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miss-celestia13 · 1 year ago

Text

Mastermind

Jake x MC Silly Fluffy One Shot

Words: 4.3k

Inspired by old memes! I've added one to the end.

Jake has planned their trip to IKEA down to the last second. He forgot to account for MC and her ability to turn a simple shopping trip into a day-long adventure. He's a mastermind, but he might have met his match.

Thank you so much to the lovely @julesisreading for all her help and insights with IKEA and the things that could happen to Jake there 🤭 I have only been once or twice myself and needed some help with it. Anything that is wrong, call it artistic liberty and I have no budget to stick to when writing, so I can do what I want🤣❤️

Jake

He was armed to the teeth. Nothing could surprise him or knock him off track. The map was crystal in his mind, and he was confident every challenge, problem, and panic attack had been accounted for and neutralized before they could infringe upon his ability to complete this mission. It was one he took seriously and would accept nothing but success. They’d eaten a decent breakfast, and he packed bottles of water and snacks in case she got hungry. All avenues had been considered. He knew every entrance and exit and mapped out multiple escape routes for every turn and pitfall they might fall into. He was ready. He was prepared. Or so he thought. He’d forgotten to account for the human elements, and a sinking sensation in his stomach already warned him all might not be well.

Jake eyed the mammoth building with a gimlet eye and smothered his groan as they approached the entrance. They were about to face the most arduous struggle many couples grapple with… a trip to IKEA. The challenge? Walk in, get what they need, and walk back out without breaking up. He was confident he could hold his own and not give in to the pressures being faced with so many options could place on a person. A strange notion swept over him as the automatic doors parted to allow them inside. Should he be laying a trail of breadcrumbs to ensure they found their way out? He was almost intimidated by the size of the place and doubted his own ability to remember everything he’d planned. The woman beside him insisted on pushing the cart so he could grab things she pointed at, and there was a distinct frenetic energy around her small form that made her bounce as she walked.

The list he created the night before was on his phone, and he knew exactly where everything was to the last inch. Reassured by the website that all was in stock, he warned her on the way there that they would not be distracted by anything shiny and they would avoid the food hall. He couldn’t remember if she actually agreed to his terms or if she made him forget them by using her feminine ways to distract him. If she had, he knew he enjoyed every moment of it and wouldn’t hold it against her. She laughed at his intense research, but he was determined to make it out alive and mostly intact. He felt more like he was gearing up for a fight than furniture shopping, and her delighted squeal as they approached the pile of reusable blue and yellow bags only solidified that feeling. She was grabbing one after another and smiling as she turned to him.

“Do you think four will suffice?”

He opened his mouth to affirm, but she shook her head and muttered, “No, better get a few more just in case. I think… yep! Seven will do!”

“We don’t need that much...” He said as she bounced back to his side and tossed the bags in the cart.

“We might see something we didn’t know we needed, Jake!” She laughed, eyes alight with mischief as they ambled into the market hall.

A subtle but noticeable scent hung in the air: sawdust, maybe something with cinnamon, and a bunch of other things he didn’t have a name for hit him as they walked in, and it was pleasant, but he did not trust it. He knew it was only there to lure one in, get them lost, and keep them trapped inside this horror store forever. His credit card burned a hole in his pocket as she approached a row of finger-smeared computers and began pointlessly searching for all they needed. He stifled a chuckle as the first two she tried would not work, and she growled at the screen, huffed, and glared at him when his worked on the first try. His touch screen was faulty, though, and when it failed to show him where he could find the coffee table she so desperately wanted, he sighed through his nose and prayed this wasn’t a sign of things to come.

“Come on, Hackerman, we’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way!” She chirped, guiding the cart away and over to a display of kitchen utensils.

“I have everything we need marked down. We just have to go there, and...we don’t need a lemon juicer.” He arched a brow as she demonstrated how to use it and winked at him.

“You never know! It’s only -”

“Yeah, it’s only $2.49. That’s how they get you.” He said, and she scoffed but put it down after remembering she didn’t like lemons.

There were too many shiny, cheap, and silly things to grab her attention. Like a magpie, anything that glittered under the fluorescent lights caught her eye. She flitted from shelf to shelf like some demented fairy while he watched on and felt his hope of getting out before dark dwindle and drain away to nothing. They successfully found both the nightstands and dresser, but as he failed to find the shelves she specified, his frown deepened, and he pulled out his phone to double-check the website. It said they had it, but he stood before the empty space where his shelves should be and wanted to beat his head off a wall. Rechecking the site, he didn’t notice her approaching and jumped a foot in the air as her bright voice cut through the angry murmurs in his head.

“We can just choose another set. It’s fine. The ones down there look alright.”

“If it isn’t in stock, the website shouldn’t say it is! It should be here, where it’s stupid tag is. Or what’s the point in it?” He grumbled, glaring at the empty space one last time before following her as she skipped to another set that fit their budget.

She grinned as she pointed at it and posed like a hostess on an old game show.

“See, it’ll do. Crisis averted. I bet if you checked the website it would be out of stock! Help me get it in the cart!” She demanded with a cheeky grin. He couldn’t help but return it as he did as she asked.

The other shoppers reminded him of those old zombie movies. Glazed eyes and faces frozen in thinly veiled discontent as they blindly tossed mass-produced artwork and lampshades into their carts. Somehow, the millionth print of a black squiggle was something many felt completed the décor of their homes. He didn’t understand it and was glad when his overexcited partner completely bypassed that section to drag him to another display, making him want to dig in his heels to avoid it. His eyes could barely keep track she moved so fast, just a blur of hair and freckles jumping from aisle to aisle. Bedding, shower curtains, and decorative pillows somehow made it into their cart, and he could sense his finely tuned plans falling apart like wet paper under his hands. This was his Great War. He’d brought a knife to a gunfight and lost the battle before they’d arrived.

He kept his mouth shut until she let out a thrilled noise and made a beeline for the mirrors.

“The stuff we need is over there. It says there's only one in stock. We need to hurry.” He tried as she waved a hand at him and examined the many mirrors.

He could see himself glowering as she paced along the aisle, a finger tapping her chin. And practically heard the cogs turning in her head as she pondered how to convince him they needed another mirror to give the illusion of space.

“I think another won’t go amiss, that one!” She clapped her hands and gestured toward one that would require another cart.

“We can order it online once we know we have space for it.” He smiled, and hoped it looked genuine.

“Have you seen the delivery charge?! It’s more than the mirror. I’ll grab another cart while you get the things on your list. I know you can find me anyway.” She teased, making him bark a shocked laugh, but he couldn’t deny it.

“Fine, but we’ll meet back here in an hour, deal?” He held out his pinky as she sidled closer and looked up at him through a fan of dark lashes.

She hooked her pinky around his and shook, “Deal. Now, off you go! Let me have my fun.” She sang and left him blinking after her. Gods, he loved her.

He knew it was futile, but he clung to his plan and moved away to track down what they needed. The store wifi kept dipping out as he walked deeper into the maze of shelves and displays, getting turned around and making the same journey twice to find his way out. It didn’t feel like a win whenever he found something they needed. It felt like a payment that cost him blood and tears. His nerves were frayed, and his skin felt too tight as he tried and failed to double-check their stock. Again, it said everything was available, but as he came across yet another empty shelf, he wanted to throw his phone away in frustration. He had half a mind to update the stock counts online himself after this shit show, and he just might make that his new mission if he couldn’t get what they needed.

“There are three in stock. Where? Why... where the hell are they?” He was whispering as he crouched to check underneath, and seeing nothing, he straightened and looked around for an employee.

It took a few more minutes before he tracked down a worker bearing the store’s famous coloring and swallowed his anxiety to question him.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, your website says these are in stock, but there are none. Do you have any?”

The man sighed heavily, glanced at Jake’s phone, and shook his head, “I don’t think so. If none are on the shelves, you’ll have to try online or at another store.”

Jake bit down on his disgruntled groan and asked the question he knew all retail workers despised, but he had to be sure. He couldn’t give up yet.

“Could you maybe check in the back? I hate to ask, but my girlfriend-”

The man’s face morphed into an expression of supreme understanding, “Ahh, sure, man. I’ll do it. Wait here.”

Jake clung to his fading hopes as the minutes ticked away and other shoppers moved around his still form. It couldn’t have been longer than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity to Jake before the employee strode for him empty-handed.

“Sorry, man. We haven’t got any in. We’ll get more soon and can email you once it’s here?” He offered, but Jake shook his head.

“No, we’ll pick something else. Thank you, though.”

That sinking sensation spiraled lower in his gut as he eyed the available units and chose the one most similar to what she wanted. Soon, the hour was up, and he returned to the agreed meeting spot. She wasn’t there. Of course, she wasn’t. His phone signal was better there, and the wifi worked, so he pulled up his tracker and waited for it to find her. She was on the opposite side of the gigantic building and was moving farther away as he cursed and hurried to chase her down. Half-dazed shoppers jumped out of his way as he vaulted down aisles, and the cart almost went sideways as he took every corner at a run. The rattling of the boxes and items against their metal chariot drowned out the beat of his heart as he rounded another corner and saw her. Her arms were full of assorted office supplies and décor, which she dumped in her overflowing cart that also contained a multitude of items they didn’t have on his list.

She spied him and grinned, waving him over, and he approached with an almost nervous air as she explained her thoughts.

“You have an office to fill, and I think these will work perfectly. I also saw some little work lamps, but I thought you’d like to choose that. Ooh! We should have lunch! Meatballs! I’m starving, and we haven’t eaten since this morning.”

He didn’t know where to start with that, and he knew no matter what he said, it wouldn’t sink in while she was surrounded by the sights and smells of everything she wanted.

“I have some snacks with me; we can eat those and just get everything done so we can leave.”

“But... meatballs, Jake! And cake, I can’t pronounce the cake’s name, but you have to try it! Do you want a tiny lamp? Or an even tinier fake cactus? They’re quite cute.”

“We can make meatballs at home...”

Her hands were on her hips as she pinned him with an unimpressed stare, “It’s. Not. The. Same.”

Sighing, his lips twitched with the urge to laugh at her adorable face, but he tamped it down as he replied, “We’re already behind schedule, and you wanted to get some of this built before everyone comes over tomorrow.”

She didn't respond but nodded as she turned and walked over to her cart. He was not distracted by the many pens, notepads, and stationery holders. No, he wasn’t. And he certainly didn’t toss a few packs in with his half of their shopping when she wasn’t looking. He wasn’t as sly as he thought, and her arched brow when she saw him covering the pens with a pillow told him she missed nothing when it came to him. As the checkout came into view, his chest loosened, and victory hovered at the edges of his mind as they were quickly rung up and charged a small fortune. He felt safe to internally celebrate making it out alive as they headed for the exit. But she uttered some words that delayed it instantly.

“I need the bathroom! I’ll meet you at the car.”

“I can wait for you here?” He offered.

“No, it’s fine. I know where you parked.”

Seeing no way to argue, and he was blocking the exit, he nodded and took control of her cart along with his. It was risky business navigating the busy parking lot, and he was sweating by the time he reached his. He opened the large trunk and methodically began to pack everything inside, using the backseats for everything that didn’t fit in the trunk. Silently, Jake swore he would never again darken the Swedish megastore’s doorstep. It would be a cold day in hell before he subjected himself to that place again. He was returning the empty carts to the store when his phone buzzed. He waited until his hands were free to check it and didn’t know whether to bemoan her tenacity or delight in it.

MC: I’ve got your meatballs and kladdkaka! Come get them before I finish mine and eat yours.

His traitorous stomach rumbled as he read, and the smile flirting with the corners of his mouth soon overtook his face. He couldn’t complain; they finished shopping and had nowhere else to be. She was only playing by his rules and twisting them to get him out of his rigidness. And he was hungry... pocketing his phone with an exasperated curse, Jake once more entered the hell of IKEA and set off to find the insistent woman who held his heart of glass in her steady hands. The food hall teemed with frazzled shoppers, overexcited kids, and elderly folks who eyed the mayhem with narrowed eyes. He scanned the bustling tables for a familiar head of hair and spotted her off in the back corner, dancing as she ate. As he rounded the table, he saw his own plate waiting for him and plopped into the hard chair across from her as she forked up the last piece of her cake and stuffed it in her mouth. He found it oddly endearing that she always ate her dessert first in places like this.

“You found me! That’s your reward.” She chuckled and pointed at the food on his side after she cleared her mouth with a sip of cold water.

“Mmhmm.” Was all he said as he tucked into his fast-cooling meal and caught her staring at his slice of cake.

He didn’t get the hype, but the meatballs were edible, and the mashed potatoes were silky smooth with no hidden horrible lumps, so he was happy to munch away. She did the same and kept dancing with every mouthful she took, though her eyes would stick to his dessert every now and again. They chatted between bites, and he wondered if she realized just how deep a hold she had on him, how far he’d go to see her smile like she was then. He didn’t think so and thought it was part of her charm. She could make a trip to the DMV an adventure, and he admired her warm, romantic view of the world despite his learned knowledge that it was often cold, hurtful, and dark. Her ability to make him feel the same way was a form of magic he’d never heard anyone discuss, but he thought it should be treasured more than the big things. The mundane made up the majority of their daily lives. It was a special kind of magic and person that could make even the dull seem extraordinary.

The freckles on her nose scrunched up as she caught him watching her, and he ducked his head to hide his grin as a blush sparked in her cheeks. He was content to observe her squirm and pretend she didn’t want to ask him for his slice. Pulling it towards him after he finished the bland meatballs, he used his fork to cut off a small piece. She was barely breathing and leaning closer, eyes locked on his hands. He popped it in his mouth, ignoring the rush of saliva as the flavor exploded on his tongue to push the rest of it over to her. Her eyes lit up, a coy smile on her pretty mouth as she tried to be considerate despite the feral nature of her love of all things sweet.

“Are you sure? We can split it?” She said even as she shoveled it into her mouth, and he couldn’t help but laugh at her when she looked confused at her now empty plate.

“I think it’s too late for that,” he joked before going on, “Do you want more? We can get more.”

She considered it, and he was getting ready to do it when she shook her head and said, “No, if we buy more, I’ll eat it all before we get home and feel sick all night. We should go before I forget that!”

He knew it was true and let her lead the way to the car, her swinging gaze catching on every table until they were on the way downstairs and approaching the double doors to freedom. They were soon back in the car, stomachs full and warmed through as he pulled out of his spot and followed the traffic to the main road. The journey home was short, filled with her singing along to whatever radio station she found and asking him questions he thought she might already know the answers to but just wanted to hear his voice. Still rusty from years of disuse, his answers sometimes meandered off the correct path, but she hung on his every word like he was revealing the secrets of the universe. And it never stopped. No matter where they were, if he spoke, she focused intently on him until he was done. It was oddly heartwarming and touching. He hoped he made her feel the same way whenever she was telling one of her stories that had a thousand offshoots and side quests. Their home soon came into view, and the last vestiges of stress fluttered away as he parked on their driveway.

The truth was, they didn’t need anything they bought today. But her only condition for him moving in was that they make it feel like his place, too, and it must look like he lived there. She wanted him to put his mark on their home so he knew he could always find safety there. He’d been happy to move in and use her things, used to having nothing, and everything he did have could fit inside a backpack. Material goods didn’t really matter to him, but it wasn’t the furniture she cared about. She wanted him to feel like he counted, and he needed to have a hand in how their home came together. His mind buzzed as they swiftly unloaded the car and carried everything inside. It didn’t take too long before they were seated on the couch with mugs of hot coffee as they studied the many boxes they’d have to assemble.

As soon as he’d downed the last of his drink, she slapped her hands to her thighs and declared, “I’ll build the coffee table if you can handle your desk! Then we’ll just build them one by one.”

Jake agreed, and they got down on the carpet to begin. She tore at the packaging, practically gnawing on it like a squirrel to get the tape off as he found a packing knife and unsealed it neatly. Her brute force approach worked well for building the furniture. He was still setting all his pieces out in order of use before he picked up the first piece of wood he had to join with another while she was battering in the last leg of the table. Music played quietly as they worked, and she lit some scented candles when night drew in, turning on the lights once it was too dark to see. His frustration mounted as the last piece refused to slide in, making a queer rattling noise when he tried to force it. She was halfway through a nightstand when she noticed and came over to see if she could help.

