#masta just

[torosdottir]

sometimes when im bragging abt mcr songs ive seen live my gf is like "wait what deep cuts have i seen?" as tho she didnt see MASTAS OF RAVENCROFT performed live

[pruneunfair]

Not only did they treat Charlotte as some discounted furniture to give to the next desperately horny man, they also fucked up one of my favorite ladies in waiting

How the hell are you gonna take the PERSONIFICATION of women working together, the same woman willing to FIGHT someone if they try anything on her allies and then say "Ah yeah she's the perfect one to get with the guy with a fiancé! Buts it's different this time cause Mastas is really badass so she's actually not like other girls!"

Like..season two Mastas would've been by Charlotte's side comforting her, not letting it all side and even becoming his mistress of all things.

Congratulations Remarried empress! You managed to somehow fuck up the entire point of your goddamm story!

Oh Charlotte you deserved better than a hypocrite fiance who cheated on you and his sister taking advantage of the broken engagement shamelessly. Being a good person didn't save you and your kingdom from getting screwed over cause you're not the FL. Didn't you know? Only one woman deserves to have it all and rest can rot. You deserved better than a creep husband who drugged people and a major simp of the FL. But you're in the way of author's "not like other girl" MC who's the only one worthy of love, and success.

[silusvesuius]

just another masta neloth wannabe

[idillyas]

‼️ RB AND LIKE TO SPREAD ‼️

Hello, guys! I'm here again just to talk about a very important and also disgraceful issue that happened in the kpop world (but even if it hadn't happened in this industry, it is an extremely serious fact).

A 5th gen idol was SAed by her agency's CEO. The statement details harassment, including forcible kissing and groping, & includes parental testimony. The alleged perpetrator is Lee Yong-hak, aka Digital Masta, Founder & Executive Producer of 143 Ent.

The victim still deserves justice and these links will help you understand more about the situation and ways to help.

[ ABOUT THE SITUATION ] :

[ WAYS TO HELP ] :

[ PETITIONS ONGOING] :

@nikist-4-n @oatelier @froopis @sugarish @swhore @heavenurl @safirious @miurui @sukisng @i-mmaculatus @4doras @alfaire @kiyeuo @hooneado @beompercar @yuqi-luv @shuaver @c-heriis @bambicito @atsubie @cakecito @cawlxzy @cheriesoob @hyelitas @chocoblogs @cg1rl @c-heriis @haesite @blueberrywthtoast @bitchey @lil-liaa @rstaehy

[melancholysway]

Serendipity (2007!Raphael x Fem!Reader) 10

Chapter X: Home

I can cry yall I'm so sad this is ending LMAO

--------

"Jesus Mikey, in my ear?!" The red-banded turtle scolds his little brother for yelling (once again) about the road trip to Casey's grandmother's farmhouse.

This was a sacred trip, filled with family bonding and alone time together. It was a trip of serenity and calmness that was unmatched by living in the city. Upstate New York was indeed an experience to remember. Northampton was a quiet place, with the population barely reaching 2,500 citizens. So, yeah, the turtles (and Splinter) loved going up there. There were no sewers, Purple Dragons, or Foot Ninjas. They were able to…exist. 

You were lucky enough to be tagging along; you were on spring break, and you needed this well-deserved week-long vacation. You weren't sure what the guys usually did when they went upstate, but it had to be relaxing. 

"What are we doing first, dud- ow!" Mikey asks from the backseat, earning another glare and smack from his older brother.

"I mean," Leo begins, "Get settled in, the usual. Relax, swim-" "Train." Master Splinter interrupts, earning a groan from Mikey.

"Sensei! It's vacation!" 

"Very true; however, the Foot will not take what you kids call a 'vacay,' correct?" 

Okay, so train. How…exciting. How fun to train…on your whole free week of no ninja-ing.  

"Woo-hoo." Donnie cheers flatly.

"Yay." Raph follows suit.

Leo can hear his younger brothers' fake enthusiasm, and he can't help but chuckle.

"Can't wait ta train on my week off, Masta Splintah," Raph says, earning a snicker from Donnie.

The drive was a good one. It was your first time in the ShellRaiser, and Donnie spent half an hour giving you a tour and showing you all the remarkable modifications and weapons he attached to it. You were driving around in a military-grade vehicle. 

Let's move on to more exciting matters, like your relationship. 

It was great. What more could you ask for? You got the turtle (who you didn't know was a turtle in the beginning) that you wanted. 

So it's no surprise that Raph asked if you wanted to come on this trip. Besides, he knew you needed a break. It also wasn't a surprise that his brothers, especially Mikey, were excited for you to join. 

---

"Dudette! We can finally hang out outdoors in the daylight! I can, like…get a tan!" Mikey almost jumped out of his shell when he heard the news. After a quick thought, you were in. You'd already planned on Jade checking up on Stella that week and leaving her a few 20s for the deed (though she strongly disagreed with you paying her, seeing Stella was enough payment.) 

So it was settled: You would be going for an entire week. Unsure of what to pack, you jumped off what April told you she usually brings on the trip: the basics: clothes, toiletries, a first-aid kit just in case, and herself (obviously).

Mikey was going to be attempting to get a tan. So, you had something to look forward to seeing the result of. 

---

Due to the long trip, you utilized Raph's shoulder and slept for the last part of the ride. It wasn't until you felt a flick on your nose that awoke you that you had made it to the farmhouse. 

"Ya still snore like a grown-ass man." Raph jokes, only for you to protest that you don't snore again. But you may never know for sure. 

Looking through the window on your right, you can see the beautiful ivory house with at least eight rooms and three floors. It seems incredibly well-kept, with no visible signs of wear or tear. Casey's relatives enjoyed this house and spent much time ensuring it was in excellent condition. 

You can see the excitement in all of the turtle's eyes and Master Splinter's. This must be their most anticipated event during the springtime. As you get closer to the driveway of the house, you can see a large lake in the distance, along with a dense forest surrounding the property that seems miles deep. Don't tell Casey to freak him out, but this would be a great Fallout location. 

You could go into great detail about everything you guys did together, but that would take forever. 

To make the long story short, it was indeed an unforgettable time. While you already felt close with the rest of the Hamato brothers, you were one big family by the end. 

Now, Master Splinter doesn't use the word "family" lightly. Family has such a deep meaning for him. It took April and Casey a while to be considered family. However, they were so in debt to the turtles from all the times they saved them that they owed them nothing but trust and loyalty. When Splinter recognized this, he accepted them into their home and family. 

From watching you interact with his sons and having a caring attitude toward them, Splinter accepted you into the family. You were a Hamato. Err, figuratively, not literally. His number one reason is the way Raphael was when he came around you. He watched how his most temperamental son became caring and loving toward someone in a romantic way. He had told you over a cup of tea that you gave him hope for Raph's brothers. That in this unbelievable world, there was a chance there would be someone for each of them. 

Speaking of Raph, a week-long getaway was just what the two of you needed to get closer to each other. When you all began the road trip, Raphael went to work, mentally planning things for you both to do outside (ooh, romantic~).

When you weren't with the entire crew, you were with your boyfriend- just how you and Raph liked it. Don't get me wrong- Raphael loves his alone time, but this trip allowed him to do things he usually wouldn't get to do with you in the city. The biggest one is going outside in the daylight. 

And, of course, there were plenty of times you two were intimate. And boy were those moments especially unforgettable. Raphael had this unspoken sexiness to himself and the way he presented that caused your brain to produce the nastiest thoughts- and when you let him know what you were thinking, he would give you that lustful smirk he always does before picking you up to set you down on the bed- effortlessly managing to close the door and lock it behind you two in the process. 

~

The whole trip had been a wonderful experience. If you were being honest, you didn't want it to end. But sadly, it had to. The city needed protecting, and you had to go back to work. It was no surprise that saying goodbye to the home you'd become accustomed to for the past 7 days was hard; it was a haven. Before leaving, you silently waved at each piece of rustic vintage furniture.

~

Moving on to the present time, you couldn't be happier now. After the week at the farmhouse, you were ready for the best part about Spring: The fiery Aries zodiac season. It is also known as Raph's birthday season.

Since so much time has passed since Leo's return, and since Raphael put away his Nightwatcher persona, things have returned to normal. 

The question was: would it last?

You wouldn't be in college forever, and your parents wouldn't be renting that apartment you lived in forever. College was quickly coming to a close, and you would be finishing up your undergraduate degree soon.

You also had it made. You had your own space and cat—you get the idea. You felt ready to spread your wings and leave the nest your parents crafted for you, unbothered by what may come soon. The present was just so beautiful and full of wonderful experiences that the future's problems were minuscule. You'll find a career and stable income with time.

As melancholy as it may sound, you couldn't return to your life before Raphael. You couldn't imagine what it would be like after graduation; would you stay or return home? Your parents would only pay your rent for a while, mainly because you would finish your undergraduate degree. 

After much time and consideration, you and your parents came to one conclusion. One that you all could agree on. 

Once this agreement was settled, you thought of ways to tell the turtle in red. You knew that Raphael also thought about you leaving. He had this small doubt in the back of his head that you would go back home, never to be seen again. However, you did not intend to leave him or the relationship you two had built.

As Raphael's birthday came closer and closer, you got all your ducks in a row. Everything was finalized, and there wasn't any turning back. But you didn't want to turn back. You weren't going to turn back. Ever.

By the time his birthday rolled around, you were ready.

~

"Hellooo~!" You sing as you enter the turtle's home. You're first greeted by Mikey, who is cooking in the kitchen. Mikey turns to face you with a "kiss the chef" apron on. You can't help but giggle.

"Hey, dudette!" Mikey greets. "Whatcha got there?" 

