#lost love back in west indies

[squatch-and-stretch]

Deep Dive

Stanley Pines & Stanford Pines | 6,335 words | Hurt/Comfort, Scuba Diving

One of the last skills you learn in dive training, and the one that likely sticks in your head the most is what to do if your buddy runs out of air. Even in the controlled environment of the training pool, 15 feet under synthesized salt water with a dive instructor behind you, warning you very clearly that they’re turning off your air, the moment that the gauge hits zero is briefly terrifying. Once you’ve got your buoyancy under control and have adjusted to the way it feels to be underwater, it’s surprisingly easy to forget that that is not where humans are supposed to be. And then your air supply cuts off, and you are reminded of the fact that you are desperately out of your depth in every conceivable way.

But your partner is right in front of you, and they were expecting this just as much as you are. As quickly as you run out of air, you can grab their arm, gesture with a flat hand across your throat, and rip their primary air source out of their mouth if you have to. You swim around a bit, holding each other's arms in a wet death grip, and you surface a minute later with no harm done.

That’s how it works when you’re learning, anyway. In practice, things work a bit differently.

Or, Sea Grunkles scuba diving hurt/comfort fic.

Despite his initial reservations, Stan ends up enjoying diving a lot. He’s always loved the ocean, but never really had any interest in going too deep into it. He’s a decent swimmer, but summers on Glass Shard Beach always consisted of goofing off in the shallows and working on the original Stan O’ War. In Gravity Falls, he was happy staying in his little boat and bringing the fish up to him.

Ford always had a bit of a different attitude, though. Ever since they were young, he was pressing his luck swimming out further and filling his eyes with salt water. Sometimes Stan would look out and see Ford floating face down in the water and he’d freak out every time, only for Ford to suddenly perk up and turn to Stan with red eyes and wide grin, insisting that he saw something this time.

So it really was no surprise that he ended up getting his diving license at some point while they were apart. He admitted that he hadn’t really ended up using it much— the bait shop by Gravity Falls Lake definitely didn’t double as a dive shop and he couldn’t really justify any destination diving— but he was happy to tell Stan all about it, and, eventually, insist on getting him certified as well as they planned a trip in warmer waters.

With the certification done, both of them properly geared up with a little help from Fiddleford both in terms of finances and technology, and some small modifications to the Stan O’ War II, they were ready to dive as soon as they circled around to the Caribbean through Panama. While part of Stan prickled at being so close to Colombia and all the unpleasant memories that brought back, Ford’s enthusiasm was, as usual, infectious, and made it very hard to get lost in his memories.

With a few air tanks rented from a dive shop in Belize and one of Ford’s sci-fi doohickeys detecting something over the reef, they were set to go.

“Any idea what we’re in for down there?” Stan asks as he gears up.

“Charles Darwin once described the Belize Barrier Reef as the most remarkable reef in the West Indies! Over 100 species of coral, 500 species of fish, and countless other invertebrates! It’ll be an incredible dive, Stanley, just you wait!” Ford says, fumbling with the buckles of his BCD in his excitement.

Stan rolls his eyes as he tightens the straps of his own.

“I meant whatever anomaly your doohickey detected.”

“It’s a highly advanced sensor,” Ford defends, looking down at the sensor on his wrist. With Fiddleford’s help, he’d modified it to serve as a fully functional dive computer as well. “As for what it might be sensing, it’s hard to say for sure.”

“So much for highly advanced,” Stan teases, and Ford huffs. “That guy at the dive shop mentioned the reefs being a little sparse lately. You think that’s related?”

“It could be!” Ford agrees, perking up. “Reefs are very fragile, any disturbance due to our anomaly could upset the balance and have a significant impact on the richness and abundance of local species. That being said, the same fragility means that any number of other factors could have the same effect…”

“So… who knows?” Stan concludes.

“We will,” Ford says with that bright-eyed smile that he gets whenever he discovers something new. “Are you ready?”

Stan clips the last strap of his BCD into place, checks that everything’s tightened, and nods.

“Lemme check you over,” Stan says, and Ford rolls his eyes but nods.

At first glance, it was easy for most people to assume that Ford would be the more cautious twin. That was never really the case.

Stan looks his brother over as Ford does the same, making sure everything was strapped or clipped or held in place. He gives both of Ford’s air supplies a quick squeeze, making sure the loud burst of air didn’t cause the gauge to dip from just over 3000 PSI, and then making sure his watch read the same thing. He does the same for his own while Ford watches.

Once they give each other a nod of approval, Ford slips his mask over his eyes, adjusts the strap, and gives Stan a grin as he stands. It’s a little infuriating how easy he makes standing and balancing with forty pounds of steel strapped to his back look. Stan slides his own mask into place and stands up with none of the same elegance, steadying himself against the wall of the boat as he steps around the dive bench with clumsy flippered feet.

Stan is glad he insisted on installing a gate at the side of the boat because he’s not sure if he’d be able to pull himself up onto the wall to enter the water backwards like Ford had first suggested. As it stood, he clumsily waddles over to the gate that Ford had already opened and secured.

“I’ll enter first,” Ford says over his shoulder. “You can follow once I give you the sign, remember?”

Stan rolls his eyes, pressing his fingers to the top of his head to form an ‘o’ with one arm. Ford nods his approval, slips his air supply into his mouth, holds it and his mask in place with one hand, and takes a large step into the water. He lands with a heavy splash, and immediately turns to face Stan and kick away from the boat. Stan steps into place, hand on either side of the opening, and waits for Ford to give him the sign. He does so as soon as he’s a few feet from the boat, bobbing along with the gentle waves.

Stan checks himself over one more time, grabs his air supply, and slips it into his mouth. He fits the mouthpart between his teeth and takes a few puffs, double checks his gauge one more time. He holds his mask and air supply in place, lets go of the boat, and steps into the water.

The cold shock he always expects when entering the water never comes. According to his dive computer, the water is 80 degrees Fahrenheit, a fair bit warmer than most showers Stan has taken in his life. Even the 3 mm shorty wetsuit he’s wearing almost feels like overkill, which is a shame considering how much of a pain in the ass it was to wiggle his fat old man body into the damn thing.

Ford catches his attention by pointing at Stan, making an okay sign with his hand, and then pointing down.

‘You okay to go down?’ Stan translates, and gives Ford a thumbs up, before shaking his head and giving him an okay sign instead.

He swears he sees Ford smile around his air supply, eyes amused behind his mask. He confirms with another okay of his own, and pulls the dump cord on his shoulder to begin the descent. With a bit of a struggle that mostly consists of Stan flapping with the hand not around his deflator in an attempt to submerge himself, Stan follows. Ford is already a bit below him, following the mooring line to the bottom. Stan descends a bit more cautiously, clearing his ears all the while; he’s already lost hearing in one of them, he doesn’t need to do any more damage to the other.

By the time he hits the sandy bottom, Ford is already there, has adjusted the air in his BCD, and is squinting at his sensor. Stan puts a quick pump of air into his own vest, just enough that the pressure of the water stops pushing him into the sand. Ford catches his attention, gesturing with a flat palm to one side, towards what looks to Stan like a whole lot of boring open ocean.

Still, who is Stan to protest? He follows Ford without question, just like he used to.

Eventually, the flat expanse of sand slopes downwards into a steep cliff wall littered with coral and crevices, and Stan is briefly awed by the sight of it. The man in the dive shop had said that the reefs were looking sparse lately, but if this is sparse, Stan can’t imagine what one might look like in full swing. A small school of tiny bright blue fish weave behind a purple fan of coral. Below them, a massive grouper disappears into a deep crevice. In a dark cavern lined by coral, an orange fish cautiously peaks out at them with a massive red eye. A large school of greyish fish with yellow and blue tails circles above them, each individual nearly indistinguishable within the group.

Not for the first time, not even for the first time today, Stan thanks whatever higher power might be out there for letting him make it this far. For letting him live long enough to see all of this with his brother.

Ford continues to descend, and Stan checks the depth on his computer. He’s at 51 feet, and isn’t exactly dying to go that much deeper. It’s not that he particularly cares about following the rules of his certification, he just doesn’t want to use up too much of his air. He doesn’t have a good handle on his breathing yet, his lungs are fucked up from years of smoking, and he’s a pretty big guy. He doesn't want to have to tug Ford up to the surface before he finds whatever anomaly he’s looking for. He doesn’t want to ruin this for him.

So, at least for now, he keeps an eye on his brother from above. Ford doesn’t so much as glance up at him, flicking on his flashlight and shining it into each barrel coral and crevice he comes across. Even above him and unable to see his face, Stan can read the excitement carried in Ford’s every move. Stan isn’t nearly as fast as Ford once they really get moving, but he also isn’t stopping to shine his light into every little hole he comes across, so he keeps pace well enough.

And it’s not like he’s entirely distracted by his brother either; there’s too much to see all around him. Some round lump with a silvery sheen catches his eye, nestled amongst the algae. He barely stops himself from grabbing it, because he knows the lecture he’ll get from his brother if he does. A huge lobster wiggles some of its weird spiny mouth parts at him, glaring from the crevice it’s lodged in. A sea star’s long, hairy limbs tangle along the inner surface of a smaller barrel sponge. A small dark head of a wide-eyed fish darts into a hole in the coral before Stan can see much of it.

Everywhere he looks, there’s something to see. Stan isn’t often amazed by the beauty of nature— he fancied himself too cynical for that kind of crap— but even he’s left in awe. He swims a bit closer to the coral, trying to make sense of the tiny fish he saw retreating into it, when he sees something big moving out there in the open ocean out of the corner of his eye. He turns to face it, but he must have been closer to the rocks than he thought, because his tank bangs against them hand enough for the first stage of his regulator to jam into the base of his skull.

Ouch.

The thing that caught his attention is still too far away to make out beyond a long, dark shape. It almost looks like a massive eel, but even Stan knows eels aren’t typically out swimming in the open ocean.

Still, it’s big enough to leave him a little breathless.

Real breathless, actually. The next breath is a struggle.

Is he panicking? He’s never been the most in touch with his emotions, but he’s pretty sure he’s not having a panic attack or anything. Sure, big unknown creature squirming around in the depths of the ocean is kind of scary, but he knows they can handle it.

Another inhale, even harder than the last.

Okay, well, maybe he’s panicking a bit, but only because he can barely breathe. That’s an effect, not a cause.

So what is the cause? He checks his computer, meaning to confirm that he’s not that deep, but his eyes catch on the air gauge. He gasps a little when he sees how low it is, and it dips even lower, the arrow plunging to zero.

Fuck. Fuck. Okay.

He needs Ford. He needs to find Ford.

Stan glances around, gasping in what little air he can. For a brief, terrifying moment, he doesn’t see Ford at all, can’t make out the shape of him in the water, before finally, finally, he sees the dark silhouette of him below and ahead. He has his flashlight on, head buried in some crevice in the rocks of the cliff. He can’t be that far, but the distance seems insurmountable.

He tries to take another breath, but he can’t. He can’t.

He grits his teeth around the regulator— don’t take it out unless you have something better to put in— and kicks down towards Ford.

Don’t hold your breath, especially not while ascending, air expanding as pressure decreases, burst lungs.

Good thing Stan’s going down.

His watch beeps at him, warning him that he’s exceeding the maximum programmed depth.

Ford! He thinks desperately, staring at his brother’s back. That twin telepathy stuff is bullshit, and even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be strong enough to reach Ford when he’s so focused.

You lose air more quickly the deeper you go. Stan swears he can feel it being crushed out of his lungs. A dull ache grows between his ears, but he can’t stop and clear them, not when he can’t breathe.

He reaches out for Ford, but can’t quite touch him. His legs ache as he gives one final kick and his fingers press against Ford’s tank. They scramble uselessly against the metal, searching for something to grab onto, before he gets his thoughts together enough to follow the straps to his BCD and slide his fingers into the narrow gap where the curve of the plastic doesn’t quite meet that of the tank itself. He tugs Ford towards himself, or himself towards Ford, and scrambles to grab his arm and turn towards him. He can faintly hear a startled noise from his brother, one that would be amusing in any other context.

No air, Stan signals desperately. Ford’s expression is hard to read behind his mask, but he’s not doing anything. He knows, in an emergency, he’s supposed to rip the reg out of his buddy’s mouth, hand them their backup and let them figure it out, but he can’t bring himself to do it, not to his brother.

No air, Stan repeats, and finally Ford moves. Without bothering to unclip his secondary, he spits out his primary, rips Stan’s out, and all but shoves his own into Stan’s mouth and pushes the purge before he can suck in a lung full of water. Good thing too, because clearing it was the last thing on Stan’s mind at the moment.

He gasps. The dry air and faint taste of salt water has never felt better. He doesn’t even care that it was in his brother’s mouth seconds earlier.

He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes. Fuck. He loves breathing.

Ford grabbed him at some point, and he tugs Stan closer as he continues to gasp for breath. He hooks his elbow through Stan’s and pulls them shoulder to shoulder. Stan, for his part, just lets himself be manhandled. He doesn’t mind any of it, doesn’t mind anything at all now that he can breathe.

After a bit— Stan has no idea how long— Ford squeezes his arm with his other hand to get his attention. Stan reluctantly opens his eyes, and is relieved to see Ford has his secondary in. Shit. Stan didn’t even think about making sure Ford was alright.

He points at Ford’s chest before he can do anything and holds up an okay sign.

‘You okay?’ he asks his brother, cocking his head to emphasize the question. Ford looks so annoyed that Stan can see it through that mask and reg, and it’s another thing that would have been funny in any other context. He can particularly hear Ford say, ‘are you seriously asking me that right now?’

Ford nods with both his head and his free hand, before jabbing a finger into Stan’s chest and making an okay sign of his own. Stan mirrors the two part nod. Ford squints at him, and Stan curves his fingers back into the okay sign.

I’m okay, he wordlessly insists. For a moment there, he wasn’t sure he would be, but he’s okay.

Ford still seems unconvinced, but he gives Stan a thumbs up. Thoughtlessly, he mirrors the gesture before remembering what it means in this context, but it serves him just as well. He’d love to be able to breathe an entire atmosphere’s worth of air without worrying about the tank on his back or any of the hoses connected to it. He’s still not sure what went wrong, but at the moment he doesn’t particularly care. He can breathe for the time being, but Ford’s air tank won’t support both of them for long.

Ford pulls Stan even closer, and Stan doesn’t mind even as it drives Ford’s boney-ass elbow into his hip. It gives him the opportunity to check the gauge attached to his brother’s regulator, to see that it’s around 1700 PSI and not visibly dipping with every breath the two of them take. They’re also at 83 feet, well below what Stan’s basic certification covers. Oh well, he’s never followed any other rules, there’s no reason for this to be an exception.

They’ll be fine, Stan concludes. Ford looks down at his computer, and gestures to the side and slightly upwards. Stan can only assume what that means, but he nods either way. He trusts his brother. He’ll get them out of this. Thinking is a lot of work right now.

Nitrogen narcosis, part of Stan’s sluggish mind whispers. Oxygen toxicity, it insists.

The rest of his brain, even running at half speed, knows that he’s not really displaying symptoms of either of those. He was scared, and now he’s tired. He knows that as long as his brother is with him, he’s safe to shut down just a little. They aren’t out of the water yet, but they’ll be alright.

Blearily, he lets Ford lead the way. He kicks weakly at the knees in the exact way he knows he shouldn’t, but his hips hurt like hell. He refuses to ever believe it, much less act on it, but as usual, his brain tells him he’s too old for this shit.

Luckily, Ford has a lot more stamina than Stan, and more than makes up for his weakness and poor form. He’s also capable of navigating underwater, which is more than Stan can say about himself; he’s fine making his way through an urban environment, and he even got pretty used to the forests of Gravity Falls, but he only knew enough about underwater navigation to get his certification.

Before he knows it, they’re back at the mooring line. His watch beeps at him again, and as he glances at it, he sees a three minute timer start to count down.

Right. Safety stop.

They’re seventeen feet down. Ford’s computer tells him they still have somewhere around 1500 PSI. As much as he wants to be out of the damn water already, he lets Ford hold him in place, and nods when Ford taps his own computer and gives him a questioning ‘okay?’

Stan nods. Okay, he confirms, hoping Ford can’t see his reluctance.

2:37, his computer tells him, and Stan focuses on breathing steadily but shallowly, watching it count down the whole time.

It’s among the slowest three minutes of his life, but eventually it counts down to zero and lets out a little beep of confirmation. He looks over to Ford, who gives him the okay, and the two of them finally make it to the surface.

Stan’s hand scrambles blindly for the snorkel attached to his mask, and he eventually manages to tip it upright and tug the mouthpiece to him. He spits out Ford’s regulator, clears the snorkel with a wet puff of air, and breathes into that. It tastes, as expected, of saltwater, but it feels great to breath and not feel like he’s stealing the air from his brother's lungs.

He glances around, and finds the Stan O’ War II waiting for them a few yards away, just where they left it.