“You know, when it doesn’t fit right, I just… make it fit.”

Jake snorted, “I’ve tried that. It doesn’t want to catch the slider.”

“Want me to hit it?” She asked with a wicked grin.

“No, I think that’ll make it worse.”

“Okay, let me know! I have some rage I’d like to get out.” She said as she crawled back to her side.

He couldn’t help the silly chuckle that slipped free of his clenched teeth as the drawer finally gave into his pressuring shove, and his frustration bled away as it smoothly rolled open again at his urging.

“What rage do you have?” He wondered aloud as she slammed her fist down on the top of the nightstand to test its strength. She was more akin to a hissing kitten when mad. It was difficult to imagine her acting truly angry.

“Stupid things. Marge next door telling me not to feed the birds. Janet at work, who keeps forgetting what days I work, and the man in Starbucks who always misspells my name!”

He was grateful her grievances were so frivolous and hoped they always remained so. She should never know how it felt to be completely alone and lost in the world. Whatever life handed him, even the good parts were often accompanied by soul-destroying despair. Even now, he was the happiest he’d ever been, free of his self-made chains and financially secure. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop and often was paranoid that it hadn’t. He’d do everything in his power to ensure she never knew such darkness. If she ever lost that glint in her eye and the rose-colored glasses that made her world seem so gentle and lovely, he would never forgive himself. All he wanted was peace and happiness for her and for him. He knew life came with dips and often destruction, but he would feel complete if he could make this house their private little oasis from the world. The place they could retreat to and rebuild from the rubble whenever life’s hammer fist crushed them.

Long into the night, they playfully bickered and talked as they put together their new joint life and saved the rest for another day when their eyes turned gritty, and their yawns lasted longer than their conversation. Her soft hands were the sweetest medication as she ruffled his hair and suggested they got ready for bed. Side by side in the bathroom, they brushed their teeth and washed their faces, changing out of their clothes and putting on something lighter to sleep in. He knew his way around the house blind, and they didn’t turn on any lights as they entered their bedroom and crawled into bed. He curled around her body, his arm wrapping around her waist as she snuggled closer and hummed contentedly. Her soft breathing deepened, and he assumed she’d fallen asleep until her fatigue-roughened voice broke the silence.

“IKEA wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He huffed a laugh, kissing the crown of her head before answering, “It wasn’t too terrible. But will you promise me something?”

There was a smile in her voice as she said, “Sure, anything for you.”

“Next time, we order online, and I’ll make you an entire chocolate cake you can eat by yourself.”

There was a pause, a giggle, and finally, “Okay. Deal. I promise. I’ll even let you have a small sliver of cake.”

“Deal.” He said and closed his eyes on the long day, certain in knowing he had many more good days ahead of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! And if you reblog or comment, thank you for that too. It was a daft idea I had that wouldn’t leave me alone to write other things🤭 I hope you enjoyed it!

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shit-talk-turner · 4 days ago

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that doesn’t mean that she inspired it in any way. Alex directed those videos; they’re his artistic vision and we think she was honestly just a prop for him to play around with//is there some sources backing up this claim?cuz when I checked the credits for one of Louise’s VCs(Love Corail)in the description box it reads that it’s directed by someone called “ Deep Joy “(prob an alias, but I doubt it’s the one for Al to go by)

Deep Joy is Alex’s production company alias. It’s connected to his name in the UK database of business records. You can find the video credited to his actual name on the Time Based Arts editing studio website. We have it tagged in our archives.

#Louise’s music videos #director alex #love corail video #nicotine video #deep joy ltd #mr schwartz

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pankowcrumbs · 14 days ago

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Chapter 10: Love in the Spotlight

The weeks following their songwriting session had been a whirlwind. Between Harry’s busy schedule and Y/N’s own commitments, the two had poured every spare moment into refining their song. It was a labor of love in every sense, blending Harry’s timeless style with Y/N’s heartfelt lyrics. They had named it "Unwritten," a nod to their journey together and the story they were still creating.

Finally, the day of the song’s release arrived. Y/N sat in the studio with Harry, their excitement palpable as they watched the final moments of the upload. With a single click, the song was live, ready for the world to hear.

“And that’s it,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “Our baby’s out there now.”

Y/N laughed, swatting at his arm. “You make it sound like we’ve had a child.”

“Well, we kind of did,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Within hours, "Unwritten" was trending worldwide. Fans raved about the song’s raw emotion and speculated endlessly about the lyrics. The rumors about Harry and Y/N, which had been swirling for weeks, only intensified when they teased a music video set to drop the next day.

The following morning, Y/N woke to her phone buzzing nonstop. Notifications flooded in as fans dissected every frame of the music video, which featured Harry and Y/N walking through dreamy landscapes, exchanging tender glances, and singing to each other. The chemistry between them was undeniable.

By mid-afternoon, their relationship was the headline of every major entertainment outlet. Harry had anticipated the frenzy, and when Y/N hesitated before checking social media, he gently took her hand.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “We knew this would happen, but we’re in this together. Don’t forget that.”

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath. “It’s just…a lot. But I’m okay. And you’re right—we’ve got this.”

A week later, they sat side by side on the couch of a popular late-night talk show, the host beaming as she introduced them.

“Tonight, we have two incredible artists with us! Please welcome Harry Styles and Y/N, here to talk about their new hit single, ‘Unwritten.’”

The audience erupted into applause as Harry and Y/N walked on stage, exchanging a quick smile before settling into their seats.

“First of all, congratulations on the song,” the host began. “It’s absolutely stunning. But, I have to ask, what inspired it?”

Harry glanced at Y/N, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I’d say it’s inspired by someone very special.”

The audience let out a collective “aww” as Y/N blushed, laughing softly.

“It started as a casual session,” Y/N explained, taking over. “We were just messing around with melodies and lyrics, but it turned into something so personal and meaningful for both of us.”

The host leaned forward, her curiosity evident. “And the music video…I mean, let’s talk about that. The chemistry is undeniable. Are we…are we confirming something here?”

Harry chuckled, his hand subtly brushing against Y/N’s on the armrest. “I think the video speaks for itself, don’t you?”

The crowd erupted again, and the host grinned. “Well, I’ll take that as a yes!”

The rest of the interview was filled with playful banter and discussions about the creative process behind "Unwritten." Harry and Y/N’s dynamic was magnetic, their laughter and shared glances leaving no doubt about their connection.

As the show wrapped up, the host turned to them with a final question. “So, what’s next for the two of you? More music together, perhaps?”

Harry looked at Y/N, his expression softening. “I think it’s safe to say this isn’t the last you’ll hear from us. We’ve got a lot more to share.”

The audience applauded as the credits rolled, and Harry and Y/N exchanged a look that spoke volumes. This was just the beginning of their story, and they were ready to face whatever came next—together.

#1d #fanfiction #harry #harry styles #harry styles x reader #liam payne #louis tomlinson #niall horan #one direction #reader

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rey-jake-therapist · 2 months ago

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I know I'm going to catch flack for this but I'm going to say it anyway because I doubt I'm alone. Many fans who started watching the show never really cared about LOTR or knew it beyond it being a famous work that spanned a couple movies and inspired many other fantasy works. Particularly fans who watched S1, discovered they like Galadriel and Sauron's dynamic, and have become invested in it once they found the shit ton of fan content that these two generated from a mere 8 episode season. To them, that's like their first love, and it's like imprinting on something. It leaves a very heavy impression, as evidenced by artists like galaxy and lotusbubble, who commonly draw stuff for other fandoms, to spend time to make something for it. I think by now, we all here know the appeal of their relationship, so I won't get into that. But because it's the 'first' relationship that many viewers see with Galadriel, and the one with the most focus on building up so far, the one with the most controversial dynamics, I feel like it's very difficult for the same crowd to 'put aside' when her canon relationship appears on screen. To them, it's going to feel like adding a 'third wheel', even though in the books, it's always been established as endgame. It's like once you like something, and it's your favorite, it's always going to be that way. And introducing an alternative, and trying to push it, is like someone forcing you to eat a bite of that nasty brussle sprout when you prefer carrots. And finally here is my hot take: that as much as the show may try to 'establish' Celebrn, I highly doubt it will change my view. And maybe others. And I'm saying this as someone who /wants/ to give him a chance, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and as much as he serves the purpose to make Arwen x Aragorn happen, and find Lothlorien, he just can't deliver what I like as a contrast and foil to Galadriel on the principle that he can't be her equal AND opposite or challenge her in a way that brings her to show the full scope of her character. Anyway, there's just my two cents :v

Hi ! I don't think you're going to catch flack for saying this, at least not on Tumblr ! it's a place of lovely and understanding people here ;)

I'm like you, tbh. What I know about Galadriel and Celeborn's marriage doesn't make me want to see Celeborn any time soon. There are only 8 episodes per season, a lot of major events to cover... I'd rather see the show focus on them, rather than seeing precious minutes of screentime wasted on Celeborn tbh.

Anyway, I don't think Galadriel's at the chapter of her life where she's ready for marital life and peaceful life in Lothlorien tbh. She and Sauron have still unfinished business ! And after seeing her falling in love with Sauron, no less, I think it would be very awkward for Celeborn to come back from wherever he is and see her pretend that she missed him terribly, I mean... Nobody's going to buy that.

Anyway, the perfect script for me would be that for the show ending, like the last episode of season 5, we see Elrond announcing all excited that Celeborn has been resurrected to join the fight against Sauron. Then end credits roll, and the fans are free to imagine whatever they want.

#ask answered #galadriel #haladriel #saurondriel

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yunogf · 4 months ago

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lmao i asked bc, as you said in your tags, there was a certain way that it comes across as with how you’re talking about it, so i genuinely wondered bc i was gonna listen to it as well. i’ve been reading plenty of comments about it as well that mostly just lean on “aoty” “soty” “best album ever” and i get that these are (hopefully) exaggerated claims by stans, but i was seriously yet to see a decent comment about its musicality. it’s either about his face in the mv or his voice or the aesthetic of the mv. nothing on the lyricism or the instrumentations or its creativity or depth, so i was hesitant. i get liking it, but i doubt its being “the best”, so when i saw that your comments were the same, i began to wonder if this is another case of exaggerated praises and it’s just... meh at best. nothing new and all that. i am still gonna listen to it on my own ofc but, i guess, since i’m not really his fan, i’m not all excited. amazing debuts usually create tractions of their own, and i don’t hear much for this, but i ain’t judging based on that ofc. anyway, no need to feel attacked. as i said, i was genuinely curious so i asked. i’m well aware that i have ears. i was just genuinely curious about what you actually thought about it, what with your unhinged tags and whatnot. that’s all.

hard to gain traction when ur company announces ur album 2 weeks before it drops!

i was thrown by your wording and i still kind of am but i don't listen to music i don't enjoy and that's across the board for any artist bc....why would i do that lol and maybe ur not in the right circle being a casual fan/non-fan bc I've seen most ppl talk abt the musicality along with everything else 🤔

ik u said u were genuinely asking and i appreciate the explanation but im picking up on an overall unimpressed tone ("hopefully exaggerated" "doubt it being the best" ?) and it feels like u've made up ur mind about jaehyun and his music and ur asking me to give u a reason to change ur mind/care/be impressed but that's not my job ur free to make ur own opinion to me it seems ur going in with a half formed one already but it's music so like it or leave it either way is okay! ur under no obligation!

I'm sorry if being a kpop stan (im assuming...?) has made u feel disillusioned by solo releases tho i understand bc ppl are often overhyped by fans but jaehyun is a music enjoyer who did his homework and worked with artists he himself is a fan of and the payoff is really good music

overall ur ask is very uninformed which if ur not a fan is understandable but as a native english speaker myself listening to an album that is almost entirely in english from a nonnative speaker i have to say the lyrics are very well done they make sense create good metaphor and aren't superficially about balling or making a lot of money (i loathe to hear this often in eng versions of kpop songs lol) and jaehyun is credited as a lyricist on almost every song afaik

the production value is solid "can't get you" has an entire band accompaniment (the trumpet >>>>>) he wrote/worked on "flamin hot lemon" with emotional oranges (one of my fave artists actually <3) so that one is Excellent in every regard esp for a song inspired by cheetos lmao I've said numerous times that none of the songs sound like they were created with the intent of 30 secs going viral on tiktok (a very important differentiation for me) and one of my favorites parts about the title track "smoke" is the outro it's soooo good there's an unexpected bit of piano that he adlibs along with >>>> and the ballad "completely" has a Gorgeous piano backing to it (the lyrics on this one are also so beautiful)

my excitement about the release may have overwhelmed me so i might not have broken down each song beat by beat but rest assured i'm not wasting time on music i don't enjoy

in summation the album is good and on a separate unrelated note he just happens to be really hot ❤️

#i think ppl having commentary on everything else is valid considering he had a part in all of it #theres a lot of discussion about the aesthetic and mv etc etc bc he was in creative control #and it was well done #i dont think theres anything wrong with having that conversation bc it's art it should be all encompassing there should be a stunning visua #u can listen to music for so many reasons so i encourage conversations like that! ppl are excited!#and that doesn't deminish or take away from the quality of the songs #listen to the music u want to listen to u don't have to like or even listen to jaehyuns album but i did and i liked it for the music itself #replies #u caught me before i'd gone to sleep and now right when i woke up with this so i apologize if it's incoherent #i hope u do listen to it and enjoy it but if not thats okay ❤️

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caltropspress · 5 months ago

Text

ShrapKnel in the Bardo

Two Nights on Tour with Curly Castro and PremRock

19 June 2024 | Brooklyn, NY | Public Records

20 June 2024 | Rutherford, NJ | Soldato Books

How many intelligent people in the house tonight?

—KRS-One for Boogie Down Productions, “Poetry,” Live Hardcore Worldwide (1991)

When I say it’s about wanting to live, I just say that because that’s how I feel. When you get hit with death, sometimes as horrible as it is, one of the things that can come out of it is a reaffirmation of how much you don’t want to go…

—El-P, Cancer 4 Cure press junket (2012)

This is beyond my wildest dreams. Every fucking minute of this hip-hop shit. I’m here to live it, and I’m here to love it.

—Curly Castro, prior to performing “Dreadlocs Falling”

I am not a spiritual person. But when something’s got cha opin, it’s a must to be receptive to the signal and the signs. Ignoring the counsel of billy woods, I was at soundcheck. Public Records was sparsely populated when I arrived around five o’clock, earlier than the artists even, the soundman assuming I was the talent. As Prodigy says on “Live Nigga Rap,” “NYC, U-N-I-verse, seriously.” Because, seriously, a universality and a convergence would be taking place in New York City this evening. The first of the night’s performers to walk through the door was Controller 7, flanked by Emynd and Scott Matelic.

CONTROLLER 7: The last time the three of us were together was Scribble Jam in 2000. I think we fell right back into the old flow. I was staying at Scott’s and he lives in Brooklyn, so it made things a lot easier. He knew where things were and I didn’t have to worry about anything. He and I hung out at Dove’s studio the night before with Sharif and Dose. That kinda helped break the ice a bit too, since I knew Sharif was going to be a guest in the ShrapKnel set. Emil and Scott ended up walking with me to the venue and it probably did set me at ease. When we were at the venue, I just kept meeting person after person, faces I already knew from the internet, and I really never had a chance to even get too nervous about anything. Everyone was so cool that I felt really welcomed. I hadn’t done a show in about 15 years and, in all honesty, I’ve never really done a show. It’s just been like 2-3 beat sets over a 26-year period.

We immediately started conversing about production credits from 25 years ago. There I was, a disembodied voice from the telephone made manifest, warping time, fixated on facts and fictions from another lifetime. But they indulged me, kindly.

1.1

Watch me breathe…feel me breathe, Mike Ladd spoketh on “Blade Runner” in 1997. I want to believe in the Latin sense of spiritus—that windnbreeze, that inspiration, that black star respiration, the collective breath that circulates communally, historically. And then there’s the spirit-rapping. Not breath control, per se, but when mediums had their way and say in society, they listened for the knock, knock [GZA adjacent] of paranormal communications. U.N.K.L.E. and Kool G Rap called it the “drums of death.” In the 16th century, Paracelsus cited the [something like a…] phenomenon as pulsatio mortuorum, or “death omen,” homie.