"It's Raph's surprise birthday cake." You grin. You make yourself comfortable, lowering the white box to take off your black vest. Then, placing it along with your purse on the coat hanger adjacent to the kitchen, you turn the cake around to show Mikey.

"Red velvet?" he muses. You nod. You had the baker write "Happy Birthday Raph" in red icing, and the rim and top of the cake were also decorated with red icing. You knew Raph would enjoy a simple cake.

"With cream cheese frosting?" A new voice enters the conversation. You turn around, nervous to see if your surprise has been ruined. Luckily, it was only Leonardo.

"Don't worry, Raph's not here right now. He's with Casey at their apartment; he should return in an hour." Leo reassures you, noticing the anxious look on your face. Feeling relieved, you put your guard down for now. 

"Yes, and shell yes! I took a trip down to Times Square at this popular bakery to get it. I told them not to make it too sweet. It's the best bakery around!" You say. Mikey makes some room in the fridge for you to place it inside. 

"He's gonna love it," Leo smiles, acknowledging your efforts. The trip to Times Square is not for the weak. Especially during the spring. "Might not say it, but it'll show when he cuts himself a piece." 

"Dudette, I saved a lot from my Cowabunga Carl business! I got him a new punching bag!" Raphael always complained that the punching bag in the dojo was getting weaker, and you would always tell him to go easy on the poor thing. 

"Eh, they're meant ta be punched." He would say, "But still, I mean, who the shell would make something so…" and he would complain about the fabric being cheap, etcetera, etcetera. You get the idea. 

"What about you, Leo?" You ask. The brown-eyed turtle grins before pulling out an elongated brown case. Opening it up, you see six silver shurikens propped up by a felt. Engraved on top of the inside was the phrase, "Para mi familia." It looked carved by hand.

"I was able to get these during my time in South America. I brought back a ton of trinkets and items, but I made sure to keep these safe. I wanted to give them to Raph, and now is a great time to do that, don't you think?" Leo says. He also says he added the wording on the inside; rather than being in Japanese, he thought it would be nice to write it in Spanish- a language he had always been interested in learning.

"Leo…these are beautiful." You comment. Leo places the box on the dining table while you take a walk to see what the new punching bag looks like. 

Peering into the dojo, you see Splinter meditating. Across the dojo are the weights and an obvious new addition to the equipment. It's a large black bag hanging from a holster. It appears to be nailed to the floorboard. It's clearly bigger than the last bag Raphael was using, and this one also had a big red bow wrapped around it. 

Not wanting to interrupt Splinter's meditation, you quietly step away and walk toward Donnie's lab (or nerd cave, as Raph has named it).

"Knock knock." You say to the purple-banded turtle hunched over something. From what you can see, it appears to be Raph's bike. Donnie stands up and stretches, "Hey, Y/n! Wanna see what I got Raph?" You nod, and Donnie steps away from his current project.

"Ta-da!" He reveals Raph's baby, his prized possession: Roxanne.

"Aw, Donnie…" You say as you walk toward Roxy. Only this time, Roxanne had some new upgrades. Her ruby red paint was beautiful and scratch-free, the coating adding shine. Her tires looked brand spanking new, as well. Her tires had some more grooves, probably for when Raphael goes a little crazy on the streets with Casey or you.

"I hope he likes it. I think this bike needed some TLC." Donnie says.

"He'll love it," you say. You loved how all the brothers went out of their way for Raphael's birthday. Seeing how they all chipped in to get him gifts was adorable. 

It might put yours to shame.

"What'd you get him, Y/n?" Donny asks, grabbing a towel from the table to wipe his sweat.

“Compared to you guys…it’s not much…” You say. Donnie sighs, and he puts a supportive hand on your shoulder. He looks down at you and smiles.

"Comparison is the thief of joy, you know."

"Thank you, human fortune cookie." You joke.

"Donatello is right, Y/n." A new voice emerges from the doorway. Turning around, you see Master Splinter. His short figure was wrapped up in his red robe. 

"I'm sure my son will appreciate anything you get him. Although he might not say it, he will show it." Splinter's words help you feel better about your gift. As you bow, you gather Mikey and Leo to share the gift you got for the red terrapin.

"Are you kidding?" Leonardo blurts out, and your facial expression turns into shock. Is it that bad?

"He's going to wanna marry you after you give it to him." The rest of the family shares a laugh together, and you now have a newfound confidence in your surprise gift for Raphael. 

With the validation from Raph's brothers and sensei, you couldn't wait to give it to him.

~

"Are you one? Are you two? Are you-" "That ain't part of the song, Mikey." Raph grumbles as he cuts himself a hefty piece of red velvet cake, his favorite. He didn't have a sweet tooth, and after taking his first bite, he thought it was perfect. It wasn't too sweet, just the way he liked it.

He deserved this after enduring "Happy Birthday" surrounded by family, friends, and his girlfriend. He felt so awkward when people sang Happy Birthday to him that he kind of just sat there waiting to blow out the candles. He wasn't about to sit here and wait until Mikey counted from one all the way to his new age.

You watched as the gift-giving commenced.

Master Splinter had given Raphael a new pair of practice sai for when he sparred. He needed another pair since his old one had a few hundred miles on it, and the wear and tear was obvious. 

April got Raph a brand-new hammock for his room. She remembered him saying he wondered if they had bigger ones that held two people because he wanted to share them with you.

Casey gave Raph a brown bag. Jones said it was some sparkling cider. However, the way his hand gripped the head of the bottle and handed it to Raph with a wink while April rolled her eyes, you knew it had to be Casamigos or Hennesy—both being Raph's favorites. 

Master Splinter decides to let it slide and save the "drink responsibly" lecture for after the celebration.

Mikey went next and told Raph to look in the dojo. He raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. After a trip to the dojo, he returns and gives his baby brother a noogie. 

"...appreciate it, lil bro."

Next went Leo, and once Raph opened the box, his amber eyes looked admirably at the shurikens inside.

"What's it say?" He asks as he inspects the engraving inside of the box.

"For my family."

"Ey, thanks, Fearless." Leonardo and Raphael give each other a "bro hug," as they would call it. Master Splinter smiles; seeing his two eldest sons get along and embrace each other warms his heart.

Next was Donnie, and everyone went to the garage. Raph's bike was covered with a cloth, waiting to be unveiled. 

"I thought your bike needed some shine." The tech wiz smirks. Donatello quickly takes the cloth off to reveal Roxy. She's as beautiful as you remember her being an hour ago.

Raphael's eyes went wide as he walked around his motorcycle to examine its new appearance. 

"Don, ya amaze me- ya know dat?" Raphael's hands grip the handlebars, and then he uses his fingers to feel the ridges on the new tires. He couldn't wait to feel how she drove.

"I know," the turtle in purple says matter of factly.

You walk toward Raph and grip his bicep, "I didn't forget about yours; it's at my place," You wink and kiss his cheek only to hear an "aww!" from Mikey, followed by a "Can it!" from Raph. 

Once you all made your way back to the living room, you began putting everything away. April and Casey said their goodbyes and headed back to the surface to return home, and you were preparing to leave with Raphael.

"I won't keep him long, guys. I'll see you all soon, okay?" You give warm hugs to Raphael's brothers and sensei (you loved how his fuzz tickled your skin.)

"Good luck and congratulations, Miss Y/n." Raphael's eyes narrow at his father's comment, wondering what you had up your sleeve. Splinter retreats to the kitchen to fix himself and Leo some tea, and Donnie goes into his lab, taking Mikey with him since he needs a lab assistant.

~

"Ya ain't gonna kidnap me are ya?" Raphael jokes, opening up your bedroom window. He steps in first, then takes your hand and helps you inside. 

"If I could, I would." You muse, "I'd put you in my pocket and take you out whenever I needed a bear hug, Big Red." 

"I ain't fittin' in that tiny pocket o' yers, princess." Raph smirks.

You roll your eyes playfully as you take Raph's left hand and lead him into your living room. His mind runs through all his ideas of what else you've gotten him. If he was being honest, the cake was enough- you got it made just the way he likes it- which, by the way- he wasn't sure how you did that until he thought back to a year or two back when Mikey was bringing cake slices home from birthday parties.

Mikey would always try to get a piece of red velvet cake, and Raphael would always scrape away the extra frosting because it was just too sweet for him. You must've asked his brothers about his semi-sweet tooth for cake. That alone was a thoughtful gift in itself.

As you walk toward the couch, you two are greeted by Stella as she brushes against your legs as a greeting. She mews in excitement that you're back and the familiar mutant is too. She couldn't wait to perch on his shoulder and get her chin scratched. 

Sitting on the couch together, Raphael notices the red folder on the coffee table in front of him. He snakes his arm around your shoulders to pull you close. Resting your head on his shoulder, you also look at the folder you placed there strategically to catch the turtle's attention.

For Raphael

"Go ahead, open it, " you say as you notice Raph's attention on the file, his mind wandering to what it could be.

He grabs the red folder, opening it with one hand while the other stays wrapped around your frame. Soon, it reveals two pockets: the left one empty and the right one containing a single sheet of paper that appears to be some sort of contract.

After taking the paper, Raphael skims it, rereading the phrase in bold at the top of the page:

RESIDENTIAL LEASE AGREEMENT

He begins to reread it, only this time word for word. Are his eyes deceiving him? Is he really reading what he thinks he's reading? 

Were you…

Were you really…

"I saved enough to put the apartment in my name—my parents agreed to be cosigners."

"So that means…" Raphael reads over the lease again, only this time, he sees your name signed at the bottom. 

