#i mean dude its been five centuries... make peace with it already

[ellalalala]

Just thought about Dottore for the first time in weeks (lol) and I remembered something I always found funny: the fact that Dottore returned to Sumeru and willingly worked with the sages to make a God out of Scaramouche when he could have done that by himself just fine. He's the Second of the Eleven Harbingers, so he could quite literally do whatever he wanted; but it's the fact that he cooperated with them despite his history with the Akademiya. He put on a somewhat cordial front for them, which Scaramouche clearly thought was ironic ("ever wonder what they'd think if they knew that nothing matters to you apart from your crazy experiments?"), which apparently was completely out of line for poor ol' Dottore - how could the measly puppet expose his true nature in front of the sages? I mean, think about how he introduced himself to us - before the entrance to the Akademiya, donning clothes reminiscent of the style in his homeland; he clearly still wants to belong, perhaps whilst knowing that he never will. In simpler terms: Dottore thinks that he's won the idgaf war when he has actually been losing it very slowly for five hundred years.

[redrobin-detective]

The late Daniel Fenton

It was shaping up to be a beautiful if chilly December day and Casper High, as always, was bustling. It was 7:49 and class was about to start. The teacher watched the last few kids stumbling in at various levels of wakefulness. He already knew who would be the ones to rush in after the bell but that was alright. Life was too short to stress about being a few minutes late to class, especially in Amity Park of all places.

He looked up to see Madison, one of his shyer students walk in before making a beeline for his desk. She was biting her lip and nervously rubbing her hand down her skirt. “Hey,” she began quietly.

“Good morning. What’s up, Mads?” He asked casually. She looked upset, he could probably put on a video for the class if she needed to talk. They really needed a permanent counselor but the constant ghost attacks ran off most of them so he’d taken up the unofficial mantle. It felt good to help his students like that, make up for past wrongs.

“Are we um, expecting any new students?” She asked, her eyes darting over to the door she’d just come through. “Any transfers, exchange students or anything like that?”

“No,” the teacher frowned. “Amity isn’t the kind of place people transfer into. Why?”

“There’s a kid in the hallway,” she mumbled. “I don’t recognize him, he’s got a backpack and everything but he’s... I don’t know he doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh you’re talking about that weird dark haired kid,” Kyle said as he entered and sat down with a slouch. But even the class slacker looked unusually tense. “Dude’s creepy, can’t put my finger on why but he definitely doesn’t belong.”

“Oh,” was all the teacher had to say. Suddenly he realized how cold the classroom had become, the uncomfortable feeling that was pressing ever so slightly down on them. “I suppose it makes sense, the ghosts have been quiet lately with the Truce and all. He probably got bored.”

“Sir?” Madison said.

“Shannon,” he said instead, looking over at the frizzy haired girl hunched over her sketchbook furiously at work. “Would you do me a favor and move to the vacant seat in the second row? Just for today.”

“What? Why?” the girl whined even as she gathered up her various arts supplies and got ready to move.

“That’s Mr. Fenton’s seat,” he said taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes in preparation for what he was about to see. Danny would come here, of course he would. This was Lancer’s old classroom and Danny had him for first period English Lit. He and Dash both did.

“Mr. Baxter? What’s going on, is it a ghost?” Malik asked from the back row while Shannon shuffled to her new temporary seat.

“Yes but you don’t need to be scared,” he said softly, evenly. “He won’t hurt you.” The bell rang but Dash didn’t start the lesson. Instead, he waited. Danny had never been on time to class the entire time Dash had known him, of course death wouldn’t change that.

“Sorry, I’m late Mr. Lancer,” Dash gripped his desk so he didn’t jump when Danny Fenton simply appeared in front of his desk instead of walking through the door like any other student. “My folks couldn’t drive me, they’re still working on their stupid ghost portal.” A quick glance over at this class showed varying levels of fear, shock and curiosity but they were Amity kids through and through. The cold, powerful energy radiating off Fenton told them it was best to play along with whatever the ghost wanted.

“Perfectly alright Mr. Fenton,” Dash said softly, searching the 14 year old’s perpetually young face. He hadn’t changed a bit since Dash last saw him their second week of freshman year. It seemed unreal seeing how the years had taken their toll on Casper’s favorite son, Dash Baxter. God had they really been that young once? “Take a seat and we’ll get started.”

Danny shrugged and walked over to the seat Shannon had just vacated. He sat just the same, one leg stretched out and the other propped up against the leg of the desk. As soon as he took off the backpack and put it around the chair, it disappeared. He didn’t say anything else, just sat as stared at Dash with piercing blue eyes like he could see right through him.

“We had been talking about the lead up to the Civil War but let’s table that for today,” Dash said, proud his voice only wavered a little. He knew other people had seen Fenton around town. Lina saw him standing outside the Nasty Burger maybe five or so years ago. Dale, who used to live near Fenton Works swore he sometimes saw someone moving through the windows of the long abandoned house. He’d always secretly dreaded the thought of seeing Danny Fenton again, afraid he’d finally get was coming to him.

“Instead, we’re going to talk about local history,” he continued, not daring to take his eyes off the undead teen. Every other living student was tense, afraid. He wished he could assure them that the ghost wouldn’t lay a hand on them. In the event Fenton decided to ditch the hero schtick, it would be Dash and Dash alone he’d come after. “Amity Park has long had rumors of being haunted dating all the way back to the 1600s. It wasn’t until the last century that scientists determined that Amity Park is located on top of a thin spot between our world and the ghost realm. Natural portals form here all the time allowing spirits to pass through.”

No one spoke and barely anyone breathed except for Danny would wasn’t breathing at all. He just sat and stared at Dash with steady, unblinking eyes.

“Jack and Maddie Fenton were the scientists who discovered the weak point in reality in Amity. They devoted their entire life to the study of ghosts and made remarkable advancements in our knowledge of ectobiology and culture, the first being,” he paused as Danny cocked his head in confusion, squinting his eyes suspiciously at Dash. “The first being their manmade portal to the ghost zone. The portal remained active for almost two decades for research purposes but was shut down following their deaths.”

“You’re not Mr. Lancer,” Danny said suddenly, his eyes shifting from baby blue to an ectoplasmic green. Marty, who was sitting to the left of Danny, swallowed a squeak of fear and squeezed his eyes shut.

“No,” Dash sighed, “Lancer died almost thirty years ago now. Best teacher I ever had, he gave me his blessing when he passed on the job to me.”

“I,” the ghost ran his hand through his hair which was starting to lose its color. Seeing Fenton looking so scared and confused made him ache. It reminded him of old times. Dash had spent most of his life making sure he helped hurt kids if only to make up for the one he’d never been able to make it up to. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay, Danny,” he soothed. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“The portal, it wasn’t working at first,” Danny justified, his aura glowing a little more. “Sam and Tuck, they were curious. They wanted to look but I told them it wasn’t allowed, Sam, Sam she dared me to go in. I put on the hazmat suit and went inside and found the on button inside. I accidentally hit it and-” he paused midsentence and looked down at his hands. They weren’t pale flesh anymore but covered in white gloves. The black was completely bleached from his hair. A few of the students gasped as they saw the strange would be student melt into Phantom, the ghostly hero who’d been protecting their town since their parents were young. “I died.”

So much time had gone by. People were born and people were buried and the truth became distorted until it was just a legend passed jokingly around cafeteria lunch tables. Amity’s youth had forgotten their town’s history until it was sitting in a desk, trying once more to be one of them.

“You did,” Dash said sadly. He remembered hearing the news of Fenton's death. An assembly had been called the morning after the accident. Lancer had cried at the podium, Manson and Foley hadn’t returned to school for a week and had never been the same again. Dash hadn’t known what to think at the time, only that the kid he’d beat up for the crime of being different would never show up to school again. Or so he’d thought. “It was a tragedy, you were mourned by a lot of people.”

“I know you, don’t I?” Danny said quietly before he sat up straighter. “Dash?”

“In the flesh,” Dash grinned shakily.

“But you’re so old,” Danny said, once more distressed. “Your hair is grey and there’s wrinkles on your face and-and you’re a teacher now?” The last line was said with incredulity, his eyes flaring again. “You used to push me down the stone steps of the school and shove me into my locker and call me names.”

“Yeah, I did,” he sighed, feeling every one of his years. He was pushing 70 but he didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling like a stupid 14 year old who took out his frustrations on the ones who didn’t deserve it. “But you were the last; I never touched another kid again. I’m married now, four kids. I’m vice principal now, teach History and coach the school’s football team. It’s,” his voice caught again, still unable to process how young and stupid Fenton looked sitting there like no time had passed at all. It made Dash feel like all his accomplishments and attempts to be better would never amount to anything so long as his last victim roamed the earth unable to find peace. “It doesn’t fix what I did back then but I make damn sure that there won’t be any bullying at Casper so long as I’m here.”

“Huh,” Danny said, slouching once more in his seat but it looked less like his earlier teenage laziness and more weary. He and Dash were the same age after all, just because only one of them got old doesn’t mean time didn’t still affect them. “You did change, a lot of things did.” Danny looked down at the desk, “how long has it been?”

“Almost 50 years,” Dash sighed. “My wife wants me to retire but I guess I always find more things to do.” He paused then decided it was now or never. “I’m sorry Danny, for hurting you back then. I wish I'd gotten to know you better.”

For just a moment, Danny was perfectly clear. Even half floating out of his chair and looking like the local celebrity, his eyes were so painfully human. A boy killed before he ever got a chance to get started. Who’s will to protect was so strong it lasted half a century. It haunted him late at night to think of the glory and power of Phantom overshadowing just how incredible Danny Fenton had been. Not that anyone had seen it at the time. Soon there wouldn’t be anyone left to remember that quiet, kind teenager and then Danny Fenton really would be dead. Kill him just as thoroughly as that portal had.

The moment was broken by a breath of cold leaking out of the ghost’s lips and, just like that, his highschool classmate was gone and Phantom was left in his stead. He looked curiously around the classroom as if he didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

“There’s a ghost, stay here and don’t leave unless the fighting gets too close. I’ll get it though, don’t worry. No kids are dying today.” Maybe it was Dash’s imagination but he thought he saw Phantom’s eyes linger on him for an extra moment, trying to place where he knew the teacher from. Dash just smiled.

“Our lives are in your hands. Good luck, Phantom,” the ghost teen saluted before fading away entirely. Dash let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, suddenly exhausted but also lighter at the same time. It wasn’t every day you got to look your mistakes in the face and apologize. “Shannon, you can move back now.”

“No, I’m okay here,” Shannon said as she flipped to a new page in her sketchbook and looked intently at the spot where Fenton had once sat. “It’s like you said, that’s Danny’s seat.”

“I had no idea, Phantom’s been around for like, ever,” Freddie mumbled, pushing up his glasses. “But he used to be just like us.” And still was, Dash thought sadly. Danny would never grow old, never go to space like he’d always dreamed or marry Manson like he’d probably intended to. He was stuck, in more ways than one for who knows how long.

“Yes, that’s why it’s important to know your history. The Civil War and my other lessons are important but we can’t forget these smaller, more intimate histories. If we lose these lessons to time then we risk repeating the same mistakes over again.” He looked his students in the eyes, holding their attention.

“So we’ll continue today with the local history. Before he was ghost butt kicking superhero, Phantom was Danny Fenton, son of the local ghost hunters and a bit of an outcast in town. The Daniel Fenton Foundation was founded about a year after his death and was-”

[lubdubsworld]

Insatiable ( Jungkook x OC) Chapter 2

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC!   Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ]

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five.  Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“You alright?” Somi asked gently, watching me fling  my backpack into the corner of the room with enough force to dislodge one of the wooden panels on the wall, the shelf crashing and bringing down the two potted plants on it. The sound of ceramic shattering made me wince, regret churning in my stomach. 

“Yeah...yeah. Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Somi.. I broke your pots-”

“Never mind the pots...why do you look so upset? Have you been crying?” She demanded , reaching for me, hands curling around my wrists and drawing me into a hug and I swallowed, my throat dry and eyes swollen from all the tears that I’d wrung out of them. 

Outside the room, Namjoon stood guard, at the door and I felt guilty remembering how the past three hours had gone. 

After confronting Jungkook, I’d stormed off in righteous indignation and poor Namjoon had been forced to follow. 

He had kept a discreet distance as I climbed to the tallest ridge on the roof, scaling the gables with ease and I knew he had been terrified at the prospect of me falling. 

Immortal or not a three hundred foot drop to the ground would be something that would hurt.

And it was my bodyguard’s job to make sure I did not get hurt. 

When he wasn’t busy fucking other women that is. 

I gripped my sister harder, fingers curling into the fir of her coat as I tried to catch my bearing. 

“Do you know Helena?” I whispered, pulling away to look at her. Somi’s face fell,eyes filling with sympathy.

“Oh, no. Was she here?” She asked gently, reaching out and cupping my cheeks and my lips wobbled. 

“Why didn’t you warn me that he was in a relationship?” my voice shook and Somi shook her head. 

“He’s not!! God, Helena doesn’t do relationships. Jungkook and her.... well, I’m not sure but they’re just fuck buddies..... barely that. You know she’s from the Kim clan right? Those bloodsuckers never settle for one partner. “ She muttered. 

I stared at her.

“He called me a child and then told me he’ll tell dad if i try to make a move on him.” I whispered. 

Somi flinched.

“Sera....”

“It was humiliating and painful and I don’t ever want to think about it, ever again.” I muttered. 

She sighed. 

“It’s not like you don’t have men dying for a glance from you, Sera. You forget that you’re literally the most beautiful woman in the clan. If he rejects you, you’re definitely not the one missing out in that equation.” 

I nodded, misery seeping into me. My sob-fest on the roof hadn’t been wasted. I was angry at first but now, a sort of resigned acceptance had taken the place of my anger. 

 The look on Jungkook’s face had been too real, the emotion behind his rejection too potent for me to get over. I wasn’t sure I could change his mind.

Wasn’t even sure if I wanted to. 

“Was he very hurtful ? You know, if you tell dad, he’ll hire someone else and-”

“No.” I said immediately. “ I won’t do that. It’s not his fault, it’s minge. I acted out like a...well a child to be honest. He doesn’t owe me anything and he’s always been obvious in his disinterest. I was just too blinded my own attraction to consider that it wasn’t reciprocated.” I grimaced. 

God, I’d been an idiot and Jungkook’s words had knocked some good sense into my head. But I did care for him and his son and they needed this job. I wouldn’t put his job in jeopardy just because I didn’t get my way. 

I was better than that.

“Alright... Dad wanted to meet you for breakfast tomorrow.... He sounded serious. Do you know what that’s about?”

I groaned, when I remembered the reason my dad wanted to see me these days. 