1.11

On Live Hardcore Worldwide, Boogie Down Productions’ live album from 1991, KRS-One’s performance of “Breath Control” exhibits mostly that, though I must confess he sounds, ironically, a bit exasperated as he repeats, Breath control, breath control, breath control… This, in no way, sacrifices his reigning supreme. To err is human. (And the adverbial doubt inherent to “Over Nearly Everyone” tells me he recognizes this as well.) ShrapKnel, on the other hand—emcees Curly Castro and PremRock—make no such sacrifices. They amethyst rock with ānāpānasati, zen masters of the ceremony. Amethyst rockstars heed the cautions set forth by the Blastmaster on “Breath Control,” though. They know what the weaker performers among us rely on: “They want dancers, they want lighting, / They want effects to make ’em look exciting, / But it’s frightening, ’cause without that, / The whole crew is wick-wick-wick-wack.”

1.12

I introduced myself to Controller 7. We’d been acquainted for several years, but had never met in person. I [un]officially began gathering notes for a book on the Anticon collective, of which Controller 7 was an early member, in March 2017. Seven years later, that book is nearing completion. Tommy (Controller 7) was one of the first interviews I conducted for the book—we had that phone call in March of 2019. Scott Matelic and Emynd, affiliates to Anticon, were also some of my earliest interviews. I spoke with them on the phone in January and February of 2019, respectively. Caltrops Press was born in July 2020, concurrent with the underground rap renaissance that we’re now experiencing. One of the central themes of the Anticon book (title TBA soon) examines the underground scene(s) as a sprawling network. So when Tommy confided in me early last year that he had been commissioned to produce the new ShrapKnel record, I began to feel the thrum of an everything that rises must converge momentum. I’d considered alternate realities in the seven years spent working on the book—those preexisting, premillennial networks couldn’t have completely collapsed—and now time and space seemed to begin to bend and bow in strange and suggestive ways.

1.2 On June 1, 2023, I attended the Maps record release show at Baby’s All Right. ShrapKnel opened for woods and Kenny Segal. They performed “Illusions of P,” a song they had started to debut on tour stops around the country. I sent a woefully insufficient iPhone 6 video of the performance to Tommy.

1.3

In August of 2023, Tommy messaged me: “I can’t tell you what, but there is a song that features Aesop and he says ‘caltrops’ on it.” Two months later, that song would turn out to be A7PHA’s “Many Headed,” a hell-bent hydra head nadda’s journey featuring the likes of Self Jupiter and Buck 65. And there was Aesop Rock speaking of “hopscotchin’ caltrops, / Cloud of black smoke, no black box.” On April 19, 2024, the “Many Headed (Controller 7 Remix)” was loosed upon the world. Tommy recruited Curly Castro and PremRock to contribute to the ever-expanding posse cut, a guest appearance in anticipation of Nobody Planning To Leave. Therein, Prem promises a “double-edged sword on the neck of an edgelord,” and Castro paints a militant picture: “Once it took a nation, / Now it takes a phalanx.”

CONTROLLER 7: I asked them to do a trade-off like on “Babylon by Bus.” The remix feels a bit like my Deep Puddle Dynamics remix [“Rain Men”], 25 years later. Posse cut, changes in the music, unexpected. It feels kinda full circle. Dose is at the end of both. The Deep Puddle remix was kinda the “Well, let’s see what I can do,” and my skills and equipment were so basic at the time. This is now the 25 years later “Let me show you what I can do.” But somehow they actually come very much from the same spirit.

Spirit. Convergence.

By 5:30, PremRock arrived in his unassuming human form—a man who has measured out his life in cocktail spoons, to paraphrase Prufrock; Castro appeared not long after that in camo pants, prepped with silent weapons for the loud wars to come. Prem, I noticed, had a mic in his pocket.

PREMROCK: I bring my own mic everywhere! A gift from Willie Green some years ago. I believe it was a beta test and now many venues use it. It’s more suited for live performances and the dynamics don’t change with cupping. Also, I’m a bit of a germaphobe, so there’s that too.

For soundcheck, they got right into “Metallo.” Soundman checked the levels in the center of the room while Prem mentioned bots trying to sell tickets to the show online—“a breakthrough,” he called it. Where Prem is gregarious during the pregame, Castro is focused with the concentration of Simeon Stylites atop the pillar (Simeon says, Shut the fuck up!)—he makes medieval monasteries of any modern venue. When they ran through “Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol,” the venue experimented with casting a red light over them—the color of De La’s predator Santa suit and the guns pointed at El-P. Ideas began to click for me while listening to the guys test the levels on “LIVE Element” acapella. When Castro raps, “Prem and I, two-headed Cerberus Killa Show,” he’s not kidding. In that moment, even in an empty space with no audience to witness it, they were the “iLLest Duo, Known throughout the Known Earth.” Prem claims to be a “one-man tour machine” on “Dadaism 3,” but he does better with a two-man (like Duncan and Parker operating under the Coach Pop playbook).

PremRock and Castro don’t rehearse in any traditional way. Their method of preparation relies on trust in one another’s craft, and they covet a spirit of on-the-go recalibration.

CURLY CASTRO: Considering how far away we live from each other (Philly & NY), our rehearsals are slightly unorthodox in its practice. We select a set list with extreme detail, and then put in the hours on our own to master our parts. Usually, at the start of each respective tour, we are doing a fistful of songs for the first time. Then as we do the songs multiple times, we see what works, and by the end of a run, we have figured out the Live incantations of said songs. For the most part, once we settle into a set before a run, we have certain interchangeable Blades, but the set remains the same for most of any run we complete. Once upon any stage we can lengthen or shorten, or adapt our alchemy, for any Live setting in any Location.

I think about the aptness of their group name: ShrapKnel—with that capital-K stolen from Cube’s amerikkka. Lethal fragments and filings. The chorus on “Dadaism 3” tells the story: “Metal from the blast zone flying Each and Every Way.” Later, on “Steel Pan Labyrinth,” Castro describes using “the blades to write bars.” ShrapKnel with a K that cuts. A grapheme sans curves, a razor-sharp letter. “Sharp” and “Shrap” kindred as anagrammatic matters go. “Shrap is here to sharp the Blade,” Castro spits on “Uru Metal,” “De La Soul skits, decode and you’ll find the answer.” By the conclusion of soundcheck, the other performers and notable attendees—Child Actor, August Fanon, phiik and Lungs, even E. from The Next Movement podcast who picked up the ubiquitous Fatboi Sharif as she drove through Jersey—had filled the floor.

AUGUST FANON: I saw Lungs walking up to the venue right as me and my girlfriend Khadija were arriving, so we walked in together. phiik was already in the venue and, once together, they quickly jumped into their soundcheck. When I heard phiik spit that shit live sounding crispy like the record, I went crazy inside. I was like, Hell-fuckin’-yeah! Let’s go!

I am Lungs…this is phiik, and it’s good as fuck to see so many familiar faces…

If phiik and Lungs—jointly recognized as Another Planet—have received much buzz of late, that buzz reached Havana Syndrome levels while opening for ShrapKnel on tour. Straight C.I.A. shenanigans that leave your neural-well unsteadied. They talk in maths and buzz like a fridge, like a detuned radio. They are Red and Meth for the anthropocene—a blackout, one-two, one-two punch who smoke bud and sniff a bee’s ass to get a buzz.

phiik: Prem & Castro really showed us the ropes & were such a joy to travel with. This was the first tour for both of us, so it was really helpful to get so comfortable so quickly. Something that Castro put us on to was drinking tea constantly. Pretty much every show we did he would be sipping on some beforehand. I never realized how your voice can go at any point.

CURLY CASTRO: Prem and I caught wind of [phiik and Lungs] a few years back. Their respective style(s) appeared unparalleled. They were a galvanizing duo, who’s YouTube clip on “Off Top” gets the internet’s panties inna bunch and generates mega-bandwidth, as folks argue over their particular brand of word sorcery. The only surprise (even though I knew them capable, but it’s another thing to see it) was that their whirlwind quicksilver tongues were identical to what was put down on tape. An impressive feat all in itself, but a reassurance of the Blade protocol needed to run with us Wolves.

PREMROCK: That was Nik Oliver, our booking agent, who suggested the pairing [with phiik and Lungs]. I was already a fan, and Castro was very tapped in too. I saw the vision pretty quickly. They are a rising duo and their reputation as people was strong. Always important to have folks vouch for you. It was a home run, in my opinion. They are special artists making special music. For their first tour, they approached it like seasoned vets. The road is a grind and your comfort zones and routines are shattered. They adapted quickly, and I was impressed by their nightly performances. Shout-out GAM, too. He’s a GRIP mainstay and a real stabilizer on the road. We had fun and got the job done. The best result.

phiik and Lungs fed off and ate up the hometown crowd throughout their unswerving 40-minute set at Pub Rex. They started with “Captain Picard” from Another Planet 4 (and they’d be planet-hopping haphazardly with quick shouts of “AP2!” and “AP3!” and such for their setlist), and they proceeded to “burn the house down like David Koresh,” as Lungs says, or like David Byrne in ’84 blackface. It’s good to be home, phiik said after the first number, sounding like Dorothy windswept and word-vexed. Drink of water demands were made prior to “SCOOBY” (off Planet X), but not in a diva way, just to stave off dehydration from the tireless spittin’ over the haunted industrial plant of a noface beat. Lungs taunted MCs who “can’t rap better than [him]” on “Kurt McBurt,” and by the middle of “She Could” I began to notice the full and crushing support that TASE GRIP offers up to each other. The whole cru pushed up against the stage, slapping and banging it when emotion flowed and numbers thronged, finishing bars for phiik and Lungs, sometimes screaming the whole damn thing. Wavy Bagels, AKAI SOLO, and S!LENCE at the center of the Dark & Stormy scene. When phiik rapped, “Never took a village to be the villain, / But we still in the building,” and a chorus of voices join him in dragging the end-rhyme out (...buildinnnnnn’), we felt the thrum. It takes a phalanx.

phiik stutter steps when it’s his turn on the mic, rapping to the ground. Lungs leans toward the edge of the stage—skinny elbows out, eyes bulging—and raps to the sky. Hell and heaven unified—purgatory raps for a cleansing of your soul. A barrage, as many have remarked. It’s like putting your face to the fan, your visage to the vents. “Make some noise for Lungs!” phiik shouts, hyping up his homie. “It’s not easy going from one track to another. The fuck is he doing? He’s a nut. He’s a crazy fuck.” There’s a symbiosis of support between phiik and Lungs, rooted in friendship.

phiik: Our work ethic together has definitely only developed & gotten better over the years, but our foundation of knowing each other so well helps without a doubt. Lungs & I have known each other pretty much our whole lives, so it was almost seamless in a way when we started to work on music together.

My mind goes to Live Hardcore Worldwide again—“The Eye Opener”—where it’s said: “Make some noise! This is all live, as you can plainly hear and see. There’s no lipsync business going on here!” Listening to them perform “Secret Power,” the titular secret power, I contend, is a guttersnipe glossolalia. Some trip-wire of tryptamines, divine DMT entities exiting their maws, untranslatable.

The affair became even more familial as phiik and Lungs invited GAM to kick a verse (“He DJs, drives us around, fucking raps…”). AKAI was brought onstage for a song triad. He rocked a keffiyeh in a classic P.L.O. style and demonstrated the muscular rapping we’ve come to expect when he’s in front of an audience, each word a heavy load to lift and spirit into your soul, slackening the suspensory ligament of your Third Eye lens. Confident, AKAI only has to lead the crowd with a “TASE” for them to follow back with “GRIP.” The chant doesn’t require any instructions of When I say… That’s the command he has.

phiik: Heads are really a unit & move as such. And on top of that, everybody fully understands what’s going on & how much the support means. After seeing random heads for the majority of the tour, it was so nice to see the team when we came back home.

Another Planet closed their set with “Don Quixote,” but these MCs are less tilting at windmills than slicing at windpipes. “This is not mom’s spaghetti,” phiik raps, apropos. They’d recently been subject to some Eminem-like internet parasocial Stanic panic when P.O.W. Recordings put out a message saying “Funcrusher 2024” with a clip of Lungs’ “Off Top” Freestyle from 2022. Lungs, a man of bare minimum words on the interwebs, said: “Mfs really crashing out over the clip for the 4th time lol. All haters please keep hating we don’t give a fuck and the shit makes my PayPal go crazy every time.”

phiik: Honestly, we reaaaally don’t pay any mind to it as far as what the end result is. After a certain point, the discourse almost just becomes word vomit. Tons of people saying the same thing over & over. But at the same time, any press is good press. So I definitely didn’t mind it at all, and if anything it only creates a brand new lane of people who maybe have never heard of us, and those people develop into lifelong fans. Heads who dislike it will hate on it for a week & then move on. But, yeah, it’s absolutely only used as fuel & motivation.

On “Don Quixote,” Lungs raps about how “hip-hop fans from around the world [are] stalking on [his] page,” which seems hard to dispute. He pushes further: “Rappers behind on bills talking shit online in the same stinky Jay’s”—a prognosticator shine to his studio mic. The song ends with a GRIP-led crowd chorus of “HOLD ON A MINUTE, HOLD ON A MINUTE, HOLD ON A MINUTE!” but I couldn’t hold on to a single second in the set. It happened, and I was the better for it. “Read the book, it said Gimme mine,” phiik rapped. I have read the book, and Cervantes writes—and I was thinking to myself—“...with what minuteness they describe everything!”

CHOP THE HEAD: I’ve never seen Lungs and phiik get that kind of reception—to have a few hundred people screaming the lyrics of those verses is an accomplishment in itself. I laugh every time I watch them live, because it just doesn’t make sense on a virtuosic level. Later that night, my man Q No Rap Name and I hung out with Lungs at his crib and, after meeting him, his music made even more sense to me. From the time we left the venue to the time we left his crib, he didn’t stop talking. He told fifty of the most bugged-out stories I’ve heard, and they all dovetailed off one another. Lungs and phiik are not affecting any part of their output; those dudes are really rapping about how they live and think.

3.1

August Fanon and Child Actor stood side-by-side on the stage, laptop leaning as they went “back and forth and tr[ied] to surprise each other by playing some very rare unreleased things,” according to Child Actor.

CHILD ACTOR: It was Prem that originally pitched the idea of August Fanon and me doing a set together. I had assumed it was because he had heard about us sharing a bill last year (his and my first beat set of any kind), but according to him it was completely unrelated. August and I routinely bounce beats off each other and have been working on a project together, so it couldn’t have been a more serendipitous pairing. I had loosely prepared a longer set, but several days before the event I was notified that he and I were sharing a half hour. I thought it’d be fun if instead of going one after the other, we went back and forth in 2- or 3-minute chunks. That ended up feeling perfect. I didn’t let him send me anything beforehand because I knew it’d be fun to hear everything for the first time onstage. He certainly did not disappoint. I made sure to play only unreleased beats and songs-in-progress. One of them was a song that was mixed at the Greenhouse the day before. It may have been one of the nights with the highest percentage of people in the building that were friends/collaborators of mine. I definitely felt a great deal of support and appreciation—a very fun and fulfilling first NYC beat set for sure!

CHOP THE HEAD: August Fanon and Child Actor’s friendly beat battle blew my mind several times over. They are both on the razor’s edge of traditionalism and pure experimentation.

While I listened to a Fanon remix of Biggie’s “Suicidal Thoughts,” Mo Niklz and I stood in the audience chopping it up. I looked around and saw so many familiar faces in the space. Mo noticed it, too.

MO NIKLZ: The room was packed and about 50% of those attending were artists, which is incredibly uncommon.

I asked Mo a couple questions, and in no time at all I was subject to what Castro calls “The Philosophy of Mo.” He talked about being roommates with Ceschi, meeting woods through PremRock and Willie Green, and making frequent trips down to NYC from Connecticut. “I wanted to let people know I was around,” he said. About once a month, woods would offer his couch to crash. They built a friendship and artistic relationship from there, with Mo functioning as woods’ DJ. Mo had played a crucial role on the New England leg of the Nobody Planning to Leave tour as well.