"It means I'm staying here. For good. Remember when I said you can't get rid of me easil- mmph!" Raphael shuts you up with a kiss. You drop what's in your hand and feel as time seems to stretch during this moment. 

Raphael deepens the kiss by leaning into you, his calloused hand sliding down from your hair to the back of your neck. Your free hands cup his cheeks, tilting your head and commencing a French kiss. Your tongues dance to the familiar song they always did when you shared a romantic and steamy kiss. 

You snap back to reality when you realize you have one last surprise for the red-clad turtle. 

"Hey," you pull away, gasping softly for air. I still have one more thing to give you."

"One more? Babe, ya didn't have to." Kissing your forehead as his hands rest on your hips, you can't help but look up at your boyfriend with a grin, your laugh lines around your lips growing heavier. 

"Ya stayin fa good, that's all I need" You lightly push Raphael's plastron away from you to grab the other part of his gift. He watches your figure move around your apartment living room, going toward the kitchen table and returning with your hands behind you.

You give your lover a mischievous look, and as you return to him, you reveal what you're hiding 

behind your back.

"Open it," You say, placing a small black box in his large hands. Raphael opens it slowly, unsure what tricks you might have up your sleeve. 

Well, he wasn't sure if this was a trick at all. As his golden eyes scan the shiny object inside, he isn't sure what it's for, although he has a few ideas. 

Not wanting to get ahead of himself, he asks for some clarification. "What's it for?" He asks, cocking a brow at you. 

"Let me show you," taking the small gift from his hands, you stand up from the couch and walk toward your front door to exit. Locking the door behind you, you wait a few seconds before unlocking the door and re-entering your apartment. When you come back in, Raphael is still where you left him. Only now, he has a smirk on his face. 

"Now I know what you're about to say," 

Before he can object, you telepathically read his mind. 

"And don't worry, it works for the window, too." You return the gift to the amber-eyed turtle, who quickly catches it.

He decides to inspect it again before putting it back in its spot. He brushes his green thumb over the metal, feeling all its rough edges. His calloused hands take turns fiddling with it, almost as if Raph is trying to see if he is dreaming.

"You have a home on the surface, too." Raphael's flat lips curl into a small smile. However, you were shocked by what you were seeing. 

Raphael was grinning.

Smiling right back at him with your toothy grin, he stands up, embracing you in a tight hug. You both stand like this in silence. Neither of you said a word for what felt like forever. It isn't until Raphael breaks this silence between the two of you. He brushes a finger across your cheek and then puts it under your chin. Soon enough, your eyes met- and his amber ones seemed to twinkle as he spoke.

"Thanks… fa this. Fa everythin’." 

The hoarseness in his voice indicated that he was almost at a loss for words. Raphael was new to this. He wasn't used to someone other than his brothers or Splinter doing nice things for him. He wasn't used to anyone caring as much as you did. 

Unlike Leo when he went to South America for training, you took much time and thought into how you could continue to include him in your day-to-day life. And unlike Sabrina, you weren't going to just up and leave. You wouldn't go away and lose all contact with him, either. You wanted to include him as much as possible.

You were so much different than Sabrina. In fact, you were nothing like her. Raphael knew that.

This small act of selflessness not only reflected how much you cared about him but also how much you wanted to be with him. He knew that you didn't care about his appearance, where he lived, or who—or what—he was living with. You loved and embraced all the baggage he came with. 

Raphael isn't good with saying "thank you" or verbally expressing his gratitude, and this was one of the rare times he did so.  

Words didn't need to describe the way Raphael felt about you. He had no issue with showing it.  

It might've been just a key, but this meant more to him than you could imagine. It meant you were here to stay. You weren't going anywhere, and that thought caused Raphael's stomach to churn with significant anxiousness for what was to come in the future. Not in a million years did he expect to be where he is right now. So as he places his lips on yours to share yet another romantic kiss, he can’t help but smile into it. His kisses were always good, but this one was different. This one had a lot of emotions behind it. He deepens the kiss, picking you up and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. As you giggle into the kiss, he leans into it some more, exerting all of the passion and love he has for you.

While Raphael had a place to call home in the sewers, he now had someone he could call home as well. 

For the first time in all his years of living, he loved being a turtle. 

--------------------------FIN-------------------------------------------

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: HERE

CHAPTER LIST: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 9.5 10 (current) // Taglist: @bee-1n-space @ducky-died-inside @xnorthstar3x @miss-andromeda Masterlist D I S C O R D

Listen to the Serendipity playlist linked below!

[eueuphoriaz]

13 red roses for my friend.

I was wondering what does gifting 13 red roses mean and decided to google it. And this is what I got.

Of course, many people may start to think: "Oh, Levihan is platonic, confirmed"

And then I remembered this amazing omikuji analysis, which all Levihan should be very familiar with now.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e_Tt3us-Lf8

And this is Levi's and Hange's omikuji. Also, I love Masta's explanation on Hange's omikuji on the Love section.

"Foster your friendship with each other for now"....

I just want to point out what Masta explained about the Japanese sentence of Hange's omikuji line, that it usually refers to a relationship between 2 very close people, with a potential to blossom romantically sooner or later, and there is no rush to grow the relationship for now.

And we know, Hange is usually the one that is everywhere while Levi is the one always stealing glances and focusing on her, whether it is in the manga, anime or official art/ game/ merch.

And Levi's "unrequited love", missing the timing because of his hesitation. All these adds up to the flavourful relationship of Levi and Hange.

13 red roses for my friend for now.

[caltropspress]

Earl Sweatshirt: A Geography of Grief and Growth

I made myself the poet of the world. The white man had found a poetry in which there was nothing poetic….I had soon to change my tune.

—Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (1952)

I suggest that we do not necessarily need to hear and know what is stated in its entirety, that we do not need to “master” or conquer the narrative as a whole, that we may know in fragments.

—bell hooks, “Teaching New Worlds/New Words” (1994)

Breakin’ ’em down to micro-fragments.

—Saafir, “Battle Drill” (1994)

What is asked of me is not to ascend but to descend.

—Robert Bly (1990)

1.

Earl Sweatshirt’s arc, swerving and dervishy, isn’t difficult to see, as we’ve witnessed it with him—we’re either interlocutors or interlopers, both with questionable motives. So when Earl looks back on school daze, as he does on “OD,” we look back with him (though ours is often an imperial gaze [HOW COULD IT NOT BE?]). We tee-hee and titter as we hear that “somebody tooted in the student commons,” tooted being the most puerile word for gas he could have chosen. An array of scatological options were ignored. It’s a deliberate gesture toward juvenilia. He doesn’t want his expression to be too mature, ha. He wants to welcome you to the romper room, ha. Remaining a kid until the moment he expires, apparently. So he sets the adolescent scene: the student commons. “The bell rang,” and the accused student was spared the prolonged opprobrium. In about four seconds, the student will begin to post. He “went home and argued in the comments,” channeling his embarrassment elsewhere, talking shit (shit) on the internet behind the safety and quasi-anonymity of a screen—an odd facade. He can walk right up to your avi and diss you. That’s his philosophy. The public humiliation replaced with a private self-possession. The discomfort of the crowd exchanged for the solace of solitude.

2.  DID AN ANGEL SPEAK?

The sonics of “tooted” and “student” are twee, giggle-inducing. We laugh along with the concatenation of m and n phonemes [somebody | student | commons | rang | went | home | then | in | comments]. The near-homophonous commons and comments scan hysterical. With “OD,” it’s easy to confuse adolescence with adulthood. That “somebody” committed this social transgression seems defensive. Maybe it was him—the subject, Earl, Thebe—seeing as how the rest of the song is delivered in the first-person. Embrace the Age of Immaturity. Channel the Fat Boys: Darren Robinson’s flatulent beatbox. Place it beside the disorderly lyrics that Bobbito spits: “I write my own shit from finish to start, / Diminish the heart, / I eat a knish and then I fart.” Like the Cenobites, Earl kicks a dope verse, and only that. “I keep my sentences short,” he says on “EAST.” Beauty is brevity, brevity beauty. A “brevity pack,” as Earl has referred to the Feet of Clay songs. He strives to be live ’cause he got no choice. He runs his own business like James Joyce. In A Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man, a similar flatus incident unravels. At Clongowes Wood College (Stephen Dedalus’s Coral Reef Academy), a “stout student who stood below…on the steps” by the name of Goggins “farted briefly.” Sonically, the sentence shares much with Earl’s opening line. Dixon asks, in a “soft voice,” “Did an angel speak?” But the others react with bellicosity and name-calling (stinkpot; flamingest dirty devil). Goggins doesn’t retreat home; he simply asks, “It did no one any harm, did it?” You still bet that you can harm me, but you don’t alarm me, Goggins might say another way, reprising Del the Funky Homosapien, echoplexing Masta Ace. 

3. 

Earl “watched the doppler move,” the wavelength shift—the siren song of the “toot,” something insidious—or maybe it’s just the tremors we’re feeling. Woop, woop: that’s the sound of the beast, KRS would say. The frequency shivers. The shift, the movéd doppler, means Earl is immediately older, he’s the child who “get[s] introduced to violence,” even if he acknowledges the line was inspired by his nephew on a playground in South Africa, experiencing apartheid reincarnate as a whiteboy cuts him in line for the slide. Cranly, bullying Goggins, “shove[s] him violently down the steps.” The doppler moves. It slides into violence—like the violence visited upon the MOVE compound located at 6221 Osage Avenue in Philly in 1985. Gradations of black/white. ELUCID mentions the “gray on [his] face showing age” on his Osage (2016) project. Isn’t it strange—how the youngins can turn cold, hoarfrosty, in an instant? The grayscale cover to ELUCID’s tape is graced by a photograph of Birdie Africa, the sole child survivor of the siege. The bone fragments of the MOVE children have since been used in anthropology courses at UPenn and Princeton—case studies. It’s a good trope. Fascinating stuff.

