#like a little sketch of a rock formation that stuck out to him

[zylphiacrowley]

Another random Erenville headcanon I have: He's a really good artist and his notes are filled with detailed sketches of various flora and fauna that he's come across while observing them.

[for-the-ninth]

It's Friday Egg! Prompt time! How about “You probably shouldn’t touch that.” “What harm could this trinket possibly do?”

FINALLY answering this one, it's been on my mind for a while and I just needed some inspo. Been thinking a lot about young Shielan, before she became Inquisitor, out adventuring with her best friend, Zevriel. @dadrunkwriting

***

“Where the fuck are we?” Zevriel’s amber rasp echoed off the dank, glistening walls of the cave. He lowered his hood and plucked a tiny glowstone from his pocket, rubbing it between his palms until it lit up. One held the stone and the other rested lazily in his pocket as he shuffled along the wall, scanning the stone for glyphs and old drawings.

Shielan answered him with a disinterested grunt, golden eyes narrowed to slits as she hunched over a jagged cluster of stones, mumbling to herself. “Obsidian, but brighter…awfully sharp, this bit. How strange…” She ran her fingertips across the tallest points of the cluster, pressing them into her flesh and pulling back to examine the resulting marks.

Zevriel looked over his shoulder and cocked one brow at her, a knowing half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He lowered his voice to a lilting whisper. “Oh, Ripperrrrrrr…,” And when she did not answer: “My liege, my dearest comrade, my knight in shining leatherrrrrr…”

“Hm?” Shielan answered without looking up. She’d already moved on to a second cluster of rocks, which, as far as he could tell, was no different than the first, brows furrowed as she poked and prodded.

“Just so you know”—Zevriel’s half-smile turned to a grin as he leaned against a misshapen column of stone, one ankle crossed over the other—“my ears aren’t half as good as yours, but I could swear I hear a rock wraith shuffling about just down that way.” He gestured vaguely with one hand while the other plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it between his teeth. “Gnarly old fuckers, they are. Though I suppose it’s more likely to be a squatter, a disembodied spirit, or—ooh!—maybe it’s a little family of deepstalkers, and wouldn’t that be just a delightful little rendezvous?”

Shielan rifled through her crowded satchel, sending a cacophonous jangle of clinking glass bouncing off the stone, and pulled a leatherbound book from its depths. Zevriel winced at the sound, but she paid him no mind. Her fingers were already flipping through the pages, occasionally pausing to trace the outline of a drawing—presumably of rocks, though he couldn’t see clearly from his vantage point. She’d squint at the page, then squint at the rocks, then squint at the page again, as though waiting for something to be revealed.

Zevriel was, in part, a little envious of his friend’s stellar focus. While he flitted from place to place, searching for something to dazzle his senses, Shielan approached every inch of her environment with a curious eye and a hungry mind, like she were a blank slate ready to be carved up for posterity—and when something really got her attention, nothing and no one who could draw her away. He knew this because he’d tried (twice) and had both his ego and body bruised for it (twice). Her single-mindedness was at once remarkable, infuriating, and wholly endearing.

“Perhaps I should speak louder, so as to draw them near,” he said, hands searching his pockets for a light. “Might as well get the battle over with, you know?” He raised his voice only just, figuring he ought to tread lightly in case his jest came to fruition.

True to form, Shielan ignored him entirely. She’d pulled another book from her bag—the one that could seemingly hold an unending well’s worth of miscellaneous shit—and was silently scribbling away in it, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Her gaze darted from the rock to the page, then back again, and after watching her for a few moments, Zevriel realized she was sketching the rock formation. He shook his head and sighed, both hands rummaging through any part of his outfit that’d ever been used as a pocket, cursing under his breath. “Andraste’s wet knickers—where did I put those fucking—”

Shielan snapped her fingers together and he looked up. She’d moved the pencil to her other hand and continued to draw as she extended a glowing thumb and forefinger in his direction. “I don’t know why you bother with matches when fire is readily available to you.”

“But that spell hurts my little fingers,” he whined, in a way he hoped would pluck her nerves.

“Huh,” she said flatly, “I would’ve thought your fingertips void of sensation considering how many times I’ve burned you.” A cheeky smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, despite her obvious effort to repress it.

“Indeed”—Zevriel sighed as he moseyed over to her, shoulders slumped—“you so regularly set me ablaze with your rapier wit, my dear Ripper. I worry I may never return to my former self.”

“Reflect on what an asinine reconnaissance mission that would be and get back to me.” Shielan tossed her sketchbook to the ground and rummaged through her bag, sending another piercing wave of clangs and clatters through the dank air. Her smile deepened as Zevriel moved closer to her—adorable, he thought, the way his proximity was the only thing impactful enough to poke holes in her resolve—and bent at the waist, resting his cigarette between her flaming fingers.

“Remind me, if you would”—he took a hefty drag and continued through a cloud of smoke—“how it is I came to be friends with someone who tears me down at every turn?”

“I don’t know about every turn,” Shielan replied, chuckling, “but I believe the answer you’re searching for is: ‘because no one else would take the job.’”

Zevriel’s grin turned to a scowl as he watched her face fall for a moment so short it would’ve been imperceptible if he hadn’t seen it coming. Her words may have been directed at him, but the sentiment wasn’t.

He crouched next to her, taking care to lean his head back as he blew clouds of smoke, so as not to provoke her ire. “I know you’re real focused on this little rock situation over here—”

“They’re stalagmites, fool.” She scratched her head, lips pursed. “At least, I think they are. It’s just…they’re so small, and not at all like—”

“Right, the mysterious miniature stalagmites are just titillating, I’m sure—”

“It’s as if you want me to stab you, Zev.”

“—but Keeper Istimaethoriel sent us looking for shit to sell. Somehow I doubt these will fetch a fair price in the markets of Hasmal.”

Shielan threw her head back and sighed, though it came out more as a raspy groan. “You never let me have any fun.”

“All things in moderation, dear Ripper.” Zev yanked her up off the ground and threw one arm around her, nudging her stubborn feet along as he strolled deeper into the cave.

“You forgot the glowstone,” she muttered.

“And you have fire hands,” he replied, grinning. It was too dark to see her face, but he knew her eyes couldn’t be far from rolling out of their sockets in exasperation.

She shrugged him off and spawned a flaming orb between her palms, then sent it floating up toward the cave’s ceiling, flexing and twisting her wrists until it loomed large enough to light the whole cave. Tiny sparks crackled and popped from its center, and with its glow came a slow, steady heat that soothed the damp darkness as it settled into their bones.

Zev stared up at the orb with wide eyes as he walked. “That spell never gets less impressive, you know.”

“Flattery is of no use to me,” Shielan said, arms folded stubbornly over her chest. He elected to ignore her grumpiness, opting instead to surge ahead of her sulking pace, eyes peeled for shiny objects the shem would be stupid enough to pay for.

They didn’t have to walk far before stumbling upon a forgotten cluster of odds and ends, arranged haphazardly around a bedroll and an old pair of boots that looked as though they might crumble to dust if touched. Zev crouched down and sorted through the pile, lips pursed around the pitiful remains of his cigarette as he scratched at a layer of rust on a piece of silver cutlery.

“Junk,” he muttered, and chucked it across the cave. It clinked against something that definitely wasn’t stone, and his ears perked up at the sound. By the time he’d gotten to his feet, Shielan was all but sprinting toward it.

She hunched over the object, obscuring his view. “It’s a locked chest. Rather small; it could fit in the palm of my hand.”

“Oh, you know those fuckers just love random little bullshit that fits in the palm of their filfthy rich hands,” Zev said as he scrambled toward her. He reached for the chest’s lid and Shielan threw her arm out, slamming it into his belly.

Zev clutched his stomach and groaned, but soldiered through the pain, slamming his shoulder into hers. “I wanna see!”

“Then look with your eyes,” she hissed. “It could’ve been sealed with an enchantment.”

“Exactly,” he wheezed, and threw up his hands. “And the only thing they love more than random little bullshit that fits in the palm of their filthy rich hands is enchanted random little—”

“For fuck’s sake, you can’t just go around touching whatever the fuck you want in a place like this!” Shielan threw her hands up in return, eyes wide with exasperation.

“Pffft.” Zev rolled his eyes as he zipped around her, scooping up the tiny chest before she could react. He held it in one hand, gesturing vaguely with it as he spoke. “I mean really, what harm could possibly come from simply touching a—”

The chest vibrated in his grasp, so violently that he yelped like a kicked dog and threw it across the cave. As soon as it landed, a piercing white light filled the cavern, accompanied by a sustained shriek that shook the walls.

“Mythal’s ass, Zev!” Shielan made a futile attempt to shield her eyes, peeking out from beneath her arm at intervals to see what lay behind the light.

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” he shouted over the din. There was a boyish excitement in his voice that could’ve driven Shielan to murder.

“Is it really now?” The light dimmed, but the scream remained, only it came in staccato intervals that plucked Shielan’s nerves even more than before.

Zev bounced over to her with his daggers drawn, hopping from foot to foot and grinning like a fool. Loathe as she was to let go of an opportunity to chastise him, Shielan knew he had the right idea—whatever busted out of that chest was pissed. She flexed her fingers and started running through a catalogue of barriers and glyphs in her mind.

The absence of light revealed a collection of wisps in shades of blue and silver, some more translucent than others, writhing together in a formation unlike anything she’d seen before. They grew in size, and the staccato scream turned into a chorus of horrifying moans that reverberated through the cave at a piercing volume.

“It’s a mass of spirits,” Shielan shouted. “Whoever lived here must’ve bound them to the chest and died. They’ve been trapped for too long, and now they’re corrupted.”

“Fucking Nevarrans.” Zev sighed dramatically and shook his head. “You got a plan?”

“For this?” Shielan snorted. “Fuck no.”

[asiminthering]

[ID - A colored sketch of Din Djarin and Grogu. Grogu is sitting in his white pod-pram, looking at Din. Din is only a little taller than Grogu’s head, standing on the edge of the pod-pram. He’s pictured from behind looking at Grogu.]

Sketch & Snippet - Tiny Mandalorians AU, here is Tiny Din standing on the corner of the pod thing holding Grogu. 

A snippet: 

Din stood at the edge of the cliff and looked out over the compound. They were protecting something, according to Kuiil, and Din eyed the formation of the guards to try to guess where it was. The Armorer had charged him with retrieving it and they would hide it in their covert until the intruders left.

The covert wanted them off too, of course, though not as much as Kuiil. He’d bargained several months of food for the whole covert and even a thimble of precious beskar for someone to make the intruders leave.

Even given the number of guards and the difficulty of the task, it was a generous bargain for the covert. Kuiil was good, for a Big Person. Maybe it was because he was shorter than most Big People, so he had more sense.

Finally, Din spotted a door hidden in shadow on the far wall. Most of the guards stood so they had either that door or the front gate in sight at all times, so that was probably where they were keeping whatever it was. He put the scope down and hopped down the cliff, lunging from rock to rock on the way down. The Armorer had offered to try to find enough materials for a jetpack, or let him borrow one of the others’, but Din had declined. Jetpacks were fairly noticeable to Big People, and it was fairly likely that whatever it was wouldn’t be small enough to be carried out by jetpack. Most Big People things weren’t.

Din stuck to the shadows as he made his way through the compound to the door. There were enough animals of about the same size as him around that unless someone looked very closely, he shouldn’t draw attention.

