn't have needed to," he snapped with a ferocity that surprised even himself. "I - Listen to me,. You might have never wanted me to give up so much for you, but - I never wanted you to give up so much for me either."

Stan sucked in a breath. "But - Ford -"

"Stanley," Ford said, slowly, steadily, "if we want to make this work, we have to be worth just as much to ourselves as we do to each other."

His brother stared at him for a long, frozen moment.

Then, as if waking from a dream, Stan opened his mouth. Maybe to protest, maybe to agree, maybe to throw out some terrible unfitting joke that only related tangentially to the situation like he always did whenever the circumstances became emotionally dire.

Ford didn't know, but what he could be certain about was that this time, he would not let his brother shrug off his words with false nonchalance, that this time they could finally -

And, of course, it was at that very moment that the doorbell rang.

Both brothers froze at the sound, faces gone slack in the exact same blank expression of disbelief and confusion.

As if in reply to their unvoiced question, the bell rang yet again, almost plaintively.

It felt as if a spell had been broken. "Who the hell…?" Stan trailed off, patting at his wrists as if looking for a watch that was no longer there. "It's dark outside, but - shit, what time is it?"

"It's - late," Ford replied blankly, mind too fuzzy to be at all helpful. There was something nagging at the edge of his consciousness, something important that he had forgotten. What was it?

"...Y'know what," his brother said decisively, and stood straight. "I'll go and tell 'em to fuck off. How do I look, Sixer? Decent?"

He looked at Stanley's wildly mismatching, garishly colored outfit cobbled together from the tourist shop lost and found and Ford's wardrobe from when he was 28, which could only be described as "hopelessly tweed." Certain pieces somehow, against all laws of physics, managed to be at once too tight and too loose.

"You look absolutely terrible," Ford said bluntly.

"Perfect." Stan adjusted his three overlapping collars. "Then maybe I don't even have to say anythin' for them to run."

Ford bit back an exasperated sigh. "Stan, would you just wait a moment? There's something about this that's -"

The doorbell rang again. It was clear that their visitor had no intentions of leaving without an answer.

Stan gave him a Look. Ford relented, an entirely terrible decision he would later chalk up to a combination of sleep deprivation and the multiversal destabilization all the molecules in his body had gone through not even an hour before.

Decision made, his brother limped over to the door and fumbled momentarily with the inner locks. There was a satisfying click as the door unlatched and he turned the handle.

And, of course, it was at that very moment that Stanford remembered exactly what was so significant about having a stubborn visitor to the Mystery Shack so late at night.

"Stanley, wait!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet, watching the door open in slow-motion. "It's Sher -"

"MISTER PINES!"

Ford blinked. The voice was - a familiar one, undoubtedly. Just... not even remotely close to what he was expecting to hear.

A quick, stunned glance confirmed his initial suspicions. The late night visitor to the Mystery Shack was Soos the handyman, the rather gopher-ish man who had become close friends with the niblings over the summer. And, he remembered with a twinge of sheepishness, the same person who had accompanied him on his trip into the woods and experienced with him the aftermath of his brother's ridiculous plan.

Without warning, the handyman in the doorway rushed forwards to enclose Stan tightly with two pudgy arms.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Mr. Pines!" He wailed, eyes moist. "After everythin' that was going on and all the stuff that other Mr. Pines told me, I was so worried that somethin' had -"

"...Soos?" Stan said slowly, clearly lost. Just slightly more so than Ford felt, a fact that gave him some reluctant pleasure. "Uh, Soos, what the heck are you doing here?" A moment passed, and then he added, completely unconvincingly, "Oi, leggo of me, ya big lug. Yer getting sweat all over me. And - " He squinted. "Is that my fez?"

Soos loosened his grip reluctantly and wiped at his gushing tears - not an exaggeration, Ford watched on with awe, despite possibly being not humanly possible. "I just wanted to see if you were alright, sir. And, oh yeah! Your fez!" His eyes widened. "I was gonna return it, Mr. Pines, I swear!"

"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Stan muttered, and squinted. "Uh, what are ya doing here anyways?" His eyes widened as the realization hit. "Wait, Soos, how did ya even know I was here?'

Soos paused, a sheepish expression on his face. "Oh, uh, about that, Mr. Pines -"

A familiar-unfamiliar figure stepped into view in the doorway. "Ford," it said dangerously, eyes glinting behind thick glasses, "you scared the shit outta me."

Stan blinked, entirely bewildered. "...Shermy? What the hell are you doin' here?"

She punched him directly in the jaw.

The next few seconds of movement passed too quickly for Ford to intervene.

His brother staggered backwards with (no, not a squeak, because Ford will give his brother that little bit of dignity even in the sanctity of his mental narration) an 'oof' of some pain and mostly surprise. "What the fu - hot Belgian Waffles was that?" He groaned, raising one hand to rub at his sore cheek.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing here, Ford?" Shermaine demanded, her left fist still clenched pale and bloodless against her side.

"I... don't know?"

She faltered. Her anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by something much more real.

"Why did you call me?" She asked, voice ragged. "What were you - what have you been thinking?"

Stan took a step backwards, confusion written clearly across his face. He glanced quickly at where Ford was standing, just slightly out of sight, in an obvious plea for help. "I... don't remember calling you? I mean," he added, in what seemed like a futile attempt to hold up his false identity, "not saying I didn't call you, but uh -"

For just a moment, her face fell - no masks, no guards, no performative fury to cover up the raw grief in her expression. "...What happened to you?"

Ford took in a deep breath and takes a - the single step forward.

"He didn't call you up here, Shermaine," he said, speaking to his younger sister face-to-face for the first time in three decades. It took every bit of self-control he had just to stop his voice from shaking.

"I did."

Shermy turned around slowly, face pale.

She looked at him like she had just seen a ghost, a dead man risen, like if she blinked even once he would disappear back into the realm of her imagination. Which, if she was anything like the rest of her family, were all entirely accurate descriptors of what she must have immediately - and understandably, he supposed, given the circumstances - concluded.

A long moment passed and gone. Ford just stood there, a small, sad smile on his face. He said, as gently as he could, "It's really me, Shermaine."

She looked at Stan, then back at him, then back at his - at their brother again.

"The two of you," Shermaine said thickly, a single hand held shakily to her mouth.

"You're both - both -"

To Ford's confusion, she fumbled in her purse for what he only barely recognizes from Dipper and Mabel's brief show-and-tell as a modern phone. Shermaine held it up, her arm visibly shaking, and looked at him through its screen.

"Um," he said.

"You can't take a picture of a hallucination, Sixer," Stan explained quietly. He looked on calmly, like he had seen the process many times before. More likely than not, he had, Ford realized, reminding himself of the many years of shared life between the two that he had missed out on.

Shermaine made a small, broken sound. The phone slipped from her slack grip and smacked loudly on the ground.

The handyman reached out a hand as if in pain.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Jesús," she said distantly, slowly putting her arm down to dangle limply at her side. "I got an Otterbox. That thing can survive a nuclear meltdown."

There was a brief moment of silence as the three Pines siblings stared at each other, none of them particularly willing to be the first one to speak. Just when it got to the point of becoming truly uncomfortable, Shermaine sighed.

"Do me a favor, will ya, sweetheart?" She said to the handyman with easy familiarity. "I'm gonna have a talk with my idiot brother." A hesitation. "Brothers. Fuck. ...You might want to come back in a bit."

The handyman fidgeted, sneaking a look at Stanley. "Well -"

"Probably a good idea," his brother sighed. "Sorry about gettin' you involved in all of this, kid. We'll talk later, yeah?"

That got Soos in motion. "Sure thing, Mr. Pines!" He saluted. "By the way, Mrs. Pines! Abuelita told me to tell you, uh, felicidades!"

"On winning the 9th annual Pines-Ramirez pickle-eating contest, or on the Pulitzer?" Shermaine asked after a moment of thought. Ford gave Stan an incredulous look.

The handyman paused in contemplation. "Sorry Mrs. Pines," he said apologetically. "I think Abuelita only follows the pickles."

Then he was gone, and it was just the three of them. The silence in the house felt suddenly, uncomfortably oppressive.

"So," Shermaine said. She looked between the two of them like she wasn't sure whether she wanted to hug them or kill them.

Ford tried his best not to seem apprehensive. "Yes?"

"You're both alive." She hesitated. "You're both - here."