“Are you alright?” Ford calls. His hold relaxed once they hit the surface, but he’s still gripping onto Stan’s hand like a bear trap. His other holds his snorkel at the ready, but he seems more worried about Stan than he is about the seawater splashing into his big dumb mouth.

Stan rolls his eyes, gives him the okay sign with his free hand, and gestures towards the boat. Ford mumbles a confirmation, puts his snorkel in, and begins kicking his way towards it, dragging Stan along with him. Stan tries his best to carry his own weight, but he feels like a kid doggy-paddling next to an Olympic swimmer.

They make it to the boat easily enough, and Ford reluctantly releases Stan in favor of the ladder. He plunges his head into the water, and Stan is briefly baffled before he resurfaces moments later with his fins around either wrist. He glances over at Stan one more time, as if worried he disappeared the moment he looked away, before he starts making his way up the ladder.

It’s far from effortless, but Ford manages to get up with little issue. From above, Stan can hear the loud clang of Ford’s air tank hitting the deck, and he winces at the thought of the dent it must have left on her.

He can barely manage to tilt his head up far enough to see Ford above him, his neck aching and the first stage of his regulator digging painfully into the back of his head, but at least he can see his brother above him. Now he just needs to get to him.

He takes a deep breath that feels like it’s mostly sea foam, and clears the remaining distance between him and the ladder.

Stan hooks his arm through the first rung above the water and braces one foot against the hull. He awkwardly contorts himself to grab at the other foot, slick, wrinkly fingers scrambling at the easy-release buckle at the side of his fins. His arm shakes with the strain, and even through the snorkel, it feels like he's breathing in mostly water.

Finally, he releases the buckle of one of his fins, and barely manages to loop his fingers through it before it slips off into the water. Now that it’s off his foot, it’s easier to latch the buckle again and slide it over his hand, keeping it in place as he shifts his aching body to grab the other.

“Brace!” Ford calls from above, and Stan does so without question, pulling himself tighter against the boat and holding his breath as a large wave sweeps over.

Once it clears, Stan scrambles to get his other fin off and pull himself further from the water. The relief of being mostly out of the water is undercut by the sudden weight of the tank on his back. Without the buoyancy the water provided, Stan’s legs nearly buckle beneath him.

Ford calls something to him, as loud and clear as he always talks, but Stan can’t quite catch it. All he knows is that it’s too long to be another call for him to brace.

“Throw up your fins!” Ford tries again, slower this time, louder.

He sounds impatient, but Stan knows he’s just worried.

Probably.

Still, he wiggles his fins off his arms as quickly as he can, and tosses them weakly up towards his brother.

Ford catches them with ease, and drops them on the deck without a second thought. The removal of a few extra feet of plastic around his arm helps some, but climbing the ladder is still a slow process.

They’ll have to add some traction tape to the damn thing next time they get a chance, Stan thinks as his foot slips against a rung yet again. As long as he doesn’t fall backwards with his feet caught between a rung— something that has happened to him at least once on land— he’ll be fine. Slow and steady.

“I’ve got you, Stanley!” Ford calls, and the weight of the tank on his back suddenly begins to lift.

With that, Stan scrambles the rest of the way up the ladder, all but crashing into Ford once he's on the deck. Luckily, Ford manages to keep his footing and shove Stan back into the bench. His legs buckle at the slightest pressure against the back of his knees, and the tank ends up landing in the right place by sheer luck.

Before Stan can even raise his hands to do so himself, Ford is unbuckling and loosening his BCD. Just as that registers, he pries off his mask as well, tossing it beneath the bench and out of the way. Stan just lets it happen, blinking blearily at the blurry figure of his brother.

Ford mumbles something to himself that Stan has no chance of hearing over his own coughs.

“You okay?” Stan slurs, mouth struggling around the words. He feels like his teeth are still locked around Ford’s regulator.

Ford huffs in the bitchy little way he so often does.

“I’m fine, I’m not the one who ran out of air approximately 27 minutes into our dive.”

He doesn’t mean it like that, a kind, logical part of his brain tells him, a part that was created recently and gets a bit louder every day.

Way to fuck it up, knucklehead. You saw that thing, but you had to ruin everything before Ford even caught a glimpse of it, another part says, loud and familiar. You should have stayed down there.

“Well sorry,” Stan says, thick with sarcasm even though he means it.

“You—“ Ford huffs, cutting himself off. He runs a hand through his soaking wet hair, and then immediately shakes off the sensation with a grimace.

And then he turns around and retreats into the cabin, leaving Stan, soaked and aching, alone on the deck.

Shit. He really is angry, huh. When they really, seriously fight, Stan tends to pursue, to hurt the other party before he can get hurt but Ford, Ford retreats. He doesn’t do it out of fear or even an unwillingness to argue with his brother— everyone who’s been around them for more than five minutes knows how much they both love to squabble— but because he needs to cool off before he says something he regrets. The thing about them being twins, despite all the time apart, is that they still know, almost instinctively, exactly how to hit where it hurts.

If Ford’s retreating, he felt, in that moment, like he wanted to hurt Stan.

Shit.

It’s not like it wouldn’t be justified. He’s not sure what he did wrong down there, but he did something that ruined the dive for him. That would be bad enough on its own, he saw how excited his brother was just being down there, but there was an anomaly. Potentially a very dangerous anomaly that’s having a negative effect on biodiversity or some crap. And Stan tore him away from that.

His brother wanted to share this with him, and he ruined it.

He wants to get up and pace out his frustrations, but his legs ache. His head pounds painfully with each rapid beat of his heart. The wind can’t be that cold, but soaked and alone, it has Stan shivering.

Get up, get dry, fix this, Stan tells himself.

He doesn’t move. His pruny hands, still dripping saltwater onto the deck, clench into useless, shaking fists.

Get up, Stan insists, fix this.

Diluted by sea water, blood trickles lazily from a scrape on his calf. He has no idea when or how he got scraped, but he didn’t feel it then and he doesn’t feel it now.

Get up.

Despite everything, his throat feels dry enough to hurt.

Get up.

Saltwater is running into his eyes from his wet hair, stinging with each blink. He can’t even manage to lift his arm to wipe it away.

The door to the cabin swings open, and it’s like a switch is flipped as Stan finally stands. His legs shake beneath his weight, and the gentle rocking nearly sends him right back down to the bench.

“Stanley!” Ford scolds. He’s stripped out of his wetsuit, just wearing his swim shorts and a towel around his shoulders. He has his actual glasses back on, and his hair is dry enough to no longer be dripping at least. Another towel is draped over his arm, hand holding Stan’s glasses.

Oh. So that’s where he went. Obviously. The scared animal in Stan’s chest reluctantly settles.

“Sit! Sit down!” He fusses, and Stan can’t even be mad about his brother insisting on undoing all his hard work. Sitting down is better than collapsing on the deck in front of Ford.

“Get out of your wetsuit, you can’t be comfortable,” Ford says, and Stan can’t really argue with that. He reaches for the zipper on his back, and Ford flits over in an instant to unzip it himself with a, “Oh, let me help.”

Stan stills, just to make sure Ford doesn’t intend to do anything else while he’s still standing over him, but he just gives him a quick once-over and nods, before turning his attention to Stan’s BCD.

Stan leaves him to it, and begins squirming, wiggling, and writhing his way out of the shortie. Once it’s off and in a wet heap by his feet, he pulls his hair out of the tight ponytail he had it in, and starts scrubbing it dry. As much as he likes growing out his hair, but it’ll be a pain to brush it later, and it’s a pain to dry it now.

Ford says something beside him, and Stan stops scrubbing and lets the towel fall around his shoulders. He slides his glasses on to see Ford is staring at the first stage of his regulator with a look somewhere between horror and rage. Stan follows his gaze, and sees that it’s not quite sitting on the tank properly. He’s amazed that neither of them noticed it leaking, because it must have been the whole time.

“Stanley…” Ford says, and that expression settles into guilt.

It’s a look Stan seems to be on the receiving end of more often than he ever expected. Every time Stan has a memory lapse, every time he remembers something unpleasant, every time he references some unsavory part of his past, Ford looks at him like a kicked puppy. He might not directly apologize every time, but he’s done it often enough. Too often, Stan would argue.

He just doesn’t know why he’s doing it right now.

“Stanley, this is all my fault, I… I must have screwed it on wrong, or perhaps I didn’t tighten it properly, I didn’t even check your air supply properly, I let you test your own regulator, and I thought I was watching, I thought it didn’t dip, but it must have been leaking the whole time and I just didn’t notice, this is all my fault and I’m so sorry,” Ford says breathlessly, running his hand through his hair and tugging. “And I shouldn’t have swam off like that, I didn’t even check if you were following once I reached the shelf, I should have stayed close, how long were you without air? No, it doesn’t matter, it was too long, and you had to go so deep to get to me, Stanley, I’m so sorry.”

“Quit it, Poindexter,” Stan huffs, swatting at his wrist. Ford lets go of his own hair and starts shaking out his hand instead, like a cat with a piece of tape stuck to its paw. “I checked my air, it was working fine before we got off the boat. Hell, it was working fine until…”

Stan shifts towards his regulator, now laying on the bench beside him. The knob on the first stage is scraped up, plastic torn, and he holds it out for Ford to see.

“I bumped it against some rocks while I was turning. It must have gotten knocked out of place.”

“It shouldn’t have gotten ‘knocked out of place’ so easily! It must have been to lose in the first place, ergo, it’s my fault,” Ford insists. “I could have killed you with my negligence, Stanley.”

“But you didn’t,” Stan argues. He can’t definitively prove that Ford had attached the first stage properly, and yeah, if he didn’t and that was his fault, that would suck, but Stan was alive. Sore, exhausted, and a little rattled, but alive. They both were.

“But I could have,” Ford repeats.

“And I could throw you off the boat right now,” Stan dismisses, leaning back and waving a hand lazily.

Ford frowns and straightens up into his usual haughty posture.

“… I doubt it,” Ford says, which is as close as he’ll get to admitting defeat in their prior argument.

“Totally could,” Stan mumbles, and then louder, “whatever. Doesn’t matter. The point is, even if you did fuck up, we’re fine.”

“Are you fine?” Ford asks, staring at him with wide, worried eyes.

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m fine,” Stan dismisses. “I’m aching like hell but when am I not, am I right?”

Ford frowns at him, but nods anyway.

“I… I truly am sorry, Stanley,” Ford says, soft and painfully genuine. “Regardless of my own role in its failure, this is not how I wanted our first reef dive to go.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t great for me either, but that’s just the way that it is in this bitch of a world,” Stan says, shrugging. His neck jolts painfully. “It was pretty cool before it all went to shit, though.”

Ford smiles slightly, his eyes flashing with that bright-eyed nerd look he gets sometimes.

“It was, wasn’t it? I dove off the coast of Oregon a few times, even explored the Gravity Falls lake once or twice, but neither could even compare. Even if we didn’t find whatever set off my sensor, it was worth seeing,” Ford trails off, his hesitant smile dying on his lips. “Or, it would have been, if I hadn’t nearly gotten you killed.”

“You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that if you want me dead, brother of mine,” Stan snarks, elbowing Ford in the ribs.

“I don’t!” Ford protests, offended at the mere idea. “I don't want you dead at all!”

“I know, I know,” Stan says, “you care about me or some crap.”

“I do,” Ford agrees, painfully genuine. “In fact, I care about you so much that I’ll let you take the first shower.”

“I just started to dry off,” Stan grumbles, just to be an ass.

Ford is, as expected, not especially sympathetic. He gently helps Stan to his feet and escorts him down the stairs into their tiny bathroom. Stan wishes he was more upset about the babying than he is, but as it stands, his shaky legs definitely appreciate the support, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

“Holler if you need anything, okay?” Ford says, lingering awkwardly in the doorway as Stan shrugs off the towel Ford brought him. It’s one of the thin ones that dries real fast, and there’s a proper bath towel waiting for him on the closed toilet.

He waves Ford away with a dismissive grunt, and he closes the door as he finally leaves.

The rest of the day proceeds in a similar fashion, with Ford only leaving Stan’s side to fetch things for him. It’s always like this every time Stan gets hurt or something goes wrong, has been ever since the damn memory gun. He can’t even enjoy having someone at his beck and call when that someone is his brother and he looks so damn guilty the whole time.

“C’mon Ford,” he says, tugging his brother down to sit beside him as he settles in to watch tv. “Relax for a second, will you?”

Ford sighs, but sits down beside him and, as usual, shoves his feet beneath Stan’s legs. He can be touchy about being touched sometimes, but he does like the reassurance of having some form of contact. Usually, it’s brushing elbows or butting his head against Stan’s shoulder or shoving his cold little toes under Stan’s thighs when they sit next to each other. He wasn’t always like this, but Stan has gotten used to it.

“I’m okay, got it?” Stan insists, tilting his head to butt it gently against Ford’s.

“… got it,” Ford says softly.

He repositions himself to settle into Stan’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. His hair is still slightly wet; his thick curls don’t let go of moisture easily, especially not in this humidity, but Stan doesn’t mind as much as he’s sure Ford would if their positions were reversed.

His need for reassurance seems to have overcome his general aversion to touch, and Stan is happy to oblige, even if that means being stuck on the couch for a few hours after he would have preferred to go to sleep because Ford passed out on his shoulder.

[alethianightsong]

BELOVED: A ghost story

To this day, I still have no idea what Beloved truly is (even though that's the whole point of her character). Most people write her off as just the ghost of Sethe's daughter, but in actuality, it's way, way more complicated than that. Morrison said once that Beloved represented every beloved person lost during the middle passage or due to the violence of slavery. This shows very well in Beloved's characterization. Yes, her core person is Sethe's daughter but there's also a lot of vindictiveness in her being. At first, she's mentally just a little girl wanting the warmth of her mother but then she turns mean and cruel, upset at being mercy-killed. Beloved's obsession with sugar kinda baffled me, but I guess many of the spirits within her used to work sugar plantations in the West Indies and since they weren't allowed to partake in the crop they grew, they're demanding it now through Beloved.

For the sake of discussion, let's settle on Beloved being the manifestation of every person forced to endure the trauma of slavery. Beloved craves. They crave the life denied them and crave some kind of compensation. They're angry, upset, restless, vengeful. Ghosts are theorized to be imprints left by the living and Beloved is all the imprints of African slaves rolled into one. She demands love from Sethe, sex from Paul D, companionship from Denver. In the end, she becomes a void sucking away at Sethe, a reminder that the past is easy to get trapped in and haunted by.

My personal theory on Beloved is that when Paul D drove her spirit out the house, she went to the afterlife and came back with the thoughts and memories of the other black people she interacted with down there. This is why her personality shifts dramatically as the book progresses. She's a revenant, poltergeist, wraith, dybbuk. She doesn't haunt the white people who perpetuated slavery, but those affected by it on a personal level. She is the past & trauma incarnate.