He slipped behind the guard outside the door eyed the controls and then the narrow gap between the door and the frame. Opening the door with the controls would cause more notice, but making a hole big enough to slip through would take a lot more time, and potentially noise. Neither were great options. He carefully paced the wall next to the door, satisfied the guard’s attention was mostly on the front gate, looking for another way in. There were vents, but most of them had been plugged up, probably to keep any vermin or mouse droids out.

He ducked into the next room and looked at the wall it shared the target room. High on the wall, there was an unblocked vent. Now Din kind of wished he had that jetpack. The wall seemed to have enough cracks in it that he’d be able to scale it, but it’d be slow going. He sighed and started climbing.

By the time he reached the vent the light had shifted in the room. It was still early enough though. He crossed through the wall and peaked out the other side. Only one guard inside it looked like. What could be in here that they were guarding? Din scanned the room, but the few items that were in it mostly looked like junk.

Except – the pod. There was a floating pod pram in one corner, all closed up but it was still powered on and floating unlike everything else in the room.

He glanced at the guard again. If he could knock them out without notice, he’d at least have some time to see what was in the pod.

Din made his way along the lip of the wall until he was above the guard and readied his gun. He jumped down onto the guard’s shoulder, and shot him in the neck with one of his poison shots. The guard flinched and turned to look at the pain, and Din swung the sharp end of the gun around to punch through his throat. He let out an airy, choaked cry even as the poison started to take effect, and collapsed to the side. Din listened for a moment, but the sounds must have been soft enough not to carry through the thick, reinforced door.

The pod floated in the corner, and he headed for it cautiously, making a running jump for the rim and using the end of his rifle to open it.

It was... some kind of Big Person. Green, with big, floppy ears and huge brown eyes. It blinked at him and made a cooing noise.

Din frowned. A young Big Person by the looks of it, but the ears reminded him of some of the Gremlins that lived deeper in the caves than the covert did. Could Gremlins also be Big? Either way, this was clearly what was being guarded, so now he just had to get it out. If he could make it to the caves where the covert lived, their anti-Big Person shielding should keep anyone from finding it again, and they would eventually give up and leave.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

The Big Gremlin just blinked at him again and made a plosive sound with its lips.

Din sighed. Suddenly the bargain didn’t seem quite as good, given how hard this was going to be.

[olivyh]

Im gonna be doing a lot of reposts with some stuff changed bc ive been busy and most of the stuff i draw anymore is just sketches

Changed up Atlas’ (Who I may rename to Cian due to the fact that I have another OC named Atlas and I keep getting them mixed up) design a bit. I’m trying to figure out a way to make him look a little less,,, theres no other way to say it besides boring.

And I changed up his story a bit too! He’s still the grandson of a sailor, but now stays in their cabin in the woods rather than going out at sea with his grandfather. Because of this, he has a bad habit of getting himself in a lot of trouble (accidentally walking onto people’s property, running away from wild animals, getting stuck on top of rock formations and in caves, etc)

because of this he’s very used to getting hurt and has a really nonchalant attitude towards adventuring and getting stuck, and he’s also fairly athletic (because one tends to build up their stamina whilst running away from angry honeybadgers after landing on their burrow). He’s a very quiet person, though! Which leads to a lot of confusion when people think he was being quiet while walking, only to turn and find him missing!

he enjoys reading, as it was a way for him to continue his travels while it was raining or he was in school/work and couldnt just wander off! He’s a very smart student, but a very dense and naive person, which, again, lands him in a lot of trouble!

Here’s his twst thingy:

GENDER

Male

AGE

16

BIRTHDAY

June 13

STARSIGN

Gemini

HEIGHT

175 cm

EYE COLOR

Chocolate brown

HAIR COLOR

Russet Brown

HOMELAND

Ireland

FAMILY

Unnamed mother

Unnamed father

Patrick (Captain) May (Adoptive grandfather)

PROFESSIONAL STATUS

DORM

Ramshackle

SCHOOL YEAR

First

CLASS

1-A

Student no.20.5

OCCUPATION

Student

Dorm Leader

CLUB

N/A

BEST SUBJECT

Alchemy

FUN FACTS

DOMINANT HAND

Left

FAVORITE FOOD

Mac n’ cheese

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD

Lima beans

DISLIKES

Small spaces

HOBBY

Drawing things from memory

TALENTS

Can just like,,, grab bees and not get stung. Even whole hives

I’m gonna make a tag for him so anything about him is gonna be under the tag #twst cian

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Can you do prompt 81 with Arthur? And if it’s not too much to ask, maybe related to the archeologist!reader commission you did for me? (If not feeling it, anything else is totally fine.)

Number 81:

This is a cute idea! Sorry this took a little longer than usual. I’ve been hopping back and forth between works and I was trying to figure out what to make of this one in particular. Enjoy!

You hadn’t expected to find yourself back out West so soon.

Only a mere month had passed since you’d come back home to New York, initially having missed the urban jungle you called home. With the news of the Viking burial ground delivered, you were praised more than you expected to be. The men who once asked for you to fetch drinks were congratulating you on such a great find. You were listened to more often, and was even given a bigger workspace.

It was exciting to finally move up in the world, elated to finally have your words taken seriously for once. You hoped your endeavors would only continue to drive up hill from now on.

Though despite your happiness, something felt…missing.

You often dreamed of that place out West, the muddy little livestock town surrounded by what you could describe as something God himself had reached down and painted across the landscapes. It was a beauty that could not be appreciated from the tall buildings and cobblestone streets. You missed it more than you’d ever imagined, along with the man whom helped your wish into a reality.

The delicate ivory comb sat on your dresser. Even though you didn’t use it for its purpose, afraid it might bend or break due to its age. However you kept it in pristine condition, wiping the dust that accumulated on a daily basis. For days after your return, your hart would flutter when you set your eyes upon it.

Every day you’d check the mail, hoping for a letter from him. Disappointment would cloud your mind to find there was none, only to silently remind yourself you’d told him to write if he ever found anything else that would capture your interest. Still, you wished you had spent more time with him before coming home. Perhaps one day you’d venture out there again, whether or not it pertained to your career.

Though as your hopes had vanished, you’d received a letter from someone you’d never heard of: Tacitus Kilgore. Your first thought was to toss it until you’d gotten a look at the address, recognizing the origin as Lemoyne. You knew no one in that state, yet something persuaded you to open it.

And you were glad you did.

Turns out Arthur had written the letter. The writing seemed more complex than his simplistic manner of speaking. He explained a new site that he’d found on his travels. He described the location; a small cave deep in the wilderness. He included a rough sketch, including various statues of unknown origin.

You were on the train the very next day.

Sure, Valentine was nothing exceptional, yet it had its charm. You were overwhelmed by the scent of the sheep that carried through the air, followed by the crisp breeze that flowed down from the mountains. The mud squashed underneath your feet as you walked to the familiar hotel.

It didn’t take long for you to settle in, spending little time in your hotel room to get everything sorted. Afterward, you’d headed toward the stables in intent to lease a horse. After picking one and exiting the barn, a voice caught your attention.

“Didn’t think I’d see ya ‘round here again.”

Heart skipping a beat, you turned to see none other than Arthur Morgan himself, leaning against a fence post with a small smile on his face.

You had to staunch your excitement of seeing him, silently calming yourself to offer a smile back, correcting your posture with a lady-like flourish. “Well, you did write me.”

“Jus’ like you asked,” he replied with a slight chuckle. “Glad I ain’t a total fool thinkin’ you wouldn’t respond.”

“Well, you know how I am with new discoveries,” you giggled, strutting closer to him as your horse stepped closely behind you. “Glad you did write. It was nice hearing from you, I certainly missed your company.”

Immediately you regretted uttering that last sentence. Flames erupted in your face as you broke from his gaze. You weren’t sure why it was so embarrassing, you’d only interacted with him twice before. He was merely an acquaintance in society’s standards, though a gentleman for escorting you to the Viking tomb during your first visit. He didn’t have to, hell, Arthur seemed like the type that would pass by without a second glance. 

He didn’t seem to notice your fluster. “I ain’t nothin’ but ordinary, Y/N,” he chortled. “I appreciate it though.”

On the contrary he was opposite of the ordinary. You often thought of what would have happened if he hadn’t crossed paths with you. Maybe you would have stumbled upon the site out of pure luck, or perhaps you would have been kidnapped by those hooligans he’d warned you about. Either way, you were glad to have his assistance.

“So, you off to find the place I told ya ‘bout?” he asked.

His reminder brought you back to the present. “Yes, absolutely!” you answered. “Er, how far is it from here, exactly?”

“Come with me,” Arthur gestured with cocking his head to the side. “I’ll show ya myself.”

Your heart began to race from his offer. “W-why?” you stammered, pausing to control your voice. “Wouldn’t I be keeping you from something?”

“You won’t be,” he assured, stepping closer to you. “‘Sides, it’s a bit of a hike, and in a hidden area. Ya may end up lost if I don’t help ya.”

His persistence amazed and excited you. “Alright, lead the way Arthur.”

—

The cold air whipped around your face as you galloped behind Arthur across New Hanover. The land here was breathtakingly gorgeous, green fields, rolling hills and dense forests that appeared right out of a fairytale. Quaint cabins and homesteads dotted the land, surrounded by crops and farm animals. It must be such a simple way of life without the noises and thick air of the big city.

“How often are you out here, Arthur?” you’d asked after a while of silence. Upon the start of your journey, you’d had a quick conversation about what you’d been up to since coming back to New York. He was impressed by your news, happy that you were able to step up the ladder in your career. You’d asked him what he’d been up to, only receiving vague answers. The chatter died after that.

“From time to time.” he answered, slowing down a little to speak clearly to you.

“And you live in Lemoyne?” you continued.

He shrugged. “For the time bein’. I tend to…hop ‘round from place to place.”

That would explain why he seemed so well-traveled. You wanted to ask more questions about his life, until another had pushed its way to the forefront of your mind. “Who is Tacitus Kilgore?”

“Ah, it’s some feller I know. I’ve been stayin’ with him.” Arthur said.

You’d noticed a second of hesitation in his answer. Curiosity piqued as you wondered more about this man. Your thoughts vanished suddenly as Arthur took a sharp turn, urging his horse up the mountain. You followed suit.

“It’s a bit up a-ways,” Arthur called back to you. “Be careful, don’t let your horse slip.”

Arthur expertly navigated the side of the mountain, guiding you along steady paths along rock faces. The air grew crisp and colder with the higher altitude. You huddled over, a shiver passing deep through your body.

More time had passed, seemingly slower as the temperature dropped. Eventually Arthur slowed down, stopping just before a large rock formation. You peered at it with curiosity.

“There’s supposed to be a cave here?” You questioned. “Where’s the entrance?”

He dismounted, gesturing for you to do the same. Once your feet hit the ground, he led you around the mounds of stone, a small pathway appearing between them. He stopped and pointed, “There.”

You followed his finger, eyes scanning the surface until a fissure caught your attention. It was fairly narrow, enough that at first glance it would have seemed like a depression in the rock itself.

“Hope ya don’t mind tight spaces.” He continued. He waited until you did the same before trekking toward the mouth of the cave.

You at first assumed it was much more narrow than it appeared. However, both you and Arthur were able to pass in with ease. It was still a little too enclosed for your liking, however. You stuck close behind him. Having never been inside a cave before, excitement and nervousness flowed through you in anticipation of discovery.

