#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. 

[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.

[hellbubu]

If you don’t like what I post, filter tags and block me. I’m not gonna argue with anyone.

At least Violet is hiding his reaction somewhat well, the rest just want to be arrested ig. pendejos

Why does Arden have some cheap-looking rinnegans?

"Mom, can I get the rinnegan"

"We have the rinnegan at home" The rinnegan at home^

Also, does Cheslock not think that the P4's reaction is weird? Are they always weird? Maybe. Then what about Arden? Is he acting like he's hypnotized not weird? Maybe it's also not weird, they live in a world with Reapers and Demons ig. Maybe all young lads act like they're hypnotized and love the smell of tea.

They're gonna kiss 😍💕

Welp, there goes his career in whatever sport he plays.

I want to hire Sebastian to perform magic tricks (like this one) at my birthday party in August

He's the magician Undertaker hired to entertain you guys. He just forgot his uniform

The Queen should give Ciel a police badge or smth so he can show people. Because if a thirteen-year-old just randomly told me he's a detective, I'd pat him on the head and mentally coo at the baby.

One, Midford is right, don't fuck with Ciel. Two, what's with that lackluster reaction? Clayton, a dude is a zombie and a baby is pointing a gun at a bitch, shut up unless you want that gun pointed at you.

Maybe I'm wrong, but you guys go to a pretty religious school and I'm pretty sure god said not to kill. The bitch could've been kicking puppies and stealing kid's ice cream and you still shouldn't kill him. Beating him up on the other hand...

They jumped him??? I thought one of them killed him and called the rest to help hide the body.

Baby, he'll go to court and the lawyers with the wig will be there then he'll go to jail. You might go to jail for helping him hide the body. How will you guys get the blood off the carpet??

Is this the same Dr from BOA? Did Undertaker rescue him?? I only remember Undertaker fleeing and panicking that Ciel had his locked chain.

Everyone's reactions to Undertaker are so over the top. The only Understandable ones are Midford's and Ciel's. I know the rest of them had never ever heard the headmaster speak. They're acting more shocked at the Headmaster saying that watching them was fun than the literal zombie.

It's bullshit that that hat hid his hair. No hair tie? No bobby pins? I put my hair in a bun and it'll last me an afternoon at best unless I make it tight enough it'll give me a headache. This is bullshit. I find it easier to believe that Charles laid an egg and that the hen came out of it.

I miss my girls. I miss Madam Red. I miss Grelle. This season has too many boys.

Why- why is he drooling while holding Ciel?

He's so touchy with Ciel. I'm surprised Sebastian hasn't pushed him off.

This episode got the Naruto treatment. So many flashbacks I thought I'd see that damned swing.

Back then you probably just needed to forge some documents to get a job. It's not like a good chunk of the population could read/write plus it's not like they're gonna email the school or call your last job.

Yet you guys are allowed to step on the grass. And be at the Swan Gazebo.

Oh, so he was a snitch? Murder is understandable

What's with the Red House and shitty prefect's drudges? Like, this has to be more than just a coincidence at this point. It's probably the environment that breeds these fuckers

[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 any 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

[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. ப��க்கும் 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!

[lakegenevaslumberparty]

The middle of The One Official Ice Storm of Texas Winter is an amazing time to be heading to the North Pole with Captain Walton. genuinely tickled by the timing here.

To Mrs. Saville, England. Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Your affectionate brother, R. Walton

As cleverer souls than me have pointed out, Margaret Walton Saville has the initials MWS--the same as Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. Captain Walton passes the story on to MWS, and she passes it on to us. We are just one of a chain of readers getting this nesting narrative; and if we tell it to someone else , and arguably even if we just discuss it like this, we become part of its structure. Neat!

There—for with your leave, my sister, I will put some trust in preceding navigators—there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea

doubt.jpg (but I do find the speculation fascinating!)

 My education was neglected, yet I was passionately fond of reading.