"Yeah," Stan said awkwardly. "Well. We've got a, uh, whole lot of explaining to do, I know, and we can definitely -"

"Are you kidding me?" Shermaine exclaimed, clearly caught between exasperation and astonishment. "Do - do I look like that's what I want from you two right now?"

"Er -" Stan said, but whatever he wanted to say after that was forgotten as he was promptly yanked into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Thank God I didn't lose you too," she muttered, voice muffled against the scratchy cloth of his shirt. Stan let out a pained wheeze when she squeezed.

After a long moment, Shermaine loosened her grip. She turned and shot Ford a look of pure disbelief. "What are ya doing still standin' there?"

"Er," Ford said unsurely, "I -"

She groaned. "Get over here and let me hug you, ya dingus."

He approached them slowly, carefully. But really, it was all over the moment he got into grabbing range.

Ford and Stan stood tense and breathless for a long moment as Shermaine held them tight and pressed her face into both of their shoulders, at the space where the two met.

After a long, frozen moment, she let out a long, ragged breath. Her grip slackened, and let go. "You assholes," Shermaine announced, voice low. If there was a moistness in her eyes, no one was idiotic enough to mention it. "I can't believe you two. Fuck."

"Shermaine -"

"You - absolute - fucking - assholes."

Stan winced. "Fair enough."

All three of them were quiet for a long moment.

"How long?" Shermaine asked finally, voice choked.

"Just a couple weeks, Sherm." Stan said tentatively. "Ford hasn't been back for long at all."

Shermaine blinked slowly. "'Ford,' you said," she intoned flatly.

He coughed, alarm written bright and clear across his face as Stan realized the mistake of what he had said. "Um, yeah, about that -"

"Either you've picked up the habit of referrin' to yourself in third person in the past week, or -" Her eyes glinted. "I've been missing the wrong brother for the past thirty years."

Stan hung his head.

"I'm Stanford," Ford said, cutting in hurriedly because clearly Stan needed some help sorting out the hurt his - at the time - convenient lies had dished out to everyone involved. "He's Stanley. I was the one who called you, but..." He hesitated. "He was the one you've known for all of these years."

Shermaine stared at him for a long moment, as if she hadn't been expecting him to talk at all. Considering he - or at least, 'Stanley' - had been some sort of cautionary tale for their family for decades, he supposed that was more or less understandable.

"Oh," she said finally. "Alright. Okay."

There was a beat. "No, actually, that's not okay. Ford - Stanley - whoever you are," Shermaine brandished a finger furiously at Stanley, who winced at the sudden attention. "You've had thirty years to tell me all of this. Any of this. And now it turns out you're our long-dead brother that you've been - pretending to grieve for all this time and -"

Her voice cracked.

"Sherm," Stan said slowly, "I can explain."

"Can you explain why you lied to me for all these years?" Shermaine snapped immediately. Then she paused, her eyes widening in slow, horrified realization. "...No, not just to me. Our whole family." Her expression hardened. "Our parents died thinking you were gone."

"I know. I know, Sherm." He took a long, ragged breath. "There's nothin' I can say that can fix things, but I... gotta explain. Maybe it won't make up for any of what happened, but just - gimme a chance, alright? To tell ya everything I couldn't during all these years."

Shermaine looked at him quietly for a long moment. "...This is a lot," she said, voice low. "You know that. This is a fucking lot."

"Yeah, Sherm," Stan said hollowly. "It - really is."

She sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

"I need a fucking drink." 

"So," Shermaine said, an hour and an impromptu scavenger hunt in the Mystery Shack later. She nursed a small but very dangerous amount of whiskey from Ford's - or possibly Fiddleford's, which was even more alarming - thirty-year-old stash. "Armageddon."

"We've been referring to it as Weirdmageddon, actually," Ford ventured. "But in hindsight, 'Oddcapalypse' certainly has a ring to it -"

"Ford, shut up." He flinched. She went quiet. "...Sorry. I didn't mean that. I just. God."

"I know it's a lot to take in," Ford said tentatively. "And certainly very difficult to believe. But I swear to you, this is the truth."

"Demons, dimensional portals and coming back from the fucking dead," Shermaine said dully. "No, actually, I got that part just fine. Honestly, Ford - fuck, it feels weird to even call you that - I've seen enough weird shit in my life and especially as part of this family that I really have no place to say what's make-believe in this world and what's not."

"Oh."

He... had no idea what to say to that. There should be some sort of relief, shouldn't there? Ford knew better than most how entirely unwilling to believe people could be when it came to the strange and abnormal. "That's - wonderful, Shermaine, I'm glad you're taking this so well -"

He realized almost immediately that that was the wrong thing to say.

"The only reason I seem to be taking this so well," Shermaine said calmly, dangerously, as she set down her cup, "is because seein' the two of ya here, even if I don't have a goddamn clue how this is happenin', is infinitely better than what I was afraid I was gonna find once I made it up here. Which, just so you know, is that the only brother I've got left had lost his goddamn mind on me - and had brought my grandkids along for the ride."

"That's -"

"Here's a secret, Stanford. I'm not takin' this well at all. Because what I don't get," she continued, a promise in her words as she turned to stare down Stanley, "is exactly what part of that was stopping me from getting told the truth for thirty goddamn years?"

Stan had been quiet for awhile now - a particularly guilty silence, Ford saw with the clarity of hindsight. "I was gonna tell you all of this once I got Ford back, Sherm," he said gruffly, not meeting Shermaine's angry look.

(No, he wasn't, Ford realized with a burst of horrified understanding. Because he had never expected to survive long enough to tell the truth, and he had thought Ford would have been perfectly fine with stepping into the hole he left behind.

...After this, after all of this, he was going to give his brother a good talking-to.)

"So in the meantime, you decided to impersonate him and let us all go on believin' you were dead?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Sherm, I wasn't even sure if I was myself -"

"I coulda told you that, you knucklehead!"

Stan stared at her with wide eyes. "Uh -"

"We both remember what you did for me, Fo - Stan," Shermaine said through gritted teeth. Ford watched on in confusion.

He winced. "That doesn't have anythin' to do with this, Sherm -"

"Yes it does," she bit out. "Because decades ago I was a scared kid because I was gonna have a kid, and I didn't think there was a single person in the whole world who wouldn't flip their lid on me if they knew. You were holed up north so you didn't have to risk giving yourself away, but you still picked up when I called. And you said yes and cleared out the spare room in the Shack, and -"

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Sherm?" Stan exclaimed, disbelief written large across his face. "Of course I did, what kind of brother would've left you hanging? Hot Belgian waffles, what kind of monster would've..."

He trailed off in slow realization.

"Exactly!" Shermaine shouted, eyes wild. He stared at her as if she had yanked a rabbit out of a hat and promptly threw it at his face. "So Stan, how the fuck did it take you three whole decades and the almost end of the world to figure this out yourself?"

Ford looked between the two of them in a strange mixture of morbid curiosity and a sensation of inexplicable loss. Inexplicable, because it was entirely illogical to expect to understand, to feel as if he had lost something he had never had, to -

To feel like an outsider looking in.

(Thirty years was a very long time, he felt - really felt - for the first time since returning to this dimension.)

"I - look. Stan. I get why you didn't want to tell Dad. Even Ma." Shermaine took a long, deep breath, her grip tightening on the glass in her hand.. "But, at the very least... why couldn't you tell me?"

Stan flinched, and looked away.

"Did ya really think I would've ratted you out if you told me what really happened between you an' Ford?" She demanded thickly. "Or did ya think I wouldn't believe you? Because I would've believed you, seeing how for some reason, I trust you!"

"I know, Sherm," he said roughly.

"So why?"

They looked at each other for a long moment. "I dunno," Stan said at last, each individual word coming out slow and reluctant. "I was stupid, I dunno. I don't have a real good answer for you."

"Well, ya better think of one, or -"

"I guess." He swallowed. "I guess, I just didn't wanna disappoint you."

Shermaine stared at him. "No," she said tonelessly. "No."

Stan's expression didn't change.

She exploded. "You knucklehead, what the hell made you think I would be disappointed if I knew you were actually you?"

He didn't meet her eyes, and that was answer enough.

Shermaine let out a long, deep breath. "Do I - do I look like Dad to you?" She demanded, eyes wild and just slightly moist. "Because I'm not him. Lord knows I've tried my best not to be, all of these years. You know that."

