#ic: the undertaker speaks

[luveline]

I know stripper!reader has this thing going on with Spencer but I keep thinking about something with her and Aaron maybe perhaps please 👀

thank you for requesting! fem

"Hi, Agent Hotchner." 

Aaron wondered if you were going to talk to him. "Miss L/N." He looks you over casually, taking in the scabbed state of your knees and your immaculate make up. "What are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for Spencer. I was in the neighbourhood." 

People aren't often in Quantico on pleasure trips. It doesn't take much for Aaron to peel back your mask. It's a good mask, but he's good at his work. Your strip lashes are lifting in the corners, the adhesive weak with wetness, and though you've taken care to reapply, there's a clear difference between the concealer on your cheeks where tears would've fallen. You keep touching your stomach, like you've a bruise that's bothering you under your clothes, or perhaps as a reassuring stim. 

"Are you okay?" he asks gently. 

"Would you ask me that if I were one of Spencer's other friends?" 

"No." There's no point skirting around it. You're a stripper, a job notorious for hurting the wellbeing of the people who undertake it. "But I'm asking because you've been crying." 

You turn your face down and sniff with a smile. "I almost forgot about you, you're the aloof one… Spencer pretends he doesn't notice when I want him to." 

"I'm not a good pretender. Sorry." 

"That's okay, handsome." You speak softly, but it isn't shyness, only a sweet disposition.

Aaron isn't sure what to do, and so, in want of no better path, he treats you as a friend. You're a friend of Spencer's and Spencer is practically family to Aaron, and so your wellbeing is important for that alone.

Aaron would comfort you even if you weren't. 

"What happened to your knees?" 

You cross your feet at the ankles. "I slipped on ice outside my apartment. Few days ago. What happened to your eye?" 

He has a small cut from a kerfuffle under his eye, so small he forgot it was there. "Work." 

"It looks sore. Like it's being tugged on." You turn to your handbag and shuffle through the contents before pulling out a small red and white pot. "Here, it's scar balm." 

"Oh, I wouldn't–" 

"You can keep it. I have three." 

He imagines your need for something like that is similar to his own line of work. He takes it, not because it feels right to take things from you, but because he knows the worth of letting someone help you. 

He doesn't put it on, though, just holds it in his palm. 

"How'd it happen?" you ask. 

"I wasn't paying attention. It was unlike me." 

"I can see that," you say, offering him a timid smile. 

Aaron frowns. "I think Spencer's playing chess against himself again, he could be a while. Do you want me to go get him?" 

"Oh, no," you say, getting to your feet. "I'm already an imposition for him as it is, I just wanted to walk to the subway with him." 

His lips part before he speaks, unsure of how to ask, "You're not–" 

You stop him before he can ask. "Spencer is the nicest, kindest man I know, and we're friends. But no, we're not." 

"It's getting dark. I'll drive you home." He gauges the hesitance on your face. "Just to drive you home, honey. I promise." 

It kind of breaks his heart that he has to clarify that to you. He wonders how often people have framed taking from you as helping. The 'honey' practically adds itself, as though his lips have a mind of their own, eager to put you at ease. 

"Would that be okay?" you ask.  

"Of course. Do you have your phone? You can tell Spencer I'm taking you home." When you hesitate again, he takes his phone from his pocket and offers it to you, Spencer's contact fourth on Aaron's speed dial. 

The smile you give him then, like you're sure he's a good guy, steals his breath away. 

"Hi, Spencer, it's me. Yeah, I'm okay. I bumped into Agent Hotchner outside and he's going to give me a ride, okay?" You peek at Aaron from the corner of your eye. He pretends not to notice. "Stop trying to embarrass me. Yeah, I know I said that. He is," —your voice drops to a murmur, a whisper, almost inaudible— "you wouldn't get it, he's like your brother."

Aaron can guess what it is Spencer doesn't get, and he, in his many years, has to concentrate hard on not flustering. 

[sunny374940]

Our love is not to be hidden

So I wrote this one instead of going to sleep like a normal person. Rook gets badly injured in a fight and Emmrich has to deal with his feelings. Everyone and their grandma have probably written this trope but I want to play too :D

...................

They were fighting Venatori in Arlathan. Again. Emmrich was wondering how many Venatori there could be, as every time they went to the forest there were more of the blasted cultists.

Rook was attacking them from up close wielding a sword and dagger. He was a whirlwind of blades, there one moment and gone the next, dancing between his opponents with ease. Emmrich was supporting him from afar along with Bellara, using their magic to give him an advantage. Emmrich found he couldn't tear his eyes away from his lover, captivated by the deadly elegance of his movements.

As Rook dispatched the last cultist, Emmrich called out his customary “Well done, darling!” and started making his way to Rook across the battlefield. But instead of Rook flashing him the usual briliant smile and bouncing towards him, he was just standing there, swaying lightly with his back to Emmrich. Emmrich called to him again: “Rook, are you alright?” But there was no answer, as if Rook hadn't even heard him. A moment passed and then Rook fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. He drew a trembling hand away and Emmrich saw a glimpse of red on his fingers. Then Rook fell to his side and stilled.

Emmrich felt his veins turn to ice beneath his skin. He picked up the pace, running to Rook, stumbling over tree roots but miraculously keeping upright. He skidded to a stop and threw himself on the ground to gather Rook in his arms. There was blood flowing from a hole in the armor at his abdomen. So much blood, more than Emmrich ever wanted to see leaving Rook's body. He tried to press down on the wound to staunch the bleeding, but the blood kept coming. He had no mana left, the fight had been way too long, he couldn't even try healing the damage.

“Bellara, help!” He yelled, blinking furiously at the tears falling from his eyes. He was powerless, could do nothing to help Rook and it was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life.

Suddenly Rook stirred and looked up at him with glassy eyes. There was pain in them and so much fear that Emmrich couldn't take a breath.

“Emmrich, I-”

“Hush now, darling, save your strength.” Emmrich was doing all he could to keep his voice from shaking, but he was failing miserably. Rook raised a hand to grasp at Emmrich, trying to ground himself.

“I don't want to die,” he whispered weakly. His head fell against Emmrich's chest, eyes fluttering shut. Emmrich felt his heart stop beating for a moment, but then it started hammering, thundering almost painfully against his ribs.

“No no no! Rook, can you hear me?” Emmrich was shaking him, trying to wake him up, but to no avail. Rook’s head lolled from side to side, face pallid, eyes still closed.

Bellara finally came rushing to them, falling to her knees next to Emmrich. She raised her hand to Rook's abdomen and let out a stream of healing magic. The bleeding had blessedly stopped, but there was no telling what damage lay hidden beneath the skin. Rook’s breath was coming quick and shallow and his pulse was racing.

“I did what I could, but I don't have much mana left either. We need to get him to the Veil Jumper camp, quickly!”

They gathered Rook up between them as best they could. Getting to the camp was a grim undertaking. They were walking in almost complete silence, speaking up only to warn each other of tree roots and rocks threatening to trip them up. Emmrich found he could hardly bear to look at Rook for fear of what he would see. Why did Rook always have to court death? Whatever they did, wherever they went, he was always the first into the fray, always the one to put his life on the line for the others. Emmrich should have kept him safe. He should have protected him better. This was his fault and his love had to suffer for it.

Tears were streaming freely down his face, but he paid them no mind. All that mattered now was getting Rook to safety. He mustered enough courage to steal a glance at Rook’s face as he hung limply between him and Bellara, but he soon regretted looking. Rook was even paler, looking closer to death than Emmrich could bear thinking about. Emmrich stared numbly ahead from then on, only listening for changes in Rook’s breathing.

Finally, the camp appeared before them and he heard Bellara yelling for a healer. A group of Veil Jumpers rushed towards them and carried Rook away to the healer’s tent.

As soon as Rook’s weight was removed from Emmrich’s arms, he collapsed onto a nearby rock, sitting with his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with barely contained sobs. Bellara had left, presumably to see how Rook was doing, but he couldn't make himself follow, terrified of the possibility of finding out he had lost him. Luckily Bellara was back a short while later with news.

“They’ve patched him up, but he’s still unconscious. Strife will lend us some people to get him through the Crossroads and then it's up to us, but he should be fine.”

Emmrich sagged in relief and Bellara placed a comforting hand on his back. ��You know how resilient he is, he'll be dragging Manfred into some mischief in no time.”

Emmrich chuckled wetly. “Thank you, Bellara. If you weren't there-” he choked back a sob.

“But I was,” she responded simply and he didn't think he could ever thank her enough.

The journey back home through the Crossroads was happily uneventful. Rook was settled in Emmrich's bed upon his insistence and Bellara refrained from making a comment, which Emmrich thought was rather nice of her. He was then left alone with Rook as Bellara went to let the others know what happened.

He dragged an armchair to the bed and dropped down on it, exhaustion finally taking its toll. He leaned back, fighting off sleep to keep guard over Rook. He watched him as he lay there, breath finally steady, and took in his sleeping form. His pointed ears, the tips of which could turn such a wonderful shade of pink at just a few whispered words from him, were frightfully pale. So were Rook’s lips, which he hardly ever saw without a smile whenever his attention was turned towards Emmrich. His hands, so nimble with a dagger yet gentle with a caress, lay unmoving on the bedcovers. He loved every single thing about Rook and to think he could have lost it all in a moment… and there was the word again. Love. He was far too scared to admit it to himself and even more to Rook. He became furious at himself, at his cowardice. Rook could have died today without even knowing what Emmrich felt for him.

No matter his thoughts, the exhaustion was getting the better of him. He began nodding off against his will, no longer able to keep his eyes fully open, but a movement from the bed caught his eye as he blinked. Did Rook's hand twitch? Or was he imagining it? He wiped a hand across his face to keep himself awake. He rested his forearms on the bed, watching Rook intently. And yes! There it was, the smallest twitch of his fingers. Emmrich could no longer resist and took a gentle hold of Rook’s hand.

Rook's eyelashes fluttered and he was soon blinking in the dim light. Suddenly his eyes went wide and he tried to sit up, as if to get away from something, but he was stopped short by the pain in his stomach. He let out a pained shout, squeezing his eyes shut and fell back onto the pillows. He lay there for a while, breath ragged as he recovered.

“It's alright, darling, I'm with you. You are safe,” Emmrich held onto Rook's hand, afraid of touching him more in case he aggravated his injury.

Rook's eyes finally opened and he looked around, searching for Emmrich. When he saw him, there was that brilliant smile that Emmrich adored so much.

“Hi,” Rook rasped.

Emmrich couldn't stop himself. He surged forward, claiming Rook's lips in a kiss. He was there, he was alive! The happiness was too much and Emmrich felt new tears gather in his eyes. He drew back to compose himself and noticed Rook watching him with a curious look.

“I almost died, didn't I?” he asked quietly, raising a hand to wipe at a stray tear that managed to escape Emmrich's eye.

“I'm so sorry, my love, I should have protected you-”

“Emmrich, it wasn't your fault. The last one had a hidden dagger, got me with it when I was finishing him off. But I got him better,” he smiled winsomely. He thought for a moment. “Wait, did you call me love? You've never done that before.” He looked confused, as if word choice was the most important thing of the day, almost dying be damned.

Emmrich sighed. There was no point in denying it, to himself or to Rook. “Yes, Rook, I did call you just that.” Emmrich could feel his cheeks turning red. He was hoping he hadn't overstepped but he simply couldn't hide his feelings anymore, not in the face of what happened.

“Oh.” Rook went silent for a while, eyes downcast and Emmrich was getting more and more worried by the second. Well, he tried and failed, such a thing could happen to anyone, though he had hoped it wouldn't be him. He went to draw his hand away from Rook's, but he was stopped by Rook's grip turning to iron. Rook took a deep breath and looked like he would be blushing if he had enough blood for that.