Fascinated by this whole " I was educated by reading in the library" thread-- obviously it means someone's not been guided in their thinking by the establishment, and that seems like it should be a Good Thing for a Romantic novel, but it also speaks to a certain level of parental/societal neglect, and especially isolation from peers, and Spoilers and all but that is Not Great here

These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation; I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment

gskdghdsklh ONE YEAR, he tried writing for ONE YEAR and didn't instantly become Homer so that's it!!!

On the one hand I get it, but also. My dude my guy. One Year.

But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.

I wish everyone disappointed in the arts to come into a huge convenient fortune , possibly via the death of Captain Walton's cousin

Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking. I can, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this great enterprise. I commenced by inuring my body to hardship. I accompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea; I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep...

I feel like our Captain was way more intent on one of these Life Goals than the other.

Not much to say at this point-- I am truly moved by Walton's description of Hypothetical Landscapes, and I'm sure we're all looking forward to reading about his totally calm and successful voyage!

[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?"

[nuagederose]

As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Seven: Grey Street

ao3 link

Christine changed into some clean white pajamas, and then she made her way over to the window that overlooked the street out there. If only there was a way that she could run into him again, and without having to resort to going to school just to feel his presence again.

She dared not think of those four girls as well and their words to her. Maybe they were right about him, but then again, the daydream came from her: she needn’t let the thought intervene with real life. But she also wished to see him just to prove to herself that their suggestion was right. It would only be for her, anyway.

She lounged there in her chair, and her bare legs lay upon the cool dark leather on the footstool part of the recliner. If only there was a way to see him. If only there was a way she could speak with him.

She had broken the ice with him at the school, and she knew that she could further tickle his fancy at some point in the future. To stimulate his mind as she found her way in the world at the same time. He did say he lived in Brooklyn, not too far from her there in Queens. But to scour the streets of Brooklyn for a helmet of black hair penetrated by a streak of silver at the crown seemed like such a daunting task for her to undertake on her own.

She could only hope to see him the next day at school, lest a silver lining find its way to her over the course of the night.

Christine woke up to low-hanging clouds and the feeling of autumn in the air, and then she remembered that she didn’t have class until later in the day.

It was early in the morning, and thus, she knew that she could take a bus ride over to Brooklyn after she had her breakfast and a cup of coffee. Once the main bus turned around, the feeder bus showed up and made its way over to Brooklyn and she could perhaps work from there until it showed up again. If all else failed, she could take the next bus back up to the school. A quick swipe of the hairbrush through her dark hair, and a wrapping of her green coat around her body, and she headed on out for the bus stop down the sidewalk. Eric, Greg, and Louie were nowhere to be seen there, and she wondered if they were worthy of the secret as well.

They wanted to take her on a road trip: she would have to tell them regardless of what happened to her and Alex.

She thought about Nelly and what to tell her once she saw her again later that day. She hoped to see her again, anyway. Nevertheless, she had one thing on her mind at the moment and that was to see him and keep up the momentum between him.

She needn’t tell Wendy where she headed for the day, especially since it was a school day. It all checked out.

The bus lumbered up to the stop and, after a flash of her card to the driver, she took her spot near the front there. Despite the overcast sky, she kept her sunglasses on, and she peered up to the sky overhead.

Christine had unlocked something inside of him, and she found a secret hallway behind that secret door as well. The next one down had to have some kind of key to it: the challenge of course was finding the key in question.

The bus pulled up to the stoplight, right at the boundary of Queens and Brooklyn, a cozy little neighborhood of brick buildings and tall, scraggly trees along the sidewalks, perhaps more trees on a single block than she had ever seen up in Queens. She peered out the window and, on the sidewalk, with a guitar case propped up next to him, was Alex, wrapped in a purple shirt and faded jeans. He sat on the front steps before a building and strummed the strings. 

Her heart skipped a few beats at the sight of him.