"I'm sorry, Sherm," Stan said roughly.

The silence hovered around them for a long moment.

"I still can't believe you're him," she said at last, voice blank. "That - you're you. Everything I heard growing up, all those files I searched up, those fucking pictures - that was you. This whole fucking time."

"That - doesn't change anything, Sherm," he tried.

"No, Stanley. It changes everything." Shermaine sighed. "I - can't talk about this anymore. I need time," she said roughly. "Enough time to sort out this clusterfuck that's in my head right now."

She glanced over at Ford, who had been sitting rather stiffly to the side during the whole exchange, unsure of how - or even if he should - add anything to the conversation.

"Hi, Stanford," Shermaine said slowly, deliberately.

He fidgeted slightly under the weight of her gaze. "Hello, Shermaine," Ford replied rather awkwardly.

"I wanna apologize to you right now," she said, matter-of-fact. "Because now that I think about it, I don't remember much about you at all, and you deserve a whole lot more than that. Just that..."

Shermaine trailed off in thought. "That your hands always smelled like chemicals, and you dropped an apple on my head once, so you could tell me about Newton."

He remembered that too, in some distant part of his brain he had thought lost to time and hurt. It suddenly became very difficult to speak. "You don't need to apologize to me, Shermaine," Ford said gently.

"Yep, I do," she said, just as calmly. "Someone does, because you've missed out on a whole lot all these years, Ford. You've missed out on meeting two whole generations of Pineses because you had to go all - Stargate-y."

Ford's expression tightened at the reminder of what he had lost. "I'm well aware," he said stiffly.

"Might not be anyone's fault," Shermaine said contemplatively. "But as far as I'm concerned, someone's gotta fix it."

She paused. "And that someone's me."

Ford blinked. Shermaine downed the rest of her drink in one go, and began to get up shakily.

"Sherm -" Stan - tried - to interrupt, a look of concern on his face.

"Stanford," she announced, voise rising in volume as she stood, "consider yourself back in school. You are officially enrolled in a little crash course I like to call, 'Pines Family 101: A Drunk History,' starting..."

Shermaine checked her watch, only swaying slightly. "Right fucking now. Who's gonna help me grab my bags from the trunk?"

"Hell, Sherm, you brought the family photo albums?" Stan asked, pained.

"Every volume," she said cheerfully, and Ford could not miss the resemblance to a certain glitter-loving nibling. "And we're going through all of them. Together."

Life moved very quickly after that.

Maybe it was making up for lost time. There had been, after all, many, many photos to be seen. It was a pleasant surprise to realize that blood relation was quite possibly the least important factor of what it meant to be part of the Pines family as it existed now. Ford blinked blearily as he was introduced to second cousins and adopted aunts and more in-laws than he could count on both hands.

At one point, he thought he had seen a man with his niblings' wide grin, his arms around a woman with their curious eyes.

By the time he had 'graduated' from Shermaine's crash course, dazed and overwhelmed but full with emotion in a way he could not put into coherent words, Ford had been told the date of the next big family reunion and been made very aware of the fact that a great number of people attending would Very Much like to meet Great-Uncle Ford-But-Not-The-Other-Great-Uncle-Ford-Who-Was-Actually-Great-Uncle-Stanley-This-Whole-Time.

("But you should definitely ease yourself into it," Shermaine had said sheepishly, upon catching the expression of pure panic on Ford's face. "We're a bunch of weirdos and I love them to pieces, but I'd be the first to admit that we are a whole lot. So take your time, y'know? They'll understand.")

And then Shermaine was gone, because apparently - to his entire lack of surprise - she hadn't said much at all to anyone else when she started on her cross-country drive over to Gravity Falls. Now that she was satisfied that neither of her brothers was dead or dying or would be in the foreseeable future, she had a great deal of explanations to give herself, back home in California.

The Shack was very quiet after that.

But even so, between giving more-or-less adequate explanations to everyone who had a right to know (which was quite a bit more than Ford had expected, even knowing how deep his brother's connections ran in this town) and dealing with the constant crowd of townspeople clamoring for a reopening of the Mystery Shack, a few long days had passed before Stan and Ford got a moment to themselves to just... pick up their pieces.

It finally happened on a particularly nice summer evening, the kind with just enough of the occasional breeze to have a comfortable chill to it. The two of them sat perched on the back porch of the Shack, looking up at the many brilliant stars that hung distantly in the sky.

Ford could never say what triggered the thought in his mind, or if there even was a trigger at all. Maybe it had been there all along, just waiting to be spoken into existence.

There was something about the heavy darkness of the sky that made him contemplative and thoughtful. After that, it was just a matter of time before it slipped out.

"Stanley?" He spoke, his voice uncomfortably loud in the ambient noise of the Pacific Northwest woods.

His brother shifted next to him. "Yeah?"

"What happened to Six-Sights, in the end?"

Ford's words came out all in a rush, and he wanted to take them back the moment he realized he had spoken them out loud.

Stan was still, and for a long moment, it felt as if the entire world was holding its breath.

"I figured this was coming," his brother said finally, but there was no fear in his voice, no surprise. He leaned back, propped himself up with his own arms. "So. There's a long answer, and there's a short answer. Which one you wanna hear first?"

"...Maybe for once the universe will allow me to take the simpler path," Ford mused to himself, and found it entirely impossible to believe. Still... "The short answer, if you would?"

"They're still here."

Ford blinked. Opened his mouth, closed it again. "...I see," he said at long last, mind racing through more doomsday scenarios than he wanted to count. "Stanley, I mean this in the best possible way, but that particular answer brings me a great deal of fear and anxiety for the immediate future of the world."

"Not like that, geez." His brother rolled his eyes. "I meant, still here." He patted himself on the chest.

For a moment, it felt as if there was no more breath in his lungs. "But you're - you're human now," Ford said faintly, and it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"'Course I am, Sixer. I wouldn't have lied to you about that, geez. I'm just sayin'..." Stan was quiet for a moment. "The deal that we had going on. You remember that it goes both ways, right?"

"Yes," he said slowly, unsure of what his brother was getting at.

"So I get what I want. And they get what they want. You already know what I wanted, and it was easy enough when all they wanted was whatever Cipher told them to want." Stan hesitated. "Things... got a lot more complicated once they got a taste for what consciousness was like."

"They began to want something different," Ford said with no small amount of trepidation. He had trusted an eldritch being knowing that it was mostly his brother holding the reigns, but the thought of an existence beyond all human comprehension given access to whatever they wanted was entirely - and understandably - terrifying.

A particularly upsetting question popped into his head. "But - what could something like them want?"

Stan snorted in laughter. "Sorry," he muttered when Ford turned to stare, a strange smile still on his face. "It's just. I remember asking that too, way back when. Exact same question. Fiddleford had been giving me the whole spiel about eldritch whatchamacallits, and this was the only one he couldn't answer. Didn't want to answer, more like."

He grinned to himself. "But I figured it out, in the end. Figured it out before you two, even."

"I believe you've had," Ford said delicately, "what most would call an unfair advantage."

Stan shrugged. "Point taken. But just think about it, Ford. People can't make sense of them, but... we couldn't make sense of people either, y'know? Humanity was a whole - way of existing we'd never even considered. It was ridiculous, it was overwhelming, and y'know what?" He grinned, only slightly maniacally. "It was addicting."

He blinked, unsure if he had heard wrong. "I'm not quite sure what you're -"

"See, you've got some - ageless, all-knowing fact of the universe, and they've got everything that anyone could possible want." A strange, distant expression passed over his brother's face. "But what the hell is any of that good for if you're not living?"

For a moment, it felt as if the night got just that much darker.

"Of course we wanted more," Stanley said, voice rough. "After the deal, we never could've gone back to the way we were before."

"Um," said Ford.

His brother blinked, and grinned a bit sheepishly. When he spoke again, the strange tone in his voice was gone. "Sorry. It's, uh, a bit... hard to separate things out nice and clean after all of that, y'know?"

"But what you are now is human," he said searchingly. "Entirely, completely, human."

"That was the deal, wasn't it?" Stan said, matter-of-fact. "I get my brother back. And we get to be human."

...Ford could not help but notice that he hadn't actually answered the question. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to be concerned.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, occasionally slapping at the mosquitos that had begun to emerge from the nearby lake.

"So you're okay with that?' Stan asked suddenly.