MO NIKLZ: The tour actually stayed with me in New Haven on Sunday. They had their day off on Monday, and I booked the show in New Haven that was Tuesday. I bought everyone Sally’s Apizza Monday night and then made everyone an omelet for breakfast on Tuesday. I’ve known Prem and Castro for a while now but just met phiik and Lungs. I always like to think I’m the tour dad, but phiik and Lungs were kidding that I worry these rappers can’t take care of themselves when I’m not around so, sadly, I guess I’m more like a tour mom. The show in Connecticut was great. There were a lot of unfamiliar faces, which was cool. I normally know just about everyone at a CT underground hip-hop show. The tour went to NYC that evening. I just had to bring their merch to the Brooklyn show the following day. I got there for doors and both phiik and Lungs told me they ate well that day. “What will these rappers eat if Mo doesn’t bring them food?” they said to me. Prem helped me bring their merch in but it took him about fifteen minutes to get out the door. He kept running into a bunch of great people congratulating him on the album. We got outside and somebody else congratulated him and left. Prem said, “Did you not know him? That was Swordplay.” I was like, Oh damn, that sucks. I would’ve liked to have said hi. We finally get the merch from the car, and on our way back in, Prem got stopped again by a guy wearing some dope glasses and a Black Moon shirt. Prem said, “Hey, have you two met? Mo this is Doseone,” which was funny because we both turned to each other and said, “Oh man, I was just talking about you.” It was bizarre because Child Actor and I were talking video games a week ago and Doseone had put him on to a game he was enjoying. I said [to Child Actor], “You know he’s like one of the OG indie hip-hop legends I’ve never met.” It was pretty surreal to me. He already knew a lot of my DJ work, my job shipping records for Fake Four, and that I make pickles. Wild because basically nobody in my family has any concept of what I do, but he knew the gravity of it all.

3.11

Mo’s nourishment and maternal nurturing helped contribute to what Prem and Castro would consider their most successful tour yet.

PREMROCK: I think we started seeing the ripple effect of fan support online translate to a tangible crowd in a realer way this run like we haven’t before. The record had only been out 1.5 weeks so to see the interest it generated so quickly was really encouraging. Touring is difficult financially—that’s been discussed at length—but seeing results and trending upwards makes you feel like it’s a viable path to growth, and nothing kills morale more than a couple duds in a row and fortunately we had none.

CURLY CASTRO: This tour evoked a grand feeling of support. Other tours have had bigger rooms, other tours have had longer durations, but this one seemed rooted in classic Hip-Hop community. Some very welcome surprises, as to who showed up, along the way. Finally, this was our first time, in some time, we actually toured the record close to its initial release. And since this was/is our best work, then it can be perceived that this was our best tour. But I find us advancing levels with every MadMax jaunt across this wasteland we call ’Murica.

3.2

The Fanon/Child Actor set was immediately followed by Controller 7’s brief set, a prelude to ShrapKnel taking the stage. The order of performers was the subject of some debate during soundcheck. I sort of felt like I was watching Meth and Ghostface argue on the Bullet Train in Japan in The Show when Ghost took umbrage at Meth speaking too much during radio interviews.

PREMROCK: Castro disagreed with the proposed order at Pub Rex. He thought beats first then phiik & Lungs. Beats/raps/beats/raps with Controller 7 on before us. Makes sense, right? Well, I disagreed. I saw Fanon and Child Actor as an event and not a head-nod lo-fi hangout. phiik and Lungs just before us and Controller 7, in my opinion, dwindled the impact and the inevitable smoke break may have had heads missing their opening set. There’s nothing like immediate decapitation! Crowd is transfixed. There’s the, “Well, where do you go from there?” argument, but I contend… How about two of the greatest producers doing it going cut for cut?! Also, I had exceptions with the late proposal. It would’ve been difficult to audible, and I was exhausted from the road already and high tension at our hometown release show receiving a good dozen texts per hour with dumb questions already, so I may have been terse! But we are brothers and we talk it out and stand our ground and always come to a solution. End of the day, we believe in each other and what we are doing and we will check each other if the math is not mathing. Any collaboration needs to hold space for disagreement. We do it well over here.

Controller 7 was as sheepish-as-ever, letting the crowd know how uncharacteristic it was for him to be standing on a stage playing music. But the crowd was nothing if not supportive, cheering him at every turn.

CONTROLLER 7: When I started the set, I ended up talking as an intro. Then I ended up talking through the set, sort of explaining what I was playing. I didn’t intend to do that, but it just kinda worked out that way. I don’t usually think of “me” as being part of the music. I hate being in photos; I’m not trying to be in the spotlight. I just make stuff for people to listen to. Being in front of a group of people staring at me while music plays is not my ideal format, so I think I ended up talking as a way to bridge all of that.

I looked to my left and saw Dose standing in the center of the room. To know, in an epistemological sense, is a strange feeling when you’ve spent so many hours documenting a person’s life and work in words, and then suddenly there they are in the physical—circulatory system, blood, bile, nerves, skeleton frame standing upright. Like seeing a ghost. Like spacetime sealing shut—closed curves appearing in my pathway. My head is a repository of the knowledge I’ve been remembering, acquiring, and word-rendering over the past seven years, so I thought about a story Tommy told me on the phone back in 2019—how he hauled his 4-track over to Dose and Jel’s Berkeley apartment in early 2000, the dawn of a new millennium, and watched Dose record a track for Left Handed Straw from the page of a randomly selected book. I found a pattern within the chaos of a complex system.

DOSEONE: Seeing Controller 7’s metamorphosis and rebirth into the beast he is today made my year.

Tommy played the instrumental portion of the “Many Headed” remix that’s home to Dose’s closing verse. Every fiber of me thought Dose would cut through the crowd and perform it onstage, but alas… A standout moment was hearing Quelle Chris’s evocative voice over an atmosfearik beat—a yet-to-be released “demo” (it sounded finished to my novice ears) with lyrics every bit as unnerving as the production: “The killer’s in the room, / The call is coming from somebody clearly watching what I’m doin’, / You can sense impending doom.” Another unreleased song featured Nappy Nina and Sam Herring/Hemlock Ernst, and it hit like a feel-good and melodic radio friendly unit shifter.

CONTROLLER 7: I’m not a finger drummer or a live performer; I’m more of an overly anxious obsessive. I tried to find a way to make [my set] something that would be interesting for people and also not super complicated for me. I had to fly out there and I don’t usually perform, so I didn’t know what equipment to bring. I had an SP404, which I’ve never used to make beats, but it came in handy for what I wanted to do. I spent a week or two leading up to the show mapping things out. I knew that our time was short because we had to end at 10:30, so I was just doing a fifteen minute set. I ended up making a handful of new things, shortened a few older things, and made working demos of some unreleased songs I had. I basically made it the way I wanted to hear it and then I just mapped it out over the pads.

“Some of us have children that age!” is what Castro said of Controller 7’s years-long absence from the stage. As he and Prem positioned themselves, arranged mic cords, prepped their mentals, Controller 7 pressed play—like a detonator switch—on the intro to Nobody Planning to Leave (“It worries me…a lot”). Prem invited the crowd in closer: “The moat exists.” He set down the drawbridge and raised the portcullis between performer and assembled people. But, as “Metallo” began, I recognized it takes more than infrastructure to traverse the alligator-infested muddy waters that Prem and Castro put before us.

4.1

The sounds that you’re about to hear shall be devastating to your ear.

—introduction to “Mellow My Man,” The Roots Come Alive (1999)

The hallmark of a ShrapKnel song is the ridiculoid referents. PremRock and Castro present a maximalist vision that is part and parcel to what Secret House Against calls their “b-boy sensibilities.” They’re from an era when, in Castro's words, “white labels [were] like bibles” (“Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol”); they're guys who “used to rock all Naughty gear” (“Kaishakunin”). The two deliver a nostalgic notion for anyone that might’ve spent hours flipping through Tommy Boy perforated liner notes in the 90s.

Even an interlude (such as “Bogdan Interlude”) can yield Kemetic symbolism alongside quotidian city dwelling (“Bum a loosie offa Sekhmet”), can twist and turn from Swahili to Chicago hip-hop (“Habari gani, / One day it’ll make sense”), and conclude with a blaxploitation film screening that leaves whitefolks’ eyebrows raised. Curly Castro, a tru master of maximalism In the Ways of the Scales, word to Brother J.

ShrapKnel flex mechanical shells, and Curly Castro is a b-boy fabulist. Rather than eschew surplusage, he welcomes it. He moves maxi- and mega- in what Stefano Ercolino calls the “encyclopedic mode” wherein each song becomes an archive of subcultural signs. On “Metallo,” Castro’s maximalism bends into a barrage of references: Breaking Bad, Killarmy, Darrell Walker, J.R.R. Tolkien, Gordon Ramsay, Raekwon, Outkast, Monta Ellis, AZ, et cetera. His allusions collapse under the weight of each other, resulting in hybrids—mongrels. Mongr-allusions like “Slick Ricky in dah Foxhole” in which rapper Slick Rick and pretty-boy baller Rick Fox become one entity. These hypertrophic lines accumulate bar by bar, and—before long—you’re lost in the deluge. A twenty-first century rendition of what Hugo Ball did in the Dada Manifesto, dated July 14, 1916: “Dada Stendhal. Dada Dalai Lama,” conflating the French novelist and the Tibetan tulku. Tack on Black Thought’s “South Philly, Dalai Lama” slight rewrite for the performance of “The Next Movement” from The Roots Come Alive, and we edge closer to what Castro achieves. El Producto once called them “manimal hybrids” on “End to End Burners.”

Even when ShrapKnel doesn’t explicitly construct the mongr-allusion, it’s implicit. If you’ve done the work, shown and proven yourself worthy, the matrices will materialize right before your very eyes. [Rappers got on colored contacts but they better realize, as a wise intelligent redhead wonce said.] In Prem’s words (from “Dadaism 3”), you’ve got to “read in between the seams of the embroidery.” All of their verses amount to what Ray Bradbury called “fearful puzzles”—and lethargic listeners avoid looking too closely or delving too deeply. The past is present and the future is now, and so when Prem promises to “let a bygone be bygone” only to revoke it (“...even though I won’t”), he suddenly back-slashes to Mase in an utterly different context: 112’s “Only You” (1996) where a girl goes around with thousands in her palms. “Why you can’t let bygones be bygones?” Because nothing is ever gone for ShrapKnel; nothing outmoded, nothing defunct, everything of use.

Prem immediately invokes the “funhouse mirror” on “Metallo”—everything appears in the funhouse mirror, but its reflection is warped. This is another maximalist turn, true to John Barth’s Lost in the Funhouse (1968). “For whom is the funhouse fun?” Barth asks. Perhaps it’s fun for the MC who observes that we’ve “been in post-singularity since that AI Georgetown Hoya team.” He’s Hugo Baller. Prem, who has “learned to astral project since quarantine,” adroitly sustains a trisyllabic rhyme scheme [“nightmares deployed in threes,” for the uninitiated] throughout his verse on “Dadaism 3.” His intensive and keen listenings [to the likes of an 89.9 detrimental frequency] over the years have led to a constant state of becoming, of being, of becoming a radiohead. In his own way, he’s the “paranoid android loitering,” absorbing knowledge—be it a Fondle ‘Em 12-inch from 1997, “speaking noxious” like Cage Kennylz; or the debut LP of a quintet from Oxford in 1993, wondering about the “creeping doubt” that “keeps rattling [his] cage” like Thom Yorke—and then he dispenses it to his audience in the form of Aesop fables (“splitting hairs[/hares], slow and steady on my Tortoise speed”) and Wojnarowski scoops (“Otto Porter top-of-market deal”). This process—playing the long game—might have you “forget the words [he] just blurted out,” but he’s gonna continue to get “open till he’s brain-dead, till you’re brain-dead.”

4.11

The Roots Come Alive (1999) begins—not with The Roots—but with Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five traveling through time to hit us “Live from the T-Connection,” nesting one of the earliest hip-hop recordings of a live event within the content of a live recording on the eve of Y2K destruction. Lineage matters, The Roots acknowledge, and these transmitted words are just as relevant to a ShrapKnel performance in 2024:

Now I know this ain’t the best party in the world, but let me explain something to y’all, New York. It ain’t no party unless each and every one of you try to make it a party—you dig what I’m saying? Make each record your best record, and we could rock all night long.

4.111

Supporters came from across the country, from overseas even, to experience the ShrapKnel showcase. “A whole lot of superstars in the house tonight,” Prem said at one point, echoing Rev. Run. Friends and kinfolx from Switzerland, California, Seattle, New Mexico, Texas, Philadelphia, Connecticut… Fuck it, we’ll do it live! Prem shouted to his tourmates standing stage-side—an inside-joke, an O’Reilly parody—but keeping that same passion and energy through “Dadaism 3” and “Steel Pan Labyrinth.” “If anyone ever asks you the question,” the intro to Live Hardcore Worldwide declares, “Who is the number one set and sound? You will quickly reply…”

“ShrapKnel.”

4.2

On “Why Is That?” off Live Hardcore Worldwide, KRS-One breaks down the genealogy of Blackness in the Bible acapella and announces that “the age of the ignorant rapper is done.” That was in the 1-9-9-1. But in the 2-0-2-4, Curly Castro finds himself disillusioned by KRS’s pontifications and panderings to the likes of New York City’s top coprophage, Mayor Adams. “Halcyon Hip-Hop inna Temple, / Membership would Bend, / KRS, of course, would sell the course, / But then the Fun would End.” Let’s all hold hands and hum along to Co Flow’s “Happy Happy Joy Kill,” hmm?

Castro resembles one of Dada’s “honored poets,” in the words of Hugo Ball, “who are always writing with words but never writing the word itself, who are always writing around the actual point.” Castro writes around the actual point, but he’s never pointless. You can listen to his 9mm go bang on the chorus of “Dadaism 3” (Wa da da Dee Dee da da Dee Dee da da Day), and it harmonizes with Ball issuing forth an invocation: “dada m’dada, dada m’dada dada mhm, dada dere dada.”

Before I go on live all my enemies try to contrive

plots to make my whole entire routine take a swan dive.

But this ain’t commercialized hip-hop…

—Buck 65 (1999)

“LIVE Element,” but DEATH pervades Nobody Planning to Leave. LIVE in all CAPS—a stylized emphasis on life and living, but O DEATH, none can excel. ShrapKnel refuse & resist! They arrive as a def fresh crew, and like the haintish vocal of Roxanne Shanté echoing across galaxies, they came here tonight to get started, but not to cold act ill in any sense other than she intended. Certainly nothing cellular. No icy hands get ahold of them. Hip-hop, each and every mic check, is Life or Death—you’re breathing the sniper’s breath. DEATH is everywhere on Nobody Planning to Leave, from the David Berman references, quotations, and puns to PremRock’s opening words on the album. Prem spurns DEATH; instead, he will go thou and preach his gospel (Luke 9:60 KJV): “I don’t wanna bury the dead, / Pallbearer for carried dread.” He lifts the gossamer veil so that he “might sneak through” and survive. He knows from Black Thought—in sharing some of the blackest of thoughts—that if you “step into the realm, you’re bound to get caught, / And from this worldly life, you’ll soon depart.”

Prem knows this region well; he knows the feel of ash beneath foot and the hematic heat against his face. On “Bardo,” the CD-only bonus cut from Load Bearing Crow’s Feet, he grapples with the pre-grief of existential knowing. “See, I’ve been told a lie,” he raps on the chorus, “swans don’t actually sing when they die, / They hit the same note you do when you croak, / No poetic epilogue or even goodbye, / But I be waiting over here on this side.” He’s on the side of the living, of poetic monologues, of greetings and gratitude. The only death rattle he recognizes is the one he hears at the end of a night of performing, his voice ragged. He imagines the walls “stress[ing] the importance of time… / Muttering something ’bout chakras and alignment.” But for his living self, what matters is more material than all that. “I be at the mom and pop shop to drop me off some consignment,” he says. To “get [his] affairs in order” has nothing to do with firming up his estate; it’s about getting paid in full. Equating his music career [Doseone calls “music career” an oxymoron, by the way] with impending death is only one example of the artist qualifying/quantifying life and livelihood—but there’s really no quantizing Death’s drums. On “Nutkracker Blues,” Castro talks about the urgency of having a verse “at the deadline and it’s Gotta be Perfect.”