The short tunnel opened up to a small cavern, which was partly illuminated from an opened in the ceiling.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Nude statues on pedestals, all facing inward to what appeared to be a bird in the center. You walked closer, observing the finer features. They were eroded with age, missing their faces or random appendages.

You turned to view the centerpiece, staring in surprise when you realized it wasn’t a bird. It seemed to be a hybrid with a mammalian body and bird wings, yet had the head of a woman.

“What do ya think that is?” Arthur asked, watching you from outside the circle.

In your studies and excavations, you never once came across anything so unique. You weren’t sure what to make of it. Ancient civilizations usually had statues and other builds to honor their deities. Gods and Goddesses of which were said to have many forms, whether human or animal.

“Well Arthur, quite frankly I have no idea.” you answered with a slight chuckle. “Seems to be a deity of some sort from how everything is situated. It doesn’t appear to be from any civilization that I’m aware of.”

He mumbled something about strange deities, along with something about a turtle. Stepping closer to you, he peered up at the standing statues. “Gotta wonder what kinda cult made these.”

“What makes you think it was a cult?” you asked with curiosity.

He gave a small shrug. “Cults make some folk do strange things. Worship strange…creatures.” he briefly gestured to the hybrid statue.

You considered his words for a moment. There was sense in them, you hadn’t personally had any sort of contact with one, though heard about them in your travels. Perhaps it truly was a creation of one. Regardless, you found it interesting.

“How did you find this place anyway?” you asked. “Surely you didn’t just stumble across the entrance, as obscure as it is.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he answered, and dug into his satchel for a moment before producing a leather bound book. “I found somethin’ else though, helped me find this place.”

You automatically stepped closer, peering at the pages as he quickly flipped through them, until landing on a page. Heavily sketched, it seemed to be a diagram mirroring the sight before you.

You’d also realized how good of an artist Arthur was.

“Ain’t too sure what it means, and why some feller wanted to draw it on a rock wall…” Arthur said.

You glanced back and forth between the sketch and the statues. Something pricked at your mind, telling you there was something…more to this.

You observed the statues again, your gaze traveling from top to bottom. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, until you spotted something on the pedestal. You approached it, bending down to get a better view. It appeared to be some sort of button.

Glancing around, you took notice that every statue that made the circle had one.

Hm.

“Seems like there’s something more here.” you announced, pressing the button in front of you.

Nothing happened.

Arthur stepped up next to you. “Whatchu mean?”

“Every statue has a button. I wonder why…”

He glanced down at his book again, and gazed around at the other statues. “Think it’s important?”

“Might be,” you said thoughtfully. “Let me see that drawing again…”

He held the page toward you, which you began to study with scrutiny. You noted there were symbols next to every statue. There seemed to be some significance to them. Each symbol had a different amount of what appeared to be feathers attached. All but one, which one statue was missing an entire arm

Taking the journal carefully into your hands, you walked to each one that had been marked on paper. Taking a few minutes to observe every small feature, you came to notice they all had a different amount of fingers.

“They’re all missin’ a different bunch o’ fingers.” Arthur seemed to voice your thoughts.

You nodded, trying to assume a significance here. The mental gears in your head were turning. None of them had the same amount missing. Glancing down at the drawing a final time, you realized the amount of fingers on each statue correlated with the symbols.

You reached out and pressed a button in front of one, watching it depress into the pedestal. Nothing else happened.

Walking around to the other marked statues, you pressed the other buttons. Still, nothing happened. You frowned and stepped back, scratching your head in confusion.

Arthur watched you silently, his own expression puzzled. He scratched his scruffy chin in thought. “Somethin’ ‘sposed to happen?”

“Seems like it,” you rubbed your hair as you tried to think. “Hm…”

You hadn’t noticed Arthur move around more as you pondered the significance. Each statue with fingers missing, each different than the last. The buttons meant there was something to unlock, but what? A clue to what this odd little site was?

“Hey, maybe press ‘em in order?”

You blinked, your train of thought derailed. “What?”

“The buttons,” Arthur pointed to the statue that was missing multiple fingers. “None o’ them are missin’ the same amount, right? Maybe we gotta press ‘em in order of how many.”

You raised your eyebrows. You weren’t expecting that answer, yet it somehow made sense to you. “Alright, let’s give it a shot.”

—

It took much longer than you thought.

You and Arthur spent an immeasurable amount of time pressing buttons in numerical order, only to have fruitless results. By process of elimination you were able to narrow your tries down to a last few.

The entire time you’d expected Arthur to get frustrated and quit. He however was persistent, never once showing an ounce of irritation. He was just as determined as you to figure out this odd puzzle, even if it meant no personal gain for him.

Though by now you yourself were tired, feet aching and stomach growling. Cold began to settle in as the day grew later. You were thankful you’d packed some food prior to coming out here, although sleeping on the floor of a cave was less than ideal.

Taking a deep breath and praying this would be the one, you pressed a button.

Within in instant, an audible click echoed within the small cave. Your eyes widened as you whipped around for the source of the noise, seeming to originate from the center statue.

Glancing at Arthur, you both scurried over to it. As you looked from top to bottom, Arthur made a noise.

“Look!” he exclaimed, holding up an object that glinted even in the last of the sun’s rays. You did so, surprise overtaking you. Three gold bars rested in his hands. “Looks like they were hidin’ valuables.”

Your first assumption was they were offerings for…whatever deity this was. Yet why was there a puzzle? Was it just a clever way to stash them? Gold bars would fetch a hefty price to the right seller, especially for three of them. This only launched more questions surrounding the origins of this place, and why. Maybe there were more clues, or none at all. “Glad we solved that,” you said with a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t expecting gold bars.”

“I ain’t sure what I was expectin’,” Arthur chuckled. “Worth it though…” he held them out to you.

You blinked at his offer. “Why are you giving them to me?” you asked.

“Maybe they’re…I dunno, from some ancient civilization or somethin’.” he said with a shrug, but somehow you could tell it was a lie; even a simpleton could tell these were from modern times.Your eyes traveling from his face to his hands, you took the bars. The cold metal felt smooth against your skin. They were quite heavy, sporting a dull shine even in the dim.

Money wasn’t an important matter to you, never was. You could always sell these and move into a bigger apartment in New York, or find some other uses. Donate one to the museum for additional funding or for display.

You looked back to Arthur, who was gazing at you with a soft expression. You wouldn’t even have these if it weren’t for his diligence in the first place. You held one back out, pressing it into his palm. “You deserve one, too.”

He blinked, giving you a look of confusion. “You sure?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you said, “Of course Arthur! I wouldn’t have even found this place if you hadn’t volunteered to take me up here. Plus, you stuck around to help with the puzzle. I think it’s reasonable.”

A slow smile spread across his face at you words. “Heh, well…thank you.” he said as he tucked the bar away in his satchel.

“No, thank you…” you murmured. A moment of bravery overcame you as you stepped forward to place a kiss on his cheek. “For everything you’ve done so far.”

His smile turned shy, his head tilting down as a surprisingly child-like chuckle expressed from his lips. “No problem.”

---

Send me a prompt!

[lucyreviewcy]

Jumanji: The Next Level (2019) Dir. Jake Kasdan

Spencer, disappointed with life after high school, decides to re-enter the world of Jumanji to better understand “who he really is.” In the process of trying to help him get out, Fridge and Martha accidentally drag two old men (Grandpa Eddie and Milo Walker) into the game with him. 

Is it possible to make the same movie with the same exact concept twice in a row two years in a row? Yes. Is it possible to make the second of those two essentially identical movies anything beyond a pile of commercial slush? ...Until yesterday, I thought not. 

And yet, Jumanji: The Next Level exists. And is great fun. 

I think it is perfectly fair to presume that Jumanji: The Next Level would feel like a microwaved plate of last night’s spaghetti bolognese. It’s the same characters in the same universe and the issue of “We’re stuck in a video game” is also the same. There are new characters, but I can put new clothes on, I’m still the same person underneath. No matter how you dress it up, Jumanji: The Next Level is built on the same story foundations as Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle. It shouldn’t be good. It should be just as eye-rollingly dull as the latest James Bond trailer, or yet another Saturday Night Live sketch where they’ve used real dogs to cover up a complete lack of actual jokes. But somehow, Jake Kasdan and team have made a movie that is as punchy, fun and brightly colored as Welcome to the Jungle, but which manages to surprise and enchant the audience in ways even its big brother didn’t manage. 

The inclusion of Milo and Grandpa Eddie is a master stroke, allowing the cast to hit all the beats of “teens explaining video games to old people” without the accompanying snark that could have lent the film a decidedly bitter tone. We’re all bored of “boomer vs millennial” narratives, it’s actually nice to see some good old-fashioned “Grandpa doesn’t know what a non-player-character is” dialogue. Adding these characters adds more opportunities for laughs. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and Kevin Hart shine as they take on the personas of Milo and Eddie. Johnson is rarely given characters who are much beyond muscle and quips, so it was fun to see him trying something different here. Awkwafina is also a perfect casting choice, but I think that about pretty much anything she crops up in. 

While I was surprised that this worked, it occurs to me that I shouldn’t be. I’m not ragging on the Marvel films when I say that the format of Marvel movies paved the way for this movie. Marvel movies hit very specific beats with very specific character types. These characters are played by different actors, but they still fit into the same categories. The Jumanji movies flip this on its head, by having the same actors play different characters within the same world. Marvel recycles tropes and characters, Jumanji does the same, but is more honest about it. 

I laughed throughout Jumanji: The Next Level. Loudly. I also did a little tear at the end. I can’t recommend this corking adventure movie enough. 

[fredseibertdotcom]

“When in doubt, count!” 

My mentor Dale Pon didn’t get much public recognition for his smart, strategic and successful creative work in media promotion. I’m posting about a few projects I was lucky to work on with him.

Scott Webb sent along this advertising campaign Dale Pon created on the cusp of the 1979/80 era of WNBC Radio in New York City. Bob Pittman, Scott, and I recount our view of it below, and I’ll update as more come in from other colleagues. 

There have been countless lessons I learned from Dale Pon about promotion and marketing, but the one that has stuck with me most is...

“When in doubt, count!”

Sounds pretty boring and I thought Dale was a creative guy. Count, like “4 out of 5 dentists recommend Crest”? Really, that’s a good solution?

But Dale’s point of view was the numbers can always point you to a creative solution that can work if you use them as a jumping off point. Basically, as you’re trying to figure out a pitch, a unique selling proposition for a campaign, if you get stuck, look at the numbers. It’s an idea that so pervasive that our mutual co-worker Bob Pittman has even started a podcast on the principal called “Math & Magic.”

To me, this maxim was often how to do a lot with a little, but it didn’t become super clear to me how “counting” could lead to anything useful until I saw it in amazing action back at the beginning of our relationship in the late 1970s.

Fred Seibert:  In 1977, Dale Pon had hired me at WHN in New York City, moved me to Los Angeles and back again. He’d successfully and ____ promoted WHN into the 2nd most listened to country music station in American –remember this station was in New York, home to Frank Sinatra, not Johnny Cash– and I was his lackey,

In early 1979  Dale abandoned me. He went to a New York radio competitor, telling me that not only could I run the WHN promotion department –a job for which I had virtually no experience other than my short stint with him. (“Hey, you produced a jazz record that got a Grammy nomination, you can be good at this too.” Really?) He’d been whisked away by WNBC, a relative ratings laggard, home to Imus in the Morning, run by veteran Bob Sherman and upstart program director Bob Pittman. Sherman’s public goal? “Beat WABC!, which had been New York's #1 station for decades.”