“I had a whole love confession planned, you know? I’d have taken you to the gardens and we’d have dinner and then I’d tell you how I feel about you. And some fucking Venatori with a fucking dagger stole that from me. I'm mad. I’d have given you flowers, but noo, instead I had to almost die. This is some bullshit.” But even as he was grumbling, there was a smile on his face.

Emmrich gaped at him. “You. Wanted to profess your love to me?” He could hardly believe it, the man was utterly ridiculous. Hours after a near death experience and this of all things was bothering him.

“Yeah, but it's all ruined now,” Rook chuckled with a wince, placing a hand against his stomach. “But I love you, Emmrich, and nothing will take that away from me.”

Emmrich’s heart was so filled with love he hardly knew what to do with it. Well, there was one thing.

“I love you too, my dear.”

[contentment-of-cats]

More Chiss head canons

Why, yes. I am geeking out.

1: The Chiss came from a 'sleeper ship' that missed its target world around 30,000 years ago after being launched from the Ratukan Empire. The ship spent 3,000 or 4,000 years in transit. The Humans who reached Csilla found not a welcoming world, but a planet that experienced periodic ice ages.

2: The Chiss skin color evolved from minerals in the hydrosphere, and were later found to be a silica-based life form that acted as a symbiont, allowing rapid evolutionary changes. The life form is now extinct, but slotted itself into the genes of the settlers and has remained in Chiss DNA and is outwardly reflected in their iridescent 'freckles' - which are a silicate similar to mica. The freckles will shed from time to time over the course of a Chiss' life. It was debated at the time that this was a sapient life form that was dying out, and 'invaded' the settlers to survive. Others argued that it was a type megavirus or even a hive virus with no sentience. Many settlers died from the 'infection' in a time called 'The Interval' before Ancient Chiss evolved into Modern Chiss about 5,000 years after the founding.

3: The Chiss terraformed Csilla over tens of thousands of years, turning it into a garden world, settling other worlds in the same time period. Before the Intergalactic War where they allied with the Sith, the Chiss governed an empire. After the Intergalactic War and the use of the Starflash along with Ratukan weaponry, the Chiss never terraformed another planet as penance for their sins.

4: Hundreds of Chiss colonies were lost to the warfare that created the Chaos. What is not mentioned in any modern history course is that the Chaos was created deliberately to confound both Sith and Jedi. The Chaos interfered, as as seen in Alliances, with the ability to find other Force users in the Chaos. Palpatine could not find the Sky-walkers until they were taken beyond the borders of the Chaos.

5: Chiss history is heavily redacted. After the Intergalactic War, they changed even their system of writing to make it incomprehensible to outsiders. Cheunh is not allowed to be spoken in the presence of outsiders, and communication instead relies on trade languages like Minnisiat. Meese Caulf, and Sy Bisti.

6: There are Chiss intelligence agents in 'Lesser Space' and even in the Empire and Rebellion itself. Candidates must be smaller than average and undertake extensive surgical remodeling to pass as other species. It includes eye transplants, and only the most dedicated (fanatical) of intelligence officers will undergo the years-long process. The program is top-level clearance, with six people at a time knowing about the program and allowed to read the briefs. The Supreme Admiral, the Supreme General, the UAG Chief, the Speaker of the Syndicure, and two civilians who are kept anonymous.

7: The histories of many planets speaks of blue warriors, or even blue gods who disappeared 5,000 years back. Chiss ruins can be found on Hoth, though nobody can now read the language.

8: There are Chiss who live outside the Ascendancy, descended from exiles and those who fled in other ways. If any Chiss of the Ascendancy happens on the Outlanders, they are instructed to report immediately, detain if possible, terminate in extreme cases only. In some cases, these Outlanders have hundreds of years outside of the Ascendancy and are not keen on going back.

9: Yes, there are a number of women in the CEDF, and nobody would stand in their way. As with Lakinda/Ziinda, it's a way for girls of Common and Lesser families to move up and secure their future outside of making a good match and having children. Blood-born girls like Ziara are heavily pressured not to join.

10: Upon leaving service, Sky-walkers are not encouraged to talk to others about being Sky-walkers, even to other former Sky-walkers. They are largely isolated by the Ruling Families, and pushed to marry within their adoptive or an allied House. Many do marry within their adopting House as it is well-known that the little girls of Ruling Houses are seldom chosen as Sky-walkers.

[carionto]

The Situations of Bames Jond - Human Activist

Intro, panning shot, exterior, mid 21st century Human city Silent music, hip-hop tune over opening credits, give sense of nostalgia (Kpop or EDM?) Establishing shots of office building, then of a ICE vehicle of "muscle car" variety (will have to build a prop and CGI that), people walking around the interior (remember to get ONLY Human extras this time) Cut to BAMES JOND lighting a herb stick (prop) and angrily folding up a retro iPad.

BAMES JOND: "Curse management! These regulations won't keep the streets safe from the troublemakers. I have to take matters of importance into my own two hands,

Again..."

Cut to dramatic montage of Bames Jond's previous incidents. (hold each new shot for at least 2 seconds and lower the exposure, last premiere was a health and safety disaster with the Ker'hrah audiences) Title card: BAMES JOND 2: SELECTIVE JUSTICE SCENE 1 BAMES JOND is talking over a phone, the slim black rectangle variety, while walking around a corner of a lower income population street, and encounters TWO HUMANS in non descriptive purple attire (robes?) using compressed air bottles that shoot paint at a wall (CGI department is gonna be busy with this one, huh)

BAMES JOND: "I'll call you back later, I have an urgent situation on my hands!"

BAMES JOND approaches the TWO HUMANS and folds his hands over his chest, speaks sternly but cautiously

BAMES JOND: "Are you two artists? Did you procure a permit from the municipal government for this visual depiction you are undertaking?"

PERSON 1: "What permit? This is a free society where we can express our grievances in the public domain."

PERSON 2: "Yeah! Who are you to issue such implied suggestion that we are not complying with certain rules that do not even pertain to this situation, huh?!"

The TWO HUMANS exchange smiling glances and do a "high five" (Does anyone remember what that is? Our Human consultant is on parental leave for two more months, but we need these scenes shot quickly. -Do several improvisational takes utilizing their limbs, one has to feel right)

BAMES JOND: "I'm sorry to say that that is not how this works. This structure is legally under the jurisdiction of the local government, and I am an employee of said government. Now show me a permit or your public artist license, or things are going to have to turn unpleasant."

BAMES JOND narrows his sight at the TWO HUMANS, who are now becoming nervous and gain a stutter in their speech.

PERSON 1: "W-we would, but, uh, the thing is um..."

PERSON 2: "I-it got eaten by my pet moose, y-yeah. I am from Florida, so such things happen."

PERSON 1: "M-my license is still valid, b-but I just forgot to get a new one, what with the economy and all."

Cut to close up of BAMES JOND contemplating, insert flashbacks to news articles about Florida Man and various Prime Presidents talking about The Economy.

BAMES JOND: "Well alright, you two appear to be amicable young adults. Let me print you a map to the government building that issues new licenses and handles permits for public artistic endeavors. Remember to bring an identifying document with you, okay?"

PERSON 1: "Y-yes, thank you very much, liege."

PERSON 2: "We will pause our activity for today and g-go and get the legal matters sorted, Sama-san. Good bye!"

BAMES JOND looks on caringly at the TWO HUMANS departing the scene of an avoided unpleasant incident. SCENE 1 END

[bull-shit-suji]

not to like wax poetic about the literary nuances of Black Fucking Butler but i feel i need to point out how insanely campy it is. oh okay cool the butler is throwing butter knives at people with guns and winning. we're battling undertaker's zombie army by starting a boy band (we actually got the idea from the ZOMBIES' boy band). theres a curry making competition and its so important it needs an entire volume and a continuing motif dedicated to it. the Grim Reaper Death Gods are all cornballs with gardening sheers. the contradiction. the unintended irony.

i think the manga is like. toeing the line of camp. like its silly yet takes itself so seriously but its not too silly. my immersion is not broken by the silliness. but the anime is uncharted levels of camp. what the Hell was going on with pluto. you're gonna look me in the eye and tell me the phantomhives own a fifty foot dog thing and no one has noticed. simply one hell of a deer. ice skating. theres opium in funtom candy. the queen of england is maybe a little girl. speaking of which, the city of london just burned down. yeah the whole thing. the fifty foot dog was there too.

it's so ridiculously out of left field and the fact that none of the characters seem to notice or care feels like being gaslit. camp so visceral it's causing psychic damage. i am constantly begging the narrative to break character just once and acknowledge its silliness but doing so would negate the lack of awareness that makes it camp. its dated and timeless. an absolute milestone in camp history.

[ms-wwe]

DAMIAN PRIEST X OC FANFIC CHAPTER 1 (PT.3)

“Hey you” I said with a smile. “Hold on, I'm switching to FaceTime so I can see my lady's beautiful face” he replied as the request to FaceTime came through. I eagerly accepted, knowing just the sight of him would make this impending doom feeling ease. “Hey beautiful” he said as the screen changed to video of himself. He was clearly driving somewhere, the gym I assumed. “You shouldn’t FaceTime and drive” I said sarcastically. He huffed in return, the sun in the windshield beamed off his sunglasses nearly blinding me through the phone. “Jokes on you, I’m not driving. I’m in the Starbucks drive thru and the line is ridiculous” he groaned. “Babe we just had this conversation like a week ago, never go through the Starbucks drive thru. Always go inside! The drinks are literally just sitting at the mobile order counter waiting. You could have already gone in and grabbed it by now and been on your merry way.” I reminded with a faint giggle. The car moved a few inches and he lifted his sunglasses, and I noticed his hair pulled back in a ponytail rather than his usual bun, which meant I was partially right, he wasn't heading to the gym, he was leaving it. “I know, I know, but I went to development and worked out this morning with some of the guys which has me kind of exhausted, so I’d rather not be recognized and stopped at the moment” he said as the car moved forward a bit once again. “Oh, what? Don’t want to be called Bisexual Undertaker or Puerto Rican Papi before nine am?” I say jokingly. He rolls his eyes in response. “I mean, you can call me Puerto Rican Papi anytime” he says with a slight smirk. I scoff at his response, pretending to be offended by it. “Wow, want me to call you the same thing that your little fangirls call you, gotta say Priest that’s weird even for you” I tell him as I take a large swig of my coffee that is now nearly room temperature. He pulls up to the window and I hear some faint chatter from him and the baristas as he receives his drink. Before he responds to me, he pulls his sunglasses back down, holds up his index finger as if he is shushing me, and takes a gulp out of what I assumed was a Venti iced caramel latte with an extra espresso shot. “Okay, now that I’ve got some caffeine in my system I can respond to that dumbass comment of yours” he tells me with a laugh. “ First, you can call me whatever you want. Especially right now. You left me down here home alone for our off week, I quite seriously am dying from sexual frustration. So at this point call me your little slut for all I care.” I go to speak again but he cuts me off before the words even leave my lips. “Ah, I’m not done. You can call me whatever you want. But for the love of god don’t call me Priest again in a casual setting, that was just weird” he says giggling. At this point I’m blushing like a teenager and giggling a bit. It warmed my heart to know he missed me this much. Granted, we were on Raw together, and we traveled everywhere together, but knowing even on our off weeks he wanted me around felt as if it healed the young girl inside of me that thought nobody would ever want her around for the long haul. “Okay, okay, I won’t call you Priest again, Luis.” I said with an evil giggle. “That’s it, I’m hanging up on you now” he said with a head shake. “No don’t go!” I protested with a small pout. “Nope, you ruined my sweetness this morning by calling me by my government name, that’s like a divorce.” He said with a frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we aren’t married” I teased. “Depends who you ask, but that wasn’t my point!” he says in defeat, knowing there’s no winning with me and my sarcasm this morning.