The question was so ridiculous Ford had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. "I - Stanley, did you forget every single word I said to you while you were having your world-ending identity crisis?"

"No! I just - this is different, Ford." He fidgeted. "And it was the end of the world back then, I figure maybe you had -"

"Yes, Stanley, I'm okay with that," Ford said, and could not keep the exasperation from his voice. "It really isn't as entirely offputting as you seem to think. It's not as if you're not you." He paused. "They're just - you, too."

A thought popped into his head at that, and he found himself looking up at the dark sky. The entirety of the existence that Bill called 'Six-Sights' must have spanned - planets, galaxies, even, perhaps even outside of the human perception of physical size.

"...But you're not all of them, are you?"

"Yeah, I mean," his brother shrugged. "We never were. There was a lot of - us. The bit of us that got let onto Earth by Cipher was, uh, just one part in a billion billions. Maybe more."

"And the rest of them is - still out there, in whatever corner of the universe they existed in before Bill prodded them awake," Ford muttered out loud. "Doing whatever they've always done."

It was a strange thought. He had been vaguely aware of the entity's existence in his years traveling across the multiverse, but with the revelations of the past few days, he could not help but - perhaps wrongly - think of them with some degree of sympathy.

A strange expression flickered over Stan's face. "...Yeah."

Ford blinked. For a moment, he could have sworn - "You know something," he accused.

"What? No!" His brother hesitated. "...Maybe. It's nothin', honestly."

"Then it shouldn't be any issue for you to catch me on what exactly it is that I don't know. Right, Stanley?"

"Alright, alright. Just, uh." Stan paused, cleared his throat. "We were part of the same them for thirty years. Everything we saw, and felt, and got... they did too."

Ford didn't get the significance of that for a long moment. When the realization finally hit, it hit like a battering ram.

"What you're saying," he said slowly, "is that there is - at least some part of them remembers being you. Being my brother."

Ford tensed, his thoughts barreling towards a conclusion he did not want to accept. "And... it knows full well that they can never come home."

His brother's silence spoke volumes.

Cold horror flashed through him. "That's -"

"Ford, we don't know that," Stan said quickly. "You're overthinking it, honestly. This is thirty years of living compared to what, eternity?" He sighed. "See, what I think is, all of that was probably just one long blink for Six-Sights. Then it's all back to status quo."

"You don't actually think that," Ford accused.

"Sure I do," his brother lied, and let out a sigh. "C'mon, Sixer. Don't do this. Even if you're right about that, what can ya do about it?"

He didn't know, and that was bothered him the most. Ford felt a chill that did not come from the summer breeze.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder and almost sheepishly, patted him sympathetically.

"Hey," Stanley said awkwardly. "Don't worry about them, alright? If they're anything like me, they'll figure something out. They'll - make it work for them."

Ford swallowed, hard. "...I suppose," he allowed.

They sat in silence together for a moment. When Ford looked at the night sky again, the darkness was almost solid.

For a long moment, he felt surrounded, from every side, every angle. He was within, somewhere deep inside the innards of some colossal existence, part of the bigger whole, and -

...There was something deeply familiar about the blackness of the night, the faint glint of stars that he could have sworn he had seen somewhere before, in a memory of green so deep in his mind that he could not be sure if it existed.

For a reason that he could never put into words or explain, not even to himself, he knew he was protected here.

...Maybe his brother was right, after all.

Ford thought about how Stanley had managed to repair the portal with a few dozen textbooks and pure tenacity, had subsumed an eternity-old fact of the universe out of sheer willpower, had out-manuevered a demonic con-man purely on the basis of his love for his family.

If there was anyone who could make the most out of being an age-old eldritch abomination suddenly given human consciousness, it was him.

"Ford," Stan said suddenly, his voice crashing through Ford's thoughts like a bull in a china shop. "I've been thinking about what you said."

"Hmrg?" He managed.

"Y'know. Before Shermy knocked on the door."

Oh. His mouth suddenly felt very, very dry. "Have you."

Stan didn't speak for a moment. Then, with no small amount of panic, blurted, "We need to make it work, don't we?"

"Er."

"Shermy knows there's two of us now. So does the rest of - well, everyone else." His brother fidgeted. "And they're not gonna settle down for any less than that, huh?"

With a burst of clarity, Ford saw exactly where this was going, and almost couldn't keep the relief off his face. "No, I daresay they won't," he said lightly.

They sat there, a silence stretching out into eternity.

"I can't promise anything," Stan said suddenly. "I just - can't, Sixer. I care about you and the kids too much to put myself above you all, and it ever comes down to it, then -"

"I'm not asking you to do that, Ley," he said gently. "Just to not put yourself below us."

A moment passed and gone. "I'll try," Stan said, voice hoarse.

Ford let out a breath, long and slow.

"That's enough for me," he said, and meant it.

And, despite himself, his thoughts began to drift, far, far away from the little town of Gravity Falls and the patch of Oregon forest that surrounded it.

Shermaine must have made it home by now, to Dipper and Mabel, and to a Pines family that Ford - should - have found strange and terrifying, because there was no one left that he knew.

And no one left that knew him.

But... what had surprised him was that when he had looked through those albums, learning a history he had thought lost to him with Stan and Shermaine throwing out embarrassing stories over his shoulder, he had not seen strangers. Ford had seen people he knew in parts, again and again - in bright grins and expressions of wonderment, to - a distinctive raised arch of an eyebrow that was all Ma.

...All the parts that made a family when shared.

Ford did some calculations in his head. 

If this year's reunion was in Piedmont, Northern California, then - that was near the ocean, wasn't it? 

And that really wasn't too far from Gravity Falls, geographically speaking, though one should - theoretically, completely theoretically - have some degree of nautical experience before attempting the journey.

Which, as far as he was concerned, just meant that they needed to get right on it.

"Stanley," Ford said, "how do you feel about buying a boat?"

#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #stanley pines #stanford pines #gf #gf fic #lmao it's been so long i don't even remember what to tag anymore #a thousand natural shocks #atns #my fic #wow i cry

[joshbentley-blog1]

2018, A Year in Music

A year would not be complete without a list summarizing the sonic triumphs and escapades it saw birthed. Here are my thirty favorite albums from 2018. Enjoy.

30. Kurt Vile - Bottle It In

The singer-songwriter returned in 2018 with a follow up to his 2017 collaboration with Aussie rocker, Courtney Barnett. While I enjoyed Lotta Sea Lice plenty, I found its overarching themes to be a bit dry and the songwriting to be a bit lackluster from two experts such as Barnett and Vile. But Bottle It In is a return to form for the unique Vile. His drawl-y, laid back, groovy guitar cuts and folk-rooted storytelling is potent as ever. A truly beautiful entry into the artist’s discography, Bottle It In is a must-listen for any fan of folk rock and silky smooth songwriting.

Genre:  Folk rock / singer-songwriter

Standouts:  “Loading Zones,” “Yeah Bones,” “One Trick Ponies”

29. Neko Case - Hell-On

Neko Case’s storied career as an artist finds itself here, with 2018′s Hell-On. The album is a reflection on all that Case has experienced thus far, and its delivery is both introspective and cinematic. There are songs here that feel like a stream of consciousness, and others are a bit more straight forward. Still, it demands the attention of the listener, for there are things to pick up on with each listen. What Case, and Hell-On, deliver on the most is catchy and fun ballads that have run through my head like an infectious earworm since its release. “Last Lion of Albion,” “Bad Luck,” and “Curse of the I-5 Corridor,” are standouts in particular.

Genre:  Singer-songwriter / folk pop / country pop

Standouts:  “Last Lion of Albion,” “Bad Luck,” “Curse of the I-5 Corridor”

28. Car Seat Headrest - Twin Fantasy

I was, admittedly, not the biggest fan of Will Toledo and his project Car Seat Headrest when I first listened to Teens of Denial. I found his songwriting to be a bit uni-dimensional at times, and the sonic palette to a bit bland. But after re-visiting his works repeatedly, I’ve become a bigger stan of Toledo’s. It’s undeniable that his knack for melodies is unrivaled. And I’ve come to appreciate his songwriting more and more with each successive listen. His re-release of the cult Bandcamp hit, Twin Fantasy, is a true success though. The refurbished instrumentation and production is a welcome facelift to this Bandcamp classic. And the bodacious and bright new mixing brings new life into Toledo’s work. The support he has received from Matador Records has resulted in an improvement on all fronts, from the record’s origins. It’s a beautiful, and perhaps nostalgic for some, release from Will.