4.  TRYIN’ TO TRANSFORM YOU BOYS TO MEN LIKE DAYCARE

When JuJu of the Beatnuts asked, You want pain?, he wasn’t referencing the dramatical-traumatical pain Earl negotiates—JuJu’s question posed a ruffneck and ruffian pain on “Watch Out Now.” Somewhere closer to Marcy, where Jay-Z’s streets was watching. Earl clocks minutes, anaphoric with what he watches (I watched the doppler… / I watched a child…), much like Dylan’s portentous hard rain in which he saw endless racialized visions: “I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it”; “I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’”; “I saw a white ladder all covered with water.” For Earl, the ladder is a slide. The saw is watched. Witnesses all.

5.

In “Theory as Liberatory Practice,” bell hooks writes that she “came to theory because [she] was hurting”: “I wanted to make the hurt go away. I saw in theory then a location for healing.” hooks says that she “came to theory young, when [she] was still a child,” citing Terry Eagleton who argues that “[c]hildren make the best theorists.” Children, Eagleton insists, possess “a wondering estrangement.” No wonder, then, that “since a jit” Earl has found no use in “giving up.” He rather make it make sense. 

6.

I beat you to the point. Having gained experience, there’s nothing you can tell Earl that he doesn’t already know, that he hasn’t already seen. He’s seen enough, had enough. He doesn’t await the mob’s pursuit; he places the noose on himself, he RE: DEFines it within his own lexicon. His noose, therefore, “is golden.” He’s a young youth, rockin’ the gold [noose], DEATHWORLD goose. He speaks with criminal slang, with a split tongue like ELUCID. Where ELUCID was “true and living, actual—no dull axes, owner of all heads,” Earl is “true and living, lonesome,” with no skulls to keep him company. He has to square up with the “pugilistic moments” on his own. 

7.  I AM OLDER THAN I ONCE WAS AND YOUNGER THAN I’LL BE

I’m thinking of “The Pugilist at Rest” (1991) by Thom Jones, whose epileptic protag describes a “grainy black-and-white photograph” of the bronze statue called The Pugilist at Rest. The pugilist, with a pocketful of mumbles, has “slanted, drooping brows that bespeak torn nerves” and a forehead “piled with scar tissue.” Torn nerves and scar tissue—sounds like the physical manifestations of grief. And, yes, Earl has grieved, and he continues to grieve—as listeners, we’re accustomed to his grief pedigree, as per Ka. In the past, Earl was “panicking a lot”—he just “want[ed] [his] time and [his] mind intact.” That’s a cold fact.

The narrator of “The Pugilist at Rest” readies himself for a cingulotomy—a psychosurgical procedure that will “cauterize a small spot in a nerve bundle in [his] brain.” In other words, he wants to keep his mind intact. The neurosurgeon promises the operation will lift “the heaviness of a heart blackened by sin,” which is what convinces the narrator to agree to it. Good grief, he thinks, he’s been reaping what he sowed. He “can’t go on like this,” barely living “with a deadening sense of languor,” a phrase which calls to mind Earl’s lethargic, slugabed flow. Feeling insane in the membrane, like he’s a Soul Assassinated, exploring the depths beneath his whooligan behaviors. 376 was a brothel. “Good and evil are only illusions,” Jones writes. In anticipation of the surgery, the protag considers the worst-case [so what, so what] scenario: “If they fuck up the operation, I hope I get to keep my dogs somehow.”

8.  MOURNING & MEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLIA

Grief carries its own antidote along with it.

—Charles Brockden Brown, Wieland (1798)

“Grief is the door to feeling,” Robert Bly says. But Earl, on “Grief,” told us he “ain’t been outside in a minute”—and that minute, whether we’re speaking with criminal slang like Nas on “It Ain’t Hard To Tell” or not, is an eternity. Earl hadn’t crossed that threshold, hadn’t kicked in that door. MIKE would realize it much later on “No Curse Lifted (rivers of love),” how you “had to walk through the grief,” even if it “was the worst feeling.” In 2015, though, Earl found these passageways distorted. Like the undulating photograph on the cover of his first mixtape. Like the blur-obscured selfie on the cover of Some Rap Songs. Like the static-scrambled cover of I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. Earl’s dealt in fragmentary confuzzled noise for a full career. He’s been standing on the corner, red burnt, moving down alien lanes paved by GBV, greenthinking to himself. It ain’t hard to tell that Earl “don’t act hard” and yet is a “hard act to follow.” The density or opacity of his exterior notwithstanding, grief don’t come easy. “As men,” Bly says, “we’re taught not to feel pain and grief as children.” So Earl spits somnolent, numb-tongued and slack-jawed. Like he said on “Cold Summers”: muffle my pain and muzzle my brain up. 

“I’ve been alone in my shit for the longest,” he spit on “Grief,” and in work as recent as “Vin Skully,” he’s still figuring out “how to stay afloat in a bottomless pit.” Bly says that “we receive something from our father by standing close to him—something moves over that can’t be described in material terms.” Bly speaks of being in a “conspiracy with his mother” from early on. Earl finds himself “thinking ’bout [his] grandmama” while he wallows and lies in a bottle. “Grief” catalogs all the things his mama taught him. Earl’s work, of late, is autodestructive. He peels away and pastes back haphazardly. He vibes with this Bly shit: “If you can deny something so fundamental as grief in the whole family, you can deny anything. And then how can you write poetry if you’re involved in that much denial?”

Bly goes on to quote Alice Miller, the psychoanalyst who gave us The Drama of the Gifted Child (1979): “When you were young, you needed something you did not receive, and you will never receive it. And the proper attitude is mourning.” Mourning is the proper attitude, not blame—mourning. Mourning makes its way through moaning and mumbling—Earl’s current intonation. On “Grief,” he “cut the grass off the surface [and] pray[s] the lawnmower blade catch the back of a serpent.” Philip Larkin’s poem “The Mower” (1979) leans more literal: “The mower stalled, twice; I found / A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, / Killed. It had been in the long grass.” Larkin’s speaker genuflects before the innocent critter, recalling how he “fed it, once.” Now, he mourns how he has “mauled its unobtrusive world, / Unmendably. Burial was no help.” Earl, of course, is less forgiving of the serpents in the grass. They’re threats, not friends. Still, a void opens up when the mower—(and let’s not forget the lawnmower is a modernized scythe)—does its mowing. Grief is the door to feeling, and on the other side:

Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time.

9.  NOBODY KNOW WHO MADE THIS WELL, FOR IT WAS HERE WHEN I WAS BORN

“Come get to know me at my innermost…”

Riveting, Earl raps. Earl raps are riveting. We fix to the flow—riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s. We’re invited to know Earl, to become familiar, and his “innermost” is a constant vacillation between optimism and [afro]pessimism. The sudden switches—these switches on bitches like fixed with hydraulics—establish what Danny Schwartz, writing for Rolling Stone, called an “uneven terrain.”

Earl’s “family business [is] anguished,” and that’s recognizable. We’ve known Earl (on “Chum”) with the “pendulum swinging slow” and low. He holed up, hostage-like, in his “heart’s bottomless pit.” Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” (1842) brand of captivity. “I was sick,” that narrator says, “—sick unto death with that long agony.” Something tells me there should be an exclamation point there (SICK!). Earl Sweatshirt was down, down, down. “I was in the fucking pits for like 10 months post my pops dying,” he said in an interview. The Spanish Inquisition ain’t shit.

But for these countless downs, “OD” tracks the ups like naloxone in the nasal membrane. “Now I need atonement,” Earl notes—he makes a case for reparations. He “sets the goal[s]” like some motivational speaker. If “half [his] wings is broken,” he can “spread the other for [his] brodie OD.” Somewhat circumspect as he’s “tiptoeing,” yet the approach is laden with “too much love.” Even when his “sister showed in a rut,” he’s joining arms with her and “getting over, sending up.” That rut she walks—like Eudora Welty’s worn path (1941)—is a path through the pinewoods, and she’s suddenly Phoenix Jackson. “She was very old and small,” Welty writes, and she moves “with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a grandfather clock.” Even with her pentium processing and pendulum low, she swings back up—the rise of her namesake. She screams phoenix, her feathers and flames are one skin. “Living in the moment,” Earl raps, and his craft is bars. “You been corrupt”—and, sure, who hasn’t?—but you recover with “some ginabot.” Welty’s Old Phoenix surveys a spring “silently flowing through a hollow log.” She bends and drinks and says, “Sweet gum makes the water sweet.” It’s the equivalent to Earl putting “shilajit in his sippy cup,” which is “healing cuts revealingly.” And, yes, from a “sippy cup,” so we’re back to toddling around again (“Since a jit,” he says). “I can’t give enough,” Earl raps, his last winding-sheet made of nard and myrrh. 

10.

We crouch and teeter, caterwauling along the ledges, for we’ve got these clumsy feet of clay. This is the intended effect[/defect]; this is the rubble of what Earl calls the “crumbling empire.” This is us feeling the violent vibes of the “death throes” he speaks of. Why would we expect anything to resemble traditional song or rhyme structure when the earth quakes, civilization trembles, and Earl’s dungeon shakes? His chains have fallen off. The tenor is tremors. He’s living the trife life—hell on earth—but still living. Earl’s done trying to not look down—he embraces an outer appearance which scans dour; he deliberately gazes into the pit, inviting the vertigo, for it “haunts the whole of existence,” as Fanon says. But Frank B. Wilderson III promises a “vengeance of vertigo.”

11.