“Dad wants me to start meeting men now. He thinks I’m old enough now that i’ve turned 21. He’s been badgering me for a whole entire month but I kept putting him off because of...well, because of Jungkook.” I admitted. 

Somi looked worried.

“You want to ? If you don’t we can talk to dad and-”

“No-” I shook my head.” I’m just gonna agree.” 

Somi looked surprised.

“Are you sure? Sera you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to-”

I smiled weakly. 

“I’m not going to be allowed to stay single forever Somi. Especially not when the entirety of dad’s day is spent trying to chase suitors away from the door. Do you know the Count from Jeju Do...dude’s a whole seven centuries old and he looks like a toad. He apparently tried to ask about me and Dad’s been freaking out.  “ I shuddered. 

Somi laughed.

“ That’s what you get for being you. But dad’s right. Keeping you away from everyone is only inviting more interest. And we don’t want you to be with someone insufferable.” She ruffled my hair and I hugged her again sighing into her shoulders.

No I didn’t want to be with someone who just saw me as some kind of a possession to be owned. I wanted someone nice and kind. A handsome man who did the right thing .  Someone who maybe, worked hard to give his kid a safe and protected life, someone who didn’t shun away from hard work and was a gentleman as well. 

Someone like-

“Someone other than Jungkook.” Somi said gently reading my mind. 

“I really liked him.” I whispered softly, feeling tears spring again. 

God, I thought I was all out of tears for Jeon Jung Kook but apparently I was wrong. 

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

I took extra care with my makeup the next morning, because my father usually had a ton of business meetings during his breakfast. I didn’t usually bother but , I was going to agree to his suggestions today and well, nothing wrong in delighting my father. And nothing made him happier than seeing me prance about  with pretty feminine clothes . 

My dad, for all his jovial cheerful air, loved his position as the head of the Hwang clan. And as his most prized possession , I was the apple of his eye. And while he didn’t treat me as an object or anything ( my dad loved me deeply and his affection was always evident. ) , there was no mistaking the fact that my dad enjoyed the power that came with being my guardian. Powerful men were willing to bend to his will, just for a chance to be with me. 

I sound insufferable, don’t I?

Trust me I’m not. 

The vampires that court me are usually assholes. Entitled, brain dead assholes .  When I opened the door in the morning, dressed in a short summer dress and ready to meet my dad, I was surprised to see Jungkook standing guard outside. He straightened away from the wall where he was fiddling with his phone, his gaze flitting to me, eyes cold and blank. 

I bowed lightly, not smiling.

“Mr. Jeon. I have a breakfast date with my father and then I’ll be heading to the cottage. I’m also meeting a friend of mine at the Art Museum in the evening so i’ll need the Mercedes brought around to pick me up maybe at 5.00PM.” I said briskly, glancing at him. 

My face flamed red when I noticed his gaze, fixed steadily on my ass. I cleared my throat angrily and his eyes met mine, a slow lazy grin playing around his mouth. 

“You look different.” He commented , shamelessly giving me another once over. 

The nerve. 

I swallowed, willing myself not to blush harder.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

He chuckled.

“That dress barely covers your butt, angel. You sure you want to head to daddy dearest, dressed like that?” The way he said daddy made my skin heat up. 

I felt my jaw come unhinged. 

“That’s...that is none of your damn business.” I said shrilly.

He gave me another once over.

“Okay, then. If that’s what you’re into...fine. Let’s go.” 

Gritting my teeth, i tried to keep my face neutral. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he got to me. I would not. 

I walked ahead of him , my fists clenched and my jaw tight and I felt incredibly upset because the day had barely begun and I was already wound tight. I was supposed to be relaxed and clear headed while talking to my father but Jeon Jungkook had muddled my brains as usual. 

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. 

“Sera, wait.” His voice made me pause and I stopped, turning around to glare at him.

“What?” I snapped. 

He sighed, deeply. I watched as he ran his hands through his hair, tongue pressing into his cheek the way it did when he was upset. 

“About last night-”

I felt my pulse quicken. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it!” I said quickly, turning back around to leave but his fingers came around my arm, gripping hard . 

“Well tough luck. Because I do!” He said sharply. 

I whimpered, pain blooming up my arm and he swore, loosening his grip.

“I keep forgetting you’re human.” He muttered, “ I’m sorry... I just... I wanted to apologize for how i handled things last night. I was twenty once and I should have been more understanding.”

I closed my eyes. Oh, God no. Please, please for the love of God, let me hate you in peace. Don’t apologize and make me fall in love all over again.

“Its fine.” I choked out. “ You were right. I was out of line.”

“You deserve better.” He said quickly, eyes flitting away from my face and I felt a sharp pang in my heart. God , this was agonizing. 

“Jungkook-”

“It’s just that you’re...well you know who you are. You can’t be with ...someone like me and trust me you don’t want to be with someone like me either. I know its appealing, the whole illusion of stability. older man, has a kid, has his life together .....but that’s not all it means .” He gave me a tired smile.

I bit my lips, ot replying and he went on. 

 “ I have baggage, a shit ton of it and I would have to be especially cruel to unload something like that on a girl barely out of her teens. I’ve done shit I’m not proud of ,....but ruining your life, I’m gonna draw the line there.” He smiled , looking a whole decade younger and I closed my eyes.

I was back to square one, I thought miserably. He had my whole heart. 

“ So we’re good right?” He prompted and I exhaled, giving him a smile.

“We’re good.”

“That’s good. Because my son loves you and I would rather we be friends. You’re just like a daughter to me. ” He touched my face gently, pulling away at once, the small contact leaving fire in its wake and I had to clench my fists . 

A daughter?!! Is he out of his damned mind? 

“Okay.” 

“Let’s go then.”

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

“Jungkook, please sit down. You’re like my son and I don’t want you hovering like you’re part of the backdrop. I’ve trusted you with my entire life.” My father beamed, pointing at me and i laughed. 

Jungkook bowed respectfully, taking the chair next to me. 

“How are you , my buttercup?” My father asked softly, fingers gripping mine and I smiled.

“I’m well, father. Do you like my dress?” 

Next to me Jungkook coughed and I shot him a dirty look. 

“It looks ravishing on you. The prettiest flower in my estate is my daughter, do you agree Jungkook?” My father prompted and I swallowed the smirk that threatened. 

Poor Jungkook was going to learn that being my bodyguard meant singing my praises twenty four seven or at least anytime my father was in hearing distance. 

“Uh..” Jungkook’s eyes flitted between the two of us, “ Yes sir. Your daughter is quite lovely.” 

I beamed at him and he looked away quickly. 

Coward. 

Turning back to my dad I held my hand out. 

“DAd, you wanted to see me about something?”

“Yes dearest. You know the Kim clan’s matriarch has been after me. Three of her great great great grandsons have come of age recently. And all three of them are set to take over some very lucrative businesses. They are good men and apparently they’re quite smitten with you. They say you know of them from school?”

I sighed.

“Do you know their names?” I prompted.

“Mingyu, Minjae and Yugyeom.” My father said briskly. 

 Ugh.

 “ They’ve asked me out before, yes.” 

“Uh..Excuse me.. Could I get a refill?” Jungkook said quietly next to me and i turned, watching him wave to one of the footmen. 

“Jungkook, are you thirsty?” My father asked brightly. 

An idea formed in my head, wicked and dangerous. 

“Perhaps, he should get a taste of the Hwang Elixir?” I said innocently. 

My father’s gaze snapped to mine. 

A small frown made its way to his face. 

“Are you sure? I’m not sure if Jungkook would be comfortable-”

I turned to him, purposely flipping my long hair off my shoulders exposing my throat . Jungkook’s eyes went to the curve of my neck at once and i felt a sick sort of triumph when his eyes flashed red.

“Oh, no no...” I crooned, leaning in closer. “ I’m sure you aren’t uncomfortable , are you Jungkook ssi? After all, I am just like a daughter to you , aren’t I?” I stared right at him, fluttering my lashes and I saw his jaw clench. 

“Of course, Ms. Hwang.” He said briskly, glaring at me. I played with the small gold chain around my neck, letting my fingers flutter over my pulse , drawing his gaze there.

“Well, that is true ...” My father looked uncertain, but I gave him a gentle nod and a smile. 

“Well, as a special guest, I suppose you can enjoy our hospitality , Jeon. Why don’t you take a drink from -”

I moved closer, pressing up against him and Jungkook sighed, lips closing over my neck, and I felt my eyes flutter shut at the wet warmth of his mouth . 

It was intoxicating, the way he used one hand to grip my neck gently, the other on my waist to steady me and when his fangs pierced through, I could sense the warm liquid flood his mouth and Jungkook’s entire body relaxed, a strangled moan escaping him. 

“---my daughter’s wrist.” My father finished and I felt Jungkook stiffen next to me. 

This time I couldn’t stop the grin that bloomed on my face. 

My eyes dropped to his lap and yup, his pants definitely looked a tad tighter. 

“Did I do good, Mr Jeon? Or should I call you daddy? ” I whispered quietly , fluttering my lashes at him and his fangs retracted and he pulled away from me, shoving me back into my own chair quickly. 

My father was slightly slack jawed. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hwang. “ Jungkook muttered and I laughed.

“I do believe it is I whom you should be apologizing to. It is  my  neck you just mauled. ” I smiled brightly staring at Jungkook and if looks could kill, I would have a thousand wooden stakes through my heart right about now. ‘

Take that Mr. Jeon. 

Daughter, my ass. 

“My apologies , Sera.” He said stiffly. 

My father laughed raucously.

“Ahh, you must be used to the neck, my dear boy. understandable understandable. it is how we used to do it in the old days, after all . These younglings with all their etiquette and feminism and what not....it’s hard to keep up..... But now you must tell me? Is my daughter not the sweetest you’ve ever had?” 

I choked, coughing. Oh God, sometimes my 900 year old father had no idea how he sounded. 

Jungkook looked like he had swallowed a lemon. 

“She’s certainly ...” He stopped, probably realizing that any adjective at the end of that sentence would sound entirely wrong. 

“Delicious?” I prompted, blinking innocently and Jungkook shot me another glare. 

“Well, nevermind nevermind. .... So, tell me dearest, will you be willing to meet the Kim boys?”

I sighed.

“I like Yugyeom. I cannot stand Minjae. I don’t know enough about Mingyu to make any judgement. How about I meet Mingyu and if I don’t hit it off with him, I will allow Yugyeom to court me....” I said softly.

I glanced at Jungkook but he was studiously looking away. 

“Very well my dear. Do you have any plans today?”

“I’m meeting a friend at the museum.”

My father’s eyes widened.

“Well isn’t that a wonderful coincidence. Mingyu's law firm is just a block away if I’m not mistaken. I’ll ask the boy to pick you up afterwards. Have dinner with him and you can tell me tonight of your choice.” My father smiled briskly.

“Yes, father.” 

“Jungkook..” My father prompted and the vampire glanced up.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take good care of her. At the restaurant, make sure you stay at hearing distance. “ 

“Yes sir.” Jungkook bowed and I groaned. 

In other words, let my father know if I behaved appropriately. 

i pouted and my father waggled his finger at me.

“No, no no.. Missy. I’m going to make sure you keep your end of the bargain . You need to give these men a proper chance before you reject them. “ 

I nodded.

“And you must ask Either Somi or Seolhyun to dress you. No jeans or one of those ridiculous gowns that make you look like a pastry.”

There was no mistaking the snort that came from my right and i glared at Jungkook before turning to my dad.

“Yes, father.” 

“Good, now run along the pair of you. “

I stood up, kissing my father fondly on his forehead.

“I love you.” I whispered. 

“You are my whole entire joy, dearest. “ He kissed my hand gently, eyes warm and soft.

As we left the room, Jungkook let out a sigh.

“I am never having a meal with you two again.” He ground out and I laughed. 

“Anything you say, daddy.” I grinned. 

Jungkook groaned. 

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

As luck would have it,  my friend cancelled . 

So at six the evening, I finished locking up the cottage as the last of the kids left, fumbling with the lock while a tired Joo Won napped in his father’s arms, head resting on Jungkook’s shoulders. I felt myself soften at the picture they made, Jungkook singing softly , fingers brushing his son’s hair back as he rocked him gently. 

“I’ll be a while... I needed to get ready. Why don’t you put him to bed? Who’s watching him tonight?”

“Hwasa and Moonbyul offered. I’ll drop you off in your room and head to the north wing. What time are you meeting the jerkwad?” He said casually.

I blinked rapidly, confused.

“I’m sorry... the jerkwad?” 

Jungkook shrugged.

“It’ just a fact. Most men are absolute jerks at twenty one.” He shrugged. 

i felt myself bristling on behalf of the unknown Mingyu.

“That is absolutely unfair. My brothers were incredibly kind and good.”

“To you perhaps. Because they don’t have to impress you. But men act differently when they’re trying to get between a woman’s thighs. They’re jerks when they want to get laid...” He grinned.

“Is that why you act like a jerk to me? ” I smiled evilly and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, darling we both know I don’t have to act in any different way to get you into my bed . I just have to do this.” He smirked, curling his finger in a come hither gesture.  

I felt my pulse pound and I tried not to let his words get to my head. He was flirting , yes but it was a joke. He was joking with me because the very idea of being with me was a joke to him. 

And I couldn’t forget that. 

Rolling my eyes, I pulled on the lock a couple more times to make sure the door was well locked. 

“Shall we leave?” He prompted watching me wrestle the backpack onto my shoulders. I grunted under the weight. 

“Of course. Let’s go.” 

We walked in silence for a few seconds.

“So, how’s he doing? With stuff?” Jungkook asked gently and I felt warmth bloom in my chest. 

“He’s very advanced for his age Jungkook. You’ve done a wonderful job with him. He’s able to read and he has a beautiful l writing hand. He’s learned his multiplication tables all the way up to seven and he has the voice of an angel. Which I think he gets from you. ” I smiled, reaching out to brush the back of Joowon’s head. 

Jungkook smiled softly, the late evening sun painting his perfect features in a soft golden glow. 

“Your father was kind enough to support me the first few years when i had him. I didn’t trust anyone enough to leave him with them and well... i needed to put a roof over our head.” He sighed . 

I touched his arm, giving it a small squeeze.

“I understand. I’m glad you’re here. He’ll grow up well in our clan.   “

“And he has a lot of excellent men to look up to here...He needs a good role model, someone kind and amazing who can inspire him to be hardworking and fair. ” He smiled.

I bit my lips.

“I think he’s had that all along. ” I said quietly.

Jungkook’s breath caught for a second and the air between us changed. I licked my lips. 

“Jungkook you’re a good father. You know that right?” I said after a few more seconds of silence. 

He laughed.

“Am I really? I wonder.” 