[koinotfish]

Excerpt 2 from The Secrets the Sun Keeps:

Hey, you- angsty fantasy reader who enjoys supporting indie authors- come check this out! I post... regularly on AO3 here. Please read, comment, reblog, and do whatever it is you lovely people on Tumblr do. Much love <3

~~~

“Hm. With the amount of customers visiting your booth,” He looked around demonstratively, making a show of landing on a competing leather and hides merchant. “I’m sure times are tough for you. I apologize, but I’m on a long journey from out west and the trip is far from over. I cannot afford to give away my valuables to charity. Farewell.” He turned with a flourish of a wave and the woman lashed the backs of his knees with her jagged spined tail. <em>Gotcha,</em> he smirked before morphing his expression to one of bewilderment. 

In lieu of the broken common tongue she grated out earlier, she thrust a poly and… Yep, 50 agars into his palm. He stroked along the sharp grain of the snake’s hide, and its dark gold colored scales in phony contemplation. After thinking her offer over for a tense minute, the heavyset reptilian lady glaring a hole in between his eyes, he returned her coins to her and walked off again.

“You not find better deal than what I give you, stupid stranger!” Fumed Risha. 

“Your prices offend me, miss. This exotic beast is from the west, further beyond Faulk than any in Minden have likely ever been. I owe it to the serpent to find somebody capable of rendering it into workable armor, rather than simply sell it to a higher bidder. Again, have a good evening.” He said all of this from a distance so that he had cause to yell it over the din of the market, and heads turned towards the ensuing argument. The higher quality vendors with finer wares wouldn’t have given an outsider a second glance, but the words ‘out west’ captured their attention. Still, he paid the solicitors no mind as he pretended to peruse other stalls and booths, the poly from his boot in hand to show that he was wealthy enough to deal with. Poor people were paid poor prices even for expensive items, and the rich got richer. Thieves, liars, and con artists were above both.

With time to kill, Erik milled around town and briefly debated on buying a drink at the tavern, but if he reeked of alcohol the group would assume he’d spent <em>their</em> hard earned money. There was a stable in town that looked like a strong wind would send its abused supports to their knees. He decided to scope that out. Although the building was dilapidated, there were three people standing guard- a middle aged man, a younger boy, and a woman around his age. So it was a family business, then. Walking by looking around the streets as if lost, he realized their house was connected by an alleyway to the stables and had windows facing over their business. The second time he walked by, he noted the woman looked up from scooping hay to watch him. Her husband barked something at her and she jolted, averting her gaze and getting back to work. 

She was pretty in figure but had a plain face. It wasn’t clear what type of fae she was, so that meant there was a good chance she was a mutt or halfbreed of some sort. Certainly too low bred to be capable of magic. That husband of hers was a fearsome orc. Maybe even purebred with the length of those tusks. They were a hideous people with a temper to match their brawn, especially the males. A female orc who had a problem with you was no party either, though. How strange to see such a pure blooded male in this puny, filthy town. Had to be an outlaw or something. Or an opportunist seeking to profit off being the only source of a mount in the area. Erik had the feeling it was the former. His opinion of orcs was not favorable, thanks to the slavers that distracted him from the task of recapturing Meredith. 

Erik walked through the barn style door of the stable with his hands in his pockets, stealing glances at the woman when her son and husband weren’t looking. The dark skinned boy, who took after his father more than the mother, announced they’d be with him in a minute. Clearly it wasn’t the woman’s job to handle customers. She looked like she had something to say, so he started the conversation with her anyways. Erik remarked casually on the beauty of the tall, fit black stallion they had. Nervously, she agreed and reached up to place her palm on his nose. The horse had to bend down for her to reach him, but seemed calm with her. Only two horses were kept here in the same double wide stall. Every other spot had weird, lanky otter looking creatures with webbed feet. 

“You’re looking at the dire otters. Small, powerful, and capable of pulling cargo in groups,” The orc said, wiping sweat off his pronounced brow with one hand and pushing his tiny wife behind him with the other. She was all but flung towards the back of the shed and did her best not to squeal in surprise when she nearly tripped forward. “Whatcha in the market for, foreigner? Or did you just stop by to chat?” The last comment was spat at him, but he feigned ignorance and stated that he was only curious what types of animals were for sale here. His excuse only earned a grunt and a snort in response. Their boy was watching him like a hawk as well, but the woman’s eyes were turned down as she continued to sweep the same place on the floor, pushing the dirty hay around in a pile. He’d embarrassed her, and that worked to Erik’s advantage perfectly.

[anamelessfool]

Sad news. One of my favorite musicians, Toumani Diabaté passed away suddenly due to a brief illness. I heard about it through another West African musician I follow on social media. He was only 58. Diabaté primarily played a traditional West African instrument called the Kora and to me it's one of the greatest instruments ever created by humans. If you really want to "get lost in a sound" an incredible kora player can make it so.

My musical taste also includes some African music trends and traditions. I learned about this region through my local independent radio station, and if you want to have cool music taste then you should support your local indie station! Specifically Transpacific Sound Paradise and the indie label Sahel Sounds.

Toumani Diabaté and Sona Jobarteh. Jobarteh is one of the most known, if not only, female kora musicians active today. She is a musical prodigy and Diabaté's cousin. Women of the Griot social class very rarely become Griot themselves.

He and his family are part of a bard/storyteller/courtier social class in Mali and other West African countries known as Griot. He could trace his lineage back almost 71 generations. He was the first artist to introduce the Kora to the wider music world in the late 80s. One of my favorite albums of all time is "New Ancient Strings" performed with another Kora player Ballaké Sissoko. It's a wonderful album to get lost into. The sound of the Kora is meditative yet mentally activating. There is so much improvisation involved in crafting its music and with two instruments it's a gorgeous conversation.

Another amazing album of his is a live performance he did in 2009 with renowned banjo player and folk artist Béla Fleck. Another absolutely incredible album and cultural exchange. The banjo owes its life to the kora. People from West Africa enslaved and brought to the Americas developed the banjo from the kora's stringed gourd design and other African stringed instruments. The music of the enslaved is the direct ancestor to our current rock and folk musical traditions. Without the culture of the enslaved Africans and Indigenous peoples, we would not have the popular music we love today.

The best part of this album is when the two musicians perform "Dueling Banjos." You can really see how the banjo and the kora are related.

Yes i love chatting music and yes I will be playing these albums all afternoon. Feel free to AMA about music!

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year 2024, Part I (Oren Ambarchi to Loma)

Oren Ambarchi and crew

Half the year is gone already, and how did that happen? At Dusted, we’ve spent six months listening to good records and bad.  We’ve picked our very favorites, the top two from this year’s pile.  And now, in an annual tradition, we turn them on our fellow writers.  Hah, take that!   

Some of our Mid-Year switcheroos have been highly contentious.  We may have lost a writer or two in the aftermath.  Others have been remarkably collegial and full of positive discovery.  This one falls more or less in the middle.  Only a couple of reviews are notably grumpy.  A slightly larger (but still not large) number show evidence of newly awakened fandom.  For the most part, we came out with the same favorites we brought with us, though perhaps a little wiser about the music that we’re missing. 

For this reason, it is harder than ever to identify winners.  There’s no universally admired album we can call “this year’s Heron Oblivion.”  Rosali and Winged Wheel each got four votes, as close to a sweep as this year brought.  Oren Ambarchi’s Ghosted II notched three.  There were lots of lone pics—which is fine.  More music to check out. 

As always, we’re breaking the mid-year into three parts.  This one covers the front of the alphabet, a second will deal with the back.  The third, as always, provides longer lists from participating writers.  We hope you enjoy it. 

Oren Ambarchi / Johan Berthling / Andreas Werliin —Ghosted II (Drag City)

Who recommended it? Bryon Hayes

Did we review it? Yes, Tim Clarke said, “They cleave closer to the meditative, exploratory grooves of The Necks, laying down intricately detailed and gradually evolving parts… Sublime.” 

Bill Meyer’s take:

Count me among the Dusted writers who hold this trio in high esteem. Ghosted II strikes so precise a balance of texture, stillness and motion that it’s easy miss how fragile it is; one misplaced note or beat could bring it all down in a second, but the trio sustains each of the album’s four tracks for ten minutes or thereabouts. While it’s easy to appreciate the tidal flux of Oren Ambarchi’s guitar>>table of boxes>>Lesley speaker signal chain, and Johan Berthling’s immovable bass presence, if you are about to put this record on the hi-fi for the first time (PLEASE listen in stereo), consider focusing on the infinite mirror effect of Werliin’s percussion. Your third eye will thank you.

Olivia Block — The Mountains Pass (Black Truffle)

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No

Ray Garraty’s take:

This has actually none of the pretentious stuff you expect to find in a work by somebody who has been dubbed a “media artist.” The second part of The Mountains Pass is especially stunning where ‘f2754’ has clearly a Giallo-esque feel to it, fast paced and a tad prog rock-ish. “Violet-Green,” perhaps the best composition on the album, brings in mind those creepy soundtracks, with synths and bells, which we usually hear on bad horror movies. And even when Olivia Block, on the same track, begins to sing, her voice is outlandish enough to think that she was abducted by the aliens. 

Camera Obscura — Look to the East, Look to the West (Merge)

Who Picked it? Andrew Forell

Did we review it? Yes, Andrew said, “Campbell writes movingly about memory and friendship. Looking at what was rather than regretting what might have been with an honesty that goes directly to the heart of things.” 

Bryon’s take:

This record makes me realize that I should listen to more Camera Obscura. The Glaswegian indie pop group is a delight to take in, especially Tracyanne Campbell’s lovely voice. Look to the East, Look to the West is a comeback album, the band’s first since they went on hiatus following the death of keyboardist Carey Lander in 2015. The most striking aspect here is the use of pedal steel and organ, which lend the album a country and western flair. This seems to be a new development for Campbell and company, but they pull it off well and the new sounds really suit the band. Similarly effective are the digital drums that the band employ on tracks like “Liberty Print.” Camera Obscura have altered course slightly but retain the loveliness that lies within their core.

Chief Keef — Almighty So 2 (RBC)

Who nominated it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No.

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Six years in the making and continually delayed—a fact the artist refers to several times during the run-time—Almighty So 2 is massive and ambitious, with operatic hooks and wall-shaking, body-pummeling beats. A mountainous swagger rocks, “Grape Trees,” the cut with Sexyy Red, a machine-gun ratatat thundering under brutal lyrics about gender relations. The politics are embedded in the subject matter, in the screaming sirens, the South Chicago gangland scenarios, the profanity, rage and cynicism. “Jesus Skit,” though, gets a little more explicit about it, positing a sliding reparations scheme that depends on skin color; light skinned rappers like Drake and Chance the Rapper lose out big time, while darker ones, like Sosa, get millions. The violence comes in the shattering beats, as in “1,2,3,” a slow-motion eruption. Here the artist sketches the bleak world that made (and continues to make) him, chanting, “I always believed I was gon' get paid/When I got to hustlin' up in sixth grade/You ain't givin' off that nigga, you won't get laid/Sleep for the weak, I been up for six days.” The track, like the rest of Almighty So 2, is gritty and nihilistic and undeniably powerful. So glad I got to hear this, non-expert though I am.

Cindy Lee — Diamond Jubilee (Realistik Studios)

Who nominated it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? Nope (and shame on us…)

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

Diamond Jubilee commences with three dazzling songs: the title track, “Glitz” and “Baby Blue.” Even if the rest of the record weren’t so excellent (it is, and at over two hours, there’s a lot of it), the strength of those three songs would propel it into frequent rotation, on my various devices and in my head, and likely onto the year-end list I will eventually compose. “Baby Blue” is the crucial track: it’s one of those songs (along with Warren Zevon’s “The French Inhaler,” Townes Van Zandt’s “For the Sake of the Song” and a few others) that is so ruthlessly fine in its execution and so suited to some of the least comfortable angles in the emotional furniture in my head that it requires a kind of commitment to listen to. Beyond that irretrievably subjective response, Diamond Jubilee commits, as well: to gorgeous melody, without entirely smoothing out the sharp edges that distinguished Lee’s What’s Tonight to Eternity (2020); to the reverb-saturated aesthetic of fading girl-group harmonies, clubland at 3 am, spangled cocktail dresses of motheaten satin and the pleasures of the last cigarette in the pack when there’s no money for another; and, it seems, to love, in social conditions that make love nearly as unthinkable as it is completely necessary. The surreal, in its modernist avant-garde iteration, emerged in similarly extreme social conditions, after the slaughter of the Great War and amid fascism’s rise. Those forces were enough to distort human relations into monstrous shapes nigh irrevocable. Lee’s music has strong relations to the dreamlike quality of the surreal, and we have our own terrors now: climate’s awful and furious change, social media’s psycho-social poisons and fascism, once again. Those terrors’ spectral presences are audible all over Diamond Jubilee, but they can’t blunt the sharpness of human longing in songs like “All I Want Is You” or “Don’t Tell Me I’m Wrong” or “Government Cheque.” Love’s intensities may not be sustainable, or even particularly livable, but they won’t be denied. Cindy Lee captures that set of truths with that aforementioned dazzle, and with depth.

DIIV — Frog In Boiling Water (Fantasy)

Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes. Tim Clarke said: “Despite the music’s dense layering and the overall feeling of frustration and confusion, Frog In Boiling Water thankfully leaves the listener with a feeling of hope and eventual redemption.”

Ray Garraty’s take:

If I were given this with no title and artist’s name I’d say this was written by a no name indie band circa 2016. It’s the same shoegazy guitars and sweet and melancholy vocals we’ve been hearing since when, 1994? The songs like “Reflected” got things moving but it’s far from boiling temperatures, merely lukewarm. It’s been written somewhere that the DIIV’s album is about “coping with capitalism,” yet it’s evident that it’s feeding the same capitalism, giving the fans the same thing over and over. And that is how capitalism works. 

Nomi Epstein — shades (Another Timbre)

Who picked it? Christian Carey

Did we write about it? Yes, Christian said, "Epstein’s music is unfailingly attractive and elegantly paced. Shades is an excellent introduction to her work."

Bill Meyer’s take: 

Since Nomi Epstein leads the Chicago-based new music ensemble a.pe.ri.od.ic, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to hear her guide performances of other people’s music. But shades is only the second album devoted to hers. Its three long pieces are, like the Wandelweiser and minimalist composers that a.pe.ri.od.ic has often supported, sparely arranged and deliberately paced. She puts intriguing sounds — some prepared piano notes, or a barely-there vocal tone — just far enough inside the frameworks of the music to invite one to listen in. Once your consciousness is inside the music, the slow movement of what surrounds you mesmerizes. Music this reserved and respectful is a welcome respite in a world where reality smacks you upside the head every day and even that influencer babbling on the phone belong to the person sitting next to you on the train insists on staring you in the eye.

Fuera de Sektor — Juegos Prohibidos (La Vida Es Un Mus Discos)

Who nominated it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan wrote, “It’s a singular sound, by turns compelling and bewitching—like the beautiful face you can just about discern across a dim and crowded room, a set of lines and textures briefly lit up by occasional drags on a cigarette. Not quite (or not just) postpunk, pop or dance music, the songs on Juegos Prohibitos itch at your hips and scratch into your brain.”

Christian Carey’s take:

Barcelona band Fuera de Sektor released a demo in 2022, but Juegos Prohibidos is their first full length recording. No Wave is a significant influence, particularly in the fiercely intense sing-shout vocals from Andrea Jarale. If you visit the band’s Instagram, it includes an amateur video that is an homage to Richard Hell, replicating a 1970s comic from NY Punk Magazine in which he starred. But there are many more reference points. The guitars channel the chops and soloing of eighties New Wave, and the rhythm section provides relentless uptempo playing. The defiant demeanor of the songs themselves depicts an unstoppable wall of intensity.

Daryl Groetsch — Above the Shore (self-released)

Who picked it? Andrew Forell

Did we review it? Yes, Andrew called it “a 75-minute floating symphony that insinuates its way into your subconscious with almost imperceptible stealth.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

Whether approvingly or not, works like this 75-minute composition/album are often described as if they were very static in nature; as if even when there are changes they happen in rigid, predictable ways. It may be that if you poke around under the hood of Above the Clouds enough you might be able to diagram out the way elements meld, progress, and separate again, and possibly under that light the whole thing looks regular. But in terms of the way it feels when you listen to it, there’s something quite different going on with Groetsch’s work. The whole thing does feel quite immersive, almost environmental. But as opposed to any number of ground-level or even underwater vistas that come to mind with similar works, here I feel suspended in the air, very far above any shore indeed. The listening experience feels akin to endlessly falling, eventually not so much above as through softly glowing clouds. It’s somehow soothingly vertiginous, and more captivating (and attention-rewarding) than most of its peers.

Icewear Vezzo — Live From the 6 (Quality Control Music)

Who picked it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? No.

Patrick Masterson’s take:

Chivez Smith has been a familiar name to anyone keeping an eye on Detroit rap for the last decade — longer than you might think and long enough, now, to make him an elder statesman among the city’s spitters. What better time, then, to take a step back and assess not just how far you’ve come, but what all that hustling has amounted to? So goes Live From the 6 (not a Drake reference, in case you were momentarily confused; Vezzo’s from 6 Mile on McNichols north of Hamtramck), which isn’t quite a career retrospective but carries the themes of one. Vezzo’s in a reflective mood over the course of these 13 songs, his slightly frayed vocals forever unhurried and his beat selection consistently nodding to the high West Coast era; you could put Ice Cube or Snoop (or, for that matter, YG or Nipsey) over most of these productions and it wouldn’t throw you off. It’s not totally insular bars-wise, either; a questionable DaBaby feature aside — his double-time admission that he sees a therapist is heartening given how deservedly he got shunned by the establishment just as he was fixing to peak — Memphis artist YTB Fatt also shows up. Fellow Motor City emcees Babyface Ray and Chuckie CEO provide the remaining color, but end to end, this is Vezzo’s show and he shows up. There’s no lack of entry points to Icewear Vezzo’s discography by now, but if you were hesitant before, Live From the 6 is merely the latest display of his acumen. Hear why he’s the one.