Genre:  Indie rock / singer-songwriter

Standouts:  “Bodys,” “Stop Smoking (We Love You),” “Sober to Death”

27. Vince Staples - FM!

It was released on 2 November 2018 but it feels like something straight out of the humid heat of July. Another entry into the short and succinct album list of 2018, FM! is short-lived at only 22 minutes. But the album has plenty to offer. Seamlessly flowing from track to track, Vince’s latest endeavor plays out more like a in-studio performance for a radio show (as can be heard by the short radio-esque skits played as outros and intros). The songs are braggadocious. Vince raps over silky smooth west coast hip-hop-inspired beats and punches with flows to match.

Genre:  West coast hip-hop

Standouts:  “Feels Like Summer,” “Outside!” “Don’t Get Chipped,” “FUN!”

26. Florence + the Machine - High As Hope

Florence Welch is a symbol of freedom for me. Her unrivaled passion for her craft, her presence on the stage evokes images of royalty, and her unimpeachable strength make her one of my favorite vocalists of all time. Her voice fills rooms, stadiums, and the ears of millions. A perfect example of this potency is 2015′s How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful; an album that was cinematic, wide in scope and sound, and an important leap for Florence’s artistic career. But this year’s High As Hope is much more intimate. One could even call it a step backwards for Florence, but I would respectfully disagree with this statement. For me, High As Hope is a logical step forward for Florence. Following a loud and explosive release in 2015, a cathartic climax I’m sure, it makes sense to hear Florence make her descent down an intimate and minimal road. And down this road we see Florence explore and make available her struggles with loneliness, depression, and a myriad of other demons. She trades the titanic orchestral sets for pianos, sparse percussion, and cuts through these thin veils with her meteoric voice. But at the end of the day (and the record), there is an air of hope. Hope drives this record, and it’s what drives Florence, and that is more than enough for me.

Genre:  Chamber pop / art pop

Standouts:  “Sky Full Of Song,” “Hunger,” “June,” “No Choir”

25. Mount Eerie - Now Only

Phil Elverum has endured more than one can even begin to dream of. 2017 saw Elverum face the loss of his wife, it saw him begin to face single fatherhood. From that turmoil came A Crow Looked At Me, a beautifully tragic album that gave us a close up look at Elverum’s grief and loss. That album was succinct, precise, and to the point. Now Only is much more a stream of consciousness, a rambling of sorts, and it plays out much like Elverum is writing an epilogue to A Crow in real time. The song structures are varied, and some draw on into the ten minute range. It takes effort to really let this album sink in and marinate, and once it does it pays dividends.

Genre:  Singer-songwriter / indie folk

Standouts:  “Tintin in Tibet,” “Distortion,” “Crow, Pt. 2″

24. U.S. Girls - In a Poem Unlimited

In a Poem Unlimited is a beautiful art pop record, filled with enveloping and gorgeous layers of instrumentation. It’s refined, it’s sharp, and its sound is unlike anything this year has seen. Art pop, folk pop, disco, soul, synth pop, and baroque pop are all genres that blend together and come through in U.S. Girl’s most refined piece yet. And if there’s anything that sticks out especially, it’s the record’s production. It is just so polished. Of course Meghan’s vocals are as cutting as ever, but it is the record’s beautiful construction that keeps me coming back to this one. Songs like “Velvet 4 Sale,” and “L-Over” are particular highlights for me. I recommend this to anyone who wants a diverse sounding record, or a record to just fall into.

Genre:  Art pop / synth pop / psych pop

Standouts: “Velvet 4 Sale,” “Rosebud,” “L-Over,” “M.A.H.”

23. Jonny Greenwood - You Were Never Really Here (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Radiohead lead guitarist Jonny Greenwood first grabbed my attention, when it came to his work aside from Radiohead, with his score for Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread last year. Gorgeous string arrangements and orchestral builds are swapped out for synthesizers and heavy percussive elements on this latest soundscape however. And while I loved Greenwood’s work with PTA, this latest project sees Greenwood using these tools expertly. His soundtrack is one of the best of this year, and it adds to the immersive world that Lynne Ramsay built in You Were Never Really Here. Dissonant and sharp guitars, thunderous and warping synths pierce your ears and create a sense of unease, matched when experienced while watching the film. And while some scores and/or soundtracks fail to stand on their own without their cinematic partners, Greenwood’s work here is more than enough on its own.

Genre:  Film soundtrack / experimental

Standouts:  “Tree Synthesizers,” “Sandy’s Necklace,” “Dark Streets (Reprise)”

22. Kali Uchis - Isolation

Colombian soul singer Kali Uchis made her full-length debut this year with Isolation. A diverse roster came together to collaborate on this project; the likes of Steve Lacy, Boosty Collins, Damon Albarn, Thundercat, and Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker appear on this record in some shape or form, and those are but a few to name. This amalgamation of artists and minds makes for a sonically diverse record, one that spans genres and emotions. And through it all Kali Uchis shines through as an up-and-coming talent. Still, there is plenty of room to grow, as the lyricism and songwriting on some tracks falls a bit flatter than others. But overall this record is so unique it stands above its contemporaries.

Genre:  Neo-soul / contemporary R&B

Standouts:  “Just A Stranger,” “In My Dreams,” “Feel Like A Fool”

21. Sons of Kemet - Your Queen Is a Reptile

London jazz unit, Sons of Kemet, delivered a revolutionary jazz record this year. Politically-fueled, unapologetically cultural, it is based in African music and African history yet brimming with ingenuity. Thunderous horns, bombastic drums and chaotic wind sections grow and pulse through this record. Broken up are these progressions by spoken word passages, which add depth and prose to the record. Your Queen Is a Reptile is surely a classic, and a definite listen for any jazz enthusiast.

Genre:  Afro-jazz

Standouts:  “My Queen Is Ada Eastman,” “My Queen Is Harriet Tubman,” “My Queen Is Angela Davis”

20. MGMT - Little Dark Age

Perhaps best known for their indie breakout hit Oracular Spectacular, with late-2000s anthems like “Kids,” “Time To Pretend,” and “Electric Feel,” MGMT was considered by some destined to fail to meet their success of 2007. Little Dark Age dispels these notions, with dark and gloomy pop cuts as well as a purposefully occult themes. MGMT never wanted to make mainstream pop music, and released Oracular Spectacular as an odd protest to such desires observed in their fans. This devotion to the subversions of mainstream pop followed them through their discography post-Oracular, but hits its peak here with Little Dark Age.

Genre:  Gothic pop / synth pop / psych pop

Standouts:  “Little Dark Age,” “When You Die,” “Me and Michael,” “She Works Out Too Much”

19. Adrianne Lenker - Abysskiss

Big Thief’s frontwoman, Adrianne Lenker, adds to her solo career with Abysskiss. Recorded within the approximate span of a week, the record has an air of urgency but is patient in its delivery. Lenker is reserved, yet determined in her delivery. The album is much like tramping on a trail or wandering through a city unknown. It winds, it hypnotizes. I found myself ensnared by Lenker’s finger-picking and her hauntingly beautiful voice. Fans of Big Thief will love this solo effort by Lenker, and I hope many others can find and appreciate its beauty in minimalism.

Genre:  Folk / singer-songwriter

Standouts:  “terminal paradise,” “womb,” “cradle”

18. Young Fathers - Cocoa Sugar

Scottish trio Young Fathers came out swinging with Cocoa Sugar. Blending a multitude of genres, Young Fathers have released their sharpest record to date. Its inclusion of neo-soul, conscious hip-hop, gospel, electronica, and R&B make for a sonic experience rivaled by few. The album builds and builds this chaotic wall of sound, finally reaching its release with tracks like “In My View,” and “Lord.” But the album is a engaging listen throughout.

Genre:  Indietronica / neo-soul / art pop / experimental hip-hop / gospel

Standouts:  “Fee Fi,” “In My View,” “Lord,” “Border Girl”

17. JPEGMAFIA - Veteran

DAMN PEGGY! 19 tracks. 47 minutes. This album slaps. Baltimore rapper/producer, JPEGMAFIA, has come out with one of the most experimental and abrasive rap albums of the century. Using sounds unnatural and inorganic to human ears, Peggy is creating songs unlike any of his contemporaries. It is difficult to put into words just how experimental and “out there” this album is.  His songwriting is excellently woven into these instrumentals and samples, making for catchy cuts and oddly comedic one-liners. There is a real texture to these songs, and the dynamic swells of sound make for a transcendent and mind-numbing experience. Veteran isn’t just one of the most creative rap albums I’ve ever heard, it’s perhaps one of the best rap albums I’ve ever heard.