Lucky for her, the next stop was right on the side of the street there, and she rang the bell in one fell swoop. The bus lumbered over to the right side of the street and, once it jerked to a stop, she stood up and lunged for the squeaky front doors. She thanked the driver and padded out to the gray morning with the cool breeze at her side and the butterflies in her stomach.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she rounded the back of the bus to the crosswalk. She spotted him there on the steps, those glasses perched upon his aquiline nose and his long lanky fingers spanned across the fretboard, right near the head of the guitar.,

The light turned green, and she bowed across the street with one hand clasped onto the edges of her green jacket, even as it streamed behind her every step of the way. She reached the curb on the other side as the sound of his guitar entered her earshot.

Alex then raised his head for a flick of his hair, and he glanced to his left. His face lit up at the sight of her.

“Oh, hi!” he greeted her with a clasp of his hand onto his head. He showed her a smile, albeit a slightly surprised one. “What brings you here, Christine?”

“I was just in the neighborhood, and I wanted to find out where my favorite substitute teacher lived,” she explained. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

He chuckled at that and leaned back a bit.

“That’s alright,” he assured her. “It’s going to be revealed soon enough—being neighbors and having had a few lunch dates and whatnot. I wished we had another lunch date—I would’ve told you then.”

“Where do you live?” she asked him with a slight lean into his face, and he gestured back to the building behind him, specifically to the little red door right behind him.

“Right here on the ground floor,” he told her, and he showed her a smile. “I figure that it’s a nice day. I’ll come out here and busk a bit before the rain comes in.”

She chuckled at that, and she glanced down at his purple Frank Zappa shirt and faded jeans. “God, I imagine that you could be the biggest rockstar on Earth right now and you would still do something really humble like this.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I could never be a big time rockstar,” he told her. “I’m just a guy.”

“Oh, c’mon,” she teased him. “You taught us a hell of a lesson in Mr. Hansen’s class. You’re a star in the sky. You’re… the shoreline.”

He knitted his eyebrows at that. “The shoreline?” he echoed her.

“Yeah. You’re the shoreline and I’m the mermaid.”

“Mermaid? Wouldn’t you be the ship?”

“Nah, my ship left,” she told him with a gesture over the shoulder, and he burst out laughing, big hearty laughter that came from deep inside of him. “Besides, if I was the ship, you’d be the lighthouse, not the shoreline.”

“Yeah, I’d be the lighthouse, alright—” He ran his fingers through the streak of silver at the crown if his head, and Christine pictured the glimmers of stardust embedded at the pale white roots. He then showed her a thoughtful little smile. “So, what’s on the agenda today? Do you have class?”

“Yeah, just one. Geography. At one, no less.”

Alex glanced down at his wristwatch right then. “It’s almost ten right now,” he told her.

“Feeder bus comes back in an hour,” she said. “And then I’ll take the main bus back to school, and I’ll get there right on time.”

“No, no,” he told her with a shake of his head and a little wave of his hand to her. She froze.

“No?”

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and locked eyes with her: the sheen on the lenses accentuated the blue of his eyes.

“I’ll drive you,” he offered her.

“You want to drive me to school?” she asked him, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Let me drive you there. Yeah, it’s so not New York to drive somewhere, but I want to do it, though. I have to go in today, anyway.”

“Um… yeah, we could do that,” she replied, and she couldn’t resist the smile on her face. He strummed his guitar again, in all its warmth and all its inviting power to her. Christine lingered next to him with one elbow rested upon the railing, and he jammed for her for what felt like only a few minutes. His fingers sprawled and crawled all over the neck of the guitar as he played a little bit of progressive rock to her. At points, he slowed down and let the echo of the street be his effect.

Christine thought about the daydream she had had the day before, and she pictured them dancing in the blackness of space yet again.

A few minutes of feeling, and yet, when he checked his watch again, he gasped.

“Oh, shit, it’s almost eleven,” he told her, and he stood up, still with his guitar before his body. Christine lingered off to the side as he tucked his guitar back into the case and he slung the case over his shoulder. He then gestured for her to follow him to the little black car parked up the curb from there.