Loma — How Will I Live Without A Body? (Sub Pop)

Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes, Tim wrote, “Yes, this is a heavy album, but luxuriously so. It’s music that stares death in the face and instead of running, hunkers down and gets comfortable.”

Alex Johnson’s take:

Listening to How Will I Live Without a Body? is like eavesdropping on a collage of someone else’s thoughts. Contemplation or confusion or a eureka one moment to the next. It’s theatrical, passionate music that, to me, shares a heavy sensibility with the operatic post-rock on Portishead’s Third. Like an unsettling daydream, the lyrics blur the mundane and existential. In “Affinity,” the narrator stares “into the dark,” finding herself multiplied but disconnected – “my shadows move/with and without me.” In “I Swallowed a Stone,” a“kettle boil[s] forever” and she “can’t live this feeling anymore.” Given the song’s tense, foreboding percussion and muted guitar “can’t” sounds like “might have to.” 

Might, but not necessarily will. Despite the doses of dread, How Will I Live Without a Body? never feels resigned. You’re treated to interjections of sound, instrumental and otherwise —  flashes of illumination, portals to enter. “Unbraiding” fits sheets of strings, bird song, and burning punches of guitar fuzz around a simple, repeated piano, illustrating the line “bring somewhere out of nowhere.” Loma is working with a robust sonic palette here, but the album’s ethos seems grounded in a DIY curiosity. That “Broken Doorbell” features what sound like actual broken doorbells and then ends with waves hitting a shore is emblematic. It’s a lovely, if perhaps temporary, moment of arrival, having followed the shadows wherever they led.

[itsfarrah]

|Chapter 4|

Colonel Brandon eased his horse down the familiar path leading to his estate, feeling each familiar dip and rise in the land beneath him. His mind wandered back to the harsh eight months spent on military assignments in the West Indies and Australia—a grueling tour of duty that tested his resolve and drained his spirit. The relentless sun, the unyielding sea, and the stern faces of men hardened by constant peril filled his thoughts, but with each hoofbeat toward home, the weight of those days began to lift.

As he rode, Brandon's thoughts inevitably turned to his personal life, or rather, the lack of it. Over the years, his military engagements had often come at the expense of his private happiness. Love had brushed past him, a whisper of what might have been, leaving him with memories of opportunities lost. Now, with what he hoped was his final mission behind him, a wave of sentimentality washed over him. Perhaps it was time to find someone to share in the quiet moments, someone whose love matched the fervor of his own. Yet, as he contemplated this possibility, he shook his head, dismissing it as unlikely fortune.

Upon arriving at his estate, he was greeted with the warm and familiar faces of his staff. Their genuine smiles and respectful nods were a balm to his weary soul. After a long bath to wash away the grime of his travels and a change into fresh garments, he was gently reminded by a maid that dinner awaited him.

Sitting alone at the grand dining table, surrounded by opulence meant for many, the empty chairs echoed his earlier musings. The possibility of sharing his life with someone seemed even more poignant now. Lost in these thoughts, a servant approached, presenting him with a letter sealed with Sir John Middleton's familiar stamp.

Breaking the seal, Brandon read about Sir John's understanding of the hardships he had faced and the invitation to a forthcoming garden party. The letter hinted at relaxation and perhaps, more intriguingly, the prospect of finding someone special. Sir John’s words, suggesting it was high time he found a companion who could love as deeply as he did, stirred something within him. Sighing he put the letter aside and finished his dinner in contemplative silence. He then withdrew to his study, where he hoped to immerse himself in anything that would distract himself from Sir Middleton's invitation. However, that proved easier said than done.

The Colonel, ensconced in his study and gradually immersing himself in the depths of his botanical tome, felt a lingering unrest stirring within him. As he pondered Sir John Middleton's invitation, the ramifications of attending the party began to occupy more of his thoughts. The cool night air wafted through an open window, carrying with it the scent of the gardens below—those meticulously kept expanses that were, to him, both sanctuary and solitude.

He placed the book aside and walked over to the window, gazing out at the serene darkness settling over his estate. "It's an opportunity, is it not?" he spoke softly to himself, considering the gentle push from Sir John towards companionship. "A chance to step beyond these walls, not just in duty but perhaps for personal fulfillment as well."

Drawing in a deep breath, he continued, "I've seen much of the world—its wildness, its beauty, and its trials. Yet, here, in my own heart's landscape, there lies an uncharted territory." He paused, his reflection faintly visible against the glass. "Could there truly be someone at this party who might share such a vision? Someone to share not just idle chatter but the quieter, deeper conversations I've longed for?"

Colonel Brandon chuckled quietly at his own hopeful musings. "And what of love? A notion so easily spoken of by others but such a rare visitor to my own life." The thought seemed both a balm and a fear, a possibility he had often dismissed but which now seemed worth considering. "Well," he murmured, turning from the window, "perhaps the evening will reveal more than just the same old dance of social niceties. Perhaps."

He picked up his pen, his hand steadier now, and wrote a brief note of acceptance to Sir John's invitation. As he sealed the envelope, he allowed himself to entertain the hope, however slight, that this garden party might indeed be the catalyst for something new, something meaningful. "To new beginnings, however they may come," he whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he handed the letter to his waiting servant.

Watching his servant leave with the letter, Colonel Brandon felt a subtle lift in his spirits, a slight loosening of the weight he had carried since his return. The decision made, there was now a sort of eagerness in him, a readiness to face whatever the garden party might bring, whether it be tedious company or delightful encounters.

He ascended the staircase to his bedchamber, his steps slow but steady. There, he opened the doors of his wardrobe, contemplating his attire for the upcoming occasion. He selected a fine, dark blue coat and matching waistcoat, which he laid out carefully on his bed, along with a crisply starched white shirt and a subtly patterned cravat. Ensuring everything was in order for the tailor's review on the morrow, he felt a renewed sense of purpose.

With his attire chosen, Colonel Brandon allowed himself a few moments of quiet reflection by the window, looking out over the moonlit grounds of his estate. The quiet of the night soothed his nerves, and a gentle breeze whispered through the open window, carrying with it the scent of the blooming gardens below.

Finally, feeling the day's weariness encroach once more, he extinguished the candles and settled into bed. As he lay in the darkness, his thoughts drifted to the forthcoming party, to the faces it might bring into his life, and to the faint, yet distinct possibility of finding someone who could truly share his heart and home. With these hopeful thoughts, he drifted into a peaceful sleep, the first in many nights not haunted by the shadows of the past.

[eurovision-revisited]

Eurovision 2007: The Scoreboards

After years of basic graphic design for the scoreboard, wowie. True fantasy indeed, and many of my fantasies do involve spreadsheets. It's clean, it's clear, it's crisp, it's colourful, fun and in HD.

There is a touch of mixed font meltdown, but I'll forgive it because the main font chosen for the year is clearly one that should never be used for information-heavy purposes. The contrast between the pastel background and the black bars for the country name is beautiful. Chef's kiss.

The spokespeople from their speech-bubble prisons in the top right were once again restricted to relating their nation's eight, ten and twelve point scores only and are obviously under instruction to cut down on the flap and banter. The EBU wants things to be sharp and to speed along. With so many countries singing, there's less time for scoring.

Not only do the semi-final envelopes remain in place, but this time they're snatched from the hand of Svante and express delivered by Finns on roller-skates to the presenters. The ridiculously telegenic presenters Mikko and Jaana look like they're having way too much fun with those envelopes. This new envelope based drama is something that may have been developed by chance, but is now so dramatic the EBU are truly wanting to play it up a little, and YLE are more than happy to co-operate.

It's 2007 spoiler time.

Through from the largest semi-final ever progressed:

Serbia - 298 points and beating last year's semi-final record

Hungary - 224 points

Türkiye - 197 points

Belarus - 176 points

Latvia - 168 points

Bulgaria - 146 points

Slovenia - 140 points

Georgia - 123 points

FYROM - 97 points

Moldova - 91 points

Just missing out were Portugal on 88 points and Andorra (Where Are Andorra?) on 80 points. It wasn't lost on many people that every single country through from the semi-final were 'Eastern European' (cue Slovenia, Serbia and Hungary complaining) or that they're non-traditional Eurovision countries (again Slovenia, Serbia and this time Türkiye protest). However that 'clean-sweep' at the expense of the lovely indie boys from Andorra, brought back the resentments that had been laid to rest for 2006. Block voting was apparent to many people, and to lots of delegations.

It didn't really matter that for the most part these ten songs were actually better than the other eighteen, and that with such a huge semi-final lots of countries were going to be disappointed. The semi-final results were going to resound for a year and bring consequences, up to and including questions being asked in national parliaments.

But first we've got a final to get through. Here the results were broadly similar and not at all tense. Although there was only a thirty point gap between the winner and second place, that gap remained consistent throughout the scoring. The order was set early on with little in the way of drama.

There were more countries from the prequalified nations who managed to learn from Romania and up their game, meaning the scoreboard wasn't so dramatically split between the semi-finalists and the prequalified as the previous two-years. But the winners were the winners of the semi, and the highest finishers of the 'Big Four' were Germany in nineteenth. Perhaps the biggest marker for the disgruntled was that highest 'Western European' countries were Greece in 7th and hosts Finland in 17th, and they're not even that far West.

It may be lost on us now, especially as there are so many classics and fan favourites near the top of the scoreboard, but this result was really controversial in 2007. The talk of fixes, diasporic voting and collusion between neighbours went through the roof. It all goes to show that not only is Eurovision political neutrality only skin deep, but that despite years of singing about European harmony and one-ness, there were still divisions, resentments, and scars from the past that were only healing slowly.

Here then are results of the Eurovision Song Contest of 2007 in full.

Serbia - Marija Šerifović - "Molitva" - 268 points

Ukraine - Verka Serduchka - "Dancing Lasha Tumbai" - 235 points

Russia - Serebo - "Song #1" - 207 points

Türkiye - Kenan Doğulu "Shake It Up Şekerim" - 163 points

Bulgaria - Elitsa Todorova and Stoyan Yankoulov - "Water" - 157 points

Belarus - Koldun - "Work Your Magic" - 145 points

Greece - Sarbel - "Yassou Maria" - 139 points

Armenia - Hayko - "Anytime You Need" - 138 points

Hungary - Magdi Rúzsa - "Unsubstantial Blues" - 128 points

Moldova - Natalia Barbu - "Fight" - 109 points

Bosnia and Herzegovina - Marija Šestić - "Rijeka bez imena" - 106 points

Georgia - Sopho - "Visionary Dream" - 97 points

Romania - Todomondo - "Liubi, Liubi, I Love You" - 84 points

FYROM - Karolina - "Mojot svet" - 73 points

Slovenia - Alenka Gotar - "Cvet z juga" - 66 points

Latvia - Bonaparti.lv - "Questa notte" - 54 points

Finland - Hanna Pakarinen - "Leave Me Alone" - 53 points

Sweden - The Ark - "The Worrying Kind" - 51 points

Germany - Roger Cicero - "Frauen regier'n die Welt" - 49 points

Spain - D'Nash - "I Love You Mi Vida" - 43 points

Lithuania - 4Fun - "Love or Leave" - 28 points

France - Les Fatals Picards - "L'Amour à la française" - 19 points

United Kingdom - Scooch - "Flying the Flag" - 19 points (joint 22nd)

Ireland - Dervish - "They Can't Stop the Spring" - 5 points

[nieves-de-sugui]

My personal experience with BL history for @waitmyturtles​

After reading through the posts of your Old GMMTv Challenge, I decided to add my own perspective, as a watcher, of how BL has evolved as a genre as time went by. I hope this “history from the perspective of the viewer” might shed some light in some of the questions you might have or bring up interesting things for your viewing and understanding of the shows. I will try to not repeat what has already been said through your posts by all the wonderful people in this fandom and keep it as concise as possible (turns out it’s still super long).

I’m gonna use ABL’s chronology of the shows as a timeline guide for easy understanding:

Context: How I made my way to Thailand

I’ve always been into BL (yaoi, gay shows, whatever you wanna call it), but I became commited to it around 2008. The options for queer content back then were very limited, as I’m sure we all remember. But for the sake of adding context this were my go to:

Youtube playlists of cuts of “the gay storyline” from western shows (Brothers and Sisters, Hit The Floor, Shameless, Skins and soap operas (Salatut Elamat, Days of Our Lives), etc), 

Queer as Folk, 

bad japanese live action adaptations of yaoi mangas (Takumi kun) or just sad/melancholic movies about lost men, 

sad chinese movies (usually with fucked up plots), 

indie queer movies (Were The World Mine, Judas Kiss, Shelter, Yes or No, Love of Siam etc). 

But I was starving for more. I wanted shows. 

In the search for more content, through Love of Siam enters My Bromance (very sad ending, also pseudo incest?, still part of what I thought were just indie movies with yaoi influences) and then appears Lovesick (S1 and S2), with very questionable subs, but finally a show with a gay couple as protagonists. 

Lovesick was for me the first show that finally put a queer story as a main thing to focus on, finally breaking free of the eternal side story filled with drama and hurt that was never comforted. After that only Make it Right was around. It was more of the same thing but this time the cast was a lot more reduced and everyone is gay. Also, it showed some of the sexual aspects of the genre (which now feels wrong for so many reasons, but alas). 

One day, SOTUS is on youtube with subs, plus it’s the official channels (yay! finally we can be legal!). 

First shock, there’s an actual plot centered around these two people, who are their own characters besides being gay, and they actually kiss (I remember it was so impactful to me (in a never seen before way) that I did fanart of it). Thai shows became my guilty pleasure, they were bad but they were telling the stories I wanted to see and no one else was doing it. Only Thai shows cared to show cute love stories that ended well, without the big drama we were used to in the west. My thoughts were “It’s bad but I’ll take it, I’m staying here”

Living through the different booms

When Together With Me came out it brought proper making out session and high heat to the genre. Sround here is when I started watching everything that I could find because I had finally found my jam. So I watched all that now I could not watch again (because, man! they’re bad) like 2moons, Puppy Honey S2, What The Duck, My Dream,... And then, with Love By Chance we got the first signs of consent and communication with AePete. It finally felt like we could get stories with healthy relationships. 

Also, Our Skyy came in! Great moment! Treats for everyone! And honestly, it was such a fun project to watch. Iconic side-couples from straight shows getting their moment of spotlight on the same level as the main couples from BL shows. To me, Our Skyy comfirmed the importance of the main 3 (OG, TN, KS) and cemented the path GMM was taking with their BL shows. It started to be part of the norm and not just some shows here and there. It was no longer waiting for someone to make a BL once in a while, but an assurance a small but constant flow of BLs. 

Also Taiwan started the HIStory franchise.

BIG BOOM#1 - TharnType! Also, Ossan’s Love. 

TharnType comes in. The 1st episode ends and everybody hates it for the lack of consent, but everybody loves it for the high heat and the chemistry (also for those of us who had liked Mew in WTD it was nice to see him in this show, that seemed to have less drama around it). Plus, the hype of knowing more about Tharn from LBC, who was such a nice older gay character when he was palyed by Earth (Pirapat).

I think to me, TT was a mix of a lot of the usual flaws with the very new (only achieved before by MaxTul) high heat chemistry  (which despite the controversy is an important part of the BL genre, you can’t take the sex out of BL) and an interesting idea for a plot. 

Also I watched Great Men Academy for Captain (Noh in Lovesick), and he slays. Plus the BL in the show is good (even tho technically not bl, but queer enough)

Simultaneously Japan gets Ossan’s Love, it’s first mainstream BL boom, with very well known actors and gets talked about by the regular drama watchers. Everyone was watching Ossan’s Love in Japan, it brought the genre to the mainstream for the first time. (And prepared the grounds for Cherry Magic, imo)

Other shows that left an impact at the time were He’s Coming To Me and Dark Blue Kiss. HCTM was the great Ohm comeback (who I though we would never see again), paired with Singto doing a BL again. Besides the chemistry, the change in themes was very interesting, it was the first thai bl that showed thai culture for me. For its part, DBK had an interesting opening and Aof personal queer touch to the storyline (which made it wonderful) Especially for MorkSun. It was the first taste of what we know Aof for, but it was also the first time BL had such mature and nuanced themes to it.

little BOOM#1 - Until We Meet Again and Theory of Love

UWMA and TOL, to me were surprises. I thought that like KirstSingto and TayNew, OffGun would never do another BL with new characters. That BL was still just an undervaluated stepping stone that people didn’t treat as a proper genre (as everybody had been doing up to that point, do it once and never be seen near the genre again). 

However, UWMA confirmed that BL was here to stay. It was growing, it was exploring mixing with other genres and famous thai actors were in it. It was also moving away from the usual university storyline. And TOL was the comback of the year. I remember everyone losing their shit (me included), it was the lengendary OG afterall. Up until then they had done cameos and Puppy Honey season 1 and 2 but that was it. TOL also did something interesting with its theme, and the romcom references. AND! it was the first proper kiss in a gmmtv BL. From dead fish PickRome to full on make out with KhaiThird.

BIG BOOM#2 - 2gether and Why R U?

The BL expansion thanks to the pandemic was very very noticeable. Everybody was seeing 2gether and WRU. First time anything BL trended on Tumblr. Everyone was descovering thailand. 

Also 2gether was again a first, it felt like the story made more sense. It was more believable, with tolerable tropes and a cute main pair (this was the first thai show I dared to recommend to someone who was not into BL), plus the music. The ending of the show ruined it for me, however Still2gether Fixed everything that was wrong from the 1st season and showed quickly how the show could’ve been. WRU’s plot was directly affected by the pandemic and bettered what TharnType had started with the high heat chemistry. The whole success of the show is due to SaintZee having amazing chemistry and going with it. 