“He loves you.” I breathed , “  You’re all he talks about.... Today, one of the other kids tried to say that his father was brave because he helped someone who was stuck in an elevator. you know what Joowon did? He listed some twenty different incidents where you’ve helped people out....And he looked so proud.”

Jungkook’s ear looked red in the brightly lit garden. 

“i was just doing my job. Most of those times, I was in danger.” He grunted. 

“And yet, you did the right thing. “ I whispered. “ And your son was watching. And he’s learned the importance of doing the right thing even when you’re scared. That’s a life lesson that isn’t easy to learn.”

“Can’t disagree with that.” He chuckled. I grabbed his arm forcing him to stop. 

I had to tell him this. 

 “ Jungkook, when immortality is on the plate, people don’t give much value to morals. They don’t always care about doing the right thing.... . Its how our kind functions. Consequences don’t mean much when you have a whole eternity to fix your mistakes.....So I always admire vampires who value morals. “ I smiled, “ To see a five year old with such a well formed moral compass... it tells me that you’re an amazing father. Possibly the best I’ve ever met. “ I reached out, to hold his hand, wanting to touch him in some way, to make him believe that I was completely honest. 

“Sera!!!!!!” My sister’s voice made me jump and Jungkook stepped away as well. 

“Dad told me you’re going on a date? I’ve picked out an outfit for you!! But you need to take a shower! You cannot show up smelling like diapers and spit-up.” She called. 

I groaned. 

“Time for the ugly duckling to transform into a swan, I see?” He said gently. 

“Your son’s favorite fairytale.” I whispered.

“He makes me read it every night.” 

“I would like to sit in on that someday.” I laughed.

His eyes met mine. 

“You’re always welcome, Ms Hwang,” He smiled politely. “ Someday soon maybe your kids and my son would be friends.” 

And just like that the wall grew between us. 

His kids and my kids. 

Not our kids because he wasn’t for me. 

He would never be for me. 

I felt the sudden inexplicable urge to cry. 

Turning away, I began following my sister as she waved to me. . 

“I’ll be at your door at seven.” He called out behind me. 

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

[caltropspress]

FEEDBACK LOOP #7: Curly Castro’s “Weapon 13X” featuring Breeze Brewin

There was a very old man, an old white man out in the crowd, and he started screaming and crying like a baby and he kept crying and he said, “God damn, God damn, what is this God damn country coming to that the niggers have got guns, the niggers are armed and the police can’t even arrest them!” He kept crying and somebody led him away through the crowd.

—Robert F. Williams, Negroes with Guns (1962)

Gun flash beats the child’s head in, maniac teeth dance in a bloody grin blue lies, badge confessions, yng dude dead just beyond his mama’s arms

—Amiri Baraka, “Stop Killer Cops”

Police said Cleaver and Hutton were holed up at 1218 28th Street with two 9 mm automatic pistols, two AR-15 and one military-type M-14 automatic rifle, and a large supply of ammunition, some armor-piercing.

—Berkeley Barb, Volume 6, Number 15, Issue 139

1.

“Weapon 13X” is a diptych. Two verses; one pivot—or volta, for you bookworms. Curly Castro is first with a séance that summons the mysteries of Clarence 13X and Weapon X. These nullified variables and Roman numerals come together in an elixir mix so potent that it would make Aes Rock choke on the amalgam. Castro opens the fission gate and discharges two-hundred forty thousand mega-therms on the city of brotherly love, the city of bombs from above onto a 6221 Osage Avenue row house. Shameek just got bust in his arm, leg, leg, arm, head. The Black man is God personified, and Logan is regenerative. Adamantium claws. Mathematical jaws. Science dropped and experiments performed. Spark this like metal does when dragged across concrete.

2.  “Harriet would grab her balls, / This my gun, and this my rifle.”

Harriet Tubman gets cast by Kubrick for Full Metal Jacket, recites the Rifleman’s Creed, but it was actually a pistol she kept buried within the folds of her calico. She sallied forth seeing visions from the overseer’s heave of a weight—made her skull snap. Don’t sleep. “When the caliber’s inside you,” you can’t necessarily count on “the muzzle smoke revival.”

3.

Quelle Chris provides production, lest we forget his 2019 Guns album with its Dada-bullet, double-barreled barrage album art. The title track armed to the teeth: “Ain’t no cracking that code, / Ain’t no safety on locks, / Might as well get you one, / Procrastinating will get you popped.” The machine gun funk outs finks and COINTELPRO cooperators, conspirators, dispiriters. Here, Castro’s got those same turncoats and sucker MCs in his sights, so to speak.

4.  [The oppressor] teaches the Negro that he has no worth-while past, that his race has done nothing significant since the beginning of time, and that there is no evidence that he will ever achieve anything great. (Carter Godwin Woodson, The Mis-Education of the Negro, 1933)

Castro makes a promise, provoked by those who came before him, those who brandished firearms in the faces of their enemies:

We never will disarm: these are the lies that you were sold, When your glory tripped up, you trade your weapons in for gold. With Yakub in the schools, trade your dreams, knowledge folds. Found the tome, Mis-Education Negroes…

Dr. Yakub sloshing liquids in the lab—Bunsen burners explode and the lab leak is viral whiteness. Tricknology replaces Biology. Castro is looking back while moving forward. “Doomed to repeat it”-type forewarnings. He knows the ledge and also wants his people to.

5.

aim     get your sights & its sound in abstract or journal movements to a peace settlement

dude shot my man

dead,          precious lord blow off theres no willy in th blues theres no you.

—from Tom Weatherly’s Maumau American Cantos (1970)

Castro is a “gunhand, cybernetic with spray cans, / Basquiat, baklava, Mau Mau.” That’s likely an intentional malaprop—surely his militant stance calls for a balaclava. Even still, Castro doesn’t stutter. He will still sh-sh-shift his voice on you—the dynamics of his delivery raise stakes and get guttural, scraping against sewer plates. He’s potent, even if Basquiat’s pistol appears flaccid with its hand-scrawled linework. In another piece, Basquiat starts the decolonization process at the point of a safari helmet. The image detonates.  

6.  Free country? Man, I should fuck you up for sayin’ that stupid shit alone.

“This film is a call to racial violence!” a film critic shouted at Roger Ebert after a screening of Do the Right Thing. She worried Bed-Stuy would set fire to theaters, but Lee’s 1989 film wasn’t The Rite of Spring in Paris in 1913. An amerikan psychotic turn to theater violence would be postponed until Aurora in 2012, and it would be white violence, which would come as a shock to none who have tracked the trajectory of white violence. Displacement is white violence, too. White violence is a sine qua non for gentrification. And so Castro allies himself with “Buggin’ Out battle brownstone houses, some Bird fans, / While Mookie turns the radio up and launched the trashcan.”

7.  “We are the weapons.”

Of late, Castro has consistently been proving you’re out your depth, with verses so allusive they suggest a strong “Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith, nobody blink. / They don’t now who the fuck that is” vibe. So what, though? At this point, Castro’s a vet, an elder. The youngins need to catch up or cash out. Get KRS-One bookish, kiddies, or be left behind. Be the weapon or never prosper. Create your own mythos: “Omega built a mother by the sun and Cyclops sent / a blurred Baraka poem capable to raise the dead. / Yet instead I use the sword...”—with Wu-Tang pronunciation of the w in “sword,” of course. History moves backwards and forwards at the same time. Language is lost and recovered. The poem is “blurred” because it’s been duplicated on a mimeograph—a machine that involves a “drum.” The words are ink-smudged. Baraka’s former partner, Diane di Prima, shouted, “"Power to the people's mimeo machines!” Accuse and attack, Baraka sloganeered. We’re talking about agency—by hand-crank, handgun, or mic check.

8.

Castro creates imagery like Emory Douglas did with paint: painfully bold and saturated with color like blood soaks clothes. Baraka called Douglas’s art a combo of “expressionist agitprop and homeboy familiarity,” which applies to what Castro does on the track. I quote Mao who called literature and art “part of the whole proletarian revolutionary cause,” and Mao quotes Lenin who called lit and art the “cogs and wheels in the whole revolutionary machine.” And Baraka also said Douglas’s work:

functioned as if you were in the middle of a rumble and somebody tossed you a machine pistol. It armed your mind and demeanor. Ruthlessly funny, but at the same time functional as the .45 slugs pouring out of that weapon.

The Panthers were trapped and tear-gassed in a West Oakland basement. Eldridge Cleaver told Bobby to go out naked—unarmed as the day he was born not quite eighteen years earlier—but he emerged from the burning house fully dressed, with dignity, and he was searchlighted and shotshotshotshotshotshotshot dead.

Castro needs Brewin to make the cypher complete—a two-man killarmy using loud words in quiet wars, no silencer.

9.  “Before blurting out, try analysis, brother.”

Breeze’s Yo, listen… at the start of his verse is comparable to Sir Thomas Wyatt intoning Whoso list to hunt… to begin his 16th-century sonnet. The amalgam here is less Five Percenter plus clandestine government experimentation and more a deconstruction of the both violent and sexualized language of braggadocio. “Anything you say isn’t played like Miranda Rights,” and so we’re already with our hands behind our backs, silenced by an pig officer’s gag order. The competition doesn’t get played; they play themselves.

Sir Thomas Wyatt sets it off like so:

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, But as for me, hélas, I may no more. The vain travail hath wearied me so sore, I am of them that farthest cometh behind. Yet may I by no means my wearied mind Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow.

Breeze has wanted to stay pleasant to the ears—you know, like Lauryn Hill phone sexing—so this isn’t new territory but rather a well-worn path. Wyatt’s wearied and “so sore” by “the hunt,” the pursuit of his love interest, even though he knows “where is an hind.” Still, “as she fleeth afore / Fainting [he] follows.” He can’t help himself.

Love is lost within violent pursuit. Breeze speaks of a “plan to strike” and “zero in” on a “target,” his quarry. He and Castro are “talking about broads often, no doubt, / We broad and burly as hell, / Brag about the hunt, you was jukin’ a girly gazelle.” Breeze’s assault is dizzying, a salvo from all angles: “Hit ’em with some counter clay rebuttals that’s subtle but still befuddle if dude slow.”

10.  “It’s nothin’, I gotcha, and that’s word to Super Lover Cee.”

Super Lover Cee and Casanova Rud’s 1988 single “Girls I Got ’Em Locked” articulates the carceral embrace of “locking” a girl down, which—consequently—requires violence to enforce: “Don’t ever touch a girl owned by me or I’ll ruin ya’, / Slap you with my mic simultaneously as I’m doin’ ya.” The girl is commodified, and Super Lover Cee takes a proprietary attitude toward the relationship. If you overstep, you’ll be ruined, that is, you’ll fall. And while you’re prostrate, you’ll be slapped with the phallic mic simultaneously. Is the Super Lover doin’ her or you, though? What’s truly getting him off? That hypermasculine posturing skews homoerotic. Breeze Brewin laughs at you for subscribing to the nonsense: “Dag, if that was what you believe then your world be a hell.”

11.

Liberal discourse suggests policing your impulses. Put down the gun—don’t touch it. “Touchy subjects,” like racism (apparently), get the “We need to have a conversation” treatment. Look, don’t touch. Don’t touch the exhibit of stolen artifacts—those Benin bronzes in the British Museum. Beneath the topic of orignoo gunn clapping, Curly Castro’s track is about the x’s and o’s of eros as well. Many gestures meant to protect women are merely some other man staking his claim, adorning her with “diamonds in letters plain,” as Wyatt writes of the collar around the deer’s “fair neck.” Wyatt’s sonnet warns against overstepping (or even half-stepping). The collar reads Noli me tangere (touch me not)—she belongs to someone else. It’s a bad touch example. Like his fellow Indelible J-Treds, Breeze Brewin is the living circle-circle-dot-dot: nobody can touch him.

12.

Let’s bring it back to Little Bobby Hutton. When Eldridge Cleaver told him to leave the ambushed basement naked, he was thinking of Bobby’s safety. He thought the extreme measure of appearing on the street without clothes would be enough to convince the pigs he wasn’t armed. Cleaver was naïve to think so. Bobby Hutton was right to emerge clothed. In doing so, he rejected the indignity of the auction block, the lynching, the mutilation and spreading of souvenir flesh. The searchlight made Bobby Hutton the subject of a spectacle, yes, but he refused to consent to the psychosexual desires of white supremacy. He refused the castration ritual. Little Bobby Hutton, in effect, threw down a challenge to the cops: Use your imagination once again. Try to think of a few situations where your own weapon might be used against you…used against you…used against you.

Images:

Emory Douglas, The Black Panther, Vol. IV, No. 78, 1971 (detail) | Weapon X (detail, issue unknown) | Emory Douglas, Rat Subterranean News (1970) | Harriet Tubman with gun sketch | Anti-Mau Mau British propaganda poster | Newspaper headline from Negroes with Guns | Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (date unknown) | Jean-Michel Basquiat, Native Carrying Some Guns, Bibles, and Amorites on Safari (1982) | Screenshot from Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989) | Two images from the Berkeley Barb, Volume 6, Number 15, Issue 139 (1968) | Emory Douglas, The Black Panther (miscellaneous poster) | Medieval depiction of the hunt (unknown) | Image detail from the Berkeley Barb, Volume 6, Number 15, Issue 139 (1968)

[your-turn-to-role]

new opinions of the cerberus assembly (etgw spoilers!!)

somewhat inspired by the conversations the other day, bc it’s reminded me i have a lot to say about these motherfuckers

let’s start with the obvious:

Master Trent Ikithon, Archmage of Civil Influence (Chaotic Evil Human)

Book Text: [Trent is respected as the acclaimed Propagandist of the empire and the third oldest member of the assembly. Once an instructor at the Soltryce Academy, he only returns every few years to collect young students for his experiments in the mental conditioning that he calls “awakening.” Many of these students go mad and are locked away, but those who endure become zealots for the assembly and join the Volstrucker, an elite group of arcane thugs commonly known as Scourgers, who perform the assembly’s dirtiest work under Trent’s direction.]

Most of this we knew. I hate this guy. Though, as a point of interest - Caleb’s for sure not the first person this has happened to. They account for a certain number of aspiring Volstrucker never completing the program, Caleb was just another statistic. Which means somewhere in Vergessen is a lot of other people with the same backstory who never managed to escape. That’s, something worth looking into, maybe.

Martinet Ludinus Da’leth, Archmage of Domestic Protections (Lawful Evil Elf)

[Ludinus is the oldest and only original member of the assembly, as well as the master of warfare and conflict. Charged with overhauling the military structure of the Dwendalian Empire, Ludinus directed the construction of the garrisons on the Xhorhasian border and often oversees their maintenance. He was one of the mages who survived the destruction of Molaesmyr and fled to Bysaes Tyl, but he saw the opportunity to achieve greatness within the empire and left his culture behind to continue his arcane pursuits. Wise, if emotionless, he bears a deep hatred for the Kryn Dynasty and spares no effort gathering information on their weaknesses and secrets. Ludinus spends most of his time developing arcane weapons of war and shoring up the military might of the empire, while subtly challenging the leadership of Crown Marshal Damurag.]