Genre:  Experimental hip-hop

Standouts:  “1539 N. Calvert,” “Thug Tears,” “Baby I’m Bleeding

16. Jon Hopkins - Singularity

In the same realm of immersive listens, I don’t think there is one album this year that can reach the same heights (both literally and figuratively) as Singularity. This album feels like the genesis of a brand new world, like the exploration of the unknown reaches past our galaxy. It’s an odyssey of sound, an insurmountable summit of synthesizers, strings, percussion and much, much more. The album opens with the title track, “Singularity,” which sets the stage for what the album is meant to accomplish. The winding synths and electric drum beats create an atmosphere similar to the cold and unforgiving nature of space. Seamlessly, the album bursts into the song “Emerald Rush,” which slows things down at first, allows the listener to breath and grab hold of their whereabouts. But this feeling of ease and calm is sliced by the thunderous and monolithic bass-heavy bursts at around the 1:33 mark. From there on out the song becomes a tribal experience. The drum beats creating an almost religious evocation, of a religion foreign to Earth. “Neon Pattern Drum,” continues this ethereal theme and the song is a sonic representation of its title. Once again, tribal synths and drums entrap the listener, banishing them to a realm of neon and galactic enterprise. Jon Hopkins has created something truly special with Singularity. Its atmosphere and reach are indescribable.

Genre:  Ambient / tech house / IDM

Standouts:  “Singularity,” “Emerald Rush,” “Neon Pattern Drum,” “Feel First Life,” “C O S M”

15. Julia Holter - Aviary

While JPEGMAFIA may have released the most experimental hip-hop album of 2018, I firmly believe that Julia Holter released the most experimental and  dense album of 2018. Emphasis on “dense.” Let me repeat. This. Album. Is. Dense. Blending more genres than I can even think of, Aviary is layered and complex. Much like a tasting menu at a prestigious restaurant, Holter’s work demands patience and attention. But if you put in the time - for Pete’s sake this album is an hour and 30 minutes long - you will be rewarded. Holter crafts a universe of her own, and only she knows (or maybe doesn’t) how to traverse it, we are but left to helplessly follow in the hopes of finding our eventual way. And that’s what makes this album one of this year’s best. Julia doesn’t compromise here, and has the courage to craft an expansive and broad experience. In a year where succinct and short albums seemed to grab hold (e.g. Be the Cowboy), Aviary separates itself as a cacophonous cloud of grand and classical influences. Holter’s talents as a composer and multi-instrumentalist are present throughout the journey as well; she’s able to create a scape of her own, but one that reminds me of a futuristic world, one akin to that of the world of Blade Runner. The mixing draws up sour string arrangements and heavenly synths, her howling voice and earth-shattering basslines to great effect. She even sings in multiple languages, including: English, French and Latin. It’s mysterious. It’s frustrating. It’s painfully poetic. It’s a juggernaut of an album. But it is unapologetically beautiful in its own right.

Genre: Idk... to many (art pop / classical / avante garde)

Standouts:  “I Shall Love 2,” “Colligere,” “Les Jeux to You,” “Words I Heard”

14. Big Red Machine - Big Red Machine

The works of Justin Vernon and Aaron Dessner are enough draw the attention of many indieheads. From Vernon’s ventures as Bon Iver and Volcano Choir, and Dessner being a member of the acclaimed rock outfit, The National, there are enough accolades between the two of them that any sort of joining of forces would result in a sure fire classic. And that’s exactly what Big Red Machine is, in the most un-classic way possible. Songs from the record have been floating around the Internet for some time now, with Vernon and Dessner playing some songs live at festivals like Eaux Claires. But it wasn’t until this year we formally received notice that a record would be surfacing. The self-titled debut is much more akin to the sound of 22, A Million or Sleep Well Beast. Fans of traditional National, or older Bon Iver, may be disappointed to find the album relies on synths and motherboards instead of solely guitars, drum and bass. But behind all of the bleeps and bloops are notes of the artists’ original sounds. “I Won’t Run From It,” sound like it could have appeared on Bon Iver, Bon Iver, and “Forest Green,” could have easily been on High Violet if Vernon’s vocals were traded in for Berninger’s. Big Red Machine is a leap forward for the two artists, and it marks a pivotal point in their careers, one should not miss out on this project.

Genre:  Folktronica / indie rock

Standouts:  “Forest Green,” “I Won’t Run From It,” “Hymnostic”

13. St. Vincent - MassEducation

A complete re-imagining of her own Masseduction, Anne Clark is always at the forefront of the music sphere. She’s an elite guitarist, a visionary songwriter, and a fashion icon on top of all that. To re-record, re-imagine, and re-produce your own album is already a bold task, but for Anne it must have just been a logical step forward for her. Where Masseduction was experimental, sour, and sharp-edged, full of futuristic progressions and dystopian engagements, MassEducation is not. It is slow, intimate, subdued and minimal. Featuring mainly piano and acoustic arrangements, Anne has created a beautifully classic sound.

Genre:  Singer-songwriter / acoustic

Standouts:  “Slow Disco,” “Smoking Section,” “Los Ageless,” “New York,” “Pills”

12. Ought - Room Inside the World

Montreal post-punk outfit, Ought, add to the post-punk front this year with Room Inside the World. An album that’s groovy and hypnotic, Ought have improved upon their works of past with this entry. Lead vocalist, Tim Darcy, has a unique voice that cuts through the colorful palette of guitars, keys, bass, and percussion. The record chugs along with a deliberate nonchalant vibe, up until the release during the album’s midway point in “Desire.” A strong contender for song of the year, “Desire” marks a pivotal point in the album. It takes the build up of the previous four tracks, and adds to it with its own two minute and forty second build up, crescendoing to a beautiful arrangement of Darcy’s own voice backed by an array of singers. Room Inside the World is a passionate piece, one that is even better when experienced live. A solid post-punk entry deserving of every listen.

Genre:  Post-punk / art rock

Standouts:  “Desire,” “Disgraced In America,” “Into the Sea,” “These 3 Things”

11. Against All Logic - 2012-2017

Nicolas Jaar’s debut project on the Other People label is a beautiful house record. Seriously, this album is a broad soundscape, utilizing horns, deep and guttural synth blares, percussive snaps, soul and R&B samples, and disco and funk flavors. The songs fade in and fade out beautifully, creating a sonic cityscape and sweaty, club atmosphere. Jaar opens with the stunning “This Old House Is All I Have,” a jammy and soulful house cut. Tracks like “Cityfade,” and “Some Kind of Game,” blend funk and disco seamlessly with the digital character of boiler room house. Where Hopkins uses Singularity to imagine a space-filled void, wrapping the listener in stars, comets and cosmic gas, Jaar opts for a more down-to-earth approach. Synthesizing an urban, concrete-jungle type of space, Jaar masterfully pulls the listener into the middle of New York streets, Berlin clubs, and French dance houses.

Genre:  House / boiler room house

Standouts:  “This Old House I Have,” “Cityfade,” “Rave on U,” “Some Kind of Game”

10. Father John Misty - God’s Favorite Customer

Father John Misty’s Pure Comedy (2017) was one of my favorite albums last year. No album so poignantly critiqued the state of affairs the country sees itself in, what the world sees itself in. No album so vividly expressed the frustration, sadness, hopelessness, and abandon that many of us - including myself - have felt since that fateful election of November 2016. But what strikes me so powerfully now, is the knowledge that J. Tillman wrote Pure Comedy well before the 2016 election cycle. Certainly, it was not difficult for anyone to picture the road we as a country were headed down, but for Tillman to so succinctly capture those emotions before we felt them, that is something truly special.

Gone were the intimate and personal ballads found on Fear Fun or I Love You, Honeybear. Pure Comedy opted for a more meta-analysis type of song structure, critiquing society as a whole and all the populations that inhabit it. It chose to express a different type of love, a love for mankind as a whole. It had a much broader array of instrumentation as well; strings, horns, orchestral units all culminated to form a cinematic, almost theatrical sound. These elements made for an expansive and full-breadthed listen. So when it was announced that Tillman would follow up this masterpiece of a project immediately in 2018 with God’s Favorite Customer, I was intrigued to see where he would take us.