[edgessunflower]

Surprise help

Pairing: Undertaker x Fem reader

Description: After winning your big match and getting attacked, an unexpected person comes to your aid

You were pushing yourself to your limits in your match against Trish Stratus, you were still a rookie not only for only being in WWF for two years but from your young age only being 22. You yell in pure frustration as you pull off a spear against her before pinning her down and yelling in joy after the three count crying tears of joy knowing that you would be going to Wrestlemania against Lita, all of a sudden you feel more pain in your body and the adrenaline comes back to you when your hit from behind screaming as your hit with a chair, a sledgehammer, and kicked by different pairs of feet knowing one pair was trish but not being able to see who the other three pairs belonged to as you desperately try to fight back tasting blood in your mouth and feeling your eye swell close until suddenly a bell rings and the lights go out hearing arguing and someone jumping out of the ring feeling a pair of feet beside you when you move to crawl away. The lights come back on and the crowd cheers loudly as you look up to see The Undertaker above you staring daggers into the faces of X-pac, Tori, and Triple H before leaning down in front of you as you see dots in your vision slowly being lifted up vaguely seeing red and hearing a soft voice speak angrily knowing it was Chyna so Kane was likely with her as you go out being carried in the dead man's arms backstage, you wake up later on to find yourself in the hospital with an ice pack over your eye, bandages on quite a bit of your body, and stitches over your lower lip turning your head to see the tall man yet again holding your smaller hand in his much bigger ones rubbing over your knuckles with his thumb not knowing you had woken up until he looks up and smiles which stuns you but also makes you melt in a surprising way as he gently caresses your face slowly checking your right eye which looked better than earlier and wasn't swollen closed anymore "You had me worried there as i brought you backstage". Slowly as you recovered and came back to training you were welcomed back by the tall man growing close to each other which surprised everyone watching the two of you grow more close and even to everyone's shock that the two of you fell for each other not too long after you had been back and became tag team partners winning quite a few matches together even against Stephanie and triple h plus trish and Bubba Dudley getting together during the holiday break from training and matches, your shared friends always smiled when they saw the two of you in the gym, the hallways backstage, your shared locker room, or the ring side by side and hand in hand.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 10, Number 8

Orcas (not Oasis)

Welcome to our all-Oasis edition of Dust!

Just kidding. We slog through August bemused by the excitement over big ticket tours, though we will, if pressed, admit to a fondness for “Wonderwall,” a song often sung jubiliantly by someone we love on the way to track meets and XC ski practice and theater rehearsal years ago (though not as many years ago as it first emerged).

Anyway, we once again trawl the slush pile for the good stuff, opine briefly on its merits and share it with you. We’re sure you’ll find out what the Gallagher brothers are up to from other sources.

This month’s contributors included Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Jonathan Shaw, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Mason Jones and Christian Carey.

Ark Zead — Niptaktuk (Glacial Movements)

The Italian label Glacial Movements specializes in music that’s chilled, immense and slow, just like its namesake. Niptaktuk continues this icy throughline, offering a series of highly resonant, frost-tinged drone passages. The creator, of which no information is known, sourced these textures from gongs and singing bowls, stretching the frequencies into lengthy, subtly shifting tone clouds. They cleverly balance lighter shades against darker hues, layering pre-dawn shimmer over sub-sonic bass pulses. The delicate patter of scraped and stroked metal adds a sense of the real to these otherwise uncanny soundscapes. Ark Zead drew influence from the cold northern Canadian winter when they created these sounds, yet the experience of listening doesn’t evoke frostbite or blinding blizzards. Instead Niptaktuk, which is an Inuit word that implies oncoming clear skies, is a remedy against frostiness, a kernel of warmth that seeks to melt the winter ice. 

Bryon Hayes

The Body & Dis Fig — Orchards of a Futile Heaven (Thrill Jockey)

At this point, at least going by actual releases, surely there are no greater collaborators in heavy music (in all its forms) than The Body. In addition to their stellar work as “just” a duo, Chip King and Lee Buford have at this point collaborated with a real murderers’ row of bands and artists, and those albums absolutely refuse to stick to any particular formula. That they’d work with Dis Fig (aka Felicia Chen), who’s made an excellent, emotionally/sonically challenging record called Purge and sang on a full length by The Bug, makes perfect sense. The result, as with many “The Body &” LPs, is so seamlessly satisfying you’d think this was everyone involved’s main gig. The thunderous drums, harsh noise, and King’s peerless shrieks are all present, and Chen gives a hell of a lead vocal performance to centre it all. The closing one-two punch of “Coils of Kaa”/“Back to the Water” is one of the best endings 2024 is going to get, Chen wailing in rage and despair as the music collapses buildings around her.

Ian Mathers

Demiser — Slave to the Scythe (Blacklight Media/Metal Blade)

Retrograde throwback thrash isn’t exactly a growth area in metal, or a particularly enlightened undertaking, culturally speaking. But dudes in denim and bullet-lined bandoliers don’t make records like Slave to the Scythe because they foresee mass-market opportunity or stadiums full of fans in the immediate future. Mostly they don’t see much future at all. Demiser seems to share those perspectives — live fast, die faster, have as much fun as possible in the brief and weird interregnum. Is Slave to the Scythe fun? Depends on your sense of humor, and your tolerance for metal’s more reductive shenanigans. The fellows in the band have given themselves stage names like Gravepisser (he plays guitar) and Infestor (he drums), and they have supplied us with the sublime song title “Hell Is Full of Fire”; no points for innovation, but maximum points for unconquerably up-for-it idiocy. Motörhead seems as significant to Demiser as early Exodus and Kreator (especially the genius of Pleasure to Kill). Sort of nice to hear a thrash record that’s more interested in the riffs than the solos. Sort of fun to play this record really, really loud. Sort of certain that doing so results in becoming materially stupider. That’s okay — it makes that aforementioned lack of a viable future a little less awful to contemplate.

Jonathan Shaw

Dummy — Free Energy (Trouble In Mind)

Dummy’s debut, Mandatory Enjoyment, lived up to its title; it was a record difficult not to appreciate. In her Dusted review, Jennifer Kelly praised it as “a listening experience that simultaneously braces and soothes, agitates and lulls.” Dummy’s second album, Free Energy,has a similar appeal, but knocks this listener off balance with its bizarre fixation on dated drum machines and backwards sounds that bring to mind the baggy indie-dance of the 1990s. You know the stuff: Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine, Jesus Jones, Pop Will Eat Itself. There are some great songs here, such as “Nine Clean Nails,” but you have dig around amongst the misfires to find them. Dummy still have an ear for a good tune, so you can forgive their more questionable aesthetic decision-making.

Tim Clarke

“Father” John Misty — Greatish Hits: I Followed My Dreams and My Dreams Said to Crawl (Sub Pop)

With streaming supplying abundant amounts of playlists, one might reasonably ask why a greatest hits compilation would be useful. Curation instead of algorithms. “Father” John Misty’s Greatish Hits presents the high points in his catalog, beginning with early songs“Real Love Baby” (2016) and “Nancy from Now On” (2012). It is by no means a chronological survey, nor is it front-loaded like so many collections and playlists. The popular “I Love You Honeybear” (2015) is saved for the penultimate track. The finale, “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All,”  is new. At eight and a half minutes long, it stretches out with saxophone, bongo, and electric piano solos interspersing bluesy pop vocals. Worth the wait - don’t skip ahead!

Christian Carey

Ben Felton — A Lot (Island House)

Ben Felton lets the drones linger, layering sounds on top of sounds, like primary-toned transparencies on an overhead projector. You can spend this album watching the colors these tones make when the light shines through them, hitting one, two, three or more guitar/synth textures before getting to the other side. Complex yes, but peaceful, drowsy almost. One track called “A Foghorn or a Loudspeaker,” sounds like just that, an uneasy truce between natural serenity and amplified buzz and hiss. The space it lives in is large and echoey, a cathedral or, more likely, a vast underground cavern with water lapping at the walls. Occasionally, the electronic mode predominates as in the airy percolation of “What You Need.” Yet though the blippy motif is bright and uncorroded, it sits atop a woozy soup of tone; guitar notes crash in sporadically intimating a rustier, more industrial territory nearby. Felton comes from New York but now resides in more bucolic Carrboro, North Carolina. His soundscapes find a meeting place between folk-adjacent ambience and rougher, noisier music. The album gets more propulsive as it goes. Shaken-not-stirred “The Fifth Day,” turns a three-note upward lilting motif into something approaching rock anthemry. You can’t blame the sustained notes for hanging around. It’s nice here, and you want to stay.

Jennifer Kelly

Margarida Garcia And Manuel Mota—Domestic Scene (Feeding Tube) 

Upright electric bassist Margarida Garcia and electric guitarist Manuel Mota are part of Lisbon, Portugal’s experimental/improvisational music scene and have worked together with and without the participation of others on seven records besides Domestic Scene over the past decade. It is their first LP to be released in the USA, and there’s something poetic about that fact, because it feels like an echo of the work of one American musician — Loren Connors, and more specifically, 21st century Connors in solo mode. It shares his sparseness, boiled-down lyricism and willingness to disappear into a haze of noise. Since Garcia has associated with him at times, there’s definitely a shared aesthetic. However, these are not young copycats. Mota’s spare progressions proceed according to a different logic, purged of blues and baroque elements, guided by a north star of sequential consonance that adds up to quiet dissonance. And Garcia’s subdued, bow-born cries have an ability to compound, making the music thick with atmosphere, but still stingy with note counts. Play it late. 

Bill Meyer

Geneva Jacuzzi — Triple Fire (Dais)

Geneva has been making bedroom synth pop for years. On Triple Fire (named after her astrological sign), the production values tick upward, and several of the songs are club ready. “Laps of Luxury” is a case in point, with Geneva’s dulcet singing abetted by backing vocals, early digital synth sonics, and mechanized beats. “Scena Ballerina” recalls her early bedroom pop, with a taut riff and harmonic swerves. Trebly synths and out of the box percussion underscore an emotive vocal on “Take it or Leave it.” Geneva’s speechsong in “Art is Dangerous” and “Speed of Light” recalls Laurie Anderson’s 1980s work, while “Heart of Poison” has an art rock ambience that incorporates tenor saxophone and is rife with shimmering synths. “Rock and a Hard Place” is an aggressive example of dark wave electronica. The closer, “Yo-yo Boy” is an anthemic piece of minimal synth-pop that reminds listeners of Geneva’s roots while presenting memorable tunefulness. 

Christian Carey

Katatonic Silentio — Axis Of Light (Midnight Shift)

Axis Of Light by Katatonic Silentio

Italy-based Mariachiara Troianiello is a long-time DJ, and independent audio and ethnomusicology researcher at the University of San Marino. She also creates electronic music under the name Katatonic Silentio, and on Axis of Light explores a spatial dub, filled with palpating beats and flickering synthesizer sounds. The five tracks on this EP are all based on rhythmic frameworks that skitter and thud with a dark, night-time vibe for the most part. As the title indicates, opener “Drip in the Cave” is indeed subterranean in nature, with rubbery pads and liquid drums reverberating in tactile space. “Bridging the Gap” is lighter and bouncier, bubbling at a fast tempo and filled with electronic hoots and blips. The other pieces mix slow with fast, and machine-like rhythms with heartbeat-like pulses, all swirling in a warehouse ambience populated by ghostly static, quiet bells, or spooky, whistling tones. It’s all a neat combination of machine world and organic atmosphere, like a science-fiction world populated by real, messy people.

Mason Jones

Nicole Marxen — Thorns (Self-Release)

Nicole Marxen puts an eerie shimmer over rough crescendos of metallic noise, keening in the ghostliest, most disembodied way amidst vibrating slabs of guitar sound. “Thorns,” the album’s spiritual center, floats a chilly line of vocal melody—think Beth Gibbons or Chelsea Wolfe—over a machine-like industrial beat. Fragility blooms in an apocalyptic afterworld. “The Executioner” is heavier, more ominous, slithering to life out of the flickering buzz of downed powerlines. A stolid march emerges soon, swaggering with drums, swelling with amp-frying volume. Marxen presides like a high priestess, unperturbed amid flares, fills and violence. Like Jarboe astride a Justin Broadrick wall of noise, she stakes her claim, with operatic trills and whispered confidences. Dramatic, large-scale stuff.