Conventional thinking insists that there’s a transitory nature, a finitude, to doing what they do, these rappers. In 2002, on “Shrapnel,” Slug said, “I can’t remember who asked me, but someone asked me, / How long I thought that I would be allowed atop this trash heap.” Atmosphere, it just so happens, is the quintessential indie hip-hop success story, touring extensively and endlessly, selling out thousand-seat capacity ballrooms, pavilions, and amphitheaters—even two decades after those words were recorded. But most artists end up with “shards of pulled cards scattered on the carpet” (as Slug raps on “Shrapnel”); as Prem says on “Human Form,” you’re hustling from “bassinet to coffin.” On “Illusions of P,” he cloaks the agony of abbreviation in a clever pun about Royal Tenenbaum (“you fake ill”). The gut punch, though, is realizing “none of this will last forever.” While he can, he continues: “You only pray it will. / Illusions of hunting permanence, you pray still, / Ay still, lay still, lay still.” What’s the worst fate of all? Another dearly departed artist yet to make a dent.

5.1

The monetizing of emotions and songs, the dividends paid or owed, the commodification of life lived, could make it feel like you’ve been dealt a bum hand. “You got all these songs that you never play for anyone,” Prem raps on “Death on the Installment Plan,” and so he goddamns it. Death on the installment plan—a phrase he cribbed from Céline in 2021—has transformed into Nobody Planning to Leave in 2024. NOBODY DEATH-PLANNING, in other words. If we look at the novel itself from 1936, we can find a shred of hope, though. Provided here, context-less, a page from Céline [apply it to Prem and/or Castro, won’t you?]:

To command his audience… He explained the working of the valves, the guy rope, the barometers, the laws of weight and ballast. Then carried away by his subject, he embarked on other fields, expatiating, ad-libbing without order or plan, about meteorology, mirages, the winds, cyclones… He touched on the planets, the stars… Everything was grist for his mill: the zodiac, Gemini…Saturn…Jupiter…Arcturus and its contours…the moon…Bellegophorus and its relief… He pulled measurements out of his hat… About Mars he could talk at length… He knew it well… It was his favorite planet… He described all the canals, their shape and itinerary! their flora! as if he’d gone swimming in them!… While he was perched up there shooting the shit, spellbinding the masses, I took up a little collection…

I was in Public Records to take up a little collection.

5.11

ShrapKnel spellbinds the masses with everything from superheroes to supervillains to sports figures of legend and little renown. Castro is MC John Corben—Metallo with metal lungs. The fluoroscope reveals the metallic structure of his bones and organs, and he’s got kryptonite in his fuse-box, which is to say he’s got a kind of death totem close at heart. The trouble is, Castro found himself stricken by the sense of green, glowing death that Metallo delivered to Superman. He won’t relinquish his life, though. He refuses the sick-box. He’s riding to Babylon by bus but persevering through every torment or trial, hell or high water. He will lively up himself against all odds.

5.111

“The bus door opened and I placed my foot upon the step. Quite suddenly, there was music swelling up into my head, as if a choir of angels had boarded the Second Avenue bus directly in front of me. They were singing the last chorus of an old spiritual of hope: Gonna die this death on Cal—va—ryyyyy BUT AIN’T GONNA DIE NO MORE…! Their voices sweet and powerful over the din of the Second Avenue traffic. I stood transfixed on the lower step of the bus. “Hey girlie, your fare!” I shook myself and dropped my two coins into the fare-box. The music was still so real I looked around me in amazement as I stumbled to a seat. Almost no one else was in the late-morning bus, and the few people who were there were quite ordinarily occupied and largely silent. Again the angelic orchestration swelled, filling my head with the sharpness and precision of the words; the music was like a surge of strength. It felt rich with hope and a promise of life—more importantly, a new way through or beyond pain. I’ll die this death on Calvary ain’t gonna die no more! The physical realities of the dingy bus slid away from me.”

—Audre Lorde, Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

5.2

When Curly Castro writes his biomythography, it might well be titled Babylon by Bus. Footnotes might detail the routines of road life, like Warren G vacuuming the tour bus in The Show; early chapters might reflect on the Kris Kross-type innocence of missing a school bus (“And that is something I will never ever ever do again”); he might dispense with rumors and “dickhead logic,” celebrating collaborations like “Babylon by Bus” with woods and Prem; but he most definitely will amalgamate his years of movements and commotions into a totalizing whole. Everything that rises must converge, as Flannery O’Connor says. Bob Marley and the Wailer’s Babylon by Bus will evolve into Mike Ladd’s “Blade Runner” (1997), which in turn becomes “Bladerunners” (1999) with Co Flow featured, but retains the same lyric nonetheless: “As we do babylon by bus straight to Rikers.” See, it’s about building, about building, about bringing more bodies onboard the bus.” The bus stopped with a sudden jerk and shook him from his meditation.

5.21 THE CENTRAL PARK CHAPTER

The biomythography will provide a meta-commentary on ShrapKnel’s arc as a group (just as “LIVE Element” does). The chapter might be titled “Hip-Hop Heaven,” which is what Castro has called the weekend of August 13-15 in 2021. He meant heaven in terms of enthroned deities rather than death, but DEATH determined itself.

The SummerStage performance was headlined by Armand Hammer and The Alchemist. Moor Mother, Kayana, Fielded, and GENG PTP were also on the bill. It was a major booking for ShrapKnel. “We got at least two lives to give tonight,” Prem raps on “Nutkracker Blues,” and though the song sympathizes with Group Home in flashes, the sentiment speaks to the duality of that Central Park performance. “You are what you leave unexhumed,” Prem adds, and so the death knell resonates endlessly, like tinnitus. Leave it all out there on the floor, on the stage. Dig deep; don’t look back.

CURLY CASTRO: The Central Park show was a level up for an Armand Hammer-led show w/ Backwoodz as support. It was our first time meeting and performing with The Alchemist. Unbeknownst to me, my back and spine was riddled with cancerous Tumors. I was in a good amount of pain; I just didn’t let anyone know, not even Prem. Couldn’t phuck up this opportunity for ShrapKnel and the live premiere of my “Phuck Puff” verse on “Wishing Bad.” So, in essence, it was the last show before I broke my hip a few months later and found out just how sick I actually Was.

PREMROCK: I don’t think woods could believe it was actually happening while it was either. I watched Backwoodz artists go from horrendous sound at a fifty cap room to this? Truly a sight and testament to what can happen when you stick to your guns. Having Alchemist back us onstage and just before sit in the trailer and tell us stories of hip-hop lore probably made our year at the least. A high point of our career followed briskly by the biggest tribulation. A microcosm of life and dedication on several levels. A day and night we will never forget!

Castro has called that Central Park performance “the last moment of ignorance.” PremRock, presciently, also recorded “Bardo” that same weekend. On “LIVE Element,” Castro cuts through the static: “Central Park show while my Cancer was Raging, / Stage 4 on the Stage for Edutainment.” He enta’d the stage to exhibit to the audience how the Blackman’s in Effect. The performance stage and the stage of his cancer replicating like cells. But no Cell Therapy to speak of. He was backed by Alchemist, a stroke of luck “how the Game Spin,” but the Wheel of Fortune spins centrifugal, spins like the minds of children at the carnival listening to the “carousel calliope, among the hills, piping [Chopin’s] ‘Funeral March’ backwards,” to borrow something from Ray Bradbury. “LIVE Element” refrains from becoming a dirge.

5.22

In December 2001, Ray Bradbury posted his origin story to his website:

During the Labor Day week of 1932 a favorite uncle of mine died; his funeral was held on the Labor Day Saturday. If he hadn’t died that week, my life might not have changed because, returning from his funeral at noon on that Saturday, I saw a carnival tent down by Lake Michigan. I knew that down there, by the lake, in his special tent, was a magician named Mr. Electrico. Mr. Electrico was a fantastic creator of marvels. He sat in his electric chair every night and was electrocuted in front of all the people, young and old, of Waukegan, Illinois. When the electricity surged through his body he raised a sword and knighted all the kids sitting in the front row below his platform. I had been to see Mr. Electrico the night before. When he reached me, he pointed his sword at my head and touched my brow. The electricity rushed down the sword, inside my skull, made my hair stand up and sparks fly out of my ears. He then shouted at me, “Live forever!”

Castro raps forever on “LIVE Element,” leaving behind any pressure or protocol to limit himself to sixteen bars. He raps endlessly, staving off death. He raps like his life depends on it. He “roam[s] Earth” and will “give [his] Old Bones the Last Word.” He raps “Back & Forth” with Prem like “When the Lox work[ed] with Made Men.” The song was “Tommy’s Theme,” another eerie premonition if we consider the role of one Tommy McMahon (Controller 7). “Something this way Comes Wicked,” Castro raps, inverting inversions. Bradbury’s “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” a 1962 dark fantasy novel inspired by his own carnival experience, forebodes a chilling prospect. Not quite as frigid as Castro’s “Cold Vein back-to-back Liquid Swords Winter,” but as grim as hospital corridors and morgue thermostats nonetheless.

Mr. Dark, Bradbury’s sinister carnival barker, feeds off fears and engenders negative energies from his young audience:

Alive! Mr Dark’s lips licked and savoured. Alive. Come alive. He racheted the switch to the last notch. Live, live! Somewhere, dynamos protested, skirled, shrilled, moaned a bestial energy... Dead dead, thought Will. But live alive! cried machines, cried flame and fire, cried mouths of crowds of livid beasts on illustrated flesh.

Microphones and preamps and 4-tracks and DAWs—these are the machines that make civilization fun. Curly Castro and PremRock wield their own spiritual powers. Prem, according to Castro, “lifts crowds,” but together, they can “open [a] portal on stage,” The Prestige style, and “flip crowds.” Some true Aleister Crowley-type Magick (Elemental Theory); pentacles and penwork. The ShrapKnel lyric booklet is a grimoire. They “crack the codex like a soothsayer,” so says Prem.

5.3

“Sometimes we draw dead and draft failure,” Prem admits. They draw dead crowds, that is—lifeless and disinterested. “The math fails ya” sometimes, and the Supreme Mathematics go stupid-simple. But it’s okay when the ticket sales and rating scales don’t add up, because they “don’t need the accolades,” Prem says defiantly, assuredly. What they share is stronger than those metrics. Prem and Castro shared a phone call with billy woods the night before Castro fell and found himself hospitalized—an ill communication.

Facing uncertain futures, PremRock steadied the shaking stage. “When we got the diagnosis,” he raps, “I didn’t know how to pronounce that, / Plus I was already thinking ’bout the bounceback, / And with every bounced track I know no illness can slow the blade of a determined razor.” Note: when “we” got the diagnosis—the fraternal order of MCs; the die-cast duo; Shrap and the Family Rock; i.e., no one suffers alone. Prem helps them stay afloat with the assonantal buoyancy of “pronounce,” “’bout,” “bounceback,” and “bounced track.” Music will get them there (“every bounced track”).

And thus we get Castro spitting his verse from Armand Hammer’s “Wishing Bad” on the Center Park SummerStage. We hear his prophetic lyric: “Phuck Puff, / Survivor’s remorse should keep him phucked up!” (“Did any line age better than that one?” Prem asked the crowd at Public Records. “My man knew.”) And thus we hear that very audio clip at the conclusion of “LIVE Element,” a song which chronicles. “Phuck Puff” now immortalized on tour t-shirts available at the ShrapKnel merch table. At Public Records, Castro picked up the last line of Prem’s refrain (“3rd Eye glow like Hiero, / Seen it comin’ like 5-0 at the live show”) and made it a call-and-response. At the live show! AT THE LIVE SHOW! Inspired, Castro cut into an impromptu acapella version of his “Wishing Bad” verse, only to call-and-response the “Phuck Puff / Phucked Up” hook, damning those which need to be damned.

Prem mentions “selling enchantment by the package” on “Steel Pan Labyrinth,” but you can’t commodify craft. He’s not a peddler, anyway—he’s a performer. For one of two solo performances, Prem rapped about how his “human form” is a “uniform” (with that lovely autological bent), something he does, or dons, “to belong.” Is his performing self the authentic version, or is his non-performing self the stock character? Is his uniform a “Uni-4-Orm,” like Canibus in ’97, a hired hand meant to “pulverize MCs and blow up mics, / From street corner cyphers to international websites?” Does raw imply honest? (Funny how Prem’s regular employment is bartender, while on stage he’s also a bar-tender.) The blurry boundary between these opposing selves leaves Prem rudderless: “I’ll admit I’m catatonic, / Chart the pattern of vomit, / Sonnet in the style of Vonnegut, postmodernist.” He spews, minimalistically, like so many bar patrons spinning on stools, but discovers purpose in the identifiable “pattern[s]” and emerging “sonnet[s].” Turns dreck to “Protect Ya Neck”-level compositions. And—even impressiver—he pivots political-cum-analogical to bring us back to the idea of selling one’s self and/or selling one’s wares: “You are who you’re in Congress with, / Closeted moderates post black squares / Then act scared of actual progress ’cause it’s profitless.” But lemme chill…

6.1

“Doseone is in the house,” Castro shouted-out between “Human Form” and “Mescalito.” “If you don’t know, get acclimated. And if you don’t know, you’re stupid.”

6.11

NAHreally: Some shows really feel like an indie rap convention, and this was definitely one of them. Everywhere you turned was someone you knew or knew of—and the steady stream of special guests onstage only added to that feeling. The way the room erupted when woods came out for a few songs was special. The first time I ever saw (and heard of) PremRock and Castro was at a sparsely attended (perhaps more so poorly promoted) Armand Hammer show in 2018 at The Kingsland in Brooklyn. Castro was an opener and Prem jumped up for some tracks throughout the night. If I remember right, the crowd was probably high single digits. Since then, I’ve seen woods and ELUCID headline some packed rooms, but to get to see ShrapKnel fill up Public Records and bring woods up as a guest felt like a full circle moment. Triumph was definitely in the air at this show—something like a victory lap for putting in the work and staying true.

MO NIKLZ: woods came out in an Adidas Jamaican-colored jacket I gave him as a present. I bartered pickles for that jacket.

woods performed “Babylon by Bus,” “383 Myrtle,” and crowd favorite “Spongebob.” “Babylon by Bus” required some mic manipulation. “Why you give me the feedback mic though?” woods scoffed. Castro sang woods’ praises (“He has created the greatest label on the planet…”), and woods spread the love right back: “Prem booked my first real tour in this country, and Castro’s been down forever. This is just family.” After a “Spongebob” false start (“My babysitter’s getting 40 dollars an hour…we’re doing this!”), woods gave the crowd—in full darkness—what they wanted to hear. What’s apparent is that the whole operation is no longer under water.

billy woods: I was just proud and happy to see Castro and Prem have that kind of night. They are my colleagues and co-workers, but they are also my good friends, and great human beings, to boot. Also, I love ShrapKnel's records; I put them out because I love those albums, but I really feel like they are better live than on record, which is not something you can say for a lot of acts right now. So, this was also my first time seeing their new live set, and it’s just the kind of thing that makes you say, Yes, this is it right here. So I was happy for my friends, I was proud of whatever role Backwoodz has been able to play in their ascendancy, and I was really soaking in the music.

Fatboi Sharif got onstage in his capacity as King Geedorah in a pink summer hat and open-chest button down, his magnetism throbbing like gravity beams as he splattered words over a schizzing loop.

FATBOI SHARIF: [The track’s] not even recorded—I just do it at shows. I had DJ Boogaveli loop the first three seconds of Redman’s “Basically” from Dare Iz a Darkside.

CHOP THE HEAD: Watching Fatboi Sharif dance and sway his way around the show, laughing and turning people up, and then step on stage to deliver wide-eyed haunting intensity in a huge pink church lady hat… He left my house fifteen minutes ago after an hours-long argument with DRIVEBY about the nature of evil, more specifically about whether Charles Manson is more evil than Popeye’s Chicken.

7.1

By the time SKECH185 stepped onstage, having already witnessed woods and Sharif before him, I felt like I was watching Brian Robbins’ The Show documentary, and Public Records was transformed into a more modest version of the 32nd Street and Lancaster Avenue Armory on December 10, 1994—wormhole shit. SKECH performed “Up To Speed,” a rafter-rattler I’ve seen him rock on several occasions. Did I go hard enough? he asks a multitude of trusted friends and musicians. The answer is never less than a resounding YES. “You did go hard enough for me,” Prem deadpanned.