“Oh, I need you to help me produce the TV campaign. If WHN finds out and fires you, I’ll bring you over.” 

Oh great.

Next thing I know Dale’s whipped out the latest New York Arbitron radio ratings books and hands one to me. “Go to every demographic page and circle WNBC. Let’s see what’s what.”

A half hour later I said, “You’re fucked. At best they’re #14 in the prime demos.”

“Here!” he points, “They’re #2!!” It was something like Adult men 35-49. 

I was confused. The group that advertisers wanted was Adults 18-49, maybe on a stretch Adults 25-49. What the hell?!

“We’ll note the demo in the mouse type at the bottom. No one will notice!”

No one will notice?!

Within an hour Dale had sketched out the pitch. A take off on a successful Avis Car Rental campaign.

“We’re #2, we want to be #1! WNBC Radio 66!” 

Before I knew it, Dale had WNBC putting out a call to it’s listeners to send in  Polaroids of any twins who listened for a potential casting in commercials.

Huh, twins? “We’re #2.” Twins. OK, he’s got a creative idea. 

Soon enough, he had me coming to an audio studio after work to moonlight the soundtracks for the campaigns. (WHN never caught on, and I stayed until I want to MTV Networks.)

“Twice as many winnas!*** Twice as many prizes!! Twice as many chances to win!!!” 

And you know? The damned thing worked like crazy. When in doubt, count. Indeed. 

***Remember, we were in New Yawk City. You know, that accent.

Bob Pittman: “...being bold; getting attention; and dominating the airwaves…” 

In addition to my time working with Dale Pon when he created ‘I Want My MTV’ for us in the very early days of MTV and when he helped me relaunch Six Flags Theme Parks, Dale was a lifelong friend and was my partner in building WNBC Radio in the late 70s.

We had completely rebuilt the programming and brought Don Imus back to WNBC from Cleveland, and Dale used the Imus return to help build the huge cume for the radio station and lead WNBC to its eventual position as number one.  WNBC went from an old, staid, second-rate New York radio station to the number one radio station through building the right  programming; Don Imus was the anchor and nighttime disc jockey Alan Beebe’s introduction of ‘WNNNNNBC’ gave the station its unique hooks. Dale took those  – and the rest is history.

Dale taught us all about having a clear and valued claim; being bold; getting attention; and dominating the airwaves with frequency.  Although he may not have won awards for his creativity, it worked time and time again and those of us who adopted his philosophies had that same kind of success in other businesses at other times.  But make no mistake about it – it was Dale’s influence that got us there.

Scott Webb: “...creativity was about problem solving and winning...” 

I got an internship working for Dale Pon two days a week at WNBC Radio during last 3 months of my senior year at Sarah Lawrence College. There were 3 other interns and mostly we made sure that content winners got their prizes and that all the promotions were administered properly. 

There were A LOT of contests and giveaways. 

I had never worked at a radio station before and I just assumed this level of promotion fervor was standard operating procedure. The station was based on the 2nd floor of 30 Rock and at the time it seemed glamorous. I was in line with David Letterman at the cafeteria and Saturday Night Life was rehearsing on the 8th floor and Tom Snyder was in the office down the hall. 

Dale’s office was the dead center of the office when you walked in the door. He ran the team like it was a barroom in the middle of a battlefield. He was loud and always barking out orders. It was stressful and fun. On the last day of our internship we were given T-Shirts that read “I survived Dale Pon”. I, for one, was afraid to put it on - for fear of what his reaction might be - but also because I didn’t want it to end. 

A few weeks later, after he abruptly fired one of his managers he hired me on the spot to join his battalion, er I mean, team. We went to work on the TV advertising campaign that would take WNBC from #2 to #1 in the NYC market. 

We put a call out for twins and cast dozens of twins to kiss Imus. Shooting that campaign was the first production I had ever been part of and it was fast and furious and Dale took me to almost every meeting and along the way from storyboarding with the cinematographer to instructing the animator to directing sound and even buying the air time. 

I didn’t know it but I was getting a master class in creative strategy that was all about winning. It was not just fun – it was a mission to transform what had been a shitty, demoralized loser of radio station to being totally made over into an unstoppable #1 radio station. 

When the dust settled WABC, formerly #1 gave up completely and changed their format from music to News and Talk. An outcome that blew me away at the time. I thought Dale would be happy at the utter defeat he delivered to his competitor but he hated that they never took the bait to respond to his challenge. He wanted a worthy adversary but he never got it. They ran. 

It was the most stressful and wonderful time of my life and it was impossible to not be fascinated by everything Dale did. He was a great teacher and often just told me to sit close to him and just watch everything he did. He taught me how to see and how to think and to understand that creativity was about problem solving and winning. Thank you Dale.

[tsxndxre]

-- The Mermaid && The Architect

This is called I’m really indulgent with writing and I had idolized mermaid maki recently so I decided to write a drabble featuring TakiMaki.

“…Wake up… Maki… Wake up… Little Sea Princess…”

Sea Princess? Ah… She was still thinking about the recent photoshoot. The girls telling her to have the expression of a beautiful sea princess, waiting for her prince to take her away. It was a silly thought… But she looked over at Tachibana Taki and blushed as she continued to smile for the camera. There’s no way that he would be my prince… I don’t even like him…

“OI I TOLD YOU TO WAKE UP.” Maki jolted awake as she felt someone shake her body. Her body felt sore from the long day of shooting. Maki rubbed her eyes as she looked around in the darkness.

“Where am I…?” She mumbled. She tried to swing her legs over the bed and stand up, only to find herself tripping over herself and falling to the floor. “Ow! What the heck…? Am I still half asleep?”

She looked at her legs to try and see what the heck was causing her the fall to… not find legs but a lovely tail decorated by beads, matching the dark pink-red color of her hair. Had she forgotten to take off her costume. She untwisted the top dress part to notice that the tail was still very much there… And on top of that it felt… scaly. She quickly turned to open her window to realize a fish was swimming by her window. And the whole scenery was deep under the sea… What in the world… what…

Maki let out a scream of terror as she realized that she was not a human but a mermaid. Fins responding to her movements like it was natural. This was getting creepier by the second. Why was she suddenly able to breathe underwater? Why a mermaid?! Her thoughts interrupted as suddenly her door was open…

“Princess!” Kotori swam in along with Honoka and Hanayo. “Are you okay? We heard you screaming and so we barged in…”

“W-What… Princess…? What are you talking about? I’m not…” Maki started before realizing by the confusion of the girls’ faces… She was somehow in the Little Mermaid as the Princess. The memories of a fake childhood under the sea… Her learning to swim and even making friends with these girls who were also her most faithful servants. Now they were worried for her, the princess who they served and befriended. She had to think of a quick lie. “I-I’m fine… just a terrible nightmare of the sea witch.”

“S-Sea witch?!” Hanayo’s skin jumped as she heard of the creature. “Just the thought of her makes me shake! I’m sure it was awful!”

Maki had not thought that would be a decent excuse but it seemed to get them to have some sympathy. She watched the other girls as they floated around with their tails with ease… While she was stuck on the floor… Being a mermaid was a lot harder than it looked. “Can you girls help me up?”

“Ah sorry! We had thought you were going to help yourself out. You never really ask us for like that so…” Honoka finally spoke as she came over and pulled the smaller girl up. “The truth is… we were asked to bring you to the throne room when you were up.”

Throne Room. She was the princess so that meant her parents who ruled this place. Anxiety filled her as she thought of what her parents could want from her in this place. What kind of lecture she was expecting when she got to the throne room. Swimming behind the girls of Printemps, she looked meekly to the floor.

“Maki, Good Morning.” The voice boomed before she knew it. Before her sat her parents on thrones that were deceptively beautiful, made of shells and beautiful colors. If she were not scared of what was to come, she would find the entire throne room to be gorgeous. Her heart racing as she curtsied as she would normally. Her eyes still looking to the floor as she had the entire throne room on her. Hearing the shuffling in the water meant that her parents had wanted to speak to her alone, only the guards around them to hear their conversation from the door.

“We had heard that you went to the surface again.” The girl flinched as she heard her father’s booming voice. He was upset and she knew he would be if he ever found out that she was visiting the surface. “I thought I had told you that it’s off limits. If a human were to see you and capture you…”

“I’m sorry.” Maki said simply, half-heartedly at this point. “Was that all you had wanted to see me for?”

Another shuffling noise before she saw a girl before her. Dark blue hair and golden eyes. “Because you can’t seem to be trusted, we have hired one of the soldiers to be at your side and guard you.”

“H-Huh?! T-That’s ridiculous! I mean no disrespect but I’m 16. I don’t need a babysitter to follow me around.” Normally she took things in silence with her father. However, something had changed; she could not let anyone see why she was going to the surface.

“If you aren’t going to go to the surface again, there’s no reason for you to get upset that we’re assigning Sonoda-san to be your guard.” Her father scolded her, scowl clear on her face. “Now stop being such a child and go to your lessons. Whether you go to the surface or not, you still have a duty to your people. Your future spot on this throne.”

Maki’s face twisted into one of bitter resentment and she bowed to try to hide the look. “Yes, sir.” She mumbled before she quickly spun on her finned tail and stormed out, making sure, she closed the doors behind her to try to slow down her new babysitter who called out after her.

Even in a dream, they’re still… overbearing. That pressure of a doctor seemed to transfer into the heritance of a throne. But those feelings, those were very real feelings. Even though Maki was very aware that none of this was real. Those words she spoke, everything she felt was very real. She bit her lip as she explored the castle. Sights that despite the first time she was seeing them in this dream, it felt very boring, like she had seen it before. This dream being too… detailed, even down to the very last scale.

Just as she thought that, her body was already swimming out of the palace and into the open ocean. Sunlight shining down into the water and warming her despite her not being on the land. She had to wonder how her body would feel onto the sand in like this. How her tail would feel instead of legs.

“You shouldn’t be having those thoughts, Princess.” Another melodic voice called out as if it had read her mind. Blue fin swimming towards her as the sight of her guard had appeared before her. “You know what your father had said.”

“I… know that.” Maki muttered as she swam away from the knight with a huff. Hearing fins move in the water as she followed her. Before she finally stopped and took a deep breath. “Just because my father says so doesn’t stop my desire to want to just see the world. If I really am going to be Queen that means I should enjoy myself while I can. You could not understand that even if my father ordered you to stay by me. So just leave me alone.”

Maki finally decided to see what she could do in this dream and willed herself to be faster. Suddenly she was swimming faster than she could ever run on land. Swimming as fast as she could until she finally hid behind some coral and had finally lost the guard. She let out a sigh as she swam back and up above to the surface. Her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the sun above the water. The warmth of the sun already drying her short red hair.

She looked around at the spot that she had swam from checking the surrounding land and any boats being around. The rock ledge that she normally hid to people watch was only a few more feet away from her. Being careful to go back underneath the water and no one saw pink tail as she took a dive back down and to the ledge. A small surprise caused her breath to hitch when she saw someone in the spot on the formation right in front of her. Her heart pounding as she spotted the human boy.