Jennifer Kelly

Magda Mayas’ Filamental — Ritual Mechanics (Relative Pitch)

Keyboardist Magda Mayas’ music has often evidenced expansive thinking, but it took the resources of a festival to first bring her large group Filamental together. Once convened, she took full advantage of her octet’s assembled potentialities for imagination and sound. Having had one such experience, Mayas wasn’t going to wait for a festival to marshal such a breadth of mindpower and material again, nor was she going to let the impediments to travel and gathering imposed by a world pandemic get in the way. So, she sent out an invitation to an invitation to Filamental’s members and turned their gathered input into two pieces that run a bout 20 minutes in length. Each sets small, contrasting gestures dancing atop a consonant surface of elongated, layered sonorities. Ritual Mechanics is not so much a drone piece as an expression of continuous, focused action, richly detailed and consistently focused.

Bill Meyer

Rob Mazurek — Milan (Clean Feed)

Rob Mazurek has been recording for nearly three decades and performing much longer. His methods encompass composition and improvisation using brass, electronics, voice, and other instruments. In any body of work so broad, there are themes, some more dominant than others. Milan is a successor to Rome, which together comprise a smaller trend that involves recording solo performances in Italian radio studios with nice pianos. Recorded nine years apart, they offer a measure of how Mazurek’s work has changed in that time. Instead of cornet, he plays concert and piccolo trumpets; sternly ceremonial vocalizing and fistfuls of percussion dropped purposefully into the piano assert a more explicitly ritual intent. And, perhaps reflecting the amount of work that Mazurek has done with Damon Locks of late, the electronics now include playback options, so that vocal and instrumental samples (Is that Sun Ra I hear in there? And maybe some Ocora ethnic recordings?) as well as beat patterns muscle their way through the sizzle and smash of the prepared piano. Explicitly conceived as a journey, it’s quite a trip. Mazurek’s ensemble work can be pretty widescreen, but Milan reminds us that he can be epic on his own.

Bill Meyer

Nadja — Jumper (momentarily records)

Out of the many, many records put out by ambient and/or doom metal duo Nadja, it’s truly rare to find one that doesn’t feature Aidan Baker’s guitar in one form or another. But on Jumper, originally released as a bit of an art object on cassette (the online cover art is a look at the contraption that the tape comes in), he restricts himself not just to their drum machine but to layering and processing one particular pattern from it. Leah Buckereff provides bass, a more typical entry in the credits of their release, but here the way the slowly accreting digital noise plays over and around its pulses and feedback gives the whole album a very distinct feeling. Despite the use of drum machine there’s almost no rhythm to the whole hour here (until a surprise right at the end that catches me off guard every time), instead the effect is one of meditative harshness. The result is absolutely industrial, like a factory that’s weirdly compelling to listen to.

Ian Mathers

Orcas — How to Color a Thousand Mistakes (Morr Music)

Orcas — Rafael Anton Irisarri and Benoît Pioulard — haven’t recorded together in a decade, but they have been abundantly busy with their own projects. How to Color a Thousand Mistakes is consistent with past Orcas recordings and also reflects the music they have made in the interim. “Wrong Way to Fall” stands out in both regards, with Pioulard’s husky vocals over shimmering electric guitar solos, synth riffs and minimally complicated, but driving, drums. “Riptide” is populated by a number of different synth parts against a terse countermelody in the guitar. “Swells” has a strong vocal performance, while vibrato and pitch bends in the synths and economical guitar parts make for a memorable arrangement. “Fare” covers all the bases, with Pioulard’s voice double-tracked in a soaring chorus alongside mellifluous electronics, emphatic guitars, and plenty of drum fills. The recording’s closer, “Umbra,” has an extended introduction with a bass melody and warm synths. Then tangy dissonance and glissandos abound in both voice and instruments. It epitomizes the atmospheric textures that Orcas seem able to summon at will.

Christian Carey

Oxygen Destroyer — Guardian of the Universe (Redefining Darkness)

Guardian of the Universe by Oxygen Destroyer

Guardian of the Universe is another slab of monster-movie-themed, death-metal-inflected thrash from Oxygen Destroyer. The Seattle-based band’s previous LP, Sinister Monstrosities Spawned by the Unfathomable Ignorance of Mankind (2021), expanded their long-standing kaiju theme to include colossal beasts from outside the canon of the Tojo Studios Godzilla movies. The new record shifts tactics, focusing exclusively on Gamera and the giant turtle’s films for one of Tojo’s competitors, Daiei Films. It’s hard to know how much the record will appeal to listeners for whom those inside-baseball kaiju references mean little to nothing. But if you’re down for songs that attempt to replicate the absurd pleasures of Gamera in flight — head and limbs retracted into its massive shell, which then spins and shoots sheets of sparks from the holes, natch — this may be the record for you. Guardian of the Universe is non-stop fireworks: crazy, thrashy riffs; maniacal flat-out sprints; dive-bombing guitar solos. Should we take any of it seriously? This reviewer won’t hold forth (again) on the cultural stakes of post-war kaiju films. If you know, you know. And mostly what matters here is the band’s complete conviction and the joys of the music’s excesses. In these dog days of summer, it’s exactly what some of us need.

Jonathan Shaw

Peel Dream Magazine — Rose Main Reading Room (Topshelf)

Rose Main Reading Room by Peel Dream Magazine

It’s been four years since I’ve checked in on Peel Dream Magazine, whose second album Agitpop Alterna I described in my Dust review as “just like early Stereolab, with occasional blasts of shoe-gazey guitar thrown in for good measure.” I missed PDM’s third album Pad, so this brings us to album number four, Rose Main Reading Room. There’s still plenty of Stereolab in the mix, especially in the Mary Hansen-style backing vocals, the Farfisa, and the squelchy synth sounds (see “Oblast”). But here there’s more of a lean towards the baroque pop of Sufjan Stevens circa Illinois, mainly thanks to the chunky glimmer of vibraphone and the spiraling flute lines, which really brighten up proceedings. This balance between droning indie-rock and tuneful pop is very pretty, with sufficient musical complexity to invite rewarding repeat listens.

Tim Clarke

Plastic Bubble — Circular Breathing EP (Garden Gate/Moon Control)

The Circular Breathing EP by Plastic Bubble

Here’s a slab of happy, giddy, psychedelic garage rock which, except for the 2024 release date, wouldn’t be out of place in the Elephant Six universe. Lexington, KY’s Matt Taylor and Elisa McCabe are the chief blowers of bubbles, spinning out rough but iridescent songs like “Recontextualize,” where a guitar vamp grinds but vocals drift in pop ideality, “ah, ah, ah,” indeed. A classic indie boy-girl vibe permeates these five songs, with McCabe especially fetching in “Bright Morning.” “Forever” pulls back on the guitar roar to uncover a jaunty, girl-group bounce, with sweet counterparts and harmonies weaving in and around McCabe’s part. The set closes with a banger, part Who, part Fountains of Wayne, and all the way infectious, “Anything and Everything.”

Jennifer Kelly

SUUNS — The Breaks (Joyful Noise)

The Breaks by SUUNS

Elusiveness characterized SUUNS’ last album, 2021’s The Witness. As I noted in my Dusted review, “There’s no denying that its elusive character is part of its charm, but there are stretches where it feels more evasive than elusive, stubbornly refusing to engage more directly.” On their new album, The Breaks, the Montreal band are more direct in terms of the sounds they’re employing, but more evasive when it comes to songwriting. The majority of contemporary pop music is based around heavily effected vocal melodies and beats, which The Breaks seems to take as a cue towards similar immediacy. However, aside from the title track, the nagging piano of “Road Signs and Meanings,” and the loping stomp of opener “Vanishing Point,” this record is a tough nut to crack.

Tim Clarke

Tatsongs — Bushcraft (Self-Release)

Bushcraft by tat songs

Tatsongs are neither tat, nor really songs. The former implies fussy decoration, and these long, glacially evolving pieces seem as raw and elemental as rock formations. You can almost hear an icy wind blowing through their sheered off contours. The latter argues for a Pavlov’s buzzer of pleasing tone arrangements, and Tatsongs’ Tom Sadler is really not concerned whether you can guess then next 10 seconds of his compositions from the preceding 20. But even so, there’s something to be said for looming, sheeny layers of guitar and synth sounds that carve space and time into epic, barren landscapes. Tones vibrate in and out of true, zooming close and fading back, twitching in rhythm and coalescing in static fuzzed drones. Not a song in the bunch, nor much embroidery, but powerful stuff nonetheless.

Jennifer Kelly

TELESTIALVISIONS — Taurus in a Field (Island House)

Taurus in a Field by TELESTIALVISION

As Dittocrush, Pittsburgh resident Trevor D. Crush assembles tape loops into ambient symphonies. He often adds layers of live instrumentation from other musicians, such as Island House associate Chaz Prymek (Lake Mary, Fuubutsushi) and guitarist Ryan Fedor. TELESTIALVISIONS is his latest project, a tag team with New York guitarist Brinton Jones. The pair offer up a frothy brew that tastes rich and complex. Their debut Taurus in a Field is a pair of woozy collages that, while undeniably loose, are sharp in focus when compared to Dittocrush’s ghostly soundscapes. Crush’s tapes construct tangible shapes that intersect in a variety of patterns, while Jones unveils angelic melodies with his guitar. These two are telling a story that’s more Borges than Burroughs, a fantastical tale that defies conventional logic but manages to meander toward a graspable conclusion.

Bryon Hayes

Tycho — Infinite Health (Ninja Tune)

Infinite Health by Tycho

Tycho is Scott Hansen, and Scott Hansen is a designer. You can hear Hansen’s day job in Tycho’s music: the clean lines, the smart use of space, the sheer digestibility of it all. But should music go down quite this easy? Listening to Infinite Health feels a little bit like you’re at a trendy gym, playing a bit-part in an advert, or hitting up a bar packed with influencers. The common denominator is wanting to feel seen; everything plays a part in attracting attention. The synths sound like Boards of Canada, some of the funkier electro-pop moments sound like Daft Punk, and there’s an expensive sheen over everything. It’s hard to deny it’s appealing, but it also feels like experiencing capitalist obsolescence in real time.

Tim Clarke

White Collar—S/T (Static Shock)

White Collar by White Collar

Listeners with a long memory for North American hardcore might flash on those mid-1980s records by White Flag when listening to this new release from White Collar. Like that earlier Inland Empire band, White Collar frequently turns its critical gaze and its caustic smart-assery on the contemporary cultural climate of punk and politics as lifestyle (and your reviewer uses that odious term advisedly here). Songs like “Compassion Fatigue” and “Petition Signer” snarl at and spit on liberalism’s excesses of self-righteous smugness, to often hilarious effect. There’s a puritanical element to Gen Z’s dispositions and discourse that White Collar finds deeply irritating — not that the band is against strong ethico-political speech; check out “Meat Market” and “Equal Wrongs.” This is not the space for sustained analysis of Gen Z punk, and the extent to which we may want some sort of political purity from punk in the first place. But certainly, it’s an intrinsic good for punk to have snotty, disputatious and nasty voices in the mix. White Collar’s songs are short and sharp, and vocalist Loosey C’s performance is memorably unpleasant. Snarl on, punks.

Jonathan Shaw

[booksinpiles]

A Book-Buyer's Manifesto

Allow me to preface this with two qualifiers:

I spend far too much time researching and purchasing books, so the things that rub against my soul like a large, invisible and slightly rusty cheese grater may not trouble most book lovers; this is in the nature of a personal rant and may not generalize.

I understand that the complaints I am making are not, by and large, the fault of authors. Furthermore, I understand that capitalism sinks its thick, warped, blood-hungry roots into everything, and I am sure that editors, reviewers, designers, etc. are simply reacting to the panopticon market.