My engineer was the surprise of the year, it had nothing going for it promising but it managed to be good (I think thanks to some parts of the story and the cast mainly). 

little BOOMS#2 - Cherry Magic and ITSAY and others

The riples of the pandemic 2gether boom were felt in Japan. Nothing breaks throught the japanese content barrier. Japan only consumes MADE IN JAPAN, and yet 2gether made it there. And showed the Japanese show runners that there’s an interest there. Cherry Magic aired a few months after and it was big success, like OL had been. Korea starts with Where Your Eyes Linger here too.

The thing about I Told Sunset About You was that nobody knew what we were getting. I had heard about My ambulance, I even saw some of the clips, but it seemed to be side couple queerbaiting and honestly I wasn’t expecting much. But they had promised a BilkinPP series. I think it’s no wonder it blew our minds, nobody was expecting that! 

Then the big comeback of MaxTul with Manner of Death, broke our minds just as OF had with TOL and bringing again the mature themes to the genre (they are called the daddies of BL for a reason). No one thought they’d come back.

Around here I started watching the GMMtv end of the year announcements. All the build up we had had from the growing of the BL genre and p’Aof culminated on the annoucement of A Tale of Thousand Stars. Because of how it breaks the rules of thai bl (no engineers, no university, no highschool, no city, no 2000′s yaoi tropes just regular shoujo tropes) and tells a compeling story that tasted so new the hype didn’t die even when it came one year later than it should have. 

And Lovely Writer, was the first to present the criticizing of the industry as well as expanding on the mature themes outside of university and the lack of need for fanservice off screen between the actors. They acted like normal people :D

Light on Me appared around here too, and showed us that korea can do better than it had. And Taiwan gave us We Best Love.

BIG BOOM#3 -  Bad Buddy and Kinnporsche

BB was the biggest annoucement GMMtv has ever made. The thing about it was the combo AofOhmNanon. Always grazing BL and forever ghost shipped with Chimon, Nanon decided to do his first (and probably only) BL with none other than Ohm (with who he had great chemistry since they became friends in Blacklist) and under the guidance of Aof. Here I want to add that Aof considers BB to be his first Y series, the ones before were dramas, so I assume by that that the thai public makes a difference between the more mature tone series and the more highschool/university BLs (??). Such a year that was! Accompanied by the epicness that was the annoucement of Not Me (confirmed to be the last OG show... but then they went and annouced another). 

And last but not least, Kinnporsche breaks the internet, everyone knows about thailand now. It entered the realm of darker themes and violence. Accompanied by other shows exploring other themes like: You’re My Sky (sports), Something In My Room (ghosts), etc...

Which is the flow we have now, some of the known old stuff some of the new expanding stuff, waiting for the next boom. My, what a journey!

I hope this was an interesting read and that I managed to show how these shows were perceived when they came out, even though now they might not be as groundbreaking. If anybody else wants to add how they perceived these shows when they came out, feel free to add to this!

[grigori77]

Movies of 2024 - My Summer Rundown (Part 1)

Straight up front, I've decided not to include the Director's Cuts of Rebel Moon in here, ultimately realising I've got FAR TOO MUCH to say about the finished product to fit in either of these, so I'll be posting a complete rundown of how I feel about all that sometime in September. Instead I'm just gonna concentrate on REGULAR business right now, so ...

The Runners-Up:

20.  MYTHICA: STORMBOUND – The Kickstarter-funded D&D-inspired fantasy adventure franchise returns after the original series ended in high style with 2016’s The Godslayer, telling an enjoyably offbeat (mostly) standalone story about a disparate group of warriors trapped in a remote inn by an unseen force.  Former series star Jake Stormoen makes his feature debut as a director here, ushering the cheap-but-cheerful action in with clear love for the material, and the results leave strong potential for a fresh saga moving forward.

19.  JIM HENSON, IDEA MAN – Prepare to get hit HARD in the feels as director Ron Howard turns documentarian for this thoroughly fascinating and lovingly reverent examination of the life, career and legacy of the core creator of The Muppets, as well as one of the most important film and television visionaries to have influenced the lives and imaginations of a whole generation of proud geeks, myself included.  If this doesn’t make you cry by the end you just don’t get it …

18.  AM I OKAY? – As far as I’m concerned, any remaining debate on whether or not Dakota Johnson can actually act should be put to bed by her performance in Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne’s endearingly quirky comedy drama.  She’s simply MESMERISING as Lucy, a socially awkward LA thirtysomething who’s just come to the sudden realisation that she’s gay, floundering through her new dating life with the help of her far more confident best friend Jane (House of the Dragon and Crazy Rich Asians’ Sonoya Mizuno).

17.  ARCADIAN – This intriguingly lo-fi indie horror, starring Nicolas Cage as a father desperately trying to keep his two teenage sons (Jaeden Martell and Maxwell Jenkins) alive during a terrifying apocalypse in which bloodthirsty monsters come with the night, very much snuck in under the radar, but it deserves some SERIOUS recognition for its visceral thrills and unsettlingly unique creature designs, as well as impressive central performances and steady, unshowy helming from feature-debuting director Benjamin Brewer.

16.  NEW LIFE – Brand new writer-director John Rosman makes a very intimidating debut indeed with this impressively robust suspenseful pandemic horror about a desperate young woman hitchhiking her way across America, unaware that she’s the carrier of a lethal viral pathogen.  Hayley Erin (Pretty Little Liars: the Pefectionists) plays understandably paranoid to perfection, while Sonya Walger (Lost, For All Mankind) is equally magnificent as the world-weary corporate fixer sent to hunt her down.

15.  MAXXXINE – Mia Goth’s murderous porn star Maxine Minx returns in the third (but hopefully not final) instalment of prolific horror writer-director Ti West’s deliciously NASTY X Trilogy, following our viciously resourceful and ruthlessly determined young star-in-the-making as she fights tooth and nail to secure the role she knows will help her go legit and break into SERIOUS movies, all while dodging the threat of LA’s Nightstalker killer, the burgeoning Satanic Panic and her own dark past coming back to haunt her …

14.  HIT MAN – The latest cinematic offering from unapologetically unique writer-director Richard Linklater, based on a bizarre true story, might ultimately be one of his more light, airy and ultimately insubstantial films, but there’s no denying it’s also a hell of a lot of fun, Glen Powell (who also co-wrote the screenplay) clearly having a blast playing a college professor who moonlights as a fake assassin to help the New Orleans Police perform undercover stings in order to prevent potential murders-for-hire, only to fall in love with one of his marks (Good Omens’ Adria Arjona).  The end result is a wonderfully frothy screwball comedy that’s a winning laugh-riot from beginning to end.

13.  THE BIKERIDERS – Jeff Nichols (Take Shelter, Midnight Special, Loving), one of the most interesting and eclectic filmmakers to come out of the late 2000s’ indie scene, once again in fine form with a fascinating fictionalised take on photojournalist Danny Lyons’ photo-book chronicling the life and times of the influential Outlaws Motorcycle Club.  Tom Hardy stars as Benny, the laconic leader of the Vandals biker club and Elvis’ Austin Butler smoulders magnificently as his protégé Johnny, while Killing Eve’s Jodie Comer provides the narrative’s grounding anchor as the latter’s down-to-earth girlfriend Kathy.

12.  I SAW THE TV GLOW – Underground writer-director Jane Schoenbrun (We’re All Going To the World’s Fair) thoroughly deserves their newfound big-time breakout into the more high-profile scene due to the runaway success of this thoroughly twisted A24 existential horror revolving around awkward teen Owen (Justice Smith), who becomes overwhelmingly obsessed with 90s YA TV series The Pink Opaque, only to see his life become increasingly unsettled after the disappearance of his closest friend Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine) makes him wonder if the supposedly fictional show might actually be TRUE, and having a direct effect on his own reality …

11.  LONGLEGS – Anthony Perkins’ son Osgood, who’s been making a name for himself in the indie horror scene for a while now (I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives In the House, Gretel & Hansel), is breaking out in a major way as a filmmaker thanks to this deeply unsettling slowburn procedural mystery thriller.  Maika Monroe delivers a masterclass in subtle nuance as rookie FBI agent Lee Harker, an emerging clairvoyant whose uncannily accurate talents get her assigned to the manhunt for the titular, potentially supernatural serial killer (a virtually unrecognisable Nicolas Cage).

[highmidvoiddemon]

Imaginary Monsters

Part Three: What Comes Next

So life went on. They made their way out of the shadows. Quinn was still a ghost, freeing her soul did not bring her back to life. She was conscientiously a conduit for the void, tethered to reality and creating a cycle so that she could haunt all of her friends.

In theory she could haunt the whole world, though she would only be seen by people who believed in ghosts and would have to expand more of her power to be known by the rest. So she remained a ghostly presence only known by twelve, gaining ghost powers in addition to the pure belief of childhood dreams that let them all do anything they pleased.

She worked hard to keep the group together, encouraging them all not only to keep using their powers when not in battle, but to follow their dreams.

Embracing the belief that everyone was destined to forget. Anything became possible. Working hard to fulfill them, they were able to do anything and everything that they ever dreamed of.

They started an interconnected corporation that combined all of their dreams. Welcoming in others, through people that wanted to support them. Forming a community that they never knew that they needed.

Xueqi started her own fashion line, never caring about what the next trend was going to be, she created the designs of her dreams: fun patterns and different textures, her clothes were like no other. The only thing that her outfits had in common was her message of individuality.

Noah made the next big hit in the indie horror game sphere. With his well loved Huggy Wuggy doll that he had with him on the first day of preschool, he was ready to show others that nightmares could always be defeated.

Chuyu and Victor started a joint video project, going on adventures that were crazy and physics-defining while encouraging others to take the risk and do what they were afraid of.

Jackson moved out west, officially going by Jack, and took a job making movie props starting with Star Wars and then becoming in demand by every major franchise. No matter how things there would always be something out there to help, all one had to do was find the right matters.

Luca traveled the world studying and caring for animals. A trusty gecko by his side, as he traveled into the unknown, for the unknown was just what had yet to be understood.

Arissa was the architect that was changing the world. Finding ways to strengthen the structures and make everything more efficient. She worked hard to save the world, and she was going to make sure that everyone else was going to enjoy all that the world had to offer.

Jennifer was an artist, galleries full of her paintings, helping people get lost in the colors and they were able to reflect upon what is important in life.

Alex was an author that focused on mysteries and thrillers, even with the danger lurking in the shadows, there was always a way to win, one just had to see it all through.

Leia was a scientist that was working hard to save the world from a different angle. Pouring effort into understanding the problem and figuring out the best way to fight it. Helping in one regard was never enough, one had to ensure safety for all around.

Jacob became a world renowned chief, creating food that was always exactly what people needed. Even taking the time to open up a shelter to serve those in need, where in addition to feeding everyone, he was able to use his powers as a healer.

Finally there was Lucas, the quiet observer. Always content with sitting in the moment, he took on the role of the manager. Keeping everything running, just like how he ensured the doors would remain open, he held onto the group, keeping them tethered to reality. Working behind the scenes, for all to turn out well.

Quinn was proud of her friends. In all that they were able to accomplish in the short time working together. Their dreams were coming together, and they were only becoming stronger. Remembering the purity of childhood where anything could be possible. She stepped in, telling them what needed to be done. Speaking for the void, calling herself the union representative always in communication with their supervisor of the void itself.

Her friends were feeding the void with their creations. Living out their dreams and giving back in all that they do.

There was a darkness lurking in the void, and she had to figure it out. They won. None of them were afraid any more. Yet the darkness remained. The threat was not only out there but spreading.

They may have saved themselves but the world was still in danger. She moved through the void, catching glimpses of the reality behind the veil of dreams. The despair that was felt on a global level. The climate conflict. The ever increasing mass shootings. The rise of hatred. There was so much fear for Larry to prey on. He had billions of people to feed on. He was never going to hunt down twelve children that ran on bravery. They were not even a drop in the ocean of souls to claim.

They saved themselves and left the world alone to be consumed by their fears.

She felt the nightmares crush the dreams throughout the world. People falling to despair, never sure what to do, being forced to keep going just to stay alive. The rising prices. The longer hours for less pay, being able to afford to survive. The near constant assaults, where every girl had a story of something that happened to them or a friend. There was danger on every corner. It was not safe to live in the world.

For too long they all had spent in their bubble, created by dreams. They got whatever they wanted. Only everyone else didn’t have the opportunity to claim the powers that were offered by their dreams. They were no longer children, there were limits on what was possible, and thanks to everything the world threw at them they became the people victims to Larry, their fears growing each day.

As children they jumped into battle, shooting off their powers in a grand display of what they were capable of. As they got older they had to get smarter. Still using their powers, less to show off and impress and more for what was needed to be done.

On the thirteen day of each month they meet up, planning their next move. Most of the time it was used as a catch up, sharing what was going on with their lives, though when Quinn flew in that day, they knew they had to be focused on the mission they promised to complete. Once a Monster Hunter, always a Monster Hunter, only what they considered monsters changed.

They sat around the circle table. In their self assigned spots, leaving two open as tradition stated.

“There’s something wrong with the void.” Quinn stated, quickly gathering everyone’s attention.

The causal air melted away. They would have time to catch up next month, so long as they succeed in saving the world once more.

“What is wrong with the void?” Leia asked. Taking on the role of data collection, needing to know the facts before she could act.

“Our powers come from dreams, and since we live out our dreams we are only growing in power, but for everyone else in the world, their fears are growing so the void is struggling to maintain the balance.”

“And you think we could take away the fears from everyone in the world?” Alex asked. They were a group of twelve, there was no sense in placing them in charge of the whole world. Taking on the fears created by the billions of others around the world. They were impressive, but even they had their limits.

“We just need to turn the tides.” Chuyu suggested. Fear was a natural part of the world. Power came from facing their fear, but it had to exist. They just had to find a way to shine a light on the other possibilities. Yes the world was dangerous, but that did not mean that they had to stop living, if they all worked together there would always be a tomorrow creating the hopes that things would be better.

“Haven’t we been trying to do that?” Xueqi asked, taking stock of all of their careers. They brought joy to the world, and had collected a large following thanks in part to all their different outlets. Helping, and inspiring on different fronts.

“We haven’t been working for anything save for our ideals.” Arissa said. They followed their dreams, and gained a following that was nothing more than fans. Still individualized outlets that had separate domains, only interacting with the crossover collabs that were passed off as friends interacting. “If we’re going to counteract the fear that is built into our world we would have to do more.”

“We should build our own world.” Lucas suggested. Starting small to gather the island, build the interconnected community that was able to support itself. Gaining independence, and finding a way that it could stand by itself. A community with plans for expansion. Save the world every little bit at a time.

“Is that even possible?” Jennifer asked. Looking around the room, she saw a group of independent artists, sharing friendship but not capable of building a new reality. Though they could achieve whatever they could dream.

“If we work together we could have the resources to eventually build our own world.” Lucas saw the logistics, with the funds from all their creativity endeavors, the intelligence of Leia and Arissa to create the world, pulling in the fans that they had inspired, they could create their own country.

“That’s at least a ten year plan though.” Victor said. Even if they poured everything they had in their new world, it would still take a huge portion of their lives to create.

“So we jump start it.” Alex suggested.

The group all looked to Quinn, seeing what the void would deem possible.

She knew what the great was capable of, together they could do the impossible. Power beyond their wildest imagination that they could shape base solely with their will. “I don’t see why we can’t try.”

They rented a boat and made their way out to the middle of the ocean. Standing on the edge of the dock, they channeled their energies together. Building a world that would be of their dreams. A new land not bound by the terrors of the current society.

They ignited with their auras, a painting of colors showing all that was possible. The colors combined to form the white light, a single goal united with all of the dreams of the group behind it.

Together they formed the landmass that would become their new home. An island tied to their powers and belief, a dream of a new future. They opened the world up to those that they inspired, proving a choice varying from what was forced on the people since the beginning of time.

A world where they could be themselves, free to dream and live out what was true. Not bound by the fears that were manufactured by the monster lurking in the shadows.

Once again they had made their dreams a reality, and for once it was not just for the thirteen children that once shared a preschool class, it was open to anyone that wanted to take part in it.

A figure watched from the horizon. Smiling at her dream coming true. Of all the Monster Hunters that she trained there was no group more successful than the one before her. How wonderful that they all ended up in her class all those years ago, sometimes the void knew exactly how to make a dream a reality.

Part One:

https://www.tumblr.com/highmidvoiddemon/744605109006303232/imaginary-monsters?source=share

Part Two:

https://www.tumblr.com/highmidvoiddemon/744605741566066688/imaginary-monsters?source=share

[crowdvscritic]

round up // JUNE 23

The best things come in pairs in this Round Up. A few repeat offenders this June: 

Jason Schwartzman

Harrison Ford

Brad Pitt

Pixar