Gallons of rubbing alcohol flow through the strip, and Earl’s lips. He’s “refilling the pump”—his heart, yeah—but with a sawed-off shotgun, hand-on-the-pump posture. There’s “no concealing it,” not even with a concealed carry permit. He brandishes right back at “the enemy up in arms bearing snubs.” The mood swings; been down so long it looks like up to him. The turns require tourniquets. This is some Battle of Dak To torture—somewhere between Retaliation and the Heavenly Divine. Emotional turmoil seems violent by design, and Earl’s “memory [is] really leaking blood.” Fear not, the blood is “congealing, stuck.” Like Havoc says, “The Mobb rollin’ thicker.” Prodigy cites it, too: “This ain’t rap—it’s bloodsport.” But Earl has known that all along—he’s been “mobbin’ deep as ’96 Havoc and Prodigy did” since 2013.

12.

HipHopDX’s Kevin Cortez referred to listeners having to “sift through the muddle” in order to appreciate the bars, but where muddle suggests a disorderly conduct, a kaos network, Earl’s style, more appropriately, models. The woozy, wavy, and inner-conflict-war-torn vocals model an abstraction that anticipates the listener’s loyalty. This is what I’ve got, brief and cryptic as the gesture may be, the model says. Writing for NME, Dhruva Balram described Earl’s lyrics as “slurred,” but slurry is the form.

13.

If the empire can deploy Orwellian technologies of repression, its outcasts have the gods of chaos on their side…

—Mike Davis, Planet of Slums (2005)

So if we’re giving ourselves over to the woozes and waves, we’ll just as well find ourselves lost. Let’s go—like those tourist books run by students—and let’s wander eastward. Follow our napkin-scrawled directions and disorientations to a somewhere elsewhere. Let’s go east for a second, for a spell, on a lark, in the dark (word to AKAI SOLO). Earl’s bloodwork contains “pieces of slums”—or more aptly, [sLUms]. He’s hand-to-hand with that Jungle Boy MIKE, but also the god Mike Davis. “[T]he cities of the future,” Davis wrote, would be “constructed out of crude brick, straw, recycled plastic, cement blocks, and scrap wood.” Just the same as an Earl Sweatshirt verse is built—under the tutelage and overstanding-sharing, symbiotically, with MIKE. Davis says our cities aren’t “cities of light soaring toward heaven,” but a world that “squats in squalor, surrounded by pollution, excrement, and decay.” Smells like somebody tooted in the student commons. Smells like a slum village, something we’ve smelled before—possibly coming straight from the slums of Shaolin. 

14.  ACID EASTERNS

Earl trekked to the East and squinted into “one beacon in the dust weaving”—like Clint Eastwood arriving out of the hazy horizon ether of High Plains Drifter (1973). But Earl is heading to the East, blackwards. And though Brother J claimed you can’t define what’s direct from the East, Jeru told us on The Sun Rises in the East that you can’t stop the prophet either. So on “EAST,” Earl traverses a tricky terrain—it’s tricky, tricky, tricky because it’s an acid western landscape: an acid eastern.

The path isn’t direct or linear—it zigs and zags like rolling papers, and stimulates the same. “Double back when you got it made,” Earl says at the start of his journey “EAST.” The objective is to talk sense condensed into the form of a poem like Special Ed once did on “I Got It Made.” Instead, Earl’s poems—his L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poems—skew [non]sense, go form[less], and vaporize rather than condense. Lyn Hejinian in cinnamon Timbs: “constant change figures / the time we sense.” The narrative is hallucinogenic (note: “how the story careen against the bars”). Earl’s bindle contains “thirty racks and weed [with] no fat in the collard greens.” That’s how he gets funky on the mic like an old batch. That’s how he gets sincerity on the mic: “Off top it’s me—no cap, / I don’t bottle things.” That buck that bought a bottle could’ve struck the lotto, maybe. But Earl’s “canteen was full of the poison [he] need[s].” He gets where he’s going like El Topo, bereft. The “trip was long and steep”—that being an acid trip—so let me see you try to ride a horse into the chasms of the canyon.

“EAST” is a death meditation, a grand duel between Dantean and Donneian lyric voices [he damn-near well should’ve double-tracked the vocals]. In a 2015 interview with SPIN, Earl is asked about the worst thing he did that year, to which he replies: “Umm…acid?” He elaborates: “I took it at a time when I really didn’t need to be taking acid. I had like a fucking existential crisis at, like, four in the morning. But it was tight. We reeled it back.” Jodorowsky called El Topo (1970) an “eastern” in that it “incorporat[ed] ancient eastern wisdom in the materiality of American cowboys.” For Earl, it’s more a rhinestone cowboy—he holds the cold one like he holds an old gun (as evidenced in the “EAST” music video). DOOM was no stranger to grief, of course, and the rumors persist regarding the bad acid that precipitated Subroc’s early demise (“Bad Acid” also being the original title for “December 24”).

Estranged Earl, alienated—a high plains drifter (not Clint Eastwood, though) who rechristens a town “Hell” through a baptism of blood. Like the Beastie Boys’ version, Earl pulls out a pair of pliers and pulls a bullet out of his chest. He pulls through, true and living. “I’m long distance from my girl,” Mike D raps, so he’s “talking on the cellular,” but Earl is more alienated than that—beyond racking up roaming charges, immersed in dead zones. He “lost [his] phone and consequently all the feelings [he] caught for [his] GF.” Relationships can’t be sustained in these bleak and barren locations. All the blood has been drained from the ruddy faces—sanguine scenery. In his essay “On the Acid Western,” Jonathan Rosenbaum discusses how the subgenre “refuses to respect or valorize bloodshed.” Memory really leaking blood. Congealing. Stuck. To paraphrase Rosenbaum, Earl’s acid eastern “formulat[es] a chilling, savage frontier poetry to justify [his] hallucinated agenda—a view at once clear-eyed and visionary, exalted and laconic, moral and unsentimental, witty and beautiful, frightening and placid.” Earl’s “innocence was lost in the East,” and obsessives speculate whether this refers to Samoa or New York City—how far east we going? Countless spirit-questers pit-stopping at ashrams, searching for that Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal guide. 

“I wait a beat,” Earl says. His canteen stays filled, auto-replenishes. His “cognitive dissonance shattered” and the “necessary venom restored.” Jodorowsky reportedly once taped snakes to his chest for an experimental theater performance. As if it matters if you think it matters anymore. Or, as ELUCID says, “Words mean things but don’t have to.” Acids and bases. Occident and Orient. Western and Eastern. Up is down.

15.  NOTHING LIKE US EVER WAS

Earl’s “EAST” accordion beat—or whatever Orkes Gambus Al Fata instrumentation is at work—is more madcap than madvillainous. In my head is Erick Sermon, though, speaking about how “the flow slow…like a jazz player, or someone on the accordion” on “Knick Knack Patty Wack.” But I’m less concerned with the flow of air through bellows—compressing and expanding—than I am with Earl’s rendering of wind. (Somebody tooted.)

“Let the dead be dead,” Carl Sandburg says at stanza’s end in “Four Preludes on the Playthings of the Wind” (1920). Later, he reports, “The only singers now are crows crying.” And so Earl, a lonesome crow, reminds us—and himself—that “the wind get the ashes in the end” on “December 24.” The whining, wheezing consonance of /-nd/ in “wind” and “end” manages to evoke both the wind itself and the circularity of life. The bar whooshes and whips until we’re at our end, the terminus. That circularity, that full circle: ashes to ashes. “We are the greatest city,” Sandburg repeats, “the greatest nation: / nothing like us ever was.”

Global winds be blowin’—[Of the Soul]—and so billy woods cites that same line on “Haarlem”: “Thebe said the wind get the ashes in the end, bruv.” Check the configuration of the rhime: 

The wind | gets | the ashes | in | the end   {birth}                    {life}                {death}

Even that get does work—whether it’s the violence of Death Grips’ “get got”; Too $hort threatening you to “get in where you fit in”; or the satirical sadism of Keenen Ivory Wayans’ I’m Gonna Git You Sucka. The wind wins out—it gets what it wants. On “EAST,” the wind—infinitely personified—“whispered to [Earl], ‘Ain’t it hard?’” It ain’t hard to tell that it is. How about some hardcore? Yeah, we like it raw like M.O.P. But those burns yield ashes. In Adrienne Rich’s poem “The Burning of Paper Instead of Children” (1989), she struggles with the words she uses, knowing “[t]his is the oppressor’s language / yet [she] needs to talk to you.” I know it hurts to burn, she writes, but writing is no less ardent. “The typewriter is overheated, my mouth is burning.”

Let me bring it back to Robert Bly. “In the ancient times,” Bly says, “the movement for the men was downward—a descent into grief. It’s referred to in the fairytale as ‘the time of ashes.’” Ashes, he explains, is the “code word for the ‘out of it’ time.” 

We know what it is like to take ashes in our hands. How light they are! The fingertips experience them as a kind of powder… Ashes, we note, find their way into the whorls of our fingertips, cling there, make the whorls more noticeable, more visible, more clear to us. We can take our own fingerprints with ashes.

Ashes, then, aren’t simply for the wind’s taking—ashes are for us, are necessary for us to transcend the grief the boys, the men, and the man-child experience. Bly points to the various cultures that have used ashes in initiation rites: “Ashes Time is a time set aside for the death of that ego-bound boy.” Ready to give up, so you seek the Old Earth. The elders cover your face—even your whole body—with ashes “to make [you] the color of dead people and to remind [you] of the inner death about to come.” Consider Earl’s ashen white face produced in the negative imagery of the “Grief” music video.” “The word ashes contains in it a dark feeling for death,” Bly says. “Ashes when put on the face whiten as death does.”