On to the complaints!

“I wish to register a complaint.” - Monty Python’s Flying Circus

***

Stop 👏 Using 👏 AI

I do not care what publishers are being told by investors or marketing teams or anyone else with an inherent fondness for a well-placed decimal point. I do not want my books read to me by machines. Even if publishers can ethically source and reproduce the voice of my beloved Andrew Robinson, (and pay him handsomely for the trouble) who is capable of sending many a merry sparkle down my spinal column, I do not want books read to me by machines. I do not want the rich tradition of oral storytelling (of which audio books are the heirs) stripped of the cadence, the laughter, and the magic of human intonation. If AI is growing bored, it can do some laundry.

In this same vein: I do not want cover art created by AI. I do not want AI-generated summaries. Fuck off.

Speaking of Summaries:

🧑‍🎓 If college freshman can do it, Simon and Schuster, baby, so can you.👩‍🎓

I have spent many semesters teaching writers how to summarize the words and the works of other writers with whom they find themselves in conversation. One of the surest indicators of a researcher’s grasp of their topic is if that writer can explain the material to another student. To do so, summary is usually required.

I have no connections with or insight into the world of publishing, but, apparently, everyone in the last decade decided to call in sick on “how to sum up this book” day.

The back of a book should include a brief description of what in the Sam hell that book is about. In four to eight sentences, tell the reader who the main character is/characters are, when/where the story is occurring, how it all takes place, and why they should care.

A book summary should not:

excerpt the book in italics. If I want an excerpt, I will undertake the radical and transformative step of opening the book.

compile praise from famous names. I don’t care that Stephen King liked this book (or was paid or pressured to say as much). I am not Steve. If I want to read book reviews, various publications and websites have me covered. I don’t care how great the book is if I don’t know what it is about.

write an equation in the form of: “if you liked X and Y, you’re going to love the book in your hands!” I do not currently wish to consider X and Y IPs. I am considering this book which is neither X nor Y. If it cannot stand on its own merits without the mention of Star Wars, Jurassic Park, South Park or whatever television series is hot right now, why should I bother with it?

On that note:

🍿 Leave Derivation to the Movies 🍿

I understand that one of the ways to “win” at capitalism is to observe a successful product and then produce one’s own version of it. However, I would like to propose a decade-long moratorium on all titles that are intended to conjure A Song of Ice and Fire. To all authors currently at work on A Vest of Mites and Mouse Droppings, I wish you joy of finding a new title. Likewise, the next person who strips a woman’s identity by using a title like The Radish Pickler’s Wife gets slapped. Magical schools of any kind are right out, as are any version of The Hunger Games.

Likewise, readers may no longer be lured in by the marriage of beloved IPs. That is, no more “The Terror meets The Wizard of Oz.” Don’t get me wrong - arctic, brooding Tin Man sounds a delight, but if the story containing him cannot be described independently of the source material, keep working on that synopsis.

🎉 Representation for All 🎉

Publishers are also to be discouraged from using identities (transgender, disabled, cultural, etc.) as marketing tools when the book in question makes no serious effort at actual representation but, rather, seeks to check off any “buzzy” term in order to sell more copies. I am delighted that readers are now seeing more representation in literature; everyone deserves to see themselves reflected in art. However, publishers should not introduce characters as Suzie Queue, a person of color who struggled with chronic illness and poverty unless these traits are (a) part of the story in question and (b) actually explored and engaged with during the course of the narrative. If Suzie can be stripped of all the markers listed above without altering the story, revision is needed. If Suzie has been constructed solely as a sales pitch, said book should be edited or reconsidered.

Publishers should also stop trying to seize on certain categories to the exclusion of everything else. I adore sapphic content - but not in cases where I feel that it was generically stamped onto a story because another title sold well. Please release a variety of books with a variety of characters and representations - but do it with some modicum of honesty. (Yes, capitalism, I know).

1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣ Not Everything Needs to be a Series 4️⃣5️⃣6️⃣

‘Nuff said.

💙💙 The Book with the Blue Cover 💙💙

Stop making every book cover in a given genre look identical. The technology  (and the underpaid artists) exists to make even the spines and the page edges beautiful; don’t let medieval monks outdo you, publishers. Make covers unique, distinguishable from one another, and breathtaking.

No more cutesy animated people on book covers. Romance novels are especially bad for this. The options seem to be (a) male gaze, (b) female gaze, (c) this cover art appears to have been designed for a third grader. All of these make me feel icky.

Artists, I am not trying to harm you, here, but, sometimes, art must bow before practicality. With that in mind: titles should be clear. Do not include a hyphen if there isn’t one. Do not “artfully arrange” the subtitle so that it is unclear which is the primary. Boring is fine if that is what is required to achieve legible. Do not break a word across lines or make letters “wavy.” I realize this seems silly (can’t I just look up any confusing titles?) but internet algorithms are currently hell on wheels (looking at you, Amazon, and your popularity nonsense), so I would rather not.

Why (YA), why!?

Blink 182 famously informed listeners that “nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three,” but, as a reader, seventeen is the age that has me grating my teeth. As a lifelong reader who did not have a rich, varied YA market (the options were Christopher Pike, kids with cancer, or Amish life at my local library and I cannot explain why), I am thrilled to see YA thrive and provide representation to all sorts of readers. However, life does not end at twenty-five. There should be more fun novels for readers of every age. Release the coming-of-age book, by all means, but, publishers, here is a money grab for you: release it again, with slight modifications, as a book with grown-up characters.

Readers, what else did I miss?

[ambidextrousarcher]

“பறக்கும் குதிரை கிடைத்தால் நான் அந்தப் பாலைவனத்துக்குப் போவேன். பிறகு அங்கிருந்து இலங்கைத் தீவுக்குப் பறந்து செல்வேன். இலங்கையில் வானை முட்டும் மலைகளும், அம்மலைகளை மறைக்கும்படி உயர்ந்த மரங்கள் அடர்ந்த காடுகளும் இருக்கின்றனவாம். இந்தச் சோழ நாட்டில் காணப்படும் எருமை மந்தைகளைப் போல் இலங்கைக் காடுகளில் யானை மந்தைகள் திரியுமாம்; அவற்றையெல்லாம் பார்ப்பேன். இன்னும் இந்தப் பூவுலகத்தின் மத்தியில் உலகம் தோன்றின நாள் தொட்டுப் பனிக்கட்டியால் மூடப்பட்ட சிகரங்களையுடைய மலைகள் இருக்கின்றனவாம். சூரியன் உதயமாகும் சமயத்தில் அவை வெள்ளி மலைகளைப் போல் ஜொலிக்கும். பறக்கும் குதிரை மேல் ஏறிச் சென்று அம்மலைச் சிகரங்களைப் பார்க்க விரும்புகிறேன். இன்னும் அப்பால் பாண்டிய நாட்டுப் பாலைவனத்தைப்போல பதினாயிரம் மடங்கு விஸ்தாரமான பாலைவனங்கள் ஒரே வெண்மணல் காடாக இருக்குமாம். பகல்வேளையில் அங்கே எரியும் தீயின் மத்தியில் இருப்பது போலவே தோன்றுமாம். அங்கேயெல்லாம் போக விரும்புகிறேன். இன்னும் அப்பால் போனால் கடுங்குளிர் காரணமாகக் கடல்நீர் உறைந்து கெட்டிப்பட்டு மனிதர்களும் மிருகங்களும் நடந்து போகும்படியிருக்குமாம். பறக்கும் குதிரை மேல் ஏறிச்சென்று அந்த இடங்களைப் பார்க்க விரும்புகிறேன்...”

Excerpt From

Ponniyin Selvan Anaithu Pagangal (Tamil Edition)

Kalki

This material may be protected by copyright.

Context: Nandini indulging in a flight of fancy, speaking to Vandiyathevan, about places she has heard of.

“If I procure a flying horse, I will go to that desert. After that, I will go flying to the islands of Lanka. It is said that there are mountains that touch the heavens and trees that are tall enough to hide those mountains in Lanka. Akin to the herds of buffalos in the Chozha country, it seems that there are herds of elephants in Lanka; I will see all of them. It is also said that in the centre of the world, there are peaks capped with snow. When the Sun rises, they shine like mountains of silver. I wish to mount a flying horse and see those peaks. Past that, it is said that there are deserts many times the size of the desert in the Pandya land, akin to forests of white sand. During the day, it is said to feel like (you) are in the middle of fire itself. I wish to go to all those places. It is said that even farther, it is so cold that seawater freezes into ice sturdy bough for people and animals to walk on. I wish to mount a flying horse and explore all those places…”

The closest parallel I can think of to this conversation is Arulmozhi speaking of his dream to explore and conquer distant lands to Poonkuzhali. Yet, there is a major difference. Arulmozhi, being a Prince who can and does command armies, speaks of his dream as one he can try to achieve, should the circumstances permit. He speaks of prosaic, practical means of transport like ships, he speaks of it as something that can definitely be done. Nandini, on the other hand, can only fantasise. Even her vehicle is a mythical steed, she can only dream of such travel, not actually. think of undertaking it. (I think @thereader-radhika observed exactly this in this snippet, in which case, I agree with you!)

The latest in the snippet series! Tagging @celestesinsight @harinishivaa @willkatfanfromasia @deadloverscity @racoonpaws @favcolourrvibgior @whippersnappersbookworm @humapkehaikaun @themorguepoet @mizutaama @thereader-radhika and @thelekhikawrites

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, August 10

BUFFY: This trip is important for the girls to understand the source of their power, and to know how to use it right. GILES: Do you think they appreciate the gravity of what we're undertaking? It's frightening, and it's difficult. And then, apparently, someone told them that the vision quest consists of me driving them to the desert, doing the hokey pokey until a spooky Rasta-mama slayer arrives and speaks to them in riddles. BUFFY: That's not exactly how I put it.

~~BtVS 7x13 “The Killer in Me”~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Grounded (Buffy, Dawn, PG-13) by veronyxk84

Memories Anew (Buffy/Spike, PG) by hostile17

[Chaptered Fiction]

[French Language] Infiltré, Chapter 16/16 COMPLETE! (Buffy/Spike, T) by MissKitty28

In the Company of Witches and Slayers:, Chapter 126/200 (Willow/Tara, E) by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer)

Lest This Bond Be Broken, Chapter 9/? (Buffy/Giles, M) by Dynapink

Greener Pastures, Chapter 4/? (Buffy, SG xover, G) by Mirrored_Illusions

The Stars to Hold Our Destiny, Chapter 27/? (Buffy, Star Trek xover, G) by Hermione2be

[French Language] Do as Romans do, Chapter 41 (Dawn/Spike, T) by OldGirl-NoraArlani

East of Nevada, Chapter 12 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Blissymbolics

Along Came Two, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by LilithSwan

Rebehold the Stars (Love from the Other Side of the Apocalypse), Chapter 17 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Asokatanos

Incarnate, Chapter 10 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Sigyn

The Great Escape from Oz, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Melme1325

Little Light, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Melme1325

The Watcher, Chapter 24 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by In Mortal

The Great Escape from Oz, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Melme1325

What the Drabble? Vol. 2, Chapter 59 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by VeroNyxK84

The Watcher, Chapter 24 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by In Mortal

[Images, Audio & Video]

Meme: [Cordy is personal and Buffy is business] (worksafe) by cangelgifs

Gifset: [Buffy rolling her eyes in various scenes] (worksafe) by buffysummers

Gifset: Every Tara look: S4E13 The I In Team (worksafe) by lovebvffys

Gifset: Buffy Meme: [2/3 Seasons] Season 6 (worksafe) by lovebvffys

Fanvid: the way i still cant get over the drama between the three of them (Angelus, Drusilla, Spike, worksafe) by bananabeans88

Icons: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, S01E02 — The Harvest (2) (Buffy, worksafe) by nostalgc