Archeological digs

Sports stories

1943 musicals

Tap dancing

‘80s pop-rock records

Two Tales of Cities

And, as always, Crowd and Critic are best when they’re in tandem. These are my top picks for June 2023 in the order I experienced them:

June Crowd-Pleasers

1. Shooting Stars (2023)

As a sports dilettante, I knew nothing about LeBron James’s pre-NBA life. (Full disclosure: I don’t know much about his post-NBA life either.) This sports drama probably sands off some edges (James produced this movie based on a book he wrote), but it hits its marks. It’s inspirational but not schmaltzy, and thanks to great performances (including an always stellar Caleb McLaughlin and I’m-always-glad-when-he-pops-up Dermot Mulroney), this story of five basketball-obsessed kids growing up is much better than you’d expect for a direct-to-Peacock movie. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7/10

2. Elemental (2023)

Pixar is back to basics with Elemental. In the best way, that means Pixar is up to their old shenanigans, but in another sense, it means this movie is, well, basic. Read my full review at ZekeFilm or watch my segment on KMOV to give you an idea on whether Pixar’s latest is for you. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

3. Flamin’ Hot (2023)

What Flamin’ Hot lacks in heat it makes up for in heart. With its relatable stakes and the comedy it finds in skewering corporate culture, this kind-of-true story of the creation of the Flamin’ Hot Cheeto (yes, really) is about as good as it could be. Read my full review at ZekeFilm. Crowd: 8/0 // Critic: 7/10

4. Coco (2017)

Finally watched after being one of my top “oops, I haven’t seen this yet” titles for years. Yes, Pixar did make me sob again. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10

5. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023)

Do you love to feel nostalgia or to be surprised? Do you like old school action or newfangled special effects? Do you enjoy historical adventures or stories about modern issues? Then the fifth Indiana Jones episode is for you! Literally the only thing this needed to achieve was to surpass the quality of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, but why settle for that when you can make an action-packed adventure better than most summer blockbuster fare? Given that Raiders of the Lost Ark and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade are two of the best adventure movies (or perhaps, just movies) of the 20th century, it’s no insult to say The Dial of Destiny ranks third for me in Indy’s canon with Temple of Doom and Crystal Skull following in distant fourth and fifth places. Crowd: 10/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

6. Bananarama-thon + Bangle-mania + Go-Go-palooza

What says “summer” more than 1980s girl pop-rock bands? (Or really, 1980s pop-rock period?) Bananarama, The Bangles, and The Go-Go’s made excellent summer soundtracks with their respective albums Deep Sea Skiving (1983), Bananarama (1984), and True Confessions (1986); All Over the Place (1984), Different Light (1986), and Everything (1988); and Beauty and the Beat (1981), Vacation (1982), and Talk Show (1984). Also, does Bananarama’s debut album have the greatest cover art of all time?

7. Sports Night (1998-2000)

My binge of short-lived behind-the-scenes shows continues! Clearly Aaron Sorkin and pals like Tommy Schlamme were still learning the ropes of TV, and they were not helped by the fact that premiering in the ‘90s mandated a laugh track in the first season. But the bones of Sorkin’s future are there: Josh Charles and Peter Krause’s bromance feels like laying the track for some of the best of The West Wing, and Felicity Huffman is one of his iconic strong female leads. Robert Guillaume’s elder statesmen of TV (both in front and behind of the camera) is the glue that holds the show together, and the show’s love for sports is so infectious it draws in non-sporty girlies like me.

8. Legal Eagles (1986)

A legal dramedy starring Robert Redford directed with the light touch of Ivan Reitman? This art heist murder mystery co-starring Debra Winger and Daryl Hannah is a hidden gem of the ‘80s...and also an addition to my Favorite Tap Dances list on Letterboxd? Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

9. The Stone Roses by The Stone Roses (1989)

A Rolling Stone article I shared last month got me curious about this band (whom I know nothing about beyond that article), and this album has been scratching The Smiths itch that lives in me.

June Critic Picks

1. Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

It’s a visual wonder with stellar voice work, especially Jason Schwartzman’s clever villain, and once we get to the Nueva York universe, everything flies. But boy, does it take a while to get there. I normally reserve my Round Ups for praise, but since Across the Spider-Verse’s nearly universal acclaim won’t be tarnished by my critique, the spirit of transparency compels me to complain this film is at least 30 minutes too long. When you’re trying to be both a Gwen Stacy movie and a Miles Morales movie, the somber first hour slows down even more and delays revisiting the stuff we loved most in the first film. The kids next to me were antsy well before this was over, my dad fell asleep in the middle (which he never does), and then it rivals Lord of the Rings for fake out endings. Here's hoping Spider-Ham and Spider-Man Noir get to make up for their lost time in part 3! Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

2. Ninotchka (1939)

When Soviet Greta Garbo travels to Paris on Communist Party business, can she resist the city’s charms? She and her fellow comrades find themselves succumbing to the amenities, champagne, and romance they can’t find in Mother Russia. An Ernst Lubitsch-directed rom-com co-written by Billy Wilder can’t miss! Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

3. Little Women (2017)

Another Round Up, another version of Little Women. I immediately pushed this PBS miniseries to the top of my watchlist when I dug into Little Mermaid star Jonah Hauer-King’s past filmography and discovered he performed alongside Angela Lansbury (!!!). Though I expect the budget was smaller than a big screen feature’s, the extended runtime allows for moments we haven’t seen depicted on film before. The cast of ringers includes Lansbury as a delightfully cranky Aunt March and Hauer-King as a lovelorn Laurie, as well Maya Hawke as Jo, Kathryn Newton as Amy, and Michael Gambon as Mr. Laurence in an 1860s Concord as bucolic as ever. Like a warm, encouraging hug!

4. Past Lives (2023)

This bittersweet romantic drama makes me want to call up my boyfriend who moved away the summer after 7th grade and the guy I never dated in college who studied abroad and then transferred and that boy I met at a party a few years ago who said he was moving next week to sail boats in Delaware and then be disappointed none of them are as I remember or imagined who they would become. The best film of the year so far? Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 10/10

5. Double Feature - Silly 1943 Musicals About Marrying for Money: Du Barry Was a Lady + Higher and Higher

Movies today should try being as weird as ‘40s musicals. In Higher and Higher (Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 7.5/10), a one-time millionaire tries to marry off his maid to a wealthy bachelor, though she may prefer to romance Frank Sinatra (playing himself!) instead. In Du Barry Was a Lady (7.5/10 // 8/10), Lucille Ball is trying to snag herself a rich guy, though she may prefer to romance Gene Kelly instead. (This is a much more obvious addition to my Favorite Tap Dances list on Letterboxd.) Both are silly, but when you’ve got Sinatra singing or Kelly dancing to Cole Porter songs, you’ve still got wow moments. More movies today should detour into 18th century dream sequences!

6. Valley of the Kings (1954)

Robert Taylor and Eleanor Parker go on a high-stakes archaeological dig in the early 1900s set in front of gorgeous photography in Egypt. A fun prototype for Indiana Jones and The Mummy! Crowd: 7/10 // Critic: 8/10

7. Asteroid City (2023)

Something Wes Anderson does not get enough credit for: The man has never made a film longer than two hours. This spring’s trend of Wes Anderson-inspired social media may have brought attention to the previously unacquainted, but it took only a few of those superficially xanthic posts to exhaust my Instagram feed. Most social filmmaking is ugly and chaotic, but Anderson’s attention to detail when blocking his troupe of players in the golden ratio, designing perfectly-shaped mushroom clouds, and using color theory to select his palette doesn’t just hold up on a big screen—it deserves it. Read my full review at ZekeFilm. Crowd: 7/10 // Critic: 10/10

8. Double Feature - ‘90s Brad Pitt: Legends of the Fall (1994) + The Devil’s Own (1997)

In Legends of the Fall (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10), Brad Pitt’s nonconformist Tristan upends the lives of his family members (including Anthony Hopkins and Julia Ormond) as they strive to keep their Montana estate through World War I, Prohibition, and the Great Depression. In The Devil’s Own (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10), Pitt’s IRA terrorist Rory upends the life of the family who takes him in (including Harrison Ford) when he escapes to America. One is a soapy historical epic, one is a gritty police thriller, but both show the promise of Pitt’s career.

9. A Tale of Two Cities (1935)

A pretty good adaptation of one of my favorite high school English class reads. Though the nuance and depth of the Mr. Charles “I Get Paid by the Word” Dickens novel can’t be captured in just two hours and the portrayal of Lucie is, well, a lot, Ronald Colman’s Sydney and Blanche Yurka’s Madame De Farge are pitch-perfect, and it’s as moving as its source material. Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

10. Good Reads

The incessant onslaught of more-TV-than-can-possibly-be-watched is reaching critical mass: 

“The Idol and Our Backlash Times,” NYTimes.com (2023)

“‘The End of Peak Television:’ Has the Era of Prestige TV Just Ground to a Halt?” TheGuardian.com (2023)

“Peak TV Is Over. Welcome to Trough TV,” slate.com (2023)

“From Warrior Nun to Three Women, TV Shows are Being Cancelled. Yet Somehow Emily in Paris Lives On,” TheGuardian.com (2023)

“Media's Succession Obsession,” axios.com (2023)

Thoughts on our moment in diversity in TV and movies: 

“Box Office: Early Summer Tentpoles Cash In, Fueled by Diverse Stars,” HollywoodReporter.com (2023) 

“‘Why is Bridgerton’s Race Twisting Acceptable?’ The Real Problem With the Show’s Black Fantasy,” TheGuardian.com (2023)

The Hollywood Reporter continues its impressive breadth of Writer’s Strike coverage: 

“Tom Hanks, Baby Jessica and Lessons from a Three Strike Writer,” HollywoodReport.com (2023)

“Guest Column: If Writers Lose the Standoff With Studios, It Hurts All Filmmakers,” HollywoodReporter.com (2023)

And a grab bag of pieces on baseball, basketball, and Beyoncé: 

“The Team Trying Very, Very Hard to Be the Worst in Baseball History,” slate.com (2023)

“Beyoncé Caused Sweden Inflation Bump, Expert Says,” politico.eu (2023)

“The 100 Most Significant Political Films of All Time,” NewRepublic.com (2023)

“The Flash Was Never Going to Run Away From Its Problems,” TheRinger.com (2023)

“Employee of the Month Rewarded With More Work,” vice.com (2023)

Also in June…

I’m processing a lot of emotions about what’s going on at Turner Classic Movies, and I’ve yet to figure out how to put them into words. Until I get there, I’m constantly adding to my list of movies I’ve watched thanks to the people who work there, and you can see the almost-350 of them on Letterboxd. 

Until the end of July, you can see what I’m watching in real time on Letterboxd. Yes, I’ve seen Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One; no I can’t talk about it until after the review embargo lifts on July 5th. 

Pending Twitter doesn’t self-implode before you read this, you can also find me there.

Photo credits: Bananarama, The Stone Roses, Good Reads. All others IMDb.com.

[zoeyfeistpoetry]

Ode to the maternity mourning dress at the RAMM.

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,

Let darkness keep her raven gloss:

Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,

To dance with death, to beat the ground,

Than that the victor Hours should scorn

The long result of love, and boast,

`Behold the man that loved and lost,

But all he was is overworn.'

– Lord Alfred Tennyson - In Memoriam A.H.H

Why do I obsess and perplex?

O’ Maternity gown encased in Perspex.

Are you clad in down from Ravens and Crows?

Thousands have flocked and pondered your perpetual pose.

Exhibition never-ending, a homage to piety.

Melancholic elegant product of propriety

Delighted by daydreams, enticed by your mystery.

Inferring from prior learning of culture and history

A scattered past and a displaced origin story,

that starts with silks from the Bombyx Mori.

Sailed across the empire, which the sun never sets.

This is the most conspicuous consumption ever gets.

Dyeing was a privilege proposed to the rich.      

Pride steeps in your fibres, sorrow in every stitch.

You are gorge, baby. Proper.

Made-to-measure.

Forster’s bundle joyously pinked and pricked.

You are novel, handsome, stylish, hand-picked.

Deep Mourning sickness for one hundred-plus years.     

You are a bathetic and British barrage of tears.

Pathetic and Prudish. Grieving maiden, mother, and crone.

I see birth and life and death, and none stand alone.

You are more than just a dress; you are a relic of the past,

While the fabrics of culture shift you ever last.

Zoey Feist - Spring 2023

Annotations

Odes: - A formal, ceremonious lyric poem that addresses and often celebrates a person, place, thing, or idea. Most odes in contemporary poetry are irregular odes that take liberties with the form.

RAMM -Royal Albert Memorial Museum – Exeter

Epigraph - In Memoriam A.H.H.” (1850) narrative elegy in 2,916 lines. Tennyson believes it is better to keep the pain of grief fresh in honour of the deceased.

Rhyming Couplets - Traditional for love poetry/sonnets - reinforces devotional tone.

Stanza One:

The vocative “O " invokes something or someone. Invocations call upon deities and spirits for aid, protection, inspiration, and allusion to the religious sentiment of the dress.

Ravens and crows provoke funeral imagery. Feathers became a fashion and social status symbol in the Georgian Era. "The Ladies, the Ladies, have, however, so stripped us of birds for their bonnets " Ornithologist - John Gould, in 1865, blamed his inability to supply a bird exhibit at a museum on women.

Propriety: the state or quality of conforming to conventionally accepted standards of behaviour or morals. Social Propriety pertaining to death and mourning was still strict in this era. Product has two meanings here as the result of propriety and is also a manufactured item.

Stanza Two:

Scattered - occurring or found at intervals or various locations rather than all together. Displaced - take over the place, position, or role of (someone or something) - implies/reminds of British colonisation.

Bombyx Mori - the Latin name for the Silkworm. Mostly found in India. India was part of the British Empire and called The British Raj -or ' The West Indies'. The East India Trading Company would have brought the silk back to England. Silk was a traditional fabric used for mourning clothes.

The saying “The Empire on which the sun never sets” was an expression used to explain the vastness of the British Empire between the 18th and 20th centuries.

Conspicuous, obvious, noticeable, or attracting attention, often in an undesired way. Conspicuous Consumption - Conspicuous consumption is the purchase of goods or services to display one's wealth.

Stanza Three:

Pun: Dyeing – Dying. Funerals were often expensive, grandiose, and public, reserved for the middle and upper classes. Although mass production of dull black fabrics was easier during the industrial revolution, brand-new and bespoke garments were only affordable to the middle and upper classes.

Puns: Tailoring Jargon: Gorge- The depth of the neck. Baby- A stuffed cloth pad on which a tailor works his/her cloth. Made-to-measure - made specially to fit a particular person, or room or purpose. Paired with the word proper (suitable/appropriate). Pinked - Made with care and skill. Frederick Forster was the leading retailer of mourning attire. ‘Forster’s bundle joyously’ is a pun made from the term "bundle of joy" and a tailor’s bundle, in which all the components of a garment are bundled together. Referencing infants and pregnancy. Frederick Forster described his range of attire as “novel, handsome and stylish.” Hand Picked - clothing rack at a ‘draper’ The rise of capitalism during the industrial revolution meant a growing economy. The government encouraged the middle and upper classes to grow the empire's economy.

Stanza Four:

Pun: Deep Mourning – Morning Sickness. During ‘deep mourning’, a widow should wear a deep mourning dress ‘, widow's weeds’ for a year. Black silk or crepe was the conventional material used in mourning garments. In the last nine months of this first mourning year, the amount of crepe worn would gradually reduce. Which is also a full-term pregnancy. This maternity mourning dress has been stuck in this phase/term since being manufactured in 1912.

Bathetic and British barrage of tears: Anticlimactic symbol of British domination. Barrage - Two Meanings 1. a concentrated artillery bombardment over a wide area. Military imagery and imagery of widespread empire through force. Shelling of tears - however, was not a technique used until WW1 1915 – making this an inaccurate reference. 2. An artificial barrier across a river or estuary to prevent flooding, aid irrigation or navigation, or generate electricity by tidal power, barrages were invented in the 1800s. Reminds of the Industrial Revolution

Pathetic and Prudish - Sad and Proud. Maiden, Mother, Crone. The Triple Goddess is the tri-unity of three distinct aspects of womanhood/ three figures united in one being. Georgian women occupied the domestic sphere, had minimal societal roles and had limited opportunities. These are three roles she has in the domestic sphere. Virgin or Child. Wife and Mother, Crone or Spinster.

[poorly-caffeinated-diatribes]

This!! Piracy is actually super ethical most of the time, and it's a tool for preservation, anti-capitalism, and acceptance.

Streaming services have been known to produce exclusive shows, and then to cancel and even go so far as to remove the show entirely from their platform. Shows like Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies are only available through piracy sites and torrents. The same goes for movies likeThe Abyss or Mannequin, which, although being an 80s rom-com and therefore subject to rightful feminist criticism, are still movies that are hard to find unless you scour secondhand DVD stores.

Similarly, this affects music, like the Motown single Do I Love You (Indeed I Do) by Frank Wilson, of which nearly all copies were destroyed, never to see the light of day. There are less than five existing original copies, and though there are versions that were ripped and put on YouTube, there is no guarantee that they will always exist on the internet, and unless you happen to have 25k lying around, your best bet for "owning" this single is piracy.

Not to mention the many indie bands that released albums and then pulled their work off of streaming services. There's a punk band named Blaster the Rocket Man that once pulled their one and only existing album off of Spotify and Apple Music, and although they eventually put the music back up, piracy was the only method available for a bit. And they're far from the only band this has affected. Many people who grew up in the indie punk-rock/garage band scene lost all their favourite artists and are only able to find a few of them through online piracy.

Video game companies stop manufacturing games all the time, and with changing technologies there are many old game systems that simply don't work anymore for most people. I know I can't afford to go out and refurbish an old CRT television, and so I don't expect most people can. Games like the (legit garbage game, but an example nevertheless) ET Atari game, most of which have been destroyed and lost through time, have no way of being played without emulators. Games myself and other gamers can only really play on emulators include previously famous ones like Bad News Baseball, T-2: Judgement Day, 1942, and some of Tomb Raider games. These are games that are cult classics or that were loved by many kids in the 80's, 90's, and early 00's but will never be remade or manufactured by a company again.

Now, software in particular, is where it gets more complicated. I recommend checking out this video by Ben Jordan over on YouTube, because he explains it really well. He's worked in the music industry his whole life, and he's used a lot of different softwares, and he has some very interesting things to say about it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7EHRpnJICQ