Earl Sweatshirt is a far cry from knocking blunt ashes into caskets.

16.

Feet of clay, hands of light…

—Moor Mother and billy woods, “Furies” (2020)

For Cheryl I. Harris, Earl’s mother, the feet of clay refer to a vulnerability we all possess no matter how formidable we may appear to become. Earl invokes the King of Babylon’s dream, a dream of an idol “meant to represent all the empires of the world,” echoing Sandburg’s imperious “greatest nation.” Earl believes “we at the feet of clay right now…We posted up live from burning Rome.” Imagine the ash pile. So Earl is here, ostensibly, to turn the disco into something dismal—how Mtume becomes “MTOMB” with its entombed sonics, as if he’s rapping from within a wall, the victim of some Poe immurement. 

17.

“I remember woods,” Earl raps on “OD.” “I remember Endom when he wasn’t remembering much, / I remember love healing the ruptures.” I remember is also the refrain and title of Joe Brainard’s poem-memoir, a term which aptly describes much of Earl’s recent output. Brainard’s memories bum-rush into the present:

I remember a dream I used to have a lot of a beautiful red and yellow and black snake in bright green grass. I remember painting “I HATE TED BERRIGAN” in big black letters all over my white wall. I remember liver.

If Earl recalls love “healing the ruptures,” then he also likely recalls Fanon: It is essential to convey to the black man that an attitude of rupture has never saved anyone. But Fanon also speaks of young Black men “maintain[ing] their alterity. Alterity of rupture, of conflict, of battle.” Earl, “feeling rushed, grew up quick.” He echoes Biggie, who “grew up a fucking screw-up,” and Raekwon, who “grew up on the crime side” (though Earl’s mama taught him, as we know from “Grief,” how to avoid the pigs, persecution, and prosecution). Eyes on the clock, Earl acknowledges this “trip around the sun” is his “25th,” so “give it up”—his survival alone deserving of a standing [on the corner] ovation. He celebrates life with “gin and rum.” Again, notably not gin and juice—murder was never the case. The only death is the inner death, the death of the ego-bound boy, that Bly describes. Earl’s gin is the drink of be[gin]ning, of genesis (“Light them Phillies up then…”), of Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis, when I was dead-broke, man… “We wasn’t supposed to be alive,” Earl says, yet here he stands.

18.  RUMINANT

Stare at the Feet of Clay album cover—an evocation of folkloric imagery: a Grimm forest with gnarled tree branches—and the enchanted, diabolic goat lying in wait. Earl’s parasocial following speculate G.O.A.T., of course, but I’m more inclined to mythopoeic possibilities. The Feet of Clay goat glares like Baphomet but frolics like a faun over fractured beats. “OD,” Earl has stated, “brought [him] up out of [his] little wreck”—a wreck of wracked nerves. Adrienne Rich encourages “diving into the wreck” (1973).

I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power.

Earl’s right there with her, submerged and blacking out, but still surviving: Really leaking blood, but refilling the pump.

In her essay “Teaching New Worlds/New Words,” bell hooks invokes Rich’s struggle to navigate the “oppressor’s language.” For hooks, as a Black writer, managing that is even more difficult and historical. “I think now of the grief of displaced ‘homeless’ Africans, forced to inhabit a world where they saw folks like themselves, inhabiting the same skin, the same condition, but who had no shared language to talk with one another, who needed ‘the oppressor’s language.’” hooks explains how Black folks have “remade that language so that it would speak beyond the boundaries of conquest and domination.”

Earl Sweatshirt, especially in his later work, has “altered [and] transformed” English, just as “enslaved Black people took broken bits of English and made of them a counter-language.” The emotional wreckage is also a linguistic heap of fragments—micro-fragments, if we’ve learned anything from Saafir. Earl, in the tradition of his ancestors, “put[s] together [his] words in such a way that the colonizer ha[s] to rethink the meaning of the English language.” “The grammatical construction of sentences in these songs” by Earl, just as by the spirituals of hundreds of years prior, “reflect[s] the broken, ruptured world of the slave.” That crumbling empire Earl mentions was faulted by feet of clay.

At the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles in 2019, sharing a dais with his mother, Cherly I. Harris, Earl spoke to this lineage directly: “Rap music is slave music—the modern-day iteration of it. Slave communication had to be encrypted. You got a code.” He shifted: “If I know what I’m saying…I can teach it to you.” On Feet of Clay, Earl is teaching to transgress. “I’m cracking my own code,” he says to an audience member during the Q&A, “how it comes out garbled…,” and then he trails off, as if making a deliberate effort to keep his answer cryptic.

hooks always saw language as “a site of resistance.” This included the incorrect usage and placement of words—she called such practices a “rebellion.” Weaponizing syntax. hooks recognized rap music as a continuation of this fight—the latest [sound]clash, hip-hop artists as rebels without a pause—while still acknowledging the collateral damage it might cause.

Rap music has become one of the spaces where black vernacular speech is used in a manner that invites dominant mainstream culture to listen—to hear—and, to some extent, be transformed. However, one of the risks of this attempt at cultural translation is that it will trivialize black vernacular speech. When young white kids imitate this speech in ways that suggest it is the speech of those who are stupid or who are only interested in entertaining or being funny, then the subversive power of this speech is undermined.

Or, as Earl once said on “Chum,” “Too Black for the white kids and too white for the Blacks,” an axiom he’s come to loathe. Perhaps Fanon had the better bar on this subject: “The white man had the anguished feeling that I was escaping from him and that I was taking something with me. He went through my pockets. He thrust probes into the least circumvolution of my brain. Everywhere he found only the obvious. So it was obvious that I had a secret.”

Despite the pitfalls (and, yeah, the pit is bottomless), Earl’s words play [wordplay] a part in retraining minds, all while exorcizing his own demons through a steady diet of ashes and fractures. hooks promises us that “in the patient act of listening to another tongue we may subvert that culture of capitalist frenzy and consumption that demands all desire must be satisfied immediately.” Through his embrace of a language that indulges in passion and cerebral coding, Earl “heal[s] the splitting of mind and body” so common within Western metaphysical thought. Earl Sweatshirt speaks “words that do more than simply mirror or address the dominant reality”; he builds blips into a reality that is worth the rewind.

Images: Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot) | Teen at 1990s computer photograph, Unknown (c. 1996) | James Joyce, Age 2, Unknown | ELUCID, Osage album cover (2016), photo by Michael Mally, Philadelphia Inquirer | The Boxer at Rest, bronze statue, Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, Rome, Italy (330-50 BC) | Alphonse Legros, The Pit and the Pendulum, second Plate (1861) | High Plains Drifter, dir. Clint Eastwood, 1973 (screenshot) | Subroc on an Apple IIc, Unknown (c. 1987) | Earl Sweatshirt, “Grief” music video, 2015 (screenshot) | Arthur Rackham, The Water of Life, Grimms Fairy Tales (1916) | Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot)

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Navier Trovi

-You are a miracle, something the Empress never thought she would have. Your first cry made the reality set in. She was a mother. She held you in her arms and for the first time the Empress did not care who saw her tears. The tiny baby squirmed and cried in her arms, the beginning of a new life.

"A daughter Your Majesty!" Countess Eliza stared in wonder at the baby in her arms. Navier held out her arms and her daughter lay crying out. A shaking finger touched the babies tiny fingers, so much smaller than hers. Tears rolled down the Empresses face. For once the proud Empress did not care if anyone witnessed her tears. Right now she was just a mother with her newborn baby. "She's gorgeous." Heinly said in awe. Navier passed her daughter over and her heart ached as the baby fussed. Heinly kissed the baby's forehead. 'Thank you. Thank you so much." His eyes had tears in them. Navier smiled. "No. Thank you. For everything." For a while the couple watched the new life in front of them. A perfect combination of their love. "What shall we name her?" Navier already had a name in mind. "Y/n."

-Navier already has a nursery for you. It is right next to her bedroom once you are old enough to sleep alone. During the day when she is working there is a bassinette placed next to her. Sometime Navier will instinctually bend over the cradle, completely leaving her work abandoned. She loved to hear your little cooes and bright eyes. Each little detail on your face is carefully studies by the Empress. She really can't get enough. Her ladies are little better. The ladies are constantly sitting beside the cradle or carrying the baby. And for the love of God the amount of baby things they've brought! Laura is definitely the most enthusiastic out of the bunch.

The Empresses papers lay forlornly on the desk. Utterly abandoned until later that day. Navier was busy tying a bow around baby Y/n's waist. Nian had brought a new dress for the baby, a pretty lilac blue. Y/n was young, but had began to recognize voices. She was especially excited upon hearing Nian's voice because that meant treats and getting fussed over. "Awww." Laura stroked the thin locks on the babies head. "I can't wait till she's old enough for tea parties!" Lady Rose exclaimed. "Maybe she'll prefer playing with swords instead." Mastas Violet considered. Navier grimaced. Although she liked Mastas, the thought of her own daughter wielding a weapon made her nervous. Call it overprotectiveness, but Navier wanted nothing to hurt her daughter.

-While Navier is indulgent she takes your education very seriously. The best tutors and books that money and influence can by are made available. She gets updates on your progress and will sometimes test you. Even though you are a woman she believes you have the same right as your brother to knowledge. History, philosophy, warfare, politics and economics and more will be devoured.

"Mommy look!" Y/n ran up to her mother. In those little hands was the newest translation Y/n had just finished. At twelve you had shown an aptitude for languages. Navier, who had been talking to one of the Lords turned around. She bent down slightly and hugged her little girl. Y/n shoved the paper excitedly into her mother's hands. Navier admired her daughters work and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Very impressive sweetheart." Y/n glowed with pride.