Icons: Sarah Michelle Gellar in Buffy - 1x03 (witch) (worksafe) by nostalgc

Collage: [Collage of Lorne from AtS] (worksafe) by sunflower1109

Collages: [Collages of William and Spike] (worksafe) by sunflower1109

Wallpaper: Evil is fun (Angelus, worksafe) by revello-drive-1630

Artwork: …and what kind of artist would I be, to NOT draw Spike pouting? (worksafe) by anparna

Artwork: A Spuffy commission (worksafe) by lilibethdrawsreylo

Artwork: Lyrical, Chapters 1-11 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by scratchmeout

Artwork: Swapped, Chapters 1-9 (Buffy/Spike, R) by scratchmeout

Artwork: ... she just went to get some more paint, Chapter 5: Spike, blood ice lolly (probably worksafe) by flootzavut

[Reviews & Recaps]

PODCAST: The Harvest by Slayin It with Juliet Landau

Finished Watching Angel Season 4 For The First Time by Any-Instruction6273

Just saw lies my parents told me for the first time: I don't think I like anyone in it by TraditionAvailable32

PODCAST: Who's Writing All These Letters!? (S4E15) by It Stakes Two

[Recs & In Search Of]

ISO: Tarot deck guide book requested by No_Note_4365

[Fandom Discussions]

whenever i see buffy drinking unspecified alcohol my brain assumes it’s spiked iced tea by chasingfictions

are all watchers british. is that like a job requirement? by godsperfectprincess

the thing about buffy summers is shes always right by mag200

[About Sunnydale's police bad work] by thatg1rlcup1d

Doppelgangland! This should be a fun one! by agirlinsearchof

I really think if the Mayor weren’t evil, he’d be a good father-figure for Faith by agirlinsearchof

[About the thing pretending to be future Xander in Hell's Bells] by mag200

anyways i think my spike thesis is just that he cares. horribly, debilitatingly by automatonwithautonomy

Fashion: Never Kill a Boy on the First Date Part Two by theoverlookedoneedits1997

The text presents Xander as a good person who makes good points when he’s being the worst by snowkissedmonsters

The Worst Buffy Character Was Almost Fixed by Skanky Vamp

My attempt at an alignment chart for BTVS characters on the axes of Good/Evil and how much they are loved or hated by the fans by rfresa

Why did Angel vamp out when he first kissed Buffy? by debujandobirds

I really love the first half of season seven, it starts off strong. But once [the potentials] start walking through the door the rest of the season goes downhill by dabzandjabz

The potentials. The first evil missed a bunch of them? Plus more questions by Tsole96

Why does the Master have bones but none of the other vampires do? by smarten_up_nas

Season 5 is the Glorious season by Cailly_Brard7

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

CONVENTION: ICYMI James Marsters' Huntington Comic & Toy Con schedule by James Marsters News

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Okay so I am now caught up with the new Black Butler chapters

NOW ONTO THE THOUGHTS WITH SPOILERS UNDERCUT!

BABY GOT A GUN!

Hmmm...kay Artie maybe you're a bit-

GOD DAMNIT-

...Okay so me and @cartyrs recently have a talk of the vibe of the manga rn (see here and here for the actual talk) in which we both kind of agree the whole Undertaker setting up a orphanage that sacrifices children for blood donations for Doll (in which I ask WHY KILL THE CHILDREN AND NOT DO WHAT ANA DID AND GET THE DONATIONS VIA MEDICAL SHIT-) while building the kids up to be like OCiel, Sebastian, the other servants, and maybe Doll is a bit weird and doesn't fully make sense, but seeing the final face shown panel of Artie is straight Sebastian!

. . . Artie-

He's uhhhhhh....he's kind of freaking me out-

I red this again to figure out what it could be cause it's not just a Sebastian vibe anymore, it's something else, and with a next page that struck me with a thought-

Why does he look kind of like Peter to me?? I know I can't base it purely cause he's a youthful blonde Victorian child, but even his dialog is weirdly Petercore just while Peter was "kids are brats" Artie's more "adults are mean", now obviously I'll be nuts to try and dare theorize he's actually a BD of Peter cause 1) he would have a scar where he was shot unless like Wendy the bullet was to the side and not back to front as I assume based off his corpse-

and 2) Doll would've recognize him for certain or at least be weird around him supposed deja-vu

... No-

Yana you can't-

YOU CAN NOT-

WELP HERE ARE THE TEARS HOLY SHIT-

Now I won't be first to mention how Finny thinking of when OCiel matched with how he's feeling right now, but the fact that Theo, this orphanage's literal Ciel, telling him to run has to be SO conflicting for our baby...

Well, I mean it'll be sad but at least 208 wouldn't be worst-

. . . OKAY

FIRST OFF, I was spoiled of some scenes already, thank my friend for that!

Second, when this picture showed up, my brain decided to ruin me more by playing this-

WHICH DOESN'T FUCKING HELP-

Anyway, back to the review of 208, a weird feeling in my chest of tears, happiness, anxiety, and theorizing-

The parrels Snake even points out of Doll and OCiel when it shows the parrels of Doll and Finny crying over the idea of losing Snake-

The hand reaching out to him by people who saved him-

MY HEART!

. . . I'm sorry wha-

Ooooooh, okay, I was about to whip out my knowledge of animal DNA vs Human DNA and how at sad as it sounds we can't have werewolf babies and question everything-

I mean Dagger's not wrong, I mean he literally named Sebastian based off what he wears and OCiel just off how adorable his smile is, unless someone else named him and he took credit

Also on that thought how he named Doll makes it so much cuter/sadder since he described aka in his eyes she's really is as precious

Also I can't tell is Dagger is saving other abused kids from this circus/freak show, is packing up the ones who tagged along, or if Snake unknowingly witnessed one of their kidnappings-

YOU CAN'T SPRING THAT SHIT UP ON ME YANA-

Kind of interesting they don't have beef, which according to some weird test is the most favorable meat out of the ones out there. Like I get they don't have cattle since they roam and I assumed beef is expensive back in the day, but a part of me kind of hopes it's like a Soma situation back in Weston where they don't have beef due to someone's religion, though then there's pork-

JUMBO!

My boy didn't speak much at all throughout the arc so this is excited as shit!

AAAAWWWWWWWWEEEEE~!

S-So... Jumbo...named the Snakes...?

Hey, Jumbo simpers, come back so I can bless you with him naming your kid-

Okay this is by far my new favorite picture of all of them together! Doll chilling in her dress- A honestly super cute wholesome pic of Beats- Peter giving off that trustworthy older bro vibes- Wendy giving off that one cool Aunt who lets you eat ice cream before breakfast and lets you sip her wine if you behave enough and takes you to Disneyland a weekend just to see you excited and scared on roads vibes-

Though now I have a few questions of this scene seems to show everyone knew Doll and her habit of dressing up to chill with others in comfy clothes (which in same bitch) and which i wonder: Did no one fucking care she was in the bath and trying to strip OCiel back then?? Dagger and Jumbo were in there, I get why they would be chill with their baby sister in there but why didn't they step in-

Unless my joke was true-

My final thoughts. . .

I AM NOT OKAY!

I am taking a lil nap, watch some Black Butler Season 2 cause for some reason unless it's Alois' abuse and death I don't cry, so there-

I have a lemon mint tea brewing-

Hopefully Doll does not die cause I might not return from that, not as a shipper but as it'll be silly bringing her back then killing her off AGAIN!

LET HER HELP FINNY ESCAPE, LET HER HAVE A BIT OF A CRISIS BEFORE EITHER HER OR SNAKE OR SNAKE'S SNAKES STOP HER FROM DOING ANYTHING EXTREME, LET HER RUN INTO OCIEL AGAIN, LET ME HAVE A SCENE OF OCIEL SHOCKED SEEING HER, LET ME SEE HIM WATCH HER WALK UP, LET HER PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE, LET ME HAVE THAT!

[sulfurz]

ೃ༄ ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ೃ༄ PENNAME: giselle

ೃ༄ NICKNAMES: gigi, elle

ೃ༄ AGE: 24

ೃ༄ PRONOUNS: she/they/them

ೃ༄ NATIONALITY: canadian-british (but i live in france currently eek)

ೃ༄ LANGUAGES I SPEAK: english, french, dutch

ೃ༄ FAVOURITE WRESTLERS: edge, christian cage, randy orton, becky lynch, beth phoenix, rhea ripley, darren young, r-truth, sasha banks, paige, roman reigns — and obviously the legend that is the undertaker

ೃ༄ HOW DID I GET INTO WRESTLING?: i had a friend obsessed with it when i was young — i loosely followed it ever since!

ೃ༄ GREATEST WRESTLING MEMORY: edge returning at the 2020 royal rumble (!!!! i cried), when roman turned heel by attacking bray and braun, rhea ripley winning the royal rumble, beth phoenix winning the championship in 2007 (my first wrestling memory)

ೃ༄ A FUN WRESTLING FACT ABOUT ME: you may be able to tell…. i love a heel. if they are a heel i will probably fall head over heels (pun not intended) for them

ೃ༄ MY FAVOURITE TAG TEAMS/STABLES: e&c (obviously, no one was surprised), rated rko (again, no surprises), the new day, the shield and divas of doom. i am also a big judgement day fan even tho they turned on the loml

ೃ༄ A FEW OTHER INTERESTS: ice hockey! pretty much any sport that exists tbh, true crime, and heavy metal (hence the blog name - iykyk)

note: this is, unfortunately, a side blog to my main writing page! so i can’t respond to people directly — if you wanna talk to me the easiest way to do so is via an ask or a reblog <<33 i love making friends i just very stupidly set this up as a side blog to my main

[zorkaya-moved]

❛ make me indifferent, make me horrible. ❜ mya oak mya oak my- AJSHSHDHDG

@furiaei

Does the fire ever listens to anyone but its own rage?

Oak Casket finds herself wondering about that when the woman of rage and sun-like fire stepped onto her doorstep. Each step spoke of power, of determination, of endless potential to reach into the depths and drag out the skeletons of monsters. A morbid power, but a power nonetheless.

A fellow sinner and a fellow Syndicate-born, isn't she? A beautiful rendition of what power can be personified as. Mya had never showed an ounce of weakness, never showed anything but her true self: the vibrant, the living, the unforgiving. She was a part of the world of the living, something the silver haired undertaker had no interest in aside from witnessing the chaos (of her own creation) and watching countless deaths become salvations to those who suffered.

But Mya doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to seek salvation because her heart claws for vengeance, for revenge against the faux God of this world. The Mania runs deep, wrath taking shape in glorious red and deep voices (demands). Make me indifferent, make me horrible. Does she insinuate Oak Casket are all those things? How correct Mya would be in that assessment, watching the dual-colored gaze study her only for a moment.

It's a shame that the one who Mya comes to is not someone who would indulge such wishes, instead looking at her with an impassive glance before returning to her book. Dainty fingers clothed in dark fabric of her gloves turn the pages as she relaxes in her seat, not looking away from the words on the yellow-ish pages (they smell like old libraries, such long-forgotten buildings and such long-forgotten temples of knowledge).

"What you are asking asks for me to enter the world of the living, and it is not something I am interested in," Oak speaks calmly, her voice not shaking from the intimidation Mya could inspire within others. The fire must be feared, it hurts and burning will forever be the most painful way to go. However, Oak Casket is frigid. While Mya shines like fire, Oak Casket reflects the light akin to ice. "To become indifferent, you must abandon your revenge. To become horrible? Are we all not already? Only when you are dead will I know if you were truly horrible, only the end will tell me if you've reached the levels you wished for,"

The Listener sighs softly, putting her handmade bookmark between the old pages before closing it with a soft 'flop'. If her guest will not stop coming, then she must accept their company until Dudu comes over. Perhaps, the Phoenix will find the company of the fire personified rather fitting. They burn with life, but one is a fire of resurrection while the other is a fire of destruction.