Back are the familiar song structures and instrumental arrangements found in I Love You, Honeybear and Fear Fun, back is the personal and introspective songwriting. It is (in a sense) a return to form for Tillman, or rather, Father John Misty as a character. But now, there is a sense of discomfort and dismay in Misty’s voice and delivery. It is an exploration of turmoil and it is unfamiliar to us, since Misty often comes off as confident and saturated with cynicism. This darker road we’re led down opens us to the struggles of an artist trapped behind a character. While Tillman may not consider his moniker a trap all of the time, the lifestyle his art brings has certainly caused him his fair share of hardships. And it is this honesty that is so potent to me. A beautiful, beautiful addition to an already superb discography.

Many disregard Misty because of the veil he portrays so often. A veil of cynicism, pretentiousness and superiority. But what I think many fail to realize and account for is that the veil is just that: a veil. Any character or performance can run the well dry, but I believe Misty is only reaching his peak at this moment. What keeps me invested is knowing that behind that cynicism, Josh Tillman is a deeply caring, professional and upstanding artist. His continued philanthropy is a testament to this love. And perhaps that is why God’s Favorite Customer struck such a strong chord in me. Hearing that this man has faced some of his darkest times, and yet still finds the strength and courage to help others, it is inspiring. So while you are free to judge Father John Misty the character, I think Josh Tillman deserves more than a fair shake for having helped so many of us during such dark times.

Genre:  Singer-songwriter / chamber pop / piano rock

Standouts:  “Hangout at the Gallows,” “Mr. Tillman,” “Please Don’t Die,” “We’re Only People (And There’s Not Much Anyone Can Do About That)”

9. Mid-Air Thief - Crumbling

This album and artist are shrouded in mystery, as far as I can tell. There is not much I can find on Mid-Air Thief and his work that isn’t written in Korean. Regardless, one thing remains clear, Crumbling is perhaps the most gorgeously textured album I’ve ever heard. It mixes elements of folk, synth pop, glitch pop, and bedroom pop to create a warm and inviting sound unique to itself. At times the album sounds like something one would hear during a Studio Ghibli film, and at others it sounds like the soundtrack to a crisp autumn afternoon. Crumbling is bubbly, sincere and vulnerable. It sounds like looking through old photo albums, it sounds like walking through the park on a warm summer day, it sounds like sharing a meal with those you love. There’s no other projects I can really compare this album to for you, and ultimately I think that’s a good thing. You just have to listen to this one for yourself to truly understand what I am talking about.

Genre:  Synth folk / synth pop / glitch folk

Standouts: I mean, the whole album... but “Why?” “Gameun Deut,” “Curve and Light,” and “Crumbling Together,” for sure.

8. Amen Dunes - Freedom

Much like hallucinating on psychedelics or living through a fever dream, Freedom is a euphoric and shimmery listen. The off-kilter structure of many songs, the groovy basslines and percussion, topped off by Damon McMahon’s sensual voice sends the listener into a trance. The album builds and builds, creating an ethereal sonic atmosphere, wrapping the listener like a ghostly blanket. It draws the listener in and traps them in a haze of memory, emotion and soul.

Genre:  Psychedelic folk / folk rock

Standouts:  “Blue Rose,” “Time,” “Miki Dora,” “Believe,” “Dracula,” “Freedom”

7. Parquet Courts - Wide Awake!

Politically-charged, funk-woven rock anthems are certainly not a dime a dozen. Smart, catchy post-punk cuts are not easy to execute, especially when trying to interject political themes and commentary on sociopolitical issues. But Parquet Courts, a Brooklyn-based indie rock collective, have certainly accomplished the seemingly impossible with Wide Awake! Providing perspective on violence, agency in the modern age, disparities in our modern economy. The lyrical focus on this album is superb, and there is a clear attention to the writing here. But the instrumentation is equally illustrative. Slick guitar riffs, funky bass lines, snappy percussion, and a myriad of effects keep the songs flowing with character. There’s also an amazing fusion of many genres. Funk, soul, garage rock, post-punk, and jangle pop can all be heard in some form or another on this record. No song sounds like its predecessor or successor, making Wide Awake! one of this year’s best.

Genre:  Post-punk / indie rock

Standouts:  “Violence,” “Mardi Gras Beads,” “Almost Had To Start A Fight/In and Out of Patience,” “Freebird II,” “Wide Awake,” “Tenderness”

6. Janelle Monae - Dirty Computer

Janelle Monae is an artist unlike any other. A musician, a model, an actor, a producer, and rapper, Monae’s talents and passions have combined to create unstoppable works. From her previous LPs, to her accolades for roles in films such as Moonlight, I was very much anticipating this latest release. It seems Monae is at her most adventurous right now, venturing out into modes and endeavors few other artists would dare explore. And she does so with such poise and strength on Dirty Computer. It is much more poppy and glossy than her previous works, but it is also conceptual and forward-thinking to a high degree. Exploring sexuality, love, individualism, and pride in all forms, the album is an exquisite listen. Songs like, “Screwed” and “Make Me Feel,” are overtly sexual, but backed by tangible passion and pride. Monae’s obvious inspiration from Prince is found on these songs as well, adding to the lust and mystery. The tracks “Django Jane,” and “Pynk” are infectious and inspiring anthems, preaching love for one’s self and hearkening to the struggles of being a minority in a tumultuous America. These are not the only songs with such impacts however. The entire project is a prideful piece of art, worthy of all the accolades it has received.

Genre:  Contemporary R&B / synth funk / art pop

Standouts:  “Screwed,” “Django Jane,” “Make Me Feel,” “Pynk,” “I Got The Juice,” “I Like That”

5. Mitski - Be The Cowboy

At her roots, Mitski is very much a punk icon. And what is more punk than the subversion of classic musical standards? Mitski opts for a much more brief and precise project with Be The Cowboy. At 14 songs and 32 minutes, it’s an album that sucks you in and spits you out in the matter of mere minutes. Songs average on the 2:30 length, leaving just enough to make you feel full but certainly not enough to leave you satisfied. And that intentional briefness is what kept me coming back to this album. The emotional climaxes that build are abruptly cut off, and I’m left feeling empty and yearning for more. The swells of love and loss keep you afloat for just a moment, only to drag you down and leave you gasping for breath. “Geyser,” opens the album, creating a sense of empowerment and vision. But I soon realized that Mitski is battling herself in this album. She is struggling to move on from the past, but more than certain that she has the power to do so. That’s what I think “Be the cowboy,” means. At least to a degree. That idea of capturing the symbolism and presence of the old gunslingers of the west. That idea of being strong willed and free flows throughout the project. Mitski is no longer apologizing for herself. She channels that energy of the cowboy and has created an album that speaks to the strength within us all.

Genre:  Indie rock / art pop

Standouts:  “Geyser,” “Old Friend,” “A Pearl,” “Lonesome Love,” “Me and My Husband,” “Nobody,” “Two Slow Dancers”

4. Lucy Dacus - Historian

Virginia native, Lucy Dacus, has had quite the year. From releasing her sophomore full length record, to joining forces with her contemporaries Phoebe Bridgers and Julien Baker, 2018 has proved to be a pivotal moment in the singer-songwriters career. And I couldn’t think of an artist more deserving of such success and praise. Dacus is so humble and soft spoken, it is a revelation when she belts out on tracks like “Night Shift.” Her presence on stage and on her latest album evoke such emotion and personality, making Historian one of my favorite albums of the decade. From a distance, many could label Dacus as your run-of-the-mill indie singer-songwriter. But from the moment the album kicks off, you realize this is something else entire. “Night Shift,” is a perfect example of Dacus’ mature writing and song structuring, with the songs building with emotion and boiling over after a certain point. Dacus’ soft voice becomes increasingly more powerful as songs go on, and fill the room with energy and emotion.

Delving into self love, loss and facing the inevitability of time, Dacus finds herself facing mortality and wisdom at the same time. There is a sense of growth on this album, especially when compared to her debut album. The crunchy guitar lines, the smooth drums and bass, emboldened by Dacus’ one of a kind voice hypnotize the listener. Songs vary in length beautifully as well. Dacus can easily write catchy singles like “Addictions,” but she is more than capable of (and perhaps better suited for) writing expansive and fluctuating ballads that creep towards the six, seven minute mark. Overall, there is a real comfort to this record, and an unparalleled presence that is sure to stand the test of time.