This guy’s old. That's the scariest thing about him really. Like, this guy's been in the empire since it was half its current size. This guy saw the destruction of Molaesmyr, and knew many of its residents. But he also rejected that society, purely for his own ends. He's at least 400 years old, more likely at least 500, and for the past 3-4 centuries has been focusing entirely on magic and warfare. That's a long time to hone those skills. Ludinus may say it's hard to compare power in the Assembly, but if I had to pick one of them for an end game boss, it would be him, no question. Trent's more of a wild card, sure, but he's only like 60, 70 years old. He's a baby compared to Da'leth. Keep an eye on this dude, and under no circumstances trust him.

Lady Vess de Rogna, Archmage of Antiquity (Neutral Evil Half-Elf)

[A public recluse for most of her life, Vess is both a brilliant mage and dedicated historian. She assumed this post after replacing her criminal predecessor, Lady Delilah Briarwood. As an instructor at the Soltryce Academy for over two decades, Vess has studied and unraveled a number of historical mysteries and pre-Calamity riddles — and hoarded some of the spoils for herself. Always eager to pursue forgotten lore and artifacts of eons past, Vess has been known to quietly vanish to Xhorhas for weeks at a time, returning with fewer guards and more uncovered secrets.]

Canon confirmation that this is who took over from Delilah Briarwood, and from what we’ve seen, they’re rather similar people. They're both scientists and historians, ruthlessly efficient, far more concerned with what they can learn and what they can do than what's good or safe for those around them. Liable to be found breaking the law in the name of science and progress. At least Vess has lasted longer than her predecessor.

Headmaster Oremid Hass, Archmage of Cultivation (Lawful Neutral Earth Genasi)

[The current headmaster of the Hall of Erudition in Zadash, Oremid is tasked with watching and grooming the next generation of mages and arcane specialists outside Rexxentrum. While he himself is a gentle soul who adores animals, he puts on the façade of a strict man with no sense of humor, which is further enhanced by the elemental influence of his earth genasi blood. He teaches students that failure is not an option, and that emotion is a barrier to one’s true ability. Equally feared, respected, and privately loathed by the students (and some instructors), Oremid personally dismisses those who break under his school’s curriculum and heaps joyous praise on those who endure their training.]

So, I've had teachers like this. And they stick in your mind, because, even a decade later, I still have a hard time getting over their instilled fear of failure. I can believe that, in general terms, Oremid's not a terrible person. I think he looks the other way on a lot of things, which precludes him from ever qualifying as good in my books, but he hasn't committed any major acts of torture or murder himself. Still though. You don't teach like that if you view your students as people. You teach like that if you view your students as potential assets. So like.... not as bad as some of his colleagues. Potentially someone they could work with if they had to. But still probably someone to stay away from.

Headmaster Zivan Margolin, Archmage of Conscription (Lawful Neutral Human)

[Zivan Margolin inherited the position of headmaster from his father, the late Jorma Margolin. Zivan has been the headmaster of the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum for nearly twenty years. Calm, patient, and quietly imposing, Zivan walks the halls of the Academy with a keen eye for talent. He is in charge of the curriculum and also watches for any latent powers that may be worth grooming as future allies of the assembly, dangers to be monitored, or prospective minds for Ikithon to conscribe into the Volstrucker. Zivan has rarely had the opportunity to demonstrate his full power, for he is typically busied with keeping the peace between the feuding members of the assembly. Those who have witnessed his true might, however, now know that his words are backed by some of the most powerful magics within the Cerberus Assembly.]

I think @lostsometime said it best, having the archmage of conscription be in charge of your elite magic school really sums up everything wrong with the empire. Like, if that's out in the open, your problems are unfixable. Get a new government. Jeez.

Master Doolan Tversky, Archmage of Dysology (Chaotic Neutral Gnome)

[The second-oldest member of the assembly, Doolan is in charge of the study and understanding of abnormal creatures and deviants of arcane creation that might threaten the empire’s way of life. She is an absentminded yet brilliant gnome who is obsessed with all beasts, aberrations, and creatures of legend. Doolan imports creatures from around the world to study, disassemble, and use in her attempts to revolutionize magical practices. She resents the Library of the Cobalt Soul, as her reputation has caused them to bar her from their facilities. She wishes to catalog the unstudied horrors of Xhorhas and has covertly obtained the services of the Myriad to retrieve new specimens.]

Now, Doolan is fascinating to me, not because I think she's a good person, but because she's just so delightfully weird. She's probably done some evil as fuck shit but she's also a gremlin of a gnome who loves weird fucked up arcane experiments and magical meteors that created eldritch ducks and all sorts of bizarre things like that. I'd love to see more of her, because there's always room in fantasy stories for more weird morally ambiguous old ladies who are banned from libraries on the grounds of "is about as likely to eat the books as she is to read them" and "last time we let her in here she somehow combined five forbidden rituals and created a new species of demon that haunts the halls of the rexxentrum archive spreading toxic slime everywhere and we can't figure out what it wants or how to make it go away".

Lord Athesias Uludan, Archmage of Diplomatic Union (Neutral Good Human)

[Athesias’s charm and bombastic personality serve him well as a diplomat. His duty is to foster a positive relationship with people of power both within and beyond the borders of the empire. He was originally one of the most effective instructors at the Soltryce Academy, but his penchant for spectacle and his rampant narcissism made him a difficult ally to trust with state secrets. When the office of Diplomatic Union opened, he was quickly and quietly reassigned. Athesias finds great pleasure in ruining or usurping the plans of his counterpart in the Crown’s employ, Emissary Lord Zeddan Graf.]

We’ve talked a bit about Uludan already - the Gilderoy Lockhart of the group for sure. Though I’m sure he has layers to him, so I’d be interested to find out what exactly they are.

And, saving the most interesting for last,

Baroness Jenna Iresor, Archmage of Industry (True Neutral Doppelganger)

[One of the younger members of the assembly, Jenna is known for her business acumen and her extravagant lifestyle. By hiding her nature as a doppelganger and using memory-altering magics at a young age to fabricate a false past, Jenna constructed her human persona from the ground up, leveraging her powers of deception to essentially write herself into history as a Clovis Concord expatriate. She helps oversee central guild business in Rexxentrum under Guildmaster Kai Arness, and helps Exchequer Aethia Drooze organize the collection of tithes through starostas across the empire.]

I am, insanely curious about how a doppelganger ended up in the Cerberus Assembly. She’s definitely ambitious for sure, doppelgangers already have a fair bit of innate magic - they’re natural shapeshifters and have a fair amount of psychic powers (like reading minds of anyone who happens to be near them), but to get here she had to be extremely committed. Which means she probably has plans for this position, or had plans that she’s already put into motion. Very interested what those are, especially for the archmage of industry.

[momo-de-avis]

tell me more about millais and the whole "steal ur wife and have a happy marriage with her lmaoo" and the whole pedo thing??? im intrigued

At the top of my head and very quickly without bothering myself with checking things online cause I’m a bit lazy sorry (though I’ve been over this story for quite a while, I trust my instinct)

When the Pre-Raphaelites appeared, they were the bad boys of London. Reasons:

1) Fucked around, mostly Rossetti

2) Broke academic rules by painting in excruciating and vivid details that weren’t possible with the naked eye (like Holman Hunt painted every single blade of the grass—your eye can’t see it unless you stare closely at it, so academically, that was ugly)

3) Used redheaded women as models. Now, Victorians were absolute fucking lunatics, but the ideal beauty to them was some corpse-looking Morticia Adams. Black hair and pale skin, was top notch. Blonde, blue-eyed beauty came second, probably. What mattered was the pale skin. It was a trend among Victorian women to paint purple and blue veins to look as dead as possible because the frailty of women in a society that told they literally were good for nothing except breeding was the Latest Trend. Redheads, however, were considered cursed. Case in point: the greatest pre-raphaelite muse, Lizzie Siddal: she was not only a red-head, but her skin was also darker than most prefered. Not that she was anything but a white woman, just not white enough to look like you were already flirting with tuberculosis and ready to die fashionably at 40 (though Lizzie was famous for being constantly sick and bedridden. And addicted to Laudanum, like a good Victorian).

4) Basically what gave them the name: PRE-raphaelite. To explain quickly: academic painting privileged the art that resembled Raphael's paintings: harmonious, made of volumes through precise shadowing, mannerist in its style. Line and drawing prevailed above colour. This is linked to formalism so I’m just gonna wrap it up quickly: drawing was considered the intellectual form of art (because in the 16th century people were like ‘oh, astronomy is a science!’ and 'oh, mathematics is a science!’ and people were like, 'well shit, we gotta find a reason to call arts a science too’ and the Renaissance worked that out by explaining that drawing was basically a form of science. Take Da Vinci). The Pre-raphaelites said: fuck that noise, and privileged colour. They used techniques to brighten their paintings (like a layer of white paint applied to the canvas before they applied the preliminary drawing, which made the colours stand out, and then finished it off with wax varnish, which makes it glow. If you ever see a PR painting live, note just how vivid it is. It looks like it’s never gonna wear off, it’s incredible). So with this, they basically said the Royal Academy was a bunch of piss babies who knew jack shit about painting (the accusation of being dumbasses included).

5) …but to be that guy, you had to LIVE the life. So, if you privilege medieval thinking, lifestyle and theology, what you gotta do? BE that medieval knight Victorians thought were oh so Chivalric. Again, famously, Lizzie Siddal is known to be the bad girl of this revival: she refused to wear crinoline and whatever shit the Victorian ladies wore. She wore loose dresses, no corsets and overall dressed like the engravings on Tennyson’s Idylls of the King. She was actually lauded for her commitment like, even Ruskin at one point saw Rossetti as a piss baby rock star wannabe who never finished his shit, but this girl? She committed.

So you see, when these guys popped up, Victorians scowled. BADLY.

But they knew that, to conquer the hearts of promiscuous dandies and hypocritical high-society, laudanum-ridden, arsenic-eating uptight douches and douchesses, they had to get to the loins of one man: most important art critic of his time, single-handedly responsible for elevating William Turner to the True Genius of English Painting: John Ruskin.

Now, just WHO was John Ruskin?

First of all, this little shit was overtly religious. Protestant kind, so you know what you’re in for. This guy studied Turner back and forth, knew everything about him, wrote extensively of his genius and was responsible, as I said, to consecrate him to the memory of British sea painting. Except he purposefully left a bit out, one particular episode of Turner’s life that, to Ruskin’s mind, would ruin his reputation.

Turner was a freak. My man has ENDLESS erotic drawings that go from curious artist look into the Vagina from full-blown pre-victorian porn. And Ruskin kept it all locked away inside his drawer.

The thing was, Ruskin was brought up surrounded by art. This guy looked at Roman statues of women, with their perfectly waxed peepees and toned arms supporting perky breasts and DEAD ASS though this was what women looked like.

So he married Effie Gray, a woman in everything respectable, a prosperous marriage for the good ol’ Victorian lady and dude.

And for the next five years of their marriage proceeded to REFUSE to even touch her.

When the pre-raphaelites pop up, Ruskin attends their very first exhibition and writes them a glowing review. Immediately they go from nut-heads to pop stars. But among them all, it was clear that it was John Everett Millais who was the most talented. So Ruskin took him under his wing.

His first assignment was: paint my portrait. But the pre-raphaelites did something the British academics didn’t: to paint nature, they went outside and painting the motif by looking directly at it. And Ruskin, who praised this mode of making art, had in mind the precise spot he wanted to be painted on: a waterfal or some shit in Scotland, where he owned a cottage.

This cottage was not big. It was actually rather small—you know, in pretending-to-be-a-peasant-is-so-much-fun! victorian fashion. And what does this absolute buffoon does? He invites Millais and his wife Effie in to paint his portrait.

Now I want you to imagine this woman, who has been pushing down 5 years of Horny, putting up with this dude’s shit, enclosed in a tight space with this man—who was older than herself—and incidentally, a handsome looking young fella who paints nicely.

I insist on this thing that Ruskin didn’t touch his wife because he thought women looked like statues because he actually told her. He told her he found her repulsive because—what do you know!!! The peepee’s got some pubic hair! And women menstruate! And like, we’re real fucking things, not Pygmalion's wet dream forged over and over again! She actually wrote a letter to her father detailing this (if you watch the show Desperate Romantics, the scene were Effie confesses this to Millais, the actress is actually reciting this letter word for word).

So when they return to London after the painting is done, they just… Fall in love. I mean, shit, what was she supposed to do?

The face of a man who doesn’t know he’s about to be shit-whipped by his pupil, painted by none other than his protegée, this same pupil.

But remember: no matter what Victorian fangirls say, and whatever that Victorian TV show tries to show you, this society was absolute utter shit for women. Effie Grey presented an annulment proposal to her marriage, and society collapsed on her. She was actually blamed for the fact that Ruskin wouldn’t consummate the marriage. And because she had grown quite close to Millais, she had to prove before the entirety of Victorian society that she was a virgin. Oh, yes. It’s what you’re thinking.

Those open-your-legs-wide-and-let-me-insert-this-not-at-all-friendly-looking-metal-utensil-up--your-private-canal-to-prove-you-are-a-virgin. This, mind you, was back then as utterly humiliating as it sounds now, and to make matters worse, Mr. I-only-fuck-clean-shaven-pussy claimed she was mentally unstable.

Either way: annulment conceded, and she married John Everett Millais. The two went on to a lifelong of fucking and 8 children. Check Millais’ painting Peace Concluded and tell me those two idiots did not die happy together.

I kid you not: until Millais’ death, Effie was socially ostracized. She was even barred from being present in social events where Queen Victoria was, proclaimed by the Queen herself (because remember kids! Victorian society absolutely sucked because it was none other than our favourite imperialist who made it so!) even after she ordered Millais the first Laureate painter. It was only when Millais was dying that in his death bed he BEGGED to lift that stupid shit and she conceded. I just honestly believe Effie didn’t give a shit at this point, because my girl was happy.

So, you ask, what happened to Ruskin?

Don’t think he got off easy lmao. He had his own demise. He wasn’t seen with good eyes after the whole annulment debacle. But of course, being the pissy adult he was, he had to make things worse.

Enter Rose de La Touche.

You see, Rose de la Touche was Ruskin’s pupil. She is, as far as we can tell from his writings, the only woman he ever called attractive and revealed to be attracted to her. When, you ask?