"Indifference cannot go along with any emotion. You are not fit for indifference," Oak explains as she stands up from her chair, holding the book carefully in her hands. The poems written in this one are morbid and tragic, a longing for dead poets wished to embrace yet needed to live to share their words with the world. Does Mya want to share any words like those poets? What will be her confessions? Drenched in blood and coated in ashes, scorched beneath. "Now, is that what you truly wish for?"

[ishanarorablogs]

When Earth Speaks

Climate change has emerged as a pressing and intricate concern in global dialogues, reshaping the dynamics of our planet's ecosystems and posing a significant menace to both the environment and humanity. With temperatures ascending, polar ice diminishing, and the frequency of extreme weather incidents surging, it is paramount not only to acknowledge this complex issue but also to urgently undertake measures to avert its far-reaching and severe ramifications.

The science underpinning climate change is rooted in the accumulation of greenhouse gases, predominantly carbon dioxide, within the atmosphere. These gases trap solar heat, causing a gradual warming of the planet—a phenomenon commonly referred to as the greenhouse effect. Human activities such as burning fossil fuels and deforestation have significantly amplified the concentration of these gases, hastening the pace of global warming.

According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), human actions have already induced an approximately 1.0°C increase in global temperatures from pre-industrial levels. If left unchecked, the perilous 1.5°C threshold could be breached as early as 2030, leading to dire and potentially irreversible consequences for Earth ("Global Warming of 1.5°C," IPCC, 2018). This statistical revelation underscores the gravity of the situation, implying that a 1.5-degree rise will have profoundly adverse effects on ecosystems and food production.

Evidence of climate change's impact is present worldwide. Coastal regions, exemplified by India, are grappling with rising sea levels and subsequent flooding. Escalating instances of extreme weather events—ranging from hurricanes to droughts and wildfires—have disrupted both natural systems and human lives, disturbing the delicate equilibrium that sustains our planet.

A study in the "Nature Communications" journal highlights that a 2°C temperature increase could lead to around 14% of the global population experiencing recurrent severe heatwaves, adversely affecting both health and productivity (Perkins, S. E. et al., "Increasing Risk of Concurrent Summer Drought and Heatwaves in Western Europe," Nature Communications, 2012). Agriculture, a crucial pillar of human sustenance, bears the brunt of climate change. The mounting temperatures create stress for plants, impeding growth and ultimately reducing crop yields—especially concerning staple foods like rice and wheat, vital for global food security. Created by water scarcity from intensified droughts, crop productivity falters, aggravating the food production crisis and damaging economies and societies.

Predictions by the World Bank paint a grim picture, forecasting that if inaction persists, over 143 million individuals in regions including Africa, Asia, and Latin America could be forced from their homes by 2050 due to climate-induced factors, exacerbating poverty and instability ("Groundswell: Preparing for Internal Climate Migration," World Bank, 2018).

In the past, global leaders convened in vital efforts to combat the climate crisis.

 A notable example is the 1988 gathering in Wisconsin, USA, where experts and leaders, brainstormed for four days to shape the 21st century's agenda. The leaders emphasized the need for an ecologically conscious lifestyle. However, subsequent years have witnessed a escalation of global warming, deforestation and pollution. Cyclones and floods underline the severity of the challenge. Regrettably, world leaders often offer pretty much nothing. What  they do is, they setup these meetings and discuss how they could get money off this cause. First off, by setting up these meetings, we as the general public, often tend to prefer their government, then they make up contracts with their other social elite friends and make money off it, well at least it seems that way. I mean its been close to two decades global warming is still at large. COVID is the only real reason why global warming somewhat even stopped.  

The urgency of the situation demands a collaborative response. Governments, corporations, and individuals must join forces to curb the emissions responsible for the crisis. Transitioning to clean energy sources such as solar and wind, adopting sustainable agricultural practices, and constructing resilient infrastructure to withstand extreme weather events are pivotal steps.

Individual actions are equally influential. Embracing energy efficiency, reducing waste, and advocating for informed environmental policies can catalyze change. Furthermore, fostering awareness and understanding of climate change through education campaigns will empower individuals to contribute substantively.

In my own capacity, I am actively contributing to the urgent matter of addressing the climate crisis. Through diligent research and the creation of this paper, my goal is to create heightened awareness regarding the need for immediate action. Moreover, in the course of my everyday routine, I am making eco-conscious decisions, incorporating reusable products and practicing energy conservation. I firmly believe that these seemingly small changes, when amplified, hold the potential to become an influence in the mission of combatting climate change.

[helplesslyblue77]

Good God Let Me Give You My Life

Chapter 1: The River Flows

You and your little sister were eavesdropping when you heard the news. You hid in your usual spot, faces pressed against the thin walls. You tried to stifle your giggles, avoiding each other's eyes.

Sukja had come to you earlier that day, cheeks flushed face full of excitement. She was younger than you and still retained that childlike excitement, bouncing up and down as she encouraged you to eavesdrop with her. 

“Mother and father have visitors.” she had said.

You had shushed her.

“Royal ones.” she had whispered.

That had caught your attention. Why would mother and father be receiving royals? Your family was of high rank, your father a court official, but a visit from a member of the royal family was highly uncommon. You let Sukja drag you along.

It was early spring and the garden was in full bloom. Flowers lined the pathway and in the distance, the lake shimmered in the sunlight. The surface was akin to a mirror, the bright blue sky reflecting magnificently on its surface, undisturbed except for the occasional koi that would breach the surface, jumping gracefully into the air before falling back with a splash.

You had the fleeting thought that it would be lovely to take a walk in the garden later when the maids had set up the lanterns and the moths had come out to play. 

But Sukja dragged you hurriedly through all of it, not even stopping to wave to your eldest sister as she fed the koi.

The maids ignored your antics, used to it by now, and carried on with their tasks as the two of you reached your destination.

Next to the meeting room, there was a small closet. Long ago it had been used for storage but it was empty now.

Sukja dragged you in, closing the door carefully behind you and you both pressed up against the wall, pressing your eyes to the cracks in the wooden paneling. 

Your father sat tall, back straight eyes focused straight ahead, a slight frown marred his features. Your mother sat next to him, her pretty face tilted down demurely.

You couldn't see who sat across from them.

Your sister elbowed you as your father spoke.

“What have we done to receive such an esteemed visitor.”

Your mother's face remained as still as a porcelain doll as someone you couldn't see slid a document across the table. 

A haughty voice began.

“As your family is highly esteemed with a long history of well-bred young ladies, we have chosen one of your lovely daughters to enter the palace and become the Empress.”

You stilled, your sister freezing beside you. She elbowed you again, this time urgently but you shook your head, motioning back to the wall.

The pompous man was speaking again.

“We have given you the generous option to choose which of your daughters shall undertake this Honor. We trust you will make the correct selection.”

Your mother's ever-present mask cracked and she stood up, slamming her painted fan against the table. You had never seen your mother show such emotion. Your mother was a kind and gentle woman, an ever-present smile always latched to her pretty face. To see such a fearsome glare carved across her face sent a shock of fear through you. She opened her mouth and the words that came out shook you to your core.

“I do apologize, but we will have to decline this generous offer. Our oldest daughter is already married.”

To decline an offer from the royal family, you felt Sukja’s little hand clutching your sleeve and you patted her back reassuringly. 

The pompous man spoke again. “I hear you have three lovely daughters. Our Emperor requests one of your daughters specifically.”

Your mother's voice cut through the air, as sharp as ice. “Sukja is barely ten.”

A second voice spoke up, sounding bored. “Your middle daughter.”

“Name is but barely seventeen, truly too young to take on such a responsibility.”

The pompous voice cut back in. “Our emperor just turned eighteen, and Miss L/N is much past the marriageable age.”

The bored person spoke again. “Summon Miss L/N and ask her how she feels about this.”

You froze.

The pompous voice broke in, hesitant. “Your majesty, is that a good idea?”

The bored voice, who you realized must be the Emperor, shushed him. Your mother stood up, bowed, and left abruptly. 

Sukja elbowed you again and you grabbed her, quickly abandoning your hiding place, and rushing out to settle on the stone bench located by the lake.

Sukja was shivering, her little hand clutched in yours, her face pressed against your robe. You rubbed her back, your mind in turmoil. 

And that's where your mother found you, Sukja still clutched in your arms, her sobs wracking the air.

Your mother didn't say anything as you handed Sukja to your older sister and followed her back through the garden to that dreadful room. She probably realized you had been spying.

Why was Sukja crying, why was your mother angry…not long ago becoming the Empress had been a joyous occasion.

When the last Empress had been selected there were celebrations for days, the whole village was covered in red and gold.

You had been young, but you remembered. Your father had come home early that day, and your mother had dressed you and Eldest sinister Jiha, in silky red and golden robes, and pressed flowers into your hair. She had led you into the street to watch as the bridal coach had passed by, and you had gazed out in sonder. The memory was hazy, but you remembered singing and cheering and laughing, and flowers fell from the sky. Large red and gold streamers hung across the main street, and street vendors had given you and Jiha free food, cooing about how adorable you had been.

It was a day of celebration. But those were the old days, there would be no celebration for you.

You sighed, letting the fear wash out of you as your mother opened the door and you stepped in, lowering yourself into a bow.

“You may rise.”

You lifted your head, keeping your eyes down, and sat in between your mother and father.

The pompous man spoke first. He was a middle-aged man, his posture stuffy. He looked at you in contempt, as if the whole idea of asking you for input disgusted him. 

“Miss L/N, you have been given an extremely rare and coveted opportunity to enter the palace and become the future grand Empress.” 

You felt a comforting weight on your back, your father's large hand steadying you as you lifted your head, clutching your own finely painted fan in your hand.

You opened it with a snap, hiding most of your lower face behind its painted folds. It calmed you, the familiar scenery of flowering trees and mountains. It had been a present from Mother on your sixteenth birthday and you had treasured it ever since.

You sat for a minute, considering your options. Or your lack thereof.

You could enter the palace, marry the Emperor and become the Empress. If you decided that was your path you were doomed to a life of solitude and loneliness, with no one to comfort you.

Or you could refuse.

The second option was tempting, but you knew the consequence of rejecting a royal order. 

Death.

So you painted a pleasant smile across your face and looked up meeting the eyes of the pompous man in front of you. 

“I am honored you have proposed this opportunity to this lowly mistress, I will happily accept.”

You ground the words out, forcing them through your clenched teeth. The pompous court official grinned and began discussing plans with your grim-faced parents.

You tuned them out, instead focusing on the other people sitting before you.

Three men, two of them standing, one sitting.

You looked curiously at the two standing and tried not to stare, they were handsome, and you wondered who they were. They were dressed too finely to be simple bodyguards, and you noticed golden dragon accents emblazoned on their robes. They must be related to the Emperor in some way.

You tried not to stare openly. The one on the right was wearing red, his auburn hair short, how rare. He noticed you staring and sent you a beaming smile. His smile lit up his handsome face and suddenly, you felt much better. You smile back.

dThe other one coughed slightly and you looked at him. He was wearing sage green robes, also accented with golden dragons. He didn't smile at you, but he did send you a tiny wink, you flushed hiding your face behind your fan. 

The third man sat directly in front of you. Clothed in black, the golden dragon pattern stark against the dark fabrics, a thin mesh veil covering his face.

The Emperor. He was dripping in gold, golden hairpiece holding his hair up, large gold earrings, and gold necklaces. It annoyed you. You could see his delicate features, your vision only slightly marred by the thin mesh.

He was handsome as well and you tried not to stare. He had an angry red scar over his eye, but even then he was still handsome. The Emperor's scar was fresh, still glaringly red against his pale skin, the color offset by his pale hair. He was handsome, sure, but his expression, a mixture of haughty and bored, grated on your nerves.

You found yourself wishing you were marrying the brother in red. He seemed kind.

You listened carefully as the pompous man and your mother argued over wedding details, money, and other things. It was decided that the wedding would be in a week, giving you time to prepare and wish your family well.