SKECH185: I hit [Prem and Castro] up to see if they had booked the bill. I guess they had, but they said they would bring me out for a song. It was my night off, so it was a no-brainer. We all went on tour last year, and I have music with those cats, so it made sense. It was fun. They rocked at my release party last year so it was full circle. I’ve been doing music with Castro going back ten or so years, and Prem and I were co-workers for a time, plus we have music together. Those men are like family.

CHOP THE HEAD: I’ve never seen anyone rap like SKECH185. Raw conviction.

“We roll with killahzzzz!” Castro shouted after SKECH put the mic down.

7.11

AJ SUEDE: We knew about a month or two in advance that I’d be landing in NY (from the UK/EU G’s Us tour) the day before the album release party. I was invited to be a guest and, of course, I couldn’t refuse that. It was great to see everybody I know and meet a couple new people in the process. Since I was in New York, I knew it was only right to play a song from Reoccurring Characters. Everybody featured on the album was in the building. “Tell Me When to van Gogh” always goes crazy in a live setting. The drums!

On “Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol” (a title coined by Controller 7, but he must’ve done so while interiorizing a certain ShrapKnel modality, methodology, modus operandi), Prem alludes to not one, but two, El-P classicks: “Deep Space 9mm” and “Last Good Sleep.” He interpolates the latter’s chorus:

At night I cover my ears in tears the man right in front of me drank too many beers. Every dream, every night, I take his life, waiting for my chance to make it right.

Prem’s death-obsessing is externalized elsewhere, onto an [un]worthy subject.

8.1

When El-P performed “Last Good Sleep” at the final Company Flow show (“The Open Casket Show”) on March 28th 2001, he did so through tears. His mother, the subject of the song who was swallowed when she was hollow, stood in the audience. I should’ve been at the Bowery Ballroom that night, bearing witness, but instead I skipped. Maybe because it was a school night and I didn’t have permission; maybe because I was too lazy to buy a ticket; maybe because I was just a fucking dumbass with no sense of historicity. But my friend Omar (the producer The Shah) attended, telling me peace out as he exited his driveway to head to the city while I played ball in the street with his younger brother. I gave him shit for going without me, but the fact is I could’ve gone with him if I’d made the effort. My only consolation was the flyer he brought me back as a memento.

“Worry Doll,” the wobbling, comedown closing track on Nobody Planning to Leave, finds Castro reflecting on the fleeting isolation he felt in college. “Lune TNS warp my anthem on Campus, / While every other dorm blast the Unit with Whoo Kid.” That alienation that invigorates; a specialized sensibility that inspires—John Singleton couldn’t capture that “higher learning turned End to End Burning” to camera. And so it seemed fated that El-P’s face would appear on a tablet, wishing Castro well while he was wheelchair-bound, recovering from his illness. Castro suddenly had the man behind “Bad Touch Example” at his fingertips with touchscreen technology—it was an emotional moment, but also apropos. There was something so psyence fiction about that mode of communication—something so Blade Runner, so 2001: A Space Odyssey, so Deltron 3030, Megaton B-Boy 2000, 5000 Miles West of the Future. It was everything for the man—the MC and producer and godhead of independent rap—to reach out and express his strength and support. Cancer 4 Cure, sure—El had dealt with Camu Tao’s lung carcinoma diagnosis and death, and so too had the underground scene experienced it from the sidelines. The tablet message to Castro essentially said: You should pump this shit like they do in the future.

Before the closing number, Prem told the audience that they “wanted to build a night that you wouldn’t see anywhere else,” and that objective was achieved. Castro and Prem then literally leaned on each other as they performed “Running Rebel Swordplay” to end their hour-long set.

9.1

Lights went up. The crowd thinned out. I straggled, wall-flowered, wondering, What’s next? I eventually exited the main space and found all those same recognizable faces from the show lined up in the trellised tunnel leading to the street. Controller 7, lugging his box of gear, Curly Castro, and PremRock all emerged from the venue and exited through that corridor. Friends on either side cheered them lovingly. Mo Niklz unfurled a folding table on the sidewalk and displayed a small pyramid of pickle tupperwares.

9.11

Oh shit, now here’s a cypher…

—Curly Castro, “Sadatay”

As AKAI SOLO and his TASE GRIP contingent exited the tunnel, AKAI—feeling the thrum—began to elucidate all the things that are hip-hop, which is to say, everything. “Brooklyn is…HIP-HOP, the dark sky is…HIP-HOP, my people are…HIP-HOP!...” There was a particular cadence and rhythm to his speech, which could be easily misconstrued as rapping, and that was all Doseone needed to set it off. I’d seen him on the sidewalk, like a predator tracking the bloodscent, his broad shoulders hunched as he dragged on a cigarette. As AKAI and his crew turned curbside, Dose stepped into the street and began freestyling. A circle spontaneously closed around him. I maneuvered with the quickness to the outer perimeter and pressed record on my Dictaphone, positioning myself to Dose’s left.

Doseone, that rough beast slouching toward Butler Street, that clutcher of a thousand skulls, expectorated a string of freestyled words:

I find myself turning science into gutting an entire abdomen of a cheetah, When I work harder, it goes world of words, hearth-beater. I’m out here looking for yourself, Conceiver of entire men out of mud, What he did, what he did with these rappers was duds, and I exploded like a whole lot of love lava.

I could tell from the expressions on faces that only about half the crowd gathered knew who Dose was, and even fewer computed what was unfolding. But those in the know knew what time it was. Dose spit another few bars (“Bleeding possibly with a tourniquet, / I go at it, and I burn ’em once again, / Resurrect ’em and pull up by the sternum and pull they chest out”), and then the beatbox joined in (courtesy of Q No Rap Name, with later contributions from Wavy Bagels). Castro, possessed with the same cypher-sense as Dose, entered the circle and rapped with a hesitant flow:

Do things as we flip ’em, get ’em, Flying over ya head like a gryphon, forgiven, You can’t even believe me, I made it out the system, The Matrix ain’t got four parts, you better listen.

Castro passed to SKECH185: “Similar to devils, like to hell, breaking heaven down, / It don’t matter, the bread leavens, and everybody moves around.”

[fragments, because transcriptions are no substitute for being there]

Doseone: “I disappear and then I reappear again wearing your very favoritest rappers’ skins…” AKAI SOLO: “I’m armed with just bravado and still bend the metal…” Castro: “Let me catch wreck, / Commercial’s ITT Tech…” Doseone: “Rappers need everything and their mothers to hug ’em…” AJ Suede: “The world keeps spinning on its own time…” Castro: “We underground, under rap, under earth, under term, / And if you need something, get under, get burnt…” Doseone: “Every bath I take is completely red…” SKECH: “High-tops made out of human skin…”

CHOP THE HEAD: I watched ShrapKnel body that set, Curly leaving everything on the stage, and then walk up to SKECH outside and say, We rhymin’? SKECH started beatboxing and started up the cypher. When SKECH wanted to rap, my man Q No Rap Name held the beat down for them. He told me later he had no clue Doseone was there until that happened, and he had been a huge fan of his for years. That moment showed me everything I needed to know about those artists. Are we rhyming, or what?

DUNCECAP: The cypher outside was magical and reminded me why I love hip-hop. Seeing Legends commingling with Future Legends.

Q NO RAP NAME: That cypher was crazy. Fuckin’ Doseone was there spittin’—I couldn’t believe it.

SKECH185: It was cool but relatively uneventful as cyphers go. I was mad my voice was going out. Doseone is one of my heroes, so it was cool to freestyle with him. Castro and I usually freestyle together when we are in the same place. It reminded me that freestyle cyphers rarely happen nowadays (as you could tell by the lack of beatboxers), but it was refreshing and much needed. Dose talked to me about starting a cypher earlier in the evening.

DOSEONE: I truly feel perfectly lucked to have experienced a creative competitive healthy hardcore group of people who push themselves to make outstanding rap as art!

9.111

I [re-]introduced myself to Dose, having not spoken to him since our marathon phone calls a few years ago for the aforementioned Anticon book. This was my first time seeing him in-person in 22 years. I last saw him in Tribeca at the Knitting Factory in 2002 performing alongside Jel and Alias—a night I documented as well (on 8mm video). He thanked me and expressed his appreciation for the work I’ve been doing, which felt good, especially considering I don’t think he really has any concept of how exhaustive the Anticon book is going to be. To be speaking to him at a Backwoodz event, rhyming beside artists that have rekindled my interest and engendered this indie rap renaissance, was yet another symbol of convergence. He told me had been at Dove’s the day before with Tommy, Scott Matelic, and Fatboi Sharif. Sharif, I said, was a seeker. (He knew.) Moments later, I saw woods and Dose huddled together in hushed conversation. Someone put out the call for a group photograph, and everybody gathered in the middle of Butler Street for a Gordon Parks “Great Day”-style flick. “FREE PALESTINE on three,” AKAI shouted. One, two, three…

9.2

“Just peep the words of my agnostic prayer,” Open Mike Eagle raps on “Dadaism 3.” Every word I write isn’t 25-to-life, but if all goes well, each paragraph will be received as an agnostic prayer. On his most recent solo effort, Another Triumph of Ghetto Engineering (2023), OME told the world, “We got people though.” Two tracks—“We Should Have Made Otherground a Thing” and “Dave Said These Are the Liner Notes”—speak to the power of our scenes and communities, which, truly, is a single unified community. (It’s an acknowledgement that Slug made in songform in 2000 with Atmosphere’s dewy-eyed “Travel,” a B-side on the Ford Two 12-inch—like OME, Slug was “calling all heads of the Earth.”) The underground—or otherground—has been building (steam with a grain of salt) for approximately thirty years. Back when many of us started in this in the late 90s and early aughts, we had no elders (I spoke to NAHreally about this while posted up in Public Rex). We were just a room full, or message board full, of teenagers and heads in their early twenties. We didn’t know shit. Aceyalone might’ve called us Knownots. But now we’ve got representation across generations—we have mentors from the pre-millennium, youngbloods learning the way of the subterranean walk, and whoever else falls between.

Spirit. Convergence.

10.

MO NIKLZ: After the show, a group of about twenty of us started heading out to another bar. Controller 7 asked me, “Is this normal?” I said, “It depends on the group and performer, but with PremRock, it’s very common, yes.” We ended up closing out the next bar we went to. Doseone had the nicest conversation with me saying, “Keep up the good work and especially all the shipping for Fake Four—it’s so important for the kids,” which I hadn’t even really thought about in a long time. I told him how happy I was to meet him and how there’s such a short list of people I’d actually want to meet, and he did not disappoint. He agreed saying, “Yeah, don’t meet your heroes.”

10.1

We were at the Brooklyn Inn. I ended my night like I began it—in conversation with Controller 7, Scott Matelic, and Emynd. Tommy was clearly elated with how things had gone. He awkwardly gripped vinyl to his chest as he sipped his beer and smiled ear to ear. Castro hopped in a car after the cypher, but Prem, the eternal nighthawk, reveled in his post-show glow, holding barside conversations with peers aplenty. Dose, too, was making the rounds, affable as he is, and he eventually joined our conversation. Ever the hip-hop historian, he entertained us with an invented—though no doubt veracious—account of one Parrish Smith arriving at Power Play Studios for the Business As Usual sessions in 1990, only to describe the premise of “Mr. Bozack” to one Erick Sermon. “And you’re going to play the part of my dick!”

11. CODA

The next night, I was privileged to see ShrapKnel perform in North Jersey. Soldato Books in Rutherford sells both books and records, but it’s housed in the Williams Center, which functions as an arts center and movie theater as well—and just steps from the former residence of William Carlos Williams. The Jersey tour stop was more sparsely attended (I counted about 25 heads, many of which were family, friends, and fellow performers) and suffered from some pretty significant technical difficulties. The soundsystem was little more than a PA, and the acoustics left much to be desired, especially in the shadow of what we all experienced just 24 hours prior at Pub Rex. The performance space was essentially a mezzanine with couches and balcony access. Roper Williams and Sharif were posted up outside, hopefully brainstorming and mindfucking the basis for their Something About Shirley follow-up. NAHreally endeared the crowd with his didactic raps, a consummate performer with a comedian’s sense of timing and poise. He passed out bookmarks advertising his album with The Expert, BLIP. (I took two.) DRIVEBY went to work for a short but potent beat set. OneShotOnce got on the mic and ripped. Sharif went shirtless for a raucous rendition of “Fly Pelican,” his vocals lovingly distorted. The only performer who was lucky enough to evade sound trouble was L.I.F.E. Long. The performance of his “Battle for Asgard” verse nearly split the atom.

PREMROCK: L.I.F.E. Long is a person that truly embodies hip-hop. He is also a beacon of positivity who seemingly never ages! I vividly remember him watching me at an open mic in Bed-Stuy in ’08. I would scour the web for any opportunities that looked like I could get up there to get my reps in. This one was definitely on the lower rung of quality, but I showed out for sure. It was shortly after my song or two that L.I.F.E. walked up to me and said, “You killed it! You’re too nice to be at this one—you should come to mine,” and handed me a flyer for a Newark mic he ran every Saturday. I looked at the flyer and realized who he was. Can Ox!? Stronghold!? I was very aware and it really energized me, and I didn’t miss any of those shows for a while. We went on to do a few things together and become fast friends. I would say his advice and belief in me was a big factor in my development. Time and life (no pun) has a way of losing touch, but I’ll always give props and try to let him know his importance. I hope I am to others what he was for me. There’s importance in paying things forward. Nobody is going to look out for us if we don’t. To quote Onyx, ALL WE GOT IZ US!

phiik and Lungs negotiated the microphone feedback through their set as best they could, but it made me long for the chorus of TASE GRIP voices that were present to support them the night before. Prem and Castro seemed demoralized when they took the stage, which wasn’t a stage. They, like phiik and Lungs before them, chose to perform from behind a makeshift bar on the mezzanine. The bar top served as merch table during the performances, and Castro began by leaning forward and asking the audience, “What can I do for you?” He later went hat-backwards and stood precariously on a folding chair for “LIVE Element.” He left his arm frozen in the air at the end of his verse—a rapper in the Rodin exhibit—holding it there until Prem spit his line about the “bounceback.” They weren’t demoralized, I realized—they were just performing in a more suitable register to the space.

PREMROCK: We are from the open mic era. Ten MCs, one mic, fighting for space to be heard. Imperfect sound is nothing when we think of what we’ve dealt with in the past, and we’re also blessed with good voices that can cut through the bullshit. Hiccups are always going to occur—shit soundperson, unexpected detour, less than ideal sleeping conditions, etc. Malleability is extremely important. To aspiring touring artists: there ain’t no glory out there, but there is truth! And the truth shall set you free!

12. THE CHOIR OF ANGELS BOARD THE SECOND AVENUE BUS TO BABYLON

phiik: Shout out to jesse The Tree. Was intro’d to him by Prem & Castro, and we just hit it off with him immediately. One of the funniest dudes. We had gotten this weed syrup from the Cookies store in Massachusetts, and it just had all of us rolling. But especially Castro, man—he was at the point of tears because of Jesse + the syrup combo. Mind you too, Prem said it was the highest he’s ever seen Castro, and they’ve been kickin’ it for a while. That experience definitely bonded us all right then & there. Can’t wait to get back on the road with everybody again soon.

AUGUST FANON: [It] was like a family reunion of sorts. All the performers have worked together and the listening community that came out to the show felt like they come to all the shows. I’m just getting to NYC and this was my third show as August Fanon, so it’s all new and beautiful to me.

WAVY BAGELS: The ShrapKnel show was magnetic. They ripped the stage as well as everyone that got on. Controller 7 wowed the crowd with his beat set, August Fanon and Child Actor kept the heads nodding with their B2B set, and Lungs & phiik looked comfortable being back home after being on the road. It was also great to run into so many familiar faces and those I finally got to meet in person (Marcus Pinn, AJ Suede, Fanon). Overall an event to remember.

HEIGHT KEECH: This show was inspiring to me as an NYC transplant that’s trying to get my head around the live music landscape. When I saw the Brooklyn stop on Shrapknel’s tour the year before, the crowd was a little light and I thought that their spirits seemed to be a little bit down. It was quite an exciting contrast to see them receiving a massive hero’s welcome like this. Towards the end of their set, I took out my phone to snap a quick picture, only to realize I had been pocket-dialing ten different people since I walked in. I got a few texts like, “Come on, Height,” but Lord Grunge of Grand Buffet had stayed on the line to peep my pocket-dial (while at his job as a Pittsburgh paramedic) and checked the rhymes. He responded with, “New York Flows? Fire.”