When she was fucking 9 years old, the first time he met her.

He became tutoring her when she was 14. At this point, this ugly ass vulture was way past his 40s. Rose’s parents actually made it worse if my mind doesn’t fail me, but I’m not certain so I won’t address them. Either way, he pretty much groomed her and she grew infatuated with him. He actually made plans to marry her once she turned like, 18 or something, like a good pedo.

The only reason Rose didn’t marry Ruskin? Effie Gray stepped in. Not that she was that interested in what was to happen. The thing was, the reason for the annulment was that Ruskin was impotent, and if he fucked a healthy girl and she got pregnant, she’d be in the shits. But either way, I think it was easy given that he was like 40 years older or some shit. Rose actually declined to marry because she wanted the marriage to be unconsummated, but this time around, ya big Pedo declined! I wonder why was it so easy the first time, and so hard now that he found himself a neat little child to corrupt, right?

At some point, even fucking Rossetti intervened. Now, Rossetti was the rock star of his time: he fucked everything that moved, he got into affairs with the wives of his pupils while Lizzie lingered between life and death at his home, and it took him some 9 years to finally keep his promise to Lizzie and marry her ass. He was the last person you’d expect to say a thing. But you know you’ve fucked up and that you’re a perverted piece of shit when THIS IS THE GUY who steps in to say 'hey, Ruskin, big fan, but you really gotta tone it down cause even I’m not a pedo, pal’.

Now listen: yeah, there’s a lot of speculation about Ruskin’s 'love affair’ with Rose de La Touche. Did he really fall in love with her when she was 9? We don’t know. We don’t care either, because it doesn’t make him any less a fucking pedo. Like, yeah, good art critic, nice theory on the whole Modern Painting book, but this dude had some serious issues.

And there you go

[ghoultyrant]

FoZ Notes 20

Here we go. We’re really getting into Elves and the larger state of the world now!

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

Somehow Derflinger was fully aware of everything that happened to Saito after the prior swordbody broke. He refuses to talk further on the whole "Gandalfr/Sasha using me to stab Brimir through the heart" thing because Sad.

Tiffania continuing to have self-esteem problems. Dammit. Can we go back to Badass Line Tiffania?

An island (kinda) known as the Dragon's Nest, a bizarre mass of pillars of stone sticking randomly out of the ocean. Luctiana has a friend who lives here. It used to be a volcano, but not anymore. Oh wait the buddy lives somewhere underwater. Luctiana apparently expects Tiffania and Saito to just be able to hold their breath for the whole dive, but when they object she rolls her eyes and casts a spell that lets them temporarily breathe underwater because of course such a spell exists. Oh and she makes Derflinger temporarily rustproof, because of course.

Said waterbreathing spell apparently turns water into air as it enters the throat. That... sounds really miserable, actually, but the story treats that as a perfectly good explanation with no unpleasant implications whatsoever.

Turns out Luctiana's friend is inside one of the pillars. Said friend? A massive Water Dragon called Mother Sea. She's actually a Rhyme Dragon because of fucking course. Dark silver scales that look blue at a glance somehow. Coral horns. Rhyme Dragons live long enough that Mother Sea's grandmother was a little girl six thousand years ago.

Mother Sea asserts that Rhyme Dragons have accepted they're going extinct so, like, whatever man. 's all cool dude. Bizarrely, she talks about God's will instead of, you know, the Great Purpose. And even though she keeps referring to Brimir as The Devil.

Wait, Luctiana is asserting 'barbarians' have no sense of shame in regards to kissing? Goddammit, she introduced herself completely naked and soaking wet! This isn't even cultural difference stuff with deliberate irony. This is just shit writing.

Finally get explicit confirmation that Shaitan's Gate/Devil's Door is the same place Halkeginians call the Holy Land. Derflinger alludes to a "Teleportation Gate", which is probably the same thing. I can already see the writing on the wall: whatever idiocy I'm imagining now regarding the Gate, canon will trump it.

There's a, what, third kind of Water Dragon? It gets compared to both eels and crocodilians. And it's a dumb, aggressive creature. You know, like Saito.

Derflinger just... talking underwater, ain't no thang. I... can't really criticize it (It’s not like he’s got vocal chords or whatever) but I still don't like it.

Submarine hidden in the sea nearby Dragon's Nest. Nuclear sub, specifically. And somehow Saito's Weapon Feedback Bullshit allows Derflinger to know that its power source is 'particles banging into other particles'. aaaargh

To no one's surprise except Saito (because he's retarded) the nuclear sub has nuclear weaponry. Shocking.

Oh my fucking god Luctiana ALSO has a spell for allowing people to talk underwater. (The quality gets compared to a shoddy radio)

For a minute there I thought the author was going to be quasi-intelligent and have Saito consider threatening the Elves by firing the nuke from the submarine. There'd be a lot of problems with this idea, but they're manageable, particularly when you consider that Colbert is a TinkerSpark. But noooo, Saito has looted the thing -because nuclear ICBMs are very small and lightweight, you see- and is thinking to himself how he can threaten the Elves via manually detonating the thing. This is insanely stupid nonsense, quite literally suicidal, and if he has to get close to detonate the thing they can just, you know, wreck the nuke -nukes aren’t even something that detonates explosively when shocked or something! This is just a bad plan on every level I can think of.

Supposedly the familiar summoning spell's words don't matter, only the feeling "in your heart". I have manifold issues with this claim, particularly since it's being introduced out of nowhere to justify Tiffania performing the summoning when the story finally feels like having it actually happen.

Oh my fucking god we FINALLY got a kind of explanation for Tiffania having a Ring of Andvari! Only ten volumes too late! Still no explanation for how she knew how to use the damn thing, though. Oh, and Elf Mom died by lol throwing herself in front of Tiffania when a knight tried to kill Tiffania. Yeah. Sure. THAT makes sense for an all-powerful wargod (ie an FoZ Elf) to do, as opposed to... casting Counter, or making the knight's head explode, or whatever.

Seriously fuck this author.

Elven council meeting room... is at the top of the tower? That's not what we were told last volume. [I seem to have lost almost all my notes from last volume on the Elves? Not sure how that happened. You’re not missing much, though]

"Steed-blooded party", an Elven political faction. They seem to be the Elven version of ultraconservative Catholics. Bidashal hates them.

As is typical of Japanese fiction, political leaders just don't want any fuckups happening on their watch so that nobody can blame them for said fuckups. So the Elven council is a bunch of people who don't want to do anything because they might get blamed if things don't work perfectly.

Bidashal is the Chairman of the Barbarian Countermeasures Committee.

For some reason, the Elves A: know Luctiana brought Saito to the Dragon's Nest and B: find this utterly horrifying. [The second bit actually kind of makes sense later. The first bit is never explained or justified]

Turuk is the current head of the Elven council. He's an old man in the same mold as Osmond, though so far not perverted, just a drunkard... wait a second. Osmond is supposed to be OLD, when we're introduced to him! Like possibly over two centuries old! I think the author entirely forgot about that, given how the story has been talking about Halkeginian and Elven ages for volumes unending.

Elves have a crime of "ethnic rebellion". It's unclear what it is, other than punishable with death. Really not selling me on this noble, peaceful Elves thing, here. The "Steel-bloodedparty" is all about killing traitors and 'devils', further undercutting said noble/peaceful thing. For that matter, the idea that they're wise and stuff is being undercut by how politicking for personal gain is occurring even though the Elves basically think they're on the verge of an apocalypse.

The Dragon's Nest apparently is where Earth crap gets dumped en mass by interdimensional shenanigans.

It's a super-duper secret that Shaitan's Gate connects to our Earth. 'Devils' seems to get used to mean Earth humans.

Elven "Nydus" Navy is made of "Dragon Whales". They look exactly like whales, but with scales. No, really, that's what the text says. I’m not mocking it here. I wish I was mocking it.

Fatima Hadat. A Steel-Blooded Party Elf woman with no practical combat experience but a drill sergeant's attitude anyway. She's trying to make up for an aunt's shameful behavior. Also Steel-Blooded Party members are Soviet Union people?? (Comrade etc etc all the time)

Mother Sea has been collecting the junk from Earth, thinking it's Halkeginian or Elven litter, basically.

Finally the story reveals that Dragon's Nest is Shaitan's Gate/the Holy Land. Credit where it's due: this makes perfect sense and I failed to figure it out before the story spelled it out. Six thousand years ago, this area was dry land.

Elves have rifling, Halkeginians... also have it, but nobles have suppressed it because they don't want peasantry getting good weapons. Eeeeeh. We also hear some nonsense about Halkeginian nobles believing weapons to be 'the path to evil'. Since when? And this is from the omniscient narrator, keep in mind, not some biased character where I could assume they’re just out of touch with the rest of their culture.

I just realized I'm halfway through this volume and Louise hasn't had ANY screentime. Would like to punch the author now.

Saito theorizing Derflinger has an Imp-style memory block Sasha put on him that prevents him from remembering things if they would threaten Elves. Sorry, no, shit explanation. A for effort, F for execution.

Random assertion from Derflinger that only 'skilled' Elves can use Counter. You know, that way we can justify Saito being able to win against Elves even though Louise is absent from the plot. Narratively-convenient construction strikes for the five millionth time! Don't think too hard about the fact that he's facing Elven soldiers who logically should be trained fighters, you'll just get an aneurysm and/or an all-consuming desire to murder the already-dead author.

Elves have Windstone-powered guns that work wet.

Oh. Here's the idiotic payoff of all this shit of Tiffania wanting to meet "Elves like her mother": her mom is Fatima's shame-bringing aunt, and Fatima recognizes her ring’s remains (Because remember, the Stone of Andvari part got used up) and gets pissed. sigh

WHAT the FUCK. Tiffania casting Summon Familiar SUMMONS FUCKING SAITO.

NO. THAT IS BULLSHIT. THIS IS THE FUCKING WORST.

YES IT'S BEING USED TO TURN SAITO INTO A FUCKING GODDAMN DOUBLEFAMILIAR KILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILL

Over with Vittorio he's talking with Julio about feeling bad about his lies: A, there is no 'device'. B, the Void ritual won't stop the Wind Stone Catastrophe. Sasha, the elf, was Gandalfr+other familiar six thousand years before Saito ARGHBLARGHLE THIS STORY IS SHIT

Now Julio is ALSO BECOMING A DOUBLEFAMILIAR BECAUSE HE'S AN EVEN BIGGER MARY SUE THAN SAITO MURDERVERYTHINGIT'STHEONLYWAY

Ominous dialogue implying it's somehow critically important to have the master/familiar folk die while in love with each other.

Elven airships are dragon-towed. The story pretends like this is a superior methodology to Halkeginian airships. Pffffff.

Utterly bullshit claim that Elves perform trade with Halkeginians, implied claim that Halkeginian nobles hate Elves but civilians aren't afraid of them or anything. So all that shit earlier of peasants thinking Elves are cannibals and so on? lol whatever man consistency is for, like, non-shit writers.

So remember how before there was a Germanian castle at the border of the Elf/Germanian border, in desert? Yeah, NOW there's "the Unexplored Lands", a vat region of forest and plains mostly occupied by demi-humans and separating Elven desert from Germanian land. Consistency is for losers lol!!! (Beastmen, ogres, and avianmen, specifically, not that this means much to the audience)

So you remember how alchemy/transmutation is the most basic of earth magics? Hahahahaha the author doesn't, asserting that Guiche is useless in an aerial battle because earth affinity lol.

Claim Elven airships have never lost to Halkeginian airships.

The Sahara has wild boars. I have no idea how plausible this is, so I’ll let it ago. Even if it is bullshit, it just does not rate compared to the whirling shitstorm of everything else going on.

This volume and the previous are implying there's a fair amount of language shenanigans occurring in the original Japanese. Stuff like Elf/people of the desert and Void/work of the devil being indicated to have been said via kanji shenanigans. I'm sort of disappointed at the evidence being that the unusual choice for desert Elves is probably just a pun that’s not surviving into English.

Urge to kill rising. Ali just saved Saito and Tiffania because... ostensibly because he's saving Luctiana and so he will need their help since saving her makes him a race traitor, but that's bullshit. It's just a super-thin way of ALMOST killing off Tiffania for DRAMA and then not having it stick. Fuck this writer.

Ali ALSO grabbed Fatima, because of fucking course.

So after making a big deal about that submarine [As in: Luctiana found the idea of an undersea boat just fucking unimaginable, and not in the “there’s no way barbarians have pulled that off!” sort of way, but in the “That’s not a thing anyone could possibly do!” sort of way] earlier... it turns out Elves have submarines based on having the Stupid Breed kind of Sea Dragon drag around an airfilled whatsit. This is fucking ridiculous, it's like the author has an active hatred of consistency and quality.

End volume.

--------

Aaaaand that's all she wrote.

Volume 21 is barely translated, and volume 22 isn't translated at all. So I'm done until such time as volume 21 gets translated.

This fucking series, goddamn.

So, since it's not gotten into by this point in the story, I went and used the Familiar of Zero wiki to look up what the fourth Familiar actually does: firstly, they can burn their life force to enhance their master's spells. Which. Why? The story has already established that people can do this with their own life force, why does it require a specific special familiar to be able to tap someone else's life force? Secondly, they can "stockpile spells" to "turn themselves into basically a bomb", whatever the wiki means by that.

Honestly, I'd forgive basically anyone for throwing it out entirely and replacing it with something more consistent with the other Void Familiars. Oh, and if I haven't mentioned it already, the name is Lífþrasir, supposed to be "the heart of God".

So. Yeah. I could see someone having coasted through the prior volumes, not thinking too hard and not noticing how the story is inconsistent nonsense, but holy fuck are we experiencing a sudden, extreme dip in quality. And the worst part is it looks like much of it was intended for a long time, so I don’t think I can blame this on whatever killed the author, if he like died of illness or something.

Fuck this series.

[chronotrek]

743. [VOY] Prophecy

SCORE:

(3/5 stars)

Voyager runs into an old D7-class Klingon cruiser, which opens fire on it. They're able to quickly disable the ancient vessel, and Janeway tries to explain to these Klingons that the Federation hasn't been their enemy in like a hundred years, but they've been traveling through the Beta and Delta quadrants for generations and missed that bit of news. Janeway invites Kohlar, the captain, aboard to demonstrate that they even have a Klingon officer aboard, and he agrees to meet B'Elanna. As soon as he sees that she is pregnant, he starts asking very specific questions about the child, and quickly returns to his ship.

Not long after the captain returns to his ship, its reactor core begins to breach and Voyager quickly beams over the entire crew, which outnumbers Voyager's own crew. The crew is rightly suspicious about the timing of this as they did not hit the Klingon ship very hard. Kohlar explains that they left five generations ago following the text of ancient scrolls to seek out a savior called the kuvah'magh. The Klingons believe that B'Elanna's unborn child is the kuvah'magh they have been seeking all these years.