[pruneunfair]

Why Laura is the worst remarried empress character. *crack post*

this bitch here gets on my nerves more than anyone.

Shes one of Naviers lady's in waiting so her sole purpose is basically propping Navier up as the one true empress. I don't hate her for that, if I did then I'd hate all of the ladies in waiting. It's how she does it, all of the ladies have a certain theme to them, Eliza is the motherly and mature one who handles conflict with grace most of the time, Mastas is the badass knight tomboy who can wreak your shit in under 5 minutes, Rose is... wait what even is Rose's thing? I don't think she has anything about her other then loyal servant.

Anyway back to Laura, her thing is that she's a angry redhead who tears down other women who don't emulate exactly what she thinks a good woman is (take a good guess on what she considers being a "good woman) the bitch already gives Navier a poor introduction to Rashta, calling her a filthy thing that was found in the woods and is already looking to steal Naviers man because she's really beautiful and Sovieshus attracted to that so.. I guess it's Rashtas fault for being a slave who took what options she had?

She instigated so much shit that did not need to be instigated. Rashta tears a dress (on ACCIDENT mind you), Laura slaps her, calls her a wench and then it's supposed to be a big surprise when Sovieshu has her locked up for being a bitch, nah you expect me to feel bad for her? I was smirking with Rashta when I read that line. It doesn't even end with Rashta, Laura also wasted no time in seeing Krista as enemy like all the other ladies just because Krista didn't get on her knees for Navier and then insists Navier throw her out of the palace after a misunderstanding. There was NO sex, all that happened was Heinrey had his head on Krista's lap and Krista had NO CLUE that he was drugged, she assumed he came onto her and her only crime was not telling everyone the truth when did learn what happened .

But is that it? Promoting internalized misogyny is pretty bad but is there anything else.

This. "Use it on his majesty."

She considers infidelity to be so awful that she tells Navier to basically drug Sovieshu with a love potion and SA him.. I'm sorry what!? Sovieshu is a POS but in no way does that mean SA should be even considered! Yeah who gives a shit if Rape is the worst thing a person can do to another as long as it's your husband it's fine! (It's not, Marital rape is not only absolutely disgusting, it was used as an excuse for decades that married couples can't be abusive.) Thank God that this was during a season when Navier still had all her common sense.

Also her names Laura. That tells you everything you need to know about her.

I usually like to call her Cinderellas step-sister since she kinda looks like an evil step sis, but you know what? Anastasia doesn't deserve to be compared to that bitch, because she is leaps and bounds better than Laura can ever dream to be. If you want a red haired character that's written with the finest character development Disney could make, watch Cinderella dreams come true or Cinderella a twist in time.

[micro-moth]

me when i go to write more of my musical but end up spending two hours editing formatting and revising, anyway all old chapters are updated :) also i dont think i posted about posting scene four (bulletproof heart) so yeah! thats up!! Biggest change is the song list, RIP Tommorows Money but it got cut because it did the same thing for the plot that Boy Division did so it just made the scene a bit too long. BUT Surrender the Night and Mastas of Ravenkroft got added to act 2!! this helps balance out the acts and helps with the side plot i'm developing! gotta say going from light behind your eyes to mastas is crazy whiplash but I swear it makes sense in the show. welcome The World is Ugly (Instrumental) to act one!! i cant wait to post this scene (soon!!), its a whole no dialogue segment that i just love, it makes for the thickest block of stage direction in the whole show but trust! im pretty proud of it!

structure of whats considered a "scene" got changed a bit, like scene two starts after destroya instead of before Character list got re-formatted, notably "city ensemble" and "droids" are now "battery city citizens" because ive decided that most droids have human soles trapped in them so I don't want to group droids together like they're different from people anymore. Cause there's a dialogue later in the show about how NewsAGoGo is still human, their soul just got transferred into a droid, and its implied that this is pretty common. this also means anytime it used to say "droids" in the first two numbers has been changed to "citizens" :) Other then that just some small revisions on formatting and dialogue :) didnt mean to write a whole like patch update notes thing but there ya go ig

[defjux]

What rappers would be in your top 10 or 20? 🤔 I feel like you'd have some great picks, and also some that are uncommon

my bad for letting this sit in my inbox for a few days, i had to think on it. i'm not going for objectivity here at all either, just the artists who have made the biggest impact on me over the years and that i listen to the most. i'll give you a top 25, order is based entirely on how i'm feeling today. 1. MF DOOM 2. Aesop Rock 3. Black Thought 4. Ghostface Killah 5. billy woods 6. Pharoahe Monch 7. Posdnuos 8. Ka 9. Yasiin Bey (Mos Def) 10. Breeze Brewin 11. ELUCID 12. Zeroh 13. Serengeti 14. Mach-Hommy 15. Redman 16. Jam Baxter 17. Nickelus F 18. Open Mike Eagle 19. Vordul Mega 20. Earl Sweatshirt 21. Aceyalone 22. Von Pea 23. Oddisee 24. Myka 9 25. El-P I'll also throw in some honorable mentions before you come for my neck: AKAI SOLO, Andre 3000, Bigg Jus, Blu, Busta Rhymes, Cavalier, Chuck D, Curly Castro, Deca, Defcee, Del, Denmark Vessey, Edan, Elzhi, Gift of Gab, Guru, GZA, Illogic, Ishmael Butler, jakprogresso, Jean Grae, Kashmere, Kendrick Lamar, Killah Priest, Lupe Fiasco, Masta Ace, MIKE, Moses Rockwell, Nakama, Nas, Navy Blue, Noveliss, One Be Lo, Onry Ozzborn, Phife Dawg, Phonte, Prodigy, Quelle Chris, Raekwon, Rakim, RAP Ferreira, Raz Fresco, Roc Marciano, Sean Price, Self Jupiter, SKECH185, Theravada, Tree, Trugoy the Dove, yU, Yugen Blakrok, Zumbi

[omegaremix]

Finds For 2020.

Neon Blud “Bleed Blud”

Oto “Anyway”

Rosa Damask Heroes

Nick Klein “Microscopic Cop”

Canal Street Electronics “By The River”

Cure, The “All Cats Are Grey”

Girl Pusher “Out Of Breath”

Essaie Pas “Retox”

Kanga “Going Red”

Sisters Of Mercy, The “This Corrosion”

White Ring “Shaken To Sleep”

Zanias “Follow The Body”

Automatic “Damage”

Filmmaker The Love Market

Parole E. Azioni Karaoke Night

Lead Into Gold “Hard Won Decay”

Essaie Pas “Danse Sociale”

Sisters Of Mercy, The “Lucretia, My Reflection”

Bailter Space “Splat”

Brothers Johnson, The “Tomorrow”

Khruangbin “Friday Morning”

Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti “So Glad”

A.C. Marias “Just Talk”

Nobunny “Taste Just Like A Milkshake”

Top Nachos “Lit”

Sanction “Disfigure”

Selda Bagcan Selda

Shizuka “6 Gram Star (６グラムの星)”

Oro “Stop The War”

Lithics “Tower Of Age”

Self Defense Family “Jesus Of Nazareth”

Clamm “Beseech Me”

Emily Remler “Strollin’”

Human Impact “Contact”

Bikini Body “Hands Off”

Lana Del Rabies “Darcy” (Lav Andula RMX)

Tzusing “1976”

Damp “Death, Sex & Arby’s”

Georgia Maq “Away From Love”

Es “Hidden Track”

Mystique “No Excuse”

Sanction “Malice"

Horse Lords “The Radiant City”

Giant Swan “The Rest Of His Voice”

Jehnny Beth “I’m The Man”

Cleaners From Venus “The Jangling Man”

Pting “Boo”

Dave East “Godfather 4” (f. Nas)

Editrix “She Wants To Go And Party”

Gang Starr “Bad Name”

Snarls “Walk In The Worlds”

Kate Tempest “People’s Faces”

Shopping “All Or Nothing”

Turquoise Days “Grey Skies”

Skux “Kudis”

Control Top “Black Hole”

Free $$$ “Etc.”

Serfs, The “Caged And Bound”

Diat “Positive Energy”

Milly “Talking Secret”

Ekambi Brilliant “Mother Afrika”

M.A.Z.E. “Spread The Germicide”

Algiers “Can The Sub Bass Speak”

Future Punx “F Boys”

Necking “Big Mouth”

Ganser “Psy-Ops”

True Dreams “Please Sir”

Black Midi “BmBmBm”

Coriky “Clean Kill”

Stardeath & White Dwarfs “What Keeps You Up At Night”

Autumn “Night In June”

Miserable “Loverboy”

Lisel “Digital Light Field”

Districts, The “Cheap Regrets”

Seablite “There Were Only Shadows”

Ing self-titled

Power Alone “Self Fulfilling Prophecy”

Algiers “Dispossession”

Mikey Dread “Dread At The Controls”

Lithics “Hands”

Crumb “Ghostride”

Strobobean “Keep It Together”

Profligate “Jet Black (King Of The Road)”

Penelope Isles “Rounds”

Self Defense Family “Visit Scenic Western New York”

Serfs, The “Perverted Disco”

Future Islands “Day Glo Fire”

Help “Pennies On The Ground”

NGHTCRWLR “Firestarter”

Zonal Wrecked

Pete Shelley “Homosapien”

Miserable “Fever”

Killing Joke “Hollywood Babylon”

Windy City “I Still Love You”

Look Blue Go Purple “Grace”

Mountain Goats, The: various songs

Hit Parade, The “Harvey”

Fritz “Ghost Poke”

Snarls “What’s It Take”

Girl In Red “Rushed Lover”

Cigarettes After Sex “Young and Dumb”

RVG “I Used To Love You”

Mr. Elevator “Down”

Tempers “Capital Pains”

Jade Imagine “Big Old House”

Chasms “Tears In The Morning Sun”

Shopping “For Your Pleasure”

cumgirl8 “Hourglass”

Stuck “Era”

Blue Ray “Choir Of Angels”

Bikini Body “So Posh”

Space Above “Stolen Days”

Tops “Seven Minutes”

Serfs, The “Persona Non Grata”

Diat “Sinkhole”

Widowspeak “Breadwinner”

Emma Ruth Rundle “Light Song”

Empathy Test “Monsters”

Parrot Dream “The Best”

Braids “Eclipse (Ashley)”

Parlor Walls “Lunchbox”

Wye Oak “Fortune”

Black Marble “Bigger Than Life”

Widowspeak “Money”

Charli XCX “Cross You Out” (f. Sky Ferreira)

Chvrches “Forever”

Jade Imagine “Remote Control”

Pink Gloves “Wilderness” (INS)

Grimes & i_O “Violence”

Weeknd, The “Blinding Lights”

In A Dramatic Gesture “Basic Aerobic”

J. Zunz “Four Women And Darkness”

Alchemist & Schoolboy Q “W.Y.G.D.T.N.S.”