STEEL TIPPED DOVE: The buzz is building. I had the pleasure of fully mixing the new ShrapKnel album. Controller 7 sent beat stems and the guys came to my studio to record it all, so I was recording engineer too. I think it’s amazing how packed the show was and who was in attendance too—lots of indie rap legends, for real. People literally traveled from across the country and one guy from Europe. And the album itself is so good. I think that’s proven by the continuing growth of the group.

E. FORTSON: I had a brief conversation with Nosaj at the bar in between sets. At one point, he looked around the room and said, “We built this community.” After the show, when I had a moment to reflect on the night, I realized that the heartbeat of this community is Fatboi Sharif. He’s connected to so many people in this beautiful collective that Nosaj described, and I don’t think that’s a happy accident. He’s deeply invested in this community, in this culture, and people can feel that energy. Seriously, he’s the best hype man out there, and the support he shows his peers, particularly at live events, is incredibly genuine. I don’t know who I watched more at the ShrapKnel release party: the MCS and producers onstage or Fatboi Sharif. If he wasn’t dancing or shouting a “WOOOO!”, he was rapping along to every song. It made the show that much more special for me, and I’m sure that was the case for everyone in that room.

FATBOI SHARIF: It was certainly the feeling and energy that you hope and pray for when you come to a hip-hop show—from the beat sets, to the special guests, to the outside freestyle cypher after the show. I hadn’t experienced all that at one show in some years.

NOAH ANTHONY MEZZACAPPA: Castro and PremRock are great showmen and MCs and clearly put a lot of effort not only into their own performances but into the whole bill. Seeing guys like August Fanon, Child Actor, and Controller 7 and knowing it was a line-up unique to that show was really cool. Like Prem said, he wanted to give the fans something they wouldn’t get anywhere else.

Q NO RAP NAME: ShrapKnel is one of one. Their chemistry is unmatched, and it works for them in real life and on record. I had never seen SKECH185 live before—that was mind-blowing. It was very ill to meet some of these folks who I only ever usually hear on record and learn that they are solid individuals in real life. The underground is like that, and I love it.

DUNCECAP: That night felt like a family reunion. It felt like a couple different facets of the same diamond coming together. It was really special. Lots of love and respect in that room.

NOSAJ:

THE POWER OF SYNERGY

MASTER SPECIALIST

SOUNDTRACK FOR THE MOVIE TAKING PLACE IN THE ROOM THAT EVENING

A STEP FORWARD FOR THE GENRE

PRIDE

CHOP THE HEAD: The show felt like all the heads coming together to celebrate each other, and all these rappers that we recognize are pushing themselves and musical boundaries forward and really getting their due in a proper venue. I’ve seen Armand Hammer in big rooms before, but that bill was 100% killers—everybody knew everybody. The sound was perfect. The speakers were big as fuck. ShrapKnel absolutely burnt it down. As a duo they play off each other so well, and this was mid-tour so their set felt effortless and intense. Curly Castro is a tremendously gifted rapper. In his own terms, he is a master bladesmith and swordsman.

MO NIKLZ: The whole event was definitely something of an NYC indie rap family reunion/networking spot in a lot of ways and hasn’t really existed since Uncommon Nasa and woods stopped doing Yule Prog.

billy woods: It was dope to see all those different energies being exchanged in one place. That sense of community and camaraderie was palpable. There were a lot of great artists in the audience, or jumping on stage to play supporting roles for ShrapKnel and phiik & Lungs, but there was also an August Fanon + Child Actor beat set!!!

DOSEONE: That evening, it meant a lot to me. Most importantly, witnessing underground rap thriving and reforming in the hands of the Backwoodz humans—it’s endlessly important to me. Seeing impeccably written and produced and rapped rap be received entirely and adored is a beautiful thing. Every rapper and producer up there gave perfectly unique artistry in rap form as dictated by their individuality and creativity—FUK YES to that. That competitive collaborative creative energy they are harnessing is so similar yet different to what burned behind anticon as it first formed. And I am really lucky to have experienced that twice in one life.

CONTROLLER 7: It kinda feels like the people that were there maybe just enjoyed it and it was what it was, nobody really reposted for clout or anything, it was just something we all shared that night.

13.

So, nah: I’m not a spiritual person, but I can be inspired—inspired by the expansion of the underground hip-hop canon and rap pantheon. Bigg Jus’s voice reverberates: A hot wire, like the third rail, is live. I can, and did, thrum with the collective breath of those present on these two nights in June. Forevermore, I’ll expect more from june. No death in June. Life is real, word to the Mighty Mos and Roy Ayers Ubiquity. My life, my life, my life, my life. Reporting live for you suckers.

ShrapKnel setlist at Public Records

“Metallo” “Dadaism 3” “Steel Pan Labyrinth” “LIVE Element” “Human Form” “Mescalito” “Babylon by Bus” (billy woods) “383 Myrtle” (billy woods) “Spongebob” (billy woods) “Bogdan Interlude” “[untitled]” (Fatboi Sharif) “Bardo” “Illusions of P” “Up To Speed” (SKECH185) “Dreadlocs Falling” “Tell Me When to van Gogh” (AJ Suede) “Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol” “Night of the Living Analogue” “Running Rebel Swordplay”

Performance photos from Public Records courtesy of E. Fortson

#underground hip hop #zines #backwoodz studioz #billy woods #shrapknel

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letsdrawvideogames · 3 months ago

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I thought I'd briefly pull the proverbial dusty tarp off this defunct tumblr briefly to address some of the incoming traffic that I expect to see this week now that NCHProductions has publicly credited me for my artwork that their video is based on. I'd like to preface this by saying that we reached an agreement in private and I have accepted NCHProductions' apology, and that I do not condone or tolerate any harassment of NCHProductions on my behalf. This post is not meant to relitigate things or stir up drama. But with what happened, I thought this would be a good opportunity to open the floor to discussion on how the internet treats ownership of fanart and derivative work. I'm just one artist and my opinions are my own, but I've been at it a long time and it's not the first time someone else has used my fanart as a basis for something else. Here are three examples:

In 2018, Jonathan Nesbitt made a coding project as an entry for an informal contest run by the website Standard Code. His entry (properly viewable here) was based on a Metroid piece I had made in 2014 and he credited me in his entry. Although he never reached out to me to my knowledge, I thought this was fine given the time contraints and the fact that no money changed hands (the grand prize was an Amazon Echo someone had lying around). I think Jonathan's piece is very cute and I'm happy to have inspired someone this way. I might not have considered the artistic value of a simple HTML page otherwise.

In 2016, tumblr user @cyriusli messaged me about getting a Bulbasaur I drew in 2015 as a tattoo. He reached out to me directly and asked for permission before doing so and credited me as the artist when he shared a photo of the finished tattoo. Even though an artist in another medium was paid money to recreate my work in this case, I considered this to be entirely above board, and I'm sure the artist who actually inked it was happy to know that their client had explicit permission to use my piece. Knowing that someone has to look at my Bulbasaur every day until they die might be the height of flattery for me. This isn't the only tattoo of my work that's been done, and I'm always happy to see it so long as you ask permission.

Lastly, just a few weeks ago, I had to submit a takedown request on Displate against graphic designer SS Art, who was selling a poster that used a slightly edited version of a Shadow of the Colossus piece I drew in 2013. This is probably the most offended I've ever been as an artist. I doubt this seller made much money off of it and to their credit, Displate took it down very quickly, but it bothers me that it was allowed to go up in the first place. The ease with which merchandising platforms allow their users to publish anything without verifying its origin has made it ironically difficult to support the artists that I love: I've been looking for a new case for my Kindle on Etsy lately and found it extremely difficult to verify whether a seller's art was original or stolen. In one case, I found a seller selling a case with a Keith Haring print on it. I consider Haring's Unfinished Painting to be one of the most moving artworks of the last century, and here was his work being sold by some random Etsy store as "abstract cartoon funny dance pattern." I find this a deeply saddening, troubling phenomenon.

As the internet continues to shrink down to a handful of social platforms, it's been fascinating to see how the concept of fandom has shaped and been shaped by those same platforms. Fanart, memes, remixes, mashups, and other new forms of art that make copyright lawyers heads' ache have emerged as we all pile onto each other online. Overall I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing. When I was first online twenty years ago, it's likely that I never would have seen art from many overseas artists on the English-speaking web, but it's been very heartening to see how the explosion of fanart surrounding interpretations like ErinArtista's distinctly Brazilian take on Hatsune Miku or Ayyk92's Bowsette character can bring an audience to artists that many of us wouldn't have known about otherwise. I think there is room for such a thing as fanart of fanart, I just urge artists of all stripes to think critically about how we use other people's ideas. I am not a lawyer, and I cannot tell you where the line is or isn't drawn in regards to work based on copyrighted material, or what your rights as an artist are if you make fanart and aren't the copyright holder. I've definitely made some decisions in the past that I now regret about monetizing derivative work, but I wouldn't feel right about enforcing any standards I might adopt onto others. The internet has, in a way, become one giant game of telephone, and I don't like how difficult it can be to be certain of the origin of something. For now, going forward, I think it would be nice to see more normalization of hunting down sources to the best of a person's ability coupled with acting in good faith when new information comes to light. This tumblr is dead, and I likely won't be responding to any comments directly, but I'm very interested in hearing what you all have to say.

And just for absolute transparency, I ran this by my friend Ixo and borrowed some of his phrasing in the conclusion. He can be found at https://ixo.neocities.org/

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kristas-hellstash · 1 year ago

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I think I have made my final decision in regards to HB. I won’t abandon the show entirely, BUT, I will be focusing on fan content from now on.

You know you have a bad show when the fan works are better than the actual show.

Yeah, I’ve failed to mention - it’s not just the creator who is everything wrong with the show. It’s the writing. But because she’s IN CHARGE of the writing, well, that’s why it sucks. The show would’ve been better if she wasn’t involved at all. It could have been in the hands of people who aren’t morally bankrupt. It could be in the hands of better writers who could take her initial ideas and make a better story out of it. But none of that will happen. And it’s because of her. It’s because of her the show sucks. 😭 Beautiful art cannot save bad writing.

This isn’t the only show to have this problem, either - Miraculous Ladybug and the once-good Star Vs are two other examples. Not because the creators are human scum, mind you, but because the writing was bad.

Granted, HB isn’t Velma levels of terrible, either, and I doubt Hazbin will be, but…should we REALLY watch Hazbin this Friday? I don’t think we should…and the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve decided to just read what paid critics have to say. I doubt it’s gonna be good. It’ll be a “hit” in terms of views but with scathing reviews, like a blockbuster movie that’s terrible. The art and animation are the only good things about it - and, well, the music will slap too because at least Vile Viv isn’t in charge of THAT.

There’s a reason views have declined for HB, and it’s for two reasons: more and more fans realize how morally bankrupt Viv is, and former fans got sick of the shitty writing. The third is a combination of both.

I’ve known the writing wasn’t solid for…more than a year now. But I kept watching with the hope that it’d get better. Then I began to feel ashamed for liking this show as it became increasingly apparent that it’s not cool to like it anymore especially as it’s become known fact that Vile Viv is a monster. As its unpopularity increases and fans stop becoming fans, I felt frustrated and ashamed. I tried separating art from artist for years with this show, but nobody else seemed to be capable of doing it, and since both art AND artist are bad in this case, well…it’s time to let go.

Then I realized that fanfic has better writing than the show, and fans have better ideas…so fanworks are my loophole. Hate the canon? There’s fanworks out there that repair everything. Even I’ve got my own ideas for how I personally would have written Unhappy Campers.

I will not credit Vile Viv for any inspiration behind the way I draw some of my characters…tbh I think Kendraws is more responsible for that anyway, given how they re-designed Cherri Bomb. The art style of Viv’s cartoons are beautiful. I wish she was a better person who listened to criticism and knew how to actually write. I wished she’d get fired from her own shows so that they could continue in better hands.

But what we need right now is her blacklisting from the animation industry entirely.

#helluva boss #anti vivziepop #hellaverse #hazbin hotel #this is an unfocused ramble but yeah there’s always fan content #i’m just gonna read fanfic instead at this point #it’s better than the actual show #like some of it fixes the shows problems

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not-your-damsel · 2 years ago

Text

Our Number 1 Hero

Who :: Hawks/Keigo Takami x Fem!Reader

AN :: While I’m recovering, have a queued up/scheduled cute & smutty moment I finished a few days ago with you in an established marriage/already mated with papa Keigs ♥️ Was inspired after seeing an adorable bit of fanart of Keigo with his baby chirping up at him 🥺🥹🫠

⚠️ :: Oral (Fem!receiving), sq¡irt¡ng, some feather play. MDN¡, ageless, porn & blank blogs will be sniped on sight. Pew pew!

Word Count :: 4,179

Photo :: A Pinterest find. If anyone knows the artist, please let me know so I can give proper credit.

⚠️Note :: There’s an issue going on with the mobile version of the app with the display of this oneshot, especially when adding more ppl to tag. Just a heads up, I’ll remove this when it gets fixed on their end as I’ve done all I can on mine. On desktop it looks absolutely normal. Go figure 🙄

There’s a feeling you can’t quite describe whenever you watch as Keigo plays and bonds with your 10 month old baby boy and girl. Never in your life did you think twins would be in the cards for you, yet, here you were with two fuzzy, crimson winged beauties who were currently laughing that undeniably happy laughter that only babies can manage as he holds them just under their bellies to float them around like planes. In fact, their laughter is so hearty that you find both Keigo and yourself having a good chuckle along with them as you listen from where you are.

As you’re sitting in the living room, working on altering and hemming your babies’ clothing to accommodate their wings, you hear your husband gasp out and it has you dropping everything to make sure nothing’s wrong. You reach the doorway to the babies’ room where they were playing with Keigo, expecting to see some sort of accident, only to see each baby gathered in either of his capable arms as they chirp up at him eagerly.

Hinadori, your chubby cheeked daughter, was clinging to Keigo’s shirt as her large eyes -your eyes- looked up at her dad, almost as though she revered him. Her little mouth would open and a flurry of chirps and peeps would come rushing out to his ears, making him crack a smile.

“Is that so, Hina-chan? Well then, -chirps and peeps- hm? Can you promise not to do that to Tobu-chan’s wings? It isn’t nice. -chirps lowly-”

Hinadori looked over at Tobu in Keigo’s other arm thoughtfully, her eye markings making her look angelic, almost cherub-like. Her chubby little arm slowly reached over to Tobu’s plush little wing, occasionally looking up to Keigo as though asking permission. He’d nod, chirp and watch on.

“Gentle, Hina-chan, yasashi…”

She slowed for a moment as he spoke before a chirp met her ears, telling her to continue. Her little dimpled hand met Tobu’s little wing where she gently pet it, looking back to Keigo for approval. He nodded, a kind and loving smile graced his lips as she let out a gleeful chirp. Keigo whistled out from somewhere deep in his throat and she laughed.

“That’s my good girl, that’s daddy’s good girl!”

You grinned from the doorway, arms crossing over your chest as you watched them together. Tobu now looked up at Keigo, his eyes a startling shade of gold and despite the hue being slightly different from Keigo’s, when you looked at him with those avian markings, he looked just like his daddy. Tobu had your hair but, like Keigo’s, it stuck every which way. Even more so after horsing around. His cheeks were tinged pink from all the laughter no doubt.

“Your big sister did well, right my little feather?”

Keigo asked as Tobu chirped up at him. His little arms began to work as he tugged Keigo’s shirt, his legs working together in a crawling motion as though he were trying to climb up to Keigo’s shoulder.

“Hey now -chirps and whistles- where are you going, little fea-”

Tobu’s little wings began to flutter, some deep instinct triggering a knowing need to flap. Keigo’s eyes nearly turned to saucers as he watched on, measuring how hard the little wing beats were.

“Keigs, watch hi-”

“He’s trying, baby, he’s trying!”

Keigo was far too excited about this, assuring you as he held Tobu fast as he worked his way to Keigo’s neck with his wings working all the while. Once he reached Keigo’s neck, he realized he had nowhere else to go so he settled for making a fuss with impatient chirps and tiny whistles leaving his throat.

“Ok, ok. One second, Tobu-chan. Baby? Can you take Hina-chan for a moment, please?”