Crew are having to double up accommodations to make room for their passengers, and Neelix becomes Tuvok's roommate over the Vulcan's annoyed objections. There's some cultural clashing going on, including a Klingon woman named Ch'Rega who has decided that Harry Kim will be her mate, regardless of his say in the matter. It's gross that it's played for laughs, the Doctor even writing Harry a note allowing him to have sex with an alien and suggesting it's his best option. But Neelix fortunately comes to the rescue and berates Harry in front of Ch'Rega, drawing her attention to him instead. Tuvok returns to his quarters to find they've been completely smashed in the wake of Klingon/Talaxian destructo-nookie.

Not all Klingons are buying into B'Elanna's child being the kuvah'magh, particularly because she's only a quarter Klingon. T'Greth, Kohlar's second-in-command, challenges Tom to a duel to the death believing him weak and unfit to be the father of the kuvah'magh. Tom accepts over B'Elanna's objections, but Janeway puts a stop to it, saying there will be no killing aboard her vessel, and T'Greth and Tom both agree to a non-lethal contest using blunted bat'leths instead. Tom makes a surprise win, but not due to his own skill. T'Greth begins to fall ill, succumbing to the nehret, an illness with unpredictable onset and terminal prognosis. The Doctor is able to identify it as a retrovirus, and notes that it is only contagious to Klingons. Unfortunately, that means both B'Elanna and her daughter have become infected.

T'Greth, using his last few days, goes to the Klingon council and tells them that B'Elanna and the fetus have been infected and thus cannot be the kuvah'magh. He believes their best course of option is to wait until Voyager reaches the planet selected, then take control of the ship and beam Voyager's crew down there, to take the ship for themselves and continue the search. Their attempt is action-packed and full of phaser fire, but they ultimately fail to fight off the bridge crew, including Tom Paris. T'Greth wakes up in sickbay, realizing he's not dead, and the Doctor explains that he was able to synthesize a cure using the fetus's hybrid human/Klingon stem cells. All the Klingons are now cured of the nehret. It turns out the baby was their savior after all. Before departing for the new world they have been led to by their prophecies, Kohlar gifts B'Elanna his great-grandfather's bat'leth. Tom and B'Elanna discuss the events in their quarters after she forbids Tom playing with the bat'leth, and wonder whether the prophecies were coincidental after all or if their daughter really is the kuvah'magh.

NITPICKS

I feel like it's a missed opportunity for the Klingons to look more like the Original Series Klingons since they come from that era. I'm not talking about no ridges, but the uniforms could have been a little more retro.

Janeway says to go to warp after they beam the Klingon crew over, but the establishing shot for the scene showed both vessels already at warp. Either there was a dropped line about them dropping out of warp, or the establishing shot was inaccurate.

The Doctor is awfully flippant about Harry being sexually harassed by a Klingon. "Lol getting raped by a Klingon is inevitable you just gotta go with it dude. Or kill her. Those are the options."

FAVORITE QUOTES

Neelix: We're bunkmates. Tuvok: There must be some mistake. Neelix: No, there's no mistake. I gave up my quarters to a Klingon family. By the time I checked with Commander Chakotay, you were the only one who hadn't been paired up. Tuvok: You should have consulted me. Neelix:We're such close friends, I knew you wouldn't mind. Tuvok: Mister Neelix, as much as I enjoy your company, I prefer solitude in my own quarters. Neelix: You don't really want me to go back there and tell that family to get out, do you? Good. Because I promise you we're going to have fun, Mister Vulcan. I learned some Klingon drinking songs. I'll teach them to you.

Torres: A group of Klingons ambushed me outside of Engineering. I decided transporting myself would be easier than running the gauntlet.

Kohlar: It is possible that the sacred scrolls were scrawled by a madman in a cave. Or perhaps they really were divinely inspired. Either way, they've guided us for over a century. If my people start to believe that the sacred scrolls have led them astray, there may be violence.

[sheilacwall]

hip hop isn’t dead.: Ice Cube

Somehow War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) is only the sixth solo album from rapper-slash-actor-slash-professional basketball league founder O’Shea “Ice Cube” Jackson. It feels like we’ve been discussing this motherfucker forever, or at least since 2007, right? Obviously the man has been doing a lot since his entrance into our chosen genre via N.W.A.: aside from his whole actor/writer/director side gig, he’s released compilations, been a part of multiple soundtrack releases, and even found time to create an entirely separate group, Westside Connection (alongside his protégée Mack 10 and his friend WC). But the man hasn’t ever truly stepped away from his solo career, which is part of the reason we’re talking about today’s subject.

War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Album) is the second half of a project that Cube conceived way back in the previous century (read: 1998). War & Peace, curiously named after the soft drink and not the Tolstoy doorstop, served as our host’s excuse to deliver the gangsta rap and social commentary he was best known for post-Jerry Heller, along with some attempts to construct a much broader audience through radio airplay, club bangers, cautionary tales, and skinny-dipping in the waters of different musical genres. Although for some reason I’m remembering this being announced as a double-disc effort, Ice Cube released the first volume, subtitled The War Disc, close to the Thanksgiving holiday in 1998, with The Peace Disc scheduled to follow soon after, as they were recorded and compiled at the same time.

The War Disc was met with mixed reviews, as Cube rested on his laurels a bit too much: there’s one song that is a direct sequel to one of his classic tracks, “Once Upon a Time In The Projects 2”; he leaned heavily on a younger artist signed to his label, Mr. Short Khop (who, interestingly enough, doesn’t appear on The Peace Disc at all); there’s a collaboration with motherfucking Korn called “Fuck Dying”. (Cube also appeared on Korn’s 1998 album Follow the Leader: both songs helped cue up the inaugural Family Values tour, which they were both headliners on.) But aside from a couple of tracks that played into his storytelling skills, The War Disc quietly vanished from rotation, leaving our host to retool the planned follow-up in an effort to course-correct.

War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc), the final album released under Cube’s deal with Priority Records, is definitely not what was already completed when The War Disc was released. For one, the very first track, “Hello”, is a collaboration with former N.W.A. bandmates MC Ren and Dr. Dre, a move which wouldn’t have happened in 1998, but made more sense in 2000 after N.W.A. officially reunited for a song off of the soundtrack for Cube’s Next Friday (and also after Dre released 2001, a blockbuster project that put him back on the map). In addition, the first single, “You Can Do It”, came from that same soundtrack and was Cube’s most popular radio hit since 1997’s “We Be Clubbin’”. So I get why he’d want to retool the project to capitalize on those strengths.

The Peace Disc vanished seemingly quicker than its predecessor, possibly due to the chart dominance of his friend Dr. Dre and Dre’s artist Eminem at the time. It did manage to sell over five hundred thousand units in the United States, but find me somebody who proudly has this one displayed in their collection. I dare you. I double dog dare you, motherfucker. Nobody gives a fuck about War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc), and I include Ice Cube in that description. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the album is entirely bad, so let’s peek under the hood and review this sucker.

1. HELLO (FEAT. DR. DRE & MC REN)

O’Shea hits the ground running, commissioning an N.W.A. reunion that is much more successful than their official comeback on the Next Friday soundtrack (“Chin Check”, for those of you keeping score). A simplistic Dr. Dre. prescription, which bangs, lays the groundwork for Dre, MC Ren, and our host Ice Cube to… complain about the current (as of 2000, anyway) state of hip hop like the elder statesmen they are: they have a specific grievance regarding not being credited for “start[ing] this gangsta shit” (which absolutely isn’t true, but regardless of who you think kicked off the sub-genre, the various members of N.W.A. are cited as influences all. The. Goddamn. Time. Maybe not Yella). As far as old dudes talking shit as though evolution in language and culture hadn’t ever occurred, Ren comes across as alright (his comment about lesbians not exactly homophobic but still iffy nevertheless), while Andre sticks with his “I’m rich, I don’t have to do shit” mentality. Thankfully, O’Shea tears through his verse with a ferocity he hasn’t displayed since Westside Connection’s Bow Down, and I say that even though the phase of his career where he insisted on nicknaming himself the “Don Dada” is still represented on here. So yeah, this was a success overall. Thank God, right? I mean, can you imagine two subpar late-period N.W.A. reunion tracks in a row?

2. PIMP HOMEO (SKIT)

I know Cube’s trying to be funny here, but this was bad. At least it wasn’t homophobic, though, as the title may have implied. Absolutely misogynistic, though.

3. YOU AIN’T GOTTA LIE (TA KICK IT) (FEAT. CHRIS ROCK)

Fairly confusing, as “You Ain’t Gotta Lie (Ta Kick It”) isn’t really the love rap sort-of promised by the preceding skit. O’Shea spits his boasts-n-bullshit, which, interestingly enough, include proclamations of being a great father, while guest Chris Rock threatens to undermine the entire operation with his contributions to the hook. The concept isn’t set up well enough for this three-man production (this was credited to former Bad Boy Hitman Chucky Thompson along with Rich Nice and Loren Hill) to make any fucking sense, as Cube isn’t really hitting on anyone as much as he’s offering up facts about himself as though he recorded his bars while standing behind a podium, while Rock tries to come up with the most ridiculous lies during the hook. Dude is kind of amusing toward the end, but overall this shit was a misfire. It was good while it lasted, though.

4. THE GUTTER SHIT (FEAT. JAYO FELONY, GANGSTA, & SQUEAK RU)

LOL there’s a rapper named Gangsta? Have we officially used up all of the words? Anywhoozle, our host envisioned “The Gutter Shit” as a collaboration with like-minded West Coast artists, but could only convince Jayo Felony and two other no-names to commit, and my Lord does this Cube- and T-Bone-produced aural interpretation of a sad face emoji suuuuuuuuuck. The two artists on here that you’ve never heard of before or since seem excited enough for the opportunity but flounder when called upon, while Jayo is terrible as always. But the true loser here is our host, who somehow found the time to contribute two awful verses that wouldn’t even be stocked in the same type of store as the gutter shit he was once capable of. And what the fuck is with that reference to the previous track?

5. SUPREME HUSTLE

There is no planet within our galaxy where Ice Cube could have honestly believed that “Supreme Hustle” was a song good enough to make War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc). My guess is that the production trio from “You Ain’t Gotta Lie (Ta Kick It)” had called in a collective Make-A-Wish, as this elementary excursion into simplistic rap boasting is embarrassing as shit to listen to. At least our host sticks with his theme: each of the three verses places emphasis on “I”, “you”, and “we”, respectively. But there is no hustle to be found on here, and O’Shea’s hand-waving about what he considers to be the cause of domestic violence was puzzling as hell. I cannot stress enough how fucking godawful this shit was.

6. MENTAL WARFARE (SKIT)

…

7. 24 MO’ HOURS

When critics mention older rappers struggling to sound relevant with their newer songs, “24 Mo’ Hours” is what they’re referring to. If War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) were released today, the Battlecat instrumental, which both sucks and doesn’t fit our host’s general aesthetic, which is a strange critique given Battlecat’s history of producing Cali-based bangers, would almost certainly be swapped out for something from the likes of Metro Boomin’ or Zaytoven, and it would still sound terrible. Ugh.

8. UNTIL WE RICH (FEAT. KRAYZIE BONE)

I heard “Until We Rich” on the radio once probably in 2000 or so, and then have apparently never thought of it again until right now, which I believe is an accurate representation of how forgettable this Chucky & the Thompsons production was. Guest star Krayzie Bone, still riding a Bone Thugs-N-Harmony career wave at the time, circles and underlines Slick Rick’s “Hey Young World” with his performance, which is dull, while O’Shea tries his darnedest to give listeners an optimistic, motivational speech, even going so far as to censor his own cursing, so as to reach as wide an audience as possible. Sure, “Until We Rich” fits the ‘peace’ requirement of this project, but at what cost?

9. YOU CAN DO IT (FEAT. MACK 10 & MS. TOI)

You two already know this song, which first appeared on the soundtrack for Next Friday in 1999 but was popular enough to justify Priority Records placing it on as many projects as possible, I suppose. For the handful of readers who somehow missed this footnote in popular culture, “You Can Do It”, a spiritual follow-up to “We Be Clubbin’”, the hit single from our host’s directorial debut The Players Club, finds Cube, Ms. Toi, and his boy Mack 10 putting their asses into a One Eye-produced club effort that is slight on lyrics, but is rather catchy otherwise. It sounds so fucking absurd today that it somehow shifts from “corny” to “entertainingly corny” during Cube’s opening verse and never once budges again. At least our host sounded engaged on here, unlike most everything else on War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) thus far, and having Mack 1-0 perform over a fast-paced beat forces him to match that energy or die trying. Inessential, but it brings the pretty girls at the club out onto the floor, in case that helps you in any way.

10. MACKIN’ & DRIVING (SKIT)

Playing War & Peace Vol. 1 (The War Disc)’s first single, “Pushin’ Weight”, in the background of this interlude only reminded me of rapper Mr. Short Khop, whose career was abruptly halted after Cube stopped giving a shit about his young charge. I mean, why else would he not have been a good enough performer to make it to the second volume? Good call by the way, O’Shea.

11. GOTTA BE INSANITY

Curious, but not entirely out of left field when you remember “You Can Do It” was a hit, so why wouldn’t O’Shea go back to that well? The funky-ish guitar loop on this Mario Winans (!) production reminded me of Jermaine Dupri’s “Going Home With Me”, except I like that song and found this one to be middling at best, as Cube panders to the lowest common denominator while trying to get back inside the club. I can’t be sure who our host thought his audience was when he recorded “Gotta Be Insanity”, but he’s done enough good work and has earned the ability to record and release whatever he wants. Still doesn’t mean we’re all required to listen to any of it, however.

12. ROLL ALL DAY

As we all know and agree with every third Wednesday at our meetings, the best storytelling raps are the ones where you don’t realize the artist is even telling a story until the third verse. That’s what happens on “Roll All Day”, anyway. Over a One Eye beat that doesn’t entirely gel but has its moments, Ice Cube boasts about having purchased a full tank of gas (a fact repeated throughout, with a humorous callback toward the end) and offering to cruise around with a woman he just met in exchange for sexual intercourse. You know, standard-issue rap-type shit, but it begs the question: why is she so interested in the car? Has the woman in question never been inside an automobile before? Cube could have probably rolled up on a pedal bike and worked out a similar proposition just because he’s Ice Cube, but I suppose there’s no vehicle for a story there (pun intended). Regardless, he never gets that far, as by the third verse she’s [SPOILER ALERT FOR A NINETEEN-YEAR-OLD SONG] broken the car’s windows and, later, stolen it outright. His flow is strictly boasts-n-bullshit until the ending, where he reveals some of that sense of humor he tapped into while writing Friday. “Roll All Day” is meh, but the effort was appreciated, at least.