Dark, spiked hair seemed to never cooperate the way it should… Blue eyes like the ocean that she lived in. Broad shoulders that her unconscious mind would remember anywhere. Dark, waterproof coat on those shoulders as he hunched over a sketch book. Her body screamed at her as she recognized the familiar face both to her self-conscious and to the mermaid who she played.

Tachibana...? What the hell is he doing in my dream?

But her heart was undoubtedly beating hard in her chest. Maki swallowed as she hoped that it was just this dream getting to her. The feelings of the mermaid being worried that the boy would see her and question her being out where no swimmer would go. Or that she was excited about seeing a human and it was the life that the mermaid princess wanted. And hope that the beating was not the feelings she had hid in her normal life.

“What are you doing there?” The boy’s voice called to Maki, her heart pounding even more as she defensively swam back. “Aren’t you cold swimming in this weather?”

“N-Not really… I have a diving suit on. It’s quite warm with that on.” She lied even though she was sure he could probably see her shoulders if he looked close enough at her. However, her heart yearned as she realized that she was excited to talk to him without arguing. She allowed him to continue what he was doing. Her arms leaning over the ledge as she let the minutes tick by and she stared at him curiously. “What are you doing…?”

“Me? I’m just sketching the scene. The view here is beautiful so I wanted to draw it at least once before I head off to university.” He said simply.

“Sketching? So that is your sketch book? Do… you do that sort of thing a lot?” She asked curiously. “Can I see them?”

The boy looked a tad redder as he held the book away from her. Her hands were wet but also his sketches were nothing to get excited about. “Shouldn’t you get home before you catch a cold or worse get in trouble with whoever you live with?”

Her heart raced as she worried if he found out her identity. It was too dark over where they were to see her tail in the water. But that wasn’t possible. She huffed as she stared at the stubborn boy. “Last I checked you weren’t my guardian. I-I have enough of those so just… mind your own business.”

“H-Huh?! I’m just being worried about…” Seeing the look on her face, made Taki pause. He huffed as he went back to his sketch. Would she be upset if he included her in it? But he turned back to the sketch, letting the strange girl who met with him a few other times just sit beside him. They were silent, enjoying merely the company and Maki being rather amazed his drawing.

Suddenly the sun was blocked out by clouds and the sky turned dark. A flash of lightning danced across the sky followed by a boom of thunder. Maki’s heart ached as she realized time was up for today. She gave him a sad smile. “I guess you’re right… I better go.”

“Come on, I’ll let you get out over here… It’s dangerous to be in the water if the storm really blows.” Taki held out his hand to the red haired girl. Confused as the girl seemed to cower from the hand he offered. “What’s wrong?”

I can’t show you… what I am. Who I am. Maki stared at him with sad eyes as she wished she could hold that hand in hers. No matter how much her mind screamed that her thinking such a way was so toxic that it would just made her sick. She let out a small laugh. “M-My house is actually easier to get to if I swim the other way… Go on ahead! I’ll… get home and we’ll meet again, okay?”

Though confused, he nodded. The rain starting to fall on top of them. Maki let out a sad huff as she dived back into the water. How stupid am I?! If I… show him… He’ll run or I’ll just get rejected and… The thought of seafoam on the beach made her heart beat in anxiety. The words of what she was… what she couldn’t show him held her throat as if it were choking her.

A loud yell from above the surface got her out of her thoughts. She recognized that voice anywhere. Her face paled as she peaked her head up and saw the strange boy calling out for her?

“HEY!!!! I… don’t feel right letting you be out there! Answer me!!!! You’re still around right?” The boy’s boisterous voice had her heart racing at a much faster pace than before. If she kept herself hidden would he go home safely like he was supposed to? “Dammit!!!”

It was when he finally decided to walk back that he slipped on slippery rock, a yell escaped his lips as fell off the cliff and into the water. The splash in the water being one of the scarier sounds that Maki had heard in her life. Maki’s attention snapped up so fast as she saw backpack on the rock but no sign of him… Feeling the ebb in the waves made her quickly realize where he was. Without a moment’s hesitation she dove down into the ocean, looking out for the strange boy. When she finally found him she found he was sinking faster than she could reach. His clothes were helping him to sink faster. While Maki was so desperate to reach out but he kept slipping from her fingers.

“N-No… No…. please… Let me reach him. I’ll be good… I don’t want…” I don’t want him to die. She mumbled as she sped up again and wrapped lithe arms around him. Maki groaned as she swam him to a cave along the shore, waiting for the storm to finally lighten up and finally stop. When she finally knew it was safe to go out, she brought him back in the water only briefly to bring him to the beach. It was the only safe place to leave him after a storm. Hopefully she could wake him up before someone else had found them.

“Hey!! Hey wake up!!! Please… wake up!” She shouted. Suddenly she wasn’t caring if her identity was found out and she turned into bubbles. She just wanted to make sure he was okay.  Her shakes to him getting furious as she was getting desperate.

“H-How do I get him to wake up…? I’m not good at this…” She mumbled as she held onto his arm. How did humans get oxygen to each other…? She leaned forward, thinking of what she had seen one of those red wearing humans when she saw someone else drowning. Her hands on his chest as she tried to get any water out of him.

Hearing a loud cough and watching the boy’s body change in color and move made her chest feel lighter and her eyes sting with happiness. Her words caught in her throat as she tried to find the right thing to say. “Hey… You’re still… here, you liar. You should have gone home.”

“Y-You too!” And Maki was much happier to hear that than anything else. She wrapped arms around him, holding him against her chest as if he meant the entire world to her. Because suddenly after almost losing him, he did… Losing him had terrified her more than any scolding her parents could give her. A weak and too heavy arm wrapping around her. The fact he was able to move made her suddenly lose her control of emotions. Heavy sobs racking her as she held him close to her. “I’m so glad… I’m so glad… I’m s-sorry…”

“Tachibana!!!!” “Taki-kun!!!”

Hearing unfamiliar voices had cut their moment, the mermaid quickly pulling away from the boy. He finally saw her… full body. Bright pink tail and fins that replaced legs. Exposed body that explained why she never sat beside him...  Quickly Maki had left him sitting in the sand. “G-Good bye.” She mumbled as she dove back into the water. 

“Wait!” She ignored the the call to her as she willed herself away from Taki. Her fins taking her as fast as she could away from the older boy and the strange that had broken them from their little world.

Tachibana Taki... What the hell have you done to me? I’ve learned your name... But my heart is in so much pain. Maki’s heart was still beating as she finally made it closer to home. How could she…? What was she supposed to do with this…? This heavy feeling inside of her like her heart was going to burst. She couldn’t even describe it if she wanted to. And the only thing she could think of that it could be… terrified her more than turning into bubbles. Perhaps good-bye really is… my answer.

A snicker came from behind her as she tried to think. Her eyes widening as she saw the vision of a purple hair girl. Come closer if you want the answers to your questions.

Maki pursed her lips as she swam over... An unfamiliar part of the ocean. One that she was told never to go to. She stopped as she looked for the source of the voice. She was met with green eyes and deep purple hair. Instead of the singular fin, she saw multiple appendages… Like an octopus…

“Welcome little Sea Princess. I saw the whole thing between you two on the shore. You looked… relieved to see him alive. For someone who’s supposed ‘ta be nothing to you. You fell for him? But you can’t get close to him because of your identity, right? How about… we strike a deal, you and I?”

Maki swallowed as she realized what was happening. She had definitely made a mistake… and run into the sea witch that terrified her servants… And she just found out the secret that she was keeping from herself. The feelings she had… for the human boy. “H-How did you…? K-Keep talking…”

The witch smirked as she pulled a potion out of thin air. “It was all in the cards. Just drink this potion. And you can get close to him. Have the opportunity to be honest with the person that has captured your eyes and maybe your heart.”

Maki gently took the potion from the hands of the sea witch. Even if she could get close, would her pride allow her to? But… it could be my only shot. She drank the potion down and dropped it, her throat closing up from lack of oxygen. Her body feeling like it was splitting apart… 

“D-Deal…” She croaked out and everything went black. 

[lemonpika]

Idk if this is where I’m supposed to put the matchup request pls correct me if I’m wrong 😰😰 - [ ] I’ve never done one of these before so I’m kinda nervous 😟(pls bare with me I have no idea what I’m doing) So my name is Matti and my pronouns are they/them and I’m non-binary. I’m really just questioning rn but I have a HUGE preference for women (I’m a HUUGE simp for Armin though😋 I love him so much). I’m in my late teens and Im an ENTP. I’m a pretty nice person until people get on my nerves or don’t respect my boundaries. My humor is very sarcastic and mostly consists of saying the most out of pocket shit I can think of. I have really random vocal stims that change about every couple months or so and they are SO STUPID like I’ll being doing something completely unrelated and I’ll just go “MATERIAL GORWL🤪🤪”. I REALLY love the people I care about ( only my pets and fictional characters) and I love giving/making people random things, mostly flower bouquets or little sketches I think they would like. I ride horses competitively and I have a horse named Caesar (I call him my gay son) I like collecting crystals, doing art, catching bugs(moths and butterflies), playing video games, growing plants, making flower arrangements, and I sleep all the time. My sun sign is Gemini, my moon sign is Leo and my rising is Virgo. I’m generally a pretty impulsive person, I have ADHD and I really try to control my volume. I’m really self conscious about it and I’m not very comfortable with my body. I really want to be an architect so I’m really trying to do well in school but it’s pretty hard for me. My love languages are physical touch, gift giving, and words of affirmation. I’d like a partner who just likes to hangout with me and do little things like paint or bake together, someone who would like to listen to me ramble about my special interests this also goes the other way pls tell me about the things you like to and explains them in great detail trust me I WANT TO KNOW. I cant stand people who get really loud when they get angry or they yell at people, don’t even get me started on people who infantilize me bc or talk to me like I don’t understand things 😐🤚 like, stay away from me. I love learning about new things(as long as they aren’t math based or I don’t have a test on them or sumn) I really like learning about different rocks and crystals ,rock formations, the desert, or anything to do with contemporary style architecture. My favorite foods are usually just any basic meat WITH seasoning (god forbid you just put salt🤬) and I love drinking juice. I hope I put enough information I wanted it to be as accurate as possible without saying too much😰.

Hey matti!!! it's so nice to meet you :) <3

i was really stuck between shipping you with Ymir or Armin but I feel like you and Armin would be super compatible. He enjoys hanging out with you and listening to you talk to him about the things that you're so passionate about. He'd probably ask you to teach him how to paint and go on horseback riding dates with you.

His love languages are also physical touch and words of affirmation since he feels that those two things are what makes a relationship last. He'll gently reassure you that any of your present insecurities or stress will resolve itself and stroke your hair while you lay in his lap.

This boy would love you tender :)

matchups are open!

[shadows-of-almsivi]

[3, 6, 8! :3]

((3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

Moraelyn would claim to have had a perfect childhood. How true that is, or whether it’s due to a couple of centuries’ worth of rose-tinting, is hard to say. There was a lot of social pressure on him, as the third-born child of an Indoril family living within Hlaalu territory; you would think this would have eased off a little as he grew into his Vimeri identity, but if anything, it only grew more intense. A lot was always expected of him, even when very young, and that’s without even taking into account the specifics of his parentage. Any Ordinator’s child has an image to live up to, or live past, and the spectre of his father’s actions within the Order of the Inquisition spread very far; there were always those who’d view him with suspicion or fear, and he would not realise for years that they thought him to be his father’s eyes and ears. The offspring of an inter-House marriage, too, carries quite a stigma, even when that marriage was carefully-arranged and legal. His late childhood and adolescence brought with it the responsibility to be the model studious Indoril and allow no one (especially no Hlaalu mer) to find fault in him, and by extension in their family. It’s unsurprising that Moraelyn developed three common traits in House children: an almost reverent attitude to memorised etiquette and manners, a deep well of hidden anxiety, and also a weirdly-persistent rebellious streak somewhat bordering on the perverse.