Once Christine was in the front seat, she shook her head about. Alex tucked his guitar case in the back seat, and then he slid into the driver’s seat and put on his sunglasses.

“Does it feel like an hour went by at all?” she asked him, and he paused for a second with his fingers on the ignition.

“Not at all,” he told her. “In fact, I got that exact feeling when I had lunch with you the first time. Time just seemed to disappear.” He fired up the car, and he made his way to the far end of the block. Christine peered out the windshield to the gray sky overhead: even with the tones of gray up above, she pictured bits of stardust up there. He rounded the block at the next corner, and soon, they were on the expressway, headed right for the heart of the city. Indeed, the drive into the city seemed a little less strenuous as well, even with the bits of traffic here and there, and the whole event of driving across the bridge. Everything seemed a little bit brighter than usual, all capped off by the ephemeral view of the Statue of Liberty off in the distance before she disappeared behind the buildings.

A couple of stoplights and they were back at the school. Alex pulled up to the curb and ran his fingers through his black hair.

“Would you like to come on over for dinner tonight?” he offered her.

“Please,” she said. “I’ll take the bus home so I can—you know, freshen up and get ready.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he told her with a flash of his eyebrows. “Come on over at around… six-ish?”

“Sounds excellent.”

“Run along, dear Christine.” He flashed her a wink, and she showed him a smile before she closed the car door. She was so fixed on her dinner with him that she actually forgot to tell Nelly. 

She had no time, anyway: she had to go to class and then take the next bus back home to Queens. Eric wasn’t there that day, and thus, she rode the bus home alone.

While at home, she wondered if she could further break the ice with him. Before she changed into nicer pants, she put on her white girl boxers: they were short and snug enough that they could fit in there with utmost comfort. She wore a low cut black blouse over that little white satin bra, and she knew that he would love it.

She wondered what she would tell Wendy should the opportunity come up, but it never did.

The next feeder bus over to that funky little neighborhood with all the trees, and it was right then she realized that she could walk to his place should the opportunity arise. Christine climbed off, crossed the street, and padded up the steps. She knocked on that red door three times and waited.

There was a little click on the other side, and he emerged with a grin on his face and the soft soapy smell of cologne on his neck. His hair looked wet: he had just climbed out of the shower and changed into a black button-up shirt.

“There she is!” he declared, and he put his arms around her. “Oh—good to see you, Christine—” He held back and beamed into her face. “Come on in.”

She strode into his humble little apartment, right into that cozy little front room with a plush blue couch on the right side, a narrow little coffee table, a rickety black baby piano on the left side of the room next to a small television and a radiator: on every wall of the room was a guitar. The single corner to the right of her was a rack crammed full of guitars as well as a bass.

“My goodness,” she noted.

“Yeah, I… like to play,” he told her with a little chuckle and a hasty running of his fingers through his hair. Christine sniffed the air.

“What’s for dinner?”

“I literally just got home,” he told her with a shrug. “They… literally were not going to let me leave when I wanted to. Then there was traffic, and I barely had time to get ready and look nice for you, and…” His voice trailed off.

“I’m okay with—pizza or Chinese or whatever,” she assured him.

“Oh, good!” He rubbed his brow. “That makes it so much easier on me. And I just going to tell you that I just ordered some Chinese.”

“It all checks out,” she said as she set her purse down on the arm of his plush couch.

“All checks out,” he agreed as he rubbed his hands together. “Uh… have a seat.” She took her spot on his couch, and she nearly slid all the way back into the cushion. She spotted his black coffee mug there on the table before her, and she was greeted by the warm aroma of the black coffee in there. A spot of warmth in an otherwise cluttered living space.

“I made some coffee, if you’d like some,” he offered her from the doorway before her.

“Maybe when the food comes,” she replied with a glance around the room.

“I’m bit of a slob, sorry,” he confessed as he took his seat next to her.

“That’s okay,” she assured him. “I’d rather you be messy because that tells me your mind is in the right spot.”

“Clean desk is a sign of a disordered mind,” he told her in a low, welcoming tone.