13. CAN YOU BOUNCE?

This was fucking terrible, and that’s without O’Shea making a Pokemon reference, which he absolutely does on here. So that happened. (Also, Younglord apparently produced the beat. Was War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) designed as Ice Cube’s covert demo reel to hopefully snag a label deal with Bad Boy Records? Because the gambit hasn’t paid off yet.)

14. DINNER WITH THE CEO (SKIT)

…

15. RECORD COMPANY PIMPIN’

The flip side of EPMD’s “Please Listen To My Demo”, down to the same Faze-O “Riding High” sample being used, as Ice Cube and producer Bud’da urge the youth not to get involved in the rap game without learning the business side of the industry first. Advice such as this can only come from someone who was famously jerked around by their label in the past, as Cube was during his short stint with Ruthless Records, but while the man clearly knows of what he speaks, that doesn’t mean “Record Company Pimpin’” (a topic many artists have tackled before and since O’Shea put pen to paper) is an entertaining song to actually listen to. Our host should have taken these ideas and given a TED Talk instead. That’s not a joke: imagine how many people he could help in the process. But you can skip this track outright.

16. WAITIN’ TA HATE

So it turns out that War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) is a stealth EPMD tribute album filtered through a Puff Daddy lens. That’s a lie, obviously, but “Waitin’ Ta Hate” is the second song in a row to pay homage to Erick and Parish specifically, although this time around producers One Eye and DJ Joe Rodriguez (that name gets to the point, can’t be mad at that) get lazy by choosing to just sample “So Wat Cha Sayin’” directly. For his part, O’Shea sounds downright angry on here, which informs an entertaining performance that isn’t reminiscent of his finest work, but let’s be real, it’s the best we’ll get at this point. The production doesn’t do much to differentiate itself from the EPMD standard, but maybe, this time around, it isn’t such a bad thing. (Side note to E-Double: you should give Cube a shout for a future collaboration, as the man is clearly a fan.)

17. N—A OF THE CENTURY

Accompanied by someone that could be that Pain In Da Ass dude whose entire shtick was aping flicks such as Scarface and Goodfellas to open up early Roc-A-Fella Records projects but likely isn’t, which means there were two of these guys in our chosen genre at some point, which seems wasteful somehow, our host caps off the evening lobbying for an award that doesn’t exist. Charley Chap’s production is too dull to properly reward Ice Cube as a winner of any competition, and O’Shea’s own bars aren’t worth wasting a paragraph on. At least we’re done here.

FINAL THOUGHTS: War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) approaches self-parody at points, as Ice Cube genuinely seems to not understand just what it was about his work that listeners connected with back in the early 1990s. It certainly wasn’t this shit: nobody ever wanted to hear what it would have sounded like had Cube signed with Bad Boy Records twelve years after his prime. The O’Shea Jackson found on this project is a man who is content with his station in life: the only time he ever really comes across as passionate about anything is when he’s schooling younger artists on the inner workings of the music industry, a topic that obviously resonates with him. Even his generic threats on “Hello”, a song I fucking liked his performance on, sound more like amiable suggestions than anything. When Cube gets in his storytelling bag, he seems to at least be having some fun with this shit (not that it always translates for the listener), but when he’s simply talking shit, the momentum on War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc), or whatever little momentum exists, halts immediately. Twenty years removed from his debut solo project, this album proved that Ice Cube was no longer vital to the ongoing health of the local hip hop concern. He has all of his other ventures to fall back on, and of course he’ll always be welcomed at the barbecues, but unless he’s laser-focused on targets (we’ll always have the first Westside Connection effort), he loses the plot very quickly, and one can only coast on charm and the acclaim derived from your prior work for so long.  I won’t go so far as to say that War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) is a “peace” of shit, because that pun is beneath me, but it’s plenty awful.

BUY OR BURN? Neither. If you absolutely must, stream the tracks listed below, but, you know, life is short.

BEST TRACKS: “Hello”; “Waitin’ Ta Hate”

-Max

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[mooncookee]

QUIVER

You see the soul drips low down where the dirt holds and lip licks upside trees and rubs it's scent up in the leaves so every bee passin' flags its tale. In frets and waggles, tails a kites lets                                                     or a dragonfly drags, they sing out in trails of Halle-lu-jah stretches up, up to heaven' but the land; sees it. Land, it never forgets. No, see? The land never forgets.

It breathes in frequencies sometimes only wolves can bear. Now and then a cat or two might howl but hounds, they just too house broke, cozy, may a' bit too lazy for caring. Some ground just stares; some rumbles like mountain claws strummin' on drum skins. Some been rubbed too much.

 I'm told it growls like that at Shiloh and Antietam, And Vietnam's a locomotive hauling coal down where they stokin' Hell. So they tell. Well it's that kinda hum across the tracks as Quiver Lane backs up to Bayou Self.

Once it crossed there but Betsy or Audrey washed it out; maybe was a hurricane

way 'fore storms got names. No one cared to build it back or cared not to. True that.                                                                        

When Emmalite Petit came to name it Quivers for the way the silver willows shiver in the silver light of night everything changed.

Tragedy and Misery, ain't they so the loudest, overstaying cousins? And seems we never see the sunshine when they visit.   Poor Lita (her prayer given greeting) lived beneath a concrete cloud of loud and overstayin' cousins. They raved a regular hoedown, throw-down, hootenanny, fais do do with a neon rainbow and a disco ball. And I mean cousins, uncles et al. Damn Murder, Curser, Fever and Famine fired it up and washed it blue down there with Deluge.                                                                                        

First her Baby, gone. Her Daddy then her ‘nother Baby, husband, husband, baby, Mama; all lost quick as windblown sand.

 Some say Curser was first to sup. Before Choctaw pushed the Houmas through, before people were more than The People, angels and demons had drama there. In that, I'm told, can't be a winner. Seems Quiver Lane began to quiver long fore Lil’ Lita came for dinner or every time.                                                              

She came like plagues o' Moses. "Note-he-damn-us" speculated they's a Moses lain in every sack of sins.

So said, Lita lived as one or all those "Horsemen," well “Horse-folk,” that head banger gang, jammin' down till the World chokes, spokes broke in sections docking the earth in kinda pocky way clips. Cousin, you catch my crazy pills; lauded Lord seen the Devil’s daughter in a bonnet livin’ as the Mistress of the Quivers. I can't say. Maybe she's the lucky millionth shopper

straggled up, she, falling out the sack; register ding, clang and drawer slip, clap; balloons fell, politicians kissing black beauty baby hexes like bubble blowers whistling.

lucky Medusa, heaving chest, epistles of perdition Panavision in her sweat.                                                          

 Y’all know evil needs a witness, accepting victims’ just objects, directly. God knows Narcissus always came as the main idea. Ain't nobody plays that sorrow fiddle like him.

Maybe Emmalite's his sister?

 Lil' Lita came from Texas by the Sabine Pass. Her folk ran a trawl fleet, had plenty grass for cattle and passe blanc, they say. No verifiable pedigree, a Gypsy privateer, a Mescalita bruja here and here. Clearly an Andalusian heiress in that tree, more than half Moor-ish. She was Venus, trapper by trade so they say.

  (II)

 Down from Paradis a way the Old Spanish Trail snakes through the Texaco Woods. Inertia notwithstanding, curves are angular where that old road bends by the tracks and bends back a time or four. Man, DAMN, that was one alive drive. No, don't try those moves at Big Bear, no. Ask me how I know?

 So, the first knee coming from Paradis, Lita’s mausoleum gloats 'neath an oak grove.

Mère Brigit de Saint Asile, splayed in headstones, snaggle-toothed from the shiny rails, with a ditch mote, a throat bouquet of cattails and poison ivy commanded, a dead man's curve from any poet's axis. A swamp hugged close, old road to tracks that smacked blood wet, stains sustained since skirmishes of Yank incursions shucked, ghost rehearsals from Boutte to Des Allemands.

Older ground, this mound raised by the hand of man, built by bodies gone to mulch, a human humus mushed under hundreds on hundreds of autumn's silts. Floods sipped slippin' the baser stones to tilt in neglect, 'cept lichen love. Yet seldom did molesters linger. Centuries of cypress centurions, elders, priests and voodoiennes spit blasted blasphemous echoes and imminent offenders bent on infecting this umbilical age where souls are directed, selected and nakedly effected and tweaked past sec by the Conscious Constant Conscience Collective till they caress the nexus of perfection. Poor Lita‘s cache was stashed in a crypt like only city seen. Marble Venus reigning supreme over meager crosses, slaves and Cajun tenants, protestants, names scratched unless a body was a veteran.

 The black top ridge the bridge to Quiver Lane crossed tracks at are maintained by Santa Fe Railways on the civil side. The bayou banks can't be tamed. To its own travail, alone it wanes. It assimilates, ate by relentless quest of the prevailing Green to digest, jail and swallow every life, not sailing pass a snail's pace past the veil of tales.

 Some places birth a craving for belonging. I belong there. I learned to swear there,                                                                

was snared by the noose tobacco set. My first drunken crash there after Uncle read me Lovecraft there. I woke wet. We skipped for crawfishing on pretty new spring days, lunch meat and Bunny Bread, that pink mayo pickle spread, four finger bag of weed and a six o’ Dixie. What a day made; laying nets in a knee deep maze up to the first grave. Voo was a swamp "Fred Astaire." I was a true Scooby Doo.

 I felt connected. My first love was laid there.                                                        

We buried my Colinda in the Mom Brigit's breast. No other love tested more than a genuflecting peasant maid weighing fragrances passed in wake of her Queen's carriage. Stressing, up she peeked, a speck in shadows of divinity. That old road led me out on, a life of asphalt sped, gone, minstrel vagabond so long it's all I ever did since I turned back on this compost heap, love's keep, womb of every torch song.

 My class of '81 summoned, thirty-five years running but for them I come. I wonder why, true though, I never could deny our passion. When we took life in shots, chased with pitchers at Tolano’s. We had a world to make.

 Me, I just careened from ditch to ditch like it's me buried by the Quivers. No I deliver as I wither juke to honkey tonk, useless bitch of windy whispers. Till I listed, sunk and sprawled, depraved raving “kinda been” kissing the base of my true love’s grave. I bowed my gaze prostrate so to evade her name engraved by chisel. A blitz of banshees pulling train, crumbled by the strain, I crawled scratching three X's by the gate on Lita's marble vault pleading she would put me down, already nothing wasting air, better fare prepared as mushroom food or maybe that's too good.

 I should… I would but once I promised not to "should" myself. Still, shame laid lame, gasping breaths between grass roots. I wept. "Why me's" pelted till my ears burned red. I quivered in prayers to who knows who.

 "Madame Petit accept my humble suffering as sacrifice. By gluttony, greed and lust, I'm pinned by sin, an empty wraith in waiting, a soulless puppet painted live. I pray my worthless carcass lay a worthy crust to feed the inevitable Green lacing the gates of your Everlasting After.”

 Shotguns slam on Heaven's tin walls, clap of Atlas shaking this world off. Tossed by the blast wave reality whiplashed!

 Peace of the morning, peace of the dawn, peace of the dusk, trust is cruel quiet.

 I wasn't crying anymore, standing more or less, I smelled the musk of Bayou Self.

An ass drawn wagon crossed the bridge carrying six oyster sacks, a six pack of field hands

and six kindling stacks of dried fig twigs. A sickly girl’s grey pony led three chomping keen colts: a big red, an ice white and onyx black sweat gleaming fiery beast. Two tuniced, kilted dudes duked; blue steels, shields whacking, shrieks of deep dread jolts “blue screen” hacked my psyche. Pangs of fresh grief vigorously split me.

 A jug of berry sherry beckoned swig. My sweet Colinda, cherry plucker lolled, bent butt against the trestle rail. My first kiss again conjured up in home sewed halter and faded cutoffs

baring all I knew of truth. I sighed. Honey haired, hazel eyed, mine, giggling on the Quivers side. I knew I had died and raced embracing her with no step took, track jumped or cross tie straddled.

My Colinda, swarthy now calico long dress in bonnet, brunette, black eyes, pupils fire.

Love as always a puny liar.

           "Allons danser." Lil Lita grabbed me. We two stepped. A death of quiet                                                                        

only broke by creaking wood and creosote stink.

 Come to think, I never two stepped. Pickers never learn to dance. Sixties Cajun kids were forbidden, so I was not blessed to know her French addresses. Fancy me this dead man's chance.

We parleyed and danced and dance.

 Bless you; Ma'am Petit you be? Life for me was tired and old. If I’d be so bold

Please bestow me once more to hold my Colinda? Then to dust or mold or as you'd have me.

 "Chere," she said. "Colinda's me. No simple peace and death’s not free

Chere, we have scores and prophecies. A thousand first loves you and me span.

I was Lilith to your Adam.

 A hundred thousand maids you ruined. Who could ever love as I do? Spun out countless loves found tombs, dead in the womb as I sang lullabies. I brewed my fear beer. Stirred you here

Through waste and wander savoring every maid you plundered. Hate begets a viral Eden. Evil needs no truth to seed. Fear and hunger, pain and greed ripened drips in misery.

 Hero here alas you settle, finally, quite a hefty debt. Here you left, Colinda bled, red washed dress on a slave girl grave. Sweating fatherhood for fame let your name escape her blame. At last my final pica’s set my Casanova minstrel, convinced, sorry victim in your head, sped millennia and parried any collar, cross or retiarius’ net.

 But see this land, it never forgets. It pressed a bed of want in you that blooms like sumac in the rain. You came. Your only bet was plain. But here the game is mine, you swine

and markers called. You’re out of time. I'd feed a million trillion flies on your flesh and spread your soul like chewy tricks as treats on chilly demon children’s Halloween.

 But see, my pride, I got to ride. These fine three anxious steeded knights and I have deals to seal and seals to peel while you here feel the pain of every death since you've eluded me.” She chuckled, eyes blazing licked her lips. “But that too was your dream I guess. You always were my favorite pet and here see, this land don't forget."  

                                                                     (III)

Black is white to where she left me. Agony a soothing choice. Infinity times three;

tormenting claws and jaws forever stripping, split my atoms, sip and spit me. Buckets left to catch my wet screams. Seamless, moving troubadour’s tool ghoul re-jeweled to phantom’s whispering shrill banzai Mojave dry.