Your family would be settled with a healthy sum, as well as, ‘Honor for Generations, as the family that supplied the Empress of the Ages!’ as the pompous man put it. 

It was also decided that the two men behind the emperor, his brothers, and bodyguards would be hereafter assigned as your personal bodyguards. The thought of two unfamiliar men following you around at all times was concerning but you brushed it off. They seemed to have kind and gentle dispositions. 

You turned out all the voices, closing your eyes and focusing on the comforting hand on your back, and before you knew it, the meeting was over and your mother was ushering you out of the room, the Emperor's brothers, your new bodyguards, following a few feet behind you.

It had started to rain, while you were inside, big fat drops falling heavily from the sky, any thoughts of going for a pleasant walk evaporated, your mind a muddled mess.

In a sense you were losing your freedom, you thought as your mother sent a servant to fetch a rain umbrella. You were set to be the empress, married to a man you hardly knew, the ‘Mad King’ as they called him.

You felt tears mare your vision as Jiha and Sukja ran up to you, Sukja’s little eyes welling up with tears. But the final nail in the coffin, that dark coffin full of misery and sorrow was your sister's eyes. Jiha was fearless. To you and Sukja she represented all you wanted to become. A strong independent girl who had married the man she loved. She was fearless and strong and you viewed her as a rock, much like your mother.

So when you met her dark eyes and saw the fear and heart-wrenching sorrow deep within them, it terrified you. The weight of the decision you had made came crashing down on you and you sank to your knees, clutching Sukja to your chest, and let a few tears fall down your face, wetting the collar of your Hanbok.

The men behind you watched on, their faces mostly impassive, but if you were paying attention you could see the slightest bit of emotion crossing their handsome features. The one in red stood awkwardly, his eyes full of regret, and the one in green stood still, his eyes locked on you. Jiha watched them, watched how their eyes focused on you, watched as they ever so subtly stepped a little closer, and suddenly she felt a little comforted.

She bent down, picked up Sukja, and grabbed your hand as the servant returned with the umbrellas. “Let us eat.”

Was all she said. You dried your tears and turned to the men behind you. “Would you like to join us?” you thought you saw a flicker of surprise flash across their faces but it was gone in an instant. They nodded, the one in red a little more enthusiastically, and followed your little posse of sisters across the porch and into the dining room. 

♜♜♜

You felt much better after dinner, your belly full of your mothers comforting cooking. The dinner had been pleasant, if a little awkward, but the two new additions to the table had been surprisingly pleasant.

Even the one in green, you learned his name was Taehyung, had made an effort to introduce himself, enduring Jiha’s pointed questioning gracefully. The one in red, Hoseok. (“Call me Hobi,” he had told you,) captured your family's hearts. He was friendly and kind, cracking jokes and reassuring your family in every way he could. Your mother and Jiha were quite fond of him.

(“He’s quite handsome,” Jiha had giggled to you, “They both are.”)

But now it was time to consider your options. With how unstable the political climate had become, you needed a way to protect yourself. Of course, you had your bodyguards now, but they could be with you at all times, especially with their royal duties.

You gazed at your reflection in the copper mirror, considering. You had two options. One, hire maid guards. Maid guards were highly trained young women who could be with you at all times. The slight flaw in this plan was you didn't have a way to verify their identities and loyalties, and you simply couldn't risk it.

Option two: Summon a phantom.

You sighed, tracing the summoning circles and their requirements. 

Jiha had a phantom, a cute little girl with a western name, Leila. You had seen Leila in action, watched a petite six year old little blond girl kill four men, men who had threatened Jiha. Summoning a Phantom was a smart choice.

There was the problem of which kind, but as you were considering Jiha knocked on the door and plopped down in front of you, hands full of summoning books. 

She spoke her summoning commands and Leila appeared, blond hair in its usual cute ponytail style. She grinned at you, showing the cute gaps in her teeth. You grinned back, still a little wary. 

Jiha opened the books and pointed at the illustration sketched on the page. “It's easy, all you have to do is draw this pattern on the floor,” she handed you a brush and a vial of red ink. “Make sure to draw the correct symbols.” you nodded, carefully copying the summoning circle on the stone floor. 

When you had finished Jiha took the mostly empty vial from you and motioned to your closet. “Take off all your robes, leaving only your underclothes on.”  you obeyed her, gently fondling your Hanbok and placing it on your sleeping mat.

You heard a choking sound behind you and turned around, hastily covering your chest with your arms.

You had forgotten about Hobi and Taehyung. Thankfully you weren't fully undressed but they still turned around, their ears an alarming shade of red.

You flushed, rushing back to your sister and a smirking Leila. You noticed she had something red smeared on the tip of her small fingers but you brushed it aside as you followed your sister's instructions, sitting directly in the middle of the circle.

“Close your eyes.” You felt Jihas soft fingers as they drew patterns on your exposed skin, swirls and characters and drawings you couldn't see and didn't understand.

She spoke as she did so, explaining it a little more. “Each summoning ritual leads to a certain type of Phantom,” she said, her fingers tracing up your arms. “You're going to summon a middle-rank Phantom. Hopefully a protection type.” The liquid ink she traced on your skin was cold, sending little shivers through your body. Finally, she pulled away and you opened your eyes. 

Jiha handed you a small piece of parchment.

“Say those words three times in a row. Do not stop. No matter what.” Her voice was deadly serious. You nodded, taking the paper from her. The words were in a foreign language, but as you gazed at them, you instinctively knew how to pronounce them.

Although you could not understand what they meant. 

 “After you have completed it you should fall into a deep sleep. The Phantom will appear to you  in your dreams and form a contract with you.”

She took one of your shaking hands on her own. “Don't worry, if you don't wake up in the correct amount of time, Leila will go fetch you.” her mischievous little Phantom grinned at you, her eyes full of something you couldn't quite place. Jiha met your eyes, “Are you ready.” you nodded and she turned her back. You trained your eyes on the paper, beginning to recite. 

“Voco te

venies ad me iniussus

Asmodei frater

Maiestas maxima, gemina benignior;

Ad somnis te voco, esto mihi unus et solus dirige donec moriar

Meus eris.”

Your voice seemed to echo into the room, and slowly you felt your mind slipping away. Nothing major happened until you started the third and last repetition.  

“Voco te

venies ad me—”

You were halfway through the second line when the ink painted across your body began to heat up, but interestingly enough, it didn't hurt.

The heat was a pleasant warmth at first, just barely warm. You enjoyed it at first letting the heat run through your body, from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head.

But as you uttered the final “Meus eris” the heat changed, and suddenly it all gathered in your lower belly. You felt ansty and restless all of a sudden, an uncomfortable heat pooling in your core. You felt dreadfully empty, aching for something you could't quite understand. you fingers reached down, the urge to touch yourself to strong.

But before you could, your eyes drifted shut and you were unconscious. 

You were back in your room, but not quite. You looked around, eyes hazy. The room was filled with violet smoke, blurring the edges of your vision slightly. Jiha and Leila had disappeared, as well as Hobi and Taehyung. You realized you must be in your dream.

You made your way over to your vanity mirror, waking in your outfit, or lack thereof. You were completely nude, the only things sparing our dignity were the lines Jiha had painted across your arms and chest, now glowing a faint violet. You should have been mortified, but you were not, letting your hands drift across your body, tracing the glowing lines, caressing your own body lovingly you got lost in your reflection…

“Well hello, darlin’.”

The voice startled you and you turned around, eyes landing on the man standing before you. 

The first thing you noticed was his strange attire. He was wearing a tight shirt of some kind, hugging the contour of his waist and chest and you quickly looked up, cheeks flushing.

You focused on his face, or what you could see. The top of his face was covered with a peculiar mask. It looked like a combination of a rabbit and a deer, but you couldn't quite tell. He was clothed completely in black, his strange pants a shiny type of fabric you couldn't recognize. His hair was pitch black and short, draping around his face and neck gracefully, he seemed to have silver chains hanging from his neck.

He grinned at you, his plump lips twisting into a sensual smirk. Instinctually you knew what he was. A Phantom. He walked toward you, his footsteps silent and his pace languid. 

You knew you should have been scared, but the only feeling you truly felt was a tingling heat in your core, ever-present and stronger than ever. He stopped in front of you, and though he was not much taller than you, he towered over you, his mere presence overshadowing yours.

“So tell me, little princess, what have you summoned me for.”

You took a deep breath. “I have summoned you, Phantom, to protect me as I take the next step into my life.” 

The Phantom shot you a little look. “Tell me, Princess. Who did you intend to summon?”

You looked at him, confused. “You are a Middle-rank protection Phantom, are you not?”

The Phantom looked at you for a minute, before he smirked.

“I like you, little Princess. I shall be yours now, close your eyes.”

You did as he instructed and closed your eyes. You felt a gloved hand trace your body, from the base of your throat, down, down, down, trails of fire followed his fingertips. The heat in your core grew worse and worse and you felt your lower folds throb as he stopped, placing his palm at the base of your stomach, above your heat. 

His voice was rough as he spoke.

“Tibi me do in saecula saeculorum

Sic erit donec moriaris

meus es tu et ego tuus

absolute et vere

Recipis hunc contractum?” 

As he finished, words of your own materialized in your brain and you began to speak. 

“In me recipio te.

Accipio contractum.”

The room was getting hotter and hotter, matching the heat in your core. Every nerve in your body was alight as the Phantom growled out a final command.

“Speak my name.”

His name materialized in your mind and you uttered the final words, binding the two of you together.

“Park Jimin, meus es tu.”

The reaction was instantaneous, the path he had traced began to burn and you let out a scream as pleasure raced through you. You felt his hand grip your bare waist and suddenly there were sift lips pressed against your own, devouring your mouth and you moaned and grabbed his hair desperately and the mask was gone and you longed to open your eyes, and then—

It was all over. Your eyes shot open and you were back in your bedroom, Jiha faced away from you as if you had never left. 

Leila was facing towards you, however, and you saw something in her eyes. Better to dwell on it later. 

“Jiha-unnie.” You cleared your throat, your voice still slightly raspy. “I think it worked.” 

Jiha turned around, grinning excitedly at you. You opened your robes, displaying the two marks, one between your breast and the other right above your crotch.

They were small, a circle resembling the summonsing circle with indistinguishable words and patterns throughout. Jiha hugged you excitedly. 

“Summon him!” she said, all sparkling eyes and big grins. You were about to respond that you didn't know how when a voice resonated in your head. “Wet your tongue and trace my marks.”

Instinctively, you did as you were told and felt a spark of heat run across your body. 

Nothing else happened. You looked around, confused but your sister pointed behind you, mouth open in shock. 

You looked around and almost screamed. A huge black cat, no panther, an animal you had only seen in illustrations stood behind you. Before you could panic too much it spoke in that familiar voice.

“Relax princess, it's just me.” 

You watched him, mesmerized as he pranced over to you and placed his head in your lap.

Jiha stared. Hobi and Taehyung, still standing by the door, stared in disbelief. Leila was the only one not flabbergasted, in fact, she looked quite pleased with herself.

Jiha was the first to speak. “Why aren't you appearing in your human form?”

Jimin butted his head against your stomach, urging you to pet him. “I'm quite weak, little human, I need to build up my strength. Don't worry though, I can protect your precious sister even now.”

Jiha nodded, reassured. “So you understand your purpose?”

Jimin began to purr as you stroked his head, lost in the feeling of soft fur.

“Very well indeed.” was all he said.

Jiha stood up. “Well, it's time for me to retire. Goodnight Name.” 

She waved at Leila and they left, Hobi closing the door behind them. 

What a day it had been. You were set to marry the Emperor. To become the Empress, the highest of positions available to a lady. 

You had summoned a Phantom, met your future husband and his handsome brothers, and so forth sealed your fate.

You didn't know what was to come, but as you sat there, stroking the pitch-black fur of your Phantom, your two bodyguards standing by the door, you felt a little less nervous about your uncertain future.