By and large, though, he was mostly happy: his brothers loved him, his friends were usually loyal, he adored his little sister, his parents were tender and even somewhat indulgent by Dunmeri standards. His family was not exactly rich, but he had enough resources available that he never wanted for food or clothes or books (so, so many books). He went to his Temple classes and played in the river-mud and hit his brothers with sticks and let his sister eat beetles. That’s not a bad life, for a kid.

He has a vast wealth of fond memories, some of which I will present now in no particular order:

His brothers sitting with him on the front step of the house in the evening, teaching him how to carve corkbulb, soaking the chunks in ashwater so that the sharp knives slid through like butter.

Climbing the rocks and old trees out by the edge of town with his friends, catching little lizards and bugs to take home in a jar to show his mother, and the first time he pulled himself all the way to the top of the tallest rock formation: he’d never seen out so far, and it was just as sunset was painting the landscape in so many beautiful colours that he forgot how to breathe for a minute.

His uncle, Endalyn Thavas, letting him ride a retired Redoran Guard cavalry guar, thinking it would be quiet and sedate; it took off at a dead run into the Ashlands and they didn’t find it again for two hours. Moraelyn, still clinging to the saddle, immediately wanted to go again. This might have been the start of his ongoing love affair with absurdly-fast mounts.

Bad memories… Sadly, yes. No childhood is perfect.

The parents of one of Moraelyn’s best friends ‘having done something bad’ and ‘having to go away to learn better’. It was an open secret in Balmora that Moraelyn’s father, Savaryn, was the Ordinator who took them; mask or no, everyone knew him well enough by the back-pain stiffness of his gait. While Savaryn did try to explain things to his confused and upset little thirdborn, it wasn’t good enough for the vanished mers’ child. She hated Moraelyn for the rest of her life.

Being stuck overnight in a kwama den. While playing in an old mine he’d often been told not to play in, Moraelyn was trapped underground by a tunnel collapse, falling through a weak spot in the cave floor. It was only after he’d dusted himself off and started trying to climb out that he found that the mine was far from empty, and that the chamber he’d fallen into housed the colony’s queen. He spent the night in there, burying himself in cave dirt and eggshell in a corner to try and avoid the kwama’s notice, very aware that they could kill a grown mer with horrific ease. He’s never quite been the same about caves and tunnels ever since.

Being threatened by a furious ghost as a small child. The Ithren line bears many Ordinators, almost a family profession going back centuries. In an ancillary Ithren family tomb, there is a maddened ghost forced into permanent guard service, the spirit of a corrupt Ordinator who betrayed their post and oaths to House Indoril; the specifics were rarely, if ever, made clear, though they exist in certain Indoril ledgers from the period. Though bound by powerful magic never to harm any of Ithren lineage, Moraelyn was utterly terrified by them as a small child. He would hear the ghost’s muttering, snarling voice, whispering monstrous urges and horrifying secrets that no one else could hear. Sometimes he still does.

Almost being abducted by some shady mer who might have been a part of the Camonna Tong. It’s hard to say whether they truly were or if they were just plain bad mer of no affiliation, but they scared him nearly to death. They’d seized him and intended to drag him away before a guard heard his struggling and came to his rescue, killing one of the mer in the process.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Moraelyn was one of those odd children who loved schooling, the sort who would ask for additional homework if given the chance. The Temple library was his very favourite place, spending long hours enthralled in stories and sermons even back when he still needed to have them read to him. He was chattersome and engaged, for the most part, though he always found mathematics dreadfully boring. He sometimes drew pictures for the instructors he liked most. He also sometimes drew pictures of the instructors he liked the least, which sometimes got him into a lot of trouble.

He finished his basic education (the freely-available curriculum of basic literacy, numeracy and Tribunal doctrine provided freely to all citizens of Morrowind, don’t @ me about this, check the commoner and pauper dialogue if you don’t believe me) long before his tenth birthday, and continued in one branch of Temple instruction or another until his early adulthood. He likely would have stayed that way, content to be an eternal student, were he not eventually drawn inexorably into true Temple service (then to the specific positions of the Order’s Vimeri priesthood), so whether Moraelyn ever really finished his schooling is mostly a matter of perspective. Certainly, his long and varied schooling puts him at a more tertiary level of education than most.

Of all the subjects he learned during his smaller years, his favourite would probably be advanced literature studies, which also encompassed calligraphy since Temple education tends to conflate the two; after all, what good is it to learn how to construct the perfect poem or analytical essay if no one can read it? He filled slates and pages with rivers of words, a habit that continues to this day after a fashion. It wouldn’t quite be correct to say that artwork and iconography replication was also a beloved subject, since he had been drawing and painting at home since he could hold a stick and draw in the dirt, and as such it never felt like real schoolwork to him.

He never did learn to enjoy mathematics, though. Sometimes he wonders if that’s vaguely heretical in some ill-known, Seht-sphered fashion.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

Answered here, so let me tell you about Moraelyn’s bird-watching. Moraelyn has a high-intellect, low-resource approach to most of the interests and hobbies he’s gained outside of Morrowind, by which I mean he’s very dedicated but very resistant to actual instruction. Sometimes, it’s because there just aren’t any written sources available or people learned enough on the subject to teach him; other times, it’s just because he’s stubborn and usually refuses to take anyone’s word for anything.

His bird-watching hobby is an excellent example of this. He’ll take detailed notes, sketches, collect feathers, and likely have a very good grasp on the species and habits of birds in his immediate vicinity. However, due to a variety of reasons (language barriers, lack of written notation on the subject (because who needs to write down what a perfectly common bird is, right?), recent arrival to the province, outright derision for what anyone tells him, etc), he doesn’t always know what their actual names are. So, he does what he’s always done with languages that aren’t his own: take the parts he does know, and force them into more fitting shapes with enough conviction that they might sound like real words in their own right to someone who wasn’t paying very close attention.

He knows what pigeons are, but not doves. He knows what sparrows are: small, roundish birds that eat seed and steal breadcrumbs. Therefore, all small, roundish birds, if they can be plied with seed or breadcrumbs, must be some sort of sparrow; yes, this also includes pigeons. He’s pretty sure that quail, pheasant and grouse are various types of wild chicken (he’s actually not that far off). He knows that hawks are birds of prey with large talons and a hooked beak, and that falcons are like that but smaller and can be made to sit on your arm with some training, therefore ‘hawk’ and ‘falcon’ are more general size classes in his mind than real species types. He thinks owls are probably some sort of falcon, and does not believe eagles exist. Don’t try to convince him.))  

[mosdrabblebabbles]

A Turn in Time Pt. 16

A/n: Here’s the next part you guys, enjoy!

-Mo

~

You and Newt stuck to the shadows, whispering out a plan. It was a rather poorly thought out plan, but the situation was dire. The Thunderbird was chained and pinned up, stuffed into a cage so it could barely move. Your heart broke at the sight, but at the same time it burned with anger at the slimy man who kept the creature locked up in the first place.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. I will go and keep the man distracted while you go and break the Thunderbird out. Once we get that far, we will have to run. Fast.” Newt explained, and you nodded, gripped your wand in anticipation.

“Then let’s go.” The two of you stepped out of the shadows at the same time. Newt veered a bit to the left, heading for the slimy man who ‘owned’ the Thunderbird while you walked straight ahead. You didn’t know how Newt planned on distracting him, but you couldn’t think about that. You had to focus on your own task.

Walk with a purpose. You belong here. Nothing suspicious going on at all.

You risked a glance at Newt, and you were pleased to see that he was completely blocking the man’s view of you and the Thunderbird. You raised your wand as inconspicuously as you could.

“Alohomora.” You whispered. The padlock on the cage opened with a click, and you hurried to take it off. The cage door opened silently, and thanked Merlin for that. The Thunderbird lifted his head at your entrance, the chains around his beak and neck clinking together as he moved.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m here to help you.” You murmured, noting that the Thunderbird was growing restless at your presence. You risked a moment to calm the creature down. It would be pointless to be doing this so quietly if the Thunderbird was going to start making a scene. Once he was calmed down, you set to work unlocking the chains around the creature. Those proved to be a bit more challenging. Your ‘Alohomora’ bounced off the chains, and you had to duck out of the way to avoid getting hit by the spell. It flew out of the cage before fizzing out somewhere across the street. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, and you mind started think of alternative ways to break the chains.

An idea popped into your head, and you acted quickly. You took hold of the chain in one hand, pulling it as far away from the Thunderbird as you could. Taking a steadying breath, you touched the tip of your wand to the chain next to the lock, and whispered your spell.

“Deletrius.” Your eyes widened in surprise and delight as the metal chain your wand had touched started to disintegrate. As soon as the reaction stopped, you started un wrapping the chains from the Thunderbird. You were halfway through when a shout was heard a few feet away. You looked up in a panic, only to find a man pointing in your direction. The owner of the Thunderbird glanced up as well, and before you knew what happened, he was thrown back. You went back to unwrapping the chains, but not before you saw Newt with his wand out. More shouts rang out, but you didn’t pay any mind to it. Once the Thunderbird was unwrapped, you stood. Witches and wizards were closing in on the cage, blocking your way out.

“(Y/n)!” Newt yelled, trying to get through to you. You palmed your wand, preparing yourself for what you were about to do. Turning to one of the corners of the cage, you stood between it and the Thunderbird. You raised your wand, pointing it at the metal cage.

“Bombarda!” you yelled, and the cage blew apart. The witches and wizards that had been blocking your way flew back and you took your moment. You placed a gentle hand on the side of the Thunderbird and started to run toward Newt who was waving wildly. You reached him in seconds now that the path was clear.

“Excellent work!” Newt said as the two of you started to run back through the market. Spells started to fly your way, and you started to throw spells back at them. You were just about to round a corner when a spell flew past you and hit Newt’s hand and case. He cried out, the case dropping to the ground. In a split second, you stopped and turned, grabbing for the case. When you straightened up, you had to think quick and cast a spell, as the slimy wizard trader was running right for you.

“Colloshoo!” You yelled, and the trader stopped so suddenly he fell on his face. You cracked a smile before turning back around and running after Newt and the Thunderbird.

“Hurry!” he called, clutching his one hand to his chest. You put on a burst of speed, and Newt opened his arms. You crashed into him, and together you continued the last few feet till you were out of the markets. You put a quick glamor on the Thunderbird until you could put him in the case.

“Now what?” you breathed, sucking in as much air as your lungs would allow.

“Now we make camp outside of the city limits and make a habitat for him in the case.” Newt said, breathing just as hard. You nodded, setting out to find the perfect spot for a camp.

 ~

By the time night came, you had a secluded spot found and the tent set up. You gently led the Thunderbird into the tent while Newt set up his case.

“One of the latches is busted. Must have been from that spell.” Newt told you. You left the Thunderbird to get it’s bearings with the new environment and walked over to Newt.

“Let me see you hand.” He gave you a look before placing his injured hand in yours. It was raw and red, almost burned.