Genre:  Indie rock / singer-songwriter

Standouts:  “Night Shift,” “Addictions,” “The Shell,” “Nonbeliever,” “Yours & Mine,” “Timefighter,” “Next of Kin”

3. Haley Heynderickx - I Need To Start A Garden

Much like a garden, music is delicate and requires the utmost care to thrive and intrigue. If cared for properly though, the fruits of your labor will be bountiful. Portland-born singer-songwriter Haley Heynderickx understands this dilemma and explores its effects and roots on her debut album, I Need To Start A Garden.

Prior to her full-length debut, Heynderickx had released an EP in 2016 titled, Fish Eyes. The four song venture was bright with intimacy and care. It was like a collection of cacti and succulents, rough around the edges yet beautiful beyond compare. Featuring muted guitar tones, subtle ventures into nature and love, and not much else, the EP was a highlight for me in 2016. Haley’s voice is so pure and emotive, it’s evident her own stories are folded into the weaves of her music.

This is why I was so excited for her full length record this year. When the folk sphere has been dominated by acts such as Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver, and other giants for so long,it is refreshing to hear a new voice in the crowd.

I Need To Start A Garden opens with the somber, “No Face,” a song about self-reflection and self-doubt. And while accompanying tracks like “Show You a Body,” and “Worth It” carry heavy ethos and mystery, Haley isn’t afraid to mix in humor and on-the-nose self-deprecation. “The Bug Collector,” “Untitled God Song,” and “Oom Sha La La” mix up the pace and taste of the LP, trading subtle guitar lines for bright electric rhythms. Haley’s word play and writing talents are evident across the record, but I think these three tracks really display her knack for balancing her lyrics and her esteemed wordsmith-ing.

Much like a garden, music requires the maker to understand the mercurial nature of the process. It doesn’t just happen overnight. No artist better understands these frustrations than Haley. I Need To Start A Garden represents its namesake; its beauty hides behind a veil of minimalism, and its strengths are at times mistaken for faults. Haley’s folk roots give this album space and air to breath, and her ability to tell enchanting stories brings this album to life. If I Need To Start A Garden is any indication, Heynderickx will be back with perennial success.

Genre:  Folk / singer-songwriter

Standouts:  “No Face,” “The Bug Collector,” “Jo,” “Worth It,” “Untitled God Song,” “Oom Sha La La”

2. Boygenius - Boygenius EP

First and foremost, I understand that this collection of songs is technically an EP, not an LP. But I could not make a year-end list documenting all of the projects that I found transformative without including the Boygenius EP. Six intimate and simple songs, written and recorded in the span of a few weeks, including three of the most inspiring and talented individuals in music right now:  Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus. The sheer brilliance of this EP is in its simplicity, as well as its spontaneity and the comfort it so easily provides.

The joining of these three musicians and songwriters has been labeled as indie music’s next ‘supergroup,’ and it is difficult to refute such a label when their debut project and respective tour made such a lasting impact on my life, and I’m sure the lives of many others. When it was announced that Bridgers, Dacus and Baker were collaborating on a project together, I had no idea that the fruits of their labor would arrive within the year. But I am oh so glad it did. These artists are not unfamiliar to me, nor are they to each other. Bridgers and Baker have toured together in the past, and Lucy joined forces with Baker for some shows this year as well. However, I had no idea what any sort of project from these three would sound like, let alone how it would impact me.

Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus all have such unique sounds and distinct approaches to music. Baker is often associated with minimalistic arrangements; her debut solo LP featured only her voice, a guitar, a looping rig, and a piano. While her arrangements have grown and been fleshed out a bit more on her sophomore release, her style is consistent. Focusing on emotional releases through the exploration of here darkest times, Baker builds her songs to cathartic releases. Dacus is similar, but often chooses to flesh out her storytelling a bit more, and opts for a fuller instrumentation (e.g. bass, drums, and a second guitar). Her songs drift and sway, hypnotizing the listener until her progressions ultimately erupt. Bridgers is perhaps the most varied in her sound. Using a baritone guitar, an acoustic, slide guitars, drums, bass and synths. Her debut album was a joy to listen to because it flipped conventional indie rock and indie folk on its head. It didn’t revolutionize the sound per se, but her songwriting and humor shine through like few other indie folk records do.

These elements from each artist come together beautifully on the EP. The way each artist is able to harmonize with each other, work off each other and build the others up is incredible. Some songs highlight a different artist in some way. “Me & My Dog,” is a ballad featuring Phoebe on lead vocals and guitar, “Stay Down,” is forwarded by Baker and “Bite The Hand” kicks the EP off with Lucy’s velvety and somber singing. But there are also cuts that serve as vehicles for the three artists’ talents to merge and blossom. “Souvenir,” and “Ketchum, ID” in particular include exquisite harmonies between the three artists and verses are traded back and forth among the singers. This sharing of material not only allows the listener to experience each artist individually, but in a way it is the sonic embodiment of what this EP is all about. It’s about sharing, loving yourself and each other, and not being afraid to find comfort in the shared anxieties that life throws at you.

Genre:  Indie rock / indie folk / singer-songwriter

Standouts:  The entire EP

1. IDLES - Joy as an Act of Resistance

I’ve discussed how volatile and fickle heavily-political projects can be in this day and age. It is easy for the project to drown itself in self-righteousness or to lose itself in its own tone deafness. Political narratives in music can also become jumbled and indigestible if done poorly.  But this is not the case for Bristol punk outfit, IDLES, and their sophomore record here, Joy as an Act of Resistance.

Tackling UK-centric issues such as the Tory Party’s gaining grip on the nation as well as the recent Brexit controversies, Joy is very much rooted in the chaos and turmoil facing the UK today. However, the album’s messages can find relevance in the United States as well as a myriad of other countries. “Colossus,” the album’s opener, tackles toxic masculinity and its effects on the male mentality. “Never Fight A Man With A Perm,” continues this commentary with sour guitar licks and thunderous drums. Joe Talbot’s - the lead singer of IDLES - shout-like singing cuts through the mix to create a sense of urgency and resistance.

“I’m Scum” slows the record down a bit with rhythmic drums and subdued (for IDLES) instrumentation. It delves into the political and sociopolitical challenges that Britain is currently facing with its continued rise of the right wing party. Lines like, “I don’t care about the next James Bond. He kills for country, Queen and God. We don’t need another murderous toff,” and “This snowflake’s an avalanche,” deliver heavy social punches in such a vivid tone.

Joy’s political tone only continues to grow with “Danny Nedelko,” a ballad of sorts, praising immigrants and all the brilliance and love they bring to their newfound homes (where ever that may be). The song’s namesake is Talbot’s real-life best friend, Danny Nedelko, a Ukrainian immigrant to the United Kingdom. The track speaks on how every day immigrants bring immense value to their communities with lines like, “My blood brother is Malala. A Polish butcher, he’s Mo Farah.” Including the names of famous immigrants to the UK highlights just how one-sided and clouded many citizens’ views on immigrants are.

The album chugs along at breakneck pace, until “June,” the deeply emotional ode to Talbot’s daughter whose untimely passing proved to be a pivotal emotional moment in Talbot’s life. One that sprouted the genesis of this album, and one that will surely be held close for his entire lifetime.

Joy is a straightforward post-punk album with apt commentary that is applicable to any corner of the earth. But what makes this album my album of the year is its delivery of such commentary. Behind the chugging bass lines, the sharp and sour guitar lines, the pounding drums, and Talbot’s gruff voice is a message of love for one another. This juxtaposition only grows in effect with each repeated listen. From the outside looking in, it’s a rough-around-the-edges and jagged punk record. But once you peer deeper into the substance, it’s truly a representation of its title, a reaffirmation that joy is the simplest - and perhaps the most effective - form of resistance to those who work to spread hate and unrest.

Genre:  Post-punk / art punk / hardcore punk

Standouts:  “Colossus,” “Never Fight A Man With A Perm,” “Danny Nedelko,” “I’m Scum,” “June,” “Rottweiler,” “Television”

#aoty list #aoty #music review #music journalism #idles #father john misty #boygenius #phoebe bridgers #julien baker #mitski