Masta Ace & Marco Polo “Breukelen Brooklyn”

Smoke DZA & Benny The Butcher “7:30” (f. Westside Gunn)

Alchemist “Fork In The Pot” (f. Conway & Schoolboy Q & Westside Gunn)

D.I.T.C. “Jugganots” (f. O.C. & L’il Fame)

Mike (Bonema) “Ipari”

Ripple “Victorious”

Weldon Irvine “We Gettin’ Down”

Clement Djimogne “Africa”

Eddie Russ “Zaius”

Sphinx “Horizons”

DJ 3D “How Many Ways” (Refreshers RMX)

Progeny “Wet Dreams”

Kevin Richard Martin & Hatis Noit “After The Storm”

MCL / Micro Chip League “New York, New York (Midnight)”

Cabaret Voltaire “Diskono” (alt.)

Cabaret Voltaire “Why Kill Time When You Can Kill Yourself?

Sweeping Promises “Hunger For A Way Out”

Lawn “Jane Ryan”

Jesse Jo Stark “Tangerine”

JPEGMAFIA & Denzel Curry “Bald!” (RMX)

Megaptera “Shadow Land”

SPK “Walking On Dead Steps”

Tapes “Old Pan Sound”

USA Nails “Revolution Worker”

Dead World “Cold Hate”

Zola Jesus “Veka”

Silkies “Take A Word”

Sweeping Promises “Cross Me Out”

Tapes “Tape V”

Qlowski “Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder”

Larry McGee “Revolution (The Burg)”

Lower Dens “Sucker’s Shangri-La”

Ramonda Hammer “Everlasting Love”

Sharon Van Etten “Hurt”

Jehnny Beth “Closer To God”

Lawn “Honest To God / Paper”

Phat Cat “Don’t Nobody”

Hot Tea “Larry”

Total Revenge “Jeep Cherokee”

Model Home X His Name Is Alive “Candy-Coated Dreams”

Steve Hartlett “Overwhelmed”

Vintage Crop “Gridlocked”

Jades, The “Lucky Fellow”

Los Bitchos “Pista (Great Start)”

Corey Flood “Honey”

[khiphop-discussions]

So I just found out that Perry from YG Entertainment, the original YG Entertainment prior to BigBang and 2NE1 debut, is missing?!

I remember YEARS ago hearing Danny Im and Masta Wu (it was either that episode or the one with Choice37), talk about how "nobody" knows where he is on Danny's podcast. However, they were so casual and lax that I thought they meant that people from YG Ent had just lost contact with him over the years. I just saw on tiktok that he's MISSING missing. As in, ID channel (not literally on the ID channel), police investigation, even his biological family hasn't interacted with him since 2010 in the LA area. If you search "Perry YG Entertainment" on tiktok there's someone claiming to be a family member who says the part about them missing since 2010.

Here's the original tiktok I'm referencing though (non-family member):

[mastamillaopenforcommissions]

Today, I quit my job! That was stressful and a relief at the same time!

I decided to make a Ko-fi for whoever want and can support me as an artist!

Any kind of support is always appreciated even just a like or a reblog!

Please spread me like a wild fire! Remember I also take commissions, have an EtsyShop and sell some art prints!!

Thank you so much!

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 65 The Mineshaft Murder

I'm home yay

...I was home yesterday-

Look who it is!

It's Grayscale

He's creepy

He's made out of cardboard, so he's only about a centimeter deep. Of course, this means he is easily destructible, and is in fact a crash-test dummy for machinery. Every warning sign you see featuring a figure getting maimed is him! But 'don't worry', he can be printed out over and over again and is immortal. And he always remembers everything.

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

The map that Grayscale gave Irratino was worthless. He doesn’t even know Logico, much less where he is. So Irratino is unfortunately back to trusting his gut. And his gut tells him that the answer is deep below the ground. So he heads to an abandoned mine shaft. 

IRRATINO: Lower me down!

Raspberry, Pine, and Emerald stare at him. This is an abandoned mine shaft, that’s not how it works.

IRRATINO: But… how will I find the answer at the bottom? PINE: I got a flashlight. It’s not that deep.

At the bottom of the pit, there’s nothing but a human body. And a beautiful geode! Emerald sends a small feral bird to go down there, but Irratino stops him.

IRRATINO: NO! You will NOT send this canary down into the coal mine. It could die! This practice is BARBARIC. EMERALD: It is not toxic gases! It’s perfectly safe. IRRATINO: Not for a small bird like this it’s not. Go fly down there yourself.

Emerald rolls his eyes and walks away. Irratino handles the bird, fluffing it softly with a big smile.

BIRD: I’m not a canary, motherfucker!

Irratino yelps and throws it up into the air.

BIRD: I’m a cahdnal, plain as can be! Cinereous Cahdnal. And lemme tell you, you got me outta a bad deal, y’know what I’m sayin’? I owe ya lots. IRRATINO: Oh, uh… yeah! Of course!

He had always longed for animals to talk. Which is… I’m not even gonna say it. It’s time as always to solve the murder of another human. They could have fallen themselves, sure, but it’s far more likely they didn’t. Right away, Irratino can’t help but notice the terrible smell.

IRRATINO: I guess corpses are supposed to smell bad, but this is worse…

It’s Emerald, he has a bottle of obviously poisoned moonshine. But (most) birds have a terrible sense of smell, so he can’t tell. Thankfully he doesn’t drink it, but he does pour it over his wings for some reason. His feathers turn gray and disintegrate!

EMERALD: Mamma mia! Oh lord! PINE: HA! [snort]

Where did Raspberry go? Irratino finds him scaling the wall of the pit, slowly lowering himself using only his claws, trembling. Slowly, he reaches for a bit of gold, lodged into the wall, pulling it out with his teeth. But Cinereous isn’t having it. He pecks his nose and he leaps in fear, clutching onto the lift for dear life.

IRRATINO: Hold on!

Irratino struggles to pull the 500+ pound tiger up, but manages. Raspberry is out of breath.

IRRATINO: What were you doing?? RASPBERRY: Oh, Ratti… I’m dirt poor! I barely got nothin’ left… I dunno how much longer I can go without headin’ to the streets.

Irratino sighs. If the past few encounters have said anything, Raspberry is having a pretty terrible life. Cinereous is just perched on a rock, singing a beautiful song while admiring the gold nugget. Irratino confronts him.

IRRATINO: What was that for??  CINEREOUS: Eh, couldn’t let the guy have it. ‘S for the Choich, y’know?  IRRATINO: Did you kill that human, too?!

CINEREOUS: That mine should be MINE! I discova’d that the mine wad’nt depleted - just abandoned! And I coulda made so much money for my Choich and my masta Fatha Mango. But those poor fools were gonna take my shares! So I did what I had’ta do!  IRRATINO: Well, you didn’t have to do it. 

CINEREOUS: What, you disrespect’n God now? I was gonna do good for the Choich, so it don’t matter how many humans gotta get outta the way first!

Irratino is disgusted. Abusing one’s faith in such a way… not to mention pretending to be an innocent, angelic creature. He gets a notification - another missed call from Logico. Why hasn’t he learned to turn his ringer on…

LOGICO: Hey I.I., love to hear from you. Just send a diplomatic cable to the Free Drakonian prison and we’ll see if we can escape it together. Alright? 

He sounds so calm and loving. Irratino wants him so bad. So why can’t he just… go to the Free Drakonian prison already?

PINE: I don't even know why I'm here if I'm honest. [pops open a beer]

The end!

Irratino I know we have to fill a whole season but

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[imbouttasue]

I wanna say this and I'm sorry if your gonna hate me very much,am I the only sees sovieshu as a red flag wife to the numerous crossover families in gonna insert him? Because gosh darn,it he's so hot. And in sorry if I wanna discredit kosair,kosair,kosair. If you hate sovishu,so much,why dont you go and fuck him? You don't have a problem cheating on Charlotte a literal princess from whitemond with uhhh the tomboy mastas(I honestly,don't know what you see in her honestly) so,kosair,big deal but go and make sovieshu yours aka make him your wife.

Soviehu is a redflag from all angles and that's his appeal lol.

Kosair x Mastas is basically the author trying to include diversity (tomboy trope) in the story but failing miserably. It's the same with McKenna x Dorsey because it ruined the canon elements in more ways than one. These couples doesn't exist to me because their story is just so unnecessary.