“By the way, has anyone ever told you that you have a really sexy voice?” she asked him.

“A really sexy voice? Me?” He was stunned.

“Yeah. I love how warm and deep it is. You just sound sweet with it.”

“I’ve been told I sound like Ray Romano,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Gentler and softer,” she said. “Way more California, too.” She leaned back against the back of the couch and extended her legs out before her. “I feel like, if given the right context, you could do some phone sex.” He raised his eyebrows at that, and then a bright pink blush crossed his face.

“No, no, no, no,” he sputtered. “No way.”

“Why not? I think it would be fun! You could talk dirty to me and you could do it without trying.”

“I don’t really know, that feels like a skill that certain people have.”

“You learned to play guitar, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a skill. Same goes for dirty talk or anything, really. Sexual or not.”

He showed her a thoughtful little smile.

“You’re an interesting gal, dear Christine,” he remarked. “Taking a normal conversation and turning it into about sex for seemingly no reason.” He chuckled at that again.

“I have a big imagination,” she told him.

“Big imagination, I would imagine that you would make a great artist.”

“I dunno… now, that’s something that most other people have,” she quipped.

“You’re human, aren’t you?” he asked her with a slight raise of his left eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re an artist. Art is a human thing.”

“Like—” She leaned in closer to him and pressed her lips on the side of his neck. “That?”

“I don’t know…” His voice trailed off. “Do that again.” That time, his voice lowered enough to where it was right above a whisper. Christine leaned in once more and pressed her lips to the side of his neck, her pinkish skin on his smooth skin, as smooth as porcelain.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the nicest skin?” she whispered to him. “It’s like bone china. You know, I think of playing around with clay and whatnot.”

“Nope. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” Indeed, Christine took a glimpse down at his hand rested next to his thigh only to find his fingers curling from the feeling of her lips there. She moved up a bit, closer to the base of his jawline: the minute bit of stubble there brushed against her lips, which only made her heart flutter. He stretched his legs out before him: out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his toes curling from the feeling. He was going to be ready soon if he wasn’t already.

“Let’s do it,” she whispered to him.

“Do what?”

She kissed him a third time on the side of the neck.

“It,” she reiterated, and she opened her eyes for a look into his face, right as he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, that. Um… about that.”

She held back for a look into his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked him, slightly hurt.

“It’s not you, I promise. It’s the fact that I don’t know if I can do this.”

Christine held back with one hand rested upon his shoulder as if he was about to get away from her. She peered past the side of his head to the green guitar mounted on the wall over the couch. They were all alone in that tiny apartment, and she wondered as to how in the world that woman could find a spot in there for herself when there was barely enough room in that single space for the two of them. But there was that cozy little bedroom off to the left there, and they could find the right moment there in the living room. 

Make use of the small space around them.

She glanced down at her little white shorts and her bare feet, and then she directed her gaze over to the long, pure white curtains on the window on the other side of the room. She thought about the daydream that she had had the night before, and she wondered if there was something that she could utilize there.

“I have an idea,” she quipped with a raise of her finger to him. “I’ll get your gloves. Keep them on until I give the word.”

“What’s the word?” he asked her.

“‘Avalanche’,” she blurted out, to which he chuckled.

“Avalanche?” he echoed her.

“Yeah. I just think of a bunch of snow barreling down a mountainside to better describe how we feel for one another.”

“A bunch of snow to consume us and bury us under a veil of sin,” he followed along: he took off his glasses and breathed on the right lens, and he wiped it down with the bottom hem of his shirt. She lunged for the little sliver of exposed skin on his lower belly, when he lunged back towards the arm of the couch.

“Don’t be doing that now,” he teased her with a sly smirk on his face.

She climbed off the couch and doubled back to the bedroom to fetch his gloves, these little black leather gloves that looked as though they had just come out of her daydream. While she was in there, she peeled off her shirt and glanced down at her white bra. She reached behind for the hooks, and she tightened them up to the next one up. She pushed her breasts together for a bit more cleavage, and then she bowed her head forth, and she gave her dark hair a good ruffling. She then flipped her hair back as if she had just emerged from the ocean, his very own mermaid to take him to a new life at sea.