You nodded, walking over to them and scooping Hinadori in your arms, kissing the top of her straw colored locks as you cradled her head close to your chest.

“Look, Hina-chan! Look at daddy and Tobu-chan…”

Keigo was now holding Tobu high above his head, chuckling as he watched his little legs and arms splay out instinctively. Suddenly and without warning, Keigo let go of Tobu, dropping his arms lower in a position ready to catch him on his inevitable way down.

“Kei!!”

You felt your heart drop along with your son who landed safely in your husband’s hands. A squeal met your ears as Tobu felt the drop in his little body, his wings fluttering wildly on the way down.

“Again, Tobu-chan, slower. -peeps-”

Whatever Keigo had said to Tobu, it was clearly important as he gently patted your son’s wings. Taking position once more, Keigo raised Tobu above his head and dropped him again. This time you watched as Tobu’s little wings fluttered a little slower than the first time… and he was floating for about two seconds before once again falling into Keigo’s hands.

“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, sweetheart!!!!”

Keigo yelled into the room startling both you and Hinadori, the both of you jolting in unison before hearing a commotion of chirps, peeps, whistles and squeaks fill the kid’s room. Keigo was so happy, his own wings spread wide as they shook with excitement and pride before looking at you with determination.

“Tobu’s ready! We can go out tomorrow morning and we ca-”

“Wait, wait, wait! Kei, I know you’re happy and I know you’re excited, I am too! But…”

You trailed off, absentmindedly bouncing Hinadori on your hip. Keigo could sense your apprehension, could smell the cortisol coming off you as you silently stressed.

“Baby bird… you know I’d never let anything happen to our brood, right?”

You swore you’d never get used to the whole “familial bird” talk. You nodded, you knew he’d lay his life down without hesitation or question for you and the babies. Keigo put Tobu on the hip opposite yours with Hinadori and leaned into you, his nose trailing from your own to your jaw and then gliding down to a faded bite mark on the smooth skin of your neck. He inhaled deeply before planting a kiss against the silvered mark, followed by a soft nip and a final kiss once more. Standing upright to meet your gaze again, Keigo noted you were calm once more and he grinned, lopsided and beautiful all the same. You grinned back, free hand coming up to stroke his scarred cheek as you looked lovingly at him.

“I know you’d never let anything happen to them, but, how do you know it’s time?”

Keigo nodded, he figured it was fair you’d ask how he knew. But, he didn’t know either.

“Truth is, kid, I don’t even know how it is I know. I just do. And I know that’s not what you want to hear but, it’s the truth and it’s all I can give you right now. I just… I feel it in my bones. It’s time for Tobu to practice taking flight.”

He said, holding your gaze lovingly. You nodded, Keigo could tell it was a reluctant one, but you nodded with a sigh. You looked at Hinadori and felt your eyes brim with tears.

“Talk to me, baby bird. What’re you thinking?”

Keigo grabbed hold of your chin to look at him again, seeing your eyes reddened and glossier than a moment ago.

“Oh no, baby I-”

“I just… I’m so proud of you, Keigo,”

You nuzzled into his palm against your cheek.

“You went from not wanting us to have kids because you were terrified you’d be the worst father to grace this planet, to us having not one but two, to being the best father I’ve ever seen. Not that I never had faith in you, you just blew all my expectations away.”

Keigo’s neck was starting to pink to his ears at your words.

“And I get so touched when I see you with them, see you playing and bonding and becoming the mochi of their eyes. Part of me is a little jealous of you three, to be honest.”

“Wait, what?! Us?! I don’t understand, love…”

You shook your head,

“Not in a malicious way, I just wish I knew what you guys say to one another when you start chirping and whistling at each other and now, Tobu-chan’s ready to start flying practice and I can’t be there for that. I can’t be in the sky with you to see him experience this life changing moment and I want to be there for all of it. Our line of work doesn’t guarantee us seeing tomorrow and I want to see everything they get to experience and I-”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Hinadori reached to touch your wet cheek. You looked down at her where she chirped to you and you had no idea how to even answer her. It made you feel a little worse, like you couldn’t provide vocal comfort or feedback to your own babies.

“Whistle.”

Keigo said, wiping your eyes and then your nose.

“K-Keigs, gross!”

“Our brood has pissed on me, puked on me, I even been shat on by them, your snot is nothing by now, dove. Now, whistle. Nothing major, just a single, double note sound.”

You shook your head but gave it a try anyway, letting a single little high-low whistle escape your lips as you looked at Hinadori. Her features lit up as she released more of her own chirps and peeps at you. You giggled, more tears forming in your eyes at her response to you.

“B-but, I don’t know what I’ve said to her or what she’s saying to me.”

Keigo grinned.

“It doesn’t rightly matter at this point, they’re not saying much of anything right now. I only understand bits and pieces of what they mean. It’ll get better over time as they form their avian speech more. And you, baby bird, don’t have to worry one bit. I’m here, aren’t I? I can always translate.”

You smiled at him, pulling him in for a deep, heated kiss.

“What was that for?”

“For being our number 1 hero. Come now, let’s get these little chicks to bed.”

Keigo beamed before frowning.

“I need to see if my Hina-chan is ready, too!”

“You can check tomorrow, I promise.”

Giggling at his pout, you handed Hinadori to him so he could get them ready for bed as you tidied up the living room of all the little clothing and sewing items you had scattered around along with whatever toys were left on the floor of their play mats.

It had taken almost an hour to get the chicks down and off to sleep. Little twitching wings remained active while they were fast asleep as you and Keigo kissed their heads before leaving a feather of his own wrapped around their ankles. You closed their door, leaving a crack open before you went to your shared bedroom to change into your pajamas.

Walking in, you see Keigo already in his boxers while laying in bed, golden eyes scanning his tablet screen most likely adjusting your patrolling schedules for the coming week. You made your way to the walk-in closet to put your pajamas on, throwing your clothes for the day in the hamper in the process. As you bent to pull your silk sleep shorts up, you felt a feather skimming up your back before making quick work of your bra, feeling it slip off your shoulders, falling to the hardwood floor.

Keigo could feel the vibration of your slight giggles, making him smirk in turn. He then felt you wave the feather off as you moved to slip your silk tank on and as you threw your arms up to help it slide over your head, large, warm, calloused hands reached around to cup and grope your soft breasts. You yelped, always getting thrown off by how stealthy Keigo was when he really wanted to be.

Warm lips met the nape of your neck accompanied by the sharp scrape of his stubble as he kissed you, his chest meeting your back as he pressed into you. It was then you felt a hard bulge firmly against your lower back, a slight grind into you as Keigo’s thumbs slid down to your nipples to roll between them and his forefingers. Your back was instinctively arching against him, your ass pushing into his hard cock as your chest pushed out into his rough hands.

“Fffuck, baby, that get your pretty pussy twitching for me?”

He panted behind your ear, his nose inhaling the scent of your hair as you rocked your ass up and down his clothed length. With your nipples now hard and pebbled for him, he pulled, a hiss escaping your lips at the feeling as your arms reached behind you to sink your fingers into silky straw colored strands, tugging enticingly as he sucked along your shoulder with a groan.

“Kei, t-the bed…”

You felt another feather make its way to your shorts, tugging them down along with your panties to pool at your feet.

“Here’s just fine, baby bird.”

With one swift movement, Keigo had you bent over your vanity, some of your makeup items clattering to the floor with the act.

“The babies, Keigs!”

“They’re still asleep, hero’s promise.”

Still bent in your position, you were already reaching behind you to tug down his boxers and boxer briefs, wanting to feel him inside you already.

“So needy aren’t we? I got you, kid.”

His feathers were already pulling his bottoms down and you heard his cock slap against his lower abdomen.

“Kei, I need it, I need you, please!”

You breathed. With his heightened senses, he could already smell you dripping for him, taste it in the air and it had his golden eyes rolling back. His hands found your hips and adjusted them so that it looked as though you were presenting yourself to him.

“Lemme see, baby, let me fuckin’ see what it is I do to you.”

You gave a pathetic whine as his hands spread your cheeks apart, watching as your cunt fluttered for him, your slick oozing from your tight little hole. Avian pupils dialated at the sight and before he could even register what he was doing, Keigo dropped to his knees and licked from your clit to your hole before delving in to penetrate it.

Squealing, you slammed your hands down on the table of your vanity as he ate you out like a starved man. Slurping, sucking your clit before flicking his tongue over it again and again had your eyes rolling back as well.

“Keigo, fuck, p-please, I-!”

His hands squeezed your ass cheeks roughly, grunting and moaning every time your slick gushed into his mouth.

“You better cum in my mouth. I don’t care how long it takes, I want you squirting in this mouth, d’you hear me?”

A harsh slap met one of your ass cheeks and you moaned out loud as his whole mouth covered your cunt, his tongue stroking you even closer to the edge of bliss. Keigo abruptly pulled away, and as you went to protest, you felt a feather start vibrating against your clit before two thick fingers slipped inside you pumping against your sweet spot over and over again. The feeling had your hips swiveling, bucking up and down as tears pricked your eyes.

“You know how beautiful you look, what you’re doing to me right now? You keep this up, you’ll end up making me knock you up with another addition to the brood,”

At that, your hips rocked harder into his pumping fingers.

“What a little slut, fuuuck!”

“R-right there, right there, Keigo don’t stop,”

This was arguably the second best part, the immediate climb to the jump off, the way the taut string inside your belly was fraying in preparation for the snap.

Keigo felt it, the way your cunt was sucking his thick fingers in, fluttering all around them. It was like he was in a trance, chasing that sweet moment you’d come undone and bless him with the sweetest nectar that was only ever for him.

“Keigo, it’s coming, I’m cumming, I-! G-gonna squ-“

Keigo removed his fingers but kept his feather working you, flipping you over again to latch his mouth against your cunt just in time as a gush of fluid came out of you and right into his mouth where he drank, golden eyes shifting between pinpoints and full blown as he let out the most porn worthy moan along with your own.

Pulling away, his chin was soaked and as he lifted his head up it began to drip and roll down his neck. But, he couldn’t be bothered to care. Your squirming told him to stop with his feather, already pawing at you to suddenly hoist over his shoulder to bring you to the bed.

“K-Keigo! There’s a mess on the floor!”

“Feathers’ll get it,”

Once in the bedroom, Keigo plopped you on the bed, climbing up over you and caging you in with his own body.

“C’mere, you pretty bird.”

He dipped down and kissed you passionately, and it wasn’t until he slipped his tongue in your mouth that you realized he never wiped your release off of his face. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck bringing him closer to you. As you both made out on the bed, his hand slipped between the both of you to give his cock a few pumps before swiping his tip along your slippery entrance to gather some slick.

He groaned deeply in your mouth.

“Fuck, kid, fuuuck,”

You slid your legs up some and opened them wider for him as he grinned down at you.

“Have I told you that I love you today?”

You’re grinning back now, shaking your head.

“No. I don’t think you have and I’m upset about it.”

You faux pouted. The two of you knew he’d already told both you and the chicks he loves you a couple times since he’d gotten home and it was reciprocated each time. With you both working the profession you do, it tends to do that. You’ve made it a constant habit since you two had gotten together. It was a little bit of work on his part since saying it outright when the mood strikes isn’t much within Japanese culture but, when a near death experience came late one morning you drove it home to him why it was so important to you to say it and have it said in return. Keigo’s never skipped saying it ever since that day. He was incredibly good like that.

“How could I? I made a promise, didn’t I?”

You nodded, pure love and contentment on your face. Gods, he adored the ever loving hell out of you.

“Then, let me make it up to you, baby bird.”

Guiding his length into your warmth with a flex of his jaw and ab muscles, Keigo stops to look up at you.

“Oh, I should prep you mo-oh!!”

Without warning, you dug your heels into each of his ass cheeks and pulled him into you the rest of the way.

“Fuck, fuck!”

He gasped while you took a sharp breath in as he lurched forward and caught himself just in time with hands on either side of your head. Giving you a moment to adjust, he lowered himself onto his elbows, leaning down to kiss you sweetly as he backed out, the tip of his cock remaining behind before thrusting back into you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Your arms slipped under his to grip at his shoulders for stability as he began a slow but rough pace. Each drag out of your slick and gummy walls had you slowly clenching around him, the sounds of your arousal already sounding out in the room.

“M-more, Keigs, more,”

Keigo’s hand came to gently wipe your hair out of your face, his own so close to yours that you were both breathing the same air, sharing it intimately in and out through your mouths. His pace picked up some, the feeling making you hike tour legs up higher over his hips now as his gentle pace turned into the feverish hunger you knew he was fighting. Keigo roughly grasped a breast in his hand, squeezing to bring your nipple into his mouth as his hips continued to roll into you faster.

“Yeah, like that! Just like that, Kei!”

His mouth unlatched from you with a ‘pop!’, thinly rimmed golden eyes meeting yours as he took in your debauched state with a lick of his cherry kissed lips.

“Shhh, shhhh. I got you, baby,”

However, the second he felt your nails gently scrape against the patch of skin between his wings, they fluffed out from behind him and the torrent of want and need he’d held back this whole time snapped.

“But, fuck, I need more!”

Pushing off of his arms after giving you a quick kiss, he planted his large hands against the backs of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest as he snapped his hips brutally into you. The slapping of his balls against you, the sounds of your combined slick and his pre was all too much. The moment his fingers met your clit with a few perfectly pressured strokes, it had you careening towards your release as it snuck up on you and tore at the core of your lower stomach. Clenching around his length, it had Keigo looking down, a sheen of sweat all over his body as he watched with dilated pupils a creamy ring forming at the base of his cock.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, honey, goddamn it,”

You didn’t even think he caught what he’d said before his face twisted in pleasure, golden eyes rolling to the back of his head as you felt his cock throb a few times inside you.

“I’m gonna cum, ba-baby bird, I’m gonna fuckin’ cu-”

His voice choked off to let out a sinful moan as rope after rope of his cum shot into you with each throb of his cock. Keigo’s hands loosened their grip on either of your thighs, helping you put them back down gently as you both panted for breath. As he looked to you, your arms were already open to him and waiting for his inevitable collapse into you. And he did just that with a goofy smile to his lips.

“Oof! Keigs, my tits!”

He wasn’t listening, already nuzzling into your neck with kisses as his stubble scraped nicely at your skin there. Your fingers were already threading through his straw colored curls to stroke and tug just to hear him groan in delight at the feeling as you kissed the top of his head before taking a deep breath of his scent through them to ground you.

“I love you, Keigo.”

“I love you, too, my baby bird.”

You both lay there in silence, cockwarming him with your legs wrapped around him as you held one another. Keigo propped his head up, chin resting in the valley of your breasts.

“You know, about me taking the chicks with me up in the air, you can be there, y’know?”

You gave him a skeptical look, an eyebrow cocked at him.

“You can’t bring us all up there!! How’ll you do that?!”

“Feathers, silly.”

You thought about it for a moment, your attention being caught as you saw your clothes being brought back out from the walk-in closet before being rested gently back on the bed.

Well, he has saved many people with them and you knew from fighting alongside him that they were plenty strong. Hell, he’s saved even you a few times with them so you knew they were more than capable of carrying and holding you safely. Keigo would rather die than let anything bad happen to you, let alone with his own feathers. You really could be there for each occasion in the air with the chicks.

As Keigo studied you weighing your options, he decided to break the silence.

“You scared I’d drop yo-”

“Never.”

You said it with such finality and without hesitation, it had his cheeks pinking, feathers fluttering behind him with pride.

“Good. ‘Cause I’d never let you fall, kid.”

“I know. You’re my number one hero, too. Thank you, honey. It means so much to me that I’ll get to be there with you all during that. I want more glimpses into the little world you’ve built with them, too.”

He felt himself go all gooey and soft for you all over again at the shy and bashful face you made at the admission.

“You’re the center of our universe, baby. Of course we want you there.”

And just as you were gonna grin at him, showing your complete trust in him, Keigo’s lips were smothering your own with all the love he could muster. When you find yourselves pulling away for air, he says it for one last time that evening.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Keigs.”

Key ~

Hinadori :: Baby Bird 🐣

Tobu :: Fly 🦅

Yasashi :: Gentle 🫳🏽

🏷️ Tags :: @pervysenpaix @touyasdollmain @touyasdoll (more to come if this would fkn cooperate)

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