All in all, as a TLDR for his video, software piracy is often beneficial given that companies often steal their own software from others. You'd be surprised how much money these people make, and there is a wide web of lies and complications behind the scenes that ultimately show that, especially the big software companies, are really really not your friends. Part of the reason that we have legal issues with piracy, especially software piracy, is because of companies that stole their own products from other creatives and then made enough of a fuss in courts that people took their side.

This aside (and my apologies, I know this is a longer post), piracy is also often the only method for many individuals to get media that they otherwise wouldn't have access to. This includes countries where certain media is nearly impossible to get. As you can imagine, due to trade agreements, politics, and media publishers ultimately being greedy and messed up, there are plenty of countries that never see a lot of the media that people in the west might find super easy to get ahold of. Places like the Middle East are generally thought of last in terms of media releases. People in places like China that have their own privatized systems often rely on VPNs and piracy to get ahold of certain media as well. Due to media distribution BS, a lot of countries and regions get the short end of the stick.

Another reason piracy can be helpful is if you live in a particularly strict household, or a household where certain media is frowned upon. I pirated a shit ton of queer media in high school because my parents didn't want me watching things like Love, Simon or Carol. When you're a kid with no job, no money, and homophobic parents, piracy can be your friend.

Now, unfortunately with piracy there are definite downsides. Pirating indie companies and indie films or things like that can get very murky, so when you watch things that were created by an independent team of people who generally should get the money for their product, the common courtesy is to just pay for it. For bigger companies, lost media, and other complicated situations, piracy is great. In general, there are more ups than downs with piracy, and it's not the big bad guy that companies make it out to be.

They just shut down the eShop too lmao

[addiessblack]

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 3

Synopsis: In a world ruled by power, lies, and the ghosts of the past, Anja Christ thought she had buried Aaron forever. But when the boy she once loved—and lost—returns as the ruthless heir to Thunder Bay, obsession ignites into something far more dangerous. Trapped in his web, Anja must decide: fight for freedom or surrender to the madness of a love that refuses to die.

Age 16

The cold wind of Thunder Bay whispered across the rooftops, carrying with it the muted hum of the city below. The towering skyscrapers loomed like watchful sentinels, their lights casting faint halos against the inky black sky. It was the perfect night for chaos—a night where rules were meant to be broken, where the shadows hid secrets, and the thrill of danger coursed through veins like wildfire.

Aaron stood at the edge of the rooftop, his dark eyes scanning the streets below. The next generation of Horsemen surrounded him, their voices low but laced with excitement. Each of them carried the weight of the Devil's Night legacy, eager to carve their own mark into the annals of chaos and rebellion.

Anja wasn't supposed to be there.

She had been told explicitly by Aaron to stay home. "This isn't for you," he'd said earlier that evening, his tone firm and unyielding as he blocked the doorway to his room. "You're not ready for this kind of thing."

But Anja had never been one to back down. She wasn't a child anymore, and she was tired of being shielded from the world that Aaron and the others seemed to navigate so effortlessly. So, when she overheard snippets of their plan—a prank that involved breaking into a high-profile office building to trigger the fire alarm and set off a cascade of chaos—she decided to follow them.

Now, hidden behind a vent on the rooftop, she watched as the group prepared to rappel down the side of the building. Aaron, dressed in black from head to toe, radiated authority as he handed out instructions. His Evol power hummed faintly in the air around him, a subtle but ever-present reminder of his dominance.

"Ivarsen, you take the west side. Will, cover the cameras near the back entrance. Indie, you're on lookout," Aaron said, his voice low and commanding.

"And what about you?" Ivarsen asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I'll handle the main floor," Aaron replied, a dark gleam in his eyes. "If anything goes wrong, you know the signal."

Anja's heart raced as she watched him. She knew she shouldn't be here, that Aaron would lose his mind if he caught her, but the allure of being part of something forbidden was too strong to resist. She adjusted her hood and carefully inched closer, staying out of sight.

The group moved with precision, their years of practice evident in their fluid movements. Anja followed at a safe distance, slipping into the building through a side entrance they had pried open. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she navigated the dimly lit corridors, her senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through her.

Everything was going according to plan—until it wasn't.

As Aaron reached the main floor, Anja felt a sudden shift in the air. A faint buzzing sound reached her ears, followed by the unmistakable click of a security system activating.

"Aaron," Ivarsen's voice crackled through the comm device. "We've got a problem. Someone tripped a silent alarm."

Aaron froze, his jaw tightening as he processed the information. "Fall back," he ordered, his voice clipped. "Now."

Panic set in as the group began to retreat, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. Anja, caught in the middle of it all, struggled to find a hiding spot. She ducked into a nearby office, pressing herself against the wall as her mind raced.

The sound of approaching footsteps sent a jolt of fear through her. She held her breath, praying she wouldn't be discovered.

"Anja."

Her heart sank.

Aaron's voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that made her blood run cold. She turned slowly, her wide eyes meeting his.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, his face a mask of anger and disbelief.

"I-I just wanted to help," she stammered, her voice trembling.

"Help?" Aaron stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You think this is some kind of game? Do you have any idea what could've happened to you?"

Before she could respond, the distant sound of sirens pierced the air.

"Move," Aaron ordered, grabbing her arm. His grip was firm but not painful, a testament to the control he struggled to maintain.

They navigated the labyrinthine corridors together, Aaron's frustration palpable as he muttered curses under his breath. The rest of the group had already scattered, each member relying on their own exit strategy.

As they emerged onto the rooftop, Aaron turned to face her, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions.

"You don't get to do this," he said, his voice shaking with barely restrained anger. "You don't get to put yourself in danger like that. Not on my watch."

Anja bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. She hadn't meant to ruin everything; she just wanted to prove she could keep up with him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Aaron's gaze softened slightly, but his frustration remained. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Sorry isn't good enough," he said quietly. "You don't understand what you mean to me, Anja. I can't... I won't let anything happen to you."

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. For a moment, the world faded away, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the faint hum of the city below.

When he finally released her, his dark eyes locked onto hers. "Go home," he said, his voice firm. "And don't ever do something like this again."

Anja nodded, her heart heavy with a mix of guilt and something she couldn't quite name. As Aaron turned away, leading her back to the fire escape, she realized that his anger wasn't just about the prank. It was about her, about the lengths he would go to protect her—even if it meant losing himself in the process.

And as she followed him into the night, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever truly understand the depths of his devotion.

The library was quiet, save for the faint scratching of pencils on paper and the occasional squeak of a chair against the polished floor. It was one of Anja's favorite places on campus—a sanctuary where she could escape the chaos of the outside world and lose herself in the comforting smell of old books and polished wood.

Tonight, however, she wasn't alone.

Aaron sat across from her, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes, so sharp and assessing, scanned the room before settling back on her. She tried to focus on the history textbook in front of her, but the weight of his gaze made it nearly impossible to concentrate.

She sighed, pushing her hair out of her face as she scribbled notes in the margins of her notebook. "You don't have to babysit me, you know."

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "I'm not babysitting. I'm supervising."

Anja rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance in the gesture. She had grown used to Aaron's constant presence over the years. It was both infuriating and oddly comforting, like the hum of background noise that you didn't realize you needed until it was gone.

"I'm fine," she said, tapping her pen against the edge of her notebook. "I can handle this on my own."

"Sure you can," Aaron replied smoothly. "That's why you've been staring at the same paragraph for the last ten minutes."

Her cheeks flushed, and she glared at him. "Maybe I'm just taking my time."

"Or maybe you're overthinking it. Again."

She scowled, but his words hit a nerve. He always had a way of cutting through her defenses, of seeing straight to the heart of her insecurities. It was equal parts frustrating and disarming.

Anja leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "I just... I don't know. This project is a mess. I feel like I'm doing everything wrong."

Aaron's expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You're not doing everything wrong."

She looked at him skeptically. "You don't even know what the project is about."

"I don't need to," he said, his voice steady. "I know you. And you don't do things halfway, Anja. Whatever you're working on, I guarantee it's better than anything anyone else could come up with."

Her lips parted in surprise, the weight of his words sinking in. It wasn't often that Aaron was so openly encouraging. His usual style of support was more subtle—protective glances, a hand on her shoulder when she was overwhelmed, the quiet but unyielding presence that reminded her she wasn't alone.

"Thanks," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron's gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged with something unspoken. He reached across the table and picked up her notebook, flipping through the pages with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See?" he said, holding up one of her diagrams. "This is good. Better than good, actually. You're overthinking again."

Anja watched him, her heart twisting at the sight of him so effortlessly dismantling her doubts. He had always been like this—so sure of her, even when she wasn't sure of herself.

"I just wish people saw me like that," she murmured, looking down at her hands.

Aaron's jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened. "Who doesn't see you like that?"

She hesitated, feeling the familiar weight of his protective nature settling over her like a cloak. "It's not important."

"It is to me," he said firmly. "If someone's making you feel like this, I want to know who."

His intensity made her stomach flip, and she shook her head. "It's no one specific. It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm not enough, you know? Like I'll never measure up."

Aaron's expression softened, but there was a dangerous edge beneath the surface. He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers in a gesture that was both reassuring and possessive.

"Don't ever say that," he said quietly. "You're more than enough, Anja. Anyone who makes you feel otherwise doesn't deserve to be in your life."

Her breath hitched at the conviction in his voice, and for a moment, she felt the overwhelming urge to lean into him, to let him shoulder the weight of her insecurities the way he always seemed to do.

"You're always so sure of me," she said, her voice trembling.

"That's because I know you better than anyone," he replied, his gaze never wavering. "I see you, Anja. The real you. And if anyone else can't, that's their loss."

Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, she leaned across the table and rested her head on his shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

"I don't tell you enough," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I love you, you know?"

Aaron froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The words echoed in his mind, lighting a fire that he knew could never be extinguished. He clenched his fists under the table, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

"I know," he said finally, his voice hoarse.

Anja pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. "You're always there for me, Aaron. Even when I don't deserve it."

He swallowed hard, his gaze locked on hers. "You'll always deserve it."

She smiled softly, her cheeks still flushed from the weight of the moment. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Aaron's jaw tightened, and he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You'll never have to find out," he said quietly.

Her smile faltered, and she looked away, suddenly feeling exposed under the intensity of his gaze. She picked up her notebook, pretending to focus on her work, but her mind was racing.

Aaron watched her, his chest aching with the weight of his feelings. Her words had only solidified what he already knew—she belonged to him. Even if she didn't realize it yet.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her as she scribbled furiously in her notebook. He would wait, as he always had. Because Anja was his, and no one else would ever come close to understanding her the way he did.

And when the time came, he would make sure she understood that too.

The world was shrouded in shadows, a dreamscape where everything felt sharper, more vivid, as if reality had been stripped down to its most visceral elements. Anja stood at the edge of an unfamiliar cliff, the night sky above her a swirl of deep blues and silvers, the stars too bright and close. The wind carried a chill, but it wasn't unpleasant. It whispered against her skin, sending a shiver up her spine.

And then she felt him.

She didn't have to turn around to know he was there. She could feel Aaron's presence, tangible and consuming, as though he were an extension of herself. Her breath hitched when she heard his voice, low and rich, reverberating through the quiet.

"You always find a way to run, don't you?" he said, but his tone wasn't accusatory. If anything, it was tinged with amusement, even affection.

Anja turned slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. Aaron stood behind her, his dark eyes fixed on her with that intensity she'd come to associate with him alone. He looked different here, more untamed, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up, exposing the strong lines of his forearms.

"I wasn't running," she murmured, her voice soft, almost defensive.

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them. The dreamscape around them shifted with his movements, the stars above dimming as if they too were focused solely on him.

"Weren't you?" he asked, his lips curving into a faint smirk. He reached out, his hand brushing against her arm, his touch igniting a fire that spread through her body.

Anja's knees went weak as his fingers lingered, trailing up to her shoulder. Her breath quickened, her skin hyperaware of every point of contact. She knew this was wrong, knew she should push him away, but she couldn't. She didn't want to.

Aaron's hand slid up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "You're always so stubborn," he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

"I'm not—" she started, but the words died on her lips as he leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin.

"You are," he whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips. "But I like that about you."

Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers, capturing her in a kiss that was both possessive and devastatingly tender. Her hands instinctively gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as her body pressed against his. The warmth of him, the feel of his lips moving against hers, sent a wave of heat coursing through her.

She gasped when his hands moved to her waist, his grip firm as he held her to him. The kiss deepened, and the world around them seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them. Aaron's touch was everywhere, consuming her, and she felt herself spiraling, lost in the intensity of it all.

His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then down to her neck, and a soft, involuntary sound escaped her. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled her even closer, his breath hot against her skin.

"You don't even realize it, do you?" he murmured against her neck, his voice dark and filled with something she couldn't quite name. "You've always been mine."

The words sent a thrill through her, even as her mind screamed at her to wake up, to stop this. But she couldn't. She didn't want to. Her body betrayed her, leaning into him, craving more of his touch, more of him.

And then, just as his hands slid lower, the dream shattered.

Anja jolted awake, her body tangled in the sheets, her skin damp with sweat. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, the remnants of the dream still clinging to her like a second skin. She sat up, pressing a hand to her face as her heart raced, her entire body humming with the aftershocks of what she'd just experienced.

"No," she whispered, her voice shaky. "No, no, no."

Her hands fisted the sheets as she tried to steady herself, but the images from the dream kept flashing in her mind. Aaron's touch, his kiss, the way he'd looked at her—it was too vivid, too real. Her cheeks burned as she realized what had just happened, and a wave of guilt crashed over her, threatening to drown her.

"This can't be happening," she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

Her body betrayed her, a lingering ache in her chest and lower stomach reminding her of just how much she'd wanted him in the dream. She felt sick with herself, with the thoughts swirling in her mind. Aaron was her stepbrother. He wasn't supposed to make her feel this way.

But he did.

Anja swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet on the cold floor. She needed to clear her head, to shake off the feelings that the dream had stirred. She stood, pacing the room as if movement could help her outrun the truth.

The truth was that she'd always been drawn to Aaron, even if she didn't want to admit it. There was something about him—his presence, his intensity—that made it impossible to ignore him. And now, her subconscious was throwing it in her face in the most humiliating way possible.

She groaned, sinking onto the edge of her bed. Her head dropped into her hands as she tried to make sense of what was happening to her. This wasn't normal. This wasn't okay.

But deep down, a small, traitorous part of her didn't care. A part of her wanted to go back to sleep, to return to that dream, to feel his hands on her again, his lips claiming hers.

Anja shook her head violently, as if she could dislodge the thought. "Get it together," she told herself sternly.

But as she lay back down, her body still thrumming with the memory of the dream, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever truly escape him—or if she even wanted to.

The sky outside the massive windows of the Christ estate was an unrelenting gray, the sort of bleakness that seemed to seep into every crevice, into the bones of the house itself. Inside, Aaron lay sprawled on the couch in the living room, his golden hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was a stark contrast to his usual composed, almost untouchable self. Now, he looked almost boyish—vulnerable—in his misery, a blanket tugged loosely over his shoulders.

Anja had been busy in the kitchen, brewing a pot of tea and rummaging through the pantry for anything that might help. When she finally appeared, balancing a tray with tea, honey, and a bowl of soup, she paused in the doorway, her eyes softening. Seeing Aaron like this did something strange to her chest. She'd never seen him so... human.