Christine nudged her shorts down a bit to show off some more skin, and then, with an extra sashay to her hips, she swaggered back into the living room with his gloves in hand. She emerged right then and there at the corner, right behind the couch, and he peered up at her with both eyebrows raised and his blue eyes bright as ever.

“Paging Dr. Green—Dr. Green, your patient is ready,” she announced to him in a low voice, and she handed him his gloves.

Alex stuck his tongue into the corner of his mouth, and then he leaned to his right side with one arm extended out for them. His shirt rode up his body all the while: when he landed on the couch cushion, his belly hung out like the belly of a dog. He lay down on his back as he put the gloves on, and then he peered up at her, upside down, and with his mouth slightly agape.

“Dr. Green wants to write you a prescription,” he told her: that time, his warm, round voice lowered into a husky, silky whisper, as if he enticed her right then and there. It was a fleeting thought, but Christine wondered if there was any chance she could relay this to Nelly without telling those four girls that they were right. First things first, however.

She leaned forward with her hands pressed upon the arm of the couch: she pressed her upper arms against her breasts to further push them out and to accentuate her cleavage.

“What would you like to prescribe me?” she asked him with a lean into his face: a few tendrils of hair sprawled down onto his shoulder and his chest.

“A little cream for your lips,” he replied, still in that husky voice, as smooth and deep as silk straight off the loom. He hooded his eyes and reached up for her breasts. The leather of the gloves caressed over her skin, such that it sent a chill down her spine: she swayed her hips a bit from the feeling.

“I don’t think my lips need cream, though, Doc,” she quipped in a singsong voice; she rounded the arm of the couch and stood over him with her hands pressed to her hips. He reached up to caress her belly and her thighs, and he showed her his tongue as he struggled to better reach her.

“Get down—” he breathed out, and he inched over to the back of the couch to give her room. She lay down next to him, with her body pressed up tight against his own. His belly was soft, his body was curvaceous, and his arms were long and lanky, perfect for holding her.

“Give me the cream, Doc,” she whispered into his face. “The cream of the avalanche.” He took off his right glove and revealed his skin to her. She locked eyes with him as he reached down into her shorts for a fingering between her thighs. Those long, lanky fingers on her warm skin, right underneath the elastic of her underwear. The rough feeling of the calluses on his fingertips sent even more chills up her spine like a shock of lightning.

She anticipated him inserting a finger under her hood, but he never did. He instead nibbled on his bottom lip and closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him, slightly concerned.

“I can’t,” he confessed to her in a breathy whisper. He closed his eyes, and she could see the pain on his face. It wasn’t the feeling of infidelity but something else. Something hurt him. Someone hurt him.

Christine reached up to touch his face, and she pressed her lips onto his to give him a feeling of reassurance. She ran her hand down his chest, only to feel his heart pounding inside of there. He lowered his head a bit, and the tears that brimmed his eyes showed themselves to her.

“She’s killing me,” he whispered in a broken voice. “I can’t get away, but I want to, though. I don’t want her anymore. I don’t—I don’t—”

Christine leaned in closer to his face, such that she brushed the tip of her nose against his own.

“We tell no one,” she whispered into his lips.

“What happens between you and me stays between you and me, my love,” he vowed to her with another kiss. She put her arms around his waist and held him close to her. She didn’t mind if she held him all night long, even when there was a knock on the door.

“Food’s here,” he muttered. “My wallet’s in my front pocket.”

“You’re going to make me go to front door dressed like this to get the food,” she said in a near whisper.

He snickered at that. “Christine, this is New York. I’m sure you’ve seen some things here. If you have, he probably has, too.”

“What happens here, stays here,” she told him.

“What happens here, stays here,” he echoed her, and there was another knock on the door.

“Coming!” Christine called out with her hand down Alex’s front pocket.

[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.