 Sorry now I'm such a bummer. I'm just a strummer not your savior but if you care for your creator make your peace cause Lita's coming.  

https://www.reverbnation.com/dwaynestromain/song/30163760-quiver-rvbntn

[sheilacwall]

hip hop isn’t dead.: Ice Cube

Somehow War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) is only the sixth solo album from rapper-slash-actor-slash-professional basketball league founder O’Shea “Ice Cube” Jackson. It feels like we’ve been discussing this motherfucker forever, or at least since 2007, right? Obviously the man has been doing a lot since his entrance into our chosen genre via N.W.A.: aside from his whole actor/writer/director side gig, he’s released compilations, been a part of multiple soundtrack releases, and even found time to create an entirely separate group, Westside Connection (alongside his protégée Mack 10 and his friend WC). But the man hasn’t ever truly stepped away from his solo career, which is part of the reason we’re talking about today’s subject.

War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Album) is the second half of a project that Cube conceived way back in the previous century (read: 1998). War & Peace, curiously named after the soft drink and not the Tolstoy doorstop, served as our host’s excuse to deliver the gangsta rap and social commentary he was best known for post-Jerry Heller, along with some attempts to construct a much broader audience through radio airplay, club bangers, cautionary tales, and skinny-dipping in the waters of different musical genres. Although for some reason I’m remembering this being announced as a double-disc effort, Ice Cube released the first volume, subtitled The War Disc, close to the Thanksgiving holiday in 1998, with The Peace Disc scheduled to follow soon after, as they were recorded and compiled at the same time.

The War Disc was met with mixed reviews, as Cube rested on his laurels a bit too much: there’s one song that is a direct sequel to one of his classic tracks, “Once Upon a Time In The Projects 2”; he leaned heavily on a younger artist signed to his label, Mr. Short Khop (who, interestingly enough, doesn’t appear on The Peace Disc at all); there’s a collaboration with motherfucking Korn called “Fuck Dying”. (Cube also appeared on Korn’s 1998 album Follow the Leader: both songs helped cue up the inaugural Family Values tour, which they were both headliners on.) But aside from a couple of tracks that played into his storytelling skills, The War Disc quietly vanished from rotation, leaving our host to retool the planned follow-up in an effort to course-correct.

War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc), the final album released under Cube’s deal with Priority Records, is definitely not what was already completed when The War Disc was released. For one, the very first track, “Hello”, is a collaboration with former N.W.A. bandmates MC Ren and Dr. Dre, a move which wouldn’t have happened in 1998, but made more sense in 2000 after N.W.A. officially reunited for a song off of the soundtrack for Cube’s Next Friday (and also after Dre released 2001, a blockbuster project that put him back on the map). In addition, the first single, “You Can Do It”, came from that same soundtrack and was Cube’s most popular radio hit since 1997’s “We Be Clubbin’”. So I get why he’d want to retool the project to capitalize on those strengths.

The Peace Disc vanished seemingly quicker than its predecessor, possibly due to the chart dominance of his friend Dr. Dre and Dre’s artist Eminem at the time. It did manage to sell over five hundred thousand units in the United States, but find me somebody who proudly has this one displayed in their collection. I dare you. I double dog dare you, motherfucker. Nobody gives a fuck about War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc), and I include Ice Cube in that description. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the album is entirely bad, so let’s peek under the hood and review this sucker.

1. HELLO (FEAT. DR. DRE & MC REN)

O’Shea hits the ground running, commissioning an N.W.A. reunion that is much more successful than their official comeback on the Next Friday soundtrack (“Chin Check”, for those of you keeping score). A simplistic Dr. Dre. prescription, which bangs, lays the groundwork for Dre, MC Ren, and our host Ice Cube to… complain about the current (as of 2000, anyway) state of hip hop like the elder statesmen they are: they have a specific grievance regarding not being credited for “start[ing] this gangsta shit” (which absolutely isn’t true, but regardless of who you think kicked off the sub-genre, the various members of N.W.A. are cited as influences all. The. Goddamn. Time. Maybe not Yella). As far as old dudes talking shit as though evolution in language and culture hadn’t ever occurred, Ren comes across as alright (his comment about lesbians not exactly homophobic but still iffy nevertheless), while Andre sticks with his “I’m rich, I don’t have to do shit” mentality. Thankfully, O’Shea tears through his verse with a ferocity he hasn’t displayed since Westside Connection’s Bow Down, and I say that even though the phase of his career where he insisted on nicknaming himself the “Don Dada” is still represented on here. So yeah, this was a success overall. Thank God, right? I mean, can you imagine two subpar late-period N.W.A. reunion tracks in a row?

2. PIMP HOMEO (SKIT)

I know Cube’s trying to be funny here, but this was bad. At least it wasn’t homophobic, though, as the title may have implied. Absolutely misogynistic, though.

3. YOU AIN’T GOTTA LIE (TA KICK IT) (FEAT. CHRIS ROCK)

Fairly confusing, as “You Ain’t Gotta Lie (Ta Kick It”) isn’t really the love rap sort-of promised by the preceding skit. O’Shea spits his boasts-n-bullshit, which, interestingly enough, include proclamations of being a great father, while guest Chris Rock threatens to undermine the entire operation with his contributions to the hook. The concept isn’t set up well enough for this three-man production (this was credited to former Bad Boy Hitman Chucky Thompson along with Rich Nice and Loren Hill) to make any fucking sense, as Cube isn’t really hitting on anyone as much as he’s offering up facts about himself as though he recorded his bars while standing behind a podium, while Rock tries to come up with the most ridiculous lies during the hook. Dude is kind of amusing toward the end, but overall this shit was a misfire. It was good while it lasted, though.

4. THE GUTTER SHIT (FEAT. JAYO FELONY, GANGSTA, & SQUEAK RU)

LOL there’s a rapper named Gangsta? Have we officially used up all of the words? Anywhoozle, our host envisioned “The Gutter Shit” as a collaboration with like-minded West Coast artists, but could only convince Jayo Felony and two other no-names to commit, and my Lord does this Cube- and T-Bone-produced aural interpretation of a sad face emoji suuuuuuuuuck. The two artists on here that you’ve never heard of before or since seem excited enough for the opportunity but flounder when called upon, while Jayo is terrible as always. But the true loser here is our host, who somehow found the time to contribute two awful verses that wouldn’t even be stocked in the same type of store as the gutter shit he was once capable of. And what the fuck is with that reference to the previous track?

5. SUPREME HUSTLE

There is no planet within our galaxy where Ice Cube could have honestly believed that “Supreme Hustle” was a song good enough to make War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc). My guess is that the production trio from “You Ain’t Gotta Lie (Ta Kick It)” had called in a collective Make-A-Wish, as this elementary excursion into simplistic rap boasting is embarrassing as shit to listen to. At least our host sticks with his theme: each of the three verses places emphasis on “I”, “you”, and “we”, respectively. But there is no hustle to be found on here, and O’Shea’s hand-waving about what he considers to be the cause of domestic violence was puzzling as hell. I cannot stress enough how fucking godawful this shit was.

6. MENTAL WARFARE (SKIT)

…

7. 24 MO’ HOURS

When critics mention older rappers struggling to sound relevant with their newer songs, “24 Mo’ Hours” is what they’re referring to. If War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) were released today, the Battlecat instrumental, which both sucks and doesn’t fit our host’s general aesthetic, which is a strange critique given Battlecat’s history of producing Cali-based bangers, would almost certainly be swapped out for something from the likes of Metro Boomin’ or Zaytoven, and it would still sound terrible. Ugh.

8. UNTIL WE RICH (FEAT. KRAYZIE BONE)

I heard “Until We Rich” on the radio once probably in 2000 or so, and then have apparently never thought of it again until right now, which I believe is an accurate representation of how forgettable this Chucky & the Thompsons production was. Guest star Krayzie Bone, still riding a Bone Thugs-N-Harmony career wave at the time, circles and underlines Slick Rick’s “Hey Young World” with his performance, which is dull, while O’Shea tries his darnedest to give listeners an optimistic, motivational speech, even going so far as to censor his own cursing, so as to reach as wide an audience as possible. Sure, “Until We Rich” fits the ‘peace’ requirement of this project, but at what cost?

9. YOU CAN DO IT (FEAT. MACK 10 & MS. TOI)

You two already know this song, which first appeared on the soundtrack for Next Friday in 1999 but was popular enough to justify Priority Records placing it on as many projects as possible, I suppose. For the handful of readers who somehow missed this footnote in popular culture, “You Can Do It”, a spiritual follow-up to “We Be Clubbin’”, the hit single from our host’s directorial debut The Players Club, finds Cube, Ms. Toi, and his boy Mack 10 putting their asses into a One Eye-produced club effort that is slight on lyrics, but is rather catchy otherwise. It sounds so fucking absurd today that it somehow shifts from “corny” to “entertainingly corny” during Cube’s opening verse and never once budges again. At least our host sounded engaged on here, unlike most everything else on War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) thus far, and having Mack 1-0 perform over a fast-paced beat forces him to match that energy or die trying. Inessential, but it brings the pretty girls at the club out onto the floor, in case that helps you in any way.

10. MACKIN’ & DRIVING (SKIT)

Playing War & Peace Vol. 1 (The War Disc)’s first single, “Pushin’ Weight”, in the background of this interlude only reminded me of rapper Mr. Short Khop, whose career was abruptly halted after Cube stopped giving a shit about his young charge. I mean, why else would he not have been a good enough performer to make it to the second volume? Good call by the way, O’Shea.

11. GOTTA BE INSANITY

Curious, but not entirely out of left field when you remember “You Can Do It” was a hit, so why wouldn’t O’Shea go back to that well? The funky-ish guitar loop on this Mario Winans (!) production reminded me of Jermaine Dupri’s “Going Home With Me”, except I like that song and found this one to be middling at best, as Cube panders to the lowest common denominator while trying to get back inside the club. I can’t be sure who our host thought his audience was when he recorded “Gotta Be Insanity”, but he’s done enough good work and has earned the ability to record and release whatever he wants. Still doesn’t mean we’re all required to listen to any of it, however.

12. ROLL ALL DAY

As we all know and agree with every third Wednesday at our meetings, the best storytelling raps are the ones where you don’t realize the artist is even telling a story until the third verse. That’s what happens on “Roll All Day”, anyway. Over a One Eye beat that doesn’t entirely gel but has its moments, Ice Cube boasts about having purchased a full tank of gas (a fact repeated throughout, with a humorous callback toward the end) and offering to cruise around with a woman he just met in exchange for sexual intercourse. You know, standard-issue rap-type shit, but it begs the question: why is she so interested in the car? Has the woman in question never been inside an automobile before? Cube could have probably rolled up on a pedal bike and worked out a similar proposition just because he’s Ice Cube, but I suppose there’s no vehicle for a story there (pun intended). Regardless, he never gets that far, as by the third verse she’s [SPOILER ALERT FOR A NINETEEN-YEAR-OLD SONG] broken the car’s windows and, later, stolen it outright. His flow is strictly boasts-n-bullshit until the ending, where he reveals some of that sense of humor he tapped into while writing Friday. “Roll All Day” is meh, but the effort was appreciated, at least.

13. CAN YOU BOUNCE?

This was fucking terrible, and that’s without O’Shea making a Pokemon reference, which he absolutely does on here. So that happened. (Also, Younglord apparently produced the beat. Was War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) designed as Ice Cube’s covert demo reel to hopefully snag a label deal with Bad Boy Records? Because the gambit hasn’t paid off yet.)

14. DINNER WITH THE CEO (SKIT)

…

15. RECORD COMPANY PIMPIN’

The flip side of EPMD’s “Please Listen To My Demo”, down to the same Faze-O “Riding High” sample being used, as Ice Cube and producer Bud’da urge the youth not to get involved in the rap game without learning the business side of the industry first. Advice such as this can only come from someone who was famously jerked around by their label in the past, as Cube was during his short stint with Ruthless Records, but while the man clearly knows of what he speaks, that doesn’t mean “Record Company Pimpin’” (a topic many artists have tackled before and since O’Shea put pen to paper) is an entertaining song to actually listen to. Our host should have taken these ideas and given a TED Talk instead. That’s not a joke: imagine how many people he could help in the process. But you can skip this track outright.

16. WAITIN’ TA HATE

So it turns out that War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) is a stealth EPMD tribute album filtered through a Puff Daddy lens. That’s a lie, obviously, but “Waitin’ Ta Hate” is the second song in a row to pay homage to Erick and Parish specifically, although this time around producers One Eye and DJ Joe Rodriguez (that name gets to the point, can’t be mad at that) get lazy by choosing to just sample “So Wat Cha Sayin’” directly. For his part, O’Shea sounds downright angry on here, which informs an entertaining performance that isn’t reminiscent of his finest work, but let’s be real, it’s the best we’ll get at this point. The production doesn’t do much to differentiate itself from the EPMD standard, but maybe, this time around, it isn’t such a bad thing. (Side note to E-Double: you should give Cube a shout for a future collaboration, as the man is clearly a fan.)

17. N—A OF THE CENTURY

Accompanied by someone that could be that Pain In Da Ass dude whose entire shtick was aping flicks such as Scarface and Goodfellas to open up early Roc-A-Fella Records projects but likely isn’t, which means there were two of these guys in our chosen genre at some point, which seems wasteful somehow, our host caps off the evening lobbying for an award that doesn’t exist. Charley Chap’s production is too dull to properly reward Ice Cube as a winner of any competition, and O’Shea’s own bars aren’t worth wasting a paragraph on. At least we’re done here.

FINAL THOUGHTS: War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) approaches self-parody at points, as Ice Cube genuinely seems to not understand just what it was about his work that listeners connected with back in the early 1990s. It certainly wasn’t this shit: nobody ever wanted to hear what it would have sounded like had Cube signed with Bad Boy Records twelve years after his prime. The O’Shea Jackson found on this project is a man who is content with his station in life: the only time he ever really comes across as passionate about anything is when he’s schooling younger artists on the inner workings of the music industry, a topic that obviously resonates with him. Even his generic threats on “Hello”, a song I fucking liked his performance on, sound more like amiable suggestions than anything. When Cube gets in his storytelling bag, he seems to at least be having some fun with this shit (not that it always translates for the listener), but when he’s simply talking shit, the momentum on War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc), or whatever little momentum exists, halts immediately. Twenty years removed from his debut solo project, this album proved that Ice Cube was no longer vital to the ongoing health of the local hip hop concern. He has all of his other ventures to fall back on, and of course he’ll always be welcomed at the barbecues, but unless he’s laser-focused on targets (we’ll always have the first Westside Connection effort), he loses the plot very quickly, and one can only coast on charm and the acclaim derived from your prior work for so long.  I won’t go so far as to say that War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc) is a “peace” of shit, because that pun is beneath me, but it’s plenty awful.

BUY OR BURN? Neither. If you absolutely must, stream the tracks listed below, but, you know, life is short.

BEST TRACKS: “Hello”; “Waitin’ Ta Hate”

-Max

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