“What spell did they use?” you wondered. Newt shrugged his shoulders. You grabbed some medical supplies from the case. When you were done, Newt’s hand was bandaged and ready for use. He led you down into the case, and you watched as he created the perfect habitat for the Thunderbird.

Bursts of magic erupted from Newt’s wand and before your eyes, there was a new space just outside of the hut, ready for use. Another burst of magic and sand swirled around in the air in beautiful spirals. It settled in the new space. Next was rocky perch for the creature. The sand started to bubble, reminding you of potions class. Slowly the bubbling sand started to grow, and in the blink of an eye there was a rock formation perfect for the Thunderbird. Cacti popped out of the ground, and then Newt turned to you.

“It’s ready.” He said. All you could do was stare at him in awe. The magical ability he must have to create something like that was astounding. You grinned at him, chest bursting with pride. You walked over to him, wrapping him up in your arms.

“That was amazing.” You whispered into his chest, hugging him with everything that you had. He pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you.” He said back. You stood like that for a moment, before pulling away.

“We should bring the Thunderbird down. Let him see his new home.” You say, and Newt nods. When you emerged from the case, you saw that the Thunderbird was standing where you had left it, though much more relaxed than before.  You let Newt walk up to the creature, electing to stay by the case.

You watched as the Thunderbird eyed Newt wearily for a moment, before letting him stroke his side. The look of awe on Newt’s face was plain to see, and you were certain you looked the same. This was the first time that either of you had seen a Thunderbird, as they were native to Arizona in the United States. You couldn’t wait to get the chance to draw the beautiful creature.

Once Newt knew that the Thunderbird was comfortable, he started leading him to the case. He moved with little suggestion, following Newt. You followed them into the case after them, closing it behind you. When the Thunderbird saw the habitat Newt had made for him, you could see a brief spark of recognition. The creature hesitant walked up into the habitat, sniffing at the sand before stretching it’s six wings and leaping up to the rock perch Newt had made just for that moment.

The Thunderbird gave a screech of happiness, batting it’s wings up and down. The wind generated by the movement had your hair blowing around your face and you laughed. Newt wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“He’s going to need a name, you know.” You murmured into his ear, running your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck.

“Frank. His name is Frank.” You hummed in response, looking up into Newt’s eyes. They were shinning, happy that Frank was now safe. His hands glided up your waist, arms, and ended cupping your cheeks. He leaned down, his lips connecting with yours in a sweet, emotional kiss.

Frank the Thunderbird let out another screech, breaking the moment you were having with Newt. You looked at the creature and laughed again. You could only imagine how happy and relieved he was to be out of that cage. After a moment of gazing at the Thunderbird, you and Newt exited the case, ready for a chance to relax after the heist you had pulled off.

 ~

Newt woke up some time in the night. The space beside him that you usually occupied was empty and cold. He tried not to panic, thinking the worst had happened and you were just gone, but he couldn’t help that his heart started to beat just a little bit faster. He climbed out of bed, looking around the tent for you. When he didn’t find anything, he looked to his case.

“Oh (Y/n),” he murmured, realizing you were probably in the case drawing. He should have realized that sooner, knowing you had a tendency to draw when you couldn’t sleep. He opened the case with ease and climbed in, making sure it latched properly behind him. He would have to get that fixed, before any of the creatures escaped. He made his way through the hut, and when he saw you sitting in front of Franks habitat he sat down on the stairs and watched as you drew.

You were leaning over your sketch book, pencils scattered all around you as you captured the visage of the Thunderbird on paper. Frank sat on the rocky perch Newt had made for him, completely still. Newt almost thought Frank was posing for you. His head was held high, chest out. It was a bold, powerful look.

Slowly Newt stood from his spot, walking closer to you. You smiled at him when he sat down. He was amazed at what he saw on the page (though you would think by now he knew what to expect when it came to your art). You had drawn ever last feather, claw, and scar that was visible on Frank’s body. You had the colors down pat. It was almost like looking at a picture, but in color.

“He has so many scars, Newt.” You whispered, running your fingers over the page. You rested your head on his shoulder, and Newt could feel your heat seep into his skin, warming him to his core. Newt nodded, looking up at Frank. The Thunderbird sat on his rock, looking totally at ease.

“Every time I looked at them, this… this anger just kept building. I whish I had done something more to that man. He deserves the worse punishment possible. I just…” you continued to tell him what you felt, and Newt couldn’t help but smile. He knew what you were talking about. That’s how he felt when he found the Niffler, and many of his other animals.

He watched as you spoke, noticed the passion, pain, and determination in your eyes. His heart swelled with love in that moment, and he knew he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“So what do we do now?” you suddenly asked, and it broke Newt out of his thoughts. he thought about it for a moment before responding.

“Well, I suppose we should take Frank home. Where he belongs.” He said, and the excitement that took over your features made his heart burst with happiness.

You hugged him close, ready for the new adventure.  

@djpaige13paige  @givemehopeandtea  @gryffindorwithagedweyignasia  @andie-in-tumblland  @phoenix-009  @jackdawsonsgrl  @hoodedbirdie  @afusadakmun

[magneticmaguk]

The Rhythm Method Are Keeping It Together for the Kids

The Angel is about as drab as pubs get. Arriving there at just after eleven on a morning where London was illuminated by spring sunshine, the place smells like bleach, and silence hangs uneasily over the heads of the assembled few.

The pub sits solemnly at a set of traffic lights, peering towards Jamie's Italian, the last stop on a street of chain shops and unremarkable restaurants.

At a high table next to a faulty fruit machine, Joey Bradbury and Rowan Martin are nursing a pint of Pepsi and a cup of tea respectively. Since 2013, as the Rhythm Method, the pair have been crafting wonky, odes to life in a dark decade. They've only released five official singles and a few SoundCloud loosies, most of which were spruced-up versions of Bradbury's iPad demos, but their rise has been swift. They've already performed on BBC Radio 1 and have a live date at tastemaking festival lined up for early-summer. Elton John has played their music on his Beats 1 show: twice. Even with only just a handful of songs under their belt, critics and fans have taken to calling their music "the sound of London." In the midst of one of the city's most undistinguished settings, we're discussing what that could actually mean in 2017.

Like any other city in the world, London is a series of non-places that we collate and curate to create a cohesive vision. The collection of edgelands and nowheres amass into an uneasy unity that doesn't really exist, and never really could. In the same way that there is no real Berlin or Los Angeles, there is no real London. There are only ideas, the Pearly Kings and the Sloane Rangers, a cast of creations that don't correspond to reality. Accordingly, there is no sound of London. The city feels too polyglot, and too multi-faceted; as result of immigration and integration, it evolves on a daily basis.

Or at least that's how I phrase it to the duo. Bradbury—a tall, blonde 27-year-old who looks permanently on the edge of unending laughter, wearing a mask of perspiration and in Inter Milan jersey—rightly identifies that his band doesn't line up that vision of the city. "Drake's probably closer to that than us." If the music that Bradbury and Martin make isn't the sound of the city on the verges of summer 2017, what is it?

Well, it sits somewhere on the banks of the River Wandle, in South West London where the pair grew up, cans in hand, catching snippets of Magic FM and Original Pirate Material fluttering out of the windows of passing people carriers. "There's a listnessness to the place," Martin comments. "There's a lot of sitting about."

You get the sense that mundanity is important to Bradbury and Martin. The duo's friendship blossomed over the course of countless trips back west on the city's various forms of public transport, heading back from the indie clubs and underage pubs that made up their central London social lives. Geographical proximity and mutual friends threw them together, and nights passed in a blur of drinks at Nambuca or White Heat, a semi-legendarily grotty bar and a longstanding indie club night respectively, before the lengthy commutes back to south-westerly Twickenham and beyond.

Even inside that inner-sanctum, the pair never really felt at home. Bradbury admits to feeling like a perpetual outsider, always that slight step removed from the action. "I'd go there and stand outside smoking, looking at my phone." He's noticed a change since then, a broadening sense of social acceptance. "I've definitely got a lot more friends these days, which is obviously completely see through." He pauses and smirks. "But it makes you feel good…"

Eventually they started making songs together too. Just before their official formation in 2013, Bradbury had taken to tapping out demos in a mobile version of Garageband, during a period of haziness in his life—"I was living this depressed life, getting quite high every day and eating a lot of food," as he told The Guardian. Soon the pair moved in together and started working together in depth on those haphazard demos. Their first songs were unflashy mood pieces and subtly drawn character sketches that document a kind of liminality—music that feels just like life does when you're stuck between the halcyon days of an extended adolescence and the acceptance of later life's dalliances with drudgery and doldrums, days spent waiting for another big night out to start.

The Rhythm Method single that best demonstrates this to date is last year's "Party Politics", a song that tells the story of fumbled flirtation with charm and mordant wit ("Be my Cherie Blair, I'll be your Cherie Amour," Joey memorably notes.) while sounding like a perfect cross pollination of sophistipop smoothness and piano house at its most chunkily efficient. It deals with big themes—lust, love, recklessness, the easiness of falling into hedonism as a way of avoiding reality—without bluster. What could be either an overblown laugh at the group's own excessive expense or holier than thou sermon on the party's eventual end is, instead, a sensitive and sincere portrayal of the daily experience of a generation left with little more to look forward to than Saturday nights slide into Sunday morning's hangover.

From the lilting lover's rock of most recent release "Cruel" through to their debut single "Ode 2 Joey," sincerity runs through their output like a stick of half-eaten seaside rock. It's a very particular kind of sincerity, though: more Victoria Wood than David Foster Wallace. The thing about being sincere in an age when that's often unexpected is that it often gets confused for something else. "A friend of us was telling us that he'd heard someone in the toilet of a show wondering if we were ironic or not," Bradbury says, "I don't know why we'd be ironic."

That leads us to a darker side of the group's music—it stings, in a dull and resigned way, with the weary acceptance that pints can't last forever, that jokes end, that the world won't stay the way you'd like it to. In the end you'll just be back there, in a near-empty pub, condemned to your own mediocrity. "We talk about being depressed, but we'd rather not talk about it too much, because it isn't a very nice thing to talk about," Martin says. While he concedes that being reticent to tackle those issues head on might have its own problems, it feels natural. "It's a bit like when actors try and cry—it's so obvious," he says. "When people really cry they do all they can to not cry. That's what the Rhythm Method is all about. Keeping it together. Holding back the tears."

Perhaps it's that gallows humour which has seen them find fans in people like Elton John, Madness' frontman Suggs, Mike Skinner, Squeeze's Chris Difford, Paddy McAloon of Prefab Sprout, and, all of whom have declared a liking for the group. Or perhaps it's that they write songs most bands in the UK, if not the world would kill for. Songs like "Home Sweet Home," an elegiac number that was released in the wake of the since reversed decision to close fabric, a decision which felt like the beginning of end times for British nightlife, and so became the perfect soundtrack to it—and that, surely, is the sign of artists who truly matter, who truly speak to time and place."We've made no secret out of the fact we want to make a living out of this," Bradbury says. "We want to be rich and famous." In an age of faux-humble, artisan modesty, who'd begrudge him for that?

As the Rhythm Method's music gets out further and further beyond the net curtains of Greater London's suburban sprawl, a conversion seems to be starting to occur. As the group appear at more festivals around the country, as they begin to claim hitherto unexplored territories, more and more Methodists emerge, as more and more people realise that what they've been missing for years now is a band who really do sound like you and your friends and everyone you've ever met on a nightbus, clutching a final homeward-bound drink, dreaming of a life that'll never come, talking about last night's telly, and this weekend's football.