Aaron glanced up at her as she entered, his striking blue eyes glassy from fever but still managing to pierce through the haze of sickness. He managed a faint smirk despite himself, though it quickly faltered. "I didn't know Florence Nightingale lived in this house," he rasped, his voice low and rough.

"Don't get used to it," Anja replied, her tone light but her concern evident as she crossed the room and placed the tray on the coffee table. "If you weren't so pathetic right now, I wouldn't be here."

"Liar," he whispered, leaning his head back against the couch cushion, but his eyes tracked her every movement. Always watching. Always attuned to her.

She rolled her eyes but ignored his comment, kneeling in front of him to adjust the blanket that had slipped off his shoulders. Up close, she could see how pale he was, his normally golden complexion dull and clammy. A pang of something—worry? Protectiveness?—rippled through her as she brushed the damp hair off his forehead. He was burning up.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" she muttered, mostly to herself, as she grabbed the cool cloth she'd left on the tray and gently pressed it against his temple. "You're supposed to take care of yourself. I shouldn't have to."

"You don't have to," he murmured, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes fluttered shut. "But you're here anyway."

There was something in his tone that made her pause, her hand stilling for a moment before she continued dabbing his forehead. He sounded almost... smug. Even sick and feverish, he had a way of making everything feel like a game he was winning.

"Drink this," she said instead, reaching for the mug of tea she'd prepared. She held it out to him, but when he made no move to take it, she sighed and leaned in closer, pressing the rim of the mug to his lips. "You're lucky I don't let you suffer."

His eyes opened just enough to look at her, and she could feel the weight of his gaze on her face as she tilted the mug for him to drink. He took a sip, then another, the warmth of the tea bringing a faint flush back to his cheeks.

"You're too good to me," he said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost tender. "I don't deserve it."

Anja frowned, pulling the mug back and setting it down. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Aaron's eyes fluttered shut again, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer. But then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're just... better than anything I've ever had. Better than I deserve."

Her chest tightened at his words, and she wasn't entirely sure why. There was a rawness in his tone that she wasn't used to, a vulnerability that he never let anyone see—not even her. It unsettled her, but it also made her want to stay, to ease whatever weight he was carrying.

"Stop talking nonsense," she said, her voice firmer than she intended. "You're feverish. You don't know what you're saying."

Aaron's lips twitched into a faint smile, but he didn't respond. Instead, he shifted slightly, his hand reaching out from under the blanket. For a moment, she thought he was reaching for the tea or the soup, but then his fingers brushed against hers, curling around her hand.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared down at their hands. His grip was weak, but there was something desperate in the way he held on to her, like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

"Don't go," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Her throat tightened as she looked at him, at the way his usually sharp features were softened by fever and exhaustion. He looked younger like this, almost fragile. She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. Instead, she gently squeezed his hand, letting him hold on to her.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound in the room the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Anja stayed kneeling beside him, her hand still in his, her other hand occasionally brushing the damp cloth across his forehead. She told herself it was just because he was sick, that it didn't mean anything. But deep down, she knew it wasn't true.

Aaron shifted slightly, his grip on her hand tightening for a moment. "You're mine, Anja," he murmured, his voice so soft she almost didn't hear it.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she pulled her hand away abruptly, standing up. "You're delirious," she said quickly, her voice a little too loud. "You should rest."

Aaron's eyes opened, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in them—something dark and possessive. But then it was gone, replaced by exhaustion and fever. He didn't say anything, just watched her as she moved to grab the tray.

"I'll be back with more tea," she said, avoiding his gaze as she picked up the tray. "Try to get some sleep."

As she turned to leave, she felt his eyes on her, heavy and unrelenting. She didn't look back, but she could feel his presence, even as she stepped out of the room and into the kitchen.

Her heart was racing, and she hated the way it made her feel. Hated the way he made her feel. She told herself it was just because he was sick, that it didn't mean anything. But deep down, she knew that wasn't true.

The low hum of conversation and laughter filled the bustling lounge of the upscale Thunder Bay café. It was a favorite spot for students, a blend of sophistication and casual warmth, with its polished wooden floors and walls lined with bookshelves. Anja sat at one of the tables near the window, a textbook open in front of her, though her focus wasn't on the words.

Her gaze drifted toward the counter where Aaron stood, his tall, commanding frame impossible to miss. He was dressed in his usual effortless style—black jeans, a fitted dark shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders, and an air of quiet arrogance that drew people to him like moths to a flame.

And one particular moth was hovering far too close.

A blonde girl, tall and striking, was leaning against the counter next to him, her body tilted toward him in a way that made her intentions clear. She was laughing at something he'd said—or maybe something she'd said, since Aaron hadn't looked particularly amused. Anja's stomach churned as she watched the girl reach out to lightly touch his arm.

He didn't pull away.

Anja's grip on her pen tightened, the sharp edge pressing into her palm. She told herself it didn't matter. It wasn't like Aaron was hers. Not really. But the ache in her chest told a different story, one she hated herself for feeling.

She forced herself to look back at her textbook, pretending to study. She even went so far as to jot down a few notes, her handwriting messier than usual. But her ears were attuned to the sound of Aaron's low voice, even from across the room, and her eyes betrayed her, flicking up to glance at him every few seconds.

The blonde girl was still there, laughing and leaning closer, her hand now resting on the counter mere inches from Aaron's. Anja's jaw clenched, and she dug her nails into her palm to keep herself from doing something stupid.

Like storming over there and yanking the girl away from him.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head at herself. She wasn't going to let this bother her. She wasn't.

But then Aaron turned his head, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers from across the room. Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn't look away. His gaze was intense, unreadable, but she saw the subtle shift in his expression—the way his lips curved ever so slightly, the way his body seemed to relax, like he'd been waiting for her to notice him.

The blonde girl said something, trying to regain his attention, but Aaron ignored her, his eyes still fixed on Anja. Slowly, deliberately, he picked up the two drinks on the counter and started walking toward her.

Anja quickly looked down at her textbook, pretending she hadn't been watching. She scribbled something in the margin, her heart pounding as his footsteps approached.

"Studying hard?" Aaron's voice was smooth, teasing, as he set one of the drinks down in front of her. It was her favorite—an iced caramel latte, just the way she liked it.

"Thanks," she said, keeping her tone casual as she took a sip. She didn't look up at him, though she could feel his presence looming over her, larger than life.

Aaron slid into the chair across from her, his drink untouched. "You seemed really focused. Didn't even notice me over there."

She glanced up at him, her brows raised. "Didn't I?"

His lips twitched, and he leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her face. "No. You didn't."

Liar, she thought, but she didn't say it. Instead, she shrugged, her fingers idly tapping against her pen. "Looked like you were busy anyway."

Aaron's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of amusement and something darker crossing his face. "You mean her?"

Anja shrugged again, forcing herself to keep her tone light. "Didn't notice."

Aaron leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You're a terrible liar, Anja."

She bristled, her grip on the pen tightening. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His smile was slow, almost predatory, as he reached out and took the pen from her hand, setting it down on the table. "You do. And you're jealous."

Her cheeks burned, and she hated the way her heart raced at his words. "I'm not jealous," she said quickly, though her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

Aaron tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her feel exposed. "You don't have to be," he said, his voice low and possessive. "You know you're the only one that matters to me. Don't you?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the side as she tried to compose herself. "You don't have to say stuff like that."

"But it's true," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "No one else even comes close, Anja. You know that."

She looked at him then, her heart in her throat. His gaze was unrelenting, burning with a certainty that both thrilled and terrified her. She wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words erase the ugly feeling twisting in her chest.

But she couldn't. Not completely.

"You're ridiculous," she said finally, rolling her eyes as she reached for her pen. "And you're distracting me."

Aaron smirked, leaning back in his chair again. "Am I?"

"Yes," she said firmly, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

He didn't push further, but she could feel his eyes on her as she tried to focus on her textbook again. And though she would never admit it, the knot of jealousy in her chest had loosened, replaced by a warmth that she couldn't quite name.

Aaron might drive her crazy, but he had a way of making her feel like she was the center of his world. And as much as she tried to fight it, she knew that was exactly what she wanted to be.

[stokesy55]

See, now to me, it looks like Hardik is more invested, so what if they had a fling and Hardik is the one still hanging on? Even though he knows Shub only has eyes for Yash?

Oh, you've got me thinking now!

In canon, Yash and Shubh play together for India in June 2023 first, when Yashasvi makes his test debut against the West Indies. Shubman and Hardik played together for Gujarat in 2022 and 2023.

Hardik himself has a manwhore image in the media. And its established Shubman is a Casanova. It starts out in 2022, with flirting and stolen glances, and it turns into sleeping together. It becomes a routine, carrying into their time together in the international squads and the 2023 IPL. It's supposed to be fun and games.

Until Yash enters the scene. Note, Yash debuts in tests first, and Hardik isn't part of the red-ball set up. Yashasvi catches Shubman's eye here according to lor Hardik meets Shub again during the same series, (India played 2 tests, 3 ODIs and 5 T20s against West Indies from June to July/August 2023), and he quickly realizes Shubman's eye has been caught. Yash also plays the West Indies T20s, and Hardik was T20 captain then! So it doesn't take long for him to figure out who has caught Shubman's eye. He witnesses Shub chasing Yash single-mindedly and it hurts. It shouldn't hurt because it was a no-strings attached, friends-with-benefits thing they had going on, and they weren't supposed to develop feelings. But oops, he did, and now he's fucked because he's lost his chance.

Then 2024 happens. 2024 was a horrible year for Hardik. Firstly, he faced financial issues after his half-brother scammed him. Then he left Gujarat for Mumbai Indians, his original IPL franchise, but MI fans spewed terrible hate against him for replacing Rohit as MI captain. To top it all off, his wife, Natasa divorced him (some claim it's because he cheated or she cheated or she was a golddigger who left him the minute he started facing financial trouble).

.... Oh no, there goes my brain 😭

Welcome this new monstrous idea: Hardik and Natasa are married when he meets Shubman. Married, but not bonded, if that's possible? Or at least in a long-term relationship. But Hardik has started falling out of love with her. Perhaps he realises he's gay, and doesn't really like any woman in a sexual manner?

That's when he meets Shubman. The young alpha is fun and flirtatious and even though Hardik knows it's wrong, they end up getting naughty. Hardik is disgusted with himself, he feels endlessly guilty for cheating, but he can't help keep going back to Shub, seeking respite from the dissatisfaction he feels in the marriage with him. He convinces himself that as long as they are smart about it and keep it under wraps, it doesn't matter. What Natasa doesn't know won't hurt her.

As for Shubman,,,,, well Hardik's marriage is Hardik's mess. He's just in it for the sex, which the omega is great at. But Hardik develops feelings and he's ready to give it all up for Shubman-- divorce Natasa, risk his career, everything! But Shubman remains oblivious to Hardik's feelings. Hardik can't work up the courage to admit to Shubman he has fallen in love with him, because he has an inkling that Shub is such a playboy he won't reciprocate. So Hardik keeps quiet and lets their system continue: sneaking around to fuck under everyone's noses, living off whatever scraps of affection Shubman throws his way.

But then Shubman meets Yashasvi during the West Indies tour, and falls for him. Hardik tries his best to rekindle the affair, flirting with Shubman, fluttering his eyelashes at him, but Shub ignores him. Once, when Hardik is particularly touchy, he snaps coldly. "Get the fuck off me. I'm sick of you. You have a wife at home, go to her, or find another alpha willing to stick his cock in you." Hardik is distraught because he's lost his chance.

Before the 2024 IPL, Hardik begs the Gujarat management to release him because there's no way he can survive sharing a changeroom with Shubman. He moves back to Mumbai, but his homecoming is spoiled because Mumbai fans hate that he, an omega, usurped Rohit's rightful place as captain. He's booed and heckled every single match he plays. Mumbai are having a shit season. His marriage is crashing down. Shubman doesn't love him back.

All of it gets to Hardik and he seeks refuge in a bar to drown his sorrows in drink. Surprisingly, Shubman is there too, with his own sorrows to drink away: he's frustrated with Yashasvi's endless rejections and is at his wit's end as to how to convince Yash he'll treat him well if he only gives him a chance.

Both of them are drunk: Hardik can't stop himself from hanging off Shubman, probably even confessing his love to him. Shubman is too drunk and sad, he hasn't had sex in ages, so he indulges himself with Hardik this one time, it's difficult to refuse an omega when he's so eager to be fucked. It's perhaps one of the only times Shubman has a sexual encounter while he's pining after Yashasvi.

Shubman fucks Hardik raw that night, bending him over, thrusting into him with a back-breaking rhythm. At his climax, Shubman cries out Yashasvi's name, and Hardik freezes. Shubman collapses atop him after he's done, soon passing out after the drink. Hardik lies under him, bruised and aching and exhausted and heartbroken. He cries himself to sleep.

In the morning, Shubman wakes up first and realizes, as the drunk haze fades, that he was awful to Hardik last night. He was planning to leave before the omega woke up, but now seeing in how bad a state Hardik is, he stays behind to take care of him. He makes him breakfast and massages his sore muscles. Hardik almost cries at how domestic it all is, he yearns for it to be permanent, but it can't be.

Shubman plans to apologise for the last night and then talk it out with Hardik: explaining that he loves someone else, and he's sorry for leading him on like that. But before he can do so, Natasa arrives at the hotel, planning to surprise Hardik, and instead catches them together red-handed.

It's too much of a giveaway, if them being shirtless wasn't enough, then Hardik is limping and there are tell-tale hickeys all over Shubman's neck. She storms off and Hardik soon receives the divorce notice. 🥴😬 So Shubman technically wrecks their home. 😬

What happens later? Hardik is shipped with KL Rahul a lot, so maybe they find happiness together in the end? But I can't figure out how. Any ideas?

Interesting ideas - I don’t know how much I’ll pursue them in overse as I don’t really know much about Hardik to write him plus I’m not sure what it brings to my overarching story.

[dustedmagazine]

Adeline Hotel — Whodunnit (Ruination)

Dan Knishkowy’s band Adeline Hotel appears as a sextet of musicians on his 2024 Ruination recording Whodunnit. The singer/songwriter/guitarist is joined by keyboardist Winston Cook-Wilson, drummer Sean Mullins, upright bassist Carmen Quill, and vocalists Katie Von Schleicher and Jackie West. Von Schleicher and Sandro Perri are on the production team. Despite the numbers, the music is more subdued and the arrangements sparer than last year’s Hot Fruit or 2020’s Solid Love. Knishkowy has remarked that emphasizing the lyrics was an important consideration in recording Whodunnit.

Adeline Hotel has been a prolific project, releasing music steadily since 2016. Knishkowy channels a number of indie luminaries, including David Grubbs, Phil Elverum and Jim O’Rouke. He also addresses the breakup of his marriage. This is noteworthy in that, without rancor, Knishkowy examines emotions, endings, and paths not taken.

“How did I Get So Lucky?” opens with an extended acoustic guitar introduction, punctuated by piano chords and a dash of birdsong. When Knishkowy’s voice enters, it is a brittle, upper register keening. The opening motive also serves as an interlude between verses. After a keening final verse, the song slowly dissipates on a held guitar chord.

The title track, which clocks in just above six minutes, has gentle singing combined with subdued acoustic guitar and piano. Partway through, sparks of electric guitar and group vocals accompany a gradual overall crescendo. A cadential halt is followed by a return to the verse amid synth whorls. The chorus resumes, adding electric guitar, piano, and backing vocals to synth glissandos. However, the final verse is nearly unaccompanied, and the coda brings back an acoustic guitar alongside a laconic vocal.

“Preying On” is a delicate miniature in which the band plays a subdued background to duet vocals. “Grief” emphasizes the singing in the mix, underlaid with arco bass and dulcet piano harmonies. Partway through, a sustained note on the double bass serves as a pedal for guitars, which are then distressed by synths. “Egg On My Face” brings the whole instrumental cohort together to buoy a wistful vocal. There is an extended outro emphasizing the acoustic guitar and textural synths that is quite fetching. “Joy” is a warm yet melancholic ballad with trading solos from piano and acoustic guitar. Krishkowy’s vocals are sinuously mesmerizing. “Isn’t That Enough” is another ballad conception, with propulsive acoustic guitar, gleaming keyboards, a simple patterning in bass and drums, and doubled vocals. The opening of “Joy” sounds more laconic than ebullient, but Krishkowy’s singing and the backing band gradually take on an affirming demeanor.

“Isn’t that Enough?” is about how much is emotionally revealed to a partner, and whether our innermost thoughts can safely be shared. While the love affair is over, memories of a time together are potent and persistent. “I Will Let Your Flowers Grow” affords the band the opportunity for a long solo section. Afterwards, Krishkowy returns to sing some of the most poignantly revealing music on the album. The refrain serves as an outro with backing vocals added to the mix. The final track, “Possible Lives” pits a rousing arrangement against vulnerable singing. Krishkowy sees painful memories and lost opportunities, “I was lucky, so lucky,” with a sense of resignation and resilient hope that there may be more to his life than this challenging time. Whodunnit isn’t like any previous Adeline Hotel, and it is the better for it.

Christian Carey