There is, though you'd often forget from reading the music press, a world beyond even the outermost limits of the M25. Britain— for all its regional micro-differences, which largely consist of minute modulations in accent—is an increasingly homogenous country, a total non-place. The thing is, it is within those non-places that we find ourselves, and we find out what we really hold dear socially, personally, and artistically. After all, London's just another nowhere, right? "It's just a matter of consequence," Bradbury says. "An accident of birth."

[stokan]

The 20 Best Things of 2016

Fun fact: Many good things actually happened in the year 2016. It’s true! It wasn't all death and Trump, although as you’ll see, those two factors hang heavy over even the best of things. But just like every year, 2016 still managed to produce its fair share of great art, cultural triumphs, and viral delights. Leaving out, obviously, things from 2016 that it seems like I’ll probably love but have yet to experience (OJ: Made in America, Search Party, 20th Century Women, Fences, etc.), and TV shows I’ve already written about in years past (OITNB, Transparent, You're the Worst, Veep, etc) here are my top 20 favorite things from 2016, listed in no particular order:

1. Beyonce - “Formation” video

How upset old white people were about this should give you some idea of just how great it is.

When I was growing up, the biggest music video from the biggest female pop star of the day involved her dancing around suggestively in a Catholic school girl outfit. Trump may have won the election, but progress still remains undefeated.

2. Kendrick Lamar’s Grammys Performance

(Of course this isn't anywhere on the internet for me to link to. Because Neil Portnow.)

Kendrick’s performance was the performance that Kayne always thinks he is giving. It’s a performance that made everyone else who took the stage on Music’s Biggest Night seem like talent show contestants.

I don’t want to tell artists how to use their fame, but this is how they should use their fame.

3. Last Week Tonight - #MakeDonaldDrumpfAgain

SPOILER ALERT: He didn't make Donald Drumpf again. In fact the viral success of this piece and lack of any resultant effect on Trump whatsoever does raise some big questions about the effectiveness of comedy in actually changing anyone’s mind about anything in 2016. But yet, like death from a thousand paper cuts, it definitely drew a little blood. And even though I really wish John Oliver had stuck with guns and only referred to Trump as Drumpf for the rest of the year, it was still a more thorough and effective attack ad than anything the Clinton campaign managed to put together, and that was basically their whole job. John Oliver can never be president, but the world is going to be a better place as long as he keeps trying to help decide who will be.

Also, says everything about 2016 that this piece now feels like it came out ten thousand years ago.

4. La La Land

Hey, remember joy? And love? And having hopes and dreams? Well La La Land sure does! The best and worst thing you can say about it is that it’s a pre-Trump movie. Maybe the last one ever in fact. But for my money, Damien Chazelle’s quest to Make Musicals Great Again is exactly the tonic we need right now. And it seems fitting the Oscars after the death of Debbie Reynolds are going to be headlined by a colorful and happiness-inducing musical about show business, complete with its own dream ballet. Sometimes the best way to reinvent an art form is to just do it the same way its always been done, only better and at the right time.

5. Olympic Swimming

When the Olympics began I barely cared. I was raised on the Olympics, but in 2016 there’s so much else going on it felt like maybe time has passed the Olympics by. And then the swimming started. And Ledecky destroyed all challengers. And Phelps proved that calling him the greatest swimmer of all time is still underrating him. And Simone Manuel made history. And Lochte Lochted. And Anthony Ervin spun an all-time Olympic athlete backstory into Olympic gold. And for a week there was nothing in the world more compelling than watch people swim laps in a pool.

So turns out the Olympics are the Michael Phelps of sporting events - the second you think they’ve slipped a bit is when they have you right where they want you.

6. LVL Up - “Pain”

Point: Rock and roll is dead

Counterpoint: “Pain” by LVL Up

7. Stranger Things

I hate the 80s. I hate supernatural shows and horror-based shows and “genre” shows in general. I hate homage as the starting place for a work of art. I hate culture’s obsession with nostalgia and youth. And yet I loved Stranger Things. It felt like nothing else on TV while feeling like so many other things all at once. It’s the show Lost wishes it could have been, and what JJ Abrams wishes he had made instead of Super 8.

Also: I hate that there’s going to be a season two. I hate that dialogue around the show seemed so #TeamBarb when clearly any sane right-thinking person is #TeamNancy all the way. I preemptively hate all the imitators Stranger Things is going to spawn. And I hate the Stranger Things backlash that’s inevitably coming and coming hard. But right now, in this moment, let’s all embrace a wonderful television ride and not worry about the demigorgons in the woods coming to put slugs in its mouth.

#KeepHawkinsWeird

8. Flossie Dickey

Sometimes you find true love where you least expect it. Like in an interview with a 110-year woman at a nursing home.

9. Sam Donsky on The Ringer

(Speaking of soul mates…)

In the age of Trump it’s more important than ever that we have writers brave enough to ask the tough questions. Like: Who would win the Oscar for Best Baby? What is the best night any celebrity has ever had at Madison Square Garden? And why does David Benioff always thank his wife by her full name?

From analyzing the Kim/Kayne/Taylor tapes like they're the Zapruder film, to asking 74 questions about a film no one saw or liked, 2016 was the year Sam Donsky officially made himself into this generation’s Woodward and Bernstein, if Woodward and Bernstein were mostly known for dissecting dumb pop culture on the internet. We may never fully understand why Trump won, but, also, what’s up with Chris Pratt’s vests?

10. Black-ish - “Hope”

A perfect piece of writing and a perfect argument for the continued existence of network TV.

That being said though, 40 years ago this would be a classic TV episode people would talk about for generations. Now, it didn't even get nominated for an Emmy. Maybe network TV is just beyond saving.

11. The People vs. OJ Simpson

It’s almost a cliche at this point to point out how many societal issues the OJ Simpson case touched on, but watching this miniseries unfold was a great reminder that looking at the the past is usually the best vehicle for exploring the present. To choose just one example, the scene where the jurors argue over what to watch on TV is a perfect encapsulation of how something like a Trump victory could some day be possible. And if Marcia Clark isn't a perfect Hillary Clinton avatar then I don’t know who is. My only complaints about a perfect eight hours of television are that it wasn't longer and that Sarah Paulson and Courtney B. Vance aren't eligible for Oscars.

12. Samantha Bee’s Donald Trump Conspiracy Theory

Look, I don't want to say that Full Frontal with Samantha Bee is the best and most important show on TV. That is has the best joke writers in the business. That it has the righteous anger and indignation that this year called for. That it’s going to be our guiding light for the next four years. And that it’s proof that giving The Daily Show to Trevor Noah was one of the dumbest decisions in recent television history. All I’m saying is that some people are saying that, and who am I to disagree? If I was going to make claims that outlandish, I guess the first pieces of evidence I would direct you to are this already iconic Donald Trump conspiracy and the show’s Harriet Tubman segment. But I’m not one to make accusations about things using facts and evidence. I’m no expert; I’m just a guy. A guy standing in front of samanthabee.com asking it to to love him.

13. David Bowie - “Lazarus” video

The ultimate mic drop.

They say Native Americans used to make use of every part of the buffalo. David Bowie was like that, only the buffalo was his life.

14. SNL

“Farewell Mr. Bunting”

Having enough trust in your audience and your vision to attempt this sketch is super inspiring. Getting people in 2016 to wait through two and a half minutes of build up in a viral video before it pays off feels like a miracle. And getting the feeling back in my face when I finally finish laughing at this is going to be really great.

“Black Jeopardy” This is what comedy can do when its at it’s best. It cuts to truths about America more clearly and cleanly than 1,000 think pieces ever could. Are comedy sketches eligible for the Nobel Prize in Literature now?

“Hillary Clinton/Hallelujah” And this is what comedy can do when it’s not comedy at all. When historians 200 years from now want to know what the days just after the election of Donald Trump felt like all they need to do is watch this. The best thing SNL has ever done.

15. Songs That Made Me Unsure Whether I Should Be Sad, Dance, Or Both

Christine and the Queens - “iT”

I have absolutely no idea what this song is about. All I know is it sounds like the feeling of being alive. Between this song and Marion Cotillard’s eyes the French really continue to have the whole beautiful sadness thing figured out.

Eleanor Freiberger - “My Mistakes” The best Rilo Kiley song of 2016. The world can change however it wants; as long as it keeps giving me new versions of the exact song I’m totally good.

Mike Posner - “Took a Pill in Ibiza” The exact opposite of me is an EDM-influenced song about taking drugs in a nightclub in Ibiza. Yet here we are. Turns out that existential melancholy translated into Douche from the original Neurotic Intellectual is still pretty damn relatable. And yes I realize this song came out in 2015, but this will always be the sound of 2016 to me.

16. Moonlight

Moonlight feels like a miracle. That a serious drama without any name stars about a poor, gay, black man coming of age could be made at all, yet alone breakthrough into the popular consciousness. That a cast this natural and flawless could be found, like an album where every song that comes on makes you go “no THIS one is my favorite!”. That there are two different sets of three actors so similar and so good that when I see them together doing press it hurts my brain because I can’t process that they were not ACTUALLY the same person at three different ages. That two people making small talk at a table in a diner could have a whole audience on the edge of their seats. That a no-name director with one prior little-seen credit could create the most powerful and well-made movie of the year. None of these things seems possible or plausible, and yet they're all true. This movie is a miracle. And its success gives me hope. To quote critic Dana Stevens, in the pitch-black year of Trump, Moonlight was a “crack in the wall that allowed light to shine through”.

17. Atlanta

In 2016, what even is TV? It’s basically anything now. And it’s everything. It’s whatever it wants to be. And no artist has yet risen to meet the challenge and possibility of our post-Louie world better than Donald Glover has. In 2016 Atlanta is TV, and TV is Atlanta. There are no rules. There is only what you can dream up.

What will season two of Atlanta be? It could be literally anything and no one would bat an eye.

18. Chance the Rapper - Coloring Book

Chance the Rapper is so millennial it hurts. Chance the Rapper definitely has strong feelings about safe spaces and Bernie Sanders. Chance the Rapper has never even considered doing something ironically. Chance the Rapper makes Lin-Manuel Miranda look like a cynical pessimist. Hell, Chance the Rapper named himself Chance the Rapper. And as a millennial, Chance the Rapper is the future.

And the future sounds amazing.

The future is like if Old Kanye had been raised on new Kanye and was actually good at rapping. (As the old saying goes: every generation gets the Late Registration it deserves) The future is like if Picasso painted with emojis. The future is earnestness being the new aggression. The future is Future being the past.

Hip-hop is dead, long live hip-hop.

19. “A Closer Look” on Late Night With Seth Meyers

I almost left this reoccurring segment off my list of the best of 2016 because it’s become such a constant part of my life that I assumed it had been around longer than just this year. Who knew when Jon Stewart retired that the new iteration of The Daily Show would be called Late Night With Seth Meyers? Or as I call it: Essential.

20. Revisionist History Podcast

Facts and knowledge really took a beating in 2016, but turns out both are still great if you just re-examine them rather then throw them out all together. Perhaps looking more deeply into our assumptions about the world can help us better understand human nature and the reality we all share. Who knew?

Of everything I experienced in 2016 this podcast is the thing I reference most frequently. I’m fun at parties.